straw-berrysoju

[straw-berrysoju]

Match Found (18+)

Summary: You didn’t think tonight would end with your brother’s best friend telling you how much he wants to fuck you… but here you are. Thighs shaking. Heart pounding. Fingers soaked. And it’s not even midnight yet.

Or alternatively where one needy night you end up on an anonymous sexting app only to realise this stranger yet familiar person you're sexting is actually your brother's best friend, kim mingyu.

Pairing: Mingyu x female reader

Setting: Sexting app

Word Count: ~ 3k

Themes: Sexting, slow-burn, depraved, intensely erotic, forbidden (brother's best friend)

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, masturbation, voice kink, dirty talk, mutual pining, brother’s best friend dynamic, fantasizing, edging

_______________________________________________________

It starts off harmless. A new app, an anonymous chat. You weren’t even trying to get off tonight — not really.

You just wanted to feel wanted.

You sign up with the name petal.crush, something vague and romantic to offset your restlessness. It’s just a sexting app — no profile photos, no bios, no identifying anything. Just usernames and raw, unfiltered chat.

The tagline was catchy: “No faces. Just fantasies.”

You match within seconds.

Matched with: lowtone.sin

Your screen lights up with the first message before you can even type.

> lowtone.sin:

You clicked first. So you’re either impatient or a little reckless.

Which one is it?

You bite your lip, already smiling at the confidence behind his tone. Typing back feels like slipping into something dangerous.

> petal.crush:

Maybe both.

You planning to do something about it?

> lowtone.sin:

That depends

Are you here for sweet words and flirting?

Or are you here to get ruined?

Your thighs instinctively press together.

> petal.crush:

Ruin me. Slowly.

There’s a long pause. You stare at the screen, anticipation crawling up your spine.

Then finally—

> lowtone.sin:

Good girl.

Let’s start with something easy.

What would I hear if I called you right now?

Would you sound sweet and shy?

Or would you already be wet and waiting?

You suck in a breath.

There’s no point pretending. No coyness left in you tonight. This man — whoever he is — has the kind of tone that makes your stomach clench and your mind submit. You press the mic icon before you can talk yourself out of it.

> petal.crush \[voice note – 0:12]

“I’m not touching myself yet. But I’m aching for it. My panties are soaked. Just from reading your messages”

The response comes fast.

> lowtone.sin:

You’ve got a filthy little mouth for someone who hasn’t even been told to touch yet.

Bet you squirm when someone takes control of you, don’t you?

That tight, needy body of yours probably begs for it.

You whimper — aloud — and type with trembling fingers.

> petal.crush:

You’re right.

I love being told exactly what to do.

I want to be teased, edged, used.

> lowtone.sin:

Fuck.

Get your hand between your thighs. Now.

Over your panties. I want your fingers soaked before I even let you move them.

You obey.

The fabric sticks to you immediately. You slide two fingers up and down the drenched cotton and exhale into the dark.

Your phone buzzes again.

> lowtone.sin:

I want to hear how wet you are.

Show me.

You record again, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you press a little harder.

> petal.crush \[voice note – 0:16]

“I’m dripping. The fabric’s so wet it’s clinging to me. I want to slide them off and touch my bare pussy for you.”

> lowtone.sin:

Not yet

Good things come to desperate girls

Tell me — how often do you touch yourself thinking about strangers?

You bite your lip.

> petal.crush:

Not streangers

Someone specific.

> lowtone.sin:

Oh?

Lucky bastard.

What’s he like?

Your throat goes dry.

Because he’s you. You’ve fantasized about him. That voice — it’s too perfect, too polished. The way he calls you good girl feels familiar in a way that’s wrong and addictive.

You shake it off.

> petal.crush:

Tall. Broad.Big hands. Sharp jaw.Smiles like sin.Looks like he could ruin me in one night and leave me wanting more.

There’s a pause. Then a photo notification.

Image\[jpg.1]

You tap on it, breath catching in your throat.

It’s a hand — his hand — wrapped around a thick cock. His grip is firm, the tip flushed red and glistening. You can see the base of his abs, tight and flexed, veins running across his forearm. It’s cropped — no face, no hints — but god, it’s pretty.

> lowtone.sin:

What do you think?

> petal.crush:

I think I want it down my throat.

> lowtone.sin:

You say things like that and expect me to keep my composure?

> petal.crush:

No.

I want to hear you lose it.

Another voice note comes in. His voice is deeper now — rough, frayed around the edges.

> lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:28]

“Fuck. If you were here right now, I’d have you on your knees. I’d hold your jaw, make you look up at me while I slide my cock across your tongue. I bet your eyes would water so pretty when I push deep.”

You moan. Loud. Hand slipping inside your panties at last, slick fingers circling your clit in dizzy little swirls. Your legs tremble.

> petal.crush:

I can’t wait. Please.

Tell me what to do. I’ll be so fucking good.

> lowtone.sin:

Take off your panties.

Lie back.

Spread your legs and take a photo for me.

I want to see the mess you made just from my voice

You obey.

You slide them off and grab your phone with one shaky hand, angling the camera down — flushed thighs, glistening lips, your fingers posed teasingly just above where you ache most.

Image\[jpg.2]

You hit send. Instantly.

> lowtone.sin:

Jesus

Look at that cunt.

Bet it’s tight as hell.

You fuck yourself slow or fast?

> petal.crush:

Depends how desperate I am.

> lowtone.sin:

And how desperate are you tonight, baby?

> petal.crush:

I’m so wet I could come without touching.

But I want you to drag it out. Make it painful.

There’s a moment of silence. Then:

> lowtone.sin:

…Fuck.

This is going to sound crazy.

But your voice?

Your photos.

You’re too fucking familiar.

Your chest goes still.

That tone. That rasp. That deep little breath before he speaks.

Your heart lurches.

No.

It can’t be.

You type, hands shaking:

> petal.crush:

Say something. Just one word.

I need to be sure.

He doesn’t text.

He sends a voice note.

> lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:06]

“Y/N.”

Your stomach drops.

It is him.

That voice, you know it. You’ve heard it a hundred times.

Because Mingyu — your brother Seungcheol’s best friend — has been in your house more times than you can count.

And now, he’s here. Holding his cock. Telling you how good your pussy looks.

Your fingers are still between your legs.

And you’re still soaked.

Your heart is pounding.

You’re sitting in your dark bedroom, soaked fingers trembling between your thighs, staring at your screen like it’s a weapon pointed directly at your chest.

Mingyu.

Your brother’s best friend.

The voice you’ve moaned to in secret.

The man whose towel dropped in front of you two summers ago, whose gaze lingered a beat too long when you walked into the kitchen in your smallest sleep shorts. The man who walked in on you changing and looked—just looked—but didn’t leave for three entire seconds.

Your mouth goes dry.

You wait for him to say something else. Anything.

lowtone.sin:

Say it.

I know you know it’s me.

I want to hear it.

You type slowly, every nerve ending alive.

petal.crush:

Mingyu.

I knew it the second you said my name.

You sound exactly how I imagined when I used to fuck myself to the thought of you.

A pause.

Then—

lowtone.sin:

Holy fuck.

You used to what?

petal.crush:

You have any idea how hard it was living in the same house and pretending I wasn’t soaking through my panties every time you smiled at me?

lowtone.sin:

Tell me.

Everything.

You pause, pulse pounding.

And then you type like you’re possessed.

petal.crush:

The shorts?

I wore those on purpose. I knew they barely covered my ass.

Every time I bent over to grab something, I made sure you were in the room.

Once, I even “accidentally” spilled water on my chest so I could walk past you in a wet tank top.

And that day you walked in on me changing?

I left the door unlocked.

His reply comes fast.

lowtone.sin:

You fucking minx.

I had to jerk off in your goddamn bathroom after that.

I saw your tits. I saw your thighs.

And the way you looked at me—like you wanted me to stay?

petal.crush:

I did want you to stay.

I wanted you to push me against the mirror and fuck me stupid.

Right there. With Seungcheol downstairs.

Another voice note.

You brace yourself before you tap it.

lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:34]

“I swear to God, Y/N. If I had known you wanted it even half as bad as I did, I wouldn’t have lasted another day pretending. Every time you moaned in your sleep when I stayed over, I nearly lost my mind. I wanted to sneak into your room and make you finish what you started.”

Your whole body jolts.

petal.crush:

I used to fake moan just loud enough for you to hear when I knew you were sleeping in the next room.

I imagined you sneaking in and putting your hand over my mouth while you fucked me into the mattress.

lowtone.sin:

Jesus fuck.

I used to picture you riding my thigh on the couch while Seungcheol played video games right next to us.

Just your pretty little cunt grinding against me, biting your lip so you wouldn’t make a sound.

You moan—out loud—and grab your phone, hand back between your legs.

You don’t even bother hiding it this time.

petal.crush \[voice note – 0:23]

“I’m touching myself again. I can’t stop. I’m picturing your hand over my mouth, your cock buried in me, and your voice in my ear telling me I’m your filthy little secret.”

lowtone.sin:

You are my filthy little secret.

Mine.

No one else gets to hear you like this.

No one else gets to see what I’m seeing.

Another picture arrives.

Image\[jpg.3]

He’s naked now, lying back, abs tight, one hand gripping his cock. He’s glistening with pre-cum, thick and flushed, the kind of cock you want to sink your teeth into.

You whimper.

lowtone.sin:

Let me see you again. All of you.

You slide your shirt off. Fingers trembling, you spread your legs wider and take the shot — body flushed, thighs slick, clit swollen and needy.

Image\[jpg.4]

You don’t even hesitate before sending it.

lowtone.sin:

I want to fuck you against every surface in your house.

Against the washing machine while it rumbles.

On your brother’s bed while he’s in the shower.

On the goddamn kitchen counter while you beg me not to stop.

petal.crush:

I used to imagine you standing behind me while I washed dishes.

Sliding your hand down the front of my shorts and telling me to keep doing chores while you made me come.

lowtone.sin:

I fantasized about making you gag on my cock while Seungcheol watched a movie in the next room.

You’d cry on it. I’d fuck your throat until you begged me to come inside.

And I’d pull out, grip your jaw, and say: “Open.”

You rub yourself harder now, two fingers circling your clit while you picture everything he’s saying.

petal.crush \[voice note – 0:28]

“I’d do it. I’d drop to my knees for you so fast. I’d swallow you down and let you use my mouth. I want it so fucking bad. Please—talk me through it. Tell me what to do.”

lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:32]

“Slide two fingers in. Slow. Stretch that tight pussy out while I stroke my cock and imagine it’s your sweet cunt clenching around me. Keep rubbing that clit. But don’t come. Not until I tell you.”

You moan brokenly and do as he says.

Fingers curling deep.

Your walls flutter.

You need him so badly it hurts.

lowtone.sin:

How many times have you come to the thought of me?

petal.crush:

I lost count months ago.

lowtone.sin:

What was your favorite fantasy?

You hesitate… then type.

petal.crush:

You bend me over the bathroom sink after a swim.

Your trunks are still wet.

I’m dripping all over the tile.

You grab my throat. You fuck me so hard I can’t even look at myself in the mirror.

And when I come, you keep going.

Until I’m shaking. Ruined. Begging.

He moans — this time in a voice note — and the sound is enough to send you right to the edge.

lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:24]

“You’re going to be the death of me. You want to be fucked that dirty, babygirl? You want to cry from how good it feels? I’ll give you every filthy fantasy you’ve ever had. Just say the word.”

You hit record with shaking fingers.

petal.crush \[voice note – 0:19]

“Please. Make me come. I’m right there. I want to scream your name. Let me be yours. Just say it, Mingyu.”

lowtone.sin:

Come.

Now.

Be my good girl and make a mess for me.

You explode.

White-hot pleasure tears through your core, every nerve singing. You cry out his name, legs twitching, soaked fingers buried in your pussy as you ride the orgasm out.

You’re a mess.

You can barely breathe.

And then—

A voice note. Raspy. Guttural.

lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:14]

“Fucking hell. I’m coming—fuck—Y/N, I’m coming thinking about that tight pussy and your filthy mouth saying my name.”

You both go quiet for a minute.

Breathless.

Spent.

But buzzing.

You’re still panting.

Your fingers are sticky with your own slick. Your body’s boneless. Your skin feels too hot, your breath too shallow. The little hum of your phone is the only sound in the room, and you’re suddenly very aware of how quiet it is.

And how loud the truth is.

You just came for Mingyu.

And he just came for you.

Your brother’s best friend. The one you’re not supposed to want.

But God — you want him so bad your bones ache.

The screen glows.

lowtone.sin:

…Still alive?

petal.crush:

Barely.

I think you melted my brain.

lowtone.sin:

Good.

That was the goal.

You sounded so fucking pretty when you begged for it.

I replayed your voice note three times before I came.

Your cheeks flush with warmth that runs straight to your core.

petal.crush:

My legs are shaking.

Like… actually.

You wrecked me through a screen.

lowtone.sin:

Bet you’re all messy and flushed and glowing right now.

Wish I was there to see it.

Would kiss every inch of you. Clean you up with my tongue.

Your breath stutters.

petal.crush:

You’re gonna make me start all over again.

lowtone.sin:

Oh?

You that greedy for me already?

petal.crush:

I’ve been greedy for you since I was nineteen.

Since you walked out of the shower that one time shirtless and dripping and smiled like nothing was wrong while I nearly came just from looking at your waistline.

lowtone.sin:

Holy fuck.

I remember that day.

You wouldn’t meet my eyes.

You were wearing that little white top… no bra.

I had to jerk off in Seungcheol’s bathroom after dinner.

petal.crush:

I knew it.

I remember hearing the water run again and thinking, please let him be thinking about me.

lowtone.sin:

I always was.

Every time I came over, you were the only thing on my mind.

And every time I smiled, every joke I cracked — it was me trying to keep it together.

Pretending I didn’t want to drag you into your room and fuck you until you screamed.

petal.crush:

You don’t have to pretend anymore.

A beat passes.

Then:

lowtone.sin:

I want to ruin you, Y/N.

For real.

I want to see how that pretty mouth looks moaning my name.

I want to taste how sweet you are when you’re trembling under me.

I want to hold your wrists down and fuck you until you're mine.

Your chest squeezes. It’s still hot and filthy between you, but now there’s something else curling underneath it — something heavy and sweet and real.

lowtone.sin:

Remember that party last year?

When you wore that backless dress?

petal.crush:

Yeah. You kept refilling my drink.

lowtone.sin:

Because I couldn’t stop staring.

I wanted to drag you into the guest bathroom and eat you out against the door.

You were laughing, dancing like you didn’t know what you were doing to me.

petal.crush:

I knew.

I bent over on purpose.

Just so I could feel your eyes on my ass.

I wanted to know if you’d finally break.

lowtone.sin:

I almost did.

I had to go home early and jerk off to the image of your bare back and heels.

Imagining how you'd sound if I fucked you in them.

You’re flushed again. Dizzy with need. The ache is back, deeper than before.

petal.crush:

You’re making me wet again.

lowtone.sin:

Good.

Want you wet every time I speak.

Want you to fall asleep with my voice in your head and my name between your legs.

You record another voice note, throat thick with need.

petal.crush \[voice note – 0:18]

“You’re already in my head, Mingyu. I’m aching for you. Touching myself again. Can’t stop thinking about how you’d feel inside me.”

lowtone.sin:

Fuck.

You’re gonna kill me.

You’re perfect. You’re mine.

There’s a moment of pause. His next message is slower, quieter.

lowtone.sin:

We’re not going back after this, are we?

You stare at that sentence, heart pounding. You type slowly, surely.

petal.crush:

I don’t want to.

I don’t want to pretend I don’t want you anymore.

I want this. You.

Even if it’s wrong.

lowtone.sin:

Then it’s us.

No more secrets.

No more pretending.

petal.crush:

You gonna come see me?

lowtone.sin:

You better leave the door unlocked.

Because I’m coming over tomorrow night.

And I’m not leaving until I’ve had your legs around my shoulders and my name in your throat.

Your whole body tingles.

petal.crush:

You sure you can handle me?

lowtone.sin:

Baby, I’ve been waiting for this for years.

I’m gonna make sure you never forget the first night we stop pretending.

And just like that, you're already aching for round two.

Even if it hasn't even begun yet.

__________________

Author's note: This idea has been in my head for a while now so I had to let it out. I originally planned to write a sexting smut that felt more authentic to the story, as this is set on a sexting app, I wanted to include all the elements to it like actual images(just as one does in smaus), audios of them moaning or whimpering yk, short video clips and all but I realised I'd get reported if I did that so I had to keep it limited to words. Hope y'all liked it still. This format was a new one and I struggled a bit with it but still enjoyed working on it nonetheless.

[straw-berrysoju]

STUDY BREAK PART 2: ORAL EXAM (18+)

Part 1 : study break

Pairing: Seungcheol x !female reader

Setting: college classroom (psychology majors)

Themes: study partners, college setting, power play, public risk, control, obedienceD/s dynamics, power play, public risk, Freudian dirty talk, degradation praise mix, voyeurism (soft), obedience, teasing, edging, oral (f receiving), fingering, permission to watch

Word count: \~3.3k

Rating: Explicit / 18+ only

minors dni!

_______________________________________________________

📱 [21:56] Seungcheol:

Lecture Hall B. Tomorrow. After classes.

Oral exam on Freud.

No panties.

You stared at the message so long your phone dimmed twice. You bit your lip.

Not because you were shocked but because you felt your body react immediately.

Heat pooled between your thighs, your core pulsing at the simple dominance in his tone.

---

The next day, you couldn’t focus in class. You didn’t bother wearing anything under your skirt.

Even during lectures, every movement reminded you of it: the raw skin-on-fabric friction, the cool air between your legs, the dirty knowledge that if anyone looked closely, they’d see.

And Seungcheol?

He sat behind you during your shared afternoon elective like nothing was different—cool, calm, taking notes. He hadn’t even looked at you once. The only moment he acknowledged you was when he stood up to leave and leaned down, lips grazing your ear.

“Hope you studied, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I expect you to perform.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

---

When you step into Lecture Hall B later, the classroom is mostly dark except for a few desk lights still glowing faintly. It’s the one they use for after-hours tutoring or private bookings. You glance around. Empty.

Then—

A throat clears.

You turn and find him already seated near the front of the room, legs stretched out, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms, glasses sliding low on his nose.

“Close the door,” he says.

Your fingers move before your brain does.

He watches as you walk toward him, hips swaying slightly now that you're painfully aware of how little you’re wearing.

“On the desk,” he says. “Facing me.”

You sit at the wide professor’s desk near the podium, heart hammering.

He stands and walks up slowly, placing a stack of note cards next to you.

“Today’s topic,” he says, voice low, “is Freud’s psychosexual stages. You’re going to recite each one. Tell me the age range, the fixation behavior, and what unresolved conflict leads to dysfunction in that stage.”

You blink. “Is this a real test or—”

“Don’t interrupt,” he snaps, but his smirk betrays him. “And no stuttering. Every mistake earns a consequence.”

You sit up straighter. “Consequences?”

“Teasing. Edging. Denial. You know,” he says, voice like velvet. “Motivators.”

You swallow.

“Let’s begin.”

He flicks a note card over. “Stage one.”

You steady your breath.

“The oral stage,” you begin. “Birth to around 18 months. The focus is on the mouth—feeding, sucking. If fixation occurs—”

He cuts you off by stepping between your legs, spreading them wider with his thigh.

“Correct,” he murmurs. “And what kind of behavior results from oral fixation?”

Your breath hitches. “Nail-biting. Smoking. Oral dependence… compulsive eating or talking…”

He leans in closer, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “And what else, sweetheart?”

You know what he wants.

You whisper, “Craving oral stimulation.”

He hums in approval. “Good girl.”

His hand slips beneath your skirt, fingers brushing your bare, already-damp folds.

“God,” he murmurs, “you’re soaked already? You do love being a textbook case, don’t you?”

You gasp as he draws a finger up your slit—not entering, not yet—just teasing the slickness there.

“Next stage,” he says, flicking another card.

“The anal stage,” you pant, struggling to focus. “18 months to three years. Focus on bowel control and retention.”

He circles your clit slowly.

“And fixation?”

“Compulsive cleanliness… or messiness. Control issues.”

“Mm. I can tell you’re not in control right now,” he whispers. “Which means you’re mine to manage.”

You nod, almost dazed, hips bucking slightly into his touch.

He pulls his hand away.

“Next.”

“Phallic stage,” you rush out. “Ages three to six. Focus on genitals. Development of the Oedipus complex in boys, Electra in girls—”

His lips are suddenly right against your neck.

“And how does the Electra complex present?” he asks, voice a rasp.

“Girls desire their father. View mother as rival. Crave male attention to resolve the conflict.”

He tugs you forward. “And what are you craving right now, baby?”

You whisper, “You.”

His breath hitches. “Say it louder.”

“I want you,” you plead. “Please—”

“Shh.” He smirks. “Still two stages left.”

You sob out a laugh. “I can’t—”

“You can. Be my good girl.”

You breathe hard, trying to steady yourself.

“Latency stage,” you say shakily. “Six to twelve. Sexual urges go dormant. Focus shifts to intellectual pursuits—school, friendships…”

He smirks. “Might be your weakest stage. You’re not doing much studying.”

“Shut up,” you mutter.

He pinches your thigh. “Don’t brat.”

You whimper.

“And the last?”

“Genital stage,” you gasp. “Puberty onward. Mature sexual interests. Healthy development depends on resolving earlier conflicts.”

He hums. “Think you’re in the genital stage now?”

“Cheol…”

“Answer.”

“Yes,” you whine. “Please—”

He drops to his knees.

You barely have time to breathe before his mouth is on you—tongue sliding over your soaked folds, lips sealing around your clit. You cry out, legs twitching, thighs clenching around his head.

“Fuck—Cheol—”

His grip on your hips tightens as he devours you. Long licks, firm pressure, alternating with soft sucks that make your vision blur. You buck against his mouth, already so close it’s unbearable.

And just when you're about to come—

He pulls back.

You sob.

“Did I say you could finish?” he asks, mouth slick with your arousal.

You shake your head furiously. “No—please—I’ll be good—”

He’s about to go back in when—

Click.

The door opens.

You freeze.

Seungcheol freezes.

A soft male voice stammers from the back of the room: “Shit—oh my god—I didn’t—I didn’t know someone was—”

It’s Jun.

The quiet kid who always seems to hover near the back row. Always early to class. Always scribbling in the margins of his psych readings. Never the type to make a sound unless directly called on.

And now—

He's standing in the open doorway of the lecture hall.

Backpack slung on one shoulder. Eyes wide.

And those eyes are locked onto you.

Propped up on the professor’s desk.

Skirt hitched above your waist.

Seungcheol’s head still between your thighs.

Your whole body seizes, and your first instinct is to shove your skirt down, scramble off the desk, and disappear into the floor.

But Seungcheol?

He doesn’t even flinch.

His head lifts, tongue slow against his bottom lip, savoring the taste of your arousal like it’s honey. He

doesn’t even bother wiping his mouth.

His hand stays possessively on your thigh as he turns lazily toward the door.

“You're early,” he says to Jun, voice calm. Almost amused.

Jun opens his mouth. Closes it.

Then: “I—I left my laptop charger. In the front row, I thought no one—”

“You saw plenty.”

Jun flushes violently, about to step back. “I’m so sorry—I’ll leave, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” Seungcheol says, voice suddenly sharp.

Jun freezes.

You, breathless and still dizzy from the orgasm Seungcheol just ripped from you moments ago, blink down at him. “Cheol—?”

Seungcheol’s gaze flicks to you. And it softens, just enough. “You okay?”

Your voice is hoarse. “Y-Yeah.”

“Color?”

“Still green.”

That earns a smile. One he throws over his shoulder toward Jun next.

“You interrupted an exam,” Seungcheol says. “It’s only polite you stay for the rest.”

Jun visibly swallows. “Wait, what?”

Seungcheol stands fully now, brushing his palm along your thigh. His fingers are wet with you, and you feel heat climb back into your chest at the thought of how visible it all is.

“Don’t worry,” Seungcheol tells Jun smoothly, “you don’t have to participate. You just get front row seats.”

Jun looks between the two of you—your blown-out expression, your trembling thighs, the wetness glistening on Seungcheol’s chin.

“I—” he stammers. “She… wants that?”

Seungcheol steps aside, letting you have the floor.

His voice drops. “It’s her choice.”

You swallow thickly, pulse roaring in your ears.

You don’t even look at Jun.

Your eyes stay on Seungcheol.

And you whisper, “Yes.”

His smile turns downright feral. “Good girl.”

“Back on the desk,” he orders.

You do as told—shaky legs lifting as you ease back into position, skirt riding up again, your pussy still twitching from the last round.

He bends over you again. Mouth so close you can feel the heat of it against your core. You glance past him now, to the row of seats where Jun has quietly sunk into the corner desk, his laptop charger now forgotten on the floor by his feet.

He’s leaning forward, expression unreadable, legs slightly apart, hands in his lap.

Watching.

You feel the burn of humiliation lick at the edges of your stomach—and then melt, replaced by something darker. Filthier. Hotter.

Seungcheol starts slow this time. Deliberately slow.

He presses open-mouthed kisses along the inside of your thigh, working his way up, dragging his tongue just shy of where you need it. His breath is warm. His grip is firm.

“You hear that?” he murmurs. “He’s watching how sweet you look like this. Spread open. Dripping. Needy.”

You moan.

“And you love it. Don’t you?” His lips brush your clit—just once. “You love being watched.”

You don’t want to say it. You can’t say it.

But your hips lift, chasing his mouth.

Your body betrays you.

Seungcheol chuckles darkly. “Knew it.”

Then he finally puts his mouth on you again—and this time, there’s no mercy.

He licks and sucks with intention, with heat, his nose bumping your clit as he tongues your entrance. Your thighs are shaking, your toes curling against the cool wood of the desk. You try to bite your hand to stay quiet, but he catches your wrist and pins it to your side.

“No hiding,” he growls. “Be loud for me.”

And god—you are.

Your moans echo through the empty room, bouncing off the walls, reverberating between the seats. Jun doesn’t make a sound, but you can feel his stare—hot and focused and fixed right where Seungcheol is licking you apart.

And then—without warning—Cheol adds a finger.

Then two.

He fucks them into you slowly, curling just right, tongue circling your clit as your orgasm builds again, fast, like it’s sprinting up your spine.

You’re whimpering now, helpless. “Cheol—Cheol—I’m gonna—”

He doesn’t stop.

Your body bows. Your mouth drops open, and you come hard around his fingers, slick pouring out of you in waves. You’re crying out now—no control, no shame, nothing but pleasure and that filthy, heady knowledge that you’re being watched.

He pulls his fingers from you slowly, deliberately. Brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean, never breaking eye contact.

With Jun.

Then he looks at you again. “One more?”

Your head lolls back. “Please.”

He kisses your thigh gently.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “Lesson’s not over yet

Seungcheol doesn’t let you breathe long.

He stands, slowly pushing his hoodie sleeves back up his forearms, then grabs your waist with both hands and spins you around on the desk.

Now you’re bent forward, cheek against the cool wood, eyes facing the classroom.

Facing Jun

His knuckles are white around the edge of the seat. His face flushed, eyes locked on the slick mess between your thighs. And the new shape of Seungcheol behind you—his belt already unbuckling with a quiet clink that echoes in your ears.

"Keep your legs spread, give him a good view of this pretty pussy," Seungcheol says behind you, voice calm, dangerous. “Back arched. Palms flat.”

You obey instantly.

You feel the head of his cock against your entrance, hot and heavy, teasing—just the tip brushing through your folds.

Then he leans forward over your back, mouth to your ear.

"You want him to see what a good girl looks like when she gets fucked for real?"

You moan, helplessly. “Yes.”

He thrusts in slow and deep—one smooth stroke—and you choke on a cry.

It’s too much, too thick, too intense after how sensitive you are from coming twice.

Your body clamps around him, involuntary, and he groans against your neck.

“God, you’re fucking tight. You love this, don’t you?”

You can’t speak. Just nod, barely holding yourself up as he starts to move—deep, strong strokes that push you forward on the desk.

And every sound—your breath, your wetness, the slap of skin against skin—is audible. Loud. Raw.

For Jun.

"Eyes up," Seungcheol orders. "I want you to look at him while I ruin you."

You lift your head—and meet Jun’s stare. He’s breathing heavily now. His pants are tight across his lap. But he hasn’t moved his hands.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Seungcheol growls without even turning around. “You haven’t earned that.”

Jun stiffens in his seat. “Y-Yes, sir.”

You gasp—sir.

Seungcheol smirks. “Oh? He learns quick.”

He fucks you harder.

You whimper, body shaking, struggling to keep your eyes on Jun, but the humiliation—the arousal—keeps you pinned in place.

Then Seungcheol stops.

You sob at the loss of friction.

And hear the shuffle of paper.

He’s grabbed your flashcards.

He flips one. Reads it.

“Define ‘reaction formation,’” he says casually.

You blink, dazed. “W-What?”

He thrusts in sharply. You yelp.

“Define it.”

You scramble for the answer. “It’s—a defense mechanism. When someone behaves in a way that’s opposite of their actual feelings.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, rolling his hips deeper. “Example?”

“Someone—” You moan. “Someone hating someone, but acting overly friendly.”

“Mm. Like pretending you’re innocent when you really want to be used like a toy?” he coos.

You whimper, thighs trembling.

Seungcheol turns around.

“Jun. Get up.”

Jun hesitates—then obeys, walking slowly down the aisle toward the front.

You tense.

Seungcheol notices.

“Color?”

You whisper, “Green.”

He nods. “Good.”

“Closer,” he tells Jun. “Stand right here.”

Jun stops beside the desk. You can’t even look at him—face flushed, body exposed, Seungcheol buried deep inside you.

“Hold the flashcards,” Seungcheol says.

Jun takes them with shaky fingers.

“Read the next one.”

Jun swallows. “Uh. ‘Displacement.’”

Seungcheol pulls out halfway and slams back in. You sob.

“Displacement,” you pant. “When someone takes out their emotions on a safer target. Like—yelling at your roommate when you're mad at your professor.”

Seungcheol hums, lips brushing your shoulder. “Guess you’re the target now, huh?”

“Next card,” he commands.

Jun fumbles. “Um—‘Transference.’”

You try to focus, body twitching from the rhythm of Seungcheol’s thrusts, your slick pouring down your thighs.

“Transference is—” you moan, “redirecting feelings meant for one person onto another. Like… projecting parental issues onto a therapist.”

Seungcheol grunts. “Or a professor’s desk, maybe.”

He grabs your wrists, pins them behind your back with one hand. His other hand curls around your throat, gently but firmly.

“Jun,” he says, calm. “Describe what you see.”

Jun chokes. “I—she’s bent over. Y-You’re—fucking her. Her thighs are shaking.”

“Her pussy?” Seungcheol growls. “What’s it doing?”

Jun’s voice is nearly a whisper. “It’s… wet. It’s gripping you.”

“Good,” Seungcheol says darkly. “Now watch what happens when I tell her not to come.”

He leans down to your ear. “You don’t come until I say.”

You bite your lip hard. “Yes, sir.”

And then he ruins you.

He pounds into you harder, rougher, the desk creaking beneath your hips. Your moans are sobs now, pleasure high and sharp, right at the edge—but held back, barely.

“Beg,” he growls.

“Please, please, please—” you chant. “I need to come, sir, please—I’ll be good—”

He slams into you deep and stills.

“Come.”

You break apart.

A scream wrenched from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you—blinding, body-wrecking, wet and messy and loud.

Seungcheol fucks you through it until you collapse against the desk, limp and twitching.

Jun is still frozen at your side, panting, sweating.

“Put the cards down,” Seungcheol tells him. “You’re done.”

Jun obeys silently.

Seungcheol kisses your shoulder, then your cheek.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod slowly. “Still green.”

He smiles. “God, you’re perfect.”

Then he turns to Jun.

“Leave,” he says. “And keep your mouth shut. About everything.”

Jun blinks. “Y-Yeah. Of course.”

And then he’s gone—almost running out of the room—leaving you panting and dripping on the professor’s desk, with Seungcheol still inside you, smiling like the devil.

He slowly pulls out, hands steadying your hips as he helps you sit up — not rushing, not letting go until you’re upright and leaning back against his chest. You’re still trembling, thighs sticky and soaked, mascara smudged under your eyes, your blouse halfway undone. You feel used. Exposed.

And utterly adored.

He strokes your hair and plants a soft kiss on your forehead.

“You were so good, babygirl”

Seungcheol breathes hard, smirking.

“Today's lesson is over”

_______________________________________________________

tagging everyone who requested part 2:

@cherrylovescheol @coffee4koo @sseungcheols

[straw-berrysoju]

[straw-berrysoju]

Studio Heat (18+)

Pairing: Lee Jeno x Female Reader

Synopsis: YN and Jeno are both friends from the same friend group and part of the same dance club but never that close. That's until they are paired together for a dance routine which turns out to be more intimate than what you'd consider safe. During the late night practice sessions in an empty studio things take a wild turn when an 'accidental touch' unravels their desires.

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Genre: Smut, slight friends-to-lust, dance practice tension, accidental stimulation, sexual tension

Word Count: \~4.1k

Warnings: Public setting (empty studio), filthy language, oral (f receiving), rough sex, fingering, choking, spanking, degradation, mild hair pulling, mirror sex, dominance/power play, overstimulation, possessiveness

_______________________________________________________

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

You and Jeno were never that close. Friends, technically—part of the same group—but there was always a space between you two. A line neither of you crossed.

Until dance club paired you for a duet. Something sharp and hot. Intense.

You’d agreed. Of course you had. He was good—really good—and you weren’t about to let some mild tension get in the way of performing. But dancing with Jeno meant touching Jeno. A lot. And touching him meant… noticing.

The way his hands flexed when he gripped your waist.

The way he always licked his bottom lip when the music started.

The way he smelled—clean sweat and something deeper, darker.

And the way he looked at you in the mirror. Always through the mirror.

You weren’t sure when it started feeling like foreplay.

But tonight, it all breaks.

The studio is dim and empty, save for the two of you. The mirrors stretch endlessly, reflecting you back at yourselves—sweaty, out of breath, worn out from hours of practice

“This lift still isn’t hitting right,” he mutters, running a hand through his damp hair.

You sigh. “It’s probably me. I’m not getting the angle.”

He moves behind you. “Let’s run it again.”

You nod. You know the count by heart.

He steps in. Grips your waist.

And lifts.

Your thighs hover in the air, perfectly framed around his head—his face just beneath the waistband of your shorts. His grip is tight, strong.

But his foot slips.

And suddenly—his face is right there.

Pressed between your thighs.

And he stays.

Just for a second too long.

His breath fans your inner thigh, hot and sharp, and then—he inhales.

And you moan.

Not soft. Not subtle. A broken, filthy sound you can’t swallow back.

His grip tightens.

Your body goes still.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t make a joke or even pretend to reset. He just… stays there, breathing you in, face pressed so close you’re sure he can smell just how wet you are.

And then he lowers you.

You hit the floor on shaky legs, face flushed, heart thundering in your chest.

Neither of you says a word.

Neither of you dares.

You reset. Try to play it off. Run the routine again. Go through the motions.

But every time he touches you now, it lingers. His palm on your hip. His fingers brushing the edge of your sports bra. His hand trailing too low on your back.

And you… you stop pulling away.

You even lean in once.

The track ends.

There’s silence.

He exhales through his nose. “You moaned.”

You whip around. “You sniffed me.”

“I was trying to catch you.”

“You fucking stayed there, Jeno. Your face was in my pussy and you didn’t move.”

He stalks toward you.

You don’t back up.

“You liked it,” he mutters.

Your breath hitches. “So what if I did?”

His jaw clenches. “You want me to do it again?”

You glare. “You don’t have the balls.”

That breaks him.

He grabs your wrist, yanks you into him, and slams your back against the mirror. The cool glass bites your spine.

“Wanna bet?” he growls.

Then his mouth crashes into yours—hot, wild, desperate. His tongue slides deep. You moan, grinding against him, and he growls into your mouth.

“You think I haven’t noticed the way you stare at my hands?” he breathes, trailing one down between your legs. “You’ve been wanting this. Walking around in those fucking shorts like you’re begging me to snap.”

“You’re not special,” you snap back, panting. “Just another cock I could’ve sat on.”

He slams his thigh between your legs. “Then ride it.”

You do. Instinctively. Grinding on his thigh, humping it like you’re in heat.

“You’re so dirty,” he groans. “You get off that easy? Just a little friction?”

“Fucking shut up,” you gasp, chasing the drag of his thigh on your clit.

“Make me.”

You crash your lips into his again, biting, messy. His hand tangles in your hair, yanks it back so you’re exposed—mouth open, neck bared.

He licks a stripe up your throat. “Bet you taste good everywhere.”

Then—he drops to his knees.

You barely register it before he yanks your shorts and panties down in one motion and devours you.

His mouth is obscene. Tongue flicking, lips sucking, teeth grazing until your knees buckle. You moan loud, tugging his hair as your hips buck against his face.

“Fuck—Jeno—fuck—”

He moans against your pussy like he’s addicted, eating you like it’s his last fucking meal.

When you cum, it’s explosive. Your thighs quake, your body collapses forward, and he holds you there—tongue lapping up every drop like a goddamn reward.

When he stands, his chin is glistening. His eyes are feral.

“Turn around,” he commands.

You obey.

He rips the rest of your clothes off, like he’s starving. Then you hear the sound of his sweats dropping. A condom tearing open.

“Mirror,” he snaps. “I want you to watch.”

You lock eyes with yourself just as he slams into you from behind—and screams rip from your throat.

“Fucking tight,” he groans. “This pussy was made for me.”

He grips your hips, pounding into you hard, the mirror shaking with every thrust. Your tits bounce, your jaw drops, your moans fill the room.

“Look at you,” he snarls, voice right in your ear. “A filthy little slut getting railed in the studio.”

“F-fuck—Jeno—!”

He wraps a hand around your throat and pulls you back onto his cock.

“Say it,” he pants. “Say you’re my slut.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m your slut—I’m yours—”

He slaps your ass so hard you yelp. Then does it again.

“You like getting fucked like this? In front of a mirror like a porn star?”

You nod, gasping, broken. “Yes—yes, I love it—”

He laughs, dark. “Fucking knew it. Knew you were hiding this under that fake little good girl act.”

He grabs your hair, yanks your head back, and spits in your mouth.

You swallow it.

He moans. “Oh fuck. You’re fucking disgusting.”

You grin through the tears. “You love it.”

“Damn right I do.”

He pulls out and the loss of his heat makes you whimper immediately.

“On your knees.”

You drop immediately, taking him into your mouth—swollen and dripping from your cunt. You gag around him, tears streaming as he fucks your face slow and deep.

“Look up,” he pants. “Eyes on me.”

You meet his gaze, moaning around his length.

He pulls out just before he cums, hauls you up, spins you again, and slams back in. This time harder. Deeper. Faster.

“Gonna cum inside this pretty pussy,” he growls. “Wanna watch your hole suck me dry.”

Your orgasm hits hard—your walls clamp around him, a scream tearing from your throat.

“Fuck—Jeno—!”

He moans your name as he spills into the condom, burying himself deep and holding you there.

The room falls silent.

Only gasps. Shudders. Sweat.

He slowly pulls out. You collapse to your knees.

He kneels in front of you. Lifts your chin.

His lips brush yours—gentler, this time.

“You gonna ignore me again tomorrow?” he murmurs.

You grin. “Not if you promise to fuck me stupid again.”

He smirks.

“Studio. Same time. Don’t wear panties.”

_______________________________________________________

Author's note: y'all don't understand how badly I crave this man please god just fulfill this one wish please uhhmmm anyway haha hope y'all like it. I have too many smuts in my draft and what for????? i never thought I'd be posting them but I guess a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do

[straw-berrysoju]

lee jeno, you are crazy.

[straw-berrysoju]

The Tease (18+)

Pairing: Soobin x female reader (smut)

Synopsis: YN is failing English, and her quiet, soft-spoken tutor Soobin is her last shot at passing. But she’s more focused on tempting him than studying—flirty remarks, suggestive touches, revealing outfits. She wants him to lose control. And maybe teach her how to behave.

Setting: College AU | Age gap: 2 years | Private tutoring sessions | Senior -junior dynamic

Genre: slow-burn, smutty build-up, needy fl

Warnings: suggestive content, sexual tension, teasing, oblivious (or very self-controlled) Soobin, needy and bratty fl, unprotected sex(pls be safe y'all never skip protection), oral sex, anal sex

Word Count: 3.1k

Minors dni!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t expect your literature professor to assign him as your tutor.

Choi Soobin.

Tall, broad-shouldered, annoyingly soft-spoken Soobin. The kind of senior who showed up to class fifteen minutes early just to get the best seat and probably highlighted his notes in pastel color-coded perfection.

And worse? He was gorgeous in a way that felt unfair. Sharp jaw, full lips, thick lashes, and a voice deep enough to curl your toes when he said things like “Turn to page twenty-seven.”*

You were doomed from the first session.

Because Soobin, for all his charm and bedroom eyes, was utterly, painfully innocent. Or at least, he acted like he didn’t notice the way your skirts kept getting shorter. Or how you started showing up in clingy little tops, gloss on your lips, your perfume just a little sweeter than usual.

If he noticed, he never said a thing.

Which only made you want him more.

---

Session Two: The Beginning of the Game

You trade your hoodie and leggings for a soft, slinky V-neck tee and shorts so short you have to pull them down every time you sit. When he opens the door, you smile like nothing’s changed.

He does a double-take. Barely. His eyes flicker down, but they don’t linger.

“You look… ready to work,” he says with a nod.

You hum, dropping onto the edge of his bed—the only surface you two can sit on since his room doesn’t have a proper desk. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” you say, crossing your legs slowly.

He sits beside you, opens your notebook, and starts circling mistakes in red ink like the outline of your thighs isn’t right there in his peripheral vision.

You shift. He doesn’t look. You lean in. He scoots a little away.

It’s frustrating but it only makes you crave him more.

---

Session Three: You Up the Stakes

You pick your outfit carefully—white tank top, no bra. Just soft fabric clinging to your skin. You tilt your neck as you sit beside him on the bed again, fingers trailing lightly over your collarbone.

“It’s really hot in here,” you murmur, fanning yourself.

“I can turn the fan on,” he says immediately, rising like a soldier responding to a command.

You pout, but he doesn’t see it. He’s already across the room.

When he comes back, you lean back on your arms, arching your back just a little. His eyes flicker to your chest—but only for a second.

You catch it.

Still, he sits back down like nothing happened and starts explaining compound sentences again.

You blink slowly, letting your eyes trace the curve of his lips, the way his fingers grip the pen tightly.

You want them on your skin.

But Soobin just keeps talking.

---

Session Four: The Drop

You “accidentally” drop your pen in his lap mid-sentence. It lands on his thigh, dangerously close to the center.

“Oops,” you murmur, leaning in to grab it before he can react.

Your fingers brush something firm. Warm.

His breath catches, just slightly.

You pause. Meet his eyes.

He looks startled—like he’s holding his breath.

“Sorry,” you whisper, your hand still there for a second longer than necessary. “Didn’t mean to.”

He clears his throat and slides your pen back into your hand, avoiding your eyes.

“Uh… so, anyway—” He flips to the next page, visibly tense.

You bite your lip.

He’s definitely noticed now.

---

Session Five: Hands-On Learning

You rest your hand on his thigh this time.

Just gently. Just casual. Just to see.

He stiffens beneath your palm.

You start reading your worksheet aloud, pretending not to notice. You trail your thumb in slow, lazy circles as you speak. His breathing slows. His pen stills.

“You’re… uh,” he says, not looking at you. “You’re missing a modifier in that sentence.”

You glance over at him. “Maybe I just need some… hands-on correction.”

He finally looks at your hand.

Then back at the paper.

And you swear he’s using every ounce of willpower in his body when he doesn’t move it away.

---

Session Six: Dangerous Territory

You’ve stopped pretending this is about tutoring.

Your skirt today is indecent. Your tank top is cropped to the edge of decency, and when you stretch, a sliver of skin shows just under your chest.

You lean over him, breasts brushing his arm as you reach for your phone.

“Sorry,” you whisper, not sorry at all.

His arm tenses. His eyes flick to your chest. You see him swallow.

Then he sits up straighter, shifting away.

“Let’s stay focused,” he says, voice slightly strained.

You blink at him, all fake innocence. “Am I distracting you?”

He meets your gaze. His eyes are darker than usual.

“No,” he lies.

---

Session Seven: On the Edge

You moan.

Softly.

Not on purpose—not really. You just stretch, tired from trying to care about grammar, and a little sound slips out. Frustrated. Drawn out.

His head snaps up.

“You okay?”

You nod, lips parted. “Just… tired. This stuff is hard.”

Soobin’s jaw tightens.

“I can slow down.”

“I like it when you go fast,” you say without thinking.

Silence.

His eyes flick to your lips.

You shift closer. “Soobin,” you say softly, “why do you always sit so far away?”

“I don’t,” he says. But he does.

You’re barely breathing now. You’re close enough to smell his cologne, the clean warmth of it making you dizzy.

He looks at you like he wants to say something.

And then he stands up.

“I think we’re done for today,” he says, not looking at you.

You want to scream.

---

You know he’s close to breaking.

You see it in the twitch of his fingers when you reach for his pen instead of yours. In the way his knee bounces when your thighs brush under the table. In how he never sits back once during a session anymore—just leans forward, elbows on his knees, like he's trying to put as much space between your body and his as possible.

So of course, you push more.

And God, you hope he breaks.

You want to see the exact moment he snaps.

---

Session Eight: New Tactics

You're late on purpose. Not by much—just seven minutes. Just enough to have him open the door with furrowed brows and a furiously working jaw.

You pout up at him. “Sorry, Soobinnie.”

The nickname makes his ears go pink.

You step inside, brushing past him on purpose, your arm grazing his chest.

It’s warm. So firm. And for a moment, you wonder what he’d do if you just turned around and pressed your body against it.

But not yet.

You sit cross-legged on the bed, skirt barely covering you. You wore a lacy bralette under your loose cardigan and a skirt you’d be terrified to wear outside.

He notices. You know he does.

His eyes lower—just for a second—before he opens your textbook like it offended him.

“I marked your assignment,” he says, like he’s not obviously distracted.

You hum, stretching back on your palms. “Am I improving?” you ask, letting your chest lift slightly with the motion.

He doesn’t look. His neck goes stiff.

“I think you’re… testing me.”

Oh?

“Testing your patience?” you tease, eyes glinting.

He turns a page too hard, the paper nearly tearing. “Let’s start with sentence corrections.”

You grin.

---

Session Nine: Body Heat

Soobin is already seated on the bed when you arrive this time. Legs apart. Slouched like he forgot to be tense.

You take it as an invitation and plop down next to him—closer than usual. Your bare thigh touches his denim-clad one.

He tenses immediately.

You pretend not to notice.

You lean over the textbook between you, making sure your side is practically glued to his.

“This part confuses me,” you say, pointing vaguely.

He leans in too. And you tilt your head until your cheek almost brushes his shoulder.

He smells like citrus and cedar. Clean, masculine, unfair.

His fingers start explaining something, but you’re not listening. Not really.

You shift your weight and accidentally press your chest against his arm.

You stay there.

He clears his throat, voice tighter. “You’re… really close.”

You smile, eyes wide. “We’re sharing a book.”

“Right.”

He doesn’t move.

---

Session Ten: The “Accidental” Fall

It’s late. You’re both tired. The room’s dimly lit, the lamp on his desk throwing warm shadows against the walls. Your cardigan is slipping off one shoulder, and you make no effort to fix it.

Soobin is explaining something. You’re half-listening, half-admiring the veins on his forearms as he gestures.

You shift positions, stretch lazily—and then fake a little wobble.

“Shit—”

You catch yourself—sort of—your hand landing right on his thigh as you tip forward onto him.

You gasp. Your chest lands against his stomach. Your hand is just inches from his crotch.

He freezes. So do you.

Only, you’re pretending.

“Sorry,” you whisper, staying there just a second too long. You’re almost in his lap.

He inhales sharply.

“You okay?” he asks. Voice like gravel.

You nod. “Just clumsy.”

You slide back into place, fingers trailing down his thigh as you pull away.

He swears under his breath.

You smile into your hand.

---

Session Eleven: Legs

You sit sideways today, knees up, leaning against the wall while he sits on the bed beside you. Your skirt slips higher with the position. You don’t adjust it.

You stretch your legs across his lap.

“Hope you don’t mind,” you say sweetly. “My back hurts.”

He looks down at your thighs—bare, smooth, warm against him.

“I—uh—no. It’s fine,” he mumbles.

He doesn’t touch you.

But you can feel the way his muscles tense under you.

Every time you shift, his jaw tightens.

At one point, your foot brushes against something solid.

You freeze. So does he.

You raise an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t answer.

Just flips the page harder than necessary.

---

Session Twelve: The Whisper

You’re behind him.

It wasn’t planned, but he’s standing now, scanning your paper at his desk while you linger behind him on the bed. His shirt has ridden up a little. You see a sliver of skin.

You rise slowly. Walk over.

He doesn’t notice you until you’re right behind him.

You lean in, your breath brushing his neck.

“I think I’m failing,” you whisper.

He jolts, turning slightly.

You don’t back up. Just tilt your head, close, lips nearly brushing his jaw.

“You’ve been helping me so much,” you say softly, voice dipped in honey, “but I feel like I’m just… not focusing.”

He swallows.

“Maybe you should punish me.”

He turns to face you fully now, eyes locked with yours.

And fuck, there’s something in them.

Something dangerous.

Then he steps back.

“Break time,” he says tightly. “Five minutes.”

He practically flees the room.

You flop back on the bed, laughing into the pillow.

He’s so close.

---

You decide you’re done playing fair.

You’ve been soft, suggestive, patient.

And he’s still trying to pretend you’re just clumsy. That you just don’t know what your body’s doing when you’re crawling into his space with skirts that barely cover your ass and sweaters that hang open to show just enough lace.

Tonight? You're not leaving any room for confusion.

Tonight, you're making it filthy.

---

Session Thirteen: Endgame

You show up wearing his weakness: a tank top so tight it clings to your tits like second skin, no bra. And the shortest shorts you own—barely more than underwear. One wrong move and you’d be flashing him everything.

Good.

He opens the door and doesn’t even blink at first.

Just stares.

Then swallows hard. “You, uh… going somewhere after?”

“Just here,” you say innocently, breezing past him.

He follows, a little stiff. (Everywhere but his cock.)

---

You don’t sit on the bed this time. You crawl.

Slowly. Deliberately. Letting the hem of your shorts ride up.

Soobin’s behind you, silent.

You sit on your knees and look over your shoulder. “Coming?”

You swear his eye twitches.

He sits beside you, at the very edge of the bed.

You don’t open the textbook. You don’t even pretend to care.

Instead, you drag your fingers over your own thigh slowly, tracing a lazy path toward the hem of your shorts.

He notices.

Of course he does.

“You okay?” he croaks.

“Mmhm. Just hot.”

And with that, you reach back and lift your hair, exposing the sheen of sweat on your neck.

He watches you like he’s in pain.

You lower your voice. “Can I sit in your lap?”

He chokes. “What?”

You pout. “My legs hurt. It’s just for a sec, Soobin.”

He stares. Doesn’t answer.

So you do it anyway.

You straddle him.

Carefully, deliberately, sliding onto his lap with a weightless innocence that’s anything but.

You feel him the second you settle—his thighs tense, cock already thick and pressed between you, trapped under his sweats.

He still doesn’t move.

Doesn’t touch you.

Just freezes like if he blinks you’ll disappear.

But you’re not going anywhere.

You shift slightly, grinding just a little.

Not enough to be obvious.

But enough to feel him twitch beneath you.

He inhales so sharply it’s almost a gasp.

You lean forward, your lips brushing his ear.

“Am I making it hard for you to focus?” you whisper, your breath hot against his skin.

He finally reacts.

His hands grip your waist—tight, tight—but he still doesn’t pull you closer.

“Y/N…” he warns, voice shaking.

You roll your hips again.

His jaw clenches.

“I just want your attention, Soobin,” you murmur, lips brushing his jaw now. “I want you to stop pretending you don’t want me.”

“You’re my tutee,” he grits out, “I’m trying to be good.”

You smile wickedly. “I don’t want you to be good. I want you to make me feel good.”

And then you do it.

You grind hard—slow, filthy, full pressure.

Right against his cock.

He groans. Deep and choked and utterly ruined.

Still, he doesn’t move.

So you tip your head back and moan.

Loud.

“Fuck, Soobin…”

His hands tremble on your waist.

You do it again.

And again.

His cock is so hard it’s pressing against you, leaking through the thin fabric, and you’re soaked now—completely shameless.

“I’ve been thinking about this every night,” you whisper, breath hitching, “about how it would feel to ride your cock right here… right on your stupid study sheets…”

“Stop,” he rasps.

But he’s grinding back now.

Breathing hard.

Losing it.

“I touch myself thinking about you, Soobin,” you murmur, lips at his neck now. “About how you’d sound when you finally fuck me. If you'd make me beg first. If you’d make me cry for it…”

He groans. His hips buck up once—completely involuntary.

You whimper at the contact.

And that does it.

That breaks him.

His grip slams tight around your hips and suddenly you’re dragged down onto him, hard, his cock pressed directly against your soaked core through layers of clothes he’s about two seconds from tearing off.

His forehead drops to your shoulder.

“You’ve been driving me fucking insane,” Soobin growls, your body pinned to his lap, soaked through and trembling.

“Then ruin me,” you whisper, voice wrecked with lust. “Please, Soobin. I need it.”

“Fuck me like I belong to you”

Something snaps in him.

His mouth crashes into yours.

No hesitation. No gentleness.

Just teeth and tongue and all the desperation he’s held back for weeks.

You gasp into him and he swallows it, hands already yanking your tank top up over your tits.

“No bra?” he mutters darkly, palms closing around your breasts. “You planned this.”

You moan as he thumbs over your nipples, rough and fast. “I wanted you to look.”

“I did. Every fucking day.”

His mouth drops down, lips wrapping around one nipple, tongue lashing it hard as his other hand slides down—under your shorts, under your panties—and slams two fingers into you.

You scream.

“So wet,” he groans, thrusting them deep. “You’re soaked through everything. Fuck, baby, were you this needy all semester?”

“Yes,” you cry, hips bucking against his hand. “All for you, Soobin.

He chuckles against your breast, lips curling cruelly.

“Oh, I know.”

He pulls back and flips you onto your back like you weigh nothing. Your shorts and panties are ripped down your legs in seconds. He drops to his knees between them, eyes locked on your soaked pussy.

“God,” he breathes, voice shaking. “Look at you. You’re a fucking mess.”

Then his mouth is on you.

Tongue everywhere—sliding through your folds, flicking your clit, sucking it hard as he finger-fucks you like he’s mad at you.

You can’t even moan—you scream.

Your back arches, hips lifting, and he slaps your thigh down.

“Stay fucking still.”

You whimper, twitching under his mouth. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Cum,” he orders. “Now.”

You shatter.

Soobin doesn’t stop.

Even as you squirm and sob, overstimulated, his tongue keeps working your pussy like he’s starving.

You’re begging, babbling nonsense, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

And when he finally pulls away, face glistening, lips slick with your cum—

You’ve never seen anything so hot in your life.

“You thought you could tease me,” he mutters, climbing back up your body. “Thought you could grind on my cock and walk away?”

You nod, dazed.

He smirks and grabs your throat, squeezing just enough to make your eyes flutter. “Wrong.”

He frees himself from his sweats—thick, veiny, hard as sin—and you whine the second the tip rubs against your dripping entrance.

“Beg for it.”

“Soobin—”

“Beg.”

You sob. “Please, fuck me. I need it. I need your cock so bad—please ruin me, please—”

He slams into you in one brutal thrust. Your pussy clenches around him as you scream his name.

“Ah Soob—FUCK. Yes”

Soobin groans deep in your ear, his cock buried to the hilt. “You’re so fucking tight. Jesus—made for me.”

He pulls out halfway, then slams back in.

You cry out.

He sets a pace that’s vicious—deep, punishing, your body jolting with every thrust.

Your nails rake down his back. Your moans turn into sobs.

“Yeah,” he pants, fucking you harder. “Take it. This is what you wanted, right?”

You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Yes—yes, please—harder—”

He grabs your hips and slams into you, over and over, cock pounding your g-spot until you can’t think.

“Gonna cum again,” you choke out.

“You better,” he growls. “You don’t stop cumming until I say so.”

You cum again—harder than before.

And he fucks you through it.

Every twitch, every scream, only fuels him.

He doesn’t stop.

He flips you onto your stomach, pulls your ass up, and fucks you from behind—his hand in your hair, dragging your head back.

“You like being used?” he snarls.

“Yes—fuck—use me, please—”

He spanks your ass, hard. “Louder.”

“Use me, Soobin—fuck me until I can’t walk!”

And he does.

He slams into you until your body collapses.

Until you’re a sobbing, ruined mess under him.

Until he finally groans, “Fuck—I’m cumming—where?”

“Inside,” you beg. “Please. Fill me—”

Soobin growls your name and pours into you, hips jerking as he empties himself deep.

You collapse together, sweaty and panting.

Silence, save for your wrecked breathing.

And then—

“You still failed that assignment,” he mutters against your neck.

You laugh, breathless. “Then maybe you should punish me again.”

He grins.

“Oh, I plan to.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

[straw-berrysoju]

Truth or Dare: Lights Out (18+)

Pairing: Female Reader x Haechan (smut)

Synopsis: In a late-night game of truth or dare, YN and Haechan’s playful rivalry escalates when the dares become more daring and the lights go out. As the tension between them builds, both are forced to confront their growing attraction in the dark.

Themes: College sleepover, mixed friend group, truth-or-dare, friends-to-lovers tension, party games turning sexual, sexual discovery, power play, teasing, light voyeurism, experimentation, group intimacy, playful dominance, hidden feelings

Warnings: explicit sexual content, semi-public acts, consensual group teasing, multiple partners (no non-con), blindfolds, sensory play, exhibitionism, suggestive language, heavy tension, alcohol consumption (in moderation), characters are all consenting adults in a fictional college setting

minors dni!

_______________________________________________________

It starts like every dumb game does—someone’s bored, someone else is tipsy, and Haechan’s already poking at everyone’s buttons.

The lights are dim, you’re all spread out across bean bags and blankets, and the air smells like cheap snacks and even cheaper cologne. You should’ve known it’d get dirty by round two.

“Truth or dare?” Haechan asks you, voice syrup-slick, already smirking.

You narrow your eyes. “Truth.”

“Boring,” he drawls, but doesn’t miss a beat. “What’s the dirtiest thought you’ve had about someone in this room?”

The group loses it—shrieks, laughter, gasps—but your eyes lock with his and stay there. You don’t blink.

And you don’t answer.

“Oof,” someone says. “That says more than enough.”

He winks. “Your turn.”

The game gets filthier with every round—kissing dares, lap sits, shirtless spins of the bottle. And every time it’s Haechan’s turn, he drags you in. Always toeing the line. Always getting closer.

By the time he dares you to “let someone touch you blindfolded and guess who,” your pulse is thrumming.

The others cheer and whoop, but Haechan just smiles as he ties the bandana around your eyes.

“You sure you trust me?” he whispers at your ear, so low no one else can hear.

You swallow. “Are you the one touching?”

“Maybe.”

And then it begins.

Hands—warm, careful—ghost over your thighs. A single finger brushes your collarbone. Someone kneels behind you and breathes against your neck.

You shiver. Your body is on fire.

“Who is it?” someone teases.

But you know. The second one thumb brushes the inside of your knee and a palm rests heavy on your waist—you know.

Haechan.

His lips brush your ear. “Say my name.”

You don’t. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

So he slips his hand higher.

His fingers dip beneath the hem of your oversized sleep shirt. Just enough to graze skin. Not enough to draw real attention—yet. But the brush of his knuckle against your inner thigh has your breath catching in your throat.

“Say it,” he whispers again, voice low, teasing. “Say my name, or I’ll keep going until someone notices.”

Your pulse is pounding in your ears. You can feel every heartbeat between your legs.

“H-Haechan,” you murmur.

The blindfold slips off.

He’s grinning. Wicked. Beautiful. His hand is already gone like it was never there.

“Good girl,” he says softly.

And then the game moves on like nothing happened.

But you're not fine. You can barely sit still as the dares go around. Your skin hums where he touched you. Every laugh, every flicker of his eyes in your direction, feels like a spark.

Until—

“I’m getting water,” he says casually, standing up and stretching like he didn’t just unravel you on a fucking dare. “Anyone want some?”

No one answers. Too distracted. Too buzzed.

He glances at you, the tiniest raise of his brow.

You’re up before you think. “I’ll come.”

No one blinks. But as you slip into the dark hallway behind him, you already know there’s no water involved.

He grabs your wrist the moment you’re out of view and pulls you into the guest bedroom, door clicking shut behind you.

The second it closes, you’re pressed to the wall.

“You liked being touched in front of everyone?” he murmurs, mouth at your ear, body hot and close. “Felt you shiver when I brushed your thighs. Felt how fucking wet you got.”

You gasp as his hand slips under your shirt again—this time, no teasing. Just skin to skin, his fingers sliding up your slit, parting you slowly.

“Haechan—”

“Shh.” He licks into your mouth, tongue hot and greedy. “You didn’t stop me. You didn’t even want to.”

He hooks one arm under your thigh, lifts it around his hip. The shift grinds your core against the rough denim of his joggers, and you whimper at the friction.

“I’ve been waiting to get you alone all night,” he breathes, kissing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “And now I’ve got you soaked, shaking against a wall, begging without even realizing it.”

You dig your fingers into his shoulders.

“Haechan, please…”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

He lets out a soft, wrecked laugh. “See, when you say it like that—”

He flips you around, palms splayed on the wall, body pressed to your back. His hand slides down the front of your panties again, and this time two fingers sink inside you at once, no warning.

You arch. Cry out.

He groans against your neck. “God, you’re tight.”

You grind back against him, feel the hard length of him straining against his pants.

“Tell me you want it,” he pants, rubbing slow circles over your clit while his fingers pump inside you.

“I want it.”

“Louder.”

“I want it, fuck—Haechan, please—”

You feel him fumble his joggers down just enough, then your panties are pushed aside, and he’s teasing your entrance with his cock.

And then he slides in—slow, thick, filling—and you swear the moan he lets out could undo you on its own.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes. “You feel too good.”

He sets a rhythm—rough, deep, unforgiving. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, drowned out only by your soft cries and his filthy praise.

“You’re so fucking wet for me. Bet you were soaked from the first dare, weren’t you? Could’ve bent you over that couch and made you come in front of everyone—”

Your moan cuts him off as you tighten around him, shaking.

He chuckles. “Close already? Good.”

And when he reaches around to rub your clit again, fast and merciless, it tips you over fast and hard. You come with a gasp, clenching around him, body going limp in his hold.

He fucks you through it, hips stuttering until he groans into your neck, hips buried deep as he finishes inside you.

Silence follows. Hot. Breathless.

You finally speak. “We’re never getting water again, are we?”

He laughs, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Babe, we’re never playing innocent again.”

_______________________________________________________

Author's Note: Had this story in my draft for quite a while so I decided to post it along with the scoups one. Enjoyyyyy

[straw-berrysoju]

STUDY BREAK (18+)

Synopsis: A late-night study session with your sexy, sharp-tongued study partner turns into a game of control when he quizzes you with pop questions, punishing wrong answers with teasing touches and threats. What was supposed to be studying quickly becomes an erotic lesson in submission and power.

Themes: study partners, college setting, psychology majors, study sessions turning into intimate encounters, power play, teasing and edging, control and submission, sexual tension, public risk, control, obedience

Pairing: seungcheol x female reader (both psychology majors)

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, power imbalances, public setting (library), oral sex, fingering, edging and orgasm control

Word count: 1.9k

Minors dni!

PART 2 : STUDY BREAK (ORAL EXAM)

_______________________________________________________

It’s close to midnight when Seungcheol finally shows up.

He’s ten minutes late, again, with his hoodie pulled low and his hair still damp from a shower. You pretend you don’t notice the way he smells—like soap and warm skin and something a little too clean for the things running through your head.

“You already started without me?” he asks, throwing his bag on the chair across from mine.

“You were late,” you say flatly, not looking up.

He laughs, the deep kind that vibrates low in his throat. “Someone’s cranky.”

“I’m focused.”

“Mm. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

The words are offhand, but his gaze lingers. There’s something about the way he says it—how casual his voice is while his eyes roam over you like he already knows what’s going to happen.

You cross your legs under the table, gripping your pen a little tighter.

He takes his seat. You start reviewing. At first, it’s normal—terms, definitions, case studies. But then…

“Define operant conditioning,” he says, leaning in just slightly.

“Reinforcement or punishment used to increase or decrease a behavior,” you reply automatically.

“Good girl.”

You freeze.

He says it so softly you're not sure you heard him right. But when you glance up, he’s looking at you—really looking.

“You—what did you just say?”

Seungcheol smiles. “Just giving feedback. Positive reinforcement.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what? Call you a good girl?” His voice drops. “Does it bother you?”

“It’s distracting.”

“Interesting,” he says, folding his arms behind his head. “Because it looked like you liked it.”

Your pulse kicks up. The room is too quiet. Too private. It’s the end of the semester, and most of campus is asleep or wired on caffeine in another building. We’re in a back corner study room, half the lights off, no one walking by.

You should shut this down. You should get back to your notes. But then his foot slides under the table and touches yours. Light. Testing.

“Want to play a game?” he murmurs.

Your hand stills. Your mouth is dry. “No games. We’re behind.”

“Then let’s multitask.” His eyes flash. “For every correct answer, I reward you. For every mistake…” He smiles slowly. “You get punished.”

You know you should say no. Should roll your eyes and go back to reviewing. But your thighs are already pressing together under the table, breath catching in your throat.

You glance up. “How are you defining ‘reward’ and ‘punish’?”

His gaze drags down your face, your chest, your legs.

“Why don’t we find out?”

You swallow hard and nod once.

He leans back in his chair, arms folded, legs wide.

He smiles like he’s been waiting for this.

“Question one: What’s the difference between positive and negative reinforcement?”

You blink, recite from memory. “Positive reinforcement adds a stimulus to increase behavior. Negative reinforcement removes something to increase behavior.”

His smile deepens. “Good girl.”

The words slide under your skin like silk.

You’re not prepared for the way his foot slips under the table, brushing your calf, sliding up, slow and deliberate. You suck in a breath.

“That’s your reward,” he says. “Next.”

You barely have time to recover.

“Question two: Define punishment in behavioral terms.”

You hesitate, fingers tightening around your pen. “Punishment… decreases behavior. Positive punishment adds an unpleasant stimulus. Negative removes a positive one.”

His foot presses between your legs, nudging your knees apart.

“That hesitation cost you.”

You stiffen.

He leans forward, dark eyes locked on yours. “Don’t close them. Keep your legs where I put them.”

You obey, your breath catching when his toe presses lightly against your inner thigh.

“Third question. Define fixed ratio schedule.”

You’re panting now, trying to think. “It’s… reinforcement given after a specific number of responses.”

“Correct.”

This time it’s not his foot—it’s his hand, sliding under the table, fingers skimming the bare skin just above your knee. You’re hyper aware of every brush, every shift of his knuckles.

“Shorts?” he murmurs. “Or skirt?”

You meet his gaze, throat dry. “Skirt.”

“Fuck.” He closes his eyes briefly, like he's holding himself back. “You really are trying to test me.”

His fingers drift higher.

“Fourth question. Describe the concept of learned helplessness.”

You try. You swear you try. But all you can focus on is the heat of his palm against your thigh, creeping higher, tracing the crease where your leg meets your hip.

“W–when an individual… is exposed to inescapable negative stimuli, they stop trying to escape, even when a solution is present.”

His fingers pause just short of your underwear.

“Very good,” he murmurs. “So smart.”

You’re aching. Slick between your thighs. And he hasn’t even really touched you yet.

His thumb strokes along the waistband of your panties. The featherlight touch makes your breath hitch.

“Next one,” he says. “Ready?”

You nod, swallowing hard.

“Name two famous behaviorists.”

“Skinner and… Watson.”

“Good girl,” he whispers, and this time he rewards you with a single, slow stroke over your clothed core. You twitch in your seat, biting your lip to keep from making a sound.

“Oh, you liked that.” His fingers repeat the motion. “You’re so wet already, baby. I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You shift in your seat, thighs tightening. “Cheol, we can’t—”

“We can,” he cuts in, voice a command now. “No one’s coming in this late. And you’re the one begging for attention with those pretty little skirts.”

“I wasn’t—”

He cuts you off with a soft, dark laugh, leaning in. “You wore lace under that skirt to a study session. You wanted to be touched.”

Your cheeks burn. He’s right.

And when his fingers slip past the lace this time—bare skin to bare heat—you forget how to breathe.

He groans, the sound deep and quiet. “Fuck. You're soaked.”

“Cheol—”

“I told you.” He sinks a single finger in, slow and teasing. “Get the answers right, and I’ll give you what you want. Get them wrong…”

He pulls his hand away. Cold. Empty.

“…and you’ll have to beg.”

You whimper, chasing his hand instinctively.

The smirk he gives you is pure sin.

“Last question. Get this right, and I’ll make you come right here, right now.”

You stare at him, shaking slightly, thighs slick and trembling.

“Define conditioned stimulus.”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. His hand hovers just above your cunt, waiting.

“One…”

You panic. “A—a previously neutral stimulus… that, after association with the unconditioned one, triggers the same response.”

His hand sinks back down. Two fingers this time. Crooked just right.

“Correct.”

And just like that, you fall to pieces—back arched, breath ragged, his name on your lips like a secret sin.

You try to stay quiet, really, you do.

But when his fingers start pumping in and out, slow and steady, curling just right, it’s impossible to keep still on his lap. Your hips roll instinctively, chasing the friction, grinding down as your thighs tremble around him.

“Fuck, you’re needy,” Seungcheol growls against your neck, voice barely above a whisper. “Dripping all over my hand in a goddamn study room.”

You bite your bottom lip, tasting skin, trying to suppress the moan clawing its way up your throat.

His free hand grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs your head back just enough so he can watch your face as he fucks you with his fingers. “Let them hear if you want,” he says, eyes dark. “Or be a good girl and stay quiet. Either way, you’re not leaving this chair until I feel you come.”

You dig your nails into his hoodie as your body shakes, that coil in your stomach twisting tighter and tighter. Every press of his thumb against your clit sends sparks flying. You’re soaked, whimpering into his shoulder, thighs clenching around his wrist as he works you through it.

“Cheol—please—”

“That’s it,” he mutters. “Come for me, sweetheart. Be loud. Be messy.”

You do. You fall apart right there in his lap, teeth sinking into his collarbone to muffle the broken gasp that spills from your lips as your orgasm hits hard and fast, making your whole body go tense and weightless at once.

By the time you catch your breath, your panties are ruined, and his fingers are glistening.

“You made a mess,” he smirks, sucking one finger into his mouth with a filthy groan. “We’re not done.”

He doesn’t give you time to recover. Doesn’t let you fix your hair or adjust your skirt. He just grabs your bag, presses a kiss to your cheek like you’re some innocent girl he’s walking home, and guides you out of the library with his hand on your lower back like he owns you.

When you finally reach his dorm, he doesn’t even turn on the lights. He locks the door, pins you to it, and kisses you like he’s been waiting all semester to ruin you.

And he does.

He strips you slow—fingers tracing every inch of skin he uncovers like he’s studying you now—and when he finally peels your panties off completely, he brings them to his nose with a groan, then pockets them like a trophy.

“You’re gonna ride me,” he says, voice rough as he pulls his hoodie off and sinks onto the edge of his bed, jeans undone, cock thick and hard in his fist. “Nice and slow. Show me how much you really learned tonight.”

You climb onto him, thighs sore, cunt still throbbing from earlier. His hands grip your hips as you sink down, and the stretch steals your breath. He’s thick. Hot. Heavy. Every inch of him fills you up perfectly.

You start slow, bouncing gently, rolling your hips the way he taught you to move, but Seungcheol clearly has other plans.

“Not like that,” he snaps, slapping your ass. “You teased me all week wearing those short skirts. Begging for my attention in those tight little study group outfits. You don’t get to take it slow.”

He grabs your wrists, pulling them behind your back and holding them with one hand, while the other grabs your throat—not tight, but firm enough to make you moan.

“Now fuck me like you mean it.”

And you do.

You ride him hard, your thighs burning, tits bouncing, moans filling the dark room. His cock hits every sensitive spot, thick and perfect, dragging over your walls until you’re crying his name like a prayer.

“Touch yourself,” he growls. “Let me see how pretty you look falling apart on my cock.”

Your fingers find your clit, and with just a few messy circles, you’re unraveling again—legs shaking, cunt clenching tight around him as you come with a sharp cry.

“Good fucking girl,” he groans, and then he’s flipping you onto your back, hooking your legs over his shoulders and slamming back in, fucking you deep, hard, relentless. “One more,” he pants. “Give me one more.”

Your head lolls back, brain fogged with pleasure, body wrecked and begging. “Cheol—please, I can’t—”

“You can,” he says, biting down on your collarbone. “You will.”

You come again—shaking, sobbing, nails digging into his back as he finally lets go with a low, guttural growl, spilling inside you and holding you tight as he rides out every wave.

After, he doesn’t speak for a while.

Just pulls you into his chest, kisses your forehead, and strokes your hair as you lie tangled in the sheets, spent and dripping.

“Guess we’re doing another study session tomorrow,” he murmurs.

And the smirk in his voice makes you shiver all over again.

_______________________________________________________

Author's note: this smut may or may not have been a reaction to Scoups' met gala look. Sorry not sorry. I also may have gotten a little carried away and started writing the second part of this oneshot but I'll most probably not upload it.

[straw-berrysoju]

wkorea

[straw-berrysoju]

[straw-berrysoju]

Masterlist

1- One-shots

2- Series

3- Drabbles, imagines, astrology, edits, moodboards etc. 

4- Astrology 

1. One-shots:

Jungkook:

Best Friends (Smut) 

Baby boy (Smut) 

Adult World (Smut)  

Whipped Cream (Smut)

Love and Drugs (Smut)

A F**k Up (Smut)

Taehyung:

Nothing Romantic about Jealousy (Smut)

English Teacher (Smut)

Sugar Baby (Smut)

Jimin:

Sexting (Smut) Manners (Smut)

Namjoon:

(Nothing yet)

Hoseok:

Just Animals (ft Yoongi) (Smut)

Yoongi:

Just Animals (ft Hoseok) (Smut) That Dress (Smut)

Jin:

(Nothing yet)

2. Series:

Jungkook:

The DUFF: /Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4/Part 5/Part 7/Part 8/ Part 9/Part 10/

Jungkook, Jimin, Taehyung: 

These University Guys’: /Part 1 (Smut)/Part 2 (Smut)/Part 3 (Smut)/ [HIATUS]

Jungkook, Hoseok:

Wanted : /Part 1 (Smut)/ Part 2 ‘Sharing’ (Smut)/ COMPLETED

3. Drabbles (imagines, edits, drabbles, moodboards):

Jungkook:

Video calling you and him looking at his own face

Sending you a video message late at night

Taehyung:

Video calling you to show you around the city he’s touring in

In Hawaii

Missing each other

 Jimin:

Video calling you while on tour to confess his feelings

Video calling ft other members pt 1

Namjoon:

Hoseok:

The city: A moodboard

Yoongi:

Jin:

4. Astrology:

BTS as friends 

Ideal types

How I imagine the boys in a relationship and as boyfriends 

What attracts BTS

Some of my fav aspects in BTS’s charts

SYNASTRY: Jungkook and Taehyung, 

RELATIONSHIP ASKS: 

Jungkook: ideal placements, when he’s angry , 

Taehyung: anger/jealousy?, ideal placements, 

Hoseok: Jealous?, 

Most/Least jealous

These are all my stories. Respect them and do not steal them or their story lines, do not repost.

All rights are reserved.

[straw-berrysoju]

                      𓆝  ｡ ˚   さかな  𓇼  @yawnznn

[straw-berrysoju]

fleabag saying "i don't know what to do with it, with all the love i have for her, i don't know where to put it now" and andrew garfield saying "i hope this grief stays with me because it's all the unexpressed love that I didn't get to tell her" and vision saying "what is grief, if not love persevering" is something i'll always resonate with, till the end of time.

[straw-berrysoju]

“I raised you so high that every other man on earth is now doomed to live in your shadow.”

— Ranata Suzuki

[straw-berrysoju]

╭─────── @bixizi ╰─ 𝑴𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒚, 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒚, 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒚 ♡

[straw-berrysoju]

tiramisu am i right

[straw-berrysoju]

I don’t have casual obsessions, I have all consuming fixations that send me into a downward spiral to hell