#and it’s just so bad and I can’t stand having to face my teacher when we both know I could’ve done better | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tonycries · 8 months ago

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The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school.

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt.

Never mess with you. Anyone but you.

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second.

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team.

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile.

Everything.

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else.

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all.

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss.

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you.

Everything.

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio.

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you.

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries.

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments.

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew.

You’d kissed him back.

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister.

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good.

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up.

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by.

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling.

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.”

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine.

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics.

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked.

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss.

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door.

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that.

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for.

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth.

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours.

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes.

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship.

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious.

What did he have that Satoru didn’t?

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his.

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.”

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom.

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye.

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn.

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy.

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh.

Shit.

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank.

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck.

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.”

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now.

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?”

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.”

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused.

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today.

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway.

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there.

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru.

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms.

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life.

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned.

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.”

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you.

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt.

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you.

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist.

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?”

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?”

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you.

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so.

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots.

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually.

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit.

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene.

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?”

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully.

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out.

Like you were about to snap. Any second now.

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…” Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt.

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours.

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection.

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous.

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.”

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.”

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.”

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch.

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag.

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.”

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact.

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps.

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling.

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-”

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-”

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll.

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt.

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.”

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white.

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family.

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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mulloey · 13 days ago

Text

distracted

bad students must face the consequences of their behaviour. it doesn’t matter who your boyfriend is.

words: 2.9k

part of my february festival event

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warnings: dom!professors matz x sub!student reader, teacher-student relationship (hongjoong x you), power dynamics, threesome, punishment, spanking with ruler, very light anal play, face fucking, double penetration (mouth & pussy), under-negotiated kink, unprotected sex, sir kink, degradation, light dumbification etc

i am not responsible for the content you consume.

“What is this?”

He waves the sheet in front of your face indignantly and you recognise it instantly as the test you’d taken last week; the red D scrawled in the top corner gives you away and you huff. “How did you even—”

“Seonghwa,” he says, cutting you off. You’d roll your eyes if you thought you’d get away with it right now.

You knew it was a bad idea, really, dating Hongjoong; he may not have been your professor, but he is a professor, so you should’ve figured he’d be in cahoots with your teachers. It’s not like discretion was a massive concern, anyway; your relationship is an open secret among the staff. It’s technically not allowed, but you’re a grad student, an independent adult and your parents donate enough money to the school that neither of you would be in too much trouble if anyone did find out anyway. So you suppose you shouldn’t be surprised that, when you turned in a piss-poor exam, Seonghwa had run off tattling to your boyfriend. Dickhead.

“I was just having a bad day,” you say. “I studied, really. I don't know what happened.”

Neither of you believe that, but you push your lips into a pout and do your best to look contrite—to play the sweet, innocent girl your boyfriend loves to ruin.

“Joong…” You try to sound scared but you both know you’re not; there’s nothing he could do to you that you wouldn’t enjoy, after all. You’re just as sick as each other.

Hongjoong chuckles, clicking his tongue. He looks thoughtful for a moment, like he’s pretending to be conflicted over whether to punish you or not, but he’s not very good at hiding his excitement. The regretful sigh he lets out when he makes his decision is laughably disingenuous. “Bad girl,” he says, shaking his head. “You know I can’t let you get away with this, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to respond but he doesn’t give you time; he shoves you down harshly, bending you over his desk so your ass is sticking up in the air. It’s a familiar position that you’ve found yourself in time and time again since you met him and you body prepares itself automatically; expecting him to spank you, you stick your ass up higher and wait with bated breath for the first blow. It doesn’t come. You crane your head around, confused. “Joong, what—” Oh.

You don’t need to finish the question; standing behind you, next to Hongjoong, is the very man who’d got you in this predicament in the first place— your medieval history professor, Park Seonghwa himself. He tilts his head, smiling sweetly. “Good afternoon.”

Your jaw drops. You hadn’t expected this—when did he even come in, anyway? “Joong—”

“You think we didn’t notice how you look at him?” Your boyfriend asks coolly. It’s only because of the cock in his hand, hard and already leaking, that you’re not worried he’s mad at you; no, he loves this. You should’ve known.

“Is that why you failed?” Seonghwa asks. “Too busy dreaming about me bending you over your desk? You have a boyfriend; an esteemed colleague of mine, in fact.” His tone is chiding and you feel yourself flush.

Hongjoong snorts almost petulantly. “As if she cares about that.”

“No?” Seonghwa asks. “What does she care about, then?”

“Pull her panties down and find out.”

Your cunt throbs painfully at the surety of the demand and the dark look in Seonghwa’s eyes as he obliges without hesitation. He doesn’t ask permission before he touches you—he already has it from the one who matters, after all—but when he pushes your skirt up your back, his hands still momentarily; you smile into the wood as you realise what they’re both looking at—the white, lacy panties sitting snugly across your pert cheeks.

“Well, isn’t that a sight.” Seonghwa’s voice is hoarse and affected as he rubs a hand across the delicate material. You feel yourself tense under his touch, the unfamiliar feeling of his skin on yours, and he gently pinches the soft flesh. “Relax,” he mumbles. “Be good, yeah? I won’t hurt you, I’ll be gentle.”

A sweet sounding lie; you can tell from the heaviness of his hand as it comes to rest on your ass that he has no such intentions. He fingers softly at the lace of your panties, sighing ruefully. “These really are beautiful,” he muses. “I hate to have to take them down like this, but bad students have to learn, don’t they?”

“They certainly do.” You crane your neck to follow your boyfriend’s voice and find him leaning against the wall behind Seonghwa, staring you down with familiarly cold eyes. He cocks an eyebrow when you finally catch his gaze. “Got something to say, precious?”

“No, sir,” you whisper.

“Turn around, then,” he smiles. “I’m just here to watch.”

You turn back, though more so he doesn’t see you roll your eyes than out of a desire to obey him. Seonghwa has carefully shimmied your panties down to the middle of your thighs and the cold air of the office bites at your sensitive pussy.

“Spread your legs,” he says. “Show me how wet you are.“

Blushing furiously, you part your legs, spreading them as far as you can without snapping the panties bunched around your thighs. Seonghwa hums, running a long finger through your wet folds. The touch is unexpected but Hongjoong’s trained you well enough that you manage to stay still despite your surprise. You whine a little when he pulls away and you hear both men chuckle.

“Professor Kim,” Seonghwa says. His voice has a new quality; delicate and flirtatious as he addresses your boyfriend. “Come and taste how wet she is.”

You hear Hongjoong approach the elder and try to move around to see it, but Seonghwa’s firm hand on your neck holds you still. “I don’t think so, bad girl,” he tuts. “Only good little girls get to watch. Keep still.”

“Good call,” Hongjoong purrs. “She’s always loved seeing me with other people. Little pervert would probably start humping the table if she saw me doing this.”

You hear the wet, lewd sounds of Hongjoong sucking at Seonghwa’s finger, lapping up your juices with a noise of pleasure. “Delicious little slut,” he chuckles. “Let’s get her properly disciplined so we can play with her how she wants.”

Somehow you hear the wide grin in Seonghwa’s voice as Hongjoong backs away. “I quite agree.”

His hands rests on your ass again, squeezing it softly. “This is what’s gonna happen, little one. You got a 48 on my exam, didn’t you?”

You’re almost embarrassed to hear the number and you know Hongjoong is too. “Yes,” you whisper.

“Yes, Professor will do,” he says. “You’re not my friend, sweetheart. You’re just a wayward student being put back on the right path.”

Shame courses through you but it would be a lie to say it’s anything but thrilling. “Yes, professor,” you whisper.

He taps your ass appreciatively. “Good girl. So, you got a 48 on my exam. What was the pass mark?”

“60, Professor,” you mumble.

“Now that’s not very hard to achieve, is it Professor Kim?”

“It’s not. The pass marks in my class are higher, in fact.”

You want to roll your eyes at their smug, jovial tones but you’re too aroused now to do anything but anticipate.

“A pathetic score, really.” Seonghwa’s voice is closer than ever and you feel his presence just inches away. “Especially for such a bright young woman. I think you need to learn to separate your head—” he gathers a piece of your hair, gently folding it behind your ear “—and your pussy, hm?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good.“ Something long and thin taps at your bare skin and you recognise it instantly—the wooden ruler Hongjoong keeps in his desk drawer for when he’s feeling particularly on-the-nose about the taboo nature of your relationship.

“I’m going to hit you with this twelve times,” Seonghwa purrs. “For each of the marks you easily could have gotten if you hadn’t been too busy imagining my cock in your mouth. Yeah?”

You nod, feeling yourself pulse. “Yes, Professor.”

“Repeat after me, alright?” The first hit is quick and sharp, spread over your ass and it makes you gasp. Seonghwa chuckles and rubs the reddening flesh before he grabs your hair, yanking your head back to whisper in your ear. “One,” he says. “I’m sorry for being such a slut, Professor.”

You repeat it quietly and he tuts. “Louder than that, love. I’m sure your boyfriend wants to know you’re learning your lesson.”

You oblige, repeating it louder and he makes a noise of satisfaction before the ruler comes down again, this time at the tops of your thighs. “Two,” he says. “I’m sorry for thinking with my pussy instead of my head.”

“Two, I’m… I’m sorry for thinking with my pussy instead of my head.”

The next hit lands in the same spot. “Three. I’m sorry for dripping over Professor Kim’s desk just from being spanked.”

You blush in embarrassment; you’d half hoped he wouldn’t notice, but that was a tall order anyway. When it comes to Hongjoong and anything to do with him, you’ve never been subtle.

The next hits follow the same pattern, spread across your ass and thighs with each one making you gasp louder than the last.

“Four. I’m sorry for making Professor Park waste his time disciplining me.”

“Five. I’m sorry for daydreaming about choking on another man’s cock.”

“Six. I’m sorry for being arrogant enough to think I’d get away with such an embarrassing performance.”

The last one hits you right on your dripping pussy, making you scream and he grabs your hair, spinning you around to face him and your boyfriend; your eyes hone in on Hongjoong’s cock, pulsing in his hands before Seonghwa forces your attention back to him. “Twelve,” he growls. “I’m sorry for being such a cockwhore that I’m making Professor Park break his rule about sleeping with students.”

You can’t help but grin as you repeat his words, feeling proud. Of course, you knew from the moment you turned around and saw him standing there what was going to happen, but it’s nice to hear it from him. He smiles, grasping your neck gently. “Did you like that?” He asks. “Getting spanked by your professor while your boyfriend jerks off to it?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I liked it.”

“Well, now that you’ve learnt your lesson,” he says, “I think it’s time you got fucked, no?”

You nod and turn to your boyfriend; he tilts his head, nodding towards his hard cock. “You know what to do,” he says.

“Yes, sir.” You sink to your knees, staring up at Seonghwa and sending him a teasing smile before crawling towards Hongjoong. You open your mouth, letting him push his dick inside; after all this time together, he doesn’t need to ease you into it anymore and can go straight to fucking your mouth and you take it diligently, opening your throat the way he’s trained you to. You hear Seonghwa whistle, admiring.

“She sucks cock like a fucking pro,” he laughs; the arousal in his voice is thick and unmistakable. “You’ve trained her well, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong laughs too, patting your head. “I had an excellent student,” he grins. You smile around him at the praise and he curses. “You’re too good at this, babe, Jesus. Gonna cum before I even fuck you.”

He thrusts into your mouth a few more times before pulling out abruptly, shoving you off of him and in an instant Seonghwa’s hands are in your hair as he pulls you to your feet and shoves you back over the desk. You collide painfully with the wood but you barely notice; you’re used to being manhandled by now, and it only makes you more excited.

Large hands you recognise as Seonghwa’s grab your ass cheeks, pulling them apart slowly; the air hits your exposed holes and makes you jump in surprise but you quickly regain your composure. As you still yourself again you feel Hongjoong’s finger running gently across your asshole, almost like he’s inspecting it, before it slides down to toy with your pussy.

“Hm…” Seonghwa’s voice is teasing. “What’s your favourite hole of hers, Professor Kim?”

“What a question,” Hongjoong chuckles and you hear the smile in his voice. His finger prods gently at your rim, making you tense unconsciously and he tuts, lightly slapping the tight little hole. It’s a subtle, painless chastisement but it makes you whine all the same. “Now, now, kitty cat,” he chuckles. “I didn’t train you to squirm, did I?”

“No, sir,” you mumble.

“Good,” he says. “To answer your question, Hwa, I’d have to say her pussy. I love her ass, of course, but nothing compares to the way that little cunt clings to my dick like it’s just begging for a baby.”

“Well that does sound nice.” Seonghwa’s hands leave your ass, returning to your pussy to spread you open. “It looks snug,” he says. “What do you think, little one? Want your professor to breed you?”

It takes you a moment for your brain to catch up with the rest of you and you frown in confusion. “I- you mean you, Professor Park?” You ask. It comes out as more of a strangled cry; your head is a mess of arousal and you barely even register what he’s saying to you, let alone comprehend it fully.

He laughs, patting your soft skin gently. “Yes, perhaps I should be more clear. It must be confusing to be bending over in front of two of your teachers.”

Your face burns at the obvious mockery; the degrading, sneering tone of his voice but you say nothing. Seonghwa hums. “So?” He asks sweetly. “You want me in your cunt, baby girl?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Professor.”

“There’s those manners,” he praises.

He keeps a firm grip on your hips as he slides in from behind; the feeling of his skin against your still burning ass is uncomfortable, but the way his cock is stretching you as he buries himself inside you is the only thing your brain can process right now.

He’s just as big as Hongjoong, maybe a little bigger, but his thrusts are more fluid and controlled; where Hongjoong fucks you like an animal hungry for more, Seonghwa fucks you with precision; with intention. His hands on your hips are firm yet gentle and the way he finds you in your deepest places has your head spinning with euphoria. “Jesus,” he curses. “Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

You open your mouth to respond, barely getting a whine out before you feel hands in your hair, yanking at it to pull you forward. Hongjoong comes into view on the other side of the desk, his dick somehow still hard as he feeds it into your mouth. “There you go,” he coos. “Keep it hard, baby.”

You nod as best as you can and the friction against his dick makes your boyfriend groan. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re so fucking good with cock you could make me cum on accident.”

The feeling of two dicks inside you makes it hard to focus on either one; let alone to begin to process the filthy words they spit down at you. Intesd you close your eyes, letting the tears fall as Hongjoong starts to fuck your throat again; you’re limp against the desk now, held up solely by the wood and by the two men using you to satisfy themselves. “Oh shit,” Hongjoong says, seeing your dazed expression. “Baby’s gone dumb already.” He strokes your hair gently, a small comfort between punishing thrusts. “You okay, little dove?”

You groan in response, unable to do much else; it makes them laugh and Seonghwa pats your ass affectionately. “You’re doing so well,” he says. “I’m almost there, sweetheart. Gonna fill you up real nice, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” you gasp.

The feeling of Seonghwa’s thrusts growing faster and harder and more desperate is overwhelming; coupled with the sensation of Hongjoong’s cock hitting the back of your throat again and again, it’s almost unbearable. Your fingers claw against the wood, surely leaving marks but you don’t care; you feel unlike you ever have before, stuffed full and used by two of the most attractive men you’ve ever even imagined.

You’re in so deep that you don’t even realise it’s over until the emptiness of your mouth and cunt becomes obvious; you feel cum leaking from your hole, a wet substance dripping down the desk and only when you look closer do you figure out what it is—squirt. You squirted. You squirted all over your boyfriend’s desk with another man’s cock in your pussy and you’ve never been more fucked out and satisfied than you are now.

When you stand up fully your legs, numbed and weakened by their abuse, start to give out but Hongjoong is there in an instant; he catches you in his arms, lowering himself to the ground so he can cradle you in his lap. You’re faintly aware of Seonghwa’s voice and strong hands stroking your hair before he’s gone, and it’s just you and Hongjoong.

“Good girl,” he mutters. “You took that so well.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he smiles. “I only hope your performance in Professor Park’s class improves soon. Otherwise he’ll have to tutor you if you want to keep your spot in his class.”

Your heart jumps. “What?”

“Uni rules,” he shrugs, appearing nonchalant but the knowing smile on his face tells all. “If you fail two exams in a row, that’s what happens.”

You don’t know why he seems so surprised when you turn up in his office a month later with a D-minus and an already leaking pussy. He always knew you were insatiable.

Lucky for you, so are they.

—

comments/reblogs appreciated! i’m not sure im super happy with the ending but we move. let me know your thoughts! love🖤🖤🖤

ateez taglist: @pixie0627 @hon3ysun @bbdeongi @hwaromi @tangerineastronaut @fancypeacepersona @aloevendetta (unable to tag: @lemonkait00 @mylovelymito)

february festival taglist: @hohongsan @nopension

#ateez smut #ateez hard hours #kpop smut #ateez x reader #ateez hard thoughts #hongjoong smut #seonghwa smut #matz smut #matz x reader #poly ateez #mulloey writes #mulloey events

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noxiwrites · 2 months ago

Text

Forbidden

Synopsis ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

The new teaching assistant is too hot for his own good, distracting most of the girls in your class.You're not too bothered by him, he's just another pretty face- until you get pulled by him for failing the class. It's every girls wet dream, getting taught by the hot new teacher- and you find yourself slowly falling into a sickly sweet situation.

Warnings ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

Age gap, inappropriate touching, arguments, angst, eventual smut, obsession, hidden relationship, public sex.

Word count ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

2.9k

Add yourself to my tag list | Masterlist

I II III IV V

You’re going out. You’re not quite sure how you’ve let Molly drag you out, convincing you that you just need to drink a bit and clear up some head space from what’s been happening recently. Once you told her what had happened, and how you’d stopped again, she’d be adamant that you just needed to see what ‘competition’ was out there- aka, all the ‘ugly boys in town have nothing on Rafe’ and then you’d be okay shagging him.

“Do I look okay?” You ask her, standing in front of the mirror as she applies the final bit of her lipstick. Molly scoffs, rolling her eyes at you.

“Are you kidding? It’s any girls wet dream to look like you, yes you look okay.”

She finishes her lipstick and you take a step back, looking at your outfit one final time before you’re being dragged out of your apartment and to Ryan’s car outside. He doesn’t drink, you’ve discovered, so he’ll happily drop you and Molly off and pick you up once you’re finished. You both clamber into the back seat, adjusting your skirt once you’re sat and listening to Molly talk her boyfriends ear off.

It’s not long before he pulls up at the side of the road, wishing you both a fun time as Molly is practically dragging you out of the car and into the bar right next to it. It’s Friday night, loud, lots of people pushing around and you eye the crowd.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You yell over the music, as Molly looks over at you, gaze hardened. She’s still got her hand wrapped around your arm as she drags you up to the bar, waiting to be served.

You have a look around. There’s plenty of guys here who aren’t that bad looking, yet you’re just not interested. Molly hands you a glass of something that you don’t bother to question as she leads to over to a table in a far corner, a bit further away from the crowds. You take a seat, face crinkling when you take a sip of your drink and it’s straight vodka.

Molly giggles at you spluttering, taking a sip of her own drink. “So, you need to tell me more about Rafe. You can’t just tell me you’ve kissed him and think I’m okay not knowing more,” she leans forward on the palm of her hand.

“It literally was just a kiss, Mol. He touched me a little but I froze up before he could do anything else,” she nods, staring at you like she’s expecting more.

“Go on,” she says, and you’re not quite sure what else she wants from you, so you say the only thing that comes to mind.

“When I told him to stop, he turned 60 degrees on me, like he thought I regretted it or something,”

Molly takes another sip of her drink. “Doll, that man is totally obsessed with you! Of course he’s gonna be upset when you tell him to stop something he thought you were both enjoying.”

You were enjoying it, you think- the way you reacted to him would tell you exactly that. You can’t, though, get it out of your head that he’s your teacher.

“I don’t know Mol, it just seems weird because he’s our teacher,” she raises an eyebrow at you.

“Teaching assistant. Maybe that’s what’s stopping you, the thought of shagging a teaching assistant even though he’s hot,” the crowd gets especially loud after her statement and you look up, half expecting everyone in the bar to be listening in and judging you- but they’re just watching some sport on the tv.

You sigh, swirling your straw in your drink as you think about it. If that’s the bit that’s holding you back, then how do you get around it? Molly reaches over the table, grabbing your hand.

“Girl, don’t worry. Tonight I’m gonna convince you that it’s okay to shag him, hand on heart,” she smirks at you, raising her glass and clinking it against your own. The notion brings a smile to your face.

So far, Molly has had a great time convincing you that all the other guys in town aren’t worth your time- and so far, it’s working. You’ve had three guys try their luck and each time, you’ve turned them down.

You’re sat in the fifth bar of the night, feeling a little tipsy from whatever Molly has been passing you to drink, and you’re actually enjoying yourself. You're thinking more and more about Rafe- about how he looks, how he smells, how he acts.

It’s confusing you, you’ll admit- you’re not sure what exactly it is about him that makes you so nervous. You’re not grabbing for his attention like everyone else in class- yet you find yourself slowly wishing to see him more and more. You’re not quite sure what to make of those feelings, or how to even put them into words for Molly to give you advice.

Five minutes later, Molly comes back from the bathroom, phone in hand. “I’m so sorry babe, I’ve got to go- Ryan’s had a bit of an emergency.” You nod your head, downing your drink with her before hugging her goodbye. She turns to leave, before turning back to you.

“Are you gonna get home okay?” She asks, and you swallow, standing on shaky legs. You’re a little more drunk than you thought.

“Yeah- I- I should be fine,” you muster out, smiling at your friend. She raises an eyebrow, contemplating, before giving you a kiss on the cheek and rushing out the bar.

You decide to wait a few minutes before exiting yourself, pushing the bar door and being blasted by the cold night air. It makes you regret wearing so little, as you pull your phone out of your bag and opening Uber.

Molly is already long gone, the sidewalk littered with other drunk people. It’s currently seven o’clock, already dark- and people are drunk. You scoff, realising you’re just as bad as everyone else.

You stand, looking at the prices to go to your home when an idea pops into your head. Campus is still open, and most of the teachers stay late on Friday so they don’t have to work weekends.

You could, in theory, go see Rafe. While you’re not level headed- while you’re not thinking straight, because you’ll be able to speak easier and maybe even move a little further with him.

Maybe. Maybe doesn’t stop drunk you from selecting your building on campus, and climbing inside the Uber when he pulls up in front of you. You hiccup as the Uber pulls away, and he looks at you through the rear view mirror.

“Fun night love?” He asks and you smile.

“Yeah, not been bad,”

He clears his throat, turning onto the Main Street that leads to campus. “And you’re headed to the university now? Why’s that?”

You smile again, looking down at your nails. “I’m going to see my boyfriend, he’s working late,”

The words fall from your lips and you don’t even mind them, drunken stupor fueling you along. The driver nods as he pulls into the campus, navigating the windy roads before you see your building and he pulls into the car park. You thank him as he stops and he wishes you a goodnight as you shut the door and watch him drive away.

You breath out, wrapping your flimsy little cardigan around you as you turn to face the building. You’ve no time for normal thoughts as you see Rafe’s classroom light is on and you grin, slightly stumbling as you walk towards the front doors of the building.

The hallways are quiet, apart from the clicking of your heels as you make your way towards the door of your class. You’re thinking about all the possibilities, all the outcomes of what might happen. You know you’re tipsy, but you’d remember every second of tonight.

You hiccup, giggling as you think about Rafe’s biceps, hand hovering above the handle of the door, when you finally look through the little window on the door.

And your heart stops. You think this is the fastest you’ve sobered up, blinking your eyes a few times to make sure you’re seeing what you’re seeing. It’s not a mirage. No smoke screens.

Rafe’s sat in his chair, legs spread, chin resting on the palm of his hand as Kendra sits cross legged on his desk, holding something out of your view. You can see her twirling her hair around her finger, and Rafe laughs at something she says. You can’t swallow. You breathe out, shallow and ragged, the all too familiar feeling of bile rising in your throat.

Why does this bother you so much? Why do you want to cry, want to scream, want to rip her head off her shoulders? You’re not sure.

You’re frozen on the spot, watching as she pushes his shoulder back and he swings around in his chair, smile on his face. You’re locked onto the two of them, unable to shift your eyes- until you see the smile drop from Rafe’s face, his eyes gazing directly back into your own. Kendra turns, looking at what Rafe is looking at, and when she sees you, she smirks.

Like she’s proud.

“I won, bitch,” she mouths, and you finally unfreeze. A tear slips down your cheek and you’re mad you’re crying over a guy you’ve kissed once. Once. And he started it. That, somehow, makes it worse. You turn, setting a quick pace back down the hall. You hear the door open behind you, barely, but nothing else when your ears are ringing this loud.

Why is it bothering you that much? Why?

You swing the front doors of the building open, out into the cold, which has started a spout of pelting rain, really adding to the way you feel. Your ears are blaring at you as you walk down the sidewalk, pulling your phone out of your bag and tapping the screen, ordering an Uber to pick you up at the end of the block.

A hand reaches for you, grasping your arm and spinning you. It’s Rafe, to your displeasure, saying something to you. His mouth is moving, but you’re not hearing him.

“Will you just stop? It’s not what it looks like,” you make out and you scoff, ripping your arm from his grasp. You shrug, ignoring the way you want to cry, trying to act indifferent. You should have known better.

The ringing subsides as you continue to walk down the sidewalk, hearing Rafe’s footsteps behind you, his voice sounding like background noise. You turn.

“I’m not bothered about what you’re got to say, to be honest. You can go,” you say, turning around again. You can see your Uber from where you are and you speed up a little, hoping to make it to the car before you’re completely soaked.

“Look- let me explain, please,” he all but begs, and you’re sure you can hear the desperation in his tone. You don’t give him the pleasure of seeing your face crumple, wanting to give in.

“I don’t care Rafe. It’s not like we’re together, you can see who you want.” You reach your Uber and feel his fingers slide against your arm, leaving a tingle- but you’re too quick, opening the door and sliding inside the backseat, telling the driver you’re ready to go.

When you’re pulling away, you look over your shoulder out of the window to see him still stood in the rain, watching the car pull away.

You can’t believe you could have been so stupid. How could you have not seen? It should have been so obvious to you, so fucking obvious- but you were gullible, stupid. You let yourself believe tonight that he wanted you, and for the first time, you knew you wanted him too.

The Uber pulls up outside your estate and you thank the driver, using your card to get into the side gate as you walk around to your flat. With shaky hands, you open the door and are greeted by whiskers, who meows at you from the hallway table. You smile down at him, scratching between his ears.

“You’re the only guy who won’t let me down, huh?” He blinks up at you slowly as you sigh, giving him a final scratch before dropping your keys into the bowl and taking your heels off, padding down the hall.

Whiskers follows as you head into your bedroom, taking off your soaked clothes and wrapping yourself in a towel to dry off, finding some old clothes to change into.

You chuck your phone onto your bed, taking a seat on the edge. Your head falls into your hands, breathing deeply as the scene flashes through your mind again. And again. And again.

Even when you try to sleep, it plays. Kendra’s mocking words haunt you, even in deep sleep- and you wake up in the morning, feeling heavy. Despite the lack of good sleep, you get up, getting yourself ready for work.

You feed whiskers, wishing him a good day before leaving the house. You see a flash of red on your doorstep and you back up, pulling your key from the lock.

Red roses. A dozen, along with a box with a bow on the top. They’re wet, a card stuck in the top of the roses soggy as you pick them up and read the card.

All it says is sorry, but somehow, you know who they’re from- and it makes you wonder how he knows where you live. Or how he got in. You scoff, walking down your front path to the bin and chucking it all in, before unlocking your car and heading to work.

It’s a slow day in the coffee shop, despite it being a Saturday. You’re exhausted, messing up orders and just being overall clumsy. Lots of familiar faces come and go, and you hate seeing people you know when you’re at work.

You’re stood at the counter, drawing up some signs for some new treats when the bell above the door chimes.

“Welcome in, what can I get for you?” You ask, out of instinct, not looking up as you finish the last parts of the last sign.

“I’ll have a black coffee and your number, please,” you recognise the voice and flutter your eyes up, to see Tobey stood at the counter, smiling down at you. You blush, processing his order.

“Six dollars, please,” he plucks his wallet from his pocket and hands you a twenty, and you give him his change before making his coffee. When you hand it to him, he inspects the cup before looking back at you.

“My order is wrong,” he says, and you furrow your eyebrows, confused. “Oh? How so?”

He grins down at you. “I haven’t got your number yet.”

You roll your eyes, turning around to slot the sign into the baking tray with the right sweets. “Have a nice day, Tobey,” you sigh, picking the tray up and walking it over to the big display. You don’t hear the door bell again and glance over to see him watching you.

You observe him back. He’s not bad looking, dark brown hair falling in a neat fringe over his forehead, green eyes and a fairly sharp jaw. Today, he’s wearing some sweats and a hoodie, different from the jeans you remember last time.

You sigh, walking back to the counter and looking up at him expectantly. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah. Let me take you out,” he responds straight away, taking a sip of his coffee. He smiles, holding it out. “This is good, thank you.”

You’ll admit, this is a different side to him from what you saw in class that time. Yeah, he’s still as persistent, but he’s been nicer about it this time.

“I don’t know,” you begin, trailing off as you stare out of the window, images of last night flashing through your head again. It angers you, pisses you off, to even think about thinking about it.

“Cmon, just one? If you don’t like it, then fair enough. I’ll back off.” He tells you, running a hand through his hair. You weigh out your options, contemplating what could happen. And then you remember last night again.

“Okay, what the hell. I’ll give you my number and you can pick me up sometime.”

Note ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

Helloooooo 🫶🏻 sorry this took me so long I’ve been at work 😪 anyway, I’ve just watched the new Noah beck movie, Sidelined, and was wondering if any of you guys would be interested in me writing something for Rafe inspired by that? Love yas, let me know what you think 🥰

Check out a teaser for a new series here <3

Tags ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

4Everything

@dudenhaaa27 @outerbankspov @ayy1234567 @rxfecameronsslut @potter-head-phanatic @lilithblackkk @akobx @nina357 @percysley @kundaquarius @elyseesarchive @purplerose291 @saturneni @rafedaddy01 @cnnamongrl @blowbunny @hoelesslyt @rafesdoe @ilovefiction4lmen @supernaturalwriter @wh0re4drewstarkeu @fals3-g0d @unsaidjaelinrose

Just forbidden

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missarchive · 1 month ago

Text

american jesus³ ☆

spencer reid

part one part two part three part four

summary; The delicate veil of secrecy is torn, unraveling a truth neither were prepared to face.

A fleeting mistake reveals their intertwined worlds, forcing them to confront the forbidden desire that binds them. Love and restraint wage a quiet war, their connection teetering on the edge of discovery, threatening to unravel everything they’ve built.

cw; angst, spencer yells at the reader, age gap, sugar daddy/baby dynamics, big big feelings = big big argument, lots and lots of yearning, student/teacher relationship (ezra and aria who?) no smut in this part (i know, disappointing), you'll have to wait for part 4 ;)

an; as always, thank you for taking the time to read my work, i hope you all enjoy. please consider leaving feedback in the form of a comment or an ask if you did enjoy, i always love hearing from you <3

“Can’t believe how lucky I am,” Spencer murmurs, his voice low and steady, almost like he’s thinking out loud. He’s not saying anything groundbreaking, just a simple truth, but you can feel the sincerity in every word.

You’re lying next to him, the warmth of his body pressing gently against yours, the world outside his apartment fading away. There’s no rush, no urgency. It’s just you and Spencer, the quiet hum of the city muted by the walls of the apartment. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm, the touch both soothing and reassuring, like a silent promise.

You turn your head slightly to look at him, catching his gaze, and his eyes soften when they meet yours. “Lucky?” you ask, a small smile playing on your lips. “Why’s that?”

He shrugs, his expression relaxed, but there’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite place—something that makes your chest tighten in a good way. “I don’t know. You’re... everything. You just get me, you know? You always know when I’m overthinking or when I need a minute, and you’re there without making a big deal out of it.”

You chuckle softly, rolling onto your side to face him more fully. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of mind reader.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” he continues, his hand resting lightly on your hip now, fingers gently tracing along your skin. “You’re so... intuitive. So much more than I ever expected.”

You’re not sure why, but something about the way he says it makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world he could say that to. It feels real—genuine, even. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you say, your voice quieter now, the smile still lingering on your lips.

Spencer laughs softly, his fingers brushing over your hair. “I don’t know about that,” he says, though the affection in his voice is undeniable. “But I’m definitely glad you’re here. Glad it’s... us.”

“Me too,” you whisper back, settling a little closer to him, resting your head against his chest. It’s easy, this thing between you. Comfortable in a way that doesn’t need to be overanalysed or explained. You both know where you stand, and that’s enough.

He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I really like being with you. More than I can say.”

You close your eyes, letting the simple words wash over you, content in the quiet of the moment. The world outside can wait. Here, with him, everything feels just right.

So as you crossed the campus the next morning, your bag tucked tightly against your side like a fragile secret, you couldn’t help but think of him. The air was crisp, carrying the faint tang of autumn, and the hum of the campus buzzed around you. Laughter echoed from a nearby bench, the scrape of skateboard wheels over concrete punctuating the morning stillness. It was a world in motion, but for you, each step felt heavier, each breath tighter.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, jolting you from your spiralling thoughts. A welcome distraction. You stepped into the shadow of a quiet corner in the quad, your back leaning against the cool brick of a building as you pulled it out. The message preview glowed softly on the screen, taunting you with its simplicity. Just a few words, but enough to make your stomach twist. You hesitated, the pad of your thumb hovering over the notification, before swiping it open.

@ thefourthdoctor; Big day today, right? How's it going so far?

You smiled to yourself. He had a way of grounding you, even when the chaos of life seemed overwhelming. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you typed back quickly.

@ laceandliterature; Surviving so far. One more class. Supposedly the professor is a genius or something.

@ thefourthdoctor; Genius professors are overrated. Bet you'll end up teaching them something.

You let out a soft laugh, earning a curious glance from the student beside you. You put your phone away as the chatter in the room began to quiet. The door at the front of the classroom opened, and a tall, slightly disheveled man stepped in.

"Good afternoon," he began, his voice smooth and steady, carrying just enough authority to quiet the murmur of the room. "My name is Dr. Spencer Reid, and I’ll be your professor for this semester."

A cold shiver ran through you, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. For a moment, your brain refused to process them, to connect the dots. It was like a veil had dropped over the classroom, the world outside of him fading into a muffled blur. He was your Spencer—your secret, your late-night confidant, the person who had slowly crept into your thoughts, into your heart.

And now, as you looked up, there he was. Dr. Spencer Reid. The very thought of it made you freeze.

The world around you seemed to tilt, gravity losing its hold, as if the earth had somehow shifted beneath your feet. The air in the room thickened, and your pulse hammered in your ears. You could feel every eye in the room, but all you could focus on was him—on the way his gaze flickered over the crowd, on the moment he paused as if feeling your presence before his eyes locked onto yours.

It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be happening.

Recognition flashed in his eyes, swift and sharp like a lightning strike, followed by something darker—something that mirrored the panic rising in your chest. His steps faltered, a momentary loss of composure. For an agonizing second, he looked like he might trip over his own feet, his hand reaching instinctively to grip the edge of the podium, as though it were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His lips parted, as if he meant to speak, but the words didn’t come.

The room around you blurred, every sound drowned out by the rushing roar of your heart, by the sudden weight of the truth crashing down on you. Dr. Spencer Reid, the man you had been talking to for weeks, the one you had come to trust with pieces of yourself you’d never shared with anyone, was standing in front of you—your professor. The line between you had just dissolved into nothing, and the implications hit you all at once.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were filled with something raw and unsettled—confusion, maybe even disbelief, a look that mirrored the one you felt inside. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You were so close to something, to something more, to a feeling you’d been fighting to define, but now… now it all felt tainted. The connection you had with him was something that had blossomed in the quiet, the secrecy, and now it felt so exposed, so fragile, hanging on the edge of something you couldn’t control.

You watched him struggle to regain his composure. His face was flushed, his brow furrowed with tension, but there was something else beneath it—something deep, something that had been there all along, though you hadn’t dared to name it. The reality of the situation hit you with crushing force: the late-night conversations, the casual affection, the way he made you feel seen and heard… It had all been real. But so was this.

He opened his mouth again, but it wasn’t to speak to you—not directly. He cleared his throat, pulling himself together with shaky breath, and in that instant, you knew that everything had changed. He was no longer the man you had been texting, the one who had shared things with you that felt impossible to tell anyone else. No. Now, he was your professor, the person whose authority you were supposed to respect, the person who had the power to affect your future in ways you hadn’t even considered.

You tried to steady your racing thoughts, but the reality of what was happening, what had just happened, pressed down on you. This wasn’t just an awkward surprise. This was a violation of all the boundaries you thought you could keep between your personal life and the rest of the world. You felt your chest tighten as the dread crept in.

You had been so close. So close to something real, something that had started to feel like it could actually be more than just a fleeting connection. But now? Now, you were staring into the abyss of what could only be a mess. His eyes kept flicking to you, but he didn’t speak directly to you again. Instead, he turned his attention back to the class, clearing his throat one more time before continuing, his voice more composed but still carrying an undercurrent of something strained.

"...I’ll be teaching cognitive development this semester," he said, his tone firm but not quite steady. "It’s a challenging course, but I’m confident you’ll all be able to keep up."

His words felt hollow, detached, as though he were going through the motions, but every syllable felt like an echo of everything you could no longer ignore.

You stayed rooted in your seat, a cold heaviness settling over you, your heart racing, your mind reeling. The world had just shifted, and you weren’t sure how to catch your breath.

"Uh," he stammered, his voice betraying a crack of unsteadiness. "As I said, I’m Dr. Reid. I, uh, specialise in behavioural psychology and philosophy. If you need anything, my office hours are listed in the syllabus, which you should have received by email."

He spoke too quickly, the words tumbling out like they might shield him from the reality of the moment. His hands gripped the podium tightly, and though his eyes swept over the room, you could tell he was avoiding looking directly at you. His composure was a fragile thing, threatening to crumble with every second that passed.

Your stomach churned as the implications of this impossible situation sank in. The air in the room felt stifling now, too warm, too heavy. You were hyperaware of him—of the way he stood just a little too rigidly, the faint flush creeping up his neck, the way his voice had wavered when he said anything.

This was the man who had been your confidant, the one who made you feel seen in a way no one else had. And now, he was standing in front of you, holding a position of authority that made every shared moment, every word exchanged, a dangerous secret.

He risked another fleeting glance in your direction, his expression unreadable. The air between you felt charged, like the space before a storm, filled with things left unsaid and too many emotions packed into too little time.

Your mind raced, a tangled mess of shock, dread, and something heartbreakingly close to longing. How could this possibly work? Could it even work at all?

Spencer turned back to his papers, his shoulders tight as he forced himself to continue. But the damage was done. The moment had shattered the fragile wall between your two worlds, and now you were left to navigate the wreckage.

And now, he was standing here, just feet away, your professor.

You could still feel his eyes on you, even when he wasn’t looking directly your way. You knew he felt it too—the electricity, the undeniable tension.

As the class dragged on, each word Spencer spoke felt like it was coming from miles away. You couldn’t focus, couldn’t absorb anything except the overwhelming weight of the truth. Dr. Spencer Reid. The realization kept replaying in your mind like a broken record, the echo of it rattling your thoughts until everything else faded into white noise. You tried to look at him objectively, tried to see the professor in front of you, but all you saw was the man who had become your secret, your late-night refuge. The man who, just hours ago, you had felt yourself slipping closer to, only to have the ground ripped out from under you.

When the lecture finally ended, the final bell a dull thud in your chest, you stayed in your seat for a beat too long, uncertain. The others filed out, chattering and laughing, their voices lost to you as if you were underwater. You debated, internally torn between confronting him—demanding answers—or simply running the other way and never looking back.

But before you could decide, before you could move, you caught his eye. Just for a second. It was brief, fleeting, but in that shared glance, you saw it—the acknowledgment, the silent recognition that you were both trapped in the same web of confusion and unspoken desire. His gaze held something more: a question, a plea, a silent call for understanding. You weren’t sure which one it was, but you felt it.

Neither of you said a word, but the air between you grew thick with it, with everything you weren’t saying. It hung there, heavy and suffocating, the invisible barrier that now separated you. You wanted to speak, to ask him what this meant, to demand the answers that both of you seemed too afraid to say aloud. But you didn’t. And neither did he.

This was going to complicate everything.

The days after that first class passed in a blur. The initial shock had dulled, but it had left behind an uneasy tension, a strange sort of tightness in the air between you and Spencer. Something had shifted between you both, but neither of you knew how to handle it, how to navigate the mess of emotions and risks.

In lectures, Spencer kept his gaze trained firmly ahead, rarely letting it wander to your corner of the room. When he did glance in your direction, it was quick, as if he feared even that brief moment of connection might undo him. The smooth flow of his lecture, once so natural, now had a stutter to it when you raised your hand, your voice, anything. The usual rhythm was broken, disrupted by the constant awareness of each other. Every word you spoke seemed to have the weight of a thousand unspoken things behind it, like every sentence was a landmine that could blow everything apart.

Outside of class, things were no easier. The messages between you and Spencer, once frequent and filled with ease, had become painfully measured. You had both learned to carefully choose your words, as if a wrong one could expose everything—the feelings you were hiding, the longing you couldn’t keep at bay, the dangers that now clung to every thought and touch. Every interaction felt like it was wrapped in a shroud of what ifs—what if someone found out? What if this all fell apart? What if it was too late?

But despite the careful distance, despite the impossible situation you found yourselves in, you couldn’t stay away. There was something magnetic between you, a pull that neither of you could resist. Each encounter, each brief exchange, only made it worse, only made you want him more.

And yet, you couldn’t have him. Not like this. Not with the risk of everything unraveling in an instant. But every part of you screamed that you couldn’t walk away, that you couldn’t let go of the thing that had begun to feel so real. And every part of him seemed to feel the same way.

There’s something almost sacred in the way he moves, the way he speaks, each word falling from his lips like it’s meant only for you, like you’re the only one who can truly hear it. You can't help but trace every line of his face, from the sharp curve of his jaw to the faint scrunch of his brow when he's lost in thought. His every gesture seems like poetry, something you could study for hours, even days.

You idolise him in a way that feels almost holy, a quiet reverence in the way you let your gaze linger on him, not just as your professor, but as someone untouchable. Every time his eyes sweep the room, you hold your breath, hoping, praying that maybe this time, they’ll land on you—just you. But they never do.

And still, you can’t stop. He’s your obsession, your quiet prayer whispered to the stars. You don’t just listen to him; you drink in every syllable, every inflection of his voice, as if his words are the only truth worth knowing. And in those moments, the world falls away, leaving only you and him—alone, even if you’re not.

It started in whispers, in moments so small they were almost imperceptible. A lingering glance after class that held for just a second too long. The way his fingers brushed yours when he handed back a graded paper, the touch fleeting but electric. You told yourself these gestures didn’t matter, that they were coincidences or figments of your imagination. But you knew better. You felt it in your chest, in the way your breath caught each time his eyes met yours and lingered.

Then one evening, as you packed up your notebook and pens after a lecture, his voice stopped you mid-motion.

“Y/N,” he said softly, careful not to draw the attention of the few students still milling about. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

You froze, your heart skipping, then nodding as you tried to keep your face neutral. His eyes darted around the room, scanning for onlookers, before he gestured toward the hallway.

The atmosphere in Spencer’s office was tense, a quiet unease pressing down on both of you. The faint hum of the overhead light mixed with the distant sounds of the campus outside, but neither did much to distract from the gravity of the conversation.

Spencer sat behind his desk, his fingers lightly drumming against the edge as he stared at the scattered papers in front of him. His gaze was unfocused, the weight of what he needed to say pulling at his normally composed demeanor. You leaned against the closed door, arms crossed, your posture guarded.

“This isn’t just risky,” he said after a long silence, his voice steady but low. He glanced up at you, his eyes serious. “If anyone finds out, it could ruin both of us.”

You straightened, arms dropping to your sides. “I know the risks, Spencer. But walking away isn’t an option for me, and I don’t think it is for you either.”

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet sigh. “It’s not. But that means we have to be careful—really careful. We need rules. Boundaries. Something to protect us.”

You stepped closer to his desk, pulling a chair to sit across from him. “Okay,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Let’s figure it out. What’s non-negotiable?”

He hesitated, his fingers lacing together as he thought. “First, no public displays of affection. Not even subtle things. On campus, we have to act like nothing’s going on. No lingering looks, no casual touches—nothing.”

“Agreed,” you said, though the thought of keeping that distance stung. “We can’t give anyone a reason to suspect us.”

“And no communication about us through email or official channels,” he added. “If we need to talk, it has to be in person or through something secure.”

You nodded. “There are private apps we could use, encrypted ones. Only for emergencies, though. No casual texting.”

The practicality of it all settled over you both, the careful parameters of what you could and couldn’t do drawing a stark line around the relationship.

Spencer looked at you, his expression softer now, though no less serious. “If at any point this feels like too much—if it starts to put pressure on your life or your future—you have to tell me. I don’t want you to feel trapped in this.”

You met his gaze, holding it firmly. “That goes both ways. If you start to feel like this is putting your career in jeopardy, you need to tell me.”

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Deal.”

The conversation felt clinical, like drawing up a contract, but it was necessary. The risks weren’t hypothetical—they were real, and you both knew what was at stake.

“Do you think this will work?” you asked after a pause, your voice quieter now.

Spencer didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk as he looked at you. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I know I’m willing to try. For you.”

His honesty grounded you, cutting through the uncertainty. “Then we’ll make it work,” you said simply.

You found ways to navigate the tightrope of your relationship, though every step felt like it could be the one that sent you both tumbling into ruin.

You started meeting in places where no one would recognise you. A quiet café on the outskirts of town. A secluded bench in the park. The conversations were tentative at first, but the connection between you refused to fade.

One night, as the rain pattered softly against the windows of his apartment, you found yourself curled up on his couch, your head resting on his shoulder.

“You know this is insane, right,” he muttered, though his arm tightened around you.

“Probably,” you admitted, tilting your head to look up at him. “But doesn’t it feel worth it?”

His gaze lingered on yours, conflicted but warm. “It does,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. “And that’s what scares me.”

The line between you and Spencer was razor-thin, a fragile, trembling thread neither of you dared to define. It felt like standing on the edge of a precipice, the dizzying height both thrilling and terrifying. You both knew the fall was inevitable, yet neither of you could step away. Instead, you lingered there, savouring the tension in those fleeting moments before gravity claimed you.

One late afternoon, as the sun dipped low and painted the campus in gold and shadow, you found yourself outside his office door. The brass plaque bearing his name gleamed faintly, a stark reminder of the boundaries you were about to cross. Your pulse quickened as you raised a hand and knocked softly, the sound barely louder than your breath.

“Come in,” he called, his voice muffled, distracted.

You slipped inside, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. Spencer sat hunched over his desk, papers sprawled across its surface like a chaotic map of his thoughts. His tie hung loose around his neck, and his hair fell untamed over his forehead, catching the fading light.

When he looked up and saw you, the tired lines of his face softened. His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, one that chased away some of the tension in his shoulders. “You’re here,” he said, his voice warmer now, but still tinged with a nervous edge. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” you admitted, stepping closer. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

He stood slowly, his movements hesitant as though torn between his delight at seeing you and the weight of the risks that lingered between you. “I’ve been thinking about you too,” he confessed, his hand moving to the back of his neck. “But this... it’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” you replied, your voice steady but gentle.

He shook his head with a quiet laugh, though it lacked humor. “You make it sound so simple.” His gaze dropped to the floor before returning to you, his expression earnest. “I’m glad you’re here—I always am—but... we have to be careful.”

“I know,” you said, your tone softer now. “But I needed to see you.”

He exhaled, taking a step toward you, the space between you narrowing. “This is dangerous,” he said, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed the firmness of his words. “For both of us. You understand that, right?”

“Yes,” you replied, your gaze locking with his. “I understand. But that doesn’t change how I feel.”

The honesty of your words hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed. Spencer’s breath hitched, and he hesitated for a moment before closing the remaining distance between you.

His hands came to rest gently on your waist, his touch light but steady, as if testing the limits of how close he could let himself be. “You make it impossible to think straight,” he murmured, a faint, self-deprecating smile on his lips.

“Then don’t think,” you whispered, your hand rising to cup his face. Your thumb brushed against the stubble along his jaw, the touch grounding. “Just let yourself feel, Spencer.”

His resolve faltered, and after a brief, wavering pause, he gave in. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and urgent, as though trying to convey everything he couldn’t say aloud.

When you pulled back, your breaths mingled in the space between you, your foreheads resting together. His hands tightened slightly on your waist, reluctant to let you go.

“This is reckless,” he murmured, though his tone lacked any real conviction.

“Then tell me to leave,” you said softly, challenging him with your eyes. “If you really believe this is a mistake, say it, and I will.”

Spencer’s silence stretched, his gaze searching yours for an answer he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Then, instead of pushing you away, he leaned in, capturing your lips in another kiss—slower this time, more deliberate.

In that moment, the rest of the world faded away. It didn’t matter that this was risky or complicated. All that mattered was the way his arms felt around you, and the way he whispered your name like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

But even as you clung to him, the weight of reality loomed just beyond the door. You both knew the balance wouldn’t hold forever. Every stolen moment brought you closer to the edge, but neither of you was ready to let go. Not yet.

The weeks that followed were nothing short of surreal, a delicate haze of stolen moments and whispered confessions that felt like they existed outside of time. For a brief, golden sliver of your lives, the rest of the world melted away. The tension and danger that had once defined your relationship softened, and in its place grew something that felt achingly close to normal—a fleeting illusion of safety in a house of cards.

During the day, Spencer was every bit the professor. His lectures were sharp, his insights unmatched, and his demeanour coolly professional. He kept his distance, his gaze skimming over you with the same neutrality he granted every student. But in the evenings, when the classroom emptied and the cloak of twilight fell over the city, those carefully maintained facades slipped away.

You found solace in the quiet intimacy of those stolen hours, the shared secret between you and Spencer feeling like a delicate, shimmering bubble that shielded you from the outside world—if only for a little while. His apartment, modest and unassuming, became your sanctuary. Under the cover of darkness, you would arrive, greeted by the soft, golden glow of a desk lamp that bathed the room in warmth. The light cast long, flickering shadows across the walls, giving the space an almost dreamlike quality.

He’d sit at his desk, his slender fingers skimming over pages of handwritten notes or flipping through the well-worn pages of a book. Papers were scattered in controlled chaos before him, but his focus would inevitably drift to you. Meanwhile, you lounged on his worn, olive-green couch, the fabric soft from years of use, a book resting in your hands. The faint scent of old paper mingled with the subtle aroma of his cologne, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

One evening, the air felt particularly still, broken only by the soft scratch of his pen against paper and the occasional rustle of pages as you turned them. The tension between you wasn’t heavy—it was something quieter, more tender, like the gentle pull of a tide.

“I’m starting to think you’re only here to distract me,” he teased, his voice breaking the silence. His eyes flicked up from his notes, catching yours across the room. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his expression a perfect blend of amusement and affection.

You looked up from your book, tilting your head with a playful grin. “Maybe I am,” you replied, your tone light but laced with an unmistakable warmth. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

He leaned back in his chair, the smirk softening into something more vulnerable, more honest. “I don’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, carrying a sincerity that made your chest tighten. His gaze lingered on you, filled with a kind of unspoken gratitude, as though you were the one thing anchoring him amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

The moment stretched between you, delicate and unbroken, like the fragile stillness before a storm. In that space, with only the golden lamplight and the quiet hum of shared presence, the world outside faded away.

Some nights, you’d find yourselves in his small, modest kitchen, an intimate space that seemed to wrap around you like a cocoon. The countertops were cluttered with mismatched utensils and a few carefully chosen cookbooks, their spines cracked from frequent use. The narrow layout forced you close, your movements effortlessly weaving around each other, as though this was a dance you’d been perfecting for years.

You’d stand at the counter, chopping vegetables with a focus that was occasionally interrupted by his amused glances. Meanwhile, he’d hover over the stove, stirring something fragrant and humming softly under his breath. The warm, savoury scent of simmering herbs and spices filled the air, mingling with the faint crackle of oil in the pan.

“Reid, you’re a genius, not a chef,” you teased, pausing to nudge him gently with your elbow. The touch was casual, yet the closeness sent a subtle thrill through you.

Without missing a beat, he glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “I think genius qualifies me for multitasking,” he retorted, his tone light and laced with dry humor.

The way he spoke, so earnest yet teasing, made you laugh—an easy, carefree sound that filled the small space. His smile widened at the sound, the fondness in his expression unmistakable. He turned back to the stove, stirring the pot with careful precision, as though the act of cooking together was as much about the process as the meal itself.

Occasionally, his arm would brush against yours, the fleeting contact as natural as it was electric. He’d reach over you to grab a spice jar, murmuring an absent “Excuse me,” though his hand would linger just a moment too long against yours.

He told you stories about the BAU, his voice animated as he recounted Morgan’s relentless pranks or Garcia’s exuberance. You’d laugh until tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, your sides aching from the joy of it.

“This feels too good to be true,” you murmured one night, leaning against the counter as you watched him stir a pot of pasta.

“It does,” he replied, glancing at you with a small, almost shy smile that made your chest tighten. “But I don’t want to think about that right now. I just want to enjoy this.”

And you did. You savoured the moments as though they might slip through your fingers at any moment. But beneath the surface, there was always a quiet awareness—a faint, unspoken dread. You both knew this fragile peace couldn’t last forever. The bubble you lived in was too perfect, too delicate, and the outside world was never far away.

The nights were the best, the moments you cherished most. Wrapped in his arms, the world outside ceased to exist. Time itself seemed to slow down, fading into the background as everything else fell away. The warmth of his skin against yours was enough to make the chaos of the day disappear. He’d trace lazy patterns across your back or along your arms, the soft rhythm of his touch sending a sense of peace through you, grounding you in the present moment. His voice would hum softly, a low murmur that carried the oddest mix of comfort and distraction. He’d recite obscure facts with the same earnestness he applied to everything else, his words a strange lullaby that somehow felt both educational and intimate.

“Did you know that octopuses have three hearts?” he said one evening, his body pressed close to yours, limbs tangled together like the quietest dance. His voice was warm, the amusement in it making your pulse quicken slightly.

You laughed softly, feeling the slight vibration of his chest against your cheek. You buried your face against his skin, closing your eyes for a moment to soak in the sense of peace that only seemed to exist here, with him. “And here I thought you didn’t have one at all,” you teased, a playful smirk pulling at your lips.

His fingers brushed against your cheek, a soft, almost reverent touch that stilled your teasing. His expression shifted, becoming something quieter, something that caught you off guard. The warmth of his breath against your skin softened, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade.

“I do,” he whispered, the words a soft confession, barely audible but filled with weight. “And it’s yours.”

The words hung in the air, more potent than anything he had said before. The way he said them, so sure, so vulnerable, made your heart skip a beat. You wanted to respond, but the truth was—there was nothing to say. The vulnerability in his voice, the sincerity in his touch, said everything you needed to know.

The bubble burst on an otherwise ordinary evening. You’d fallen into an easy rhythm with Spencer, your shared secret giving you a sense of intimacy that felt almost unbreakable. But the thing about bubbles is that they’re fragile, no matter how much you want them to last.

It started with a message.

Spencer had been quiet all day, his usual goodnight text conspicuously absent the night before. When you finally worked up the courage to check your phone, there it was.

@ thefourthdoctor; We need to talk. Can you come over?

Your heart sank as you read the words. “We need to talk” was never a good sign.

The walk to his apartment felt longer than usual, your mind racing with all the possibilities of what he might say. By the time you arrived, your hands were trembling as you knocked on the door.

He opened it quickly, stepping aside to let you in without a word. His expression was tense, his usually warm eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite place.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice barely steady.

He closed the door, running a hand through his hair. “Something happened,” he said, his tone clipped.

The weight of his words settled heavily in your chest. “What do you mean? Did someone—”

“Someone knows,” he interrupted, his voice sharp. “Or at least, someone suspects.”

You blinked, your stomach twisting. “How? Who?”

“I don’t know who,” he said, pacing the small living room. “But today, a coworker asked me why I’ve been acting distracted. He didn’t say anything outright, but I could tell he’s suspicious. And if he’s suspicious, it’s only a matter of time before someone else starts asking questions.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “What did you say to him?”

“I brushed it off,” he said, his voice strained. “But this isn’t just about the team. If the school finds out…” He trailed off, his hands clenched into fists.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

“So, what are you saying?” you finally asked, your voice trembling.

He stopped pacing, his eyes locking onto yours. “I’m saying we need to stop this. Whatever this is, it’s not worth the risk.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Not worth the risk?” you repeated, your voice rising. “Is that all this is to you? A risk?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, but the damage was done.

“Then what did you mean, Spencer?” you demanded, your voice cracking. “Because it sounds a lot like you’re saying I’m not worth it.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, his silence louder than any words he could have said.

“Unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head. “I thought—” Your voice broke, and you had to swallow hard before continuing. “I thought this meant something to you.”

“It does,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You mean something to me. But this—us—it’s reckless. It’s dangerous. And if we keep going, we’re both going to get hurt.”

“So, what? You’re just giving up?” you asked, tears stinging your eyes. “You’re walking away because it’s easier than fighting for me?”

“I’m trying to protect you!” he snapped, his voice louder than you’d ever heard it.

“Protect me from what?” you shot back. “From caring about you? From wanting to be with you?”

“From yourself!” he yelled, his words cutting through the air like a knife. “You don’t think things through! You’re impulsive and immature, and you don’t understand the consequences of your actions!”

The room went still, his words hanging heavy between you.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your chest heaving as the weight of his words crushed you. “Is that what you really think of me?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

His face softened for a split second, regret flashing in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough.

“Maybe we should’ve never started this,” he said quietly, the words like a final blow.

You felt something inside you shatter. Without another word, you turned and walked to the door, your movements mechanical as you grabbed your coat.

"I'll write you a check, Spencer," you spat, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. "You can have every cent back, every single dollar you ever gave me. I don’t want it anymore—I don’t want any of it. Not the money, not the memories, not you.”

“Wait,” he called, his voice desperate now. But you didn’t stop.

As the door closed behind you, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the hallway as you walked away.

This time, you didn’t look back.

Spencer stood frozen in the middle of his living room, staring at the door you had just slammed shut. The silence in the apartment was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

He felt hollow, like the argument had carved out a piece of him and taken it with you when you left. His chest ached, and his hands hung uselessly at his sides, still trembling from the heat of the fight.

Anger flickered in him—not at you, but at himself. The words he’d thrown at you echoed in his mind, sharp and bitter. Impulsive. Immature. Reckless. He had said them to push you away, to make you understand the gravity of the situation. But now they tasted like poison, regret seeping into every corner of his mind.

What have I done?

Spencer ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. He sank onto the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. His mind replayed the look on your face when he had yelled at you—the way your eyes had glistened with unshed tears, the tremble in your voice when you asked if that was what he really thought of you.

He didn’t mean it. Not any of it.

The truth was, you weren’t reckless. You weren’t immature. You were brave in a way he couldn’t comprehend, willing to take risks for what you wanted, for what you believed in. And Spencer admired you for it, even if he couldn’t admit it aloud.

But admiration wasn’t enough to protect you.

That was what haunted him the most. He had been terrified—not of you, but of what your relationship meant, of the potential fallout, the consequences that could ruin both your lives. He thought pushing you away was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. But now, sitting alone in the empty apartment, all he felt was loss.

Spencer’s throat tightened as he leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. He wanted to call you, to apologize, to take it all back. But the rational part of him held him back. You were right to leave, he thought bitterly. I’m no good for you.

Still, the thought of never seeing you again, never hearing your laugh or feeling the warmth of your touch, was unbearable.

The apartment felt colder, emptier, without you in it. Spencer closed his eyes, his heart heavy with the weight of everything he had said and everything he hadn’t.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt utterly, devastatingly alone.

You got me red, white, and blue

Pledging my allegiance to you

Tell me you believe in me too

next part

#missarchive #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #bau x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds

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aajjks · 2 years ago

Text

Teachers pet (m)

synopsis: forbidden is always irresistible.

pairing: yändêrê stüdënt x fëm!tëächër rëädër.

warnings: söft yändērē, sïmp bëhävïöür, öbsëssîvë thoughts, öbsëssïön, dïrty thöüghts, tëächêr x stüdënt, förbïddën rômãncë. ägë dïffërënce.

note. my second oc is here, send him asks, talk to him, ask me questions about him, I like him he’s sexy 😵‍💫

yandere!student who has the biggest crush on you.

You who are his teacher, so much older than him.

Yandere!student who only excels at your classes, trying his best to get good grades so he can impress you.

Yandere!student who feels like he will actually cum when you praise him, or call him a good boy.

Yandere!student who hates it when you praise his fellows, he hates it, it makes his skin itch, he wants to kill anyone who gets your praise other than him.

Yandere!student who is rude to his other teachers, he can’t focus on their lectures, all he thinks about is you you you.

Yandere!student who is so shy around you, who puts in so much effort into his appearance for your sake, who loves to act like a good boy, so you can see just how good he can be.

Yandere!student who is always early to your class, who always makes sure to sit right infront of you so you can look at him.

Yandere!student who couldn’t help but cry from the relief when he got to know that you were divorced and currently single.

Yandere!student who doesn’t hesitate to beat up the creeps in your class that sexualise you, oh no, he’s going to kill them, you are not an object or a piece of meat to be ogled at.

Yandere!student who purposely gets detention just so he can look at you for hours and fantasise about his desires,

Yandere!student who finds your children so adorable, who makes sure to slip in a few compliments for them to charm you.

Yandere!student who wants you so bad, but he knows you won’t ever give him a chance.

yandere!student who won’t stop until you’re his. Because he always gets what he wants.

“Christian?”

he can hear someone call out his name, yet he doesn’t reply, he’s busy looking at you, you’re so beautiful with your glasses, that cherry shade of lipstick on your lips is driving him insane.

How can someone look so hot while teaching, he will have to ask you that.

“Christian?!!?” Oh he’s getting pissed now.

“WHAT?!!?” The blue eyed male stands up, chewing on his metal tongue piercing as he glares his icy eyes into the girls face, Christian doesn’t realise the attention of the whole class on him,

Until you call his name out.

“Christian Dias? Is everything alright?”

His eyes almost roll back the way you call out his name, you say it with so much elegance it makes him want to scream. “M-Ms YN… she keeps talking to me, can you please change my seat?”’

“Umm sure. But not now, the period is almost over so tomorrow, now focus.”

He can’t argue with you.

“Okay.”

“And see me after class.”

His eyes widen with surprise, excitement starts to bubble inside his chest. He gives you a nice dimpled smile. “Sure? Anything you want, ms YN!”

#yandere oc #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere smut #yandere boy #yandere male #soft yandere #smut #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere student #yandere x reader #oc smut #oc x reader #male oc #yandere male x reader #delusional yandere #forbidden romance #student x teacher

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satorusugurugurl · 11 months ago

Note

If this request makes you uncomfortable or isn’t something you want to write, I apologize and please ignore my request!

Heyy! I was wondering if I could request a satoru x reader x Suguru smut? With like, some bdsm mixed in yk. Tying reader up, satoru is a tease, and likes to make her squirm and ask questions he know she can’t answer because Suguru is fucking her throat. But Suguru is mean. Mean and tougher than satoru. He tells satoru to stop being so gentle with you, that not only do you deserve rough treatment but you like it. And satoru listens to him, of course. I just want them to run through me like a train😞

Also same mean geto anon (again lol) I’m gonna just sign off w an emoji now :3 -🍭

Hi Anon!

This isn't my cup of tea, it's my FUCKING jam!!

Summary: Gojo and Geto had been on a two-week-long mission, which hadn't gone as smoothly as Suguru wanted. He was pent-up and frustrated. So, of course, Gojo called you to warn you it might not be a good idea to come over. You, of course, did not heed his warning. The second you get home, you realize that you were screwed.

Word Count: 3,706

Warnings: BDSM, rough sex, oral sex, so much sex, degradation, teasing, the smuttiest of smut

A/N: Good God, Satoru x Reader x Suguru is my weakness!! I put my whole heart into this. Geto Suguru, teacher AU, is my kryptonite!

Part Two

She Likes it Like That

“Y/N babe,” Gojo said in a hushed whisper, “you probably shouldn't come home tonight.”

You cocked an eyebrow, looking away from the first year's training. “I'm sorry, did you just tell me not to come home. . .to our apartment?” The world ‘our’ came out like acid.

Gojo sighed overdramatically. “Don't say it like that. I'm trying to save you! Suguru is in such a bad mood.” You listened to him walking around. “I sighed out loud when I noticed the last of my mochi was gone. Fuck you for that, by the way, and do you know what he said to me?” You pinched at the bridge of your nose, waiting for the rant to continue. “He told me to shut the fuck up! For sighing!”

“What did you do to piss him off? Oh, and just an FYI, I bought you more mochi, asshole.”

“Oh—” silence, “thank you-I’m sorry, please don't return it.”

“Satoru! Forget about the mochi. What happened to Sugu?”

The mission your partners were sent on did not go as planned. Their hotel had flooded; it was not like they had time to consider sleeping. The higher-ups sent them to an abandoned mountainside village full of cursed spirits. Poor Suguru had to swallow dozens for nearly two weeks. Gojo had enough; he couldn't stand the pained expression on his face as he gagged the last spirit down. So he decided to Hollow-Purpled the entire village.

The second they got back, the higher-ups scolded the hell out of them. Chastising them, complaining that they didn't do a good enough job. After all their hard work, the time they spent away from home, from you. Those bastards dared to complain about their hard work. It sent Suguru into a terrible mood, one that was bound to end with either a fight or someone getting fucked into the mattress.

One thing about Suguru was that when he was pissy, things felt out of his control. He needed to take control back. Which meant he wanted to have sex. He would be rough, really rough, tying either you or Satoru up, not letting you go until he had calmed down. Or if one of you was fucked too stupid to continue, his eyes focused on the other that wasn't tied up.

“So please, just stay with Ieiri tonight. I'm going to lock myself in my room. Last time he was this pissed off, the both of us were so sore we couldn't move.”

“Ugh, fuckin’ whatever.” This whole situation wasn't fair. You hated how your boyfriends were mistreated.

“Yeah, just stay the—oh, hi Suguru.” There was a shuffling in the background. “No, I wasn't talking shit.” Satoru nervously laughed. “Look, Sugu—no, put down the rope—”

“Toru?” Panic for your boyfriend sank into your stomach.

“Hey! Wait a second—Sugu—”

Before any other indication of what was happening came through the receiver, the other line cut off. So you quickly yelled to the students you had to leave and took off. By the time you made it, you were breathless from running and realized that in your panic, you left your keys at work.

You picked up the spare key hidden under the doormat. Just as you were about to unlock the door, it flew open. You slowly blinked, looking up at a very irritated Suguru. The man radiated gloom and tension. He was in his sweatpants, and his hair was tied in a messy bun, and, dear God, he looked pent up.

“Why the fuck are you using the spare key?”

“I-I uh—”

“Ooooh~ there she is~!” a hand gently rested against Suguru’s shoulder as Satoru peered down at you from behind your dark-haired boyfriend. “There's our girl!”

It only took a moment to see that Satoru mirrored Suguru’s frustration and anger. Oh fuck. The key fell from your hand as you took a step back. Suguru was demanding and rough when he was pent up. Satoru, on the other hand, was a tease. He liked pushing you, making you cry. Both of them being in a pissy mood simultaneously, this was a nightmare for you.

“Y-You, I thought you were in trouble!”

“Oh yeah, no.” Suguru’s soured face slowly twisted into a smirk as Satoru licked his lip. “But you~?” Suguru’s hand darted out, grabbing you by the front of your shirt, preventing you from moving further back. “You're royally fucked.” Before you even had a chance to respond, Suguru and Satoru grabbed you, yanking you inside.

“Awe~” Satoru hummed as he trailed his kiss up the bare thighs he lay between. “Look at you~ trying to clamp your thighs shut.” Gojo’s fingers were buried deep inside of you. Finger fucking you to the edge of yet another orgasm he would deny. “But you can't, can you~? Suguru’s got you all tied to the bed, spread out for us to use you.” A muffled moan escaped you. “Huh? What was that princess? You gotta use your big girl words.” Satoru tilted his head, cupping his free hand around the back of his ear. “Oooh! That's right, you can't talk when getting your throat fucked.”

You gagged as Suguru's cock hit the back of your throat. He was quiet, his eyes shut in concentration. He looked so fucking hot, so focused on the feeling of your mouth. Sweat was beading on his forehead as he pulled in and out of your mouth, grunting softly as you hollowed your cheeks. But the more Satoru spoke, the more Suguru knitted his eyebrows.

“I bet you want me to stuff your pussy, too, don't you~? You want to be spit-roasted between your two boyfriends?” Your pussy twitched at his words. “Oooh~!! Your cunt just twitched. Is that what our sweet girl wants—”

“Satoru,” Suguru snarled, “shut the fuck up.”

“Well, excuse the fuck out of me. Y/N likes it when I tease her.”

Suguru tsked, pulling his thick cock out of your mouth. You gasped and coughed, spit and precum coating your chin. Between your pants and the gasps for air, Suguru went to what you thought would be a head pat. Instead, his fingers tangled in your air with a hard yank, pulling you up to look down at Satoru. His face was flushed, cerulean eyes wide as he looked between his two partners.

“Look at the fucking slutty face she's making.” The grip on your hair tightened. “You think she looks like this because of your pitiful teasing?” A shaky moan escaped you as he tightened his grip harder. “No, she looks like this because this little slut likes it rough.”

Fuck, you wanted more, to run your hands over Suguru’s arms, to grip his cock, urging him to keep fucking your throat. You were desperate to trap Satoru's head firmly between your thighs, forcing him to kiss and lick your clit. Instead, you weakly tugged at the purple restraints tied to both your wrists and ankles. Suguru had set up the rigging underneath the mattress, making it impossible for you to move. Meaning if you wanted his cock back in your mouth or Satoru’s tongue inside of you, you had to wait for them.

What made it more frustrating was the fact that you were completely bare. Not allowing you to hide the way your body reacted to Suguru’s dirty words. He was telling the truth. And the truth was behind your body's reactions. Gojo could see it in the way your tight entrance clenched around his fingers. He could feel your pussy drip around him, your wetness running down his knuckles. Suguru was right; you did like it; no, like wasn't the right word.

You fucking loved it.

Suguru could see the wheels turning in Satoru’s head as his eyes glittered with lust and excitement. “Satoru~ do you finally see it?~” The way Suguru purred his name had Satoru’s cock throbbing. “You see why she came home, even though she knew she’d get fucked?”

“Yeah, yeah, she's a fucking slut.”

“Yeah, she is.” A sharp tug on your head made you yelp. Suguru grinned, cocking an eyebrow at you. “You want it rough? Want me to fuck your throat so hard you cry, pretty girl?”

“Y-Yes, please.”

Gripping his cock at the base, Suguru slapped his thick meat against your cheek. “That's a good girl. Now open up.” slowly, you opened your mouth to him. Watching your tongue slip out had his tip angry, throbbing red. “Now,” he smeared the beading precum over your bottom lip, “say ah~.”

“Ahh~” The second that sound left your pretty mouth Suguru shoved his cock in your mouth. Your eyes stung as tears filled your eyes.

Satoru’s fingers had stopped their slow movements inside of you. His mouth was dry as he gulped. Suguru had been rough before, but this was a whole new level. His thick fingers wrapped around your Y/H/C hair, holding your head in place. His hips pull back before slamming forward, his ass clenching with the force of each thrust. Blue eyes slowly trailed over to your face. Your eyes were red, big tears slowly down your cheeks, and your throat was fucked. Satoru swore he could see Suguru’s tip bulging in your slender neck.

This was fucking hot. Suguru’s bare back glittered in the low light of the bedroom, a sheen of sweat beaded over his toned muscles. It was like watching a god fuck a mortal Suguru radiated a dominating power as he watched their girlfriend choke and gag on his cock. Satoru’s cock was so hard it fucking hurt. Reaching down, he wrapped his hand around his throbbing shaft, jerking it slowly as he leaned down, kissing and nipping at your inner thighs.

The gentle kisses had you sighing contently around Suguru’s cock. Looking over his shoulder, Suguru sighed as he watched Satoru. His pink tongue was stuck out, gently teasing your damp folds. The sensation had you sighing around his dick, and that was not what he needed right this fucking second. Suguru wanted more; he needed it to relieve the tension in his shoulder. But that relief, the release he needed, wouldn’t happen, with Satoru teasing you like he loved to do.

“Satoru,” Suguru's voice was rough, “I just told you Y/N likes it rough.”

“Uh-huh~” Satoru’s voice was muffled as his face buried in your pussy, making you whine around the cock buried in your mouth.

“You’re not being rough enough.” Satoru pulled back, making you whine in protest. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you want to come down here and eat Y/N’s pussy while I get my dick sucked?”

“No.” The cocky smile that was beginning to form on Satoru’s face was suddenly gone as Suguru reached his free hand down, wrapping his fingers in soft white hair. “I want you to fucking eat her cunt out like you fucking hate her.” Your eyes rolled back as Satoru was slammed back down into your pussy. The moan that left his mouth vibrated just right against our clit, making you cry out. “Ah~ fuck yes.” Your cries vibrated around Suguru’s cock, just the way he wanted. “That’s it, Satoru, keep it up.”

“Mmmmph.” Finally, having a picture of how Suguru wanted him to act, Satoru found himself motivated. Again, it might be because his boyfriend was tugging and pulling at his sensitive hairline. Yeah, that was motivating him. Fuck you like he hated you, he could do that. He was just as pent-up as Suguru was.

Fingers slammed inside your pussy, fucking in and out of your tight hole with a force and speed that had you crying out in pleasure. Your moans felt so fucking good, and the more you opened your mouth to cry, the deeper Suguru fucked your throat. He hit the back over and over again, his hand pressing firmly against Satoru’s head, pushing him harder against your clit. The two of you moaned while your mouths were being used; the sounds of whimpers, squelches, and gagging were like a symphony to Suguru’s ears.

Out of all the ways for him to relieve his stress, this was by far his favorite.

“Hah—fuck keep that up, Satoru, bring her right to the edge, then stop. I want her cumming with both of us inside of her. Fucking her so rough she has to call out of work tomorrow and Friday.” The thought of that had you pulling on your restraints. “Oooh oh, you like that? You like knowing the two of us will make sure you can’t walk or talk tomorrow?” Your muffled moans were quickly molded into gags as Suguru roughly fucked your face. “Yeah, you fucking do, you nasty little slut.”

Your mind was spinning as you felt yourself climbing closer and closer to your orgasm. The room was so hot and reeked of sex. It was all you could do not to allow yourself to cum right then and there. Satoru could feel it, the way your little swollen clit throbbed against his tongue, how your walls clamped down on his fingers. He wanted to send you over the edge. He was close to following you as he fucked his hips helplessly into the mattress, wishing it was your wet pussy instead.

One orgasm wouldn’t hurt, would it? You had been so good to them, allowing the duo to drag you into the house, strip you in the entryway, and tie you to the bed. Plus, on top of all that, they had left you alone for two weeks. You had to rely on that stupid vibrator Suguru insisted on allowing you to keep. That stupid toy was nothing compared to his tongue. Which was probably why he was bringing you to a mind-blowing orgasm in under three minutes.

Yeah, he was going to let you cum.

Curling his fingers up into your g-spot, Satoru fucked you as fast as his wrist would allow. Suguru instantly knew what was happening. From the way your eyes shut to how loud you were moaning around him, you were seconds away from cumming. If he was in a better mood, he might have allowed it to happen. Unfortunately, he wasn’t done with you yet.

“Stop.” Suguru scolded, pulling Satoru away from your dripping sex.

Both you and Satoru made disapproving groans as your orgasm slowly faded out of sight. “Doesn’t she deserve a treat? She’s been so good!” Satoru whined, licking your juices off his lips.

“I agree. Y/N does deserve a reward. But you need to give it to her in the roughest way that you can.” Suguru pulled his cock out of your mouth, allowing you to catch your breath. “Look at it this way. We get to blow off the steam while we make up for making her play with herself for two weeks.”

“Huh?” Those words struck a different chord in Satoru, and his cock twitched.

“Y/N, sweetheart, how often would you say you played with yourself when we were gone.”

You swallowed at the air greedily. “I don’t know, seven, maybe eight times.” Both your boyfriends shuddered, hearing the hoarseness of your voice.

“And out of all of those times, did you cum as hard as you do with us.”

“Not at all. They were all baby orgasms.”

Suguru shut his eyes, nodding his head. “See, Satoru, not only does our little slut like us rough and demanding, but we have to make up for those eight little orgasms.” When the dark-haired man looked back at Satoru, he saw a flash of white before your scream of shock and please bounced off the walls.

Suguru’s eyes were slightly wide as his brain tried to catch up with what his eyes had just witnessed. What he saw was Satoru balls deep inside of you. His thrusts were sloppy and needy, and fuck you looked as stunned as Suguru. One second you had been empty, pussy craving a cock deep inside of it from the denied orgasm. In the blink of an eye, Satoru was fucking into you more brutal than he’d ever fucked you before.

“I fucking told you, that toy was nothing compared to us.” Satoru snarled against the crook of your neck, digging his teeth into the sensitive skin. “Fucking stupid toy, not pleasing my girl.”

“Oh my—fuck, holy fuck!” You cried out, mouth wide open. Giving Suguru the perfect opportunity to get back to fucking your throat. The bittersweet taste of pre-cum had your mouth watering. He returned to the brutal pace he was in several minutes again.

“She needs that Satoru. What if we get sent on another long mission? She’s just supposed to suffer?” The thought of that had Suguru tilting his head, bangs falling in front of his eye. “You know what, I think you might be on to something. If we take her toy away, then we’d have to fuck her even harder the next time we get home.”

Satoru’s teeth sank harder into your neck as the tip of his cock slammed almost too hard into your cervix, making you scream around Suguru. “Exactly. Let me use reversal red on it, Y/N, please, baby.” You started to shake your head in a desperate plea to let you keep it. But Suguru’s cock in your throat made it impossible to do so. “What was that? Oh, right, you have your mouth full.” His lips moved against your pulse as his fingers dug into your hips. “Guess we’ll just have to say the way your clamping down on my cock is a yes in our book.” Your eyes darted up to Suguru, who had bought you the toy, for help.

“Mhmm fuck, yeah, I’m pretty sure she just hummed an ‘uh-huh’ around my cock.”

You wanted to argue, to fight against this rash decision, but you felt so good it was almost impossible to care. You were screaming around Suguru’s cock. Tears streaming down your face, leaving behind trails of mascara. They were both being so mean and rough. God, it was so fucking good. Who cared about a clit sucker when your throat and pussy were being fucked into next week.

“She’s close.” Satoru cried out, his balls slapping against your ass. “Oh fuck she’s hugging my cock so tight I’m going to explode Suguru.”

With blurry eyes, you glanced up at Suguru. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes shut tight. “I know, oh fuck I know, I’m so close, Satoru, don’t fuckin’ stop, make her cum, make her cum so hard.” Both his hands grabbed your face fucking your throat roughly as Satoru cried out, his hand pressing roughly on your clit, rubbing it in fast circles.

That was all that you needed. You cried out, squirting all over Satoru’s crotch, abdomen, and the mattress. Your orgasm set a domino effect between your boyfriends. Suguru followed behind you, his body hunched over you, his hands gently squeezing your head as he filled your mouth full of his thick cum. You weakly tried swallowing all of it, but that was somewhat difficult as Satoru extended your orgasm.

His thumb continues to rub your clit until his face scrunch up, mouth open in a feral growl. Satoru's orgasm hit him like a punch in the gut. He fucked all three of you harder, closer to oblivion. The headboard slamming against the wall as the restraint dug into your wrists was the only thing grounding you to remain on Earth. Satoru didn’t let up on the rough thrusts until he felt his cum dripping around his cock onto the bed.

The throbbing pain in the back of your throat, deep inside of your pussy was all the confirmation you needed that your boyfriends had fulfilled their promise. Never in your life had you been fucked so roughly. But it was a pain that you warmly welcomed.

After coming down, Suguru was the first to move gently. The rough hands that had been holding you in a vice gently held you as he pulled his softening cock out of your mouth. “Lay down.” His gruff, gentle voice whispered as he helped rest you against a pillow.

“Oh fuck—“ Satoru lifted his head off your shoulder, “I haven’t cum that hard in a while.” He was so slow, pulling out of you, grimacing as you cried out. “Sorry, fuck I’m sorry, baby.”

You shut your eyes, listening to Satoru getting out of bed. You could hear water running in the bathroom as gentle fingers began undoing your restraints. “You did such a good job, Y/N,” Suguru whispered. “Such a good girl for us.” His praise had you humming happily as he made quick work of the rest of the ropes.

“Suguru, let’s order in, yeah?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

The next half hour was a blur of warm happiness. Satoru helped wash your body in a bubble bath before Suguru joined you, kneeling next to the tub, lovingly stroking your face and hair. After you were cleaned up, your hair brushed, and pajamas on. You crawled into your bed with fresh sheets and relaxed. Satoru and Suguru fluffed your pillows and brought you a cup of tea for your raw throat. When your dinner arrived, the three of you sat in bed together to eat as a B-grade horror movie played on the television.

After eating, Satoru left to throw out the take-out containers. “Mmm, thank you for letting us do all that,” Suguru said as he crawled into bed after his shower. “That mission, it was rough.”

“I’m always happy to help.” Your voice cracked, making Suguru frown. “Stop frowning,” you flicked his forehead. “I like it rough.”

The bed dipped, and Satoru wrapped his arms around your waist. “Y/N can handle it. She is dating the two strongest, after all.” Both you and Suguru scoffed, relaxing in the growing silence. “Oh, by the way, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You yawned, snuggling into Suguru’s chest as he turned the bedside lamp off.

“Did you bring home my mochi?”

In the dark of the room, you heard a thump and Satoru’s whine before Suguru pulled the three of you closer to him. “Satoru shut the fuck up about the mochi.”

1K notes · View notes

p0orbaby · 6 months ago

Text

We No Speak Italiano

summary: you’ll never miss a day of Duolingo again

warnings: are language barriers and miscommunication warnings?

a/n: based on this request ! also thank you to @onsomenewsht for inflating my ego and helping navigate italian !

word count: 2.1k

Alexia looks at you like you’ve just dropped the biggest bombshell in the history of bombshells. Her eyes are wide, mouth slightly agape, and she’s got that look, like she’s trying to figure out how to assemble a piece of IKEA furniture with no instructions and half the screws missing.

“Estoy embarazada,” you say again, because you’re pretty sure that’s the right way to tell her you’re mortified after spilling your entire glass of wine on her brand-new sofa.

Your high school Spanish teacher would be so proud.

But instead of the expected response, maybe a nervous laugh or string of expletives, Alexia gasps, and her hands fly to her mouth like she’s just heard the Virgin Mary is back for round two. Her eyes flick down to your stomach and back up to your face. The calculation going on behind her eyes is something like 2 + 2 = 5, but you have no idea why.

“I… Oh my God,” she says, her voice all wobbly, like she’s about to cry. “I didn’t… I mean, this is… Are you okay?” She’s speaking in slow, deliberate Spanish now, like you’re suddenly a toddler and not a grown-ass woman who just spilled wine.

You blink at her. “Sí?”

“Madre mía”

It starts with a breakfast that makes no sense.

You wake up to the smell of something cooking in the kitchen, which is odd because Alexia barely knows how to operate a toaster without supervision. You stumble out of bed, groggy, and follow the scent of food.

What you find in the kitchen is nothing short of alarming: Alexia, apron-clad and concentrating so hard that she’s actually sticking her tongue out a little, is stirring something in a pot while a blender whirs ominously next to her.

“Buenos días,” she sings out when she notices you standing in the doorway. She’s all smiles, too bright for this early in the morning, and you immediately get suspicious.

“What’s going on?” you ask, eyes narrowing as you take in the sight of an overfull fruit bowl, a plate stacked with multigrain toast, and what appears to be an entire carton of eggs scrambled and ready to be eaten.

“Sit, sit,” she insists, pulling out a chair for you like you’ve suddenly developed a bad back and need assistance. “I made breakfast”

“You… made breakfast,” you repeat, eyeing the smoothie she pours into a glass and slides over to you. It’s an unsettling green color, like pond scum, and you’re not sure it’s fit for human consumption.

“Sí. You need to start your day with lots of nutrients.” She’s practically bouncing on her toes, like a Labrador eager to please.

You blink at the smoothie, then back at her. “Since when did you learn how to use the Nutribullet?”

She doesn’t answer directly, just gives you an encouraging smile that feels a little too close to a grimace. “Drink up. It’s good for you”

You take a tentative sip, and it’s like drinking liquid grass mixed with what you can only hope is kale. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“No!” She’s almost offended, but there’s a hint of nervousness in her voice that you can’t quite place. “It’s full of vitamins. Good for… energy”

You stare at her, but she just stares back, eyes wide and almost… expectant.

“Okay,” you say slowly, deciding to let this weirdness slide, for now. Maybe she’s on a trendy new health kick. Or maybe it’s an early birthday surprise gone wrong. Either way, you down the smoothie in a few brave gulps, trying not to think about the fact that it tastes like lawn clippings.

Alexia beams at you when you finish, like you’ve just accomplished something monumental. “Bien, bien. Now, sit tight. I’ll get the rest”

She practically skips back to the stove, where she starts piling eggs and toast onto a plate. You don’t even bother asking why she’s suddenly turned into Martha Stewart; you’re too busy wondering if you’ve somehow walked into a parallel universe.

It’s only later, after you’ve forced down an absurd amount of scrambled eggs, that she starts talking about how “important it is to stay healthy” and how she’s “going to take care of everything from now on,” which sounds sweet but also vaguely threatening.

You brush it off, chalking it up to some kind of weird phase. After all, everyone gets weird sometimes, right?

By day two, you’re starting to suspect that something is seriously wrong.

It begins with a confrontation over laundry, specifically, the fact that you’re not allowed to do any. At all.

“I’ve got it,” Alexia says, practically wrestling the basket out of your hands when you attempt to head for the washing machine.

You try to grab it back, but she holds it over her head like some ridiculous game of keep-away. “What is with you?”

“You shouldn’t be lifting heavy things,” she says, so earnestly it makes your brain short-circuit for a second.

“It’s a basket of clothes,” you argue, “not a sack of bricks. And I lift heavier things at the gym every day”

She shakes her head, not budging. “No. Let me do it. Just relax”

You gape at her, watching as she carries the laundry to the washing machine like it’s a ticking time bomb. She’s being weirdly gentle, placing the clothes in like they might shatter if she drops them too hard.

Then there’s the vitamin situation. You’re sitting on the freshly cleaned sofa, flipping through channels, when Alexia plops down beside you with a clatter of bottles and packages.

“Take these,” she says, handing you an array of supplements that looks like it belongs on the shelf of a pharmacy. There are multivitamins, folic acid, omega-3s, and some other pill you can’t even pronounce.

“What is this?” You hold up the folic acid like it’s a foreign object. “I’m not trying to hatch an egg here”

“Just take them,” she insists, pushing the bottles toward you. “They’re good for you”

“I’m pretty sure the only thing these are good for is draining my will to live,” you mutter, but she gives you that look, the one that’s all big hazel eyes and soft smiles, and you end up taking them just to get her to stop hovering.

When you try to go for a run that afternoon, she practically tackles you at the door.

“Maybe you should rest,” she suggests, like she’s trying to steer a toddler away from a busy street. “You know, take it easy for a bit”

“Take it easy?” You raise an eyebrow. “I’m not 80. And since when do you care about rest days? You’re usually the one dragging me to the gym at 6 AM”

She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again like a fish gasping for air. “It’s important to be careful”

“Careful of what, exactly?”

She hesitates, and you catch a flicker of something in her expression, nervousness, maybe? Fear? Whatever it is, it’s weirding you out. “Just… you know, careful”

You’re about to argue, but she gives you a kiss on the forehead, all soft and sweet, and you end up staying in just to avoid making things even more bizarre.

By day three, you’re done. Absolutely, 100% done.

It starts with the breakfast smoothies, again. This time, it’s a vibrant pink concoction that tastes like liquid chalk mixed with berries, and you’re pretty sure it’s the same smoothie you saw in a TV ad for pregnancy supplements once.

When Alexia starts lecturing you on the importance of hydration, while handing you a liter of water with electrolytes, you decide it’s time to get to the bottom of this.

“Alexia,” you say, setting the water down with a definitive thud, “we need to talk”

She glances at you, clearly nervous, and you know you’ve hit the jackpot. “About what?”

“About why you’re acting like I’m a fragile little baby bird that needs to be protected from all the big, scary things in life,” you reply, crossing your arms.

Her face flushes, and she avoids your gaze, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I just-, I want to take care of you”

“I appreciate that,” you say, softening just a little, “but you’ve gone full-on helicopter mode. And it’s freaking me out”

She looks at you for a long moment, then sighs like she’s been carrying the weight of the world.

“You didn’t tell me,” she says, voice soft like she’s whispering state secrets. “How long? I mean… when did you find out?”

You stare at her, a mental Rolodex flipping through every interaction you’ve had over the last few days, searching for the moment when you apparently lost your mind. “Find out what?”

“That you’re…” She trails off, wide-eyed, and then whispers, like she’s on a soap opera, “Pregnant”

There’s a beat of silence. And then another one. You feel like someone just turned off the power in your brain. You’re pregnant? No, no, no. Last you checked, you were just really bad at pouring wine.

“Wait,” you finally say, holding up a hand to stop her from offering you yet another pillow or maybe a foot rub. “Pregnant?”

Alexia’s eyebrows are practically in her hairline. “You said you’re embarazada”

Oh. Oh. Oh no.

“Alexia,” you say slowly, enunciating like you’re the one explaining the IKEA instructions now. “I said I’m embarrassed. Not pregnant. Embarrassed. Mortified. Humiliated because I thought I ruined your sofa with a ten-euro bottle of red”

She looks like she’s buffering, trying to load what you just said. “Embarazada… means pregnant, in Spanish”

Ah, the joys of faux amis, false friends, words that sound like they should mean the same thing but are actually waiting to sabotage you like linguistic landmines. Your high school Spanish teacher can take a hike.

You wipe away a tear, trying to catch your breath. “Alexia… I told you I was embarrassed. Imbarazzato doesn’t mean pregnant in Italian, it means mortified. Humiliated. Just how I felt when I spilled that wine and thought I ruined your furniture”

“Wait,” Alexia says, her brow furrowing in that cute, confused way you’d normally find adorable if she weren’t in the middle of thinking you’re harbouring a tiny human in your uterus. “So you’re not…?”

“No!” You laugh, a little hysterically because, seriously, how did you get here? “I’m not pregnant. We’re both women. How would that even work? I mean, unless there’s something about human biology I missed in school, I’m pretty sure that’s not in the cards for us”

Her eyes widen as the realisation hits, and then she groans, burying her face in her hands. “Dios mío, I’m such an idiot”

You’re still laughing, but you manage to pat her knee reassuringly. “An adorable idiot, but yeah, kind of”

“Well, you did say ‘embarazada,’” she points out. “How was I supposed to know you just meant you were embarrassed?”

You shrug. “Maybe when I didn’t start eating pickles and ice cream? Or asking for your jersey for when the baby arrives?”

“Touché.” She’s still grinning, that big, beautiful smile that makes you forgive her for thinking you were about to drop a baby bomb on her. “So, you’re just embarrassed”

“Yes. Very. And I’m also very much not pregnant. I’m sorry for confusing you”

She sighs, exaggerated like she’s relieved, and you both start laughing again, the awkward tension from the past few days melting away. But there’s still a mischievous glint in her eye, one that makes you a little wary.

“What?” you ask, knowing full well you’re about to regret it.

“Well, since you’re not pregnant,” she says slowly, leaning closer with that flirty smirk you love and hate in equal measure, “how about we do something about that embarrassment?”

She wiggles her eyebrows, and you roll your eyes. “Oh, so now that I’m not a fragile incubator, you’re all over me?”

“Exactamente,” she says, pulling you into her lap with surprising ease, even for someone who regularly benches more than your body weight. “Besides, I have to make sure you’re really not pregnant”

“Alexia,” you say, trying to sound stern but failing miserably when she starts nuzzling your neck, “that’s not how this works, remember?”

She grins against your skin, pressing a teasing kiss to your collarbone. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” You push her back just enough to meet her eyes, raising an eyebrow. “But if you want to keep treating me like a queen, I’m not going to complain”

“Deal,” she says, her voice softening, her hand resting on your cheek. “But next time you’re embarrassed, can you please just say it in Italian, or English?”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Sure, but only if you promise not to freak out the next time I spill something”

“No promises,” she murmurs, pulling you closer, “but I’ll try”

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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liahaslosthermind · 2 months ago

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𝐒𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞

Summary: Azriel sits by himself, watching as she is surrounded by dancing children. Unbecoming of an Illyrian warrior, he just can’t gain the courage to speak to her. But when an intoxicated male walks up to her, looking for trouble, he might just have no choice but to make an introduction. A/N: This is a fic I wrote and posted about 3 years ago now. I decided that some of my older pieces (though I'm still proud of 15/16 year old me for writing) need a facelift, so here is part of that process. I did the same with Betrayal and have been so much happier writing for it, so I hope you enjoy this one too! The original request (from September of 2022!) is down below, but I didn’t really stick to the prompt much. Request: Well...how about something where Azriel sees the fae reader dancing in Velaris (like a Tangled sort of dance) and she catches his eye. Later on he sees her while he is taking Feyre around town. The fae woman is with a bunch of younglings because she is a teacher. She smiles at him and feyre then and his shadows just shoot out towards her but not to hurt, just to play with her. He is shocked when she is friendly with the shadows and he finds out that when they aren't with him, they play with her. Just something really cute about azriel falling for her as he moves on from mor.

It was unfair. It was absolutely unfair.

The infamous Spy Master of the Night Court, the formidable Shadowsinger, was currently pouting at his family’s now empty table at a Starfall Ball the High Lord and Lady were hosting. Maybe pouting wasn’t the right word, if anyone looked at him they would see no emotion on his face. His family might say he was brooding, but it was a little more pathetic than that. The last standing bachelor Bat Boy watched while the rest of his family, either with a date or already mated, danced with their partners. To be fair, the Ilyrian could easily find someone to dance with. While seemingly unapproachable unless one had a death wish, Azriel was still the most sought after man wherever he went, even before his friends had found their mates. But there was only one who he wanted to dance with, and she was currently partnered with about 8 small children.

It all had started one day at the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Needing supplies for Starfall decorations, Feyre had asked Azriel to join as another pair of arms to carry bags. She hadn’t really needed his help, but the High Lord and Lady had gotten into an argument about which flowers would look best as centerpieces. So, naturally, she thought asking the Shadowsinger to accompany her instead of her mate would piss Rhysand off. While Azriel hadn’t wanted to join in on the argument, he couldn’t deny a request to make his brother mad.

Azriel had been sitting outside of the cafe Feyre was currently trying to place a rather large order at when he first saw her. In a crowd of giggling Velaris children, she sat in a chair and animatedly read a story. Usually, the sight would upset the Spy Master, at least a little. Even after 500 years, Azriel never stopped feeling jealous when seeing children happily existing in their bubble of love and comfort. He always wondered what it would have been like for him, had his childhood been one with his mother and away from his father’s abuse. Away from that dark cell.

This time though, he found himself too enamored with the fae woman reading aloud to think about what was stolen from him. Her excitement, easily matching the children’s, and her smile and flushed cheeks made his heart skip.

From then on, Azriel often found an excuse to be in the area. Sometimes her classes remained inside, in which he would leave a few shadows to monitor, for safety reasons, of course. But when she took her class of preschool aged children elsewhere, or when she ran after school programs for various other ages, Azriel would find himself nearby. Although, it sounded bad when you put it like that. He wasn’t stalking her, he just… alright maybe he was a little. Maybe he was head over heels, maybe he was healing this inner child, it didn’t matter, because he would never do anything about it.

Back at the table, Azriel had been too caught up in the patheticness of his situation to notice a drunkard had come up to her. A familiar tug on his shadows and suddenly he watched as the man started to get handsy as the female tried to push him off. If that hadn’t been disgusting enough, the man also pushed a child that had tried to help her. Blood boiling, Azriel had only made it a few steps in to try and grab the pig when he was stopped in his tracks, watching as she landed a swift and powerful elbow to the male’s face, sending the creep stumbling back.

Huh.

He wouldn’t have guessed Velaris’ beloved preschool teacher would be able to take down a very large, drunken, adult male with such ease, but here she was.

Seeing as the situation was handled on her part, Azriel started to walk over to the man when his shadows started to tug at him again.

Deal with him later, Master. We will keep an eye on him, they sang.

Unsure of what they could have wanted Az to do in the moment other than deal with the asshole, he began to half heartedly fight their tugging. That was till he realized where they were trying to lead him, straight to the teacher. Immediately, Azriel stopped moving, desperately protesting the shadow's intervention.

She had immediately sent the kids back to their parents after her attacker had disappeared to who-cares-where. It had been a long and exciting night for her, from coming with friends to doing some overtime babysitting when she saw her students’ parents in need of a quick break to enjoy the holiday. She hated that the male had spoiled her mood, but she was determined to not let it spoil her night. Walking off the dance floor, she made plans to go home and settle down with a glass of wine and a book when something caught her foot, sending her straight into the arms of the Night Court’s very own Shadowsinger.

Azriel cursed his shadows as he realised far too late that if he wasn’t willing to go to the female, they were going to bring her to him. Purposefully tripping the poor girl just trying to leave the dancefloor, he had been lucky, or unlucky, enough to have caught her before she fell. Where had these reflexes been the rest of the night?

It took her a few moments to right herself before she looked up at her knight in shining armour. Finally registering who it had been, the gratitude on her tongue died and was replaced by apologies.

The change in attitude gave Azriel whiplash. How she could go from elbowing a man in the face with little remorse to becoming completely flustered after accidentally tripping into his arms was beyond Az’s comprehension at the moment. He was far too stuck on the fact that she was talking to him, nevermind that the only reason she was doing so was because his traitorous shadows had tripped her. He imagined his cheeks were just as red as her’s at the moment.

Cauldron help him.

She was blushing.

Because of him.

And he was blushing.

Because of her.

For the first time in a very long while, Azriel felt weak in the knees because of his feelings. Last time he had felt even somewhat close to such an emotion was with Mor, but that feeling had faded so long ago he forgot how intoxicating and horrifying it could be.

As she searched his face for any anger, all she saw was confusion, and that he seemed to be as flustered as she was.

“Um, hello?” she asked. After multiple apologies, she had asked if he was alright, to which no answer was given. She watched as it seemed to take a few moments for him to register her words.

“How did you do that?” He was all he replied.

“Trip into you? Well I kind of just walked over here and it happ-”

“No, take down that man. Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“Oh! well, just- you know, picked up any lessons I could get. Thought it would be better to know how to since I spend so much time teaching children.”

Azriel remained silent for a beat. Just kept staring as the song began to change into a slower one. Seeing as her usual company of children had dispersed, giggling while watching couples dance, he took the moment to finally ask the question weighing on his mind all night.

“Would you like to dance with me?”

He watched as she laughed, presumably catching the fear and anticipation in the Spy Master’s voice. Fortunitally, before he could get too into his head about the action, she stuck her hand out for him to grab. As he led her back to the floor, as they started to sway, it felt… different.

Like their bodies fit perfectly against one another, as if the two had done this many times before, as if they both belonged there, in each others’ arms.

Neither wanted to ever leave.

A/N part 2: The original story is about 700 words while this is double that, but if you are curious, I've linked the original post. It is... rough

#acotar x reader #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel fluff #azriel x you

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m00neroni · 5 months ago

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prompt: patronus. @wolfstarmicrofic word count: 739 september 8th ao3 post

“This is impossible” Sirius huffs and sits back in one of the few scattered chairs around the DADA classroom, clearly defeated. “What’s that shit about happy memories? Fucking idiotic, it’s not even working.”

“Have we finally found a spell that not even the great Sirius Black can perform? Should we call the Prophet? Inform the Ministry?” James jokes from his seat at Remus’ right, and he only receives a glare in return, when any other person would have been hexed into the next year just before they finished the sentence.

Remus considers it a bit hypocritical, seeing as James is also struggling with it, only having managed to conjure a faint silvery mist, the same as Peter. Remus, for his part, hasn’t even tried yet, scared of its possible corporal form.

Still, he knows the drill and can help his friend.

“You’re thinking too much and too loud, Sirius.” He says, kindly, because the other boy’s frustration is too evident and it seems like the best approach. “Which memory are you using?”

“When the Hat sent me to Gryffindor.” Sirius replies, almost in a whisper, genuinely pouting like a baby.

“See? That’s the problem.” Remus says. “That memory isn’t good enough.”

“Why not?” His friend frowns, clearly confused but he doesn’t look hurt or offended. “It’s the happiest memory I can think of.”

“But it’s tainted, Pads.” He presses, not unkindly, and leans forward to touch Sirius’ forearm. “You were stressed and worried and your family were horrible just about twenty minutes later it happened. You need something without negative connotations.”

“Excellent piece of advice, Mr Lupin!” Professor Musgrove’s voice hollers from behind them. “Our chosen memories must be as pure as possible, free of bad feelings. Even if we think happiness is overruling them, sometimes the hurt is too sharp to be defeated. Please, my boy and resident assistant teacher, will you demonstrate the spell to the class?”

“Sir, I don’t–”

“I insist!” The man ignores him. “Your theoretical knowledge should be enough, and you clearly are in control of your feelings.”

Yeah, I wish I was, you twat.

Remus grimaces towards his friends, trying not to notice how Sirius is staring right into his eyes, and stands up. He should have shut up, but Sirius needed his help and he just… Whatever now, too late.

The werewolf closes his eyes and tries to find a good memory, quickly falling for the morning of the first Full Moon after his three mates knew what happened to him once a month, about the monster. After the moment they accepted him completely, and without asking anything in return. It might go against the idea of it not being tainted by bad sensations (the transformation is horrible on its own, obviously) but the happiness he felt when he woke up and saw Sirius sleeping in that uncomfortable chair right next to his bed.

The others have joined here and there, but Sirius has always been the constant feature. It is he who Remus thinks about for this.

“Expecto Patronum.”

He would have known it had worked even without the collective gasp of his classmates, just by how the air moves around him and the tip of his fingers tickle. It is a wonderful sensation, so, even if he is scared shitless of facing the reality and whatever comes next, Remus opens his eyes slowly.

The silvery figure is clearly and evidently canine and massive, but that is where the similarities with Moony end. The snout is different, the ears bigger and the paws less menacing. Even the doggy grin is an exact replica of Padfoot’s.

Remus’ hearts stop for a second there, but he can’t look anywhere else, too entranced and shocked by the implications.

“Amazing! Look at that–!”

“Expecto Patronum.”

Sirius’ deep voice cuts the air and the teacher’s praising, conjuring a mist that quickly takes form almost as big as the one in front of Remus, a shape that he hasn’t seen in front of him ever in his life but has been described enough to him that Remus could recognise anywhere. The eyes, though, are the exact same ones he sees in the mirror every day, and he has almost a full minute to be shocked before the impressive spirit of Moony joins Padfoot in a tackle game.

“Well, who could have expected this?” James chuckles, and Remus finally looks at Sirius.

Who could have expected this, indeed.

#marauders #harry potter #marauders fandom #marauders fanfiction #marauders microfic #wolfstar microfic #patronus #soulmates #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #remus x sirius #marauders era #marauders tumblr #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #mooneroni writes

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rubyreduji · 2 years ago

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a sheep in wolf's clothing — kmg

summary: kim mingyu is the biggest player on campus, so why is he coming to you for sex help

tags: smut (minors dni!), college!au, inexperienced!mingyu, tutor!reader warnings: explicit protected sex, biting, hair pulling, fingering, attempted oral (f. receiving), mingyu is called puppy, pussy drunk mingyu, subby!mingyu, choking, praise, bondage/restraints, minor overstimulation wc: 7.2k an: the build up is kinda long and this is a lot longer than i was expecting it to be…but yay! gyu smut!

It’s early winter when Mingyu approaches you one day after a tutoring session. Finals are coming up soon, and after it will be winter break.

“Mingyu?” You look at him curiously.

Mingyu bows low to you. “Y/N-ah, please help tutor me in sex.”

You stare at him incredulously. What did he just say to you?

You smack him upside the head. “You idiot! You can’t just ask people that.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I just thought, well, you’ve been so nice about tutoring me with my classes that maybe you could help me with this as well.” There’s a guilty look on Mingyu’s face.

“Sex and algebra are not the same thing! You can’t just go around asking people to teach you about sex. It’s weird.”

“I’m sorry!”

“What are you going on about anyway? You’re like the biggest player I know. Girls are always lining up to hop on your dick.”

Your crude choice of words makes Mingyu blush, like he didn’t just ask you to sleep with him. “It’s never…good, when I do it,” he admits in a small voice. “I just thought maybe I could figure out why.”

Kim Mingyu is bad at having sex? That’s hilarious.

The other thing you don’t get though, is why you? You don’t have enough hands to count the number of people you know who have crushes on Mingyu. So why is he asking you to help him with this? You shake your head, it doesn’t matter, you’re not going to say yes.

You guess this may need some kind of context.

Right after midterms Mingyu approached you one day.

“Y/N.” You looked up to see Kim Mingyu standing in front of you.

You don’t really talk to Kim Mingyu. He’s in your seminar class and you know who he is, but you’re not really someone who is on his radar. He’s a frat boy and on the basketball ball team and hangs out with all of the people you try to generally avoid. Not that you don’t like Mingyu, he’s…sweet, just not someone you would go out of your way to spend time with.

“Mingyu?”

“Hi. I have a question. You’re smart right?”

“Is that the question?”

“What? Oh- no, no! I guess that was more of a segue into my actual question.”

“Which is…?”

“Oh right. I’m kind of failing a couple of classes and was wondering if maybe you could help tutor me? I can pay you if needed!”

“What subjects do you need help with?”

“Biology and Algebra. If I don’t pass I don’t graduate and then my dad’s gonna kill me.” Mingyu looks guilty and you sigh. Biology and Algebra are both freshman gen eds, but it’s not uncommon for people to push them back until their later years of college, which Mingyu must have done, and now he's struggling to pass them.

It was…a bit pathetic, if you're being honest, but you also feel a bit bad for the guy. Which is why you find yourself agreeing to help him out.

“I’m here! I’m here!” Mingyu comes rushing up to your table in the library. His face is red from exertion and papers are starting to spill out of his unzipped backpack.

You slide your headphones off your head to cast a glance at Mingyu from the corner of your eye. “You’re ten minutes late.”

“I know, I’m sorry! I promise I have a good reason though!” Mingyu takes a seat across from you.

“I don’t really care to hear it. Let’s just get started, yeah?” You shut the lid to your laptop, putting your own homework to the side. “What are you struggling with?”

“...all of it? I don’t know how to do any of it and both of my teachers hate me!”

You sigh. Mingyu better be paying you good money for this.

You spend the rest of your day with Mingyu in the library. He’s…not as helpless as you thought he would be, in all honesty he’s not dumb, he really just does need the extra help. Maybe new professors as well. The topics are easy for you to pick back up even though it’s been a while since you’ve studied them.

You take your time explaining them to Mingyu in a way that makes sense to him. You sit there with him as he works on his overdue homework, helping him when he needs it. You’re surprised that he can still turn the work in but he then tells you he was able to get an extension on it so he can graduate and stay on the basketball team. Stupid basketball bastard.

It’s going on four hours of sitting in the library when Mingyu starts to get unbearably antsy (he got regular antsy within the first thirty minutes of sitting down). You can tell he’s not going to be able to do much work anymore so you start to pack up your things.

“Wait, we’re not done!”

“I know, but Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“What does that even mean?”

You huff. “It’s going to take time to work on this. It’s not a one and done kind of thing. We can meet later in the week if you want but you’re not putting out your best work right now so let’s quit for the day, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, I guess you’re right.” Mingyu starts to pack up his things as well. “Thank you for your help so far though, I’m really starting to get it.”

“I’m glad. You’re smart Mingyu, you just need some help, and that’s what I’m here for.” You smile at him and Mingyu smiles at you back.

“No one’s ever called me smart before.”

“No one’s ever believed in you before,” you say with a shrug. Simple as that. You will admit you didn’t have much faith at the start either, but even in just four hours you saw the improvement in him. If only his professors could have just as much faith in him.

That was two months ago. You will say Mingyu’s grades have steadily been improving, enough that he’s not failing anymore and actually understands what’s happening on his tests, so he’s not wrong about you being a good tutor. You just weren’t expecting it to lead to…whatever he’s asking of you now.

Now that you think about it, a lot of your interactions make sense now that you're aware of his…lack of skills in the bedroom.

“So what’s the question you’re looking at?”

Mingyu turns his laptop to you so you can look over the question. You lean in closer to look at it properly before reaching over Mingyu to grab his scrap paper.

“Uh…”

“Yes?” You look at the boy.

“You’re just…really close.”

You roll your eyes and pull back. “Does a woman’s touch scare you Mingyu?”

“No! That’s not what I mean,” he pouts a bit. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“I don’t bite Mingyu. You’re the one who asked me to look over the question.”

“I know! I just-, nevermind. Can you just help me with the answer?”

That wasn’t the only instance like that. There was also that time he tried to buy you dinner and you teased him so badly he went home instead. You didn’t think you were actually flustering him. But it seems lately you can’t assume anything from Mingyu.

“Why did your stupid best friend ask me to help him with his stroke game?”

“He WHAT?!” Wonwoo chokes on his lunch as you sit down next to him. You know Wonwoo from some of your honors classes so you’re not sure why Mingyu didn’t ask him to tutor him but you can’t worry about that now.

“I’ve been tutoring him for two months now and he’s now asked me to tutor him on how to be good in bed. Every girl on his campus worships the ground he walks on and are all dying to get in his pants and you’re telling me he can’t even lick a pussy?”

Wonwoo snorts at your words. “Trust me, all of those girls have got him all wrong. That sexy cool guy act is just that, an act. They just want to think he’s like that. He’s actually a giant idiot who thinks he can get anything he wants by whining and using puppy dog eyes.”

“So you’re saying he can’t pleasure a girl because he’s a loser?”

“Basically. Anyone claiming to have hooked up with Mingyu are either too obsessed with the idea of Mingyu himself to admit it was bad, or haven’t even been with him and just want to brag. He’s not the player he wants people to think he is.”

“That doesn’t explain why he’s asking me for help.”

Wonwoo sighs, like he doesn’t want to tell you what he is about to. “You hooked up with one of our friends last semester and he may have bragged a bit about it and ever since the whole friend group now has this idea you’re some…sex deity or something.”

Now it’s your turn to snort at Wonwoo. “Excuse me? Sex deity, yeah right. I guess if we’re talking about DK then it makes sense. Kissing and telling is totally not cool though,” you scoff. “Wait- did Mingyu ask me to tutor him just because he wanted me to teach him how to be good at sex?”

“I do know for a fact that Mingyu is failing his classes, but I cannot confirm or deny if he had ulterior motives for asking you for help. I did tell him I wouldn’t give him help though. I gave up on trying to help him out freshman year.”

“This is crazy,” you mutter.

“So I’m assuming you told him no?” Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at you.

“Unlike some people, I don’t kiss and tell. Whether any ‘kissing’ happens or not.” With that you stand and walk away from Wonwoo.

The true answer is, you haven’t decided. You were so sure when he first asked you that it was going to be a no, but now you’ve hesitated giving him a solid answer for so long that you’re starting to question your own choices.

For one thing, you haven’t been laid since last semester when you hooked up with DK, which was seven months ago. You also like Mingyu. You’re not sure if you have any romantic feelings for him, but you for sure like hanging out with him as a friend, and you do trust him. He’s also, objectively, very attractive. Even if you’ve seen him trip over air before. You’d just be helping out a friend. How is it any different than what you’ve been doing?

It’s also the end of the semester. In reality anything goes wrong you can just ignore him until you graduate. It wouldn’t be that hard. There’s really no harm in just trying…right?

“Y/N.” You’re not expecting to see Mingyu at your apartment doorstep two weeks later. You avoided Mingyu during finals week and you haven’t had a reason to see him since the semester ended.

“Mingyu?”

“I just wanted to come here and apologize for what I said to you. It was completely inappropriate and I never meant to make you uncomfortable. I know you probably don’t want to see me anymore but I just wanted to thank you for helping me this semester. This is for you.” Mingyu holds out a small gift bag to you that you take tentatively.

Mingyu is about to start to walk away but you stop him. “Would you like to come inside?”

Mingyu hesitates, like you’re testing him. Eventually he allows himself to step through the threshold. He’s been to your place plenty of times within the last eight weeks, but right now he’s acting like this is the most uncomfortable place he could be right now.

“I talked to Wonwoo about you,” you tell him.

“O-oh…? Did he uhm, say anything?”

“He said lots of things, nothing too noteworthy though. Didn’t know DK had such a big ass mouth though.”

“It wasn’t because of DK why I asked you!” Mingyu jumps in to say, his voice raised all of a sudden. “Sorry I just, I don’t want you to think that I think of you like that?”

“So you don’t think I’d be good at sex?”

“What? No, wait! I do! No that I think about you having sex. Well I guess I do? Because I asked you? But not in that way. I do think you’re hot! I just-”

“Breathe Mingyu,” you laugh. “I’m messing with you.”

“DK isn’t why I asked you, I asked you because well, I trust you.” Mingyu’s voice is softer now and you can’t help but find him cute in this moment. “I understand why you don’t want to though, and-”

“I never said I didn’t want to, Mingyu.” Mingyu’s mouth drops open a bit. He suddenly looks invested in what you have to say. “I just needed time to think.”

“So…what did all of your thinking decide?”

“I think that you should come over here and kiss me.” It’s bold. Mingyu doesn’t hesitate to do so, though.

He’s on you within a second, his body dwarfing yours as he pushes his mouth up against yours. You two stay like that for a moment before you pull away.

“Okay, you definitely need help.”

Mingyu whines. “Already? I thought at least I was a good kisser.”

“What girls are lying to you?”

You realize that this is going to be a lot more difficult than you were expecting. Mingyu is truly inexperienced. It’s going to be awkward and a lot of stopping and starting but you’re committed now so if Mingyu doesn’t come out of this his own kind of sex deity, you’re going to be so mad at him.

“You’re too rough. You need to build it up. Girls like being able to be eased into things. You can be soft even when your dick’s not, right?” You two have relocated to your couch where you sit facing each other.

“Softer….okay. Can I try again?”

“Eager to kiss me again?”

“Y/N,” Mingyu whines.

“Fine, fine, come here.”

This time Mingyu’s approach is…softer. It’s also rigid as hell. It’s like kissing a dead fish.

“Mingyu.”

“What now? I’m doing what you said!”

“You’re doing nothing! You’re just sitting there. You have to at least put some effort into it, be interested.”

“Be interested, but don’t be over eager. How do I do that?”

You huff. “Just, let me take the lead. But please kiss back this time.”

You scoot closer to Mingyu to the point you’re almost on his lap. You cup his face and pull him towards you. He feels more loose, which is a good start. You press your lips to his you can feel Mingyu hesitate a moment before finally pressing back. It isn’t too firm and you slide your lips over his. You can hear the soft smacking noises of your lips and you rub your thumb over Mingyu’s cheek.

When you pull away Mingyu looks at you with wide eyes. “That was…so cool.”

You snort. “Cool?”

“I’ve never kissed like that.”

“I can tell.”

“Hey!”

“That’s how most girls want to be kissed, at first at least. Then when things feel right, you can start to deepen it. Get a little more passionate,” you explain.

“What do I do with my hands?” You get flashbacks to past tutoring sessions with Mingyu. You tell him something and he has thirty questions to follow.

“You just touch. Her back, her cheeks, her neck, her waist. Maybe her thigh. Have you never made out with a girl before? You have had sex before haven’t you?”

“Yes! It just was always super rushed and half drunk. I’ve never cum from a girl, and a girl has never cum from me.”

“That’s…sad, but we’re going to fix that. Also stop having drunk sex.”

“Is that why I can’t cum?”

“It’s probably because you’re doing something wrong. And we’re going to figure it out,” you tell him. “Now that you can kiss properly, let’s move on to the next part. Making out.”

“Isn’t that the same as kissing?”

“No. Kissing is soft, slow, innocent. Making out is more intimate and passionate. It’s the real build up into doing other things.” Without warning you crawl into Mingyu’s lap and plop yourself down. “Want me to show you?”

Mingyu’s pupils widen and he nods. “Please.”

You pull Mingyu into you by the back of his neck and smash your lips together. You press up against him, pushing him against the back of the couch. You move your lips against his. You feel Mingyu gently place his hands on your waist before kissing you back. His lips slide against yours, meeting your pace.

You break away from Mingyu for a second to catch your breath before diving right back in. It’s not the most experienced kissing, your teeth clash together and your noses keep bumping, but the passion makes up for it. You bury your fingers into the hair on the back of Mingyu’s head and you tug at it a bit and Mingyu mewls into your mouth.

“You like that?” You whisper to Mingyu and he nods frantically. Mingyu goes in to kiss you again but you stop him. “Eager are we? Remember, this is a teaching lesson, so you’re here to learn.”

“Y-yes Y/N.”

“Good boy.” Mingyu shudders at this and you smirk. “Next step is touching. Do you wanna touch me, Mingyu?” You ask and you swear to God Mingyu whines.

“Yes. Please let me touch you.”

“Where do you wanna touch, puppy?” The nickname slips out, but you can’t help it. That’s exactly what Kim Mingyu is. An eager, adorable little puppy. Mingyu seems to like it too, considering his physical reaction to being called the name.

“Anywhere, everywhere. Wherever you’ll let me Y/Nie.” He’s practically squirming under you, and you can already feel his bulge starting to strain against his pants under you.

“Well go ahead,” you tell him. “Touch me where you want to.”

With shaky arms Mingyu lifts his hands up to your breasts. He hesitates for a second and you nod at him and he pushes them forward, cupping your boobs in his palms. He squeezes there as he stares at his hands, like he can’t believe this is happening.

“Softer,” you tell him as you cover his hands with yours. You show him the right amount of pressure to squeeze with. “Here.” You push his hands off before pulling your shirt over your head so your bra is exposed and Mingyu’s eyes widen, staring at your cleavage.

He brings his hands up again to touch you. His fingertip traces along the top of your breast, before taking the whole thing in his hand. He paws at you and you let out a soft moan. This seems to encourage Mingyu and he kneads at your tit more, thumb brushing over the swell of it.

“Put it together with the kissing,” you tell him. Mingyu leans forward and you connect your lips. Your hand rests on his jaw as you guide the kiss. You push your tongue into Mingyu’s mouth and he lets you.

One of his hands continues to work at your boob, while the other runs up and down your back. It seems he’s getting more comfortable with you and the whole situation. You roll your hips in his lap, grinding down on his cock and he hisses. You giggle to yourself.

Mingyu’s hand moves down off your boob and trails down your torso before reaching around you. Both of his large hands clamp down on your ass, squeezing there. You moan into his mouth. Bold move. You throw your head back and Mingyu takes that opportunity to move his mouth down to your neck.

He presses kiss and bites against the exposed skin, licking the marks after he bites down. Just a big ole puppy.

“Mm, Gyu,” you mumble. “You’re doing so good right now. You’ve always been a fast learner though.”

“Only when it’s you,” Mingyu says against your neck.

Mingyu’s mouth moves farther and farther down until his lips press up against your breasts. He bites down particularly hard on your right one and you let out a cry of pleasure. “Shit, Mingyu.”

“S-sorry,” Mingyu pulls back quickly but you shove him right back where he was.

“No, don’t stop. So good.”

Mingyu seems to get what you mean and he continues what he was doing, biting and kissing all over your chest. His hands move up your back and you can feel him grab the clasp of your bra, but stop before doing anything. He’s waiting for permission. What a good boy.

“Go ahead Mingyu,” you tell him and two seconds later your bra is on the floor.

“Oh fuck, Y/N,” Mingyu’s hips buck up into yours as he stares at your exposed breasts. Your nipples are perky and staring straight at Mingyu. He stares right back.

“Well go on, touch ‘em.”

Mingyu brings his hand up and brushes his thumb over your nipple and you whine and push forward into his hand. This excites Mingyu and he does it again. He squeezes at the supple flesh there, watching the way his large hand envelopes your tit.

Your other boob is left untouched and Mingyu seems to realize this and he leans his head down to wrap his lips around your areola. His tongue darts out to flick at your nipple and you grind your hips down, your pussy screaming from the feeling of his hot mouth on your breast.

You throw your head back again and bury your hands into his hair, holding him in place as he feasts on your chest. You’ve never been too big on marks, but you find you can’t tell Mingyu to stop as he gnaws on your chest.

It takes you a minute or two to remember that you’re doing this for a reason. You do your best to try and clear your head as you push Mingyu away from you. “You’re…very good at that,” you say, trying to catch your breath.

“You’re so pretty Y/N,” Mingyu whispers to you as his thumb brushes against your waist. “Especially like this.” You look down to see the red marks starting to form on your chest.

“There's more to learn, pup,” you tell him. “You’re doing so good for me right now though.”

“Wanna learn more. Wanna do more.”

“First step is to get you out of this.” You tug at Mingyu’s shirt and he helps you pull it over his head.

You take a moment to stare at his bare chest. You’re aware he’s a fit, good looking guy, but you’re still stunned at what you see. His pecs are huge and his abs are like a washboard. You wanna drool all over his stomach. You can do that later, you have a task at hand right now.

“You know how to touch a pussy Mingyu?” You ask him.

Mingyu looks alarmed at your boldness and he averts his eyes from you. “Uhm…no.”

“That’s okay baby,” you grab his chin and force him to look at you again, “I’m gonna teach you all about it.”

You climb off his lap and Mingyu whines as you do. He shuts up real quick when he sees you shimmying out of your pants. You nod at him to do the same and Mingyu quickly pushes his pants down his legs and kicks them onto the floor.

You have a better view of his bulge this way, and you can already tell he’s huge. His cock presses tight up against his boxers, begging to be freed and played with. You push Mingyu back onto the couch and crawl back onto his lap, hovering over his thighs.

You slowly lower yourself down against him and grind your cunt against his length. Mingyu whimpers below you as you roll your hips in slow, teasing motions. You can feel almost everything with there only being two thin layers between you two. Your panties are already damp with your arousal and you stare at Mingyu in the eyes as you move against him.

“It’s so warm,” Mingyu mumbles.

“I’m wet. You did that pup. You’re gonna make it happen even more though, yeah?” Mingyu nods at you. “You know where the clit is?”

Mingyu doesn’t respond and that gives you your answer. You grab Mingyu’s hand and place it against your cunt. Mingyu’s face goes through multiple emotions before settling on one of amazement. You press two of his fingers against you until they catch on your clit. You stifle a moan as you start to move Mingyu’s fingers in small circles.

“Feel that? That’s the clit. Keep touching there.” Mingyu seems hesitant to do so, though.

“I don’t wanna do it wrong,” he tells you.

You grind your cunt down against his hand. “If you do it wrong I’ll tell you, but you better start touching me now or I’m kicking you out and getting myself off.”

This sets Mingyu in motion and he starts to move your clit around in circles. His touch is still a bit shy at first, light and fleeting and almost not enough, like he’s teasing you.

“More,” you tell him. You reach down and press his fingers hard against you. “Firm, but not harsh.”

“It’s so wet,” Mingyu says. He’s right. Your panties are soaked through now and you can feel the roughness of the pads of his fingertips against you.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “super turned on. Gonna need you to finger me soon.”

“F-finger you?”

“Mhmm,” you hum. “It’s easy, don’t worry. Just keep touching me like this for now.”

You lean down and capture Mingyu’s lips again. It takes him a moment to double task kissing you and touching your clit but he eventually gets the hang of it. You take one of Mingyu’s lips between your own and suck on it, pulling it into your mouth before releasing it and doing it all over again.

Mingyu moans and his fingers accidently press harder against your clit, causing you to moan as well.

“Fuck, do that again,” Mingyu groans.

“What? Suck on your lip?”

“Yeah, please.”

“Only if you stick your fingers in me.”

“Ah, Y/N, I’m not sure…”

“You’ve come this far already. I’m so needy for it Gyu, please?” You give him your best begging eyes. “You’re the one who got me all worked up, the least you can do is fix it. You’ll learn a valuable life skill as well.”

Mingyu contemplates it for a few more seconds before agreeing. “Okay. Just, show me how, please?”

You lift your hips up a bit and push your panties to the side before grabbing Mingyu’s hand and moving further between your legs. You press Mingyu’s fingers up to your entrance and slightly lower yourself down on them, so you’re half riding his hand.

“Just push them inside and move them in and out. Like you do with any fucking motion. If you want it to feel really good, curl your fingers and try to find my g-spot.”

“What if it doesn’t feel good?”

“Then we’ll stop and try again, or move on to something else. You’re learning Gyu, it’s okay.”

He still looks a bit weary, but he slowly pushes his fingers up in you and you bite down on your lip so you don’t scream out. His fingers are thick and you probably should have told him to start with one. He’s awkward with his technique and it’s more like he’s jamming his fingers into you, rather than thrusting.

“Gyu, Gyu, baby,” you mutter and you grab his wrist. “Remember, take your time, it’s okay.”

You pull his fingers out of you before rearranging his hands so only his pointer finger is sticking up. You help him guide it into you slowly and you start to pull his finger in and out of you, moving your hips along as you do.

You loosen your grip on Mingyu’s hand and he starts to take over. “Mm, just like that pup. Can you curl your finger, like uh, like this.” You make the come hither motion and Mingyu does the same. You can feel his fingertip scrape against your walls, before pushing right up against where you want it.

You gasp and grind down against Mingyu’s hand. “Right there Gyu. Keep hitting right there. Add another finger too.”

Mingyu does as told and you work on holding up your end of the bargain. You pull Mingyu’s bottom lip into your mouth and suck on it before tugging at it with your teeth. You drag your teeth over his lip before releasing it. His lip is plump and slightly red when you pull away, but his pupils are blown wide.

Without him having to ask, you dive in to do it again, enjoying his reaction. You don’t think Mingyu realizes this, but as you suck on his lip his fingers start to thrust harder into you. The harder you suck, the deeper his fingers go. Not only does it feel good but the fact he doesn’t even know he’s doing it is so hot.

You break your lips away from Mingyu, both of you a little breathless. Your mouth isn’t lonely for long though as you dip down to press kisses against his neck. Not many guys you hook up with are into it, but Mingyu seems like the type who would, and you are so right. Mingyu mewls as you suck a mark right into the junction of his neck.

You can feel him shifting under you, his boner is probably painfully hard right now.

Mingyu’s fingers are now drenched from your arousal and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer by the second. Your legs start to tremble and you bite down onto Mingyu’s pec as your pussy spasms. You feel your whole body flood with pleasure as you ride Mingyu’s fingers.

“Y-Y/N? Are you okay?” Mingyu asks you softly. His free hand cradles your face and he looks at you with big eyes.

You gently pull his fingers out of you as you laugh, sinking into his body. “More than okay Gyu,” you mutter. “You just made a girl cum for the first time.”

“Wait, I made you cum? Just now?” You nod into his chest. You look up at Mingyu to find him looking down at you in awe.

For a fleeting second you think about how you just taught him how to finger a girl. How he can now go out and use those skills on anyone who’s willing (and that list is quite long).

The idea makes you…a little jealous to be honest. The thought of Mingyu using the skills you’ve taught him on another girl. You do get some satisfaction knowing that no matter who he uses them on though, you’re the one who taught him it.

You shake your head, why are you even thinking like that? Mingyu isn’t your boyfriend. This is just a tutoring lesson, nothing different than what you’ve been doing with him.

“Ready for your next lesson?” You ask him, banishing those thoughts from your mind.

“Yes!”

You caress his face, rubbing your thumb over his cheek. “You wanna learn how to use your mouth? Lick all over my cunt and make me feel good?”

Mingyu whines. “Yes Y/N, please.”

You slide off his lap and lay yourself down on the couch. You spread your legs a bit and you let Mingyu stare at you for a second. “Well come here pup.”

Mingyu quickly moves so he can place his face between your legs. His fingers run along the soft skin of your thighs. “How do I…”

“Uh, remember the clit from earlier? You just kind of suck and lick at it. Then if you want to do more you can do what you did with your fingers, but with your tongue instead,” you explain. Mingyu nods his head along, like he’s soaking up every word you’re saying.

Mingyu dips down between your legs and experimentally juts his tongue out and licks at your clit. His tongue is hot and wet and you need more. You let out a little encouraging hum and Mingyu dives in more. He laps at your clit, he’s a bit rough with it, but you don’t stop him, enjoying the roughness.

You reach down and bur your hands in his hair, tugging a bit. He hums against you and the vibrations go right into your clit, just as you hoped. Mingyu wraps his lips around your bud, sucking it into your mouth. You’re just about to tell him to suck a bit harder when you suddenly scream out, and not in the good way.

“Fuck, Mingyu!” You instinctively smack Mingyu against the head and he lets up. “Gyu what the hell?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He quickly backs away from you.

You sigh. It’s not his fault, he didn’t know. “You can’t bite down on the clit, it’s sensitive. How would you like it if someone bit the tip of your cock. If you really wanna use your teeth, just scrape, don’t bite.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Mingyu whispers. You scoot closer to him. He looks afraid of touching you, but you reach out and grab him instead.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m okay. Don’t worry about it. You’re still learning, you’re not going to be perfect the first time. I’m sorry for smacking you.”

“No, I probably deserve it. I know you didn’t mean to.”

“Exactly. We both did something we regret, and now we can forgive and forget, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.” Mingyu still seems a little nervous but you just kiss at his jaw.

“We can come back to it another day, okay pup?”

“A-another day?”

“Yeah, remember, Rome wasn’t built in a day. I promise I’ll suck your dick then too, show you how a real girl should take care of you.” Mingyu nearly drools on you. “But let’s move to something more fun, yeah? Gonna show you how to use that big cock of yours.”

“Please,” Mingyu begs, his shy demeanor suddenly gone again. “My cock is so hard.”

“I know, that must hurt a lot. C’mon puppy, we’re gonna move to my bed, okay?” You crawl off of Mingyu and he scrambles to his feet. He hurries after you as you lead him to your bed. “Boxers off, on the bed.”

Mingyu quickly obeys. He strips his boxers off and climbs onto the bed, his back resting against your headrest. His dick rests against his stomach and you lick your lips at the sight. Just as you suspected, his cock is HUGE. Long and thick in all the right ways with a delicious vein running along his whole length. Yeah, you’re definitely going to have to suck his dick at some point.

“Now puppy,” you crawl onto the bed, sitting on your knees as you face Mingyu, “are you going to let me tie you up?”

Mingyu’s hips buck into the air involuntarily and he blushes. “I- uh, I’ve never thought about that but, I think I want to try.”

“Good boy.” You climb off the bed and move over to your closet. You can feel Mingyu’s eyes trail your naked form and you take your time bending down and picking out what you’re looking for.

When you turn around Mingyu is still staring shamelessly. A soft tie that you think once belonged to an ex is in your hands and you saunter back up to Mingyu. You climb over him, straddling his waist, your bare pussy hovering over his abs. You’re sure you could grind your clit to completion against them.

You lean over Mingyu’s face, bringing his wrists up over his head. You tie them to your headboard before leaning back. Mingyu’s gaze follows your tits that were just in his face and you roll your eyes. “Eyes up here pup.”

Mingyu blushes and drags his eyes up to meet yours. “Sorry.”

“If you want your arms to be let down, just tell me and I’ll untie you, okay?” He nods. “That’s a good boy.”

You lean down and kiss Mingyu. Your lips clash against each other, but Mingyu easily lets you have the dominance. You lower your body down onto him, grinding your clit against his abs. Your prediction was right. The grooves as his muscles catch on your clit.

“Fuck puppy, you’re such a good boy.”

“Y/N, please. Need to cum so bad.”

“Well since you asked so nicely.”

You reach over to your bedside table and grab a condom out of one of your drawers. You move down Mingyu's body and you roll it onto him. You notice his cock is already starting to produce precum and you resist the urge to lean down and lick it off.

Once you have the condom secured you hover over his lap and line him up to your entrance. Slowly, you sink down onto him. It takes a second for him to get into you, due to his large size.

Little by little, you’re able to fuck yourself down to his base. Your pussy is stuffed full and you swear you can feel him pressing up against your stomach.

“Gyu, how can you be this big, but have no clue how to use it?”

“I don’t know,” he whines, “but you feel so good right now. I think I’m gonna combust.”

“Don’t. Not until I say so.”

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Mingyu says.

“Now be quiet pup, I’m gonna show you how this thing should actually be used.”

You brace yourself on Mingyu’s chest and start to roll your hips slowly. His cock stretches at your walls as it moves in and out of you. You bite your lip, half in concentration, half in covering up your moans.

Eventually you’re about to find a good pace that’s not too fast but not painfully slow. You can hear the soft noises Mingyu is releasing, letting you know how good he feels.

“You’re being so good for me baby,” you tell him as you lean down and press a kiss to his pec.

“Feels so good Y/N,” Mingyu whimpers. “Never felt a pussy as good as yours.”

The idea that you’re the best Mingyu’s ever had drives you crazy and you start to pick up your pace. You fuck yourself on Mingyu’s dick, hard and fast. Underneath you, Mingyu is a mess. As good as this is making you feel, you know Mingyu is even closer to falling apart than you are.

“Y/N, please,” he begs.

“Please what puppy?”

“Please, choke me.” The request isn’t what you were expecting, but you’re not mad at it.

You slide your hand up his chest and to his neck. You slide your fingers into the right place for safe choking and squeeze slightly. “Aww, does my pretty puppy like when my hand is collar?”

Mingyu just nods to the best of his ability, his breath coming out in small puffs.

“What a good boy for me.” You lean forward and kiss his forehead. “Look at you, all fucked out. That’s been your problem baby. You’ve never been successful because you need someone to take care of you, don’t you? You’re just a pliant little pup who needs to be bossed around.”

Mingyu whimpers at your words and you know you’re right. It’s almost laughable. The big, campus “player” is nothing but a submissive puppy who didn’t even know how to kiss until two hours ago.

It’s kind of hot though, discovering Mingyu’s kinks before anyone else can. This is just for you and him. You lean down and press your lips against Mingyu’s. Your grip on his throat helps you guide his face to yours and press hard and firm against him, wanting to taste every part of him.

You’re not sure what you were expecting when you agreed to help Mingyu out with this, but it definitely wasn’t how intimate it feels right now. You can’t say you hate it though. Mingyu’s body pressed against yours, your breaths mingling as his fat cock crams up against your cervix.

“Nngh, Y/N, close,” Mingyu mutters to his best abilities. “Please. Needa cum.”

“Aw, doesn’t my puppy want me to let him cum?” He nods. “Hmm, well since this is your first time being able to cum during sex, I guess I’ll let you have this. Come on puppy, give it to me.”

Mingyu sighs in relief at your words and he thrusts up into you once, twice, and then he’s cumming, painting the condom white with his semen. You don’t let him catch a break though, continuing to fuck yourself with his cock so you can cum too.

Mingyu whimpers with overstimulation as you reach down to furiously rub at your clit. You can tell Mingyu is dying to help but his hands are still tied up. You feel your stomach start to tighten up and then your legs are giving out and you fall against Mingyu, your cunt throbbing against him. You pant into his chest as you roll your hips lazily trying to prolong your orgasm as much as you.

When it seems that it’s over you reach up and untie Mingyu’s arms before gently lifting yourself off him and flopping down onto the bed.

“Normally after sex you do aftercare. Drinking water, going pee, cleaning up. Cuddles if needed,” you explain, still a little out of breath.

“Do you…want to cuddle?” Mingyu looks at you with innocent eyes and you melt a little.

“Uh, yeah, if you want to.”

“I’m always open to cuddles!” It sounds like a message that would be pre-recorded in a Valentine’s Day teddy bear, but you guess that kind of sums up Mingyu.

“Lemme go pee and get some water, and then we’ll cuddle okay?” You get up and go through your list of things you need to do. When you make it back to your bed it seems Mingyu has cleaned himself off with a tissue and you hand him a cup of water that he happily chugs down.

You climb back into your bed and slip under the cover. Mingyu does the same and you bury yourself into his side. His body is warm and still buzzing with that after sex glow and you rest your head on his chest. Neither of you bothered to get dressed and you relish in the feeling of his bare skin against yours.

“Y/N-ah?” Mingyu whispers and you look up at him. “Thanks for doing this. It uh, means a lot to me.”

“Yeah well, I got something out of it too, so no big deal.”

“I know but, I’m just really happy it’s you.”

The words hold a second meaning to them that you can’t quite place yet. You don’t respond, just press yourself up against Mingyu tighter. You can wonder about the future for you and Mingyu after you’re done cuddling.

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pretending-ican-write · 11 months ago

Text

Cowboy Up - Pt.1 - Ryan x Dutton!reader

Um so I watched all of Yellowstone last week and as a result, my multi-year writer's block was broken by a need to see more of Ryan because I am obsessed with Ian Bohen. Idk how many parts this will have or how often it will get updated as I'm in the last few months of uni but I hope y'all enjoy!

Pairing: Ryan (Yellowstone) x Dutton!Reader (Kayce's twin sister)

WC: 1053

Next part

Disclaimer: Beyond watching Yellowstone I have zero/little knowledge of Western riding and the ranching lifestyle but I do know horses so that has certainly influenced this! I'm also English so writing dialogue correctly for them is not my strong point! If you find any issues please let me know!

---

The sun was just beginning to dip below the mountains and the cold was starting to set in when she joined him on the fence. Neither of them spoke for a while, just looking out at the vastness in front of them, all that was theirs but came with so many conditions.

Eventually she broke the silence, “so you told him? How’d he take that one?”

Wordlessly he opened his shirt where the ‘Y’ was just starting to scab over, still red and angry.

“Motherfucker,” she swore, “this ain’t fair Kayce. He doesn’t just get to do this.”

He shook his head, “dad does whatever he wants and there ain’t no consequences for him. That’s why I gotta do this.”

“Shit man. What’s Monica gonna do? Besides worrying about you getting your ass shot in the desert miles from civilisation?”

Kayce chuckled, “beats getting my ass shot in the middle of Montana miles from civilisation. She’ll be okay, her family will help and she’ll be a teacher. Just like she planned. It’s you I’m worried about here with dad and no one else to speak sense to. ‘Cept Lee”

“Well I’m leaving, dad be damned. I’m not gonna be a pawn in his power trip. Gonna go see this godforsaken country and win it all so that when I come back he can’t question whether it’s where I wanna be,” she declared.

Her brother rolled his eyes, “you ain’t talking about the same him now.”

“I don’t know what your talking about,” she denied, staring out at the darkened mountains.

Kayce shoved her shoulder, “you can’t bullshit to me y/n. That’s the one problem with being twins, ain’t no way to lie to me.”

“I’m just a kid to him, he ain’t ever gonna see me any other way if I stay here,” she admitted, “hell if I stay here no one will ever see me as anything more than his kid. ‘S why we both gotta do this Kayce.”

He nodded, “no way to stand in the sun in this state, always gonna be a shadow.”

“When I come back I’ll be able to stand in sunlight so bright I’ll have a fucking halo.”

-/-/-

2 years later…

Montana has its charms all year round, but fall has a particular appeal. The leaves had started to turn, there was a chill in the air that only seemed to get stronger and there was still a frost on the grass that the sun hadn’t hit.

With the sun keeping the cold from their bones, the Yellowstone ranch hands were occupying themselves keeping their roping skills fresh. Rip observed from the sidelines as the new hand struggled to keep up with Ryan who turned to lecture the kid about keeping his eye on the steer.

Lloyd rolled his eyes when he missed the horns again, “you gotta try harder than that if you wanna be a wrangler!”

“He keeps pulling the damn steer too early,” the hand argued back.

Ryan glared at him, “don’t fuckin’ blame me for your bad skills.”

Before they could descend into an all out brawl, the group were distracted by the sound and sight of truck coming down the road. They watched it pull up in front of the barn, trailer in tow. A rare silence occupied them as they watched a young woman step out, adjust her hat then stare out across the ranch in front of her.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Lloyd muttered, “she’s back. You fuckin’ know about this?”

Rip said nothing, but his face gave the answer. The other hands who recognised her muttered between themselves about what she was doing back after so long.

The new hand leaned over towards Ryan, “who the fuck is that and why does everybody care?”

“That is y/n Dutton,” he answered without taking his eyes off of her.

“I didn’t know John had another daughter,” he responded.

Ryan shook his head, “hell kid you gotta lot to learn about this place.”

“She’s fuckin’ hot mind,” the hand murmered.

The older hand spat out his words, “you keep words like that off your tongue if you want to keep it.”

Lee stepped out of the barn and stepped around the truck to greet her, “the prodigal daughter returns.”

“I don’t see Beth anywhere,” she laughed bitterly, “but it’s good to see you Lee.”

He hugged her, “I’m glad you’re back. Been a long time coming.”

“I came back for me, not for him remember that,” she turned towards the corral, “think I’ve given them enough of a show to explain it so they can pick their jaws up off the floor?”

He gestured for her to follow him towards where the ranch hands were all still quietly watching. She strode over to the group, smiling at Rip who nodded back at her.

“Where’s that mare of yours?” He asked.

Y/n shrugged, “a champion barrel horse would be wasted on this ranch. Sold her for more money than I’m ever gonna earn in the rest of my lifetime.”

“You ain’t rodeoing anymore?” Lloyd questioned.

“I did what I set out to do when I went on the circuit. Saw this godforsaken country and won it all. It’d get boring to win it over again,” she moved her gaze towards where Ryan was watching her, “ain’t no one gonna question where I wanna be now.”

Rip nodded, “afraid we ain’t got a horse to spare for you y/n.”

“I got that covered Rip. Got one coming up tomorrow from a ranch in Wyoming. Some fuckin’ old school boys who don’t know how to be nice to a horse they didn’t ruin,” she explained, “man’s wife broke it and now she’s dead ain’t no one gonna ride him gentle. Figured he might stand a chance with me.”

Lloyd chuckled, “always were a soft hand. Figured that’s how you won it all.”

“Guess that question that remains is, do you have a place for me? Not in the house but here,” she clarified.

Lee looked at Rip then back at his sister, “I reckon so. You gonna stay in the bunkhouse?”

“Oh fuck no,” y/n laughed, “I didn’t drag that thing all the way from Texas to sleep with these fuckheads. It’s looked after me in worse places. Think it’ll do just fine here.”

#ryan yellowstone #ryan yellowstone x reader #yellowstone #yellowstone tv #yellowstone imagine #dutton ranch #dutton!reader #ian bohen

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thelastsequence · 10 months ago

Text

Taking on the school bully

Sub M!Reader x G!P ITZY Yeji

Part 1 | Part 2

“Hyung-soo, you’ll be paired with Yeji for this project okay? I know Math is your strong suit so please help her out as much as you can. I’m counting on you.” Ms Eunseo said with an approving smile on her face. I smiled back and nodded, but I was groaning in my mind.

Yeji?! You’ve got to be kidding me… How am I supposed to get anything done with the laziest student in the whole cohort? That’s if she’s not expelled by then…

As I stepped out of Ms Eunseo’s office and headed to my locker, I sighed as I thought of all the work that I would have to do. Hwang Yeji was infamous in our school for being a bully, frequently getting into trouble and causing a ruckus during lessons. Arguing with teachers, flouting school rules, forcing other students to do her work, you name it, she’s done it. The only reason why she’s still around is because her rich CEO father has been bailing her out by always donating to the school. Nonetheless, there were rumours that the board of directors and principal were fed up with her behaviour, and her next antic might be the last straw. Well, who wouldn’t be pissed…

“Hey. You. Loser.” A cold menacing voice pierced my thoughts. My eyes widened as I turned to face the source. It could only be one person…

Hwang Yeji.

“So you’re my partner for the Maths project? Better do a good job, if not you’ll get a beating from me. Got it?” I nodded nervously as Yeji glared at me. “Good. Don’t cause any trouble for me. Now get out of my way.” She shoved me aside painfully and walked away, while I could only stand there wincing. I cursed my luck (or lack thereof) at that moment. God, why did I have to be paired with her of all people?

The next day

“Class, I’ve decided that I’ll be picking one student from each pairing to present the project. For Pair 1, Karina. Pair 2, Yuna. Pair 3…” As Ms Eunseo read out the names for each pair, I glanced over to Yeji’s table where she sat using her phone.

“Pair 8, Yeji.” My ears pricked up when I heard that. Oh crap, I thought to myself. Getting paired with her was bad enough, but now Ms Eunseo was making her present. Yeji scowled when she heard this and she immediately stood up to voice her displeasure. “Hey, Miss, come on! You seriously expect me to present? You’re joking right?”

“Hwang Yeji! This is final. Sit down now or I’m giving you an F this instant!” Ms Eunseo barked at her. Knowing she was already on thin ice, Yeji scowled and sat back down with a huff. Suddenly, she turned towards my direction and glared at me. Wait for me after class, she mouthed. All I could do was nod in fear. What did she want with me?

Thirty minutes later, the bell rang and Yeji immediately walked over, while the other students began packing their bags. Without saying a word, she grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of my chair. Her surprisingly strong grip meant that I could only follow behind. She stopped at the lockers outside of our class and turned to face me.

“Kang Hyung-soo.”

“Y-yes, Yeji?”

“So that bitch Son Eunseo is making me present the project, it looks like I can’t completely slack off.” She grumbled. I slowly nodded, not knowing where she was going with this. “Y-yeah… well-”

She cut me off before I could continue any further.

“Shut up. I’m going to need your help, because I can’t afford pissing her off again. You hear me? If you help me prepare well for this project, there’s a chance I might not beat you up after all.” I gulped when I heard that. I did not want to be on the receiving end of one of Yeji’s beatdowns.

“Y-yeah, sure, I’ll help you as much as I can…”

“Good. Go and grab your bag, you’re coming to my place now. Let’s just get it over and done with.” My eyes widened and I couldn’t believe my ears. Me? Her place? What was going on? “Are you deaf? Hurry up!” She yelled and kicked my shin. I winced as I scrambled back into the classroom to get my things. I shoved everything into my bag and stumbled out of class again.

“Follow me. And don’t get any wrong ideas.” I walked silently behind her through the hallways as the other students stared and whispered. They probably assumed I was her latest victim, about to receive my punishment for angering the school bully. Instead of heading behind the back of the school building, we were at the foyer.

Soon enough, a black Mercedes pulled up and a man dressed in all-black stepped out and opened the door. “Hello, Ms Yeji.” The man spoke. I’m guessing he was… her driver? I was surprised at how such an unruly girl could have such a nice lifestyle. “Hey Felix. We’re headed home.” The man nodded as he turned to smile at me. “You must be Ms Yeji’s friend. Nice to meet you.” I smiled sheepishly as Yeji glared at me again from inside the car. I quickly went in and sat down.

It was a quiet drive back to Yeji’s house, which turned out to be a lavish-looking bungalow. We pulled up to her driveway, where Felix got out of the car and opened the door for us again. Yeji got out and signalled for me to follow her. I marvelled at the expensive-looking designer furniture in her house, the decorations, the paintings, everything… It was all completely new to me and I was trying to take it all in.

“Hurry up, loser!” Yeji yelled from the staircase. I mumbled sorry to her and quickly followed her up the staircase. We walked past two doors, stopping at the third which I guessed was her room. She opened the door and grabbed my wrist again, before pulling me in.

“Where do we start?” For a moment, I didn’t know what she was talking about. The new experience of visiting a bungalow almost made me forget what we were here for. “Oh y-yes, the project…”

We both sat on her bed as I started explaining the scope of the project to Yeji. Unsurprisingly she seemed disinterested, which did not help my case.

“Get to the point.”

“S-sorry… So what you’ll need to do is talk about some trigonometrical concepts that we’ve learnt in class and their real-life applications…”

“That sounds boring as fuck. Urgh…”

“Yeah…” I didn’t know what to say as I didn’t want to anger her. All I could do was try and explain it to her. After awhile, we began making the presentation deck for our project, even if it was mostly me doing the work while Yeji scrolled on Tiktok.

“Yeji, do you want to do this part? Since… you know, you’ll be presenting it…”

“Urgh… what now? Can’t you write it and explain it to me later?”

“Well yeah… but I’ve pretty much written 80% of the slides already…”

“Fuck… Fine, later I guess, I’m watching this video.” I sighed as I grew increasingly exasperated with her behaviour. While she was giggling at her Tiktok video, I was racking my brain thinking of what to add to our presentation. Finally, I couldn’t handle it anymore.

I stood up and faced her. One part of me was already regretting it, but I figured I might as well just go ahead with it.

“Yeji! Hey!”

She turned and glared at me. I felt my knees go a little weak but I managed to keep standing.

“Can you just do your work for once, please? I really don’t want to fail this. You think I wanted you as my groupmate? I’d rather work alone! All I’m asking is for you to do something and put in a little effort… It’s not that hard is it? I’d do anything, okay? Come on… Do your part, okay?” I sighed as I finished ranting, Yeji staring menacingly at me the entire time.

“Anything?”

“H-huh?” I stared confused at her as she stood up.

“You’d do anything so that I’d work on the project?”

My mind drew a blank as I didn’t how to respond.

“Y-yeah, it’s a group project, we’re-”

She cut me off by shoving me to the the floor where I landed on my butt. “Ow… what was that for?” I muttered. When I looked up, Yeji had taken a step closer to me and placed a hand on my head.

“Well, if you’re good enough for me today, I guess I can do a little something for the project.” Without warning, Yeji unzipped her skirt, her bulge in my face.

Her bulge?!

“Yeji- You- Your-”

“Ya, I have a dick, so what? It’s probably bigger than yours anyway. Get to work, loser.”

I gulped as Yeji’s panty-clad cock stared me in the face. A musky smell emanated from it and fill my nostrils.

“Please, Yeji, I-”

“Shut up! You’ll be taking this dick whether you like it or not. It’s up to you whether you want it the easy way or the hard way.”

I closed my eyes, cursing myself for getting into this situation. How did this even happen? I was half-hoping it was just a nightmare, but when I opened my eyes again, Yeji’s pink panties were still in my face.

Sighing, I slowly pulled down her panties, narrowly avoiding getting hit by her cock. It was about 6 inches long, thick and veiny. Her tip glistened with a bead of transparent pre-cum. What she said was true, it was definitely bigger than mine. I stared at it wordlessly for a second, not knowing how to proceed. All I had seen was porn videos, so I guess I would have to act on that.

Taking a breath, I slowly gave her tip a lick. It tasted salty as I swirled my tongue around her cockhead. I glanced up, Yeji’s hand still on my head. She was looking down on me with a look of pure lust, her eyes transfixed on my lewd act. I continued licking at her cock as if it was a lollipop, slowly taking my time with it.

Yeji let out a moan as her grip on my hair tightened. She took a step backwards and sat onto the bed, dragging me on the floor. I decided to get onto my knees and make it a little more comfortable for myself.

I spat onto her cock and started stroking it with my right hand, while slowly massaging her balls with my left. I looked at her timidly, wanting a sign of approval. As if reading my mind, she let out another louder moan, seemingly in response.

“Yes… stroke my cock like a good boy…”

“Y-yes, Yeji…” I muttered softly. I sped up my pace and tightened my grip around her shaft, lubricating it with more spit. I started to feel a little intoxicated by the musky smell of her cock and balls and felt myself getting horny. My own dick was getting hard and I wanted to stroke it.

“R-Yeji, can I… touch myself?” I asked shyly.

“No! You have to please me first.” She gave my cheek a slap with her cock, leaving a wet trail of my saliva mixed with her precum. I sighed and continued stroking her, occasionally giving her tip some licks.

“I want you to suck it, Hyung-soo… Be a good boy and take my cock…” Yeji moaned sultrily. My cock stiffened when she called me a good boy, and I felt a sudden desire to please her.

“Y-yes, Yeji…” I opened my mouth and starting sucking on her tip slowly. The taste of her cock was not too strong or overwhelming but it actually tasted pretty pleasant. I started using my tongue while sucking, hopefully making it more pleasurable for her. I tried going a little deeper down her shaft, but I ended up choking and gagging on it.

Cough cough

“Oho, did you gag on it? Is my cock too big for you?” Yeji asked lewdly. I shook my head and went for another try. This time, I managed to take half of her length into my mouth before coming up for air.

“Come on, Hyung-soo, I know you can take all of it… I know you can deepthroat my cock…” Yeji moaned loudly again. It seemed like I had no choice but to force myself to go all the way.

Taking a deep breath, I opened wide and shoved my face onto her dick. Almost instantly I felt like gagging, but I controlled it and managed to only choke a little. I continued going deeper until my nose touched her crotch. My eyes widened as I realised I had managed to take Yeji’s entire length into my mouth.

Suddenly, I felt her hands wrap around either side of my head, holding me in place and forcing me to stay in this position. The urge to gag came again and this time, I couldn’t handle it. I choked loudly and more spit flowed out of my mouth. Yeji quickly withdrew her cock from my mouth, strings of spit clinging onto my chin, before shoving it back in again. She repeatedly this rapidly, skullfucking me while looking down at me lustfully.

My mouth and throat felt like they were on fire, but I felt my dick get harder and harder as well. Even if Yeji was abusing my throat, it somehow felt… good. I looked up at her with tears forming at the corner of my eyes, gagging obscenely.

“Good boy, good boy… I didn’t know you were so good at sucking cock, Hyung-soo.” Yeji finally pulled her cock out of my mouth, giving me a chance to catch my breath.

“Th-thanks Yeji… I just… I just want you to do something for our project.”

“Come on, Hyung-soo. Do you think I’m stupid? You’re not thinking about the project at all, you just want to suck my cock.” I turned red as I realised she was correct. It felt so good with Yeji’s cock between my lips that I didn’t care about the project anymore.

I blushed as Yeji ruffled my hair. “Do you want it on your face or in your mouth? For your first time, I’m nice enough to let you choose.”

I was a little confused. “Eh? W-what do you mean?”

“My cum, silly. Do you want me to give you a facial or do you want to swallow my cum, Hyung-soo.”

My face grew redder upon hearing Yeji say that. I didn’t know which to choose, so I went for what I thought would be the lesser of two evils.

“My mouth…” I figured it would be less messy, and I wouldn’t have to clean up as much.

Yeji bent down and whispered lustily, “Wow, I didn’t know you were so hungry for my cum, Hyung-soo. You’re such a pervert.”

She slapped her cock on my face a few times, saliva and precum covering my cheeks with a light sheen now. I opened my mouth to take her cock again. Her shaft roughly penetrated my throat as she began quickly thrusting into my mouth. I moaned a little at her roughness, while bobbing my head quickly, trying to take as much of her length as possible.

“Fuck, that’s so fucking good…” Yeji moaned again and sped up. I looked up at her again, wanting to gaze into her piercing eyes.

“Hyung-soo, I’m gonna… gonna cum soon…” I wanted to say yes but all that came out was a mmmph, my mouth full of cock. Yeji continued fucking my face rapidly while my hands massaged her balls. Her moans were getting louder and louder, punctuated with obscenities. I could also see her perky nipples straining against her shirt, forming a faint outline. I wondered how Yeji’s breasts looked like…

Suddenly, Yeji gripped the back of my head as she shoved her cock deep into my throat. My eyes watered as I felt her dick hit the back of my throat, making me gag yet again.

“I’m cumming… Ah…” Yeji moaned as I felt a thick spurt of warm cum shoot down my throat. Yeji pulled her cock back a little and continued to cum onto my tongue. I looked up at her, my mouth full of her salty seed.

“Good boy, Hyung-soo, swallow my cum…” I nodded and gulped it all down. After swallowing, I choked and coughed a little, unused to this newfound taste. Yeji bent down again and dove in for a kiss, her tongue exploring my mouth and tasting herself on my lips. I let out a muffled moan as she gently fondled my clothed nipples. After what seemed like an eternity, she pulled away and motioned for me to sit on the bed with her.

“Hyung-soo, you did such a good job. Was that really your first time sucking cock?”

I nodded, blushing. “Th-thanks, Yeji… I’m glad you felt good…”

“So, I guess I’ll do something for the project then. And, if you want, we can do this again…”

I was taken aback at Yeji’s words. I couldn’t believe that she would want me to visit her and give her a blowjob again. My mind was racing; why would I want to suck the school bully’s cock again? Then again, I felt like I had suddenly grown addicted to her dick, its scent and taste still fresh in my memory.

“A-anytime, Yeji…”

“Anytime? Really? You better not regret that, then.”

Shoot. What had I gotten myself into?

----

Hey everyone! Ren here, if you're reading this I hope you enjoyed my first ever fic! Feel free to leave comments and let me know what you thought of it. My asks are always open. Cheers!

#kpop smut #itzy smut #yeji smut #kpop girl group smut #kpop male reader smut #thelastsequence

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fireater · 2 months ago

Text

LIMERENCE !

ft. jimmy x fem!reader

tags. implied/reference rape, failed rape recovery, talk of incest and underage but not in regards to reader, public humiliation, obsession on readers part, sort of stalking, one mention of suicide, slight boot kink, just humiliation tbh..

note. waow.. don’t know what this is.. unedited and kind of sucks.. rbs n feedback always appreciated. ignore any typos!

What do you do when your rapist is the most handsome man you’ve ever had the pleasure of fucking?

He wasn’t ugly or fat and he wasn’t the tallest, but everyone has their shortcomings.

You feel like a total fraud, picking at the lint on your sweater as you listen to a girl bawl her eyes out while recounting the time her father raped her in the back of his pick-up after school.

The woman before her was gang-raped by her delinquent boyfriend’s lackeys, the man to her left is the victim of his middle-school teacher, another lady pushed out two rape babies from her deadbeat husband before she managed to get away from him.

They’re all ghosts; beaten down, so broken, and you are you.

The same as before, if not a little bit better.

In fact, you’ve stopped getting those night terrors where all your teeth fall out.

You got raped and everything just felt right.

Like he knocked something into place, dug so deep into your cunt he rewired your brain.

Your therapist said this would be a chance at community, some place to bring you comfort, like-minded individuals who have gone through all the same things you have. Circle time for victims of brutal, life-ruining—life-changing rape, you should fit right in.

But you have never felt more out of place.

Pick-up girl can’t continue, she’s choking on her words, they come out her throat like the creak in an old floorboard. The box of Kleenex is significantly lighter.

“We can move on,” says a lady with kind eyes, shifting on her chair to face your way.

They all look at you with their haunted, dark eyes, gaping black chasms that lead right to fucking hell. God. You’re going straight to hell.

“Erm..” You squeeze your hands into fists. You unstick your thighs from the plastic chair. You count to ten and try not to think about how nice he looked on top of you.

“It’s okay, honey, take your time.” She places her hand on your knee. You think of him. His hand on your thigh, squeezing your tender flesh until it came right off the bone, the way it inched up your skirt.

You go stiff and she notices, gasping softly like she has done something wrong. And she has. She’s turned you the fuck on, the warmth of her encouragement going straight to your cunt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think about—“

“No, it’s okay,” you strain to get it out, avoiding her eyes like sympathy is a highly contagious disease of some kind.

They’re all feeling bad for you when you have finally started to feel good about yourself.

Man, you suck.

“He was my boyfriend.” Your voice cracks for dramatic effect, hold the applause. You wish he was your boyfriend. “He did it almost everyday.” You wish he did it everyday. “It would be after I came back from work…” It would be great stress relief after your Friday shift, it’s nearing Christmas and everybody is crushed into the stores like cattle in free stall barns.

You open and close your mouth, unsure of where to go from here, so you stand up and the chair screeches against the ground. “Sorry… I’m so sorry—I need to go.”

You leave and it looks real.

Like you are a real victim with a real story and very real feelings. The type you see on TV, dressed in white, trembling like lambs, abhorred by the notion of anything sexual. Squeaky clean like you should be.

For just a moment you feel normal. Your therapist is not eyeballing you like a mildly fascinating organism in her Petri dish. Your friends don’t give you a funny look when you say you’re fine—great actually. Your mom is not hanging her head in secondhand shame when you refuse to file a police report, disturbed when she unearths your bloodied underwear beside the prayer book you keep tucked beneath your pillow, rosary nowhere to be found.

They mutter quietly amongst themselves.

Poor thing she can’t even speak about it, it must’ve been awful, I can’t even imagine what she went through, so young.

You can’t speak about it, you really can’t, you might start reciting wedding vows if you think about him longer than a second.

Your loneliness is like the crack in a China cup, fine and glossy on the outside but delicate from years stowed away in show cabinets, passed from bidder to bidder. He pressed golden lacquer into the seams of your fracture, put you back together like you were something worth holding, something to be used.

Stored away in your bag, a sacred place your mother has not yet invaded, is his work ID. You say his ordinary name like you’re uttering a prayer, you drag the jagged tip of your nail over his tiny photograph. His hair and beard are longer than you remember, he’s handsome underneath the scruff, a strong nose and a broad chest. The collar of his company-issued jumpsuit is half popped, and he’s scowling at the camera like it’s an inconvenience.

There’s no phone number on it and part of you is glad you won’t have to call into the company, requesting Jimmy like The Pony Express is a sex hotline and he’s their newest, youngest, bustiest doll.

You wait outside the warehouse instead. It’s a big old thing, the last of its kind, muted in colour, blending into the silver skies. You look at the horse who sits on top like a weathervane on a cathedral, oversized features and the stomach of a pudgy toddler.

Every day from two to eight you circle the block a few times, take a window seat in the cafe opposite until the staff begin to stack tables and chairs, sit at the bus stop beside the same lot of people who wonder why you never get on.

The horse watches from above, wide eyes glowing in the dark beside the moon, unsettlingly reverent, sparkling with diamond-sharp logic, like it knows something you do not, a silent witness to your dog-like devotion.

One day, you leave work early and find a truck parked in front of the hulking, metal mass. Two men are unloading it, one is old and the other is blond, but they don’t matter to you. A third steps out of the cab, your breath gets caught in your throat, scared your exhale might blow him away.

You don’t look when you cross the street.

“Excuse me?” You call out, you’re sure he hears you, but he’s choosing to ignore it. “Are you Jimmy?” You ask once you're close enough to go unnoticed.

“Depends,” he says in that voice you have heard so many times in your dreams, rough like the serrated edge of a knife. “Who’s asking?” He hasn’t looked up once, disinterested and completely unaffected while you burn just being near him.

There is a woman near those other two men, leant down amidst some crates, a clipboard pressed to her chest. Her face is white and her nose is long like the snout on a hound dog, her charcoal eyes are sad and droopy.

You wonder if he has touched her like he has touched you. Either she just has one of those faces or she can take your slot at circle time. She would fit right in with the rest of them. Herbivores hiding in long grass.

“I’m asking.” You clear your throat, he looks up at you with his lidded eyes and you don’t look away, openly admiring the colour of them, how they look in the sunlight. There are a million things you want to ask him.

Was it just me? Was I your first and only? Have you been thinking about me? Do you want a summer wedding or a winter one? Vanilla or chocolate cake? We could do floral arrangements in your favourite colour.

He seems to grow slightly antsy when you continue to stare, Adam’s apple bulging out of his throat when he swallows. He looks like he’s started to feel sick, like he’s waiting outside the principal’s office after breaking a window.

It’s different, he’s different in the day. Long gone is his barbed tongue and wolf-like smile. “What do you want?”

You.

Your fingers toy with the rounded edges of his employee card, if you hand it to him now it’ll all be over.

“Listen,” Jimmy starts, lowering his voice, “if it’s something I did, I’m sorry.” Apprehension twists his mouth into a frown, and he doesn’t sound all that sorry. “But you can’t show up—“

“Here.” You fish his ID from your purse, reluctant to hand it over. His fingers don’t brush yours like you hoped and he seems all too eager to get rid of you.

“Thanks, cool,” he says with all the enthusiasm of a funeral celebrant, tucking it into his breast pocket for safekeeping, his disengagement is a knife in your chest. You’re a stain on a shirt he has no intention of cleaning.

“Yeah…” Does he not remember you? Is there nothing about you that is worth remembering? Were you not good? “Cool.” The longer you stand there the more likely it seems he’s going to grab a broom to chase you away. “Well, bye, Jimmy.” You blink at him sadly, expectantly, longingly. This is it.

You walk away and that was it. That was it. You’ll never see him again, you have no reason to be caught lurking outside the warehouse.

You start to think long and hard on your way home about the fuck is wrong with you.

Everyone is shaped by the sum of their exposures. A product of the people you meet, the enemies and friends you make, who you go home to. Every smile, every scowl, every bad habit is the reflection of another. But to be completely fucking honest, you think you’re just like this. The root of the problem is you, it stems from deep inside your very core, a fundamentally fucked up instinct that makes life a fucking inconvenience. It turns everything into a complication and that is why you’re like this.

God, you wonder what it would be like to wake up and think about normal things like normal people who do not have this constant flurry of wrongness whirling around inside of them. You want to go through life like you’re meant to be on earth, not like an alien species that crash-landed here and never managed to get out, unable to acclimatise to the human way, not like you’re a manufacturing defect.

You want to laugh at the right moment, you want to know what everyone else is thinking, you want to be raped so badly. Again and again and again. You can’t be normal if you can’t stop thinking about the most abnormal thing about you, that just defeats the fucking point.

Your friends think it is their fault for bringing you home that night, for letting you go home all on your own, for getting drunk and leaving you sober. They feel responsible for the best night of your life and you hate it. You hate that they don’t get it. You had a good time in your own right, they don’t need to feel guilty—Or maybe you need to start thinking how they do. Like normal people. They’re horrified when they’re supposed to be horrified. Their minds are tailored to the tastes of this world, yours is somewhere else, some rotten, tumultuous, toxic planet.

Therapy is supposed to be helping you learn how to be even slightly human, little by little, step by step. But you can’t take it in small doses, you need all of this wrongness gone at once like a decidual cast. It doesn’t make you lighter, it doesn’t put a pep in your step, it doesn’t do shit.

So you keep going to wait outside the Pony Express warehouse. You camp out in that cafe all day on days off from work. The staff know you by name, six holes punched in your reward card, special access to the staff bathrooms. You’re set for stalker life.

He never comes again, but you do everyday.

The nights are getting darker, stars bleed into the sky as the sun dims, the moon is larger than usual tonight and if you weren’t so taken by the brightness you would be quicker to notice the dark figure in your peripheral.

When you finally do, you think it’s the devil, cloaked in darkness like the devil probably should be. “Oh, it’s you.” You try to hide the smile in your voice as you watch him put a cigarette between his crooked lips.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He’s unbothered in tone, indifferent in manner. It would be flattering that he remembered you if he hadn’t said it like that.

“Do you remember me?”

“Yeah, from last week.” Jimmy’s eyes glow radioactive in the dark like tiger eyes when he lights his cigarette, the flame flickers and casts him uneven light, softening the right side of his face with a golden haze and plunging the left into shifting darkness. “You stalking me?”

“No!” You say all too quickly. “No, no… I study at the cafe opposite you.”

“Okay.” He was joking you think, making fun of you maybe, you wouldn’t be able to tell either way. “Studying the menu or what?”

That was a joke, that has to be a joke. It’s your cue to laugh so you force one out, it crackles unnaturally. “I wish, but I meant before that, do you remember me from before that?”

You look different under the street lamps, they do nothing for your skin, light pools unfavourably in every pore, the jewel-toned dress you picked out today must look washed out.

Jimmy’s lazy eyes rake up your body, and then he shakes his head slowly. “No.” Even to someone like you, it’s clear he has no interest in taking this conversation anywhere.

“It was in November, the beginning, I was on my way home, and it was late...” You should’ve done this at circle time. “You grabbed me and I let you take me, and then after you told me to walk down the block and call a cab, and I did.”

“Hm,” Jimmy shrugs, though you notice his hand trembling as he raises his cigarette to his lip, “nope, don’t remember that.”

Frustrated, you clench your fists, wondering what could jog his memory—Did he do it often? Nab a girl off the street corner so regularly that he didn’t remember a single one, faces all blurring together, the same hole with a different set of tits.

“Remind me again.”

“How?”

“Take off your jacket.” Jimmy’s cigarette gets crushed beneath his boot, he’s looking at you now. Really looking at you, and this is where it all goes pear-shaped. Your whole life is pear-shaped of course, but this is just fucking sad. You beg yourself to think it over, to think of the dozens of security cameras on this street alone. None of it seems too important when he’s here.

And then, you shrug your coat off your shoulders.

“Okay.” You’ve always been obedient because you have no reason to say no, you don’t care if he’s going to mug you, at least he’s talking to you now. At least he is looking at you.

“Think I’m gonna need to see more to know who you are,” he says, detached like there are a million better things he could be doing with his time, but he’s spending it with you. “Take off your dress.”

“What…” You’re shaking slightly in the cold, wind stings your cheeks and the tip of your fingers have started to ache.

“Take off your dress, I might know you.” Fair enough. He’d seen your ass more than your tits and your tits more than your face. It was forced into a flat pillow for three quarters of the night, between his thighs for the last quarter.

You take off your dress, edging it off your ankles. He drapes it over his arm - he’s got enough humanity to not leave your pretty clothes on the pavement.

It’s cold. The type of cold that makes your brain freeze, the type of cold that only Siberian Huskies and yetis enjoy.

And yet here you are in nothing but your cotton panties, t-shirt bra and boutique winter booties looking like the most expensive kerb crawler in all the world.

“Turn around,” Jimmy hums, his hand is cold but not as cold as you, tracing along your spine when you listen like a good girl.

From here, the horse is watching you. Seeing it all, cartoonish eyes forced in your direction. It’s late so the cars that whiz past have no intention of stopping, some houses have their lights on.

Humiliation prickles your skin, it could be the cold, but you don’t think the cold gets inside of you like this. What are you doing? What are you doing? What is mom going to think? What is dad going to do? What are they going to tell your family when you’re sectioned for Christmas?

”That’s good,” his voice comes out in a whisper, “take ‘em off and get on the ground.” Lukewarm hands slide over your hips, checking you over like a piece of meat.

“Okay,” you whisper back to him, and you’ve gone so far there’s nothing to lose, stepping out of your underwear and doing just as he says.

There’s no praise from Jimmy’s end and you don’t expect any. His stern face, his flat tone, it’s all unforgiving like this cold, hard sidewalk is on your hands and knees.

“Jesus, there something wrong with you?” He sounds surprised and you don’t know what you’ve done wrong. (You do know. You do know.) Isn’t this what he wanted? “Sorry,” Jimmy says, not sounding sorry at all, “I shouldn’t say that, you’re not all there.”

Your head isn’t entirely intact, and there is this worm hole that eats away at your insides, but you’re here. You’re here and you’re on the ground, on your knees with your cunt bared to him. Does he not see you?

The horse sees you, perpetually wide-eyed and forever watching.

Something cold, like the nose of a dog, presses against your pussy. It takes you a moment to figure out that it’s the toe of his boot, the leathery texture is wet almost, smooth and still textured, grainy. The cold is making it too hard to focus on the feeling of it nudging your swollen clit. You close your eyes and focus on anything but your hands burning on the ground, how the wind is going straight to your bones.

You’re going to make this worth it. You will. You’ve been wet for months and you won’t let it dry up so quickly, not when the cause of the leak is here to plug it up.

Just as you’re about to push back into him, grind your clit into the leather, show off how much you want him—He kicks you down, your body skids forward, elbows scraping on the cement. It’s painful, but you’re so cold, so shocked, so confused.

Quietly, you hear him under his breath. “What the fuck… Fuckin’ freak.” You don’t know if it’s in awe or disgust. He drops your coat and dress over the flat of your back, you scramble to put them on. “Why did you do that?” Jimmy asks, and he is looking at you like you’re crazy, like he’s disgusted.

You can’t tell if it’s a trick question. “Because you told me to.” It’s a simple answer, the only answer. Your chest heaves, teeth chattering as you stand on aching legs. God. It feels like your bones are fragmenting.

“Are you a dog?”

“No.” You check your pockets to find some loose change is missing.

“Then you didn’t have to do that, it’s not fuckin’ normal.”

Rape is not normal. And neither is asking seemingly nice, well-meaning girls to undress in sub-zero temperatures. But you don’t want to talk back, you don’t like to talk back, you don’t want to scare him off.

“Okay… Then, I’m sorry.”

“What…” His tone lilts in what might be confused laughter, everything you say is a twist or turn in a tangled thread he can’t quite follow. “Don’t say sorry, no, I don’t—I don’t know, just go home.”

“You’re not going to take me?” You gaze at him sadly. Wanting, yearning. “I think I’m going to kill myself tonight,” you proclaim softly, not because you want to make him feel bad, but because you don’t know what to do with yourself and he is distant enough to confide in.

“Alright,” Jimmy shrugs, he lights another cigarette, the smoke billows out of his thin lips, lined with the slightest smile. “Tell me how that goes.” Well, now you feel stupid and wish to take it back. Then, before he goes, he asks a little too casually, “Your dad touched you or something?”

“No…” You answer slowly, wondering if you should’ve said yes, if that was what he wanted to hear, gauging his reaction like you’ll be able to read it at all.

“Right.” He laughs, and his shoulders are still shaking in disbelief as he wanders into the dark like something out of a nightmare.

You look over to the horse, it tells you he’ll be back.

Considering he works there and all you thought the same, so you’ll be back alive and well.

#dark fic #dead dove do not eat #mouthwashing jimmy x reader #mouthwashing jimmy smut #jimmy mouthwashing smut #jimmy smut #mouthwashing smut #mouthwashing x reader #mouthwashing x you

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