#i think the universe hates me. nothing is getting better

[wh3atley-personality-core]

Hello, it's me, good old Wheatley! I tought that maybe I should speak to other people, it gets pretty lonely up here after all, and what better place to do it than the always safe and reliable internet! Surprisingly there's connection up here, so if you have any asks or rockets to send PLEASE do :-) //Wheatley RP ask blog run by a Weatley fictionkin! Main blog: @shr00mie-rat

//Notes, Rules and Text keys below

//Notes: -First let me get something clear; I'M NOT BRITISH, I know nothing of british culture and such, so I'll take advantage of the fact that Wheatley rarely uses British slang and that he was practically raised by Americans (even though I'm not American either) to use American terminology -along with the previous note, english is not my first language so apologize if I write something incorrectly -if your ask takes too much time to answer or just doesn't get answered it's because I'm busy with something irl, even though I'm starting this blog while I have some free time, i fear of getting busy some time soon, so my apologies in advance -along with the previous note, I might also take time to answer due to lack of motivation, ideas for responses, I simply didn't felt like responding it for any reason or merely just forgot about it -most of the responses will include a drawing either because it fits or because I feel like it -Most of this blog will be core and post game Wheatley and try to stay as canon as I can, but any other moment of the timeline (pre-post portal 1/pre portal 2) are ok -along with the previous note, there'll be some head cannons scattered here and there but they won't affect much of the canon -I haven't roleplayed in a really long time //Rules: -No NSFW, please, just don't, keep in mind that the mun is a minor -Keep ships at minimum, as much as I love shipping, I don't think the canon universe could fit many of them -OC friendly, as long as it makes sense in universe -if you're asking/rp as another character please make clear who you are unless your acc gives it away -if anything I do is not of your liking, either in a mun or muse response, don't send hate or report the blog, just block -basic rp rules like: No godmodding, no powerplay, no metagaming, no retconning -Sometimes (but I hope never) my emotions might win over me and will probably proyect my feelings over my muse //Text key: //OOC Narration "Speech" (Thoughts) 'Writing' //If you have any doubts, you can always DM me on my main blog :D

[arcadequeerz]

Don't know how to do readmore on mobile.

[manasurge]

Just a bit of lore relevant vent art (with terrible proportions bc apparently I mess that up horribly when I'm tired ugh. Watch me regret posting this tomorrow. The head size is already driving me mad bc it's too big, and I can feel myself wanting to abort this mission already) of Mourynn just, lying down on top of one of those large elevated Pale Tree roots far above the Grove (and far away from everyone else), and during the time between the early years and before the Personal story. Caithe is gone (Destiny's Edge), Wynne is gone (bc well, y'know...), even Faolain is gone (bc of Caithe in DE), and she's just feeling miserable, lost, and alone. (Her hair is in between her sapling hair and the Zhaitan hair, so it's grown out a bit bc she's depressed, and she's meant to be in the new outfit she designed, but I'm in the process of redesigning it a bit, so I've made a few tentative changes for now. Her collar is now just an extension of her clavicle leaves which can be put up like a collar, or can be draped down over her shoulders or back)

[five-of-cr]

here's the thing about matthias: he isn't the honorable, reformed hero some of the fandom seems to see him as.

yes, he was raised by a tight-knit family of comrade soldiers and decides to betray them in the end. of course that took incredible strength. i don't deny that. but we also need to recognize that the drüskelle are not just some rogue cult. they are a core part of the fjerdan government, who is trying to wipe out the grisha because they are seen as dangerous. that's literally just genocide. however indoctrinated someone is, this is something that is evil from every angle, even if the character can't or won't see it.

and look, i love a good redemption arc, but matthias is such a passive actor in his. he falls in love with nina against his will. she changes his attitudes toward grisha because she's beautiful and kind so all grisha can't be bad, right? this a classic example of the trope of separating the "good ones" from the rest, where you cherry-pick specific individuals to point to as exceptions to a group's nature, which is still implied to be evil. you have to do a lot more than fall in love to truly unearth and address the roots of bigotry.

tbh, this is my biggest critique of the books as a whole. i loathe the "love conquers all" trope that pairs together a character from the oppressed group and one from the oppressors, letting the one show the other through the power of love that being bigoted is not nice. it puts all the responsibility on the former to prove their humanity, and gives all the credit to the latter's ability to be persuaded to recognize it. and then it inevitably leads to forgiveness, because the character has "earned" it by changing their views, once again making the victim seem like the villain if they don't absolve the oppressor of their past "mistakes". also, it's incredibly unrealistic for someone to fall in love with a person who actively hates them and considers them sub-human. in real life, people have to work on their bigotry before that happens, not use the relationship as a plot device for character development.

i think the idea of writing a character like matthias is neat. i think portraying someone's struggle to throw off the suffocating, hateful dogma they've been fed all their life is a story we need more of. i think personal growth of this variety should be celebrated, because otherwise people would never change. but i don't think the people, fictional or real, get to do this without facing profound consequences. it is not enough to feel sorry. it is not enough to apologize. it is definitely not enough to fall in love. and i think writing that lets people off the hook like this grossly oversimplifies power and oppression, and ends up being a feel-good way to romanticize people who cause a lot of harm.

a last note: my opinion is 100% influenced by my being bipoc. matthias is a classic aryan supremacist, even if being aryan isn't the thing he's being supremacist about. my gut reaction to that type of character is always going to be mistrust, both because people in real life have given me reason to be mistrustful and because characters like these are often written in a way that makes you sympathize with oppressors. i don't think matthias earns that trust, and i don't see why i owe him my affection as a reader.

[maddy-ferguson]

talking to new people again is making me realize that (this is gonna sound dramatic) i haven't lived in five years but what i have done is watch a lot of movies and read a bunch of books and believe it or not that actually makes me an interesting conversationalist in some ways (?)

[basically-fabulous]

u "don't vote" motherfuckers r stupid as shit

[br1ghtestlight]

i love to make up horrible toxic fanon ships for my own ocs. its so funny 2 me and also interesting..... like every combination of characters that could conceivably happen i have thought about. some of them would 100% without a doubt make each other WORSE. some of them i genuinely think couldve worked if i had come up with them earlier and invested the time into their romantic relationship. some of them are actual jokes between my characters in "canon" bcuz specifically i think the idea of jayden thinking two is hot is funny Tbh. like he doesn't want u bro!!!!!! he barely even wants sunshine!!!!!

[idontdrinkgatorade]

i feel so anxious rn

[marshmellowtea]

tbh i feel like my interest in willmartha would skyrocket 200% if it wasn’t treated as the fandom’s Golden Fluffy Healthy Ship

[binders-and-beanies]

Going off my rant from earlier I think part of the difference between me n other people regarding being busy is that when the average person says “I have so much to do” they may indeed have a fuckton to do but they simply Don’t do it. Whereas with me I don’t get a Chance to do everything bc the list grows faster than I can do everything + my time is constantly occupied by things beyond my control. And people say they relate to that but then when they have enough time to do something they don’t and I’m like god if I had half the time yall spend doing nothing I would be unstoppable

[stringsbasement]

ngl i 100% thought peri would be an antagonist

he's the first fairy in thousands of years, born directly under the lineage of what has to be the most powerful fairy family line in current existence

(cosmo is a von strangle, and also the very reason fairies stopped having babies in the first place. he's incredibly powerful and nobody talks about it for some reason. it's clear peri inherited that destructive potential)

the second he was born, entire fairy species (including his own kin) were out to get him to use his volatile magic for their own selfish goals. he's nearly kidnapped thrice, and almost ends the universe on the same day

the threats keep coming, and he's being dragged to countless adventures that put him at risk. he literally ceases to exist more than once

anyway, i wouldn't be surprised if some form of expectations were placed upon him growing up. maybe not by his family, but he's famous (a teacher described him as such once); in fairy world, he's automatically adored and celebrated by adults and peers alike, which foop antagonizes (and tries to kill) him for

cosmo and wanda would, realistically, of course try to shield him from all this, but no matter what they do, he's inevitably isolated

people either want to use him, put him on a pedestal, or is a universally infamous human godchild who will forget all about him in a matter of years

(cosmo and wanda becoming godparents and learning (choosing) to eventually let go of their kids is one thing, but it can be assumed poof was still a young, underdeveloped child by the time timmy (+chloe, for what it's worth) got his memories wiped

and he sees that timmy's able to live his own happy life without him in it. he lost his brother just like that, and there's nothing he can do despite all his godly powers)

there's so, so many ways he could've gone wrong

thus, my initial thought was that peri was going to be a somewhat petty, "spoiled brat," and him becoming a godparent would be the result of spite or rebellion, which cosmo and wanda would feel entirely responsible for. I HATE MY PARENTS!! yada yada yada

it was a pleasant surprise to see all those clips of them loving each other. and it's not even because i doubted for a second that cosmo and wanda are bad parents, it's just what you usually expect when seeing shows from the 2000s, even if it doesn't make sense

all things considered, i'm very glad they went for the lighthearted silly family trope. not every show needs such conflicts, and showing healthy dynamics are better for kids overall

still, i find it interesting to think about if they'd gone down another route instead. i love me a pathetic cringy villain who tries (fails) to hate the people they love the most

[cerastes]

Habe you ever had a "did we even play the same game?" moment with someone?

My favorite game ever used to be Metal Gear Solid 4, it’s still up there in my top favorites, and this time at a party I met a guy that said he didn’t like MGS4 because he felt like it ruined Snake as a character and that it misrepresented him. I asked if he could elaborate and his response was that they took this Rambo dude, this super manly war hero and emasculated him into a weak old man.

I need you to understand that Solid Snake was without exaggeration fundamental in my growth as a person: I am from a latino country, grew up in what’s widely considered the wrong side of the tracks in the middle of nowhere, being macho, manly, tough was incredibly important to me, because that’s how it was in there, and Snake (plus “The Knight In Rusty Armor” by Robert Fisher) basically made me question all of what I’d grown up thinking up until then, because Snake isn’t a badass because grrr manly beef jerky I kill and swear, he is this incredibly solemn guy who hates what he can do, but is the only one that can do it, and if he doesn’t do it, then nuclear war happens, or worse. There’s a whole angle of expectation as a narrative arc in regards to Snake: Meryl expected a glorious, boisterous war hero, Otacon expected a grizzled, badass action hero, Liquid expected Himself But Better In Every Way, Ocelot expected a tool and nothing else, Naomi expected a callous and cold killer… And they were all wrong, he is, ultimately, an exhausted man that cannot stop no matter how much he wants to stop, because if he does, the world might likely go up in literal flames.

So to hear this self-proclaimed superfan of Snake say this just made me skip anger and go all the way to pity. In-universe, those in the know of Snake worship him as an actual God of War, and it’s a common thing that gets addressed in-universe: The whole point of MGS2 is that Raiden could never have won if he tried to be Snake, because you don’t want to be Snake. Snake hates being Snake. Snake isn’t manly because he beat a tank on foot one on one, Snake is admirable because he does the right thing, even if he’s breaking down molecule by molecule as he goes and he wants nothing more than to fuck off and raise dogs in the arctic, but keeps on going anyways because he can do something about it. The most important message he imparts on Raiden and Meryl is Don’t Be Me; Create A World Where Snake Doesn’t Need To Exist.

I felt pity because if you feel like MGS4 misrepresented Snake, then you really and explicitly are exactly the kind of fodder PMC nobody that feeds the proxy wars in MGS4. I think only by skipping every cutscene you can come out thinking that way. The only thing super about him was ficial.

[youryanderedaddy]

Summary: You run into your snobby ex boyfriend after a drunken party. Things go south from there. tw: female reader, hinted murder, possessive behavior, condescension, financial(?) abuse, classism

You know this is a stupid, stupid idea. Going home at God knows what time in the pitch black is never a good idea, you think drowsily, head still spinning from the last beer, but even more so when you're tired, pissed off and tipsy. You're freezing, naked shoulders wet from the chilly midnight rain - but instead of soft damp linden, you smell molden concrete and metal. You fucking hate this city. You hate the stupid, flashy, obnoxious parties for rich people, and this shitty university in the middle of nowhere, and even the scholarship that forced you into close proximity with the freakish upper class of east New Hemptison.

"Baby!" A familiar voice sinks into the muddy darkness and you have to physically restrain yourself from emptying your stomach right there on the street - and knowing your neighbours, you'd have to clean it after too. His steps fasten and soon you feel his hand gripping your shoulder to turn you around. Standing before you, glistening just like some prince from a fairy tale, is everything you despise about this town. The fact that he's perfectly prim and proper despite the pounding rain, that his teeth seem almost pearly white in the dark, that his hair is crisp and slicked away tastefully, that even now he's wearing a fucking Armani shirt with the cheesiest pair of jeans (ones you could never afford) - it makes you want to crawl back to the cave you came from, two continents away, and never look back.

"Baby, where have you been?" He sounds terribly concerned as he pulls your shivering body in for a tight bear hug, running his hands through your absolutely soaked hair - murmuring something incomprehensible to your drunken mind. "I was worried sick, missy." His voice drops slightly, but it's all for show. He's playing the part of the good boyfriend, like always - and you fell for it once, you did, but you know better now. "I called you, like, sixty eight times. And nothing." He swallows, big hands trembling around you. "Just radio silence. I thought something bad happened to y-"

"Oh, f-uucking beat it." Your patience finally snaps and you push him off swiftly, barely contained anger starting to resurface again. Today was supposed to be about you, about healing, about feeling better, but just your luck - the very problem had found you, just like always. No matter where you go, your troubles follow. "You know what you did, asshole. Don't you d-aare play innocent with m-me." You hiss drunkenly, stumbling all over your words before hitting the wall all on your own. Mathew, of course, doesn't waste the oppurtunity to get closer to you - just so he can help you regain your balance, of course. The golden boy of Saint Hemptison would never take advantage of an intoxicated girl - much less his ex girlfriend who he's still hopelessly in love with, supposedly. Right.

"Baby, please, you're drunk - you're not making any sense." The man whispers softly, placing his hand at your hip. "Let's go to the penthouse. We can talk about this in the morning when you are more aware of your thoughts."

When you're more aware of your thoughts? You almost laugh. It's quite bittersweet when it hits you that he doesn't respect you even now - maybe he never has in the duration of your miserable relationshop, that in his eyes you'll always be the poor girl in need of a white knight. Just a little trophy to show off, if a bit broken in certain spots.

"I am not going anywhere with you." You mumble, trying to calm down - to appear cold and collected, the complete opposite of what he wants you to be. "Look, I know that you're mad at me, babygirl, but I'm sure your little temper tantrum can wait until tomorrow. You know I don't like this neighbourhood. Let me take you to a safe place for the night, okay?" He reaches for your hand again, but this time you swat it away in fury.

"Who are you to act so worried about me, huh?" You can hear your voice breaking as the tears prick at your eyes - hot and shameful. Crying in front of him is the last thing you want to do, but god, it's so hard not to when this whole night has been a disaster after a disaster. You're truly at your wits' end. "After what you did? You are truly shameless." You squeal, and admittedly, it feels fucking great to finally say it.

Your former lover's face twists into an unrecognizable grimace as he watches you tear into his heart with ease - and as you turn to leave, he grabs your wrist painfully. This time something is different about his eyes - they're not longer smiling. Now they're two bottomless gray pits devoid of kindness, the same eyes you saw the night of the accident as he caressed your cold cheek with bloody knuckles.

"And what did I do, love? Hm?" He tilts your chin up by squeezing your throat, forcing you to meet his eerie gaze. Suddenly all your tipsy bravado evaporates into thin air. "Please, refresh my memory. I really can't recall the events of the past two weeks - since you've been avoiding me and all..." His fingers dig into your skin and you wince just like a kicked puppy - but he doesn't bulge an inch. Suddenly everything comes flooding back - the touches you convinced yourself were sensual, not possesive, the glances you once thought of as romantic, the constant interrogations, the strange emails, the cryptic calls, the dead roses at your door. "I couldn't sleep - or eat for that matter. I am half a man without you. I lose myself completely."

It all makes sense now. You feel like crying, because it's so crystal clear... and you've been a willing fool. You had closed your eyes, because it was easier to lie than to accept the truth bubbling just under his surface - under the dimples and the smiles, and the hundred jewelry boxes still lying unopened under your bed.

"You - you killed him! You monster!" You gasp, unable to stop your lips from uttering the lethal. You thrash around to no avail, you're stuck. "How could you? Jack was your friend!" You hide your face in the crook of his neck to stop the sobs, too scared to look at the crazed man holding you. He simply rolls his eyes, letting you soak his shirt with your pretty tears. "Don't be so dramatic - it's just some broken bones. He'll be fine... as long as he stays away from my things."

You raise your head shakily - you're drowning between hatred, fear and misery. The adrenaline is making you even more disoriented than the liquor percentage in your bloodstream.

"I am not a fucking thing for you to-" You hiccup, growing woozy as you hit weakly against his chest. The corners of his lips curl up slightly as he chuckles at the pitiful display. "For you to just own!" You keep going, cheeks purple from pent up fury - there's something tearing at your insides like you want to scream, you need it to come out, but you find yourself unable to push it off your flesh like it's been ingrained with glue and a shovel.

"You're wrong, baby. I do own you." Mathew says with the sweetest, softest voice you've heard in your life, sugary and bitter like poisonous honey. "Let's say you want to break up-"

"We already broke u-"

His eyes pierce you mid-sentence. You quickly close your mouth.

"Let's say," He repeats through gritted teeth, holding you so tightly you might just merge into one being. "That you want to break up with me." He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring. "Hypothetically. Then what? You have no place to live. I know you're staying at that shithole of a hotel down the street right now - it's filthier than a brothel, no?"

You want to say something - to argue, to scream. To tell him that he's being a rich, condescending asshole again, that you like the hotel - despite the mold and the cockroaches and the way there never seems to be hot water. Despite having to lock your door four times so you don't get assaulted in your sleep.

You say nothing.

"You don't have to confirm it. My agent tracked you down a week ago. Whatever - you'll run out of money in, approximately, 9 days." He smirks maliciously, with unhidden spite - just like a little devil. "Then what? You don't even have an address. And you know the city hall will take their sweet fucking time to help you register - if they don't make you pay a fine first." He strokes your chin cruelly. "We both know just how much they care about clueless little foreigners with less than a penny to their name." He whispers, twisting the dagger in. "Hell, they may even cut your scholarship. And. then. what." Your ex pronounces each word slowly - making sure you can understand it, feel it - fear it.

You imagine your family back at home. You can hear their voices over the phone, your mom smiling as you tell her about your day, your father asking you what you plan to do after college - whether you will still remember them, whether you'd take care of them once they have nothing left, since you took everything with you. The money, the hopes, the happiness...

"F-fuck you..." You whimper faintly, falling against him. You feel defeated, and the sharp words are all you have left. "Why are you doing this to me?" You mumble to yourself, suddenly feeling drained to the very bone. The man begins stroking your hair as he rocks you gently to the side. "Because I love you." He slowly kisses down your neck. "Because I'm the only one in this city who gives a fuck about you, and-" You can feel his smile against your burning cheek. "Because you're mine."

[cheonstapes]

miguel o’hara stars in… ‘THE SWEETER THE JUICE’ o(^-^)o

･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡. miguel o’hara x reader .｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･

SMUT

now he’s finally got you pregnant, he’s gonna do what he’s been dreaming of all these years. suck. those. tits.

same universe as this miguel.

cw; lactation kink, pregnancy, breeding kink (not really but yknow me), dry humping, titties, older nerd!miguel, they’re finally married!

800+ words

@cheonstapes : she’s back! again!

if miguel had to pick a part of your body he loved the most, it’d definitely be your tits.

if you think he was obsessed before — you don’t wanna know what goes through his head as he watches you waddle around his house, carrying his kid, sighing every time you leak through another shirt. you had forgone a bra ever since you got pregnant, saying how uncomfortable they feel against your chest — not that he was complaining.

“for fucks-sake, again?”

he was so used to hearing you say that, he already had a shirt on hand for you to change into. you were so grateful for your doting husband that you completely missed that nasty glint in his eyes you usually only see when he’s bending you over the bed and fucking you raw — luckily for him.

“here, honey. lift your arms for me.”

as you do, he pulls the shirt up — the soiled fabric catching under your swollen breasts as he wiggles it off you. “ah, shit — thanks, baby. but fuck, am i’m so tired of changing shirts every 10 minutes!” you might be tired, but miguel cannot get enough of it. he was already so fucking hard, practically salivating at the sight of your bare breasts still leaking down your heavy belly.

“maybe you should just ditch the shirts all together, love — you know i hate seeing my beautiful wife uncomfortable.” miguel’s voice was a soft whisper in your ear, lips slowly tracing down the side of your jaw to your sensitive neck — kissing the skin so tenderly. his calloused hands gently massaged the taut flesh of your tits, probing and squeezing at your nipples to let out small trickles of that sweet milk.

“migs, how many times are you gonna say that?”

“as many as it takes for you to finally listen.”

the breathy laugh you let out did little to qualm the feeling deep in his gut — he was dead serious, there was absolutely no reason for you to be in shirts all the time when you have him to take care of you whenever you needed a good milking. his hips were already sinking into to the plush of your ass that he loved oh-so-much — especially with how much fatter it got during your pregnancy.

it was almost as if he had lost control of his body, a hand landing on your waist to bend you over the counter as he mindlessly ruts into you. “dios, nena, eres tan hermosa. vas a ser la mamá más guapa, ¿verdad? mm, my pretty, little mama.” miguel never failed to turn you on to no bounds, like, you have a walking greek god as a husband — but those fucking hormones were making it unbearable.

the force at which he was pushing against you had shifted your drenched panties to the side, leaving practically nothing between you and his drooling bulge. his fingers tightened around the fat of your hips, squeezing the flesh delicious hard as his free hand flipped you over — pushing your back against the edge of the counter. “shit…been waiting to taste these all fucking day, honey.”

mindful of your growing belly, he hiked one of your legs up on his hip — craning his neck down to suck on a pert nipple. wasting no time, and at a much better angle, he continued to grind against you — his tip catching against your engorged clit. “m—migs, baby, fuck…” the way he swirled and sucked so eagerly reminded you of when you first started dating, how determined he was to knock you up before the two of you even moved in together.

the taste was so addicting, some of your milk trickling down his body — dripping onto the ground beneath you. you knew he was about to cum, hard — his eyes had rolled back, breathing in heavy pants, hands rushing to pull down the waistband of his sweats. “gonna paint my girls in my cum, love — sé una buena chica y mantenlos juntos para mí.”

“‘course, baby.” you nodded breathlessly, squishing the globes of fat together as he pumped his cock dry — head thrown back as ropes upon ropes of his hot seed coated your tits, sliding into the self-made crevice. “god, what did i do in my past life to have a wife as sexy as you, mamí?” his spent cock bobbed against his thigh as he trapped you against the counter — kissing you deeply as his wet hands reaching up to rub the cum into the skin of your breasts.

“mmph — y’know, i heard cum’s good for the skin. it, uh, helps with the blood circulation in your tits — i think we should do this more often, love.”

“migs, if you weren’t, like — a whole scientist, i might’ve believed you. if you want a titjob, just say that.”

“…i mean, you said it — not me.”

all your home shirts were promptly locked away and never to be seen again.

-new year, new waiting for cheon to get her shit together andpost!

[covenofagatha]

Birthday Girl

On your 21st birthday, your friends drag you to a bar to get wasted when you decide it's a good idea to drunk-call Professor Agatha Harkness.

Word count: 3400+

Warnings: smut, fingering, oral, intoxication, mentions of underage drinking, teacher x student (legal)

“One, two, three!” Wanda chants and you and your friends tap your shot glasses on the bar counter and quickly down them. 

You gasp at the burn and they laugh at you. It’s your 21st birthday and your best friends Wanda, Rio, and Natasha had dragged you out to the closest bar to get you wasted. They had all already turned 21 the year before; you were the baby in the group. 

“Fuck, that’s disgusting,” you groan. 

“Another round, please!” Rio motions to the bartender. He sets down four more tequila shots and one is shoved into your hand. 

“Think you can get to 21?” Wanda jokes and the thought of 20 more shots makes you want to gag. 

“I might puke after this one,” you say and your friends laugh. You were never a partier in high school or college, always preferring to curl up on the couch and watch a movie. You’d only had some sips of alcohol a few times, but you had never been drunk. 

“You deserve this!” Nat shouts in your ear. “Harkness has been working you to the bone!” 

You shrug and wave your hand dismissively, suddenly uncomfortable. Agatha Harkness is your History of Witchcraft professor at Westview University. She’s known around campus for being cold to everyone and rarely giving out A’s. She expected nothing short of excellence and would not put up with excuses. Everyone was terrified of her. 

Everyone except for you. 

Something about the older woman captivated you. You were obsessed with meeting her standards, dreaming of the day she would look at you with pride. You poured over your books for her class, rereading every sentence you wrote thrice, just to try to impress her. It had taken your friends days of begging to convince you to come celebrate your birthday with them because you had a paper for Agatha’s class due in a week and you were already worried about it. 

“I don’t know how you’re surviving,” Wanda says. “I had her last semester and got a C in the class. Third highest grade. She’s the worst.” 

“She’s not that bad,” you defend, not quite sure why. Something about Agatha getting so much hate for pushing her students rubs you the wrong way. 

“Yeah she is,” Rio joins in. “I heard that she’s a real witch.”

You roll your eyes. “Can we please stop talking about her? I thought you guys brought me here to get away from school.” You take the shot that’s still in your hand and it goes down smoother this time. 

“Yes, there we go!” Rio whoops. 

Two more shots later and your head has gone completely fuzzy. You feel as if you are floating on air and everything around you is happening in slow motion. You get off your stool and immediately stumble, Wanda catching you with her arms. 

“I think I’m a little drunk,” you tell her. She laughs like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. 

“No shit, y/n, you don’t have to yell!” 

You didn’t even realize you had. “We should probably go back to the dorms!” You look around to see Nat chatting with some girl and Rio throwing darts at the board in the corner. 

“Not yet,” Wanda says, picking up her rum and coke. You’re not sure how she’s still drinking after she also did four tequila shots. “I’ll get you some water.” She signals to the bartender and you squeeze your eyes shut, willing your vision to go back to normal. 

When you open them, you see dark hair in the corner. Is that–? You shift so you can get a better look and feel sorely disappointed when you realize the person is not Agatha. Why are you disappointed? The thought echoes in your head for a second, and then is replaced by a sudden urge to see your professor. 

“Drink this,” Wanda orders, pressing a glass of ice water into your hand, but you’re too busy scrolling through your phone. You know she put her number on the syllabus somewhere and you are too far gone to think that this might be a bad idea. 

You feel a thrill run through you when you find it. You read the number over and over, like you’re afraid it’s going to change somehow. 

“I’ll be back,” you slur to Wanda and then step out the side door into the alley. You type the number into your phone and your finger hesitates over the call button. You know you shouldn’t. But fuck it. You press the button and lift the phone to your ear. 

It rings. And then rings again. You’re about to hang up to spare yourself the rejection when the call connects. 

“Hello?” It’s actually her. 

Your breath catches in your throat and you stand up straighter. “Professor Harkness?” 

“Y/n? Is that you?” 

“Yeah.” Shit, this was a bad idea. Even with your head still swimming, you know that. You can’t just hang up though. 

“Why are you calling me at 10:30 on a Saturday night?” 

“Um,” you say, trying to think of something. You’re definitely going to have to drop her class after this. You’ll never be able to face her ever again. “It’s my birthday?” You offer lamely. 

Agatha scoffs. “Happy birthday. Can I help you with something?”

“Oh, no, Professor, I just wanted – we’re at a bar – I thought you were – and just wanted to say hi,” you ramble, knowing you’re not making any sense, and you can almost hear her smirk through the phone. 

“Y/n, are you drunk right now?” Her voice perks up and it sounds like she’s finally interested. 

“No!” you protest. “Well, maybe a little. But I’m 21 now!” 

“What bar are you at?” 

“Jimmy’s.” It’s a local dive bar that is a popular place for Westview students to hang out at. 

“I’ll be there in ten. Wait out front.” There’s a click and then she’s gone. You stare at your phone, dumbfounded. Is Agatha coming to pick you up? Why?

You walk back into the bar and order a Dirty Shirley. The call had sobered you up a bit and if you had already drunk-called your professor, why not get even more hammered. Wanda comes back over to you and giggles when she sees the new drink in your hand. 

“Alright, time to party!” she exclaims. You pick up on the fact that she’s a little drunk as well. You stand up, vision blurring for a second. 

“I actually called an uber,” you lie, even through your hazy mind knowing that your professor coming to pick you up might sound strange to them.

Wanda pouts and then throws her arms around you. “Happy birthday,” she says into your ear and your arms tighten around her. 

“Thank you,” you breathe back. You’re close with Rio and Nat as well, but they don’t have the same bond you and Wanda do. You pull back and then go say goodbye to your other friends. 

The wind outside does very little to sober you up and you shiver from the coldness. You’re wearing a purple crop-top and a black mini-skirt, something Nat had found buried deep in your closet. You watch the time on your phone, heartbeat picking up as it gets closer to ten minutes since Agatha had hung up on you. 

And then right on the dot, a slick black Range Rover pulls into the parking lot, and you immediately know it’s her. The car stops right in front of you, the passenger window rolling down, and your breath catches. 

It’s Professor Harkness, clad in a maroon suit, wavy hair falling over her shoulders. 

“Do you need me to open the door for you, too, princess?” Agatha says, sarcasm dripping over the words, when you haven’t moved. You shake your head, partly to answer and partly to clear the fog. You settle into the seat, not missing the way Agatha’s eyes rake over your skimpily clothed body.

“You didn’t have to come get me,” you mutter, putting real effort into not slurring your words. 

She glances at you and sees you struggling with your seatbelt. She reaches over and you freeze at her close proximity. Her breath is hot against your cheek and her fingers brush your stomach as she takes the seat belt from your hand and buckles it for you. “Thought I would spare the other people you drunk-called,” she says. 

Embarrassment runs through you. “You were the only one,” you say meekly, picking at a scab on your hand. You dare to peek at her, only to find her smirking, one eyebrow quirked. 

“Oh?”

“I shouldn’t have called.” This time, it’s harder to keep your words from running together. “We were talking about you and then I thought I saw you and I just wanted to see you.” You need to stop talking, now. 

Agatha hums. “Did you, now?” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ears as she shifts the car into drive and you watch her fingers. 

“You’re really hot,” you blurt out and then clamp a hand over your mouth. Fuck. 

Instead of pulling over and making you get out, like you thought she would, Agatha simply reaches over and pats your leg. “And you’re really drunk, sweetheart.” 

The pet name makes you swoon inwardly. “Not that drunk,” you say unconvincingly. “I only had one…two…” You trail off, attempting to count the number of drinks on your fingers. Agatha stifles a chuckle. 

“Is this your first time drinking?” She asks, amused. 

“No, but it is my first time drinking this much,” you admit. “My friends dragged me out since it’s my birthday. I was going to work on the essay for your class.” 

“You were going to spend your 21st birthday doing school work?” 

“Your essay’s due in a week. I wanted to make sure I-it was good enough for you.” 

She notices your slip of tongue and her smirk sends heat down low in your stomach. “You’re always good for me. Your essays are some of the best I’ve ever read.” 

Your heart skips a beat and your face flushes. “I have a B in your class.” 

“You have an 88 in my class. That’s the highest I’ve had in years. Can’t make it too easy,” she says with a wink. 

“You could make it just a little easier,” you grumble, the alcohol clearly getting rid of any inhibitions. 

“You keep doing what you’re doing, sweetheart, and it’ll go up, I promise. I’m very impressed with the work you’ve been turning in.”

A hot flash runs through you. “Just wanna be your good girl.” And if it wasn’t clear how you feel about her now, it sure is. But she doesn’t look disgusted or creeped out, only intrigued. 

She finally stops the car and you peer out the window, expecting to see your dorm. You haven’t been paying attention to where she’s been driving at all, and you’re quite surprised to see you’ve arrived at a two-story house in a cute, suburban neighborhood. 

“This isn’t where I live,” you say dumbly. 

“No, it’s not,” she agrees, getting out of the car and walking over to help you. You stumble up the steps to the front door, Agatha’s tight grip on your shoulder keeping you upright. You can feel her fingers playing with the ends of your hair. 

She unlocks the front door just as a wave of nausea hits you. “Oh, god,” you say weakly, holding a hand in front of your mouth. Agatha doesn’t even seem phased; she leads you to a bathroom in the hall and leaves, only to re-enter with a glass of water moments later. You gulp it down and feel better. 

“You okay?” she asks softly, stroking your cheek, eyes tracing up and down your face. You’ve never seen this side of her and you really like it. 

“I think so. Thank you again,” you murmur and you realize that you’ve been staring at her mouth. 

“Anything for my favorite student.” 

And then, because you’re apparently determined to fuck everything up even more, you lean in and press your lips to hers. Agatha stands still for a second before you pull back, horrified with yourself. 

“Professor, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to–” 

She draws you back in for a longer kiss this time, tongue licking into your mouth. You let out a long moan and she breaks away. 

“You’re drunk,” she tells you again.

You clasp the lapels of her blazer. “I know. But I want you.” 

She softly pries your fingers off her suit and smiles. “You need to sleep. And then we can talk about this in the morning.” 

You pout and she runs her thumb over your bottom lip, slightly pulling it down. You suck her finger into your mouth, delighting in the way her eyes darken. She steps back.

“Let’s go. You can sleep in the guest room. I’ll find you some pajamas and toiletries.” Her hand on the small of your back guides you up the stairs and to the room on the right. The guest room is simple but cozy and you immediately go to the bed and flop onto it. “Don’t fall asleep yet,” Agatha warns and then leaves the room. 

She comes back in a few minutes, an old shirt and sweatpants in one hand and a toothbrush and toothpaste in the other. She pats your legs in an effort to get you up but you can barely move, suddenly weighed down by all the drinks. 

“Come on, hon,” Agatha says and helps you stand up. You don’t move as she works to take your shirt and skirt off, your cheeks and upper chest flushing red. You try to cover yourself and she smirks. 

“M’sorry,” you mumble. 

“Don’t be. I’m enjoying the view.” You stare at her longingly, silently begging her to fuck you right there and then, but she helps you step into the sweatpants and pull the shirt over your head. She watches you brush your teeth and moves the covers so you can get into bed. “Do you need anything else?” 

Your hand grabs hers. “Just you,” you try again hopefully, but she chuckles and wrenches free of your grip. 

“Good night, birthday girl,” she whispers and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. And then she turns off the lights and leaves the room.

You fall asleep immediately. 

***

Sunlight streams through the blinds, waking you up. It takes you a minute to get your bearings and then the events of last night come back to you. 

The bar. Four shots of tequila and half a Dirty Shirley. Calling Agatha and her coming to pick you up and taking you to her house. Kissing her in the downstairs bathroom. Shit. 

You groan, head pounding. You see a container of Advil and a glass of water on the nightstand beside you. You take two Advil and drain the glass, heart warming at the thought of Agatha taking such good care of you. 

And then you remember that your relationship with her will forever be complicated by your actions. 

You solemnly brush your teeth and pull back on the clothes you wore to the bar last night, neatly folding Agatha’s pajamas and placing them on the bed. You hope she hasn’t woken up yet so you can sneak out without her having to tell you how inappropriate you behaved last night. 

No such luck. The second you get downstairs, Agatha perks up from where she’s typing on her laptop on the couch.

“Good morning, darling,” she purrs, shutting her computer. You gulp, taking her outfit in. She’s wearing a robe that ends mid-thigh and the neckline drops low. 

“Hey,” you say casually, trying to hide how much you’re internally freaking out. 

“Do you want something for breakfast? I can cook you something.” She stands up and walks to the kitchen and you follow like a lost puppy. You involuntarily lick your lips at the way her hips are swaying. 

“What are my options?” Your voice is raspy, still feeling hungover. She glances back at you and her eyes dart up and down your body. 

“I can make eggs. Bacon. I think I have pancake mix in the pantry. What would you like?” 

You’re a little confused that she hasn’t scolded you yet. And then you remember something else. She kissed you. 

You swallow hard. Whatever else you may have done last night that you can’t remember, she doesn’t hate you for it. She might even want you back. 

“Are you on the menu?” It comes out before you can even realize what you’re saying. 

Agatha freezes and turns around. You shift your weight nervously, but then you see her pupils blown out. Her eyes are so dark you can barely see any blue. “What?” She asks carefully.

“You kissed me last night,” you say, a little breathless. You have absolutely no idea where this confidence is coming from. “You wouldn’t do anything else cause I was drunk. But I’m not drunk now.” 

She steps toward you and roughly grasps your hair. She tilts your head back, exposing your neck just a tad. “No, you’re not.” She regards you for a second. “You know you’re not going to get extra credit for trying to sleep with your professor.” 

You laugh. “That’s not why I’m doing this.” 

She smirks. “Good.” And then she licks a hot stripe up your neck and bites down, sucking a mark on your skin. You gasp loudly and tangle your hands into her hair. 

“Professor,” you moan and you drag her into a filthy kiss. She backs you up until your thighs hit the table so she lifts you up onto it. Your legs wrap around her to pull her closer. Agatha pushes up your crop-top and kneads your breast, thumb stroking your nipple, never once breaking your kiss.

Her hand creeps under your skirt and cups your mound over your underwear. Your hips jump on their own at the stimulation. 

“Please,” you beg. Her lips curl into a smile. 

“What do you want?” Her fingers have pushed your underwear to the side and have started lazily stroking through your folds, spreading your wetness. 

“You,” is all you can say before she sinks a finger into your hole. 

“Like this?” She asks innocently, thrusting hard. 

“Yes,” you pant, quickly untying her robe so you can touch her. She’s completely naked underneath and you lean down so you can take a nipple into your mouth. 

“That’s perfect, baby,” she sighs, setting a relentless pace with her fingers after she slips another one in you. “Is this what you hoped would happen when you called me last night?”

“I’ve been hoping for this since the first day of the semester,” you answer, and she falters for a second, thrown off by your honesty. 

She pulls out of you and panic runs through you, terrified that you said the wrong thing. But she just pushes you down so your back is resting on the table and she pulls out one of the chairs from the table. 

“What are you–” Before you can finish your sentence, she leans forward and sucks your clit into her mouth. Your back arches off the table, hands rushing down to hold her in place. “Fuck, Professor!” 

She devours your pussy like she’s a starving woman, pulling all sorts of loud noises from you. 

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cum,” you chant, hips grinding on her face, trying to get the last bit of stimulation you need to send you over the edge. She knows what you need and presses her fingers inside you, curling them just right and gives your clit a hard last lick. You cum harder than you ever have before, her name on your lips like a prayer. She helps you ride through the aftershocks and then trails kisses up your body until she can kiss your mouth. 

“How was that?” she asks after you pull away to catch your breath. 

“That was probably the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten,” you say, which cracks both of you up. “But I’m not finished.” 

Her eyebrow quirks up and she smirks. “Oh?” You stand up, putting your hands on her hips and flipping her around so she’s leaning against the table. 

You sink to your knees in front of you, not even bothering with a chair. You slowly push her robe up so it bunches at her waist. “Can I return the favor?” 

A glint appears in her eye and she fists one of her hands in your hair preemptively. “I’d like nothing more.” 

[bandgie]

Behave

prof!heesung x dean!Jake x fem!reader

3.1k words

warnings! mdni18+, DUBCON, 3some, throat fucking, piv, no protection, creampie, manipulation, cum eating (f!), fingering, reader is called 'slut' multiple times, abuse of power themes notes: please don't read if you're not comfortable OR before you read this! I also finally figured out how to do the three picture thingies yay!

All you did was talk back

There wasn’t any shouting, no cursing, no physical violence. Your professor was being a dick, as per usual, and you found it best to let him know how you didn’t appreciate his behavior. Truly, you didn’t think you said anything bad. Nothing that warranted an intense meeting between your professor and the university dean.

Professor Lee Heesung stood with his arms crossed, glasses resting low on his nose as he regarded you with disdain. It took everything in you to keep your eyes from rolling as the dean sat on his desk, disciplining your behavior. 

“I think an apology is much needed to your professor, missy.”

Missy. You swear you see red when you hear those words. Mr. Sim Jae-yun doesn’t even acknowledge how demeaning that is to say. Not when he’s too busy looking at the exposed part of your thighs that bugle from you sitting. He’s beginning to think he should talk to the president to implement a rule that skirts must go past your knees. It doesn’t matter if being in a university doesn’t require a uniform, he’ll make it happen. 

You scoff, crossing your arms in the same manner as Professor Lee. “With all due respect, Mr. Sim, I think not. Everyone in that class hates him. He’s such an ass.”

“Oh, I’m the ass?” Heesung unfolds his arms to point at you accusingly. “You’re the one wearing shorts that only show ass. I don’t need to take any type of ridicule from a slut-in-training.”

Any comeback you had quickly dies in your throat. It’s not as though you’ve never been called names before, but from a professor, that’s a first. You clear your throat and blink, still in slight disbelief. “See?” You look at Jake with desperation. “He’s being a dick right in front of you!”

But the dean doesn’t agree. All he does is sigh, “To be fair, it is really short.”

You groan. “As if any of that matters! I’m not gonna apologize to this asshole. And you can’t make me.” Ignoring their gawks, you huff and turn your head the other way. Maybe it would be better to swallow your pride and give them what they want. It would get them off your back and, hopefully, get everything back to normal. Yet, you catch yourself replaying how Heesung easily called you a whore and how the dean did little to nothing about it. Worst of all, how the tiniest part of you almost liked knowing that they were looking at you in a way that university staff should not.

The men exchange glances - looks you miss that involve smirks and nods. 

“Go ahead and stand up.” It’s Jake who directs you. Rather than turning your whole head, you only peek from the side of your eyes. “Or what?”

“Or you’ll be expelled,” he says factly. Now you fully turn to him, eyes wide and mouth agape. You’re already stuttering about how he can’t do that, but he shuts you up with, “If you don’t want to give an apology, the least you can do is stand.”

So you do, hesitantly, but you do. Their gaze drops to your legs and you begin to tug your skirt just a few inches lower. It doesn’t matter how hot these men are, they still pissed you off. You couldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing your plush skin. Not unless they deserved it, of course. 

Heesung crosses one arm over his chest while his other hand is at his chin, putting him in a thinking pose. He regards you much differently now. There's not as much disgust than there is interest. He takes a few steps around you, getting a good look at every angle.

You shift from one leg to the other, uncomfortable with his blatant stalking. “I don’t understand how this is going to help.”

Jake stands from his place at the desk and walks closer to you. Granted, he’s not the tallest man, but you find yourself shrinking from his aura. A presence that demands attention, respect. His ringed fingers grab a hold of your chin so you look him in the eyes. “You don’t know how to listen, but I think we can fix that. All you need is some discipline. If you wanna stay enrolled, I suggest you behave for us starting now.”

You’re too stunned to say anything. No words can form even when Heesung places his hand on your lower back. He applies pressure until you arch, the skirt inevitably exposing your panties for him to see. 

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” he tuts. “I don’t understand how you expect me to act professional with you when you dress like this.” Heesung uses his other hand to reach down, cupping your clothed mound with no warning. 

The warmth of his hand makes you gasp and Jake takes the opportunity to slip his thumb in your mouth. It’s not supposed to work on you, but it manages to turn your whimpers into mewls instead as you softly suck on it. The pad of his finger presses onto your tongue and you dutifully open your throat so he can shove it deeper. 

Jake can’t help but smile, one side of his lips slightly turned more upwards than the other when he looks at you. All it takes is Heesung to apply more pressure to your cunt to make you suck harder. He can feel his cock hardening in his slacks, the blood leaving his head to rush to his groin instead.

Perhaps he’ll be able to blame his terrible decisions on that fact.

You whine when Heesung pulls away from you, placing his hands on either side of your hips to guide you closer to the dean’s desk. It’s all too quick when you find yourself bent over the wooden table, legs kicked open so your thighs are apart, and your hands bound by Jake’s grip. 

“It truly is a shame we have to do it like this,” he sighs, though it hardly sounds regretful in the slightest. “But we just can’t trust you’ll be good for us, not yet anyway.”

Being restrained makes you twist and turn, trying to escape from the men who have you pinned down. Your stomach squeezes with fear, but you’re starting to think a different, more intense emotion, slithers its way to your core. “W-wait,” you turn your head in an attempt to look at them. “You can’t do this. I’ll get you fired. I’ll tell.”

“Oh no!” Heesung mocks fear in his voice. “Did you hear that, Jake? She’s gotta tattletale on us!” He laughs wholeheartedly, making sure to keep your thighs pried open no matter how much you try and push them together. “Even if you do, who do you think they’ll believe?”

His finger trails up your slit, prodding your entrance before sliding back down to your clothed clit. You jolt so violently that you lurch forward and whine. Heesung and Jake chuckle at your reactions, lifting your skirt over your ass so it’s only your panties in the way. 

“Good, slut,” Heesung coos. “No talking back this time. See? You can behave.”

The only reason you’re not saying anything is because you’re scared that you’ll moan. There’s no way in hell you’d let them know that you’re feeling even the smallest amount of pleasure. No matter how wet your underwear grows, no matter how hard you bite your lower lip, your pride is too strong to succumb to their touch. 

But you want to, so bad you do. Maybe they can already tell that you’re becoming more and more pliant for them since Jake only has to use one hand to bind your wrists. Both of the men have their fingers at your pussy: swirling, pinching, and rubbing your cunt until you instinctively grind back on them.

Jake does the honors of hooking a finger to the side of your underwear, finally revealing the source of arousal. You squeal, wiggling to cover yourself but to no avail. It’s near impossible to hide your soaked pussy, lips fat and wet from how disgustingly good they were making you feel.

“Damn,” Heesung breathes. “Must’ve been hard to pretend to hate it, huh?”

You snarl at him, teeth clenched and eyes ignited. “I hate you.”

Heesung smiles, “Seems like your pussy here doesn’t.” He pushes the tip of his finger on your nub, flicking it back and forth. Heesung laughs when your breath gets caught in your throat and all you can do is let out a high-pitched moan from his touch. “Fuck, it’s so wet.”

Jake focuses his digits near your entrance, dipping just the tips of his fingers in to watch your hole clench in anticipation. “More than wet, it’s sobbing to be filled.” He groans when your cunt tries to swallow his fingers. “I don’t even think you need to finger her. You can just put it straight in.”

Wait. That’s not what you want to happen. Your fight or flight should kick in, you should try to scream or kick, but you don’t. Getting away is the last thing your body wants to do. All its attention is on finishing as fast and as pleasurable as possible. So what if they’re older than you? Have authority over you? They can make you feel good, even if it’s at the cost of your dignity. 

It’s as if Heesung can hear your inner turmoil, and of course, he has to add fuel to the fire. “You heard that, slut? Sounds like you really do like me. Go ahead and tell me how much you want it and I’ll fuck you real nice.” 

Jake, despite being the one to say that fingering you would hardly make a difference, begins to push his digits deeper inside. Two of them slowly, but agonizingly open you up. As much as you hate that they're the ones doing it, your cunt is grateful for having something to finally clench down on. Still, your will is stronger than your desire. “F-fuck no.”

But deep down you know and they know. It’s how your curses turn into mewls. How you’ve begun to rock your hips back and forth to match the pace of Jake’s thrusting fingers. The men can see the pretty, white cream coating his digits. The sight makes Heesung groan, “Can’t you behave? Just look at it. You’re begging for this, slut.” Without being told to, Jake slips his finger from your hole. You gasp at the sudden emptiness, mouth agape as you silently whine. You’re too busy mourning the lack of fingers before you feel them prod your lips. 

Jake reaches around and easily slips his fingers in your mouth. It’s an immediate reaction when your tongue swirls around them, tasting your arousal and gulping it down. 

“Fuck. I hope you suck cock like that.” Jake grunts when he presses the pad of his fingers on your tongue. You bite on them, but it comes off more playful than painful. The taste of yourself is overwhelming and you can’t even notice how they’ve begun to position themselves with one in front of your face with the other staying behind.

A different, slightly smaller pair of hands pin you this time. You finally recognize Jake as being the one in front of you while Heesung rubs against the curve of your ass. He’s bare, you figure, from the waist down with his cock guiding up and down. You whimper and you’re comforted by Jake pushing the hair from your face to reveal your pretty, stained lips.

“You have sucked someone off before, right?” Jake tilts his head and lets his thumb run across your bottom lip. You don’t answer, both too stunned by the inevitable outcome and how Heesung has angled his cock slightly lower so it catches your clit instead. It’s the man behind that answers for you, “Course she has. You seen the mouth on this slut? All that talking she does is just ‘cuz there’s nothing to shut her up.”

When you feel a flush in your face, you know it’s from anger. “Oh, fuck you. The only way you’re able to get laid is by - hngh!” Heesung isn’t slow when he puts it in. His rough entrance cuts you off mid-sentence. You only feel his tip widening you for a second before the rest of his length slides into you. 

Now you understand why Jake stretched you open despite everything. He must know how Heesung is, he must know because of how often they do this. It all begins to fall into place now that you’re bent over, skirt flipped up with a cock in your cunt and one soon to be in your mouth. Your behavior did not warrant a meeting with the dean, let alone one-on-one. This must have been their plan. To abuse their power on a whore of a student like you so that if word ever did get out, it would be easier to write it up as a girl who simply didn’t like her professor. 

Not the most perfect plan, but you hardly care to focus on the cracks when you're being jolted forward and rocked against the desk. Jake takes the opportunity to shove himself inside your moaning mouth. Your tongue goes on the underside of his cock, throat expanding so he can fuck himself deeper while Heesung does the same inside your cunt. 

It’s so that it can be bearable, you tell yourself. Not because you like the feeling of them filing you. 

“Shit, see?” Heesung moans and squeezes your wrists. “She just needs something to shut. her. up.” Each word is enunciated with a thrust. Heesung makes sure the sound of your bodies echo in the office. You squeal around gag around Jake's cock, neck straining from keeping your head lifted. 

Jake grips the hair from the top of your head to start fucking you at a rhythm. His hips rock upwards so his tip touches the back part of the roof of your mouth. “Her throats’ squeezing me like a pussy. Fuck! You caught a good one, Hee.”

Heesung laughs, but it sounds dark. Drool seeps from the corner of your lips from the stimulation. The edge of the table only slightly rubs on your clit when Heesung rocks into you. Just barely touching your nub to make you clench and gush around his cock. You try to get on your tippy toes so you can feel him deeper inside, but Heesung is set on having you nearly flushed against the desk save for Jake’s grip forcing your chest upwards.

“I’d hardly say she’s good,” Heesung argues. “She was giving us such a hard time. Making us play with her pussy just to make sure she was wet enough. Isn’t that right, slut?” 

You muffle against Jake’s dick. Neither of them make a move to properly understand what you said, both caught in the pleasure you’re giving them. Still, Heesung continues. “Ah, now I get it. You were just playing hard to get. Calling me names and acting like you’re above this when all you wanted was to be bent like this.” He’s pumping into you harder, messier. You don't even have the coordination to suck properly on Jake’s cock anymore. Not that he minds, it seems. He uses your mouth like a fleshlight, careful not to hit so deep that your gag reflex forces him out. 

You can wiggle your hands though. A final act of retaliation to let Heesung know that he’s wrong. He sees it, to your surprise, and he laughs at your futile ministrations. “I kind of like it when you keep fighting back. It’ll make everything so much more fun when you cum on the dick you hate.”

You don't want to cum, you don’t even want to think about it. Yet, the taste of your orgasm travels in your stomach. You swear you can feel the head of Heesung’s cock touching it, the tip of Jake’s prodding it from your throat. All you need is that final push, a last magical touch to make you tip over. Strangely, you wish for the feeling of being on the edge to never stop. So this moment of twisted humiliation and pleasure lasts for a lifetime. 

That doesn’t happen though. Not when Heesung untangles one of his hands to play with the flesh of your pussy. His nimble fingers blindly travel up until they find your clit. It only takes a couple of rubs, a few harsh pinches that make you whine on Jake's dick before you flood his cock. The consistent moans vibrate the cock in your mouth and Jake doesn’t last any longer when he feels them. 

“Oh fuck. I’m cumming. I'm cumming. I’m cumming.” Both of his hands grab ahold of your face as he buries his cock deep. You sputter and gag around him, being force-fed his load that shoots down your throat. It doesn’t help that Heesung keeps fucking into you to reach his high. It makes Jake’s cock bury itself deeper inch by inch. Your eyes water, saliva and cum drip down your chin onto the desk, but Jake is content with milking himself dry in your mouth and then some. 

Finally, Heesung groans. He adjusts his stance so he can fuck harder into you. His fingers rub painfully fast on your clit and you're crying for him to slow down. The overstimulation nearly makes you want to claw your own skin before he finishes. Hot streaks of cum enter your pussy, the entrance of your womb. You pulse around him, and he pulses inside of you. 

Your hips wiggle to get his fingers off your clit, and they listen to adjust on your ass instead. Jake slowly slips his softening cock from your lips, moaning when your head thuds on the table and you gasp for air. He shoves his cock back into his slacks, wiping the sweat from his forehead when he’s done.

Then Heesung slips out of you, pulling one of your cheeks apart to watch his and your cream leak from your gaping pussy. Your hole pushes out the cum and he shoves it back in with his finger. “Mmm,” he hums. “It looks so good like this.”

When Heesung releases you from his grip you don’t dash for the door. You don’t turn around and slap him; the thought doesn't even cross your mind. Your legs turn into jelly, falling on the floor disgracefully. You can’t even imagine how you look, cum dripping down your thighs and chin as you catch your breath. Still, Heesung smiles down at you, though you know it’s far from endearing.

“See, slut? It’s not that hard to listen, now is it.”