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k-hotchoisan · 3 months

Note

hiiiii <333 I have lovedddd lovvvveeeddd alll of your works I actually spent my day reading each and everyone of them I love it so muchhh!! 😭❤️

I have a request teehee, could you write one where Sannie is like a professor in your college and there’s little teasing here and there and where he ends up having her alas!! DOM - SAN ‼️💋

his favourite

<prof!san x fem!reader>

Prof Choi likes playing favourites.

You’re his favourite.

Genres/Warnings: smut, dom professor Choi San, pwp, face fucking, unprotected sex, oral (m receive) ,mutual pining, age gap, size kink, cream pies, mild jealousy plot, sir kink, light bondage (just tying up reader) teasing, sexual tension, teaching assistantxteacher obv forbidden but we still eat it up anyway!

Word count: 12.3K

a/n: happy birthday to the man of my dreams </3 enjoy this little choi san birthday treat. i put my love into this so please love this as much as i did! and thank you @bro-atz for the tidbits of help as always 🩷

apply for taglist here!

You stare at the laptop screen, scanning through your details on the application form, double, and triple checking that everything was filled in correctly.

“Which professors are you trying as a teaching assistant for?” Your roommate asks, her neck craning over to see you attaching the file to six different emails, to six different professors within the department, pretty much answering her question the moment she reads off each professor’s email.

“Why not try for the department chair?”

You scrunch your eyebrows as if it’s the first time you’re hearing that.

“Who?”

“Professor Choi?”

Your eyes widen, your neck almost getting whiplash from how fast you turned to your roommate at the sound of his name.

“Why the fuck would I try him?”

Your roommate shrugs in an attempt to hide her amused reaction from your reaction at his name.

“Who knows? I’m confident he remembers you even though you spent only one semester with him”, she hums turning away to pour herself another ice drink from the pitcher. “On a serious note, you may as well just get all the help you can get. Besides, what are the chances that Prof Choi sees your email? He’s the department chair. I’m sure his mailbox is just flooded anyway.”

True, you think to yourself, turning your head back to your laptop, and adding the professor’s email address in. But you still hesitate, staring at the application form, your cursor hovering over the send button. Your roommate looks over at you, and she decides that your wishy-washy behaviour is just being the biggest nuisance on earth, so her hand flies over yours and helps you to press send, and she watches you freak out at her while she giggles and escapes after committing her crime, chasing your roommate around the kitchen island for a good seven minutes.

Settling back down in defeat, you sigh in your hands, giving yourself pep talks.

Right.

The chances are close to zero that Prof Choi will see my application anyway.

The chances of him remembering me are close to zero anyway.

You shut your laptop, and the applications are completely erased from your mind.

“Yo, check your emails, babe. The application results are out for me”, your roommate says, her eyes glued to her laptop screen.

You settle yourself down across her, a chilled drink in your hand, pulling up your email inbox. As you expected, you see the subject headline ‘Teaching Assistant Application Results’, and you expand the email.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me”, you mutter, loud enough for your roommate to hear. Her head pops out from behind her screen.

“Who did you get?”

“Choi San.”

Professor Choi San. His classes weren’t the bane of your existence—but he, himself was.

And the fact that it only took one semester to solidify that claim. Almost everyone wanted to get into his class, so fucking many of them just squealing over how he looked almost god-like. You wonder how much of a swoon he would be, how much of the rumours that travelled down the stream were factual, though with thousands of students constantly fighting for a spot in his class, you sure were coloured surprised when you landed a spot in Professor Choi’s class.

The moment he walked in, the whispers within the confines of the lecture hall erupted into gasps and squeals. Unfortunately, the rumours were right—the moment ProfessorChoi walked in, it was as if your eyes naturally followed his movement—confident strides in his steps dictated by his outfit—a simple dress shirt under a dark gray vest that accentuated his wide shoulders and skinny waist.

He was so fucking handsome—his hair neatly slicked back, frameless glasses sat on his nose bridge, his sharp and small eyes hiding behind the lens. Undoubtedly, seeds of infatuation began lodging themselves in you. Well, it’s not like you had a chance with him anyway, especially when the gold band reflected from his ring finger being a huge indicator. Maybe keeping him as an eye candy would work out just fine.

Prof Choi’s classes were interesting, and he as a professor, other than being a distraction during the majority of his classes, held his credentials. However, at times, some sarcastic comments would bubble to the surface, and even though he did tend to commend top-scoring students for tests, he still maintained professionalism for the most part—the content taught wasn’t rocket science anyway. You saw yourself being able to breeze through the syllabus for the most part until you received your grade for one of your essays. You stared at his comments, marked in red lines, circles, and words—tone cold and direct—not that you weren’t used to it, but this time? You felt his comments alongside him marking you down were completely unjustified.

It was then that you pushed past the group of girls who would stay back after class to shamelessly flirt with him, under the guise of wanting to discuss more about the content taught that day, and you stood before the group, asking to speak to Prof Choi personally. Prof Choi did have people staying back after class to consult with him about grades, although they would stay shortly with him staying stern to his marking rubrics, but when he realised you weren’t backing down on top of the way you approached him so directly, it intrigued him.

His office was spacious, considering that he was the department chair—and without introductions, he had you dive in immediately in consultation.

You wasted no time, flipping through the spent pages of your essay, pointing out areas where you felt his comments were unjustified. Prof Choi listened, and he refuted your points, some of which you decided to accept but not for one particular part;

“This part had no proper scientific support of your argument for this point-“

“Bullshit”, you cut him off. Prof Choi blinked, shocked at the blunt cut from you. His eyebrows were scrunched in confusion next, wondering if he heard right that a student not only just cut him off, but cussed at him.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s here. A small significance value is still something isn’t it?” You replied, pointing at the paragraph after. He glanced at the paper once more, forcing himself to focus while you fought back that your argument was supported.

So you made Prof Choi sit before you and listen to your elaborations, and needless to say, he was rather impressed, although he had to hold his expression neutral.

You came out of the consultation victorious—the day Prof Choi called you over after his class again, handing you your script, and you saw your total marks shooting up to a gorgeous score. Your head was so into the clouds that you returned a smirk along with a shrug—showing off your victory and satisfaction as your thanks—an I told you so, leaving the professor to stare after you in awe while you practically skipped to your seat.

That sealed your fate.

From then on, Prof Choi would have his attention on you—recognising which seat you picked to sit in in class, wondering why you hadn’t dared sit nearer. And when it came to picking people to answer questions, his gaze would fly to you immediately—either waiting to call you out once you raised your hand or simply calling you when he felt like it. For some sick reason, he finds the way your face scrunches up in stress when he calls your name in his honey-soaked voice amusing, and even adorable at times, though he would never admit it. But oh, did he love the comments and answers you would give him.

Despite that assignment being the only one where you decided to consult Prof Choi, following every grade release of an assignment, he would single you out, especially after class, to fucking ask if you had questions regarding said assignment, which honestly started to freak you out—mostly because he never gave you the attention before, and you weren’t used to it. The whispering gossip in the class about you being the teacher’s pet slowly reached your ears too, and even Prof Choi heard it—and he only exacerbated that rumours by constantly giving you his attention.

Every time you reached your dorm, the words that left your mouth which your roommate could recite verbatim, “I swear to god, Prof Choi has it out for me!”

Not to mention you were fucking relieved when the last day of his class rolled around, but unfortunately, his parting words to you were, “I’m sure I’ll see you around, y/n”. You did everything in your power to avoid getting into his class and even bumping into him, which seemed to work swell.

Until now that is.

Now here you are again, standing before the familiar heavy wooden door, staring up at the wooden plate, embossed with gold lettering “Department Chair Choi San” staring right at you. You had to physically drag yourself off your bed to prepare for the first day partnered with Prof Choi. And when your roommate’s words of “oh come on, he can’t be that bad. He’s hot!”, echoed through your ears, it all the more made you want to just ditch your first day by clawing your eyeballs out.

You had to collect yourself before Prof Choi collected you.

With a raised knuckle, you rap against the door, taking deep inhales in the process. His voice, which sounded deceivingly like honey, remained the same as you remembered.

“Come in.”

You pause for a moment, embracing yourself before holding onto to doorknob and pushing his door open.

There he was, Professor Choi, his eyes focused on the scripts on his desk, which had piled up. His space remained the same as you remembered, for the most part—shelves littered with awards and files, the same desktop taking up one-quarter of his huge ass desk, and the couch with the coffee table left to the side of the room. Prof Choi wore a stern look of concentration on his face, still preoccupied with finishing up marking his scripts.

When his pen pauses and his gaze shifts towards the door, a small smile spreads across his face. He lifts his head and drops his pen, interlocking his fingers on his desk with growing amusement when his eyes meet yours.

Fuck, he’s still so handsome.

“Professor Choi”, you greet, holding your expression neutral as you bow, forcing yourself not to fidget with your tote bag.

“Y/n!” Prof Choi greets almost too enthusiastically. “I would assume you would be more than delighted when I picked you to be my teaching assistant.”

“Honoured, almost”, you reply. It’s taking all of your energy not to break his gaze. He’s staring at you with unreadable eyes, and you’re wondering if the fluttering in your chest is from the anxiety or the way Prof Choi is staring at you.

Prof Choi laughs, and it tickles your ears a little too good.

“Sit. We have a lot to go through today”, he gestures to the seat before him, and you take it.

He switches on his monitor to his course syllabus and turns the monitor slightly towards you.

“Oh, before we begin, it’s a pleasure meeting you again, y/n.”

Oh boy, was being Prof Choi’s teaching assistant a fucking handful. You knew it was gonna be rough, but to be assisting Professor Choi San? He was on another level—his schedule would be filled to the brim with meetings with the faculty on top of conducting classes weekly. You struggled in your first month, learning the ropes, especially from a busy and challenging professor like him. He wasn’t mean or cold at all, on the contrary, more direct and meticulous. Well, he had to be, considering his position. Nonetheless, it felt like he was always too busy to attend to your questions sometimes, and that would leave you to your own devices.

You stand in the aisle, looking down at the assortment of foods lined up in the chiller. Has Prof eaten yet? Does he even eat? What does he even eat? By instinct, you pull out your phone and open his chat.

[you]: Hi Prof. Have you eaten? I’m at the convenience store near the campus. I could grab something quick for you.

A couple of minutes go by, but your phone doesn’t receive a ping, and you had to reach the office soon. So you pick up another tuna rice ball for the professor alongside yours before making a beeline for the cashier.

Prof Choi hears the knock on his door and as usual, he utters his usual “come in”. His gaze lands on you, and he glances at the clock.

“You’re on time today”, he points out.

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. “I’m always on time, Professor.”

“You’re usually in a little earlier.”

“Right, because I got you this”, you reply, rustling through the plastic bag in your hands, fishing out the rice ball.

He looks up at you, confusion hinted in his expression. He doesn’t take the food yet.

“What’s this?”

“Tuna rice ball. Surely only having coffee in the morning is not filling your stomach.”

You put the food in front of him. “Besides, I messaged you but you didn’t reply. So I just chose something safe. Unless you’re telling me you’re allergic to tuna or something.”

Prof Choi blinks. His hands reach out to take the snack from the desk, unwrapping the plastic packaging as he watches you leave his office to grab a mug of coffee. He glances over at his phone, and sure enough, your name is there with your message.

Since then, his reply would pop up in mere minutes whenever you asked him if he wanted anything to eat.

Of course, the more you spent time with him, the more you grew comfortable, and all the thoughts you ever stressed about slowly faded off. Prof Choi grew more relaxed around you, internally grateful that you’re able to tank a significant fraction of his workload for him. Undoubtedly, you also come to realise that Prof Choi is human after all—he obviously would make mistakes, even as someone of his caliber, and deep inside, you found it rather cute, well, until you had to stop yourself from developing deranged thoughts.

Not to mention, another problem seemed to pop up—his flirty banter. He likely picked up that it made you flustered sometimes, and since then, he wouldn’t let it go, relishing at the way pink creeps up your cheeks when he would say something that wasn’t like his ‘professor-self’, and at worst, feeding into your crooked thoughts.

You stare at him as he types away, particularly, the metal band around his ring finger. You wonder who was the lucky lady who had the chance to be with him. You blink.

What the hell were you thinking?

“It’s rude to stare, you know”, Prof Choi’s voice snapping you out of your daydreams.

“I’m just wondering about your ring, that’s all”, you reply, forcing your attention back to your half-marked assignments.

“I’m not actually married”, he suddenly confesses, and for some reason, it makes your heart beat slightly faster.

“Huh?” Is all you manage to reply.

Prof Choi chuckles. He pauses his work on the desktop, turning his attention to you. Even though you have worked so closely with him for a while already, you can never seem to find your composure around him.

Even though you see his face every week, you can’t seem to wrap your head around how insanely good-looking he is, how sometimes you struggle to maintain eye contact with him, because it doesn’t take long before you feel yourself slowly flushing.

“I wear it on my ring finger so the students stop asking about my marital status”, Prof Choi clarifies. You watch him pull the ring from his ring finger and fit it over his index.

“So you’re single”, you echo.

He nods, “I’m single.”

What is this strange feeling of relief?

“What about you?” He suddenly asks. You’re not looking directly at him, and you don’t realise the way he’s looking at you attentively. And if you do, you just might combust.

“I’m…single too”, you answer, trying to meet his gaze, fidgeting with the red pen in between your fingers.

“And why’s that? Too busy fighting with your professors for grades?”

You glare at him.

��I think it was my professor picking fights with me”, you reply quickly, jabbing right back at him.

You watch Prof Choi lower his gaze, a smile spreading across his cheeks—an actual smile—his dimples showing up. Oh fuck. Just when you thought you could depend on your ribcage to contain your heart properly, you found out Prof Choi could actually smile.

When he looks up at you again, you break the eye contact, your gaze flying back to the papers before you.

“You know, I’ve met many students, but you were the first to cuss out at me.”

You did? “I did?”

Your professor nods, cocking his eyebrow at the way you had seemed to have simply forgotten something as eventful as that.

This time, Professor Choi bursts into a chuckle, completely amused by your reaction.

“Is that why you kept-“

“Giving you chances to answer in class for credit? You should really thank me for that. Your grade for my class was one of the highest you know.”

You feel your cheeks flush. But before you can retaliate, Prof Choi cuts you off.

“Jokes aside, no. I think the discussion we had that afternoon had an impression on me. The cherry on top was you cussing at me. I liked that. Refreshing and endearing”, Prof Choi continues, his attention seeping back to the pile of scripts before him.

“I think this side of Professor is pretty refreshing and endearing too”, you let it slip.

His pen pauses in mid-air. You don’t catch his gaze completely softening on you.

As the semester continues on, you began easing into the class schedules. You watch prof get swarmed by a group of students, a usual ritual that happens right when the class ends. At this point, you had grown used to it. Sometimes the students would come and approach you instead, which honestly surprised you, but your heart would feel warm, knowing that these students trusted you.

It was then you became acquainted with another teaching assistant under Prof Choi, who joined shortly after you did—Choi Jongho. Initially, he came off as a rather shy individual, but the both of you warmed up quickly with each other, sharing the workload and bonding over gossip with each other. Gosh, was he fucking amazing with gossip, especially when it came to Professor Choi. Soon enough, the both of you were texting almost on a regular basis, the conversations weighing more towards academic topics sprinkled with a little gossip.

“You’re going off with Choi Jongho?”

“Yeah”, you reply, bunching the papers in your hands. “I’ve got some things to discuss with him about.” Partially true.

For some reason, even though your professor has been completely swamped with papers to grade and meetings to attend, you would always find him loitering around your desk from time to time. He seems to especially enjoy doing that when you’re around.

“You’ve been spending an awfully lot amount of time with him”, Prof Choi points out, looking over your shoulder as he watches you scribble on another student’s paper.

“Yeah, we get along well actually. Isn’t that a good thing, Prof? Both your teaching assistants are besties.”

For some reason, that makes Prof Choi frown, but you’re too absorbed in your work to notice it.

A couple of minutes go by, and you still feel his presence, not that you mind, but you’re starting to find it peculiar that he’s been hanging around your desk a lot recently.

“Do you have something to discuss with me, prof?” You ask, eyes still glued to the paper.

“Yes”, he replies, taking another sip from his mug. “What do you think of Choi Jongho?”

Such a random question to ask, you think. Maybe he’s just making sure you and Jongho get along well?

You pause, giving yourself to think, tapping the back of the red pen against your bottom lip, taken aback by Prof Choi’s sudden question, but the conversations you and Jongho had resurfacing into your brain, and a giggle escapes you, which makes Professor Choi subconsciously narrow his eyes and furrow his brows.

“He’s fun to be around, and despite how he looks, he’s actually got a wicked sense of humor. Oh god, wait. Let me tell you what you he did that day while we were having lunch together-“

You turn your head to continue to run your mouth, only to slowly trail off when realise his face is just inches from yours, and you swear your heart is on a treadmill from the lack of distance between you and Prof Choi. It’s as if time paused, the both of you sinking right into each other’s gazes. You can’t help but notice how intense his gaze is, and you can’t seem to decipher his thoughts, but from the way this situation played out, you swore he’d just lean in and kiss you.

Your heartbeat accelerates at the thought—why would he do that?

And when his fingers are on your chin, your rational thoughts are getting flushed out.

“That’s an awful lot of cute things about Choi Jongho. I’ve never heard you talk about another Choi like that.”

You swallow hard, your body still frozen in spot.

“What do you think about him then?”

“Jongho? I was just-“

“No. Choi San.”

Oh god. You could only stare back at him. Prof Choi tilts his head, his eyebrows raised, waiting for his answer. His cologne floats and almost shuts down your senses—has he always smelled this good?

The corner of his lips curl slightly at the way you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights.

“I t-think Prof-“

“San. Choi San”, he corrects you.

Another hard swallow the more you try to focus your gaze on him.

“I think Choi San’s a great professor. He’s really competent, a lot softer than he presents himself as-“

Fuck you can’t think. Not when he’s staring down your eyes to your lips like that.

“Mmhm.”

“And he’s really so-“

Then a loud knock echoes across the room, breaking the tension. Prof Choi’s body doesn’t shift, but he looks up at the door, shouting “door’s unlocked”, before he stands back upright, adjusting his glasses and walking back to his desk.

Jongho’s head peeks in, then he bows at Prof Choi before he walks to your desk. You stare up at him with a forced smile.

“Ready to go? I was waiting for your message”, Jongho says, his eyes glancing over the professor, then you, a strange feeling that he probably interrupted something.

You nod, while shoving your belongings into your bag, then slinging it on your shoulder.

Barely being able to look at Professor Choi, you still force yourself to, bowing goodbye to him.

“Thank you Prof Choi. See you tomorrow.”

He looks up from his desk, right into your eyes.

“See you too, y/n.”

You can’t help but wonder how far things would have gone if Jongho didn’t knock the door.

Jongho isn’t an idiot. Initially, he assumes that you and the professor were on much friendlier terms considering that you came in before he did. Granted, the workload he would give the both of you was the same, he would take the initiative to have lunch with the both of you both individually and together whenever he had pockets of free time, but what roused his awareness was the lingering glances Professor Choi would cast at you from time to time, the way he seemed to relish the reactions you would give him whenever he teased you.

He notices the way your ears would grow red even when you roll your eyes at the professor and jab him with another playful snarky remark.

Though he wonders how dangerous things could get, Jongho thinks this could get interesting.

The semester continues smoothly, the only change being that Jongho being absent from the office more often due to his other commitment to soccer. You remember him telling you he had quite a big match coming up, the sparkle in his eyes bright and twinkling whenever he talks about said sport.

If he wasn’t in classes, he’d be off for training, hopping into the office from time to time to pass Professor Choi marked scripts and reports. Prof Choi pretty much didn’t mind—he stated as long as Jongho did his job, he could be free to do what he wanted outside of being a teaching assistant.

Needless to say, the office was mostly Prof Choi and you, now even more time spent with him with Jongho mostly being absent. By then, the both of you had grown so accustomed to being in each other’s presence that banters amongst each other became the norm—the both of you competing with each other with unserious remarks, laced with almost flirtatiousness, just to see who would back down first.

Then came the proximity—since Prof Choi would wander over your desk as if he had all the free time in the world, he would somehow strike up another conversation with you, leaning over to hear you better, his arm bumping into yours to look over at the papers you were grading to check if you were doing them correctly. But what he absolutely adores the most is when you’d roll over to his desk to pester him with your questions—sometimes even testing him on his own content.

He likes the way he gets to be closer to you. He likes the way your shoulders touch his when you lean in to push the paper towards him so he can see the script better.

He likes the way you would finally look up and meet his eyes when you’re done formulating your question, waiting to hear his opinion.

Today is no different—Professor Choi being so used to the notion that he would only be seeing you in the office, the corner of his lips pull upwards at the thought of the types of banter you would have with him, the kinds of shenanigans you would bring into the office.

He hears your knock at the time you would always arrive, watching the way the door opens, and your head popping from the door, as you greet, “Hi Prof!”

“Good morning, y/n”, he would greet back, sipping on his morning coffee.

You walk over to his desk, dropping his tuna rice ball. “Here you go. Enjoy your breakfast, Prof!”

“You can stop calling me Prof”, Prof Choi suddenly says, twirling the pen in his hand. For a second, you wonder what triggered the sudden change. You’ve been calling him Prof since day one, pretty much used to it already, the only time you didn’t was when he—never mind. The thought of it is making your face flush again.

“Is there something else you want me to call you?” You ask, trying to calm your heartbeat down when that memory suddenly resurfaces.

“You can call me San. I’m fine with that. I know you’re still my teaching assistant but we’ve been working closely. I think it’s fine to drop the Prof honorific.”

You try out.

“Sure thing San”, you reply. “Though it’s gonna take a while for me to get used to this.”

“If you’re able to cuss in front of me, calling me by my name should be the least of your worries, y/n”, San teases.

You raise your hand, feigning a stance ready to smack him before you lower your arm, listening to the way San laughs before rolling your eyes and sinking into your desk.

The day marches on as normal—attending a class or two with Jongho before he’s whisked away to his soccer practice, leaving just the two of you for the rest of the day.

San is leaning at your desk again, looking at you typing out your report. He squints slightly before he leans down to your shoulder, his finger pointed at one of the paragraphs, asking you about the content. You answer him, and when you turn your head once you’re done, you find yourself looking at San’s side profile mere inches away—his sun-kissed skin, his pretty lashes, his thick, well-trimmed eyebrows, and the way his lips protrude out a little—he always looked like he’s pouting in the most adorable way.

That’s when you realise a problem seemed to be bubbling up to the surface, try as you might to ignore it, repress it—that you’re falling for your professor. Fast.

You snap back to reality, finally aware of how loud your heart is beating against your rib cage, and your hand flies up in instinct as a divider between you and San. San blinks at the sudden movement, confused.

“Y/n, what are you doing?” He’s not moving.

“I think I’ve got something on my face.”

San cocks an eyebrow. “You do? Let me check-“

His palm covers yours, bringing it down to the table, and you’re kicking yourself for sprouting such a self-sabotaging lie.

Why? Because now San has his hand on yours on top of his face in full view of yours, his eyes meeting yours before his gaze flutters around your face, checking for whatever hell you said was on your face.

His gaze meets yours and for a split second, something else glints in his eyes.

The door swings open, and San straightens himself up, slightly irritated at the interruption, leaving you to spin your chair away from San, your hands cupping your cheeks, the heat warming you up against the cold air conditioner. The heat from his hand on yours lingers for a little longer.

Jongho walks in, his duffel slinging on his shoulder with his shoe bag clipped.

“Hey, Prof. Hey cutie.”

San blinks. What did he just call you?

“Hey jjongie. Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?” You ask, forcing yourself to focus on your colleague instead.

“Supposedly, yeah, but there was a sudden downpour midway so training got cancelled. Might as well get some work done here”, he shrugs, dropping his bag onto the floor.

San is wrapping his head around the fact that you and Jongho seem to have pet names for each other.

“Didn’t miss me too much right?” Jongho teases. “‘Cause I did!”

“That’s a first coming from you jjongie”, you reply, surprising a smile.

“Of course! It’s been a while, how could I not? We should go eat dinner together sometime.”

San only stares on in silence, pretending to sink back into his grading.

Jongho walks over to your desk, taking his turn to look at your report. San watches the way Jongho’s arm is comfortable over your seat, as he asks you about your report, talking to you as if San wasn’t just behind you seconds before.

The fact you’re entertaining him—hitting his arm playfully and laughing at his remarks—all the more rouses some kind of irritation in San. It’s like a boiling pot.

He pretends he doesn’t see the way Jongho leans in to whisper something into your ear although it’s bugging him so fucking much. For once, he wishes Jongho’s training didn’t cancel.

“Oh right before I forget”, Jongho mutters, rushing back to his desk, digging through his bag. He walks back over with a paper in hand and places it before you. You glance down and your face brightens up—it’s a ticket to his game.

“For real?” You exclaim, your eyes bright, taking the ticket in your hands. “I’ll definitely make time for you.”

“I’ll score goals for you, kay?” Jongho teases, his eyes glancing at San, who is progressively looking more irritated.

“Ah, Is San not going?”

“San? Since when were you on first name basis with him?” Jongho wonders aloud, the suspicion only brewing even more.

“Jongho, don’t you have reports to hand in?” San asks curtly.

You feel like you are caught in between crossfire for some reason.

Jongho smiles, then has your head under his arm, which elicits another irritated reaction from your professor.

You have never had Jongho done this before. In fact, you recall him offhandedly mentioning that he’s never a physical touch person, and that anything with physical touch makes him shudder.

“Relax, Prof. You’d rather your subordinates get along than not right?”

Just when San is about to reply, Jongho suddenly exclaims.

“AH, coach is calling me back to the field. Prof, I’ll send you the report by tomorrow okay? See you guys!”, Jongho hums as he runs back to his desktop to turn it off.

“Has he always been like that?” San wonders aloud, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I guess. It’s actually what makes him cute.”

“Cute? You think Jongho is…cute?”

“Is he not? Doesn’t he remind you of a bear? Big and cuddly.”

San clears his throat, and you watch him walk over to your desk, his hand resting on the tabletop. He leans in.

“So… you find it cute when he gives you pet names?”

“Well, I mean-“

“You find it cute when he plays with your hair?” San curls your locks around his fingers.

You can’t seem to get words to leave your throat.

“You find it cute when he has his hands all over you like that?” He’s leaning in even closer this time, arms trapping you at either side.

“Prof-“

“No. It’s sir.”

Your mind is in a whirlwind at the way he’s towering over you, his scent the only thing filling your olfactory senses, the way he’s staring right into you, gaze sharp as a blade.

“You find it cute when his touches run up your body like this?” His fingers are trailing up your arms, every touch he burns into your skin, and when his thumb pauses at your chin, you realise you’re royally fucked.

Once more, his face is mere inches away from yours. You wonder if you’ll be teased like two previous times before.

“Of course you don’t. You’d rather I do that to you, right?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Yes, sir.”

His voice is barely a whisper, his eyes downcast, staring at your lips like it’s his reward to claim.

“Good girl.”

Of course, he claims it.

His kisses are so greedy—his lips prying yours open, and you feel yourself completely give in to him, surrendering whatever resistance, rationale, repression to Choi San.

You want more—you want seconds. Every swipe his tongue passes your lip, it makes your head float. How does someone taste this fucking good?

He pauses mid-way—barely a couple of seconds, to pull off his glasses and strew them across the desk—then goes back to devouring your lips.

San would smile in between kisses when he hears your whimpers. He thinks you’re so fucking adorable when you tremble slightly at his touch. It all goes straight to his cock.

He thinks you’ll be even more adorable when he ruins you.

When San pulls back, he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, watching your glazed-out expression with amusement.

"I'd love to continue messing you up, but I have a meeting to attend. I’ll deal with you later, sweetheart. See you next week.”

His touch lingers on your chin for a couple of seconds longer before he pulls away and shifts to walk back to his desk, leaving your heartbeat wild and erratic, and your thighs squeezed tighter.

Since then, that was all you ever thought about—the slight smile before his lips collided with yours, the way his words rang in your ears. You could barely meet his eyes.

In more instances than one and with any chance given to him, he’d close up any physical distance he had with you. Worried that your emotions would bubble and overflow when he does that, you developed a habit of avoiding his eye contact.

Even after classes, you swore he was casting you glances even with lines of students waiting to talk to him.

“Did you piss Prof off or something?” Jongho asks as he shuts his laptop.

“Why are you asking?”

He shrugs. “It’s just that he’s been eyeing you down like a hawk recently. Did something happen between the both of you?”

You freeze when the flashbacks of the taste of his lips return to your memory when you remember how hungry he looked just wanting to devour you.

“Y/n?”

You blink, then force yourself to meet Jongho’s eyes.

“No. Nothing happened. At least I hope I didn’t make any mistakes.”

“You’re fine. There’s a reason why the department chair chose his teaching assistants.”

You laugh softly at his words.

But when you hear San’s voice from behind you, you almost jump.

“Y/n, Jongho, the both of you can wrap up here and head back to the office”, he instructs. You feel his warmth radiating from behind, and it only makes your heart jump at the proximity.

You watch Jongho slowly pack up, small conversations sparking between the both of you about his soccer practice.

You glance at the door. San isn’t back yet.

“I think it’ll take him awhile to be back. The students there seem to really like him.”

No doubt, the female students for this class seemed a lot more assertive, almost always demanding all of San’s time. Well, not that it should matter. It’s not as if he should mean anything-

“Y/n? Are you okay? You seem pretty off recently. Even Prof’s pretty worried”, Jongho’s voice grounding you back to the cold office.

You force a smile and shake your head.

“I’m fine. I guess it’s just so much workload to deal with.”

Jongho places his hand on your shoulder in comfort, “You’re doing fine. You know you can approach either of us if you’re struggling right?”

You feel comforted, even though your messy thoughts weren’t even about the workload, so you return an assured smile before waving Jongho off for his soccer practice.

You’re wondering what you’re feeling nervous about, because when the door of San’s room opens, you jolt slightly.

“You’re still here?” You hear San ask.

“Yeah. Need to reply to some emails and double-check some of their assignments.” Not a total lie. It’s the swirling feelings he’s been giving you whenever that day surfaces in your mind, the small bouts of attention he pays you and the touches he lets linger a little too long that’s all a dopamine rush in you. You can’t help but want more. But in the same breath, meeting his gaze will allude doom for you.

San nods as he sits back at his desk, going right back to his computer. The silence continues for awhile and you’re surprised that you’re even able to concentrate.

“Y/n”, you hear San call you.

Your gaze doesn’t break from your screen. “Hmm?”

“Come here. Help me look at this.”

You walk over, ignoring the way your heart is just pounding so damn loudly. It’s painfully obvious that San is staring right at your face, and it’s also painfully obvious that you’re avoiding looking at him.

And it definitely seems to be ticking him off.

Your eyes stay locked to his screen reading off whatever is on the screen, and nothing is processing in your brain.

“It looks good”, you curtly reply, trying to ignore the fact that you’re being stared down by a certain professor. You turn away, your eyes still not acknowledging San, only for your professor to stop you in your tracks.

“Now where do you think you’re going?”

He’s making you face him now.

You’re still not giving him eye contact.

“Back to my desk?” You say, looking off into the distance. But San seems to have other plans.

“You know ‘looks good’ isn’t the feedback I’m looking for, right?”

Shit. You know that clear as day.

Now San has both his arms trapping you on his desk.

You somehow still manage to avoid his sharp gaze even when you’re backing up against him, easily letting him corner you.

His belongings are strewn all over the desk when he pins you down. By some miracle, only papers flutter down his desk.

And you’re finally looking right at him.

“You’re finally looking at me, y/n”, he states the obvious. “Now tell me, did I do something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t, sir”, you reply curtly.

He leans in closer.

“Then why are you avoiding my eye contact?”

You shut your eyes and squeeze them. There’s no pure way out of this—your dirty thoughts are seeping into the smallest crevices of your brain, and the more San is prodding you, the more it makes you throb.

“It’s because that evening when we…” you feel your cheeks burn with every word leaving your lips.

San is waiting for you to continue.

“When we kissed…couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“And?”

“It made me want…more.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Has anyone told you how adorable you are when you’re honest?” He chuckles. “I’m gonna finish what we started sweetheart, like I promised.”

It makes your heart flutter.

“Am I getting your consent for this?”, San’s voice rings in your ears. You’re finding it hard to focus, especially when his thumb is pushing past the corner of your lips, and you’re just growing wet as fuck.

This is not right. This is so dangerous.

“Yes sir”, you reply back, trying to ignore the way your cunt is just tingling from the feeling of San’s thick erection pressing against you.

“That’s my good girl”, he praises before he dives in for a hungry kiss, his fingers roaming around your body, squeezing your tits before he unbuttons your shirt at an agonising pace. He smiles on your lips when he hears your soft gasp, and he presses his lips down to your jaw and then to your neck, sucking and biting the soft skin against your neck, his erection growing tighter against his trousers when he hears you moan and squirm.

When he’s satisfied with the light marks he decorated down your neck, his lips are pressed against your ear, and his hands are moving dangerously close to your cunt, and inevitably, your bottoms are off in seconds, leaving you in your pretty panties.

“I would prefer fucking you on my bed instead for the first time, but taking you on my desk? Maybe not too bad.”

Your cunt squeezes at the sound of San cussing. You never thought he’d sound this fucking hot.

He groans when his fingers press against the soaked patch of fabric hiding your pussy. All that wetness for him. He bunches up the fabric and rubs it against your clit, the friction drawing frustrated whimpers from you, much to his satisfaction. It feels so good but it’s not enough, and it’s driving you crazy.

San’s fingers finally hook against the waistband of your panties, sliding them off your legs, and pocketing them, much to your shock.

And he doesn’t give you much time to focus on that because when he pulls his cock out from his unzipped pants, it makes your head spin from how thick Choi San is.

“Sir, I’m not sure-“

“It’ll fit, sweetheart, like it’s made for me”, is all the warning San gives before he lines up to your hole and pushes his cock in.

You can’t tell what’s fucking you up more—the way his cock is stretching you open or the San groaning in relief when he finally gets to stuff you full.

You bat away your tears, his cock so fucking full inside of you, pressing against your walls, being squeezed so perfectly by you.

God, Choi San thinks he’s in heaven.

His fingers brush across your cheeks, collecting your teardrops. His eyes lack any ounce of empathy.

“Aw, are you crying because it feels good? You look so fucking pretty crying when I’m stretching you open.”

You barely find the words to reply to him, all stuck in your throat, your mind only flooded by the way San’s cock is buried in your cunt, your thighs trembling from the pleasure. It’s almost sickening. You know you shouldn’t be doing this—not with your professor, not on his fucking desk, but when he has you wrapped you around his finger and cock fucking the daylights out of you, it’s a temptation you can never resist.

A soft hiccup escapes past your lips when San pulls out almost all the way, his cock covered in a sheen of slick and precum before he pushes himself in once more, groaning when you clench around him for the nth time.

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart. God, I could just fuck you all day. You’d like that right?”

You’re barely keeping track, eyes rolled to the back of your head while your thighs twitch from the pleasure, but you manage to hold the eye contact, and through blurry tears, you mutter a weak, “Yes sir”.

“Of course you do”, San hums before he pulls out once more and starts fucking you dumb on his desk.

No matter how much you try to cover your mouth, bite your tongue or your lip, your moans only come out louder in defiance, the dopamine shooting up your pussy over and over again whenever San’s cock hits your pretty spots.

Your mind is addicted to the way San’s shirt is buttoned down his chest, his cleavage almost fully out for you to gawk at, the way strands of his hair cling to his forehead because of the sweat, the way his eyes roll back when he feels you squeeze him with every loud fuck, and the way he looks down to you from time to time before he eats up your pathetic moans with hungry kisses.

He fucked you up so good, you didn’t even realise it until now.

“S-San”, you manage out a whimper, “please…”

“Please what, sweetheart?”

You don’t even know what you’re begging for.

“Please… you feel so fucking good. I’m gonna cum. It’s so fucking good”, you babble, trying to force your eyes open.

San can’t help but smirk when his ego is being stroked so nicely like that, especially by you. He’s a good person, of course, he’ll give what his good girl wants.

His thumb slides south on your body until you feel the ticklish sensation of him on your clit. Cream and precum pooling at the base of his cock makes it even worse for you—with every graze, his finger pressed onto your clit, the knot tightened in your stomach.

Your nonsensical strings of words only push San to tease you more as he endearingly watches you break slowly when your orgasm builds up.

Your body twitches, your back arches, your eyes roll back, white splashes beneath your eyelids. Your orgasm burning through you while you cry out San’s name and you twitch pathetically on his cock, letting your cream leak all over his wet cock.

“Fuck. You’re such a good fucking girl for me, aren’t you?”, you hear San curse. He fucks you through your orgasm, the overstimulation building up. The sensitivity feels so fucking good.

His hand catches your jaw, and he forces you to meet his eyes.

“Wanna pump you full of my cum, keep you so fuckin’ full for days on end,” he huffs, “but not now, sweetheart.”

Not that you minded, but there’s a strange tinge of disappointment ringing at the back of your head.

San thrusts into you a couple more times before he pulls out, his thick and wet cock resting on your pelvis, twitching as his hand takes over.

Nothing can beat Choi San’s fucking face when he cums. He looks like he’s in fucking heaven, and he’s tearing up the sky because of you. His fingers leave light marks on your thighs, you hear him groan at such a low tone that your cunt flutters uselessly against the air. Translucent spurts land on your skin, but it barely registers in you—you’re too busy swooning over the way your Professor just cummed over your body.

San’s high dies down, and he catches his breath, casting you a glance, red dusting his cheeks, before he reaches out for the tissue box to clean you up.

A quick kiss on the lips before he goes on to collect all the papers all over the floor.

That night he drives you home, filling the space with light conversations as if he didn’t just railed you on his desk.

It’s only when you reach home that you realise one important thing—San still has your panties.

You know you shouldn’t be telling secrets to your colleague, especially when it’s about your fucking boss. But here you are, facing Jongho, who has his arms crossed in front of you.

“What’s up with you and Prof?” You predict the words that leave his lips.

You hesitate to tell him, unsure how you should even say it, where to even start.

The worst part you knew clear as day was that nothing changed since that day. You chalked it off as San being swamped with assignments to deal with, that’s why the topic was never brought up again, but something still irked you. The only comfort you had was that the semester was ending, and so was your term as San’s teaching assistant.

Maybe it was how it was meant to be. Just nothing more than that.

But when you realise the dreaded feeling prickling at the back of your eyes, you knew you were fucked.

“I don’t know how to even start jjong”, you sigh. Jongho scrunches his eyebrows.

You watch his expression switch from one to the other. You expected him to freak out at you, yell at you for unprofessionalism or something, but he doesn’t.

“It’s so fucked up. But I just can’t help but wonder if he feels anything”, you mutter. The thought of you not being the only one he’s doing this with makes your stomach churn. But somehow, in the most twisted ways, confiding Jongho made you feel slightly better.

“Well, looks like we’ll have to play that card I guess”, Jongho shrugs. “But you should mentally prepare yourself for the results, that’s all I gotta warn you. I just need your consent to play along.”

It’s a risky bet you’re playing, but drastic times called for drastic measures, right?

As the semester closes to its end, so does the workload. San feels a lot lighter on his shoulders, and while he’s grateful for his teaching assistants for lifting a significant amount of workload off him, the end of a semester meant the end of the working relationship between him and his teaching assistants. He usually doesn’t feel that much, considering he has had many teaching assistants in the past, but for some reason, he feels a sense of discomfort lodged in his stomach when he thinks about having to let them go.

Especially one of them.

He sighs, removing his glasses from his nose and shutting his eyes while reviewing the exams. San feels like a fucking idiot when his eyes land on your empty desk, his frustration bubbling when you cross his mind again.

Even though he pretends to keep himself busy by flooding his mind with work, somehow, you would bubble to the surface once more, pushing him into the pits of frustration when he’s reminded of the way you get a kick arguing and refuting him just to get a reaction out of him, the way you taste like sweetest thing on earth he’s ever tried and the way you completely unravel when San fucks every single thought out of you—

He bites his cheek.

No. He has to keep it professional. At least, until the term is over.

He just doesn’t know how to tell you.

He knows he’s entered deep waters when he crossed the line that evening, the sight of you undone right before him snapping all his rationale. More than anything, he’s suffering the withdrawals, maybe that’s the punishment he has to bear.

He glances at the colourful ticket at the corner of his desk. It’s Jongho’s big game. Even though he usually doesn’t let himself intertwine with his subordinate’s personal interests, it’s hard not to.

In addition, you’ll be there. Maybe he’d snag you after the game and talk to you properly.

The meeting ran overtime, San glances down at his silver watch, realising he’d missed almost thirty minutes of Jongho’s game. Despite the exhaustion, he pushes it aside and heads to the stadium.

He watches the brightly lit scoreboard as he takes a seat on the bench, Jongho’s team is in the lead by one point.

Somehow he gets wrapped up in the game, cheering when Jongho’s team takes championship as the benches all burst into loud cheers too.

He gets up to leave, already thinking of drafting a text to congratulate Jongho in his head, maybe get him a small congratulatory gift on the side.

Then he spots you, just rows below. Now, he’s walking down as if on instinct, to get to where you are.

San pushes past the crowd to approach you. He’ll offer to drive you back—he knows it’s all an excuse but anything to get you into his space once more.

His arm outstretched, reaching out to tap your shoulder, then suddenly stopping when he sees Jongho appear right in front of you. That’s fine. San could just congratulate him at the same time—

Which all of those thoughts immediately disintegrate when he watches Jongho cup your cheeks with his hand, his eyes widening in complete silent horror as Jongho leans into you for a kiss.

You seriously doubt that Jongho’s plan would work. Didn’t San decide not to come anyway? You heard it with your own ears too.

Nonetheless, you pushed it to the back of your mind, focusing on cheering for your friend, watching the leading scorer jump from one team to the next. You couldn’t help but erupt into cheers when Jongho’s team won, screams echoing through the open stadium.

You watch Jongho walk up to the benches where you are, and his arms wrap around you, his smile big and bright, competing with the stadium lights.

“Congratulations, baby bear”, you tease, pushing against his shoulders lightly. Jongho inches close to you.

“He’s behind you by the way”, Jongho mutters, loud enough for you to hear, but not long enough for you to process, because his hands are cupping your jaw, his thumb pressed against your lips.

He hears you muffle some kind of question but your lips stay sealed.

“You owe me one for this,” is the last thing you hear before he leans in. Your eyes widen in shock, and you freeze in your spot, even though his lips don’t meet yours, evidently separated by Jongho’s thumb, his action had caught you off guard.

You barely have the capacity to process what had just happened, and you feel someone’s warmth tightening against your wrist.

Jongho lets go of you immediately, but you’re staring right at your professor, who is staring right at Jongho with an unreadable expression, with his fingers curled tightly against your wrist. It feels like an eternity since you saw him. He’s not wearing glasses today and his hair is down instead of his usual slicked-back look, donned with a simple dress shirt and tie which framed his wide shoulders so perfectly.

“Congratulations on your win, Choi Jongho. I believe you should be with your team to celebrate right?”

Jongho only smirks back. “Right. See you babe. Thank you, Prof. See you next week.”

Jongho casts you a glance, the mischief twinkling in his eyes before he turns his heel down the stairs and back to the field.

What the fuck just happened?

And you find yourself staring up at the male before you, his gaze piercing into yours.

“Prof—San?” You blink. “I thought you weren’t-“

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart. Why would I not want to see the cute relationship my teaching assistants have right?” His voice is laced with venom.

San doesn’t really elaborate further, leading you to his car, sealing your fate once more when the passenger doors close shut.

He’s all over you. His body is burning up, maybe just as fast as yours is, and it’s making you feel dizzy. His moves are aggressive, impatient and you swear you feel something else too—desperation.

“S-San—“ you gasp, in an attempt to take control of something.

“It’s sir to you, sweetheart”, his voice low and gentle, but commanding. Goosebumps scatter across your skin, making you shiver in response when his palms slide up your waist.

You never saw it coming—from the second his hand grabbed yours, pulling you away from Jongho, his eyes locked into yours for a moment before he turns to Jongho, then to the car ride back, where you noticed the way his knuckles turned pale from gripping the steering wheel. On the walk to his car, you asked him where you were going, and all he did was turn to you and reply, “We’ve got things to talk about, don’t we, sweetheart?”

Now you’re becoming undone once more under San’s touches, trapped beneath him like the first time, now at his place, on his fucking couch instead.

“It was just foolish of me to just let it be, wasn’t it?” He asks. “Fucking you dumb on my desk wasn’t a good enough indicator, was it?”

“S-sir…!”

“And you think it’s cute getting all cuddly with Jongho? Letting him kiss you all over, touch you all over?” San mutters, his fingers wrapped around your throat, his grip tightening slightly and you’re sure he’s about to leave light imprints.

But oh, was it so fucking exhilarating—the thought of Choi San riled up like that, a sight you’ve never seen before, and you’re not sure if fear or excitement running through your veins right now, but what you do know, is that if he finds out that your panties are completely soaked through, you’re fucking done for.

His lips collide with yours again, branding himself as some kind of oxygen thief when he’s turning your mind into complete mush.

“I’m not sure if it’s a little game to you sweetheart, but if it is, I think you need a reminder.”

You breathlessly look up at him, and he looks ethereal even when he’s panting and looking pissed as hell.

“What reminder, sir?” You dare ask back.

The side of San’s lips tugs upwards. His hand leaves your throat and trails down your blouse, effortlessly unbuttoning the apparel until he tugs it off you, panting at the sight of your tits hugged by your lace bra. Your bottoms are off again on the floor of his bedroom, alongside any ounce of rationale. Your soaked panties are agonisingly pulled off your legs, and before you know it, his hands spread them open too. It takes all of San’s self-control to not stuff you full. At least, not yet.

“It’s my cock you’re gonna cum all over. Even when you have another guy’s lips on yours, it’s my name you’re gonna fucking scream.”

Oh. Oh god.

The pieces of what Jongho was trying to do suddenly come together, unfortunately, the realisation doesn’t last long because San has his lips greedily on yours again on top of the way his full-blown erection is pressing onto your pussy.

“Sir”, you manage out a weak mutter when he finally pulls away, trying to press and grind against his clothed dick for some friction or anything to rid the burn that’s going through your body. But San remains still.

“Use your words since you love using your mouth so much.” Like kissing Choi Jongho.

Your mind is a complete puddle.

“I really…fuck. I really need you to fuck me right now, sir”, you beg, red flushing your cheeks, but it’s not from the shame. There’s a feral glint in San’s eyes that you don’t miss.

“No”, is all he answers, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach.

“Not until I’ve fucked your mouth full, sweetheart.”

All you can do is watch him speechlessly as he hooks his index finger on the knot of his tie and loosens it, unraveling it back to its original form.

“Hands together”, he commands you, and you do so immediately, basking in the scent of his cologne while he leans into you, his hands tying knots around your wrists with his tie. “Don’t let it loosen, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. Now on your knees.”

You’ve never dropped to your knees so fast.

San forces you to watch him unbutton and lower the fly of his trousers, and you’re just doing your best not to get drool on his expensive carpet.

When his cock springs out, you’re also forced to watch him fuck his palm at a slow pace, drinking in his groans, slick staining your inner thighs, and the fucking floor next if you don’t do anything.

His cock is heavy against your cheek when he taps it there, and your tongue slips out of your mouth by instinct, given experimental kitten licks on his slit, before his fingers catch your chin, and he forces you to look up at him.

“Look at me”, he instructs.

You do. You do your best not to break the eye contact, trying not to be sidetracked by his big fucking cock, but your eyes can’t help but dart to his appendage.

“No, keep your eyes on me”, he redirects once more, his fingers fixing your head in place.

Then he slides his cock into your mouth and pulls out a choked moan from you.

“That’s it. Good girl”, he grunts when you start bobbing your head, fucking his cock with your mouth.

His fingers trail to the back of your head, but he’s using all of his strength not to force your head down.

But as you pick up the momentum, it’s an automatic reaction to push your head down so his cock hits the back of your throat. Your eyes are watering but fuck you feel like you’re in fucking heaven. Your head spins whenever his wet cock is forced down your tight throat, and you break eye contact a few times, which San has to tap your jaw to make you keep eye contact while he fucks your face.

“I’m cumming, sweetheart. Fuck. Keep that pretty little mouth open for me yeah?” He groans, bucking his hips, letting streaks of warm white paint your throat and mouth, watching the way you’re looking up at him with doe eyes, taking his cum in your mouth like a good girl. His good girl.

He smudges his thumb against the corner of your lips before his arms carry you up, only to dump you on the couch.

Your back is on the couch again, hands still tied behind your back and legs up with San pressing his body weight on you.

He props your leg on his shoulder, and he stretches you open inch by inch. You gasp when he fills you up, your walls immediately clenching around him.

“So fuckin tight for me, sweetheart. You take me so well.”

His thrusts are growing more aggressive mixed in with the possession that’s bleeding in and it’s setting your whole body on fire. Your words are caught in your throat when he’s buried into you to the hilt. He groans at the way your pussy is fluttering pathetically against him.

It feels so fucking good that nothing but stars engulf your vision when his cock stuffs you full to the hilt again. His name leaves your lips like a mantra on top of broken moans and whimpers, and it only makes San fill up the space in your pussy all the more better.

His shoulders are so wide that he’s towering over you, his fingers forcing you to face him whenever you’re drifting because of the pleasure, his eyes feral when you look so fucked out for him. And when he combines his heavy thrusts with a squeeze around your throat, it makes your mind shut off and your cunt cream all over his dick.

“Good girl, looking all so fucked out for me.”

His cock is hitting all the perfect spots, and it’s driving you insane with the knot tightening in your stomach at such a fast pace. You think you’re sliding off the couch but San isn’t letting you—especially not when his thrusts are keeping you on the couch. His name continues to leave your lips in broken moans every time he fucks you.

San snakes his fingers to your scalp and he tugs sharply, enough to force you to look up at him. You’re tearing up again, and it feels so fucking good with the way he’s keeping your hair tugged while he fucks the ever-loving shit out of you.

“My name does sound much better when you’re crying it doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

You choke back a moan when he hits your g-spot once more.

“Y-yes sir.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Full. So full sir. Want more. Please. Need you to ruin me”, you beg once more, your mind floating in an endless euphoria.

“Oh, I definitely will”, San hums, watching in sheer pleasure as your eyes roll back when his cockhead presses perfectly against your g-spot over and over.

Before you realise it, your orgasm hits you like fucking train, spreading through your body like a fucking wildfire, engulfing every crevice of your body.

He’s gonna break you, and you’re fucking loving it.

“San-“, you cry out, not registering the way he’s wiping the tears off your eyes. “So good. You feel so good. Cumming so much-“

“I know, sweetheart. It feels so fucking good doesn’t it?” He asks with a smile, satisfied when you nod frantically while he rubs your thighs.

Your thighs are shaking from how good this all feels, cream staining your inner thighs and his cock when he pulls out.

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart”, San reminds you.

He turns you over, keeping one hand on your tied hands, while the other pressing your head against the back of the couch. He lines his cock back to your cunt, pushing into your hole once more. You choke on your moans again, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes until he’s fully seated in you once more.

The sounds are even wetter now, especially when you’re overstimulated, pussy just being so perfectly abused by Choi San. You fucking love the way his hands are around your neck, forcing you against the cushions when he fucks you dumb from the back.

Your stomach is in knots once more, the feeling building up faster than the previous time, and all you can mutter is that it feels so good. San thinks you’re so fucking adorable when you’re not having banters with him and being this cock drunk for him.

Then he pulls you off the couch, letting you catch a breath before he sits you on his lap, his cock still buried in your cunt, and starts bouncing you off his cock from below.

He alternates between melting your brain with his pornographic moans right at your ear and planting more love bites down your jaw.

“Gonna cum again. You feel so fucking good in me. Oh god”, you hiccup through your tears, the sensitivity pushing your limit.

“Cum as hard as you want, sweetheart. I’ll let you milk me dry, fill you up so fucking good that you’ll be leaking with my cum for the next two days.”

That was enough to set you off. Your pussy convulses when your second orgasm hits, fireworks bursting in your eyelids, long drawn-out cries while San fills your tight cunt with his warm and thick cum, while his groans fill up in your ears. You feel his fingers massaging your thighs, coaxing you from your high.

You’re dizzy, and light-headed as your head slumps against his shoulders, too spent to acknowledge the male behind you leaving more marks down your neck.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” San breaks the momentary silence, well aware that his softening cock is still in you.

Your hand flies up to his chest to stop him, even though you’re still recovering from seeing stars.

“We need to talk-“

“After we clean up”, he cuts you off, lifting you off his cock and carrying you bridal style to his bathroom.

But you’re stubborn.

“N-no. It wasn’t what you thought it was”, you say, feeling your tears well up in your eyes on top of the weight.

The prickles are starting to form at the bottom of San’s heart, but he’s more focused on trying to hose you down with warm water. But he’s listening you run your mouth, not that he minded.

“We didn’t kiss”, you reiterate.

Now he’s just confused. He stares at you.

“We just had sex, y/n”, San reminds you, trying not to let the red reach his cheeks.

“No—I mean Jongho and I. We didn’t kiss”, you clarify.

San doesn’t really know if he should believe your words or his eyes, but now he’s focused on lathering your hair and body.

“That wasn’t what I saw”, he replies, avoiding eye contact.

“That’s cause we did this-“ you huff, turning his head to face you, imitating the way Jongho had slid his thumb between your lips and his, demonstrating San the fake kiss.

San only stares at you wordlessly when you pull back, only more questions than answers.

“But why would he do that for?”

“He was trying to rile you up.”

“For what?”

“To see if you felt anything for me?”

“By kissing you?”

Oh god. It felt like the more you explained, the more San was getting the wrong ideas. You let your head sit in your hands, unsure if it’s from the embarrassment or the fact that you don’t even know where to start.

“It wasn’t a kiss, Choi San”, you groaned, your hands leaving your face, suddenly self-conscious that San is staring intently at you. “After we, um, fucked the first time, you acted like nothing happened, and I felt like shit about it, and I told Jongho and then…” you trail off, feeling your cheeks heat up again. It’s probably the hot water, at least that’s what you try to convince yourself with.

“I don’t kiss people I’m not in love with, San”, you sigh in defeat. Your eyes are downcast, but you feel his fingers cup your cheeks, and his lips press onto yours. You swear you could go another round again.

The silence hangs in the air for a while, only the sounds of the shower filling the emptiness when he pulls back.

“I didn’t do anything since after that evening because I wanted to properly tell you after the term ended.”

“Tell me what?”

“That I’m in love with you, too.”

You blink. Somehow that shocked you more than the both times he fucked your brains out.

You don’t answer him because your head is just swarming with so many thoughts, and San lets you do so, satisfied that he’s finally have you quieten down so he can finish washing you up.

Even when he’s dressed you in his oversized hoodie, San peppers you with kisses, basking in the way you sometimes cover his face with your hands to stop him, which only rouses him to continue to attack you with his lips.

San’s arms are tight around you when the both of you are finally on his bed. You smell like his favourite body soap and he can’t seem to get enough of it—nuzzling against the crook of your neck, muttering sweet nothings. You think this is probably your favourite version of Professor Choi.

Your fingers twirl around his splayed-out locks, and you speak.

“Prof Choi”, you tease, and San looks up, and it’s the first time you actually see him pout—it almost makes you combust.

“I told you to stop calling me that”, he frowns, burying his face, feigning trying to cut off physical contact from you, which only makes you laugh in response.

“I just wanted to disturb you”, you respond, trying to yank him back into your arms. “I do have a question though.”

His head pops up from his pillows and he stares at you, waiting for you to speak.

“When did you realise you had feelings for me?”

He pauses, giving himself a couple of minutes to think.

“The moment I received your teaching assistant application.”

📚 Bonus Epilogue 📚

“Prof Choi!” One of his teaching assistants calls out to him.

He turns his head and attention to her, pushing up his glasses.

“Yes?”

“I need help with this part of the assignment. Could you help me check that I’ve marked it correctly?”

San nods, taking the papers from her.

As he scans through her work, the teaching assistant’s eyes glance down at the band hugging his ring finger.

“Prof, you’re married?”

San pauses his writing to glance at the glistening gold on his finger, and a small smile spreads across his cheeks.

“You know, I used to wear a ring on my ring finger so students would stop asking me if I was married or not.”

She raises her eyebrows, her curiosity piqued. “So you’re not?”

“I am.”

Her eyes brighten, invested in her handsome professor’s love story.

“Tell me more then”, she asks.

San scoffs playfully, turning his gaze to her.

“All I can tell you is that she’s always been my favourite.”

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crguang · 4 months

Text

wasted with longing

You and Kafka have a simple, superficial relationship that benefits you both. You should have known that nothing is ever simple when she’s involved.

friends with benefits, smut, afab!reader, gp!kafka, vaginal penetration, blowjob, dom!kafka, 4.5k words

A/N: fuckboy kafka is real and we should all be running… towards her🤣 this will be a series! i’ll fine tune it when i wake up but this is for my very excited anons and mutuals <3

part two

this is the collective playlist, i’m still adding songs as i go: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4fNHJsbeJLC49Fa8ACVOwW?si=pgaCSUzVTgmXZ8OuQJWLKA&pi=u-9uwba0QiQlWH

You push open the door to your apartment with a tired sigh and step inside. Freeing your feet from the new boots you bought days before feels heavenly, you’re still breaking them in and the process is almost torturous, often leaving you sore by the evening. You put on the slippers you discarded that morning as you shrug off your jacket, placing it back into the tiny closet near the front door. The lights are off but you don’t bother turning them on, instead, you make a beeline for your bedroom and flick that switch on. It’s late, around 11 PM, and you’re itching for a shower before collapsing into bed after spending the afternoon on your feet. You open the window a crack to let the breeze in, seeing as the summer nights tend to leave you sweating. You discard some of your clothing on the way to the bathroom, holding onto them to throw them in the laundry basket next to the sink. Standing in your underwear, you turn on the shower and adjust its settings to room temperature before removing your clothes. You’re grateful for the peaceful moment when you step into the shower, simply letting the water hit your face and soak your body.

Today was particularly challenging; your boss was a jerk your whole shift, more demanding than usual, and you’d promised some friends that you would go out with them after work even though you just wanted to be home by then. Forcing yourself to socialize is mentally taxing and often leaves you with a headache at the end of the night, too. Under the refreshing water, you feel the knots of your muscles loosen slowly as if smoothed out by warm, gentle hands. Your head tilts towards the shower head. For a few minutes, you wash away the weight of the day, focusing on the pitter-patter in your ears deafening you to all but your thoughts. An impulsive one passes by, meant to be fleeting but it solidifies in your head until you can’t help but entertain the idea.

You wonder what Kafka is doing, if she’d come running if you called the way she often does once the sun sets. She’s been busy lately, you think; you haven’t heard from her in around two weeks and you’ve been too preoccupied with work to bother checking on her. You don’t know what she does for a living, only that your palms brush against new cuts across her skin every once in a while. The acknowledgment of their presence goes unsaid like many other things, locked in a messy closet to which you both hold the key yet refuse to organize. Still, she’s skilled in the ways of your body and works you out like no one else can, so you ignore a lot about her to prioritize how relaxed you feel after a couple of hours with her. Some parts of you, your heart and fingertips, twitch to understand her absences and inconsistencies. You try not to dwell on that confusing desire for too long lest you come to a conclusion you don’t like. Kafka’s enigmatic, she’s mysterious and rehearsed as to always keep the upper hand in whatever war she’s implicated in like the world is an open minefield and she can’t afford a single misstep. Every semblance of genuine conversation about her turns into a game she has to win and you’re getting tired of playing along. However… you have to admit that you could use the distraction tonight.

The thought doesn’t leave you as you finish washing yourself and step out of the shower with a clean towel around your frame. You look for your phone once in the bedroom, picking it up from where it was discarded on your dresser, then sit at the edge of your bed. It takes a bit of scrolling through your recent conversations to find Kafka’s contact. You refrain yourself from rolling your eyes at the last texts you’ve exchanged. She can’t be relied on for your impromptu needs and you wish the opposite was true as well, but you’ve learned to make yourself available whenever she seeks you out. It’s pathetic, you tell yourself, even as your thumbs hover over the screen’s keyboard. You recline on the mattress with a sigh and hold your phone above you, wondering if you should do this. It’s late, and though that’s usually when you see each other, Kafka has the habit of not replying until hours later. It’s irritating, especially when you scroll up to her last messages and notice how quickly you always answer them. You toss your phone on the bed and cover your face with your hands. You swallow a scream.

“Embarrassing, embarrassing,” you mutter to yourself, “no dignity at all.”

As you question your life choices and consider blocking Kafka’s number to make yourself feel more in control than you are, your phone buzzes with a notification. You turn on your stomach to pick it up, tapping open the screen.

You stare at the most recent text for almost a full minute before closing the device and sitting up straight. The coincidence of her messaging you while you’re debating whether you should text her first leaves you reeling for a moment. You hesitate, fiddling with the phone in your hands. You want to leave her waiting like she often does to you, but… Excitement creeps up your spine at the thought of seeing her. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Why not take what you need from her and send her on her way? This is what she’s good for, it’s how she regards you as well, so you give in to your impulses and craft the perfect text. Kafka’s reply comes almost instantly.

You can’t deny the flutter in your gut but you sure as hell can ignore it.

You make sure to be ready before Kafka comes knocking at your door. You lather yourself with your favourite lotion before pulling a tank top over your head and putting on pyjama shorts. You clean up around your apartment even if she never lingers long enough to get a good look at it, picking up dirty laundry and clearing the dishes. You don’t see the minutes tick by as you do your best to seem presentable. You check your teeth in the bathroom mirror, decide to brush them because you don’t have any mint, then tap your cheeks a couple of times, tilting your chin this way and that. You’re looking at your nails, wondering if you should clip them since they’re getting a bit long, when the doorbell rings.

You take measured steps towards the front door so as not to look too eager and shake your head at your antics. You turn the handle, revealing Kafka’s nonchalant expression on the other side of the door. She smiles at the sight of you, clad in her usual tight clothes and custom-made coat, and you have to suppress one from betraying your thoughts as you take her in. She does the same to you, gaze appreciatively raking over your figure before she even greets you. She still has makeup on, hiding the fatigue you know rests under her eyes, and she’s holding on to her pair of gloves instead of wearing them. You think she probably wrapped up whatever it is that she does and came to your apartment right afterwards.

You open the door wider and step to the side so she can come in. “You look tired.”

Kafka walks in and closes the door behind her with a foot. Her smile widens a touch, a self-assured edge to it. Her head tilts— you watch the loose strands of hair follow the movement— and her eyes drop to your chest for a deliberate second then lift to meet yours. “You look beautiful as ever.”

You don’t hide the annoyed roll of your eyes. You turn your back on her to lead her further into the apartment. She follows, slipping off her coat from her shoulders and discarding it on a sofa in the living room.

“You got rid of the painting?”

You look at where she stopped in front of the couch. She points to the far wall with her chin as she lays her gloves on top of her coat. You stand, dumbfounded. You used to have an abstract painting hung on that wall but stored it to install a TV instead. You’re mostly surprised she noticed; her lips are usually on yours instants after she’s stepped through the door.

“It’s here somewhere,” you gesture vaguely to the room.

“Mm… This coffee table’s different, too.”

“You broke the glass of the other one the last time you were here.”

Something in the way she glances at you, a cocky glint in her eyes, tells you she remembers.

“Right. What was it you said that night— ‘Don’t you dare stop?’”

You know Kafka revels in the flash of irritation that creases the bridge of your nose.

“I don’t remember that.”

“No?”

She makes her way to you, fingertips trailing on the back of the couch and amusement shining through her contacts, dusty pink swallowing the lilac at their edges, reminding you of carefully plucked calla lilies. Her slender fingers cup your jaw to tilt your chin, the nail of her index sliding across your skin, and you meet her stare with practiced ease. You hate how easily the anticipation of her touch heats the embers in your belly and you can’t stand knowing that she’s aware of her effect on you. Kafka brings you closer until all you care to see is the lustful, rosy shades of her irises. Her gaze lowers to the curves of your mouth.

“Need a reminder?” Her murmur is felt on your lips like the warm, inviting breeze wafting through the open windows.

You hook a finger under the waistband of her shorts and tug her forward. “Guess so.”

Her low chuckle is cut off by the kiss you plant on her lips. Kafka indulges your control over her, lets you back her up against the wall and pull her close with a hand around her neck. Her arm snakes around your waist, your body pressed to hers. She tastes sweet, like a sugary drink or a juicy fruit, and your tongue slips into her mouth to taste her fully. She welcomes it readily and allows it to swirl around hers before you feel her fingers curl around your throat. The pace shifts, hungry and hurried, as she effortlessly takes over the kiss, momentarily taking your breath away. You’re forced to follow her lead and exhale through your nose when she doesn’t release you. The hand on the back of her neck travels down her collarbone, pulling on the leather strap of her outfit so it slaps against her once you let go, and the hum that sounds from her throat softens your bones until you’re putty in her hands. Her shirt crumples in your grip while your fingertips tease the buttons of her shorts. Your world is reduced to the soft caress of her tongue in your mouth and the growing bulge beneath your palm.

Her hold on your neck relaxes slightly and you pull away enough to regulate your breathing. You stroke her over her clothes, drawing a sharp intake of breath from her. A pleased smile makes its way onto your face and your eyes blink open to stare at her swollen, peach lips.

“Someone’s happy to see me.”

Kafka traces the hollow of your throat with a rounded nail, smiling amusedly at your teasing tone. “Mmm.”

“Two weeks and a little kiss gets you worked up?”

“Were you counting?”

“Please. You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” You unclasp the buttons of her shorts and pull them down her waist to reveal the band of her pantyhose, toying with it and sighing in faux exasperation. “I suppose I could help.”

“Yeah?”

Kafka stares at you, anticipation in the way her lips unconsciously part, and you retain her lustful gaze as you withdraw from her body to put your hair up using the hair tie on your wrist. You raise a playful eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth, and her eyes narrow a touch at your cockiness. She doesn’t say a word, though, simply watches you lower yourself to your knees with that smile that says she’ll wipe that expression off your face soon enough. You start with her thigh-high boot, zipping it down to get it out of the way, then grip the edges of both her pantyhose and shorts to slide them off the rest of the way at once. Her layers annoy you on nights when your need is greater than your patience, but you enjoy teasing her like this; testing the elasticity of her boxers’ waistband, running the pads of your fingers over the thin fabric and along the thick of her bulge, pressing leisure, open-mouthed kisses on the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Kafka is a patient woman, her hand tangles in your hair but doesn’t pull. Her heavy stare makes you feel powerful despite being the one on your knees, she either doesn’t bother to hide her desire or she can’t— regardless, you’re her only way towards sweet release and she has no choice but to grant your petty wishes.

Your lips trace the outline of her length over her underwear. One hand cups her between her legs while the other kneads her plush thigh. You delight in the little hums Kafka doesn’t care to contain as you pepper kisses on her clothed cock, a thumb gently massaging her balls until you feel her twitch under your lips. Still, she doesn’t tell you to hurry along or pressure you in any way. Knowing that her cool demeanor is an act fuels the satisfaction in your gut. You pull at her boxers and free her hard cock, refraining from biting your lip at the sight of its prominent vein. You follow its pattern with your mouth and use a hand to curl around her base, eyes fluttering shut. You’ve done this so often, licked long stripes up to her tip and stroked her sensitive skin with teasing touches, that the feel of her against you is engraved in your gray matter. Your tongue swirls around her leaking tip to collect her pre-cum before taking her into your mouth. Kafka is so big you have to use your fingers to stroke what can’t fit past your lips. The weight of her cock on your tongue makes you so incredibly wet, you feel arousal trickling down your inner thigh. Her hips buck forward and her hand caresses your hair in a manner so fond you’d mistake her lust for care if you didn’t know any better. You work her up with quiet, muffled moans around her dick and she guides you down her length with one hand, unable to tear her eyes from your pretty face as you suck her off. You take as much of her as you can, feel the head brushing the back of your throat every few thrusts of her hips, and revel in the short, throaty moans spilling from Kafka’s lips.

“Mmhh… How pretty you look with your mouth full,” she manages to tease you in between low gasps, smugness dripping from her words. You give her sensitive tip a particularly harsh suck and bask in the uncontrolled jerk of her hips.

You look up at the crease between her brows and the rapid rise of her chest, her audible pants intoxicating you. With her head tilted to gaze down at you, strands of magenta hang in the air like threads of silk. You squeeze her base once to draw a longer moan from her. The taste of her bypasses your every thought, and you can only focus on her throbbing, wet cock filling your mouth. You stroke her with the same hungry pace, occasionally squeezing your thighs together to appease the heat between your legs. She’s so hard, so needy, you can’t help the indignant whine that escapes you when her fingers grip your hair and pull you away from her dick. A thin string of saliva connects her head to your tongue and breaks with the distance, falling onto your chin.

“Don’t pout, you’ll get your fill,” Kafka smiles despite her heavy breathing, urging you to stand with her hold on your head, “I’ll make sure of it.”

A tinge of irritation surges in your bloodstream at the cocky edge of her tone and the way your pussy aches for her touch. Her nose brushes yours once you’re on your feet, warm breath fanning over your lips. You hate that you want her, that your body responds to her by melting into hers as she steals the air in your lungs with a single heady kiss. You hate the way your thighs part almost immediately to allow her wandering hand better access to your cunt. You hate the amused chuckle that leaves her when she realizes you’re not wearing any underwear and rubs between your slit with a finger. And yet, you only get wetter under her ministrations, brows twisting with the pleasure she’s giving you. Her digit withdraws from your slick pussy, glimmering with your arousal, and Kafka stares at you with lidded eyes as she brings it to her lips to suck it clean. The wet sound of her mouth sends a jolt straight to your core. You need her to fuck you so badly, you can barely think before grasping the leather strap under her collarbones to pull her forward.

Your lips meet in a messy, heated kiss, her salty taste on your tongue and your slick on hers. You stumble down the hallway, losing pieces of clothing along the way, until you reach the bedroom and Kafka firmly pushes you down onto the bed with a hand on your bare chest. Her mouth is locked with yours and you feel her touch on your hips, across your waist, over your ribcage where your heart drums for her. Her thumb applies pressure on your erect nipple, drawing a needy sigh from you. You sneak around her chest to unclasp her bra and she assists you in sliding it off her arms to discard it on the floor. Her cock presses against your thigh while she teases your nipple between two fingers. You know you’re ruining the sheets beneath you but you can’t bring yourself to care; you get more desperate with every minute she’s not buried inside you, unable to contain the quiet whimpers that escape you.

“Kafka…” you breathe out in a whine, aware of how much it turns her on to hear her name out your lips. Her cock throbs on your thigh at the sound.

She plants kisses down your jaw and pinches your nipple a couple of times, the feeling delicious yet not enough. Her hum rumbles through her chest, “Mmm… Pleading already?”

Aeons, she’s infuriating. You wrap a leg around her waist and her length rests on your slit, but you bite the flesh of your cheek to keep in a breathy moan, not wanting to inflate her ego more than it already is. Kafka reaches down to rub her tip between your lower lips, almost groaning as your slick mixes with the saliva from your tongue. Your lungs stutter and you suck in a breath, nails digging into the expanse of her back. Her head grazes your aching clit, you arch further into her to repeat the action. It feels so good you forget all about who you’re dealing with until she speaks up again.

Kafka’s licks a broad stripe up your neck, then her mouth brushes the skin of your jaw on its way to your earlobe, pressing a kiss just below.

“You’re dripping…” Though her voice is close to your eardrums, you barely register the words she utters, lost in the pleasure of your clit sliding against the thick of her cock. “How much do you want this, mm?”

There’s a lick on the cartilage of your ear before she pulls away to look at you through the dull pink of her irises, eyelids heavy. The movement of her dick on your pussy comes to halt and it takes you losing that relieving friction to understand that she expects an answer.

“W-What?”

“Did you miss me this much?”

Your heel digs into her lower back to pull her closer, but her lips simply stretch into a knowing, teasing smile. She presses her tip against your twitching clit once, delighting in the flutter of her eyelashes and the beginnings of a needy moan that you refuse to let her hear.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you reply, but even you have to admit that your sentence lacks conviction or venom.

“Mm…” Kafka guides the tip of her cock to your gushing entrance and your next inhale gets caught in your throat. “Is it flattery if it’s true?”

“You w— Hah—!”

She pushes the head inside you, feeling you clench instinctively at the intrusion, and lets out a sigh of pleasure as your warm, tight cunt welcomes her cock. She watches a quiver go through your bottom lip and briefly bites her own. One hand digs into the plush of your love handle, the other sinks into the bedsheets next to your head. She slides another inch into you and your fingers tangle in her locks, tugging at the sensation of her length inside you, stretching you so well a breathless gasp spills from your mouth. Her smile is smug, pleased at your silence, and you swallow as you muster the strength to speak. Kafka leans closer, the tip of her nose against your cheek and her breath warming your skin. Slowly, she bottoms out completely and gives you a moment to adjust to the fullness. Something in the way her pants falter occasionally tells you that she needs that pause too. Her lips are on your jaw in a kiss way too soft, too gentle to be from her; her who means nothing to you aside from the pleasure she provides you.

“I missed you.”

You feel a buzzing sensation in your lower belly that has nothing to do with her cock nestled in your cunt. The words are murmured like a confession but you know they aren’t one, Kafka means to provoke you so that she can put you in your place, a game you’ve played since the day you met. You can’t explain why it’s as if your heartstrings are plucked and manipulated like those of an instrument, its melody disorganized and disharmonious. You don’t understand the sudden irritation that mixes with your arousal, sending a shiver down your spine.

You tug at her hair and her head follows the movement backwards, lips parting.

“I hate you,” you manage to utter through gritted teeth, and you’re frustrated to find that there’s no truth in what you’ve said.

Kafka’s growing grin turns mocking. “Aww. But you’re sucking me in…”

To prove her point, she withdraws from you just to thrust back in, her tip hitting that sensitive spot inside you. Her length rubs your walls with every thrust of her hips, rendering you speechless aside from the quiet whimpers that fall from your tongue, and your anger fades away, replaced by the desperate need to come. Your fingers messily swipe at your clit and your nails paint crescent moons on her back from how tightly you’re holding on to her body. Despite her own need, Kafka is determined to pull more lovely sounds from you. Her pace is tantalizingly slow but harsh in the way you prefer as she fills you to the brim. You feel her all around you, her lips on your jaw, the pads of her fingers sinking into your flesh, her cock buried deep inside your fluttering cunt. Her low moans and short groans hit your ears in sinful sounds that only make you wetter. Her breasts are flushed to yours, following the rocking of her hips.

“Fuck, fuck—“ you babble breathily, lost in the pleasure, “more…”

You don’t register Kafka manhandling you with an arm around your waist so that you’re straddling her lap instead, only that the change in position allows her to drive deeper into you. You moan brokenly as she grabs your hips and guides you down onto her cock in one go. Your thighs tremble, aching, and your orgasm is imminent. Kafka groans into your shoulder, bouncing you on her dick, the taut coil in her belly begging to snap. Your slick trickles down her length and your wet pussy swallows her cock, you clench around her like you dread she’ll pull out before you can come. She uses a palm to apply pressure on your lower stomach, feeling the faint outline of her bulge inside you, and the sensation pushes you over the edge. You cream on her cock with a cry. Your head tilts back and Kafka leans away from your shoulder to gaze at your cum drenching her girth. She knows how sensitive you get after an orgasm, can feel you twitch against her with the aftershocks, but she can’t help jerking her hips upwards to fuck your cum back into your pussy. She wants to see her own cum merge with yours until you’re so full of her that you’re gushing.

“Kafka—!” You gasp out, fingers gripping her loose ponytail, “W-Wait…”

She shushes you with an insistent kiss. She’s close, guiding your hips up and down her throbbing cock. With a particularly harsh thrust, that familiar coil in her stomach finally breaks and her cum spills into you in hot, intense spurts against your inner walls. It’s too much for you to handle even as her thrusts stutter, yet a second orgasm builds inside you, quick and desperate; your body moves on its own accord, further stimulating you and drawing a long, drawn out moan out of you. Kafka’s lips are parted and you miss the sheen in her eyes as she stares up at you unashamedly riding her until you come around her dick a second time.

You’re both coming down from your high some time later, your eyes are shut and the pace of your rising chest slows down enough for you to take deep breaths. Kafka is a comforting presence beside you on the bed, and like you do with many things, you ignore the warmth that is born from your chest and spreads across your torso. A welcomed kind of exhaustion creeps up on you, almost pulling you into a dream, but you hear Kafka move next to you so you turn your head to look at her. She’s fixing her hair, putting back locks of magenta into her ponytail. She feels your gaze on her and meets your eyes with a small smile. There’s that twitch of your heart and fingertips again at the sight of the soft glow of her sweaty skin under your bedroom lights.

“You look exhausted,” her tone lacks its usual teasing edge but you’re too tired to notice, “I’ll use the shower and lock behind me with the spare key. You should sleep. I’ll message you tomorrow.”

You don’t say anything to that. You stare at the ceiling as the shower is turned on in the background.

Kafka doesn’t text the next day.

#honkai star rail #hsr kafka #hsr #hsr x reader #kafka x reader #kafka x you #hsr x you #hsr smut #kafka smut #dom!kafka

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fanaticsnail · 4 months

Note

WHATS UPP, so I read the dreaming of you oneshot thingy on your page (Koby, smoker AND HELMEPPO) so I was wondering if you would be able to make something more of helmeppo. I read your request page and I know you might not write it but i was just curious. I’m not picky at all but since it’s helmeppo i figured it could be something like enemies to lovers.. (DOES NOT HAVE TO BE THAT IM FINE WITH ANYTHING!!) I’ve never requested anything on tumblr so sorry if I’m doing it wrong btw. I have a playlist if you’d like that for ideas 😼 (https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0q63LD9Kt49EDxlOxCCQ7m?si=cWh4kWT-SR-x2evxlXn97Q&pi=u-vige6yADR-Oe) SORRY ITS A LONG LINK 😨

Hi there! I love how enthusiastic you are about Helmeppo. Not gonna lie, I definitely felt the need to write him a one-shot after that one. I love your playlist!

Bound to the Enemy

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 5,100+

Synopsis: Engaged in a heated battle between pirates and marines on neutral ground had the locals enact a punishment befitting the crime. Bound back to back with a marine, you come up with a plan to work together to break out of the trap and return to your crew.

Themes: Helmeppo x reader, enemies to lovers, mutual loathing, mutual pining, peril and dread, kissing, fluff, little bit of angst, bittersweet farewells.

Notes: Chef-Husband has been making me watch MacGyver. I apologise if this wasn't exactly what you were looking for, but I did have a lot of fun with it.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

Slowly bobbing your head from side to side, you hummed a merry tune from your childhood to reverberate and ricochet within the damp cavern walls. Drops of water from the pointed stalactites dripped onto your head, drenching your already soaked clothes with further murkiness from the oceanic roof.

The ropes gripping your shoulders and wrists burned with a crude jolt from your companion behind you, causing you to yelp mid-word with your song. In light of his tugging, you simply laughed and sang louder.

“The sails lay flat, the wind in her back; the ropes lay in a bind,” you yelled your tune, the echo of your voice calling back at you in a taunting mockery, “The women did wail, as the sailors set sail, leaving their seed behind-.”

“-Are you quite finished?!” His aggravated tone cut your voice off, tugging the ropes and prompting you to lull your head behind you on his shoulder. “It’s bad enough being bound to a damn pirate, let alone one that doesn’t shut up!” You laughed from your position, back to back and tied to the enemy while sitting atop a large rock and awaiting death.

“Aww, pretty marine,” you coo at him behind you, nuzzling almost affectionately against his shoulder with a hint of teasing, “I thought my singing would bring such joy as we await our imminent doom.” He shrugged away from your head, prompting you to laugh harder as he burned you with the intensity of your ties.

Both of your hands were bound to each other at the wrists, your companion wriggling and attempting to free himself the moment he awoke from behind you. Your crews arrived at this strange island at the same time, immediately engaging in a heated battle filled with bloodshed and chaos. The locals did not take kindly to the ruckus and immediately implored you to stick to their stance with neutrality.

Both your crew and the marine crew surrendered and awaited adequate punishment for tainting the shore with battle and bloodshed. The punishment chosen for you was to select a member of each crew, bind them together in ropes, and place them in a cave mouth to await the tide to enter. If you managed to escape before the water choked you with its salty embrace, the marines and the pirates would be permitted to leave. If you drowned, both crews would live out the days on the island and serve the queen as her loyal slaves.

Before your captain or the pink-haired marine captain could react and volunteer themselves, both you and the blondie stepped forward and gave yourselves up. Without further warning, both of you were injected with a local toxin to cause you to fall into a deep slumber, likely to make the journey more difficult to return to your crews.

“These ropes are strong,” he growled, thrusting his chest forward and prompting you to arch your back up into him, “I can’t get the damn thing loose.” You simply offer him a condescending “Mm-hmm, that’s the point,” and let him keep moving your body around to wriggle free.

“When you’re quite ready,” you offer him, wincing as he leaned forward, “I have a blade hidden in my back pocket. I can reach it, but I will need you to stop wriggling so I can get to it.” He huffed out an exasperated breath and you felt him shake his head in agitation.

“And why are you telling me this now, pirate?” he growled at you, attempting to look at you over his shoulder to no avail, “You could’ve cut us out the whole time, and neglected to mention it?” You laughed, feeling his hands go limp to allow you to search through your pockets without a struggle.

“You were too busy being a grumpy marine to use your mind,” you shrugged, feeling the handle of the blade with your fingertips, “Always underestimating your opponents and too hot headed to exercise your brain along with your other muscles.” You use your index and middle fingers to draw the blade closer to you, finally clutching it in your hands.

The seaspray began to rise, the cave mouth starting to fill with the swell of water just as you readied the small knife to cut your bonds.

“If I nick you with the blade,” you smirk, beginning to cut through the fibers, “I’m not sorry.” The man behind you began to growl at you, holding still and allowing you to work at the ropes with ease. The first few strands came loose, giving your wrists enough room to wriggle a little easier to get enough momentum to cut easier.

“What’s your name, anyway, marine?” you asked him suddenly, feeling a little bolder and at ease now that your bonds were turning loose. He inhaled a soft breath, uttering quietly to you in response.

“Helmeppo,” he confessed his name with a soft nod, “And you, pirate?” You giggle in response, uttering your name hastily before rolling his title over on your tongue to sample the flavor.

“And who are you to your captain, Helmeppo?” you ask him, humming the same tune from earlier, a little quieter as you worked. He exhaled a laugh through his nose, “I am his first mate and swordsman. You?”

“I am the navigator and blade thrower,” you nod along, the tune never ceasing as you feel one of your wrists finally come loose. You raise it to your side and give it a soft shake and breathe slowly while stretching the limb.

Making quick work on the other side now that your wrist was free, you reach up and begin to saw at the bonds around your chest and shoulders, noticing the ties are a little more complex than you assumed they were initially. Cutting through the strands, you finally feel them come loose enough to wriggle free.

“Well now,” you sighed in relief, beginning to stand on the large rock and look down to the icy depths of the sea, “Can you swim, first-mate? Not a devil-fruit user by any chance, are you?” You looked to the blonde man beside you as he shook his head.

“I’m not the best swimmer, unfortunately,” he confessed, looking down at the sea rising up the rock, “Not a user, though. I can stay afloat just fine.” You nod along, looking at the cave mouth and angling your chin to the side with narrow eyes.

“That doesn’t look right to me,” you nod your forehead to the mouth of the cave, “The light is all wrong, and the swell in water is too rapid. I think it's a false entrance.” He looked to the mouth and nodded his head along.

“You’re the navigator,” he nodded to you, testing your knowledge beneath his staring gaze, “I am electing to trust you with this. Where do you think we should start?” You hummed in thought, gazing up at the roof and narrowing your eyes at the sight of the luminescent lights surrounding the stalactites.

“Not a swimmer, but are you a climber?” you asked him, reaching for his chin with your index finger and thumb before turning his attention to the ceiling, “We need to go up there.” He allowed you to move his face and look at the small opening in the roof wall. He sighed another huff of exasperated breath and shook his head.

“If I had my sword, it would be far easier to scale the walls,” he nodded, looking around the rock you were standing on. The surface was like an island in comparison to the other rocks surrounding the room, no way off the surface without swimming, and no way up without reaching the spherical sides to the rocky room.

You hummed, tucking your blade back behind you and looked down into the water, noticing a faint light coming from the center beneath the rock. Widening your eyes, you stared more intentionally beneath the water, noticing the light began to travel towards you both.

“Helmeppo?” you ask him with a small hint of panic, backing away from the water below, “I don’t think we’re alone in here.” You held onto his arm and dragged him to the center of the rock, looking up at the tiny hole in the roof before looking at your blonde, apprehensive companion.

Darting his eyes down to the depths below, he noticed the same scaly visage beneath the surface, swirling in a circle around the rock you were marooned on. He darted his eyes back to you and drifted his eyes frantically around your features.

“A sea beast?” He asked in a low tone, prompting you to nod in confirmation. He sucked in a hiss through his teeth and looked up to the small hole above you, “We’re going to need to find some type of raft to have us go through the water towards the walls, and pray the beast doesn’t consume us. Then climb to the top of the cave with nothing but our knuckles, aren’t we?”

You look up at the ceiling before looking at the fraying strands of rope you hacked at moments prior. Cursing under your breath, you dropped to your knees and began reweaving the strands that you cut with your dagger.

“Fuck,” you bark at yourself, grimacing as you hastily rotate the strands and coil them back together. He looked down to your position and his eyes widened in horror as he realized what was occurring. Sniffing back your stupidity, the water continued racing in from the false cave mouth and elevating the water level higher.

“Can you fix it before the water reaches us?” He looked to the ropes before looking towards the rapidly rising sea water. You growled, balling your hands into fists and continuing to coil the strands around each other.

“It’ll get done,” you assure him with a rumbly growl in your tone, “But it’s not going to be reinforced enough to hold both of our weight at once.” He cocked his head to the side, a perplexed expression drifting over his face.

“What do you mean?” he asked, kneeling beside you and searching your face for hidden intentions. You huff out a shaky breath, gesturing to your back pocket and to the ends of the rope.

“I’m going to attach the rope to the blade, throw it through the hole and wind against a stalactite,” you nod upwards, refusing to turn your eyes away from your busy hands. “Then we're going to climb through the hole and reach the surface,” you admit, finally looking up at him, “But we can’t both go at the same time. The rope is too frail and fragile.”

His eyes widened, searching your eyes for dishonesty and ill intent. Upon finding none, he growled beneath his breath.

“So, what then?” he huffed out, a small scoff underlying in his tone, “One of us climbs up and then the other begins the climb up after? Is that what you’re suggesting-.”

“-That’s precisely what I’m suggesting,” you cut him off with a soft snarl, “One of us will have to wait and trust the other from their position above.” You continued coiling and twisting the ropes, your hands shaking in a soft rage and lip quivering in reaction to the fear of what’s to come.

After a soft moment of silence, you concluded your twisting and looked up at the blonde-haired marine beside you.

“I have impeccable aim,” you reassure him, fastening the end to your blade after you retracted it from your rear pocket, “Hold the end of the rope and let me aim, please. In silence.” He nodded, eagerly taking your orders and you breathed through your concerns as the water rose over the soft edge.

The fins of a large creature slowly flew above the surface, Helmeppo’s eyes widening as he witnessed the scaly spine of the Sea Beast below the surface. You refused to tear away your eyes from the target ahead, exhaling slowly as you aimed at the wall within the hole.

In a swift thrust, you threw the blade within the air and the rope began to soar through the barely illuminated dome towards the stalactites. Embedding with a swift thud, the end of the rope was hanging limply within Helmeppo’s hands as he continued to search the water for the approaching beast circling below.

Turning to him and noticing his look, you breathed out a melancholy breath of air. Hardening your resolve, you gently reached up and squeezed his shoulder to draw his attention back to you.

“Right then,” you nodded with a hasty sniff of steely determination, “Off you go. Quickly.” He turned to you, looking down in shock as you gestured for him to begin the climb. He began to speak, prompting you to shake your head and halt his thoughts.

“Helmeppo,” you reassured him, squeezing him once more, “This is how it has to be. I am a pirate, a blade thrower and a navigator. You are the first-mate to a marine captain and a swordsman. I would not be able to help you with the rope once I got up there, if anything goes awry,” you confess, softly giving him a pat to spur him on, “You would likely not trust me to aid you anyway, and I feel like you would do the right thing if given the opportunity to do so.”

His shock deepened, the rope feeling hot in his hands the longer he held it between his fingers.

“Go, Helmeppo,” you tapped him once more to break him out of his frantically racing thoughts. He gave you a soft nod, gulping back his nerves and beginning a hasty climb up the ropes. He tested his weight, tugging firmly twice before throwing his entire weight into his ascension.

You had no choice but to watch on as the rope began to bend under the strain of his weight. Looking to the water, the levels began gently rising in soft, taunting ripples as the tide began to come in. A call of your name from the blonde swordsman above the ropes redrew your attention to Helmeppo above you.

“Distract yourself,” he ordered you, straining as his arms and thighs curled around the hanging rope. “Sing your silly songs to me, talk to me about your crew, tell me anything you want.” He growled, gritting his teeth and tugging his body above the rope. You gulped back your fear and inhaled a deep lungful of air.

“I have only ever known a life of piracy,” you confessed, nodding your confirmation and solidifying your words, “Born and raised on the sea, reading the stars and charting my course.”

Helmeppo grunted on the ropes, continuing his slow climb as the water rose around you. You continued thinking about the circumstances that brought you here to this moment. Smiling a soft smile, you look down at your toes and reminisce about your life.

“I learned to read the stars from my mother,” you nod slowly, laughing a soft chuckle as you add, “I look like her, too. The crew says she and I are nothing alike, but I like to think we're similar. She was a noble.” You admit, looking back up to Helmeppo as he nearly reached the top.

He huffs and pants, finally drawing his fingers up to the coarse wall and reaching for a sturdy rock to grip. Reflecting on your words, he thinks over your confessions with interest but remains too preoccupied in his task to ask you any questions.

The water rises closer to your toes, two beady eyes glaring at you beneath the surface and waiting for the water to lap at your ankles before making its move. You pay the eyes no mind, looking up and reassuring Helmeppo as he attempts to grip the walls for a third time to no avail.

“You're doing well,” you offer him with no malice or sarcasm in your tone, “Take your time, I'll be right here.” He scoffed out a soft laugh at your response, wedging the rope between his thighs and using your blade attached to the top to pull himself closer to the wall.

The water caresses your toes with a soft propulsion, your heels not faring better as the water continues to rise to the peak of the small, rocky island within the damp dome. You scrunch your eyes shut, thinking about the outcome should you both fail this task. Both crews would perish on this island in servitude for the locals, your crews would mourn for you, and you would be good for the beast below the surface.

“You can do this, Helmeppo,” you again reassure him, gulping back your shaking fear and propelling confidence in your tone. “You are a swordsman, a first-mate to your captain. You have worked hard to earn those titles, just like you're working hard now. You can do this.”

Hearing your encouragement, his hands finally find purchase on the walls, anchoring himself against the hole in the surface and beginning his climb up. Just as he finally leans up, the dagger in the wall comes loose, the rope falling limp between his thighs and held up by his body alone.

Your eyes widen, your shock and his igniting desperation in your pulse. He grunted through the adrenaline, groaning as he lifted himself above the hole and braced himself against the walls. The rope began to slip, his hands darting out and grasping it before it fell back down below.

“I-I'm-...” He panted, attempting to catch his breath. Shutting his eyes and furrowing his brows, he inhaled deeply and focussed his breath, “...I'm going to have to pull you up.” His voice quivered, his lips shaking as he was overcome from momentary exhaustion at the swift climb.

“We-...” You began, feeling your shoes begin to dampen with the rise in water lapping at your boot heels, “...We’ll wait until you're ready. Take your time.” Helmeppo looked down, noticing the sea beast had begun to circle around the slowly disappearing island and exhaled a shaky breath.

Before he had joined the marines officially, he would've wanted nothing more than to leave you down there to drown. He would've cowered in his own fear and scampered up the hole without second thought.

But as he stared down at you, looking at the smile you had on your lips as you gazed up at him, the enemy, he was compelled to remember all he learnt from Bogard and Garp. He was a marine, a swordsman, and now the first-mate to his superior and best friend. He was no longer his father's son, a sniveling asshole with no marks on his resume to back up his superiority complex.

He was Helmeppo: first mate to Captain Koby, and a superior sword fighter on a journey to becoming the best.

Anchoring a few coils of rope around his waist, he gestures for you to do the same. You follow his directions, tying your hips together and wedging the strands between your legs as a makeshift harness. He extends his legs, parting his thighs and bending his knees to brace himself within the opening beneath the moonlight. Taking the rope in fistfuls, he begins to slowly draw hand after hand of rope and pool the hefty coils over his palm and elbow.

“K-Keep talking to me,” he uttered, wincing as he felt the overexertion of his muscles burning under the weight. “Keep t-talking. Anchor your weight and tell me about yourself.” His breath hitched, his brows furrowing as he grit his teeth.

You choose not to look down, opting only to grant him your smile as he lifts your body higher above the doom lurking below.

“Before I left my home,” you laughed, bracing your arms against the ropes with your forearms, “I was meant to settle down and have an army of children,” you both chuckled at the notion, his hands crawling along the strands and coiling them up higher.

“That something you want for yourself?” He winced through the strain of the ordeal, looking beneath you and noticing the rocky island was completely engulfed in water. The eyes continued to observe the two of you with interest, the creature lingering beneath the depths smiling its toothy grin.

“Absolutely not,” you confess with a laugh, gripping the ropes further and clambering up alongside his cooking advances, “I only want the open sea, the wind in the sails, and the stars to point me to my next destination.” He snickered down, growling as his limbs began to burn.

“T-Truly?” he responded with a taught snicker, “No desire to settle down and retire one day?” He continued tugging the rope and lifting you through the final threshold of the journey.

“Not in my plan, no,” you retorted, finally lifting yourself between his thighs by grasping his hips and hoisting you with your arms extended. Anchoring your heels at the wall behind you, you had no choice but to fall into his chest upon ascension.

His eyes never left your face, floating over your features and gazing up at you. Falling flat on his chest, you wriggled between his legs and drew yourself up through the partition in his thighs. You furrowed your brows as you found purchase on the wall beyond his shoulders, his eyes darting between yours and his lips parted and panting.

“Sorry,” you muffled your apologies, leaning back and gazing into his eyes. Your breath hitched, looking over his features and finally taking a moment to breathe him in. He was handsome, one of the most handsome men you had seen in some time: almost pretty.

His eyes focussed on your lips, momentarily forgetting the doom lingering below and taking you in for all that you were. You were beautiful, even for a pirate.

“We-...” he began, offering his hand out to you and aiding you between his legs, “...we should begin the climb. Can't-...” his eyes darted down to your lips and lingered there a moment longer, “-We can't leave them waiting, and the water is rising.”

You looked at his face, smiling as you hastily pushed yourself up the walls and looked down at the marine first-mate beneath you.

“Better hurry up then, blondie,” you sneered down at him before scampering throughout the walls and hovering up the small opening. He chuckled, taking a moment to catch his breath before following up the hole after you.

The water rises further below you two, your anxieties both propelling you to use each other as anchor points to propel you further up the hole towards the surface.

“Try to keep up, marine,” you teased him in soft snickers, his own laugh joining yours the longer you teased him.

“Speak for yourself, pirate,” he responded in kind, his eyes staring at your body the further up the chasm you clambered. The water began to swell further beneath you, both of you praying in gratitude that you understood the false entry that drew in the tide.

The starlight welcomed you into the night, you hoisted your torso up through the birthpoint and your eyes both met the cloudless sky above. As you exited the hole, you reached down and offered Helmeppo your arm to grip and raise through the tunnel mouth.

With a soft smirk, he clasped his hand over your forearm and used your arm to draw himself up through the small opening. Before falling onto his back and panting, he assessed the surroundings and noticed there truly was no entry to the cave from below. You were right, and he was ever grateful you noticed the trap lingering below.

Lying flat on your backs either side of the hole and catching your breath, you looked to the constellations and began searching through your mind for any direction towards your crewmates.

While you were distracted by charting the stars, Helmeppo began untying the bonds circling his waist and carefully coiling the ropes for later purpose. He wound the fibers into a neat pile beside him, before crawling on his hands and knees towards you and beginning to draw his fingers against your flesh as you muttered stars to yourself.

“The Marina Comet besides Genfry’s Belt,” you whispered, barely processing the fingers dancing over your skin and loosening the knots surrounding your pelvis. “Which means the anchor point for our vessel should be beside the Sialin Dip and Hogir Spear.” Your whispers earned you a chuckle from your blonde-haired companion as he loosened the knots of rope girdling your waist.

After uttering your final vantage point, you began to giggle. The laughter became almost overbearing as the adrenaline teetered off and lay in wake to the lethargy you were both experiencing.

The physical trial between the two of you amongst sea beasts, bondage, and trickery had each breath you took feeling like a gift to the senses. Upon loosening the final knot, Helmeppo flopped to the position beside you and chuckled into the stars. You joined him, your rambunctious laughter serenading him as you did a few hours prior with your shanties of old.

“Any-... Any thoughts on where our crews are right now?” he offered with teetered laughter. You rolled onto your side and placed your hand on his chest and gave him a soft pat in response.

“We have about a forty minute trek through the jungle before we reach the shore,” you giggled, leaning over him and gazing into his eyes, “And then it’ll be about an hour after that to make it to our ships.” You reached up, brushing his blonde hair from his face and gently caressing his cheek.

His breath hitched as his eyes met with yours, wide and shocked to receive such affection from the enemy. Conflicting emotions swirled in his mind the moment his gray orbs met your half-lidded gaze. Before he could speak, you spoke for him in a soft endearing tone.

“You know, you’re really quite pretty,” you speak as if your words contained a soft secret within. His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed a dry mouthful of saliva and parted his quivering lips up to you. Giggling at his response, you go to draw yourself away from his embrace, only to have your wrist collected in his hand.

As you knit your brows up in confusion, he immediately sat up and drew your body close to himself. His unoccupied hand cradled the back of your head in a firm grip and drew your lips up to collide with his in a soft kiss. A squeak fled your lips in shock as your eyes remained wide and staring into the furrowed brow of your enemy.

His golden hair stuck to his face in stringy, damp strands from the salty drips from the cavern roof. The stars illuminated his pale skin and allowed you to take a glimpse at the rosy blush rising against his cheeks. You finally hum into his lips, circling his waist with your unclasped wrist, and rising to sit in his lap on the grassy patch beside the hole leading down to your prior prison.

You take his kiss as an expression of relief in reclaiming freedom, his joy at being alive and making it through the trial laid out below. Returning his kiss, you allow yourself to give in to your own relief in making it through the trial and rotate your chin to deepen the oscillation. His heart shot to this throat as he released your wrist to circle his arm around your shoulders and hold you close.

Finally and firmly breaking you away from his lips, he gazed up at you with adoration and an unspoken fondness for you. His lips were bruised by the intensity of your kiss which prompted your hands to raise to his cheeks and run your thumb over his bottom lip. Smiling down at Helmeppo, you softly offer him a small tease in your tone.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” you narrow your eyes and scrunch up your nose with your smile, “Let’s go free our crews and get off this forsaken island.” He panted slowly caressing your hair and pressed his forehead against yours briefly.

“You’re going to be the death of me, pirate,” he smiled in his tone, briefly closing his eyes. He broke away contact from your forehead and aided you to your feet. Returning your dagger to you, he hooked the coil of rope over his shoulder and let it lay circling his hip.

“After all we’ve been through? I wouldn’t dream of it,” you smile in response, placing your dagger in your back pocket and readjusting your clothes, “But do try to keep up, lover. You may be strong, but I’m faster.” You began to set an easy and hasty pace trekking through the jungle towards the coastline where your crews were waiting for you.

Aiding each other through the uneven jungle floor, and sneaking in subtle touches and holds to brace each other in support, your affection for the marine swordsman only grew. His eyes only ever left your body and face to briefly glance ahead to brush away a wandering branch from blocking your path. His chivalry was a welcome change to the bruising affection you and your crew displayed to one another.

His thoughts and emotions clouded his judgment, finally giving in to the emotion he was attempting to stifle. He was smitten with the enemy, and he knew you were likely to never see each other again after this adventure. Willing to take any touch you were permitting him to press you with, he committed the feel of your hands on his skin to memory.

He was in love, and you were feeling much the same. You both laughed at the true tragedy of the rising emotions the moment your crews came into view with the local government. Without much thinking, you hastily press a soft kiss to his cheek before sprinting to your captain on the sandy shore without further words.

Eyes shut and hands rose in front of him, he bid you a wordless farewell. Opening his eyes and watching your hair bounce behind you, he felt a piece of his heart leave him and join with your own. Sparing him a look over your shoulder, you shot him a soft wink and giggled in glee at witnessing his eyes still firmly fixed on your retreat.

You were smitten with your marine swordsman, something that the crew would likely tease you about for the whole duration of your journey out to the sea. You looked to the marine ship, your hands splayed on the wooden rail as you met the gaze of Helmeppo aboard his vessel. Gifting him a soft wave and a broad grin, he returned the gesture with a bashful smile and eyes left wanting.

Taking a mental note of the stars, you prayed that one day their soft illuminance would guide you two to meet again.

#one piece #x reader #opla #one piece live action #helmeppo #helmeppo x reader #marine x pirate #ask snail #snail answers #op helmeppo #one piece x reader

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cowbell-ghuleh · 1 month

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Happy Fan Friday 💚 who are three blogs you really like and would recommend?

#more hype less hate

This is a great idea!

And also so bloody difficult XD There's so many I could tag and recommend.

I'm just gonna tag some amazing artists, I wish I could tag everyone! I want to say I appreciate all my mutuals, followers and folks I follow.

@dxncemxcabre does fantastic portraits and scenes, their most recent Pied Piper Copia is so cool, with amazing shading and composition!

@chapghost2 Digital painter, their texture work is beautiful.

@anamelessfool Fantastic artist and a great fic writer. Their prose is so good!

@probably-impossible A wonderful cartoonist/artist with an impeccable sense of humour!

@ghouliebabies-art A traditional artist who does glorious portraits and paintings. Even their sketches look amazing!

@thegreyswan66 A great artist who deserves way more reblogs, their art has some of the best lighting and smoke textures I've seen for a while.

@raven-ovs Paintings so realistic it takes a moment to realise their not photographs! They're so talented!

Also shout out to @cityofmeliora 's blog of properly sourced Ghost history, which is so useful to me as a new-ish fan.

I'm trying to get better at reblogging and commenting but I can struggle to think of interesting things to say / put why I like a thing into words.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #my asks #lets get some positivity in the fandom

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angelst4re · 2 years

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Hello lovely! I love your writing!! I was wondering if you could do a 001 fic where the reader is another one of Brenner’s subjects at Hawkins Lab with Henry/001. They mutually have a crush on each other but of course they can’t really act on their feelings, besides quick interactions in the dark corners of the hallway out of camera view. BUT then they get called into Brenner’s office one day and told that the lab is going to conduct an experimental program, to breed the most powerful subjects for the next generation, and they will be the first to begin it since they’re the oldest (obviously both would be like 18 or 19 years old!) and they finally get to get it on 🤭 but definitely starts out kind of awkward since this would be both of their first time hehe.

ugh this idea>>> also i barely ever get Henry/001/Peter requests and it makes me kinda sad becasue he's literally my favourite jamie character (jace, i am sorry.)

002- Henry/001/Peter x Reader

summary: in the request :)

warnings: NSFW!! contains smut, this was also written at like 3am

notes: this is 4.5k words?? i feel like it could've been better though haha, BUT ALSO JAMIE SHAVED?? THE BEARD IS GONE??!!?!?! (but never forgotten <3)

You’ve known Henry for the majority of your life, or at least the half of your life that you remember. You had both been taken from your homes, your deaths faked while you were put under the care and control of a certain doctor and given new names, although they weren’t names. They were numbers. Yours was 002, Henry’s was 001.

When you first arrived at the lab, you were shaken up, you refused to talk to anybody or even interact with the other boy. However, you soon learnt that you had a lot more in common than you had hoped. You had powers, it explained why you could see glimpses into the future, predict things and guess what someone was thinking- although you knew now that it wasn’t guessing. It was all true. You had believed that in the first 9 years of your life that these things were all ‘in your head’, as your father told you when you asked him if he was seeing other women, cheating on your mother. You refused to believe there was something unique or special about you.

As the years passed, your powers grew stronger, and you also began to form a friendship with the other boy in the Lab, Henry. He was a year or 2 older than you, you never knew for sure. The first time he ever spoke to you was when he warned you about the Doctor tattooing you, he showed you his sore, red arm with 001 written in black ink. He told you to try to stay calm, he got punished for moving about in his seat when the pain got too much. You thanked him, and from that day he made a promise to himself- he promised he would keep you safe and that one day he would escape with you, so you could both live the life you deserved.

As more years went by, you and Henry continued to grow closer. More children also began to arrive at the lab, none of them were over the age of 6. Doctor Brenner ordered them to call him Papa, you and Henry had quite rightly refused to call him this. He began lessons, helping these children to use and build their powers, to grow them stronger. You and Henry would also attend these lessons, Brenner would often ask one of you to help the children, to give them advice- but most of them were only 5, they struggled to understand. This resulted in punishments, which you and Henry had to leave the room for.

As you got older, you realised your feelings towards Henry were more than what you should feel for friends. You had a crush on him. Upon realising this, you started to behave differently around him. You would blush when he felt the cut on your cheek, wishing his soft fingers would caress your cheek to pull you in for a kiss instead, or when you be alone with him in the Rainbow Room you would try to keep a little distance and appear engaged in an activity so he wouldn’t try talking to you, you would only stumble on your words as you spoke back.

He picked up pretty quickly that you liked him in this way, he couldn’t help it with his powers, could he? He could use and control his better than you could, meaning he could read your thoughts, whilst you struggled to read his. However, you liked it better like this, you knew that you and Henry would probably die in the lab before you could leave, meaning you’d rather spend your in-between years as friends and not risk the shame of rejection.

However, you needed to tell someone about this crush- it was driving you insane. Martha, the nurse, was the only person in this place you could trust, besides Henry, so you opened up to her one day when she was treating your most recent wounds before performing an overall health and wellness check as it was leading up to your 18th birthday. For your 16th birthday, you and Nurse Martha spent an afternoon in a sex education lesson, so you wondered what was in store for your 18th. Peter said nothing special happens, that it’s just like any other.

However, your 18th birthday was one to remember, it seemed even better than your 7th (which you could only vaguely remember, you received a dollhouse that you had been begging for all year). You spent the majority of the day in lessons with Brenner and other doctors and scientists, but the evening made up for the last 9 years you had spent in the Lab.

There was a knock on your door, you expected it to be Nurse Martha, but when you opened it you were met with…

“Henry?” You gasped, poking your head out the door to check the halls before grabbing his arm and pulling him into the room, “what are you doing? If you get caught you’ll-”

“If I get caught then at least it was for a good reason,” he smiles, pulling something out from under his black jumper, what had he been hiding? “Happy birthday.”

He handed it over to you, it was wrapped up in some tissue? A napkin?

“Cake?!” Your eyes widen, and then soften as you look up at Henry. You remembered from your years before the Lab that birthdays were usually celebrated with cake, yet Brenner never allowed it on birthdays. “Where did you get this from?” You ask, sitting down on your bed.

“Stole it from the kitchens, one of the ‘children’ caused a fire on the south side of the building today and the staff were made to evacuate.” He said, yet (for the first time) you knew what he was thinking, you knew he was lying.

“You started a fire? To get me some cake?” You chuckled in disbelief.

“Well, you deserved something to make you happy. I wish I could’ve gotten you a gift.” He said, looking down at his lap, you could tell he was thinking about something else, you couldn’t quite work out what it was.

“You can think of the cake as a gift!” You said, smiling as you picked at a bit of it before taking a bite, it was delicious. “Anyway I like spending time with you, and we don’t get to see each other as much as we used to.”

“That’s because we’re at different levels, y/n. I’ve known about my powers and how to use them since I was young, you only discovered them in there. Brenner doesn’t believe you’re as… powerful as I am, but I know you can prove him wrong, can’t you?” Henry’s eyes fell on you as he asked the question, you nodded your head, telling him you will prove him wrong, that you’ll make him feel stupid for ever thinking that way about you, to which Henry whispered a small “that’s my girl.”

“What did you say?” You asked, feeling the heat rush to your face.

“I didn’t say anything,” he smirked. You must have read his mind again. “Can I tell you something?” Henry asked.

“Of course.” You said, finishing the last bit of cake, folding the piece of tissue up and placing it on your drawers.

“Do you remember when you first arrived at this place? I was finally happy to have someone else with me, but you were too afraid to even talk to me. I spent years trying to get you to trust me, you may not have realised that, but I wanted to be your friend. Before I was brought here, I didn’t have any friends, I spent most of my time by myself and that’s how I wanted it to be, but it was just so lonely and cold here, I wished I spent my time differently. I knew it was too late by then, but then you arrived. I knew, given the situation, that you would most likely shy away from me, attempt to escape, but I wanted to try. I wanted to know that I at least tried to make a friend, but I feel like I’ve done more than that,” he said, placing his hand on your knee, “I’ve realised in these last months that I… like you. More than a friend should like a friend. And I won’t lie to you, I know you feel like this about me too, but I wished I would have heard it from your mouth rather than your thoughts,” he chuckled, his eyes coming up to meet yours.

“C-can you kiss me?” You ask, stupidly stumbling on your words as the feeling of his hand on your bare skin and his eyes looking into yours became too much.

“It would be my pleasure.” He smiled softly, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek.

You were the first to lean in, needing to know if Henry’s lips were as soft as you imagined- and they were. Your breath was snatched from your lungs as his lips pressed into yours. He could taste cake from your lips, causing him to smile into the kiss before carefully pulling back. You didn’t want to stop, it took everything inside you not to pull him back.

“Thank you.” You whispered, watching as he quickly stood up, adjusting his clothes before grabbing the door handle.

“I should go now, so I don’t get in any more trouble with Brenner. But I hope we can do this again… soon.”

“Me too,” you smiled, still trying to process the fact that Henry had admitted he liked you back and kissed you in the space of 5 minutes, “I hope you get back safely. Good night, Henry.”

“Good night, love.”

—————————♡—————————

“002?” A knock at your door distracted you from the drawing you were working on, you placed the pencil down on your desk and made your way to your door, opening to be greeted with Nurse Martha, who had Henry by her side.

“Hello.” You chuckled nervously, “is everything okay?”

“Yes! I was asked by Doctor Brenner to collect you and 001 and to take you to his office, he would like to tell you both about his newest… project.”

“I’ll be two seconds,” you say, rushing over to your bed to grab your jumper, throwing it on to cover your tank top before returning the door, shutting it as you follow Martha and Henry down the halls.

You gave Henry a glance and in your mind you asked him ‘do you know what this is about?’, he then looked back over at you and shook his head, ‘no, he hasn’t said anything about a project.’

“Here we are,” Nurse Martha smiled as she knocked on the door to Brenner’s office, “don’t be nervous, sweetheart.” She said to you, patting your shoulder.

“Ah, thank you, Martha, I can take it from here.” Brenner said with a cold smile as he held his office door open, inviting you and Henry inside as the nurse turned around and headed back down the halls.

You and Henry sit down when instructed, on the chairs opposite the Doctor’s desk. He opened a cabinet, pulling out a folder and placing it in front of you and Henry as he sat at his desk.

“You’re probably wondering why you’re here,” Brenner mused, opening up the folder, looking at the two of you as if you were supposed to know, but you both shook your head. “Over the years, I have worked with several doctors and scientists to try to find a way of combining both of your powers, seeing as the children here have only inherited percentages of your abilities from the testing we have done. But there may be a way to go about this that could potentially be successful, as you two are the oldest and possess the the most unique abilities-”

“What are you trying to say?” Henry asked, his eyebrows furrowing. “Do you need to take more blood samples?”

Doctor Brenner thought about his next words carefully, not wanting to scare either of you off with his proposal. He folded his arms in front of him on the desk and leaned forward.

“To put it simply, we want you two to begin the next generation, to reproduce, to-”

You interrupted him by choking on air as you finally realised what he meant. He wanted you and Henry to have a child together, in hopes that this child will inherit both of your powers and abilities.

“And when do you want this to happen?” Henry asked, his voice avoiding any signs of emotion as he looked into the eyes of the Doctor.

“Nurse Martha has been tracking 002’s menstrual cycle, and this week would be perfect for successful conception. Maybe even today?” Brenner said with a joyous smile. Of course he’d be happy, he won’t be the one to carry this damned baby for nine months. “So, is that okay with you?” He asked, as if you and Henry had a choice.

“Yes, Doctor.” You replied in unison.

“Wonderful!” He clasped his hands together, “you may do… it… in either of your rooms, we haven’t got any spare rooms at the moment- and I believe it may be helpful to have some sort of comfort.” He said before walking over to the office door, holding it open for the two of you.

—————————♡—————————

You and Henry walked in silence, you had non-verbally decided to go to your room- or at least that is where you were both heading. The silence between the two of you was unbearable, you needed to say something-

“So, you are definitely comfortable with this, right?” Henry asked, his fingertips brushing against yours as you walked side by side.

“I guess so, we can’t risk saying no-”

“If you don’t want to do this then we won’t.” Henry stated, confidently.

You thought for a moment, you wanted to do it, you wanted to feel Henry close to you like this, it’s what your body has been aching for for the last month- when he would send a small smirk your way when he caught your eye you would feel your lower half tingling, when he would place his hands on your waist as he moved past you when you were sent to retrieve something from the cramped storage cupboard you wanted nothing more than to push yourself up against him, when he-

“I’ll take that as you being okay with this then?” He smirked, wiping the small drip of blood from his nose. Bastard. Your thoughts were private!

“Yeah,” you smiled, finally arriving at your room. You took a deep breath before opening your door. Henry followed you in and carefully shut the door behind him. “So, how do you want to do this?”

Henry gave you a gentle smile as he slowly moved closer to you, his hand cupping your cheek like it had done a few weeks ago, when he had kissed you on your birthday. He leaned down slowly, your noses brushing as your lips touched. You run your fingers through his hair before pulling him closer, catching his lips in a sloppy, clearly inexperienced kiss.

His free hand rested on your hip, pulling your body closer to his, so close you could feel heat radiating from him. He kissed you hungrily, like this was his last chance to show you how much you mean to him, even if he can’t properly tell you.

He moved his hands to the bottom of your jumper, tugging on it, ‘let me take it off’.

And you allowed him, breaking free from the kiss for a mere 5 seconds made you feel empty, cold, like a piece of a puzzle was missing, but when Henry had taken your jumper off and let it drop to the floor, his lips crashed into yours once more.

‘Your turn’, you told him. You loved how you could communicate with his like this, not having to take your lips off of each other to speak.

Your hands fumbled about as you found the bottom of his jumper, beginning to lift it up. He took over, breaking the kiss once more as he dropped it to the floor, now lying in a pile with yours. His hands now played with the waistband of your grey joggers as he gave you a puzzling look- a look full of lust, desire, want, but also love. He slipped his fingers into the waistband and began to drag them down your hips.

“Henry,” you whispered. He stopped immediately and looked at you, scanning your face for any signs of fear. “I just… I wanted to tell you… I don’t know how to do this.” You admit, your face flushing a deep red.

“Neither do I,” he tells you, “why don’t we figure it out together, hm?” He raises his eyebrows, continuing to pull your joggers down, slowly revealing your underwear.

“Okay.” You say, smiling as you stand awkwardly, not knowing what to do with your hands as he undresses you.

When the material pools at your feet, you step out it, now left in your underwear, bra and a thin tank top. Henry was still fully dressed. He caught on quickly and rid himself of his t-shirt, letting that fall on to the pile of discarded clothes that lay on the floor. His hands moved down to push his joggers down his legs, leaving him in just his white boxers. You took that as a sign and removed your top, leaving you in your white bra and panties.

“You’re beautiful.” Henry said, looking at your body, “I never thought something could be so beautiful.”

“So are you.” You said, placing your hand on his chest, noticing the scars on his skin that were undoubtedly caused by a certain doctor. “What do we do next?”

“...we get naked.” Henry said, his hand coming up to play with your bra strap, “is that okay?”

“That’s okay.” You tell him.

‘Can I take this off?’ he asks you, his eyes finding yours as you nod your head. His hands slide around you, to your back to find the clasp of your bra. He immediately notices that this would be more difficult than expected, so he gets you to turn around, with your back facing him.

He easily unclasped your bra, carefully sliding the straps off of your arms before taking the material and letting it fall on the floor.

He could feel his blood rushing down to his cock as he thinks about how you’re standing braless in front of him. He tells himself not to worry about what you would think as you turn back around to see him hard through his boxers, that was meant to happen, that’s what needs to happen, right?

“You can turn around now.” Henry says, swallowing thickly.

Your hands cover your boobs as you turn back around to face him, but he quickly removes them, telling you not to be shy. Then your eyes finally catch what was between his thighs.

“Henry… is that…?” Your eyes were full of curiosity as you stared at his erection.

“Yes, I expect you’ve never seen one like this before.” He says, you shake your head.

“I’ve only seen what was in t-the anatomy books.” You tell him, and he smiles softly. He feels like he has a slight advantage here, having heard his classmates at school talk about sex all the time, he felt repulsed by it- but that was before he met you.

He finally takes off his boxers, you watch carefully as his cock leaks precum, your hand unexpectedly reaching to wipe it off with a finger, causing Henry’s breath to hitch.

“Can I?” You ask him, ‘can I make you feel good?’

Henry nods his head, taking your hand in his and wrapping your fingers around his length before guiding it up and down at an achingly slow pace. He bites his lip, holding back a groan from escaping his lips as you quicken the pace.

“S-stop,” he warns you, “I want the first time I cum to be with you.”

You nod your head and remove your hand, not knowing what his words meant.

“Can I make you feel good?” He asks, hooking a finger into the waistband of your underwear.

“Please…” You whimper, “when I’m with you I feel things down there, what does that mean, Henry?” You ask.

“It means you need my fingers, darling.” He whispers, pushing your last remaining garment down and off of your body, revealing your cunt to him. “Fuck…” he groans, getting down on to his knees to look at you closer, he had never seen this part of the female body up close before.

He dips a finger into you, delighted to find you were already wet for him. He moved his finger up along your slit, searching for your clit. He knew that would make you feel good, and he was desperate to hear you moan for him.

“Oh my-” Your knees buckle when his finger grazes over the nub, he smirks, replacing his finger with his thumb as he rubs circles where you needed him.

He continues to examine you, two fingers from his other hand spread your folds apart and he watches you pulse, a sign that you wanted more.

He stands back up and removes his hands from you, placing one on your waist.

“Lie down,” he tells you, guiding you backwards towards the bed.

You lay down, your head against the pillows, your arms by your head and your legs spread slightly. He was happy to see you were comfortable around him.

He follows you, kneeling between your legs, spreading them a tiny bit further. He brings his hand back to your heat, teasing your entrance with his fingertip.

“Tell me if it’s too much.” He says, sliding his index finger into you slowly, earning a pleasured gasp from you. “Does that feel good?” He asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he eases it back out before pushing back in. He believes you were ready for a second one to follow, so his thumb rubs your clit as he slides his middle finger in too.

“Feels too good, Henry.” You moan, a lazy smile on your lips as you look up at him.

He replies with a satisfied ‘hm’ as he continues his actions. He feels the way your walls pulse around his fingers, and basically hears your heart pounding in your chest, he knows you’re close.

Slowly, he stops what he was doing, leaning down to pepper kisses on your thighs, even placing a delicate kiss over your clit.

“I think you’re ready now, sweetheart.” He says, moving up a little on the bed so your hips were in line with his.

“Okay.” You say, not knowing what he thought you were ready for, but agreeing anyway.

He took his cock and swiped off the precum that had leaked from the tip and swiped it over your clit, making your hips shuffle as he lined himself up with you, slowly inching his cock inside of you.

The pain was hot and red, it took you by surprise and you found yourself clawing at the bedsheets. Henry noticed this and took your hands in his, moving them to his back. You didn’t want to hurt him but as he pushed in further, your nails began to dig into his skin, sure to draw blood.

“You’re doing so well.” He whispered, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Does it hurt?” He asked, although he knew the answer before you nodded your head.

When he was fully inside you, you let out a whimper. You had never realised you could feel this way before, so full. You loved it.

He didn’t move for a few moments, until he felt you were ready, when you caught your breath and your walls stopped clamping around him. That was when he began to gently rock his hips, thrusting in and out of you.

Sweat beaded on Henry’s forehead as he tried his best to hold himself back from rutting into you at a faster pace, but as your legs wrapped around his waist, he began to quicken his pace.

“Oh my… Henry, faster!” You panted.

He did as you said, not holding back anymore. After weeks of wanting nothing more than this moment, Henry couldn’t believe what was happening. Surely this wasn’t real- but as your nails clawed at his back, he knew it most definitely was real.

“I love you.” The words slipped from Henry’s lips and caught you by surprise. You didn’t say anything, not knowing what to say. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you, your lips crashing into his.

You suddenly became aware of how he felt inside you, the spots he hit deep inside your body that you would have never known were there, but especially how good it felt.

“Henry… I feel something… In my tummy-”

“Let it go, darling.” He said, his hand sliding to your lower stomach, just below your belly button, and pushing down. The pressure resulted in even more pleasure, you felt so good, you never wanted this feeling to leave.

Suddenly, a white wave of ecstasy crashed over you, spreading through your whole body. You almost felt euphoric.

“Gonna… gonna cum inside you- fuck!” He groaned, his thrusts growing slower and sloppier, and then you felt something hot rush inside of you.

Henry remained above you, his arms placed either side of your body to support him. He was trying to catch his breath before he stood back up and continued with his day- but you pulled him down, making him put all his weight onto you.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close to you as you both came down from your highs, worried that if you let go of him, he would leave and you would never speak about this again.

When you realised he was still inside of you, your walls involuntarily clenched around him again, causing him to groan into the crook of your neck. You whispered a soft apology before you ran your fingers through his soft hair.

“I love you too.” You finally confessed.

He lifted his head up, giving you a smile before kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Our baby isn’t going to grow up inside this place,” Henry told you, “I have a plan, I’m going to escape- and I’m going to take you with me.”

#peter ballard smut #jamie campbell bower #henry creel smut #001 smut #stranger things #henry creel x reader #peter ballard x reader #jamie campbell bower x reader #henry creel #i dont like how this turned out

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call-sign-shark · 11 months

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Hi Shark. I was wondering if I could be cheeky and request something from you. I was wondering if you could release a headcanon for Heaven with a list of fun facts about her (i.e. fave food, color, animal, vacation spot, book, song, drink...if she went to university what d'you think she'd study that kind of thing). She's just so interesting that I'd like to know more about her. Also, I read a fic she was mentioned in the other day and I thought you'd be interested. It was just a mention but I thought it was cool. Also, I can't wait for The woods whisper part 2. I'm on edge.

Hi sweet anon, thank you so much for your wonderful ask! As for the fic, please do send me the link. I probably have it in my reading list if the mutual has tagged me but I reckon I need to catch up with a lot of things. I've been feeling quite tired lately and I’m starting a new job as a bartender so it's quite tiring. I’m delighted you find the murderous angel interesting so here we go. 🖤

𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝐿𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓎 𝒮𝒽𝑒𝓁𝒷𝓎 headcanons

𝒫𝑒𝒶𝓀𝓎 𝐵𝓁𝒾𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈

♢ Her favorite animals are hyenas. She dreams about owning one?? She’s weird asf I know.

♢ I personally imagine her voice like the singer of Sohodolls (by the way, this song from the group is her main theme song)

♢ Surprisingly enough her favorite color is not white, but red and gold.

♢ She's multilingual and speaks: French, Russian, German, and English all fluently.

♢ She's 25 at the beginning of HYE, even if throughout her life people struggle to give her an age since she has this very woman-child aspect.

♢ Her style is quite modern for the era. When she doesn’t wear elegant and revealing dresses with gold jewels, capes or fur coats, she loves stealing one of Arthur’s shirts and tuck it in her skirt. Similarly, he had to buy a second coat ‘cause she had stolen his. Most of the time she either dresses like a goddess or a forest nymph.

♢ She loves fun fairs and circuses! When they started flirting together and meeting at church every night, Arthur sometimes brought her candied apples.

♢ She might be an enchanting singer and she might love music but she's awful at playing an instrument. She tried piano, guitar, harp, and violin but she was terrible at all of them.

♢ She has empathy issues she hides quite well. Now, I’m not saying she has 0 Empathy but she lacks of it most of the time except with Arthur or on a few occasions. It leads her to be cold and sardonic with people outside of her private circle when she doesn’t “mask”.

♢ Did someone said “lemon pie”? She’d kill for lemon pies. It’s her favorite dessert of all time.

♢ Her Birthday is the 22 January.

♢ She's fond of myths, legends, and fairy tales. If she had to pick one tale and one myth she would go for the Red Little Riding Hood and the Beast of Gevaudan. But her favorite story is Alice’s Adventures.

♢ She's a "mama bear", which means she doesn't lose her temper easily despite being gifted with an ability for extreme violence but touch her husband, kids or family and she'll go f e r a l.

♢ She talked several times with Linda at church, unknowing Heaven was already fucking her husband (and she enjoyed it). I know, that's a dick move.

𝑀𝑜𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓃 𝒜𝒰

*most of the hc above still works for her modern!self

♢ Her favorite book is The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris.

♢ She works as an exotic pole dancer and aerial performer. Considering this, she also masters aerial hoop, silks, and Chinese pole.

♢ She is currently applying to study forensic medicine after several years of gaps.

♢ She has spent years locked up in a mental institute, in the dangerous patients ward.

♢ Her favorite food is Japanese Udon soup with gyoza and Nikuman as side dishes.

♢ She loves listening to brutal music, such as metal, hard rock, or alternative trash/bimbo music even if her playlist is actually quite varied. You can go from Rammstein and Angerfist to Britney Spears and Lana Del Rey.

♢ She smokes weed.

♢ If she had to choose a drink it would be red wine for alcohol and pumpkin spice latte for sweet. But in truth, she’s that annoying gym girl so she mostly drinks water and homemade protein smoothies. She also loves boba milk teas.

♢ She's a huge fan of horror movies and games (especially FNAF), with a fascination for cannibalism. With that being said, she organizes the best girl nights ever, especially during Halloween.

Heaven is reader in the Arthur Shelby x you series Heaven in Your Eyes. Why don't you join the ride? We have drama, sex and gore.

#Peaky Blinders #Arthur Shelby #Arthur Shelby x reader #Peaky Blinders imagine #Arthur Shelby x OC #Peaky blinders x reader #Shark talks #Heaven Shelby #Heaven Lavey Shelby

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canonicallyobserving911 · 1 year

Text

9-1-1 Season 6 - Constructive Criticisms #10

Bathena: Bobby & Athena

Bathena is the “ship” name for Athena Grant-Nash’s and Robert “Bobby” Nash’s relationship. It’s a portmanteau of their first names and it combines the letter ‘B’ in Bobby with the name ‘Athena’ or B + Athena = Bathena. Bobby and Athena are both main characters, they’re a couple who’s been together for five years while being married for four of them and they’re one of 9-1-1’s most popular relationships.

Overall they’ve been shown to share a deep and meaningful marriage but it hasn’t always been sunbeams and moon pies. Individually, they’ve overcome a lot of emotional and physical hurt and they’ve accomplished those feats as a couple too in addition to them building a blended family that includes the two of them along with Athena’s children May and Harry and their father Michael who’s Athena’s ex-husband. Over the years, they have suffered a lot of loss and pain but in season 6 the balance that was previously included between their good and bad times wasn’t effectively illustrated.

The foundations of their relationship include love, trust, care, comfort and support but in 6A and 6B, those attributes were overshadowed by all the focus that was given to their pasts and the deaths or near-death experiences of their family members and friends. It appears the number of storylines they received were greatly affected by the attention given to those items and while the reasons for it are still unclear, the truth is they both received a limited amount of them for the entire season. Athena had five storylines while Bobby barely had three.

In previous seasons, they were given interesting storylines both as individuals and as a couple but in season 6 they barely had any and most of the ones they received were treated like afterthoughts. Athena’s 6A storyline was the resolution of a 40-year-old crime that was the underlying reason for her becoming a police officer. Bobby’s end of 6A storyline carried over into 6B and even though it was supposed to be about Bobby’s sobriety, it ended up including an arc that connected to May CANONICALLY admitting Bobby is Buck’s found dad.

The Bathena “ship” and the characters of Bobby and Athena weren’t given the attention they deserved during season 6 and unlike season 5, the reason for it was never provided. When compared with previous seasons, both their storylines and the amount of screentime they received were lacking and it doesn’t make narrative sense especially since the actress (AB) and the actor (PK) who play these two characters are top billed (their names appear on screen first and they’re both recognizable and prominent). The lack of screentime and lackluster storylines for these characters has presented 9-1-1 with a conundrum for season 7 because a lot of viewers watch the show just to see the two of them.

My tenth set of “constructive criticisms” regarding the Bathena ship and the individual characters included in the Grant-Nash family in season 6 are included below the cut. Please note criticizing a TV show is NOT a bad thing especially since TV critics have been doing it for decades. Constructive criticisms are designed to help make something better and they are VERY different from negativity. A person can offer criticisms about a form of entertainment they spend their time watching and not be negative about it the same way two people can agree to disagree on a topic. Just because one person liked the season, they shouldn’t expect others to feel the way they do because everyone has their own opinions. Simply put, two people can have different opinions about 9-1-1 and those opinions can COEXIST since they are not mutually exclusive.

If reading criticisms about the TV show 9-1-1 upsets you, then don’t read below the cut.

Warning! ⚠️“Constructive Criticisms” Ahead!⚠️

Bathena’s Relationship

Athena and Bobby have a wonderful, exciting and mature relationship. They’ve been married for four years but that fact wasn’t addressed for new viewers until the end of the season in 6x17 which was the episode before the finale. Both of them were married before and they’ve been through a lot of emotionally charged and traumatic situations. Athena was attacked in 3x17 and Bobby was shot in 4x14 but they remained committed to each other even after they had an argument in 4x13.

Bobby and Athena are empty nesters because May’s in college and Harry’s in Florida with Michael and David, therefore they should be shown going on dates and taking vacations that include more than them just taking a delayed honeymoon cruise. Their jobs are stressful and they deserve the downtime to rest and relax. Aside from them being there to support each other during the difficult times, they were shown completing a leisurely run and visiting Maddie and Chimney in 6x13 and leaving for their cruise in 6x18 but they weren’t shown doing much else outside of work. At least in season 5, they were shown going on an actual date.

In most instances, their relationship is portrayed in a way that makes it seem like other couples should aspire to be like them. Even though it hasn’t been vocalized in CANON, it appears they’re setting the example the other ships on the show are supposed to follow. Athena and Hen are best friends and they have conversations about their marriages all the time but Bobby’s always giving relationship advice to others, i.e., Buck, Eddie and Chimney, based on his own subjective perspectives but he’s been wrong more than once.

Even though they’ve been married for four years, in 6x13 Bobby said he didn’t know Athena ran cross-country in high school. That didn’t make any NARRATIVE sense especially since Athena mentioned during that same conversation Bobby usually works out at the firehouse and he followed her statement by saying Wendell told him he should start running again. She knew his workout routine but he didn’t know something about her past. As a field sergeant, she has to run to chase perpetrators all the time so why didn’t they discuss this within their four years of marriage? The way this scene was portrayed, it seemed like there are still some things they don’t know about each other but that’s not how their relationship was illustrated in the past. What was the reason for this? Who knows because it was never addressed but it appears it may have been foreshadowing for another popular ship on the show (this topic will be included in a future “ship” post).

Aside from the conversations they had about the Tonya Kingston investigation and Athena’s parents in 6x2-6x3 and Wendell from 6x9-6x12, they weren’t shown talking like they were during previous seasons. The conversation they had in 4x14 before Bobby was shot was in-depth and meaningful because they finally discussed how Athena being attacked the year before affected Bobby. The one they had in season 5 after Jeffrey died was meaningful too but those conversations were lacking during season 6 and it was noticeable.

Almost everything Bobby and Athena do is done in secret, i.e., they dated in secret for months from the end of season 1 to the beginning of season 2 before they revealed their relationship, they got married at the courthouse with only May and Harry present in 2x18 and they left to go on their cruise in 6x18 without telling anyone. Is it possible their relationship is being used to foreshadow another popular ship’s future relationship?

Bathena’s pasts

Bobby lost his whole family in an apartment fire before he moved to Los Angeles. He spent a lot of time talking to his priest as a way to deal with it but the reality is he was planning to commit suicide until Chimney reminded him, he had a reason to live (Please note: EVEN THOUGH IN BUCK’S MIND HE THINKS HE SAVED BOBBY; THE TRUTH IS CHIMNEY DID).

Athena lost her family too but not in the same way. She was married during season 1 but they got divorced and she spent time trying to move forward with her life before she started dating Bobby.

In season 6, a lot of time was spent focusing on their pasts. Athena’s childhood was the focus of 6x2-6x3 because it involved Tonya Kingston’s murder. Bobby’s sobriety and all the things he’s overcome were focused on after Wendell’s death from 6x9-6x12. These storylines were heavy and since they only had a few storylines between them, their pasts overshadowed the limited number of good times they shared in CANON.

Death

Death surrounded their relationship throughout 6A and 6B and even though they were shown to have a fun, exciting and lively marriage that’s active with romance and support, most of it seemed rushed and a lot of it appears to have been shoved into episodes at the last minute.

Athena’s Tonya Kingston storyline was finally given the closure it needed but the story was emotionally heavy and it was depicted in a way that was darker than 95% of the storylines shown in previous episodes.

Bobby’s rushed AA sponsor storyline about Wendell that started in 6x9 wasn’t CANONICALLY accurate and it was turned into something that became more about Bobby mourning the possibility of Buck’s pending death instead of it being about Bobby dealing with the loss of his sponsor.

All the deaths and near-death experiences that plagued Bathena’s storylines during season 6

Athena’s father had a stroke and it was a near-death experience in in 6x1

Tonya Kingston’s murder was finally solved in 6x3

Karen’s near-death experience in 6x6

Wendell’s death in 6x9

Buck’s death in 6x11

Bobby was dead in Buck’s coma dream in 6x11

The man Athena arrested died in 6x15

Bobby had a second near-death experience after he was trapped in 6x18 following the bridge collapse

No reason was provided regarding all the experiences listed above. It would have been beneficial if one was included since Bobby and Athena’s relationship is active and lively which catapults it so far away from death that all the references to it didn’t make any narrative sense. They dealt with it in 7 out of 18 episodes even though they barely had a total of 8 storylines between the two of them.

Found family gatherings

In the past, the Grant-Nash home and backyard was the primary location for a lot of celebrations; however that wasn’t the case in season 6. Even though Hen’s end of second year medical school party was held in Bobby and Athena’s backyard in 6x5, there weren’t any other parties or gatherings there during the season. Eddie visited them in 6x7 but that was so he could talk to Athena about a victim who was being scammed. Hen visited their home in 6x8 but that was so they could scratch off lottery tickets (related post about stereotypes linked here).

What happened to the found family gatherings and parties they’ve always had at the Grant-Nash home? In season 3, Buck’s welcome back and May’s graduation parties were held there and in season 4, the 118 plus Taylor Kelly (she shouldn’t have been there) had breakfast after the treasure hunt and there have been several other gatherings held there too but they were practically non-existent in season 6.

When are they going to be shown spending time with other couples? While they did spend time with Maddie and Chimney in 6x13, it shouldn’t be considered as leisure time since they were there to find out about Rhonda Fitzsimmons or “Carol the Coupon Lady”. They weren’t even shown spending time with Hen and Karen like they have been in previous seasons. In 5x14, Hen and Karen were at Bobby and Athena’s house playing a card game with them.

Athena Grant-Nash

The Tonya Kingston storyline was a callback to a conversation Athena had with Hen in season 2. She explained how Tonya’s disappearance was the reason she became a police officer. It closed that part of her arc but the story was dark, emotionally heavy and traumatizing. Based solely on the storyline, it appears it would have been better if it was included in an episode of Law & Order: SVU since Tonya was a special victim or in an episode of Cold Case Files or Forensic Files since it was a 40-year-old murder that needed solving.

While it’s a story that needed to be told, for some viewers, it didn’t fit inside of the 9-1-1 universe. Viewer comments after the episode aired were mixed and when it’s combined with all the other dark and heavy storylines in the season, it caused season 6 to be even more mentally draining than season 5 was even though it included Eddie’s PTSD and Maddie’s PPD storylines.

Athena’s best friend is Hen and even though they were shown having a few conversations in 6A and 6B, they didn’t appear to be as in-depth as the ones they’ve had in the past. Athena told Hen about Bobby’s attempt to avoid the bars on their upcoming cruise in 6x1, they were shown scratching off lottery tickets in 6x8 and she explained the way Bobby’s usually right most of the time in 6x14 but there weren’t any conversations like the ones they’ve had in previous seasons included in 6A or 6B.

Whenever Hen was struggling to deal with a personal family matter, i.e., her and Karen’s sperm donor storyline in season 3, she would talk with Athena about it. The same is true in season 4 when Toni showed up unannounced but in season 6, they weren’t shown talking about Denny’s relationship with Nathaniel until 6x14.

She goes to the firehouse a lot but the audience hasn’t seen Bobby visiting her at the LAPD except for when the 118 is dispatched to go there. Also, she hasn’t been shown having any friends outside of the 118 and it’s ok if she doesn’t but it would be nice to see her and Bobby have friends or family members they spend time with away from their jobs.

Robert “Bobby” Nash

Even though Wendell was shown to be an “important” person in Bobby’s life, it fell flat because HE WASN’T INTRODUCED until 6x9 and his back story was shown via flashbacks in 6x12. Also, it wasn’t CANONICALLY accurate because in season 1, Bobby talked with his priest to deal with his traumas but that was completely obliterated in season 6 with the introduction of Wendell. What happened to Bobby’s priest because the audience would like to know?

Bobby is LONELY whenever Athena’s at work and he’s at home alone. He was so lonely in 6x4 that he seized “Hoover” the dog from the scene of a call at a frat house and took him home while Athena was still in Florida. Since she’s allergic, he had to give him away but the truth is, he hasn’t had any friends outside of his wife and the 118 since Michael left and moved to Florida in 5x8. Why is he not being allowed to hang out with other fire captains or the LAFD chief?

Bobby comes from a legacy family of firefighters. In season 5, he said there weren’t any other options for him and his brothers but they’ve never been shown in CANON and he’s never had a phone conversation with them either. Other than his two biological children, none of his blood relatives have ever been shown on-screen but no reasons for it have ever been given. It would be great if one of his firefighter brothers transferred to the LAFD because it would give Bobby a storyline all his own that wouldn’t involve anyone from the 118.

He got married at the end of 2x18 but he wasn’t shown contacting his parents or siblings to let them know about it. Do they even know he’s married? He met Athena’s parents before they got married but the question is, has she ever been introduced to his family? Does she even know them? It’s been four years but they’ve never discussed his side of the family even though they’ve discussed her parents on more than one occasion. Is he considered to be an outcast by them? Are his parents still alive? It would be great if the show referenced this in season 7.

Bobby’s still a dad

Bobby was finally CANONICALLY established to be Buck’s found dad in 6x11 when May said he brought one child into the marriage but he only had one additional conversation with Buck after 6x11. It was in 6x14 but the weird thing is, it wasn’t about their found father son bond because it was about Buck’s annual performance review. They spent time discussing recipes in 6x10 and in 3x10 Buck literally told Bobby he was one of the most important people in his life so WTF happened? Did the Buckley parents overshadow Bobby’s role in Buck’s life in 6x10 and 6x11? The answer to that question is YES! (Post about undeserved parent redemptions linked here).

May Grant

In previous seasons, May and Athena spent mother and daughter time together but that was lacking in season 6. While they did talk about May’s college experience in 6x1, ultimately, their conversation ended up being about Bobby since they were preparing to go on a cruise. Their conversation in 6x8 was about Darius, May’s former high school prom date turned boyfriend and the remainder of their conversations in 6x10 and 6x11 were about Bobby being affected by Buck’s death and his time in the hospital. When will Athena and May spend more quality time together? May was supposed to be shown moving into the dorms in 6x1 but the scene was either deleted or never filmed.

Harry Grant

Harry’s in Florida with Michael but IIRC, he was only mentioned three times in season 6. The actor who plays the character hasn’t been on the show since 5A and if he’s not going to return, maybe the role should be recast as recurring with another actor so Athena and Bobby can visit him in Florida. Unlike May, who’s an adult in college, Harry is still young, maybe 14 or 15 years old.

Bathena’s Future

Most of the things that happened in their relationship appeared to be rushed and they came off as afterthoughts. The focus wasn’t really on them and the reason for it was never explained. No depth was shown with regards to their relationship even though they have intimate and detailed conversations all the time. They know each other but they’re being shown like they are two ships passing each other in the middle of the night. They need a life outside of work so they can focus on other things besides the LAPD and the LAFD. Bobby and Athena spend quality time together and they have an active sex life but what else do they have that’s separate from the 118?

Death and their pasts were heavily focused on during season 6 but they weren’t shown talking about their future and it was very noticeable. It would be fantastic if answers to the questions below are included in season 7.

Where are they going?

What are their goals?

What are their future plans?

Are they going to retire or keep working as an LAFD fire captain and an LAPD field sergeant until they’re forced to retire?

Will they sell their home and move to an area outside of L.A.?

It’s unfortunate but only TPTB know the answers to these questions while the audience continues to be left in the dark. It makes narrative sense for them to start having these types of conversations now since they’re empty nesters and in a few years, they’ll have to seriously consider whether it’s time for them to retire.

The show doesn’t spend enough time focusing on Bathena’s good times because they’ve been too busy creating issues for all the couples on the show. While 9-1-1 is a procedural drama, it doesn’t negate the fact that couples should be shown having good times too because contrary to popular belief, HAPPY COUPLES do exist in the world and they aren’t constantly involved in a lot of drama.

Ultimately, Bathena’s relationship was treated like an afterthought for the entirety of season 6 and it wasn’t given the attention it deserved. Almost everything about their relationship was overshadowed by their pasts and the deaths or near-death experiences their family members and friends had while only showing a few snippets of the fun times Bobby and Athena have shared. Why weren’t they celebrated more during the season? Will things be different in season 7? Hopefully their relationship will be depicted differently next season because as mentioned in the introduction, a lot of viewers watch the show to see Bobby and Athena therefore, if their storylines and screentime don’t improve, it could lead to the show losing more viewers.

These are my criticisms regarding the Bathena “ship” and the individual characters included in the Grant-Nash family and “Constructive Criticisms” #11 will be posted on Monday, July 31, 2023.

I have a total of 15 CANON “Constructive Criticisms” (5 remaining) and my goal is to have all of them posted by Monday, August 28, 2023. The topics are being posted in a specific order that begins with the overall issues for season 6 so they can be referenced within the posts about individual characters and ships that will follow them.

#9-1-1 Season 6 - CANON Constructive Criticisms #Canonically Observing 9-1-1 Speaks #911 fox #911 on fox #911onfox #911 abc #911 on abc #911 meta #911 season 6 speculation #911 season 6 #911 s6 #911 #bathena #bobby nash #athena grant #may grant #Constructive Criticisms Part 10 #118 firefam

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