disclaimer: these are works of fiction, characters and events portrayed are entirely fictional and do not represent or reflect on real people and/or events.
another disclaimer: header not mine. found it on pinterest. if its urs pls lmk so i can credit!
summary: another rendezvous with professor seonghwa (part 1 covers their barely there age gap it’s not weird!!!)
tags: good girl, kitten, v mild dumbification, fingering, sex
word count: 1500
disclaimer: this is a work of fiction, characters and events portrayed are entirely fictional and do not represent or reflect on real people and/or events.
You hadn’t meant for your little affair with Professor Seonghwa to go on for as long as it has. It’s been weeks now. Weeks of stolen glances during class, a wink here, a brush of the arm there. Tiny bursts of desire dragging you through every lesson, counting down the minutes to the end of the day. To where you could finally be alone with him.
He’d ruined you in more places than you’d like to admit. Your desk. His desk. The cupboard at the back of his lecture hall. His car in the parking lot. You couldn’t get enough of him, and it seemed he couldn’t get enough of you either. Some might say he was abusing his authority, but you’d beg to differ based on the way he lets you command him in the hushed moments you share in the quietest of hours.
Tonight, he’s got you on his desk, your legs spread, feet resting on the arms of his chair as his hands roam your legs, soft lips sweeping against your skin, breathing you in while he quizzes you on today's lesson.
“I don’t wanna talk about that right now Hwa,” you tell him fondly, fingers caressing his cheek as he leans into your touch.
“But you’re so smart baby,” he says, bringing his attention back to your thighs, dragging his lips higher and higher. “Show me how clever you are,” he whispers, slipping his hands under your skirt until they find the elastic of your underwear, tugging them over your knees.
He gets you reciting facts and figures, but your concentration doesn’t last long when he melts his lips against your centre, distracted whimpers spilling from your lips as you grasp for him.
“Carry on,” he mumbles against you, moaning when your fingers tug on his hair, your body hunching over his head as you lose focus on everything but the way his tongue feels circling your clit.
Before you can even cry out for him, he rips himself away, tutting as he stands to lean over you. “Don’t go dumb on me now kitten,” he clicks his tongue, tilting your chin up towards him.
“Please,” you huff, leaning up to try and catch his lips, pulling at his wrist to move it between your legs but he doesn’t budge, holds you firmly by the back of your neck instead. “Don’t wanna be smart right now,” you tell him quietly, half-heartedly clawing at him.
“Tell me what you want, clever girl,” he murmurs, holding you as you fidget in his arms.
“Touch me,” you mewl, trying again to drag his hand between your thighs.
“You want these?” He asks, holding up his first and second fingers, skimming the backs of them across your cheek, over your pouty lips. You nod, waiting patiently for him to oblige.
“Open up,” he says, slipping his fingers past your lips. He lays them flat against your tongue, twists his hand palm up, in and out, teasing because he knows you want him to fill you up. Everywhere. Anywhere. You’ll take whatever he’ll give you. You hollow your cheeks around his fingers, knowing full well his cock is twitching in his pants. You can’t help the way your hips involuntarily roll, searching for any ounce of friction you can get while he fucks his fingers into your mouth, his gaze sliding over your face with admiration, eyes twinkling with pride.
“Kneel on the desk,” he tells you, guiding you to sit on your calves on the table in front of him, legs spread, straddling thin air. He takes a seat in front of you again and lays his forearm between your legs, the same two saliva glistening fingers upright. He nods his head towards his waiting hand and you don’t need to be told twice, lifting your hips and sinking down onto his fingers.
Seonghwa takes in the masterpiece he’s orchestrated on his own desk, wonders how he’ll ever get through another lecture without replaying this in his mind and needing to excuse himself whenever his eyes inevitably meet yours across the room.
“Look at you, my smart girl,” he says, looking up at you in awe as you ride his hand. “Fucking yourself on my fingers, you look so pretty baby,” he murmurs, kissing your wrists as you cradle his face, his free hand gripping your waist. You let yourself whine out in response to him, even more so when he presses his thumb to your clit in short circles.
“Hwa, my knees,” you mewl, bracing your arms on his shoulders, leaning into him. He shushes you quietly, eases you off the table and lays you down on the desk in front of him, caressing your knees, placing soft kisses to soothe the red raw skin, before spreading your legs wide.
“This better?” He asks with a raised brow, as if to say ‘happy now?’ You nod, pulling him down by the back of his neck with force, his palm hitting the table beside your head with a thud. His face hovers above yours, a smirk tugging at his lips, his fingers disappearing between your legs again. He toys with your clit with his thumb, watches as you squirm under him.
“Need you,” you pout.
“You have me kitten,” he chuckles, thumb circling your entrance, revelling in the way your body keens for him.
“Will you fuck me, please?” You tilt your head slightly, wrapping your leg around him, keeping him close.
“Since you asked so nicely,” he says. His hands make light work of his belt buckle, the sound almost akin to a bell for one of Pavlov’s dogs the way your stomach tightens, a familiar heat rising within you that only he can ignite.
Although you’ve had many different encounters with Professor Seonghwa, there’s something exceptionally hot about him fucking you fully clothed in his black slacks and pristine white shirt.
He teases you with his tip for what feels like hours, groaning deep in his throat when he looks down at himself, watches your walls try desperately to pull him in, the way your hips chase him when he pulls out and slaps himself gently against your clit. You ache for him, grasping at him, nails digging into any skin they can find until he pins your hand to the table. You’re a mess beneath him, chanting your pleas over and over until he catches you off guard, slides all the way in, in one smooth motion. It knocks the air out of you, moans spilling from your parted lips.
He starts to roll his hips, setting an ever increasing pace. He releases your hand and pulls it between you, placing your own two fingers over your clit as he grips both of your thighs, holding your legs apart, using them to pound into you harder, the sound of skin meeting over and over fills the room, accompanied by your pathetic whimpers. With every thrust, he pulls you in, slamming himself into you as your body slides back and forth on the table in his grip.
“Move your fingers,” he instructs, but you can’t seem to focus on anything other than how good he feels sliding in and out of you. You’re so wet, and he’s filling you just right, sounding so perfect with every restrained moan that escapes him. You’re so cock drunk you don’t want to do as you’re told, don’t want to move your fingers because that means the end will crash over you, and you’ll inevitably have to go home, alone, without him and his burning touch.
“Has my smart girl gone dumb for me, hm?” He mocks softly, but the thrust he punctuates his sentence with is anything but soft. He slams all the way in, buries himself inside you and holds you there, leaning over you, one hand cupping your jaw. All you can do is nod, slowly circling your fingers. He feels it, of course he does. He feels the way your walls flutter around him, the flexing of your arm against his stomach as you touch yourself just as he’d asked you to. “Good girl,” he praises, before returning back to his relentless pace.
Once your fingers find their rhythm, it doesn’t take long for your walls to tighten around him, over and over again until he’s hunched over you, rough moans heaving from his chest with every breath as he spills into you, face buried in your neck.
You toy with damp hair at the nape of his neck, fingers gentle against his skin as his breathing finally slows. You lay quietly on the uncomfortable tabletop with him in your arms, contemplating your actions.
“I’m sick of fucking you on tables and in cupboards,” you blurt out. “When are you going to fuck me properly, in a bed?” You ask.
His head flies up in disbelief, propping himself up on his hands. He looks at you like you’ve just kicked his pet dog. “What?”
Leaving the warmth of the bed, you stepped onto the cold floorboards and glided towards your dresser, pulling open the drawer containing your underwear.
If he didn't want to give you his attention willingly, you'd just have to force it out of him.
— ᨳଓ Word Count:
~4k
— ᨳଓ A/N:
I havent had the energy to beta read this so if there's anything that doesn't make sense, I gen apologize😭 otherwise, enjoy some phone sex with youngie !!
— ᨳଓ Tags:
idol!jung wooyoung x fem!reader, phone sex, masturbation, degradation (wooyoung!rec), brat!wooyoung, whiny!wooyoung, reader sends wy nudes, exhibitionism (wooyoung masturbates in a bathroom at a restaurant), praise, reader calls wooyoung a good boy, wooyoung calls reader a good girl
The cold glow of your phone cut through the restless quiet of your bedroom, your mind drifting back to the empty text thread between you and your boyfriend. Letting out a quiet huff of irritation, you threw the device against the mattress, where it landed on the sheets with a soft, muffled thud.
Wooyoung had sent his usual good morning text just mere hours ago, a stark contrast to the brooding darkness of the evening that was currently settling where you were. He was thousands of miles away on tour, a heavy distance of quiet separation that only felt worse as the time-zones grew more brutal for each new country they visited.
The phone lit up for a fleeting moment from where it rested on the mattress. A sharp, sudden hitch caught in the back of your throat as you frantically scrambled to pick it up, only for your stomach to drop when you read the screen.
Instagram
wooyoung97 added a photo to their story
Your eyes narrowed with a heavy sigh, your features tightening into a pinched expression of mild annoyance before you finally clicked the notification.
It was a simple, brightly lit picture, displaying a restaurant table draped in fancy white fabric while Yunho and Mingi grinned widely at the lens. A second slide followed right after—a shot of Wooyoung and Yeosang looking perfectly content, captioned simply: lunch time.
It's not like you were actually mad at him. He had assuredly told you yesterday that he would spend the morning with the boys and then continue with some deserving lunch.
But peering at the screen, your thumb frozen over the image of his soft, content smile that was completely oblivious to the dragging stagnation of your night, a sudden, impish spark of defiance flared up in your chest.
Leaving the warmth of the bed, you stepped onto the cold floorboards and glided towards your dresser, pulling open the drawer containing your underwear.
If he didn't want to give you his attention willingly, you'd just have to force it out of him.
Your fingers sifted through the silk and cotton until you found exactly what you were looking for; a pair of wine-red garnet lace underwear—Wooyoung's favorites—and pulled them out into the dim light, your fingertips caressing the delicate, scratchy-soft texture of the embroidery.
Content with the choice, you moved on to your wardrobe to retrieve an oversized black tee he had left behind before going on tour. Bunching the dark cotton into a pile in your arms, you strode back toward the bed and tossed the bundle onto the sheets.
Shedding your pajamas—the simple grey sweats and pink cotton tank top dropping in a discarded heap at your feet—you reached into the pile to retrieve the lace set. You slid your arms through the thin, delicate straps of the bra, reaching behind your back to clasp the hooks before leaning forward slightly to settle yourself into the cups.
The underwire sat firm against the softness of your skin, not enough to hurt, but providing a tight, structured lift that pushed your breasts up into a perfectly plump cleavage.
Next were the panties; taking your time, you slowly slid one leg in and then the other, pulling the mesh up until it sat snug around your hips and the soft curve of your ass. A quiet giggle escaped your lips from the sheer anticipation, your fingertips tracing the contours of your body until a wave of goosebumps formed, your bottom lip caught between your teeth to ground the smirk that was threatening to take over.
Finally, you reached for Wooyoung's shirt, bringing the fabric close to your face to inhale the comforting, familiar smell of your boyfriend. The cotton felt soft and cool against your fevered skin where a flush was now threatening to form.
Taking it away from your face, you grabbed the lower hem to slide your arms in, the wide, pooling sleeves completely engulfing you and drowning your frame halfway down your bare thighs. The collar hung loose and heavy off your shoulder, the signature mix of laundry detergent and his cologne trapped deep in the threads filling your senses until you felt entirely intoxicated and utterly claimed.
Turning towards the corner of the room, your eyes locked onto your reflection in the full-length mirror. You strutted over, your hips swaying with a deliberate intent to get yourself into the mood and you arrived mere inches from the smooth glass, you reached for the remote currently on the windowsill, turning the string lights on to instantly flood the space with a heavy, neon red glow that blanketed the boring silence of the bedroom.
Sinking to your knees on the carpet in front of the glass, you parted your legs wide before shifting your weight to make the position more comfortable. You reached for your phone, opening the camera app as you stared back at your reflection to stop for a second, millions of thoughts working overtime in the back of your mind as you took in the sight before you.
You knew you looked good. You knew the way your thighs flattened against your calves—the soft tissue spreading wide and thick—would have Wooyoung completely at your mercy, desperate to worship every inch of your skin until you were a shuddering mess. And you knew that the explicit contrast of his casual black shirt draped over the delicate spider web of red lace underneath would send him into an absolute spiral, frantic to touch, to claim, to consume.
Not wanting to wait any longer, you positioned yourself better, making a show for your own amusement by dragging your index finger slowly and delicately along the skin of your throat before stopping at the collar. Crooking your finger by the first knuckle, you slowly tugged the cotton down to expose the red flush of your skin and the soft swell of your chest. A heat of crimson flushed your cheeks from a mix of nervousness and arousal as you brought the phone up, looking at yourself through the screen with a sultry look before snapping the first picture.
You shifted your weight, arching your back slightly before turning to the side. Removing your finger from the collar, you reached for the lower hem of the shirt instead, slipping your hand under the fabric to trail your fingertips against the fevered skin of your stomach. You pulled the shirt up slowly, lifting it until the explicit curvature of your hips meeting your thighs was fully on display.
Arching your back just a fraction more—not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough for the swell of your ass to stand out prominently—you watched the red neon light cast a lustful shadow beneath the delicate curves of your body, showing exactly how the band of your panties dug firmly into your hips.
You took a few more pictures like that, testing different poses that you knew would send Wooyoung over the edge—ones that made you feel elegantly dangerous. And with each blinding pop of the sudden flash slicing through the darkness, you found your breathing growing more shallow and heavy, a giddy tremor spreading through your fingers from the raw adrenaline of what you were doing.
Content with the results for now, you pushed yourself up from the carpet, your knees feeling slightly weak as you crossed the short distance back to the bed. Slipping into the sudden warmth under the safety of the heavy covers, your fingers trembled as you began scrolling through the gallery picking out what you thought were the best pictures—the ones that showed the sultriest of angles, the curve of your thighs, and the unmistakable claim of his shirt pooling over your frame.
With three of the downright best shots selected, your thumb hovered over the send icon. Your heart slammed heavy against your ribs, a sudden wave of panic battling against the cheeky defiance that had started this whole thing. Sending them in a reckless burst before your nerve failed you, you tossed the phone face-down onto the duvet and buried your face in your pillow, a stifled groan escaping your lips.
What did I just do?
Minutes ticked by for what felt like hours in the quiet darkness. Unable to handle the excruciating silence any longer, you reached out and flipped the device over, unlocking the screen to peer back into the chat thread.
The screen glowed with his contact name, and right beneath the thumbnail of your explicit photos sat two damning, tiny words:
Read 1m ago
Your breath hitched, the air trapping almost painfully in your chest as the grey typing bubble appeared, vanished, and reappeared again in a rapid succession.
The realization hit you; he was staring at them right now, thousands of miles away in the middle of a busy, brightly lit restaurant.
Then, the chat screen abruptly vanished.
A picture of Wooyoung flashed on the screen as he called you, the phone vibrating violently against your palm before swiping the screen with trembling fingers, bringing the receiver to your ear.
“Wooyoung—” You were cut off by a chaotic rush of noise. The sharp, heavy strike of boots moving fast against tile, the sudden, muffled slam of a heavy door, and the loud click of a deadbolt sliding into place.
A sharp, ragged breath ripped through the speaker as if he were panting, the sound of his uneven breathing loud and raw through the microphone. When he finally spoke, his voice was raspy and thick with disbelief and ruin. “Fuck…” he breathed out. “Are you insane?”
A giddy thrill shot through your veins, a smirk tugging the corners of your lips as you curled tighter under the heavy duvet. “Did I interrupt lunch?”
”My shirt,” he rasped, his voice dropping into a soft, slow drawl that was deeply possessive and tight. “You're wearing my fucking shirt while you do this to me.”
You bit your lip, a triumphant giggle escaping your mouth at how completely unraveled he already sounded. The power of it felt exhilarating.
“Oh,” you dragged the word out, feigning an innocence that completely coated your tone as you tilted your head, “so you like them?”
”Like them?” he asked, his voice laced with a breathless disbelief that made you chuckle out loud. “The guys must think I'm absolutely crazy—the way I fucking bolted from the table so fast.”
Before you could even form an answer, a soft, almost desperate whine filtered through the speaker, accompanied by the quiet, frantic rustling of heavy fabric against the microphone.
”Baby…” Wooyoung trailed off, the nickname morphing directly into a ragged, heavy exhale. “Fuck, I'm already so hard.”
A familiar pool of warmth spread instantly through your stomach at the confession, your own breath hitching as a soft blush flushed the fevered skin of your cheeks.
“Yeah?” you exhaled, your voice barely audible from the thick anticipation bubbling behind your throat.
“Yeah,” he breathed out, and you could hear the soft squelch of his tongue darting out to trace the plush seam of his lower lip.
You could hear the faint, distant hum of the ventilation fan on his end, a sharp contrast to the stillness of your dark room. "What are you doing right now?"
On the other end, a sharp hitch caught in Wooyoung's throat. "Standing in front of the sink," he admitted, his breath already shallow. "Just …staring at the mirror."
"Look at yourself," you commanded softly, shifting against the sheets from the heat coiling inbetween your legs. "Tell me exactly what you see, Woo."
A ragged exhale brushed heavily against the speaker, followed by the quiet shifting of his weight on the tile floor. "Just a simple 'tee," he swallowed hard, "And, uhm… a pair of jeans—fuck—baby, I'm straining against them."
Your breath caught in your throat, your fingers absentmidedly plucking at the hem of his oversized shirt draped over your thighs.
"Yeah?" You asked, not really expecting an answer. But Wooyoung hummed faintly through the line, a soft Mhmm filling the silence.
Feeling the same spark of defiance flaring up in your chest, you decided to play a little game. "I want you to slowly take your clothes off, baby. And I want you to touch your body as you do it—let me hear every single second of it."
"Okay—shit—fuck …okay, baby. Wait, just hold on a second." You heard some faint rustling through your speakers. "Let me put in my AirPods so you can hear me properly while I do this."
There was a brief, static pop through the line, and suddenly the audio shifted with startling clarity. The low hum of his environment vanished, bringing the erratic breathing of your boyfriend so close it felt like his lips were pressed directly against your naked eardrum. You could hear the damp seam of his lips parting, the raw catch of breath in his throat as he faced his reflection.
"The shirt," he whispered hoarsely, a rustle of cotton filtering through the line as his hands gripped the bottom hem. "I'm pulling it up now. It's sliding over my skin… my hands are flat against my stomach, trailing up over my ribs—fuck, I'm burning up, baby."
"Touch your nipples for me, Woo. Can you do that, hm?" Your question came in a dominant murmur, your eyes drifting blankly to the ceiling as you visualized the sight of his chest flushed under the bathroom lights.
A high, desperate whine scraped raw through the speaker, breathless hitches of Wooyoung's voice as he obeyed, his fingers rolling the sensitive bud of his nipples under your command until he was writhing against the edge of the marble sink.
Relishing the sounds, you let him suffer in the heat of it for a few more seconds, listening to his small, helpless whimpers before you finally relented. "Okay, baby. You can continue."
"The shirt is completely off," he panted out, the fabric rustling as he tossed it somewhere you couldn't find yourself to care about.
"Good boy," you purred, the praise dripping with a raw satisfaction that made your own core ache. "Now palm yourself, okay? But only through the jeans."
"But, baby—" he immediately whined, "I'm so hard—fuck—it's straining against the fabric …just let me take my cock out… please."
You let out a soft, mocking tsk, shifting your legs beneath the heavy duvet to create a slow friction of your own. "So impatient, hm?"
"I'm in a bathroom at a restaurant full of people about to touch my dick, baby," he pushed back, his voice a breathless whisper as he tried to use the location to hurry you up in a desperate attempt to regain control.
An amused chuckle escaped your lips before you stop it. "Awh, acting like you don't get off on this exact thing, Wooyoung. You love knowing they're right outside," you cooed. "Now do what I say."
A defeated mutter left his lips before he let out a deep, trembling exhale that rattled the microphone. Then, the audio filled with the heavy rhythm of rough denim fabric straining agaisnt his palm.
"Nnngh—ah—t-traicing the outline of the head—fuck—now," he said in an open-mouthed gasp, curses of fuck and ah echoing sharply off the bathroom walls.
You could hear the quiet metallic clink of his belt buckle shifting with the frantic motion of his hand, acting as a teasing reminder of the barrier you had placed on him.
His soft noises were too much, you were too aroused to not slide your hand beneath the waistband of the shirt, guiding your fingers down while a sudden wave of goosebumps erupting across your skin. The tips of your fingers finally reached the scratchy fabric of the lace, sliding them along your clothed folds before pressing down right on your clit through your panties.
It wasn't nearly enough, but it was something and you couldn't help the involuntary sighs escaping your lips and bleeding directly into the microphone as you rubbed yourself in time with the steady rhythm of his rough denim friction.
The heavy sliding of fabric faltertered for a fraction of a section through the line. "Fuck, baby," Wooyoung breathed out. "Are you—are you touching yourself too?"
"Mhm," you hummed breathlessly, tilting your hips up slightly against your hand, letting him hear the ragged pattern of your breathing. "Doing it just like you, baby. Through my—ah—through my panties."
A shattered groan vibrated through the static hum as his hand came to rest on the cold marble, hitting the surface with a helpless thump before he gripped the edge of the sink to anchor himself. "Such a good girl for me …fuck, baby. I'm making such a mess. So wet for you."
A deep moan escaped your throat at the praise, stopping the movement of your fingers to prevent yourself from going too far too soon. You wanted to take your time, to make Wooyoung come apart bit by bit from your mere voice and commands.
"Undo the belt," you ordered softly in a lazy drawl. "Just the belt, baby."
The response was a sharp, metallic clink and the leather sliding through the loops, followed by a drawn out exhale of pure relief.
"Done," he whispered hoarsley. "F-Fuck, baby, it hurts …can I please just—"
"No," you cut him off harshly. "Slide the zipper down. Slowly. Don't you dare touch yourself."
A fractured curse left his lips, raw and desperate before the jagged click of the zipper teeth parting, sliding down inch by inch until a sharp gasp ripped from his throat.
"Baby, please," he whined in a breathless whimper. "I'm looking at it right now—fuck, it's twitching… Let me just grab it once, please—"
"Hmm," you pretended to think for a moment, deliberately dragging the silence out to tease him. But he was far too gone.
Through the speakers, the shift of his weight and an unmistakable wet slide cut through the static hum, his palm wrapping firmly around his slick length with a guttural groan.
"I can't—fuck, baby, I need it," he panted out in a breathless whine before picking up the pace around his cock, the wet sounds of his arousal echoing through the line. "Can't stop me—ah—can't stop me from grabbing it."
A low chuckle escaped your lips, completely unfazed by his sudden pushback. "So desperate you can't even wait, hm?" You purred mockingly.
"You knew exactly what those pictures would do to me," he interrupted with a breathless hiss.
"You're just grabbing yourself uselessly in a public bathroom," you continued with a satisfied chuckle. "Just a needy little mess, aren't you, Woo?"
"Ah—fuck—don't call me that—" he gasped, a broken hitch catching in his throat. "I'm not …I… I'm just—"
"Just what?" You cut him off. "A needy little mess that can't even follow a simple command?"
"F-Fuck, baby… I'm sorry," he whimpered, the frantic pace of his hand stuttering into trembling hitches before coming to a halt. "Just tell me what to do …please."
"That's my good boy," you purred, the approval dripping heavy and sweet into the line. You heard a soft, breathless hum vibrate in his throat, his compliance finally locking in. "Place your hand back on it."
"Baby…"
"Slow," you ordered, your voice dropping into a commanding murmur that left no room for arguments.
A deep, guttural groan cut through the line before the heavy, slick and dragging texture of skin moving over skin filled the air.
"Just like that, baby. Want to hear you struggle," you whispered, shifting your weight against the pillows.
"Nnghh—ah!" Another broken whimper escaped the man as he forced his hand to follow the slow cadence.
"You sound so good for me, baby."
"Do you hear how wet I am?" he whispered hoarsley, the words catching desperately in his voice.
"All cause of you—ah!" The sound shifted as he dragged his palm up and down, continuing stroking his cock with a wet slick that left you feeling delirious
Unable to just listen anymore, you slipped your hand past the fabric of your panties to finally feel the direct contact against your slick folds. You pressed the tip of your middle finger down, dragging it up and down to gather your own wetness before finally adding the pressure of your ring finger to circle your clit, a ragged sigh slipping past your lips from the sensation.
"So good for me, Woo. Making such pretty sounds." You began to move in tandem with the wet rhythm of his hand before inching your phone closer to your wet heat. "Hear how wet I am, baby. All cause of you too."
"Fuck, baby… ah—so fucking wet for me," he whined, his voice laced with a frantic desperation. "I want to taste it …fuck, want to taste you so bad."
You let out a broken moan, head rolling back into the pillow as the friction of your own fingdrs sent a violent shiver down your spine.
"Tell me," you gasped. "Tell me what you'd do to me."
"I'd bury my face between your—nnngh, ah!—between your thighs," he panted, his breath coming in frantic hitches, a heavy thud of hips checking against the sink as his movements grew wilder. "Drink every drop until …fuck—until you're a shaking mess for me, baby, please—"
"Fuck your fist for me, baby," you commanded, the words tearing from your throat as your own release began to coil tightly, cirling your clit with a frantic, desperate rhythm. "Show me how bad you want to ruin me."
"Fuck, I am—ah!" Wooyoung sobbed out into the microphone, completely abandoning the slow rhythm you had set. "M-Making such a mess for you in the mirror—!”
The sheer desperation and the frenzied sound of his slick cock fucking mindlessly into his own fist sent you completely over the edge, your hips arching off the mattress while your fingers moving in a tight, merciless blur against your clit as the coiling heat inside you finally snapped.
"Woo—" your voice broke into a high, breathless cry, your head burying into the pillow as a violent wave of your release crashed through your lower stomach, leaving your thighs trembling helplessly where they lay.
A ragged, choked-off moan ripped from Wooyoung’s throat, followed by a shuddering gasp and the absolute ruin of his voice in a succession of breathless whimpers trailing off as he spilled over his own fingers, his chest heaving rapidly into the microphone before he collapsing against the tiled wall.
For a long minute, the only sound filling the static hum of your call was the mingled synchronization of your breathing—your shallow pants filtering from the quiet dark of your bedroom, and his heavy, echoing gasps bouncing off the bathroom ceiling thousands of miles away.
Slowly, the frantic edge began to fade, replaced by the soft, pliant quiet of the aftermath.
"Baby..." Wooyoung's voice came in a raspy whisper. You heard the rustle of a paper towel being pulled from the dispenser on his end as he cleaned himself up, his movements slow and docile.
"Fuck," he laughed. "My legs are literally shaking. I don't know how I'm supposed to walk back out to the table like this."
A lazy, satisfied smirk tugged the corners of your lips as you pulled the duvet up to your chin, basking in the post-climax warmth settling over your skin.
"Mhm. Sounds like a personal problem, sweetheart," you cooed softly, your voice dripping with affectionate malice. "You should probably wash your face before you go back to the boys. You look a mess, don't you?"
A soft, whiny chuckle filtered through the line, followed by the sound of the sink faucet running for a brief moment as he rinsed his hands.
"You're so mean to me," he mumbled, though the fondness in his tone completely gave him away. "The guys are gonna know the second they look at me. I'm completely ruined for the rest of the day because of you."
"Good," you hummed, closing your eyes with a content sigh, the distance between you finally feeling manageable now that he was claimed. "That means you'll be thinking about me the whole time."
"Always am, baby," he whispered softly, the familiar warmth returning to his voice as he prepared to leave. "I have to go back out before they come looking for me. Clean yourself up and get some sleep, okay? I'll text you the second I get back to the hotel. I love you."
"I love you too, Woo. Be good," you murmured, waiting until you heard his soft, lingering goodbye before finally clicking the screen off, leaving the bedroom in a quiet, peaceful darkness.
summary: inspired by wake up hj on his knees - think rock in roma outfit without the undershirt
tags: spit, he's tied up, and gagged, subby!hj, oral (m. rec)
word count: 809
disclaimer: this is a work of fiction, characters and events portrayed are entirely fictional and do not represent or reflect on real people and/or events.
note: wrote this on 2 pints and a dream, so if there's errors... no there isnt xoxox sorry for the abrupt end, it is purely just smut w absolutely no plot whatsoever.
Hongjoong sits on the bed before you, his legs tucked underneath him, legs spread wide. His hands are tied behind his back, a piece of fabric tied loosely around his mouth, a makeshift gag you’d made for him from his outfit - it wasn’t really doing much other than adding to the eroticism of it all.
With only his shirt remaining, albeit undone and hanging off his broad shoulders, he's the human embodiment of hot and bothered. His hips flex, his cock painfully hard, desperate to be touched.
You lay on your stomach between his legs, blow cool air across him as your hand roams his thigh. You can’t help but giggle when he hisses against the fabric in his mouth.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, stealing glances up at him as you press kisses along his warm skin, starting at his knee, working your way up.
“Please,” he begs, muffled and barely audible against his gag.
“Hmm, can’t really hear you,” you tease, letting him brush against your cheek, deft fingers dancing along him as you watch his eyes roll closed. His head tips back and a frustrated exhale passes his lips. “Oh, I know baby, I know,” you soothe, taking him in your hand, lips caressing him, your eyes never leaving his.
It’s a miracle he doesn’t dissolve the moment your tongue makes contact with his tip, considering you’d already been teasing him for at least half an hour prior to him finding himself in his current predicament. Strangled moans escape him as you swirl your tongue, your lips pouty around his aching head. He almost fucking yelps when you reach your hand further between his legs and cup his balls, rolling them gently as you take him deeper.
Hongjoong thinks he might just start seeing stars if you keep going. He drops backwards slightly, leaning on his loosely bound hands, hips still flinching towards you. Every time he starts to even slightly tense up, you pull off him, starting the whole process again. He looks like he’s slowly descending into delirium, the prettiest sheen forming across his flushed cheeks.
You desperately want to rip the gag from his mouth, let him whine for you freely, hear his voice unmuffled as he pleads for more. But the way his jaw goes slack around the fabric spurs you on, the fucked out look on his face as drool coats the gag and glistens on his lip, hips chasing your mouth with his chin pressed flush to his chest.
Hongjoong is teetering on the edge, has been for the last thirty minutes whilst you’ve had your fun with him. He’s not sure how much more he can take before he bursts into tears as you bring him to the brink of release, over and over and over again.
He’s a mess of sweat and saliva, precum and tears as you pull off of him one last time, sitting up on your knees to cradle his face.
“Look at you,” you whisper, tilting his head up. “Look how messy you are for me,” you praise, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. He nods, still bound and obedient, and so fuckable.
You finally tug the gag down from his mouth, running your thumb over his lips. His head lolls back in anticipation, eyes glazed. You draw his chin down, his lips falling apart for you without hesitation. You spit into his mouth, the taste of his own arousal hitting his tongue and he swallows it with a moan that's almost obscene.
“Such a good puppy,” you tell him, your hand pumping him at a steady rhythm.
“Mhm,” he whimpers in agreement, glassy eyes looking up at you.
“You don’t have the gag anymore baby, let me hear you.”
“Yes,” he struggles through shallow breaths. “Please, let me-” he cuts himself off with a hiss when you run your thumb over his slit.
“So needy, so desperate,” you murmur, watching him thrust into your fist.
You reach behind him and pull on the knot keeping his wrists bound, releasing his hands. One remains behind him, propping him up, while the other grips your shoulder for dear life, holding you close as he drives his hips up, fucking your hand like its the last thing he’ll ever do.
“C’mon puppy, come for me,” you encourage him. He looks at you with his brows upturned in the centre, like he's trying to hold on for as long as possible. He’s a writhing mess beneath you, and it’s a sight to behold. “Let go,” you tell him.
The sound that leaves him is delicious, somewhere between a sob and a gasp as he releases all over your thighs with his head pressed into your shoulder, breath heaving, chest shuddering.
“You did so good,” you whisper reassuringly into his hair as his breathing levels out.
CHANGING ALL CURRENT WORK POVS FROM ‘i’ TO ‘you’ SORRY IF U WERE IN THE 0.12379% OF GLOBAL POPULATION WHO ENJOYED ‘i’ POV - I WILL MISS IT DEARLY BUT NEEDS MUST
🎧: lucky by britney spears
+pairing: fempopstar!reader x producer!hongjoong
+synopsis: you're everything one would expect from a spoiled, bratty pop star. daddy's money bought your way into fame; all you had to do was show up to the right meetings and look pretty. so naturally your father got you the best producer in the industry to work on your second full length album. hongjoong has sacrificed so much to become as successful as he is, so he has no tolerance for whiny rich girls who don't want to put in the effort.
+cw: mean hj, pet names, cursing, unprotected p in v, restraining, hand over mouth, air restriction, doggy, pwp there's really no story to this i'm just ovulating.
+wc: 1.7k
+disclaimer: this is not meant to be indicative of hongjoong's character in real life. everything portrayed in this is purely fiction and contains smut, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
+a/n: everyone say thank yoooooou @matchamatz for producer!joong and the brain worms that it gave me <3333
Your eyes are burning. Mascara melting from your lashes, falsies peeling up at the inner corners from the down pour of tears streaming from your eyes. You could barely make out the shapes of the various awards placed on the shelf across the room in Hongjoong’s studio, all of them too distorted and blurry.
Your bratty attitude landed you in the position you were in, bent over the arm of the black leather sofa. One too many complaints about redoing the chorus of the title track to your new album and Hongjoong lost the patience that has been hanging by a thread for the last week of working with you. Nevermind your teasing touches and all of the innuendos thrown his way by you, it was your continuous lack of work ethic that made him snap and put you in your place.
A firm hand gripped the hair at the crown of your head, bunched up in a fist at the root of your hair while the other hand worked you on his cock. Slamming your hips against his pelvis, splatters of your wetness leaving droplets on the side of the sofa, coating your inner thighs and his pelvis. Hongjoong was thankful for the sound proofness of his studio, your wailing and the sound of your messy pussy would be echoing down the company hallway if not for it.
“Such a pretty voice. If only you could sound this pretty when I asked you to, you wouldn't be wasting my time and crying on my cock.” Hongjoong pushes out through gritted teeth. The slide of him in your tight walls felt fucking magical he could nut in you then and there. But he had a lesson to teach.
“I’m s-s-orry,” you manage to moan out. Probably the 35th time you've apologized since he pushed your face into the cold leather and split you open. He’s so thick, the way he fills you up each time he punches his hips forwards, fucking bruises into the hinge where your upper thighs meets your lower abdomen on the arm of the couch, it's overwhelming in the best way possible.
He laughs a wicked laugh, “Spoiled brats like you are never sorry,” he spits. “You just don't want to suffer the consequences of your actions.” He curls the fist in your hair tighter, making your scalp stings. You hiss, bringing a hand up from the couch cushion to grab at his wrist and alleviate the pain. You yelp and drop your hand back down when he just tugs harder, pulling your body up to hover parallel to the ground. The hand digging into your hip moves to your mouth, palm covering your lips, the side of his thumb resting right under your nose, the other four fingers curving around the side of your face digging into your cheek. He stops his brutal thrusts, only after shoving himself so far inside that you feel like he's inside your stomach.
Leaning down and pressing his lips right against your ear, his words send a pulsing throb straight to your clit, “I don't want to hear another apology come out of your pathetic mouth. All I want to hear is the pretty pitch of these slutty moans, got it princess?” All you can do is attempt a nod, which seems good enough for him. He nips at your ear lob right before he pulls away and resuming sawing into you. Thank god it's easy for the moans to spill free through his palm, at this angle all words seem to disappear from your brain anyways.
He's deceptively strong, being able to hold your body up just by the hold he has on your hair and the press of his hand around your mouth. The tips of your fingers barely graze the arm of the couch as he rolls his hips into you. Your scalp stings, you already know you won't be able to wear extensions for awhile. You’ll have to come up with
an excuse for your stylist, definitely can't let them know you were fucking the producer your father hired.
He switches up the angle of his thrusts, making you jerk and clench around his cock particularly harder than you been, “Oh fuck. There we go, baby. Keep clenching around this dick like that. I’ll be filling this pussy up in no time.” The moan you let out sounds like it's not being muffled by his hand at all. The tightness in your tummy increased, that familiar feeling of an orgasm approaching at a dire speed. So fast you panic, wiggling to get away because it felt so intense, bordering on painful.
“Joong! Joong!” You completely forget his order to stay quiet. He freezes and you could die right then and there.
He tuts, “Dumb, dumb baby.” Your heart slams in your chest, anxiety spiking at an all time high. What was he going to do? Not let you cum? Drag it out? Make you beg? All of it sounds like torture in this moment, you were so fucking close you wanted to do Hongjoong the honors and just slap yourself for being such an idiot.
He guides you back over the arm of the chair and removes the grip on your hair, but keeps his hand pressed tight against your mouth. “You’re such a shit listener. I can't really blame you fully though, that's just how you were raised, huh? Getting everything you want, not having to really work for it.” He runs a finger down the length of your spine to the dip in your lower back, dragging in to the side and around your waist to your front where he pinches your clit suddenly. You squeal and kick out your legs as much as you could with how close he was pressed against you. Unsurprisingly it doesn't deter him in the slightest, he keeps his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger in a tight squeeze around the nub.
The breathing through your nose gets quicker and quicker, try to take in as much oxygen as you can to calm yourself down. Hongjoong sighs, “The only way to learn is to show you that if you don't do what you’re asked, you lose something in return.”
Before you can even ponder what he means, your ability to breathe through your nose vanishes. The pressure around your nostrils is what alerts your sex dumb brain that his thumb from the hand still wrapped around your mouth has come up to pinch your nose shut with the edge of his index finger. Instincts kick in and you're shaking your head, trying to rip away the pressure against your face. But he just follows the jerks of your hand, eventually yanking you back by the face until your body is pressed long against him. Hooking his elbow around your shoulder and holding your back tight against his chest.
“You breathe when I cum,” He states with his lips pushed up against the side of your hair. The pressure of your face increases, wanting so badly to sob but your chest just jerks in small pulses. He keeps his angle, spearing directly into the spot that would make you scream if you could. You squeeze your thighs together tight, lungs burning, not knowing how much longer you have before you lose consciousness.
As for Hongjoong, he was seconds away from cumming before he even took your, literal, breath away. He may use extreme methods to whip a brat like you in shape, but he's not cruel.
The tightness of your thighs squeezing together, the pulsing of your slick walls around him, bends over with a deep groan, tapering off into a moan, “That's right, make me cum. Listen for once in your life, c’mon princess. This one time, do as you’re told.” He orders you as he rolls your clit lightly between his knuckles. Your eyes slip shut, pushing tears over your water line and down your cheeks. Your chest swells with pleasure and the pressure of losing oxygen. Fuzzy black and gray dots appear behind your eye lids, time starts feeling like it's moving slower.
All it takes is a singular clench around his cock and it's over for him. He’s cumming deep inside you with a deep moan, and winded sounding “Fuuuuuck,”. He switches to pressing the pads of his index and middle finger to your clit, rubbing quick swipes along the bundle of nerves as he drops his hand from your mouth to resting lightly on your throat.
Oxygen rushes through your airway, the relief feels almost euphoric as the fluttering in your cunt from the way Hongjoong is playing with you so deliciously.
“Please,” Your hoarse voice begs. You know he has no reason to let you cum, but you hope that maybe he'll get caught up in the moment and let you anyway.
“Have you learned your lesson?” He asks through his heavy breathing, biting through the over stimulation to feed you small thrusts.
“Yes, Joong! I promise, I’m sorry I swear! I’ll listen!” You sob, nodding your head as fast as you could. Fuck you’re too cute. He wasn’t going to deny you an orgasm, it was never part of the plan, but your begging is so sweet. You sound genuinely concerned about what he's going to do.
“Cum then, prove it. Prove that you're a good girl and not the spoiled brat that walked into my studio last week.” The pressure on your clit increases a fraction and the bubble in your tummy pops, warm tingles spreading through your veins. The sound that comes out of you is broken and embarrassing but you don't care. How could you when you feel like you've been revived from the brink of death? By a sexy, broody, music producer no less?
The pattern of your breathing syncs up with his, grateful for the hold he has on you so your knees didn't have to kiss the floor.
Eventually he speaks, “You gonna keep your word?”
You scoff and let out a clipped laugh, “I dunno, I might need a reminder of why I should. Your methods are weak.”
He snatches your jaw and turns your head to face him, eyes narrowed and hard. Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he taps your cheek. “Put your skirt back on. I want three more takes of the last two lines of the bridge. Make sure you elongate the last word of each line more, or we do it another three times.” He raises an eyebrow before adding, “And if I have to re-teach this lesson there's not a chance in hell I’m letting you cum.”
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