#i will never get it back but it was good. life can be bright again i believe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sentientgolfball · 3 days

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Same Old, Same Old

if you couldn't tell I've been possessed by these two recently

Read here or on Ao3

Pairing: Zephrit

Word Count: 3730

Tags: pup as a nickname, Zeph is kinda(?) mean...a little?, so much nipple

Summary: Ifrit takes a trip down memory lane by playing dress up with his old uniform. Zephyr catches him and makes the most out of it.

A bored ghoul never meant anything good. Ifrit had been sitting in his room all day, bored out of his mind. No chores to help with, no Siblings looking for him, no call to action. He laid in bed for an unreasonable amount of time, alternating between texting Zephyr and scrolling on his phone. Another hour passed before he huffed and tossed it on the bed next to him. There were only so many cat videos he could take.

He heaved a sigh before standing, stretching with a pop in his shoulders. He figured a walk will do him some good, anything to get his blood pumping. Fire was an element of energy and Ifrit could not stand the thought of staying still any longer. Maybe he would even find something to do while he was out and about. Even if he did not, at least he would not be laying around anymore.

He thinks about where he will go as he changes out of his pajamas. His phone buzzes, another text from Zephyr. From what Ifrit could tell, they have been having a day. They have been helping a new Sibling tasked with sorting through the older books in the library which is not a problem on its own, it is a certain Sister. Sister Gracie. She has been the problem in all of Zephyr’s workday stories recently. She checks out hoards of books and keeps them well past their due date. On multiple occasions, Zephyr has had to go directly to her and ask for them back. They were at their wit's end for today though. Apparently, she actually returned the stack she checked out on time, but when Zephyr went to collect them from the bin they had been damaged. All of them were either soaked or had some mystery stain on the pages. So all day it has been running between helping the new Sibling, talking with Imperator and Sister Gracie, and trying to salvage the books.

Another ping from Ifrit’s phone.

If I see her in here ever again after this I will be more than tempted to break that stupid human rule they can send me back to Hell it’ll be worth it to claw her eyes out

He stares at the message and quickly decides he will make the library his destination for his walk. It was on the opposite end of the Ministry from the ghoul den, so surely it will be enough to get some energy out. Plus seeing Zeph right about now sounds nice, for both their sakes. He sends them a quick text telling them he is stopping by before lacing up his boots and leaving the den.

The halls aren’t as filled as they usually are, he passes a few pockets of Siblings and ghouls filtering about but that’s it. He greets them all with enthusiasm, a bright fang filled smile. It seems to be a lazy day for the entire Ministry, though the heat from the late spring sun might have something to do with that.

He decides to take the longest way possible to the library, taking every twist and turn he can. He can feel his fire crackling just under his skin. Now that he’s finally moving around he feels ready to burst. When he passes the doors to the practice room he pauses though. He stares at the metal doors, out of place against the stone architecture of the ancient building. It’s been a long time since he’s gone inside, since he’s been on this wing of the Ministry. He hasn’t needed to, when Dew changed guitars Ifrit took the fantomen to keep in his room. When he gets that itch to play all he has to do is take it off the wall.

He opens the door just to peek inside. When he sees the room is empty he figures a quick trip down memory lane won’t take too much of his time. He steps in, lights and air conditioning coming to life when the sensors pick up movement. He takes a deep breath, it smells of artificial cold and polish. Underneath all that though, the dull scents of various ghouls filter through. Quintessence and fire smell the strongest. Ifrit briefly wonders which combination decided to lock themselves in here for a few hours. Omega and Alpha? Dew and Aether? Phantom and Dew? Or maybe it was Swiss? The multi ghoul’s scent was always hard to pinpoint unless it was fresh.

Ifrit shrugs, not too concerned with the details. He bounces around the mini rehearsal stage; eyes closed to let muscle memory take over. He bends backwards, throwing a hand into the air to show off to a ghostly crowd. If he’s quiet he can almost hear the cheering. He misses the energy of performing, misses the pleasant ache in his body after a ritual. Even so, he would not go back. Nothing would stop him from being where Zephyr is. Nobody had asked him to leave, but when Zephyr said they couldn’t handle it anymore it wasn’t even a question. Reliving the memories is enough as long as Zephyr is with him.

Oh shit Zephyr!

He pulls himself back to the present with a shake of his head. He already took too much time by stopping, Zephyr is probably waiting for him outside the library doors. He jumps off the mini stage, bounding towards the exit when a light catches his eye. One of the soundproof practice rooms has a light on. He thought he was alone. He can’t help it when he turns, heading down the short hallway. He peers into the window when he’s close enough only to find it empty. Well not empty, all of the spare practice rooms were being used as storage while the band wasn’t actively preparing for a tour, but there was no one inside.

He goes to open the door, but it hadn’t been closed all the way. He pushes it open and steps inside, surveying the space for any signs of who the mystery ghoul may have been. Whoever they are, they left in a hurry. Uniform bags are open, a mask box sitting on one of the few chairs in the room. Ifrit moves to clean up the small mess, but seeing the glint of the mask has him stopping. It’s not one of the helmets like he was expecting. Its silver, no opening for a mouth, curling horns, and sculpted hair. Empty eyes stare up at him. His eyes. His mask.

He doesn’t think as he takes it out of the box, bringing it up to his face to look into the eye holes. It’s surreal to hold it again. The only one who stills wears this version is Omega; feeling the cool metal feels wrong but almost right in a strange way. This was his face for his first few months Topside and now it just sits in a box.

An idea crosses his mind. One that would surely get him in trouble if he was caught. Whoever was in here before him clearly thought the same thing, only Ifrit didn’t stop. He put the mask back into the box, closing the lid and picking it up before his conscious could catch up to him. His eyes quickly scan over the rack of costume bags until he finds the right size. If he was going to steal pieces of Ministry history he needed to do it quickly before someone else wandered in.

He shuts off all the lights in the practice room before slinking out of the metal doors. He figures if he goes the short way back to the den he’ll make it to his room before running into trouble. The library is all but forgetting as he scurries back with his contraband. He won’t have it for long, just the evening. He’ll return it first thing in the morning before anyone notices it’s missing. It’s been a long time since he’s seen this uniform, he just wants to taste it again.

He makes it back to his room in the den with no trouble, suddenly very thankful for the slow, lazy day. He has the uniform out of the bag; still on the hanger but laid across his bed. He stares at it.

“What the fuck am I doing?” He runs a hand through his hair.

Despite his conscious finally catching up to him, he shrugs his leather jacket off before pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor. He discards his pants next, adding to the pile of clothes next to the bed. He stares at this old uniform in nothing but his underwear for a moment long before grabbing it. He puts the pants on first. It’s a little tighter than he remembers, meeting a bit of resistance as he pulls them over his thighs. After a bit of tugging he gets them all the way up to sit around his hips. The waistband slightly digs into his skin. The top comes next. He unbuttons it with practiced ease before sliding it onto his shoulders.

“Oh shit,” he says with a mix of surprise and panic.

It’s already tight around his shoulders and he hasn’t even rebuttoned it yet. He turns to look at the floor length mirror that sits in the corner of the room. The fabric is pulled taut and he briefly worries about the seams bursting if he moves too fast. He didn’t risk stealing this for nothing though. He begins to close the buttons one by one. It becomes a struggle once he’s halfway up his abdomen. He has to suck in deep breaths of air just to be able to pull the edges close enough to slip the button in. It’s a fight once he gets over his chest. No matter how he moves he can’t close it. He breathes, he relaxes his shoulders, he hunches forward, yet nothing gets him closer to his goal. Did he really get that much bigger since his summoning?

He stares at his reflection, the uniform so close to being all the way on. If he could just get the buttons over his chest closed. He ponders any possible solution, so lost in thought he doesn’t hear the door open.

“So, this is what you did instead of coming to see me?” Zephyr leans against the doorframe with their arms crossed.

Ifrit whips around, a slight flush to his cheeks as he tries to stammer out an explanation, “Zeph! No you see I was coming to see you, swear on the Lords, but I…well you see it’s funny really—“

“Save it,” Zephyr holds up a hand “I can see you’re having lots of fun playing dress up. Please, don’t let me stop you.”

They watch him, waiting for him to continue. Yellow eyes look him up and down expectantly. Ifrit almost flinches under the intensity.

“I can’t.” He bows his head, looking at his feet.

“What? Too shy now that you’ve got an audience? Come now Ifrit, I thought you loved the spotlight.”

He shakes his head. “No that’s not…I can’t Zeph.”

He tries to pull the buttons over his chest once more, showing Zephyr what he means. They watch him struggle for just a moment before it clicks. Their eyes scan over his figure again, only this time they notice how tight the uniform is on him. It's clinging to him, no wrinkles or extra space in sight. The way his chest bulges out of the unbuttoned front. They can see the outline of his nipple piercings. They can see everything. When the silence stretches on for too long, Ifrit lifts his head to look at them, guilt and shame written all over his face with how deep that blush has gotten. Suddenly Zephyr couldn’t care less about having to walk back to the den all by themselves.

“Poor little pup can’t fit into his old uniform?” Zephyr pushes off the doorframe, stepping into the room and closing the door behind them.

Ifrit’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline at the tone of their voice. Zephyr stalks over to him, running their hand over his shoulder and down his arm. They can feel the muscle ripple under the featherlight touch. They can’t help but squeeze his bicep, feeling the solidness through the fabric. Ifrit shudders, watching a small grin appear on their face. They meet each other's eye for a moment before Zephyr slips one of their hands into the opening of the uniform to grab at one of his pecs.

“Why bother trying to button this thing? Leave it open so everyone can see your perfect tits.”

Ifrit chokes on air when Zephyr pinches one of his pierced nipples harder than what could be considered pleasurable.

“This is certainly an improvement. Could never touch you like this backstage.” They fondle his chest, squeezing as much of him as they can with one hand.

Ifrit allows himself to be pushed until his back hits the dresser, hand shooting out behind him to keep his balance. Zephyr presses themselves tight against him, standing in between his legs to cage him in. He stares down at them as they start to mouth over his chest. The whiplash of Zephyr catching him to having that cool tongue gliding over heated skin makes his head spin. He isn’t sure if he should stop them, telling them to wait so he can take it off lest he rips it, or let them continue to grope his sensitive tits.

When he feels them bite close to his nipple his brain shuts off, hand flying up to stop the whimper that catches in his throat. Zephyr does it again. And again, and again, and again until his chest is covered in purple. His hips grind forward against them when their other hand tweaks his nipple at the same time they suck the other into their mouth. They squeeze their tail around his waist to stop the movement of his hips.

“Not yet pup, I want to take my time with you while you’re like this. Don’t want it to end too early.”

“Zeph, Birdie. Come on, we…you’re going to rip it,” he struggles to form a coherent thought with the way they’re rolling that sensitive bud between their teeth.

Zephyr pulls off of him slowly. They stand from their hunched position to stare at him, hands still roaming over his chest. “Are you telling me no?”

“‘No!” He says in a hurry “, that’s not what—“

“Then shut your mouth. You’re the one who wanted to play dress up, so let’s play.”

Zephyr steps away from him before reaching up to wrap their hand around one of his horns. They drag him to the bed, tugging and pulling at him to get him to lay flat on his back. Ifrit’s helpless to it, he allows them to move him however they want with nothing but the grip on his horn. When he’s down, Zephyr straddles his hips. Ifrit stares up at them with wide eyes, waiting for them to make a move so he can figure out how to not burst every seam on the uniform while they use him.

They tilt their head smiling at him; something sweet and simple before spitting directly onto his tits. Everything moves quickly after that; they unzip their pants just enough to pull their cock out, jacking themselves a few times before sliding up farther on Ifrit’s abdomen. They reach into the uniform to squeeze his chest together, moving their hands in quick circles to smear the salvia around before letting up on the tension just enough to shove their cock between them.

They squish his tits together until they’re hissing with satisfaction before slowly rocking their hips. He itches to replace their hands with his, do something other than stare slack jawed up at Zephyr, but every thought dies when he sees the tip of their dick peek out from his cleavage. His hips twitch up searching for friction when he watches a bead of pre drip so close to his chin he could lick it up if he craned his neck just a bit more.

Zephyr laughs at the hazy look in his eyes, at the way he’s just staring at the way their tip glides closer and closer to his face with each roll of their hips. The laugh is cut off when his brain finally catches up and he flicks his tongue out to swipe over the slit, drinking down the pre pearling at the tip. Zephyr shudders with a groan, hips bucking forward to get closer to the heat of his mouth.

“Not as dumb as I thought you were.” They huff, resuming a more rhythmic grind albeit it faster than before.

Ifrit is craning his neck to keep his tongue out, licking over their cock as they fuck his tits. He can feel the drool running down the side of his mouth, dripping onto his collarbones only to slide down and pool in his cleavage.

“Making a mess of yourself pup,” Zephyr groans.

Ifrit doesn’t respond, doesn’t have the brain power to. His senses are flooded with the taste of them, with the sight of their flushed cock, with the breathy little sighs that fall from their lips each time Ifrit flicks his tongue. He wants to get them in his mouth, properly suck them off until they cum down his throat. He moves without thinking, trying to grab their hands and surge forward to flip their positions. He doesn’t get that far. The moment he lifts his shoulders a deafening pop accompanies the sound of skin gliding on skin. Ifrit is slammed back into his body when the tension around his shoulders suddenly feels lighter, less constricted.

“Birdie shit wait. Stop, I think it ripped.” He panics, squeezing Zephyr’s wrists.

“How is that my problem? You stole it now you’ll live with the consequences.” They huff, doubling down. They squeeze his chest tighter, rocking their hips faster.

Ifrit could easily throw them off, truly ask them to stop, but he can’t find it in himself to move. He’s paralyzed by the realization he damaged the uniform, but also by the ache between his legs and the weight of Zephyr on his chest. Caught between his want to stop and his need to continue.

His mind is made up for him when a particularly hard thrust from Zephyr pushes the tip of their cock against his lips. His hands fly to their hips, urging them to do it again. They oblige, pressing closer to his face. Ifrit shifts just enough to be able to wrap his lips around the head, sucking and licking over it. Zephyr’s head falls forward, cursing under their breath. Their thrusts turn into quick little grinds, shoving more of their cock into that hot, wet mouth.

Ifrit lets the weight of it rest on his tongue as drool runs down his chin. The awkward angle makes it difficult to take more than an inch of them, but he doesn’t care. He’s content to run his tongue over them, licking at their slit and the sensitive spot on the underside. Ifrit sucks, working his lips around them and Zephyr is unable to stop their talons from digging into the meat of his chest. Ifrit moans, eyes fluttering and hips bucking into the air from the prick of pain.

Ifrit does it again. Instead of talons tearing tendering flesh he feels Zephyr go rigid. They cum without warning, coating the inside of his mouth. He instinctively swallows around them and they shudder as another glob squirts over his tongue. Ifrit suckles on his dick until it’s too much and they’re pulling away from him in overstimulation. They’re both panting, staring at each other with flushed cheeks while they catch their breath. When Ifrit runs a hand through the mess on the chest Zephyr groans.

“Get out of that thing before I ruin it.” Zephyr slides off of him, knees cracking when they stand.

Ifrit sits up to sit on the edge of the bed, turned to stare at his reflection in the mirror. He runs his hands over the deep marks littering his chest. His brain supplies him with memories from backstage closets and hotel rooms as his eyes rake over the disheveled uniform. That is, before he remembers where he’s at. Why he has the costume to begin with. His head snaps to Zephyr who’s just smiling at him.

“Don’t worry I’ll fix it before someone has your horns.”

Ifrit sighs a breath of relief. “Thank you birdie.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time and I certainly hope it isn’t the last,” they press a kiss to his temple ,” now strip.”

He stands, taking off the top as carefully as possible to not make the tear worse. The seam on his right shoulder is ripped down to the armpit. He cringes at the sight, handing it over to Zephyr before shucking the pants. Zephyr nearly doubles over at the sizable wet patch on the front of his boxers. The fabric clings to him, outline the shape of his now soft cock. They palm at him, squeezing him through his underwear and smearing the mess around. Ifrit shudders at the feeling.

“Filthy,” Zephyr muses.

“You’re one to talk,” Ifrit huffs a laugh.

They shrug, gathering the discarded uniform and folding it neatly before putting it on the desk to work on later.

“You’re the one who put it on. I’m not to blame for my actions.”

“Hm,” he thinks for a moment, “maybe next time I’ll wear the mask.”

“Oh so suddenly you have no reservations about stealing Ministry relics?” They eye him with a grin, something dangerous glinting in their eyes.

He grins back, “Not when it makes you like this, birdie.”

They hum, pressing kisses along his jawline “Good.”

There’s a moment of silence before Ifrit feels their hand wrap around his throat, “But if you ever leave me waiting like that again I’ll make sure you suffocate, understood?”

Ifrit swallows and nods. He shifts the weight on his feet, feeling his cock try to kick back to life. Zephyr grins at him. With the uniform gone he had no protection from their talons. He almost hopes they’re still upset with him.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghouls #the band ghost fic #zephyr ghoul #ifrit ghoul #zephrit #18+ mdni #golfball writes

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budd-ie · 2 days

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The way it has JUST dawned on me exactly why Mu Qing is so smug all the time about Xie Lian. The truth is that any time someone does something good for others, it ALWAYS comes back to bite them. Nobody is grateful, nobody is thankful, and most of the time you get physically hurt even trying. Mu Qing’s conclusion about this is “there is literally no point in being a good person because it will only get you hurt.” He sees this pattern and he knows he’s right, and he especially sees it with Xie Lian. Think about how fucking smug Fu Yao is in the sinners pit when he finds out about “General Hua” and Xie Lian’s “death.” This is just another instance of Xie Lian’s efforts for good only ever going to waste and him getting beat to death and back for thinking he can still save the common people. What’s his problem? Won’t this idiot ever learn his lesson? When he sees the dilapidated shrine and sad excuse for a living arrangement Mu Qing looks joyous. What joy could he possibly find in another man’s suffering? It’s because it proves that trying to play good guy gets you nowhere. Mu Qing left all those years ago to focus on himself and it got him to a top martial god spot in heaven. He’s clearly right about this! This proves it!

It’s so obvious he’s right. If you want to get anywhere in life, you have to stop worrying about being “good” or “kind” because it will never bring you good returns. That’s true….so why can’t Xie Lian understand that? If every single time he gets kicked down for trying to do something nice, why bother getting up and trying again? What is he trying to accomplish?

The difference is that Xie Lian is kind not for the returns but because it is innate to him. It’s not that he never thought about himself in the past, it’s just that he’s never had a second thought about people deserving kindness in the world. Getting shot down never breaks his spirit like it breaks Mu Qing’s. Mu Qing can’t fucking stand that. He can’t stand that Xie Lian is so genuinely selfless, that he was wrong about his perception of him all those years ago. He can’t stand that Xie Lian is still trying to help him even though he knows he won’t appreciate it. If he really was only doing it for merit and to feel good about himself then everything would be fine! But now he has to grapple with the fact that he’s looking at a really, genuinely, good person and he’s just another person who shot him down. He realizes he’s looking at someone who’s stronger than him, physically and emotionally, better than him morally, despite all his talk about how they’re not that different when really they’re leagues away.

(Some book 8 spoilers below)

It messed with the flow of the paragraph so I didn’t mention it earlier, but in that second paragraph, Mu Qing’s mindset sounds a lot like Jun Wu. Jun Wu is trying to prove to Xie Lian that his path of kindness and selflessness is stupid and that when people knock him down he can choose the other (lesser) path. I always say That Mu Qing is like a foil to Xie Lian (I think this is that explanation) but if Jun Wu and Xie Lian are connected in this way then it’s almost reasonable to bring Mu Qing along too. And it makes sense that he doesn’t shine as bright in this point of view between the three of them, just like he always has. There’s something here but it was a wake up in the middle of the night with a cold sweat and a revelation kind of thing so it’s not really fleshed out at all. We’ll deal with it later.

#it’s the juxtaposition between reading 10000 gods cave on my computer and banyue arc on my phone #tgcf #heaven official's blessing #tian guan ci fu #Mu Qing #xie lian

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iboatedhere · 2 days

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i've got two if you're cool with it, do with them what you will:

summer vibes: the smell of sunscreen june prompts: dandelions

and let's go with post-canon 👀♥️

“I think you missed a spot, sweetheart.”

Henry looks up, a white cast of sunscreen covering his entire face and even more on his fingertips.

“Where?”

Alex laughs and rubs in an incredibly thick spot on the outer edge of Henry’s ear.

“There, I think I got it.”

“You shouldn’t tease,” Henry says, upending the bottle of sunscreen and squeezing a dollop into his palm before rubbing it onto his arms. “SPF is very important.”

“I know it is, babe, but I don’t think you have to reapply every twenty minutes.”

“It hasn’t been that often, and even if it has been, there’s nothing wrong with being proactive. Skin cancer is no joke.”

“You’re going to smell like a coconut for the next decade.”

“Suppose I’ll just need to take a very thorough shower tonight,” Henry says as he works on his other arm. “If you’re good, I might let you join me.”

Alex grins and lowers his sunglasses over his eyes.

It’s a nice thought for a nice day.

The sun is bright and warm when he tips his face into it, and the blanket is soft beneath his hands as he leans back.

There's a couple a few yards away, her head in his lap as she reads, and just beyond them, a mother braiding dandelions into her young daughter’s hair.

Further down the hill, a man throws a ball for his golden retriever, and at the curve in the path, two kids buy fresh sliced fruit from a brightly colored cart.

There’s pop music blasting from someone’s shitty Bluetooth speaker, and sirens and car horns sound off in the distance.

It’s a symphony of everyday New York City life.

It’s beautiful, if he doesn’t look at the teenage girl with her phone up and pointed in their direction. If he doesn’t wonder what Twitter account it’ll be posted to or what tabloid it’ll be splashed across. He doesn’t worry about what they’ll say about their body language or how he hasn’t shaved in a few days. That Henry’s hair is longer now, or that it’s a Wednesday afternoon and they’re sitting in the sun in the middle of Prospect Park.

If he pretends that he doesn’t see Amy and Cash posted nearby, looking out of place in their dark suits as they scan the crowd.

If he doesn’t think about how he might have squeaked out a few years of normalcy, maybe, a few administrations from now, when he’d be replaced by a newer, younger–but not necessarily hotter–First Son. Alex would have the time to finish school, pass the bar, and get a job at a respectable firm before he decided to get into politics and step back into the public eye on his own terms.

He can’t live that life because he fell in love with Henry, but he can’t imagine living any kind of life without Henry.

Henry, who never stood a chance at anonymity no matter what. Who had been photographed more times before his first birthday than Alex has in his entire life. Who is part of a royal bloodline and obligations. Who could walk away from it all, give up the title, and still be hounded by the press, both destined and doomed.

“Hey,” Alex says, sitting up and wrapping his fingers around Henry’s wrist. “I love you.”

Henry blinks at him from behind his Wayfarer Ray-Bans. “And I love you,” he says. “Is everything okay?”

Alex wants to ask if he still thinks it was all worth it. The drama and the sleepless nights. The vitriol from his grandmother, brother, and certain corners of the press. If he’d do it again if it got them to this moment, sitting together in the park, drowning in sunscreen. If he’d be willing to wait a little longer, push a little harder for that life they both want. Privacy and family and a future. They can still have that, but it won’t be easy. Nothing ever is.

Instead, he leans forward for a kiss that Henry doesn’t pull back from but doesn’t move toward either.

“You know there’s a teenage girl filming us,” Henry says, because of course he sees her, too.

“Does it matter?”

Henry shakes his head and smiles as he closes the distance.

From now on, they’ll be at each other’s side, and it’s the only thing that matters.

#thank you!!!!#these will be posted on ao3 at some point during the month #firstprince #firstprince fic #rwrb #rwrb fic #Summer Prompts

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writerpetals · 2 days

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Group: (g)i-dle

Member: Yuqi

Song : Good luck, babe!

Artist: Chappell Roan

ive never heard this song before so i hope i did it justice! i really like it, so thanks for the rec! haha (this is a tad bit angsty but it all comes together in the end lol)

You never expected to see her here. Honestly, you never expected to see her again. A flame that once burned so bright years ago for your best friend died in just as many years. So to see her walk through the door of the club you bartend at threatens the safe you were forced to lock that flame inside. The memories of almost kisses and words left unsaid flood your mind. You can’t even move until a co-worker rushes past you with drinks in her hand, bumping your shoulder to bring you back to reality.

It doesn’t take long for her to find you. Her eyes lock on your own as she sits at a table close by with her new friends. It’s almost as if you see the light leave her eyes once she realizes it’s you. She’s far away from the town you both grew up in. Maybe she thought she would always be safe from running into you.

However, your assumptions are shot down as she makes her way to the bar, heading straight for you. Nervously, she tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear before taking a seat at the bar. It’s a habit she’s always had, so it’s no surprise as her eyes fall to her lap, suddenly losing the courage to look at you.

“Hi there, stranger.” You’re the first to speak, having to yell over the music to make sure she heard you. You’ve never been afraid of conflict or awkward situations. And after growing apart from your best friend after so long, you aren’t sure why she’s sitting in front of you at your bar, but your heart is racing to find out.

“I thought I would find you here,” she says, a hesitant smile on her lips.

“You were looking for me?” you ask, trying to seem more nonchalant at her response than you are. You begin to wipe down glasses in front of you to prepare them for filling with alcohol, but you’re keyed into her every word.

“I’ve… been thinking about you…” She tries to explain, but the music is too loud, too many people are being rambunctious around her, and someone spills a drink at the bar two seats down. She’s beginning to lose the confidence she came in here with, so you pull her back in before you can lose her once again.

“Come with me,” is all you say with a nod of your head toward a door to the side of the bar.

Quickly, she gets up to follow you to the back of the club, exiting into a hallway where the bass still vibrates off the walls, but you can hear a little better. You take a glance behind you to make sure she’s still there as you step into a supply closet for more privacy.

The dim lighting shines above the two of you, getting a closer look at her when neon lights aren’t flashing. She’s just as beautiful as she is in your dreams. God, you’ve missed her. Even if the two of you drifted apart and went your separate ways in life, there’s no denying that flame is still ignited inside of you with burning red embers. You’ve missed her like crazy.

There’s no doubt about it. Not even just because your heart grew too big for what either of you were ready for, but you miss her friendship. Her laughter. Her kindness and her care. They way you would watch stupid moves together and dance along to the silliest songs. You’ve just missed her, and you still do.

“So… how’s what’s his face doing?” There’s a bitterness to your tone. You don’t try to hide it.

“What’s his face? You mean my husband?” She laughs with hesitation, then her voice lowers. “My... ex-husband, I mean.”

Your heart skips a beat. “What… happened?” You tell yourself to breathe. You should be relieved, but your heart aches. Was she hurt? Did it end on bad terms? Is she okay? Years apart will never change wanting her to be okay.

“I just…” She shrugs, looking down at the concrete floor beneath you. “I don’t know. I woke up one day and realized that life wasn’t for me. It’s not who I am, and I shouldn’t have tried to change for anyone.”

You bite your lip, mind racing. You want to be mad at her for never reaching out, but you’re angry at yourself for never checking in on her. Who made her feel like she had to change? The social butterfly with the most bubbly personality and cutest laugh was not good enough for someone?

“I’ll kill them,” you say, narrowing your eyes, but your tone is now playful. She giggles at the words, and it’s a sound you’ve been dying to hear for so long. “Are you… alright?”

“I don’t want that.” She shakes her head. “I’m okay, though.”

“What do you want?” you question. There’s still a matter of why she is here, now.

She bites her bottom lip, taking a moment before she can meet your eyes again. “I really just want to dance with my best friend again. And… after so long, I really just hope she wants to dance with me, too.”

Hearing her words, there’s no use trying to keep that flame locked away. It’s hot and bright, burning for a love you lost once and refuse to let it get away again. You don’t think twice about reaching for her, grabbing her by the waist to pull her in. She goes with ease, allowing you to guide the two of you to a comfortable rhythm of your bodies moving in sync.

“There’s not a day that went by that I didn’t think of you,” she admits, her voice a soft whisper inches from your lips. “After all this time, you’re still the only one on my mind. I knew it couldn’t be guilt from walking away from you. My mind just wasn’t ready to listen to my heart.”

Her confession has tension coiling behind your eyes. You don’t want to cry. This moment of being reunited is too perfect, but you can’t help when the first tear hits your cheek. So many years of longing, of wondering where it went wrong, of wishing to change the past and now she’s here, right in front of you.

As you dance with her, she leans in to press her lips to your cheek, kissing right where the tears are falling.

“Are you listening to your heart now?” you ask her, holding her tighter, pulling her body closer.

She smiles as she reaches to brush away any remaining tears on your face, ignoring her own that begin to well behind her lids. “I’m listening to my heart.” She leans in ever so slowly to press her lips to your own. The softness of her kiss takes you by surprise, never having believed this moment would come true. “And my heart says it wants you and only you.”

#drabble games #yuqi x reader #yuqi scenarios #gidle scenarios #gg imagines #yuqi #gidle

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nerice · 8 months

Text

oh going thru japan memories might have fixed me a little....

#elia txts #i will never get it back but it was good. life can be bright again i believe #(i have to believe)#i think what was good abt ig/stories is.... it tethered me to existence. i need to become more real again #too real in some ways (body ow. stuck in medical paranoia) but every other part is floaty bc i can't draw n write... smth......... thinking

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chelseeebe · 23 days

Text

gimme a hand

okay so i saw a silly tiktok abt how guys take nudes wrong and thought our lovely best friend reader could help eddie take some !! i am a little tipsy so pls excuse any mistakes

mdni. 18+. smut. like, literally just smut. fem!reader x eddie.

“so.. how are things with you and.. whatshername?” clicking your fingers in his face.

eddie scoffs, batting your hand away, “chrissy is her name,” correcting your childish behaviour, “and it’s good, we’ve been.. texting a little,” shrugging nonchalantly.

you and eddie had been best friends for years, though these hang outs were few and far between now. both too busy with the perils of adult life to sit around and smoke weed all day, like you used to.

that meant that your relationship had skewed a bit, no longer as close as you once were. though you still tried to feign an interest in his, mostly nonexistent, love life.

he understood though, your life was far too interesting to care about the very small roster of girls he was seeing.

“texting?” you exclaim, stubbing the embers of the joint out into the ashtray, “so you haven’t seen her since?”

eddie shakes his head, realising that what he had thought was an exciting update, was actually just a pathetic retelling of a long text thread.

“i think we’re just.. testing the waters,” brushing off your disappointment. he contemplates even telling you anymore but what kind of a best friend would he be if he didn’t at least tell you all the details. “she sent me pictures the other day,” wriggling his eyebrows.

“pictures?” a slight mocking tone to your voice that he doesn’t like, “what kinda pictures?”

his face scrunches up, cheeks flaming red, as if it wasn’t obvious. “you know.. naughty ones.”

you whistle, blowing the air from your cheeks in the most sarcastic manner, “naughty pictures.. wow eddie, you’re really moving up in the world. did you send any back?”

his head dips, regretful of ever sharing this with you. you had never had a lack of choice for guys lining up for you. even back in high school. of course you wouldn’t understand.

“no..” shrugging again, “i don’t.. don’t know how.”

“you don’t know how to send nudes?” utter shock rippling through your voice, “didn’t i teach you anything?”

“not how to send nudes!” he hits back, getting increasingly frustrated that you’d rather mock him than help him get laid for once.

“i can help you if you want,” you offer, “i don’t have to watch.. i can just.. guide you?” proposing the question as if it were a completely standard conversation for you two to be having.

“really?” his eyes bright and full of hope.

eddie really liked chrissy, she was sweet and the times they had hung out, they got on well. he just wasn’t equipped to match her flirting, afraid he’d overthink himself into losing her.

“sure,” you smile, grabbing his phone as you stand from the couch, “come on,” beckoning for him to follow you down the corridor to the bathroom.

you bundle into the trailers tiny bathroom, poised in front of the mirror with his phone in hand.

“you stand here..” you instruct, guiding him by the shoulders, “you need to get hard,” grinning as you look at him through the mirror, “i’ll stand outside and just.. tell you what to do, okay?”

eddie’s too high for this, wondering how you’d gone from a joint and a couple of beers to now helping him sext the girl he liked.

you disappear outside, shoving his phone into his chest, the knob clicking quietly as the realisation of what the hell he was doing sets in.

“so..” he poises, swiping onto the camera, posing himself in the dirty mirror, “pull my pants down, right?” wanting to make sure that he got nothing wrong.

“yeah, but not all the way, just like.. a little bit.”

okay, he thinks. tugging his sweatpants down just beneath his balls, his boxers following suit. he was getting hard just thinking about it, the fact that you were instructing him what to do wasn’t helping.

his fingers wraps around the base of his cock, pumping his fist a few times, stifling the groan that had settled in his throat.

this was already weird enough, he didn’t need to make it weirder.

“okay..” his voice quivering, “what now?”

you tut, “pull your shirt up.. or off, it looks bad otherwise.”

eddie does as you ask, taking his shirt off and tossing it into the floor with the rest of his dirty clothes. he peers at the image through the screen, inwardly cringing at how stupid he looked.

“i don’t know,” though his dick was already stiff, aching for him to continue. “i look stupid,” he frowns, attempting to position the phone differently, although nothing seemed to help his pathetic stature.

“no you don’t,” your voice rings through the door, “now you gotta pose it.. make it look good, sexy.”

his eyes squeeze shut, wishing you’d stop talking with that low growl in your voice. this was for chrissy’s benefit, not his. getting off to the sound of your voice while trying to arouse another girl was not the plan.

eddie exhales, opening his eyes to reposition the phone, closer to the mirror. his fist begging to move and finish the job.

nothing helped, in fact, it looked worse than before. chrissy’d block him if he dared sent anything like this.

fuck, he felt like a pervert. this was wrong. twisted.

“have you done it?” you call.

“no,” he gulps, frowning at the image of himself in the mirror.

you huff, knuckles wrapping against the door, “i’m gonna come in, okay?” giving him no time to think before you appear next to him in the mirror.

your eyes fall straight to his cock, widening every so slightly, “wow.. okay,” chuckling awkwardly as you snap back into it. “you have to..” your hand lowers his phone, straightening the camera position for him.

his breath is jagged, on the edge of exploding and splattering all over his bathroom. whatever buzz he had had from the weed had dissipated, replaced by the hazy tingly sensation of your hand near his cock.

“and then..” you look to him, in person this time, not through the safety of the mirror, before wrapping your fingers around the ones that were still lingering around his cock. “do this..” voice trailing off into a low whisper, using his fist to pump his already leaking cock.

a strangled gasp leaves his mouth, heat searing through his body. mind too fuzzy to truly comprehend the shit he was seeing and feeling.

the heat of your body presses against his back, delicate fingers still travelling the length of his cock, “film it,” not once letting your eyes fall from the side of his face while his stay firmly on the mirror in front.

maybe this way he could pretend it wasn’t real, that he was just watching some video and you weren’t actually jerking him off by-proxy.

eddie, ever obedient, presses the record button, sighing into his phone as your his hand continues to move.

his knees almost buckle, kept afloat by the sound of you panting into his ear. it was almost too much, his brain collapsing into itself as your hand takes over, ignoring the phone in his hand to continue making him whine and quiver like that.

the weight of your body presses him into the cold china basin, eyes travelling from his face to his dick and right back up again.

you could’ve told him to jump right now and he would’ve. other hand reaching around to grab onto whatever part of you he could get a grip on.

your lips trace against his neck, lingering against the skin. he couldn’t keep the phone straight, the video would just be some big blur of him groaning and the sink. not that it matters. not while you’re touching him.

“is this good?” you ask, breath tickling against his ear.

eddie nods rapidly, “good.. so good,” fingers twisting around your shirt as his eyes flutter closed. “fuck,” he gasps, the phone slipping from his hand onto the counter when your thumb circles the tip of his dick. an otherworldly feeling he had never been able to feel before.

“yeah?” you grit, pulling his hand, signalling for him to turn. his bones were jelly, body mailable and under your control. his back now pressed against the sink, foreheads pressed together.

one hand holds onto your hip while the other finds your cheek, lazily trying to connect your lips. your knee slides between his legs, spreading them just enough for your other hand to creep between and grab his balls.

“ohh shit,” eddie wails, kissing at your bottom lip, sucking at the skin.

nothing felt real, waiting for his alarm to pull him out of this fucked dream to a sticky puddle and a new perspective on your friendship.

your expert fingers fondle his balls while the other fists his dick, pre-cum making your fingers glisten and move with ease.

his throat squeaks, the most pitiful noise a grown man could’ve made, his bottom lip still latched onto yours.

ten years of friendship and yet the two of you had never even kissed before. wishing you wouldn’t have wasted so much time on actually doing it. a newfound adoration for the sweet taste of your lips and the friction of your palm rubbing against his cock.

“i’m gonna cum,” he babbles, stomach flipping, waves of pleasure crashing through his tingling limbs.

you don’t respond to his whining, your nose brushes over his as his breaths become shallow and staggered. a iron clad grip on your shirt as he teeters over the edge, hips stuttering into your palm.

“ohh fuck,” eddie mewls, bursting all over your hand, “shit.. fuck, oh god,” your eyes dark, gazing down at your hand still wrapped around him, somewhat proud of what you’ve achieved.

he lets go of his hold on your body, hurriedly trying to find the counter to ground himself. his head a million miles away on mars, his lack of thoughts disrupted by the sound of the water running.

chest still heaving as he braves a look at you, watching his release swirl down the drain. you’re chewing on your bottom lip, a sudden realisation that you had just made your best friend cum maybe. he doesn’t really want to ask. hoping you won’t regret it.

eddie picks up his phone, stopping the recording, his thumb shooting straight to the tiny trash can until you grab his wrist.

“don’t delete it,” a fire within your eyes, twisting the screen in your direction, “i wanna watch.”’

his finger hovers over the play button, looking to you though your eyes are trained on the screen, waiting for him to press play.

the video starts, shaky footage as the audio of his pathetic grunts and gasps fill the tiny bathroom. eddie can’t bring himself to watch, forcing himself to watch you rather than the video.

you’re smiling to yourself, smug at the sight of you making him crumble. he wants to be embarrassed, can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and yet, he doesn’t turn it off.

“maybe don’t send that..” you remark, finding his eye, that mischievous sparkle that eddie hadn’t seen in years, reappearing.

he needed to feel you, in the way that you had felt him. cock already reawakening when your lips twitch into a smirk.

shit.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson stranger things

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peachesofteal · 7 months

Note

pls let Simon hold that baby 🥺

Light on - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader 18+ mdni / mild suggestive content, mention of spanking - could be considered mildly dark and twisty

"Oh, you came!"

What? Yes, he came. You invited him, didn't you? Wasn't that... did he get this wrong? "Er, yeah... I thought you said-"

"I did, I did. Come in." You step to the side, allowing him entry into the hallway where the smell of something incredible lingers, pulling at the pockets of his cheeks. You can cook. Judging by the scent of roast chicken and herbs that fill the room, he knows immediately that you're better than the 'subpar' dinner you mentioned yesterday. "You just ah, seemed unsure. I didn't want to assume." His hand pats his pocket instinctively, seeking the mask, trying to fight the urge to pull it over his face, pleasantly surprised you don't seem off put by his face, or the fact that it's the first time you've seen him without it.

"I had some things going on today, wasn't sure about my schedule until a few hours ago." Lie. It's a lie, a bold faced one. He knew he'd be here from the moment you had rushed out the invite, offering to cook him dinner as he dwarfed you inside your cozy apartment, dead smoke detector batteries in his hand.

"Well, thank you for coming. And thanks for all your help yesterday. I couldn't figure that stupid thing out to save my life." You laugh, teeth exposed, easy and carefree. A shiver ricochets down his spine. Why you let him inside your flat the first time, he'll never understand. Maybe one day, he'll reprimand you for it. Chide you for letting a stranger inside your home, remind you to be more cautious. He would explain why you need to more careful, more observant of your surroundings, as his thumb rubbed away the fat tears falling over your cheeks, the result of him taking his palm to your ass a dozen times for the slip up. Can't be makin' mistakes like that, love. Not with it just being you and the baby when I'm not here- he'd tell you, make you promise not to do it again, soothing your tears with cool cream against your skin and gentle, but firm, reassurance.

You just need someone to take care of you, that's all. Teach you.

Emmaline makes a noise, a half babble, half cry, and it breaks him from his reckless daydream, bringing him back to reality in a matter of seconds. What is he thinking? You're his neighbor. He doesn't even know you.

"Thanks for inviting me." You're bent at the waist, hands pulling a roasting rack from the oven, perfectly cooked bird sitting on a bed of potatoes and carrots, and his stomach rumbles almost loud enough for you to hear.

"I owe you. That beeping would've kept little miss here up for hours." You jerk your head in Emmaline's direction, where she's fixated on you, mouth hanging half open. "Needs a few more minutes." You mumble to yourself, and then turn around again. "Do you want a drink? I've got some lagers, and a bottle of wine somewhere." Your fingers knot together, words on the tip of your tongue hopeful, almost... nervous, and you give him another smile, albeit this one is less confident.

"A lager would be good." He tries to settle you by being agreeable, and you produce two from the fridge, your fingers brushing against his when you hand one to him, skin warm and so, so soft, the kind of soft he's rarely felt, the kind that feels like silk against sandpaper. Yours against his.

"So, you said you travel for-" Your question is interrupted by a shriek, a demanding cry from Emmaline, her little fists waving in the air at you, like she's indignant about the redirection of your attention. You pick her up, yellow jumper bright against your red apron, and you shoot him an apologetic grimace. "I'm sorry, I was hoping she'd be down by now but, she's just been so fussy lately." You bounce her back and forth, cries quieting until she's just blinking at you with wet eyes, and the timer on the oven goes off. "Shit. Ah..." You look at her, and then look at the oven. "Can you, would you mind?" You extend your arms, Emma inside them, and he puts every piece of his training to use trying to control his reaction.

His heart soars.

His brain panics.

"Yeah, okay." He says, and you dip forward, pushing her into his arms. He knows how to hold a baby, held Joseph plenty, and she seems to agree, settling in against his chest, hands grabbing at his sweatshirt, tugging and trying to eat the fabric. She's light, lighter than he expected, but still sturdy, and when her lips shift into a gummy smile as she makes eye contact with him, he feels everything logical inside him shutting down.

Beautiful baby girl, and her perfect, sweet, angel of a mum.

He'll be keeping you.

He'll be keeping you both.

#peaches writes #light on #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #peaches asks #female reader

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thexsilentxwordsmith · 4 months

Text

Dad!Simon Riley x Fem!reader

Simon Riley: Girl Dad

From the request here ; pic screenshot from this video

“Can I come in now?” you ask, popping your head into the nursery as Simon finishes getting your 3 month old daughter Anna ready for the day.

She wriggles in his grasp, babbling away as he mutters in a hushed tone to her about keeping still for daddy.

"Ya think this is funny yeah," he teases her, tickling her chubby tummy before trying to wrangle one of her legs in his grasp.

It’s like music to his soul the way the happy talking sounds she makes touches his heart and it only makes him want to do whatever he can so that she will keep making them for him. That’s why it always takes longer than usual to get her dressed when he does it.

You crane your neck trying to sneak a peak, but his voice stops you. “Not yet,” he says and moves his body to block your view.

He doesn’t want you to see before he’s ready. The outfit is one he picked up the other night on a whim, the moment he saw it he knew Anna had to have it for today, and he wants to get it all on to give the full effect. He finishes straightening her up and tucks her body sitting up in the crook of his arm. She is content as can be being snuggled at the side of his chest, happily clapping her little hands together as they turn to face you.

“Well?” he asks, brow furrowed and body slightly tense as he waits for your critique. “How'd we do?”

You match your daughter’s vibrant smile as you see the outfit Simon’s bought all on his own: a bright yellow corduroy romper with frill capped sleeves, little socks with suns on them, and a big yellow bow to match. Your heart swells full of emotion at the sight; it’s just an outfit, sure, but it really means so much more than the sum of its parts. You know just how far Simon has come in his journey with her and it truly warms your heart to see him so smitten with the little babe this way.

When she first came home, there wasn’t a moment when Simon wasn’t on edge around her, nervous that somehow, someway, he would end up hurting her. She seemed so small to him in those first days, so incredibly delicate as she lay sleeping in her bassinet like the most perfect doll, that he was certain that someone as rough around the edges as him would never be able to be near her without breaking her and that was something he was not willing to risk.

She is his gift, his light, a treasure that came from out of all the years of heartache and hardship and he would never let anything bad ever happen to her.

It took some time and a lot of encouragement on your part, but finally Simon found his confidence and never looked back. Any chance now that he can get he is holding her, changing her, feeding her; anything and everything he can do to show her his love by his actions alone. And whether he gives himself the credit for it or not, he is doing a marvelous job.

“How did I know you'd choose something yellow?” you laugh as Simon glares at you, trying not to crack that fake tough facade.

It is becoming a pattern for him to choose yellow things when it comes to Anna. When she came home from the hospital a few months ago in that yellow onesie, it was like a flip and been switched and that was it; that was her hue from then on. It is strange, Simon never really had a favorite color before that special day and then suddenly yellow was never the same. Now he cannot imagine his life without it.

His face breaks into a smile as he shakes his head, not ready to admit that he is becoming predictable. “Come on, did I do it right or not? Just want to be sure it looks fine on her. We got a big day and I want it ta be perfect.”

Your face brightens as you look her over again. “She looks adorable, Simon,” you reply cheerfully. “You did good, baby. I think you’re really getting the hang of this dad thing.”

Looking down at her in his grasp, he beams with a sense of accomplishment and his tense shoulders ease. Parenting is not something Simon ever thought he could be good at, he never thought he would be the one with the chance at having a family, but each day he is making strides in the right direction to becoming the dad he desperately wants to be.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own today?” you ask as you watch Simon place a delicate kiss to the top of Anna’s small, wispy-haired head. “Cause I can stay if you need me to. All I gotta do is make a call and let them know I can’t go.”

Simon shakes his head and reaches for you with his free arm, pulling you by the wrist until you step close enough that he can wrap his arm around your hip to pull you against him opposite your daughter. “Ya worry too damn much, sweetheart,” he says as his hand finds your cheek, his thumb stroking across the soft skin before he is leaning his face in towards yours.

His full lips catch you in their tender embrace, a kiss that is full of emotion, and in an instant your eyes flutter closed as you relinquish yourself to him. You let all those worries fall away as the gentle touch of his lips, the heat from his breath, the passion flowing through his kiss calms your mind. He conveys so much without ever speaking a single word and in a flash you are put at ease.

Slowly he breaks away, already missing your taste the moment your lips part. Eyes still shut, he rests his forehead against yours, rocking all three of you back and forth a moment as he enjoys the feeling of having his entire life resting comfortably in his arms. You both open your eyes after a time and look down at Anna babbling away to herself, before looking back at each other. This is all still new and unchartered territory, so the both of you are working to figure it all out, but so far it has been anything except bad.

“I promise, I got ‘er. We’re gonna be just fine,” he says quietly. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

At the sound of his voice Anna turns her face to find his and it lights up as it always does whenever her favorite person talks to her. She even employs her recently-learned skill of giggling happily to punctuate that she agrees with whatever it was she was just asked, even though she doesn’t understand a word of it.

Simon kisses your forehead to be sure the worry is completely gone. “It’s just a couple hours on base and then we’ll be home the rest of tha day,” he says. “Besides, might be nice to show her off to the guys. She does look real pretty today.”

“That she does,” you agree as you quickly check the clock on your phone and with a kiss to your baby and one more for Simon you are gone, leaving the pair alone.

Simon gets to work double checking everything in his backpack that he has to bring for her: extra diapers, wipes, bottles, toys, anything he could need while he is out. It’s in his nature, years of military training has come in handy as he is prepared for it all. Satisfied, he turns back to the baby at his side. “Alright princess,” he says, “ready to go see where your dad spends all his time when he ain’t at home?”

The moment he’s walking on base, black backpack filled with essentials strapped to his back, tiny baby girl dressed in bright clothes tucked in his arms, he’s drawing curious stares from everyone he passes. This is the first time she has gone to base with him, so of course people are going to be inquisitive about things. How can they not? Simon looks like… well, Simon: intense, stoic, intimidating. Even in just his black t-shirt and jeans, with his lightweight balaclava on, he is still an imposing figure. Never one to be shy per se, Simon still does not like the attention on him, but since he is with his little angel he doesn’t care. He is proud to show off the best damn thing he has ever helped to create.

The contrast between him and his daughter he knows is jarring and Simon laughs to himself at how absurd this must look for someone like him with such a coarse demeanor to be handling such a precious, sweet thing. Who would have thought that the scary skull-masked military officer would have a family of his own? It is a shock he is sure.

“Seems we’re gonna be the talk ‘round ‘ere today, princess,” he says as he looks down at Anna, secure in his grasp as they continue on towards his office.

She is too busy looking everywhere her little head can turn to be bothered by anything. Being out and about with her father, seeing things she’s never seen before, which is pretty much everything, has her interested and engaged with the sights around her. Those small brown eyes, the ones that are a carbon copy of his, stare on as she silently takes everything in.

He makes it to his office and gets set up, grabbing everything that he needs in one tight spot as he sits Anna up in his lap with a toy for her to play with. She is content for a while as he goes through paperwork, occasionally he gives her a tickle or readjusts her on his thigh, something to show that he hasn’t forgotten she’s there with him.

Barely an hour has passed before Anna begins to whine and fuss and Simon knows what that means: she’s hungry. He grabs the prepped bottle out of the bag and walks to the small microwave in the corner of the room, warming it and testing it on his wrist before he moves back to his desk and sits back down in his chair, cradling her in his arms against his chest as he places the nipple of the bottle in her mouth.

“There ya are, luv,” he comforts her until she settles into him, “I gotcha. Daddy didn’t forget.”

Unknown to Simon, there is an unexpected guest that has just appeared near his office door, though before the person can even knock to announce themselves, they are caught by surprise at the sight before them. Johnny, who’s come to deliver something from Price, stops right in his tracks and stares at the scene before him.

He stands there, watching as Simon tenderly holds this little infant in his arms, quietly rocking back and forth as she drinks her bottle. Every now and again he speaks to her softly, the skin around his eyes tightening to indicate there is a smile underneath the mask. There is an ease to his movements as if he knows exactly what he is doing and it genuinely shocks the young sergeant. Who could have ever guessed that this would be something Simon would be such a natural at?

As Anna is finishing the bottle, Simon looks up as he feels a pair of eyes on him to see Johnny standing there, obscured by the doorframe, silently watching. He sets the empty bottle down on his desk and moves Anna to sit upright on his thigh, leaning her against the crook of his arm so that he can pat and rub her back until she burps.

“Can I help ya, Mactavish?” Simon’s distinct voice calls out, catching Johnny off-guard as he realizes he’s been caught staring.

“Sorry, L.T.” Johnny stutters out as he hurriedly steps inside the office, remembering why he is here in the first place, and sets some papers upon his desk. “Price sent these; says he needs ya to look ‘em over.”

Simon nods in understanding, his hand still rubbing the baby’s back. “Will do,” he agrees, thinking this will be the end of the interaction, but Johnny still lingers. “Anything else?”

“I heard ‘round base that ya had your little one here today. Had to come see if it was true fer myself,” Johnny admits with guilt.

“Well, ya could meet ‘er if ya like, ‘stead a standin’ there just starin’.” Simon nods his head down at the baby. “Johnny, this is Anna.”

The sergeant observes her as she begins to coo, her eyes catching the tattoos along Simon’s muscular arm, her petite fingers tapping and poking along the lines and patterns with delight as she loves to do when he holds her like this. She’s so engrossed that she hasn’t realized there is another person in the room yet.

Johnny clears his throat. “Didn’t mean ta stare, ya know. It’s just a surprise ta see she’s actually real, I guess.”

The original members of the 141 know about Anna, it wasn’t something that Simon could hide once she was about to make her way into the world, but it’s a bit jarring for the Scot to see someone that he had previously known to be so toughened by the world change so drastically. Anyone who gets close enough can see it in the lieutenant’s soft gaze: he adores the little girl and that is… interesting, to say the least.

Simon chuckles at the clear surprise in Johnny’s voice as Anna is still playing with his arm. “Bit absurd, innit Johnny?” he questions while watching her with a prideful twinkle in those brown eyes as she giggles. “Me with a kid? Doesn’t seem possible, does it?”

“Ya seem a natural ta me,” the Scot admits in awe of how easily he makes it seem, as if he was given some secret knowledge that made him know exactly what to do and how to do it. “Then again I don’t know the first thing ‘bout babies. Wouldn’t even know where ta start.”

Simon is reminded about how when he first found out he was going to be a dad he had started reading all the books, researching all the things like a good, capable soldier would, but how all of that prep was nothing in the end as the moment she came into the world everything was turned on its head. It’s not like in the books, it’s so much better and it is days like today that make it worth all the worry and fear and anxiety he had to break through to get here.

“Easier than ya think,” Simon replies with a chuckle as he moves Anna around facing forward now. “Once ya get the hang of it.”

“Don’t tell my girl that,” Johnny laughs back. “Can’t afford one right now.”

Anna’s attention is stirred away from Simon’s tattoos and towards the other man standing in the room with them. She looks up at Johnny in awe, not having much experience with others outside of Simon and you, but Johnny shoots her his classic smile and he has her giggling again in a flash.

“Well hey there Anna, nice ta meet ya,” he introduces himself before turning back to Simon. “I think she likes me.”

“It's your hair she's eyein’,” Simon points out, following her eye line.

Sure enough as soon as Johnny runs his hands over the mohawk cut into his hair her eyes light up. “Can she touch it?” he asks Simon and he nods in agreement.

Johnny falls to one knee in front of the little girl, leans his head down, and lets her put her hand in it. Her short, chubby fingers pull the strands as she laughs, the short, spiky pieces pricking her fingertips. She pulls away quickly before bringing her hand back in again, a sort of game that she repeats a few more times before Johnny gets back to his feet.

“He’s a funny one, ain’t he, princess?” Simon questions his little one as he strokes his thumb around the smile that fills her tiny, round cheeks. “Ya like him, yeah?”

She coos, her little lips forming an ‘o’ so that she sounds like a dove. That’s the closest to a yes as they are going to get.

“I sure ‘ope ya do, seein’ as I’m your dad’s best friend,” Johnny picks, looking to Simon to see his reaction.

He rolls his eyes at the statement, but stays silent and doesn’t correct him. Instead Simon opts to end the conversation there, needing to get finished here anyway so that he can get back home. As much as Johnny’s company isn’t as grating as it first was, he is ready to spend some alone time with the baby before you get back. “Well, if ya don’t mind, I need to get back to it. Say goodbye Anna.”

Johnny agrees, though his mouth twitches like he wants to ask a question, but ultimately decides not to ask it in the end. He turns to leave, but Simon guesses at what he is wanting and calls out behind him so that he stops.

“And ya can tell the others they can come see ‘er if they want,” Simon assures, “I know they’re probably itchin’ to get a glimpse of her too. That’s why they sent ya, yeah? See if I was up for company?”

Johnny turns around and nods his head. Fuck, they’ve been caught. “Will do, L.T.” he says. “Can ya blame us though? She’s pretty damn cute.”

And with that he turns back around. As Johnny leaves the office with the sounds of Simon and Anna at his back, he can’t help but smile to himself at seeing his friend finally have a bit of happiness; if anyone deserves it, it is Simon. Wait till the others see just how much things around here are going to change.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley fluff #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #ghost #cod ghost #ghost call of duty

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luveline · 3 months

Note

do you have anymore pregnant bombshell!reader🥹🩷😭 ilysm, please stay hydrated

—Spencer comforts you when you feel like you aren’t yourself. pregnant!reader, 1k

It’s neither hot nor cold in Maryland that day. The work isn’t particularly strenuous, just threadbare, and the team are in good spirits. You’re fed, watered, and well-rested. Spencer spent an hour before work massaging your legs while you both watched TV on the hotel couch. You should be in great spirits.

But for some reason, you aren’t.

You don’t know what it is. Your chest hurts, maybe. The sun is bright above you, your feet ache in your heels. You’re thinking you might have to switch to converse and match Spencer if this continues. The sidewalk clicks below you with every footstep, a little rush of confidence in the sound, but it isn’t working the same.

You’re really not feeling well.

You stop walking. You like to believe it takes Spencer a shorter amount of time to notice you’re stopped than he would anyone else, but his chattering fades out of hearing range for a second before he comes running back. “Hey, what?” he asks, quickly panicked.

“What?” you ask back.

“You look like you’re gonna pass out,” he says. “Hey, come and sit down. Let’s sit down. Here, we passed a bench.”

Spencer leads you to a wrought iron bench, encouraging you down with two kind hands to the shoulders. The metal is cold. You try to save face, worried that he’s worried, but there’s a dull aching behind your eyes that needs a lowered head. You drop your face into your hands.

“Hey,” Spencer whispers, crouching in front of your knees.

“Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, rubbing your thigh. “Huh? What’s wrong, baby?”

Spencer doesn’t use very many pet names, not half as many as you do, but when he does they pack a punch. He says it with all the tenderness of a confession, and it rolls off of his tongue as though he’s been calling you baby all your life.

Tears well in your eyes.

“Do you know what’s wrong?” he asks.

You shake your head tightly.

“Is it a pain? Does something hurt?”

You shake your head again.

Spencer meets your eyes with patience. “Okay,” he says, darting up to kiss your jaw as he stands. His foot slides between yours, his one leg between yours, the other outside as he wraps an arm around you. “Tell me if I’m making it worse.”

Your head races with tearful thoughts. You’re tired and weird and you’d needed to sit down, but Spencer being nice to you is making you wanna cry.

“I don’t feel very well,” you say, a hot tear breaking through the hedging of your bottom lashes.

He can hear the uncertainty in your voice, his hands swift to placate you, his cheek pressed to your hair. “It’s okay, I promise.”

“We have to get back to the station.”

“No, we have to stay here until we know what’s wrong.”

“I was thinking about how my feet hurt, and everything does, and– and–” You squeeze him by the waist so he can’t leave. “Being pregnant is so hard,” you cry.

Spencer sighs into your hair. “Oh, angel.”

He rubs your back and administers some soft shushing as you shudder through tears. You didn’t realise it until you said it, that this awful feeling was inside, all the hormones and the fatigue.

“I know it’s hard,” he says, “but please don’t cry.”

“I don't like not being any good at it,” you splutter.

“What?”

“I want this,” you say quickly, “I do, I want you and the baby and I’m so happy but I miss feeling like–”

“Wait, nobody said anything about that.” He ducks his head down to smile at you. “I’m not stupid, I know what you want. You never do anything you don’t wanna do.”

“I miss feeling put together. I’m not good at being me and being pregnant at the same time.”

He takes your cheek into his hand. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but it’s not true,” he says, stroking his thumb along the line of your under-eye.

You press your face to his chest. He keeps his hand there wedged between you, the other behind your back still. He murmurs to you softly, it’s okay, it’s alright, you don’t have to be upset, until your tears slow and your head is pounding but clearer for his touch. You hold your breath as he tips your head back, knowing you look even worse than when you’d begun.

“I know it’s hard feeling out of control for you,” he says, voice dulcet, tone measured, “but you’re still just as perfect as the day we met. You don’t feel that way, but it’s true. And you’re so beautiful.” He couldn’t sound more in awe of you, then, his lips curled into a smile he can’t bite back. “Don’t think you aren’t. You’ve always had this aura around you and it hasn’t gone away. You walk into a room, and people just know it.”

“Know what?” you ask, sniffling.

“That you’re amazing.”

You can tell from his slight squint that he's aware of how saccharine a sentiment it is. You struggle to care, letting out a tired sigh as the warmth of his lips sinks into your cheek.

“What should we do? Do you need to go back to the hotel?”

“My feet hurt,” you mumble.

You arrive at the precinct a terrible, inexcusable thirty minutes later than you’d said you’d get there, with a sweet baked good in a bag and Spencer’s converse on your aching feet. You’re smiling, to Spencer’s obvious relief. You feel better.

“Sorry,” he apologises to Hotch. “My fault.”

Hotch nods agreeably. “Yes, it is.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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fxrmuladaydreams · 6 months

Text

don’t touch her (mv1)

max x reader , unnamed mclaren employee x reader

summary: max knows his feelings for you are wrong, you have a boyfriend. but all bets are off when that boyfriend gets aggressive with you

notes: this one’s angsty guys, also we’re gonna pretend that japan was later in the season just for timing purposes

warnings: physical fight, blood, a toxic relationship

He knew he shouldn’t be staring at you from across the paddock. He knew it was wrong on so many levels. You were a part of the Red Bull team, one of his coworkers. You were also dating someone from the McLaren team. Max had never wanted to hit Lando over the head as much as he did when the young Brit introduced you to your current boyfriend. But he couldn’t stop himself from searching for you in any room he went into, or at any media events or any meetings.

Max Verstappen could confidently say he was without a doubt in love with you.

He had grown attached to you quickly, being one of the only people he worked with that didn’t fawn over him just because he was good at his job. You treated him like a real person. When he was with you there was no Max Verstappen, there was only Max. You were a breath of fresh air, the calm in the storm that was his chaotic life. You were his quiet, safe space he could escape to when things became too much. He wanted nothing more than to wrap you in his arms and shield you away from all that was wrong in the world, but he’d settle for calling you his friend, his best friend.

Max liked to think of himself as a good person, the type of person that just wanted to see you happy, even if it meant seeing you with someone else. He promised himself he wouldn’t act upon his feelings, at least not while you were dating anyone. He wouldn’t dare destroy your happiness just because of his heart.

Max could also admit he was petty, so childishly petty. He didn’t like seeing you hanging around the McLaren garage during race weekends, weekends where you would usually be by his side, making sure he was ready to drive. Instead he had to watch your navy blue stand out against the bright orange at McLaren. It didn’t suit you, being surrounded by papaya, Max thought.

He knew he could complain about it to Christian. He could use his power to make you come back to him, but in doing that he may end up hurting you or your job. So he sat quietly and let his annoyance fester inside him.

He could tell when things started to shift with your boyfriend. When your long hugs and visits to the McLaren garage turned into brushing shoulders and arguments in an empty walkway outside.

Max tries to ask about, tries to help make you feel better, but you shrug him off, telling him that you’ll work it out, it’s nothing but a rough patch.

He asks if you’re okay, if there’s anything he can do to help. You give him a sad smile and shrug your shoulders.

“There’s nothing you can do Max.”

He’s never felt so helpless in his life. He hates that he has to see your face with tear stains over it, that your smile has dimmed in the garage. That you no longer search him out for comfort.

Part of him thinks he should have a conversation with your boyfriend. He thinks he should give him a talking to about how he’s ruining someone so special. But he knows he’d probably end up throwing punches if your boyfriend ticked him off anymore than he already has.

You don’t seem to get any better as the season comes closer to an end. Max tries to help you open up to him again, asking if you have any plans over the winter break. He even invites you to join him on his trip back home to the Netherlands. He tells you that his mother and sister would love to have you with them during the holidays.

You frown, telling him that you planned on staying near Milton Keynes to do some work at the factory.

He scoffs and shakes his head. “It’s winter break, I’m sure they can spare you for a little while.”

“I can’t take time off work just to hang out with you Max.” The words are much harsher than you mean for them to be, you can tell by the way Max takes a defensive step back.

He nods. “Right. Sorry.” Then he leaves you standing there to go to his driver’s room, or somewhere that just doesn’t have you.

Everything becomes clearer to Max at a party near the end of the season. It’s just after the Japan race, and Lando had insisted on celebrating the McLaren 2-3 as well as another tally to Max’s list of wins this season. The nightclub is filled with drivers as well as team members from each team hoping to let off some steam before the next race weekend.

Max doesn’t want to be there. He wants to go back to his hotel and sleep before he has to fly back home just to fly to Qatar a week later. But Lando and Charles keep putting new drinks in his hand, which promptly end up being left on random tables, and dragging him around to converse with everyone else that’s there.

He keeps an eye on you the whole time, watching as you wrap your arms around yourself, staring into the crowd on the dance floor. He can tell you aren’t really looking at them though, that you’re staring off into space. Your boyfriend comes up to sit on the stool next to you. He says something in your ear, to which you shake your head and leave, walking outside.

Max quickly pushes his latest drink into Charles’ hands and follows you outside.

You lean against the wall, attempting to get some fresh air after feeling a bit too claustrophobic in the club, but the heat doesn’t help as much as you hoped. You see Max as he steps outside and quickly walks to you.

“What’s wrong? And don’t say nothing, because I know you, I know when you’re upset and you can’t hide it from me. Is it me? Have I done something wrong?” He asks, his words spilling out quickly.

“Max, it’s not you, it’s just-”

“Y/n! Come on, we can talk this through!” Your words are cut off by your boyfriend who looks around for you, the smile falling off his face when he spots Max standing next to you. “Are you fucking serious Y/n?” He storms over to you, and grabs your forearm, yanking you away from Max. “Always running back to Max, huh?”

You yelp when he roughly pulls you to him.

Max is quick to put himself between the two of you, pushing your boyfriend with just enough force to make him let go of you.

“Don’t touch her.” He snarls.

You already know how this is going to end. Max stares at your boyfriend with fire in his eyes. While Max isn’t quite as tall as him, he makes up for the height difference in his strength. He’s got enough muscle to knock him to the ground in seconds if he wanted to.

Anyone with half a brain would know they’re in dangerous territory, being on the receiving end of Max’s intense stare, but your boyfriend refuses to back down.

“She’s mine Verstappen. I can do whatever the fuck I want.” He says quietly, taunting Max.

That’s all it takes for the first swing to fly. You think it’s Max, but your boyfriend is quick to throw up his own fists in defense.

It’s a mess of navy blue and orange as the two end up rolling on the ground, throwing punch after punch. Max ends up on top, straddling your boyfriend, lifting his fist to swing. You grab his arm and pull him off and away from the fight. You catch a glimpse of your boyfriend, well now ex-boyfriend’s bloody nose and black eye.

Max huffs, pulling his arm away from you and stalks towards his car. You follow him, practically jogging to keep up. You stop when you’re standing between him and the driver door. The lamplight illuminates his face. He’s got a bruise on his cheekbone, a split lip, his hair is a disheveled mess, and his fist is coated in blood, whose you aren’t sure. He’s avoiding eye contact with you, instead looking up at the sky.

“Max, why-”

“I’m fine.” He says when he finally looks at you. “Let me drive you back to the hotel.”

The drive back is quiet. You can’t help but keep looking over at Max, the streetlights passing by spread light over his face. He pulls a plain hoodie from the back of his car, pulling the hood up over his head. He keeps his down as he walks inside, attempting to avoid any interactions with fans that have decided to hang around the hotel.

He walks you to your door, then turns to leave, stopping only when he feels your fingers thread themselves through his. You gently pull him inside your room.

“Bathroom.” You tell him, steering him towards the small bathroom.

He sighs, knowing that there’s no use in trying to argue with you. He tugs the hoodie off and tosses it on your bed. He lifts himself up to sit on the counter of the bathroom, just next to the sink. There’s barely any room between where his legs hang off the counter and the wall opposite the sink, but you manage to squeeze between them with a small towel in your hand.

You run the towel under warm water, then bring it to his face, softly dabbing at his lip. He flinches slightly, pulling away. You apologize softly, then continue to wipe the blood from his lip.

You do the same with his hand, gently holding it in your hand and wiping away the red. It turns out to be mostly blood from your ex boyfriend, his skin only slightly bruised from the impact.

“You shouldn’t have hit him. You could’ve broken your hand. You wouldn’t have been able to drive.” You scold him quietly.

He gives you an incredulous look. “I should’ve done a lot more than hit him.”

You don’t answer, continuing to absentmindedly wipe at his hand. The blood is long gone, but he can tell you’re too lost in thought to notice.

He lifts your head up to look at him with his other hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks.

You shake your head. “You heard him. Always running back to you?”

“I like it when you come to me.” He shifts slightly. “I mean, I like feeling like you can come to me for, well for anything really. You should’ve felt like you could’ve talked to me.” He drops his head down now.

You can tell he’s starting to close in on himself, that he feels somehow at fault for this. It’s your turn to lift his head up this time. His eyes are welled up with unshed tears. He tries to blink his tears away putting on a brave face for you.

You gently swipe your thumb under his eyes, then hold his cheeks in your hands.

“This is not your fault Max. It’s my fault. I let it get bad, I should’ve ended it a long time ago. I just have a talent for being self destructive I guess.” You let out an unconvincing laugh.

He leans into your touch, letting his eyes flutter closed.

After a few minutes you begrudgingly pull your hands away from Max. He immediately misses the warmth on his face.

“You should put some ice over your bruise.” You tell him.

You step back, giving him space to hop down from the counter. He stands over you, but his height is anything but daunting. He looks down at his now clean but bruised knuckles then back up at you.

“Thank you.”

“I should be the one thanking you.” You tell him.

He clears his throat then shuffles around you, back into the main part of your room. “I should probably go.”

You follow him, itching to give him a reason to stay.

He grabs his hoodie from your bed and walks back to your door. He opens it, ready to step through when you call his name. He turns back to see you standing near the door as well, shifting your weight on your feet.

You take a deep breath then throw caution to the wind. You take a quick two steps to him and press your lips to his cheek.

Max freezes, only regaining a semblance of composure when you pull away from him.

“Thank you Max. Really.” You smile.

He gives you a sheepish smile and a nod, his cheeks colored with a light pink blush.

“Goodnight Y/n.”

“Goodnight Max.”

#max verstappen x reader #formula one x reader #mv33

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praeluxius · 5 months

Text

coup de théâtre - IVE Jang Wonyoung (Ft. An Yujin, Naoi Rei, Kim Gaeul)

Part 2 of folie à deux.

IVE Jang Wonyoung x Male reader smut.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Masterlist word count: 11,849

coup de théâtre - a sudden and surprising event

"You're just not getting it." Wonyoung stresses as her hands settle on Rei's hips. "If we get too close here, it's going to ruin everything."

"So you don't want me right here?" Rei's shoulders slouch and she pouts in confusion.

"Watch. Yujin, you know what you’re doing." Wonyoung signals the other girl over. "Gaeul, ready?"

She gives a confident nod and readies her posture.

"Alright, music, cue.” That is your signal. See, that's the only reason you're here. Wonyoung insisted you help them out during their dance practice. With the speaker at your feet, you slouch against the mirrored back wall. You can see yourself, shorts and tee loosely hung from your body, in the mirror across the room. Between you and it, the four girls are ready to spring to life. They swear they'll make it big, maybe they will, but they're not there yet.

You hit play on your phone. “Five, six, seven, eight,” and three of the girls dance. Wonyoung watches as the girls inevitably get in each other's way. Rei goes to cross between Gaeul and Yujin and the gap is so small that she almost takes a fist to the face. The mistake brings them to a halt.

"See? We need better spacing." Wonyoung demands the point again and stands between the three, explaining how things will have to line up. The four of them flail arms, pointing at their feet, imitating footwork and readjusting as needed.

You'd argue she isn't even the best dancer among them, not that there's much disparity between them. But she's the one who insists they have to be critical or they will never get better. The girls take this school dance club more seriously than anything else in this place. They start from the top again with another countdown and another play from you. It doesn't take long for everyone to get back into the motion. Gaeul turns, Yujin shifts, and Rei steps. This time it all goes buttery smooth.

Hips sway and asses shake. Bodies glimmer with sweat under the studio lights. All their slender figures move with equal parts energy and sensuality. The original choreographer wouldn’t say it, but to say it's seductive wouldn't be wholly incorrect. From the powerful steps to the flowing graceful movements, the whole thing is a pleasure to watch. Every little flourish is alluring and equally mesmerising.

This continues, round and round, over and over and over. Slowly, they iron the kinks. Work out the errors. Find the minor adjustments. All until they're dancing with all the confidence they need to own the stage when the time comes.

The sweat on their bodies soaks in to the tops of their practice outfits. Each movement has their loose strands of hair cling to their faces, necks, shoulders. They're drenched, exhausted, but they keep pushing through the final attempt. The music fades out; they finish. Rei throws herself on the floor. Laying, legs extended and arms resting beside her, she stares at the ceiling for a while with a soft groan.

The other three head toward you (more accurately; their drinks). You lift yourself up onto the bench, taking a seat at the end and handing the bottles to the girls. Wonyoung sits right beside you and leans back against the wall mirror.

“Good job. That looked great."

"Yeah." Wonyoung barely manages that as her heavy, laboured breath requires most of her focus. She grasps her bottle with trembling fingers.

"That was good," Gaeul confirms as she takes a seat next to Wonyoung.

After handing a bottle to Rei, Yujin stands right in front of you. Drink in one hand and the other resting on her hip, at the waistband of her skin-tight leggings. "What about me? Did I look good? I think I nailed it." Yujin breathes as the words escape her lips. Her heavy lashes lower and gaze at you. A bright smile spread across her pink-tinged, sweat-slicked cheeks.

You reply honestly. "Yeah, you did. Perfect."

Rei lets out a couple of forced coughs to mockingly comment between them; get a room.

Wonyoung snickers at Rei's joke. Her breathing steady and her gaze on Yujin. "Looks like she wants to, don't you, Yujin?"

"You think?" Rei chimes in again.

“I think so," Wonyoung chuckles and swipes a strand of her hair behind her ear. "The changing room is free, but I can't promise I won't walk in."

It's like she insists on making it as awkward as possible. But there's no way she can know about you and Yujin. No. That's impossible. This must just be a coincidence—a light-hearted tease.

"So when's next practice?" Gaeul interrupts, saving you both your blushes. "I can't do any weekend practices, I'm going on a trip."

"Oh right, the fiancé," Wonyoung begins, and you brace yourself, because you know the kinds of things she usually says here. "why him? Isn't he kind of… beneath you?"

Wonyoung is every bit as blunt and harsh as usual. There's no ambiguity there—no double-meaning or clever innuendo. It's a comment born out of her own distorted view that everyone is beneath her.

Yujin turns round, glaring with her brows raised and silently mouths the words: 'are you serious?'

"I like him," Gaeul answers simply. You'd never met her fiancé but if there's one thing you'd learned about Gaeul in your limited interactions is that she didn't act on whims. If she said yes, it's because she really likes him.

"It's his huge cock, right?" Wonyoung is as brash as ever and Yujin almost chokes on her sip of water. Rei’s head snaps up, and she's staring from her laying position. You open your mouth to speak, but it’s caught in your throat.

"Maybe," Gaeul cuts through the awkwardness. Everyone pauses. The attention in the room rests on Gaeul, each of them not so subtlely urging her to keep talking. Yujin takes a seat on the ground at your feet, cross-legged, and ready for a story.

Gaeul has one hand scratching at her arm and the other gripping at the bottle in her lap. She hesitates a moment. Maybe she’s busy wondering if she should (or if she dare) say any more. And then she erupts in to a story that pulls no punches. "This one time, me and him got into it pretty heavy and I was deep-throating his—sorry, too graphic?"

There's a collective shake of heads. Even Rei has sat up to listen intently now. Gaeul gives the faintest smile in recognition and she continues.

"So there we were. I'm lying down and deep-throating his cock. I've got him all the way in my throat, and there was still more to go. I just couldn't. As much as I wanted his whole cock in me, it just wouldn't go." Gaeul gives a pout, lamenting her failure. "I tried so hard, I felt like I couldn't do it. Couldn't breathe. I didn't know how, not with that length buried in me. I felt so small, and... I loved it."

Her face is turning a deep shade of vermilion as she relives the memory. Still, her hand squeezes tight around her water bottle and all the others wait for Gaeul to continue. Yujin is leaning forward, hands on her knees, eyes wide and listening closely. Wonyoung looks rather relaxed on her stretch of wall with her head laid against the cool surface. The sweat from her cheeks and brow slowly trickling down. But she's rapt, fixated, awaiting the story.

"The tip hit the back of my throat. I just didn't want it to stop."

As she describes it, her candid description, with no holds barred, the vision her story creates does something to you. Your mind races at the thought that it might have been any woman in Gaeul's position. Yujin. Wonyoung.

Wonyoung.

Her hand is halfway up your thigh, clearly excited at the image Gaeul is painting. You appreciate the gesture, don't misunderstand that, but there's enough sensory overload without having the weight of her fingers pressing into the firm muscle of your thigh. It isn't doing you any favours as the tiny beads of perspiration at Wonyoung's temple burn on her skin and her flush skin glows. There’s no blaming you for the fantasies that form in your mind. Each as naughty as the last.

Yujin.

She's staring out of the corner of her eye, eyes locked with you and a blank expression on her face. And you just wonder, what it would be like to have her mouth wrapped around your cock. It's difficult, staring down the girl you like while the girl you like (and regularly fucking) has a hand on your leg.

And you just want them both. Right here, right now.

Gaeul continues, "and he's just grabbing at me, palm on my face, gripping my head and he's just fucking my face." You can barely hear her over the beating of your own heart in your eardrum—drumming loudly.

"I must've been choking, and he thought that was hot. He couldn’t stop and I didn’t want him to. He had me pinned, pressing his fingertips into my skin."

Speaking of fingertips, Wonyoung's trace your crotch, blindly roaming and teasing.

"Fuck." Wonyoung's only word—just a whisper from her lips.

Gaeul continues, "I was in heaven." Her eyes are sparkling. They’re glazed over and far-away, lost in the vivid memory.

"Wow," Rei stares in awe.

Gaeul shuffles around in her seat. First running her hand over her legs, pressed together at the knees, before moving a hand over her waist and pulling at the clingy material of her black yoga pants, that stretch tight across her hips. "So... Um... Yeah I guess you could say I like his huge cock."

Yujin speaks now and her voice cuts straight to your core. "He must love that you're, like, a total submissive slut in bed."

"Sometimes," Gaeul is almost back in the room, no longer enraptured by the memories of being used.

"You must blow him any chance you get," Rei pushes.

"Of course." Gaeul nods. She seems pleased as punch, her mouth spreading into a wide grin.

The words spill from your lips, "what about in public places?" And well, fuck, you meant for it to sound a lot more coy.

"A time or two..." she pauses, puckering her lips as her brows lift together, her head tilts slightly, and her gaze lifts upwards as she wracks her mind. "Well, a few times, if that’s interesting to you."

"Very.” Fuck. “I mean. I'm just curious." Stop talking, idiot.

"Well, the details are a secret for now," she grins toward Wonyoung and Yujin, who share a smile and a look.

"How come I haven't heard about this?" Rei chimes in. "You've got a new story every other week, but not even a whisper of this?"

"Because this is naughty and embarrassing." Gaeul covers her face. She's clearly a confused mixture of turned-on and shy right now. She might be a bit hesitant to share her wilder adventures, but the others aren't at all apprehensive about listening to the dirty details.

"One more," Wonyoung requests. She sits at the edge of her seat with a hand planted on your crotch and the other resting on her knee.

"Another?" Gaeul inquires. "I think it's someone else's turn now."

"Gaeul is right. Yujin, ever done anything naughty in public?" Wonyoung asks, drawing in and passing on the attention.

"Not in public, but..." Yujin stares at you for a moment too long. Clearly, the whole not telling anyone thing doesn’t apply to the girls in this room. It’s all far too obvious. "But I did have some fun recently." She grins like the cat that caught the canary.

"How recently?" Wonyoung cocks her head and a few loose locks fall over her shoulder. "What kind of fun? Who with?"

"Just... some guy. He was a total sub, did everything I told him to." She drags her teeth across the plump swell of her bottom lip.

Some guy? Sometimes it feels like all you will ever be.

"Did what you told him?" Gaeul sounds intrigued. "What did you ask him to do?"

"Don't know," Yujin answers quickly. Too quickly. "Nothing much. Just something special for me." Her teeth are back against her lower lip, chewing on it before continuing. "Thing is, he’s a cute guy, and he was a real natural.”

"Did you cum?" Rei jumps in again, straight to the point.

"More than once." Yujin's face lit up. “I didn't let him fuck me, though. You should have seen the desperate look on his face.”

“Did you even let him cum? Poor guy.” Gaeul sympathises unnecessarily, and unknowingly, with you.

“I did, made him blow a load right on me.”

“Oh fuck, I love that.” Rei chimes in with an approving nod. “On my body makes me feel so hot.”

“I'm a face girl myself.” Gaeul admits before bursting out into embarrassed laughter.

Wonyoung stays noticeably quiet on this one. Of course, you know why. ‘Too messy’, she always told you.

“Yeah, we know all about that,” laughs Rei at Gaeul.

God only knows how you ended up in this situation. Sitting between four women, all gorgeous in their own way, each getting equally aroused by the topic of conversation. The atmosphere in the room, so humid and hot already, has seemed to intensify tenfold in the moments since Gaeul began her sordid tale. Now, with each question and subsequent answer, it was building steadily, the sexual tension increasing in magnitude with each word. The heat of their sweat-soaked bodies permeates the air with the burn of the midday sun.

"You didn’t even get fucked? You're no fun, Yujin. I need detail." Wonyoung is feeding off the stories and expelling the energy through her touch into your cock. You pull your knees up now, to try to hide what Wonyoung is doing to you. "Rei. Save us. Please give us something juicy."

"I uh, well..." The nerves in her face are clear. Rei is more than happy to press details from others, but now she's in the spotlight. "There was this guy I met online. I don't even know his name. He just went by an emoji."

"An emoji?" the other three girls say in unison.

"Yeah. An orange. Anyway, not important. So, we met up." Her hands run along her bare thighs, feeling the sticky heat of her palms and the cool beads of sweat along her smooth legs. "I kinda asked him to... I mean, it wasn't explicitly—" She begins her excuses as though her asking this anonymous man to come meet her was shameful. Her fumbling words get a giggle out of Yujin.

"Calm down, Rei, no-one is judging." Gaeul gives her friend an easy smile.

"This was just to hook up and no strings. He had a hotel room." Rei rubs at her neck. Blush overcomes her face.

"Love that vibe." Gaeul holds up a lazy thumb of approval. "The no-strings thing."

"So this wasn't a vanilla fucking, I bet. Did things get wild?" Wonyoung asks as she squeezes her grip on your cock in excitement. "Were there handcuffs or leashes involved? What was it, a spanking? Maybe even gotten yourself a strap, Rei?"

"Oh my god," the embarrassment hits Rei even stronger, even more colour blossoming into her skin, "you're unbelievable," she manages. "So, uh. Not that exactly."

"Yeah? Well, do tell," Gaeul smiles politely. "Might pick up some ideas for my fiancé."

"So there were handcuffs," Rei mutters, then shrugs in an almost nonchalant gesture.

"Yes!" Wonyoung whisper-shouts. "Nice. Let me guess, tied up and whipped." Her hand is the most motionless it has been on your clothed cock the entire time. As if it's frozen in anticipation.

"He restrained me. Cuffed me to the bed. Had his way with me," Rei reveals. It's obvious now she was looking anywhere but in your direction. "The guy was packing too. And knew what he was doing. My whole body was shaking, legs like jelly," she continued, eyes glassy, dreamy even, a thin film covering their beauty, staring ahead without focus. Her nails tap idly at her neck, like she is recalling the memory.

"Fuuuck," Wonyoung swears loudly. "That’s good." She can only speak in hushed tones now, the heat having sapped her strength and turned her speech breathy.

Wonyoung rolls her hips back. Just the slightest bit. But enough for you to feel it, a soft brush across the side of your leg. A brief acknowledgement of contact. An assurance, to you, that Wonyoung hadn't forgotten you or the movements of her hands.

"Shut up," Rei blushes at her friend.

"Look, you're squeezing your thighs together now. Just thinking about this mysterious Mr Orange is turning you on. You sure you're not dripping now?"

"Alright Wony, you're making it weird now." Yujin laughs at her, breaking some of the tension. "Sounds like you need to get laid. Still not doing anything with that boyfriend of yours?" The whole question rolls of her tongue while she’s staring at you. You’re caught in some unspoken, twisted game.

"Nope. Never will. You know I don't like him." Wonyoung’s words are ice cold. You never pushed for details on it, but you have picked up on bits and pieces of this before. As best you understand, her family pushed the relationship on her. He's some wealthy heir from another chaebol family. They never loved each other, or even knew each other properly. The relationship was purely political. Strategic.

"I have to go," Gaeul speaks while frantically tapping away on her phone. It's painfully obvious to everyone in the room what’s happening and where she's going. Her fiance is probably already getting the cuffs ready. But she doesn't seem to care to hide it and, to be frank, she cannot be the only person excited about the prospect of sex right now.

"You two girls should probably go too. I'm going to stay and work on my form a little." Wonyoung turns to face you. "And you're going to help me, right?"

"Of course, whatever you need." You respond automatically, feeling almost obligated at this point. Yujin chuckles at you. Probably internally mocking just how easy you really are. Just like how she described you earlier. Total sub.

"Okay, see you." Gaeul stands abruptly. “I need to—”

“We know.” The rest of you say together. She nods her head and then is heading for the door in a rush, collecting her stuff messily under her arm. She drops her hat at the door and stops to pick it up. While bending down, she looks back at the four of you.

“Have fun!” Rei calls out with genuine excitement.

Gaeul nods again and spins, rushing out the door.

Rei moves slower to leave, reluctant, almost. But once Yujin stands and is gathering her things, Rei follows suit.

“Aren't you supposed to be taking us home?” Yujin looks at you. She already knows how this will play out, but she wants to make her point.

“You could always wait outside for him.” Wonyoung responds for you with a cocky smile. There's no way she is letting you go.

“Why do you need him, anyway?” Rei asks.

“Rei, sweetie, look at her hand.” Yujin turns to her but gestures her hand out towards you—towards your lap.

“Oh. OH!” You can see in her face that she has so many questions, but the stare from Wonyoung makes her keep her mouth shut.

“Let's go,” Yujin places a hand on Rei's shoulder.

The two girls are walking away from you, and all you can do is watch their asses leave. Leggings hug one, the other in shorts, both thick. Plump asses, firm thighs, wide hips. The stretchy material of their clothing barely constrains them.

"Alright, now let's get down to business." Wonyoung immediately shifts to sit astride your thigh. It's not that she doesn't know that Rei and Yujin will spend their whole journey home talking about you two. It's just that she doesn't care.

She's straddling you. Her own leg pinning against your hard bulge. Wonyoung rolls herself along you, sending pleasure radiating in ripples throughout your body. Wonyoung smiles mischievously. "We've got half an hour, maybe."

Her hot breath hitting your face. It's hard to be sure how much of it is from her arousal and how much from the intense dancing not ten minutes ago.

"Fuck, that was so hot. The idea of Gaeul getting her pretty mouth fucked." Wonyoung lets out a satisfied sigh as she sinks her hips against your clothed leg. "Did you see her face? I bet she was creaming at just the memory."

Wonyoung's fingers slip under your waistband, then her hand follows them, wrapping around you and pumping. "You liked it." The confirmation is in her hand, but the grin on her face grows, evidently pleased to find your arousal. She licks her lip hungrily and gives a slow pump of her hand. "That's perfect. I really need a cock right now. In my throat."

As she says it, she backs off your lap, stands and steps away. Just a slight separation, but the difference is enormous: the absence of her hot, wet centre creates a vacuum—impossible to ignore.

She's already twisting around on her heels. Then she pulls her tight, tiny shorts down and takes her thong with them, squatting slightly to pass the clothes over her legs, leaving her bare ass in front of your face. She turns back to you, wearing only her skin tight tank top. Her sodden cunt is now right there, bare and as pretty as ever. "Clothes off."

Obedient and efficient, you pull at the bottom of your shirt to lift it over your head. There's no slow tease, just business: you lift your hips and pull off your shorts and underwear together, while kicking off your shoes.

"Get up," is her instruction, the stern bite on her voice only seeming to harden her demeanour. Wonyoung takes your place on the bench, sitting delicately, like an idol would. Cross-legged and her hands atop her knee. Her top still hugging her frame. She raises one hand and angles a single finger towards you, her wrist pointing to the ceiling. She beckons you, parting her plump lips and resting her head against the mirror behind her.

Mouth, Wonyoung signals again and, with that, you're moving towards her.

Wonyoung demands your attention. Everything about her is inviting: the playful half-lidded gaze as her tongue swirls in her mouth and she lets it roll slowly along her lip. Even just the sharp cut of her jaw and long strands that frame it are striking and you'll be the last one to object to giving her what she asks for.

“Wony—”

"Shh." A sharp sound. Her lips purse. Inviting. "come here."

Without a sound, your stiff cock presses toward Wonyoung's silky-smooth face. Though her lips are glistening and begging for you to glide in, they rest unmoving, arrogantly waiting for you to do the work. It is only for a brief moment, but it's infuriatingly unhelpful. The silence breaks though, and she groans in a mix of anticipation and irritation and tilts her face up, angling her hips against the edge of the bench as a soft hiss escaped her lips. "Now."

Your hand tangles into her hair as she wraps her mouth around you—wet, warm and oh-so very inviting. And she wastes no time in pushing forward and dragging your head in deeper, enveloping you, with her tongue sliding on the underside of your length. And she hums gently, the vibrations reaching you and rippling through the depths of your groin. She is eager for your cock, her hands reaching and clawing. A controlling grasp on your hips.

Your hands remain firmly wound into the strands of her hair, gripping as if you are afraid of floating away, all the blood in your system rushing to your centre, dizzying your brain. She began pulling your hips against her, directing the movements and ensuring each pump brought another inch into her mouth. She continues eagerly. Wonyoung's technique was a blend of savouring and indulgence, an incarnation of sheer passion.

Even from beneath you, Wonyoung maintains all power. She guides you without the slightest hint of effort. The flex of her shoulder, the flow of her arm. She pulls you in.

Deeper.

Every pump bringing your hips closer and closer to her face. Every move is for her, from the angle of her head to the arch of her spine and even the hollowing of her cheeks. She owns the power in your body—and she wants it that way too, drawing you ever deeper, encouraging more movement, silently coaxing and promising a glorious reward at the end.

Keep going. Words unspoken but never more clearly conveyed. The flutter of her eyelids and the fire they temporarily conceal. Her throat contracting against the tip of your cock every time she guides you in. The warm comfort of the excess saliva running from her lower lip.

Eyes fixed on her pretty face and innocent gaze through the not-so-innocent act. Everything around you in a haze.

Deeper.

Captivating. Her movements never waiver and her determination is infallible as your mind clouds and you feel that coil in your belly tighten and constrict and burn through. You know this can't last forever. No matter how much you wish it could, but you're lost in the trance and there's nothing that could break you out of it—except maybe Yuj—fuck, not now.

Wonyoung stops, throwing you a look as if she knows. As if she felt the doubt inside you. She parts her lips and draws her head back.

In a move that washes away all those doubts, Wonyoung brings right leg over left and follows through the movement, lifting her legs onto the bench, feet flat and knees in the air. Back flat against the bench. Head suspended from the end of it.

You're on autopilot, following her face down, your soaked cock leading the way. You shift, putting your knees on the hardwood floor.

She puckers her lips, closing her eyes and arching her back. Wonyoung lures you in. Her tongue curls and reels you inside her mouth. Just an inch and then two, then three, then four. Your eyes revel at the sight. The mirror to your side only elevates the experience as you watch your cock disappear in her. Two Wonyoungs laid side by side, taking two cocks.

Wonyoung continues arching as you push on. Further and further and further.

Deeper.

Until... no more.

Until her eyes squeeze shut and the walls of her throat clenches, seizing down on you.

A strangled moan rasps in your throat as you lunge forward, trying desperately, selfishly, to press beyond the possible. You could lose to her right here and now.

Not now, no, not yet, not without fucking that tight little throat first.

Her throat bulging with the girth of your cock, her muscles desperately attempting to repel the foreign invasion.

Air is at a premium for the petite girl strewn out on the end of your cock. And yet, she settles, relaxes. She feels at home with a throat full of cock. Her long, slender legs remain folded together, yet while you were caught up in the intensity of entering her mouth, Wonyoung found the time to bury a hand between her thighs.

She's fucking her own hand. Rotating her hips and squeezing her thighs.

You draw out of her mouth, only for a second, just to give her the gasp of air she so desperately needs before you fuck into her throat again. Her legs clench as you thrust. Every little bit of pleasure that Wonyoung desires, she gets—as always.

There it is again, the vibrations against your tip as she moans.

Your fists full of hair and now, you pound into her pretty little mouth without pause. Creating the lewdest of sights. Wonyoung on the verge of orgasm, her face filled with you.

She's only becoming more of a mess as you fuck it, the saliva pouring from her mouth running over her. You keep going for so long that she’s spluttering. She’s choking now between the brief moments you give her, just like Gaeul was in her story. This is what Wonyoung wants, exactly how she wanted it.

It’s funny that for a girl so intent on you not making a mess of her, this is what she has become. She just has to really want it. Duly noted.

And god, is she fucking loving it. The pleasure washes over her as her body wriggles, and you continue your thrusting. She continues her own. Together, you take her to her peak. And you don't stop. Her hand doesn't stop—pushing past it, forcing herself into a state of bliss.

It's messier still. It's so fucking messy when she cums. Tears streaming. Saliva drooling. Sticky cum enveloping her hand.

And it's good. It's so fucking good when she moans on your cock. It's soft. It's tight. It vibrates, sucks—holds you and stimulates you. Her throat is—if only for a moment—the best sex toy that money can’t buy.

You have to give it to her, she’s playing the role of toy perfectly.

This toy? It plays with you.

She pushes her hand against the base of your cock. No more fucking. No more exploring the depth of her delicate throat. She had just came, after all.

That’s what matters to her.

You—you're on the edge and hanging on for dear life. The knot is twisted so tight that it hurts. And holding you on that edge is Wonyoung, holding you by the cock. An unmoving hand. If you weren't already on your knees, you would fall to them.

"Fuck, that was good." Wonyoung peeks around the cock she holds above her face, a wry smile painting her lips.

You want to reply, but your need to cum is clouding your mind like the most powerful of drugs. Words are just letters floating around your mind. Intoxicated by a woman, as you have been so many times. She's not just any woman.

"What's wrong? Aww, do you want to cum?" She playfully, with no real grip, twists and pulls her hand on your cock. It's not enough.

You let out a huff and nod.

She flashes an evil grin. "How about on my face?"

It's not something she's ever offered before. As much as you thought, so many times, about covering her pretty face in your cum, you never expected her to offer it. Perhaps that alone should serve as a warning. Too good to be true.

But at this point, you don't give a fuck. In her throat, on her face, you just need her to give you a sweet release. You chase it, pushing your hips towards her hands, desperately searching for friction. Blinded by lust, as dumb as a dog.

"First, tell me something." It says a lot about her. How she can be mostly naked, on her back underneath you, freshly fucked throat and all. And somehow she holds all the cards in this situation. "Did you fuck Yujin?"

"No..." It's not strictly a lie. You never put your cock inside her.

"I saw your dirty faces, the way you look at each other. And the way she told that story, about you, with you right there."

"Wonyoung. We didn't fuck. But even if we did, would that be so bad?"

"But she let you cum on her?” Wonyoung laughs aloud and starts playfully stroking your cock again. "You should have fucked her."

The action of her hand is torture, keeping you dangling and off balance. You were so close to the release and now she is holding you over the precipice, with no warning of a fall either way. You're as lost for words as you are for action. But truthfully, is it even a surprise that Wonyoung doesn't care if you do fuck her friend? She is the one cheating on her boyfriend, after all. Your only crime may be not telling her first.

"Now, will you cum on my face already? I know Yujin will never let you do this." And that’s it. The crux of it all. It all makes sense, doesn’t it? The reason this is happening, any of this here in this room, is because she refuses to be outshone. She intends to match act for act with all her friends, except Yujin. Yujin, she wants to beat—and the game is you.

And the irony is, she would never let her boyfriend do any of this.

"Fuck, Wony, you're insane," you grit, nearly delirious. This couldn't get any better. Two identical hot girls, mirrored and now they're getting even more adventurous. And Wonyoung finally ready to give you the satisfaction of blowing a load on her face? You couldn’t care less why it was happening, only that it was.

You fucking into her grip. In some metaphor for the whole relationship, your hips do work while her hand guides, keeping you aimed at her innocent face. She softly closes her eyes, slightly parting her lips. Waiting. She looks so beautiful, relaxed and comfortable, despite knowing what was coming. Despite the saliva still running from her mouth. Despite the post orgasm glow on her face.

"Anytime now." Wonyoung opened one eye, her face still pointing directly upwards. "Don’t make me ask again."

The feeling takes over, starting at the root of your spine, in the base of your gut, and bubbling like a cauldron ready to explode. Her soft hand strokes harder, working you the last few paces as her tongue slips past her pink lips, flicking over them gently.

The sensations erupt. That familiar hot-cold tingle. Those electrifying nerves firing off. You buck wildly, firing off ribbons of cum across Wonyoung's flawless, innocent face. Her lips spread apart in a wide open-mouthed gasp and then shut immediately afterwards.

And, amidst the spurting of cum and the euphoric high, Wonyoung deviously began licking, slurping, sucking. Swiping the fluid off her lips, catching every shot. Her face is the image of debauchery. You're fixated—stretching out the few remaining seconds of orgasm as your cock twitches in her hand and on her face. She's draining you dry with her naughty smirk.

Even when it’s over and done, she maintains that same confident look on her face. Her nose and lips are shiny and dripping with cum. But she never hesitates; her mouth parts and her tongue juts out, curling up to you. Your cock disappears inside, a wet-hot paradise. She's cleaning you. Swirling her tongue and sliding up the length, pulling off the mess. Sucking on the tip to coax the last remnants to pool inside her waiting mouth.

Your body burns. Satisfaction seeping out your limbs and leaving your body weightless, barely holding yourself over her on the wooden bench.

She draws you out. Dripping with her spit. Hanging heavy. Sensitive as her mouth lets go and pulls back, the suction releasing. Then, lips tight, mouth closing, her neck moving as she swallows.

Wonyoung twists and rises, sitting again the bench, in your kneeled position this leaves you eye to eye.

Pain. Stinging.

So much of it on your left cheek.

She just slapped you. She fucking slapped you. You're bigger than her, stronger than her, and yet you feel so small.

"Next time you fool around with another girl, you get my permission first."

Her voice is icy. You shake your head, holding your face. Staring at your reflection in the mirror; you're flush but one cheek is redder than the other. And you can see her too. She’s pulling up part of her top, wiping away most of your cum—the bits that didn’t already fall onto her body or into her hair, anyway. Her face looks like an angel's, but her actions betraying the illusion.

"Now make it up to me." She's looking at you through the reflection. Then, turning and facing you directly, she reaches out to hold you by the jaw, pulling your focus back to her. It’s hard to believe that she’s the one cheating here.

She slaps you again.

You're locked in a cold and silent stare. Tied together by tension.

You're stunned. Left at her mercy. Wonyoung dips her head forward, going in for a kiss, her heart-shaped lips plant directly on your own and before you know it, you're returning the kiss.

It's rough, and it's messy. She bites at you—hard—while her fingers claw your skin, running along your muscles. All until suddenly she pulls you, guides you. Not physically, but that's certainly what it feels like. Such is your response. You take her place on the bench, sitting while she leans over you.

Wonyoung breaks the kiss and leaves you to watch the scene unfold and admire her perfect form, lithe and slender but not without toned definition, which is exactly why she could pull off outfits that would send men insane, simply based on how she looks underneath.

Her hands splay across her flawless flesh. Deliberately. Slowly.

Never a movement out of place and ensuring her head is held high and regal—a queen's demeanour.

Standing over you. Looking down upon you, no less arrogant than before. It’s her natural position. Her default state. To have power over man.

If she didn't look so angelic, you'd swear she's a devil.

Starting at her shoulders, fingertips slipping over the porcelain skin of her arms until they reach the elbows and hop over to her waist, gripping the hem of her tank top. It doesn't sit as tight as it did before—bunched up, a little twisted, and dashed in cum. It doesn't sit in any fashion for much longer as she pulls it overhead in a single motion. The top lands discarded and forgotten. Her hair, damp and ruffled, now cascades over her petite shoulders in thick strands.

She's bare now. Head to toe. Your eyes dart all over, drinking her beauty like a tall glass of water. Taking in all her stunning details—she is a perfect portrait of a perfect woman, a fantasy even.

This image has been burned into your mind many times over. Yet somehow, each and every time feels new. Awestruck, you admire her petite body, the lean and firm muscles, and just enough of a pair of breasts that gravity calls their name.

"Wony. You're so—"

"I know." She cocks an arrogant smirk.

"I think—"

"I know." She stalks slowly closer. Like a predator over its prey.

"I want to—"

"Oh. I know." She's so damn cute when she giggles. It almost feels inappropriate for what's going down. And then the little devil rears within her again, manifesting in her expression. Darker than it was before.

Her fingers trace her flat stomach, rising and falling in time with her breaths. A cadence to them which tells a story of excitement, no less excited than the first time she teased you in your car. Now here, and over a month later, you still haven't gotten your fill. Even this—maybe especially this—could never be enough. The slightest and subtlest hints of arousal are beautiful on her. She's practically purring when she perches on top of you and pins you back against the mirror by the shoulders.

"Who does your big dick belong to?" She poses the question while delicately lowering herself onto you, staring into your eyes. You hesitate to answer, too stricken by the image of Wonyoung finding a comfortable seat on you.

"You." No matter what your relationship might be or who else was involved, in this moment, like so many before it, you are hers and no other. "Fuck me, Wonyoung, please."

"So very needy." The words roll off her tongue as the heat of her cunt skates up toward your middle. So close against your skin, you can feel her pulse throb against your stomach. Her petite ass pressing down onto your stiff cock. Her hands spread wide and palms flat on your chest, steadying her, giving her strength. Her hips roll, coating you with the wetness between her thighs. Back arched, neck strained, head tilting upwards. Every muscle flexes in her exposed form.

She is unadulterated eroticism, every grind of her hips and caress of her hands. An utter marvel.

"Don't. Move." Every word has her breath caught in her throat.

Been through this so many times before that there's an unspoken understanding. Wonyoung scoots her body over you. Hand reaching for your cock. Delicate fingers. Dainty, as she grips it, guiding, angling it against her. Lower, lower until—she finds the entrance and presses it against herself. A sharp intake of air. Her eyes squeezed closed. She holds there for a second until gravity takes control, hips dropping to impale her onto your length.

Your eyes roll back and so does your mind, back to the view of Wonyoung's body moving during the dance. Does she know she's mirroring those mesmerising hip movements on you? Maybe not. But it doesn't change anything. Not to Wonyoung. She does it so naturally—the consummate performer, who knows what works.

You're looking down. Down. Down to where she's perched on your dick. Admiring her tight cunt, working so hard to take you in. Muscles gripping. Walls clenching. Stretching to fit. Working her body downward.

Her ass never rests on you. This is all her work. Perpetual motion. Constant and consistent. Down and then up and then down and back up. Gradual. Calculated and controlled. Fingers raking at your chest as the motion of her body doubles as the dance, sending that intoxicating swaying motion through her and into you.

Eyes travel up. How her toned abs flex. Trim and petite. It all only serves to highlight just how pretty a figure she cuts. Elegant and alluring. Sinking down, squeezing you into her.

Higher. Her perky little tits in front of your face. Smooth, perfect, porcelain.

Higher. Her sharp collarbone, all the little contours, carved for her as though by the most brilliant artisan.

Higher. Neck curved, shifting from her swallow and gasp.

To her blood-red lips. They part and between them her tongue flicks, hitting her front teeth before she bites down on her lower lip. It stifles a soft moan until it's barely a whisper.

And her eyes. Sheer focus. Not on you. But on the mirror behind you.

On her own reflection.

All the time you spend to admire her, she is doing the same thing. Staring herself up and down. It is selfish and greedy. An egotistical desire. An intimate moment—with the person she truly loves most.

It's narcissism taken to a degree you've never seen before. An addictive kind of worship. For both of you.

"Wony..." holding your eyes up to hers, watching her as she's watching herself. She looks like a goddess. "Does it feel good? I love the feeling of my cock inside you," you say in an attempt to gain her focus. "Fuck. You're perfect."

A soft exhale as her eyes lock onto yours for just a moment, then her lashes flutter closed.

She takes a hand from your chest and plants it over your mouth. Her eyes flicker back to life and she's got them on the mirror again.

She's aggressive now. The girl in the mirror is hitting her hips harder than before onto the cock beneath her. Her crotch hitting against your own. You can't help but steer into the skid, being the silent participant she desires. You're pawing your hands at her cunt now. Figuring out then matching her rhythm and pushing your finger against her clit. It's obscene, hearing her wet cunt smacking against your legs.

Her almost silent focus breaks. She's not stifling her moans anymore.

And fuck you for saying this: but watching her watch herself makes the moment fucking magical.

Her eyebrows knitting as the tides of pleasure crash over her. Her lower lip quivering. The wrinkles on her nose. Her chest fluttering. A struggle to maintain her posture.

She's shaking. From her arms to her knees and through to the tips of her fingers.

She throws herself forward against you.

Head on your shoulder. Her forehead against the glass.

Wonyoung's entire body is convulsing on you. A string of incomprehensible cries echoing against the empty walls. You grab at the flesh of her ass with your hands, clamping her tight, encouraging her to keep pushing back into you and ride out the orgasm. She is shaking violently in your embrace. She is grinding, squeezing, tightening, and quaking all at once.

You run a hand up her moist back, along her spine. Meeting many moistened locks of hair, sticking to her skin. You hold your hand at the top of her back, supporting her limp frame against you.

Her mouth is right by your ear. You listen to the final quiet noises of bliss escaping her. Washing out of her. She lets you know just how good it was, if not from those satisfied groans and the shuddering of her body, then from the deluge of her arousal pooling around your cock and her cunt. She is dripping cum. Hot and sticky, in more than one spot. It was messy. Messy, but it was unbridled fun.

"What the fuck was that?" you whisper. She raises her head off your shoulder and leans back, sitting tall on top of you. Still, your cock is inside, throbbing and ready for its turn. Her hands snake to your jaw and hold it tightly.

"Exactly what I needed."

"And the mirror thing?"

"What can I say? I look pretty when I'm fucking." Wonyoung laughs, soft and breathy, an intimate moment shared only by you two. Now it’s not like you should be surprised by any of it. On a scale of one to ten, Wonyoung is an eleven, though you imagine you asked her. She would give herself a twelve.

The hands leave your jaw, only to be replaced with the pressure of Wonyoung pressing forward again to kiss you. More? Finally.

"You wanna cum again?" she asks, words separated by kisses before moving to your neck.

"Mmmm..." is all the answer you can give, distracted by the feeling of her body shifting against yours.

Wonyoung pulls back from your neck to look at you, burrowing her hand into the hair at the back of your head. She squeezes into a fist, forcing a grimace of pain from you, which brings a grin to her lips.

"Is that a yes?" Her voice a blade edge against your ears.

"Fuck. Yes. Of course."

"That's what I thought." The sly girl, hiding the self-assured vixen underneath her exquisite exterior. "Stand. I want you to fuck me against the mirror."

Still planted to the hilt inside her, you begin to stand.

You're unable to pull out of the tight wet warmth that is Jang Wonyoung. Her grip tight on you—coiling around your cock—effectively pinning you in her. Her body melts against you like candle wax. Warm and lax.

She's weightless as you stand, her slender frame clasped around your body. It's easy to manhandle a girl this small—one of your hands, pressed firmly to her back, can encompass her tiny waist. Your other arm hooks under her ass, holding her suspended. And, for the time being, all of her is draped over and around you.

You press her to the cold mirror, and she shudders, arching her back. Her entire body stretches as if trying to get further from it—leaving a smear of sweat on it. Legs lock around your hips. Folded tight. Locking in the key. Caging you between her thighs. You hold her with a single hand now—curling it under her tiny ass. Fingertips gripping, digging into flesh. The other against the mirror—for balance.

You bend your knees, taking position, gaining posture. The slightest movement it causes inside her brings a gasp. She's clinging tighter to you. Her arms coil around your shoulders, her ankles crossed around the small of your back, her core tightening and squeezing her pelvis forward—grinding herself into you. The squeeze on your cock exhilarates. The pressure is immense—inside and outside. You've never had her this tight.

A rumble rasps through your vocal chords as a growl escapes your mouth. It vibrates against the warmth of her neck and into her small frame.

"Come on, give it to me, don’t hold back" her lips barely move as they whisper against you.

"Is that what you want, Wonyoung? You want me to fuck you as hard as I can against the mirror?" Your hips press firmly against hers. Her tight cunt does its best to embrace you.

"Fuck. Yes."

That was all the cue you needed, drawing back and then slamming yourself deep in her—and back again—forming the thrust into a series of unforgiving blows.

She bounces between your pelvis and the cool glass, rattling as her naked form is hit against the mirror. Small, supple and yielding, taking your full force, each movement amplified and exaggerated in her tiny frame. Her cries—from shock, surprise, pleasure, and delight—they echo. The lewd smacks of flesh hitting, the loud moans and the heat. It all collides right here on the wall of the studio.

It's frantic. It's furious. It's fucking euphoric. You're locked inside a beauty who is getting filled to the absolute brim by your cock. It's a power rush—Wonyoung's eternal play on control and dominance being robbed from her and your ability to just keep pounding into her tight, wet cunt.

"Ah!" Wonyoung winces. You pause for a brief second. Did she really mean stop? But a moment later, her lips curl into a grin, "Yes! Harder! Don't hold back. I need you to wreck my fucking pussy!"

And it begins anew—all the noise. The bouncing, slamming and swearing. And despite the fire and the fury, you can sense a strange calm. Like this is exactly where the two of you are supposed to be. This is exactly where the both of you always needed to be. Right here. In the moment. Because Wonyoung doesn't need a man and she didn't need someone who would fall at her feet and treat her like royalty—she has enough of those. No, all she ever needed was a dick who could fuck her within an inch of her life.

A hard slam sends Wonyoung crashing back to the mirror with a shrill yelp and a wide grin. "Yes! Exactly like that!"

Firm fingers twist into your flesh, her hands clawing, desperately grasping at anything she could find to ground her, all while your brutal assault continues unabated, sending waves of ecstasy cascading through both bodies. Her wails rise and break—crescendos interrupted—but never stopped. Both of you are a complete mess as the furious fuck brings out everything each of you are. The deep animalistic desires. And when you hear her scream, it is a different kind of high.

"Don't stop! Don't you dare fucking stop! Don't fucking sto—mm!" she struggles and gasps for breath, struggling to keep track of her words, the raging bonfire between her legs clouding her mind. "F-fuck..."

"Cumming? Cum." The only words you could manage. You could feel it too, the rising tide. A mountain climber, clinging to the peak, each and every muscle engaged in the fight.

"Yes—" her breath is snatched before another animalistic moan. "Don't stop." She pulls at your hair, claws at your back, a fierce warning. "Don't fucking cum yet."

She holds, gripping onto the ridge, the muscles in her arms, in her legs, her hands tense. The world turns, spinning, and spiralling—the two of you holding tight to one another, both grunting with the strain. She is cumming now, you know it. She spasms against you, against the mirror, and she’s becoming ever more difficult to hold.

Your feet are failing you, threating to give way. In a desperate act, you spin from the wall, drop to your knees, taking Wonyoung with you. There's no stopping you now. Feral. Bestial. Both of your bodies crashing together. She's arching, clawing, and pulling and urging you forward. On the hardwood floors, you fuck like animals. Your legs may have given way, but your hips don't surrender. Don't succumb to the exertion. You're fucking her in to the floor. Her tiny ass pressed against it.

The thundering smack of flesh.

Tumultuous breathing and roaring, unbroken moans.

Arching, bending.

Heating and rising.

You're right on the edge.

She never lets you finish inside.

"Wonyoung, I..."

"Don't fucking dare." Her voice sharp. You hold on to the feeling for dear life. "On me."

It's enough. You accept that it’s never in her. Never before on her, but now twice in a day. It’s enough. She can't possibly mean it...

"I'm—Fuck, I'm..."

"On me. Yes. Cum allover me." She releases you from her grasp and you pull back to your knees. She spreads herself for you. Arms out to her side, palms flat on the hardwood floors, legs pulled apart with her knees resting on your hips. Presenting for you.

Your hand wraps around your shaft, throbbing and hot to touch. You beat your cock for a few quick seconds, with balls tight, with Wonyoung laid prone for you, watching you stroke your cock.

Watching her. She arches, presses herself upwards, offering her breasts, her stomach... her face.

You don't have any time to think. It is happening.

You unload on her with a sharp grunt, met with a shocked gasp. Coating her petite form. The white stuff gliding across her porcelain skin, decorating the gorgeous girl beneath you. The lean cut of a dancer, now adorned in your cum. You shoot ropes of it across her perky little tits and narrow stomach and her pretty face. A sticky sheen glazes her and drips down. Her tongue flickers, collecting what she can and her mouth hungrily welcomes each droplet.

What's this, you wonder? Is this to be her addiction?

Every motion of her body screams need, sexual need. She wants it all, greedily licking and lapping it up as you drop the final rivulets of cum onto her tummy.

You're captivated as you watch Wonyoung, laying patiently under a sputtering of cum, a thin layer glossing parts her body. She didn't bother to wipe it or scoop it up, instead; it ran down her, following the channels carved out by her subtle contours. A work of art in your eyes—this pretty face, contorted in twisted lust—at the feeling of hot, sticky fluid painting her perfect body.

In all these moments you two have shared, this truly is a first. A messy, debauched cum covered Wonyoung.

"Does it feel good to cover me with your cum?"

You nod.

"Say it. Out loud, I can see it in your eyes. You like seeing your cum on my pretty little face? On my body?"

"I fucking love it, Wony," you mutter and she laughs, a laugh somewhere between playful and impish.

"I feel filthy," Wonyoung confesses with a devilish smirk. "I bet you love to hear that?"

"Yes. Yes," you breathe the words out as you desperately try to catch your breath. Her leg comes up, sliding her toes along the underside of your sensitive cock. Too sensitive.

"Agh," you flinch. "Fuck."

She pushes the tip of your cock against your stomach, rubbing her toes on it and you start to pull away, the friction causing pain.

"Stay." Her tone is a firm demand, in control of the situation—despite her current state. Your body obeys the instruction. Her toes start to roam across your softening cock again. Slick with her fluids. She twists, rubbing the shaft. Pinches, rubbing the head. Pulls, tugging down. The intensity of stimulation is mind numbing. A sick mixture of pain and pleasure.

"Who's the best?" Wonyoung asks. It takes a few seconds to process, a delay, and longer than normal. Your brain fogged. Too much to even formulate words.

"Who's the best, hm? Answer me." Her demand is no louder but feels heavier. Her foot slides down your cock, pushing at the base, pushing at your balls.

Your words are slow to follow.

"Wonyo—" she presses more, and a shock runs up the base of your spine. "Agh...you. Wonyoung, you." Your words choke up. "You're the best."

"Thought so."

Another moment of silent pause. She puckers her lips, sucking up and swallowing a patch of your cum that found it’s way to her hand. It draws your eyes to her, a silent spectacle. She locks on you, her gaze so steady and so piercing.

"And, who's going to clean this mess up so we don't get caught?"

"Me." The words tumble out, falling off your lips.

"Good. Your bathroom is down the hall. Don't get caught, and don't leave a trace." She recoils her foot and then climbs out of the mess the two of you left on the floor. Her step is awkward. Your load is now starting to harden on her. Her calves slick from her own cum. The gloss of it shining on her skin.

All the time, her face beaming. Satisfied and glowing. Wonyoung is relishing her depraved state. She doesn't wait for you to follow. Not even a look as she collects her clothes. Her shorts with the thong. Her completely ruined tank top. Both shoes. She starts to walk, again with that awkward gait.

After only a couple of steps she looks over her shoulder, back at you, still subdued on the floor. "By the way. That was your best yet. That… was amazing." She smiles softly and heads to the changing room. She disappears. Leaving your mind and your imagination to swirl as you stare at her spot on the floor long after she was gone.

The cum, her sweat, the stickiness—all the marks that prove she was there, the evidence that paints a picture of what went on in this dance studio.

You never see her leave. She must have slipped out between trips to and from the bathroom, and then the janitor's closet, which you eventually found. You thank the stars for Wonyoung's privilege—that meant no staff are needed on the evenings she is here.

What a strange silence it was as you cleaned—nothing but the rain outside. An unsettling contrast between what went on before. Almost tranquil—like that weird place just before waking, before reality has time to assert itself and erase the dream of the night before.

***

"It's dance practice tonight. I take it you'll be there again, following Wonyoung as usual?" Yujin mocks you playfully while playing with her straw between her delicate fingers. Her glass half-full of milkshake which she lazily stirs and drinks. Drinks loudly with a slurp on the straw.

"Don't you want me there?" you reply after swallowing the last bite of your meal and setting down your cutlery. The cafeteria is as lively as ever. Aside from this particular table, where it's only the two of you. It's not the type of table just anyone can take a seat at—Wonyoung wouldn't allow it.

"Doesn't matter. Wony's the one that invited you."

"She just wants me to—"

"Wants you to fuck her. Yeah, we all know." Yujin lets go of her straw, and it settles into the milkshake. You both lean back in the plastic cafeteria seats. She crosses her arms. "And no, it's not that I'm jealous. Don't even try it."

"I didn't say anything." You show her the palms of your hands. Not guilty is your plea.

"At least if I hang around, I can take you guys home, right? No need for your father to send a car." Always the people pleaser, you are.

"And did that happen last week? No, it didn't." Yujin picks up her drink and takes a slurp from the straw while staring at you. It's hard to tell if she's actually annoyed at you. Her words would say so, but her tones remain calm and soft when she speaks.

Besides, she knows that she could just as easily make the same demands Wonyoung does, and you'd be on your knees for her in a second.

But it's been 8 whole days since that night at Yujin's house. And she's yet to even hint that she wants it to happen again. The more you think about it, the more confused you get.

"Not interrupting am I? I can give you some alone time if you like?" Gaeul places her hand on your shoulder, looking down at you and grinning.

"Not funny Gaeul. And no. Sit." Unusually cold from Yujin, she avoids your eye and gives Gaeul a short-tempered response.

Gaeul walks around behind Yujin, giving you a wide-eyed glare as she goes. As if to say 'what did you do?' It's impossible to answer with words. It's all too much, too tangled.

She takes a seat next to Yujin, placing her iced coffee on the table along with her protein bar. It's typical Gaeul. She's always on the move, living life at an aggressive pace, constantly busy. Even now she's on her phone, scrolling through something. You can't see what from this angle, and you've barely got the chance to catch her eyes and smile at her. But her face lights up, the brightness mirrored as you smile back.

"They're announcing the casts tonight for the graduation performances." Yujin nods as her finger points toward Gaeul's phone.

"We already know how it's going to go down. They’re not going to deny the money and status of a Jang. And we’ll be there to back her up." Gaeul pauses and takes a sip of her drink. "For us anyway. That's all that matters."

Gaeul slips the phone back into her bag and then scoops up the protein bar, starting to unwrap it. Before she takes a bite she asks you, "what about you? Why didn't you ever sign up to anything?"

"Because he's too busy sitting in the back of dance classes staring at our asses," Yujin answers for you.

"Actually, I'm still new here, remember? I just haven't got around to it yet."

"Yeah, because you're too busy staring at our asses," Yujin persists with a coy smile.

"Sure. Let's call it that. So I've been too busy staring at your asses to sign up for any classes."

"Alright, not too loud." Gaeul laughs. How did the conversation always end up going the same way? And how are you always in the middle of it? Thankfully, Gaeul decides to bail you out. "So, bro, any plans to go to the party tomorrow night?"

"You mean the one I didn't get an invitation to?" you're quick to ask back.

"You can be my plus one."

"Boyfriend not in town?" Yujin is quick to ask before you can reply to Gaeul.

"Nope. But I can't let that spoil my fun, plus it means I can bring a friend." Her eyes flutter back across to you. "Unless you've already got a plan for tomorrow night?"

"Sure, why not? Not like I've got much else going on. Are you going to be there, Yujin?"

Yujin swallows the last slurp of her milkshake, the loud straw sucking noise filling the void of the pause. "I'll be there. Actually, I need you tomorrow, before the party."

"Before?"

"Yes. You're going to help me pick a dress." It's not exactly the exciting rendezvous that sprung to mind. You weren't even sure exactly why you had to go. Why Yujin would need your opinion?

You open your mouth to speak but before even a syllable comes out, you spot Wonyoung across the room, heading towards the three of you. Yujin catches on and follows your gaze, not long before Gaeul follows suit, twisting in her chair. For a moment, the three of you are watching Wonyoung stride over the tiled floor. Each footstep seems to make the world grow quieter. People all around seem to part for her. It's not even conscious on their part.

It's hypnotising. It's captivating. It's utterly spellbinding the way she moves.

She has a sense of dignity, class, and poise. There's an elegance to her, and just a hint of sway in her hips. At the same time, Wonyoung's every movement also screams of a fierce strength. An undercurrent of steel. Not intimidating—not intentionally at least. Maybe simply the natural impression of a strong young woman, fearlessly unapologetic.

She reaches the three of you, greeting with a grin. "Did I miss much?"

Gaeul is the first to reply. "Just talking about the party."

"Oh exciting. I've seen the guest list. I can't wait." Wonyoung slides gracefully into the seat by your side, carefully placing her designer bag on the table. No need for her to say any more, Wonyoung and high-brow parties go hand-in-hand.

The room around you is slowly, subtly coming back to life. Sounds from everywhere start, one by one, to creep back in. The conversations return. The low hubbub. The clattering of trays. It's getting loud again.

Wonyoung continues, "and I do need to get out of the house. Father is away again and mother drives me insane."

"He's away again?" Yujin asks, shuffling in her seat and then leaning forward. She brings her palm to her chin and her elbow onto the table.

"New York this time. Something like that. Company business." Wonyoung dismisses. You are well aware that they've never been close. He's worked from the earliest day she can remember up until now—that’s the life of the head of a chaebol. She told you before about how he's rarely home. And even when his body is, his mind is still half-way around the globe. His wife probably suffers for it, too. She raises the kids alone.

And look, you were never one to pry, so the details aren't all there, but Wonyoung seemed confident that her father wasn't exactly faithful. The kind of stories you'd normally imagine just being made up by rich housewives who had too much time on their hands—but she told you he had quite the appetite for the kind of services the elite always seemed to appreciate.

"New York?" Yujin thinks for a moment, living in her own head. "I could do New York. Me and you? A girl’s trip. That sounds..."

"But what about the guy?" Gaeul points at you.

Wonyoung puts her hand on your leg, sliding down and rubbing your knee. "You'll stay here and wait for us, won't you?"

"Well, I was thinking that, you know, you could take him with you?" You never saw this coming. Maybe you should, but it caught you off guard. The three of you in the Big Apple for a week? Sign you the fuck up, and then some.

Not that you'd have a chance in hell of affording such a trip. The reality is often harsher than the dream.

"We could, but I don't think it would be fair on Yujin. Unless we..." It takes the others a moment to figure out exactly what Wonyoung is implying.

"No way, don't bring me into this. You already said that it would be weird. We’re too competitive."

They're speaking in tongues now and Gaeul's face full of confusion likely mirrors your own.

"What are you two talking about?" Gaeul questions, for her sake and yours. But before she get's an answer, she's looking out of the corner of her eye. She freezes for a minute and then turns to face the vice principal. She's headed right for your table and the four of you succumb to silence.

There's not many reasons a staff member would visit a group of students while they're eating at lunch. None of you are late with an assignment nor have you failed any tests. Not even a recent school event gone wrong. It must be something worse.

"Am I interrupting?" The Vice Principal stands over your table, looking over the four of you.

You all shake your head in unison, a lock of hair falling over Yujin's face, which she quickly sweeps back behind her ear.

The vice principal points in your direction, pointing right between your eyes. "You. Principal's office. Now."

The eyes of the girls fall on you. All of them shocked by the statement.

It's unheard of to be dragged into the Principal's office on a random Friday for seemingly no reason.

What's your first reaction? A chill in your stomach. Butterflies in flight, soaring. Fingers gripping tight to the fabric of your pants. Heart racing in your chest. Feeling dizzy. Lightheaded.

"Ummm. Can you tell me what I'm doing wrong?"

"You can ask the principal. Move."

***

"Take a seat." The principal gestures with an open hand at the two chairs across the desk from her. She's staring right at you through the reading glasses hanging on her face. Her perfectly pressed suit makes her look powerful—imposing.

And this room? This tiny room, with its uncomfortable hard-backed chairs in front of the big imposing mahogany desk? That's as much of a psychological tactic as it is functional. Because you know this; everyone knows this: the people who sit in these chairs are invariably there to get told off.

This room is designed with a sole purpose; to cause you discomfort and make you feel small. Make you regret your actions. Remind you that this isn't a friend's house, and you don't get to act up here.

"Sit." She insists. The tone of voice is harsh, but you're certain there's an undertow of regret there too. You sit, almost falling into the chair in the most awkward and graceless way. It squeaks under the pressure, but thankfully, no sound comes out of your mouth. Not a peep.

"Effective today. You are expelled from the institution."

What the fuck?

"What the fuck?"

"You will be escorted off the premises immediately. Your bags, belongings and text books will all be packed and returned to you at your registered address."

"You can't do this!" Can they? How is this fair? What went wrong?

"You will not be able to return to campus, as the academic board has taken into consideration the severity and inappropriate nature of the events that occurred on the grounds."

The severity and inappropriate nature...

Her words—they hit hard. Suck the air out of the room, leave your lips dry, and a strange emptiness in your belly. Your fingers grip tight to the armrests of the chair, fighting for a grasp on any emotion—any hope or words to grasp onto.

Nothing.

There is nothing you can say. No reason or explanation you could offer. Nothing.

The walls around the both of you stand, large, impenetrable and collapsing on you.

"The evidence produced to myself was conclusive. You and an unknown partner committed obscene acts last week in the school library. That is grounds for expulsion without appeal."

Unknown partner? Of course.

Now what?

coup de théâtre

Next part

#wonyoung smut #wonyoung x reader #ive smut #ive x reader #male reader smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #Yujin smut #Gaeul smut #Rei smut

1K notes · View notes

rinhaler · 6 months

Note

I’m begging and scratching at the walls for more plug!sukuna omg. I’ve been thinking about him at a party really clinging to a shy girl, trying to get her to “just take one hit you’ll like it” and something something he convinces her to sit on his lap and he lets her explore his body, slowly getting really worked up. Letting her have “control” until he loses it.

Once again this weeks dub has me by the NECK Ray chase ate and left no crumbs UNFFF I hope you like this! Scummy Sukuna my beloved 💖

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, dubcon, creampie, manipulation, vaginal sex, choking, degradation, smoking oui'd, coercion, slight oral fixation.

words: 2k

“Alone?” a voice asks, sitting beside you on the couch. You shuffle as much as you can to give him space, keeping your knees together as he decides to manspread and rest his arm around the back.

“No I’m with my—” you turn to look at Nobara before realising she’s attached her lips to someone else’s while you were disassociating. “Oh, well, kind of.” you shrug.

He smirks, leaning forward. “Good,” he tells you as he pulls some things out of his pocket and places them on the coffee table. It’s like a science, watching people roll blunts. You’ve never tried it and you’ve never wanted to, not when you’ve heard so many horror stories. But whenever you’ve been around to see someone roll, you’ve always been oddly captivated. “You look lost.”

“U-Um…” you huff, unsure of how to respond. “I don’t really like parties…” you sigh.

He nods, not saying anything else as he continues to finish rolling his joint. It’s quick and easy, like he does this all day everyday and has it perfected. You watch him light it, but look down at your lap when he leans back against the couch.

“Why not?” he wonders. “Too loud? Too many people?”

“Yeah…” you confess, feeling a little lame as you admit your true feelings.

You’re in the prime of your life and you’re complaining about being at a party. You wouldn’t mind as much if Nobara wasn’t occupied. But you don’t know anyone else here. Truthfully, you probably would have snuck home if he didn’t sit down to talk to you. You’d much rather be at home with some takeout food and a bingeable show.

Your heart sinks a little when he stands up. Have you really embarrassed yourself that much? So much so that you’ve bored him enough to leave. He walks away, turning to face you after taking a good amount of steps.

“Are you coming? Thought you didn’t like parties.” he speaks. He waits until you stand up, but carries on walking before you can catch up to him. You follow him through the house and up the stairs. It’s a lot quieter, though there are still muffles. Soft moans from one room and crying from another. “Sukuna. If you were wondering.” he introduces himself, not bothering to look at you as he does.

You tell him your name, and realise he’s brought you to a bedroom.

“Get comfy.” he instructs, he turns on a light, dimming it slowly when he sees your eyes screw shut from the brightness. The music still plays softly through the gaps of the door and into the room from the rest of the house. “Why’d you come here if you don’t like parties?”

“My friend… she wanted me to.”

“So you just do what people tell you to?” he asks, sitting beside you on the bed.

Your face fills with heat and your heart begins to race. You wiggle away from him slightly to keep some distance between you. He takes a drag of his blunt, looking up at the lights as he puffs a plume of smoke towards the ceiling.

“Not always.”

He doesn’t respond, instead, he holds the blunt out for you to try. You shake your head, though, declining immediately. Even with a few drinks in your system, you know better.

“Awe, no fun.” he chuckles, taking another drag. “C’mon. One hit, sweetheart.” he tells you, getting closer to you again and putting his arm around you. Your head drops, eyes finding where his hand rests on your hip before looking at the joint he’s holding right in front of you.

“I— I’ve never… I’ve never smoked before.” you admit.

“That’s cute. One puff won’t hurt, yeah?” he speaks, though you’re unsure if he’s trying to convince you or if he’s actually certain it won’t hurt. He smiles widely, it’s toothy and somewhat intimidating. He’s happy. He can see that you’re considering it. “Promise you’ll like it.”

You gulp, heartily, before wrapping your lips around the end of it. You’ve smoked cigarettes before, and you could only assume it would be similar.

Wrong.

You cough, sputter, gag from the invasion. He laughs at your expense, though he smooths a large palm up and down your back to soothe you. Your throat feels charred. It’s like the smoke has burnt holes throughout your oesophagus and the edges are scalding.

He gets up and walks towards a mini fridge you hadn’t noticed, tossing a bottle of water in your direction. And you drink it, quickly, the bottle crackling as you squeeze and drain it of every drop you can steal.

“S-Sorry,” you apologise, still coughing slightly. “That was embarrassing.”

“Yeah.” he agrees. “You really weren’t lying about it being your first time, hah?” he keeps going. Unfortunately for you, you don’t realise that he’s goading you. And it’s working.

You ask for another hit, out of principle. And of course, he smiles and hands it to you.

It gets easier, for sure. Soon enough, you’ve smoked the whole thing. He applauds you, impressed. But why does it make your ego swell? Your confidence soars, you don’t feel so shy anymore.

Not around him.

“C’mere,” he instructs, patting his thighs as an invitation. You look between his ruby red eyes and thick thighs as you decide whether you want to or not. You hesitate, a few times, before eventually standing up. He guides you down by your hips, your thighs straddling his while his hands dip beneath your skirt and thumbs stroke your skin soothingly.

Your eyes feel heavy, and he can’t help but smile when he sees how bloodshot they are. He can see how your eyes want to widen in shock. So utterly confused about how you got here.

He doesn’t give you a chance to think, though, not when his large hand cradles the crown of your head and pulls you towards himself. Your lips are caught together. It’s tame, to him. But to you it’s scandalous. A random hook up isn’t something you’ve ever done. You’re a long term relationship kind of girl.

But you can’t help yourself, now. His personality is magnetic, and his charm is captivating. You don’t want to disappoint him, for some reason. The thought of letting him down scares you. The idea of disobeying him makes your heart race.

That could just be the drugs, though.

You pull back, tracing your fingers over his body. A breathy gasp leaves you as he pulls off his vest, tossing it aside to reveal his chiselled body. Your cunt throbs as you feel how ripped he is. He’s the biggest man you’ve ever been with, like this, and he knows it too. He can tell by the look on your face.

The way you unashamedly squeeze his biceps. Two of your little hands aren’t even enough to wrap around the entire muscle.

He watches you, calmly, admiring how cute you look as you inspect every inch of his body.

“Having fun?” he asks, you give nothing but a dumb nod in response. His skin is smooth and you find yourself tracing a single finger over all of his tattoos. He guides you by your chin to look at him again, leaning forward to kiss you.

You reciprocate, allowing him to kiss you his way. He slips his tongue between the seam of your lips and two rough hands reach under your skirt and grab the fat of your ass. You wrap your legs around his back as he lifts you up, helping you back down so that your back is flat against the mattress.

He ruts his body against yours. And you can feel just how hard he is beneath his sweats. It’s huge, it feels huge. But you can barely focus as each dry humping of his hips stimulates your core.

“Fuck, need to fuck you,” he whispers against your ear and nibbling on the lobe. Your eyes roll back as he chokes you softly, and your own hips begin to buck as you search for more pleasure.

You’ve never felt so aroused before.

It’s like all of the blood is rushing to your core and pleading with you to stimulate yourself further. You need more. More. You wonder if anything will ever be enough, though.

“S’fucking cute, wan’ my cock bad, hah? Am I right?”

“F-Fuck me, please.” you whimper, screwing your eyes shut so that he can’t see how embarrassed you are.

He loosens his grip on your neck, moving it to cup your cheek instead. You instinctively open your mouth for him, and he lets out a soft laugh before pushing his thumb between your lips. He pulls down his sweatpants just enough to free his cock, eyes not leaving you for a second as you swirl your tongue around his thumb, bobbing and sucking all the while.

“I fucking knew it,” he speaks, “Always the quiet ones, always the dirtiest.”

You giggle a little, still suckling on his thumb like it was your sole purpose on this earth. He flips up your skirt to reveal a cute little g-string beneath.

“You don’t like parties? S’that why you came here dressed like a little whore?” he asks, pushing the material into the crease of your thigh. He lines his cock up with your entrance, slowly pushing in. “Sorry I didn’t prep ya, but you’re drenched anyway. Besides, a slut like you prob’ly doesn’t mind getting fucked like this.” he continues. He forces himself into you, ignoring the resistance until he’s snuggled inside.

He is huge.

The way your pussy splits open just to take the sheer girth of him makes you wonder if he’s even human. His cockhead nudges at your cervix, and every thrust he delivers hammers against it ruthlessly.

“H-Hurh…” you try to tell him that you’re hurting, but his thumb presses down on your thumb and it makes you gag. Though he slows down, knowing you were warning him. He isn’t a complete monster, after all. He’s a bit of a dick, sure, but he wants you to enjoy this, too.

His thrusts aren’t as deep anymore, sparing your poor cervix for the time being. The pain subsides and turns into something a lot more pleasant. So much so, that you can’t stop yourself from raking your nails across his back as he hits just the right spot inside of you with his enormous cock.

He pulls his thumb from your mouth, opting to squeeze the sides of your neck again instead. Your moans become lodged in your throat, and you can’t voice just how fucking perfect he feels inside of you. You’re close, so fucking close.

Though surprisingly, he cums first, loudly. Unable to withstand the blinding pleasure he feels as your tiny little cunt tightens around him. His body breaks out in a cold sweat as he moans, fucking his cum deeper and deeper into you. His restraint is lost, and he’s soon nudging against your cervix again, forcing every drop he can deep into your womb.

The warm feeling has your eyes crossing as you begin to spasm around him. He hisses, desperately, too overstimulated to keep quiet as your walls begin to hug his cock.

“You can stay the night, if you want.” Sukuna tells you, pulling himself out of your spent hole. He wipes his dick off on your inner thigh, though you barely register it as you think about what he said.

“Is this… Is this your house? Your party?”

“Little brother’s party. I live here, too.”

He doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea. You’re certainly a sweet girl, and you seem like the type to get attached. He has an ulterior motive in mind, though. Sure, maybe he’ll fuck you a few more times throughout the night. But he hopes you won’t be a fool and fall for him.

He has a goal for the following morning.

He wants to know how Yuuji’s girlfriend will react to seeing a girl leave his bedroom.

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revasserium · 7 months

Text

death before decaf

opla!zoro; 10,414 words; coffee shop/college!au, vague enemies to lovers, fencer!zoro, sports medicine!major reader, slightly ooc zoro (he's a bit more talkative), fluff and flirting, bff!robin, zoro makes the first move, zoro calling reader "princess", mutual pining, both reader and zoro are dumbasses, making out in locker rooms

summary: sanji and nami bet on how long it'll take you and zoro to finally crack over your caffeine-related discourse; or -- that one coffee!shop zoro au that literally no one asked for.

a/n: i keep on saying "this is the longest fic i've written to date" but this really is the longest fic i've written to date. and no, this will not be the only time zoro calls reader "princess" in one of my fics. trust.

one.

“How long did you say?”

“Two weeks, max.”

“Nah… you think?”

“Probably closer to a week. Week and a half.”

Sanji stubs out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe before tossing the smoking nub into the bin, casting Nami a disbelieving look.

“They’ve been going on like this for like three months… and you think they’re gonna crack in the next week and a half? Nah, fam — I call bullshit.”

Nami shrugs, smirking, “Your funeral.”

Sanji scoffs as Nami pushes through the swinging double doors into the main body of the cafe, hitching a smile onto her face as she greets the customers already lined up in front of the counter.

“Yeah, whatever,” he mutters to himself, dusting his hands off on his apron before pushing in after her, putting on his best customer-service smile.

“Mornin’ folks! Welcome to the Straw Hats Cafe, where the coffee’s hot but the people are hotter — what can I get started for you, sweetheart?” he grins as he shoots you a wink and you flash him your best Colgate smile.

“Can I get a decaf latte with —”

“Oat milk, two pumps of caramel, and whipped cream on top? Oh — and a sprinkle of cinnamon cause you can’t have a fall latte without cinnamon, right?” Sanji finishes for you.

You nod, your cheeks flushed a bright, wind-kissed pink from the cold outside.

Behind you, a green-haired boy in a tight-fitting tee and no jacket scoffs under his breath, shaking his head.

“Yep! You know me so well,” you say, giggling and making a point to speak just a bit louder.

“Course I do, darlin’. It’s what I get paid for,” Sanji jots down your order and pushes it to the side where Nami’s already halfway done with making your drink.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite mosshead jock — lemme guess, double espresso, no sugar, no nothin’, right?” Sanji punches in the order just as Zoro makes his way up to the counter, his eyes narrowed.

“Yeah.”

Sanji grins, hiking an eyebrow, “Talkative as always, I see. Alright — that’d be —”

Zoro wordlessly slides a full punch card onto the counter and Sanji pauses.

“Ah — pardon me, I do believe that’s your free drink! You sure you wanna use it on an espresso? Maybe… you wanna try one of our seasonal specials? The maple spice latte’s one of our best —”

Zoro scoffs again, “I’m good. I like my coffee real, thanks.”

Down passed the pastries, you roll your eyes, making an exaggerated face as Nami hands you your drink with a grin.

“Y’know, if you guys just made out I feel like it would fix a lot of this unresolved tension,” she says, even as you nearly choke on your drink.

You’re still coughing when Zoro joins you by the finished drinks counter.

“I’d rather lose an eye than make out with someone who drinks decaf.”

Nami sighs, shooting you a meaningful look as she slides the double espresso toward Zoro.

You wipe your lips with a napkin before leveling him with a glare.

“Well I’d rather gouge my own eyes out than make out with someone who never grew out of his middle school emo-phase.”

“At least I don’t try to use sugar to fill the gaping hole in your life where a real personality should be.”

“At least I don’t make that gaping hole my entire personality.”

“Princess.”

“Edgelord.”

You turn resolutely away from Zoro and smile back at Nami and Sanji, both stealing glances at the pair of you even as they continue to handle the Monday morning rush.

“Thank you guys — I’m gonna be late for class.

Zoro tsks, taking a sip of his espresso.

“I’m gonna be late for practice.”

You huff, pivoting away from him towards the door, purposefully letting it swing shut behind you; Zoro swears as it almost makes him spill his coffee.

Back in the coffee shop, Sanji finishes another order just as Nami washes off her hands to take over at the cashier.

“One and a half weeks?” Sanji asks as he rolls up his sleeves and grabs a few metal cups for steamed milk.

“Yep,” Nami replies, shooting another look out the glass door where they can both still see your’s and Zoro’s silhouettes as you head towards the university campus, “Just about.”

“Alright then, you’re on.”

Nami’s smirk only grows, “Like I said — your funeral.”

two.

You’re fuming all the way to your first morning class — Bio-Organic Chemistry — that you don’t notice your friend Robin until she’s standing right next to you.

“Are you mad at your fencer-boy again?”

You roll your eyes, huffing out a breath, “He’s not my fencer-boy, and no. I’m not mad.”

Robin grins, “Your tone says different.”

You cast her a reproachful look, “I just… bumped into him at the coffee shop again.”

“Ah,” Robin says, her voice saturated with understanding.

You groan, “He just… pisses me off so much! Like, why’s he care how much sugar I put in my drinks or if I drink decaf? He’s just a muscle-head loser who thinks drinking espresso shots makes him somehow more manly or something. Ugh.”

Robin’s grin is amused when you turn to chance her a glance.

“Then… why do you care how he takes his coffee?” Her question is light, but you’ve known her for long enough to know when she’s teasing.

“I didn’t! At least… not until he made fun of my drink first. I mean, who does that anymore? We’re in college! Like, grow up!”

“Mm,” Robin hums, schooling her expression into one of careful consideration and marked compassion, “and of course, you’re just engaging in his… childish antics because he started it first, right?”

You sigh, cupping your very sugary latte between your palms as you both duck into the main lecture building, teaming with students shedding scarves and jackets, shaking off the late autumn chill.

“I know, I know it’s stupid but… he just… pisses me off so much!”

Robin chuckles, her smile distinctly sphinx-like as you press your lips into a pout.

“Well, we can talk about it after morning lecture, hm?”

You sigh and nod, waving her off as she heads down the hallway towards her Ancient Worlds class and you head upstairs for the sciences.

You spend the whole lecture in a mood and by the time you’re excused, your temples have started to throb.

But true to her word, you find Robin waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, a thick leather-bound book clutched to her chest. You give her a questioning look.

“Just some light reading,” she says. You roll your eyes.

“Just say you’re a gigantic nerd and go.”

At this Robin laughs, falling into step next to you as you both start to make your way towards the dining commons.

“Have I ever denied that I was?”

You let out a noncommittal grunt.

Luckily, the commons isn‘t as crowded as it usually is and you both quickly find a seat.

“So,” Robin says as she slides into the seat next to you, propping up her chin on the heel of her hand. There’s a low, lilting tone to her voice that tells you there’s no getting out of it this time.

You sigh again, pursing your lips, staring down at your açaí bowl.

“So what?”

“Tell me about him.”

You scoff, “Not really much to tell — he’s… one of the fencers on the national team. So obviously, he’s got his own head shoved so far up his ass he can probably watch his own lunch dige—“

“So he’s quite good at fencing then.” Robin keeps her voice neutral, taking a contemplative bite of a banana.

“I guess — I mean we’re the top feeder school for the Olympic team, aren’t we?” You jab your spoon into the yogurt, nearly splattering Robin’s new book. She gently tucks it into her bag and motions for you to continue.

“I dunno, there’s not much to tell after that… he’s an arrogant jock who judges people by how they take their coffee,” and at this, you shove a large spoonful of yogurt and açaí into your mouth, glaring at nothing in particular.

“Doesn’t your practical applications class look after the fencing team?”

Again, you grunt, sinking a bit further into your seat at the thought.

“Yeah, I’ve been dreading that all morning, and the class isn’t till Wednesday.”

Robin’s smile is almost too academic as she carefully finishes her banana and gets started on an egg salad sandwich.

“It can’t be that bad, can it?”

You sniff, swallowing another huge mouthful of yogurt.

“It can,” you say, grimacing, “You should see the number of times I’ve had to hold back from dislocating his shoulder on purpose.”

Robin laughs her tinkling, all-knowing laugh, “Every day, I wake up glad to be on your whitelist.”

Your lips twitch into a reluctant grin.

“I’d be nicer too if I were as tall and pretty as you are. But since I’m not one of god’s strongest soldiers, I’ve gotta find other ways of defending myself, y’know?”

“I’m not sure what you do can be called ‘self-defense’ in a court of law but…” she smiles, “You shouldn’t sell yourself short either.”

You cast her a deadpan look, “But I am short. It’s like where 90% of my rage and spite come from.”

Robin grins, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You make a rather childish face, but a comfortable warmth spreads from the center of your chest out towards all your extremities at Robin’s words. She cocks her head and continues.

“Plus… I’ve a creeping suspicion that your fencer-boy would agree that you’re prettier than you think.”

You freeze mid-swallow on your last spoonful of yogurt, eyes wide.

“Wait — what?”

Robin sighs, looking at you as if studying a particularly interesting monolith carved with all her favorite dead languages. You sit back, crossing your arms, feeling raw beneath her inquisitive gaze.

“You can’t still think that this little… feud you two have is purely based on a difference in coffee preference, can you?”

You realize you’re chewing on your bottom lip and force yourself to stop.

“I — I don’t know how it can be anything else though…” but even to your own ears, you sound distinctly unconvinced. Robin cocks her head.

“Think about it — when we were all little kids and running around on playground, which girls would get their pigtails pulled the most?”

Your frown deepens, “But we’re not kids anymore and this isn’t a play —“

“Yes, I know. Just humor me for a moment.”

You squirm in your seat, your heart thudding erratically in your rib cage, making you feel strangely breathless.

“It was… always the girls that the boys had a crush on,” you answer, your voice growing smaller with each word as the realization seeps into your skin like sunlight. And suddenly, it's too hot. The thought that Zoro might be doing this because he likes you isn’t something that’s crossed your mind. Or rather, it isn’t a thought you’d allowed to cross your mind.

“You know, boys aren’t technically considered ‘men’ until they’re in their mid-thirties,” Robin says, conversational and satisfied to have driven the point home to you. She leans back even as you reach up to press your face into the palms of your hands.

“But…” you try to grasp for some thread of logic that might be able to refute Robin’s claim but come up empty. She’s always been too smart for her own good. And yours.

When you finally lift your head again, it’s to find Robin still watching you, an oddly indulgent smile on her lips.

“C’mon,” she says, gathering her things, “don’t want you to be late for your next lecture.”

She has the audacity to wink as you hurriedly grab your stuff as well.

“Shut up,” you say, bumping her lightly with your elbow as you walk passed her, cheeks darkening with every step. Your next lecture, you both know, is the Nutrition of Sports — which is one of the few actual classes that you and Zoro actually share.

“Have fun in class!” Robin calls as you split ways outside the dining commons. You consider flipping her off but decide against it and opt to stick out your tongue at her instead.

Robin shakes her head, laughing quietly to herself. Really, she thinks, this is just starting to get interesting.

three.

You walk into Nutrition of Sports fully prepared to see Zoro slouched in his usual seat at the back of the class — except, he’s not there. You blink; he’s always been there, always early despite what others might assume of his punctuality. And yet.

“Lookin’ for me, Princess?”

You jump as you hear Zoro’s voice behind you, dangerously close to your ear. Jerking around, you find him smirking, arms crossed as he stares at you.

“N-no.”

“Tch.” He saunters into the room, his arm barely grazing yours as he drops into his seat, leaning back with a sort of damnable, feline grace, doing nothing to hide a huge, lethargic yawn. When he makes a show of stretching his arms over his head, you pause as you notice the way he winces, favoring his left side over his right.

You narrow your eyes.

“You’d be a shit poker player,” he says, grinning as he turns his eyes back towards you, catching you staring before you flush a deep purple and stomp towards your own seat, just one row ahead of him.

You noisily start setting up your supplies — an endless parade of jelly pens and perfectly coordinated sticky notes in aesthetically pleasing colors — pretending like you hadn’t heard him.

Thankfully, the professor hurries in soon after as the rest of the students file in.

Halfway through the lecture, you’re stifling the third yawn of the hour as you feel a small, crumpled something hit the back of your neck. You jerk around to find Zoro ducking behind his arms even as you spot the small wad of paper that he’d obviously just tossed at you.

You bend down to pick it up, only to find a note scribbled in slanted, uneven handwriting —

Sugar crash? Ha. Serves you right.

You nearly whip around but the professor clicks another slide and drones on. You huff, flipping the paper over to scribble on the back —

What happened to your arm?

You surreptitiously toss the note back to him and grin to yourself as you hear him sputtering behind you. The professor glances towards you. You flash him a winning smile as you continue to jot down notes; behind you, you hear the distinct sounds of Zoro scrambling to appear as if he’s paying attention.

The rest of the lecture goes by uninterrupted, though by the end, you swear that your hackles are raised from the way Zoro’s been staring at the back of your neck the entire time.

“What?” you ask, whipping around to face him.

Zoro, for his part, has the decency to look sheepish as he clears his throat and sighs, leaning back.

“There’s nothing wrong with my arm,” he says as he looks away, a slight darkness dusting the high of his cheeks. It’s not the first time you notice the bone-chiseled features of his face — like some gorgeous, careless god, rendered by the loving hands of a besotted Renaissance artist and preserved for the world to see — the way a constellation of freckles scatter across the bridge of his nose, the way his jaw is sharp enough to sting the imagination.

“Right. Fine. Sorry I asked.” You shove your notes and pens back into your bag, rolling your eyes as you shoulder your tote, “And… you’d be a shit poker player too.”

And with that, you turn and leave the room without a single backward glance.

You’re gone so quick that you don’t see the way Zoro stares after you, his own eyes narrowed into slits. You don’t see the way he frowns as one of his teammates nudges him with an elbow, reminding him that afternoon practice starts in 15 minutes.

four.

Tuesday night finds you slumped over a stack of books on the 3rd floor of the library, your entire body feeling odd and boneless. Hundreds of tiny flashcards are scattered across the top of the desk, each filled with a system you have to memorize before your test on Friday for your O-Chem course, when suddenly, a white paper cup appears in your field of vision, plopping onto the tiny slip of table still available between all your study materials.

“Hm?” you jerk up, blinking blearily up at a vaguely familiar green-haired figure even as he crosses his arms and sighs.

“There. Some real coffee. Looked like you need it,” Zoro says, glancing away the moment your eyes come into focus.

You stare at him for a solid ten seconds before looking back down at the cheap, watered-down cup of unsweetened coffee on the table before you.

Ew, you want to say, but somehow, “Thanks,” is what comes out of your mouth.

You reach for the cup, wincing slightly as you jerk your fingers back from the scalding exterior of the thin paper cup.

Zoro immediately leans down, snatching the cup from the table to blow on the surface. You watch him with wide, wondering eyes. It takes him a second to catch himself before he blushes a deep shade of maroon and clears his throat, quickly setting the cup back down on your desk, tucking both his hands into his pockets, looking anywhere but directly at you.

“It’s — careful — I mean — it’s from the vending machine downstairs so it’s not as fancy as the stuff we get from the coffee shop —”

Maybe it’s because you’re truly too tired, or maybe because Robin’s been right since day one but — you reach for the cup, carefully cradling it between your palms as you take a tentative sip and grimace at the watery, bitter aftertaste.

“Gross,” you say, though without any malice, glancing up at him. Zoro scoffs, dragging out an empty seat across from you, turning it around to straddle the chair, propping both his arms on the back as he looks at you. Your eyes once more catch on the way he’s gentler with his right side.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” you ask again, taking another tentative sip of the truly awful coffee.

Zoro grimaces, “None of your business.”

You sigh, the will to snark back rather feeble as you consider the mountain of vocab you have to memorize before your Friday test.

“Right, sure — keep your secrets,” you drone as you set the paper cup down and nudge it further away from you, “be mysterious for the next —” you check your watch, “eighteen hours before Practical Applications when you’ll have to explain to Coach Mihawk why you've been lying about an obvious injury three weeks before your next —”

“Fuck — okay.”

You pause, looking up from collecting your flash cards.

Zoro digs his fingers into his right shoulder.

“I — I think I pulled it at the tournament last week.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “Your tournament was on Thursday.”

Zoro shifts uncomfortably, “And?”

“And it’s now Tuesday.”

Zoro doesn’t answer this time, but you have to actively fight down the urge to throw the no-longer-scalding-but-still-very-hot-coffee at his face. You tell yourself that the only thing stopping you is professionalism and sportsmanship instead of an unwillingness to damage his Michaelangelo-sculpted features.

“It’s been five days!”

Zoro’s expression flatlines, “Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to count.”

You bite back a frustrated scream as you push away from your chair and round the table to stand behind him, not giving him enough time to be bewildered before you press a palm to his right shoulder, already focused on finding the tender spots.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

You run an expert palm over the width of his shoulders, focusing on his right, fingers digging into various muscle groups until he winces.

“Ow.”

You grin as you find a tender patch to the right of his spine, almost beneath his shoulder blade.

“You strained your Rhomboid.”

“Gesundheit.”

You roll your eyes and reach over his back for the cup of coffee. You feel his breath hitch as your front presses full against his back.

“Hold still,” you say, pressing the side of the warm cup to the sore muscle.

Zoro makes a choked moaning noise that he tries to bite off, but not soon enough. It sizzles down your spine to curl at the base of your belly, spreading heat through your body in a way you have no urge to examine at this current point in time.

You hold it there for a minute, and then two, till the coffee’s gone lukewarm.

“Here,” you say, tugging the cup away to offer it to him.

He stares at the cup before glancing up at you.

“Caffeine helps with muscle soreness and pain — it’s probably why you’re so addicted to espresso all the time,” you offer by way of an explanation, even as he opens his mouth to ask. He closes his mouth and takes the coffee, downing half of it in a single gulp.

Then, he sets it down on the table before digging a crumpled packet of sugar out of his pants pocket.

“It’s… probably not as sweet as you usually like it but…” he presses it into the palm of your hand, looking anywhere but at your face, “should help the bitterness.”

And then he’s gone, slouching off towards the elevator bank, leaving you gaping after him with the packet of sugar in your hand, your rapidly cooling coffee, and a mountain of revisions you’ve got no hope of finishing tonight.

five.

Wednesday finds you practically sprinting as you reach your Practical Applications course, clutching at your chest as you burst through the gym doors, gasping for breath. Professor Kureha quirks an inquiring eyebrow at you while Mihawk, the fencing instructor, slates you a sharp, rueful glare.

“— as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” his bright hawk-yellow eyes flash back over the fencing team, “regionals are quickly approaching and we need you in top form. So — warm-ups stretches, everyone. Pair up and get to it. Zoro, up here with me.”

You duck your head and hurry towards your normal spot along the bleachers, slowing as you notice what looks like a cup of coffee from the Straw Hats Cafe occupying the place where you normally sit. You pick up the cup — it’s still hot to the touch.

On the coffee slip is a single word — Princess.

And though it’s in Sanji’s familiar coffee shop scrawl, only one person has ever called you that.

Heat crests up your chest, prickling at your cheeks. You don’t have to taste it to know that it’s your order — your favorite order. Briefly, you wonder if Sanji made Zoro recite the entire thing before agreeing to put it down, or if he’d spared Zoro the pain of having to say the word ‘decaf’ unironically.

And then you wonder if Nami teased him at all, waiting for his own drink on top of yours.

“Chop chop,” Professor Kureha says, grinning too wide as she wanders over, peering at you over her John Lennon shades, “you heard old Hawk-eyes — time to pair up.”

You hurriedly drop your bag and take a quick sip of our drink, letting out a soft groan of appreciation as the caramel-cinnamon goodness seeps into your blood vessels. Some nameless freshman hopeful from the fencing team is your partner for stretches and you patiently walk him through all the major motions, pushing on his back and laughing kindly when he can’t quite reach his toes.

You feel the faint tingle on the back of your neck that tells you someone’s staring, and you privately think that you don’t need three guesses to figure out who it is. But you don’t give Zoro the satisfaction of looking over till you help the blushing freshman finish all his stretches, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, reaching up on tip-toe to ruffle his hair even though he’s got a solid four inches over you.

When finally, you glance over towards where Mihawk is putting Zoro through his paces, it’s to find him flickering through the motions — flashes of silver, lithe, fluid — and you find your breath held captive in your chest by the sight.

You’ve always known Zoro to be a graceful fencer, but grace has nothing on the way he flows from one move to the next, each muscle drawn like a bow-string, each intake of breath timed and perfect. His arms and legs move in tandem and there’s a bewitching rhythm to the way his body breaks and bends. It is beauty and strength, dance and magic — power and promise and the sword-tip’s whish of premonition.

When he finishes, you suck in a breath you hadn’t been aware you were holding.

You watch as Mihawk murmurs something to Zoro, who winces, looking chastened before Mihawk waves him away and Zoro sets down his epee, making his way over to you.

You open your mouth, about to make some snarky remark but Zoro reaches over his back with one hand and tugs his shirt off in a single, unbroken motion. You gulp, your voice failing you as your eyes settle on the strong ripple of his muscles as he tosses his shirt aside.

Zoro smirks, “Keep starin’ and I’m gonna have to start charging.”

You rip your eyes away, fire licking up the length of your torso as you reach into your bag for a roll of sports tape.

Zoro slumps down in the seat in front of you as you take stock of his sweat-slicked torso, your eyes still catching on the patch of swollen muscle beneath his shoulder blade. You reach forward and run a thumb along it, careful of the way he hisses.

“A hot-patch is only going to do so much,” you say, frowning as you drop the sports tape to focus on massaging the tender bit of skin.

Zoro groans, his eyes falling half shut as you slowly work at the various knots in his shoulders. Your fingers are slow and deliberate, applying just the right amount of pressure. And more than once, Zoro has to bite back what he’s sure would’ve been an indecent moan before it rolls out of his mouth at the way your soft palms press into the planes of his back, the tenseness of his shoulders.

“Keep moaning like that, I’m gonna have to start charging,” you say, much too close to his ear.

Zoro jerks, even as you pull back, laughing. The sound makes his skin prickle up with goosebumps and he doesn’t want to think about the myriad reasons why.

“I bought you coffee, twice,” he grumbles, cheeks pink, his mind still buzzing from the warmth of your palms.

You hum, your fingers flickering over his skin, pulling away for a second before he feels something wonderful and cool pressing against his sore, aching muscles.

“You’re right… you did buy me coffee twice. Even though the first time was horrible vending machine coffee and I used most of it as a heating pad for your injury.”

Zoro grunts, letting you manhandle him as you gently twist his right arm into an array of different stretches to test his range of mobility.

“Still counts.”

You put down his right arm to test his left. Zoro chooses not to think about the way his body tingles where your hands touch him, and especially not where you’re standing too close, your chest occasionally brushing against his shoulder. He chooses actively not to think about the way he can smell the soft, coconut milk fragrance of your lotion as you lean over him, rambling about doing the proper warm-up and cool-down exercises.

He grins as you reach over mid-sentence to finish your drink and you pause, watching him with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

He shrugs, “Nothin’… just that… seems like you liked your drink.”

Your eyes slingshot from his face to the nearly empty cup in your hands.

“I always like my —”

They widen when you realize that Zoro had in fact ordered a double shot of espresso in your usual drink instead of your normal decaf. And, that you’d been too distracted by him to notice.

“I — it — wh —”

Zoro languidly rises from his seat, grinning, “Thanks for the treatment, Princess. I owe you one — lemme buy you a coffee sometime, yeah?”

You stare after him as he makes his way across the room, back to the rest of the team for proper bouts. You force down another blush as you shove the now-empty coffee cup into the nearest trash can, your heart skidding to the rhythmic squeak of feet shuffling against the floors, the bell-like ting of epee blades, the murmur of the watching crowd.

six.

Thursday morning finds you ill-rested and grumpy as you join Robin in the quad, heading for the Straw Hats Cafe during free period.

“Trouble sleeping?” Robin asks, looking you over with mild concern.

You grunt, adjusting your bag, “Had coffee too late in the day.”

At this, Robin frowns, “But you only drink decaf.”

You grunt again, not looking at her, “Yeah, well.”

Robin blinks for a second before a knowing smile splits her lips, “Ah… so. Fencer-boy’s made his move.”

You round on her, fists clenched, “He has not! He just — he just bought me coffee!”

Robin remains infuriatingly unfazed as she stares at you, “Yes. And to most, that would constitute as ‘making a move’. And here I thought you were a fan of romance novels.”

You turn away from her, huffing even as your cheeks fill with color, “I — I am.”

“So?” she asks.

“So?” you echo, cursing yourself for sounding like a petulant child.

“So…” she continues, patient as always, “he bought you coffee.”

You crinkle your nose, your stomach a roiling mess as the pair of you make your way across the quad and duck into the cafe to Sanji’s bright, welcoming voice, your eyes scanning the queue even though you know that Zoro’s got morning practice. This does not go unnoticed by Robin, though she mercifully elects to not question you about it.

“Yes, he bought me coffee. But instead of decaf, he made it a double-shot.” You try very hard to make this sound like a personal affront, but Robin only dips her head.

“Ah,” she says again, and you feel the urge to run out of the building even as the pair of you shuffle towards the front of the line.

“Hi there, oh! I’ve got a special message for you,” Nami says as you get to the registers, her voice silken with glee as she reaches behind the counter to tug out what looks like a receipt. You glance down at the paper, confused, but she only winks as she moves to ask what Robin would like.

You inch to the side, distracted by this strange turn, your eyes dropping to the slip of paper, upon which is scribbled — Good luck on test tomorrow. Evening bout. Gym.

You stare at the cryptic message for a full minute before Robin ushers you toward the counter where Sanji is pumping out drinks, making girls blush as he winks at them each in turn.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite Decaf Princess — though… seems like your tastes are a-changin’ these days,” Sanji says, grinning wide as you get to the counter, pushing a steaming cup towards you. You frown at the drink — cinnamon sprinkled atop a perfectly placed dollop of whipped cream, underneath which you’re sure is your favorite drink order. You look back up at Sanji.

“A certain mosshead jock put in an advanced order for you — said to give you an extra shot of espresso for the test you’ve got tomorrow.”

You sputter as Robin laughs beside you, thanking Sanji for her own Long Black.

“You know, you could just be normal and call it an Americano,” you say as the pair of you make your way out of the cafe. Robin grins, sipping at her drink.

“I could… but where’s the fun in that?” she slates you a glance, “More importantly, are you going?”

“To what?” you ask, not meaning to sound so defensive, but you can’t help it, and even as Robin sighs, you know that it’s useless.

“To the bout,” she says, unruffled.

You hunch into your upturned collar and your thick, layered scarf, cradling your drink, the sweet scent of syrup and cinnamon wafting up to tickle your nose. You blush at the thought of Zoro’s voice, full of morning gravel, shy as he lists out all the extremities you like in your coffee order.

“Maybe. I mean… why not, right?”

Robin nods, humming as she takes another long drink, “Mhm — why not indeed.”

You nudge her; she nudges you back. You both laugh as a church bell rings out from across the quad, sending a flock of birds scattering through the misty, morning air.

seven.

Friday evening finds you pushing through the wide gym doors, pressing your hands over the skirt you’d painstakingly picked out, chewing on your bottom lip.

You silently curse at Robin for pulling out last minute, begging off to some Ancient Languages focus group.

“I bet it’s not even real…” you mutter to yourself as you slip into the front row of the bleachers, looking for an empty seat. You somehow manage to look up just as Zoro is about to go on, his mask under one arm, his blade in the other.

You raise your hand in a half wave before catching yourself and shoving it back down, scowling as Zoro’s lips pull into a lopsided grin. You drop into a seat just as Zoro tugs his helmet on and stretches his arms. You tense as you see the slight wince he twitches away as he tests the weight of his blade.

But you needn’t have worried — the bout is quick and decisive, Zoro scoring one point after another, his blade flashing through the air, bright as fish scales. And before you know it, the buzzer sounds, marking his victory. You leap to your feet, cheering with the rest of the crowd as Zoro tugs off his mask and pumps his fists.

You catch his eye and for a moment, the wild rumble of the screaming crowd fades to a dull, thumping baseline. He jerks his head towards the lockers and you nod, swallowing hard as you duck through the still-cheering crowd towards the back of the gym.

When you get there, it’s to find him methodically polishing his blade, his mask set to the side, his thick jacket pulled down to pool around his waist, the rest of his protective wear scattered in heaps on the ground around him. You have half a mind to scold him for being so careless with what you know is expensive gear but you can’t keep yourself from staring at the wide planes of back, curving up to his shoulders, the thick cords of muscle that flex up either side of his neck.

He looks up as you shuffle in, your skirt suddenly feeling a bit too short, too risque for the near-winter weather outside.

You clear your throat and cast your eyes about the empty lockers. You don’t miss the way his gaze skates up your bare legs, pausing at the place where your skirt brushes the top of your thighs.

“Uhm — how’s your shoulder?” your voice sounds too high, echoing strangely along the white-tiled walls.

Zoro licks his lips and puts down his blade, rolling his right shoulder.

“Better but… still not great. Mihawk’s making me to do PT.”

You nod, letting out a soft laugh, “I’m glad. You’d never do it otherwise.”

He scoffs, “You know what that means though, right?” There’s a raw, rolling tension beneath his words, a sort of thickened expectation as he stares at you with dark, meaningful eyes.

You purse your lips, your stomach tightening.

“I —”

Zoro gets to his feet, and you barely register the soft clatter of his blade as it rolls to the side on the bench. He closes the space between you in three quick steps and you find yourself marveling at his speed — wondering vaguely if this is how all his opponents feel when he slips forward, the tip of his blade digging into their shoulder or stomach or the bend of their hip.

“Means we’re stuck with each other. At least till you fix me for regionals in two weeks.”

Your back meets the icy chill of the locker doors and the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them —

“Bold of you to assume that you’re fixable in two weeks.”

Zoro quirks an eyebrow, even as you resist the urge to clap your hands to your mouth, cursing inwardly at whatever the hell made you say that out loud. Your heart thuds an insistent drumbeat inside your chest as Zoro leans casually against the lockers next to you. Like this, you can feel the heat of his skin, the rhythm of his long breaths as he looks you over with sharp, curious eyes.

You think you can taste the sweet, tepid weight of his breath. It smells faintly of coffee and mint and synthetically flavored protein bars.

“Then…” he drawls, propping an arm against the locker door right next to your face, his eyes flickering from your lips up to your eyes and back down again. Your gaze is unabashedly caught on the shape of his mouth, but when you finally force yourself to look up at his eyes, it’s to find them warm and amused.

“How long do you think it’ll take?”

You gulp, “To fix your shoulder?”

Zoro shrugs, “That and… whatever else you think needs to be fixed.”

You purse your lips, an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies erupting in your stomach at his words.

“Who knows? Might take three weeks… might take — forever —” your words cut off as he leans in to graze his lips against yours. And you’re momentarily caught between delight and bewilderment that you’re right — they do taste of coffee and mint and salt — but that they also taste of a dull, throbbing hunger as he leans in to kiss you proper. And then, the blooming realization that you’re just as desperate as he is, pushing in, fingers scrabbling against the skin of his chest as his skim along the sides of your ribs, the dip of your waist.

He kisses you so deep and so long that you’re actually gasping when he finally pulls away to suck a stinging hickey into the smooth of your collarbone, his fingers digging grooves into your thighs as he hoists you up to press you against the cold, hard metal of the lockers.

You let out a clipped moan at the same time he does, and his right arm twitches, though he makes no move to let you go.

Distantly, your mind registers the fact that he’s still technically injured, but the part of you that’s hungry and clawing at the base of your stomach with a fierce, immutable need refuses to listen to reason. It takes more effort than it logically should’ve done to extricate yourself from his grasp, to push him away despite his disgruntled sigh as he stumbles back and stares at you with dark, dangerous eyes.

“What —”

“Fuck —” you hiss, even as you let your head fall back against the lockers, the dull thunk pulling a wolfish grin to his lips.

“Yeah, well —”

“Wait — no —”

Zoro cocks his head, “No?”

You reach forward to tug him back, to kiss him as deeply and desperately as you dare, but you pull away before he can properly sink into the kiss and you pin him with a look.

“We — your shoulder —”

“Fuck my shoulder —”

You shake your head, almost delusional with the heat and want and the insanity of it all, “No! We can’t! We — we’ve gotta take care of it first!”

Zoro rolls his eyes, “It’ll get better if we just leave it alone —”

You shake your head again, laughing as he presses back in, slower this time, grazing his knuckles along the skin of your jaw, tilting you back towards him.

“It won’t,” you say, softly, letting him run a thumb along your lips, “but… if you let me take care of it. It will heal faster…” you trail off, letting the implications simmer beneath the surface of all your unsaid words, and it only takes a second for Zoro to consider before he lowers you to the floor and starts haphazardly gathering up his things.

You drag a hand across your lips, watching him.

“So…” you feel yourself blush as you muster up the words but Zoro scoffs, already impatient as he shoves his stuff into one of the larger lockers and slams the door.

“Mine. It’s closer.”

eight.

His, is — in fact — much closer than you’d thought. Only two blocks from the campus, and in one of the most expensive dorm buildings. You wonder how much he must be paying for it before you realize that he's on a sports scholarship, but you can’t even bring yourself to be bitter as he lets you into his spacious dorm, the giant living room scattered with game consoles and opened cereal boxes, leading to a short hallway that opens into his bedroom.

It’s cleaner than you’d imagined, with a set of light green linens drawn neatly over a full-sized bed, and two sets of pillows.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says, sweeping some energy bar wrappers into the trash from his desk as he tosses down his duffle bag.

You shake your head, looking around, your eyes catching on the thick volumes of fencing books, the endless stacks of sports magazines, the huge set of free weights on a rack in the corner by the closet.

“Uh… do you want a drink?” he asks, suddenly awkward as he scratches at the back of his head.

You turn towards him with a grin, “No. But I do want you to take off your shirt.”

Zoro blinks before he smiles and moves towards the bed, tugging off his shirt and tossing it to the side. You fight the urge to roll your eyes as he leans back on the bed, his perfectly tanned stomach flexing beneath the slanted desk-light as he watches you through lazily hooded eyes.

“On your stomach,” you say, your voice light and surgical as you open your own bag and tug out a tub of medicated massage cream.

Zoro stares for a second before the smile slips off his face to be replaced by a dull, knowing scowl. Still, he doesn’t argue as he flips onto his stomach and sighs, pillowing his cheek on his arms as he pouts at the wall.

“Like I told you — we need to take care of your shoulder first. Regionals are in two weeks. We can’t have you performing like you did tonight.”

Zoro attempts a glare over his shoulder as you carefully maneuver over his back and straddle his hips, warming your palms with the massage cream before setting to work.

“I still won.”

His voice is tight and petulant. You nod, sighing as you work your thumbs into the dip beneath his shoulder blade where you know he’s still sore. He hisses, jerking away from you. You pin him in place with your free arm and continue to roll your thumb across the bundle of muscle.

Two minutes in, you press a bit harder and he lets out a pitched whine that makes you pause in your ministrations.

“F-fuck —” he buries his face in his pillow, thumping a fist against his bed as you laugh and continue the massage, though taking care to be a bit more careful around his injury.

Nearly twenty minutes later, you climb off the bed and wipe your hands. Zoro groans, shifting to watch you with half-lidded eyes and color-stained cheeks.

“I know,” you say, holding up your hands, “that really hurt but you feel much better now, right?”

Zoro grins, sleepy as he blinks slowly up at you, “Yeah. Whatever.”

And then, a long moment later —

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft, flipping onto his side and shifting on the bed as if to make room for you, “stay.”

You freeze, almost unwilling to believe your own ears as you finish putting away your supplies. You glance at him with tight lips and hopeful eyes.

There’s a tiny grin threatening the corners of his lips as he sighs, making a show of yawning and stretching.

“It’s late… and I don’t really feel like walking you back.”

You fold your arms, “I could just call campus security to escort me.”

Zoro stills for a second but a moment later, he casts his eyes up at the ceiling, “Yeah… you could…”

You make no move to leave.

“But you still owe me coffee in the morning,” he says.

You frown, “Wait, what? How’s that?”

He glances at you, “I’ve bought you coffee twice.”

“Yeah, but I just gave you a free 30-minute medical massage treatment for your shoulder.”

“You would’ve had to do it anyway on Wednesday in Practical Applications.”

You narrow your eyes, “Professor Kureha might not have assigned me to you.”

At this, Zoro scoffs, “Yeah right. You’re the best, and so am I.”

“S-she might not have!” you say, though there’s no real conviction in your voice. You both know that he’s right.

“Yeah. Whatever.” He turns away from you, making as if to go to sleep.

You glare at his back, dropping your bag with a loud thump.

“If anything, you owe me coffee now. That massage was worth at least two coffees, if not more.” You plop down on the edge of his bed, scowling at the opposite wall.

Zoro is quiet for a beat too long and you chance a glance at him, only to find him peering you with a strangely indulgent look in his eyes. You blush, tearing your eyes away.

“How’s breakfast?” he asks, his voice once again going soft. Your skin prickles with heat.

“What about breakfast?”

“Coffee and breakfast. That enough to pay for the massage?”

You can’t help the smile that threatens to break across your lips as you glance back at him and catch his eyes.

“I…. guess.”

Zoro chuckles, the sound so low in his throat that it makes you shiver. Quick as anything, he reaches over to pull you down towards him, easily looping an arm around your middle and flipping you both so that you’re pinned beneath him. You barely have time to gasp before you find his lips on yours once more, slow and sweet and shockingly steady.

You kiss him back, letting him push you gently into the crumpled linens of his bed. His fingers are light as he slowly works your skirt down your legs, reaching behind your torso to loosen your bra and tug your shirt from you in a single, smooth motion.

You shiver beneath him and he pulls back to stare. You search his eyes, feeling suddenly uncertain.

“God, you’re gorgeous…”

Heat crests into your cheeks as you try to look away. But he tugs you back with his thumb and steals another kiss.

“It’s late…” he says, pulling away to press your foreheads.

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah, I know…”

“Let’s sleep in tomorrow.”

You laugh, shifting as he curls his body around you, tugging you easily against his chest and pulling the covers over you both. A moment later, the lights click off and you’re both thrown into darkness. You let yourself relax into his arms, wondering just how you’re going to explain this to Robin tomorrow.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Zoro’s voice murmurs into the nape of your neck.

You grin, nodding as you press further back into him and he grazes a soft kiss along your skin.

“That kinda thinking needs breakfast and coffee first,” you say, to which Zoro chuckles, nodding as he lets you hook your ankles between his, your bodies settling against each other, warm and perfect, the curves and bends meeting like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally, finally finding each other at last.

You don’t have long enough to ponder on the light, musk-salt-sweet of his skin or the way you can feel his heartbeat as it threads along your spine or the way that somehow, the shape of him doesn’t feel foreign against the shape of you, before you’re already falling asleep. And to him, he doesn’t have time to ponder the lovely silk of your hair, just as soft as he’d always imagined, or the way your waist feels perfect beneath his hands, or how he’s somehow he’s always known the rhythm of your breaths before he too is falling into the warm embrace of a dark, sweet, restful sleep as well.

nine.

Saturday morning finds you both tangled in each other, the winter sun bright and cold as it slates through the slits of Zoro’s bedroom window. He wakes up first, shifting to stretch until he feels the weight of you beside him. And then suddenly, he's somehow achingly awake and aware of his body against yours, of your paced breaths and his own rapidly increasing heartbeat. For one bewildering moment, he can’t quite remember what brought him here, and then the scenes from the night before — the bout, the lockers, the kiss — the way you’d tasted, how utterly irresistible you’d been, blushing in the dim light of his room, your skillful fingers digging into his tender, swollen flesh — his own rash promise of breakfast and coffee — it all comes rushing back. Zoro lets out a long breath and leans in to brush his lips along your forehead.

You let out a light groan as you shift in his arms, and when you turn, it’s to find him watching you.

“Oh… hey.”

Your voice is quiet, almost shy as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, and he finds himself more endeared than he has words to say.

He clears his throat.

“Morning. Uh… sleep well?”

You laugh, the warmth of your expelled breath ghosting across his clavicle in a way that makes him shiver.

“Mhm… pretty well… and you?”

Zoro clears his throat, “Yeah. Guess it wasn’t… bad.”

He resists the urge to roll away, if only because your cheek is still pillowed on his arm, and he can’t bring himself to pull away from you just yet. So instead, he drops his nose into your hair and takes in the milky scent of your coconut lotion. Tiny, pin-pricks of desire shoot through him, teasing goosebumps into the skin of his back and arms, but he forces himself to lie still as you snuggle against his chest with a contented sigh.

“So… breakfast and coffee?”

Zoro grunts, “Hn. I did promise.”

You smile, letting yourself sink into the thick and syrup of his sleep-deepened voice, his moss-green hair even more tousled than it normally is as he adjusts his head on his pillow.

“Hey,” you say, breathless as you look up at him beneath the sweep of your lashes, your eyes so big and dark and wide Zoro wonders if they might swallow him whole.

“Hey,” he answers, just as breathless, uncertainty creeping up the center of his chest as he stares down at you, lying in the glistening, mercurial light, the bend of your shoulder kissed by the morning sun, the shape of you limned in silver and gold.

You lean up to kiss him before he has the chance to second-guess himself, and though he was the more bold, self-assured one last night, you press in against him this morning, the languid sweep of your tongue along his lips making him groan, helpless, against you. He tastes the satisfied grin at the corner of your mouth as he opens his own, his mind frizzing into gorgeous, white static as you spend what feels like hours exploring the sweet depths of each other's mouths — all tongue and teeth and kiss-swollen lips.

When finally you pull apart, he is more breathless than he’d planned for, his body too warm for his liking, an urgent, pulsing something burning at the base of his stomach as he fights the urge to shove you back and sink his teeth into your skin, to hear you hiss, to make you gasp, to leave the indent of his fingers along the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, to mark you as his in every way he knows how.

But instead, he places a lingering kiss on your cheek and sits up, slowly stretching his arms.

“Careful…” you warn, pushing yourself up as well, watching him, “how’s it feel?”

Zoro tests his right side, drawing his arm up and then to the side, and then pulling it across his torso.

“Whoa… so much better.”

You smile, satisfied.

Zoro chuckles, “Guess I really do owe you breakfast. C’mon.”

He slips out of bed, tugging open a drawer to toss you a thick sweater and a pair of sweatpants. For himself, he only tugs on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, even as you frown, squinting at him from where you’re nearly swimming in his clothes.

“You’ll freeze.”

Zoro smirks as he looks you over, reaching over to pull the hood over your mussed tangle of hair, “Nah, I’m fine.”

You pout, jerking open the drawer to pull out a sweater and tossing it at him.

“You have to keep your right side warm so your muscles don’t just seize up again.”

Zoro stares at the sweater in his hand, looking reluctant before you press your lips into an exaggerated pout.

“C’mon… I worked so hard on getting it better last night… please?”

Zoro groans, rolling his eyes as he tugs on the sweater.

“Yeah, yeah — fine. Let’s go.”

He doesn’t wait for you, nor does he extend his hand. But the pair of you walk elbow to elbow, hip against hip down the bright dorm room hallway, into the chilly Saturday morning air.

“Geez, if you’re gonna yell at me to keep warm —” Zoro reaches over to tug on the drawstrings of your sweater, frowning as he notices how much skin he can still see beneath the opening of the hoodie.

You blush, tugging at it as the pair of you make your way across the empty campus quad.

Halfway across the frost-kissed lawn, he wordlessly reaches out to catch your hand in his, tucking your entwined fingers into the depths of his pocket. You bite back a stupid, dopey grin as you duck your head, quickening your pace to keep up, your footsteps crunching in the dew-bitten grass, the freshly raked gravel.

ten.

There’s already a decent line at the Straw Hats Cafe, but when the pair of you walk in hand in hand, both Sanji and Nami pause for a second longer than usual. Sanji’s eyebrows jerk up his forehead while Nami’s lips curl into a much too satisfied grin as she turns back to the humming espresso machines.

You savor in the smell of freshly ground coffee, absently tracing your thumb over the back of Zoro’s hand.

When you both reach the front, Sanji looks between you expectantly.

“Well, well, well — I’d like to say I’m surprised but —” he shrugs, grinning cheekily, “Well then I’d be lying, wouldn’t I?”

Zoro clicks his tongue but you shoot him a sheepish smile, pursing your lips.

“So… the usual then?” Sanji asks, his fingers poised over the register.

“Yep,” Zoro says, curt as ever, though there’s a distinct blush on his cheeks that not even he can write off as anything else.

You nod as well, “Oh, but… I think I’ll try a non-decaf latte this time. Just one shot of espresso though, please and thank you.”

Sanji blinks at you for a second before letting out a startled laugh and nodding, punching in your order.

“Coming right up, sweet cheeks. Right then, that’d be 8.75 for the latte and 5.50 for the double espresso.”

Zoro reaches into his wallet and pulls out a 20, slipping it across the counter. Down the bar, Nami is humming, looking cheerier than you’ve ever seen her this early in the morning as she goes about making your drinks.

Sanji sighs as he shakes his head, handing Zoro his change.

Zoro narrows his eyes but Sanji cuts him off.

“Take it from me, fam. You don’t wanna know.”

You and Zoro share a puzzled look as you both shuffle down to the pick-up counter, where Nami is sliding your finished drinks toward you with a bright, knowing glint to her eyes. Zoro clears his throat and reaches over for a packet of sugar, nonchalantly tipping it into his drink before picking it up to take a sip.

You try not to gape as you grab your own drink, flashing Nami a quick smile before turning to follow Zoro.

He picks a table as far away from the counter as possible, tucked into a corner, nearly invisible to the rest of the shop. When you sit down, he frowns at your chair for a second before reaching out to tug you across the floor till your chair is next to his. He goes back to his drink without a single word.

It’s all you can do to blush and stare at your steaming cup.

“I thought we were getting coffee and breakfast,” you say after a brief moment of silence.

Zoro grunts, “We are. Coffee first.”

You nod, somewhat mollified as you take another sip of your drink. The warmth trickles down your chest to rest somewhere in the center of your stomach, spreading heat throughout your body in waves.

“We could just get a chocolate croissant,” you say, giving Zoro a sidelong look.

Zoro frowns, tapping his finger against the side of his cup, “Dessert isn’t breakfast.”

You scoff, “Says who?”

Zoro’s expression flatlines, “Says me. And I’m payin’ for it.”

You purse your lips, wondering if you should argue more before deciding against it. A few seconds later, Zoro sighs, casting his eyes about the cafe interior.

“We can have a croissant after real breakfast.”

You giggle into your drink, swallowing down the glee fluttering in your stomach, threatening to spill out of your still kiss-chapped lips.

“Kay, whatever you say.”

Zoro rolls his eyes and folds his arms, but his elbow presses against yours and he doesn’t make to move away.

Across the cafe, Nami leans to watch the pair of you, Sanji at her side, looking both stunned and somewhat pained.

“C’mon man, it’s not even been a week!”

Nami grins, rinsing out a few cups and placing them mouth down to dry before pivoting on her heels and holding out an expectant palm. Sanji sighs as Nami’s eyes glitter with mirth and a hard-won glee.

“Right. I think you owe me fifty bucks.”

Sanji narrows his eyes, glancing back at where you and Zoro are tucked into the corner of the cafe.

“Double or nothing on when they’ll have their first fight. I say… not till next week.”

Nami’s eyebrows twitch up. She looks back at where the pair of you are now bickering over where to have breakfast. A smirk teases at her lips.

She puts down her hand, “Alright then… but like I said — it’s your funeral, Sanji.”

Over in the corner, there’s the dull scrape of chair legs as you push yourself away from the table to fold your arms.

“— Belgian waffles are absolutely an acceptable meal for breakfast!”

Zoro rolls his eyes, though there’s still an amused spark behind his eyes.

“Breakfast without eggs ain’t real breakfast. And doesn’t count if it’s smothered in syrup either.”

You make an indignant noise, frowning even as Zoro tugs you back to press a napkin to your upper lip, where there’s a faint line of whipped cream residue.

Sanji backpedals immediately, “Uh — right so, I feel like we need to define what really constitutes a ‘fight’, yeah?”

Nami tuts, shaking her head, “Nope! A bet’s a bet. Now pay up.”

feedback always welcome :) reqs are closed.

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joonsmagicshop · 2 months

Text

Professor Rapline

Summary: Mr. Kim is your English Literature and Poetry teacher and while he is known for being a strict teacher is he is also hot. So incredibly hot! So when he gives you an outlet for all your exam stress how can you possibly say no? Little do you realize it wont be just him you are getting pleasure from

Paring: Namjoon/Reader focused! Eventually Yoongi/Reader Hobi/Reader

Word Count: 15K

Rating: M/18+ because smut

Tags: A/U, Professor/student relationship,slow burn, flirting, pet names, Joon calls her princess Yoongi calls her Kitten, Hobi calls her baby, dirty talk, spanking, hand jobs, blow jobs, cum licking, eating out, sex, so much sex, basically she gets fucked three times in one night, choking, face fucking, power dynamics, dry humping.

Authors Note: I was possessed by a horny demon when I wrote this. This idea has been stuck in my head for months and once I started writing I didn't want to stop. This is a work of fiction and I do not recommend fucking your professors.

No one warned you about Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, and Jung Hoseok.

But then again, you doubted you would have believed them if they did.

It was the last semester before your time at University would be over for good, and honestly, you couldn’t wait. You were over the long nights studying, the assignments that had to be handed in on time or you would lose marks, and the group projects that were just as pointless as they were frustrating.

You had done everything you wanted to do, you went to the parties, kissed random strangers in bathrooms, and even hooked up with a few. You had a boyfriend for three months and decided it was better for you to be single and now you were ready to graduate and move on with your life.

Which found you sitting in the Academic Adviser’s office nervously shifting in your chair as you watched her go through your file. The office was painted a soft blue color and the heater was pumping out hot air on blast making the whole space dry and stuffy. As you wait, you unwound your scarf from your neck and placed it on your lap.

Her eyes met yours and she smiled softly at you.

“Well Miss Y/L/N it seems that you have a bright shining future that’s for sure. You have a wonderful file here and honors too, you must be proud.” She said beaming at you as you crossed your legs nervously and unzipped your coat.

You understood that it was the dead of winter outside but did it have to be so incredibly stuffy in here?

“Thank you. So I’m on track to graduate? Everything looks good?” You ask leaning forward in the chair.

“Well here’s the thing…” She trails off as she pushes her glasses back on her nose and scans the computer again.

Your heart drops.

“As I said bright and shining future for sure but you are missing just one credit. If you are unable to fit another class in this semester you would be unable to graduate.” She says with a frown as you see her eyes scan the computer to double check as your heart drops down to your boots.

There is no way.

You spent four years busting your butt, there was no way you were going to stay any longer than you had to.

“I can fit another class in! Which class do I need?” You ask in a panic as she clicks some more on the mouse and you watch her concentrate on the screen.

“Well, the good news is you just need one more elective class. The bad news is most of them are filled up…well. Except…” Her voice trails off again as you squirm in your seat, panic taking over.

“Whatever it is I’ll take it!” You respond eagerly.

“Miss Y/L/N it’s English literature and poetry with Mr. Kim.” She says in a serious tone as her eyes finally leave her monitor to look at you.

“Okay fine sign me up!” You say as you lean so far forward you are almost pushed right against her desk.

“Miss Y/L/N I understand you want to graduate on time but you must know. His class is notoriously known for being… quite difficult. I never want to slander a teacher but Mr Kim is very serious about his job and a lot of students come to me trying to drop his class.” She says staring at you with a serious look on her face.

You had no idea who Mr Kim was. The campus was so big you hardly knew where half the rooms were let alone half the teachers. But you had to graduate on time. You were not about to spend more money to have to go back to school for one elective course. There was just no way.

“That’s fine sign me up.” You say boldly as she frowns at you and types away on her computer. Well-manicured nails fly along the keyboard.

“Only if you are sure, you can always change your mind.” She says as you nod and she clicks something, you assume it’s to enroll you into his class.

"Okay, you are set. The class is on Wednesday nights at six pm. His classroom is 0994B which is in the basement.” She says as she pushes her glasses off her face to stare at you again.

“If you have any trouble at all please let me know.” She says as you nod and gather your things. You wrap your scarf around your neck and wave goodbye, leaving the stuffy office to head to the textbook shop to grab your book, having no idea what you just agreed to.

.........................

Two days later you found yourself searching the basement for the classroom you are looking for. While the University is beautiful with a rich history the basement is spooky and dark, especially in January when the nights are long and you rarely get sunlight.

Just as you approach the door you see a paper taped to it and you frown.

Basement heater is broken. Mr Kim’s class moved to 0294.

You let out a frustrated sigh and begin to ascend the stairs, hiking your messenger bag up on your shoulder as you climb.

The second floor is much nicer than the basement and you luckily find the new classroom with ease. You slip inside and take stock of the students. The lecture hall is large and set up like a theater with a podium at the front and the seats ascending upwards. You see most of the front rows are already taken with giggling girls.

You made your way to the back and plopped your things down in a seat slightly to the right of where the empty podium sat. You pulled out your phone to make sure it was on silent and as you took out your textbook and pens you couldn’t help but overhear the girls in front of you talking.

“That’s not a reason to take this class! I’m not carrying you though because you only signed up for this class because Mr. Kim is hot.” A blonde girl teased her friend as her friend shushed her and giggled.

“Come on that’s why people try and survive his class. He’s such a hardass but so nice to look at it makes up for it!” Her friend teased as both girls dissolved into giggles.

You wondered what the hell they were talking about. Mr Kim was hot? You had many English teachers throughout your years and they all were mostly the same type of person. Lanky, nerdy, either a tortured poet or a Shakespeare lover. You never pictured your teacher to be attractive at all and now thoughts of what he could look like clouded your mind.

But it didn’t take long for you to find out.

The second the door opened the entire class fell silent.

No one warned you about Mr. Kim.

But you’re sure if they did you wouldn’t believe them

Hell, you didn’t believe the girls who were sitting in front of you until you saw it with your own two eyes.

He was tall and handsome with blonde hair slicked back from his forehead and eyes narrowed as he looked through the crowd of students. When his eyes met yours you shivered but he didn’t linger as he made long strides towards the podium and set his brown briefcase down on the floor.

He took out a small laptop and set it up as you watched him in fascination. He was no doubt handsome and even though he had not spoken a word he had already commanded the class to be quiet.

It was quite impressive.

He took his time fiddling with the laptop as the class stayed deathly quiet. Once he got everything hooked up and the projector running he finally addressed the class.

“Hi I’m Mr Kim and I’ll be teaching you English lit and poetry.”

And then he smiled

When he smiled two beautiful dimples appeared on his cheeks and you knew you were undeniably screwed.

Not only was his class notorious for being difficult, but it also didn’t help he was drop-dead gorgeous.

Well, shit.

Your small crush on Mr. Kim lasted well in February. As the ground started to thaw and the days were very slowly becoming longer you spent most of your time buried in a book trying not to drown in your coursework.

While Mr. Kim was in fact the hottest man you had ever seen, the rumors were true and he was also a hardass about his subject.

By the second week, twelve people had dropped his class. He didn’t seem to mind or even acknowledge it, he just kept teaching.

By the time the first month was over twenty people had left and the class had once again been moved. This time to a small lecture hall on the same floor that was a lot more cozy and less intimidating than the original one.

You hardly noticed how many people dropped the class come March as midterm exams were approaching and you were too worried about your grades and future to worry about anyone else.

Your crush on Mr. Kim even took a backseat as you spent most of your time in the library, wistfully staring out the window at the sunny days wishing you were outside instead of in a stuffy old library going over poems written by people who had passed away ages ago.

In the last week of March, you got a break. Mr. Kim was teaching about Robert Frost and going over the poem “Nothing Gold Can Stay.” You were lucky enough to study that poem in high school so you sneakily took out your psychology homework and began to work on that, nodding and making occasional eye contact with Mr. Kim so he thought you were paying attention.

Lucky for you, you had finished most of the essay during Mr. Kim’s lecture. Unlucky for you class had ended five minutes ago and everyone had left the lecture hall, leaving you sitting there alone typing while Mr. Kim packed up his stuff.

You were so absorbed in your work you didn’t notice his hard gaze on you, how his eyebrow quirked when he saw how concentrated you were, and how he let out a low sigh as he made his way up the steps to approach you.

You did however notice when he was about two feet away from you and you gasped and slammed your laptop lid shut in alarm

“Miss Y/N.” He said smoothly as he took a seat in the aisle opposite yours and smiled softly at you.

You felt a blush appear on your cheeks as you hastily tried to come up with an excuse.

“Please Y/N tell me what you were working on. I know you aren’t typing that much about Robert Frost.” He teases as he stretches out his legs and you can see his slacks stretch under the pressure of his thick thighs.

“I-Mr. Kim, I’m so sorry. I…well I studied Robert Frost in high school and I have this big psychology essay that is due and I just wanted to get a head start on it.” You admit shyly as you shove your laptop in your messenger bag and gather your things.

You stand up to leave but a strong hand stops you.

“My class and Psych? I’m impressed.” He says as his hand leaves your arm but you can still feel the heat from where he touched you, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Well, I… yeah I need Phych and I needed one more class to graduate so I picked yours.” You admitted as you stood there in front of him.

“And the Academic advisor let you do this? Take both?” He asks as he remains seated and gestures to the chair you vacated. Knowing he wasn’t going to kick you out of his class you graciously sat down, placing your bag on the floor.

“I…well I kind of didn’t give her a choice. I don’t want to come back for a year to take one course.” You admit.

He smiles at you, dimples present and you feel pleasure bloom in your chest.

“That’s very admirable of you. I’m sure she warned you about me and my class and you still decided to go for it? I like that.” He says.

You nod not sure of what to say.

“What do you want to be when you get out of here? What are your goals?” He asks you breaking the silence.

“I want to be a high school teacher. Educate the future generations.” You say shyly as his smile grows bigger.

You smile back at him.

“Ah. Very admirable. A girl after my own heart.” He teases and you feel yourself blush at his praise.

You both lapse into silence and you feel your heart hammer against your chest. He is staring at you softly and you slowly reach out to play with the hem of your skirt, hands desperate to do something so you don’t reach out for him.

“I’m sorry for keeping you late Sir. I should let you go.” You say as you gather your things and almost miss the way his Adam’s apple bobs when you call him sir.

You don’t waste any time and make your way down the stairs, leaving Mr. Kim still in the seat watching you go.

“Y/N?” He calls back for you as you stop and turn to face him. He looks so nonchalant sitting there, and so incredibly handsome you bite your lip to stop yourself from saying something stupid.

“I'll speak to Mr. Min about your caseload and see if he can ease off a bit. He can be kind of a hardass.” He says as he stands up and stretches and you can’t help but sneak a peak when his cream-colored sweater rises to show a flash of taunt skin.

Fuck.

“Oh, Mr. Kim you don’t have to it’s okay.” You say flushed at his generosity as he makes his way towards you to gather his things.

“It’s okay I have to talk to him about something anyway. I won’t mention your name I’ll just tell him to lay off a bit.” He assures you as you nod.

You wish him a good night and make your way out of the classroom. Your hands grip the straps of your messenger bag tightly as you hurry across campus to your car. By the time you get into your car, you are sure the flush on your face is gone, but the butterflies in your stomach are fluttering around like crazy.

April.

The dreaded month of April.

April was prep for exam season and you were once again buried in your books. Spring was finally here and when it wasn’t raining buckets you spent your time outside, spreading your books on the picnic tables as you got to work catching up on things you had to finish before exams.

After your essay for Mr. Min, his class did seem to get easier. You never asked Mr. Kim about it, instead, you pretended to be oblivious about the whole thing though you did have a feeling a conversation was had because you noticed Mr. Min staring at you more than usual as he taught.

Every free hour was spent studying or revising or writing essays so you hardly had time to think of that day with Mr. Kim. How gorgeous he looked sitting across from you, and how his cream-colored sweater fit his body perfectly and showed off his sculpted chest and broad shoulders.

You only let these thoughts run ramped late at night, when the stress of the day caught up to you and you wondered what would happen if he did lean in and kiss you. How soft his full lips would feel against yours. Would he be soft with you or would he be in control and command you just as he did that first day when he walked into the room?

Often times you would let your hand wander into your underwear and you would circle your clit. Imagining it was his strong deft fingers instead of your own. You would imagine him pinning you against the wooden podium and pulling down your pants to finger you.

How his huge body would cage you in and how he would whisper dirty things in your ear, his voice low and gruff as he would prep you to take his cock.

Most times you could cum around your fingers thinking of him. Wondering what it would be like to have someone as tall and handsome as Mr. Kim fucking you.

The weather was getting even warmer and your stress was at an all-time high. At this point, you lived off coffee and would often take it to class with you as you worked.

Mr. Kim was going over the structure of your final exam and as much as you tried you were having a hard time keeping your eyes open. You had slept a total of three hours last night and his late-night classes were getting to you.

You fought your body as much as you could. Trying to take notes, trying to focus but before you knew it your eyes were shut and you were snoozing softly on your textbook, face smushed cutely into the cover.

Unbeknown to you Mr. Kim had been keeping a close eye on you since your private conversation and he caught you sleeping the moment your head rested on the textbook. He bit back a smile as he continued to address the class.

You had slept for half an hour. You were awoken by a strong hand lightly shaking your arm and you looked up to see Mr. Kim staring down at you, his lips curved in a smile as you blushed with embarrassment.

“Oh my god Mr. Kim I’m so sorry I just- I don’t even know what to say this is so embarrassing and I missed most of what you said about the exam and oh my god I can’t believe I fell asleep in class what’s wrong with me!” You babbled on as you frantically shoved all your stuff in your bag and avoided eye contact with him.

You were sure he was beyond mad. A student falling asleep in his class is super disrespectful.

“Y/N deep breaths please, I don’t want you hyperventilating in my class.” He teases you with a smile as you freeze and turn to look at him.

“I am so sorry!” You cry out as you bury your face in your hands and stare at the floor.

“It’s okay really.” He says as his hands circle your wrist to pry your hands away from your red face.

His big hands engulf your wrists and you let out a shaky breath as your mind goes haywire at his soft touches.

He is staring at you with concern written all over his face and you look around, once again the classroom is empty except for the two of you.

“It’s not Mr. Min this time I swear! It’s just exams and revisions and I want to keep my honor roll so I have to work hard I haven’t been sleeping much because of all the work and I’m so so sorry!” You blurt out eyes shifting from his sharp eyes to his plush lips that are still drawn up into a smile.

He catches you staring and cocks an eyebrow

You were really in trouble now.

“Y/N you have big dreams and it’s amazing how much you are taking on. Honestly when you told me your plan and the courses you are taking I was and am very impressed. You should be proud of yourself.” He says lowly. You glance down to see his hands are still holding your wrists steady and you wonder if he can feel your heartbeat pounding against your skin.

“Thank you.” You whisper out hearing your voice echo in the empty room.

“Being an almost University graduate can be stressful and challenging.” He starts as his thumb caresses your wrist and up into your palm.

You can’t help it, you bite your lip in anticipation as his fingers work your skin soothing you but also making your heart beat faster.

“It really is. I just want to graduate and be done.” You admit shyly as his sharp eyes are locked on yours.

“I totally understand that. I remember those days. I lived off coffee and ramen.” He admits standing up from his crouch to sit on the chair right next to yours, his thick thighs bumping against your knee as he lets go of your hands to get situated.

“Mind you I wasn’t trusted in the kitchen so my roommates did most of the ramen cooking.” He teases as you giggle.

He runs a hand through his hair and pushes it back from his forehead. The tension in the room is thick and you can’t stop staring at his lips, your mind flashing to two nights ago when you came around your fingers moaning his name.

He clasps his fingers together on the table and your eyes dart down to them. He grins when he catches you staring and you blush further.

“I guess what I want to say is it’s important to study hard but also important to take breaks when you need to. Stress can do major damage to the body.” Mr. Kim advises as you nod wordlessly at him.

“What do you do for fun? That’s not schoolwork? Do you have an outlet of some kind?” He asks softly.

You were sure it was wildly inappropriate to tell him that you orgasm to relieve stress so instead you tell him a little about yourself and your life.

How your parents live a ten-minute drive from the University so you never felt the need to stay on campus. How you like to take your dog on walks when the weather is nice and how he wears a little raincoat on days when it drizzles. You tell him about your friends and how you try to get together for movie nights but you all are so swamped with school you haven’t had time.

He listens intently and soon enough you realize you are blabbing so you shut up much to his dismay.

“You sound like you have good hobbies though maybe a balancing problem. You need to work hard but also play hard too. This is University after all that’s why people party so much to get rid of all the stress from teachers like me.” He says with a laugh as you laugh along beside him.

You explain how you did go to the parties in your first year but grew out of them and he nods along in understanding.

“I get that. And with being so close to the end I get you want to rush through and graduate to get it over with but you have to find outlets to relieve all the stress. Once you get into the workforce you’ll still have this stress and even though I’ll let it slide you fell asleep in my class the workforce won’t be so gracious.”

You nod along at his words as he adjusts himself in the seat, his knee bumping yours and sending your heart racing once more.

“I am truly sorry Mr. Kim I have never fallen asleep in a class before in my life.” You admit to him, brushing your hair behind your ears.

“Ah, so I must have been boring you.” He jests which has you protesting right away.

“No not at all! I would never think that of you!”

He smiles at your words and you push your knee into his as silent reassurance.

His eyes dart down to your lips and back up again and you smirk at him.

“So what you need to do is find an outlet for all that stress and built-up frustration. Some people choose to drink, but I think you might be over that, some people choose to lift weights or run. But there are…other options you know.” He says letting his voice dip dangerously low and you stare at him in shock when he winks at you.

Is he suggesting what you think he is suggesting?

Because if he is?

How the hell do you even say no to that?!

“I-uh. I’m not sure what you mean….sir.” You say putting on your best sultry voice and watching as a slow smirk appears on his face.

So he does mean what you think he means.

Well….wow.

“You know a lot of people have….experiences in University. Great time to get to know yourself and what you want…and like.” He hints as you push your knee boldly into his and his smirk grows wider.

The tension in the room is palatable at this point and you can almost feel the want radiating off both of your bodies.

You don’t want this flirting to end so you tease him some more, seeing how far you can take it.

“Oh, I already went through all that. Too bad University boys half the time don’t know what they are doing. Such a shame I have to do it myself.”

His eyes widen and his tongue darts out to lick at his dry lips. You wink back at him and feel him once again push his knee into yours with more force.

Your body is on fire when you lean in closer to him, letting his cologne cloud your senses.

“What a pity.” He almost growls out as you look up at him fluttering your eyelashes.

Boldly he unclasps his hands and places one on your knee, the same knee that is currently pressing into his under the table.

You let out a small gasp when his hand sneaks into the inside of your knee and his thumb caresses your other leg.

You wish with all your heart that today of all days you had chosen to wear a skirt instead of jeans but your skin is on fire as he traced fine lines into your jeans, eyes not leaving yours.

Neither of you speak as his hand climbs higher. The rational part of your brain is screaming for you to stop this because he is your professor, your teacher, your senior, but the horny part of your brain is begging his fingers to climb higher where he would for sure find you soaked for him.

Before you can do or say anything he squeezes your thigh and you let out a squeal of shock when his hand leaves you, before you know it he is standing up and making his way down the stairs back to the podium seemingly unbothered and unaffected by the whole thing.

You realize this is him dismissing you so you grab your things and make your way down the stairs. Trying to hide how aroused you are and how badly your pussy is aching for his touch.

When you make it to the podium, messenger bag slung over your shoulder he looks up at you and reaches out to hand you a little white card.

You see it's blank on one side but when you turn it over you see an address scrawled on the back.

His address?

“Pity University boys don’t know how to please a woman. As I said you need an outlet for all that stress. Friday night come to this address. Seven pm.”

Your eyes widen in shock

He was inviting you to his house?

“I- I don’t know what to say.” You admit still holding the card in your outstretched hand and as you stare him down.

“Show up or don’t your choice ultimately.” He says closing his laptop and packing up his things for the night.

“What if someone finds out? Or sees this card?” You ask him with a tilt of your head.

He chuckles softly.

“No one ever has before. I’m not too worried. But if you are… don’t show up. Shred the card.” He offers as he shoves stuff in his briefcase not bothering to look at you.

“You’ve done this before?” You ask hating how your voice sounds so scandalized. As if you weren’t egging him on the entire time.

“I think you know the answer to that Miss Y/N.” He says with a cock of his eyebrow as he places his briefcase down and finally locks eyes with you.

“I see the way you look at me. They all have the same look. The want. The desire. I’m just here to get a paycheck and maybe have some fun. Though I will forwarn you if you do show up you will be punished for sleeping in my class.” He adds with a smirk as you gasp.

“Balls in your court Y/N. And if you do tell anyone well you still have your final exam to write.” He says boldly.

Your mouth drops in shock.

“You're going to fail me if I don’t show up? Are you insane?” You cry out as he smiles down at you.

“If you don’t say a word regardless of whether you show up or not I won’t have to fail you. If it does get out, whether you show up or not…well.” He shrugs as an answer and you gasp at him.

You shouldn’t find this hot.

You really shouldn’t.

“Fine.” You bite back and his eyes sparkle with mischief.

“Have a good night Miss Y/N,” he says gesturing at the door.

Friday you tell your parents you are going to a study group. You have no idea how long this will take or what will even happen so you tell them to not wait up.

The drive is about twenty minutes from your house and you are shaking in anticipation the entire way.

Of course, you didn’t tell a single soul. You knew Mr. Kim was true to his word and you didn’t want to put your grades in the balance so you kept the note hidden in your wallet and double triple checked it before you drove over.

The sun was just starting to set casting everything in a beautiful glow as your hands tapped on the steering wheel and you turned down a side street.

The weather was warm today so you opted for a pale blue sundress with small yellow flowers on it. You dug out your best bra and underwear and tied your hair up to keep it from your face.

Your tote was on the seat next to you filled with textbooks you would never open as you finally made your way to the address and the big house.

It was a two-story white house with white shutters and a long driveway with three separate cars parked. You decided to park on the road and you pulled out the card to double-check again as the door opened and you saw Mr. Kim standing there staring at you.

You never told him you were coming but you guess he was ready anyway because when you grabbed your things and closed the car door he was smiling at you.

He looked so different than how he did in the classroom but still drop-dead gorgeous. His blonde hair was pushed back from his face in his signature style, he was wearing a black tight shirt and grey tight sweatpants that had your mouth watering.

He looked so good.

It really wasn’t fair.

“Hi.” You said softly as you made your way to the door.

He smiled at you and quickly ushed your inside as you took in your surroundings.

The living room was a good size with a big couch and a TV. Of to the side, there was a galley kitchen and you smiled when you remembered he said he was a terrible cook. You saw a staircase off the kitchen and a small bathroom off the living room.

“Mr. Kim thank you for this.” You start but he shushes you with a finger pressed to your lips.

“Please. I’m Namjoon. We don’t need the professional titles here.” He says as you kick off your shoes timidly and he puts a hand on the small of your back to bring you over to the couch.

“Namjoon.” You say his name as he smiles down at you when you both sit.

“Exactly. Or you can call me sir if you're into that.” He teases with a smirk as you blush.

“I think you are the one who would like that…sir… I saw the way you reacted when I called you that.” You tease back suddenly feeling bold as you drop your bag on the hardwood floor.

“You little tease. And getting all dolled up just for me, You shouldn’t have.” He mutters as his fingers come to play with the small straps holding the dress up.

“Yeah, you like it?” You smirk, standing up and swishing your dress around, giving him a full view of your legs.

His hands grab your hips and he pulls you down on his lap as you straddle him staring at him with lust-blown eyes.

“You absolute tease.” He grumbles as his hands come to play with the straps once more, taking his time to pull them slowly down your shoulders and letting them hang.

“What do you want?” He asks staring up at you not daring to make another move until you answer his question.

“You.”

Without warning he leans forward and captures your lips in a searing kiss. You put your hands on his shoulders for support as you kiss him back.

His lips are just as soft as you imagined and you take your time with him, letting him control the kiss as he pushes his body into yours.

You feel his half-hard cock in his sweatpants and when you grind down on it a small moan leaves his mouth.

His hands run up and down your thighs and finally settle on your waist as he kisses you harder pushing his lips into yours and nibbling on your lower lip.

You moan at the feeling and his tongue darts in your mouth to rub against your tongue.

You rake your hands through his soft hair and grab the hair at the nape of his neck as you push your body into his, letting your breasts press into his chest and making more moans fall from his mouth.

This was hands down the hottest makeout session you have had and you start to feel yourself grind against him as pleasure courses through your body.

He pulls away and grins lazily up at you as you continue to rock your core against his now fully hard cock.

“Bend over my lap I promised I’d punish you, princess.” He says as you stare down at him and continue your grind on his cock, the sensation too good to stop.

“What if I don’t want to be punished?” You tease him as he rolls his eyes at you.

His hands grab your shoulders as he pushes you down on the couch and in a flash he has your dress hiked up so your ass is on display.

You moan out when you feel his strong hands massage your bare skin.

“Lacy underwear for me? You shouldn’t have,” He jokes as his hand comes down to smack your ass.

The sting causes you to close your eyes and you moan against the cushion when he continues to spank you, ranging from hard spanks to soft little taps.

Your pussy is throbbing at this point and you are almost humping the couch with how aroused you are. Namjoon isn’t letting up though and after ten spanks he is kneading the sensitive skin and praising you.

“Mr. Kim please!”You cry out.

“What did you call me?” He asks, delivering a sharp smack to your left and right buttcheek causing you to push your face into the cushion harder and moan out.

“Namjoon! Namjoon please!” You cry as he lifts you up and once again positions you on his lap. You can feel the hard ridge of his cock and you grind down on it some more.

“What do you want princess?” He asks massaging the skin he spanked raw as you bury your face in his shoulder, turned on beyond belief.

“You. I want you.” You beg out as he smirks and you lift your head.

You don’t waste time grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. You gasp when you are met with toned tan skin, broad shoulders, and a muscular chest.

“God Namjoon your body.” You whimper as you lean down to pepper kisses along his collarbones and chest, arching your back so you can reach more skin and have your core press harder into his cock.

“I could say the same about you.” He says lowly as he pulls the straps of your dress down to free your bra to his hungry eyes.

He quickly gets your bra off and his large hands come to cup your breasts. You throw your head back and moan as his thumbs flick over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure to your already-soaked core.

“God princess I can feel how needy you are, you're soaking my pants.” He says as you look down to see a stain forming on his crotch.

“That’s so fucking hot.” He admits as his hands continue to work your nipples and you continue to grind against his cock chasing your high.

“Princess you're so fucking wet for me I bet I could just slide in huh?” He says as his hands leave your breasts to run down the expanse of your stomach to the hem of your underwear

“Please. Joon. Fuck. Please.” You beg as his hand slips inside and your eyes roll back when he gathers your wetness and begins to circle your clit agonizingly slow.

“Use your words, princess.” He teases as he continues his slow torture on your clit. You throw your head back and grip his strong shoulders for support as you grind against his skilled hand.

“Want you to fuck me. Please, sir. Please.” You whine as he removes his hand and you watch as he licks his fingers clean, sharp eyes never leaving yours.

Your pussy pulses with want and a broken moan leaves your mouth.

“Gotta prep you, princess. Not to brag but I’ve been told I have a big cock. Don’t wanna break my girl before exams.” He teases as he taps your butt so you lift yourself and kneel on the couch giving him full access to your pussy as he pulls your underwear down and completely off leaving you in just your dress with nothing underneath.

He smiles up at you as his finger dips back into your underwear and he circles your clit again. You moan out and grip his shoulders when he inserts a finger inside of you.

You were right when you told him University boys didn’t know what they were doing

You had never experienced something like his before

And it never felt so good being right.

He took his time opening you up on his fingers. Adding another one and scissoring them, making beautiful whines and moans fall from your lips. You already felt close to the edge and when he curled his fingers upwards and thrusted deeper you let go.

Your body arched forward and you cried out his name as you orgasmed around his fingers. He chuckled darkly against your skin as you rode out your high. Feeling yourself pulse around his digits as he worked you through it.

Once you came down you straddled his lap once again and pressed your face into his chest letting your breathing even out as he stroked your hair and praised you for being so good for him.

“Please Namjoon.” You whined out as you pushed yourself up so you were face to face with him.

“Tell me, Princess. Tell your Professor what you want.” He says as you scoot back and stroke his cock through his sweatpants.

“Want you to fuck me Joon.” You beg as he wraps one hand around you to lift you and the other hand tugs at his sweats pulling them down so his hard cock is flush against his stomach.

He was right, his cock was big.

Thick and veiny, the tip was bright red and leaking precum down the shaft. You carefully wrapped a hand around his cock and began to slowly jerk him off, wanting to give him the pleasure he gave you.

“Princess you are too good at that.” He whines out when you twist your wrist at the top making his cock leak more precum.

“Princess you gotta stop I gotta get a condom.” He says as you stop your movements and giggle when he reaches for his wallet you didn’t even notice was on the coffee table and retrieves a condom from it.

Your pussy throbs in anticipation and right as he is about to roll the condom on the door bursts open.

Standing there is Mr. Min your psych teacher and you scream and bury your face in Namjoons shoulder as he looks unbothered by the whole thing.

“Jesus Joon on the couch?! Really? Thought we said bedrooms only!” Another voice says and you look up in time to see another male standing in the doorway. He is beautiful with slightly wavy brown hair and wide eyes, his features are soft giving him a look of unearthly beauty.

“Sorry, it just kind of happened,” Namjoon admits as you are still frozen in shock at the fact your other teacher is here watching the whole thing and seeming so chill about it.

“Mr. Min I’m so- I- shit I don’t know what to say.” You stammer as Mr. Min’s eyes lock on Namjoon’s in a harsh stare.

“You didn’t even tell her Joon? Jesus, do we have to do everything?” He asks as he comes around the couch and you push yourself closer to Namjoon in worry of what will happen.

“Listen Kitten. Come to my room when he’s done fucking you yeah? Up the stairs last door on the right.” He says pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your back as he walks away from the couch and smacks Namjoon on the back of his head.

“No more fucking on the couch or you’re going to pay the cleaning bill.” He says as he makes his way up the stairs.

Your heart is still hammering in your chest and you are frozen in absolute shock

What the fuck is going on?

“Why do you get her first?” The other man complains as Namjoon pushes his head into your shoulder and whines in embarrassment.

“Because I’m her teacher too. She has no idea who the fuck you are!” Mr. Min calls from the top of the stairs in a teasing tone.

The other man comes around the couch and grabs your hand to shake it with a big smile on his face.

“I’m Mr. Jung but you can call me Hobi. We’ve never met but I’m the performing arts teacher. Once these two buffoons are done with you come to my room. I’m the last door on the left.” He sends you a sultry wink and before you know it he is heading up the stairs as well and you are frozen in shock.

“What the fuck.” You whisper as Namjoon is groaning into your shoulder and you look down to see his cock softening between your bodies.

“I… Shit, they are right I should have explained things before we started.” He admits as he pushes his head back to stare at you.

“I’m so confused.” You admit still in shock.

“Yoongi, Um I guess he’s Mr. Min to you, Hobi, and I were roommates at University. After we graduated we couldn’t afford housing alone so we decided to rent a big house and live together. We all work at the same place so it just made sense. Anyway, we found that there are…students who take an interest in us beyond academics and figured why the hell not? We are young and if we want them and they want us and it’s consensual…” His voice trailed off and you nodded.

“Anyway, sometimes we share our students and sometimes we keep them to ourselves. When I talked to Yoongi about how he was stressing out my students he admitted he had an eye for you, but so did I. So we agreed to share as long as I got you first. Hobi is…well he’s Hobi he’s not picky and usually is down for anything. You don’t have to do anything with them if you don’t want to. You can let me fuck you and walk out this door. It won’t affect your grade with Yoongi at all. I should have told you sooner, as soon as you got here but you in that dress…good god I had to get my hands on you.” He says running his hands up and down your hips as you whine and grind against him.

“Again you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You can walk out the door right now, write your exams, and never see any of us again. Your choice princess.” He says.

You shake your head at him and slide off his lap.

You see his face fall.

And quickly turn to shock when you lower yourself down to the floor and engulf his soft cock in your warm mouth.

Namjoon grunts and grabs your hair that has started to fall out of your ponytail to keep it away from your face as you suck him down, loving the feeling of his cock starting to harder in your mouth.

You suck and bob your head as your tongue dances over the sensitive flesh.

“Fuck! Is that a yes then?” Namjoon pants above you as his hands tighten in your hair and force you to look up at him.

“Have sex with the three hottest teachers on campus? I’d be stupid to say no to that.” You tease as you jerk off his quickly hardening cock and get off your knees to get back on his lap and kiss him.

His hands tangle in your hair as he frees it from your ponytail and you kiss him wildly. Your tongues and teeth clash as you feel his now fully hard cock press into your abdomen.

“Fuck me Joon. Please.” You cry out as his hand comes down to spank your ass once more.

“Are you just saying that ‘cause you wanna rush to Yoongi?” He teases as he finally rolls the condom on his cock.

“Nah you made me wait a whole semester. If I wait any longer I’m gonna explode.” You admit as he positions his cock at your entrance and teases your folds with the tip.

“Well, I won’t make my princess wait any longer then.” He says as he inches his cock inside of you.

The sting is immediate and you bury your face in his shoulder as he pushes himself in inch by inch until he is fully sheathed inside of you, his large hands coming up to hold your hips steady and give you time to adjust to his length.

“God I made you cum and your still tight.” He grits out as it’s taking everything in him not to immediately thrust inside of you.

You take your time and slowly move your hips back and forth. His hands grip your sides harshly and he hisses every time you move.

You know he is being a gentleman and waiting for you to adjust and it makes you smile.

“Joon. Move.” You plea as he begins to thrust into you shallowly letting your body get used to the feeling of being stuffed with cock.

You let out a moan when he starts to pick up speed. Your hands rest on his shoulders and you use your legs to fuck yourself on his cock as he picks up the pace and is fucking you rather harshly.

The noise is obscene and you wonder if the other men can hear how Namjoon is fucking you. It makes your pussy clench and Namjoon lets out a hiss as he tilts his hips and pushes his cock deeper inside of you to hit your g spot.

You are moaning above him, hands holding onto his for dear life and feeling the coil of pleasure get tighter and tighter.

He must understand because one hand leaves your hip to come and circle your clit and a high whine leaves your mouth as you feel yourself get closer to the edge.

Namjoon once again picks up the pace and fucks into you harder and you capture his lips in a kiss and before you can warn him you are flying off the edge and cumming hard around his cock.

You whine against his mouth as you ride out your second high of the night and Namjoon fucks you through it. His hand leaves your clit and he continues to pound into you bringing you to the brink of overstimulation before he groans into your neck and cums hard into the condom.

You cry out when you feel his cock twitch deep inside of you and his thrusts become erratic as he works himself through his own high.

You slump your body against his and let your breathing settle as he does the same.

His hands still have a vice-like grip on your hips and when he finally releases them you look down to see they are slightly red.

You grin.

“That was wow.” He says pushing his sweaty hair back from his face as you grin at him feeling euphoric.

“I agree.” You say with a smile as you climb off his lap and try to stand, only to have your legs shake and your body nearly tumbles into the couch.

Namjoon steadies you and takes the condom off his softening cock and ties it up throwing it in a garbage nearby.

You pull the straps of your dress up and search for your bra and underwear but Namjoon stops you.

“Don’t bother, save the others the trouble of taking it off again.” He says which has you gasping.

“Remember you always have a choice. You can walk out the door now or go to Yoongi.” He says as you lean against the couch and smooth everything down trying to at least look presentable.

“You know my answer Joon,” you say as you raise your eyebrows at him.

He stands up and pulls up his underwear and sweatpants. Without warning he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder. You squeal in delight as he carries you up the stairs and to the last door on the right. He kicks it open with his foot and you find Yoongi hunched in a desk chair working on something on a laptop. His hair is messy under big headphones and he looks up with a slow smirk when Namjoon deposits you on his bed.

“Special delivery. No bra or underwear just a skimpy sundress. You’re welcome.” He teases as he winks at you and closes the door.

Now you are left alone with Yoongi having no idea what to expect.

“Did Namjoon fill you in?” He asks taking off his headphones and saving whatever he was working on.

“Yeah, he did.” You say suddenly breathless at the prospect of getting fucked…again.

“And did he take good care of you? Namjoon is the youngest of the three of us. Gotta make sure we trained him well.” Yoongi says as he rolls his chair over to sit at the foot of the bed, eyes roving over your disheveled appearance.

“Yes Sir.” You say watching Yoongi smirk at you as his hands trace small circles on your legs.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as his fingers take their time with your bare skin.

“Good. A little sore. Namjoon spanked me. But overall good.” You admit as your eyes are glued to his long fingers which are climbing slightly higher with each stroke.

“Why did he spank you kitten? Were you bad?” He mutters lowly as his hands come to your knees to part your legs.

You sit up for him and scoot your butt to the very edge of the bed and let your legs fall open. You hike your dress around your hips and give him a full view.

Yoongi’s eyes darken.

“I have this teacher called Mr. Min. He gave me so much homework I stayed up all night completing it and hardly slept. I fell asleep in Joon’s class so he had to punish me.” You tease as you watch Yoongi’s hands trail higher and higher on your skin.

His cheeks are flushed and his brown hair is falling into his eyes as he watches his hands caress your skin.

“Ah well if it were me I’d do the same thing. Naughty girls get punished.” He says giving your upper thighs a soft smack as you whine.

You start to pout but just as you stick your bottom lip out, he leans forward to kiss you.

You plant your hands on his jean-clad thighs as you lean forward to kiss him back. His lips are soft as he presses them to yours. You flutter your eyes closed and focus on the sensation of his good his lips feel against yours.

You feel your core throb with arousal and you push your lips harder into his, loving the way he grunts against you and tangles his hands in your hair.

You spend awhile just kissing and testing the waters and soon enough Yoongi pulls away and his eyes are dark, clouded with lust and you can see an obvious bulge in his jeans.

“Can I suck your cock?” You ask as you stand up and stare at him.

“Namjoon didn’t let you suck him off?” Yoongi asks as he stands up and takes your spot on the bed. He throws you a pillow to kneel on and you take your spot between his legs palming at his bulge eagerly.

“I mean he did but hardly. Think he was too excited to fuck me.” You admit as Yoongi lets out a quiet laugh and your hands come to pop the button of his jeans open and tug the zipper down. His eyes widen when you see his cock straining against his dark boxers.

“I don’t blame him,” Yoongi mumbles as he pushes his hair back from his face to look down at you kneeling on the floor between his legs.

A sight he wants to commit to memory.

You slowly pull his jeans down and he helps you kick them off. You take in the sight of him, already looking fucked out and you hardly touched him.

“What were you working on when Joon dropped me off?” You ask as you bring your hand up to palm at his erection.

“M-Music. I make music on the side.” He admits as you push your palm into his cock and soak in the moans that are falling from his lips.

“Hard ass Mr. Min makes music on the side? That’s cool.” You tease as his eyes snap open and he stares you down dangerously.

“What did you call me?” He asks in a low voice as you hook your hands into his boxers and he lifts his hips to assist you with pulling them off.

“A hardass? Come on you knew that already.” You tease letting your hands run up and down his hard shaft, smearing the pre-cum all over it as his eyes threaten to flutter closed again.

Before he can reply you lean forward and wrap your lips around his cockhead causing him to moan and lace his fingers tightly through your hair.

You take your time sucking him, loving the feeling of your tongue lapping up his precum and loving even more that you are making big bad intimidating Min Yoongi fall apart.

You slowly take him in deeper and smirk when he grips your hair harder and bucks his cock into your mouth.

You bring your hand up to work in tandem with your mouth and you hollow out your cheeks and continue to suck him.

He throws his head back and whines as you take him deeper. By the time you get his cock down and your nose is brushing against his neatly trimmed pubes, Yoongi has his hands laced through your hair and is grunting above you.

He tastes salty on your tongue and your eyes water when your gag reflex kicks in but you do everything you can to relax your throat and swallow around him.

Rough hands tug at your hair as he pries you off his cock and you look up at him with tearful eyes, as a string of spit is still connected from your mouth to his very red cockhead which is slowly leaking more precum.

“Kitten you are far too good at that.” He complements as you smile up at him and he leans forward to grab your arms to help you up.

You stand on shaky knees as Yoongi grabs you and pushes you down on the bed. You let out a squeal of delight as he flips you onto your back. He hikes up your sundress and lets it pool around your midsection as he eyes your still-soaked core.

“You’re still all puffy for me Kitten.” He comments as one finger comes to trace at your clit and you whine and buck your hips into his hand.

“Mmm Yoongi.” You moan letting your eyes close as he teases your clit with the tip of his finger, his eyebrows scrunched up in concentration and his tongue darts out to lick at the corner of his mouth.

“What do you want kitten"?” He asks plunging a finger inside of you making your body arch off the bed and your hands come to grip the sheets below.

“You. I want you Yoongi. Real bad.” You cry out as he adds another finger without warning and begins to take his time opening you up.

“You already got fucked by one man now you want another so soon. You're such a greedy kitten.” He purrs reaching up to kiss and suck at your neck.

You tangle your hands in his hair and let the sensation of his soft lips on your heated skin take over.

He takes his time plunging his fingers inside of you and stretching you out. You felt like you didn’t need stretching out after Namjoon’s cock but you weren’t about to say anything as Yoongi’s fingers felt like magic.

“Wanna come around my fingers?” He asks as his lips are still sucking at your neck and you are grinding your butt down to meet his thrusts, fucking yourself on his long fingers.

“Would rather cum on your cock.” You admit as his head snaps up and his eyes meet yours. His eyes are dark and lustful and when he pulls his fingers out he licks at them taking his time cleaning them and leaving you whining out on the bed.

“Kitten doesn’t know how to use her words.” Yoongi teases as he sees your frustration but still takes his sweet time.

You frown at him.

“Kitten did use her words you just chose to ignore them.” You fire back which causes Yoongi to pounce on you, resting his whole body weight on yours as you feel his cock press against your center.

“Did you just talk back to me?” He growls as he grabs the base of his cock and runs it through your folds.

“Sorry, Sir. Guess I’m just impatient. You like to take your sweet time.” You answer back not bothering to hide your attitude as Yoongi’s hand wraps around your throat.

Your eyes bulge when he squeezes it and you let out a choked moan when he stares you down with an intensity that has your core throbbing.

His hand tightens on your neck, pressing into your pulse which has it racing against his fingertips. You flutter your eyes closed but with his free hand, he lightly slaps your cheek.

“Look at me when I speak to you. Naughty Kitten comes into the lion’s den to get fucked by three different men. Now she thinks she can sass back to a man who holds her future in his hands. I could fail you right now if I want to. I could squeeze your throat until you passed out. I could throw you up against a wall and fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk for a week. “

Your eyes roll in the back of your head at his words.

“Now are you going to behave or am I going to add to the spankings you already received? Hmm? Gonna drop that attitude yet or still think your hot shit around here.” He growls out as his fingers start to ease on your throat and you expand your lungs taking in as much air as you can.

“Sorry, Sir. I’ll behave.” You say softly as Yoongi smiles down at you and presses soft sweet kisses to your neck, soothing the area he just had his hand wrapped around.

He slowly gets off the bed and reaches over to the nightstand where he pulls out a foil packet. He opens it and rolls it down his hard cock, jerking himself off as he goes.

You watch him work his cock with nimble fingers and soon enough he is on top of you again positioning his cock at your entrance.

“Let me know if it’s too much.” He says softly as he slips his cockhead inside and begins to inch in slowly.

You can’t help but whine when he finally gets all the way in. His hips are flush against yours and you both breathe heavily at the sensation.

He stares down at you with hair falling into his eyes and slowly presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is slow and sweet and the complete opposite of how he choked you earlier. You tangle your hands into his hair and give your body time to adjust.

This time it doesn’t take your body long to adjust and you start to wiggle your hips to give him the signal to move.

“You good Kitten?” He asks pulling away to stare at you.

And what a sight you were.

Hair splayed out on his pillow, eyes blown wide, and cheeks dusted with a pretty blush.

"Please.” You beg as Yoongi begins to thrust inside of you shallowly, slowly picking up the pace as he goes.

His hands are on either side of your head holding himself up as he fucks into you. You tear your eyes away from his gorgeous face to see his biceps bulging and you moan out his name.

The sound of slapping skin, grunts, and moans fill the room and you shift down to meet Yoongi’s every thrust.

But something is missing. You want more.

“Yoongi please.” You cry out when he thrusts into you harder and his cock hits that spot inside of you that has your toes curling and your lips parting in an obscene moan.

“Again Kitten use your words. Did we teach you nothing? Fuck.” He cries out as he tilts his hips to get a better angle deep inside of you.

“Choke me. Please fuck. Yoongi.” You beg as your hands come up to claw at his back.

He stops his movements. Completely stills and you whine at the loss of friction.

“You…sure?” He asks staring down at you with eyes wide. Like he couldn’t believe you had just said that.

“Please.” You beg as Yoongi smirks and slips out of you.

You let out a frustrated noise as he positions himself at the foot of the bed and taps his bare lap, signaling you to come over and ride his cock.

“Can’t hold myself up and choke you kitten. You have to decide.”

You scramble to the end of the bed and sink down on his cock. He feels so much deeper in this position and when his hand comes up to your neck you let out a moan and feel your eyes flutter closed.

“Fuck your a vision like this with my cock stuffing your pussy and my hand around your throat.” He mutters as you use his cock and begin to ride him.

He has one hand on the bed holding himself up and the other is around your neck.

You are seeing stars, absolute stars. The pleasure from his hand around you slightly choking you and the feeling of his cock stuffing you full has you riding him harder, chasing the high you so desperately craved.

Yoongi pushes a little harder on the sides of your neck and you're a goner. You arch your back up and feel the pleasure that was building and building finally crescendo into an orgasm that punches the air out of your lungs, or maybe that was the fact Yoongi was still fucking up into you wildly and his hand was still wrapped around your throat.

“My pretty Kitten cumming with my cock stuffed inside her and my hand around her pretty neck, fuck you are so hot. What the fuck. What the actual fuck.” He blabbers as he chases his own high and is soon cumming inside of you. His hand leaves your throat to steady himself on the bed so you both don’t topple forward and hit the floor.

You let him ride out his high as you come down from yours. He buries his face in your shoulder and grunts low and dangerous as he finally stills his hips.

He slowly shifts you up and off his lap, plopping you on the bed and standing up so he can crack open a window.

The whole room reeks of cum and sex and you flop back down on his bed putting a hand on your chest to feel your heart beating rapidly.

Yoongi pulls up his boxers and fishes around in his drawers for some looser pants pulling them over his legs before he sits down beside you.

He shoots you a rare smile and you smile back at him.

“So I’m not actually going to fail your class am I?” You tease breaking the silence as he giggles and you smile at him.

“Nah that was a heat of the moment thing. You are top of my class I would have no way of failing you.” He admits and you sit up and stare at him.

“Wait really? I’m top of the class? I…wow. I didn’t expect that.” You say shyly as he messes up his hair and smirks at you.

“How? You actually show up. You hand in assignments. You work hard. There is no reason you shouldn’t be top of my class.” He says and you flush at his praises.

“Even if a teacher had to come to talk to me and tell me to lay off a little bit.” He says with a teasing tone.

“He told me he wouldn’t say specifically who!” You say with a laugh rolling your eyes to the ceiling.

“He didn’t say it was you specifically but I could tell you were working yourself to death and needed a break. Or a release.” He says wiggling his eyebrows as you smack his arm.

Before you can answer there is a knock at the door and you pull your dress down and smooth it out as Hobi appears.

“Ah just in time,” Yoongi says as he smiles up at his friend.

“I know I heard you fucking her.” He grumbles as he leans against the door frame and you take him in.

The other two you were familiar with, but Hobi was a stranger so you took your time.

Your eyes roved his lean dancer’s body and how he leaned up against the door frame and crossed his arms with ease. He looked intimidating except for the small smile on his face.

“Only if you want to Kitten. You can walk out of here now. Your choice.” Yoongi reminds you.

“I don’t want to pressure you but I’m so fucking hard right now,” Hobi admits with a bite of his lips which has you standing up on shaky legs.

In two long strides, he reaches you and holds you steady against his strong frame.

“What did you do to her? She can hardly stand.” He accuses as Yoongi smirks and grabs a sweater on the floor, throwing it over his head and making his way back over to his desk and opening his laptop.

“Have fun kitten.” He says as he winks at you and puts his headphones over his ears.

Hobi leads you out into the hall and you take a shaky breath staring up at his beautiful face.

“Only if you want to.” He says shyly and you nod.

“Words please.” He says crossing his arms and staring you down.

“Yes. I want to. Though I might be extra sore.” You say with a grimace as you feel how tired your legs are and how your ass still stings from Namjoon’s earlier spanks.

Hobi grabs your hands and leads you to his room across the hall. You enter and take in the bright walls and decor and the big bed in the middle.

You can’t help yourself as you flop down on his bed and curl up in a ball. You take in the smell of his bed sheets and you sigh as he comes to sit next to you.

“You don’t have to baby. Seriously I want this to be good for both of us.” He says massaging your back as you peek up to look at him.

“Sorry Hobi I want to. God, I want to. It’s just the last two were…intense.” You admit suddenly feeling shy when he rolls you onto your back and stares down at you.

“How about we take it slow? Let me massage you and we will see where it leads hmm?” He asks and before you can answer he rolls you onto your stomach and his long fingers begin to massage the back of your legs.

You close your eyes and rest your cheek on his bed as he gets to work. He takes his time applying pressure to your sore muscles, digging his thumbs in where he feels like you need a little more pressure being respectful the whole time, and not letting his hands trail too high up your body.

You let out a whine when he massages a particularly sore spot and you spread your legs for him wider, letting his hands dance over the skin of your inner thighs.

“God baby you’re so tight.” He mutters as his hands travel down your calves and back up again earning a broken moan from you.

“So dance teacher huh?” You ask as he continues to work your muscles this time his hand inches high on your hamstrings and you push your face into the mattress at the feeling.

“Yeah, I’ve always loved dance and music and I had some teachers change my life and the way I see dance so I decided I wanted to be just like them. I love what I do.” He says softly as his fingers dig into your flesh and you feel yourself start to relax.

“How come I’ve never seen you on campus?” You ask voice muffled by his sheets as his hands continue to work your right and left leg.

“The dance studio is the furthest away from your building. We are the complete opposite sides of campus. Can’t have us blaring our music and having fun while you are trying to study for a test.” He teases as he gives you a small smack on the ass causing you to jolt and let out a pained whine.

He lifts the skirt of your dress and stares down at the red marks Namjoon left behind. His skilled hands massage the tender flesh and you let out another satisfied moan.

“T-True. But might be nice you know, to see you guys perform, might take away some stress.” You admit as his hands still wander your butt cheeks.

“I thought that’s what we were doing here?” He teases as you crane your neck to look at him and he flashes you a toothy smile.

His hands come to your hips to flip you over to your back. You stare up at his beautiful face and lean yourself up on your elbows capturing his lips in a kiss.

His hands cradle your head and hold you steady as he kisses you back. You feel blissed out as just like the others he takes his time exploring your mouth and pushing his lips into yours.

The kisses are slow and sweet, with no urgency just two people taking their time to get to know each other.

You shift so you are kneeling on the bed and you run your fingers through his dark hair and he sighs happily against your mouth.

You let your hands explore his hair, moving down to his neck and exploring his body.

You grab the hem of his shirt and your lips part so you can pull it off of him.

You press soft kisses to his neck and collarbones and smile against his skin when he throws his head back and whines.

You take your time with his body, kissing every freckle or mole you find as he holds your hair back and allows you to explore.

You stop at the hem of his loose-fitting pants and you can already see a sizeable bulge which causes you to giggle.

"So eager.” You tease as you lean up to capture his lips again and palm at his hard cock. He whines in your mouth as you push your palm into him and make sure to grind against his cockhead.

“You have no idea what it was like. Having to sit in this room and hear Namjoon and Yoongi fuck you. Torture.” He admits as you continue to palm him through the material.

“Did you like hearing how good I was getting fucked?” You say to him as you dance your fingers along his cock which is straining against the material, when you give him a squeeze you realize he is not wearing anything underneath and you gasp.

“Had to take them off. I was so fucking hard my cock needed some room. Didn’t wanna jerk off in case I came. The noises you make. Fuck Y/N I know why Namjoon picked you.” Hobi admits as you pull his pants down and watch as his cock smacks up against his toned stomach.

You take your time circling the base of his cock with your hand and he buries his face in your shoulder and whines at your touch.

You feel yourself start to get wet but you want to take your time and focus on him, he needs this more right now.

“If I make you cum now would you be able to still fuck me?” You ask as you begin to jerk him off, applying just the right amount of pressure and smearing his precum down his aching shaft.

“I-fuck-” He says as you flick your wrist at the top and watch as he bites his lip burying his face into your shoulder harder.

“Words please.” You say with a smirk as he pulls away and stares you down.

“I can tell you have been with Joon and Yoongi. I know I’m too pent up to fuck you right now I probably wouldn’t last. So yes. Please. Make me cum and I’ll fuck you.” He says as you nod and begin to stroke him harder.

He leans up to pull you in for a searing kiss and you tighten your grip on his cock which has him moaning against your mouth.

His hands are tangled wildly in your hair and you continue to jerk his cock harder and faster until he can no longer kiss you and instead is just moaning and whining against your swollen lips.

When you run your thumb under the head of his cock his hips jerk, fucking himself into your fist.

He continues to snap his hips forward and back, using your hand as his own personal fuck toy and you let him, loving the way he throws his head back making his hair push back from his sweaty forehead and the way the veins in his neck strain against his skin.

“Gonna cum for me?” You growl as you watch his eyes flutter open and he nods.

“Cum all over my hand Hobi. Come on now. Be a good boy and cum.” You demand and he loses it.

His body convulses forward and he buries his head back into your shoulder as he cums. Ropes of hot cum coat your fist as you let him work himself through it. He is still fucking up into your tight fist and when he finally stops you release his cock and begin to lap at the cum he left behind.

“Fuckkkk.” He groans out as he watches you lick and suck the cum up, his taste exploding in your mouth as you take your time, keeping your eyes locked on his as you finish the job and completely clean yourself.

“How are you real? Holy fuck how are you real?” He whines out as you smirk at the way his jaw is dropped and his eyes are blown wide.

You smile at him as you drop down on his bed and lie on your back, your knees starting to get sore from all the kneeling you had to do.

Hobi smirks and crawls off the bed, his hands grab at your hips and he pulls you to the very edge of the bed and kneels on the floor. Your eyes widen when his hands come to your knees and he flips up the skirt of your dress and prys your legs open as he gets comfortable between them.

“Gonna eat you out.” He mutters as he places hot kisses on your thighs and you spread them open wider for him.

When his mouth finally gets to your core you are almost shaking on the mattress. He laps at your clit and begins to swirl his tongue around it making you see stars.

Your hands grip the sheets below as you bring your legs up to wrap around his back caging him in place.

He chuckles against your core and continues to suck and lick at your clit, you can hear the wetness of his tongue lapping at your wetness and it makes your pussy pulse.

His tongue runs up and down your slit and he buries his face into your core causing his strong nose to bump against your clit sending you arching off the bed and a broken moan falling from your lips

His hands hold onto your thighs keeping you steady as he licks and sucks, pressing harder and working faster as you feel your orgasm start to build in your lower stomach.

You are squirming on the sheets and his name is falling out of your mouth in a prayer as he works harder and sucks up everything you are giving him

“Ho-Hobi stop you gotta stop.” You cry out as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge. Not wanting to fall off too soon.

“Baby your sopping wet for me.” He says as his head pops up between your legs and you see his lips shiny with your arousal, some is even leaking down his chin, and you swear it’s the hottest sight you have ever seen.

“Want you to fuck me Hobi.” You say as you sit up and watch him get up from the floor. His cock is once again rock hard against his stomach and he smiles at you.

He grabs a condom and rolls it onto his cock, pumping himself a few times as he leans down on the bed.

“How do you want me?” He asks as you sit up and close your legs giving him room to sit next to you.

“However you want. I just don’t think I can ride you. I think my legs will literally fall off.” You say with a laugh as Hobi eyes you mischievously.

“Did you ride both Joon and Yoongi?”

You nod.

“Don’t they know there are other positions to choose from? Fuck no wonder you are tired.” He says sitting on the bed beside you and stroking your knee in a comforting way.

“Well Joon I didn’t mind but with Yoongi we had to….for…reasons.” You say blushing at the memory of his hand wrapped around your neck.

“Reasons?” He asks with a cock of his eyebrow.

“He um..was choking me. Consensually of course!” You reply as you choose to stare at the floor instead of Hobi’s surprised face.

“Kinky.” He says with a soft giggle as you face him and smile shyly.

“Okay how about this lay against the headboard feet flat on the bed, I’ll do all the work baby.” He says patting you as you follow his instructions.

You spread your legs as Hobi crawls up the bed towards you. He places his hands on the headboard to hold himself steady and is on his knees running his cock through your folds.

You let out a broken whine and his eyes snap to yours in concern.

“I’m okay just…sensitive.” You admit already knowing that having a third cock inside of you in a short span of time will only make the soreness worse.

“I’ll go easy baby.” He says as he uses his fingers to spread your pussy lips even more and he slides his cock in.

Hobi is just as big as the others and even though you have lost track of how many times you have cum you can still feel a slight stretch as he bottoms out.

You close your eyes and scrunch your face, letting your body get used to the sensation as he stills and gives you time to adjust.

“Fuck you are so wet inside. Your soaking my cock baby. So fucking wet. And all for me.” He mutters in your ear causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

He starts to thrust shallowly inside of you and you bring your knees closer to your chest giving him more access to your core as he starts to pound into you with force.

Hobi is skilled with his hips and you can see why he would be a good dancer, he alternates from wild thrusting to burying his cock deep inside of you and grinding his hips causing his cock head to brush against your g-spot.

Hobi holds your legs open almost bending you in half and giving his cock room to go deeper inside of you, you swear you can feel him in your stomach but your eyes are too heavy to open right now so you take deep breaths and focus on the sensation.

The view you are missing is immaculate.

Hobi’s hips are thrusting deep inside of you and his head is thrown back in pleasure. His hair is sweaty and stuck to his forehead and his lips are sucked into his mouth as he works on bringing you over the edge.

You feel the coil of pleasure start to tighten and you know you are close.

Hobi is so good and once he gets into a rhythm he starts thrusting erratically making you shake on the bed and whine out his name.

Your eyes are screwed shut when you cum. Crying out his name in a broken moan that is ripped from your lungs. You want to cry from the feeling of having another orgasm as euphoria washes over you. It is too much and not enough at the same time and you feel tears slip out of your eyes when he continues to work his cock deep inside of you chasing his high.

“One more baby can you give me one more?” He asks in a desperate tone as his thrusts become erratic and you hold onto his shoulders for dear life as the overstimulation is almost painful.

“Ho-Hobi please please it’s too much… fuck!” You cry when his hand comes down to circle your clit and you feel your walls clamp down on his cock.

“Want you to cum with me can you do that baby. Come on one more on my cock.” He says breathlessly as you quickly reach the edge one more time and you cry out and feel your walls pulse against his cock which twitches and cums deep inside of your pussy.

He has his cock buried all the way in and is panting above you as you both ride out your highs.

When you finally come down the soreness in your body takes over and you slump against the headboard.

He pulls out of you and tosses the condom and leaves you spread eagle on the bed. You don’t mind though you are too worried about trying to force air back into your lungs after that intense orgasm.

Faintly you hear running water and you open your eyes to see Namjoon standing there leaning against the door frame with his hands tucked into his pockets.

He changed out of his clothes into soft green pj pants and a big baggy sweater, the hood was thrown over his messy hair and he stared at you affectionately.

“Come on princess we have to get you cleaned up now.” He says as he enters the room and walks over to Hobi’s window throwing it open to air out the room.

You groan and bury your face in the pillows, the last thing you want to do is stand up right now.

“Come on I got you.” He says softly as he scoops you in his arms like you weigh nothing and you bury your face in his soft sweater as he carries you towards the source of the running water.

The bathroom lights are dimmed and you see Yoongi is already there testing the water with his finger. Namjoon sets you down on shaky legs and you look around at the three men standing in the bathroom, all of them grinning at you.

Namjoon slowly slips the straps of your dress down and he lets it pool at your ankles. You step out of it as Hobi holds you up and helps you into the warm bath.

You sink into the warm water and let out a content sigh as Hobi and Yoongi leave the room, leaving you with Namoon who is still staring at you affectionately.

“Take as long as you need Princess. Towels are over there and there is a change of clothes on the vanity. It’s our stuff so it might not perfectly fit but it will do.” He says with a dimpled smile.

“Yoongi is making some food so take your time we will bring it up to you.” He says softly as he closes the door.

You inhale the lavender scent of the bubble bath and you sigh and sink deeper in the water, hoping it will ease some of the ache in your legs.

You flutter your eyes closed and aren’t sure how long you are laying there when the door cracks open and Yoongi is there with a plate of noodles that smell wonderful.

He places it on a mini folding table and leaves the room again, giving you time to eat in peace.

You spend a total of forty minutes in the bath and as you dry off and throw on the soft sweatpants and sweater someone knocks on the door and you see Namjoon standing there again.

“How do you feel princess?” He asks still leaning against the door frame as you let your hair down and throw the hood of the sweater over your messy hair.

“Relaxed. And so sleepy.” You admit as he comes behind you and hugs you, letting his chin rest on your shoulder.

“You did amazing tonight princess. So good for us. It’s pretty late so if you want to crash here we have a spare room. Or if you're comfortable you can sleep next to one of us. Or if you want to go home you can. Your choice.” He says as he raises his head to stare at both of your reflections in the mirror.

“Wanna sleep next to you Joon? Is that okay?” You say feeling small and safe in his arms.

He shoots you a smile as he takes your hands and leads you to his bedroom. The small bedside lamp is on and you see the duvet already rolled down. He assists you over to the bed as your legs are still shaky and he helps you get under the covers.

He crawls in on the other side and flicks off the lamp casting the room in darkness as he comes behind you to spoon you, his hands holding you flush against him.

“What time is it anyway?” You ask craning your neck to look out his window where you can see a small sliver of the moon illuminated in the sky.

“Almost eleven.” He replies as you gasp.

You didn’t think that much time had passed.

“Time flies when you're being fucked.” He teases as you smack his arm and he laughs, face buried in your neck.

“You should give me bonus marks on the exam for dealing with your terrible jokes.” You grumble as he is still chuckling behind you.

“Maybe I will.” He says as you can hear his voice drop a couple of octaves, he must be as tired as you are.

“Night Mr.Kim.” You tease pushing your butt back so it’s flush against his cock as he groans low in your ear.

“Goodnight Miss Y/N”

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