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sarahowritesostucky · 1 day

Text

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 7129

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, mental illness, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

12. Pôt de crème

Mary

That day really winds up feeling like the epitome of a terrible horrible, no good, very bad fucking day for Mary, and it starts early. Leaving the apartment for work after the massage cocktease from Hell is odd.

She’s left feeling happy to have helped, but also hurt, disappointed, and mad at herself, of all things. That was the perfect opportunity for her to make a move and finally force those two to tell her that they’re not interested! (Though a small and pitifully thirsty part of her brain still exists in the fantasy land where they’d take her up on it.) But she’d chickened out and kept it strictly platonic. Ugh. Lame.

She manages not to think about it for a while, as she gets into the rhythm of her day at the bakery. She still can’t shake the cloud of anxiety and irritability looming over her, though. The good old days of any lasting effects from Bucky’s drops are gone, and instead she’s left to slowly percolate a bad mood as she clocks in and figures out the best order to get her projects done for that day.

Dennis is the manager on schedule, which sucks because Mary’s never liked him, but he’s in the office for the most part, since he’s a stuck up do-nothing, and she's able to pretend that she’s alone.

No matter though. She can’t focus on anything, feels overly emotional, and almost breaks out in tears when she drops a tray of cupcakes on the floor. She manages to hold it together as she cleans up the mess, and moves onto the next task. Her list for the day now feels miserably long, and she doesn’t even enjoy decorating the base-iced babycakes that are waiting for her from yesterday. She fucks up the writing on one of them and loses her shit over something that is not worth losing her shit over. That’s the stupid thing that finally pushes her to tears, and she tosses her piping bag angrily onto the counter, what the fucking herself and feeling like she’s going crazy.

Like baseball, there’s no crying in kitchens: That’s what the walk-in’s for. So, she hides back by the dairy products until she’s able to pull herself together. She comes out shivering, not crying, and in a horrible mood.

Buttercream is next, so she gets the sugar boiling and the egg whites whisking in the forty quart. She tries to talk herself up in her head as she goes through motions of streaming in the sugar and then scaling the butter she’ll add to it once it’s whipped cool. “You’re not bad at your job,” she mumbles to herself, trying to push the threat of tears away with positive thoughts. “You’re not.”

Jesus fuck, why is she feeling like this? Nothing that bad has even happened! So she dropped some fucking cupcakes, so what? It happens. She checks her phone to see if she’s about to get her period, but that’s not it. Her focus is shit, so of course she eventually goes back to thinking about Bucky and Steve.

Today is Bucky’s day off. Mary thinks about him being in pain that morning and how his movements had been crippled by pain. … She thinks about his broad, muscled back under her hands, his warm skin, the moans of relief he’d given whenever she worked out a knot. Poor guy. Even though she hates to think of enduring it again, she has to admit to herself that she does care about Bucky, and she would endure it if he needed her help. Hell, if it’s something that’ll help him in the long run, she’ll have to do at least one or two more massage sessions to teach Steve the ropes so he can help his husband in her absence.

Bucky doesn’t want her to do it. She pouts about that, but scolds herself as soon as she realizes she’s doing so. Don’t be lame over guys who don’t want you. So Bucky and Steve just want to be gay together in peace, so what? Why is she losing her shit over the tiniest rejection like this?!

She ruminates on it while she’s at the stove stirring a massive batch of pôt de crème custard, and it occurs to her that the part she’s actually most upset about isn’t their platonic feelings for her: it’s her own lack of bravery and straightforwardness with Bucky and Steve, and how she’s become such a pathetic wallflower over the past few months.

Maybe if she’d flat out asked about a romantic relationship from the beginning, she could’ve gotten the rejection out of the way and been putting herself out there to meet someone new by now. She might’ve met a Dom at one of the Center’s socials, or at least could’ve been swiping the apps and going on dates. Getting laid.

But instead suddenly she’s turned into a shy girl (obnoxious). She hasn’t been a virgin since college, and it wasn’t like she wasn’t sleeping with whoever she could get her hands on, back before Steve and Bucky 'adopted' her. She’d been so good at it back then, saying what she meant and going for what she wanted, dragging at least one new guy back to her place to fuck every other week. Why can’t she just do something now?

Frowning, she decides that she will do something over it. The ideal would be to move back to her own place, but she can’t with the custody order in place and Dr. Linda on Bucky’s side. Gritting her teeth, she figures she’ll do the next best thing: she’ll start getting laid again. She’ll go out and meet people. She’ll go out straight after work each day. Unless he wants to physically tie her up and keep her prisoner in the apartment, Bucky can’t stop it.

She’s just got to work up the nerve to break his rules like that. Nerve which, in her current mood, seems quite out of reach. She sighs and reaches up to grab the Grand Marnier off the shelf for the pôt de crème. All she feels like doing now is going back to the apartment and crawling into bed, to be honest. She wonders if this is what actual clinical depression feels like. Maybe. Maybe worse. Sarcastically, she thinks that a shot or three of alcohol would certainly help, and then she pauses with her hand on the bottle as she’s about to pour it into the custard. Oh.

She’s not drinking anymore.

Fuck. That’s it. She’s hardly ever had sex sober in her life. Barely ever even flirted without some liquid courage in her system. That’s what’s changed. She always used pick up guys in bars, or at other places where everybody had a drink in their hand. And at home at her apartment, whenever the creeping buildup of anxiety and irritability would get to be too much, a couple vodka sprites were what made her feel better. She pauses in her stirring. Thinking about it now is making her almost physically yearn for a stiff one.

She looks down at the bottle in her hand, shame coloring her cheeks as soon as she has the thought. Even at her worst, Mary never drank on the job. She grimaces at herself and hurriedly sets the bottle back on the shelf before temptation can win out, then turns back to the stove.

“Fuck!” she hisses, scrambling to turn off the burner when she’s met with the sight of lumpy pôt de crème. She whisks it frantically to try and stop it, but it’s too far gone: The eggs in the custard have curdled. She throws her head back and groans. “God dammit!”

She makes a last ditch effort to save it by dumping the lumpy custard into a Cambro, tossing in a few ice cubes, and furiously burr-mixing it with the immersion blender, but it’s no use. She’s irrevocably ruined a massive batch of dessert (with the expensive liqueur already added in it, to boot) because she wasn’t paying attention. Growling, she dumps it all in the trash bin before Dennis can happen to walk by and see, then stomps back to the fridge to grab ingredients to rescale the recipe.

She lines up sheet trays of paper dessert cups on her workstation table for decanting … and takes one cup with her over to the stove while she stands there and cooks the second batch of pôt de crème.

It’s when she’s stirring and pouring that second measure of liqueur into the pot that she gives into impulse and pours a shot’s worth of the stuff into the extra paper baking cup—that she now realizes she brought over for this express purpose in the first place. She gives the empty kitchen a furtive glance, and tosses it back. “Ugh.”

Orange flavored liqueur? Really Mary?

She hears the rebuke in Bucky’s voice in her head, which is annoying and drives her to repeat the action once she’s drank the first. She tosses back a second. Gross gross gross. She checks the label on the bottle: 40% ABV. Good. She puts the bottle back on the shelf, pissed about feeling so uncomfortable in her skin that she stubbornly refuses to feel guilty over her actions, and finishes cooking the custard to a smooth nappé this time. Perfect.

She pours the custard over the white chocolate and lets it melt. She burr mixes it, strains it. Ready to go.

Later maybe she’ll feel bad about it, but as she grabs the sauce gun and begins the tedious process of dispensing the pôt de crème into the cups, that warm, pleasant feeling of a buzz starts to creep up on her, and she finds herself in a better mood before long. Things seem brighter, and she finally feels like she can breathe. She’s able to think about Bucky and Steve without feeling like a piece of dirt, and even laughs about the stupid massage episode. Two shots of liqueur on an empty stomach makes that seem like not such a big deal, and she simply decides that she won’t volunteer for massage duty anymore, because obviously it was a mistake. She’d liked helping Bucky to feel better when he was hurting, but not enough to make up for having to endure the very non-platonic swooping in her belly she’d gotten from having her hands all over his naked back. Fuck, is he ever hot. Both of them are. They’re bodies are just, guh.

She doesn’t need that frustration in her life.

She’s got a moderate buzz by the time she finishes her next project, and she cheerfully bops onto her next task.

It’s such a relief, not having that heavy feeling of anxiousness and general uncomfortability weighing down on her. Jeez, she hadn’t even realized how bad it had gotten. She forgot how much a few drinks helped. She gets giddy and chases that feeling, quickly sneaking another quick shot (this time of the rum they use on the rum buns, though, because it really was gross that she drank that liqueur straight—blecgh). What’s one more quick drink in between batches of cakes going in and out of the oven, after all?

… And then just once more, after she’s added the last chunk of the butter into the whipping forty quart. By the time she’s got everything set out to basic-build the next bunch of babycakes, she’s in a great mood. It’s almost as good as the subspace had been, back in the beginning with Bucky. She hums songs under her breath and moves around the kitchen assembling and icing the cute little five inch cakes that are her specialty.

It’s her pet project, something she’d suggested to Mr. Flaherty, the bakery’s owner. Not only are they friggin’ adorable, they’re easy to bang out a bunch of them all at once, small enough to cost pennies to make, and big enough and cute enough that people are willing to pay way more than the cakes are actually worth. Mary knows for a fact that they have the highest profit margin of any item in the bakery. She’s privately very proud that Mr. Flaherty had listened to her idea and decided it was something they would offer on the regular menu. Dennis had underplayed it—like the jealous killjoy he is.

Mary celebrates her good mood with another teeny sip of booze and then spends extra effort on smooth-icing in all the best pastel colors, thinking that today is a great day and can only get better from here.

Wrongo bongo.

“What the heck!”

“Oh, shit,” Mary hisses, running into the back when she smells burning bread and hears her manager’s voice calling out. Sure enough, Dennis is there, oven mitts in hand, angrily sliding a tray of blackened croissants onto the speed rack, and going back to the oven to pull out another. There are six trays of ruined croissants, and Mary grimaces “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

Dennis ignores her until he’s finished pulling out all the wasted product, and when he’s done, he lays her out. “This isn’t fucking Panera Bread,” he tells her angrily. “We’re a mom and pop bakery. Profit margins are slimmer than slim!”

Mary cringes. “I know, I know, I’m sor—”

“How much money did you just cost us?” Dennis demands, hands on his hips. “Huh? Tell me. I want you to stand there and think about it and tell me how much.”

Mary stares for a second, then realizes that he’s dead serious. Humiliated, she licks her lips and does the math: 6 trays of 10 = 60 croissants, 60 x $4 per ganache-stuffed croissant, minus about $30 ingredients cost. It takes her longer than it normally would, since she’s been drinking, but when she’s worked it out she winces and looks down in shame. “I dunno … A little over two hundred, I guess.”

Dennis flails his hand holding the oven mitts. “We can’t afford to have you ruining hundreds of dollars of profit, Mary. Get it together.”

She frowns, indignant. “I was up front helping a customer,” she defends.

“That’s what the oven timer is for.”

“I know that. I just forgot to—”

“You’re forgetting a lot of things lately.” He gestures angrily at the trays of blackened croissants. “I’ve tried to help you. I gave you time off to get your shit together when your boyfriend came in and told me about your mental condition.”

Mary grits her teeth. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Dom, dungeon master, whatever,” he says nastily. “I don’t know what you people get up to. But I’ve given you a lot of chances cause you’re apparently dealing with some shit. I can’t keep doing that forever if you keep costing this place money.”

Mary glares and steps up closer, getting in his face. “Maybe if you actually hired someone for front of house on Tuesdays, then I could actually focus back here!”

Dennis’ expression changes suddenly. He narrows his eyes at her and leans in closer. “What’s that?” he says, deathly quiet.

Mary huffs. “I said, you need to hire more—”

“You smell like alcohol.”

Everything comes to a stop as his words hit her like a bucket of ice water. Oh, fuck. She takes a step back, shaking her head. “What?” She scowls like that’s absurd, about to say something to deny it, but the words die on her lips when she sees the way Dennis is looking at her. He knows. Mary feels sick.

Dennis’ expression darkens further. “Are you drinking on the job, Mary?”

“No!” (what’s she supposed to do, tell the truth?)

“I don’t believe you.” He squares his jaw. “I’m calling Mr. Flaherty in.”

“What?!”

“Two hundred dollars of wasted product? Drinking on the job?” He’s already walking over to the wall phone and picking it up. When he looks back in Mary’s direction, there’s a gleam in his eyes. Fucker never did like her. “I told him I thought you had a drinking problem, and now I have proof.”

“You don’t have shit!” Mary cries. She’s actually panicking though, as she watches him dial the number to call the bakery’s owner.

“I have the security cameras,” he says, looking vindictively pleased. “We’ll check them. You’re gonna be out of a job.”

Mary stands there and watches in horrified disbelief as Dennis calls Mr. Flaherty and tells him that he needs to have a word with him in person that afternoon about “something serious.” He doesn’t give details, and when the call ends and he hangs up the phone, he shoots Mary a smug look. “I’ll work the register so that you can finish your shift back here and not make any more stupid mistakes.”

Mary scoffs, panicked and angry and sick to her stomach with what’s happening. “No way! Forget it!” She hurries to untie her apron and yank it off. “I’m not gonna stick around here for you to lie and get me fired. I quit!” She tosses the apron to the floor and stalks back to grab her purse from the office, too panicked to think straight. She cannot stay there and see poor old Mr. Flaherty watch video evidence of her drinking on the job. He’s always been so nice to her, and now she’s betrayed him and fucked everything up. She’s just ruined the only job she’s ever liked.

Dennis is getting less and less angry and more gleeful about it. “Bye bye, Hot-Mess Mary,” he sneers. “Don’t bother coming back. We’ll mail you your last paycheck. Have a nice life.”

“Fuck you, Dennis!” she yells, though her voice comes out choked with emotion. She shoulders her purse and whirls around before there’s any chance of him seeing her tearing up. She hurries for the back door that leads out to the alleyway. It's heavy and metal, and she shoulders it open with a grunt, stepping out. “Jealous prick,” she says, only to hear him laugh meanly and call out from inside,

“Jealous? Of you? An alcoholic pervert?”

The heavy back door slams shut before she can answer, and there’s no handle on the outside. It takes approximately two point five seconds for her to burst out crying.

Steve

“Fuck, Honey, ugh.”

Steve digs his fingers into the meat of Bucky’s ass and shuffles closer on his knees. On the couch (whose cushions have since been put back into place), Bucky parts his legs even farther and Steve takes him in deeper. His other hand keeps nudging the toy that’s buried in his husband’s ass—the glass p-spot toy, because unlike Steve, Bucky loves firmness but hates vibrations up there. Steve’s been gently fucking him with it, nudging it against his prostate again and again, having found the perfect angle. Every grunt and moan that he gets out of Bucky has his own cock throbbing in his underwear, but he isn’t touching himself, is devoting every ounce of his attention to resolving the “problem” that Mary’s massage left Bucky with.

“You know,” Bucky says, voice a little breathy as he speaks between groans. “I’m never gonna—nnh. Never gonna look at this couch again without thinking of her oily hands sliding all over my back."

Steve hums in agreement, the sound reverberating around Bucky’s cock and pulling another hiss from him. Steve pops off to glance upwards. “Me too,” he says, and they share a look of heated yearning, before he shakes it off and sinks his mouth back down on Bucky’s throbbing length.

He’s been dragging it out, having fun with it. But now it’s gotten sloppy and wet, and Steve’s jaw aches, and he really wants to make Bucky come so he can finally get a hand around himself. He hums around Bucky’s cock once more while he still can, then takes him all the way to the hilt, nose pressing into his pubes and throat spasming around the head.

“Oh! shit …” Bucky’s fingers dig sharply into Steve's scalp. His hips stutter up of their own accord, making Steve choke a little, but he soldiers on. Bucky makes a helpless little sound that is very close to a whimper, and which has Steve’s belly pulling tight with arousal. “Close, Baby. So close, fuck …”

Steve purposefully chokes himself, letting it hit the back of his throat again and again, swallowing compulsively. It gets him what he wants, which is for this blowjob to be over.

Above him, Bucky slumps further on the cushions and groans long and low, the tortured moan letting Steve know that he’s cresting that edge. He pulls back to suck hard on the head, abandoning the toy to the clenching of Bucky's ass so he can stroke him through it. He hums happily when he feels the pulse of Bucky’s cock on his tongue, the hot spurts of cum, the clenching of thighs muscle beneath his hands. Fuck, it’s sexy.

Having been with the man for so long, Steve knows exactly when to ease off. He gentles his touch and stops sucking. He waits with Bucky’s softening cock in his mouth, not pulling off until the hands that were gripping him desperately a moment ago smooth gently through his hair in gratitude. Steve pulls off, keeps his mouth closed, doesn’t swallow. Bucky’s flushed and wet cock falls onto his belly, gorgeously swollen and spent. Steve’s staring at it covetously when Bucky gives a long, shaky exhale from above, tapering off in a satisfied groan. “Stevie,” he sighs happily. “Mmhh. Fuck. C’mere.”

He pulls Steve up onto the couch, not satisfied until he’s got him in his lap. Steve straddles him and smiles with his mouth still closed. “Good boy,” Bucky whispers, reaching up to gently cup the front of his neck. His eyes are heavy lidded but still heated as he strokes his thumb over Steve’s windpipe. He loves to watch Steve swallow his cum, and that’s why Steve hasn’t yet, is waiting for his signal. He’s very good at making a show of it: dragging it out, eye contact, showing the load on his tongue if Bucky wants, swallowing slowly and obviously; really turning it into an act of obedience for his husband.

He’s surprised when Bucky doesn’t tell him to swallow. “Hold it,” he says instead, confusing Steve. Bucky grins devilishly and reaches down between their bodies. He returns with the glass toy in hand and holds it up. “Get it wet," he purrs.

And Steve’s entire body goes stiff as he re-remembers that he’s married to the filthiest man on the fucking planet.

Steve must be filthy too, though, because a massive wave of arousal sweeps through him as Bucky holds up the toy with a dirty smirk and commands him to wet it up—with his own cum. Steve almost feels lightheaded from how all the blood rushes to his cock and away from his brain. He groans through his mouthful of cum, and Bucky’s lips curl. “You heard me. Do it.”

He looks down and aims, letting his mouthful of cum slide out onto the tip of the glass toy that was buried in Bucky’s ass not ten seconds ago. It’s obscene, filthy, and that only makes his belly swirl that much harder as Bucky uses his flesh fingertips to spread the cum around lazily, coating the clear glass with his own sticky cum. “Good,” he praises, still smirking at Steve through half lidded eyes. “Now, put it in.”

Steve groans and takes the toy from him. They haven’t done prep, but it’s a small, slim toy, and he knows it’ll slide in easily with the help of his husband’s own jizz slicking the way. Jesus Christ. He starts to move, intending to take his underwear off, but Bucky stops him with an amused shake of the head.

“Uh uh. Just pull ‘em aside and put it in. Keep your briefs on.”

“Fuck.” He listens, reaching back to pull his underwear to the side and press the head of the toy to his rim. He works it inside, eyelids fluttering when it pops past the muscle and glides in smoothly. “Oh,” he sighs, letting his underwear snap back and shifting his hips to feel the stretch against his rim, the heavy curve of it settling into place against his prostate. “Fuck.” He starts rocking his hips in tiny motions to work it inside him, barely-there sounds of pleasure escaping him each time it does. “Ooh, Buck,” he breathes. He doesn’t realize his eyes have closed until Bucky startles him with a kiss, growling and tugging him in close by the back of the neck. “Mmph!”

Their lips clash in a harsh, demanding kiss, Bucky taking possession of it and gripping the back of his neck hard to keep him still. Steve pants and whines and takes it, hips juddering forward to grind his aching dick against Bucky’s stomach. Each dominating swipe of Bucky’s tongue into his mouth makes him ache for more. “Buck,” he pants, right against Bucky's lips, where he's shamelessly kissing his messy mouth. “Baby, oh, please?”

“Yeah?” His hand cups Steve from over his underwear, squeezing the line of his erection. “You’re so fucking amazing, you know that?” he husks, dipping under the waistband to curl his fingers around him. “Make me feel so good, fuck, I love you.”

Steve moans and rests his forehead on Bucky's naked shoulder, looking down to watch. He whines when he sees that it’s the metal hand—which he already knew by feel, but the sight of it is a whole other level of hot. Steve thinks of it like a knife kink, or a gun kink: seeing something so steely and dangerous that close to him, wrapped around and working him, giving him pleasure. The sight of all that black and gold metal on his cock makes his belly clamp down hard in need. “Oh fuck, ” he breathes. “Oh. Fuck.”

“Yeah, Sweetheart.” Bucky kisses his ear and breathes hotly against him as he pumps and twists his hand, going tight just the way Steve likes. It’s messy from the precum that Steve’s dick keeps blurting out, and he whimpers at the soft, wet sounds it begins making. “I know,” Bucky whispers. “You get so worked up. I love that. Big fat cock n’ balls, but you wet up for me just like a girl, dontcha' Sweetheart? Bet you started right down there on your knees, too. Hard and leaking just from sucking me off, making a mess in your panties.” Steve groans in embarrassment and Bucky snickers. “Aw, don’t try to deny it. I saw that boner when you crawled on up here. Saw the wet spot on those tighty-whities, too.” Playfully, he snaps the elastic band of Steve’s underwear against his hip. “You get off on it. Pretty little cocksucker.”

Steve humps into his fist, which between how slick it is and how tightly Bucky’s gripping him, feels fucking amazing. “Nnuhh,” he moans, “I get off on you. You were so—fuck, mmph—so hard when she left. I f-felt bad for you.”

Bucky growls and strokes faster. “Don’t be patronizing, baby. I saw the state she left you in. At least I had the excuse of getting rubbed down.” He snickers lowly and presses another kiss to Steve's ear. “She wasn’t even touching you.”

“Fuck,” Steve says tightly, as he recalls the image of Mary sitting on the bed with Bucky, rubbing his naked back with her oiled hands—Her tiny oiled hands, that would look so good on their cocks. Fuck, he’s going to come embarrassingly fast. He pants, trying to get words out. “I—nuhh, oh. I wanted to—mmm …”

Bucky bites his earlobe. “Wanted to what? Tell me.”

“Wanted to watch her give you a happy ending,” he grunts. “Tell you to turn over n’ watch her jerk you off.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky asks, voice dark and interested. “Mm. You miss women.” Steve whines and nods in lieu of an answer. “Well maybe we’ll get a girl sometime. A special treat. Have a threesome like we used to. Take turns fucking her. Maybe I’ll even have her fuck you with a strap-on.” Steve moans and kisses him dirtily, and Bucky reciprocates, hand leaving Steve’s cock so he can hold his jaw with both hands.

Steve whimpers and his hips keep moving, chasing the friction that isn’t there anymore. “Buck,” he breaks off from the kiss to beg. “Please. Please. I need to cum.”

Bucky smiles and takes pity on him, but he switches up his hands, using the flesh one on Steve’s cock so that he can squeeze even more, really wringing up hard and thumbing under the head on every stroke. Steve sobs and sits back, bracing on Bucky’s shoulders and watching himself fuck into clench of his fist. “Yeah,” he moans. “Oh, God. Fuck yeah, just like that.”

“How’s that toy feel?” Bucky reaches his other hand underneath and taps against the glass toy’s base a few times— ‘tap, tap, tap,’ —humming in satisfaction when Steve cries out and ruts desperately into his fist. “Ooh,” he goads. “It feels that good, huh?” Tap, tap, tap. “It that gonna make you cum?”

“Nnnh.” Steve nods tightly, hips working hard. “Yeah, oh. Yeah. M’gonna. Ohgn…””

His balls draw up tight and his cock jerks when Bucky takes hold of the toy’s base and starts slowly pulling it out. That feeling against his rim is what does it, pushing him over the edge and making the pleasure coalesce and snap.

He cries out sharply as he shoots, his body straining and hips pulsing, ribbons of white cum striping over Bucky’s naked stomach, one after another.

“Fuck, Honey. So beautiful. Fuck that’s a lot. Fuck. Lookit’ you, big boy.”

His cooing praise drags it out longer, and by the time Steve’s dick is spent and softening again, he’s collapsed forward against Bucky, mess of cum between them be damned. He rests his head on his shoulder and hugs him while he recovers. “Fuck,” pants, closing his eyes and enjoying the sheer relief of it all. “That was good. I needed that.”

Bucky hums and rubs his back. “Me too.”

When they finally peel themselves off each other, they’re faced with two wet, spent dicks, and the mess of cum that did not magically disappear just because Steve wanted it to. He sighs and climbs off the couch.

“Shower,” Bucky decides, and goes into the bathroom with Steve following behind. He starts the water running and shucks his joggers that he'd only just pulled back up. “Feel like we were just doin’ this,” he complains.

“That’s cause we were.” Steve pads over and stands against him, leaning in, chest to chest.

Bucky leans against the wall and wraps his arms around Steve’s lower back while they wait for the water to warm up. “Do you really want a girl?” he asks. “Like we used to do?"

Steve sighs and presses his forehead into Bucky’s chest. His first inclination is to say yes. They used to sleep with men and women, have threesomes a few times a year, for fun. They’d only stopped because they’d mutually fallen into contentment with married life. But Steve realizes it’s the way Bucky’s framed it: does he want to have threesomes again. With a girl. And the answer is no. Steve doesn’t want to have 'a threesome' anymore, with 'a girl', or 'a guy'. He doesn’t want anything casual. He says as much, and groans into Bucky’s skin. “I just want her,” he says. “I want it to be serious, and I want it with her.”

Bucky strokes his back, not saying anything for a long minute. “Yeah,” he eventually agrees. “Me too.”

Steve makes a mournful sound in his throat. “Can’t we try? Maybe ask her out on a date? She might come around if she doesn’t feel like we’re just trying to jump her bones straight away, y’know? We’ve never really had that time with her. It went straight from ‘how do you do’ to moving her in here with us.” Bucky’s chest rises and falls with a deep inhale, and his hands have stopped moving on Steve’s back, which is how Steve knows he's really thinking about it. “Buck?” he tries. “C’mon. Let’s just give it a shot. Linda said she needs sex anyways, and I know you don’t like the idea of her with another man.”

Against him, bucky growls grumpily.

“Just one more try,” Steve pleads. “Let’s just tell her upfront we have feelings for her and that we’d like to court her.”

Bucky snorts. "'Court’?”

Steve whaps him and pulls his head back. “You know what I mean. Nice stuff. Take her out, buy her flowers.”

“I know what you mean.”

They stare in each other's eyes as Steve reaches over to feel the shower water. It's warm. “It’ll be her choice," he says. "We won’t be bossy.”

“Kind of hard not to be bossy when she thrives on that.”

Steve gives him a look. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Bucky sighs. “Yeah I know what you mean.” He pulls the curtain and goes to step into the shower, but Steve stops him from behind with a hand on his arm—his left one. “And this,” he says, looking at him with authority. “Let me take this off. And you keep it it off around the house like you used to do.” He watches the brief reluctance that plays out on Bucky’s face, but is relieved when his husband doesn’t turn it into a fight. “Thank you, babe,” he says, taking the arm off and setting it out on their bed before returning to the bathroom. Bucky’s in the shower, so he steps in and stands with him under the spray. He wraps his arms around Bucky from behind, letting his left hand drag up over his stomach and chest, up to the anchor site where it meets his pec. “You can be a good Dom without it, you know,” he murmurs.

“... I know. It was silly.”

He kisses Bucky’s shoulder. “Not silly. I love you.” In his arms, Bucky’s body bleeds all its tension and he lets a little bit of his weight come back through Steve, who kisses his neck again. “Tonight?” he asks, knowing that Bucky will know what he means.

Bucky nods. “Tonight.”

Bucky

“A bar?!”

"Yeah. Leave me alone."

Bucky stares helplessly as Mary kicks off her shoes and walks (stumbles, is more like it) through the apartment and back towards her bedroom. The conversation they've just had was short and completely non-productive, other than that it's got Bucky feeling like he's on the verge of blowing up. “Mare, stop! Come back here.”

She throws him the finger over her shoulder and pushes into her bedroom, shutting the door harshly behind her. Bucky growls and starts for the hallway, but Steve stops him with a hand to his shoulder, pulling him back. “Hang on, Babe.”

“She’s drunk!” Bucky hisses, turning furious eyes to Steve. “Been missing for hours and now this?! How did she even get it?”

“I know, I know.”

Bucky snarls, mad at Steve for being so fucking calm. “Did you give her her ID back?!”

“No! Don’t be stupid, babe.”

His eyes cut over, sharp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve looks like he’s trying not to roll his eyes. “She’s thirty Hon. I’m sure there are plenty of bartenders who’d serve her without checking.”

“Well that’s just, just …” Bucky sputters, struggling to find the words. “There have to be consequences!” He starts for the hall again but Steve grabs him and pulls him back and into a restraining hug. Bucky kind of wants to hit him. “Steve!”

“Shh,” Steve says. “Sh sh, just hang on a second. Take a deep breath.” He holds him tightly, rubbing his back and nosing at his neck, and Bucky realizes that Steve is employing some of the things he’s learned at the CDP, trying to calm him down.

He blinks, noticing how hot his face feels, how fast his pulse is thrumming underneath his skin. He exhales shakily, feeling bad. “Fuck. I'm ..."

"Yeah."

"Sorry.”

“S’okay,” Steve whispers. “Maybe today’s not the best day, after all.”

Bucky’s eyes flick over in the direction of the kitchen table. “Better get rid of those, then,” he grunts, referring to the flowers Steve had picked up at the bodega for Mary.

“I will. And we’ll figure this out, find out what happened, and talk to her another day, okay? We'll get new flowers.”

“No, not okay,” Bucky insists, his anxiety ratcheting up again as he thinks of the state Mary just came home in. “We need to deal with her.”

Steve pulls back and meets his eyes, and Bucky feels like an asshole all over again. “What do you need?” Steve asks quietly.

Bucky grits his teeth. To spank the ever loving shit outta that girl, he thinks but doesn’t say. He knows better than that, even on the verge of an episode, he can tell that he’s not being logical. He closes his eyes and tries to take deep breaths, pulls away from Steve because he’s embarrassed. “Nothin’.”

“Hey, it’s okay to need—”

“It’s not,” Bucky snaps, walking over to the couch and dumping himself onto it. He feels kind of sick—likely his blood pressure making him nauseous. “How am I supposed to be a good Dom for her when I can’t even keep myself in check? Christ.” He shoves his face into his hand. “I’m supposed to be better than this.”

Steve takes a minute, and when he approaches Bucky it’s with a gentle, careful expression that Bucky hates. “Babe, you know that makes no sense, right?” Bucky just grunts and Steve says, “That's like a diabetic saying they should have better willpower to control their insulin levels.”

Bucky glares at him for the trite comparison, wants to snap at his husband to stop quoting CDP literature at him. But that’d be nasty, and he bites his tongue. “No,” he grunts.

“You got told by Linda that you’re not giving her enough, not doing enough to meet her needs, and it’s been days since you really went up. You think I can't see that her drops aren't doing it for you now? You're too in tune with her. You both need more. And I should’ve seen this coming.” Steve sinks down to the carpet in front of him and kneels there reaching to rub his palms over the tops of Bucky’s thighs.

Bucky scowls at the gesture. “That’s not your job,” he says. “You shouldn’t have to—”

“I’m your husband,” Steve says, almost authoritatively, even though he’s keeping his voice soft and calm like the Center professionals taught him. “It’s my job to take care of you, always.” He rubs Bucky’s tense muscles from over his jeans. “Babe, c’mon. Let me help you.”

Bucky closes his eyes and counts to twenty. When he opens them again, Steve’s still there, waiting. Bucky reaches out and cups his face.

Steve presses into it. “Sir,” he whispers, eyes lowered.

Bucky feels so guilty at that, even as he can feel his blood pressure lowering from the small display of subservience. “I love you,” he says.

Steve smiles softly and squeezes his hands over Bucky’s knees. “I know.”

Bucky sighs. He releases Steve and slumps back into the couch cushions, feeling like the biggest burden. “I should call and book someone,” he says. Steve’s not a submissive and he shouldn’t have to play that role just to fulfill Bucky’s medical needs. Linda’s helped him come to terms with that over the years. Steve, the self-sacrificing punk, would do it anyway, but Bucky knows when he needs to ask for outside help. “Nathan can usually take me last minute.” Steve nods and stands up, brings Bucky his cellphone to make the call. He sits on the couch with him and pulls Bucky to lie with his head in his lap as he calls the Center and makes an appointment. “Okay,” he says when he’s done, tossing the phone aside. “Six-thirty. He’s coming in after hours just for little old me.”

“Good.”

Bucky’s eyes cut sideways towards the bedroom hallway. Their plans for the night are ruined, and if he didn’t have himself to deal with right now, he’d be hard pressed to keep himself from going in Mary’s room, trying to scold her. “What about her?” he asks glumly.

Steve snorts. “Little miss drunk? She’s probably passed out. Don’t worry about it. Besides,” he runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Can’t reason with someone when they’re like that. Discussion, punishment, scening? That’ll all have to wait until tomorrow, at least.”

Bucky makes a face and tries not to let his dominance start spiraling out of control again. “She’s going to AA.” Steve hums, and when Bucky looks up and catches his expression, Steve looks like he’s worrying for his safety. “Tomorrow,” he insists, obstinate. “I’ll take the day from work if I have to. Drag her there myself.”

“Maybe no dragging."

"Steve,"

"Linda first,” Steve suggests gently. “That’s a better first step, hm?” Bucky grunts, grumpy about it but knowing Steve’s right. He nods, and Steve runs kind hands through his hair. “Okay, good. That’s settled. Don’t have to think about it any more tonight.” He bends down and pecks a quick kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “So, six-thirty?”

“Mmhm.”

“An hour. … You want to help me get dinner started before you go?”

Bucky nods, turning and pressing his face into Steve’s lower belly, rubbing his cheek against his soft tee shirt and warm body. “Love you,” he mumbles, feeling sheepish from his outburst before. He knows it’s not his fault, but he still feels inordinately grateful to have Steve supporting him. “You ever get tired of all this drama?”

“Shuddup,” Steve chuckles.

“Mm. You should leave me for a normie." He’s got his eyes closed against Steve’s stomach, but feels the reproachful pinch on his neck. “Ow.”

“If I’d wanted a normie, I’d have married a normie,” Steve scolds. He pets over where he pinched. “And apparently I’m a glutton for punishment, cause I’ve got my sights set on another one’a you jerks. This is just a setback. We’ll let her sober up, you’ll go see the Pro, and then when everybody’s in the right frame of mind, we’ll deal with it. Now come on.” He pats Bucky on the back. “Mary's not the only one who can navigate a kitchen. I’ve got a recipe for chicken piccata we can try.”

Bucky sighs. He’s so fucking in love with Steve, and he’s never got any good way to say it. There's nothing. Wedding vows barely scratched the surface. “Okay,” he says, because what else is there to do but agree? Like most times, Bucky knows his more level-headed husband is right about this.

They get up and go into the kitchen to start pulling the ingredients for chicken piccata, and Bucky is able to keep his mouth shut for a full five minutes before his anxiety ratchets back up and he returns to haranguing Steve about confronting Mary—possibly later that night.

*Next chapter starts out IMMEDIATELY with the big confrontation and beginning of their romantic and sexual relationship, so I promise y'all won't have to wait much longer!

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#bucky barnes #steve rogers #bucky barnes x ofc #steve rogers x ofc #stucky #stucky x ofc #steve rogers x bucky barnes #mcu #marvel #d/s au #dom Bucky Barnes #dom/sub #mental health #bakery au

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all-buttond-up · 2 years

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Pages 16-18 [chapter one]

#CHAPTER ONE IS OVERRRRR #AND NOW I WILL BE TAKING A LITTLE BREAK #TO LIKE START UP PRODUCTION ON CHAPTER TWO #CAUSE I HAVE TO MAKE ASSETS AND BGS AND LIKE A FINAL STORYBOARD AND STUFFF #IDK HOE LONG IT WILL TAKE BUT I WILL BE POSTING THE SILLY DOODLE PAGES TILL I'M READY TO START UP CHAPYER 2 #CHAPTER 2 IS GONNA BE AN IMPORTANT ONE I WANNA MAKE IT AS COOL AS POSSIBLE #SO YEA #ANYWAY TELL ME YOUR OPINIONS ON THIS AND HOW I CAN MAKE IT BETTER AND STUFF #all button'd up #object shows #osc #web comic #chapter one #also no I did not draw the snow bg that is a stock image

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floral-hex · 11 months

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no see I WILL write something eventually, I haven’t been putting it off, I’ve just been uhhhhh cultivating the story for a couple of years yeah yeah

#stop cultivating and start harvesting idiot #no but I CAN’T write until I have at least a dozen books of story ready to go #how am I supposed to foreshadow anything if I don’t know what’s going to happen 500 chapters later???#how am I supposed to write a character even a minor one if I don’t have their entire future backstory and parent’s backstory planned out??#I can’t worldbuild unless I plan out all of the major cities including their political systems religions economy food production trade etc #also I just don’t want to sit down and write #so I just sit an worldbuild in my head all day #I have been for like two years now this is the longest I’ve seriously ‘worked on’ (ie daydreamed) a story in my head #and it’s really cliche and has a billion well worn tropes but it’s like… this is my comfort world building #and by comfort I mean really kinda fucked up world but whatever every edgelord or loser with an over active imagination has one #I need to read more people’s uhh… like.. not published authors… like tumblr users writing or whatev. like what is it called ao3? that stuff #not to be negative to them or anything but to like hype myself up #like see you don’t have to be a big named author to put your mind out there #I’m just kind of babbling here #suddenly reminded that a book I like John Dies At The End was originally released chapter by chapter online #so like… you don’t have to be like ‘this has to be put out whole in one book to be real writing’#I just need to write for fun but im a very shy boy 🥺#im fucking 34 im not a little boy I have to remind myself #anyway… if any mutuals read this much and you write online you should message me something you have that you like so I can read it #and I’ll be extra sweet and supportive and happy bc you’ll be helping me and I’ll get to support you #or whatever. I dunno. this is dumb. I’m sorry for wasting your time! jeez!#you can ignore this #text

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desperatepleasures · 10 months

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i did overcome a major stumbling block wrt my fic earlier and now im like. well what am i supposed to do for the rest of the day? not chores, surely.

#but i like hit a mental wall productivity-wise once i figured all that shit out. like i think my brain needs a break #i did get the carpet vacuumed and maybe if im feeling up to it i'll fold the massive pile of laundry in front of me #today is my second-to-last day of my vacation :((((#im kinda tempted to play a video game except video games only go one of two ways for me #1) i give up almost immediately. or 2) it sucks 7hrs of my time away in one go #anyway im proud tho i forced myself to think of the non-smut parts of my fic and now i have it mostly figured out #chapter 3 is still a hot mess tho i need to sort that out and a few other things before i can start writing it in earnest #fic tag

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artufex · 5 days

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I love being an artist! Drawing is so fun, especially comics!

Here's a comic WIP

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yyokkki · 5 months

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The Prefect's Laugh

Dropping this monstrosity i wrote in September 2023 because I feel like I'm never going to leave this fandom.

First Years x gn! Prefect

Warning: I haven't played chapter 7, Prefect has a distinct personality so it doesn't really count as x reader but some people could find them relatable, a jumble of canon and non-canon events, mild cursing?

Divider by @saradika

It wasn’t that the Prefect never smiled. In fact, they may have smiled a little too often. It could be as simple as a wordless greeting or as complex as a way to cope with fear, but there was one particular expression the first years saw only once in a blue moon. The smile that comes alongside a fit of laughter.

The first time Ace saw the infamous Ramshackle Prefect smile like that was not too long after they had first met. It was a day or two after Heartslabyul’s housewarden overblotted and they’d finally gotten the rose garden in order.

While chatting about that day’s happenings, a rather embarrassing detail was brought up (embarrassing to Ace at least).

“Can we, like, NOT talk about this anymore??”

“I mean, the housewarden was really going in on you and you just stood there and took it but as soon as he said those things about the Prefect’s parents you didn’t even hold back. It’s weirdly sweet of him, right?”

Deuce looked towards the Prefect for their input to which they replied by fervently nodding their head.

“Wow, who could’ve guessed that maybe THE Ace Trappola cares about his friends??”

“…Honestly would’ve believed you more if you said you did it just to prove you could.”

“Pfft-“

Ace’s head whipped to the side, and he stared at the blooming smile on the Prefect’s face. Crinkled eyes, a hand in front of their mouth and slightly flushed cheeks as they tried to hold in their chuckles.

He wanted to make a snarky comment, something like, ‘I’ve been trying to make you laugh for the past two weeks and THIS Is what makes you break?’

Instead, what came out of his mouth was… Silence.

Maybe the new expression was too shocking as he just stared, five parts confusion, three parts embarrassment, two parts bashfulness. The most he could get out of them even with the most well-crafted jokes were slight smirks and yet something Deuce said without even intending to be funny made them crack.

He felt wronged.

And flustered.

…Shit, why are they kinda cute.

Going back to before the overblot, a day that Deuce personally considers more traumatising than his own housewarden’s mental breakdown.

Sorrowfully gazing upon the carnage of eggshells, whites and yolks jumbled up in the plastic bag branded with the words, Mr. S’ Mystery Shop, Deuce gave out another wistful sigh.

“I just hope those chicks can rest in peace.”

“…You know those eggs don't hatch into chickens, right?”

Shocked, flabbergasted, gobsmacked, stunned, stupefied, bowled-over; all words that could be used to describe Deuce Spade’s current state of mind.

“Wh- WHAT??? YOU’RE KIDDING.”

While Deuce was having an epiphany about the eggshell-shocking revelation, he noticed the Prefect’s slightly hunched over back and trembling frame. He was about to go comfort them when he saw their face…

And heard their laughter, ringing out like the sound of wind chimes swaying with the summer breeze, despite it being mid-September.

“YOU’RE LAUGHING???”

He looked at them with five parts feelings of betrayal, three parts despair and two parts anger. He was so offended that he immediately stormed off with the grocery bags in hand, huffing and puffing as he went on his unmerry way.

It wasn’t until later that the Prefect started feeling guilty about their reaction to the incident. It kind of felt like telling a little kid Santa wasn’t real…

They apologised, got him a book about the evolution of egg production, hugged it out and all was forgiven.

It wasn’t until much much later that Deuce Spade realised, he had only seen the Prefect laugh a handful of times, that incident taking up one of the spaces.

It had grown to become one of his favourite sounds in the world.

Jack Howl was never one for bad jokes or witty banter. Whenever he and the Prefect stood together, besides looking like a sturdy tree next to a swaying flower, they didn’t look friendly- much less like friends.

Only the two of them understood the solidarity that came with the silence. They were each others go-to when the other first years got too rowdy.

Truly the mom and dad of the group.

They would occasionally engage in conversation. Somehow when they were together, asking about each other’s day would lead to which parts of home they missed most now that they were away or embarrassing childhood memories, they hadn’t told anyone else about.

It was on a day like any other, a long while after the deep sea overblot.

Jack and the Prefect had finally started speaking to each other comfortably, yet most of their time together was spent just existing in the same room, doing their own thing.

It wasn’t awkward, at least not to the Prefect. But they had to ask just in case.

“Hey, do you ever feel like we don’t really talk when we hang out?”

“…Well, we are at the library.”

“I mean at other places too.”

Jack looked up from his notes, glancing at the Prefect with a little apprehension tracing his features.

“Why? You find it weird?”

“No, I like it a lot, just- I’m not used to it you know? Whether it’s the friends I’ve made here or my friends from back home they’ve never been the type to let the room stay quiet for over five seconds.”

They shifted slightly to cast an inquisitive glance over at him, “I can’t tell if you mind or not.”

Against his very own will, Jack’s tail started flowing slightly. So, they like being around him?

“I feel the same as you. I like our time together.”

Realising he sounded a little too soft, he immediately started backpedalling.

“Not that that means anything. I enjoy spending time with many people, doesn’t make you special.”

After finishing his piece, Jack looked back down at his notes, playing it cool. His tail, however, betrayed his feelings.

"Pfhaha, so cute, it’s like a helicopter-“

“…”

Not knowing how to defend himself, Jack got up to sit across the Ramshackle Prefect, blocking their view of his tail but giving him the perfect angle to catch all their expressions.

…It may be a little too late for him.

It all started with a godforsaken game of PG rated chicken.

Epel Felmier didn’t know whose dumb idea it was to hold a competition like this among all the first years but damn was he killin’ it.

It was almost too easy. It made him feel conflicted. Should he be happy that he’d somehow reached the finals? Or mad that it’s all cause of his face and build?? Either way, the prize was too good to pass up so he was gonna win.

So far he’d been flyin’ through with direct eye contact and a smile or two if his opponents were tougher but the final round had been filling him with a weird sense of dread, so he decided to prepare a little somethin’ special this time.

He doubted he’d have to use it though; he didn’t think very highly of the kids at NRC in this specific department…

That being until he got a text from the organiser telling him who his opponent was, that being: the Ramshackle Prefect.

Well shit.

He knew they never judged anybody, including him, for their appearance, and he’d always appreciated them for that. But in this context, it would make ‘em a tough nut to crack.

Not even mentioning, they knew his weakness when he didn’t have theirs.

He immediately pulled down their chat and started typing ferociously.

‘you. me. ramshackle lounge. after school. please?’ And send.

Might as well get a practise round in to scope the waters.

Luckily, the Prefect considered him a friend and wasn’t overly cautious, so not long after the text was sent an ‘ok’ was promptly sent back.

As soon as school let out, Epel ran into the Prefect in the mirror chamber, and they embarked towards Ramshackle dorm together.

He’d informed them of his intentions while on the way, so they got started after arriving.

First, he tried his usual techniques despite knowing they wouldn’t work. As expected, the Prefect didn’t so much as flinch.

Then they smiled warmly at him.

“Your training has been working out really well, I can see a little more definition on your arms. How do you even do it? What you lack in a natural constitution is already being made up for by your will and perseverence! It's really rare to find people like you out there.”

Shit, a genuine compliment about his mental and physical growth! That’s critical damage, how could they be so dirty, using his weakness against him?

Well, if that’s how they’re gonna play it.

Epel held up his two hands in front of him, forming a heart with his fingers.

The Prefect looked unfazed. They just smiled at him, mockingly (Epel’s perception).

Fine. He’s been left with no choice but to pull out his secret weapon.

“I-If you were a fruit, you’d be a FINEAPPLE!” Absolutely humiliating.

But also absolutely effective.

The Prefect’s mask started cracking at its seams.

“F-fineapple? I never thought I'd ever hear you say anything like that- Pfft hehe-“

He'd won, but his face was as red as his namesake as the visage of his Prefect’s tinted cheeks and choked back giggles entered his heart.

On the day of the competition, he lost miserably. The Prefect ended up passing the prize onto him, claiming they were only participating for fun, but he wasn’t really upset.

It’s for the best that no one else sees that face anyways.

Sebek Zigvolt’s sole purpose for living is to serve his young master as a reliable retainer.

In order to be reliable, he must excel in both academics and athletics. Athletics weren’t worth mentioning and he found all academic subjects easy enough.

All except for art, that is.

Making use of a medium to place your creative vision onto a surface sounded simple, yet the product had never lived up to his expectations, creating a habit of casting fire spells to burn the causes of his shame.

After yet another round of sweeping up the ashes of a canvas, he’d decided enough was enough. As unbecoming as it was, a good retainer would ask for help when he really needed it.

And he really really needed it.

His next course of action was to head over to the staff room and inquire with the Art professor for private lessons, only to be told that she had no empty slots in her schedule.

“If you don’t mind learning from another student, I recommend asking the Ramshackle Prefect to tutor you. They’re one of the best among their peers and I’ve seen them offering help to other students during my classes so I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

That magicless human? He’d only ever spoken two or three sentences to them, and he couldn’t stand the uncouth beast following them around every hour of the day, but if they truly were one of the best…

Thus started a deal he would come to regret in the future.

The Prefect wasn’t a bad teacher. They’d gotten him to start on the basics before even thinking of the elaborate portraits he’d always been hellbent on doing.

Once he’d finally grasped the techniques needed, he immediately jumped onto the opportunity to paint his young master, using one of his sacred wallet sized photos as reference. The Prefect stood beside him the whole time, pointing out mistakes and fixing any parts he deemed unsatisfactory.

The only qualm he had was that they’d protested to his idea to paint a wall sized mural, stating that it was too advanced.

With a beautiful portrait in tow, he returned and hung it up near his shrine. It couldn’t compare to his young master’s radiance but it had been the best thing he’d ever painted and he was felling pleased with himself.

An idea came over him. He wouldn’t have been able to do this without their help after all…

And that was what led to him showing up at Ramshackle outside of lesson hours with a small canvas nervously clenched in his hands.

“Human. It didn’t turn out as well without your guidance, but this is a little token of appreciation for your help these past few weeks.” He pushed the portrait into the Prefects hands, ready to accept criticism.

“…”

“Human..?”

“…Pffhehe-, I never expected you to do something so heartfelt for a ‘dumb human’. Heh, I guess I really grew on you!”

“Why are you laughing?! ARE YOU MAKING FUN OF ME??”

If he had his sword on him he would be unsheathing it right now.

“No, no, thanks man, I love it.”

The brightest and most genuine smile he’d ever seen from them blossomed.

He felt his face burn and his heartbeat rise to an abnormal degree as the Prefect’s warm gaze felt as though it were boring into him.

…I must inquire with Master Lilia what hex this human has placed upon me. Right this instant!

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oweninadaydream · 21 days

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𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞) || 𝐀.𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary : Can anybody blame a young lady for indulging in her deepest desires despite suspecting that the end is imminent?

song inspo: Fortnight by Taylor Swift (ft. Post Malone)

pairing : Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

word count : 1564 words

contains : rake!Anthony, unrequited? love, mentions of alcohol and I think that's it!

a/n : I am not the owner of the gif or the dividers ( I don't possess such talents jakjhakjshda). This will have a second part (already working on it). The next chapter of the Feel the rush series will be posted after my exams, sorry :((( Anyway, enjoy !!!

The maid finished working on (Y/N)’s makeup and she turned to look at the final product in the mirror. Her hair was perfectly held at the back of her neck with a chignon. Her grandmother’s diadem added that sophisticated touch the young woman craved. After taking in the breathtaking shade of her dress in the mirror, she started twirling and giggling around her chamber in a fairy manner. Someone could wonder, what on earth was going on inside the girl’s head? The answer was easy, yet so complicated. Lady (Y/L/N) was simply smitten with someone she knew very well, a lifelong friend that seemed interested in her as well. The problem? That man was no other than Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, the most infamous rake of the Ton.

“Your carriage is ready, miss (Y/L/N)” the butler informed the young lady.

At almost the same time, another voice echoed around the house.

“(Y/N) dear, we must go now. Lady Danbury will not let me hear the end of it if we show up late yet again. I’d also like to chat a bit with Violet, I haven’t seen her since the Featherington ball.” her mother urged her from the hall.

“I’m ready, mother” she answered loud enough for the woman to hear.

On her way to the barouch that would transport them, she realized that the burgundy dahlias that had been planted at the beginning of the summer were finally blooming with the arrival of autumn, contributing to the embellishment of the front garden. She stared at them for a second; her mind was searching for something in them but she couldn’t explain what exactly. She shook her head and she got inside the carriage.

Pacing around the ethereal gardens of Aubrey Hall, her mind couldn’t help the quick escapades to the first time they kissed. Sitting under the blossoming tree, Anthony and her were watching the sunset taking with itself the traces of winter, welcoming the first of many spring nights. The two of them were abnormally quiet, as if the sight of the moon had bewitched them both. (Y/N)'s spine could still feel violent shivers traveling down her spine when recalling the way the Viscount had lightly brushed his nose against hers before capturing her lips into a slow deep kiss. His chapped and demanding mouth stole a couple more pecks before laughing airly, rising from their hidden spot and offering his hand to help her on her feet.

That glorious evening marked the beginning of … Well, she couldn’t quite state what it was. The rest of the summer was filled with fleeting glances, embraces away from prying eyes and laughing, lots of laughing. (Y/N) had never been happier; after all, the Viscount was by her side every other night. Still, a series of dark thoughts anxiously floated around her head whenever he walked away to attend the gentlemen’s club, or whenever he tried to avoid her gaze after implying anything that had to do with love or compromise outside his mattress. Shaking her head and changing the subject usually did the trick, but for the last few days, Anthony had been acting ever so strange.

(Y/N) was absent in deep thoughts when she felt a familiar touch on her back.

“Anthony” It was not a question, but the most confident of statements.

“How did you know it was me so surely?” he said while flashing her with one of his infamous smiles.

She raised her head so her eyes stared at him directly. “I could recognize you by smell, by the prints you leave when you step on the ground on a rainy day or simply by tracing your features with only one finger, eyes completely closed. You are no mystery to me” her answer was sweet and sincere, with a touch of flirting attitude.

He went quiet, very quiet. Every bit of the playful attitude he had shown earlier had disappeared, now replaced by a hard expression. “You ignore plenty of things about me, so stop acting like my-”

“What has come over you? Your usually particular temperament has worsened these past two weeks. I do not appreciate that you talk to me in such a way” she abruptly interrupted in hopes of obtaining any kind of answer that would help her understand.

“I cannot bear with this any longer. I just feel like we have gone astray from the path we had established for us. I wish for us to be on the same page, and that implies remembering the casual nature of our… deal. Please tell me you understand” his pleading eyes accompanied the request perfectly.

“Forgive me, Anthony but I can’t wrap my head around what you are saying. I thought we were evolving, like our relationship. I know you are not the most kin on marrying or doing this as everyone else does, but after all we’ve been through, don’t you dare tell me that I have been delusionally imagining all these romantic gestures and moments”

“Mademoiselle Parisot is upstairs waiting for me. I would love to continue to discuss this in another time, unless there’s anything that must be told in this exact moment” Was his voice meant to sound confident? (Y/N) could almost feel some sorrow slipping through the cracks of his quick confession.

The astounded expression on (Y/N)’s face showed that she did in fact not comprehend any of what Anthony was rambling about. A quick sight that denoted shock and upset preceded the lady’s monologue.

“I love you, Anthony, and it’s ruining my life. I can’t keep sighing like a damsel trapped in the highest tower, as I yearn for a future that my eyes will not behold. I can’t keep masquerading my true desires, in hopes that you will choose to stay. I will not continue to morph into whatever kind of woman you fantasize about at the moment, making all those efforts for a man who could never spare a glance at me in such a way, and losing myself in the process. I always thought my worst misery would originate in a forced, loveless marriage with some old earl at best , that would little by little drain every spark of joy within me. But oh, what fool I have been. This senseless affair we have going on has come to distress me more than the worst of husbands ever could. So, go on, run straight into her arms. I do not care, not one bit, my lord. You have shattered my heart a million times throughout the years, I cannot feel it tearing apart anymore.”

His stupidly handsome face showed an evident feeling of distraughtness ; she had never raised her voice like that, nor had she ever used similar words around (or against) him. He quickly shook his head to wash away the initial shock, substituting it with his typical stoic mask.

“I have never intended to inflict any kind of pain upon yourself, my lady. But, as my dearest friend, you should have known what you were getting yourself into, (y/n).”

His casual condescending tone made her sick to the stomach and the loudest of silences entered the scene. After a minute or two, a gentle breeze interrupted (y/n)’s pondering. She then raised her head up in a defying manner. After making sure her voice wouldn't give up on her (even though her lower lip was trembling), she decided to voice her thoughts.

“That's the thing that bothers me so much about infatuation. It makes humans stupid, it makes them believe it can fix anything, even lost causes such as yourself, Viscount Bridgerton. I do not desire to disturb my lord any longer, so excuse me.” And just like that, she was heading back inside the ballroom.

The sound of her heels furiously hitting the floor with every step matched perfectly with the accelerated heartbeat of the man left stranded in the gardens. Without much thought he decided to return to the chambers where his seemingly perfect mistress awaited for him.

Not very far from the action, a slightly inebriated Benedict was laughing obnoxiously loud with Eloise and Colin. The sight of (Y/N) crossing the doors so rapidly while trying to contain her sobs and tears made the three Bridgerton siblings turn their heads to follow their friend’s trajectory.

“Should we-” Benedict was eager to console (Y/N) despite his clouded reasoning.

“I would say that she needs a moment to collect herself, Benedict. Our presence could do more harm to her already poor state.” Colin spoke.

“I will try to approach her later. I wonder what has happened… Wasn’t she talking with Anthony?” Eloise recalled perfectly how Anthony had started to converse with Miss (Y/N) earlier that night, right in front of the thriving gardenias. Everything seemed perfectly normal when she was passing by, but it was obvious that something had happened after she had gone back inside.

Eloise moved rapidly to peek around the corner, followed by the two males whose curiosity was unbearable as well. On the other side of the garden, an obviously tense Anthony was making his way to his chamber with a light emanating from the inside of the room.

Without a second thought, Benedict voiced what the three of them were thinking in that moment.

“I think that is exactly the problem, my dear sister…”

#oweninadaydream #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x fem reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine #fem reader

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muntitled · 5 months

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞

Farleigh Start x Fem!Reader

Summary: Hating Farleigh had never stopped him from using you

Content Warnings: Language, Fwb, Forbidden Relationship, Unedited, Dark Fic, Dark Humor, Coarse Jokes, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Smoking, Weaponizing!Ollie, Smut (+18), Minors DNI, Slight CNC, Breeding, Neediness, Exhibition Kink, Grinding, Extreme Degradation, Humiliation Kink, Praise Kink, Hate Sex, Hair Pulling, Rough sex, Messy Sex, Spitting, Orgasm Control, Dirty Talk, Choking

He'd definitely bully me if he was real, and I'd be in love with him

"It's not like we're actually going to eat anything. Mother only insists we all make use of the furniture," Venetia's rambling is incessant as she walks briskly into the dining hall. You know her irritation is the by-product of the undiagnosed anxiety that comes with being forced into an uncomfortable Dior slip on such short notice.

In all fairness, you weren't doing so well either. The dress you are currently wearing is just as suffocating and Venetia's Saint Laurent heels dig into your bone. Your outfit is a velvety, laced up nightmare.

A torture chamber.

You wholeheartedly wanted to crawl into your own bed and forget about everyone and everything. In fact, the only thing keeping you mildly excited for dinner with The Henrys happens to be-

"Gentlemen!" You exclaim, before cleverly adding, "And you've brought Farleigh with you."

You all congregate at the left side of the dinner table, while the Henrys and The Henrys wives all mill about the dinner party. There are'nt any rules to things like this. It's all so self explantory.

What was not all too self explantory was your seating positions. Venetia forces you to sit in between herself and a very vexed Farleigh.

"How interesting," Farleigh barely addresses you in his tired monotonous lilt, "You're almost, nearly, just about, decently dressed." You bristle as you lower your behind to your chair, all while Farleigh shoots you a tight-lipped smile.

"Wow!" Your words drip with sarcasm, promptly halting Farleigh from flirting with the man to his immediate left - one of the Henrys closeted sons, no doubt. "That almost, nearly, just about sounded like a compliment!" You exclaim before leaning over beside him in a daring display of confidence. You place your hand tentatively on his thigh before whispering, "Am I going to have to use my rape whistle?"

Farleigh's scoff sends a string of lightning shooting down your spine.

"You're such a slut, I think you'd enjoy probably enjoy it." His breath is hot against your cheek and would be considered vile.

It should be vile.

Why can't you bring yourself to find Farleigh as vile?

With his elbows lowered underneath the table like a good little gentleman, Farleigh lets his fingers crawl tentatively over your thigh.

The games are on.

Your heart is beating at a million miles an hour with your mind reeling at not only Farleigh's large warm palm finding its home on your ample thigh but his words.

They are in complete contrast to everything you two have experienced together thus far on your stay in Saltburn.

As his fingers inch their way towards your inner thigh you're absolutely breathless. All you can think about is your escapade in the pool the evening before.

Both Catton siblings had been immersed in a very Catton argument, leaving you and Farleigh to your own devices on the banks of the stone pool.

With both your arms leaning over the ledge of the pool and Farleigh pressed to your side, no one could barely tell that Farleigh already had two digits dipped inside your weeping cunt. His hand moved slowly and deftly, so as not to cause too much of a stir in the water and give you two away. And he did it all while leaning his free hand out of the pool, cradling his copy of Jane Eyre with his eyes glued on the pages.

"F-Fuck Farleigh, can I cum?" He sighed at your agitated state.

"Not until I'm finished with Chapter 18." He mumbled almost distractedly, as if your needy voice was something akin to a pesky fly interrupting his reading.

Chapter 18, as you'd probably guessed, had never ended.

His cousins were back from their argument and his fingers left your cunt just as quickly. You had both went back to pretending to hate each other and you were left to 'rub one out' in the safety of your room like some hormonal teenager.

You truly are furious with him.

"What's this I'm hearing about a rape whistle?" Felix pipes up from the other side of Farleigh, equally dressed up all spiffy for the Henry's "You didn't rape anyone, did you?"

Farleigh's response is more of a hiss, "Of course I didn't-"

"Surely there must be more savory topics of discussion at the dinner table other than rape?" Comes the quick mediation of Elsbeth, who sits at the head of the table, clutching her string of expensive pearls as if they weilded the power to rid her of all these insolent little kids.

"Of course there is," you exclaim before turning your head to smile at the presence beside Ventia, nestled quietly in his seat like a little pauper.

Farleigh's manicured fingernails sink half moons into the skin of your thigh, peeking up from the slit of your dress as you lean away from him and say, "You must be Oliver! It's a relief to see another commoner around here." It was so undeniably petty to weaponize Farleigh's greatest foe, but the vexation of not being made to cum the night before still hangs heavily on your shoulder. And at the end of the day, you really just were a petty bitch.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ollie!" Slightly leaning over Venetia, the boy looks pale. As if he was biting down on his words. God, his tongue must be riddled in scars.

"Pleasure to meet you." Oliver cooly mirrors the warm and inviting smile stretched across your face.

"Don't lean over me," Venetia mumbles, "I'm not a child."

Meanwhile, Farleigh scoffs once again. While he injects himself in your conversation, his hands move swiftly to cup your vagina, nearly raking a gasp out of your throat in the process. "She won't sleep with you, mate." his brown eyes are trained on Oliver's. "She's a slut but not that big of a slut."

The extreme degradation laced in Farleigh's voice is enough to have you nearly moan out in front of all your friends, their family, and all the bloody Henrys.

Farleigh knew exactly which buttons to push to have you melting catastrophically against his fingers. He knew what words could have you slipping into subspace and he knew how to get your cunt weeping.

"Jesus Christ, could we not do this right now?" Venetia asks, staring pointedly at her cousin, and not at the sight of your legs parting to further accomdate his lazy rubbing against your cunt.

"I'm sorry, Cousin," Farleigh replies, "but it's not my fault your best friend is a raging bitch."

A breathless chuckle escapes your clenched teeth, "I-I'm not a-"

"Yeah, I am so completely done with this conversation," Venitia says, before strangling the stem of her wine glass and chugging it down as if it was nothing but water.

You turn back to hiss into Farleigh's ear, "You're such an a-asshole-"

"Say that again but don't sound like you're on the verge of squirting on my fingers in the middle of dinner." His grin is shadowed by the dimness of crystal chandlier and all the little candles posted along the table. "This is what you get for being a bitch," he says, socasually it makes you break your resolve by shifting in your seat, to better grind your cunt against his fingers, even for a mere second.

It's almost enough to make you cum right then and there.

"Oh-ho!" He aims a guffaw at the sky, "You really are a needy little slut-"

"This dress is shit," you suddenly push yourself out of your chair, creating the minimal noise of wood scraping against the floors. Most eyes are on you and Farleigh slyly removes his hands from in between your thigh. He leans over the table, bringing his fingers to his lips before spreading them over his gums like you would cocaine.

"I have to go change." You say to Venetia, before promptly (and very rudely) bowing out of the dinner.

A few seconds later, you hear Farleigh mumble something about needing a smoke and your heart rattles wildly in its cage. His footsteps are brisk behind yours, and you can feel his eyes sinking into your figure.

While your feet carry you to your destination and you let your brain catch on, you're already sneaking into Farleigh's room.

"Ah! Trespasser!" He exclaims excitedly behind you, with his hands stuffed in his pocket.

"You're so fucking annoying!" Your complains barely escape your throat before he's attacking you in a sloppy, open mouth kiss. He steals the air right out of your lungs, until he's breathing for the both of you. Farleigh slips out of his Abercrombie suit blazer, discarding the material as if it truly meant nothing to him.

His hands are everywhere, with special interests in your breasts compressed tightly by the uncomfortable stitching of your dress.

"This dress..." you mumble distractedly.

"Fuck this dress." He says, and you wholeheartedly agree. Perhaps it was desperate of you to turn in haste. Lifting the ends of your hair to present the zipper to him.

"You look fucking ravenous." He admits in a grave whisper, with his lips grazing the side of your neck, "I wanna fucking eat you." He says, "I wanna be inside you."

"You have such a dirty mouth, Farleigh," the groan that escapes his throat as he zips down your dress lets you know that you may have found your way in.

As the dress spills around your heeled feet, followed by your lacey underwear, Farleigh reattaches his full lips to the skin of your back. "What did you say?" His voice is like the rough gravel encircling Saltburn and you let your eyes roll to the back of your head as you arch backwards against him. His hardness presses against your ass and your fingers weave their way into his curls.

"I said youre a dirty boy, Farleigh." He ruts against you, almost as a second thought. "A dirty fucking boy,"

"Fuck," his hands dig into your hips, rubbing you against him. All as he pleases. "Fucking, fuck. I'm not gonna cum like this-" He says suddenly before spinning you back around.

It is few and sparse moments when you're reminded just how much taller Farleigh is than you and eventide it happens, the wind is knocked out of you. Farleigh advances on you like a literal predator until you're forced to fall backwards on his bed.

He barely undoes the bowtie, and only a few buttons go loose enough to showcase the beautiful expanse of his chest.

"You're absolutely soaked aren't you?" He asks, hovering on the bed above you.

"I need to cum, Farleigh, please-" You knew it was the only way to get what you wanted. You had unashamedly resorted to begging for a man who hooked his nails into your hair, forcing you to sit upright as he parted your legs.

"Look at you," he whispers before cackling maniacally. "You're so stupidly wet, you filthy fucking girl-"

"O-oh fuck, Fuck Farleigh," Your try by all means to grind your cunt into the mattress but is doesn't happen.

"When are you going to learn that I own your orgasms?" He whispers, with his other hand furiously undoing the belt of his fitted pants. "You don't cum until I say. You don't touch yourself until I say. You don't even fucking think about cumming until I say-"

"You're such a big little baby," you spit back, "A big needy, little b-"

You're once again pushed backwards and Farleigh's mounting you with his leaking cock locked tight in his fist.

You automatically lift your legs to present your cunt to him and he groans at the sight.

"I'm going to cum inside of you." He promises.

"I want you too."

Farleigh's eyes are heavy as he slides himself inside you. He looks down at you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. A treasure trove.

"Fuck- I need you to carry on talking." Farleigh says before shutting his eyes tightly. "Fuck you feel so good-"

"You're doing so well, baby," his hips rut inside you, accidentally pushing his cock in way too deep, way too fast and you both hiss and moan. "Such a good boy," you say with your hair finding his own curls, "You're being such a good fucking boy, Farleigh-"

"Open your mouth," you comply robotically. Farleigh places his hands on the underside of your chin before tipping your head backwards. His chains dangle above you as you stick your tongue out and he spits directly into your mouth. "Such a slut," he says, "Such a filthy fucking good girl." His words have you grinding your cunt against his cock until soon, you're both on the precipice of cumming.

"F-Fuck-"

"Such a good girl," he whispers, with his breath ghosting yoir face and the sound of skin slapping against skin only grows louder and louder. "S-So fucking good-" He whispers over and over again until your cunt clenches around his cock, promting Farleigh's orgasm with a quickness.

His cum spilling inside you has you slipping unceremoniously into your own orgasm and Farleigh wails in both the pleasure of your cunt milking him dry, or your fingers still pulling his hair like crazy.

"Fuck!" He exclaims before slumping on the bed beside you, "Get your fingers out of my hair, you psycho-"

"You love it, though," there's a teasing lilt in your voice, and all Farleigh does is scoff before patting down the pockets of his pants.

"You give me endless reasons to smoke," he says, before tipping his head back, unknwongly leaning into your embrace as your fingers coil through his soft curls.

"You'd smoke anyway."

#saltburn #saltburn x reader #saltburn smut #saltburn x you #farleigh start #farleigh saltburn #farleigh start x reader #farleigh start smut #oliver quick x reader

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mybelovedrin · 1 year

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✷ ITOSHI RIN x reader. fluff, established relationship. reader talks a lot and rin listens. this is actually pointless. warnings: the writing is kinda messy, i think. note: i just really think that rin <3 ! sorry if there's typos.

"shut up."

rin probably says these two words to you more than he says 'i love you'.

yet, he really, really does not want you to shut up.

it's been twenty minutes since you came from your dinner with your friend. twenty whole minutes of you rambling. twenty whole minutes of rin lying in bed, his arms feeling empty since you're too busy turned away from him as you change into more comfortable clothes. twenty whole minutes of him having to listen to your friend's husband's family's problems while his eyes stay locked on you as you throw on one of his shirts and then start removing your make up.

and again, he really, really does not want you to shut up.

but he would really prefer holding you while you ramble, and the fact that it's been twenty minutes and he hasn't even gotten a kiss yet is kind of starting to get to him.

"so anyway, she's basically hated by everyone from his side of the family— and i told her over and over that she should talk to him about it, but she just won't listen to me. god, why am i blessed with such stubborn friends?"

at this point, he feels like he's skipped eight chapters.

and yet he still listens, humming thoughtfully as he shifts in bed a little, pulling the covers over him just a bit more as he sighs in defeat, staring up at the ceiling as he mumbles, giving his own opinion. "shouldn't pressure her into it, though."

you groan, giving him a look as you still stand in front of the mirror while doing your skincare now. "i'm not, i swear! those people suck. she shouldn't be letting them do what they want and i'm sure that her husband would do something if he knew how salty they are."

his eyes go from the ceiling to you, blinking sleepily as he stares at the way his shirt looks on you. "when are you coming to bed?"

"almost done, rinnie."

he yawns quietly, turning around so that his back is to you. if he couldn't hold you yet, he could at least listen to your voice. "then does she really plan to just endure that treatment?" his voice is muffled by the pillow as he asks, setting you off on another talking spree.

"i guess she does. i hope everything goes well for her. but personally, i would not tolerate stuff like that." you say, shrugging as you finally finish your business, before going into the bathroom to wash your hands and brush your teeth.

the few minutes of you being gone and quiet make rin feel as miserable as ever.

he waits and waits, eyelids heavy.

when the mattress finally dips next to him and he smells the familiar scent of your skin products, he swears he's never moved this fast to turn around in bed and latch onto you.

you chuckle as he buries his face into your neck, holding him close as your little giggle turns into a quiet laugh when he groans in annoyance. "you took too damn long."

his hair tickles the side of your face. it's getting longer, you realise as you play with it gently, smoothing over some soft strands on the back of his head while he sighs softly into your skin.

"i talked a lot earlier, didn't i?" you ask quietly, your lips curling into a sheepish smile.

rin stays quiet for some time, his arms around you tight and firm as he presses himself against your side, even going as far as to place his muscular leg over you, caging you in against the soft mattress of the bed. "y'know i don't mind that."

"yeah, but im sure there's a limit—"

"there's no limit when it comes to you. 'kay?" he says quietly, his voice groggy and deeper now as he gets closer to drifting off— almost as if he was ending that discussion right there, not wanting to hear you talking about yourself in such a way.

"yeah, but—"

"shut up." he cuts you off, and you stop talking, only to let out another soft laugh. "if you're gonna complain about yourself, that is. now, more sleeping and less talking. i'll listen to the remaining part of your friend's story during breakfast tomorrow."

you snort at his devotion to listening to your silly stories, a slight wave of warmth creeping up your neck. "fine."

he nods a little, before holding you tighter.

"and i didn't get a single kiss from you ever since you came, by the way."

"oh, i am so sorry. my most sincere apologies." you speak, clearly joking as you shower him with light pecks on the side of his face that's peeking out from the crook of your neck.

he grunts, not being able to hide the redness under his warm skin as he feels your soft lips. his eyes stay closed shut. "ok. good night."

"no 'i love you' or anything?"

he sighs heavily. "shut up."

"...and i love you." he adds, before letting himself relax into his sleep when you let out a satisfied sound and say it back to him sweetly, your soft voice partially responsible for putting him to sleep.

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adriennebarnes · 15 days

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just read The Happy Throuple and I love it so much, i would love to see more of them whenever you have time, like maybe the internet's reactions and / or the drivers. meeting the parents, baby showers, the bay being born, etc. I just think it's a great fic with lots of potential.

YES!!!!!!! I’m thinking the internet’s reaction is the first half and then the drivers’ reaction, meeting the parents, baby shower/gender reveal, and the baby’s birth will be separate, all of them will be in my Masterlist in the same bullet as “The Happy Throuple”

Nobody Everybody Knows

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina! Reader x Alexandra Saint Mleux

Summary: posting their relationship for everyone to see means that now everyone gets to comment about something they know nothing about

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: Y/N faceclaim will ALWAYS be Becky G for social media posts just because I love her. There will be MULTIPLE “chapters” of the happy throuple’s story. For all intents and purposes, all the drivers who live in Monaco hang out outside the paddock except for “adults” like hulkenberg and Bottas. I also changed how Y/N and Alexandra know each other so they met at a party when Alexandra was 19 and Y/N was 18, okay? Okay

Since Charles posted on Instagram that he has another girlfriend and that he’s expecting a child, everyone has opinions. What’s great about Charles is that he disabled the comments, but that doesn’t stop other accounts from talking about their relationship.

Liked by user67 and 926,639 others

f1gossip Charles Leclerc reveals that he was been in a polyamorous relationship with Alexandra Saint Mleux and her best friend, Y/N L/N. Not only that, but Y/N is carrying his child. How do you feel about the news?

View all 582,305 comments

charlosfan Charles got tired of white girls and started dating Latinas 😂. Alexandra is half Mexican and Y/N is _____, he really does have a type. Y/N seems sweet though

user92 Y/N baby trapped him for sure, like what does she even do?

queenalex Charles and Alex seem so happy with Y/N,

user19 Y/N is only with them for money

xoxolando doesn’t anyone find it weird that Y/N started dating them AFTER Charles and Alex got together? Like “oh he’s dating my best friend, I want to date him too”

user23 yes!! What is up with that?

heartf1 Y/N seems super messy imo

Liked by 1,029,483 users

f1wags Y/N M/N L/N was born in 2002, making her younger than Alexandra. Y/N is actually a singer signed with RCA Records

user59 say what you want about Y/N but that outfit ATE

kikafan25 she must not be a successful singer because I have never heard any of her songs.

user54 you’ve heard her songs. All those dilf edits to “a mi me gustan mayores”, that’s Y/N’s song

y/nbae she is so pretty! I love her music and now she’s going to be a mom, I’m happy for her

2 days after Charles posted, Y/N was washing dishes when she received a phone call from her mom.

“Hola mami, qué pasó?” Y/N asked.

“Como que ‘que pasó’, tu papá y yo nos enteramos por Despierta America que estás de novia con el piloto ese de fórmula uno y la otra niña, y encima de eso, estás embarazada. La relación va en serio? Sabes que ese muchacho cambia de novia cada 3 años, por dios. Y el bebé? Sigues siendo muy niña para criar a un bebé, por qué no usaste protección? No te eduqué para que salieras embarazada antes del matrimonio. Ni siquiera conozco esos dos, y te va a pedir matrimonio el Chuck ese?” Her mom lectured her. What do you mean ‘what happened’, your dad and I found out on Wake Up America that you are dating that F1 driver and the other girl, and on top of that, you’re pregnant. Is this relationship serious? You know that boy gets a new girlfriend every three year, for god’s sake. And the baby? You are too young to raise a baby, why didn’t you use production? I did not raise you to get pregnant before marriage. I don’t even know those two and is this Chuck guy going to propose?

“Mami, no quería que esto pasara, tuvimos cuidado, te lo juro.” Y/N said. “Estas cosas pasan, lo siento mucho, de verdad.” I didn’t want this to happen, we were careful, I swear. These things just happen, I’m sorry, really

“Bueno, está bien, pero habla con tu papá que él está más enojado que yo, te hablo luego, bye,” Y/N’s mom hung up, Y/N sighed and continued to wash dishes until she felt someone hug her from behind, placing a kiss on her shoulder. Okay, it’s fine, but talk to your dad, he’s angrier than I am, I’ll talk to you later

“Mi reina, of you keep doing that, I’m not going to finish the dishes,” Y/N said. Alexandra turned her around and kissed her lips.

“Then rest, ma papillon, you’re pregnant, you shouldn’t be doing dishes.” Alexandra said, leading her to the couch.

“Have you seen Instagram lately? Everyone’s been talking about me.” Y/N said,

“Yeah, everyone was talking about me too when I first dated Charles. It comes with the territory I guess. We should go shopping!” Alexandra said.

“For what? We won’t know the baby’s gender until it’s 4 or 5 months old. Wait, google it to make sure.” Y/N said. Alexandra pulled out her phone,

“It says 18 to 22 weeks.” Alexandra said.

“Eh, I was close. So what are we going to shop for?” Y/N asked.

“For you! Now that people know we are dating, you get to come with us to events! So we need fancy maternity clothes, cocktail dresses, shoes, purses, this is going to be perfect.” Alexandra said,

On the other hand, Charles was getting calls from other drivers left and right so he decided to have Max, Lando, George, Lewis, Daniel and Alex over at his apartment.

“I ordered pizza, there are drinks in the fridge, I will answer all the questions you have about my relationship.” Charles states, putting Leo on the ground so he could roam around

“So Y/N and Alexandra are together?” Lando asked.

Yes.” Charles answered.

“But you are also together with them?” Lando followed up,

“Yes, that is how a polyamorous relationship works, mate.” Charles said.

“How did you decide to have Y/N join?” Max asked.

“Alexandra and I were dating for a while, sometimes Alexandra would invite Y/N if we were shopping or going out to eat. Sometimes I would be left alone with Y/N and we would hit it off so well, I felt the same thing for her as I felt for Alexandra. One night Alexandra told me the reason why she kept inviting Y/N was because she had a crush on her and I confessed the same to Alexandra. So one day all three of us went to the movies, we told Y/N our feelings, Y/N took time to think about it, and when she said she had feelings for us too, we started taking it slow.” Charles said.

“So the relationship is all about love and not wanting to spice up the relationship?” Daniel asked.

“Nope, all love.” Charles answered.

“Do you even know Y/N’s parents?” Alex asked.

“I do not, they love back in New York.” Charles said.

“Do you think you’re going to marry Y/N and Alexandra and have a polyamorous marriage?” George asked,

“I would like to in the future, I love both of them so much, I have never felt so strongly about anyone.” Charles said.

“For ultrasound appointments, will both of you go with her?” Lewis asked.

“Yes, both of us will go with Y/N, it is more likely that Alexandra goes if the appointment falls on a Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday during race week.” Charles answered.

“So if Alexandra is doing something, and it’s only you and Y/N, that’s okay?” Lando asked.

“Yes, it’s okay if I’m just with Y/N. It’s okay if I’m just with Alexandra, and it’s okay if it’s just Alexandra and Y/N, it’s alright. Since Alexandra is still studying art history, Y/N is a singer, she is able to with me a lot more and now she Can because our relationship is public.” Charles said.

“Until she hits the 3rd trimester.” Max stated.

“Anyway, our relationship is healthy, we love each other very much.” Charles said, the doorbell rang. “Must be the pizza.”

Charles was glad that his colleagues understood his relationship and didn’t make any crude remarks. He would have to talk to Pierre whenever he goes to Maranello. For the most part, the internet’s reaction was more positive than negative and that makes Charles more than happy.

The End

Hope y’all liked this installment, I am also working on more installments of Meet and Greet if you wanted more of Charles, Y/N, and Vidia

#hispanic reader #latina #hispanic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc #becky g #alexandra saint mleux

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tiredmamaissy · 1 year

Text

Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Chapter Two

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff.

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, profanity, age gap, a lot of sexual tension, size difference/kink, praise kink, heat cycle, scenting, fingering, thigh grinding, cumshot, blood/wounds, recollection of non-con trauma (not heavily described - purely for the plot), let me know if i forgot anything?

Word Count: 8k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Satisfaction - Benny Benassi fully took me through this fic. This one's long. It's got fluff, angst, and smut in it. So buckle up. I hope you guys enjoy 🤍

Synopsis: Your family seeks uturu with the Metkayina in the village of Awa’atlu. You have a difficult time adjusting, and are assigned your own special teacher, Ralak.

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Lessons were productive and frequent. You saw him almost daily, except on the days that Tonowari recruited him for his duties as warrior and hunter. Those were the days you dreaded most. The days when he’d traipse in exhausted and banged up. The days that made you start carrying your medicine pouch on your hip like it was a part of your body.

Days like today.

Ralak walks in moments before the eclipse, jaw clenched with a stagger in his step. You can sense the fracture in his spirit, another unpleasant hunting trip further inland. The gash in his shoulder is evidence of it. You rush over to him, hand firmly gripping your medicine pouch.

“Ra-lak!” your words come out broken, voice bouncing with each thud of your feet.

“It is fine.” he begins, head dropping to hide his grimace.

“It is not. Tonowari asks too much of you.” you huff, running over to him so fast you nearly bump into him. “Oh, Eywa. Look at you.” you tippy toe, eyes franticly scanning his bruised torso, hands doing their mighty best to move his body to have a better look.

“I said, it is –”

“Oh, Ralak.” you cut him off, grazing a finger over the inflamed skin, making his teeth grind even harder.

“I’m fine. It is just a –”

“Just. Shh. Let me look... let me help you.” you shush him, your other hand brushing over the deep scrapes on his chest.

It’s laughable that he has to hunch his back just for you to have a proper ‘look’. But you didn’t find it funny. Your brows gather tightly at the sight, bottom lip quivering from the mix of emotions surging through you – anger, sadness, concern. Your innocent touches makes blood rush to his face, staining his cheeks a light tinge of pink. His heartbeat quickens - breath deepening.

His eyes remain locked onto you, quietly admiring your beauty. The way your nose scrunches, the little canines chewing on your bottom lip – the heave of your chest. He didn’t mean to let his eyes wander so low, but now that they were there, he couldn’t resist the urge to stare a little longer. To count the beads on your top.

To count the droplets of water trickling between your breasts.

You scoop up a glob of yalnabark, an omaticayan herb you saved for special times like this, and smear it on his chest. The sudden sting brings him back, snapping his gaze up to your screwed face of concern. It warms his heart, just like it did every time he’d come back from a hunting trip a little too banged up. He loved the way you took care of him. The way your small, gentle hands caressed his battered body with whatever smelly concoction you had stowed away in your pouch.

It's all he’s ever craved. Someone to take care of him. To cherish him. To love him. A simple life, in his marui pod he built with his two hands. Big enough for him and his mate, in front of the ocean so that he could fish in the mornings and then bond with his mate in the evenings. Where he could provide for his mate. For his family. To protect.

A mundane life to many, but a perfect life to him.

But rather, he has been recruited by the olo’eyktan himself, to be his right-hand man, to help lead and teach the upcoming hunters and warriors. He yearns for his old life as a fisherman. Simple. Humble. But shortly after a run in with another clan, Tonowari made the order, and Ralak obeyed. It was at that point in his life that he relinquished his dream of a mundane life.

There’s a part of him, a part that he’s denied attention since he came to adulthood, that yearns for someone like you. Yearns for the possibility that you can provide this simple life for him. A mate. A home. Children. His heart gallops in his chest, slamming against his ribs, but you wouldn’t even know. Not by the way he’s looking at you. But there was one thing he knew for sure, and that was –

His feelings for you are indubitable.

“It is just a scratch.” he says softly, finally finishing his sentence. His hand instinctively rests on your hip as yours search his body for more wounds to smear the herbal concoction on.

“A scratch?” you huff a sigh, beady eyes boring into his before landing on the open gash in his shoulder. Blood trickles down his arm, staining the dark ink pricked under his skin. “You are bleeding. A lot.” you pout, glossy, amber saucers for eyes staring up at him, “…that must really hurt, karyu.”

He crumbles under your touch, gaze softening and body relaxing into you even more. “Do what you need, paysyul [water lily].”

That’s a new one. You smile to yourself and begin cleaning the open wound.

----

Funnily, the only thing you had left to master before your iknimaya was the sign language of the sea people. The ‘finger talk’. Perhaps it was because you had an extra finger, but you found it difficult to create and string together all the signs. Ralak determined that you would need an entire week to learn it, which you couldn’t help but scoff at.

But, he just didn’t want to let go of you so soon.

It was the only thing you practiced outside of the water. It was a refreshing change, to feel the fine, pillowy sand between your toes. To not be wet all the time with hair clung onto your skin. Undoubtedly, it was also easier to focus when this man didn’t have his loincloth stuck to himself, thick bulge on full display.

Most of the days began with you prancing on over, and him guiding you to the pit of sand right outside his marui. Bringing you to your knees with a slight tug of your arms, then kneeling with you. And soon you would be facing one another, in comfortable silence, staring into each other’s eyes. It seemed to be his favourite part of the day. To watch you be brought to your knees in front him, even if its only for a split second before he joined you.

He took each day slowly, starting with the most basic signs. Going over them twice. Thrice. Just to ‘make sure’ you knew them. By the middle of the week, he established his first rule. No talking. From the hellos to the goodbyes, everything must be signed. And if you spoke in casual conversation, he would not answer. This made it even more difficult to poke your figurative finger at him. To find out more about this man before you had to part ways. You did your best to abide by this rule, until you couldn’t ignore the itch anymore.

So, you scratched it.

Ralak balls his fist in the middle of his chest, extending it outwards as he opens it and wiggles his fingers.

“Thank you!” you blurt out, straightening your spine and smiling wide.

Ralak gives you a firm nod, quick to move to the next sign. He sweeps his hands away from his forehead, extending them towards you.

“I see you” your voice fades, almost as if you were saying it seriously. Sensually.

He smiles a little, giving you another nod. A moment of silence fills the space between you two. A moment where he just stares, allowing his eyes to trail your body. The way your knees sink into the sand. Your small hands resting on your thighs. The flap of your loincloth draping between your legs. He wants to sign it back. So badly. But you were still his student. His numeyu [student].

He knew he could do it – maintain his composure, that is. Just until after your iknimaya at least. And then he would ask Jake and Tonowari for your hand. He’s patient. Confident in himself that he could do this. Which is why he had to get you out of the water for a while. To stop your breasts from bouncing with the tide, and your nipples from peeking through your beaded top.

“C’mon, give me something harder. I know those.” you break the silence, repositioning yourself in the dip of your feet.

Ralak blinks a few times, reentering his train of thought. He nods with a slight smile and raises both his arms, hands at ear level with his pointer fingers straightened in the air. He quickly brings them together, allowing for a little space between his fists. He cocks his brow, waiting for your answer.

“Siv-ako?” the word is broken, full of uncertainty.

“Ah. That’s a good girl.” he speaks for the first time, voice extra husky and gruff. He couldn’t fight it – the urge to praise you. Honestly, he’s having a hard time fighting a lot of his ‘urges’ today. He takes a deep breath, hoping to recenter himself, but it only seems makes things worse – making him light in the head.

Oh? Good girl?

The words echo in your skull, heart beating a thump too quick. You can’t stop rub of your thighs; they’re doing it all on their own. You hide your flushed face, looking down at how your lap squirms about, only making your cheeks hotter. Your body seems to be extra sensitive today, skin prickling at the slightest touch – the mere sound of his voice.

“Ralak.” you practically pant, raising your head to look at him. ‘What is the sign for m-a-t-e?’ you sign, fingerspelling the last word.

The glow in your cheeks is catching, heat spreading to the tips of his ears. He swallows thickly, taking quick, shallow breaths to prevent himself from becoming anymore light-headed. He signs a similar sign as ‘friends’, but instead of all four fingers, he uses only two [I made this shit up].

Your lips pucker in understanding as you nod slowly, holding your hands in the air, carefully creating the motions with your fingers. The figurative - or not so figurative anymore - finger comes out to play.

‘Do you have a mate?’ you sign.

He cocks a brow, ‘No’.

‘Why? Not hiding one in your marui?’ you sign back.

His brows gather, yet a smile creeps on his face. He’s impressed with you, signing so well for him. He entertains the conversation – your snarky comments – curious to see where you’re going with this. ‘No.’ he scoffs a little, shaking his head.

You stare at him in silence, waiting for the reason why.

He tilts his head, half lidded eyes turning beady. ‘My trust was broken.’

Your brows lower in inquisitiveness, or perhaps confusion. Maybe you misread what he signed. ‘Broken? Who?’ you sign, stressing on the ‘who’.

His eyelids flutter a little, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he huffs out a sigh. His way of expressing hesitation – uncertainty if he should open-up. To let you in. To tell you. You try reassuring him with your eyes, letting him know it’s alright to tell you. He briefly looks out to the horizon before looking back at you. His hands raise once more.

‘A woman who used me.’

You shake your head, unable to fully understand what he means. You understand the signs, but a woman using him? In what way? To carry her belongings? ‘Use you how?’

Now his true expression of hesitation comes forth. Flattened ears, slumped shoulders and brows so tightly pinched they may unify. If he told you, what would happen? Would you look at him the same? Would you accept his offer after your iknimaya? The event replays so vividly he feels like he’s back in the moment.

The moment where an older woman he trusted manipulated him into touching her, to fondle her, when he didn’t want to. When she made him feel like he had no other choice, like he couldn’t say no, or walk away. Young, naïve Ralak. At the merciless hands of her...

‘Heat’.

And just like that, his expert façade of indifference washes over his face. You can literally see him retreat, the crack in his spirit splitting further apart. Like recalling the memory put him back into the moment to feel the hurt of what he just signed.

Meanwhile, your gears were grinding twice as hard to figure out his single sign. You mirror the motion, fingers bending and overlapping slowly to figure it out. You couldn’t even guess. It looked nothing like any other sign you had seen before. Defeated, you shake your head and shrug your shoulders.

“I-I don’t understand, karyu.”

Eyelids fluttering momentarily, a blank stare bores into your eyes. “Heat.” he says the word whilst gesturing the sign. “She used me for her heat. Many years ago. I was... young.” he begins explaining, trying to maintain eye contact with you as it drifts down to your lap. 'Naïve' he signs the last word.

You hear the words he’s saying. ‘Used’, ‘Young’, ‘Naïve”.

Yet all you could feel was the fire in your own heart. A blaze so big, so menacing it spills over into your chest. Making it cave in on itself. Like hairline fractures are running through each rib, making the foundation of your chest crumble. Jagged edges impaling your heart, the fire spread throughout your entire being.

Why did it hurt so much to hear that this grown man had sexual experience? Why did your heart ache at the thought of him with someone else? Was he always this way? A man willing to calm any na’vi he encounters in heat?

It just slips out.

“So what? Any na’vi woman in heat that you come across gets your help?” you snap, eyes burning from the tears that threaten to fill them.

Eywa, that stung.

It stung this gentle giant so bad that he grimaces. Like really grimaces. His top lip twitches, seemingly from anger. Anger at himself for telling you. He grinds his teeth so hard he may chip one. His head drops, eyes slamming shut to focus on calming that budding tightness in his own chest.

“Y/n” he growls, one of the few times he’s called you by your name.

You’ve come to learn that it usually means he’s frustrated with you. How could he be frustrated with you? He had no right. You can’t hold back the scoff bubbling up your throat, the shake of your head and the roll of your eyes.

“I guess that means you’ll help me when I’m in heat then, won’t you?”

He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head as he finally shuffles to his feet. He towers over your kneeling frame now, exuding the same level of intimidation when you first met. He’s trying his hardest to hold his tongue, but the words slip off it so effortlessly.

“Have you even gotten your heat yet?” he asks patronizingly.

There the tears go, rolling down the swell of your cheeks. Of course, you hadn’t. You were a late bloomer in all aspects of life, even this one.

But why were you feeling so sensitive about all of this? So moody and vulnerable? To the point of tears and condescending comments. It’s silly, really. Prying your nose into this grown man’s life only to get upset with him when he lets you in. Like you were anything special to him for you to be feeling this way.

He had never seen you cry before. Not like this. It melts his hardened heart, softening his exterior with it. You’re still young, still learning. He had let his feelings get the best of him, allowing his composure to break down for a split second. It doesn’t help that he was quite literally looking down at you, towering over your tiny stature.

‘I’m sorry’, he signs. “I should not have said that.”

“Don’t be. You’re r-right. I haven’t.” you sputter, breath hitching from your crying. “Almost twenty with no heat. Just a big fuck up.” you stand on your feet, turning your heel to leave.

“You should not be walking by yourself right now –” he begins, walking towards you, but you only walk away faster. “Tanhì!” he calls, voice cracking.

You stop dead in your tracks and turn back to look at him, tears streaming down your face. “Don’t call me that, Ralak.”

Dark grey clouds crowd the sky, darkening the ambiance. He opens his mouth to speak when a clap of thunder pierces the air. The sound of distant rain grows louder. With his attention averted to the sky, you take your chance and run. All the way back to your family marui as fast as your two left feet can go.

Downpour.

So hard and heavy you can barely see where you’re going. It’s so foggy and hazy that you cross your fingers and hope the marui pod you’re walking into is your own. Yanking back the flap, you duck under the doorframe, dripping wet. Jake and Neteyam stop their dinner preparations and look at you. They see the tears streaming down your face.

“Babygirl?” Jake rushes to his feet, voice frantic.

“Is it Ralak?” Neteyam snarls.

“Just, leave me alone.” you spit, hiding away into your little corner, pulling back your privacy curtain. You slump into your bed, burying your face into the pillow you made from feathers, and cried your eyes out, listening to the pitter patter of the rain on the taut material of your marui.

How fucking embarrassing. You always fuck up, y/n.

How could you be so stupid? To think that there was meaning behind the nicknames, the hugs... the moments. He’s just a teacher trying to tutor his pupil. His pupil that could never get shit right. That’s why he was so patient. So sweet. It was all just an order given by the chief. Not only that, but you were wrong. Totally in the wrong to even ask him such a personal question. But to throw it in his face after he opened-up about it?

Eywa, y/n. You stupid girl.

You feel terrible. Guilt filling your stomach to the brim that you feel queasy. It’s an uncomfortable feeling. So uneasy that you feel like you may throw up. You curl into a ball, clutching your knees as you bring them to your chest to cry.

And cry. And cry. And cry.

Until your eyes are so puffy, so raw that you can barely see. Until there’s two of everything. Your head begins to pound. Thump. Thump. Thump. Your eyes and teeth pulse with it. Yet all that’s running through your mind is Ralak. Ralak. Ralak.

How you feel so bad about what you said, about what happened to him. Not giving him the chance to speak before jumping down his throat. After he’s been nothing but patient with you. Handling you with care and gentle hands. Encouraging you with his words, albeit few. Letting you in when he had built such a tall, thick wall.

Letting you touch him – touch his most intimate tattoo.

The way his core flexed to jerk his hips away from you. The sound of his grunts when he’s a little frustrated. Flustered. Especially when you tend to his wounds. When you run your fingers along his body, searching for more scrapes and ‘scratches’. The way he looks at you when he’s counting your freckles.

When he calls you tanhì.

Whenever the word slipped off his tongue, it always made your face hot. Just like now. Blushing at the mere thought. Cheeks heating up to a critical degree. Body heating up with it. It feels like you’re on fire – a scorching heat radiating from your core to your extremities. It feels like a fever dream.

Or perhaps it’s just a fever. Sick from the rain, as they would say. Making you shiver and shake, yet also kick off the sheet that’s covering your body. Maybe it was the swoosh of the heavy rain, but you couldn’t hear your own thoughts. All you wanted to do was to make things right. To apologize for your shitty behaviour.

You had to do it. Now.

A surge of good ol’ determination rushes through you, bringing you to your feet. You wipe the snot off your face and rush out the tent, Jake and Neteyam calling after you. Saying something about the eclipse beginning. A storm forming. You can’t really hear them. It’s all an echo, reverberating in your skull. You wave them off and make quick strides towards his marui.

You feel dizzy. Like the world is spinning around you but it didn’t matter. You’re too focused on making things right. Getting rid of this queasiness. Fixing the one good thing you had for yourself in this wetland. Sand spills between your toes, you can feel it. You’re here.

“Ralak!” you try to shout, only for it to come out as a hoarse cry. “Ralak!”

You look around through blurred vision, the ocean is empty. Of course, it is. The ripple of raindrops piercing the water, the furious push and pull of the tide, the waves that crash violently into the shore – it’s storming. Head snapping to the right, you find that his marui is dark, seemingly with nobody home.

Where is he?

Eyes falling on your own feet, you catch sight of deep footprints in the wet sand, leading inland under the tall mangroves. Tracking the impressions, you find yourself standing at the opening of a cave, tucked away deep into the webs of mangrove roots. A hidden spot, with a lake, lit up by the bioluminescent fauna stuck to the stalagmites hanging from the ceiling. When you see him, it’s like your vision clears. Crystal clear. He’s –

Bathing.

Standing thigh deep in the water, wet hair stuck to his chest. His bioluminescent freckles twinkle brightly, reflecting against the water’s surface. His ears are tucked in, relaxing against his skull, eyes lidded and heavy. Tattoos bold and prominent, they accentuate his muscular physique. Gravity of pandora in full motion, water droplets dribble down his body. Down his jaw. His chest. His stomach. His –

Oh, fuck.

You tell your eyes to move. To look away. Close. Anything. But they don’t. They stare. Taking in every detail of his thick, half-hard cock, partially submerged in the water. You come to the realization of how he never actually showed you his full tattoo, as the ends of it encircled the base of his length. Eywa, he’s huge. You swallow thickly at the sight, cheeks growing even hotter.

“Ralak.” a whisper parts your lips, eyelids fluttering wildly before you can pull your eyes away. “Sorry. I-I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No need.” he mutters, continuing his bath.

He knew you were standing there all this time. He could sense you. Smell you. And Eywa, it took every bone and fiber in his body to maintain the sliver of composure he has left. He isn’t shy about his body and honestly, didn’t mind if you saw.

He turns to you, flicking his gaze up to meet yours, pupils blown. “You should go home, y/n.” he says as calmly as he can.

“Ralak. I’m sorry for what I said to you. I had no right.” you say, turning your head to look away from his body. It only made things worse for you, making the wooziness unbearable. Making you struggle with your words. “I-I don’t know why I got so upset. I’m not sure –”

“You are sensitive right now. I am not... upset.” he states, accent thick as tree sap.

“What?” you blurt out, looking back at him as you walk into the cave.

Sensitive? What does he mean?

“Y/n. You should go home.”

Hearing your name makes your heart sink. You wish you never told him to stop calling you tanhì. “What do you mean?”

“Look. I am sorry about what I said to you, y/n. But you need to go home.” he says through gritted teeth, as if he were having a hard time withholding his 'anger'.

“No. No. Ralak. I-I’m sorry, too. I just – I want to make this right. I-I feel like I can’t even think clearly right now. But I know that I made a mistake. I’m sorry.” you blubber out, entering the water to walk closer to him.

“Y/n” he growls, stepping back a little. “Please. You said it yourself. You cannot think clearly.”

“Ralak.” you croak, tears welling up in your eyes once more.

Blown pupils peer down at you, eyelids so heavy they look like they may close. “Go.”

Your bottom lip trembles, heart aching from him shooing you away. It feels like your throat is closing, vision blurring so badly that you could barely see him. You try to say the words, only for them to catch in your throat.

‘I was jealous.’ you sign, tears flowing down your cheeks. ‘I was wrong. I am no one to you to be upset with you for being with another.’ you string the words together to the best of your abilities, unsure if they even make sense.

“Oh, y/n. It is not as you think. I have not... given myself to anyone.” he struggles to explain, the heat of your body transferring to his. “Please, do not cry.” his voice falters, brows lowering, blown pupils flickering as they search your puffy face.

Relief. Radiating through your body. Your body yearned for him now, more than ever. For him to be your first. For you to be his first. To mate.

“Then w-what?” the words dislodge from your throat.

“She took advantage of me. Coerced me. But never farther than this” he raises his hand, moving his fingers.

“Karyu. I’m so sorry. I-I would never –” you cry, gripping two of his fingers.

“Shh. It is alright. I’m sorry, too” he hushes you, bringing your hand to his chest.

“I feel so... so overwhelmed right now. I don’t u-understand it.” your teeth begin to chatter as you finally close the gap between your bodies, slumping into him for one of his hugs. “I think have feelings for my karyu.”

He embraces you, holding you close to his body. “And I have fallen for my numeyu” he chokes out, having a hard time catching his own breath.

Your head snaps up, glossy, panicked eyes glaring up into his. You have a hard time processing what he’s saying, all you can see is the strain on his face as he tries his hardest to remain calm.

“Mawey. Mawey [calm]. Everything is heightened for you now. You’re alright.” he hums shakily, rubbing your back.

“I feel... s-so weird, so hot.” you hiccup, taking those deep breaths that you normally take when you hug him, overfilling your lungs with his scent.

It smells so good today. So good you wish you could bathe in it. Coat your body in his scent. You rub your face into his chest, trying to smear it on your skin. It calms you down, steadying your galloping heart and slowing your shaky breaths.

“Tanhì.” he heaves a strained sigh, heavy lidded eyes squeezing tightly.

“Lak.” you breathe, body pressing into his.

“Do you want me to?” he whispers, arm snaking around your waist to bring you closer.

“Hm?” you purr into his chest, rubbing your thighs together.

“Do you want me to help you when you get your heat?” he gruffly pants the words.

This morning replays in your head. All the hurtful words you said to him and the question that came shortly after.

‘I guess that means if I’m in heat then you’ll ‘help’ me then, won’t you?’

“Yes, please.” you exhale, head nodding in his chest.

With that, he holds your trembling body closer, allowing himself to take a full breath, filling his lungs with your scent. Your pheromones. This is the first time he’s letting himself savour them. He’s been picking up your scent all day, trying his hardest not to give into his primal urges to scent you himself – to mark you as his. Eywa, it’s divine. It’s so sweet, and fruity. Nothing like the fruits of the sea.

His scent grows stronger, his body simply responding to yours. His pheromones make you feel feverish, skin prickling from the fingertips that graze your waist. Your heart thumps wildly between your ribs just as your double vision sets in. A sharp heat shoots down your spine, and pools in your core. Soon you’re panting and sweating in his arms, shaking uncontrollably as you squeeze your trembling legs tighter.

It frightens you.

“Ralak. I-I don’t know w-what’s – happening to me. What’s – what’s happening to me?” you blubber, voice full of panic.

“It is your heat, tanhì.”

“My h-heat?” you squirm in his chest, rubbing your body all over his – unknowingly scenting him.

“Mm-mhm.” he hums, fingers working at the knot of your loincloth. “Is this okay?”

“Yes. Yes.” you moan softly, legs parting to help him take the soddened cloth off you.

Once the knot comes undone, the cloth floats freely in the water, drifting away from you. In one swift movement, he lifts you up and wraps your legs around his waist. Another breathy moan parts your lips, your clit finally getting the attention it’s been swelling for. You instinctively cling on to him, snaking your arms around his neck.

He supports your body with one hand under your upper thigh, whilst his free hand cups the back of your head, fingers interlacing with your hair. For a moment, you both indulge yourselves in each other’s scent, rubbing your noses into one another’s neck. It’s almost suffocating. So suffocating that you both pull up simultaneously to gasp for air. Pupils completely blown, you stare into each other’s eyes, panting shakily – lips inching closer and closer together.

He lingers there, flushed lips parted, waiting patiently for your move. For your touch. For your command. You couldn’t take it anymore. The tension is strung too tight that you can feel it in your core, about to snap. Your foreheads touch, noses rubbing together, lips brushing against one another.

“Kiss me.” you mewl needily.

Before you know it, his lips crash into yours roughly, almost bruising them. He’s so hungry for you. For your touch. He’s wanted this for so, so long. Peak of your heat quickly approaching, he wills himself to regain his control. To take it easy with you on your first time.

“My paysyul.” he pants into your mouth, tongue swiping against your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth.

You hum with fervour, allowing your tongue to explore his mouth – to intertwine with his. His fingers untangle from your hair, and cup your cheek, pulling you in closer to deepen the kiss. Soon you’re sharing the same breath, making everything even more hazy.

A large hand slides down your neck and grips it gently, earning him a sudden, breathy moan. Legs tightening around his waist, your hips stutter on their own, desperately trying to find something hump against.

Reading your needy body language, his hand quickly moves down your chest, pulling up one side of your beaded top to reveal your round breast and peaked nipple. He rolls it between his fingers as gently as possible, sending little shocks throughout your breast. The sensation sends your hips into a frenzy, gliding your clit back and forth over each ab muscle.

“Ugh – oh!” you cry out, jaw locking as your mouth hangs agape. Your wetness is overflowing, coating his stomach in a thick layer of slick. The jerk of your hips becomes easier, gliding up and down his stomach even faster. Your teeth click together, eyes watering as you desperately chase the budding feeling in your core.

The little, filthy sounds coming from your mouth only rile him up more, ebbing away more of his restraint. His cock springs up, swollen head smacking against your thigh, quick movements providing just enough friction on his tip, making his hips stammer too. Soon your bodies fall under the trance of your heat, desperately grinding into one another.

The urge to touch, no – to be inside you is overwhelming. He wants to know how your gummy walls feel around his cock. But he knows that your too small to take him, that he would have to stretch you out first. Prepare your little body so it wouldn’t hurt.

His hand works its way from your breast, down to your stomach where he lingers for some time. His fingers play in the dip of your navel as they slide between your sticky pelvis and his stomach, parting your folds carefully. Hips snapping back, you open yourself up to his touches, resting your chin in the dip of his collarbone.

“This okay?” he asks quickly, fingertips finding the bundle of nerves at the peak of your slit.

“Mm-mhm! Please -” you whine lengthily, frustration so pent up it leaves you breathless.

“Breathe, tanhì.” he hums, fingers rubbing tight circles into your clit.

You gasp for air, a cool sensation filling your lungs. It feels so good – so much better than the way you do it before you go to sleep. You try hard to focus on the budding feeling in your core, to chase it so you can finally know what an orgasm feels like. But this was just another thing that you struggled with.

“Used fingers before?” he huffs in your ear, sliding two fingers down to your entrance.

“T-tried it... once.” you admit timidly.

“How many?” he rasps, pulling a finger back into his palm, leaving only one to prod at your slit.

His strong scent disorients you, leaving you in such a befuddled state that you ignore his question and snuggle into the crook of his neck.

“Tell me, tanhì. Quickly.” he pants.

“One.” you mumble, grazing your canines on his pulsing throat as you suckle on his skin, leaving behind a bruise-like mark. Surely one of his is equivalent to almost two of yours. He knew that this was going to hurt if he didn’t take his time with you and let you fully adjust to something inside you.

“Tell me if you feel pain.” he grunts, sliding his finger inside you to the first knuckle. You let out a little whimper, walls clamping tightly around his finger. “Feel okay?”

You nod franticly, burying your grimaced face into his chest. “Mhmm.” You wiggle your hips, desperately trying to take more of him inside you. He follows your movements, ensuring not to slide it in any further just yet. “M-more please”

“Patience, tanhì”

You’ll admit, it burned a little. It was the biggest stretch you’ve had so far, but the slickness of your heat made it so that his finger slid in easily. “Please. It. It feels... feels weird, Ralak.”

“I know, I know.” he coos, feeling your walls relax around his knuckle. “I'm going to make it go away, take a breath for me.”

You inhale deeply, just as you would before a breathing lesson, holding it deep in your stomach rather than your chest. He slides his finger inside you to his second knuckle, keeping it there while you adjust some more. Your grip around his neck tightens, fingernails digging into his turquoise skin just as you release your breath - blowing hot air onto his chest. The way his finger stretches you out brings tears to your eyes. Tears of ecstasy - of satiation. Satiating an itch that you weren’t even aware of.

“More!” Desperation plagues your trembling voice.

He knows better than to listen to the words that come out your mouth and listen to what your body is saying to him instead. It’s not his first time dealing with a na’vi in heat, albeit by force. It feels so similar, the influence your heat has on him. But yours is so much more intense. Feelings of uncertainty creep in, muddling with all the other emotions he’s trying to deal with. He didn’t want to be used again.

She’s not her. He reminds himself, persevering through the hesitancy. “Ready?”

“Yes. Yes Ralak.” You hold on to him tighter - closer.

Your pheromones already had him in a trance, gritting his teeth just so he could maintain his composure. He’d never been influenced by pheromones like this - so strong and potent. Perhaps it’s because it’s your first heat, or maybe it’s because you’re the na’vi he has the urge to protect most – to mate with.

He finds himself taking deep, long breaths. The kind he takes before going spear fishing in the depths of the ocean. Your scent fills his head, making him woozy. Blood rushes to his face, turning it hot and flushed – stained with a tinge of pink. Oh, to make a gentle giant like Ralak blush.

He exhales as he gently slides the rest of his digit inside of your slippery pussy. You both groan in unison, just as your tightness clamps down around his finger - your nails scraping down his back. You’re so, so wet that your glossy, slick coats his knuckles, dribbling down his hand to his wrist.

“Shit.” he lets out a curse, something he rarely does. “How are you this wet?”

He really shouldn’t compare, but he’s never seen a na’vi in heat so soaked. You couldn’t help it really, your feelings for him are so strong that they feel overwhelming at times. Times like right now, where your feelings overflow and have nowhere else to go but between your legs, making a mess all over your thighs. “S-sorry” you pant, your soft, petite body shuddering in his grasp.

“Never apologize for that.”

The first curl of his finger earns a loud, sudden moan from your throat, just as his grip on the fleshiness of your thigh tightens. His cock is so painfully hard, turning veiny and almost blue. All he wants to do is replace his finger with his cock but, he can’t. Not when you’re this tight. The way your gummy walls grip so tightly around his finger makes it hard to even move it.

“Ra-lak” the word momentarily catches in your throat just as he curls his finger once more.

“Mm?” He hums, eyes squeezed shut, brows gathering.

“Ngh – feels... s-so good. Please.” you beg quietly, squeezing his waist with your legs as your body tries to shove his finger deeper inside you.

“There it is.” he grunts, listening to your body’s commands.

He roughly furls and unfurls his finger inside you, rubbing the pad of his fingertip against the warm, spongey part of your cunt. Each hook of his finger works out a squelching noise, and a breathy mewl from your mouth. Soon you’re panting into his chest, trying to keep your soft moans to a minimum as he picks up the pace.

There was really no point, as the more he fucks you out with a single finger, the more your moans lose their softness. His ears perk up higher and higher as the volume of your sweet, filthy moans grow louder and louder, making his rock-hard cock twitch against your thigh.

Your sweet spot swells with pleasure, moans becoming deeper and strained. He knows you’re close. So close that you were going to cum on his finger any minute, just by the way your pussy walls clench tightly around his finger. He feels the tension in your body, the way it seizes up, trying to fight the unbearable heat pooling in your pelvis. His dazed eyes open, scent of your pheromones wafting up his nose as he lowers his head, mouth next to the shell of your ear.

“Don’t fight it.” he whispers.

Your moans quiet down into low, laboured pants as you try to relax your tensed muscles. You’re having a hard time, and he can sense it.

“Let it happen, my paysyul. I'm right here.” he hums, using his thumb to rub loose, slow circles into your puffy clit.

“Mmmn! I-I can’t. Ra – ah haah, ngh! ‘ts t-too much – too much!” your shaky breaths hiccup as you shake your head side to side in his chest.

“Cum for your karyu.” he encourages you, tightening the circles and picking up the speed of his thumb.

Of course, your karyu would be the one to teach you how to cum.

The sound of his husky voice in your ear sends you over the edge – heated coil unravelling, stomach muscles relaxing. It’s as if your body were responding to his command all on its own. This foreign feeling was just too good – too euphoric. You pull up suddenly from his chest, gasping for air as your entire body convulses in his grip.

“Oh, f-fuck!” you shout, tears streaming down your face.

“There you go. Good girl.” he grunts low in his chest.

He relishes in the quick flutter of your pussy walls around his finger. The way your cum dribbles down his arm. The way you’re staring into his eyes with your mouth open, releasing silent screams into the air. He can feel the beads of precum oozing from his tip, dripping down his pulsing length and onto his swollen balls.

He keeps his finger buried deep inside you, waiting patiently for you to come down from your high. Your sputtering broken words into his ear, body going limp in his grip. He could tell it was time to get you comfortable for the long night ahead. Ralak moves quickly through the storm, bringing you up to his marui.

A whine splits your lips when he tenderly pulls his finger out of you, laying you down on his bed. It’s so warm and cozy, soft sheeting fluffed up around your shivering body. You give in to the pull of your eyelids, resting them for a couple seconds. Ralak settles himself behind you, pressing his body against yours and wrapping his arms around your waist.

It feels so good, so right. The way his body completely envelopes yours, acting as your own personal shield. You back yourself up onto him, rubbing the swell of your ass on his cock – glossy from his precum. Your body moves on its own, a hand sliding down his crotch to wrap your fingers around his girth.

Fingertips barely touching one another, you stroke half the length of his cock, feeling it warm up in your hand. His breath is heavy and hot, right in the shell of your ear. He nuzzles his face into your neck, peppering wet kisses down to your shoulder. Eywa, how you wanted him to be inside you, filling you up and making you feel full.

There’s a dull ache, deep in your womb. So deep that only something this big could make it go away. Every bone and fiber in your body is screaming for you to shove his cock inside. It’s so loud you can’t ignore them anymore, the need to be fucked.

“Lak.” you mumble, half awake.

“Mm?” he hums with fervour, cock finally getting the attention it’s been begging for.

“Want you inside.” you breathe, positioning his swollen tip to your entrance.

His hips snap back, pulling himself away from you. “Not today.”

“Please.” you whine, backing up on him once more. “My body n-needs you.”

“It will hurt, tanhì.” he mumbles between kisses, holding your hips to push them away. “Another day.”

You didn’t want to take no for an answer. Your body pined for him to stretch you out and fill you up. Your back arches as you slump your head back into his shoulder, opening your neck to his kisses. “Please, please.” you beg,

“Not when you are in heat. Not when we are not mated.” he groans, reluctantly pulling his aching cock away from your soft pussy lips.

“F-fuck. I can’t take this. I can’t. It’s – it’s too much. Please, Ralak.” you whine, squirming around from the sensation in your womb, lying on your back.

“Mawey. We will get through this.” he coos, sliding his hand down your stomach to your cunt.

Instinctively, your legs spread, welcoming the fingers that slide up and down between your folds. He slides a finger in easily, hooking it right into the gummy part of your heat, slowly massaging circles into it. He grinds his cock into your thigh, coating it with his own slick as he works yet another orgasm out of you.

“Just like last time” he coaches you through it, your breathy moans increasing in volume. “Relax, and let it happen” his words bounce with the thrust of his hips, chasing his own climax against your slickened thigh. Your walls contract, just as they did when you were about to cum. And then you lose it, walls suddenly relaxing around his digit.

“Again. Listen to your body.” he grunts, planting an encouraging kiss behind your ear.

Focusing on the budding feeling, your hands grip his veiny forearm, using it as leverage to hump his hand. You let go, allowing your body to take over. Head sinking back into the softness of the bed, you grind erratically into his hand.

“I’m close – s-so close!” you cry out, eyes popping open as your body tenses.

“Good girl, ride it out.” his voice is thick with desire, shaky from the buck of his hips. He’s on the edge, forcing himself to wait for you to cum before he does. Your hips lift in the air, his hand following with them. “Go on, let go.”

“Ra – lak! Cumming! Cumming!” you release a sudden, strained whine.

Just as your pussy walls flutter around his finger, he quickly slides a second one in, masking the pain of the stretch with the pleasure of your orgasm. With two fingers deep inside your cunt, your body convulses from satiation and pleasure, feeling stuffed to the brim.

“That’s it.” He growls low in his chest, eyes squeezing shut as he gives your thigh a few hard thrusts. Guttural noises picking up in volume and bass, he listens to his own body, spurting his warm, thick cum all over your thigh and stomach. He opens his eyes, to see a jaded look on your face as you calm down from your heat.

“I love you, my tanhì” he mumbles in your ear, fingers still inside you.

“I love you, my karyu.” you barely get out, eyelids falling shut.

He leans over you, using his free hand to grab the cloth next to his bed to clean you up with. He knew better than to take his fingers out of you, and to think that this was all over. It was only the beginning of a long night ahead.

And oh Eywa, it was.

Every few hours, you’d wake up sweating and squirming from your heat, backing yourself up onto Ralak’s warm body, begging for his touches. He’d be quick to oblige, curling the fingers that remain inside you for the entire night, making you cum as many times as you wanted. The only thing he wouldn’t give into were your pleas to be fucked. That was one thing he maintained his composure about.

----

“Y/n. For the love of Christ, you better tell me that the storm held ya up last night.” Jakes voice rings in your ear, waking you up.

Oh shit.

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jk97 · 4 months

Text

Unprofessional Attraction | TWO

♡ pairing - yunho x afab!reader ♡ word count - 18.2K ♡ warnings for this chapter - fluff and explicit content (mdni), teacher/student relationship, other members are featured, halloween, drinking alcohol, perverted!yunho, bigdick!yunho, pet names (angel, pretty, smart girl, etc), pinch of sexting and unintentional phone sex, office head (giving and receiving), fingering, praise, unprotected sex, riding, jealousy, blackmail, good ol' porn with plot ♡ A/N - my goodness thank you for 1000+ notes ♡ sorry it's so long but I appreciate the patience!! the school semester timeline in this is kinda unrealistic but ignore that, fictional romance has no bounds LOL. This might end up 4 parts instead of 3, we'll see what my brain figures out.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“I’m starting to think you’re kidnapping me.”

For the past 30 minutes into this drive, something Yunho had initially assured you wouldn’t take long, you’ve been alternating between staring out of the window at your surroundings slowly becoming unfamiliar and the small bouquet of flowers sitting in your lap. Even as you gaze at him inquisitively, he doesn’t move his attention away from the road. When he doesn't answer for longer than what you deem appropriate, your brows flicker up in amusement. That gets his attention.

“Oh, right, that’s a bad thing,” he clears his throat dramatically, though you know he’s just poking fun at your impatience, “I suppose I could ruin the surprise if you’re getting restless.”

“No, I’m not! I’m just very curious why it’s so far away,” you stop him quickly. That’s absolutely a reasonable question and Yunho decides to give you the answer.

“I know I said I wanted to be discreet but…” he pauses and sighs, shaking his head, “I just can’t. Figured the next best thing would be to just leave our area for the day and do something fun around strangers instead. I just want us to be comfortable, I guess.”

“You really weren’t kidding about being thoughtful, huh?” You hum softly, hand finding his own sitting on the gear shift. He allows you to thread his fingers between yours without hesitation.

“I meant everything I said, yes.”

“I guess I can be patient then,” you feign annoyance, rolling your eyes.

The earnest laugh that your silliness evokes from him fills the car and makes the atmosphere even warmer than before. The gift of flowers had already charmed you upon getting into his car, so you can’t imagine that there’s something even better waiting for you at the end of the drive. As much as you’d love to know what this man had settled on within the last few days, you allow yourself to indulge in the feeling of being whisked away and surprised instead. In the meantime, you busy yourself again by humming to his radio and continuing to survey your surroundings passing by quickly the further you drive.

There are many things Yunho is good at and he’s a very intelligent man, but cooking is just not one of those things. Because of this, he generally eats out instead of bothering with making food. This is particularly one of the reasons why he never had an issue when it came to eating dinner with you outside of his home. He supposes if he wants to be a proper and worthy bachelor, he should learn one of these days not to add too much salt to soup, or how to properly fry an egg without burning it to a crisp. Today’s decision to take you both to a cooking class is motivated by those circumstances. Sushi shouldn’t be that hard to master, right?

It begins easily enough.

Each group has an individual station, and the class starts with a simple seaweed salad as an appetizer. He makes sure to follow all the instructions to a T, his only deviation being adding a dash of red pepper flakes because he likes spice. Yunho’s already so used to you asking for a taste of his food that he immediately goes to share his final product without you even asking.

While you’re still mixing your own he beckons for your attention, holding out a bite with his chopsticks, “Open.”

This is something you’ve done before, yes, but only a few times. It’s a bit more embarrassing though while doing such a thing in front of other people, and he can’t help but notice how you can’t look him directly in the eyes while obliging him. You’re so cute when you’re shy.

“How does it taste?” He asks before you can even get to chewing, but he’s a bit nervous that you might spit it out before he does.

When you do get to chew and swallow, he’s surprised to see your eyes light up, “Wow that’s delicious, Yu!”

Asking him for another bite inflates his ego just a pinch too much, but he can’t help it when you’re praising him for his work. Maybe to hide his inability to cook anything else he’d simply make you seaweed salad for the rest of your life. Yeah, that sounds nice… He tries to suppress the confident smirk tugging at his lips and hypes himself up for the rest of the lesson. After everyone in the room has wrapped up that portion of the lesson, the instructor moves forward with beginning the sushi crafting.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, how did you meet your friends?” You inquire in a low voice while the instructor carries on about how much rice is an appropriate amount, clarifying, “Mr. Park and Mr. Choi.”

“I met both in college, but I met Seonghwa first,” he muses, “I was a sophomore and he was a junior, and we both happened to choose the same music elective that year.”

“What the hell is a linguist doing in a music class? Felt adventurous that year?”

“I’m quite the singer actually,” Yunho reveals with a confident smile, but his arms cease their rice flattening when he hears you try to stifle laughter. His brows crinkle as he peers over at you with a prominent pout tugging at his lips, “What, you don’t believe me?”

“No, I do, it’s just–” You give him a once over. “I’m imagining this angelic voice coming out of you and it’s really cute.”

“Angelic…” he muses, then turns back to flattening his rice and smiles to himself, “I guess I’ll have to show you one day and you can determine that for yourself.”

“I’d love that, actually.”

The instructor announces that next you’ll be slicing up salmon and avocado to put inside your rolls. You and Yunho work diligently on splitting the filet of salmon provided between each other to see who can do it best and follow her lead once more.

“Continue the story,” you whisper to him once the instructor gives the last of her enthusiastic pitches on how to glide the knife through in one stroke for each piece, “What happened after music class?”

“Well, we became friends after pairing up for a duet project… and then we met San the following year after he hired Seonghwa for tutoring in history.” Yunho pauses for a moment to put an immense amount of concentration into his first slice, which still definitely ends up way too thick. “He did things like that on the side for money sometimes. Put up posters in the cafes and everything.”

Even though you’re also concentrating, you nod so he knows you’re paying attention. Unlike Yunho, you seem to have picked up on the cutting technique pretty quickly. His eyes keep flickering back and forth between your work and his, and he huffs in dissatisfaction.

“Sheesh, that was quite some time ago,” you state absentmindedly.

“Excuse me, are you calling me old?”

“Possibly.”

For the nonchalant jab at his confidence, Yunho nudges your cutting arm mid-slice and causes you to abruptly cut the current piece in half. The flabbergasted look on your face and the way your mouth drops open at a loss for words makes him giggle.

“I’m so sorry beautiful, it’s these old brittle bones,” he feigns remorse, lips pulling into a dishonest pout when you glare at him, “Can never keep my balance these days with them, you know?”

“Maybe they’re also the reason your slices look as big as filets,” you quip back, “Might as well throw those on the grill, right?”

Yunho’s pout turns genuine. You only apologize because he looks like a kicked puppy, and you both agree to let you cut the salmon while he works on the avocados instead. It doesn’t take long before you’re finished placing the necessary ingredients onto your rice and following the instructor's words on how to successfully roll it all together. This is something that Yunho is actually able to do decently, and he marvels at the way he’s got a genuine sushi roll in front of his eyes made from his own hands. Moving forward, his mind is consumed with cutting it into perfect bite-sized pieces when you tap his shoulder.

“Hey, do you like soy sauce on your sushi?”

“Sometimes, why?” He replies, and when he turns around to peer down at you he’s met with a pair of chopsticks holding up something for him to try.

You smile in place of instruction, but he opens his mouth without even having to be told to do so. Unlike you, he doesn’t mind holding eye contact while you feed him. It feels intimate even with strangers around you. Dozens of butterflies manifest in your stomach and go into even more of a frenzy when he sighs in contentment. He’ll be nice and pretend he didn’t see the way you swallow the lump in your throat.

That’s when you notice you put just a little too much soy sauce on his piece, and your thumb casually swipes the excess from the corner of his mouth. It’s an action that should be helpful and innocent, but you put your thumb in your mouth to lick it clean without even thinking. He absolutely takes notice. Every time Yunho thinks he’s got the upper hand in wooing you, you make him lose his cool so easily.

“Your face is red. Was it too salty?”

Yunho clears his throat and shakes his head hastily when he sees you’re genuinely concerned. He really wants nothing more than to kiss you at this moment, but that would have to wait until you both are alone. The rest of the class goes by quickly when tasked with making a different sushi roll and some strawberry-matcha ice cream for dessert. Yunho thinks he might see a hint of disappointment on your face when things come to an end and you have to take off your aprons.

“There’s a park not too far away from here if you’re okay with walking for a bit. Burn off some calories?” Yunho proposes when you both finally leave the building, and you nod eagerly. For the second time today, you link fingers and begin your venture.

The walk ends up being a bit longer than you both expect, but it doesn’t take much time to find a secluded spot where you could have some privacy when there. It’s fairly brisk today, so when Yunho removes his jacket to grant you a clean place to sit on the grass, you immediately tell him you don’t mind sitting on the ground at all, that you’d rather him be warm. He assures you that he’s not cold at all (a big fat lie) and doesn’t mind getting a little dirt on his pants, so you give in and situate yourself on his jacket. The silence between you both is comfortable, filled with the sounds of people playing somewhere nearby and birds occupying trees in the branches lingering over you. You debate about striking up more conversation about his past, but he beats you to the punch on speaking.

“I haven’t done this in a while you know,” Yunho suddenly divulges, “Have you?”

“Gone on a date?” When he nods you shake your head, “No, actually. Haven’t met anyone worth going past the texting phase, to be honest... Well, besides that one day.”

You feel a bit guilty when still having to lie about that phony date that led to your first dinner together, but it’s not like it’s something you can change now.

“As bad as it sounds… I’m glad you got stood up that day,” his eyes fall to his lap when he mumbles this. He hopes that doesn’t come across negatively.

The corners of your mouth tug into a smile at his honesty. Maybe one day in the future you’d gain enough courage to tell him it was a lie. You wonder if he would genuinely be upset… Though, you suppose you’re thinking way too far ahead into the future for those kinds of worries.

Instead of dwelling on it, you simply say, “I am too, Yu.”

“You’ve been using that nickname more often,” he points out after a moment of thought, “Any particular reason?”

“It’s just a habit when we get alone… helps me separate you from how I know you on campus,” you reply and glance over at him apprehensively, “I’m sorry, it probably sounds too childish, right? I can stop.”

“No no, I prefer when you call me Yu,” he admits, palm digging into the grass as he leans back on his arm with a sigh, “Everybody else calls me Yunho, Mr. Jeong, whatever.”

“Am I not in the same category as everybody else?”

“Not at all,” he professes without any hesitation, lolling his head to the side to finally peer back at you. The soft smile pulling at the corners of his mouth makes your heart stutter.

“Duly noted,” is all you’re able to mumble back. When his eyes go from surveying your face for any unease at his bluntness to zeroing in on your lips, you can’t help the heat manifesting in your cheeks.

“Are you comfortable if I kiss you?”

“I feel like we’re way past that step, no?” You quirk a brow.

“Was more so asking since we’re technically in public, but I suppose that’s also true,” he laughs softly, leaning over and pressing his lips to yours before you can reply to him with any nonsense.

His lips are always so soft and plush, and it’s so juxtaposed with the way he kisses you with intensity and clear intent. He’s never really hesitant of himself when you both kiss, never thinking twice about selfishly stealing your air, despite any anxiety he may have about your situation inside of himself. He’s a bit too enamored with the way your tongue still tastes like strawberry matcha to realize that his free hand has dipped under the hem of your dress, fingertips creeping and leaving a trail of heat as they inch further and further up your thigh. As much as you’d love to indulge him, your nerves won’t let you, no matter how secluded your spot might be.

Your hand wraps around his wrist gently, giggling onto his lips as you warn him, “Don’t get any funny ideas. Like you said, we’re in public.”

“You’re absolutely right,” he sighs reluctantly. He can’t deny that he’s slightly embarrassed for even letting his hands move with a mind of their own. There’s just something about you that makes him feel like he doesn’t have to think so hard when you’re around, and it makes him lose his senses in the process. Everything just feels natural. An affectionate smile plays at his lips while he rubs the material of your dress between his fingers, “It’s getting pretty late, the sun is setting.”

“Let’s head back before the traffic gets too crazy then, yeah?” You propose and he nods silently before pushing one last peck to your lips.

The drive back to your apartment feels much quicker than it did leaving, and this stirs up a hint of despondency in your stomach. It feels like your time with him has ended just as soon as it started, but you suppose you should appreciate the full day you did get to spend with him. Still, you know something like today won’t happen that often, and it makes you a bit sad the closer you get to your building.

Like the gentlemen he is, Yunho walks with you up to the second floor and to your door, hands shoved deep in his pockets while he debates on how to say bye. He doesn’t know if he should kiss you goodbye when anybody could be watching now that you’re back in the area. Then again, he supposes even walking you up to your place was risky to begin with. While he’s debating over these things in his mind, you’ve already opened your front door. He doesn’t even realize you’re staring at him until you call his name, to which he’s subsequently sputtering a bunch of apologies after being caught overthinking.

“Why don’t you come inside for a little bit,” you hum, more as an instruction than a request.

Yunho’s tongue prods at the inside of his cheek in rumination over the various prospects of what exactly coming inside could entail, but the way you’re gazing at him with those beguiling eyes is already luring him in before his thoughts can get the best of him. His feet move on their own, taking tentative steps into your abode with an overwhelming feeling of excitement pooling in his chest. The sound of the front door being locked is followed by you coming up behind him and wrapping your hands around his torso. It’s very sweet, the way you bury your head in his back and squeeze him in an endearing hug.

“I really enjoyed today,” you tell him as best you can with your cheek still squished against his back. You feel the warm chuckle he lets out reverberating through his back. He wishes he could reciprocate your hug, but it seems you’re intent on staying behind him.

He settles for saying, “Thank you for giving me the chance to fix things, ____. I just wanted to show you that you mean a lot to me.”

Then, there’s a beat of silence, and he wonders if everything is okay. Maybe that was too much…

“What’s your day look like tomorrow?” you suddenly ask softly, and Yunho's eyes fall to watch as your hands drop and ghost around his belt.

His Adam's Apple bobs anxiously before he answers in an equally soft voice, “Sundays I… I usually prepare my slides and lesson plans for the week. Meet with the boys in the evening after I’m done for some drinks…”

Your hands gently undo his belt as he’s talking, humming “ mhm ” every few words to let him know you’re indeed listening.

“Maybe you should leave in the morning then,” you propose, fingers gently popping open the button of his pants. You can feel him take a deep inhale the moment you finally gently tug at his zipper.

“Yeah, maybe I should.”

That night, Yunho learns several things about you.

He gets to learn the ins and outs of your gag reflex. You have a slight affinity with deep-throating your partners, and he falls in love with the view of you even trying to with tears in the corners of your eyes. The way your lips stretch around his thick cock… It’s an image he stores in his mental album of you for later use.

He gets to learn about the tattoo you have hidden on your back as he’s fervently driving that same thick cock of his into you from behind. He traces it delicately with his fingers before reaching forward to grab at your hair, pulling it back for some well-needed leverage while his sweaty thighs smack against yours over and over.

He especially loves learning that you like being talked through things, and he’s already made you cum twice by utilizing his voice. Rinse and repeat, the way your greedy cunt squeezes and milks him for all he’s worth when says, “Remind me, what’s my name?” And when you moan out that nickname that he likes so much, he replies with, “That’s my smart girl. Looking so pretty, you feel so fucking good around me. You gonna cum for me again, pretty? I can feel you squeezing, go ahead and give it to me.”

Needless to say, it was a very long and educational night.

In the morning, Yunho’s desires get the best of him, and he manages to inconspicuously steal a pair of panties from the laundry pile in your room, shoving them into his pants pocket while you’re in the bathroom. He makes sure to take a plain-looking pair, something he’s sure you won’t notice is missing. There’s a slight feeling of guilt once he’s nearly home, though.

It’s okay, it’s just a one-time thing, he tells himself over and over, I’ll return them the next time I’m over.

—

“YOU WHAT?”

Yeosang slaps his hand over his mouth but, to be fair, his reaction is entirely involuntary. He had promised you he would remain calm, but how could he with this kind of information? You repeatedly sputter that, while you may be in the back of the library, he is very much going to cause a disturbance if he doesn’t shut his fucking mouth.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he exhales, leaning in with eyes as big as saucers, “You came in too hot, I need the foreplay first.”

“Don’t phrase it like that, good Lord,” you groan.

“What else am I supposed to say when you tell me you’ve fucked him and none of the lead-up? Fuck, did he even take you out to dinner first?”

“Of course he did,” you defend him quickly, “We’ve spent a lot of time together actually. Mostly dinners and things of that nature.”

“I’m mostly shocked that it took you this long to fuck him. Seems like you hooked him fairly easily.”

“Well…” you cover your face just enough to where an eye can peep out between your fingers, and Yeosang eyes you curiously, “No, that wasn’t the first time…”

“Obviously you hate me, ____,” your best friend immediately states, clasping his hands together, “This is the only suitable explanation of why you wouldn’t tell me this until now. I literally begged you for info like an idiot weeks ago!”

“I’m sorry! It was just—”

“Nah, denied,” he holds a hand up to shush you, “Worst best friend ever.”

“Yeo, I explicitly told you progress was being made. Did I not?”

“You failed to tell me that it was being made between your legs,” he snaps in a whisper-yell. “How many times?”

“Only twice, okay? You haven’t missed much, I promise.”

Yeosang sits in silence with his head perched on his palm, seemingly marinating in all of the information he’s been slammed within the last 10 minutes. There are very few times you’ve seen him at a loss for words, but this moment surely makes the list.

“I didn’t think he would cave that easily, honestly.” He finally speaks. You release all the pent-up air in your chest that you hadn’t realized you were holding in waiting for his words. “What did you do to him ____?”

He pleads for the final time for you to start from the beginning and explain, and you finally grant that to him without getting too into the nitty gritty. You’re a bit bashful recounting some of the lengths you took in setting this all up, but Yeosang simply nods in understanding at each one. If anyone was going to be supportive, it was always going to be your frontline cheerleader.

After taking in the full story, he thinks it’s only proper to ask, “What’s your plan beyond this point?”

“Well, exactly what I said to you a long time ago,” you tell him frankly, “If all goes well, I want to be in a relationship with him after I graduate. I don’t see him saying no to that with the way he’s already treating me...”

Yeosang notices the way your demeanor has changed with this answer. Previously, the humorous lilt in your voice was much more prominent. Those same sentiments and that joking attitude seems to be long gone. He can see it in your eyes, the way you’re taking this more seriously. He wonders what Yunho could’ve possibly done to turn you into such a romantic over him. The answer to that would simply be: everything.

“You know, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure if you were telling the truth about wanting things beyond sex at first,” Yeosang tells you honestly. He may be a goofball, but he’s able to be serious when needed. And despite the foolishness leading up to this statement, his voice is earnest when he says, “I can see this working out for you as long as you’re careful.”

“I hope so, Yeo. I really do.”

—

On the following Wednesday, you and Yeosang are both seated in Yunho’s class wasting time on your phones as class is set to start. Usually, Yunho is very punctual with starting because his lectures are so long, so you’re curious as to what the hold-up is today. You peek over your laptop and spot him talking to a guy you’ve never seen before and, as far as you know, you’ve never recognized him in this class. They nod at each other before you see Yunho clear his throat.

“Everyone, I want to take a few minutes at the top of the hour to introduce someone important,” Yunho begins, loud enough that everyone can hear and cease chatter. “I’m sure some of you recognize him from other classes. For those who don't, however, this is Wooyoung Jung. He’ll be serving as my teacher’s assistant for the remainder of the semester.”

“I’m happy to be able to help any way I can,” Wooyoung proclaims to everyone with a sweet smile before turning back towards Yunho, “And thank you Mr. Jeong for allowing me the opportunity.”

You wonder if this is something Yunho truly chose or whether it was sprung upon him; it’s fairly late into the semester for something like this to be introduced. He does have quite the workload though, you muse. Surely with new hands to help, he’ll manage his time a bit better. You wonder if that’ll mean you get to spend more time with him while Wooyoung is taking care of things that would usually dig into his free time. As if Yunho knows you’re thinking about him, his eyes find yours while Wooyoung is taking his seat at the front of the class. Something about the ambiguous gaze he gives you when others are around makes you itch for his attention even more than normal. He doesn’t ever fail at making it look natural, like he could be looking at anyone for nothing in particular. Those little moments keep things fun.

The answer to your previous queries would end up being that, yes, this was something Yunho chose himself. When presented with an opportunity for a student specializing in his major to offer assistance after being accepted into the Work-Study program later than most, of course he said yes. San had been telling him since he began working at the university last semester that he should take on a TA while he got acclimated to teaching, but Yunho had convinced himself that he could do it all on his own. While Yunho had been pretty open about how terrible his workload was, considering he has 3 class sections, he was never completely honest with you about how much stress this caused him on a day-to-day basis.

He was excited that this would free up some of his previously stolen time and take some pressure off of his shoulders. He was also looking forward to being able to spend some of that newly open time with you, especially. That’s why when you unknowingly throw a wrench into those intentions before leaving his class Friday, he has a hard time keeping the dejection he feels from showing on his face.

“It might be a while before we’re able to hang out again,” you sigh, “Midterms are stressing me out but I don’t want to psych myself out right before I graduate—”

“____,” Yunho places his hand on your head tenderly, silencing your rambling in the kindest way he can. He doesn’t like seeing you so stressed out. “Focus on yourself and do your best, okay? Don’t lose sight of the finish line. Being prepared and passing is much more important than us seeing each other.”

You gaze up at him with some of the prettiest dispirited eyes he’s ever seen. How is he supposed to remain selfless when you look like this? Of course, he’d love to be selfish and fill your time; he knows you’re a smart girl so you’d have nothing to worry about for his midterm at least. He’d take care of it. Nevertheless, you’re still a student of others as well, and he has to extinguish that greed as fast as it ignites.

“Thank you for understanding.”

“Of course, pretty. You know where to find me whenever you’re ready,” he smiles and gives your cheek a teasing pinch before opening the lecture hall’s door, “See you next Wednesday.”

As expected, two weeks of studying and taking tests consume your entire schedule. Yunho is not much better, and he’s consistently cursing at himself for making the test he gave out to all of his sections so long. Even though he wants to truly know if his students understand all the material thus far, he forgets how time-consuming making the test so extensive can be for him as well. Having Wooyoung around helps quite a bit, even though he feels slightly guilty for putting such a large amount on him when he becomes overwhelmed. Wooyoung never complains though, so Yunho is grateful to have gotten a TA who actually does the work and does it well. During this time, you both try to keep regular contact, offering words of encouragement to each other and discussing what you should do to celebrate when you get your passing grades back.

Directly following the end of midterms week is the weekend before Halloween. Jongho had sent out a text the week prior that he was holding a party at his parent’s rental house, which is currently unoccupied for the season. The man had friends from several different circles because he was involved in many different extracurriculars outside of his studies, so you were certain this party was going to be fairly large.

Naturally, as best friends do, you and Yeosang decide to wear matching costumes for his party. Procrastination had gotten the best of you both with midterms added into the mix, however, and the best thing the two of you were able to come up with before the weekend was a sexy nurse and doctor duo. Simple, but effective.

You both rode along with Hongjoong, who had chosen to be the designated driver for the evening. It’s uncomfortably brisk outside, too brisk to be dressed like you are; however, upon opening the door, you can barely get two steps into the property before Jongho stops everyone in their tracks. His hands hold out exactly what you knew would be coming before even arriving at the house. It’s Jongho’s signature thing.

“You know the rules,” he says with that mischievous smile of his you know too well.

You must take one tequila shot to be admitted past the door.

All three of you quickly take the shot glasses from your host and toss them back without even giving cheers. The burn of alcohol and the robust taste of bitter poison stains your tongue. It hurts a little on the throat on the way down and you salivate to adjust to the pain, immediately making a face of disgust.

“God, it never gets easier,” you cough.

“I’ll grab you something easier,” he laughs while rubbing your back, “Same flavor as usual?”

“Please and thank you.”

As promised, he comes back with two bottles of honeydew melon soju in tow and some fresh shot glasses. It doesn’t take too many heavy-handed shots before laughs and giggles begin to bubble up in your throat for no real reason. You forgot that you didn’t put anything on your stomach before leaving the house, and it’s becoming very apparent every time you feel your head shoot up to outer space and come back down just as quickly. That’s a non-issue though because Jongho’s catered this party with enough food to feed a small village. Anyone watching you stuffing your face with Halloween-themed carbs and sweets is the last thing on your mind. Round two of shots is followed by the intense feeling of needing to dance. Even while intoxicated, you’re perceptive enough to notice various sets of eyes on you whilst dancing with your friends. Every so often, an owner of a set will make his way over and try to chat you up. Like clockwork, you say the same thing to every new person:

Sorry, I’m not single.

You say this sentence so many times in the span of an hour that it begins to feel real. Then again, isn’t it already? As far as you’re concerned, you were spoken for until Yunho said otherwise. You wonder if he feels the same about himself... When you start having a small internal existential crisis about whether Yunho thinks the same, that’s when you know you’re approaching your limit for the night. You step away to grab some water and begin the process of flushing your body. When you make it back to your circle, things have changed. Mingi, with his girlfriend in tow, lets everyone know that they’re going to find a private room before taking off up the stairs of the house. You know it’s irrational and probably motivated by the alcohol in your system, but you can't help but feel jealous that they can do something like that so easily. If you could see Yunho and drag him to a room anytime you were horny, you’re sure a lot of your life’s problems would be solved.

The moment they’re gone, Hongjoong leans in and quickly lets you know he’s also going upstairs to join some other acquaintances in karaoke. You’re just about to panic until Yeosang tugs on your arm to beckon for your attention.

“Going to the bathroom if you want to join,” he leans in and proposes, “I really need to pee.”

Everyone seems to have wanted to go their separate ways, but he’d never leave you alone all by your lonesome. And especially not with alcohol in your system. You grab onto his hand with a nod and let him lead you through hoards of people to the closest bathroom. Luckily, it’s empty and there’s no wait. It’s not long before you’re both locked away from the sound of music thumping from behind the door. While you search through your pockets for your lipgloss for reapplication, Yeosang jets for the toilet.

“I’m drained,” you mutter, “Being bombarded by strangers.”

“You showed up to the party looking like that and expected not to catch some eyes?”

He’s right, honestly. The red and white romper you’re wearing leaves nothing much to the imagination with the way your asscheeks are hanging out of the bottom or the way your breasts are squished together at the top. Your makeup and hair, your stockings and heels, everything just exudes pure sex appeal. All topped off with a little hat and a play syringe you’ve been using occasionally for “alcohol shots”. To be fair, your friend group mainly consisted of men, and many men found it intimidating to approach you with them always surrounding you in settings such as this. People must be feeling especially bold tonight with as much alcohol being drunk, you muse. He giggles to himself because he knows that typically you’d entertain some of the suitors for fun, but you seem devoted to the one man on your mind these days.

“Bet you didn’t send your boyfriend a picture of your costume though, huh?” Yeosang teases, slurred words morphing into a laugh as he finally pulls down his pants. The subsequent sound of him peeing draws a laugh from you.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you scoff and nudge him in the back. He nearly loses his footing.

“Stop, you're gonna make pee go everywhere!” How he is even still peeing with such ferocity is beyond you. This doesn’t stop him from adding in quickly, “I dare you to show him. It’s only fair, right?”

Alcohol-induced pride is something dangerous, but you’re never one to back down from a dare, even when sober. While he’s finishing up, you find your text thread with Yunho and send him the image you and Yeosang had taken together at the beginning of the party.

[Y/N: 1 image]

[Y/N: Matchingg with my besssttieee]

Coincidentally, Yunho is home and lonesomely watching YouTube videos when his phone pings. Oh wow…

He replies with several texts in a minute—one making sure to compliment you both, but the rest shamelessly thirsting over the way your costume is so lewd. Many other men may have made passes at you and offered plenty of flattery throughout the night, but none of them could make you get flustered as much as Yunho. This is the only man you care about hearing compliments from, the only man whose words matter. Maybe it’s that last bottle of soju making you so confident, but your hands move faster than your brain.

“Don’t turn around just yet,” you tell Yeosang quickly before pulling up your camera. You unzip your romper enough to pull one of your breasts out fully, squeezing it teasingly with one hand while the other takes a quick selfie. It’s a tad blurry, but it’ll do its job. After fixing yourself just as quickly, you give Yeosang the okay so he can wash his hands.

[Y/N: 1 invisible ink image]

[Y/N: Would you let me stick you???]

When he gets this notification, Yunho stares down at his throbbing cock already in his hand and laughs. He was already turned on enough by the other picture to pull it out from his sweatpants, but this? He’s usually not one to send nudes, but good God, he wants nothing more than for you to see exactly what you’re doing to him right now. Against his better judgment, he does just that.

[Yunho: 1 invisible ink image]

[Yunho: only if you let me reciprocate after]

When you uncover the picture, your breath catches in your throat: his hand is firmly wrapped around his aching, flushed cock. It looks as though he’s already been stroking himself eagerly, the way it’s glossy with lubricant and an angry shade of red. God, the things you would do to have him pick you up from this party and let you fuck him to your heart's content… Even though that could never happen, a girl can dream, so you decide you have to tell him exactly what’s on your mind. Yeosang’s too drunk to do his job of taking away your phone while you’re so many drinks deep.

“Ready to go back?” Your best friend asks while drying his hands.

Holding your phone tight against your chest for privacy, you sputter, “Do you mind giving me a few minutes alone? I won’t be too long, promise.”

Yunho’s shocked when he sees your name come up on his phone for a call. He was beginning to get slightly nervous when you failed to respond to his attempt at sexting, but that didn’t stop him from staring at your photos and feverishly stroking his cock in the meantime.

“Hello?”

“Hello there, handsome,” you giggle, and Yunho immediately hears the intoxicated tremor laced in your words.

“Having a fun night?” He asks with a laugh of his own, trying to refrain from breathing too heavily into the phone every time he squeezes his leaking tip with a little extra pressure.

You’re too drunk to realize what he’s doing anyway, and you unknowingly feed into his journey toward an orgasm when you outright say, “Yes but… I want you so bad right now, Yu.”

Yunho’s breath nearly catches in his throat, and his face flushes bashfully as his hand glides faster up and down his cock.

His voice trembles a bit when he replies, “I wish I could make that happen for you, angel.”

“Well… you wanna know what I’d do if I was there?” You push further, closing your eyes and tuning out everything outside the door to focus on Yunho alone. He agrees promptly, head kicking back as he closes his eyes in the same way, tuning in solely to your voice. “Been wanting to ride you so bad lately. Keep imagining the way you’d sound when I bounce up and down in your lap… You make the prettiest noises, Yu, I swear.”

He physically swallows any of those aforementioned pretty noises trying to manifest in his throat, burying them deep in his chest before he responds with the only thing his brain can manifest.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, but…” You lower your voice to a whisper, “Do you think I could make you cum all by myself, like no help?”

Yunho is so close, he can barely hold himself together.

“I bet you could. Just seeing you feel good while using my dick would be enough to, honestly.”

The tiny drunken giggle that tumbles from your lips goes straight to his heart, “I say we test that out then.”

“Just let me know when you want to and I’ll be more than ready,” he assures you, accidentally punctuating that sentence with a soft, “ Fuck .”

“____, Jongho’s looking for us,” Yeosang calls out through the door. “They’re about to play a drinking game or something.”

For some reason, the knowledge that you’re talking so filthy like this while anyone on the other side of the door could perhaps hear you pushes him over the edge. With his phone on his chest, Yunho presses a tight hand over his mouth to suppress any noise threatening to come out, instead heavily breathing through his nostrils as spurts of cum sully his abdomen.

You sigh, “My liver is being summoned, gotta go. Bye-bye, handsome.”

The call ends before Yunho can even open his mouth to reply, but that’s fine because he’s sure he wouldn’t have been able to come up with a coherent sentence anyway. He settles for dazedly texting you to let him know when you get home safely. The long and uncomfortably hot shower he takes to wash away the filth from his mind and his body leaves him feeling oddly refreshed. It might be because he hasn’t had a conversation with you not relating to the stresses of the previous weeks up until today. It’s silly that something so depraved ended up being the product, but God, does it feel fresh and exhilarating.

Now that midterm season was over and a good amount of grading had been taken off of his hands by taking on a TA, Yunho found himself with enough time on his hands to give his place a good cleaning. If he’s being completely honest with himself, he’s doing this to give himself more confidence in inviting you over again. It had been some time since he last had you there, but that was partially due to the treacherous state that it was in currently. You had been free from midterms for a week now, there were no excuses as to why he couldn’t spend private time with you in his place. The perfect opportunity arose directly after he accomplished his goal, when you mentioned in passing that you were one assignment away from being able to go out.

“How about you come do your work at my place instead?” he had offered, “I’ll order us dinner and we can relax together afterward.”

It didn’t take much convincing for you to end up on his doorstep half an hour later with your backpack slung over your shoulder. You’re so beautiful when you’re done up, there’s no denying that, but there’s something about you when you’re dressed so comfortably casual that makes Yunho get heart palpitations. When you look like that while lounging at his kitchen table, hands typing away at God knows what assignment, it just feels so domestic to him. You look like you belong there. He tries not to stare too much and gives you your space to work though, busying himself with some random medical show he pays no real mind to on Netflix while lying on his couch. Quite some time later, he hears you let out a hefty aggravated sigh.

“Words are starting to blend together,” you murmur while rubbing your eyes. “Hate when this happens.”

“Take a break then, beautiful. Come sit with me?”

It started off innocent, it really did.

Sitting curled up under Yunho’s arm in his lap has now entered the top ranks on your list of favorite positions to be in. It’s soothing, the way his fingers play with the frayed strings of your pants in between rubbing calming circles into your tense muscles. If you weren’t careful, you’re sure this man could lull you to sleep.

“I didn’t know you liked doctor shows,” you mumble against his chest.

“I don’t,” he laughs, “I figured the girl who dressed up as a sexy nurse over the weekend would be interested.”

“Oh hush, you know Halloween is for foolishness.”

But, upon entering a conversation about Halloween, it leads to a conversation about your photo exchange. Yunho has been meaning to ask if he’s allowed to save that image for obvious reasons. Aside from it being sent while you were intoxicated, he also wants to be respectful about deleting it if need be. You reassure him that it’s okay for him to keep and use it whenever he likes, as you do not doubt in your mind he’d never let something like that slip from between you both. That’s when the phone call also comes up.

“Are you usually that horny when you’re intoxicated?” Yunho inquires, “Calling me up and talking like that was surprising.”

You sit up immediately, “I called you? You’re lying…”

“You don’t remember?” His brows hitch in surprise.

“No, I don’t recall that at all,” you gaze back at him, dumbfounded, “What did I say?”

“Nothing much,” he lies, but he knows you’d never take that as an answer. Especially not when his cheeks are dusted in pink at you even asking.

“Please, tell me!” You nearly plead, “Oh God, was it embarrassing?”

“You really want to know that badly?”

The innocent nod you give him makes him give in. He remains focused on the TV to prevent himself from becoming too sheepish by looking into your eyes while recounting such words. Yunho is a bit more conservative with his words as he recalls your remarks about riding him. He’s unable to go into as much detail as you did of course, he doesn’t want to work himself up just thinking about it; moreover, he can’t even say some parts without fleeting thoughts of how he already jacked off simply to your voice telling him such things. It’s embarrassing to him how he lacks willpower when it comes to you, he’s a grown man for Christ’s sake. To be fair, you’re not much help. He doesn’t even notice how you’re toying with his sweatpants’ strings while he talks. When he finally tears his eyes from the TV and meets yours, the gaze you share has you finally moving from your spot.

Who knew Yunho’s living room couch was so comfortable on the knees? Surely not you, until yours are digging into it while you straddle his waist. It’s hard to focus on the way his lips are devouring your neck while his hands are simultaneously frisking every inch of your body he can reach. You don’t know at what point during the last minute you ended up with your joggers thrown a few feet away on the floor, or when he ended up with his sweatpants and underwear pooled around his feet. He can’t focus on anything else but the feeling of your bare cunt sliding back and forth over his cock, watching you teasingly smear your slick all over him with his mouth hung open. He can only take but so much of watching you work him up before he finally peers up into your eyes.

“God, you’re way too good at being a tease,” he sighs as he leans up to ghost his lips over yours. You can feel his little gasps every time you apply a little more of your weight on top of his painfully hard cock. He’s a patient man though, so he doesn’t mind letting you toy with him for however long your heart desires, “I’m not in a rush.”

“Maybe I’m just waiting for you to remind me how to fit it in me,” you joke, gasping as his hands busy themselves by massaging your sensitive breasts under your sports bra, “It's been a while since the last time, you know?”

The raspy laugh he lets out hits you right in your core, and even more so when he says, “You’re a very smart and capable girl, I know you can do it all by yourself.”

The way he enunciates the last three words makes your core throb. When you finally lift your hips to wrap your hands around his length, his hands move from your breasts to your waist for support. You give him a few gentle pumps before lining him up with your sopping entrance.

“There you go,” he encourages when you push yourself open on his tip with a needy moan.

You slide down his shaft gradually, inch by inch until you’re fully seated. The deep, shaky exhale you let out against Yunho’s neck makes him chuckle because you’re such a trooper even without any prep beforehand.

“Give me a second.”

“Want some help?” He asks genuinely, massaging the plush of your thighs and chuckling when he feels you clench at the offer.

He’d lay you down and take care of things himself if you wanted him to, as he’s never one to deny a pillow princess being the service dom he typically is. To his surprise, you begin moving your hips, lifting and sliding back down at a casual pace. His head kicks back and he sighs at the feeling of your warm walls swallowing him in and pushing him out, over and over. You can’t keep in the sounds of pure need and arousal that spill from your lips every time you feel his cock curve up and prod against that spot that makes your stomach do flips. When the sting from the initial stretch subsides, every glide feels breathtaking. You keep your head buried in his neck to focus on your hip movements instead, gasping and moaning in time with every sound of your ass striking his thighs.

You were right, he thinks, it had been quite some time since you both slept together that night of your first real date. Yunho’s been dreaming about that pretty cunt of yours since then—nearly daily—unable to match the feeling of the way you squeeze him with his hand, especially during the nights he works himself up enough to where he needs release. He didn’t want to seem too brazen or shamefully horny by reaching out and asking if he could show you more of what he could accomplish with that cock of his buried inside you, the sounds he wants to try and evoke. Nevertheless, he doesn’t want you to think that’s something that matters the most to him.

Admittedly, the general nerves regarding your extracurricular activities with each other had subsided after the Halloween stint. Yunho gained a lot of confidence after that night. He previously felt guilty during midterm weeks because, even after he had expressly told you to focus on yourself, he was also so sure that there was plenty of midterm stress he could’ve helped you relieve, and vice versa. In many, many ways. Regardless, he decided to let sex with you occur naturally instead, such as last time. It was worth the wait though, if the way his teeth are sinking so deep into his bottom lip to stop himself from whimpering at this pleasure is anything to go by.

“Fuck, mhm, just like that baby,” he hisses when you arch your back and begin rolling your hips against him, “Really gonna make me cum all by yourself, huh? Knew you were ambitious, angel.”

You feel yourself nearly gush with every word. This can’t be the same man who stands in front of you twice a week and talks about semantics, right? On the opposite end, how is he supposed to maintain any composure when the sounds of your sopping wet cunt sucking him in so easily are now battling the TV? Your arousal is so loud and it’s driving him crazy. He tends to firmly pinch at the meat of your bouncing ass and chuckle every time it elicits a helpless yelp from your throat, only to keep his antsy hands busy. Still, he makes an effort to let you do things by yourself, as you expressed.

“Yu?” you whimper into his skin a moment later, and he grunts to let you know he’s listening even if his mind is foggy with lust, “I wanna kiss you.”

Yunho’s heart nearly bursts out of his chest, cheeks flushing at how innocent the request is. His hand tenderly grabs you by the chin and leads your mouth to his while murmuring, “Stop hiding then, sweetheart.”

Time and time again, you’re reminded about how good of a kisser he is. There’s something addicting about the way he loves intertwining tongues and doesn’t care about being messy that turns you on to the highest degree. You can feel heat prickle over every inch of your skin when he pulls back your bottom lip with his teeth. When you begin to bounce faster and grow more eager to cum, Yunho’s hands finally grab underneath either cheek of your ass and begin to help you, hips rutting up in time with every quick hop of you on his cock. It doesn’t take long before his breathing becomes ragged, his own orgasm nearing, and you both break the kiss to gasp for air. Your hands grip onto his biceps when you feel your legs starting to give out from fatigue.

“I’m sorry I–”

“You can relax, sweetheart,” he pants, “Just a little more, I’ve got you.”

Yunho wraps his arms around your back, holding you steady and spreading his legs a bit farther apart before taking over and pistoning his hips into yours. The frenzied babbles of his name in his ear make his eyes roll to the ceiling. Your orgasm blindsides you entirely, hitting you right after a particularly sinful thrust directly into your G-spot. There's no time to indulge in the way you’re making some of the most euphoric sounds he’s ever heard himself pull from a woman because the feeling of your walls contracting and convulsing around his cock gives him the final push to finish himself. Right before he lets go, he lifts you off of his cock with strong arms and cum paints his t-shirt a few seconds later.

“I say we go take a shower…” Yunho begins tentatively, reworking his thoughts after you both are breathing calmly again, “And then, we can order some food because I’m honestly starving. What do you say?”

“And where does finishing my assignment come in, hm?” You pinch his cheek.

“Ugh, you’re right…” he groans, “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time before the food is delivered, right?”

“I’m not even looking at that food until my work is done, and I mean i—” Your voice clips off when he suddenly stands to his feet with you maintained in his arms.

“That shower isn’t going to run itself then,” he counters, lips tugging into a large smile as he happily strides towards his bedroom with you in tow.

Yunho had informed you beforehand that this next week was going to be a busy one for him, induced by training workshops the university decided to spring upon a few colleges. The Dean of his particular college thought that it was a good idea to shove all necessary sessions into the first week of November. He apologizes multiple times every time he thinks about it. You know he shouldn’t have to ever explain his business to you—he’s doing his job as a teacher, which comes first and foremost—but it’s nice that he considers you when his schedule is in conversation. You tell him time and time again that he shouldn’t concern himself with what you may or may not feel about his unavailability. He was nothing but patient with you during midterms, and you were more than happy to reciprocate that now that the time has come.

The first day you have class with him that week, you choose to stick back while everyone else is bustling to get out of the door. It doesn’t take longer than a couple of minutes for the room to completely empty, save for you and your teacher. Normally, his eyes would light up noticing such a thing, but today he seems to be drowning in fatigue with the way his face doesn’t even budge. That doesn’t stop you from heading to his podium with tentative steps while he pulls on his blazer and packs up to continue his schedule.

“Got a minute?”

“For you? Always,” he hums without even looking up. He’s in the middle of shoving the last of his things in his briefcase when you hold up a tied-up plastic bag that catches his attention.

“I know you have a loaded day, so I brought you lunch,” you break the news before he can question it. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but you’re sure it’ll be enjoyable to eat regardless. “Just wanted to save you from having to make an extra stop across campus.”

“You’re amazing, ____,” Yunho utters in a soft voice before taking the bag from you carefully. He’s having a hard time mustering up any kind of physical joy today so he hopes that, for now, his words can at least convey what he’s failing to provide otherwise, “I know it doesn’t look like it but I really do appreciate this. Thank you.”

“You seem tense today,” you point out while moving to join him on his side of the podium. “Did something happen?”

The lecture hall’s doors don’t have any slit windows for prying eyes, so you reach up and rub a comforting hand over the back of his neck. He closes his eyes and sighs. If there’s anyone’s touch that could cure his problems, he’s sure it’s yours. Still, he doesn’t want to make himself too comfortable with the location you’re in.

“You wouldn’t believe how many things are going wrong today. I also have to meet with the head of my department for a performance evaluation based on the midterm grades. Everyone generally did very well but,” Yunho massages the bridge of his nose to help collect his thoughts before continuing, “It’s only my second semester, so the impression I’m making with these kinds of things is very important. I know I have nothing to be worried about but it’s hard not to be anxious.”

“Making yourself sick with stress isn’t going to help either,” you remind him.

“I know, I know. I’m just ready for this week to be over.”

“Maybe we should go out of town again this weekend,” you muse, hand moving to squeeze his shoulder affectionately, “I saw online some fall festivals are happening that might be fun to check out. I remember you saying you’ve never been to one.”

He peers down at you, lips splitting into his first genuine grin of the day, “She takes notes in and out of the classroom, how cute.”

“Only when it comes to you. What do you say?”

There’s a knock on the doors, but before Yunho can muster any words to answer it, the owner comes in anyway. Upon entering in a huff, Wooyoung stops dead in his tracks. His eyes flicker between the two of you before he hitches a brow. You offer him a mild-mannered smile and pull your hand away from Yunho’s shoulder slowly so as not to seem suspicious.

“Good afternoon Wooyoung,” Yunho says so naturally, though you’re groaning in your head, “Did you need something from me?”

You know it’s ridiculous of you, but you’re starting to envy Yunho’s TA. Recently, you’ve come to realize that you hate how Wooyoung gets an immense amount of time interacting with Yunho daily, but it’s still never enough. There’s always something more he needs. You get it, he’s technically an employee to make your teacher’s life easier. That’s something you should be cheering on, right? Deep down, in the most selfish part of your mind, you’re just tired of people always interrupting and interfering in the minimal amount of time you have with Yunho on campus, even unknowingly.

“I remembered I had some questions about your grading criteria for the recent essay that I needed some clarification on before leaving,” he says, and you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker at you briefly, “But if you’re busy…”

“He’s not. We just finished chatting about what’s due next class,” you answer for Yunho instead, much to his dismay. He notices the tone change in your voice, but as much as he’d like to resolve that, he can only watch you grab your bag. He’s slow to catch himself frowning before fixing his face in front of his TA. While slipping past the younger gentleman to finally leave, you make sure to call out, “See you Friday, Mr. Jeong.”

It takes everything in you to not give Wooyoung the finger to the back of his head, but you decide it’s best not to let such things aggravate you. Again, Yunho is a teacher and this is part of his job. You shouldn’t be so angry at his assistant for doing what he needs to do to make his life easier.

You and your linguist do end up leaving the area again that weekend to attend a festival together. This particular town is covered in thick colorful trees that have yet to lose their leaves. Along with the overwhelming smells over different smells of various food carts and so many people laughing in enjoyment, the entire scene does a number on Yunho’s brain. It scratches a deep itch he didn’t realize he had. Playing little games with you for prizes makes him realize he hasn’t had this kind of fun in quite a long time.

Yunho’s shocked with himself when he asks if you both can take a selfie together in front of all the colorful leaves before leaving for the day. He’s been thinking about something like this for quite some time, a bit dispirited by not being able to savor memories in pictures like everyone else can. Realistically, he knows he really shouldn’t be offering such blatant evidence of your romance to be left on either of your phones. Texts can easily be manipulated and argued, but selfies with you both in them don’t lie. These kinds of thoughts still nag at him in the back of his head even while he puts on this goofy grin, chin affectionately sitting atop your shoulder as he snaps his first photo with you ever. He wishes he could put something like this as his wallpaper. Even if he could, in a world where peeping eyes weren’t an issue, he wonders if that would be too much. Do you like the people you’re involved with to be that mushy?

He doesn’t have the luxury of overthinking about these things for too long before you’re pinching his cheek to bring him back to reality. Reluctantly, Yunho decides to let his brain rest and focus on the rest of the time he has left with you. He’s unable to stay the night or do anything intimate that evening because of prior obligations taking up the rest of his night, but that doesn’t stop him from boldly leaning over his center console and surprising you with a slow, romantic kiss while parked right in front of your complex. He knows he should care, but he can’t find it in himself to be bothered with the risks when he just wants to show you that he appreciates you helping him relax today before he has to depart. You hear him loud and clear.

The following week, Seonghwa finds himself seeking out Yunho’s office after packing up for the day. Yunho’s thumbing at his phone’s keyboard when the courtesy knocks come and nearly scare him, but grants permission to enter.

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” Seonghwa marvels when he finds his friend still perched in his office chair. “Your classes are usually over early on Thursdays, no?”

“I had to rework my syllabus and switch modules around because of some issues getting through lectures last week. Completely slipped my mind that I still needed to revise my lesson plans and slides for tomorrow until this morning,” Yunho sighs, “If I go home it’s definitely not getting done, so I have to stay.”

His friend surveys the ways his cheeks are slightly flushed as he glances back down at his phone briefly and tries to type something quickly. Sure, it could be from frustration or exhaustion caused by his tasks for the evening, but something seems different in the way he’s fidgeting in his chair.

“Who’s the lucky lady?” Seonghwa inquires out of the blue, causing Yunho to lift his eyes from his phone abruptly. He offers a knowing smirk when Yunho’s brows furrowed in confusion, “You’re smiling a lot more these days— kinda glowing. Seems like you finally made it out of the dry spell and got laid.”

Yunho subconsciously tucks his phone in his lap, unconsciously confirming Seonghwa’s suspicions.

“Nobody special,” he replies, finding this white lie to be more suitable than lying outright, “Nothing much I can say.”

“Well, where’d you meet her? You don’t talk to anyone when we go out anymore so it couldn’t have been at the bar.”

Yunho hesitates for a brief moment before saying the first thing that comes to his mind, “Tinder.”

“I thought you deleted that app a while ago,” Seonghwa’s brows crease.

“I redownloaded it a while ago out of boredom,” Yunho explains quickly. He knows he’s not the best liar, but there is quite literally no way he’s going to tell his friend the truth about this situation whatsoever. Now, he almost wishes he had just fully lied at the start.

“And you can’t tell me more about a Tinder match?”

“I just–”

“I’d understand if I was San, but someone you can’t even tell me about?” Seonghwa jokes, but Yunho can tell this question is not entirely unserious.

He understands where his friend is coming from. Their relationship runs a bit deeper than Yunho’s with the third addition to their friendship, even though all three are nearly brothers now considering the years they’ve been friends. There’s never been something that Yunho hasn’t been able to come to him about, and they’re both generally always open with anything between each other. Needless to say, Seonghwa always knows when something is off.

“It’s not like that Hwa, just that it’s nobody worth discussing,” Yunho insists, “Who knows where it’ll lead, you know? I’ll let you know if it goes anywhere.”

Seonghwa’s eyes linger on him for a few extra seconds before he simply hums in acceptance. There’s a particular look in his eyes as he sips his water bottle briefly, though.

“Alright... I’ll leave you with these words, though,” he begins, and his voice is earnest. The one he usually uses with Yunho when he needs some tough love. “You’ve worked hard to be where you’re at now. Be careful brother, okay?”

Yunho maintains a fairly neutral expression when he nods, careful to neither confirm nor deny Seonghwa’s thoughts, whatever they may be. Seonghwa is perceptive but surely he’d never pin Yunho as the type to have gotten involved with a student. At least, he hopes.

“You finished for today?” Yunho asks while Seonghwa searches for his keys in his pockets.

“Yeah, thank God.” When he finally finds his keys, he adds, “Don’t work yourself too hard and stay too late, ‘kay?”

Yunho assures him that he definitely won’t, and they both exchange goodbyes before he finally departs the room. He’s pretty sure that he should be the only teacher left on his side of the building in their office right now. He finally brings his phone out of his lap and shoots out the text he was in the process of sending before his friend entered his office.

[Yunho: are you almost done for the day?]

[Y/N: I’m walking to our lot now actually. Everything okay?]

Fuck. Yunho feels bad for summoning you like this on short notice but he can’t take it anymore. His mind has been thinking about one thing all day, and if it doesn’t get taken care of now he might go insane.

[Yunho: if you’re not too far can you come to my office..?]

[Yunho: pls]

You cease your walking, redirect yourself towards his side of campus, quickly typing back to let him know you’re on your way. You don’t get to see him that often, so you’d never deny the opportunity to make that happen. On your venture back to the building, you end up crossing paths with Seonghwa while he’s on his way to the parking lot to head home. The ambiguous glint in his eyes as you both acknowledge each other in passing doesn’t strike you as unusual, but you do take notice.

The building is fairly empty when you enter, which isn’t surprising for the time of day. You take your time going up the elevator and striding to his office since it didn’t seem like this request was an emergency. You also figure it’s fine to enter outright since he specifically requested you to come immediately, but the door is locked upon turning the handle.

“Mr. Jeong?”

You use formalities after you knock just to be on the safe side; you’re not entirely sure who could be hanging around this late. Moreover, maybe he’s locked the door because he’s meeting with someone else briefly before you. Before you can even unlock your phone to text him and make sure he still needs you before leaving, you hear the door’s lock click open. He opens it a second later, enough for you to enter.

“Never seen you lock your door before.” You’re more preoccupied with shoving your phone in the side pocket of your bag as you enter to notice anything off. “Something happen?”

“I’m really sorry, I just didn’t want anyone else seeing me like this,” he explains quickly.

You’re just about to ask him what he means, but Yunho doesn’t give you much of a chance to get too far before he circles his arms around your waist and swoops down to capture your lips. It’s an immensely needy kiss, one you’ve never received from him before. Unintentionally, when the aching boner in his pants brushes against you, he releases a soft groan into your mouth– Oh! The sound of him locking the door sends a chill down your back.

You manage to pull away from him and laugh, brows furrowed in confusion, “Excuse me, have you forgotten where we are?”

“My colleagues are already gone for the day,” he reasons while walking you backward over to his desk. His face is flushed as he implores, “I need you to do me a favor, okay?”

“Of course,” you nod quickly, gazing up at him with expectant eyes. Why does he look so…desperate?

This moment doesn’t feel entirely real. You’re becoming increasingly wet just thinking about the things you could do now that you two were alone in his office if what he says is true. You’ve both exchanged plenty of fleeting, amicable touches when out in public, ones that not many would think twice about, but you’ve never tried something like this when you’re still on campus. Yunho fails to finish his request, too captivated with peppering your neck in wet open-mouthed kisses while he physically coaxes you to sit on his desk. You have on a skirt today, and he’s so thankful not to have to deal with the extra work of pulling off jeans.

“What do you want me to do, Yu? I’ll do anything,” you insist and wrap your arms around his neck, beckoning for his attention, “Just tell me.”

When he stares directly into your eyes, trying to gain enough courage to speak, you reiterate once more that he can ask you for anything.

“I want you to let me go down on you,” he finally spits out before sitting back into the chair you usually sit in when visiting.

“But… Right now? Here?”

“If you’re comfortable,” he adds.

It takes a few seconds for the words to fully sink in, and you hesitate briefly before lifting your skirt against your stomach and begin lying back. Yunho scoots his chair forward with an immense amount of anticipation building in his chest; he wasn’t sure earlier if this would take more convincing, but he’s grateful it didn’t.

“That’s really all?” Your brows crease while propping yourself up on your elbows to gaze down at him inquisitively.

Your confusion makes him chuckle. For someone so good with words any other time, he surely has some trouble expressing himself well when it comes to you most times. Today, though, he decides to let his desires spill freely. He gets ahead of himself and licks a warm strip up your panties, briefly tasting the arousal that’s creating such a big wet spot in the seat of the garment.

“I don’t think you understand ____,” Yunho begins, voice low as he pulls your panties down your legs. The rise and fall of his chest quickens with excitement once you’re bare and spread open by his hands. “Fuck, I’ve been dreaming about doing this again for the longest time.”

“Eating my pussy?” He nods hastily, pressing searing kisses onto the insides of your thighs. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

He sighs when you run your hand through his hair, coy eyes gazing up at you from between your thighs, “I didn’t want to be too forward about it. How do I properly beg you to suffocate me?”

“Just like that,” you laugh, but that’s cut abruptly by him roughly yanking you by your thighs closer to his face. As much as he’d love to entertain the rest of this conversation, he’s too impatient when you’re laid out in front of him like this, all wet and ready for his mouth. He flattens his tongue against your cunt and licks another long stripe upward, the initial taste making him sigh. The breathy moan you let fly at the brief contact makes his dick twitch in his pants.

“Been touching myself to the thought of these thighs around my head,” he admits, repeating the action but putting a little extra attention on your clit, “I was so hard today that I couldn't even stand up during my last lecture. You did that.”

You would crack a teasing joke about Wooyoung having to do his job for him, but any words lingering in your head are stolen the moment Yunho buries his face in your cunt, nose prodding at your clit. He licks and laps messily at your heat like some famished gentlemen consuming a meal for the first time in days. The obscenities that spill from your lips amongst cute, helpless whines only make him nod his head. He wants you to learn—good and well—that this is something he’s self-admittedly very talented at and always ready to do if you ever find it within yourself to ask him. If you didn’t learn that the first time he briefly ate you out, you sure were going to learn now. Yunho’s tongue finds itself buried as far as he can manage in your hole, pushing in and out and savoring the way you taste.

Your hands fly to your mouth because, even if Yunho is sure that you both are alone, you still don’t want the sound of you falling apart on his tongue seeping through the door with the way you’re progressively getting louder. He doesn’t mind you suppressing yourself, he’s set on filling the silence himself. The sounds of him slurping and sucking and kissing are so loud when bouncing against the walls of his small office.

“I love the taste of you,” he groans against your heat, sending vibrations against your sensitive cunt. You gasp and go to close your legs, to move away instinctively, but Yunho is too quick. His fingertips dig deep into the meat of your thighs as he makes an effort to keep them open, refusing to let you squirm away. “Let me finish this time,” he says, voice stern and brows furrowed.

God, that commanding voice he rarely uses could make you cum on the spot. Embarrassment flushes your face when you feel a new wave of arousal from those words gush and drip down your skin. He’s not going to let any of that go to waste though, sparing no time getting back to his ministrations. You don’t even realize that after a while you’ve begun to grind yourself against his face. He feels like he’s in heaven, his hands pulling and encouraging your hips forward as if silently saying yeah, keep going, just like that.

When he feels your legs become more tense, he decides to thrust two fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt and latch his mouth onto your clit, set on abusing that spot inside of you that will finally give him exactly what he wants. He ignores the ache in his jaw because every yelp and whimper spilling from your lips spurs his endurance until he finally hears his favorite words.

“Y-Yu, m’gonna cum,” you sputter before he feels your thighs close in over his head. He doesn’t mind this time, this is right where he wants to be when you tip over anyway.

Yunho lets out one last groan of his own onto your clit before he feels your legs go rigid, a signal he knows well now. Your back arches off the desk and he indulges in the feeling of you bucking against his face. He swallows everything you have to give him, mouth open and jaw slack as you tremble through your orgasm. It takes you what feels like forever to let go of his head, not like he’s complaining. When your legs go limp, Yunho slumps back in the chair with a huff. He’d get lock-jaw multiple times a week eating you out if you let him. He supposes this is something he should suggest eventually.

“You’re so hot, it’s unbelievable,” he heaves, staring at the mess he’s made of your cunt. There’s slick and cum and spit and everything in between ruining his desk, but he can’t find it in himself to care about the cleanup right now. When you’re finally able to sit up and breathe properly, he grins at you with that messy mouth of his, “Thank you, seriously.”

“Let me give you head too,” you offer eagerly, though you’re not even sure your knees are strong enough for that right now. To your surprise, Yunho shakes his head. “Please, I want to reciprocate!”

“You don’t have to,” he replies instead, finally fully gaining his breath back. The pout prominent on your face could make him melt into a puddle, he feels so bad but…

“But you deserve to cum too—”

“I… did already, ____,” he divulges and bashfully covers his face before you can see his cheeks flush with heat. You slowly glance down at his crotch and your eyes go wide. Yunho has indeed cum completely untouched, right inside his pants, as evident from the large wet spot soaking through his brown slacks.

A man who loves eating pussy so much he gets off just from your pleasure…

You push his arm away from his face and pull him in by his cheeks for an endearing kiss, one that you hope shows your appreciation and adoration.

“I’ll take care of you another day,” you promise him against his lips upon breaking. Regardless of the embarrassment coursing through him at the moment, he nods in acceptance. Anxiously walking to his car with his briefcase pressed firmly against his crotch to hide the aftermath of committing various sins in his office after finishing his work for the day is not something he ever expected to do, but somehow it still feels gratifying all the same.

It’s around this week that Yunho begins to sit down and seriously start examining his feelings. A quiet night in his home where he’s alone leads him to decide to sort out the swarm of thoughts he’s been accumulating in his mind for the last couple of weeks.

There’s no doubt in his mind that you both share a connection he’s never experienced with another woman before. When this all first began, although he explicitly let you know that he genuinely likes you, he initially wondered if maybe that was coming from being so attention and touch-deprived for some time. That maybe he was latching onto something because you filled a void, a subconscious selfish attachment to you to satisfy the things he lacked. None of that ended up being true, not even close. You both had spent a considerable amount of time exploring this thing… he supposes that’s where the dilemma comes in. What is this “thing”? He knows things are complicated considering the circumstances; but, are you both technically dating, just without the official title until that resolves itself? You hadn’t necessarily made that clear. What if you found someone closer to your age who made you feel the same way as he did within that time? Someone who you could be normal with and not have to sneak around or hide to enjoy.

This is where his selfishness comes in.

He thinks about how he would indeed be jealous and perturbed if he even saw you with another man like that, even if it makes your life easier. He doesn’t want to even think about you giving another man the same heart palpitations or sweaty hands he gets when he’s around you. He doesn’t want anyone else on that campus to know what it feels like to kiss you. He doesn’t want anyone else to know how good and fulfilling it feels to be the object of your desires. It’s been nearly three months of dates, spending time together, and learning the ins and outs of each other (in all five senses and beyond). How could he not feel infuriated if that were to happen?

That’s when it clicks for Yunho: he’s fucking in love with you. The moment this loud thought crosses his mind, Yunho’s chest tightens in fear. The last time he thought he felt this way about a woman, she hurt him in a way that took him some lengthy time to heal from. And, as he always has to remind himself, you are not just some woman. You’re also his student. This isn’t as simple as unmatching someone on Tinder because things didn’t work out, or blocking someone after a heartbreak. Though, the more he thinks about that word — student — the more he realizes it doesn’t matter anymore. You are much more than that. And soon enough, that word would no longer be in your vocabulary anyway. The only thing he cares about now is that you end up his officially at the end of the day. He was going to do whatever he could to make the rest of your semester smooth and stress-free, so you both could be happy together when it’s over.

And, as if you know you’re being thought of, Yunho’s phone buzzes with a text from you asking if he’s asleep. He debates with himself about whether he should bite the bullet and ask if you can both talk about things in the near future, but he ultimately decides against it. For now, he’ll indulge in the way you call his phone before he can even type a response and tell him that you want to fall asleep to his voice.

Some days later, you find yourself knocking on Yunho’s office door in the early afternoon. Unlike some people, you wait until he answers with a confirmation to enter.

“Good afternoon,” he beams after realizing it’s you, wiping his hands clean with a napkin.

“Ah, I’m just in time,” you chirp with clasped hands when you spot his empty tupperware. “I was worried I was going to interrupt your eating.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered anyways, pretty. You’ve seen me eat many times.”

“You deserve to eat in peace at least once a day like everyone else,” you reason while sitting down across from him as usual, “I sprung this meeting on you last minute anyway.”

“Speaking of which, I’m still quite confused about why you wanted to come here for this,” he replies while spinning his chair from side to side, “I told you my home is always open for you, especially for things like this.”

“This” being discussing your final paper. The same thing that put you right into his lap in the first place.

“Just felt a little nostalgic I guess,” you grin, adding in a quieter voice, “And maybe a little jealous too.”

His brows furrow, “Jealous?”

His confusion is expected, as you’re sure he hasn’t paid attention to much of the interruptions you’ve experienced while with him the last few weeks on campus. It’s not simply Wooyoung either, but everyone who gets his attention on campus when you have to stay away for one reason or another. The way other women on campus look at him or speak to him, unaware that he’s already devoting his attention to you. It eats at you a bit sometimes.

Yunho may be greedy but you’re much greedier, as if that wasn’t evident enough by the things you did to attract him in the first place. Even then, he’s never failed to oblige any of your requests, whether that be with his endearment, his time, or his… assets. He deserves everything in the world, and you can’t wait to give that to him when the time arrives. For now, you’ll behave to the best of your abilities.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just rambling,” you deflect, “Seeing you in your element is just nice, that’s all.”

Yunho’s curious about what’s going on in your mind but he decides not to pursue further answers.

“So, what do I have the pleasure of helping you with today?”

The apples of his cheeks are even more prominent today as he smiles while asking this. You know he loves his job, but you’re sure he doesn’t get this much glee during office hours with anyone else.

“Last session at your house we talked about my analysis section and I remember you telling me that I was overthinking, but I’m still second-guessing myself on some of my points. I guess I just need to run some things by you to be one hundred percent sure I’m in a good direction.”

“You’re almost as bad as me,” he declares. As the self-proclaimed King of Overthinking, he’s the only person allowed to say such a thing to you. Still, it makes you pout.

“To be fair, we both know this is not my best subject, so this final might be more important to me than any of my others,” you confess. This is partially true; a small part of you wants to impress your handsome linguist by showing him a final product worth reading.

“You know I’d take care of things regardless, right? You don’t have to stress about that.”

“I appreciate that, but I want to earn this grade genuinely,” you clarify. He lets you know he understands, but you want some extra reassurance when you say, “Promise me you’ll grade me genuinely, okay?”

“I get it. I promise pretty lady,” he guarantees you with a soft, affectionate smile. “I know I tell you all the time in the most inappropriate scenarios… but I mean it when I say you’re a smart woman. I know you’ll do fine.”

If he could see you right now, Yeosang would surely be laughing at you for being such a lover-girl and telling you that you’re an absolute idiot for passing up an automatic A+ on your final, but you never genuinely pursued Yunho for that kind of leverage anyway, regardless of the initial jokes. This was something you genuinely hoped Yunho was aware of when it came to communicating your feelings.

As always, he takes all the time you need to help you with a list of things you want a second opinion on, sources you want to make sure are up to par, and everything in between. He thinks it’s cute when you pull out your little checklist named “Things To Ask Yu”, and diligently check each off as they’re completed.

A relieved sigh leaves your lips the moment you check off the final thing on the list. You both meet eyes for a brief moment, and the look donning his face is something oozing with pure adoration. You hold his gaze for what feels like forever before glancing at your watch. You’re making good time, it’s been almost an hour.

“When you look at me like that, it makes me want to throw away all my responsibilities and stay here all day,” you mumble.

He lets out an airy chuckle, “Am I keeping you from anything in particular?”

“I do have a class in about half an hour.”

He stretches his arms over his head with a grunt, “Sounds like we should end things for the day and meet here again in a couple of days then, Miss Nostalgia.”

“Well…” You trail off as you stand to your feet and make your way to the office door.

Yunho watches your fingers lock his door before you stroll back over to his side of the desk. Something stirs in his gut as he looks up into your eyes when you finally reach him, calculating the way you gaze back at him playfully. The small mischievous smirk playing on your lips… God, he just knows he’s in trouble. He turns his attention toward his laptop when you sit yourself on top of his desk right beside him.

“Well?”

“Remember how I said I would take care of you at another time?” The feeling of the edge of his desk sinking into your thighs elicits a soft sigh while you recount that day, as if him eating you out like a Christmas dinner wasn’t already ingrained into your mind. “This seems like a moment where that would be fitting.”

“Do you remember where we are?” He mimics your statement the last time you were both intimate in his office, in the same cadence and everything. His fingers delicately click at his mouse as he tries to think of anything else other than your thighs peeking out of that pleated skirt you’re wearing, directly next to his hand.

“If I remember correctly, that didn’t matter last time…”

“The circumstances were very different,” he immediately counters.

It’s true, to an extent; the timing was more on par for solitude. Regardless, he knows he sounds like the biggest hypocrite at the moment, even more evident by the roll of your eyes he catches out of the corner of his. He leans back in his chair and runs his hands through his hair. Sometimes he wishes he was more adventurous, less concerned about the consequences, and more accepting of the thrill of things. When he’s thinking of these things, it’s not even for his sake, but yours. He can’t handle the thought of you losing your degree due to his selfishness. And yet, he can’t help the arousal building from those thoughts about your mischievous side. You’re able to pull that side out of him so easily.

“And yet, you’re hard,” you say quietly when your eyes fall to his ever-so-inviting lap, a blithe little chuckle following. Subconsciously, he covers himself over his slacks. “Are you scared of getting caught even with the door locked?”

“____, it's 2 PM and we're in my office with many people passing by every minute. Not to mention my other students who could request me at literally any time,” he explains with a flustered smile, “This is immensely risky, you know that very well.”

“But–”

“You also know very well I’m extremely bad at being that quiet with you,” he interrupts your attempt to plead your case. Only then does he roll his head to the side and give you this look with low hooded eyes that finally make you glance away. His sentiments make goosebumps lace your skin because— fuck —yes you know he didn’t like being quiet. That was honestly an understatement. The heaving, moaning, and endless praise were only the start of what you could pull from the man during your escapades.

You ponder for a brief moment, contemplating just letting it go, but end up pursing your lips and resorting to those famous eyes you give Yeosang when you want something unattainable.

“Please Yu, just let me give you a good blowjob. It'll be quick and quiet, I promise.”

He just can’t say no when you look at him like that, so he sighs, “I guess…”

“I also have an idea.”

Yunho is not sure what he initially expected when those words came out of your mouth, but surely it didn’t include the way your hands slip under your skirt and tug your panties down your legs. He’s sure his entire face is a deep shade of scarlet when you hold them out for him. It doesn’t help that they're visibly wet.

“Maybe this can help you stay quiet, you know?” You suggest this while motioning to your face. He understands, of course, but he feels like this will just make things worse. So much worse. It’s confirmed when he feels his pants tighten from merely holding them in his hands. Still, he agrees and nervously pushes his chair back. After sinking under the desk, Yunho pulls his chair forward with enough room for you to sit on your knees comfortably. At least there was no way you would be seen if something strange were to arise.

Undoing his belt is one of your favorite parts, the anticipation visible in his ansty hands when he doesn’t know where to put them while you work it off. Your fingers tug lightly at his pants zipper before you dip your fingers past the hem of his waistband and pull them down quietly. He makes sure to lift his hips a little for you to slip them past just enough. You take one glance at his slightly flustered face before you pull his length from out the hole of his boxer briefs. It’s so hard that it hurts, leaking a copious amount of precum and making quite a mess.

“There are people outside the door,” he voices his nerves again at the last minute, peering at the shadows of feet passing the door, and then back down at you.

“Didn’t know you had such an exhibitionist kink then,” you poke fun at him in a whisper, noticing how much he’s twitching once the words leave his lips. A teasing laugh slips from your lips and he groans in frustration, his empty hand moving to cock to stroke himself lazily.

“I do not have an exhibitionist kink,” Yunho snaps back with a huff. His cheeks are so flushed with chagrin, and it amuses you because if he really was that scared, he’d simply tell you no. He’d turn you away with that stern voice he rarely uses and suggest a different place and time. But Yunho wants this as much as you want it, despite what his mouth may say in the meantime.

“Ready?” You remove his hand and let a long string of saliva fall from your tongue onto his tip, just enough for lubrication. Then, you place your hands around his shaft and start stroking him yourself, mixing the spit with his dribble of precum. “You seem pretty turned on by the idea of being caught, Yu.”

The endless string of soft gasps and strangled noises of air coming from him as you work your hands on him just the way he likes is enough to drive your pride up the wall. There was always something different about how you touched him that he’d never be able to fulfill himself. He’s indubitably addicted to you.

"Shit, ___–”

“Shhhh. Unless you’d prefer to get caught?” You quirk a brow curiously as you increase pressure on him so he can’t supply an answer. Instead, he kicks his head back and lets out a soft, satisfied moan that sounds similar to your name. You follow that with a tsk! and shake your head disapprovingly. “My mouth hasn’t even touched you and you’re already a mess.”

He lowers his eyes to meet yours with a pointed glare and a chill runs down your spine, “Taking your sweet time is not helping.”

You go to taunt him again but can't even finish the first word before his free hand rakes through your hair and pushes your open mouth down on his cock instead. Yunho twitches and throbs under you with a low, constricted grunt while you clutch his thighs with your nails. He’s in love with the way you look up at him so innocently, your plush lips wrapped around his length and tears prodding the corners of your eyes at the sudden intrusion. It amazes him how you’re still able to smile, eyes half-lidded as if he had just blessed your mouth.

“I’m sorry, I got ahead of myself… Can I?” He sighs out, implying letting him use your mouth as he sees fit.

The hum you release around his length and the way you relax your jaw confirm his request. Yunho holds you gently on either side of your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks tenderly before guiding you up and down his cock at a leisurely speed. Occasionally, he accidentally prods at the back of your throat and elicits a choked moan. He whispers his apologies each time even though he has nothing to be sorry about, but it’s just a habit. He winds his hand in your hair and pulls his cock out a bit to focus your mouth on his tip, bucking his hips in short, hasty thrusts and reveling in the way it draws sloppy noises from your mouth while you seal your lips around his tip to keep from making things too messy. The panties pressed to his face with his other hand aren’t doing much to repress those grunts that come from deep within his chest.

“Feels so good,” he pants softly from under the fabric, lips fixing to whimper, “Am I going too fast?”

You moan around his length once more, shaking your head and blinking away any remaining dampness from your lashes.

“If it’s ever too much, tell me to stop and I'll stop,” he insists affectionately, but those dark brown eyes are fixated on yours with blown-out irises and deep carnal cravings.

He can’t expect you to ever want him to stop when he looks like that, right? Of course not. You take everything he gives you like the good girl he already knows you are, the sounds of your squelchy throat filling the silence and bouncing off the walls of his office. As much as you try to keep things clean, you can’t help the flood of saliva dripping onto his underwear the faster he fucks into your mouth. You can tell his orgasm is growing closer and closer by the way his thighs start trembling.

And even though Yunho thinks he hears a sound closer to his office door than his comfort would allow, he continues his pace. Your eyes are closed, focused solely on breathing, so you aren’t aware of the way his attention is elsewhere. His eyes stayed trained on the silhouette of feet at the bottom of the door’s threshold, and there’s a fleeting thought of whether he should stop. That thought is overwritten with pure lust, spurred on by the way you reach up and begin to massage his balls the best you can from your position. Yunho bites down on your panties, muffling the whine bubbling from his chest. A moment later, your panties fall from his mouth and his hips lose all rhythm.

“Fuck ____– cumming,” he groans a little too loudly, but his head is somewhere deep in outer space, brain screaming at him for release, “Where?”

You open your mouth just the slightest bit wider to emphasize that you want him to cum down your throat. Yunho halts his hips altogether and you feel his cock throb in your mouth as he finally releases everything he has to offer. He’s no longer concerned with who may or may not be lurking at the door; the only thing he can focus on is the way you lock eyes with him while swallowing his essence and sucking him clean after the fact. Nothing else matters at this moment but you.

Friday’s class ends earlier than normal when Yunho gets through his lecture for the period faster than expected.

“I need you to help me dye my hair soon if you have some time,” Yeosang says the moment people begin to stand and leave. You glance over to find him grimacing while looking into the camera of his phone, “I think I need to go back to pink or something, the brown is just not doing it for me.”

“I knew it wouldn’t last long,” you snort while filling up your backpack, “You’re just not used to having natural colors anymore.”

“I can’t even argue with that, my love.”

You ruffle a hand through his tresses before he finally stands to his feet, and you follow suit. Then, you toss a couple of things around in your mind about your schedule as you both walk down the lecture hall stairs before suggesting, “Actually, you could come over tonight if you already have the supplies.”

“Fuck, you’re the best. I’ll bring dinner too?”

Before you can even answer, a voice calls your name and steals your attention. Surprisingly, it’s Wooyoung of all people approaching you both. You can’t even hide the disinterest you feel in acknowledging him, it’s written all over your face.

“Do you mind if I speak with you privately for a moment?” he inquires, motioning towards his chair.

Yeosang meets your eyes inquisitively before stepping away and telling you he’ll meet up with you later. The class has emptied when you both venture over to Wooyoung’s seat, and he begins searching through his bag for something in particular.

“Is there an issue with something I submitted?”

“Not necessarily,” he replies. “I suppose I just want some insight.”

He pulls out the notebook he uses for tracking grades in this class and places it on the table. People always find it a bit weird that he prefers to do things by hand first before electronically and, sure it might be more work than necessary, but he prefers to have both methods.

“I’m a pretty meticulous person, ____. I noticed that there’s a discrepancy in the grades for last week’s short essay assignment,” Wooyoung begins in a honeyed voice, “Though, the only discrepancy was on yours.”

“I’m not sure why you’re coming to me about this when Mr. Jeong handles things like this,” you respond indifferently. “I would ask him about the mistake.”

Wooyoung smiles and leans forward on his elbows, “That’s the funny thing, I did. He told me that he had made the change himself and not to worry about it. No other explanations.”

“Well again, he’s the teacher, so it sounds pretty open and shut then.”

“It’s never that simple, ____. I looked back and noticed this has happened a few times throughout the last month, actually.”

“If you’re just going to keep badgering me about grade changes I have nothing to do with then I’m gonna end this conversation here.” To be honest with yourself, there’s a part of you deep down that’s cursing profusely at Yunho for messing with your grades, and so openly at that. This is something you had explicitly made clear you didn’t need or want, but he had done it anyway. This is something you would have to chastise him about later in a very serious conversation. That’s the only concern on your mind as you start taking steps toward the doors and wave with a flick of your wrist, “Anyways, I’ve gotta go. I have other obligations for the day.”

“You mean like sucking off your teacher again?”

You cease all movement and turn back towards him, “Excuse me?”

“Sorry, that came out a little blunt, didn’t it?” He holds his hands up in remission. “It’s just not hard to put two and two together when your ear is pressed to a door and all you hear is choking, you know?”

“I have no clue what the fuck you’re talking about, but I’m offended you think I’d need that to pass a class anyway,” you reply indignantly. Still, there’s this slight feeling of panic pooling in your stomach.

Wooyoung gives you a knowing look, “You’re going to play stupid, really?”

“Look, I really don’t have the time for this—”

“I suppose we could ask the Dean what she thinks about things then? He said your name quite a few times, luckily,” Wooyoung interrupts you and suggests instead. His eyes flicker down to his phone and a pure look of fear at the thought that he possibly has a recording of you and Yunho’s depravity slates your face. “Oh, that got your attention.”

His laugh that follows that statement hits you right in your gut.

“My God, you’re an absolute asshole,” you seethe, but stop yourself before you can say anything worse. You’re well aware that being mean won’t get you on his good side. Instead, you calm yourself and rub your temples before asking, “What do you want to keep quiet, money? I don’t have much to offer but I can figure something out.”

“Listen, ____,” he says as he leans back in his chair and clasps his hands together, “I have a simple proposition that could make all of this just disappear.”

“Spit it out already then.”

“I want you to pretend we’re together for a little bit, publicly. Just enough time to make my ex want me back. Then, we can call it quits and go about our lives as if none of this happened.”

You can’t help the scoff that comes out of you, “You want me to fake date you to make your ex jealous, or else you’re going to essentially ruin my life. Is that what I’m hearing?”

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound evil,” Wooyoung points out with a hefty sigh. He slumps in his seat, “I’m not an evil guy, I would just like some help. That’s all. And you’re just not really in a position to say no, unlike others I’ve asked.”

“There’s a reason why those people said no, obviously,” you retort bitterly. He lets your sharp words roll off his back and simply smiles; there’s nothing you could say that would help your position and he knows this. It’s mid-November and graduation is in approximately a month. Surely it shouldn’t take that long for this plan of Wooyoung’s to finish, he knows this. The thought of it going on longer than necessary makes you feel physically ill though. Not to mention what Yunho would think about you having to interact with Wooyoung intimately.

“I want to make something clear as well,” he begins as if he’s forgotten this himself, “You cannot tell any of this to Mr. Jeong either. I don’t want my money for my assistant position to be compromised, obviously.”

Your brain begins to short-circuit at the thought of having to date Wooyoung openly without Yunho being aware it’s fake. The logistics in itself would cause you immense stress that you surely don’t need while closing out the end of your semester. You should very well be focusing on graduating and nothing more. Nonetheless, the last thing you want is for Yunho to lose his job because you couldn’t keep your mouth to yourself when he was already concerned about being caught that day. You don’t even care about the consequences for yourself, you’d feel immense guilt forever for ruining Yunho’s career and reputation. But, if Yunho heard that you were dating his TA, he’d surely break things off with you anyway. That thought scared you even more.

“So, would you like to exchange numbers?”

Halting your panic-stricken daze is Wooyoung’s hand surrendering his phone to you, a blank contact screen ever-so-inviting. You feel defeated, and you know this is going to end up turning out poorly, but you just can’t risk Yunho losing his job over you. When your anxious fingers snatch his phone and begin typing your information, Wooyoung sighs in contentment.

♡ taglist: @yeos-bunny @sharksandminhos @sannieluvrr @txt-yaomi @thisisntmyrightera @oreoqueen @jadeneliz @atinism @uarmytess @nopension @aaaaajonghooooo @tmtxtf @ateezallday @bloomyroses @shingene @likexaxdaydream @innsomniacshinestar @st4rhwa @eixila @sunflower-png @jadeneliz @witchlaughwoo @ashlurrr @justthattheatregirl @bts-army380

I apologize if I missed anyone! Thank you for reading ◡̈

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