#it’s a dynamic that somehow works well for them!

[ktownshizzle]

Nerd & Nerdier | Chapter 3

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader, Jeon Wonwoo x reader; endgame? x reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Attempt At Comedy, Roommates au, Love triangle

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Moving in with two introverts should have been easy. Not when it’s Min Yoongi and Jeon Wonwoo, who decide they both want you. Unhinged, awkward, and nerdy as hell, they proceed to compete for your attention in the most unnecessarily dramatic fashion that culminates into a… rap battle.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Wildly gratuitous, You might 100% chance you’ll fall in love with both of them so that’s a problem, no mxm dynamics to be expected

✎ ˎˊ˗Chapter Warnings: reader felt violated while in the club, both men are down so bad

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 1.8k ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: February 26, 2025

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Everyday I continue to find My People who understand the obsession with this cat and this ghost in a deep, cellular, molecular level. So here we go… Thank you Cathy Jae <3

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Ch 1 | Ch 2

Roommate Rule #3: If Your Bickering Roommates Start Acting Strangely in Sync, Something is Most Definitely Up.

After that night, a weird calm settles over the apartment.

No more rap battles. No passive-aggressive co-op games. No intense staring contests over meals.

It should feel normal, better even? But it doesn’t.

Plus, now, whenever you’re home, they’re both there. Always. Kinda hovering.

It’s never just Yoongi in the kitchen, grumbling about how you keep putting the spices in the wrong order. It’s never just Wonwoo on the couch, lost in a book but somehow still aware of everything you do.

It’s both of them.

At first, you chalk it up to coincidence. Maybe their schedules just aligned, or maybe you’re overthinking things. But then a whole week passes, and you realize—no, this is intentional.

And you have no idea what to make of it.

At work, a colleague from another department—Hyunjae—strikes up a conversation by the coffee machine. He’s nice, seems harmless, and when he asks you out to dinner, you say yes.

Because why not?

You don’t have a boyfriend. Your weird roommates haven’t exactly made anything explicit. And maybe—maybe—this is exactly what you need to clear your head.

That night, when you tell Yoongi and Wonwoo about the date, their reactions are... expected?

They don’t react that much. They don’t even comment on how you're looking hella cute with your lilac dress and heels. Stoic, as per usual.

Yoongi leans back in his chair, nodding once. "Have fun."

Wonwoo barely looks up from his phone. "Yeah. Hope it goes well."

But their voices are just a little too flat. Their movements a little too controlled.

As you do a final check on the contents of your bag (card, keys, mint, lip tint), Wonwoo casually mentions that he’s streaming tonight—his gaming channel has been blowing up lately and Yoongi tells you to call him if anything happens. Guess that’s that.

It’s fine. Everything is fine.

Except it’s not. Because the date was bad.

Dinner was okay, but when you went to the bar next door, the guy got pushy once the drinks started flowing. A hand on your waist that lingered too long. Fingers grazed your thigh like he had a right to.

You felt off. Uncomfortable. A little violated.

You told him off and walked away.

You lock yourself in the ladies bath room. Fuck. You stare at your phone. There’s only one voice you hear in your head as you stroll through your contact list. You just hope he answers.

Of course he does, on the second ring.

“Yoongi? Can you, umm, can you pick me up?”

"Where are you?" Yoongi asks, voice a little sharp. “Are you okay?”

You tell him the club’s name, and you barely get through the sentence of telling him you’re hidden away because you don’t want to be with your date anymore, before he says, "Stay where you are. I’m coming."

Fifteen minutes later, he’s here and the rush of relief mixes with the cool air as you exit the bathroom stall you've taken residence in.

You see him before he sees you. Black button down, dark jeans, and fire in his eyes, but when they land on you, something in his expression shifts—softens just slightly.

He’s at your side in an instant.

"You good?" 

You nod, but your throat feels tight. 

He exhales sharply, jaw clenched. "Where is he?"

You shake your head. "Probably gone. It’s fine."

It’s not fine, but you don’t want him to cause a scene.

Yoongi doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push even as you see him tensely run his fingers through his hair. Instead, his other hand find yours, wrapping around your wrist—not pulling, not rushing. Just there.

And then, without thinking, you step into him.

You don’t know why. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s just Yoongi. The way his presence alone has made you feel safe after a night of shaky thoughts.

Suddenly, the music around you fades. And all you feel is him. Warm, steady, strong.

His arms come up instinctively, one wrapping around your back, the other resting against the nape of your neck. You’ve never done this before, but somehow it feels like you have.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to when you feel his heart hammering inside his chest to mirror your own.

You breathe him in—a faint trace of cologne you're now so familiar with, something distinctly Yoongi—and you don’t know what to do with the way your heart twists inside your chest.

When you finally pull back, Yoongi searches your face. "Let’s go home."

You nod, letting him lead you out, your hand clasped in his.

You don’t sleep that night.

Not because of the date, not because of the club, but because of the voices in the kitchen.

You hear them some minutes after you turn off your bedroom light.

Hushed but heated.

You don’t want to eavesdrop, but you don’t exactly want to interrupt either. So you press your ear to the door and listen.

"You should have called me." Wonwoo’s voice is sharper than usual.

"She called me." Yoongi’s tone is steady but defensive.

"That’s not the point, hyung."

A pause.

"Then what is the point?"

Wonwoo exhales harshly. "You can't pull shit like this."

"Like what?"

"Like running to her first."

“You were streaming, when she called. You think I'd wait for you? She was crying…”

Your breath catches.

Silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating.

Then, quieter: "It’s not fair."

Something in Wonwoo’s voice makes your chest ache.

You don’t know what possesses you to move, but suddenly, your feet are carrying you toward the kitchen. Before you can think twice, you push the door open.

They both turn at the same time.

Yoongi leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Wonwoo stands stiffly near the sink, his jaw tight.

You take a breath, steadying yourself. "What the hell is going on?"

Neither of them speak.

You cross your arms. "I’m serious. You two have been acting weird for weeks. First, you’re constantly competing, then suddenly, you’re always together like some weird tag-team act. And now you’re fighting over who picks me up when I call for help?"

Still, silence. 

You swallow hard, but you’re unable to stop the nagging question in your head. "I need to know. Is this… Am I like a bet or something?”

“NO!” both men bellow.

You exhale a shaky breath. “Then what’s the deal?"

Silence. Again.

Yoongi and Wonwoo are both staring at you, like they’re waiting for you to say something. But instead, you exhale and lean back, crossing your arms.

“You know what?” you say, voice steady. “I think you two need to figure out if you actually…” Fuck you’ll say it if they can’t. “…like me… or if you just like competing with each other.”

That hits.

You let the silence stretch. Let them sit with it.

Because this whole thing—this weird, passive-aggressive, emotionally constipated mess—has never really been about you. Not the way it should be.

“I like both of you,” you continue, watching them carefully. “And maybe that’s selfish. But I don’t want to pick between two people who haven’t even stopped to ask themselves if what they feel is about me or just… winning.”

Yoongi looks away first. Wonwoo’s fingers twitch against his knee.

“So,” you say, standing up. “Figure it out. And let me know in the morning or… I’ll just move out.”

And with that, you leave them stewing.

Morning comes too fast.

When you step into the kitchen, you immediately pause.

Because—

What the fuck.

Yoongi is leaning against the counter, one hand tucked into the pocket of his sweats, wearing an offhandedly sexy fitted black t-shirt like he didn’t just wake up ten minutes ago. His hair is still a little messy, but in a good way—in the kind of way that makes you wonder what he looked like rolling out of bed.

And Wonwoo?

Wonwoo is sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone, looking like a fucking editorial ad in his oversized crewneck and glasses. The morning light is doing too much for him, highlighting his sharp jaw and the way his fingers tap absentmindedly against the table.

They both glance up when you walk in.

And they both smile.

Oh, hell no.

“Absolutely not,” you say immediately, pointing at them. “You do not get to look this good this early in the morning.”

Yoongi chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee. “Didn’t realize there were rules about that.”

“There are now,” you mutter.

Wonwoo grins, “You look cute when you’re grumpy, noona.”

You shake your head, unable to keep your cheeks from flushing despite being slightly annoyed with both of them, still.

Yoongi gestures vaguely. "You were right last night. About us. About this."

Wonwoo leans forward, fingers interlocked. "We both like you, noona. We won’t deny it."

Yoongi sets his cup down. “So we have an offer.”

You raise a brow, leaning against the counter. “Oh?”

Wonwoo tilts his head slightly, watching your reaction. “We’re going to take you on dates.”

You blink. “…What?”

“Dates,” Yoongi repeats. “One with me. One with him. Or more. Up to you…”

You stare at them. “And then?”

“And then,” Wonwoo continues, “you can decide.”

You narrow your eyes. “You two came up with this plan together?”

Yoongi shrugs.

You cross your arms. “And what if I don’t want to go on these dates?”

Yoongi answers: “Then we drop it. No pressure.”

"And if I don’t choose either of you?"

Wonwoo sighs. "Then we take the L."

…Huh. You hadn’t expected this.

You had expected stubbornness. Maybe even another argument.

Yoongi tilts his head as your eyes dart between the two of them.. "But let’s be real. That’s not happening."

"Yah!" You gape at him. "Are you fuckin’ serious right now?"

Yoongi grins. Wonwoo just waits.

You exhale, tapping your fingers against the counter. “Bet.”

Yoongi lifts a brow. Wonwoo licks his lips, now smiling.

“Alright,” you confirm. “Show me what you got.”

And judging by the looks on their faces, you have a feeling they plan to.

A/N: To be in the middle of this love triangle is my most fervent dream, hope you enjoyed reading this! xo

QUESTIONS!!! Who should get their date first? Where should they go? Also, do you kiss on the first date? ;)

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Divider by: @cafekitsune (thank you!)

[ichigo-plasma]

Helping Haruka Sakurai With Assignments For His Degree Headcanons

On the menu: university AU, Haruka lies about his age (because he’s insecure about being help back when he was a kid), fluff, Haruka is codependent but he wants to try his best to do well

A/N: In this AU you can imagine Haruka working to get any degree, maybe he is already done his bachelors and getting his Master’s, etc. whatever makes you comfy with the dynamic! :]

Haruka who sits across from you at the library, chewing nervously on his pen as he stares at his math textbook like it’s written in an alien language. His knee bounces under the table, and he finally looks up at you with wide, pleading eyes. “Y-Y/N… I-I don’t g-get this at all…”

Haruka who is working toward both his degree, but the road has been rough. He was held back a few years, making him older than most of his classmates, but he keeps that a secret—lying about his age so he doesn’t stand out. “E-Everyone thinks I’m t-the same age as them… i-it’s b-better that way…” he told you once you got to know him better and he realized you wouldn’t judge him.

Haruka who genuinely tries to understand the material but just can’t wrap his head around complex equations or scientific formulas. His head drops onto the table with a soft thud, and he groans. “M-My brain doesn’t w-work like this…” His voice is muffled, his frustration evident.

Haruka who clings to your every word as you patiently explain the homework to him. His eyes stay locked onto your face, not even glancing at the textbook, because watching you talk is somehow easier than trying to read the problems himself. “Y-You’re so smart, Y/N… I-I don’t get how you j-just know all this stuff…”

Haruka who starts relying on you a little too much—texting you at odd hours with panicked messages about assignments he forgot were due, showing up at your dorm with his laptop and a desperate look in his eyes. “C-Can I… s-stay and study with you? P-Please? I-I promise I’ll be quiet… I-I just… c-can’t focus when you’re not h-here…”

Haruka who despite struggling in most of his subjects, absolutely excels in art. His sketches are breathtaking, filled with emotion and precision, a stark contrast to his sloppy math notes. “A-Art is d-different… It’s the o-only thing that m-makes sense…” he admits shyly, gripping his pencil like it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

Haruka who slowly starts looking forward to study sessions not because of the homework, but because it means spending time with you. His fingers twitch when you lean over to check his work, and his breath catches when your hands accidentally brush. “Y-Y/N… I-I think… I-I study better w-when you’re close…” he mumbles, cheeks burning.

Haruka who in his weakest moments, wonders if he’s just dragging you down. If you’d be better off tutoring someone who isn’t struggling so much. But then you praise him—tell him he’s improving, that you believe in him—and his heart clenches painfully. “Y-You really think I c-can do this…?” he whispers, voice fragile.

Haruka who when he finally solves a difficult problem on his own, lights up like an excited puppy. His whole body tenses before he turns to you with wide, shining eyes. “I-I did it…! Y/N, I-I actually d-did it!!” He practically vibrates with excitement, resisting the urge to throw himself at you in celebration.

Haruka who realizes that maybe, just maybe, school isn’t completely unbearable… as long as you’re by his side. 

[cementcornfield]

I can't tell if jamarr exaggerates his stories to an extreme amount or if joe justhas to constantly tell him to chill haha. but based on tee confirming that jamarr does buy joe clothes ocassionally and he did buy him a chain - im going to say joe just likes privacy lol

ALWAYS THRILLED TO BE ASKED ABOUT UNRELIABLE NARRATOR JA’MARR!!!

more under the cut because literally i could talk about this all day and i don’t need to subject anyone to that. 

Honestly I think it’s a combination of both? Ja’Marr exaggerates, says one thing then immediately another contradicting thing, doesn’t seem to have much of a filter, however you want to categorize it. Which I think is such a funny contrast to Joe - who is (almost) always very careful about how he expresses himself and how he wants to be portrayed. 

The “Ja’Marr Buys Joe Clothes Except No He Doesn’t Except Wait He Definitely Does” saga is probably my favorite thing in the world because what on earth is ANYONE talking about in this situation. Like, first Ja’Marr claims in the GQ interview:

"Joe literally won’t buy his own clothes. He always asks me to shop for him and drop it off at the house.” 

Which is almost definitely an exaggeration. I am sure Joe buys plenty of his own clothes (although loving the idea of Ja’Marr literally filling Joe’s closet with things he thinks he’ll like). 

And then, bringing it up completely unprompted in an interview a week later he says that actually that was “kinda” a lie, and that he hasn’t bought Joe anything but dinner - although now he’ll “have to [buy joe clothes] since that’s out now”. like ?????? First of all just because you “kinda lied” about buying Joe clothes does not mean that you now have to actually buy him clothes? And why did you lie about it in the first place? How badly do you want to buy this man clothes??? 🤨🤨🤨

So we spent the rest of the season completely confused about this story but just kind of accepting that Ja’Marr just says shit sometimes, who knows… and THEN in a groundbreaking (to me) interview with Tee, we learn that actually Ja’Marr has in fact bought Joe clothes: 

“Chase definitely gets Joe right. I’ve seen him buy clothes for Joe multiple times.” 

MULTIPLE TIMES??? and Tee has seen it for himself?? Which at this point means that Ja’Marr has now potentially lied about lying about buying Joe clothes?? For what purpose??? 

I have imagined and talked with beloved mutuals about what could be going on in this situation, presented here with varying levels of realism and hilarity: 

Ja’Marr has never bought Joe clothes and all the receivers are in on a big joke where they’re claiming that Ja’Marr buys Joe clothes just to fuck with him. Because it’s funny and why not.

Ja’Marr hadn’t bought Joe clothes before the interview, but had been planning on doing it and was so excited by the idea that he got ahead of himself and told GQ he was already doing it. And then “since it was out there” he had an excuse to start buying Joe clothes, with Tee as a witness. 

Finally back to the point of your ask (so sorry for all my rambling) and probably the most likely scenario - Ja’Marr tends to exaggerate and Joe tends to value his privacy. 

What I imagine is this, Ja’Marr has probably bought Joe clothes a few times. We already know that he’s bought him grills and he mentioned in a few interviews last season that he had bought Joe some pants. And probably a few more instances we don’t have details on. The man likes fashion and he likes Joe and it seems like he has a gift giving love language! He probably got excited and exaggerated a bit in the GQ interview because again, I’m sure Joe does not “always” ask Ja’Marr to shop for him lmao. And I wonder if the exaggeration is the part that Joe took exception to (if he even did! Joe’s never said anything about any of this! all we have is Ja’Marr’s word which we can NOT trust) - Joe likely doesn’t want the whole world thinking Ja’Marr buys ALL his clothes, he likes fashion too and I’m sure puts a lot of work into those game day outfits, even if Ja’Marr does help out sometimes. Plus he really doesn’t like sharing details about his relationships, even one as public as his friendship with Ja’Marr. (All he says is that he’s one of his best friends and they hang out all the time, Ja’Marr is the one giving details about UFC moves and going to Vegas together and keeping his stuff at his place etc etc). 

Joe likely gave Ja’Marr shit for how he phrased it and honestly sharing it with the world at all. Plus!!! I am always thinking about the timing of the article, coming out right when Joe’s appendix burst. I bet Ja’Marr was worried about his friend, felt bad about sharing some exaggerated details of their relationship, and simply decided to take ALL of it back. Because again, he really seems to only operate in extremes. So to make Joe feel better, instead of just clarifying his quote, he just decided to say ‘nope, sorry, that was a lie, never bought that man clothes in my life 😊' while Tee was probably at his locker listening to the interview like 🤨???

Anyway. that’s WAY TOO MANY words to answer your ask but please know I so appreciated getting it. Any excuse to ramble about these two as you can see!! 

[riacte]

so hey guys i finished dungeon meshi yesterday and i'm still thinking about it

[amelikos]

Thinking about how Onyx and Sango's first scene together had Sango complaining that he had to tag along with her when Hamber told them both to accompany him to the castle back in HZ024.

Yet they are both pretty much constantly shown attached at the hip. Hanging out together, being together during and outside work, oddly being the most domestic in their group (they know each other's quirks and habits and call each other out on them), implied to get food together (not shown but still, Horizons has a theme of sharing food with those you care about and food as a means of connection). Basically, both of them staying together even when they don't really have to.

[andsotheuniverseended]

Jian is an insufferable brat. unfortunately i love him dearly and want desperately for him to find a happy life. even more unfortunately everyone in the world wants him very dead and its not even for the insufferable brat thing!

[lovinglin]

How funny would it be if I shipped enj0u with my genshin sona instead (lynn)

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

hm the never quite getting enough sleep has left me.... sleepy... started a cup of coffee at 8pm but took a nap in the middle so now its my 10pm cup of coffee

[dreamlandxrunaway]

on the note about smaus and me possibly being back... I contemplated starting a new one... simply from the fact that I keep calling BC hyungnim and now I wanna write fuckery that most definitely will only make me laugh LOL... will I do it, tho? well, considering that it's a smau and not something I have to actively sit down, come up with dialogue (irony ik) that are followed with actions and that I don't have to pay attention to details I most certainly obsess when writing prose... probably still a no bc I actually have so much work to do and don't see myself actually sitting down to figure out a proper schedule that can handle both my work and passion projects... and believe me... there are a few. I just feel bad that people who like 1cdat don't know how it ends yet and I'm the only one in on how our lovebird hea comes about 😭😭😭 that's why I'll keep coming back... until when idk... but I'll try my darnest to finish it :')

and let's be real, I'll def need to write written parts for than one as well there's no way that I'll just leave it at one monster length chapter and that be the only long one :') and I'm not sure I know how to write short chapters... I'm learning... but who knows if that'll actually happen hahahahaha

[cosmictheo]

𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 & 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘 | hwang in-ho

( gif credits to @lalaray-457-canon )

—summary: between the chaos of the rebellion, in-ho finally reveals who he really is and tests you to see whether you are ready to take him exactly as he is, in all his glory and power. —pairing: hwang in-ho/young-il/player 001 x female!reader —word count: 5k (wow) —warnings: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), most definitely ooc!in-ho, descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, some porn with some plot, fingering, power dynamics, dom in-ho!!!, body worship, praise kink, obsessive & possessive behavior, straight up manipulation, in-ho being a slut for the reader as usual, he wants that cookie so bad, use of guns, gunshots, blood, killing, yk usual squid game stuff.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

ᯓ✶ part one ── part two

Everything was pure chaos. You could hear gunshots, screams, rushing footsteps, grunts of pain, the sickening sound of the bullet piercing flesh as you walked through the brightly colored corridors of the horrific, bloody place, a place that had turned into a war zone in the last thirty minutes. 

Gi-hun had decided to rebel against the guards, creating an effective plan that had worked, as unbelievable as it seemed. Other players supported him in his idea, having his back through the war zone and basically just shooting everyone who didn't have a player number on their clothing.

In-ho guided you with assured steps, holding your hand tightly, stepping in front of you to shield you at all costs, and that if any of his guards were stupid enough to shoot in your direction, then he might as well take the bullet for you.

You didn't quite understand the reason why In-ho had separated from Gi-hun and the main group, nor did you understand the way his face had somehow suddenly morphed, turning authoritative and somber. Sure, he had said he knew a way to go around the pack of guards that blocked them from getting through to the main control room of the game's higher-ups, but how could he possibly know that? You had been by his side the whole time and never really had the spare moment to study and memorize the maze-like passageways, they all looked pretty much the same.

You had a theory, but you didn't really even want to consider it, it was wild, totally insane. Only someone who worked there would know precisely which way to go and which corner to turn.

There wasn't enough time for you to stop and demand some explanation from him either, so you just followed him around like a lost little puppy, strolling through the endless corridors of the place, stepping up some stairs until you reached an area that seemed absolutely off-limits for someone like you to trespass.

“In-ho?” you tried to call his name, walking up some more stairs, your fingers entwined between his, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

But he didn't stop, turning yet another corner, until you reached what looked like an elevator.

“Mhm? I'm here, don't separate from me, yeah?” he replied without paying too much attention to you, he didn't have to actually glance at you to know that you were scared, full of uncertainty and hesitation.

“Where are we?” you tried to ask once you two stopped in front of the elevator, you turn your head to look at him, eyes big and puzzled, “We can't leave the others...”

He finally drags his attention to you and his expression instantly softens, pulling your hand up with his to press soothing tiny kisses on your knuckles, restraining the urge to crack a smirk at the sight of your pretty face all scared and anxious. He could already feel himself harden in his pants from seeing your lips curl into a small pout.

“They'll be fine, nothing will happen to them”

The loud beep of the elevator pierces the tense silence and it almost makes you jolt, pulling your gaze up to the reddish light flashing on in front of you once the doors open. The gunshots can now be heard far off in the distance.

In-ho begins to step into it, but when he feels your hand pull his, he spins to look back at you, finding you still stood in the same spot, your arm straightened, fingers grasping his, and you look up at him with conflicted eyes, pleading for his mercy. 

Quite literally, you stand firm on your spot, but at the same time, you hold his hand tightly and longingly.

“I need you to be safe, angel,” he began to tell you, trying to convince you, to follow him, to stay by his side, just as you had been doing so far, why would you stop now? “You are not safe here, with all those savages on the loose with guns, they are dangerous”

His expression darkens with revulsion, spitting out the words as if they were poison. You assumed he was referring to the guards...

“But my friends...” you mumbled, turning your head to look back, listening to the gunshots in the distance, beyond the long corridors, as if they somehow were somewhere else already, far away from you, an unreachable place.

In-ho placed his other hand on your chin, leaning closer to you and making you face him again, his thumb brushed the outline of your lower lip.

“Friends?” he grumbled the word with irony rolling off his tongue, his warm breath rasped against your mouth, his eyes gazed into yours with genuine hurt, he looked utterly disappointed by your words, “I'm the only one who cares about you here.”

Your lips half-opened as you held eye contact, scarcely whispering, as if someone else could hear you, “I know, but—”

“You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved,” his voice uttered your name like something familiar, something he longed for, he craved, “Are you really willing to die for them? People who wouldn't give a penny for you? They are killing each other for money, not for friends, not for love. They are here for the money and they don't need you. You know it, come on, you're a smart girl,” he lifted his eyebrows, his other hand dropping yours and climbing up through your body to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him, not wanting you to avert your gaze from him, “Would you die for them?”

You shook your head lightly, bearing in mind the weight of his words and absolutely locked in the darkness of his eyes, absorbing you in, “No”

He smiled, pleased by your answer and he kissed your lips once to praise you, his tongue lightly skimming the edge of your pouted lips, “Then, would you live for me?”

What he was telling you was crystal clear, it had a special significance, a special complicity, an intimacy there was between you.

To die for someone was not as meaningful as to live for them, to make them the purpose of life, to know what they were, what they had in their heart and beyond, and to love them anyway, to stay by their side, to be loyal to them and choose them above all else.

“Yes,” you breathed out before kissing him so passionately, looping your arms around his neck and just before you could jump his bones, In-ho stopped you, reluctantly detaching himself from you, his hands gripping the curve of your waist and squeezing you against his body, his forehead pressed onto yours for a few seconds, recomposing himself. 

“That's my girl,” he gently kissed the corner of your mouth before tugging your hands and leading you with him into the elevator, at last, “Let's put all this behind us, hm? We have to stop them, otherwise no one else will.”

But you wanted him, somehow, you pushed all the killing and the blood behind and then suddenly, it was all him, the way he was gazing at you, how his hand went wrapped around your waist, hand sliding down to your ass to pat it twice, almost in a reprimanding way as he felt your soft lips attach on his neck when the elevator started to go up. You had to wonder how it was possible that the mechanism could carry the full weight of your craving and lust.

“Baby,” In-ho snapped in a disapproving voice, yet he lifted his chin, giving you more free access to his neck, his eyes closing as he felt your tongue sweep across his throat. He patted your ass once more, a little harder now, fingers clutching your hip tightly, “behave”

His hoarse, authoritative voice took you by surprise, causing you to inch away from him, looking up at him with big eyes darkened with desire, your hand lingering on his shoulder, squeezing it with eagerness.

“There's a slaughter going on out there and all you can think about is my cock slamming inside your little pussy, hm?” his gruff voice pronouncing those nasty words made your pussy twitch, your body aching for him by carnal instinct, “My girl's a filthy little slut...”

Before you could respond, the elevator doors swung open and the digital panel on the side indicated that you had gone up two floors, signaling that the place was much, much bigger than you thought.

In-ho pulled your hand gently, taking you with him through a dark hallway, until you entered a main room of an seemingly apartment, spacious and elegant. The sofas were of velvet, the walls black as midnight, a large screen hung on one of the walls, the lights hung in fancy chandeliers above your head. It resembled a suite of the most luxurious hotel.

He stepped closer to you from behind, predatory-like, sliding his veiny hands around your waist and pushing you softly to pace forward, his wet lips latching onto your shoulder and neck, making you sigh tremblingly.

“Do you like it?” he asked in a whisper, fingers fidgeting with the waistband of your tracksuit pants, "I had it fixed and cleaned for you"

“What is this place?” you asked him back, your eyes narrowed as you took cautious steps, your legs wobbly from all the goosebumps that ran through you from head to toe with every kiss he pressed against the conjunction of your neck and shoulder, unleashing a rush of emotions in the pit of your stomach.

His long, slender fingers caressed your lower tummy with affection and to give you a convincing answer, he kissed your skin one more time, before detaching his mouth from you, just barely,  “Your home, princess. Isn't it what you always wished for?” a dark smile tugged at his lips, his fingertips slipping under your shirt, triggering goosebumps along your skin beneath his touches on your stomach. “A spacious and expensive place, that's what you said when they asked you what you wanted to do with the prize.”

“It's beautiful,” you awed, raising your big, marveling eyes to the gorgeous crystal chandelier just above you.

“A pretty home for a pretty girl,” he rustled against the side of your neck, too intertained in kissing and marking it with possession, “It's all yours— I'm all yours.”

A sheepish smile stretched wide on your lips as you felt In-ho pushing you with his body once more, urging you to walk towards the center of the suite, descending down two stairs until you stood in front of a set of sofas, with a dark glass table in the center, on it laid two glasses and a bottle of Whiskey.

Why would you ever need to care about anything else, anyone else? When you had him, this precious place and his heart, body and soul to offer. All for you.

You turned on your heels to face him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him close to you. Before he could even gasp for breath, you kissed him, supplying him with your breath, your oxygen. And what else did he really need to live?

His fingers went up to his neck, sneaking between your bodies so that he could begin to unzip the jacket of his tracksuit, pulling away from you just a little and hissing as he felt your fingers tugging at his hair.

In-ho nibbled on your lower lip as he ended the long, passionate kiss, making you wail against his mouth, “We've got to be quick, baby, I've got to take care of the mess out there. They are waiting for my command.”

He was the leader, of course, how had you even missed that little detail?

And of course he was, it all made sense now.

The thought of him in the dark suit, with a black mask, giving commands and having the entire place running under his authority made your whole body flush, core aching for him, for some friction, anything he might give you.

You kissed him again, momentarily thinking that with every kiss someone was dead, a bullet was shot and blood sprayed. But the blaze inside you, the heat pumping through your veins and the way your pussy was weeping for him didn't let you have more than one single thought in your head that wasn't him. 

Your head was possessed, your body submitted to him and your heart clutched in his hands. And all his undivided attention was on you, no matter that his place was under threat or that his guards were out there fighting, dying for him, no, all he could possibly afford to focus on was you.

So, soon In-ho had ripped your clothes off you, leaving you exposed, on full display for his dark, deep gaze to consume every inch in. Your arched back pressed against the velvety smooth back of the black sofa, his body right in front of you, like a starving predator. He was drinking a sip of Whiskey from his glass, never taking his eyes off you.

You blushed under his hungry gaze and motioned to close your knees, squeeze them together, but he was quick to lean down and rest a hand on one of them, caressing it affectionately and clicking his tongue disapprovingly. 

Tch, tch, tch.

“You should have no shame, you're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen,” he reassured you, setting the now empty glass back down on the glass table, letting out a shaky breath, “there isn't a moment when I'm not thinking about it, touching it, kissing it, fucking it...”

You threw your head back, panting as you felt In-ho's mouth kiss your ankle, caressing your leg with his fingers as he pulled it gently, forcing you to open them, with him standing right in between them. The gates of heaven unlocking for him.

“So fucking pretty”

He kept whispering over and over again, staring at your body in awe, as if you were the most beautiful work of art ever to be exhibited.

“My pretty baby”

He praised you and praised you and praised you, pressing kisses to your legs, your knees, your thighs, tongue flicking across little scars that cut into your skin, most likely as a consequence of one of the games. 

“There she is... so pretty— shit”

He drunkenly muttered over your cunt, gazing at it throbbing and clenching around nothing. 

Your scent was intoxicating and overpowering. He felt so weak and insignificant in front of the greatness of your body, the warmth it gave him, the beauty of your skin, your curves, welcoming him inside, calling for his name.

“In-ho” you breathed out, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes, feeling the way your wetness trickled down between your legs, dripping to the surface of the couch. 

You were soaked, drenched, so sensitive to his touch and every little friction. And he had barely touched you.  

“Mhm,” he hummed at your call, reaching with his path of sloppy kisses and wet licks all the way up your inner thigh. Your whole body buzzed as you felt his tongue swipe up your slick folds, getting a wet squelchy sound and he laughed huskily, looking up at you, “You're soaking wet,” he marveled, pressing the tip of his finger against your pussy, his thumb teasing just right your aching, swollen clit, instantly getting a whimper out of you.

The finger slid inside so smoothly and shamelessly that it had him choking back a groan.

“Could you take all of me right now?” his voice cracked, words crawling up his throat like groans, so hoarse and deep that it sent vibrations through your center throughout your body, “I don't think we have much time to play”

You were nodding your head the second he finished speaking, your throat making a whining noise that made him crack a smile as he gently placed a kiss once on your cunt, fingertips tenderly caressing the inside of your thigh.

“Yeah? Can you take me?” In-ho asked you once again, in a quiet tone now, your name uttered slowly through his lips, like a longing, a craving, a religion. His eyes softened completely once they met yours again, his fingertips tapped seductively the sensitive, flushed skin of your thigh, “Talk to me, baby”

In-ho was well aware of the hold he had over you, he had the ultimate power and you were shamelessly crawling all over him, profiting from the fact that you would do whatever he asked. Live, lie, kill....

“Y-yes!” you instantly replied between babbles and sniffles, your hands reaching for him, revealing the deep, raw desperation that was making your body tremble, “Please, In-ho, sir, p-please—”

In-ho's pupils dilated so much that all of his orbs looked pitch-black as he lifted and leaned over you to press a kiss on your lips, “You don't need to convince me, princess. If you want it, you got it”

He swiftly removed his whitish shirt, now ruined and stained with someone else's blood, maybe from one of his guards, it didn't matter, what really mattered was the way his skin glowed under the dim golden light and how his chest broadened with every breath he inhaled, your lips parted as you saw how toned and hardened his abdomen was. He looked... exquisite, glorious and majestic standing before you, ready to devour you.

When he pulled down his pants and boxers, your mouth watered with drool and your eyes widened in wonder at the sight of his size. He was big, bigger than you expected, perhaps. His length was impressive and his girth was just perfect, a bulging vein traced from the base to the engorged, leaking head, and you could see it throbbing. 

You felt your mouth watering, starving, but when you reached out your hand to his cock, In-ho backed away from your eager touch, making you look up at him with a pouty face, mumbling words like a spoiled brat.

“I want to—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed in an all too calm tone, leaning over the couch towards you to place a kiss on your sweaty forehead, positioning himself between your legs, one hand holding the length of his cock and the other reassuringly caressing your hip, “you got me right here, can't you feel me?” his hand travelled up your body to delicately stroke a strand of hair off your pretty, blushing face. “Aw, don't be so eager. I think I've spoiled you too much, hm?”

You gulped hard as he lined up his plump tip against your wet entrance, your whole body buzzing as you felt him press against your eager little hole, prepared to take whatever he gave it. But it was unlikely that you could be prepared to take something that big.

In-ho sighed shudderingly as well, just barely easing his head inside you, stretching you so, so good and slowly began to push his way through your warm, spongy walls. You gasped several little whimpers, looking up at the ceiling, as if somehow that would help you stop feeling the stabbing pain that spread inside you with every inch he pushed his length in.

“You have to loosen up for me, angel— hah—” he croaked out between gasps, squeezing his eyes shut for a few long seconds, letting himself be enveloped in the overwhelming hot, tight sensation that was your pussy clenching him, “hm— you have to let me in— fuck, you're so tight—”

In-ho pulled out, hissing between his teeth, lazily gripping his shaft, the tip running up and down your slit, gathering some of your wetness.

At your whining and complaining, he pressed again into your center, staring in awe as your hole struggled to swallow his plump head, stretching out your pussy so much.

He stopped right there, halting his hips, his head hardly inside you, your pussy fluttering and drawing him deeper inside, giving you a few moments to get used to his size. Your hands went to land on his forearms on either side of your hips, squeezing him desperately. 

As he tightened his grip on your hips, impeding you from wiggling away from him, In-ho hovered over you, catching your lips with his to muffle your whimpers with his own throat, thrusting achingly slow his hips and sinking inch by inch inside you.

“In-ho” you moaned his name, your nails digging into his skin on his arms, feeling so full, helplessly overwhelmed under him. Everything was him, everywhere around you, “Please—”

Then he kissed your cheekbones, wiping away the tears that escaped your eyes with his lips, bathing your skin with his drool instead, “Don't think, baby, you don't have to think about anything,” he murmured against your mouth, “just take me, yeah? Let me in”

The response he received was blubbering of unintelligible words and whimpers from you, blending in with the squelching sounds of your pussy stretching out for his cock. And that was music to his ears, the most delightful melody.

“Don't worry your pretty little head about a thing, I'll take care of it all” he promised you in a  gentle whisper and he is so tender, affectionately caressing the flesh on the side of your upper thigh just before giving it a quick spank, feeling the soft flesh jiggle under the palm of his hand, “Just like that”

He was so tender, giving you two minutes to adjust to his size before ramming the entire remaining length of his cock inside you, the bulbous head of his cock digging it's own way within your velvety walls and reaching so deep inside you that all the air was knocked out of your lungs. All too soon, you were a bawling, moaning mess, so loud and whiny for him.

“There you go, so good, so tight— fuck” In-ho dropped his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, drunkenly babbling words, intoxicated by the feeling of you everywhere, “Just fucking made for me, hm?”

“'Tis all—” you hiccupped, back arching impossibly for him, gazing up at him with adulatory, pleasure-darkened eyes, pounding you into heaven with each luscious thrust of his hips against yours, the bumping sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing against the walls. Slap, slap, slap. “All for you, In-ho— oh!”

You struggled to even use your brain to conjugate proper phrases, occasionally slurring nonsense words.

Your ass and thighs jiggled with each intense thrust, his flesh slamming against yours, the very noise itself sounding pronographic, sloppy and filthy. You could feel your lower body begin to slide down across the velvety surface of the sofa, your skin wet and slippery from all the mixture of body fluids.

So, he scooped you up in his arms, manhandling you back in your position under him on the couch as easily as if he was swinging a feather around, he even made your head bump against the back of the sofa with a particularly harsh thrust, his cock already recognizing it's own shape carved inside you. 

His dark gaze dropped to your stomach, noticing the sway of himself under your soft, sweaty skin, his eyes following the motion of the bulge adoringly. 

In-ho pulled one of his hands up from your waist, beginning to slide it across your skin on your lower stomach and he swoon as he heard your blubbering whimpers at the pressure of his palm on your tummy, both of you sensing the press.

“In-ho, G-god, I can't— ngh—” you whimpered, your eyes rolling back and closing them tight, feeling your insides tightening up. “You're so— hah— deep”

“I'm right here” he awed in a quivering, raw adoring whisper, feeling his own cock twitch inside you under the palm of his hand. “Does it feel good, baby?”

You immediately nodded your head, taking in the way his eyes roamed upward across your bulging stomach, past the way your tits jiggled with the power of his own motions.

“I bet it does”

You promptly reopened your eyes and he grunted when the static noise of the radio perched on the crystal table at the couch's side erupted in the sultry room, snapping him out of the mindspace of worshipping your body, just as his lips had parted to suck on one of your tits.

You both swung your heads towards the radio, but In-ho— so ruthless, did not stop his fierce thrusts against your hips, his veiny hands contouring your waist, marking your skin.

“Young-il?” the voice of Gi-hun burst into the room, calling your name more times than In-ho would liked, “Where are you? You're attacking already?”

In-ho just smirked, stretching out and reaching for the small radio over the table, leaving you a whimpering mess as you felt his cock dragging along between your gummy walls.

“Answer him,” he then commanded in a grunt, delivering you a particularly powerful thrust that made you see stars, on his hand he held the radio, right above your face.

“W-what?” you hiccupped, eyes flooding with hot tears, out of pleasure, embarrassment, by the whirlwind of thrills that was shaking your body into submission to his.

In-ho cupped your chin, forcing you to look up at him, offering no truce with his savage thrusts, the plump head of his cock tapping your cervix, grinding into that special spongy spot that drove you closer to your climax.

“Tell him you're sorry,” he bent toward you, swiping his tongue along your cheekbone, mopping up a big tear that had slipped from your pretty eyes, “tell him the Frontman got you.”

With the very last of your remaining strength and control of your brain, you actually succeeded in formulating the words he wanted you to say, just as he pressed the voice transmitter button on the little radio.

“I'm sorry, Gi-hun” you blubbered out in between whimpers, and In-ho flashed a dark smile, dipping his head down to start kissing your neck sloppily, lips sucking at your skin until they left dark imprints, “he—”

“What happened?” Gi-hun asked worriedly from the other side, his voice came out desperate as he called your name, and you almost felt sorry for him, but In-ho's cock twitching inside you knocked all thoughts of heartache from you, making you bite your lower lip to choke back a hoarse moan.

He just felt so good, how could you think of anything other than his dick inside you?

“He got me” 

“Who? Where are you? Tell me where you are—” he asked frantically, his voice full of desperation and concern.

Your eyes rolled back as you felt In-ho's mouth latch onto your nipple, sucking and flicking it with his tongue, his unoccupied hand landing on your other jiggling tit, squeezing just right.

“This fucking body....” he hummed more to himself than to you against the skin of your breasts, dampening it with his spit, “So pretty, so tight, all for me... I got you, I got you always”

“The Frontman, he got me— sorry, Gi-hun” you managed to utter, voice weepy, at least that part would be believable to player 456.

Then In-ho smiled darkly and brought the radio closer to his mouth, his warm breath brushing against your nipple, still looking at you as he spoke, his voice becoming gruff and almost unrecognizable, “You don't have to worry about her anymore, Gi-hun.”

“You sick bastard—”

In-ho turned off the radio, throwing it away, shattering a thousand pieces against the ground. And now, all his attention turned back to you.

Gi-hun's desperate words and suffering appeared to do the necessary effect on him to get his cock twitching inside you again, having you sniffling under him.

“Shh... baby, you're doing so good. You're my good girl, my favorite girl— mhm— yes you are,” he cooed, raising his hand and stroking your hair delicately, his other hand squeezed your hip, moving across your skin until he reached your lower stomach, applying a little pressure over your tummy to make you both gasp as you felt the push of his hand, “Now cum with me, yeah? I know you can do it, I know you can, you're my good girl— shit”

In-ho whimpered against your mouth, his fingers creeping down to your crotch in between your sticky bodies, stroking your swollen, throbbing clit just right and hardly ten seconds later, feelinf your walls constrict around him and seconds later, you both began cumming, riding your highs to reach climax.

He was pumping you with all he had to give, filling you with hot and heavy spurts of cum, making you feel so stuffed that the fluid begins to leak out your abused pussy, spilling down between the tangled mess of your legs onto the couch.

A minute long lingered in your post-orgasm ecstasy, slumping your head against the couch, struggling to catch your breath, every limb shuddering still by jolts of electricity racing through every vein, bone, and muscle. You felt yourself floating in the sky and didn't even feel how In-ho had been propped up against you, trying to level his breathing tucked tightly against your neck. It wasn't until he had gently kissed your skin and straightened up, suddenly pulling his softening cock out of you, very slowly and carefully, you snapped back to reality and down to the ground.

The "pop!" filthy sound and the sensation of his cum dripping down your thighs made you blush, feeling his eyes gawking at the way your gaping pussy was struggling to keep all his cum inside, so greedily.

He then scooped you up in his strong arms and carried you to a bedroom, whispering praises and soft words against your ear, all the way until he delicately laid you down on the bed.

Your hand sought his, halting his motion to move away from you, and he smiled softly, noting how you fought against the sudden, enormous exhaustion that had come over you like a flooding wave.

“I have to take care of the problem, my love, it won't take long, okay? When you wake up again I'll be by your side” he murmured, leaning down so he could kiss the knuckles of your hand, fingers affectionately caressing your smooth skin.

“Don't kill them,” your request made him look at you with a hint of disappointment, letting him know you still felt sorry for the players, how could you not? You were just so good, “They don't know what they're doing.”

But the sweet smile on In-ho's lips didn't even tremble, at your request, your demand, “You don't have to worry about them anymore. They're nothing,” then he moved closer, and kissed your forehead, ”And you're everything. You don't have to worry about nothing, right?”

“Right,” you replied, so naturally, even in that dozy, half-asleep state, still, your loyalty and trust was with him, a fond smile curved across your lips as you lay your head back against the fluffy pillows, drifting off to sleep as you felt his fingers tenderly caress the side of your face, “Thank you, In-ho.”

“Everything for my favorite girl” he promised against your skin.

[ds-angel1]

TEACHERS LITTLE PET

cw: SMUT(18+), teacher x student relationship, hitting it from the back(in the classroom), big age gap(ages aren´t specified), reader is a senior, i´m not american and have no idea how the school system works so please just smile and nod

wc: ~ 5.1k

a/n: tell me what you think of this dynamic and if you want more cause i have some ideas!! also this is the longest fic i´ve ever written, not my best work but atleast i managed to write something?? keep in mind i had a fever when i wrote this

Rafe had no idea how he ended up here.

Well, if he was being honest, he did. He just hated admitting it.

He hated kids. Teenagers weren’t much better. If they weren’t whining about something trivial, they were loud, obnoxious, and bursting with opinions they thought were groundbreaking. And high schoolers? They were the worst of the lot, caught in that unbearable limbo between childhood and adulthood, convinced they knew everything and that the world had been tailor-made to inconvenience them.

He hated his job, too. But after his father had all but shoved him into college, and he had somehow managed to scrape together an art history degree through a chaotic jumble of barely thought-out course selections, he needed a paycheck. He needed something, anything, to make use of the four years he had spent drowning in essays about the Renaissance and lectures on the symbolism of Baroque architecture.

And there it was, a high school history teacher.

He was fairly certain the school had been desperate. Desperate enough to hire the first applicant who could string a coherent sentence together about the American Revolution. And lucky him, that applicant had been Rafe.

The school itself was unremarkable. Small, under 400 students, just two squat brick buildings separated by a weather-beaten schoolyard that reeked of stale cigarette smoke and teenage apathy. Five hours from the Outer Banks, he could visit home whenever he wanted. Not that he did. There was nothing left for him there, nothing worth the drive, and frankly, there was nothing for him here either.

His days were a loop, a monotonous, uninspired cycle of standing in front of rows of disinterested, hormonal teenagers, rattling off lessons about long-dead historical figures far more interesting than any of his students would ever bother to realize. He graded half-assed essays, endured halfhearted excuses about missing assignments, and spent more time than he cared to admit staring at the clock, willing the hours to pass. Then, when the final bell rang, he trudged back to his apartment, a bare, impersonal space that he never bothered to decorate. No photos, no art, and no signs that anyone lived there. Just a bed, a couch, and a kitchen table that mostly went unused.

And then there were the truly miserable days, the ones where he was roped into subbing for freshman P.E., a biweekly exercise in self-inflicted torture. Half the girls refused to break a sweat, acting as if running a single lap would somehow lead to their untimely demise. The other half of the class consisted of cocky, over-competitive boys who treated dodgeball like a blood sport. He spent most of those periods standing on the sidelines, arms crossed, blowing the whistle when things got too heated, and watching the clock even more desperately than usual.

It was a dull, uninspired existence; monotonous, predictable, and entirely void of passion. He lived his life the way his students listened to the outdated documentaries he played in class: half-awake, uninterested, just going through the motions because it had to be done.

Until you walked into his class.

The first day of school after summer break always carried a certain energy; electric, restless, filled with voices overlapping in an unfiltered rush of stories from the last few weeks. As Rafe pushed open the door to his classroom, that familiar wave of chatter hit him like a sudden gust of wind. Laughter, exclamations, the scrape of chairs against the floor—it was all as chaotic as he had expected.

With a quiet sigh, he made his way to his desk, setting his thermos down on the bleached oak surface before picking it up again almost instinctively, taking a slow sip before returning it to its place. His fingers moved on autopilot, retrieving his school-issued laptop from his bag, pressing the power button, and waiting for the screen to glow to life. His gaze lifted, sweeping across the students, his students. The same faces he’d taught last year, now a little older, a little different, officially juniors.

But one face wasn’t familiar.

You.

Rafe spotted you almost immediately, sitting in the third row, right by the window where the morning sky stretched in endless hues of soft blue. You were listening—well, nodding, at least—to Amanda, whose mouth moved a mile a minute. He didn’t have to hear her know she was spewing an endless stream of conversation; Amanda was known for filling any silence, anytime, anywhere. But his attention wasn’t on her. It was on you.

A dark navy skirt draped over your thighs, the fabric shifting in gentle waves with every slight movement. Your top, a delicate white spaghetti strap with tiny baby blue flowers, hugged your frame, lace tracing the neckline, a small bow nestled right at its center. A beige cardigan hung loosely over your shoulders, two buttons left undone as if they had never been intended for use in the first place. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, not rigid, not loose, just… effortless. A few strands framed your face, soft wisps that moved when you turned your head, catching the light in a way that made them seem almost ethereal.

And sure, you looked beautiful, undeniably so. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way your eyes flickered around the room, quietly observing, absorbing. The way your lips parted slightly every so often, murmuring the occasional “Uh-huh” or “Yeah” in response to Amanda’s nonstop chatter, even as your mind seemed elsewhere. There was something in your expression, an almost hesitant curiosity, a quiet awareness, that made Rafe’s fingers pause over the laptop’s keyboard.

He had seen many faces in this classroom. Some familiar, some forgettable.

But yours?

Yours was impossible to ignore.

"Uh— okay, let’s get started. Settle down," Rafe called out to the students, his voice steady despite the chaos. The room buzzed with post-summer chatter, desks scraping against the floor as students found their seats. He rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to exhale. The first day back was always like this, full of energy, distractions, and the struggle to rein everyone in. But today, there was another battle brewing beneath the surface, one he wasn’t prepared for.

He hoped that once the lesson began, he could shift his focus, and force himself to look anywhere but at you. He clung to that hope like a lifeline, but the moment he commanded their attention, he had yours.

And when your eyes locked onto him, he was trapped. Hypnotized. His breath hitched, pulse stuttering in a way it had no right to. For what felt like an eternity, he couldn’t tear his gaze away, couldn’t shake the invisible thread tightening between you. His fingers curled into his palm, nails pressing against his skin.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to snap out of it, dragging his attention back to the board. He took a measured breath, gripping the chalk like it might anchor him. "Alright, I know you’re all still in vacation mode, but we need to get talking about history."

The usual grumbling came, but it was muted, fading as students settled into their seats. Good. The routine was safe. The routine was predictable. The routine wouldn’t let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t.

"Before we dive in, we have a new student joining us this year from the senior class," he announced, keeping his tone even, impersonal. His gaze flickered back to you, just for a second, just long enough to acknowledge you without giving himself away. "Would you introduce yourself?"

A brief silence. You hesitated, shifting under the weight of so many eyes before murmuring your name.

"Great," Rafe said, far too quickly. He cleared his throat, turning back to the board. "So, what do we know about American history from the Industrial Revolution to the modern age?"

The next forty-five minutes passed in a blur of discussion, textbook readings, and writing exercises. Normally, this was when he’d catch up on grading or chip away at whatever administrative work he had. But today? No. Today, his focus splintered, frayed at the edges every time he felt your presence in the room.

His eyes kept drifting.

To you.

It was reckless. Stupid. He knew it was wrong, knew exactly how it would look if anyone noticed. He wasn’t blind, he’d found students attractive before, but it had always been a fleeting thing, a passing thought dismissed before it could take root. A moment, nothing more.

But this?

This was different.

This wasn’t just acknowledging that you were pretty, though you were. Incredibly so. This wasn’t just an absent-minded recognition of beauty. No, this was something deeper. Something that twisted in his gut and settled in his bones, something that made his breath catch when he wasn’t prepared for it.

Something dangerous.

His fingers raked through his hair as he stared down at his keyboard, typing nothing. He could tell himself it was just a dry spell, that he’d been avoiding distractions for too long, that it was simply physical. But that would be a lie.

Because it wasn’t just about desire.

It was about you.

And that was a problem.

The shrill chime of the bell split the air, and the classroom erupted into motion. Notebooks snapped shut, chairs scraped against the tile, and a low hum of voices swelled as students shoved books into backpacks, eager to escape into the chaotic freedom of lunch. You swung your bag over your shoulder, weaving through the shifting maze of desks, your focus locked on the door. The cafeteria was called, an oasis of noise and anonymity where you could blend in, and where no one was analyzing your every move.

But just as you stepped forward, a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

"Hey."

It wasn’t loud, but it had weight, like an anchor dropping into the sea of departing students. Something in the tone made your stomach twist. You turned, pulse hitching slightly, to find Mr. Cameron watching you from behind his desk. His expression was unreadable, calm but not necessarily kind.

"Yes, Mr. Cameron?" you asked, hesitating.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?"

It was phrased like a question, but you both knew it wasn’t. He gave a small nod toward the door as the last few stragglers trickled out, a silent instruction.

With a quiet sigh, you nudged the door shut behind them, the click of the latch sealing you in. The classroom, so full of life just seconds ago, now felt cavernous, the quiet pressing in around you. You hesitated before making your way back to his desk, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Mr. Cameron leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the surface of his desk, fingers steepled together. "So… I wanted to talk to you about last year." His voice was measured, and neutral, but something about it put you on edge. "You were in Ms. Wallace’s class, right?" His eyes flicked to a sheet of paper in front of him, though you were certain he already knew the answer.

You shifted uncomfortably. "Mhm." A simple answer for something far more complicated. Your history with Ms. Wallace wasn’t just a class; it was a long, exhausting battle, a relentless tug-of-war between frustration, unmet expectations, and a sinking feeling of inevitability.

Mr. Cameron studied you for a moment before speaking again. "Can you tell me what didn’t work? Was it her? The material? Her teaching style? Or was it something on your end?" His head tilted slightly, voice smooth, probing.

You hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your fingers clenched the strap of your bag. "I guess I was just… kind of unfocused last year," you admitted, your voice barely above a murmur.

"Mm." He hummed, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "Just last year?"

Your stomach tightened.

"Because judging by today’s lesson, it seems like you're still a little… distracted. More interested in doodles than in history, huh?"

Heat crept up your neck, shame pooling in your chest. Your gaze dropped to the floor as if looking anywhere else might soften the weight of his words.

"You’d think," he continued, his tone carrying the faintest edge, "that after the school let you pass the year and only required you to retake this class, you'd put in a little more effort."

His words landed like a slap, sharp, deliberate. He knew exactly how unfair that was. Knew how it would make you feel. And yet, for whatever reason, he didn’t stop himself.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“You want to pass, yes?”

His voice was low, almost teasing, each word curling around you like smoke. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his desk, dark eyes locked onto yours with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, and gave a quick, eager nod.

Rafe watched you for a lingering second, dragging it out just long enough to make you shift where you stood. Then, with an exhale that was almost too casual, he pushed himself up from his chair. He didn’t simply stand, he moved. Slow. Deliberate. A quiet display of control as he braced one hand against the edge of his desk, his weight settling into a lean. The aged wood creaked under him, but he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care.

His focus remained entirely on you.

“And what do you think I could do to help you achieve that?”

Smooth. Measured. But there was something else beneath his tone, something just sharp enough to catch. Playfulness, maybe. Amusement. Or something more dangerous.

His gaze flickered, sweeping over you in a way that felt too quick at first, like a reflex he hadn’t meant to act on. But then, you saw it. The hesitation. The way his throat bobbed, how his fingers flexed at his sides before he rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to shake off whatever had just slipped through the cracks. But it was too late.

You had seen.

And by the way, his jaw clenched a second later, the way his lips pressed together, you knew he realized it too.

Your heart hammered. You didn’t answer him. Couldn’t. Instead, your fingers fidgeted with each other, twisting and untwisting, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. The silence between you stretched, thick and electric, heavy with something unspoken, something neither of you dared name but both of you felt.

Rafe inhaled deeply, the sound filling the quiet space between you. The air itself seemed different now, charged, like something unseen was pressing in, urging one of you to break.

He let the breath out slowly, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that somehow felt… controlled. Intentional. And then, his eyes moved again.

This time, there was no rush. No flicker of hesitation.

Now, he studied you.

It was slow, almost methodical, th

6e kind of look that made heat crawl up the back of your neck, the kind that lingered just long enough in places that made you second-guess every inch of yourself. When his gaze reached your thighs, a nervous jolt ran through you. Almost instinctively, you gripped the hem of your skirt, twisting the fabric in your fists, your knuckles turning white.

A nervous habit.

One he noticed.

One that made his eyes darken, not dramatically, not in some exaggerated, obvious way, but just enough. Just enough for you to catch the shift, to see the amusement flicker across his face like the hint of a smirk he didn’t fully let through.

“Hm?” The questioning hum he let out brought you back to reality, back to his question, and back to the answer that you had yet to give.

“Um… I- I don’t know…” you stammered out.

His eyes flick down again, taking in your upper body, eyes practically circling in on your chest. As if your body has a mind of its own, you straighten your back, puffing out your chest.

Rafe’s eyes flickered up to yours, and for a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

The air between you had thickened, dense with something unspoken, something dangerous. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, slow, almost pensive as if he were considering something he shouldn’t be. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a breath that almost sounded like a laugh but carried no humor, just tension.

“Yeah?” His voice was softer now, quieter like he was testing the waters, like he was trying to figure out how far this would go before one of you came to your senses.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Your throat felt tight, your skin burning where his gaze traced. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something vast, something that couldn’t be undone.

His fingers tapped once, twice against the desk, a steady rhythm that contradicted the barely concealed restraint in his posture. His body language told two different stories, one of hesitation, and another of inevitability. He was too close, and yet he wasn’t moving away.

Your breath hitched as he shifted, his body angling just slightly towards yours. It was a minuscule movement, one that could’ve been mistaken for a simple change in weight, but you knew better. It was deliberate. Calculated.

“You want to pass this class?”

The question was a mere whisper, his voice dipped in something that made your stomach twist. Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding, too fast, too eager.

His lips twitched, almost smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He leaned in just enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne, something dark and musky, something entirely him.

“Then you’re gonna have to focus.”

The way he said it—low, deliberate—sent a shiver down your spine. His words weren’t inappropriate, but the way he looked at you, the way his voice wrapped around each syllable, made them feel like something else entirely.

Your knees felt weak, your heart pounding against your ribcage as your grip tightened around the strap of your bag. The classroom, once suffocating in its quiet, now felt electric, charged with a current that neither of you dared acknowledge aloud.

Rafe exhaled again, this time slower, measured. His hand moved, not towards you, not touching, but close enough that you felt the shift in air between you.

“You’re nervous.”

It wasn’t a question.

Your breath shuddered. “I—”

His head tilted slightly, watching, waiting. His pupils were blown wide, his expression unreadable but entirely focused on you.

His jaw ticked, his fingers twitching at his side like he was fighting something. A beat of silence stretched between you.

And then, Rafe moved.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful. It was a slow descent, a moment stretched into eternity. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you felt the ghost of his breath against your skin, close enough that your lips parted in anticipation before your mind could catch up.

He paused—just for a fraction of a second, just enough to give you the chance to pull away. Just enough to make it clear that if this happened, it was your choice, too.

But you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

And before you could let a single other breath out, his lips met yours.

Soft at first. Testing. A barely-there brush that sent a sharp current through your veins, igniting something dangerous and uncontainable in your chest.

He exhaled against your mouth, and in that moment it seemed like something in him snapped.

His hand found your waist, fingers splaying against the fabric of your cardigan as he pulled you just slightly closer. His other hand lifted, skimming along your jaw before his fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head just so.

The kiss deepened, slow but demanding, every movement deliberate, every touch igniting another spark beneath your skin. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, taking his time like he wanted to memorize the exact way you fit against him. He knew this was a mistake but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Your hands found his chest, pressing lightly against the fabric of his dress shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair at the contact, his grip on your waist firm but careful, as if he was anchoring himself as much as he was anchoring you.

The sharp sound of footsteps in the hallway shattered the fragile haze that had settled between you two, yanking you both back into reality.

Rafe was the first to react, pulling away, but only just. His forehead remained pressed against yours, his breath still ragged, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. His fingers, warm and possessive, lingered at your waist a second too long before he finally, finally, let go, stepping back just enough to put a sliver of space between you. But not enough to erase what had just happened.

His eyes searched yours, dark blue depths swirling with something unreadable, something dangerous. His exhale was sharp, tension coiling through his jaw as he dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping at the strands like he was trying to ground himself.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough and uneven. Then, with more force, “Fuck. Fuck.”

His eyes shut tight, his head shaking in frustration as if the motion itself could erase the last few minutes. When they opened again, they were filled with something even more intense. In two strides, he was in front of you again, his hands gripping your upper arms, fingertips pressing just a little too hard, just enough to make you feel trapped between the heat of his body and the reality of the situation.

“This didn’t happen, okay?” His voice was firm, but there was a slight tremor to it like he wasn’t sure if he believed the words himself. His grip tightened before loosening again, as if he was at war with himself as if he didn’t trust his restraint.

You didn’t answer. You just stared at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, your breath uneven. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, and something in him cracked. His hands slid down your arms in a slow, deliberate motion, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. When his fingertips finally settled at your hipbones, pressing in lightly, his resolve wavered even more.

“This…” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

His voice was different now, lower, more raw. His fingers traced absent patterns along the fabric of your skirt as his mind spiraled, thoughts tumbling into a chaotic storm. Why was he doing this? This wasn’t like him. He had met you, his student, his goddamn student, less than an hour ago, and he had already crossed every possible line. And yet, even knowing that he wasn’t pulling away. He was moving closer.

His hands ghosted up your sides, the touch sending shivers across your skin. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t tell anyone. Can you do that for me?”

If someone had asked you that morning how you thought your first day of senior year would go, never in a million years would you have said this? Sure, you’d heard the whispers in the halls, and seen the way every girl’s eyes lingered when he walked past. Mr. Cameron was the forbidden fantasy, the subject of countless rumors and stolen glances. But he was also your teacher. And he had just kissed you.

You knew it was wrong. You should run, tell someone, do the right thing. And yet, as your mind battled between logic and desire, only one thought rose above the rest: he had kissed you.

Mr. Cameron, the man every girl in school lusted after, had kissed you. Had he done this before? Had he chosen others before you? Or was this different?

Even as doubt twisted itself into a tight knot in your stomach, you found yourself nodding, unable to speak, afraid your voice would betray you with the high-pitched, breathy sound of a girl who had just been touched by fire and didn’t want to step away.

“Good.”

His voice was barely a whisper, almost more breath than sound. The tension in the room grew, thick and suffocating, but you didn’t want to breathe anything else in. His fingers glided upward again, teasing over your waist, grazing over your ribs, leaving a trail of heat that made your entire body burn with anticipation.

Then, gently, with a tenderness that contradicted the fevered hunger in his eyes, he cupped your face. For one impossible moment, you thought he was going to kiss you again, that he was going to throw every bit of logic and control out the window and claim your lips as he had minutes ago. But instead, he tilted your head slightly, his breath warm against your throat.

Then his lips were on your neck, barely touching, soft and slow.

A sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, escaped you, and his hands tightened ever so slightly, grounding you, making you feel small under his grasp. His mouth moved lower, pressing another kiss, and then another, each one more deliberate, more intoxicating than the last.

You barely registered the moment he turned you around, your back now facing him. Your hands trembled as they found purchase against the smooth surface of his desk, the dark wood cool beneath your fingertips.

Then, with the kind of confidence that sent a shiver racing down your spine, he placed his hands on your thighs, massaging them slowly, possessively.

His voice, low and dripping with something dark and dangerous, ghosted over your ear.

“Stay quiet for me.”

You sucked in a deep, long breath, letting your head fall and your eyes close.

The feel of the Rafe´s fingers slid under the skirt and the pads of his fingers started tracing along your panties, each tiny motion making your body stutter and tremble.

“You´re… you´re real special, you know that?” He spoke from behind you but you couldn’t respond, still holding your breath as if letting out the air would make the situation you found yourself in truly real.

When he had had enough of feeling the warm, twisted feeling in his stomach as he let his fingers glide over your clothed cunt, he pushed your underwear aside with his thumb, letting the tip of his index finger dip into your already quivering hole. The action intensified the feeling and buried it even deeper in his gut.

As if a shock of lightning had hit you, you bolted away from his hand a few inches, clenching your thighs tightly as you finally relieved your lungs of the air they were keeping trapped.

“M- Mr. Cameron…” You started to sputter out but stopped when you felt long, gruff fingers curl around the sides of your panties before pulling the black lace material down tantalizingly slow.

A cold rush of air hit your most intimate body part, making you gasp and pant. When you heard rustling and what you could only assume was the clink of your teacher´s belt, you shut your mouth and froze as you waited for the man´s next move.

“Listen,” he whispered your name like it was a sin he committed and you were a pastor, “You understand that this stays between us, yes?” His large hands massaged your ass and thighs, cursing under his breath when he saw how soaked you were.

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement. You weren´t sure why. He was your teacher and by the looks of it and the feel of his hands on you, apparently a pedophile. But god did you want this; you wanted it, him, so bad.

Before you could so much as even let another thought pass through your head, he thrust forward, burying his cock inside you as deep as he could with multiple rapid movements of his hips. You moaned and practically screamed, the sounds of pleasure from you making Rafe reach around and cover practically half of your entire face.

“Fuck, you´re so tight,” he muttered sharply next to your ear as he started moving inside of you again, dragging his hips back only to snap them back forward less than a moment later.

“You like that, huh? Like being fucked by your teacher. Little teachers pet.”

He knew this was wrong, you were his student, and you probably didn´t even actually want this but for some fucked up reason that made it even better for Rafe, and as the thought crossed his mind it only made him thrust into you faster. At that point, you were damn near choking and sobbing into his hand, his palm making it hard for you to get a deep breath of fresh air in.

With a sense of panic taking over you, you tried to move your hands off of the desk to claw him off of your face but your attempts proved futile when Rafe pushed you flat onto the desk, forcing you to take his cock even deeper.

His free hand which wasn´t taking away your ability to breathe, found its way between your legs, his index, and middle fingers drawing squiggly circles on your clit. At the shock of pleasure that ran through you as he teased your extremely sensitive bundle of nerves, you clenched around his pipe and arched your back. You felt that familiar coil spring up in the depths of your stomach, your body rocking slightly backward against Rafe´s to help you relive the press soon.

Rafe pushed into you harder than he had any of the other time before then, hitting your sweet spot with a force that would have made you cry out, had you had your mouth free. His fingers applied pressure to the shapes they were making on your clit. The mix of heightened attention and force made your pussy squeeze around him and pushed you over the edge, coming with tears in your eyes.

After a few more brutal thrusts into your soppy cunt, he came as well, unloading into you, his thoughts barely registering anything at that point except for you and your body bent over his desk, his cum dripping out of your used up hole and onto your thighs.

Slowly he took away his hand from your face, a trail of spit following. As soon as you got a few much-needed breaths, you collapsed onto the desk, your body falling limp. Rafe pulled out of you, not wasting any time before he pulled his pants back on and redid his leather belt around his hips. He leaned over you, his body covering all of your sweaty skin as he dressed you in your underwear again.

“You did so good, darling. So, so good."

[chxnsgirl]

방찬 ─── right there

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬[ minors do not interact! ] daddy!chan x afab!reader . praise kink , daddy kink , fingering , reader is just obsessed with chans hands dhjfhdjk

a/n ๑ now hear me out. i have been reading @hyunjins-orange-slice-too fics about daddy channie and oh my lord it activated my daddy issues so hard. i wanted to write something that appeared in my mind not too long ago before work hehe

♡ masterlist

you lay, cuddled up next to your boyfriend, chan, while watching a movie together in bed. he had his arm wrapped around you tightly,  lightly rubbing your side, his eyes still transfixed on the screen in front of you two. 

you and chan had been dating for a few months. it was still new, and you two had just established a new relationship dynamic, one that was mostly your idea. you trusted him, with all your being, but you’d be lying if you said he didn’t still make you shy. 

chan was easily the most attractive guy you had ever been with. he radiated sex appeal without even trying, and he so naturally led the relationship. he took care of you and your needs, always pampering you, spoiling you. but it wasn’t just the fact that he did everything for you–he was beautiful, too. 

you loved everything about his appearance. his plump, soft lips, his pretty, sculpted nose, the pretty little moles on his face, his big, broad shoulders. everything. 

but there were some parts that made your thighs press together and slick coat your panties.. 

you made a mental list about those favorite parts of chan, and you lived for sneaking glances at them whenever you could. you were so thankful he liked being practically naked at home, so you could always sneak little peeks at his waist, which you adored. it was so toned, and so kissable, your mind always wandered to naughty places when you saw it. 

his biceps and forearms also turned you on. you loved the days when chan would come home from the gym and his veins would be on display after an intense workout. 

but your favorite things to look at.. the things you looked at more than anything else?

his hands. god, his hands. they always made you all blushy and squirmy. his fingers were long and knobby, the outside of his hands were so veiny and pretty. his skin was pale, and gorgeous, and his nails were always manicured and well taken care of. 

they were so masculine, but something about them.. seemed delicate. when he’d braid your hair for you, or help you into your pajamas for the night, those hands took care of you. and somehow, that turned you on even more. 

and that’s why, as you watched his hands rub your side, so softly, so tenderly, you felt your tummy twist and your core get tingly. 

you pressed your thighs together and curled up, trying your hardest to ease the tingling sensation between your thighs. you needed friction, bad, because for some reason all the thoughts you had about chan–and his hands– just would not go away.

he noticed your squirming, and finally his attention was on you. “are you okay, baby? are you cold?” he asked you, his voice oh so soft. you shook your head, heat creeping onto your cheeks. “i’m okay..” your voice was even softer, just barely over a whisper. 

he watched as you fidgeted with your sweater sleeves, tucking your hands inside them and trying to make yourself smaller somehow. he could tell something was up, he knew you all too well, despite the short time you two had been together. 

it was obvious something was bothering you. “are you sure? you wanna change into something more comfy?” he turned to face you, his hand retreating from around you only to be replaced by his other one, which was now resting on your hip.

you shook your head no, looking up at him with your pretty, twinkly eyes. 

his fingers flexed against your hip, warm and grounding, but the slight pressure only made the ache between your legs more unbearable. you swallowed, feeling small under his gaze as he studied you carefully, his brows knitting together.

"baby," he murmured, tilting his head, "i know something’s up." his voice was patient, coaxing, like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to open up. "tell me what’s on your mind."

your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat. you felt so silly—so needy—but chan had a way of making you feel safe, even when you were drowning in embarrassment.

you shook your head quickly. "it’s nothing," you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

chan hummed, unconvinced. his thumb started rubbing slow, lazy circles into your hip, making your skin feel hot beneath the fabric of your sweater. "nothing?" he echoed, the tiniest smirk ghosting over his lips. "sweetheart, you’ve been squirming for the past ten minutes, and i don’t think it’s because you’re uncomfortable."

your breath hitched. he was right, of course, but saying it—admitting it—felt impossible. you squeezed your thighs together instinctively, and that was all it took for chan’s smirk to grow, his fingers giving your hip the gentlest squeeze.

"that’s what i thought," he murmured. he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a low rasp. "use your words, baby. tell daddy what you need."

heat flooded your cheeks. your fingers curled into the hem of your sweater, twisting the fabric as you tried to find the courage to say it out loud. but every time you opened your mouth, the words dissolved on your tongue.

chan, ever patient, pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark with something unreadable—something that made your stomach flutter. "sweetheart," he murmured, his other hand sliding up to cup your cheek, thumb grazing over the heat there. "you don’t have to be shy with me."

you exhaled shakily, lashes fluttering as you tore your gaze from his. "i just… i…" the words clung to your throat, refusing to come out.

chan didn’t push—he never did—but he didn’t let up, either. his hand slid from your cheek to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look at him. "you want my hands on you, don’t you?"

a small whimper left your lips before you could stop it. you nodded eagerly.

chan chuckled, his voice dripping with amusement and something darker. "that’s my good girl," he praised, brushing his lips over your forehead. "all you had to do was ask." his hand trailed lower, rubbing under your ass and squeezing your thigh. you let out a soft, tiny whine, scooting closer to him subconsciously. 

you and chan had been taking things slow, but he read you so well. he was very attentive to you and your body language, and he knew. he knew you wanted him. “tell me, baby,” he began, rubbing your thigh gently. 

“where do you want my hands?” he asked, his voice smooth and coaxing. 

you blushed even darker, looking down at his hand. you pointed to your skirt, between your legs. “here,” you finally said, your voice no louder than a whisper. 

chan’s expression softened at your cute confession, but his eyes darkened even more. you watched as his hand slid up your thigh, lightly rubbing the fabric of your panties. he could feel how slick you were, and it even coated his fingertips through them. he let out a soft groan, looking down at his fingers. 

“baby,” he started, going back to rubbing the outside of your panties. “you’re so wet for daddy.. how long have you been wanting me?” he asked softly.

your breath hitched as chan continued to rub slow, deliberate circles over the damp fabric, his fingers pressing just enough to send shivers rippling through your body but not nearly enough to satisfy the ache that had been building inside you for so long.

how long had you been wanting this? too long.

you blushed even darker. “too long, daddy.”

your mind had been consumed by thoughts of his hands since the very first time he touched you. the way they wrapped around his water bottle at the gym, veins prominent and flexing with each squeeze. the way they skimmed over your back when he pulled you close, warm and strong, fingers splaying out possessively against your skin. the way they cradled your face when he kissed you, firm yet gentle, making you feel like the most precious thing in the world.

but this—this was what you had fantasized about most.

the feeling of his fingers between your thighs, his touch slow and teasing, unraveling you without even trying. you could barely breathe as he traced along the soaked fabric, a soft hum vibrating through his chest as he took in the way your body trembled beneath him.

"that long, huh?" he mused, his voice filled with something dark and knowing. he pressed his fingers against you a little more firmly, his touch still unbearably slow. "my poor baby… waiting all this time for daddy to take care of her."

a needy whimper left your lips before you could stop it, your hips instinctively shifting toward his touch.

chan chuckled, his other hand coming up to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. his fingers, those beautiful, skilled fingers, moved with the lightest pressure, barely enough to satisfy the craving that had been burning inside you for months.

"you love it, don’t you?" his voice was smooth, teasing. "you love my hands on you."

you nodded quickly, your breath coming out in soft, shaky pants.

he smirked, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before dragging down to your chin. "show me, then," he murmured. "show me how much you love them, baby."

overcome with a sense of boldness, you looked down and pushed your panties down, along with your skirt. chan helped you, of course, tugging them all the way down and tossing them toward the end of the bed. he leaned back against the headboard again, pulling you onto his lap. “let’s see this pretty pussy, hm?” he hummed, kissing your cheek. 

chan’s hand was warm and steady as he guided your thigh apart, his fingers pressing firmly against your soft skin. he used his other to splay out on your tummy, holding you steady against him. his touch alone sent a shiver up your spine, anticipation coiling deep in your belly.

“there we go,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something darker. “that’s my good girl.”

your breath hitched as his hand trailed down, fingertips barely skimming over your inner thigh. the contrast between the strength in his grip and the delicate way he touched you made your head spin. his hands had always been like that—firm, controlling, yet unbelievably gentle when they wanted to be. it was intoxicating.

you watched, mesmerized, as his fingers traced slow, lazy patterns against your skin, his touch setting fire to every nerve in your body. the veins along the back of his hand flexed with every movement, the ridges of his knuckles shifting as his fingers explored, teasing and unhurried.

“i think about this all the time,” you confessed suddenly, your voice barely above a breath.

chan’s hand stilled for a brief moment, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. “oh?” he tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “tell me, baby. what do you think about?”

you swallowed, cheeks burning, but there was no turning back now. “your hands,” you admitted, breathless. “i think about them all the time… how they touch me, how they feel…i think about your fingers, too…” your voice faltered as he flexed his fingers slightly, reminding you just how close he was to giving you what you craved.

chan let out a low chuckle, clearly pleased by your confession. “you love them that much, huh?” his thumb brushed against your thigh, slow and deliberate. “i see the way you watch them, sweetheart. you think i don’t notice?”

your heart pounded. he had noticed?

chan leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear. “every time i touch you… every time i hold you… you get all shy and squirmy.” his fingers traced teasingly close to where you ached for him most. “you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

you nodded quickly, unable to deny it. “yes…”

chan grinned against your cheek, his hands tightening around you possessively. “then let me give you what you’ve been dreaming about, baby.”

he nuzzled your hair, holding you against him as his fingers were reunited with your wet heat. he gently rubbed a finger up your slit, gathering wetness before pulling away, showing off the string of arousal connecting his finger to your wet lips. the sight alone made your cunt clench. 

his fingers returned, rubbing circles on your clit, making your thighs tremble and your head spin. “mmm..” you moaned quietly, leaning back against his chest. a proud smile spread onto chan’s face as he listened to the combination of your moans and the slick movements of his fingers working on you. “does that feel good, baby?” he hummed, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. 

you frantically nodded, squirming even more on his lap. he chuckled, his fingers leaving your clit to circle your entrance. “can daddy feel inside, sweetheart?” he asked, rubbing your tummy with his other hand softly. you nodded, opening your thighs more for him. he kissed your cheek before slowly sliding a finger inside you. 

he let out a soft groan. “baby,” he pumped it in and out of you gently, listening to the beautiful, lewd sounds of your pussy. “you’re still so tight,” he muttered, moving his finger faster. you whined, pushing your hips down and against his hand. he chuckled, slowly adding another finger. “whiny baby.” he teased you, pumping his fingers nice and moderately, rubbing the gummy spot inside you. 

it felt so good you nearly cursed, but you didn’t, saving yourself a scolding from your daddy later. you let out a mewl as his fingers worked you over and over, making a pit form in your tummy and your thighs get all tense. “daddy,” you whimpered, turning your head to look up at him. “hm?” he responded, not fingers not stopping. “it feels so good,” you moaned softly, your brows knitted together and your lips swollen from biting them. 

he leaned down and kissed your lips, pressing his thumb to your clit at the same time. you gasped into the kiss, and he used the opening of your mouth to swipe his tongue inside, dancing with your own. he could feel your cunt clenching around his fingers, and your legs were squirming so much more, he had to hold you down firmer. 

“daddy..” you broke the kiss to whimper. “i think i’m.. i think i'm gonna cum..” you panted, looking down at his hand once again. 

chan’s grip tightened as he held you in place, his fingers working you with expert precision. the way he moved—slow, deliberate, teasing yet firm—made your head spin. your entire body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ignited by his touch.

“yeah?” chan murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “you’re gonna come for me, baby?”

you nodded frantically, your breath coming in soft, desperate pants. your fingers clutched at his wrist, not to stop him, but to ground yourself, to feel the strength in his hands that had been driving you crazy for so long. the veins along his forearm flexed beneath your grip, a beautiful contrast of power and control.

“look at you,” he cooed, his tone full of praise. “so worked up just from my hands… you love this, don’t you?”

your whimper was all the confirmation he needed. he smirked, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as his fingers kept moving, relentless and intoxicating.

the tension in your body coiled impossibly tight, every muscle trembling as the overwhelming sensation built inside you. your mind was hazy, filled with nothing but the feeling of him—his hands, his touch, his voice guiding you to the edge.

“that’s it, baby,” chan whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “let go. let me feel it.”

with one final flick of his fingers, the pressure inside you snapped, sending waves of bliss crashing over you. your breath hitched, your body shuddering against him as the pleasure washed through you, leaving you boneless in his arms.

chan held you through it, his hands never leaving you, rubbing slow, soothing circles along your skin as he murmured soft praises against your temple. 

“you did so good, sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. 

as you came down from your high, you curled into his chest, still breathless and dazed. chan chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

taglist: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin @tirena1 @nickgurl4life

©chxnsgirl do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 25th. tom — anal sex / sexual punishment.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: basically how i see a tom riddle punishment playing out. biblical tom of sorts. so self assured its impossible to piss him off so you go to lengths some may consider extreme but…eh. he knows you’re his.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, UNI hogwarts (obvs but just a reminder) reader and tom have an…interesting dynamic, toxic but also not toxic because it works for them, anal sex (obvs), sexual punishment, brief fingering, copious amounts of dirty talk, i once again utilize my favourite place in the school (the library).

"Tom—"

With a hand raised, he cuts you off. "Don't."

You blink. Swallow. Blink again. He's mad—oh, yes, he's mad—more than you've ever seen him and you once watched Abraxas Malfoy knock over his potion during a heavily-weighted exam.

That, in currency to this, is pennies.

You breathe in, try again. "Look, I can explain—"

He doesn't let you. Within a second his wand is out and with a flick of his wrist the room shifts to static—the glimmer from the silencing charm he just cast settles over your corner of the library, and you feel your fingers go numb—

"Why'd you stop?" He cocks his head, brow raised. His jaw is tight, the tension there burning into the space between you. His fingers flex. You can feel how much he's holding back. "If there's an explanation, by all means. I'd love to hear it."

Right—yeah, an explanation. That should help. Certainly, the man staring at you like he has bullets for eyes and knives for fingers will understand—he'll be completely calm once you explain to him you kissed someone else in retribution—because you wanted to get back at him.

"Well, I—" you push up from the desk, desperate to feel bigger, to level with him somehow. Tom thrives in this—having the upper hand, knowing all he has to do is stare at you, all stillness and quiet fury. He knows you hate it, that you'll spiral under it until you break and present him your neck on a silver platter. Until you hand him the knife and beg him to cut. "We had that argument, and I thought—I thought, maybe—you didn't—"

He moves closer. The air thickens. You're too focused on the fire in his eyes to acknowledge the sound of his wand clattering onto the desk—

"You thought?" His voice is something almost bored, like this is a trivial exercise for him—you can barely hear him over the roar of your pulse in your throat.

"—that you didn't want me anymore!"

You force the words out in a desperate rush, and the silence that follows feels like a goddamn canyon—you're just staring at each other, scowling in the wake of what you just said because you both know how utterly foolish it sounds. The only person Tom Riddle has and will ever allow himself to be vulnerable in front of—and you thought he'd leave after a silly argument.

No. You never thought that for a second.

And so, you try to save yourself. "Tom—I-I'm sorry, okay? I'm so sorry, I know I fucked up—but, it's not just me—I mean, you could have communicated better—"

He takes another step toward you, nodding along as if he's humoring you. "Right."

You step back—you don't mean to but the depleted space between you feels dangerous and your body reacts before you can stop it.

"Maybe—maybe we can learn from this? Right? A lesson for—for us both?" You keep talking. You don't know why, but you do. "And, maybe you could, uh, learn to talk about your feelings better?"

You wince as his eyebrows shoot up, mocking you without saying a word. Tom Riddle, talking about his fucking feelings? Right.

"I mean—you're just—" you hesitate because you know you're digging your own grave, yet he's still staring, daring you to finish. "—you're just so hard to read, you know?"

Another bored nod, another step closer. "Of course."

You swallow, stumbling back—of course Tom knows he's hard to read, that's the point. Every word out of your mouth is a wasted effort, a desperate attempt to reason with someone who's beyond it. Your ass collides with the desk behind you, boxing you in—and suddenly, he's there, right in front of you, all of his typical Tom intensity pouring into the limited space between you.

His breath brushes against your cheek, close enough that his lips could meet yours. But you know they won't. He'd never make it that easy. You can't tell if it's fear or something more wicked that twists in your chest. Dread, excitement—God, maybe both—

"You tried to provoke me."

Your throat tightens around a swallow. He isn’t asking.

"Maybe."

He doesn't blink. "You tried to see if I'd care."

You open your mouth, only to close it just as quickly. What can you say that he doesn't already know? You're as transparent as glass to him, and even that is a goddamn understatement. All you offer is a slow nod, unsure but weighted—he wasn't looking for an answer, he was looking for submission.

"And you thought, maybe, that I would come to you. That I would react. That l'd be angry." His fingers brush up your cheek, slipping into your hair with the kind of intimacy that feels out of place given the circumstances. And, inevitably, when the pull comes biting at your scalp, it's a burn you enjoy more than you should. "Were you hoping I'd punish you?"

"Well—I-"

"You know, don't you," he tugs your hair again to quiet you. Every question he's asking is rhetorical. "You know that trying to provoke me is dangerous."

You nod, fast. "I know."

"You know that I don't like to be provoked."

"I know, I know, I-"

"Shh." His lips brush over your neck, just once—a soft, fleeting thing that promises everything and nothing at once. You can't help the way you lean into him. "You're just making this worse for yourself. No more talking."

You choke on your stupid ego, but force a nod. You asked for this. You won't fight him on it. Not here. Not now.

"Good." He hums, and you feel your heart dance, stomach leap at the barest flicker of approval in his tone. His breath skates over your jaw, and you try not to shake. "You want to show me how sorry you are, don't you?"

You nod again.

"Good." He tugs at your bottom lip and something curls at the corners of his own that doesn't quite qualify as a smile. "Turn around."

With your heart on the floor beneath your feet, you nod for a final time before doing as he asked. You find that turning is a difficult task, though not due to resistance—your body just won't cooperate—a mess of weak knees and shallow breaths and tingling skin. You do it, though, with his hand on your hip, guiding you, directing you, pushing you over the desk until you're bent at the waist, positioned just how he wants.

It's merely a moment before you feel him pressed against your back, feel his belt buckle digging into your ass—

"What do you think I should do to you?" His breath grazes the nape of your neck and reflexively, you arch into him—his hands slide up your thighs, hips, finding your waist and the band of your skirt—he tugs at your zipper, you remain quiet. You know he doesn't want you to answer. "I'm sure you had your hopes. Your assumptions."

Tom Riddle, you've determined, is a torturous lover—a slow hand, a tease until you're in tears from the overstimulation. A sort of devotee to fulfilling your needs while simultaneously tempering his own. He's so very restrained, in everything he does—not fervent, not right away, anyway—

"Maybe you hoped I'd degrade you. Remind you of your place." He tugs down the zipper, letting the fabric fall to the ground at your feet—you shudder and pull your lips tight, willing yourself to stay silent as the cool air hits you. Tom's hand roams over one of your asscheeks, pawing lazily before tapping his palm against it. “Maybe you wanted me to make you feel it."

—he only rushes—he's only careless when he's angry.

And god, he's angry now.

"Maybe." You force the reply through the sting he left on your skin. It's past midnight—quiet is everything but you two, and you're almost certain he locked the door behind him on the way in. You let your head bow, eyes fixed on the wood under your palms. "Maybe I do."

"Of course you do. You've never been subtle." His foot nudges yours further apart, his fingers trailing up your thigh, finding the damp ache between your legs. Your breath catches but you hold still, biting your tongue as he teases—digits gliding through your slit, swirling your clit. "I know you thought about it."

"About what?" You try, though the question barely gets out before his other hand smacks the thick of your ass again, harder this time. "Shit—"

"About what I'd do to you." The hand on your clit shifts to smooth over the sting, rubbing slow, while the other works the buckle of his belt. "Tell me what you wanted."

"I—" you pause, steadying, gathering yourself. You know you have to give him something, but it's hard to think when he's like this. "I—I wanted you to be...careless."

"Careless." He says it like he's savouring it, rolling it over his tongue like candy. It's not a word that suits him; you're not convinced he even knows how. "You want me to be rough—to be selfish. Like you were."

The moment his belt is loose you feel those slender fingers dip back into your slit, two of them pushing inside your cunt without warning, stretching you open as his trousers slip down his thighs— he grunts low, a sound that cuts into the quiet as his cock springs free and he presses it against you, unoccupied hand slipping back into your hair, pulling you up until you're flush with him.

"Yes." You're not sure who sounds more hollow for it—your voice for asking, his for granting it. "I want that. I deserve it. Please. Please—"

"Please. It's always please with you," he mocks, the words a hiss that burn your cheeks. "Yet, I don't get to be selfish like you, do I? I still have to show restraint."

"I mean—oh—fu—" you choke as his lips find your neck, muttering something against your skin before you feel the sudden cool slip of a lubing charm coating your asshole and cunt. "Tom-"

"Despite what you might believe, I've never had much in the way of patience," he breathes, a confession almost, something deeper—something that feels like it costs him. "Not when it comes to you."

"Tom—" you fucking gasp his name as he pulls his fingers from your cunt—only to drag them higher until they find your asshole. Despite his haste he's still at ease, massaging, pressing one finger against it until you let him in. He sinks slowly, curling slightly, and your thighs shake—lungs deflate. "Oh—oh, fuck, Tom—it's been—"

"A while, hasn't it?" He finishes, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his finger sliding all the way in. "So tight for me. So—tight—"

"Tom—" a repetition of the last one, his name spilling from you like it’s the only goddamn word you know how to say. "Please, Tom. Oh god—"

"Shhh." He shushes, but it's not to quiet you; you know that. He's savouring this. He slips in a second finger, stretching you wider, working you open, and you're biting your lip to keep from crying out. "This isn't about you."

"You—" your voice breaks on another gasp, hands clutching at the desk. "—you think this is punishment."

"Partially." His muses as his fingers scissor, filling you with the most delicious ache. You're so slick, arousal running down your thighs, and that—oh no, that does not escape his notice. "Look at you, dripping for me. And yet,"

"Oh god." The realization crashes over you—it’s punishment as in orgasm denial. "That's—that's not—"

"Not fair?" There's a smirk in his voice, and though he doesn't say it, you hear the word that lingers beneath it: pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. He pulls his fingers out and you whine, feeling empty for half a second before the head of his cock glides against your slit, gathering your juices before finding its way up to the throbbing ring of muscle. "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to be selfish?"

"I just—" words scatter, useless, because you're trembling, breathing hard, and then he's pressing in, slow enough to save you pain but fevered enough to make you feel him. "Oh—oh—"

"Oh fuck." He says it breathless, as if it's an agony to fit himself inside of you. "Oh yes."

And it is an agony—for both of you, though for very different reasons. Tom is huge, and even on a good day, it's a struggle to take him. He's so deep, filling you in ways you'd forgot were possible. You struggle to hold yourself upright—legs visibly shaking, teeth gritting. He sinks all the way in, and in your mind, you can almost see the look on his face, the way his lashes flutter, the way his head tips back—

"Ah—“ he groans, a rough sound that's followed by a huff and a slight roll of his hips, like he's holding back, like he can't bring himself to move just yet. He yanks you up against him by your hair. "That's fucking tight, isn't it? This must be hell for you."

He's not wrong, it is. But it's hellish for Tom too, the type of hell the two of you inflict on eachother that is as fucking addicting as it is anything else—

"Just—" you manage to bite out breathlessly, but it's a struggle to make the words. "Move—"

"Make me," he grits, jerking your head to the side until your foreheads press together. "Convince me to use you. Tell me how badly you want it. How much of a whore you are for it."

Merlin help you, you moan at his words. It's that thing inside you—the needy, desperate part that's dying at his feet. You don't know what it is or why it's there; it just is, and it's greedy. It's not something you'd give into normally—your ego is far too big to give him the satisfaction of begging, not aloud—never in words that he could use against you later—but in these moments, you both learn to make exceptions.

"Dear god, Tom—please, just use me-" you push your hips back against him, one of his hands slide up your stomach, cupping your tits. "Please, l'm—I'm a pathetic, begging whore for you. God, I know you're pissed—I feel it—just take it out on me—l want it—"

He moans—a soft, almost gentle sound—and you know you've struck a nerve, the part of him that's equally as weak in the moment—the part of him that makes it all too easy for things to spiral like this.

"Goddamn you." Something inside him snaps, something that's been frayed, just waiting for a pull—and you've pulled it now, and oh you want, no, you need him to make you pay for it, to make it hurt. "You just—you always-"

He grunts, cutting himself off and in a way, it's almost like he's thanking you because you're giving him an outlet, something to take it out on. You test each other, push and pull and let the other break, because, at the end of the day, it always comes down to this. The two of you. Like this.

A sharp inhale, and he starts to thrust.

"Fuck!" it's all you manage, it's all you can manage, because it—just like that—feels the way you wanted it to feel but it also feels so much more intense, so intense that your brain can't keep up. "Oh god—oh fuck-"

"Fucking hell," he spits, like you're the worst thing in his world and the best thing all at once, and somehow, that makes perfect sense. He lets go of your hair, and you slump forward onto the desk, elbows barely holding you up as his hand smacks your ass, fingers spreading you apart. "So—so tight—“

You're a shuddering mess, helpless to it; all you can do is remember to breathe through it.

"That's it." Another smack to your ass, thrusts quick and deep. "Fuck. The things you drive me to do."

You know him so well—and he knows you just as damn well, and that's the point, isn't it? That's what this is all about. You're the perfect mix of wrong, a match that burns too hot it hurts but the ache makes him feel alive.

"I want to cum—" your neglected clit is begging for it, you’re fucking begging for it. "Tom please—"

At that, he laughs and it's mean and it's condescending and you love—God—how you love it and want it and can't get enough of it. His hips snap forward a little bit rougher and you lose a bit more of your sanity—

"You think you deserve to come, after what you did?" Another smack to your ass.

You don't know how to answer, and he doesn't wait for one anyway. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you—everything is so calculated and calculated and calculated. You've never once seen him falter, and you don't expect to see it now. You don't know if you'd survive it if you did.

"No." He answers for you. "You don't."

His fingers trace around your thigh, grazing your mound and finding your needy clit, your sopping slit, gliding through it—you moan louder than you should as he gathers your slick on his fingers, humming at what he finds there before retreating—bringing them up to your mouth.

"Open."

You open your mouth and he feeds you your need—the result of his selfishness. You love him for what he is and you love him for what he isn’t too. How he tries to be both, only when you ask.

"Taste that?" It's a whisper, something he's telling you.

You sob around his fingers as he fucks your ass deep—he pulls them out to let you respond. You nod. "Yes."

"Taste how much you want this?"

"Yes." A pathetic moan. The perfect response.

"Good girl." He presses the words into your hair, the back of your neck, along your spine. He sucks in a breath as he fucks like he needs it just to speak. "You're going to remember this the next time you think about doing something just to spite me, I hope you know that."

Of course you will. He knows it, you know it—there's no doubt in your mind that you'll remember this the next time you toy with his patience; the next time you give him a reason to discipline you again. And what's worse is: you'll do it anyway.

It's a battle you two will fight for eternity.

But you don't get a chance to respond, not that you'd have one anyways—because his hand is on your throat and his lips are at your ear and he's sucking in air through his teeth and then—

"I'm going to cum." He whispers and you hear the pain in it. "Fuck."

You shiver in reply; a whine of a whimper coming from the back of your throat. “Tom—“

"Shh." He shushes you with his free hand, gripping your jaw as his thrusts turn sloppy, erratic. "Fucking take it.”

God—you’ll take it. Of course you will. You asked for this, drove him to this point. You're both sick, but this is the kind that doesn't have a cure.

One of his hands moves to his own hair, tugging at the back of his head; it's the only hint you've had this whole time of how much he's affected by this, how much it's driven him mad. He's doing his best to keep control, to maintain composure and make sure you feel it—but it's the way his hand squeezes your hip when he lets go of your throat that gives him away.

It gives in to what he's been repressing.

"Ohhh—fuck—yes—" and then you feel it, feel him, hot and sticky and warm, filling your ass and holding you there until he’s finished. His body collapses against the back of yours, hips slow rolling until he's drained—until you’ve taken all of him, all of his anger and frustration and restraint along with it. He’s sweaty, exhausted, spent—forehead pressed to your hair. "You feel that?"

"You know I do." You're not allowed to sound so smug, not while you're in the position you're in, but you are. It’s why he loves you. "That's what you were looking for."

"No, that's what you were looking for." He nips your ear, and you hear the smile in his voice when he bites down on it and murmurs a, "and that's why you're my favourite," into it.

"And you mine, Tommy."

[notjustjavierpena]

Applied Physics

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Long awaited smutty piece with a planned sequel. I hope you enjoy, ya filthy animal 💅🎀💖

Summary: It’s the 60s, you’re three weeks behind on a deadline, and your professor, Doctor Reed Richards, makes you face the consequences. 

Pairing: Reed Richards x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: College student/teacher relationship, science talk, Reed has powers, dub con, spanking, dom/sub dynamics, implied dacryphilia, dirty talking, sub drop, aftercare, stern Reed 🥵

Word count: 5.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62948440/chapters/161199763

Applied Physics

Dr. Reed N. Richards always wears a tweed jacket with elbow patches that show off his broad shoulders and give him an irresistible swagger. He teaches physics at your college part-time - when he is not out saving the world - and he is equally terrifying as he is warm, a combination of traits that you have learned can actually coexist but only after meeting him. 

You have been wanting him since he walked into the classroom that morning many months ago, carrying a black leather binder seemingly filled with little to nothing since everything appears to be stored in his brain. 

He has standards, you find, and traditional ways of doing things that somehow emphasize his love for the delicacy of science. For instance, he only grades papers with a fountain pen and therefore expects every assignment to be handwritten instead of done on a typewriter which is tedious and difficult for those who don’t possess a steady hand. The scary part of him comes out when he says he simply won’t grade the papers that aren’t turned in as he wants them to be. The warm part shows itself when he later makes a self-deprecating joke about knocking over whiskey during his grading. 

The idea of the paper smelling like his cologne or even, if you are lucky, has a stain of his favorite liquor, makes you hand in each assignment whilst the ink is still drying on the paper. Perhaps you will be the first one to receive notes and feedback from him if you turn in your work before its deadline.

You imagine him hunched over a desk, pen barely able to fit in his rough hand. He wears something casual, maybe even has taken off that jacket, scratching his beard and sipping his drink whilst smiling to himself as he reads words that come from your mind. Your mind makes him smile to himself, makes him single you out from the rest of your class because you are special and he knows this. It’s the image you imagine the first time you come whilst thinking about him, shower head between your thighs and legs against the tiled wall in the shared bathroom at the boarding house you reside in. 

When you do finally get your first essay back from him, you read all the comments in the margins during your lunch. You lick a drop of juice from an apple away from your lower lip as your eyes skim over a scribbled good or well done, trying to find an excuse to read more into the way he looks at you when you talk during class. You made him laugh once, that must mean something, right? He clearly has your sense of humor, the same ways of applying theory and reasoning. 

You know that it is hardly rational what you are doing, projecting all these things onto him when, in reality, you only know of him what you have seen during his lectures and office hours. Yet you have found yourself noticing the way he smiles faintly when you correct one of your fellow students during group work, and it has spurred you on to become even more insufferable to your classmates only to get his attention. His approval too, if you are lucky. 

Yet despite all this, here you are with an assignment running three weeks late, your procrastination having reached its limits and your excuses to your professor wearing thin. It’s a challenging state to be in when you’re so used to ranking your popularity with Dr. Richards higher than everyone else on this course. Sure, his attention is nice when it is rooted in praise but you don’t know if the kind that will follow this lecture, the deadline you’d agreed upon for your paper being yesterday, is the kind that will satisfy something in you like the small smiles have. 

You keep bouncing your leg beneath your desk as you wait for Dr. Richards to enter the lecture hall with that cool aura about him and let the fast-paced lecture begin. If anyone sees you, they will recognize it as an itching to suck up to him once more but in reality, it is the first time you’ve been in the room with a nervous tic. 

“Good afternoon, everyone,” he greets as he finally arrives and you find yourself jolting with nerves at the fact that he is finally here and inevitable doom is just around the corner. It doesn’t make it better that his brown eyes sweep over the crowd in a hurry until he spots you, his gaze full of concentration until he gains eye contact with you for less than a second. You sit up straighter at the way he measures you and the subconscious movement of your leg stills completely. Frustratingly, the man keeps talking as if nothing happened. 

After several attempts to regain your composure, you realize that you have completely missed his introduction to today’s lecture and while trying to ignore the thrill that is simmering beneath your anxiety, you scramble to start taking notes. It’s not to show him that you can go back to being his favorite student but rather a necessity to keep yourself from being three weeks further behind.

You power through the lecture even with your fuzzy mind, scribbling things down and making sure to appreciate the privilege it is to be taught by one of the greatest minds to ever live. This is even if he, multiple times, falls into the usual pattern of diving headfirst into multi-layered explanations of different phenomena and concepts, droning on as if none of you and the rest of your classmates exist to him anymore. 

You pretend to keep up when he does this but even you must admit that he loses you. However, you know for a fact that it is not out of disinterest that you stop listening but rather your mind focusing on something else when his words become too difficult to follow. Instead, you end up mapping out the length of his gorgeous neck, the beauty spot where his collar ends. It is enough to leave your mouth dry, but not enough to drag your mind off the scolding you’ll get soon.

When the lecture comes to an end, you have psyched yourself enough to stupidly get up and try to follow the rest of the students out. They trickle out hurriedly though and you find yourself at the back of the school of people heading for the door. 

“Hold it right there,” Reed’s voice travels through the room and hits you right in the back, making you falter in your step. Your last name rolls off his tongue with the same kind of confidence and composure that you’d tried to conjure up just an hour ago. 

“Sir, I was just—“ you rest your hand on the doorknob to signal that you are leaving but you know already that you have lost the fight to exit the room. 

You hear it before you see it; the faint and strange rustling of fabric as something wooshes closer. Suddenly, your teacher’s stretched-out arm moves past you like you have seen it do on television and then his hand attached to said arm splays flat on the door. He closes it with a soft click while you hold your breath. 

Slowly, it retracts back to normal and you follow it with your eyes by glancing over your shoulder. Time stands still for a moment at the sight because while Reed Richards has stretched his body multiple times in the past, without much thought behind it and much to his students' shock, he never puts anyone in the position to experience it firsthand. 

“Sir, I—“

“Come here,” he says quietly. 

You grab the strap of your bag tightly and make your way to the desk where he sits. You decide to beat him to his reprimand, talking even if your voice shakes at his disapproving stare, “I’m sorry I missed this week’s deadline.”

“This week? Try the last three,” he calmly corrects you, “You have done your research on force, impact, and energy transfer in non-elastic collisions, have you not?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you’ve still not turned anything in? Why?”

“I've been overwhelmed with coursework and–” You trail off when he raises a brow. He is still sitting down but even so, you feel like you are shrinking underneath his authority. You find it hard to believe that anything out your mouth right now will be taken seriously when you have let him down three times already but you try to reassure him anyway, “It won’t happen again, I promise,”

“No, it won’t,” he agrees as he pushes himself to stand. He drags the chair away from the table as if he thinks it is in his way, “You’re brighter than most, so I don’t believe I need to remind you what happens if you keep slacking.”

“No, sir, I’m aware.”

“I mean, we’ve already moved way past force dynamics and energy exchange on this year’s curriculum, so you’re wasting my time,” he goes on with an annoyed sigh that tells you he has better things to do, “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“I don’t know, sir,” you stare at the flooring.

“Come closer,” he orders calmly. He lets his gaze flick down to your hand clutching your bag of books, “Take out your book on core concepts.”

You follow his eyes and pull out the right book before gently letting the strap of your bag slide off your shoulder until the bag hits the floor with a soft thud. Something tells you that you’re not leaving anytime soon.

“Place it on the desk and find the pages on Newton’s Laws,” he continues and your heart slams against your ribs at the thought of an impromptu pop quiz instead of a handed-in paper. Yes, you know these pages but in the presence of him, you’re not so sure. 

Behind you, Reed has shrugged off his jacket while you were flipping through the book. He folds it neatly and hangs it over the back of the chair he was displeased with a moment ago, making sure not to crease the fabric. Then he reaches for the sleeves of the white shirt that he is wearing and rolls them up to his elbows, revealing the slightly visible veins of his forearms. Your head swims and you subtly press your thighs together, images of what you’d like him to do to you flooding your mind.

“Bend over,” he says suddenly, murmuring it almost as if he knows he shouldn’t have said it. 

Your eyes widen and you glance in the door’s direction. There are so many people on the outside of this room right now but the chances of someone walking in are slim since lectures are rarely started at this hour of the afternoon, “I don’t understand?”

“You don’t have to understand anything. I want you to put your palms on either side of the book and bend over,” he elaborates and clearly notices your hesitation, the direction of your eyes. His arm stretches out in front of you again, snaking its way past the rows of chairs until it reaches the door once more. He locks it, the soft click of it mixing with your unsteady breathing, and then he pulls down the curtain in the window at the top. 

When the arm smoothly retracts once more, you naturally think it will stop at his side but instead, you feel his palm on the back of your neck. His other hand joins to lay on the small of your back and then he pushes down gently to maneuver you into the position that he wants. 

You exhale shakily as you place your hands on the desk, feeling the smooth wood underneath your fingertips as a way to ground yourself in a moment so electric. Your body is way ahead of you, reacting to the anticipation of his next move by making a dull ache settle right between your legs. Your clit throbs, your walls flutter. 

“Your paper was supposed to use Newton’s Laws as a foundation, let me make sure you know them properly,” Reed says simply while removing his hand from your lower back. His other hand, the one on the back of your neck, slips down your spine to take the previous one’s spot, leaving fire in its wake, “Recite them.”

You swallow thickly, “Newton’s First Law states that a body at rest—”

Smack. 

A loud gasp leaves you at the surprise of Reed’s free hand coming down on your backside, heat spreading out underneath the fabric of your skirt where it has struck you. Your head whips around to stare at him in disbelief at what he has just done, your mouth hanging open in shock.

“Eyes on the book,” he commands sternly, curling his fingers slightly into the hem of your shirt, “Go on. Newton’s First Law.”

You count three whole breaths before you will yourself to face forward again, looking down at the text in front of you and trying to regain your ability to read. You swallow the lump in your throat, the letters jumbled on the page, “Uhh…”

“Concentrate,” he adds and gives you another blow, one that makes you jolt forward on the desk and send the book almost over the edge. You frantically reach for it, noticing the way your heart leaps into your throat when you consider what would have happened if it had fallen off. 

You drag the book back down and try to act cool but your voice tells on you as you start to read out loud, “A-a body at rest stays at rest, and a body in motion stays in motion—”

He spanks you again and elicits another gasp but you seem to have expected it since you don’t go flying forward. This is even if his palm leaves behind a much more painful sting this time and makes your toes curl in your shoes. 

“Until…” He sounds impatient. 

You act immediately like a dog who is learning about action and consequences, “Until acted upon by an external force.”

“Good girl,” he praises and you don’t know why the softness of his voice makes you tear up. His broad palm traces over the spot that is warming up already and you make a show out of sighing with content. 

However, the soothing touch is short-lived and you start struggling just slightly as Reed’s hand descends until he can grab the hem of your pencil skirt and roughly tug it up. He settles it just above the plumpness of your ass, swatting you to make you focus and stop squirming. 

“I’m not going to fuck you so stop moving around,” he scolds and surprises you with yet another smack. It feels different now that each slap is skin-on-skin contact, sounds different too as the noise echoes through the empty lecture hall. You whine in slight disappointment, even if you have inappropriately imagined his cock in you during circumstances so different so many times. 

“Second Law,” he murmurs, occupied briefly by the bruise forming on your cheek and scraping his nails across it. 

“W-what?” You let out a whimper, your thighs pressing together to soothe your pulsing clit. In theory, you know what he has said but it just isn’t registering since your mind is occupied by you knowing exactly what you will be doing back home if he won’t touch you. In fact, a thrill goes through you at the thought of another blow to recall in your bed with your hand stuffed into your underwear.

“Newton’s Second Law,” he repeats with a smaller swat following. You suck in a breath to calm yourself. 

“Newton’s Second Law states that the net force on an object is equal to its mass times its acceleration,” you say somewhat confidently, a sense of calm settling over you as you finally feel like you are getting a handle on the situation. 

“Apply it to the situation you’re in right now,” he tests you. You feel your face grow hot and hesitation seizes you for a second. It takes a moment too long for him and a much sharper smack lands right on the jiggliest part of your ass, the sharpness of the pain making you moan for the first time and the noise of the blow bouncing off the walls. You almost even swear in your professor’s presence, and you would have if it weren’t for the way tears in your eyes take off the edge.

“You’ll get one more if you don’t open your mouth soon,” he adds. You’re just about to speak, about to follow orders, when he takes a step closer and presses his cock into your hip. You freeze at the size of him, a sound that can only be described as pathetic leaving you. Reed huffs out a chuckle and smacks you once more albeit slightly less maliciously.

“Y–you’re applying a force to me. Your hand is the mass and the acceleration is essentially the swing of your arm. The shorter the time and the greater the velocity of the impact, the bigger the force I feel,” you try not to hiccup through the whole explanation but the words take a longer time to come to you and your backside is hypersensitive, warm, and sore. Your pulse rings in your ears too, and you swear you can almost taste the adrenaline in your mouth from how it is coursing through your body. It might just be salt from your tears though which you realize will simply give you an excuse as to why you stayed behind after class. If you really try, you might be able to conjure up an act of a student who got some terrible feedback.

“Still with me?” You hear him ask, feel him soothe your burning flesh. You wonder if his palm is imprinted on your cheek.

“Yes, sir,” you mumble with a sniffle, your palms sticking to the desk from how clammy they have become. 

“Speak up,” he corrects you and his palm leaves you long enough for you to start anticipating another strike. No hands on your body makes it harder to abstain from feeling his hard cock resting against your hip, the heaviness of it making you even wetter and oh God, aching to be filled.

“Yes, sir,” you enunciate without coming off as bratty. The next strike doesn’t come and relief washes over you, allowing you to relish in the cool air brushing your tingling and bruised skin.

“Last but not least. Newton’s Third Law?” 

“F-for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,” you say and rest your forehead on the book that has absorbed a few teardrops, He doesn't give you praise or a soothing touch. It bewilders you, makes you question if your scatterbrained state has accidentally made you say something that is wrong. You go quiet except for your rapid breathing as you go over your answer in your head but nothing comes to mi–

The sudden smack instantly makes you realize where you went wrong, landing across the exact spot that’s already stinging and causing you to hiss and whine through your teeth. Quickly, you scramble to relate Newton to what Reed is doing to you, “If… if you strike me, my body exerts a force back on your hand.”

“Mhm, good,” he hums while your head swims, “And I bet you’re feeling that force right now.”

“It hurts,” you whimper feebly and turn your head to the side. Yes, it’s the truth but your body can’t tell if it’s supposed to register this as pain or pleasure, the sensations overlapping intensely.

“That’s part of the lesson,” Reed’s hand returns in a gentle touch, his large palm settling carefully over the same spot he has just mercilessly spanked, “Why does it hurt?”

You wish he’d move his hand down between your legs and make you come when he realizes how soaked-through your panties are, “B-because when you spank me your hand transfers kinetic energy into my skin. The force and the friction cause heat to build. The tissues and blood vessels react, and it—”

“Gives you that glow. Precisely,” he finishes your sentence and curls his hand around your hip firmly. He sounds enthralled by his work, “And I respond with arousal, meaning it makes me so goddamn hard. Now, hold still. These last three are for the three missed deadlines.”

You know he means business when his finger slips underneath the waistband of your panties. He pulls them down just enough to settle them underneath the globes of your ass without exposing your needy cunt, the elastic of them digging slightly into sore skin. His other hand lifts and you brace yourself even if you know that any human can suffer through even uncontrollable pain if they know there’s an end to it. 

The first of three strikes lands right on the curve of your backside, harder than any of the several ones before it and making your entire body seize up. He isn’t playing around this time, your skin immediately blooming with newfound heat and fiery pain. It makes you moan out loud and squeeze your eyes shut until fireworks go off behind your eyelids.

“Count,” he says calmly. 

“O-one,” you manage to say in a voice that makes it sound like an apology instead. 

The second one makes it feel like there’s a clap of thunder going through your bones. You jolt forward on the desk enough to finally send the damn book flying off the edge to the floor. Reed tightens his grip on your hip to steady you, dragging you back to him again as if to remind you that despite everything he’s got you. 

“Two,” you say shakily, “I’m sorry, Professor Richards.”

He rubs the spot to soothe your burning flesh and by now, a part of you wants to crawl into his lap and be held. He coos softly at you and gently squeezes the roundness of your ass, making you bite down on your bottom lip and exhale a needy whine through your nose. 

“No need to bring me apologies,” he tells you, “We’ll see if you’ve learned your lesson. Last one.”

He lets you wait for the final smack, but when his hand lands on your skin, a sharp cry rips from your throat. Tears start flowing freely from your eyes now - even if you’re still not fully crying as emotions have not caught up with you yet - but it’s not solely from the pain, but also from the swirl of adrenaline and arousal that tightens below your belly button. You wonder if you should reach up to wipe your eyes but you can’t make yourself let go of the desk underneath you, clutching it in an iron grip because of how wobbly your legs are.

“Three,” you hiccup as Reed loosens his grip on you. You feel the ache of your behind with every heartbeat and want to sob now that it is over. You’re hyper-aware of what is happening in your body which is the adrenaline starting to crash, and the emotions, coming in like a wave, are just about to overwhelm you when—

“Sit up on the desk for me,” Reed says gently. 

“But the book,” you glance toward the textbook that you sent flying not long ago. It is a silly thing to cling onto but there’s an emotional wavering in your voice as you say it which Reed seems to catch onto. 

“Leave it,” he murmurs, an order but not like the previous ones, “Sit. I need to make sure you’re alright.”

The task seems impossible. You barely manage to push yourself fully upright, your shaking legs nearly not able to hold you up, and when you turn around to lift yourself onto the desk, you feel the edge dig into your sore behind in a way that forces a hiss out of you. A tear that you have no control over rolls slowly down your cheek.

“Easy,” Reed is beside you, catching onto your motive when you get ready to jump up onto the surface in a hurry due to his earlier lack of patience. He has previously had a hovering hand nearby but now, he grabs a hold of you to still you, “Do it carefully.”

When you’re finally perched on the desk, you’re not sure if the calming cool sensation of the wood beneath your thighs outweighs the pressure against your smarting skin. What you are sure of though is the storm of emotions inside your chest, a raging one made up of an overwhelming mix of new pain, embarrassment, and vulnerability, all of which makes your heart feel too big for your rib cage. 

“I’m okay,” you lie but you hear yourself and know it isn’t very convincing. He gives you a raised eyebrow. 

“Seems like you’re experiencing what is known as a drop. Come on, deep breaths,” he guides you gently when he spots the way your bottom lip wobbles, “If you have to cry, let it out. No one’s going to see you.”

From his words, you realize that your breathing has become unsteady and hitched in very little time. Your shoulders shake and your chest has a ball of unleashed feelings in it that nearly makes you feel sick. It unravels when the tears that you hoped would subside resurface at the permission to let them flow. You feel them brimming at the corners of your eyes. 

“I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing,” you say shakily when they finally spill over even if the tension in your torso slowly ebbs away as you let go. 

“You’re alright. Just breathe for me,” he says softly. He brings his hands to your thighs and rubs them in an attempt to soothe and ground you, “Slow and steady in through the nose and out the mouth. Right now, you don’t have to do anything but calm down, and then I can take a look at you.”

The room around you seems distant as you try to breathe more steadily but you’re lightheaded, feeling almost as if you’re wrapped in a woolen, fuzzy blanket that blocks everything out besides him. You aren’t sure if it is the adrenaline crash anymore or the way that your whole body is so tightly wound for pleasure that won’t come but you crave his touch, crave him taking care of you.

“You’re okay,” he says over and over, drowning out the static in your ears, “No more crying, sweet angel. I’d rather not see you leave here like this.”

The nickname makes you snap out of it. Angel? Did he just call you an angel? Your tears go on hold when you continuously blink up at him from your seat on the desk, pawing at his chest without knowing what to do with all your longing. He makes you feel all the things you have felt since you met him all at once now, a dizzying flurry of thoughts and feelings. 

“That’s better,” he smiles genuinely for the first time and you melt right then and there. He looks so damn handsome when he does it that you go ridiculously doe-eyed at the sight. 

“Thank you,” you mumble while playing with the buttons on his white shirt. The butterflies in your belly have nearly made the pulsing ache of your backside disappear. 

“Stand up,” he says and removes your hands from his chest which you probably make a much bigger deal out of than him, “I need to take a look at you.” 

You stand on wobbly legs. Slowly and carefully, he skims his fingers over the inflamed skin and notes out loud that it is warm. It’s not a soothing caress for the sake of tenderness, but rather a deliberate check-in to take note of how much damage he’s done. He works methodically, like a man who daily works with scientific research and experiments, going over each part of you while humming at his discoveries. 

“Right. Cool compress when you get home for the swelling, ten-fifteen minutes on and off. Frozen peas will do,” he instructs in the exact same tone as when he gives out science homework, “The skin is still intact but you’ll be sore if you don’t treat yourself with a little kindness. Lotion if it is too much to bear and loose clothing. Not a pencil skirt like this one, we clear?” 

You nod with the hint of a pout.

“And,” he adds and grabs lightly at your chin, his tone suddenly playful, “Try not to miss any more deadlines.”

It’s a joke, you realize, something to lighten the atmosphere in the lecture hall and you barely register it from the way his fingers hold your head in place. Despite your watery eyes and racing heartbeat, you huff out a little laugh.

“There we go,” he coos at the sound of your chuckle, “Not so gloomy anymore.”

With gentle hands, he reaches just below your hips to pull your underwear up over the curve of your ass again, careful not to let the waistband tug at the sensitive skin. He does the same with your skirt, tugging the hem down over your thighs until you look decent once more. 

Your lips part slightly as your eyes slide up to look at his face, feeling dumbstruck by his brown intelligent eyes and his aquiline nose straight out of the statues from Ancient Rome. You admire the column of his neck, the mentioned beauty mark just above his collar, and the dip that you want to kiss. 

After a moment, you realize that you have gone quiet and when you look back at his eyes, you are dizzyingly meeting his suddenly intense gaze. It is as if he has calculated that you are back with him, lingering with desire albeit still a little shaken by your tears. His eyes are burning into yours and you can feel the restraint behind them. It is as if you can sense the electricity in the air, the warmth that prickles in your cheeks, and the heat that radiates from him. 

Without a word, he reaches to tuck your shirt into your skirt until it hugs your figure tightly, a fashion choice different from how you had arrived in his classroom earlier. The dominance of styling your clothes as he prefers it makes you press your thighs together, the dull ache returning between your legs. 

“I’ve noticed, seen it all. That’s why I did it,” he says cryptically as he stuffs your shirt down at the back, fingertips brushing the dip of your spine until heat racks up it. 

“Noticed what?” You ask foolishly but had you stopped to think, you would have figured it out already. 

“All the energy you’ve put into getting me to notice you and getting my undivided attention. Congratulations, you’ve finally got it,” he clarifies and lets both his hands rest on the small of your back for the briefest of moments. When he lets go of you, you follow his touch by leaning in to close the distance with a kiss. 

He places a hand on your chest, holding you back just when you are pressing the ghost of a kiss to his lips. He has given you so much by now. Why not this? A ball of frustration settles in your chest and comes out as a little whine of impatience, “Why can’t we?”

He doesn’t pull away, simply speaks less than an inch from your face so you can feel his breath on your mouth, “Because you need to learn restraint, sweet angel. I can’t have you missing your deadlines three weeks in a row - or at all really - due to some little crush.”

You want to defend yourself, say that it has nothing to do with him but deep down, you know it would be a lie straight to his face. So instead, you swallow thickly, “I want you. I’ve wanted you since I saw you.”

“And you will have me,” he kisses you so softly that you want to sink to your knees, “Just not until I say so, and certainly not before you’ve been a good girl and turned in that paper.”

“Sir,” you try one last time.

“I’ll teach you to be patient, to have restraint,” he tells you and makes you realize your attempt was to no avail, “Whether you like it or not.”

You give in, buzzing with the need for more, “I can turn my paper in on Monday. Would that suffice?” 

“I’ll hold you to that, but no late nights and last-minute scrambling. If I find you’ve rushed through it…” he lets the sentence drift off, letting your imagination figure out the consequence, “And it best be your best work yet.”

“Yes, sir,” you reluctantly pull back when nothing seems to work, “Whatever you want.”

“Hand it to me during office hours before class,” he instructs to which you nod.

“But what now?” You ask with a tiny impatient noise, letting him know just how much you’ve got against his reluctance to touch you. 

His hand flexes by his side, “Now you go home. You lock your door and you touch that pretty thing between your thighs just how you like it most. I want you to come for me until you’re hoarse. Three times for three weeks but no more than that, not until we see each other again.”

It is Wednesday and you won’t see him until Monday. How on Earth are you going to survive on only three orgasms after this? Your mind races with protests but you don’t get to voice your concern about the limit he has set because he has already stepped back to pick up his jacket from his desk chair. 

You decide to circle the table to pick up your book and stuff it into your bag. Behind you, Reed’s eyes are definitely on you as you lean forward with a hand on the desk. He is fixing the cuffs of his sleeves and putting on his tweed jacket, trying to come off as if letting you have a private moment to compose yourself.

“Monday,” he reminds you when you stand upright again. His arm stretches out between the rows of chairs and tables once more so he can unlock the door for you. 

“Yes, sir,” you answer obediently. 

You swing your bag over your shoulder and then you leave.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[teamatsumu]

kept me waiting. (suna rintarou x reader)

summary: for six years, you have loved no other alpha except suna.

word count: 3397

warnings: a/b/o dynamics, alpha!suna, omega!fem!reader, some angst, smut, typical omegaverse jargon (mating, knotting, scent, slick), oral (fem receiving)

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi @sleepyxxhead @priv-rose

There’s only so long you could have waited.

At 16 years old, you were a budding omega. You had presented recently and were trying to adjust to the changes that came with your secondary gender. You were curious about yourself, and about others as well. In your uncertain new beginning, you met Suna Rintaro.

He had presented as an Alpha about a year ago, and he was more comfortable in his skin than you were. He was brooding and slightly lazy, but endlessly perceptive. Clever. And he smelled to you like a garden you wanted to lay in, surrounded by grass and flowers. He brought you comfort. And your novice omega heart fell in love with him.

The kettle whistled, indicating that your water was ready for a cozy cup of tea. You pour it into a cup, grab your muffin and your tea before settling on the couch. It was evening time and the TV was on, loud cheering emitting from its speakers. You placed your blanket over your lap and then rested your plate on it, finally turning your attention to the screen and the live game that was about to start. You had never once missed a game of Suna’s, after all.

Almost 7 years since you had first met the boy, and to this day, you heart yearned for him. He was your best friend, your most personal confidant. The love of your life, though that fact was not known by him. Your Omega had attached herself to him explicitly, vowed to love him forever, and despite him not returning your feelings, you hung on to the tiniest, withering hope that somehow, things between you two would work out.

The game was an exhilarating one, and in the end, EJP Raijins came out of it victorious. You watched the team celebrate on screen, grinning wide and cheering them on silently. When the camera panned to Suna, your heart squeezed. You shot him a quick congratulations text, asking him how he wanted to celebrate. Suna had informed you beforehand that he would be crashing at yours after the game, since you lived so close to the venue. You had enthusiastically agreed, of course. Any excuse to spend more time with him.

Half an hour later, your phone pinged with a reply from him.

‘Will be back late, sorry.. dont wait up’

You pursed your lips in disappointment before sighing loudly and resigning to an early night. It was fine, you were tired from work anyway, so getting extra sleep will be good. But spending some time with Suna….

He had been so busy lately, with rigorous practices leading up to the beginning of this season. You hadn’t seen him in weeks, and you didn’t enjoy that fact, nor did your omega. You missed him terribly. You swallowed down your sadness and trudged into bed. It was a familiar feeling when it came to Suna. The yearning and the realization that he wasn’t yours.

When you woke up the next morning, the sun was high in the sky and filtering through your closed curtains. You groaned and cursed softly, not expecting to sleep in so late. Your mood only lightened when you walked into the kitchen and found Suna sitting on the island, scrolling through his phone over a steaming cup of tea. His hair was messy and unkempt, indicating that he just woke up, but the sight of him had your face lifting with a smile.

“Rin!” You greeted, clearing your throat when you heard how hoarse your voice was. “Congratulations on the game!”

“Hey,” His smile made your heart squeeze. “Sorry, did I wake you last night?”

You blinked in confusion. “No?”

“Oh.” He chuckled and ran his hand through his hair. “Good, good.”

You eyed him for a moment, trying to gauge what he meant. You walked toward the kettle that was still going, planning on pouring some of it for yourself too. As you moved past the man, a scent hit your nose and your body stiffened.

Omega.

There was no doubt in your head. It was an omega scent, wafting off Suna in waves and mixing intimately with his own wonderful scent. You froze behind him, nose twitching when you took another deep breath and identified the scent even more distinctly. You didn’t recognize it, but you knew it was omega. And the way it was coming off Suna, focused so closely on his scent glands meant only one thing.

“Why’d you get here so late, Rin?” There was a little tremble in your voice.

Suna didn’t seem to notice, scrolling idly through his phone, distracted. He hummed a bit in question before replying.

“Drinking with the guys.” He drawled.

And then? You didn’t ask. It wasn’t your place. You loved foolishly believing that Suna was your Alpha but he wasn’t. And you couldn’t exactly tell him to not see any omega when you didn’t have any claim on him either. Silently, you left the kitchen, hoping he wouldn’t call after you, walking into your room and closing the door. You leaned your forehead against the warm wood and closed your eyes.

Stupid. Stupid. What right did you have to feel the way you did? Suna wasn’t yours. He could be with anyone he pleased. He could sleep with other omegas. Scent them. Court them. Knot them. Your throat tightened.

So then why did you feel like a wounded animal? Why was your omega whining like she had lost her mate and not some random alpha she had unfairly been obsessed with for so long? In moments like this, you hated your secondary gender. You hated your omega. You hated that you were so in love with Suna that this felt like cheating to you.

However, your hurt was exclusively your own, and you couldn’t project it onto anyone else. Suna was here now, and even though the sight of him made you weep, you still found joy in being around him. You would spend the day with him, and get the closure you needed. Then you would lick your wounds and move on. You had waited long enough.

So that’s what you did. And here you were now, a week later, sitting across from an Alpha you had met just today, listening to him talk about his job and his hobbies while you smiled and nodded. There was an almost bitter undertone to your feelings. Over the days, your sadness had transformed into anger. It was unjustified and not really something Suna deserved, but you still directed it at him. Because he had ruined you for anyone else.

The Alpha before you was a perfect gentleman. He was a friend of your friend’s, and everything she had told you about him was true. He was kind, well spoken, good looking. He knew how to carry a conversation, since he was doing most of the talking while you rolled around in your own head.

But he wasn’t witty. He wasn’t quick and sly. He didn’t have a thin, cutting smirk and narrow green eyes that pierced through you. He didn’t smell like freshly cut grass and cool, open air.

He wasn’t Suna.

After the date, he walked you to the train station, where you claimed you would get on the train home. He gave you a respectful hug and smiled kindly when you said you would call (you wouldn’t call). Then, when he mixed in with the crowd and disappeared, you turned around and walked straight out, beginning to trudge on foot to your home.

Your thoughts were all over the place, your eyes were lined with unshed tears, your breath felt like it was trapped in your lungs. You didn’t comprehend the stupidity behind walking all the way home, and how it would take hours. Your friend texted you, asking about the date. You didn’t reply. Instead, you tapped on that one cursed name that you couldn’t wipe from your mind and sent only two words.

Fuck you.

It took you two and a half hours to walk home. It could have been quicker if you weren’t in heels. After about half an hour of walking in them, your feet began to hurt. You used the pain to distract yourself from the jumble of thoughts in your head, and by the time you got home, you didn’t even want to look down at them. You couldn’t imagine how bad they looked, if the tingling and shooting pains were any indication. It now traveled up your legs and to your lower back, aching all over. At some point, the air nipped cold at your cheeks, and you finally noticed that it was because of the tears that now ran down them.

When you unlocked the door and stepped inside the warmth of your apartment was the first time you seemed to be aware of your surroundings. You froze just inside the door when a large figure blocked the light, making you look up at a scowling Suna.

“Where the hell were you? I was calling like crazy!” His voice was louder than his usual register, and more emotional. You blinked a bit and sniffled. Your skin felt stiff because of the dried tears. Your feet still screamed.

“Why are you here?” Your voice was low.

“I’m-” Suna’s eyes traveled down, and they widened slightly at the sight of your feet.

“What did you- did you walk?”

You sighed and lumbered past him, ignoring the pleading protests of your feet to get the weight off them. You finally sat down on the couch, feeling no better. The pain was still there. You kept your focus acutely on it, trying not to look at the one man who was causing your misery. But he seemed adamant on making himself known, kneeling before you to help take off your shoes. You jerked your legs away. Suna looked up at you, shocked.

“Don’t touch me.” Your voice was cutting.

Something flashed in his eyes. “Let me help.”

“I don’t need your help. I don’t need you.”

Suna reached for your shoe strap again. “Don’t be stubborn, omega.”

You felt your blood boil and you finally raised your voice. “Don’t call me that!”

He eyed you for a moment. “What? Omega? Aren’t you one?”

“Suna-”

He glared at you. Glared. A withering look that almost made you shrink. But your emotions were too great. You grit your teeth and didn’t say anything. Didn’t address the fact that you had called him by his last name for the first time in six years.

Suna peeled your shoes off your feet as gently as he could. But it hurt regardless, and you hissed when they finally came off. He ran soothing hands over the tender, angry skin. You tried not to think about his touch, tried not to sink into the feeling. But your efforts only made tears gather in your lash line once more. You eyed his raven hair, his head bent low to look at your feet. He sat cross legged before you, laying light touches on the swollen parts of your feet.

“Why are you here?” You repeated.

“Well, when my best friend texted me a colorful ‘fuck you’ out of nowhere, then proceeded to ignore all my calls, I was understandably worried.”

You sighed and looked away just before he could meet your eyes. He continued. “You wanna tell me what that was about?”

You didn’t reply, pointedly looking away. You cursed at the moment of weakness that caused your lapse of judgment and made you text him. Him showing up was your own mistake.

He exhaled loudly, looking down at your feet that he was still gently massaging. “I didn’t sleep with anyone.”

Your head snapped to him in shock, eyes wide and mouth dropped open. Suna didn’t look up, but his lips twitched into a little smile.

“That’s why you’ve been acting so weird, right? For the last few days? You were pissed and sad that your Alpha slept with another omega.”

Your mind reeled, and you sat frozen as you tried but failed to absorb Suna’s words. Your alpha?

When he looked up, his lips were tilted in a crooked smile. “I wouldn’t do that to you, baby.”

Again, you lurched. You tried to pull your feet from his grasp, to stand up and get away from him, put any distance between you two. Maybe his scent was making you heady. Maybe you were hallucinating. He gripped at your leg, making sure you stayed put.

“You’re- I don’t know what you’re saying.” You rasped.

Suna chuckled before sighing a bit defeatedly. “I wanted to confess in a more romantic way than this but you started being all distant and shit. I can’t see you like this.”

You couldn’t believe it. You had so many questions and not enough answers for the predicament you were in. And Suna’s pretty forest eyes didn’t help keep your head straight either.

“You- what do you mean confess?”

Suna’s hand ran up your bare calf lightly, you felt goosebumps rise on your skin.

“What do you think it means?” He countered in classic Suna fashion. Answering your question with a question. “Telling you that I like you. Taking you out. Courting you. Mating you. The whole she-bang.”

For the hundredth time today, tears filled your eyes. “Rin….”

He watched you, eyes forlorn as you silently weeped. His hand still rubbed comfortingly over your legs. Up and down, slow motions. His touch grounded you.

“You made me wait-” You hiccuped. “-for so long.”

Suna continued eyeing you. He leaned forward to rest his head on your knee. “I thought you knew how much I liked you. I spend all my time with you. I scent your clothes, dammit. I thought you weren’t saying anything on purpose. That you wanted to come to me on your own terms.”

You smacked his shoulder hard. He didn’t even budge. “You are such an asshole.”

Suna chuckled a bit before turning his head and laying a kiss on the side of your knee. The skin tingled. He pulled away only a hair, and his breath hit your skin. A chill ran up your leg. Suna turned his head only slightly, his eyes meeting yours. Your heart skipped. Heat ran down your body, settling at the base of your stomach.

His lips skimmed over the bare skin of your knee. His left hand, placed on your right shin, traveled slowly up your leg until it dipped below the hem of your dress. Your breath caught in your throat. Your core grew damp. Suna’s gaze heated up, and his lip twitched with a tiny smirk.

“I can smell you.”

You bit your lip when his hand traveled up, up, until his skin was meeting delicate lace.

“So wet, omega.” He nipped at your leg. “And I haven’t even done anything. So good for your Alpha. So ready.”

His unoccupied hand hooked under your knee and tugged until your hips reached the edge of your couch, until you were laying back on it. Your eyes didn’t leave him. His words ran straight between your legs, making you clench hard. You bit your lip and looked at Suna with teary eyes.

“Rin.”

You had nothing else to say. Suna let out a breathy laugh and increased the pressure of his thumb on your slit. You gasped.

“Will you be good f’me?” His voice was octaves deeper. “Let me eat out your sweet little pussy?”

His crude language made you moan. Suna finally moved, lips going higher over your thigh until he bypassed your body completely and leaned up to connect his lips with yours. You grasped the sides of his face, kissing him back hard and deep. You poured every emotion into that one kiss, letting Suna lap over your lips hungrily. His scent enveloped you like a comforter, one hand pushing up the skirt of your dress while the other’s movements grew more urgent on your clothed pussy. You were slicking up rapidly. You could feel it run from your hole and down your ass until it landed on the couch. You couldn’t give less of a shit if you were dirtying the furniture. Your brain was rapidly turning into mush as your omega preened under Suna’s attention, his tongue invading your mouth like it was his own and he was only reclaiming it.

“Pretty baby.” He rasped into your mouth. “Good little omega. Get wetter for me. Need to drink all your juice.”

Your face felt like it was on fire, and you whined right against his lips. When he pulled away, you tried to chase after him, already addicted to the high that his lips brought. Suna hummed in amusement and tugged on your panties, pulling them off your ankles. He pressed the fabric directly to his nose and breathed deep. You watched him with half lidded eyes as you bit your lip to hell.

“You smell so fucking divine.” Suna groaned. “Always thought so. Loved cuddling up to you. Being close to you. My lovely omega.”

You moaned again, feeling how you gushed at his words. You didn’t realize you were into praise, but when it came from Suna, it lit a fire inside you. You clenched hard around nothing, now acutely aware of your rapidly building need.

“Rin,” you gasped. “Please. Please.”

“I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.” He shamelessly pried your legs open. You let him. “I’ll take such good care of my omega.”

His first lick was a thick stripe up your open slit, filthy and hungry, before he licked harder and faster over your clit. You gasped at the contact, the urgent relief of finally having stimulation you were craving so much. Your fingers automatically buried themselves in his soft hair, tugging tight at the roots. Suna hummed his approval and suctioned his lips on your clit, lapping and slurping like he was a man starved.

He was glorious at it, eating pussy like it was his last meal, hands holding your thighs apart firmly so his movements were unhindered. Stars burst in your vision and your hips jerked, not sure if you wanted to lean into him or tug away from how intense it was. Your torso undulated and arched, tears ran down the sides of your face and you moaned unencumbered. Suna seemed to enjoy it, because he pulled off with a wet smooch and replaced his lips with his thumb, not leaving you dry for one second.

“So fucking delicious.” His voice had gone scratchy and wrecked. “Good fucking girl. Moan for me, baby. God, I could do this forever.”

You felt something prod at your entrance before two fingers rapidly sank into you to the knuckle, curling hard and rubbing at your walls. You cried out again, not even embarrassed by how wet the noises became, how potent your scent was becoming, you badly you needed to cum on his fingers or you didn’t know what you would do-

His lips sealed over your clit and you were gone.

Suna didn’t even slow his movements as you reached your high. He helped prolong it, sucking harder and pushing his fingers in and out of you, scissoring and curling until your walls felt abused and used beyond belief. You wailed and weeped as you dug your fingers into the couch cushion under you. You had slid so far down the couch that it nearly bent you in half. You tried to close your legs and Suna finally pulled out, kissing over your mound a few times before he leaned up and attached his lips to the skin of your neck, licking and biting lightly over your scent gland, trying to embed his own scent into you. The feeling of him so close to that spot had your mind reeling. You hugged him close.

“Bite me.”

Suna kissed you again. “Not like this.”

“But I love you.”

He chuckled and sucked lightly on your skin until it darkened. “Still won’t mate you on a couch. When I do it, it’s going to be with your cunt full of my knot.”

You flushed and groaned in embarrassment, feeling the way your core pulsed again. Suna laughed and nuzzled your neck.

“Don’t worry. I have a lot of loving to give you before we get there.”

[dollyyun]

REMINDER ✧ L.HS (FT. 02Z) [ TEASER ]

SYNOPSIS ✧ wherein your boyfriend, who has displayed possessive tendencies ever since some of his teammates had shown perverse interest in you, surprisingly allows them to have a taste of you and some fun with you, but not forgetting to remind them that at the end of the day, he’s the only one who can truly satisfy your needs and that you’re his.

PAIRINGS ✧ idol bf!heeseung x fem reader x idol!02z GENRE ✧ idol au, dynamic between characters, reverse harem element, fluffs, soft love, jealous-possessive heeseung, loverboy heeseung, (possibly)loverboys!02z, little plot WARNINGS ✧ needy and whiney reader, fivesome, unprotected sex (no!), dom!enha, mild bondage (light restraint), brief voyeurism, name calling, hair pulling, making out, degradation, manhandling, fingering, spitting, clit stimulations, cum eating, choking, spanking, creampies, overstimulations, multiple orgasms, gangbang, more to be added... TEASER WORDCOUNT ✧ 2.9K CURRENT WORDCOUNT ✧ 11K (est 30k)

PREV PART | SERIES MASTERLIST

The first time they met you when Heeseung officially introduced you to the whole team as his girlfriend, they were enthralled by your pristine-like beauty, even more so when they observed how you carried yourself in a refined manner. Initially, you were evidently shy to be in their presence during the first few hangouts, a natural reaction that was expected, considering that they’re superstars. It didn’t take too long for you to warm up to the maknae line, bonding with them as though they had been your long-lost best friends, but you’re reserved and formal around 02z despite being the same age as them.

The 02z did not take your indifference too personally, especially since they were more than aware of how unapproachable they looked, which made sense why you preferred the maknaes’ company than theirs, but they couldn’t ignore the disappointment that twinged in their chest whenever they watched you in a carefree element around the maknae line.

Was the disappointment derived from their platonic yearning in being your friend? Or was it derived from the attraction that took root within them when they first saw you?

They genuinely have no idea, but after the video call incident, when they unintentionally heard such sensual yet explicit sounds emitted from you, their attraction towards you became protrusive, and somehow, without confiding in each other, they shared the same goal that involved making you notice them.

But it didn’t seem to be working effectively when you remained awkward around them even after they made efforts to take the initiative to get close to you the way the maknae line did; well, at least two of them have been.

Sunghoon still has trouble opening up to you despite his attraction towards you, his aloof demeanour intimidating you every so often. It is more than evident in the way you tend to avoid meeting his icy gaze and how you would not-so-discreetly recoil whenever he is in your vicinity. He admits that he intentionally appears unwelcoming to you as he intended to steer clear of you since you have become Heeseung’s beloved, but he didn’t intend to get to a point where you completely avoid him like the plague. 

Jay is more than aware of how he intimidates you in the way he’s overbearing whenever he grasps the opportunity to interact with you, especially how he teases you in a way that borders on mean, which makes sense why you tend to ignore him or the way you look flustered, but in full honesty, he enjoys every little detail in your reaction — how your nose scrunches up adorably, your lips jutting into a small pout, your coloured irises burning with a familiar fiery — just how your sulky temperament easily entertains him.

Unlike the two Parks, who still master some form of restraint, Jake goes all out, unconcealing his flirtatious nature whenever he’s around you, even when Heeseung is next to you. Just like Jay, Jake enjoys the reaction he elicits out of you, how his charms often affect you even if you appear collected, but other times, he’s friendly with you, engaging you in small conversations that you keenly reciprocate, because no matter how attractive you are, he genuinely enjoys talking to you. Maybe it sounds stupid, but he feels as though he has met his twin flame. He can’t deny that despite the attraction, he has a genuine interest in being your friend.

Right, friend. How could they ever cross the boundary when you are clearly taken by Heeseung? The oldest member and their dependable Hyung, whom they grew up with for years. How could they ever show any form of disrespect towards your relationship with him? Especially when your relationship with him is far more stable than their love lives.

In spite of the persisting yet unspoken tension between them and the oldest, they genuinely respect him and his relationship with you, and how truly admirable his devotion and loyalty to you are, essentially and unknowingly setting a good example for them. Even a blind person could see how much Heeseung is irrevocably in love with you. 

Maybe it’s the void of loneliness within them that spurred them to be attracted to you, the idea of you, the idea of love despite their notion of love differing from each other’s, but the attraction towards you is unabating, and even till now, all they desire is you despite how unattainable you are.

Which is probably the reason why Heeseung may or may not be at his last straw after they had blatantly displayed their lust and attraction whenever they were in your vicinity or the interactions they had with you, as they are presently in the oldest’s room, standing in front of him like a bunch of delinquents getting reprimanded by the school’s principal.

They have long since prepared to get a hell of a beating from the oldest member that is long overdue, not that they would willingly submit to him since they still have pride in them. The door is locked shut since Heeseung doesn’t want the youngest in their team to eavesdrop on them.

The tension in the air is almost palpable, as is the deadly silence, but their eyes never stray from Heeseung’s calculated ones, and yet, his face remains unreadable despite the austerity he exudes. They have no idea what to expect, but will they be able to get out of this unscathed?

Heeseung, who has been observing them critically while he remains seated on his computer chair, finally emits a noise as he releases a sigh before loosening his taut composure. “No matter how much I want to beat the shit out of you guys, I’m not going to do that.” A humourless smirk unfurls on his lips while a spark of amusement dances in his eye. “So you can relax now.”

But neither of them dares to move a single muscle or even crack a smile, feeling dubious over his remark and his composure, as though they expect the oldest to pull a stunt.

“Are you sure?” Jay speaks up after a couple beats of silence, his eyes narrowing at the oldest, who seems wholly laid-back. “I mean, it’d be understandable and fair if you want to beat us after what happened.”

For a fleeting moment, there is a spark of temptation within Heeseung, but he shakes his head. “It isn’t worth ruining our friendship.” He states firmly before unravelling a layer of this unspoken animosity that encompassed their dynamic for two weeks. “This tension does nothing good to us if it continues because it will affect the dynamic of the team if it’s not resolved.”

“Agreed.” Sunghoon concurs, drawing their attention to him while his face remains stoic. “Sunoo informed me how different we’ve been around you lately. So I guess we should forget what happened and move past that.”

“On the contrary, I differ.” Heeseung says calmly, his expression remaining indecipherable. He heaves a deep sigh as he rubs his temple. “I’ve been thinking and reflecting ever since that day, and a part of me still refuses to accept the truth that you guys may or may not have some sort of attraction towards my girl.” He returns his stern gaze to them, his eyes hardening while his tone sounds austere. “So I’m here to ask you for the last time, and I want to hear the truth: do you or do you not lust for my girlfriend?”

The question that leaves his lips sends them flinching, most especially by how easily he enunciates those words. For a moment, neither of them dares to answer, and they silently yet collectively decide to refute, but Heeseung shoots them a warning glare.

“Don’t bother lying because I saw the way you guys looked at her the other day.” 

“Yes, we do.” Sunghoon finally admits, albeit guilt is evident in the colour of his tone as he looks away from his gaze. “Truth be told, we have always found her attractive ever since you introduced her to us. At least I know I did.” 

“But we kept our boundaries because we respected your relationship with her, we really did.” Jake adds in defensively, having a strong sense that the oldest is battling the chaotic emotions within him. “You know that we would never do anything to ruin your relationship.”

“I don’t know about you guys, but I can’t lie when I say that I found her more attractive after that incident in the hotel room.” Jay confesses, and it astounds the other two how he doesn’t look the slightest bit guilty as he continues to hold Heeseung’s gaze.

“You should be rest assured that we’re not going to do anything that might jeopardise your relationship with her.” Sunghoon informs him in an attempt to ease any doubts or worries from his mind.

Jake nods his head in agreement. “Yeah, we know how much you love her — we’ve seen how much you love her.”

They await his remark, but Heeseung continues to stare at them with indecipherable emotions, leaving them to wonder what actually goes on in his enigmatic mind. But little do they know that the oldest has made a final decision after having to battle the possessive beast within himself, as his decision involved you.

Heeseung rubs his tired face, lines of exhaustion from the lack of sleep paint his features. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been considering making our relationship open to you guys.” He divulges, his tone being carefully measured as he studies the expression on their faces, but his eyes harden briefly. “Not in the sense that it relates to poly, no, I'm too selfish to share her with you guys on that level of relationship.”

“What are you talking about, Heeseung?” Jay asks slowly, his heart palpitating at the implication while his mind is filled with pure confusion.

“I’m talking about you guys being able to have your way with her.” Heeseung elaborates nonchalantly, expecting to see some form of excitement from them, but the objection in their expression takes him by surprise.

“You’re kidding.” Sunghoon chuckles in disbelief, his eyes burning with an inexplicable fury despite his cold demeanour. “What the fuck, hyung? How could you even consider that? I thought you loved her.”

“Don’t become all principled now, Park Sunghoon.” Heeseung drawls as he leans his back against the soft cushion of his computer chair. His lips stretch into a lazy smirk. “I know that deep down, you’ve been wanting a taste of her.” 

“Woah, slow down, my guy.” Jake speaks up, getting slightly flustered by the oddity of his behaviour after noticing his possessive tendencies when it comes to you. “So let me get this straight. To put it bluntly, you’re allowing us to have sex with your girlfriend?”

“Exactly as I said.” Heeseung says calmly with his hands clasped together while resting his elbows on the armrests.

“But why?” Jay voices out his confusion. “I mean, your generosity is much appreciated, but we don’t understand. You’ve become possessive as fuck around her ever since we returned home.”

Jay has a point, but Heeseung has thought about this consideration deeply, using every rationality within him before coming into a conclusion that led to him developing a sense of pity towards his teammates. He recognised and understood that it must have been a long time since either of them had gotten laid, and with the management being strict on them, they were deprived of the privilege to, bluntly put, fuck their own fans despite the NDA serving a purpose to avoid scandals or any potential damage, but the company didn’t want any risk.

Besides, Heeseung knows that he can’t really blame them for being attracted to his gorgeous girlfriend, adding to the fact that your personality and mannerism are what often gravitate people towards. Hence, he has come to a decision to permit his own teammates to have their way with you, albeit there will be rules and restrictions.

“Tell me, when was the last time you guys got laid?” Heeseung asks rhetorically, raising his eyebrow at the swift avoidance in the way their eyes dart elsewhere. “A long time? Never? So why not take my offer when I’m being oh-so-generous before I change my mind?”

Collectively, suspicions brew within them as they warily stare at the oldest, who bears a smirk on his lips while he awaits their answers, feeling entirely dubious whether or not he’s testing them deliberately in an attempt to set them up. No matter how enticing the idea of them having their way with you, they wouldn’t want to risk breaking their friendship and bond with the oldest.

“What’s in it for you?” Sunghoon asks tersely, refusing to lower his guard, his icy gaze piercing, a direct challenge to Heeseung’s steely eyes. “I mean, how would this benefit you?” 

“It wouldn’t.” The genuine honesty in Heeseung’s tone seems to mollify their collective scepticism, but their demeanour remains rigid, eliciting a sigh from the oldest as he decides to deliver his sincerity in the way his eyes soften. “I’m doing this because I want to help you guys. I don’t care how much this might hurt your pride, but as your best friend, I pity you because you haven’t had the chance to get laid, and since the management is stricter on us this time, why not have your way with my girlfriend?”

“I don’t know, Hyung.” Jake mutters unsurely, frowning as he feels indecisive, torn between accepting and rejecting Heeseung’s offer.

“It’s a win-win for you guys, and possibly my girlfriend too since she gets more pleasure.” Heeseung adds, feeling more than generous to convince them.

Jay meets Jake and Sunghoon’s gaze, exchanging a silent understanding with them before directing his attention back to Heeseung. “Does she know about this? Has she even agreed to this arrangement?” 

Heeseung shakes his head. “She doesn’t know the slightest bit, but we’ll reveal it to her on the day we decide to do it with her.”

“I’m sorry, we? As in yourself too?” Jake asks in disbelief, his eyes widening slightly at the idea of Heeseung joining and watching as they might potentially obliterate you with how insatiable their needs are.

“Of course. I’m the boyfriend, aren’t I?” Heeseung smirks cockily, looking completely laid-back, but there is a predatory gleam in his gaze. “I have to make sure that you don’t break any rules, or the deal is off.”

“Afraid that your girl might catch feelings for us?” Sunghoon cracks into a grin, enjoying the scowl that contorts faintly in Heeseung’s face. “Relax, I’m kidding. She’s not even my type.” 

“So what are the rules? And what are we allowed to do with her?” Jay prods, drawing Heeseung’s attention.

“It’s simple, really. You can take her however you like, do whatever you’ve always desired to do, and you can even dirty talk to her — which, by the way, my girl’s into that — and you can kiss her on any part of her body except her lips.” Heeseung lists down with a tone of finality, leaving no room for objection or addition. His eyes are firm as he looks at them. “I can’t have you kissing my girl on the lips.”

Jake shrugs his shoulders in agreement. “Fine by me.” 

“We still need her consent.” Sunghoon reminds the bunch, his tone firm. “Because as much as I want to fuck your girl, no offence, her consent matters.”

“I know that.” Heeseung says, his features softening at the thought of you, before a familiar smugness returns, his eyes gleaming playfully. “If she agrees, it’s your luck. But if she disagrees, then I guess I should tell you good luck in advance to find other ways to get laid.”

“Man, that’s the hardest part.” Jay groans loudly, scowling in frustration. “And we can’t even fuck fans!”

“I mean, we have alternatives, if you’re up for it. We talked about it before.” Jake suggests slyly as he grins at Jay, who immediately gets a whiplash from their conversation in the past, well, more like Jake’s explicit suggestion.

“No fucking way. I’m not about to let any part of my dick make contact with yours!” Jay snarls in disagreement, disgust written over his face that Jake finds great delight in. “I wouldn’t even wanna fuck you if I swung for the same team.”

“Way to win over a man’s heart, bro.” Jake pouts his lips, only to earn a shove from Jay before they proceed to engage in their usual squabble.

“Yeah, this is the shit I have to deal with every day.” Sunghoon tells Heeseung with an eye roll while the latter simply smiles in amusement. “By the way, thanks. I’m sure it was hard for you to consider this.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m only helping you guys out.” Heeseung waves him off dismissively. “Just don’t place your hopes too high until she agrees to it."

“I have an idea to persuade her into agreeing.” Sunghoon’s bold suggestion earns an eyebrow raise from Heeseung. “But we need your permission, of course. Are we allowed to test waters and cross some boundaries with her?”

Heeseung immediately understands, and his lips twitch into a smirk, already imagining how flustered and bothered you’d be. “Yeah, sure. Just do whatever you guys wanna do as long as it gets her riled up in some way. Besides, she’s into foreplay.” He adds wittingly, earning collective groans and curses from the three as their imaginations run rampant.

“Fuck, Heeseung, you lucky bastard.” Jay scoffs out. “You really hit the jackpot with her, huh?”

“She’s amazing.” This time, a rare yet genuine smile touches Heeseung’s lips while they recognise the familiar adoration he has for you. “You guys would know once you get to know her better.”

Despite their attraction towards you, they can’t help but feel disheartened, hoping that someday they’d have their own lovers that they adore the way Heeseung does you.

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