I truly don't mean to keep disappearing like this, but... YOUR GIRL GOT HERSELF A JOB AT A LAW FIRM 🥳😭🙌
I start on the 3rd of February and am SO excited to begin working at this place and literally am struggling to contain my excitement!!!
I wanted to thank everyone who left super sweet comments under my other updates and sent messages, I really needed to hear many of those things from someone else.
Aside from that, I wanted to let everyone know that I'll be releasing both Yunho's and Yeosang's fics for the campus romancers event later this week, so please look forward to those!
i don't usually speak about these things, but a lot of blogs (amazing writers) are leaving this platform or taking time off bc of lack of engagement which serves as a big demotivating factor. especially and specifically in this atiny fandom, some things have come to my attention and i just want all readers and writers to take a look at this post and refresh some reading and writing etiquettes, as well as revive the essence of being a part of this fandom.
feedback:
i understand that there are a lot of silent readers on here, but since tumblr is dying and our fandom is not very huge, the least you can do to show the writers some support is like the post.
which brings me to the point that the like function didn't even exist in the past. this site still runs on reblogs. as readers, to show your favourite writers some semblance of support, you should be reblogging with tags. a simple ‘#ateez x reader’ or ‘#ateez fics’ is enough. it's literally not asking for much– reblogs are the only way writers can get reach.
if you cannot do that bc of your blog's aesthetic or whatever, side blogs exist. if you still cannot do that, a simple anon ask appreciating the writer sometimes saves them.
also, what has happened to the quality of reblogs? readers consume years of writers’ work and efforts in mere hours and don’t even leave any feedback? art in general in all forms is very underappreciated and with all sorts of problems like plagiarism, ai writing and everything, true art and writing is dying and needs to be appreciated now more than ever. we’re literally the last generation witnessing ai take over in all fields of arts. appreciate content creators before it’s too late, don’t be a content glutton!
updates and requests:
asking writers for updates when they specifically mention that they would prefer posting at their pace is wrong for so many reasons– we all have a real life. you, the reader, do too. just like you don't always have time to read, writers don't always have time to write. do you ever see the writers asking their readers 'why have you not read my latest chapter?'
most of the times, writers mention in their bio/faq post or elsewhere that they do mind being asked about updates. respect your writers, please, and do a little scroll before you send such demanding asks (also, sugarcoating when asking for updates does not make it any better!)
if you are only asking about updates, it demotivates a lot of writers bc these same people will disappear when it is time for feedback. writing is a form of art. we can write, artists can paint, musicians can compose music, but all of it has no meaning unless it is shared with an audience and appreciated. readers are just as important as the writers but there is no way of knowing fics are valued unless feedback is given.
the same goes for requests. you can only send a request when the requests are open, which is usually mentioned in the writer’s bio/faq post. it’s literally not that hard to check if requests are open and it’s basic decency to not send a request when the writers specifically mention that requests are closed. when sending a request, please be courteous. a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ are examples of being courteous when sending requests.
the fanfics in atinyblr:
i understand that you can read whatever you like, but why is it that in the atiny fandom, fics that do not contain smut hardly ever get attention? as a writer, i enjoy writing and reading smut, and while i am not specifically a smut blog, i have noticed how fics containing smut get far more reach than fics that do not contain smut– not just in my case, but other amazing writers as well.
there are such amazing fictions in this fandom. all fics are crafted with dedication and care, yet stories without smut often get sidelined. writers are not able to express themselves in their writing freely anymore and they simply conform to a genre they know readers will consume, as they are forced to consider adding smut to their stories so they can get more reach in this fandom. i have heard accounts from a lot of writers who were inclined to add smut to an otherwise smut-free fic just for reach.
this is by no means hate to the smut writers. i am also not placing blame on them. smut drabbles have always been in this fandom, and there are amazing smut writers out there, doing their thing. it is the readers here who are failing the writers. readers are quick to talk about the lack of ‘good fics’ or ‘plot’ yet will not even bother searching for these works. there used to be a good balance and appreciation for all genres alike.
i know that smut is what's hot and trendy these days, and drabbles in general, no matter the genre, are easier to read when you want to take a short break. but there is such a lack of longfics in this fandom, especially as of lately, and as someone who has personally witnessed the ratio of longfics decrease exponentially, i felt the need to point this out. appreciate all writers! appreciate all genres! longfic writers need as much validation and encouragement as drabble writers, and vice versa! don't be too harsh on longfic writers for not pumping out fics at the same speed as shortfic writers.
and on that note, smut drabble writers experience a lack of quality feedback despite the high engagement, so readers, please don't hesitate to point out exactly what you liked about a fic, even if it's a short drabble! be kind to those writers, give them time to write and be kind when sending requests! they may post more often but they, too, have a life.
tags:
this is specifically for the people who will post a very normal picture of a member, no caption, but tag it something like #ateez smut, #ateez hard hours, #ateez x reader. and for the people who tag their asks with irrelevant tags– literally learn to tag your post properly, and stop crowding the wrong tags. you're just proving the point that if you don't tag a post with the smut tag or something similar, it won't get reach. if you've posted with a caption, that makes sense (though it still doesn't warrant some of the tags being used there).
as for writers, also learn to use your tags appropriately. fics that do not contain smut should not be tagged with smut related tags. believe in yourself. i get that there is the problem of reach but do not overcrowd tags with irrelevant material.
disclaimer:
this is by no means about me. if i cared about the notes, or lack thereof, i would have stopped writing a while ago. while it is challenging to be a writer here, especially as of lately, i still enjoy posting whatever i write no matter the genre or the word count. but it's a bit disappointing that my planned out fics get much less attention than a simple smut headcanons post that i wrote in the heat of the moment with my friend in literally a few hours as a joke (which has reached almost 10k notes btw in a span of 2 years). sure, it has exposed my blog to new readers but that's about it.
this post is for all the amazing writers who have left, are thinking of leaving, or are struggling to voice these problems because they are afraid of being marked as 'problematic' or a 'hater' or something worse. i am not afraid to voice my opinion on here, and if you think that i am wrong, feel free to interact with this post and correct me because i am not claiming that i am right about this.
these are just the observations i have made as someone who has been actively writing on this platform for about 4 years now, and since i have a decent number of followers, i hope this post gets more reach. do not be afraid to reblog this if you agree, and even if you do not, reblog this so someone else gets educated. i may have missed some points so feel free to add if you want too.
my comments/reblogs to likes ratio speak for themselves. I don't think people realize how much of a difference actual feedback makes. it's really discouraging to hundreds of likes and maybe only 10-20 reblogs and a comment or two (half of which are from me reblogging/commenting back). I write extremely slow. a lot of my pieces take literal months to write, so seeing barely any feedback is incredibly disheartening. so please for the love of god, start leaving comments and start reblogging (with the correct tags), even if they are only keyboard smashes. or drop a message in my inbox, I don't care if it's anonymous.
also hard agree on non-smut writing. it absolutely does not get the recognition it deserves. a lot of readers are skipping over some amazing writing in search for smut (which, as stated, there is no problem with that, but be sure to show fluff/angst the same love too)
anyways, this is a great post that mirrors so many writers' experiences on tumblr, thanks for bringing these issues to light.
Summary: The one where Hongjoong, a textile design student, is the only available TA in the entire design building during the late hours of the night.
Word Count: 4.86k
Genre/Warnings: TA!hongjoong x textilestudent!reader, enemies to...not enemies?, smut (MDNI), protected sex, dirty talk, degradation, facefucking, oral (m receiving), bondage, leash (?), gagging, dacryphilia, spanking, reader gets fucked from behind bc why not, mirror sex (sort of), dom/sub dynamics, reader gets called names (sweetheart, slut, cocksleeve, whore), lots of academic arguing, textile inaccuracy, both reader and joong are kind of annoying lol
Author's Note: Released early bc I have one of my second interviews tomorrow and wanted to go to sleep early! Anyways I was writing this, I realized that this is just ughasif!hj and mc in a different timeline, so do with that what you will lol. Nonetheless, really excited for everyone to read the second installment of CR!! Please let me know what you think!!! Much love <3
🎧 playlist 🎧: ateez: deep dive 🍒 kehlani: water 🍒 nct dream: poison 🍒 the weeknd: popular 🍒 the kid laroi: nights like this 🍒 giselle: dopamine 🍒 ateez: selfish waltz 🍒 ningning: bored! 🍒 le sserafim: impurities
This is a work of fiction, and it is not meant to be a realistic representation of any real person mentioned in any way, shape, or form.
Huffing and puffing wasn’t really going to get you anywhere, but it seemed to be all you could do.
You stood in the front of the locked and empty rooms of the empty offices with your pinned clothes heavy in your hands. The fabric brushed against your arms, smooth and slippery, the deep red silk and gossamer catching the light with every small movement. It was luxurious but temperamental, a material that shows every flaw in your carefully thought out construction and left no room for error. It felt like it weighed more with every passing second you stood there, a physical and fiery manifestation of your frustration.
The dress you’d painstakingly pieced together was bold, maybe too bold. Its structured bodice was accented with dramatic, asymmetrical pleats that swept across the waist, creating an almost sculptural effect. The skirt fell in layers of sheer gossamer, each edge meticulously hand-cut to achieve a feathered look. A high slit ran up one slide, a daring choice that you were now second-guessing. The pink pins holding the seams in place glittered like stars against the dark fabric, mocking your hesitation.
You look at them adorning the dark red cloth you were too scared to commit to sewing and lay it along the railing. The fabric shifted under your fingers, the pins catching faintly against the cold metal. Peeking over the railing, you spot a few lingering bodies below.
Some students were laid drooling over their laptop while others were hunched over their own projects, sketching feverishly over a large canvas while others mixed colors on palette paper, their motions hypnotic in their repetitive intensity.
The quiet hum of activity down there felt a world away from your current dilemma. With a deep sigh, you turn back toward the locked door. It was impractical to expect any professors to be available half past eleven, you knew that. But the weight of the project deadline pressed heavily on your chest, and with each passing minute, you felt less and less certain about your choices.
But you did know who would be here.
Kim Hongjoong. The name alone conjured up mixed emotions, a slurry of intimidation, exasperation, and maybe even a touch of admiration. He was infamous among the design students, and not just for his critiques, which could cut sharper than a rotary blade. He had a presence that made people twice, you among them. Short in stature but larger than life, he carried himself with a confidence that felt earned, his sharp cheekbones and ever-present black eyeliner giving him the air of an untouchable rockstar.
His hair had been a slew of colors since you’d met him, but this winter, he’d settled on a jet black with red undertones, which despite the color, always remained slightly tousled, as though he’d been running his hands through it all day.
His wardrobe only added to the mythos. He was able to conjure the most colorful of garments, decorated to sparkle and dazzle in the light of both the sun and the moon, but you don’t think you’d seen him in more than a neutral palette which was mostly comprised of blacks and grays. Always paired with his clothes were the chunky black boots that completed his ensemble, their thick soles giving him a boost of height.
You’d never seen him during the day without a scowl plastered on his face. You could still recall the infamous time he’d been forced to attend an early morning orientation for incoming freshmen. He’d slouched at the back of the studio, glaring daggers at the clock, the bags under his eyes visible even from where you were standing.
You peek into the small workspace he’d claimed as his own, the door slightly ajar. The air inside was tinged with the faint smell of coffee and paper, and you could hear the faint scratch of a pen against a sketchpad. He sat hunched over his desk, his focus so intense he didn’t seem to notice your presence. A steaming mug of coffee sat dangerously close to the edge of the table, threatening to topple over with one careless motion.
At night, when the campus quieted and the studio lights buzzed softly, Hongjoong seemed to come alive. He became a force of nature, especially at night, when caffeine coursed through his veins like electricity when he ran up and down the design building, completing projects.
“Have you put it on?” His voice cuts through the quiet like a needle pricking fabric.
“What?” you blink, caught off guard.
“Have you put it on?” he repeats, finally looking up with one arched brow. He clicked his tongue when you didn’t answer immediately. “Don’t tell me you’ve come asking for help before you’ve even put it on. That’s the whole point of that assignment,” he says, gesturing with his pen matter-of-factly.
You knew that, of course, you knew that. “Okay,” you drag out the syllables, trying to keep your irritation in check. “Well, I haven’t put it on yet, but I was hoping you could just take a quick look at the way the material drapes—”
“While it’s on a hanger?”” he interrupts with a sharp scoff. “Please, waste my time some more, why don’t you?”
Despite his words, he pushes back his chair with a dramatic scrape, the roll of your eyes so desperate for the movement, grabbing his coffee as if it were a lifeline. He takes a long sip before striding toward you with his usual caffeinated energy. His movements were quick and precise, almost jittery, as though his body could barely keep up with his thoughts.
“Alright, let’s see this supposed masterpiece,” he says, motioning impatiently for you to hold up the garment.
You lift it carefully, letting the deep red silk and gossamer catch the light. The fabric ripples like liquid fire as it unfolds, the sharp contrast of the pink pins accentuating the bold pleats and dramatic silhouette. He circles you, his eyes narrowing as he takes in every detail, scrutinizing it as though searching for flaws to latch onto.
“It’s… loud,” he finally says, the words falling flat and unimpressed. “The color’s trying too hard. Red’s predictable, it’s like you’re screaming for attention without saying anything meaningful.”
Your mouth opens, then closes. You blink, taken aback by his bluntness, but something inside you flares at the dismissal.
“It’s not just red,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended. “It’s crimson, and it’s deliberate. The color represents power and femininity. It’s bold because it’s supposed to be, because women and their bodies aren’t quiet or soft or something that should blend into the background.”
He pauses mid-stride, his gaze snapping back to you. He doesn’t say anything, but the slightest quirk of his eyebrow betrays that you’ve caught him off guard. Still, he recovers quickly, letting out a scoff as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“And the slit?” he counters, his tone dripping with skepticism. “What are you going for there? A wardrobe malfunction on the runway?”
“It’s intentional,” you fire back, the words coming faster now. “It’s about movement, fluidity. The female body is dynamic, not static. The slit isn’t just a detail, it’s part of the message. Restriction isn’t the goal here. Freedom is.”
His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think you see something flicker in his sharp eyes. A glimmer of respect, maybe, or even admiration. But just as quickly, his expression hardens, and he lets out an exaggerated sigh as if this entire conversation is testing his patience.
“Fine. You’ve got a thesis. Great. But a thesis doesn’t mean anything if it doesn’t translate when someone’s wearing it,” he says, voice clipped. “Right now, all I see is fabric pinned to itself. You’ve got a lot of talk, but if you want me to believe it, you need to prove it, sweetheart.”
You stare at him, your heart pounding. Fuck, he was attractive. The way he looks at you, half-annoyed and half-curious, makes you want to both jump him and prove him wrong.
“Put it on,” he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. He gestures toward the dress with a tilt of his head. “Let’s see if your ‘power and freedom’ actually works when it’s on a body, or if it’s just pretty words.”
You narrow your eyes at him, biting back a retort as you grab the dress. His gaze lingers on your for a beat longer than necessary before he turns away, retreating back to his desk with a nonchalant air. But the slight tension in his shoulders gives him away. He’s curious, whether he admits it or not.
As you head towards the changing room behind his studio space, your grip on the dress tightens. You’ll show him. You’ll make him see this isn’t just pinned fabric, that this is art, your art, with meaning.
I’ll make him eat his words.
You remove your clothes in a haste, slowing down to pull the open-pinned dress over your head.
When you walk back into his studio, Hongjoong only sighs.
“Tell me, is it meant to be wearing mismatched underwear or is that just your vision for it?”
Okay, completely bare it was. Without breaking eye contact, you slip off your bra and through the open sleeves of the dress, throw it onto a rack of blank canvases. You struggle with your underwear a little but soon enough are able to pull it out through the slit in the skirt and toss it in the opposite direction.
A stubborn expression graces your face, and you look at Hongjoong, waiting for him to put together his thoughts, almost as if he’s wasting your time.
Hongjoong’s sharp eyes rove over the garment with an intensity that could make anyone squirm, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. Standing there, completely exposed save for the patches of silk draping select sections of your body, you square your shoulders and tilt your chin up, daring him to find fault now that it’s on.
For a moment, he says nothing. His focus shifts from the sculpted bodice to the pleated waist, and then to the high slit. His gaze lingers on how the fabric clings to your frame, the deep crimson catching the light and cascading like molten lava with every slight movement. You feel the air shift, the weight of his silence thick with thoughts he hasn’t voiced yet.
“Well?” you challenge, your voice cutting through the quiet. “Don’t tell me you’re speechless. I thought you had an opinion on everything.”
His lips twitch, almost forming a smirk, but he catches himself and crosses his arms instead, his fingers tapping against his bicep. “It’s better,” he concedes begrudgingly. “The structure works when it’s actually on. The bodice fits tighter than I expected—clean lines, good tension. The pleats don’t overwhelm as much as they did on the hanger.” He pauses, stepping closer to inspect the skirt.
“But,” he continues, his tone sharp enough to slice, “the slit still feels unresolved. It’s daring, sure, but right now, it looks more accidental than intentional. If you’re going for movement, then the fabric needs to tell that story. Right now, it’s just... there.”
You feel your jaw tighten, his critique grating against your nerves. “It does tell a story,” you snap. “The slit isn’t just for show. It’s about exposing what’s hidden—revealing strength and vulnerability at the same time. The asymmetry makes it human, imperfect. Isn’t that the point of art? Or would you prefer it to be sterile and safe?”
Hongjoong’s expression flickers, just for a second. There’s a brief moment where he looks almost stunned, like he wasn’t expecting that.
Hongjoong, if nothing, was not safe or sterile in his approach. Ever. But he recovers quickly, letting out a derisive snort as if your words hadn’t fazed him.
“Again, strong words,” he says, stepping back and leaning against the desk with his ever-present air of annoyance. “But words aren’t enough. You’ve got to prove it in how it moves, how it lives on a body. Anyone can wax poetic about their choices, but that’s all you’ve been doing since you walked into my studio.” He gestures at you, his hand slicing through the air.
“Walk. Show me.”
You blink, taken aback by his demand. “What?”
“Walk,” he repeats with a roll of his eyes, as if he’s bored by the back-and-forth. “Let me see how the fabric flows, how the slit actually works in motion. If you’re so confident in your ‘strength and vulnerability,’ then let the dress speak for itself.”
For a moment, you consider arguing, but the fire in his gaze dares you. So you take a step forward, feeling the silk brush against your legs. The high slit shifts with every movement, revealing flashes of your skin in a way that feels deliberate and powerful. The pleats ripple like waves, catching the light in a way that accentuates their sculptural form. You walk the length of the room and back, your movements growing more confident with each step.
When you stop in front of him, Hongjoong’s gaze lingers for a beat longer than necessary. His expression is carefully neutral, but the tight line of his jaw and the faint crease between his brows betray his thoughts. He’s impressed though you doubt he’ll ever admit it.
“Well,” he says finally, his voice deliberately flat. “It’s... better than I thought it would be. You’ve got something here, but it still needs refinement. The slit works when you walk, but what happens when you stand still? It loses some of its impact. And the pleats—”
“Oh my god,” you interrupt, throwing your hands up. “You’re impossible to please, you know that? You nitpick everything like it’s your life’s mission.”
“It is my mission,” he snaps back, his tone sharp and bordering on unkind. “Do you think anyone’s going to coddle you when you’re presenting at a runway show? They’ll tear you apart if it’s not perfect.”
He walks over to his own collection of rolls of textiles, flicking through them, and finally, picking out one of a pale white glittering gossamer, not too dissimilar to yours. He strides towards you, the roll in hand, muttering something under his breath.
His deft hands unravel the gossamer, too impatient to even cut it away from the rest of the roll as it tumbles away from him, and he swiftly wraps it around your waist, cinching it tight and pulling a gasp from you. His fingers graze your hips as he works, his touch firm and efficient. The thin fabric molds to your curves, creating a snug band that accentuates your waistline.
Still behind you, he turns you to face a long mirror that’s propped up against a supply box. You can feel the heat of his body so close to yours, the scent of his cologne filling your senses.
"See? This creates a more defined waistline," he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear. "It adds structure and draws the eye in." His fingers trace the edge of the gossamer, brushing against your skin. You shiver at the contact, a jolt of electricity shooting through you.
Hongjoong steps back, surveying his handiwork with a critical eye. He adjusts the fabric, tugging it here and there until he's satisfied. "Much better," he declares, nodding approvingly. The sharp edges of his demeanor seem to dull, and the air between you grows into something more softer. He’s observing you now, not with his usual critique or irritation, but with something quieter. Almost… admiring.
“Wow, didn’t think you were capable of a compliment.” And just like that, the moment shatters, like a dropped pane of glass.
Suddenly, Hongjoong’s expression hardens. His jaw clenches, and he unravels the gossamer from your waist and gathers it at your wrists, wrapping it tightly around your arms and binding them behind your back.
"What are you doing?" you gasp, a thrill of excitement mixed with apprehension coursing through you as he secures the makeshift bonds. At your voice, the grip of the gossamer only tightens.
"Helping you see your design through a different lens," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear as he finishes tying the fabric. "What’d you say you wanted to do? ‘Expose what’s hidden’, huh? Why don’t I help you with that?"
He spins you around to face him, his hands gripping your bound wrists as he presses you back against the wall. The silk and gossamer bunch between your bodies, creating a delicious friction that makes you gasp.
"Look at you," he breathes, his eyes dark with desire as they roam over your face. "I think you’d be surprised to know how much you’re actually lying to yourself, sweetheart."
His free hand trails down your body, skimming over your breasts and skimming over the bodice of your dress. He teases one stiff nipple through the thin fabric, rolling it between his fingers until you're writhing against him.
"Where’s that ‘strength’?" he asks, pinching the sensitive bud harder. "Where’s that ‘power’? Because, right now, all I see is this little girl who does a lot more barking than biting."
His touch is electric, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You can feel the heat of his skin through the gossamer as he caresses your bound wrists, the silk whispering against itself with each slight movement.
The high slit in your dress allows his fingers to easily access the heat between your legs that feels like it’s burning, and he takes full advantage, tracing teasing patterns along your inner thighs before brushing against your sensitive clit. You gasp and buck your hips, craving more of his touch.
"Fuck, you're so wet already," he growls, his voice low and rough with desire. "You like being at my mercy, don't you? Like knowing I could do anything I want to you. All that talk from before, where’d it go, sweetheart?"
His fingers plunge deep inside you, filling you completely. You moan wantonly, the sound echoing through the empty studio. He starts to thrust, fucking you with his hand in a quick rhythm that has you seeing stars, leaning your body against him.
"Such a good girl, taking my fingers like this," he praises, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bud. "I bet you'd look even better on my cock, wouldn't you? Stretched wide and begging for more."
His dirty words only fuel your arousal, and you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge with each thrust and touch. He must sense it too, because he suddenly pulls his hand away, leaving you aching and desperate.
He slips the dress down your shoulders, suddenly growing careful, making sure the pink pins don’t prick you. Once it’s off, his attitude briskly returns as he kicks it to the side and ties the uncut gossamer back tightly around your wrists.
Standing completely bare in front him, even without the layer of the see-through gossamer on your dress, has you inexplicably submissive. In the reflection of the mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourself, and you look utterly pathetic.
The guttural tone of Hongjoong’s voice brings your attention back to him. "On your knees," he commands, pushing you down with a firm hand on your shoulder. "I need to be in your mouth."
With shaking legs, you obey, sinking to the floor and looking up at him through hooded eyes. He unbuckles his belt and shoves down his pants and briefs, freeing his cock. He isn’t long, but fuck, he was thick, his pretty pink tip already glistening with precum. His dick bobs in front of your face, and eagerly, you look up at Hongjoong, eyes begging him to keep going as your pussy drips freely onto the floor of his studio.
"Fuck, well aren’t you treat,” he says, palming your warmed cheek, taking note of the pliant look in your eyes. “Open wide," he says, fisting his hand in your hair and guiding you towards his length. "Show me how much you appreciate my help, sweetheart."
You part your lips, letting him push the thick head of his cock past them and into the drooling heat of your mouth. He groans, the sound reverberating through his chest as he begins to thrust, fucking your face with long, deep strokes.
The gossamer around your wrists tightens as he pulls you closer, using it like a leash to control your movements. You can feel it biting into your skin, the slight itching pain mixing with the intense pleasure of having your mouth filled with his cock.
"That’s it, take all of me," he grunts, pushing deeper until you gag around him. "Fuck, I knew this pretty mouth would look good wrapped around my dick. Isn’t it so much better this way, sweetheart? No more ‘searching for power in your femininity’, just sucking me off like the good slut you are."
And all you do is moan around him, completely in agreement. The fire, the challenge, the need to prove him wrong have all disappeared, and maybe it was the sleep deprivation or maybe it was the stress of the upcoming deadline or maybe you just needed a good fuck, you think. At this point in time, you didn’t care.
He sets a cruelly quick pace, pistoning in and out of your throat without mercy, stopping every five or six thrusts to let you catch your breath. Tears have begun to stream down your cheeks as you struggle to breathe around his thickness, but your pussy only grows wetter with each thrust, the pool of your arousal growing on the studio floor.
His degrading words just turn you on more, and to get some relief, you press your thighs together in an attempt to create any sort of friction.
Catching this, Hongjoong thrusts into you, letting his throbbing dick sit heavily in your throat, unmoving. "Look at you, choking on my cock like the desperate little whore you are," he taunts, one hand coming up to grip your jaw and force you to meet his gaze. "You love this, don't you? Love having your mouth used for my pleasure."
You can only whine in response, the sound muffled by the thick length resting over your tongue. He takes advantage of your silence, using it as an excuse to push even deeper, and you’re able to feel the heat of his heavy balls against your chin.
He tastes so good and you’re beyond gone, so in response to his words, you collect some saliva in your mouth and swallow around him messily. Hongjoong’s eyes flutter shut as he lets out a low fuck.
"Such a good little cock sleeve," he praises, his voice thick with lust. He thrusts into your throat deeply a few more times, cock twitching when you gag around him. "Bet this cunt of yours is getting nice and wet, isn't it? Getting all slick and ready for me to wreck."
His words send a jolt of pure need straight to your core, and you can feel yourself getting even wetter, if that was even possible at this point. Hongjoong must be able to feel it too, because he suddenly pulls out entirely, leaving you gasping and panting for air.
He stands still observing you again, and in the idle moments, your eyes flicker over the mirror. If you looked pathetic before, you looked like a total slut now. Yet, you didn’t find yourself minding at all, awaiting Hongjoong’s next order.
He tugs on the gossamer, hauling you up and dragging you to the nearest flat surface, which just happens to be where he was working prior to your coming in.
He pushes you over the worktable, bending you roughly at the waist and forcing your sensitive nipples to press against the surface. The fabric of the gossamer bites into your wrists, but you barely notice, too focused on the feeling of his thick cock pressing against your ass.
"Look at that pretty cunt," he growls, one hand coming down to grip your hip hard enough to bruise. "So wet and ready for me. You want this, don't you sweetheart? Want me to fuck you hard and raw like the little slut you are?"
He reaches around to tease your clit, fingers sliding easily through your soaked folds. You moan wantonly, pushing your hips back against him in a desperate attempt to get more friction.
"That's it, beg for my cock," he commands, rubbing slow circles around your aching nub. "Tell me how much you need it."
"I need it," you whimper, voice shaking with desperation. "Please, I need your cock. I need you to fuck me and make me forget about everything else. Please, Hongjoong."
He chuckles darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. Where’d all that fire go?" he murmurs, pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance. "Where had it gone before when I was fucking your throat, hmm?"
You hear the sound of a condom wrapper tearing open, then the blunt head of his cock is nudging against your entrance. He teases you with shallow thrusts, never quite entering you fully, just brushing against your opening and making you beg for more.
"Please," you whimper, arching your back in a desperate attempt to take him deeper.
"I think you can beg some more, sweetheart. I’m not feeling so… convinced yet," he laughs lowly behind you, one hand coming down on your ass with a sharp smack. "Beg me to ruin this tight little cunt."
"I'm begging you!" you cry out, pressing your hips back against him. "Please fuck me hard, fill me up with your big cock. I want you to use me, claim me, make me yours."
He snarls something that might be a curse or a prayer, then eases into you with one slow thrust. You sigh, quietly gasping at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the table as he starts to pound into you at a relentless pace.
"Shit, so fucking tight," he grunts, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Like this greedy little hole was made for my cock."
He sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust hitting deeper than the last until you swear you can feel him in your throat. Your tits bounce with every impact, the raw peaks scraping against the cool table and making you gasp.
"That's it, fucking take it," he snarls, angling his hips to hit that special gummy spot inside you with every stroke. His grip on the gossamer tightens, and with his other hand, Hongjoong wraps his fingers around your throat, forcing your head upwards.
You see the crazed look in his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. Some of his eyeliner is smudged, but you’re not faring any better.
He smirks down at you in the mirror, taking in the sight of your tear-stained face and the way your pussy is still clenching around his cock. "Look at you, all messy and fucked out," he says, his voice low and rough with satisfaction. "You're so much prettier when you aren’t talking back, sweetheart. All desperate and needy, listening to my every word."
His words send a thrill of possession through you, and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. The degrading talk only fuels your arousal, making your walls clench around his thickness.
He lets go and you fall back down onto the worktable with a whine, body unable to hold itself up without Hongjoong’s hands. He looms over you, his eyes dark with lust as he takes in the sight of your naked form, sprawled out before him.
"Nu-uh, I'm not done with you yet," he growls, his voice low and rough with desire. "I want to see you come apart on me, sweetheart. I want to feel this tight little pussy clench around me as you scream my name."
He parts your legs, settling between your thighs and running his fingers through your slick folds. You moan at the contact, your hips bucking up towards his touch as he circles your clit with expert precision.
"That’s it, cum for me you little slut," he says, increasing the pressure on your clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub. Your moans grow louder, your body arching off the worktable as the pleasure builds inside you.
He growls low in his throat, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chases his own release. Then he's coming with a grunt, slamming into you one final time before stilling, buried to the hilt inside you, twitching as his thick cock fills up the condom.
The feel of his cum painting your insides sends you careening over the edge, and you come with a scream of his name, your cunt clamping down on him like a vice.
Hongjoong leans down, his thick cock still inside you as his body pressed firmly into your back, and whispers, “From this point forward, I don’t want you going to any of the other TA’s besides me, understood sweetheart?”
Author's Note II: I feel like a nervous wreck as I'm in preparation for my interview tomorrow, but the recruiters DID say I was the benchmark for the rest of their first interviews, so that's a good sign, I guess??? 🤪 Anyways, I would really appreciate you leaving your thoughts in the form of comments and/or reblogs! It really helps me out and keeps me motivated to write more, so thank you in advance to those who do! Much love <3
Author's Note: Hi guys! For this new year, I wanted to try my hand at doing an event! This is the campus romancers event that I've had in mind for some time to exercise the fact that I never got to experience a university/college love (pls don't tell me I wasn't missing out on much, I WILL start crying). Anyways, below are the titles, summaries, and release schedules for each minific (no wc this time bc we have learned that I probably NOT follow through... but probably/hopefully under 5k for each fic lol), so I hope you guys look forward to and enjoy reading!!!
Incessant (Seonghwa x Reader) 💋
↪ The one where Seonghwa, the assigned mentor for your masters degree, suggests you practice making children before teaching them. (breeding, roughplay)
Tailormade (Hongjoong x Reader) 💋
↪ The one where Hongjoong, a textile design student, is the only available TA in the entire design building during the late hours of the night. (choking/breathplay, bondage)
Citation (Yunho x Reader) (coming 250124) 💋
↪ The one where Yunho, your literary studies tutor, spots an incredibly important reference for your thesis in an abandoned corner of the library. (manhandling, exhibitionism)
Repitition (Yeosang x Reader) (coming 250131) 💋
↪ The one where Yeosang, your personal student trainer, helps you get "dressed" after your sore muscles leave you incapacitated. (manhandling, bondage, body worshipping)
Eutony (San x Reader) (coming 250207) 💋
↪ The one where San, your criminal justice group partner, has an unorthodox approach in getting you ready for your first mock trial. (spanking, roughplay, edging)
Melodies (Mingi x Reader) (coming 250214) 💋
↪ The one where Mingi, the cute audio engineering major student you've admired from afar, finally manages to get you alone at a frat party. (sensory deprivation, squirting)
Semantics (Wooyoung x Reader) (coming 250221) 💋
↪ The one where Wooyoung, a linguistics major, can't seem to keep his thoughts, or his hands, to himself in the back of a busy lecture hall. (exhibitionism, edging)
Hands-On (Jongho x Reader) (coming 250228) 💋
↪ The one where Jongho, a biochemistry major, wants to see how the material he's learning in his physiology class applies to the human body, your body in particular. (overstimulation, squirting)
🎧 playlist 🎧: ateez: deep dive 🍒 kehlani: water 🍒 nct dream: poison 🍒 the weeknd: popular 🍒 the kid laroi: nights like this 🍒 giselle: dopamine 🍒 ateez: selfish waltz 🍒 ningning: bored! 🍒 le sserafim: impurities
Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!
Summary: The one where Hongjoong, a textile design student, is the only available TA in the entire design building during the late hours of the night.
Word Count: 4.86k
Genre/Warnings: TA!hongjoong x textilestudent!reader, enemies to...not enemies?, smut (MDNI), protected sex, dirty talk, degradation, facefucking, oral (m receiving), bondage, leash (?), gagging, dacryphilia, spanking, reader gets fucked from behind bc why not, mirror sex (sort of), dom/sub dynamics, reader gets called names (sweetheart, slut, cocksleeve, whore), lots of academic arguing, textile inaccuracy, both reader and joong are kind of annoying lol
Author's Note: Released early bc I have one of my second interviews tomorrow and wanted to go to sleep early! Anyways I was writing this, I realized that this is just ughasif!hj and mc in a different timeline, so do with that what you will lol. Nonetheless, really excited for everyone to read the second installment of CR!! Please let me know what you think!!! Much love <3
🎧 playlist 🎧: ateez: deep dive 🍒 kehlani: water 🍒 nct dream: poison 🍒 the weeknd: popular 🍒 the kid laroi: nights like this 🍒 giselle: dopamine 🍒 ateez: selfish waltz 🍒 ningning: bored! 🍒 le sserafim: impurities
This is a work of fiction, and it is not meant to be a realistic representation of any real person mentioned in any way, shape, or form.
Huffing and puffing wasn’t really going to get you anywhere, but it seemed to be all you could do.
You stood in the front of the locked and empty rooms of the empty offices with your pinned clothes heavy in your hands. The fabric brushed against your arms, smooth and slippery, the deep red silk and gossamer catching the light with every small movement. It was luxurious but temperamental, a material that shows every flaw in your carefully thought out construction and left no room for error. It felt like it weighed more with every passing second you stood there, a physical and fiery manifestation of your frustration.
The dress you’d painstakingly pieced together was bold, maybe too bold. Its structured bodice was accented with dramatic, asymmetrical pleats that swept across the waist, creating an almost sculptural effect. The skirt fell in layers of sheer gossamer, each edge meticulously hand-cut to achieve a feathered look. A high slit ran up one slide, a daring choice that you were now second-guessing. The pink pins holding the seams in place glittered like stars against the dark fabric, mocking your hesitation.
You look at them adorning the dark red cloth you were too scared to commit to sewing and lay it along the railing. The fabric shifted under your fingers, the pins catching faintly against the cold metal. Peeking over the railing, you spot a few lingering bodies below.
Some students were laid drooling over their laptop while others were hunched over their own projects, sketching feverishly over a large canvas while others mixed colors on palette paper, their motions hypnotic in their repetitive intensity.
The quiet hum of activity down there felt a world away from your current dilemma. With a deep sigh, you turn back toward the locked door. It was impractical to expect any professors to be available half past eleven, you knew that. But the weight of the project deadline pressed heavily on your chest, and with each passing minute, you felt less and less certain about your choices.
But you did know who would be here.
Kim Hongjoong. The name alone conjured up mixed emotions, a slurry of intimidation, exasperation, and maybe even a touch of admiration. He was infamous among the design students, and not just for his critiques, which could cut sharper than a rotary blade. He had a presence that made people twice, you among them. Short in stature but larger than life, he carried himself with a confidence that felt earned, his sharp cheekbones and ever-present black eyeliner giving him the air of an untouchable rockstar.
His hair had been a slew of colors since you’d met him, but this winter, he’d settled on a jet black with red undertones, which despite the color, always remained slightly tousled, as though he’d been running his hands through it all day.
His wardrobe only added to the mythos. He was able to conjure the most colorful of garments, decorated to sparkle and dazzle in the light of both the sun and the moon, but you don’t think you’d seen him in more than a neutral palette which was mostly comprised of blacks and grays. Always paired with his clothes were the chunky black boots that completed his ensemble, their thick soles giving him a boost of height.
You’d never seen him during the day without a scowl plastered on his face. You could still recall the infamous time he’d been forced to attend an early morning orientation for incoming freshmen. He’d slouched at the back of the studio, glaring daggers at the clock, the bags under his eyes visible even from where you were standing.
You peek into the small workspace he’d claimed as his own, the door slightly ajar. The air inside was tinged with the faint smell of coffee and paper, and you could hear the faint scratch of a pen against a sketchpad. He sat hunched over his desk, his focus so intense he didn’t seem to notice your presence. A steaming mug of coffee sat dangerously close to the edge of the table, threatening to topple over with one careless motion.
At night, when the campus quieted and the studio lights buzzed softly, Hongjoong seemed to come alive. He became a force of nature, especially at night, when caffeine coursed through his veins like electricity when he ran up and down the design building, completing projects.
“Have you put it on?” His voice cuts through the quiet like a needle pricking fabric.
“What?” you blink, caught off guard.
“Have you put it on?” he repeats, finally looking up with one arched brow. He clicked his tongue when you didn’t answer immediately. “Don’t tell me you’ve come asking for help before you’ve even put it on. That’s the whole point of that assignment,” he says, gesturing with his pen matter-of-factly.
You knew that, of course, you knew that. “Okay,” you drag out the syllables, trying to keep your irritation in check. “Well, I haven’t put it on yet, but I was hoping you could just take a quick look at the way the material drapes—”
“While it’s on a hanger?”” he interrupts with a sharp scoff. “Please, waste my time some more, why don’t you?”
Despite his words, he pushes back his chair with a dramatic scrape, the roll of your eyes so desperate for the movement, grabbing his coffee as if it were a lifeline. He takes a long sip before striding toward you with his usual caffeinated energy. His movements were quick and precise, almost jittery, as though his body could barely keep up with his thoughts.
“Alright, let’s see this supposed masterpiece,” he says, motioning impatiently for you to hold up the garment.
You lift it carefully, letting the deep red silk and gossamer catch the light. The fabric ripples like liquid fire as it unfolds, the sharp contrast of the pink pins accentuating the bold pleats and dramatic silhouette. He circles you, his eyes narrowing as he takes in every detail, scrutinizing it as though searching for flaws to latch onto.
“It’s… loud,” he finally says, the words falling flat and unimpressed. “The color’s trying too hard. Red’s predictable, it’s like you’re screaming for attention without saying anything meaningful.”
Your mouth opens, then closes. You blink, taken aback by his bluntness, but something inside you flares at the dismissal.
“It’s not just red,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended. “It’s crimson, and it’s deliberate. The color represents power and femininity. It’s bold because it’s supposed to be, because women and their bodies aren’t quiet or soft or something that should blend into the background.”
He pauses mid-stride, his gaze snapping back to you. He doesn’t say anything, but the slightest quirk of his eyebrow betrays that you’ve caught him off guard. Still, he recovers quickly, letting out a scoff as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“And the slit?” he counters, his tone dripping with skepticism. “What are you going for there? A wardrobe malfunction on the runway?”
“It’s intentional,” you fire back, the words coming faster now. “It’s about movement, fluidity. The female body is dynamic, not static. The slit isn’t just a detail, it’s part of the message. Restriction isn’t the goal here. Freedom is.”
His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think you see something flicker in his sharp eyes. A glimmer of respect, maybe, or even admiration. But just as quickly, his expression hardens, and he lets out an exaggerated sigh as if this entire conversation is testing his patience.
“Fine. You’ve got a thesis. Great. But a thesis doesn’t mean anything if it doesn’t translate when someone’s wearing it,” he says, voice clipped. “Right now, all I see is fabric pinned to itself. You’ve got a lot of talk, but if you want me to believe it, you need to prove it, sweetheart.”
You stare at him, your heart pounding. Fuck, he was attractive. The way he looks at you, half-annoyed and half-curious, makes you want to both jump him and prove him wrong.
“Put it on,” he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. He gestures toward the dress with a tilt of his head. “Let’s see if your ‘power and freedom’ actually works when it’s on a body, or if it’s just pretty words.”
You narrow your eyes at him, biting back a retort as you grab the dress. His gaze lingers on your for a beat longer than necessary before he turns away, retreating back to his desk with a nonchalant air. But the slight tension in his shoulders gives him away. He’s curious, whether he admits it or not.
As you head towards the changing room behind his studio space, your grip on the dress tightens. You’ll show him. You’ll make him see this isn’t just pinned fabric, that this is art, your art, with meaning.
I’ll make him eat his words.
You remove your clothes in a haste, slowing down to pull the open-pinned dress over your head.
When you walk back into his studio, Hongjoong only sighs.
“Tell me, is it meant to be wearing mismatched underwear or is that just your vision for it?”
Okay, completely bare it was. Without breaking eye contact, you slip off your bra and through the open sleeves of the dress, throw it onto a rack of blank canvases. You struggle with your underwear a little but soon enough are able to pull it out through the slit in the skirt and toss it in the opposite direction.
A stubborn expression graces your face, and you look at Hongjoong, waiting for him to put together his thoughts, almost as if he’s wasting your time.
Hongjoong’s sharp eyes rove over the garment with an intensity that could make anyone squirm, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. Standing there, completely exposed save for the patches of silk draping select sections of your body, you square your shoulders and tilt your chin up, daring him to find fault now that it’s on.
For a moment, he says nothing. His focus shifts from the sculpted bodice to the pleated waist, and then to the high slit. His gaze lingers on how the fabric clings to your frame, the deep crimson catching the light and cascading like molten lava with every slight movement. You feel the air shift, the weight of his silence thick with thoughts he hasn’t voiced yet.
“Well?” you challenge, your voice cutting through the quiet. “Don’t tell me you’re speechless. I thought you had an opinion on everything.”
His lips twitch, almost forming a smirk, but he catches himself and crosses his arms instead, his fingers tapping against his bicep. “It’s better,” he concedes begrudgingly. “The structure works when it’s actually on. The bodice fits tighter than I expected—clean lines, good tension. The pleats don’t overwhelm as much as they did on the hanger.” He pauses, stepping closer to inspect the skirt.
“But,” he continues, his tone sharp enough to slice, “the slit still feels unresolved. It’s daring, sure, but right now, it looks more accidental than intentional. If you’re going for movement, then the fabric needs to tell that story. Right now, it’s just... there.”
You feel your jaw tighten, his critique grating against your nerves. “It does tell a story,” you snap. “The slit isn’t just for show. It’s about exposing what’s hidden—revealing strength and vulnerability at the same time. The asymmetry makes it human, imperfect. Isn’t that the point of art? Or would you prefer it to be sterile and safe?”
Hongjoong’s expression flickers, just for a second. There’s a brief moment where he looks almost stunned, like he wasn’t expecting that.
Hongjoong, if nothing, was not safe or sterile in his approach. Ever. But he recovers quickly, letting out a derisive snort as if your words hadn’t fazed him.
“Again, strong words,” he says, stepping back and leaning against the desk with his ever-present air of annoyance. “But words aren’t enough. You’ve got to prove it in how it moves, how it lives on a body. Anyone can wax poetic about their choices, but that’s all you’ve been doing since you walked into my studio.” He gestures at you, his hand slicing through the air.
“Walk. Show me.”
You blink, taken aback by his demand. “What?”
“Walk,” he repeats with a roll of his eyes, as if he’s bored by the back-and-forth. “Let me see how the fabric flows, how the slit actually works in motion. If you’re so confident in your ‘strength and vulnerability,’ then let the dress speak for itself.”
For a moment, you consider arguing, but the fire in his gaze dares you. So you take a step forward, feeling the silk brush against your legs. The high slit shifts with every movement, revealing flashes of your skin in a way that feels deliberate and powerful. The pleats ripple like waves, catching the light in a way that accentuates their sculptural form. You walk the length of the room and back, your movements growing more confident with each step.
When you stop in front of him, Hongjoong’s gaze lingers for a beat longer than necessary. His expression is carefully neutral, but the tight line of his jaw and the faint crease between his brows betray his thoughts. He’s impressed though you doubt he’ll ever admit it.
“Well,” he says finally, his voice deliberately flat. “It’s... better than I thought it would be. You’ve got something here, but it still needs refinement. The slit works when you walk, but what happens when you stand still? It loses some of its impact. And the pleats—”
“Oh my god,” you interrupt, throwing your hands up. “You’re impossible to please, you know that? You nitpick everything like it’s your life’s mission.”
“It is my mission,” he snaps back, his tone sharp and bordering on unkind. “Do you think anyone’s going to coddle you when you’re presenting at a runway show? They’ll tear you apart if it’s not perfect.”
He walks over to his own collection of rolls of textiles, flicking through them, and finally, picking out one of a pale white glittering gossamer, not too dissimilar to yours. He strides towards you, the roll in hand, muttering something under his breath.
His deft hands unravel the gossamer, too impatient to even cut it away from the rest of the roll as it tumbles away from him, and he swiftly wraps it around your waist, cinching it tight and pulling a gasp from you. His fingers graze your hips as he works, his touch firm and efficient. The thin fabric molds to your curves, creating a snug band that accentuates your waistline.
Still behind you, he turns you to face a long mirror that’s propped up against a supply box. You can feel the heat of his body so close to yours, the scent of his cologne filling your senses.
"See? This creates a more defined waistline," he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear. "It adds structure and draws the eye in." His fingers trace the edge of the gossamer, brushing against your skin. You shiver at the contact, a jolt of electricity shooting through you.
Hongjoong steps back, surveying his handiwork with a critical eye. He adjusts the fabric, tugging it here and there until he's satisfied. "Much better," he declares, nodding approvingly. The sharp edges of his demeanor seem to dull, and the air between you grows into something more softer. He’s observing you now, not with his usual critique or irritation, but with something quieter. Almost… admiring.
“Wow, didn’t think you were capable of a compliment.” And just like that, the moment shatters, like a dropped pane of glass.
Suddenly, Hongjoong’s expression hardens. His jaw clenches, and he unravels the gossamer from your waist and gathers it at your wrists, wrapping it tightly around your arms and binding them behind your back.
"What are you doing?" you gasp, a thrill of excitement mixed with apprehension coursing through you as he secures the makeshift bonds. At your voice, the grip of the gossamer only tightens.
"Helping you see your design through a different lens," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear as he finishes tying the fabric. "What’d you say you wanted to do? ‘Expose what’s hidden’, huh? Why don’t I help you with that?"
He spins you around to face him, his hands gripping your bound wrists as he presses you back against the wall. The silk and gossamer bunch between your bodies, creating a delicious friction that makes you gasp.
"Look at you," he breathes, his eyes dark with desire as they roam over your face. "I think you’d be surprised to know how much you’re actually lying to yourself, sweetheart."
His free hand trails down your body, skimming over your breasts and skimming over the bodice of your dress. He teases one stiff nipple through the thin fabric, rolling it between his fingers until you're writhing against him.
"Where’s that ‘strength’?" he asks, pinching the sensitive bud harder. "Where’s that ‘power’? Because, right now, all I see is this little girl who does a lot more barking than biting."
His touch is electric, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You can feel the heat of his skin through the gossamer as he caresses your bound wrists, the silk whispering against itself with each slight movement.
The high slit in your dress allows his fingers to easily access the heat between your legs that feels like it’s burning, and he takes full advantage, tracing teasing patterns along your inner thighs before brushing against your sensitive clit. You gasp and buck your hips, craving more of his touch.
"Fuck, you're so wet already," he growls, his voice low and rough with desire. "You like being at my mercy, don't you? Like knowing I could do anything I want to you. All that talk from before, where’d it go, sweetheart?"
His fingers plunge deep inside you, filling you completely. You moan wantonly, the sound echoing through the empty studio. He starts to thrust, fucking you with his hand in a quick rhythm that has you seeing stars, leaning your body against him.
"Such a good girl, taking my fingers like this," he praises, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bud. "I bet you'd look even better on my cock, wouldn't you? Stretched wide and begging for more."
His dirty words only fuel your arousal, and you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge with each thrust and touch. He must sense it too, because he suddenly pulls his hand away, leaving you aching and desperate.
He slips the dress down your shoulders, suddenly growing careful, making sure the pink pins don’t prick you. Once it’s off, his attitude briskly returns as he kicks it to the side and ties the uncut gossamer back tightly around your wrists.
Standing completely bare in front him, even without the layer of the see-through gossamer on your dress, has you inexplicably submissive. In the reflection of the mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourself, and you look utterly pathetic.
The guttural tone of Hongjoong’s voice brings your attention back to him. "On your knees," he commands, pushing you down with a firm hand on your shoulder. "I need to be in your mouth."
With shaking legs, you obey, sinking to the floor and looking up at him through hooded eyes. He unbuckles his belt and shoves down his pants and briefs, freeing his cock. He isn’t long, but fuck, he was thick, his pretty pink tip already glistening with precum. His dick bobs in front of your face, and eagerly, you look up at Hongjoong, eyes begging him to keep going as your pussy drips freely onto the floor of his studio.
"Fuck, well aren’t you treat,” he says, palming your warmed cheek, taking note of the pliant look in your eyes. “Open wide," he says, fisting his hand in your hair and guiding you towards his length. "Show me how much you appreciate my help, sweetheart."
You part your lips, letting him push the thick head of his cock past them and into the drooling heat of your mouth. He groans, the sound reverberating through his chest as he begins to thrust, fucking your face with long, deep strokes.
The gossamer around your wrists tightens as he pulls you closer, using it like a leash to control your movements. You can feel it biting into your skin, the slight itching pain mixing with the intense pleasure of having your mouth filled with his cock.
"That’s it, take all of me," he grunts, pushing deeper until you gag around him. "Fuck, I knew this pretty mouth would look good wrapped around my dick. Isn’t it so much better this way, sweetheart? No more ‘searching for power in your femininity’, just sucking me off like the good slut you are."
And all you do is moan around him, completely in agreement. The fire, the challenge, the need to prove him wrong have all disappeared, and maybe it was the sleep deprivation or maybe it was the stress of the upcoming deadline or maybe you just needed a good fuck, you think. At this point in time, you didn’t care.
He sets a cruelly quick pace, pistoning in and out of your throat without mercy, stopping every five or six thrusts to let you catch your breath. Tears have begun to stream down your cheeks as you struggle to breathe around his thickness, but your pussy only grows wetter with each thrust, the pool of your arousal growing on the studio floor.
His degrading words just turn you on more, and to get some relief, you press your thighs together in an attempt to create any sort of friction.
Catching this, Hongjoong thrusts into you, letting his throbbing dick sit heavily in your throat, unmoving. "Look at you, choking on my cock like the desperate little whore you are," he taunts, one hand coming up to grip your jaw and force you to meet his gaze. "You love this, don't you? Love having your mouth used for my pleasure."
You can only whine in response, the sound muffled by the thick length resting over your tongue. He takes advantage of your silence, using it as an excuse to push even deeper, and you’re able to feel the heat of his heavy balls against your chin.
He tastes so good and you’re beyond gone, so in response to his words, you collect some saliva in your mouth and swallow around him messily. Hongjoong’s eyes flutter shut as he lets out a low fuck.
"Such a good little cock sleeve," he praises, his voice thick with lust. He thrusts into your throat deeply a few more times, cock twitching when you gag around him. "Bet this cunt of yours is getting nice and wet, isn't it? Getting all slick and ready for me to wreck."
His words send a jolt of pure need straight to your core, and you can feel yourself getting even wetter, if that was even possible at this point. Hongjoong must be able to feel it too, because he suddenly pulls out entirely, leaving you gasping and panting for air.
He stands still observing you again, and in the idle moments, your eyes flicker over the mirror. If you looked pathetic before, you looked like a total slut now. Yet, you didn’t find yourself minding at all, awaiting Hongjoong’s next order.
He tugs on the gossamer, hauling you up and dragging you to the nearest flat surface, which just happens to be where he was working prior to your coming in.
He pushes you over the worktable, bending you roughly at the waist and forcing your sensitive nipples to press against the surface. The fabric of the gossamer bites into your wrists, but you barely notice, too focused on the feeling of his thick cock pressing against your ass.
"Look at that pretty cunt," he growls, one hand coming down to grip your hip hard enough to bruise. "So wet and ready for me. You want this, don't you sweetheart? Want me to fuck you hard and raw like the little slut you are?"
He reaches around to tease your clit, fingers sliding easily through your soaked folds. You moan wantonly, pushing your hips back against him in a desperate attempt to get more friction.
"That's it, beg for my cock," he commands, rubbing slow circles around your aching nub. "Tell me how much you need it."
"I need it," you whimper, voice shaking with desperation. "Please, I need your cock. I need you to fuck me and make me forget about everything else. Please, Hongjoong."
He chuckles darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. Where’d all that fire go?" he murmurs, pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance. "Where had it gone before when I was fucking your throat, hmm?"
You hear the sound of a condom wrapper tearing open, then the blunt head of his cock is nudging against your entrance. He teases you with shallow thrusts, never quite entering you fully, just brushing against your opening and making you beg for more.
"Please," you whimper, arching your back in a desperate attempt to take him deeper.
"I think you can beg some more, sweetheart. I’m not feeling so… convinced yet," he laughs lowly behind you, one hand coming down on your ass with a sharp smack. "Beg me to ruin this tight little cunt."
"I'm begging you!" you cry out, pressing your hips back against him. "Please fuck me hard, fill me up with your big cock. I want you to use me, claim me, make me yours."
He snarls something that might be a curse or a prayer, then eases into you with one slow thrust. You sigh, quietly gasping at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the table as he starts to pound into you at a relentless pace.
"Shit, so fucking tight," he grunts, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Like this greedy little hole was made for my cock."
He sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust hitting deeper than the last until you swear you can feel him in your throat. Your tits bounce with every impact, the raw peaks scraping against the cool table and making you gasp.
"That's it, fucking take it," he snarls, angling his hips to hit that special gummy spot inside you with every stroke. His grip on the gossamer tightens, and with his other hand, Hongjoong wraps his fingers around your throat, forcing your head upwards.
You see the crazed look in his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. Some of his eyeliner is smudged, but you’re not faring any better.
He smirks down at you in the mirror, taking in the sight of your tear-stained face and the way your pussy is still clenching around his cock. "Look at you, all messy and fucked out," he says, his voice low and rough with satisfaction. "You're so much prettier when you aren’t talking back, sweetheart. All desperate and needy, listening to my every word."
His words send a thrill of possession through you, and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. The degrading talk only fuels your arousal, making your walls clench around his thickness.
He lets go and you fall back down onto the worktable with a whine, body unable to hold itself up without Hongjoong’s hands. He looms over you, his eyes dark with lust as he takes in the sight of your naked form, sprawled out before him.
"Nu-uh, I'm not done with you yet," he growls, his voice low and rough with desire. "I want to see you come apart on me, sweetheart. I want to feel this tight little pussy clench around me as you scream my name."
He parts your legs, settling between your thighs and running his fingers through your slick folds. You moan at the contact, your hips bucking up towards his touch as he circles your clit with expert precision.
"That’s it, cum for me you little slut," he says, increasing the pressure on your clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub. Your moans grow louder, your body arching off the worktable as the pleasure builds inside you.
He growls low in his throat, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chases his own release. Then he's coming with a grunt, slamming into you one final time before stilling, buried to the hilt inside you, twitching as his thick cock fills up the condom.
The feel of his cum painting your insides sends you careening over the edge, and you come with a scream of his name, your cunt clamping down on him like a vice.
Hongjoong leans down, his thick cock still inside you as his body pressed firmly into your back, and whispers, “From this point forward, I don’t want you going to any of the other TA’s besides me, understood sweetheart?”
Author's Note II: I feel like a nervous wreck as I'm in preparation for my interview tomorrow, but the recruiters DID say I was the benchmark for the rest of their first interviews, so that's a good sign, I guess??? 🤪 Anyways, I would really appreciate you leaving your thoughts in the form of comments and/or reblogs! It really helps me out and keeps me motivated to write more, so thank you in advance to those who do! Much love <3
Author's Note: Hi guys! For this new year, I wanted to try my hand at doing an event! This is the campus romancers event that I've had in mind for some time to exercise the fact that I never got to experience a university/college love (pls don't tell me I wasn't missing out on much, I WILL start crying). Anyways, below are the titles, summaries, and release schedules for each minific (no wc this time bc we have learned that I probably NOT follow through... but probably/hopefully under 5k for each fic lol), so I hope you guys look forward to and enjoy reading!!!
Incessant (Seonghwa x Reader) 💋
↪ The one where Seonghwa, the assigned mentor for your masters degree, suggests you practice making children before teaching them. (breeding, roughplay)
Tailormade (Hongjoong x Reader) (coming 250117) 💋
↪ The one where Hongjoong, a textile design student, is the only available TA in the entire design building during the late hours of the night. (choking/breathplay, bondage)
Citation (Yunho x Reader) (coming 250124) 💋
↪ The one where Yunho, your literary studies tutor, spots an incredibly important reference for your thesis in an abandoned corner of the library. (manhandling, exhibitionism)
Repitition (Yeosang x Reader) (coming 250131) 💋
↪ The one where Yeosang, your personal student trainer, helps you get "dressed" after your sore muscles leave you incapacitated. (manhandling, bondage, body worshipping)
Eutony (San x Reader) (coming 250207) 💋
↪ The one where San, your criminal justice group partner, has an unorthodox approach in getting you ready for your first mock trial. (spanking, roughplay, edging)
Melodies (Mingi x Reader) (coming 250214) 💋
↪ The one where Mingi, the cute audio engineering major student you've admired from afar, finally manages to get you alone at a frat party. (sensory deprivation, squirting)
Semantics (Wooyoung x Reader) (coming 250221) 💋
↪ The one where Wooyoung, a linguistics major, can't seem to keep his thoughts, or his hands, to himself in the back of a busy lecture hall. (exhibitionism, edging)
Hands-On (Jongho x Reader) (coming 250228) 💋
↪ The one where Jongho, a biochemistry major, wants to see how the material he's learning in his physiology class applies to the human body, your body in particular. (overstimulation, squirting)
🎧 playlist 🎧: ateez: deep dive 🍒 kehlani: water 🍒 nct dream: poison 🍒 the weeknd: popular 🍒 the kid laroi: nights like this 🍒 giselle: dopamine 🍒 ateez: selfish waltz 🍒 ningning: bored! 🍒 le sserafim: impurities
Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!
hj's tailormade comes out in 12 hours!!! hope you guys enjoy his part!! (also a super sad goodbye to joong's curly dark hair, you will be dearly missed 😢🤧)
Summary: The one where Seonghwa, the assigned mentor for your masters degree, suggests you practice making children before teaching them.
Word Count: 5.01k
Genre/Warnings: phdstudent!hwa x gradstudent!reader, elementary education majors (do postgrads have majors??), slightly aged-up hwa, smut with some plot, hair pulling, dirty (filthy) talk (f reader is called a slut/cumslut), spitting, fingering, marking, breeding, unprotected sex (pls do NOT do this irl), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, manhandling, mating press (heh), inappropriate academic relations?, horny!reader x perverted!hwa (match made in heaven frfr)
Author's Note: Here's the very first installment of Campus Romancers (yay!) Kids are most likely NOT in my future, but I'm not opposed to practicing, especially with Seonghwa hehe 🤭 (Let it be known I was clearly ovulating during the writing process bc ??oh my god???). Anyways, pls let me know what you think of the first installment of Campus Romancers!! Much love <33
🎧 playlist 🎧: ateez: deep dive 🍒 kehlani: water 🍒 nct dream: poison 🍒 the weeknd: popular 🍒 the kid laroi: nights like this 🍒 giselle: dopamine 🍒 ateez: selfish waltz 🍒 ningning: bored! 🍒 le sserafim: impurities
This is a work of fiction, and it is not meant to be a realistic representation of any real person mentioned in any way, shape, or form.
Seonghwa’s apartment, despite being lit by multiple soft white lamps, couldn’t have been any warmer than the brisk temperature outside. Nonetheless, you compliment the way he’s designed his interior as you take off your shoes. Some months ago, when you’d started your masters program, you’d never thought you’d be invited inside your mentor’s home.
In fact, of all that came with a masters degree, you were probably least excited about having to deal with a mentor. They’d been marketed as people who’d help you set off your path with the right connections, with the proper networks, but it had always seemed like an unfortunate byproduct of higher academia.
You were so not looking forward to meeting older, snooty, PhD candidates and spending time with their holier than thou attitude. So much so that you had to forcefully drag yourself to the orientation hall that early fall morning where a small batch of nervous education masters students were waiting for their mentors. You stood by them, cheeks sore in a painfully superficial friendly smile, and one by one, your peers were pulled away, greeted by their older mentors.
A good amount of the bunch were older, hair peppered with streaks of silver and white, and you had sighed, dropping your smile momentarily as you looked around you. As more and more of the other students were picked away by their mentors, you had slowly slinked away to a quiet corner near the refreshments.
As you were stuffing a mini poppy seed muffin fully into your mouth, you turned back to the crowd to find that a man, not much older than you, was making his way towards where you were standing alone in a corner of the bustling hall. Mistaking him for another masters student, you look over his shoulder, only to have him stop directly in front of you, with your name on his pink lips posed as a question.
Somehow, you had lucked out and landed Park Seonghwa as your masters mentor, and suddenly, having a mentor didn’t seem all too bad.
He was very pretty, his face maturely slender and plush lips settled in a pout. He had a lean frame, which helped him seem as if he was towering over you despite being only some inches taller. His hair was jet black, almost blue, and settled straightly over his face, lengthening it. You’d have to be completely oblivious to not notice the jealous stares thrown your way from the other female masters students. But a successful PhD student in his own right, Seonghwa was also breathtakingly intelligent.
In the months that followed, you came to find that his quietly offered advice always came from a place of care and genuine concern, and his methods of conducting research were something you couldn’t compliment enough. He was sure of himself, albeit clandestine with his ways, and thereby, his work, modestly confident between the group of incredibly well-respected and experienced mentors, all of which had at least a decade or two on him.
But it was hard to focus on the knowledge he had to offer you completely when the words falling from his pillowy lips always sounded so strangely seductive. His quiet manner and low voice didn’t do much to quell your unruly, and absolutely unprofessional, desire for him.
When you were helping him sort through his research, it was always his fingers you’d zero in on. When you met him early in the mornings to discuss your progress, it was his gravelly voice, still heavy with sleep. When you were sitting side by side discussing your own thesis, it was his distinct scent of Black Opium coming from his skin.
Utterly ashamed with yourself, you had gotten off to the thought of Seonghwa a multitude of times, conjuring different ways he would take you. Sometimes it would roughly after a particularly challenging day around his older colleagues. Other days it would be gently as the weather cooled on the campus around you. Whichever way it was, you were always able to make yourself cum to him.
It didn’t help that he was great with children, too. As you observed him in the field, you saw his usual demeanor falling away to reveal smiles and playfulness, taunting and teasing the children. Many of the children’s eyes would be filled with tears when the time for goodbyes came, already asking when he’d be coming over to play again.
It wasn’t until the semester really kicked into effect some weeks later when the piling work was threatening to take its toll that you decided enough was enough. So you promise yourself to push your immature infatuation aside, focusing on your degree and on your degree only, but every now and then, you’d catch yourself shamelessly ogling and desperately praying Seonghwa would mistake it for admiration.
Despite that, now well into the fall and the semester, you and Seonghwa were working like a well-oiled machine, efficient and functional. Which was incredibly important now that you’d received your topic for the spring seminar that was to be held sometime early next year.
The night you had received your topic, you and Seonghwa were teeming with ideas. Cooped up in his office, you wrote potential outline after outline, gathering research and preparing as many stances as you could conjure up. Sat side by side on the carpet of his intimate 100 square foot office, the two of you worked nonstop. The mid-afternoon had turned into late evening and still, your shoulders stayed firmly pressed against Seonghwa’s as you combed through more and more research.
Though as the hours passed by, your strong resolve began to fade away. The proximity that you didn’t seem to mind at 5:00 pm was beginning to make you dizzy at 8:00 pm. His woody perfume, the way his fingers expertly typed away at his laptop’s keyboard, the glasses that kept slipping down the slope of his nose.
Thankfully soon after, Seonghwa had decided to call it a night, but by the time you were packed up and ready to leave, you realized there were no longer any buses running on campus, so when Seonghwa offered to drive you to your apartment, you happily took him up on the offer.
After dropping you off at your own place, Seonghwa had offered to hold the next meeting at his apartment just off campus tomorrow and you had giddily agreed, deciding to meet after your lectures wrapped up in the late afternoon.
Breaking your own promise, you had gotten yourself off to him that night from the remainder of his scent that had seeped into your own clothes.
But now, in the quiet of his cool apartment, you’re feeling a little out of place. It felt a little surreal to be in a place that was completely Seonghwa. Sure, his office had bits and pieces of him, but the equipment was clearly the university’s. The bland brown carpet, the sturdy gray desk, and the harsh fluorescent lights didn’t belong to Seonghwa.
This space, which was completely his, felt like Seonghwa. In the center of his living room was a clean white rug, and instead of turning on the overhead lights, he began switching on many of the lamps. The cushions on his white couch were fluffed to resemble clouds, and there was a mild fragrance of vanilla that hung in the air. On his center table was a neatly arranged stack of literary journals and as you take off your shoes, you notice the way he’d organized his own pairs in a small closet.
It was overwhelmingly Seonghwa. Of course, in the best way possible.
The two of you waste no time, immediately unpacking the research from your bags, and per Seonghwa’s suggestion, splay them on the floor to get another perspective. You try desperately to ignore being surrounded by Seonghwa and hone in your focus on your research.
Adn to your credit, things are going well, and hours pass as you collect evidence and build up your strategy. It isn’t until half past ten that you hit a wall.
For maybe the past hour, you’ve been trying to find evidence to lay the groundwork for your second hypothesis with no luck. The spread out research has made a shuffled mess on the floors, and both you and Seonghwa are sitting on the ground with your aching backs against the couch. You flip through your notes in search of a journal to get past this godforsaken roadblock.
“We could use Hoffman’s essay in Journal No. 51 to provide evidence for the requirement of substantially good parents to raise substantially good children?” you offer with a tired sigh, holding out your highlighted copy of Journal No.51 to Seonghwa.
Instead of taking the journal from you, he scoots closer from his end of the couch to yours, shoulders bumping yours. Features softened with exhaustion, he moves even closer in an attempt to read the words on the page of the journal.
Suddenly, the image of Seonghwa playing with children flashes across your eyes. It wasn’t uncommon to shadow other teachers in your line of majors, and you’d even shadowed Seonghwa shadowing another teacher. He was great with kids, seeming able to read into their every microexpression, knowing exactly what they wanted from him before they had the chance to tell him. “Do you think you’d make a good parent?” you find yourself asking, already knowing the answer.
You’re met with silence. You can hear a group of probably drunk students walking outside of the apartment complex before Seonghwa’s air conditioning system kicks in. He’s contemplating the answer, unsure if answering would be crossing a line.
He backs away from the journal, choosing instead to look at the disarray of pages and books. “I’m not sure,” he finally says, admission quiet. It’s the first time you don’t hear the confidence in his voice. “Do you think you would?”
Frankly, you weren’t so sure either. You think you were very clinical in your approach, very textbook. You weren’t naturally attuned to children and were honestly quick to be irritated at irrational behavior that one would obviously expect to come from children, but you did care for them. You wanted to be a good parent. And for a second, your brain slips to Seonghwa, thinking what parenting would be like with him.
God, you think it would be the most easiest thing in the world. So before you can filter the thought away, you respond, “Yes, if I was doing it with you.”
“With me?” Oh my god. Your eyes widen a little in shock. You wanted the material of his rug to swallow you alive or shrink into a subatomic particle or become a child. Anything to explain the reason why you said what you said.
But, unfortunately for you, none of those things happen, so you clear your throat in an attempt to at least appear put together and justify, “I mean, we’re both studying elementary education, you know?”
It was a bullshit excuse. You knew it, and you were painfully aware that Seonghwa knew it. There was no correlation in parenting a kid and educating them. It was too far of a reach to even begin to entertain.
But Seonghwa only smiles, exhaustion fading away to reveal mischief, leaning back to rest his back against the couch. Kids were the absolute last thing on your mind. You’d had to work with them enough for your degree, and putting an additional strain on yourself, especially while you were still in school, seemed all too unwise.
“Kids are tough,” he says, eyeing your stiff form. He wraps his arm over the couch, not touching your body, but resting close enough for you to feel its presence. “There's a lot to consider. They require a lot of attention and care and love. You’ve got to raise them right, under the right supervision, to get them ready for the world. It’s a lot of effort for something that only takes one good shot. Ever considered that?” What the fuck was going on?
In the moments that pass as Seonghwa waits for your answer, you wonder if he’s thought about you as much as you’ve thought about him these past several weeks.
One part of your brain shouts at you, scolding you for entertaining the thought and not stopping yourself. It wasn’t as if this wasn’t completely and absolutely immoral. Having relations with your mentor is probably up there on things you definitely shouldn’t do as a student. But all the momentary panic and anxiety felt overruled by the wetness collected on your panties.
Because the other part of your brain is eager to give into the temptation. It makes you rub your legs together, which Seonghwa no doubt catches, and it also makes you speak up. “I’ve thought about it,” is how you choose to summarize your thoughts.
The ghost of his arm falls away, and you think you've visibly deflated against the couch at the loss of his pseudo-touch. Suddenly his hand is in your hair, fingers threading through the strands at the nape of your neck. You stiffen again, holding back a moan. Seonghwa scoffs, and at your silence, decides to tug.
He pulls your hair, tilting your head back to look at him. His eyes are dark, filled with a primal hunger that makes your pussy clench. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear, voice low with intent, “Is that so? And have you thought about what it takes? The sacrifices, the intimacy, the practice?”
His other hand trails down your body, over your clothed breasts, your stomach, coming to rest on your thigh. He squeezes, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he slides his hands higher, pushing your skirt up. “Because I have. I’ve thought about all the things we’d need to do to get it right. All the ways we’d have to touch, all the ways we’d have to taste, all the ways we’d have to feel each other.
He nips at your earlobe before pulling back to look at you, his gaze knowing. “You think I don’t notice the way you look at me? If I didn't know any better, I’d assume that you would start drooling for me if I asked,” he mocks.
Seonghwa isn’t as oblivious as you’d like him to be. He’d be a complete fool to not notice how you often zone out staring unabashedly sometimes at his hands, other times at his shoulders. But the times when you’d stare openly at his lips, while he was talking that too, had him growing hard under his desk.
And it wasn’t like he was completely innocent either. After your first couple of meetings, he moved your desk, which prior to meeting you, was facing his, to the corner of his small office only to get a better view of the swell of your breasts under your silken blouses and to watch the material of stupidly short pencil skirts rise higher and higher on your thighs when you’d eventually cross your legs.
Every now and then when you were working on your seminar project, you’d pull up your chair next to him, and Seonghwa could barely contain himself. The smell of your perfume would hit his nose, and just like that he was gone. He’d pull himself together for the sake of your work, but it took everything in him to not shove the papers off his desk and take you right there.
“I bet you would. In fact, I bet you’ve fantasized this moment in your pretty little head countless times, haven’t you?” His hand reaches the hem of your skirt, fingers brushing against the damp material of your panties. He smirks at the evidence of your arousal. “Seems like you have,” he says, giving your clothed pussy three sharp slaps.
You feel like you can’t breathe. Of course, you’ve thought about this. More times than you’d care to admit, but you feel like you’re glued to the edge of Seonghwa's couch, taking his touch without much fight. When he pulls on the waistband of your underwear and lets it snap back onto your skin, that is when you finally exhale and reach for him.
Messily, your lips clash against his, and there’s no formality, no decorum. It’s raw, and it’s messy, and there’s spit and teeth everywhere. You’ve definitely caught Seonghwa off guard, but he’s quick to regain his composure, one hand keeping your legs spread while the other is back at the nape of your neck.
He pulls your leg over his lap, sitting you down on his hard cock. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, the same hot desperation in his touch. He presses you down, grinding your body over his, while he nips at your lips, his tongue fighting only momentarily for dominance before you give in.
As he’s kissing you, he wraps your legs around his waist before standing to set you down on his pristine couch. He breaks the kiss, moving away to look down at you. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with lust. He licks his lips, tasting you on them. “Fuck, you taste good.” He leans in to lick your lips while his hands grope every inch of you as he grinds his cock against your clothed pussy.
You tilt your hips up to meet his thrusts, and the friction feels delicious, sending sparks of pleasure down your spine. “Please,” you whimper, not sure what exactly you’re begging for.
“So needy already,” he says, unbuttoning your blouse while kissing a trail down your torso. “I’ve barely even started with you.”
He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, and he does the same to your clothing, leaving you in just your underwear on the couch. You’d feel shame, but your busy eyes rove over Seonghwa’s chest and wide shoulders instead, taking in the hard planes of muscles, making you swallow thickly. God, you wanted to mark his skin so badly.
But Seonghwa’s giving you no time, tugging your panties aside, exposing your wet folds to the cool air of his apartment. His fingers teasingly circle your clit, making you gasp. With impatient hands, he’s taking your panties off, and as soon as they’re on his floor, he’s running the thick pads of fingers up and down your pussy, spreading the slick that’s been collecting for probably the past several hours.
“Fuck, you’re so ready, aren’t you? So eager for my touch. You want me to fill you up? Hmm?” he asks, increasing the pressure and speed of his movements. “Want me to finger this tight little cunt until you’re squirting all over my hand?”
The shame comes back in full force, hitting you altogether, all at once, because with the little stimulation that Seonghwa’s providing you, you think you’re going to cum.
He finally slides a finger inside, incredulously scoffing at how tight you are. He pumps his finger in and out, adding a second not long after, and curling them, before pushing them deeper inside and curling again, experimenting to find that sweet spot. He finds it fairly quickly when your moans increase in volume, and he focuses his attention there.
“Fuck! Please, please!” You arch your back, legs shaking at the rapid movements. But Seonghwa doesn’t let up, picking up the pace.
He fucks you harder and faster with his fingers, his thumb pressing down hard on your clit. You can feel yourself tensing, your walls fluttering around his slender fingers as your orgasm crashes down on you. “That’s it,” Seonghwa says, not letting up. “Cum all over my hand like the dirty little slut you are. Show me how much you like having my fingers inside you.”
He leans in, biting down on the skin at the base of your neck, sucking hard to leave a mark as he feels you come undone. He keeps his fingers moving until you’re shaking with the force of your release. Only then does he slow down, gently massaging your sensitive flesh as he brings you down from your high. “Good girl,” he whispers into your ear, withdrawing his gingers and bringing them to his lips to lick them clean. “Mm, you taste even better than I imagined.”
With wide eyes, all you do is watch him, taking in how his long tongue wraps around his pretty fingers, sucking your essence cleanly off of them with his own eyes shut in ecstasy.
Your filter seems as if it's taken the day off, because the next words that leave your mouth are, “Hwa, I need you inside of me, please.”
He removes his fingers from his mouth with a pop, looking down at you. He leans in to whisper in your ear, pressing his chest against your, and you hope he can’t hear how fast your heart is beating.
“You’re going to take everything that I give you without any complaints. You’re going to be a good student and listen to your mentor, got that?”
You think you could come again from his words alone, and when he backs away, eyeing you for an answer, you can only shakily nod.
He takes his cock and runs it along your pussy, watching you with hungry eyes. He spits into his hand, coating his cock in a mixture of his own spit and our orgasm before he slowly starts pushing into you.
You tremble beneath him, completely at his mercy as he takes what he wants from your willing body. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he all but growls, fingers digging into your the flesh of your hips hard enough to leave you covered in bruises for days. He stays there, buried deep inside you for some moments, feeling the rhythmic beating of walls hugging his cock. “Fuck, I’m gonna ruin this pretty pussy for anyone else.”
Seonghwa sets a brutal pace, each snap of his hips jostling you further up the couch. You can only cling to the hand rest and take it, lost in the haze of pleasure and overstimulation. “Use me,” you whimper, voice breaking on a moan. “I’m yours, your slut.”
Through your half-opened lids, you can see him grinning down at you ferally, pupils blown with lust. He brings one of his hands up, wrapping it around your throat. Contrasting the bruising thrusts of his hips, the hand around your throat is gentle, squeezing lightly at your airways.
Seonghwa drops his head forward, forehead resting against yours, his pace not faltering. “Damn right you are,” he says. “This cunt belongs to me. Say it.”
“Yours,” you gasp out, feeling your pussy clamp down around him at the dominance in his voice. “It’s all yours, Hwa.”
He moans prettily at the way the nickname falls from your lips, thrusting into you even harder. “Good girl,” he praises, thumb brushing over your pulse point. “I’m gonna fill this pussy up until you're dripping with my cum.”
You cry out, head thrashing on the cushion as you cum, your release barreling down on you like a freight train. “Please,” you beg, voice wrecked. “Fill me up, mark me, make me yours,” you whine, words jumbled together.
But Seonghwa understands anyways, obliging your request with a harsh thrust, slamming into you one more time and emptying himself inside you with a hoarse breath. You can feel him pulsing inside you, filling you up to the brim until it’s leaking out around his cock. Seonghwa grinds into you, making sure every last drop is deposited deep inside your hungry cunt.
When he finally pulls out, you’re left gaping and dripping, his seed oozing out of your well-fucked hole. He flips you onto your stomach, pushing your legs up and back, leaving you with your ass in the air and head pressed into his cushions.
“Fuck, look at that pretty little pussy, all stretched and sloppy,” he grumbles out, gathering the cum leaking out of you and pushing it back in with his two fingers. He takes some moments, looking at your fucked form. Your legs are still shaking slightly and your eyes have rolled back in your head while you shudder under him. “I need to fill you up again.”
Before you’re able to completely comprehend his words, Seonghwa’s lifting you off the couch and carrying you to his bedroom. You try to keep your eyes open in an attempt to observe his space, cream and silver objects quickly blurring past you, but it takes Seonghwa only a few strides until he's thrown you onto his sheets and is hovering over you again.
He rakes in your body, the bruising of his harsh hold already taking place on your hips, your heaving chest trying to catch its breath, and the mess that he’s left in between your legs. With a shuddered groan, he positions himself at your pulsing pussy, rubbing the head of his reddened cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your juices and his own release.
The overstimulation has you running on overdrive, needing to close your legs at the tingling sensation.
But with a quick shove, Seonghwa has them spread again. “You’re mine, my little student, my little cumslut. Do you understand?” he asks, his voice rough with desire. “This pussy belongs to me, and I’m going to fill you up over and over and over again until my cum is leaking out of you for days.”
And with that, he pushes his hips forward, burying himself inside you to the hilt once more. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your walls already sensitive from your earlier orgasms, but he doesn’t give you a chance to adjust, immediately setting a fast pace that has his headboard slamming against the wall.
He leans down, capturing one of your nipples between his teeth and biting down just hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. “Stay still,” he mutters onto your skin, but you’re gone, thrashing at his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. You’re barely able to hear him over your own moans, hiccuping at the overstimulation.
As if he didn’t already feel amazing inside of you, Seonghwa tightly grips the underside of your thighs, sure to add to the collection of bruises on your body. You’re not making it any easier for him, and with your legs constantly threatening to close, Seonghwa’s pace was faltering, unable to put his energy completely into fucking you dumb.
Having had enough of it, he brings your ankles over his shoulders and presses his weight onto you, pushing himself deeper into your sopping pussy as Seonghwa all but folds you in half. You can let out a strangled cry as your eyes roll back into your head at feeling him nestled so deeply inside of you.
“I said stay fucking still,” he presses his forehead against you again, and you feel like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. He looks at you with a crazed look in his eyes. “God, I’ve wanted to cum so deep inside of you for so long. I’ve wanted you to feel me for days. I want you to feel me when you’re in class, I want you to feel me when we’re talking to the all the old fucks in our department meetings. Fuck, you don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to take you in my office with a line of students outside.”
Your voice feels caught in your throat, and for a moment, the only sound in the room is of your skin slapping together. Seonghwa takes in your aghast expression and finds himself smirking, leaning in once again to capture your lips with his in a quick kiss.
Seonghwa entirely surrounds you. His forearms are near your ears, fingertips tangled in your hair. His lips huff at your temple, and beads of his sweat drip onto your neck. The smell of your release, his release, Seonghwa’s woody perfume, the vanilla encapsulating his apartment is all around you. When his dick twitches inside of you, signaling his climax, you realize you needed his cum inside you.
“Please cum inside me, Hwa. Please, I need it so bad, please, please,” you whine. “Fill me up, please, fill me up,” you repeat like a mantra. The words are slurred together, spoken in between moans and cries, not making much sense.
Yet, just as he did before, Seonghwa answers your pleas, and with one sharp thrust, he fills you up once again with a low growl. He stays buried to the hilt, and you can feel rope after rope of his cum being spurted inside your pulsing walls.
He’s flipped your lethargic body on its stomach again, pulling your ass up to his face. With rushed fingers, he’s smearing the mix of your arousal and orgasm with his around your lips and clit. It’s overwhelmingly messy and the sound of the mess is nothing less than obscene, but you feel like you’re floating, riding the high of your orgasm.
You’re not quite sure what Seonghwa’s doing when his fingers are pulled away from your core, and it isn’t until he utters his next words that you know what’s running through his mind. “Again.”
Your eyes widen as he pushes your face into his pillows while pulling your hips upwards. “I-I thought it only took one good shot?” you mumble against his sheets, unaware of the perverted plans Seonghwa had for you.
Perspiration had gathered at your back, and Seonghwa could only laugh at your already beyond fucked-out state. His fingers run up and down your abused pussy, stopping at where his cum was trickling out of you. With two fingers, he pushes his release back inside, curling his fingers in the process, watching the way your eyes flutter shut.
“Better to be safe than sorry,” he comments, removing his fingers and incessantly aligning himself against your ruined pussy once again for the third time that night.
Author's Note II: I would really appreciate you leaving your thoughts in the form of comments and/or reblogs! It really helps me out and keeps me motivated to write more, so thank you in advance to those who do! Much love <3
Summary: The one where Seonghwa, the assigned mentor for your masters degree, suggests you practice making children before teaching them.
Word Count: 5.01k
Genre/Warnings: phdstudent!hwa x gradstudent!reader, elementary education majors (do postgrads have majors??), slightly aged-up hwa, smut with some plot, hair pulling, dirty (filthy) talk (f reader is called a slut/cumslut), spitting, fingering, marking, breeding, unprotected sex (pls do NOT do this irl), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, manhandling, mating press (heh), inappropriate academic relations?, horny!reader x perverted!hwa (match made in heaven frfr)
Author's Note: Here's the very first installment of Campus Romancers (yay!) Kids are most likely NOT in my future, but I'm not opposed to practicing, especially with Seonghwa hehe 🤭 (Let it be known I was clearly ovulating during the writing process bc ??oh my god???). Anyways, pls let me know what you think of the first installment of Campus Romancers!! Much love <33
🎧 playlist 🎧: ateez: deep dive 🍒 kehlani: water 🍒 nct dream: poison 🍒 the weeknd: popular 🍒 the kid laroi: nights like this 🍒 giselle: dopamine 🍒 ateez: selfish waltz 🍒 ningning: bored! 🍒 le sserafim: impurities
This is a work of fiction, and it is not meant to be a realistic representation of any real person mentioned in any way, shape, or form.
Seonghwa’s apartment, despite being lit by multiple soft white lamps, couldn’t have been any warmer than the brisk temperature outside. Nonetheless, you compliment the way he’s designed his interior as you take off your shoes. Some months ago, when you’d started your masters program, you’d never thought you’d be invited inside your mentor’s home.
In fact, of all that came with a masters degree, you were probably least excited about having to deal with a mentor. They’d been marketed as people who’d help you set off your path with the right connections, with the proper networks, but it had always seemed like an unfortunate byproduct of higher academia.
You were so not looking forward to meeting older, snooty, PhD candidates and spending time with their holier than thou attitude. So much so that you had to forcefully drag yourself to the orientation hall that early fall morning where a small batch of nervous education masters students were waiting for their mentors. You stood by them, cheeks sore in a painfully superficial friendly smile, and one by one, your peers were pulled away, greeted by their older mentors.
A good amount of the bunch were older, hair peppered with streaks of silver and white, and you had sighed, dropping your smile momentarily as you looked around you. As more and more of the other students were picked away by their mentors, you had slowly slinked away to a quiet corner near the refreshments.
As you were stuffing a mini poppy seed muffin fully into your mouth, you turned back to the crowd to find that a man, not much older than you, was making his way towards where you were standing alone in a corner of the bustling hall. Mistaking him for another masters student, you look over his shoulder, only to have him stop directly in front of you, with your name on his pink lips posed as a question.
Somehow, you had lucked out and landed Park Seonghwa as your masters mentor, and suddenly, having a mentor didn’t seem all too bad.
He was very pretty, his face maturely slender and plush lips settled in a pout. He had a lean frame, which helped him seem as if he was towering over you despite being only some inches taller. His hair was jet black, almost blue, and settled straightly over his face, lengthening it. You’d have to be completely oblivious to not notice the jealous stares thrown your way from the other female masters students. But a successful PhD student in his own right, Seonghwa was also breathtakingly intelligent.
In the months that followed, you came to find that his quietly offered advice always came from a place of care and genuine concern, and his methods of conducting research were something you couldn’t compliment enough. He was sure of himself, albeit clandestine with his ways, and thereby, his work, modestly confident between the group of incredibly well-respected and experienced mentors, all of which had at least a decade or two on him.
But it was hard to focus on the knowledge he had to offer you completely when the words falling from his pillowy lips always sounded so strangely seductive. His quiet manner and low voice didn’t do much to quell your unruly, and absolutely unprofessional, desire for him.
When you were helping him sort through his research, it was always his fingers you’d zero in on. When you met him early in the mornings to discuss your progress, it was his gravelly voice, still heavy with sleep. When you were sitting side by side discussing your own thesis, it was his distinct scent of Black Opium coming from his skin.
Utterly ashamed with yourself, you had gotten off to the thought of Seonghwa a multitude of times, conjuring different ways he would take you. Sometimes it would roughly after a particularly challenging day around his older colleagues. Other days it would be gently as the weather cooled on the campus around you. Whichever way it was, you were always able to make yourself cum to him.
It didn’t help that he was great with children, too. As you observed him in the field, you saw his usual demeanor falling away to reveal smiles and playfulness, taunting and teasing the children. Many of the children’s eyes would be filled with tears when the time for goodbyes came, already asking when he’d be coming over to play again.
It wasn’t until the semester really kicked into effect some weeks later when the piling work was threatening to take its toll that you decided enough was enough. So you promise yourself to push your immature infatuation aside, focusing on your degree and on your degree only, but every now and then, you’d catch yourself shamelessly ogling and desperately praying Seonghwa would mistake it for admiration.
Despite that, now well into the fall and the semester, you and Seonghwa were working like a well-oiled machine, efficient and functional. Which was incredibly important now that you’d received your topic for the spring seminar that was to be held sometime early next year.
The night you had received your topic, you and Seonghwa were teeming with ideas. Cooped up in his office, you wrote potential outline after outline, gathering research and preparing as many stances as you could conjure up. Sat side by side on the carpet of his intimate 100 square foot office, the two of you worked nonstop. The mid-afternoon had turned into late evening and still, your shoulders stayed firmly pressed against Seonghwa’s as you combed through more and more research.
Though as the hours passed by, your strong resolve began to fade away. The proximity that you didn’t seem to mind at 5:00 pm was beginning to make you dizzy at 8:00 pm. His woody perfume, the way his fingers expertly typed away at his laptop’s keyboard, the glasses that kept slipping down the slope of his nose.
Thankfully soon after, Seonghwa had decided to call it a night, but by the time you were packed up and ready to leave, you realized there were no longer any buses running on campus, so when Seonghwa offered to drive you to your apartment, you happily took him up on the offer.
After dropping you off at your own place, Seonghwa had offered to hold the next meeting at his apartment just off campus tomorrow and you had giddily agreed, deciding to meet after your lectures wrapped up in the late afternoon.
Breaking your own promise, you had gotten yourself off to him that night from the remainder of his scent that had seeped into your own clothes.
But now, in the quiet of his cool apartment, you’re feeling a little out of place. It felt a little surreal to be in a place that was completely Seonghwa. Sure, his office had bits and pieces of him, but the equipment was clearly the university’s. The bland brown carpet, the sturdy gray desk, and the harsh fluorescent lights didn’t belong to Seonghwa.
This space, which was completely his, felt like Seonghwa. In the center of his living room was a clean white rug, and instead of turning on the overhead lights, he began switching on many of the lamps. The cushions on his white couch were fluffed to resemble clouds, and there was a mild fragrance of vanilla that hung in the air. On his center table was a neatly arranged stack of literary journals and as you take off your shoes, you notice the way he’d organized his own pairs in a small closet.
It was overwhelmingly Seonghwa. Of course, in the best way possible.
The two of you waste no time, immediately unpacking the research from your bags, and per Seonghwa’s suggestion, splay them on the floor to get another perspective. You try desperately to ignore being surrounded by Seonghwa and hone in your focus on your research.
Adn to your credit, things are going well, and hours pass as you collect evidence and build up your strategy. It isn’t until half past ten that you hit a wall.
For maybe the past hour, you’ve been trying to find evidence to lay the groundwork for your second hypothesis with no luck. The spread out research has made a shuffled mess on the floors, and both you and Seonghwa are sitting on the ground with your aching backs against the couch. You flip through your notes in search of a journal to get past this godforsaken roadblock.
“We could use Hoffman’s essay in Journal No. 51 to provide evidence for the requirement of substantially good parents to raise substantially good children?” you offer with a tired sigh, holding out your highlighted copy of Journal No.51 to Seonghwa.
Instead of taking the journal from you, he scoots closer from his end of the couch to yours, shoulders bumping yours. Features softened with exhaustion, he moves even closer in an attempt to read the words on the page of the journal.
Suddenly, the image of Seonghwa playing with children flashes across your eyes. It wasn’t uncommon to shadow other teachers in your line of majors, and you’d even shadowed Seonghwa shadowing another teacher. He was great with kids, seeming able to read into their every microexpression, knowing exactly what they wanted from him before they had the chance to tell him. “Do you think you’d make a good parent?” you find yourself asking, already knowing the answer.
You’re met with silence. You can hear a group of probably drunk students walking outside of the apartment complex before Seonghwa’s air conditioning system kicks in. He’s contemplating the answer, unsure if answering would be crossing a line.
He backs away from the journal, choosing instead to look at the disarray of pages and books. “I’m not sure,” he finally says, admission quiet. It’s the first time you don’t hear the confidence in his voice. “Do you think you would?”
Frankly, you weren’t so sure either. You think you were very clinical in your approach, very textbook. You weren’t naturally attuned to children and were honestly quick to be irritated at irrational behavior that one would obviously expect to come from children, but you did care for them. You wanted to be a good parent. And for a second, your brain slips to Seonghwa, thinking what parenting would be like with him.
God, you think it would be the most easiest thing in the world. So before you can filter the thought away, you respond, “Yes, if I was doing it with you.”
“With me?” Oh my god. Your eyes widen a little in shock. You wanted the material of his rug to swallow you alive or shrink into a subatomic particle or become a child. Anything to explain the reason why you said what you said.
But, unfortunately for you, none of those things happen, so you clear your throat in an attempt to at least appear put together and justify, “I mean, we’re both studying elementary education, you know?”
It was a bullshit excuse. You knew it, and you were painfully aware that Seonghwa knew it. There was no correlation in parenting a kid and educating them. It was too far of a reach to even begin to entertain.
But Seonghwa only smiles, exhaustion fading away to reveal mischief, leaning back to rest his back against the couch. Kids were the absolute last thing on your mind. You’d had to work with them enough for your degree, and putting an additional strain on yourself, especially while you were still in school, seemed all too unwise.
“Kids are tough,” he says, eyeing your stiff form. He wraps his arm over the couch, not touching your body, but resting close enough for you to feel its presence. “There's a lot to consider. They require a lot of attention and care and love. You’ve got to raise them right, under the right supervision, to get them ready for the world. It’s a lot of effort for something that only takes one good shot. Ever considered that?” What the fuck was going on?
In the moments that pass as Seonghwa waits for your answer, you wonder if he’s thought about you as much as you’ve thought about him these past several weeks.
One part of your brain shouts at you, scolding you for entertaining the thought and not stopping yourself. It wasn’t as if this wasn’t completely and absolutely immoral. Having relations with your mentor is probably up there on things you definitely shouldn’t do as a student. But all the momentary panic and anxiety felt overruled by the wetness collected on your panties.
Because the other part of your brain is eager to give into the temptation. It makes you rub your legs together, which Seonghwa no doubt catches, and it also makes you speak up. “I’ve thought about it,” is how you choose to summarize your thoughts.
The ghost of his arm falls away, and you think you've visibly deflated against the couch at the loss of his pseudo-touch. Suddenly his hand is in your hair, fingers threading through the strands at the nape of your neck. You stiffen again, holding back a moan. Seonghwa scoffs, and at your silence, decides to tug.
He pulls your hair, tilting your head back to look at him. His eyes are dark, filled with a primal hunger that makes your pussy clench. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear, voice low with intent, “Is that so? And have you thought about what it takes? The sacrifices, the intimacy, the practice?”
His other hand trails down your body, over your clothed breasts, your stomach, coming to rest on your thigh. He squeezes, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he slides his hands higher, pushing your skirt up. “Because I have. I’ve thought about all the things we’d need to do to get it right. All the ways we’d have to touch, all the ways we’d have to taste, all the ways we’d have to feel each other.
He nips at your earlobe before pulling back to look at you, his gaze knowing. “You think I don’t notice the way you look at me? If I didn't know any better, I’d assume that you would start drooling for me if I asked,” he mocks.
Seonghwa isn’t as oblivious as you’d like him to be. He’d be a complete fool to not notice how you often zone out staring unabashedly sometimes at his hands, other times at his shoulders. But the times when you’d stare openly at his lips, while he was talking that too, had him growing hard under his desk.
And it wasn’t like he was completely innocent either. After your first couple of meetings, he moved your desk, which prior to meeting you, was facing his, to the corner of his small office only to get a better view of the swell of your breasts under your silken blouses and to watch the material of stupidly short pencil skirts rise higher and higher on your thighs when you’d eventually cross your legs.
Every now and then when you were working on your seminar project, you’d pull up your chair next to him, and Seonghwa could barely contain himself. The smell of your perfume would hit his nose, and just like that he was gone. He’d pull himself together for the sake of your work, but it took everything in him to not shove the papers off his desk and take you right there.
“I bet you would. In fact, I bet you’ve fantasized this moment in your pretty little head countless times, haven’t you?” His hand reaches the hem of your skirt, fingers brushing against the damp material of your panties. He smirks at the evidence of your arousal. “Seems like you have,” he says, giving your clothed pussy three sharp slaps.
You feel like you can’t breathe. Of course, you’ve thought about this. More times than you’d care to admit, but you feel like you’re glued to the edge of Seonghwa's couch, taking his touch without much fight. When he pulls on the waistband of your underwear and lets it snap back onto your skin, that is when you finally exhale and reach for him.
Messily, your lips clash against his, and there’s no formality, no decorum. It’s raw, and it’s messy, and there’s spit and teeth everywhere. You’ve definitely caught Seonghwa off guard, but he’s quick to regain his composure, one hand keeping your legs spread while the other is back at the nape of your neck.
He pulls your leg over his lap, sitting you down on his hard cock. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, the same hot desperation in his touch. He presses you down, grinding your body over his, while he nips at your lips, his tongue fighting only momentarily for dominance before you give in.
As he’s kissing you, he wraps your legs around his waist before standing to set you down on his pristine couch. He breaks the kiss, moving away to look down at you. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with lust. He licks his lips, tasting you on them. “Fuck, you taste good.” He leans in to lick your lips while his hands grope every inch of you as he grinds his cock against your clothed pussy.
You tilt your hips up to meet his thrusts, and the friction feels delicious, sending sparks of pleasure down your spine. “Please,” you whimper, not sure what exactly you’re begging for.
“So needy already,” he says, unbuttoning your blouse while kissing a trail down your torso. “I’ve barely even started with you.”
He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, and he does the same to your clothing, leaving you in just your underwear on the couch. You’d feel shame, but your busy eyes rove over Seonghwa’s chest and wide shoulders instead, taking in the hard planes of muscles, making you swallow thickly. God, you wanted to mark his skin so badly.
But Seonghwa’s giving you no time, tugging your panties aside, exposing your wet folds to the cool air of his apartment. His fingers teasingly circle your clit, making you gasp. With impatient hands, he’s taking your panties off, and as soon as they’re on his floor, he’s running the thick pads of fingers up and down your pussy, spreading the slick that’s been collecting for probably the past several hours.
“Fuck, you’re so ready, aren’t you? So eager for my touch. You want me to fill you up? Hmm?” he asks, increasing the pressure and speed of his movements. “Want me to finger this tight little cunt until you’re squirting all over my hand?”
The shame comes back in full force, hitting you altogether, all at once, because with the little stimulation that Seonghwa’s providing you, you think you’re going to cum.
He finally slides a finger inside, incredulously scoffing at how tight you are. He pumps his finger in and out, adding a second not long after, and curling them, before pushing them deeper inside and curling again, experimenting to find that sweet spot. He finds it fairly quickly when your moans increase in volume, and he focuses his attention there.
“Fuck! Please, please!” You arch your back, legs shaking at the rapid movements. But Seonghwa doesn’t let up, picking up the pace.
He fucks you harder and faster with his fingers, his thumb pressing down hard on your clit. You can feel yourself tensing, your walls fluttering around his slender fingers as your orgasm crashes down on you. “That’s it,” Seonghwa says, not letting up. “Cum all over my hand like the dirty little slut you are. Show me how much you like having my fingers inside you.”
He leans in, biting down on the skin at the base of your neck, sucking hard to leave a mark as he feels you come undone. He keeps his fingers moving until you’re shaking with the force of your release. Only then does he slow down, gently massaging your sensitive flesh as he brings you down from your high. “Good girl,” he whispers into your ear, withdrawing his gingers and bringing them to his lips to lick them clean. “Mm, you taste even better than I imagined.”
With wide eyes, all you do is watch him, taking in how his long tongue wraps around his pretty fingers, sucking your essence cleanly off of them with his own eyes shut in ecstasy.
Your filter seems as if it's taken the day off, because the next words that leave your mouth are, “Hwa, I need you inside of me, please.”
He removes his fingers from his mouth with a pop, looking down at you. He leans in to whisper in your ear, pressing his chest against your, and you hope he can’t hear how fast your heart is beating.
“You’re going to take everything that I give you without any complaints. You’re going to be a good student and listen to your mentor, got that?”
You think you could come again from his words alone, and when he backs away, eyeing you for an answer, you can only shakily nod.
He takes his cock and runs it along your pussy, watching you with hungry eyes. He spits into his hand, coating his cock in a mixture of his own spit and our orgasm before he slowly starts pushing into you.
You tremble beneath him, completely at his mercy as he takes what he wants from your willing body. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he all but growls, fingers digging into your the flesh of your hips hard enough to leave you covered in bruises for days. He stays there, buried deep inside you for some moments, feeling the rhythmic beating of walls hugging his cock. “Fuck, I’m gonna ruin this pretty pussy for anyone else.”
Seonghwa sets a brutal pace, each snap of his hips jostling you further up the couch. You can only cling to the hand rest and take it, lost in the haze of pleasure and overstimulation. “Use me,” you whimper, voice breaking on a moan. “I’m yours, your slut.”
Through your half-opened lids, you can see him grinning down at you ferally, pupils blown with lust. He brings one of his hands up, wrapping it around your throat. Contrasting the bruising thrusts of his hips, the hand around your throat is gentle, squeezing lightly at your airways.
Seonghwa drops his head forward, forehead resting against yours, his pace not faltering. “Damn right you are,” he says. “This cunt belongs to me. Say it.”
“Yours,” you gasp out, feeling your pussy clamp down around him at the dominance in his voice. “It’s all yours, Hwa.”
He moans prettily at the way the nickname falls from your lips, thrusting into you even harder. “Good girl,” he praises, thumb brushing over your pulse point. “I’m gonna fill this pussy up until you're dripping with my cum.”
You cry out, head thrashing on the cushion as you cum, your release barreling down on you like a freight train. “Please,” you beg, voice wrecked. “Fill me up, mark me, make me yours,” you whine, words jumbled together.
But Seonghwa understands anyways, obliging your request with a harsh thrust, slamming into you one more time and emptying himself inside you with a hoarse breath. You can feel him pulsing inside you, filling you up to the brim until it’s leaking out around his cock. Seonghwa grinds into you, making sure every last drop is deposited deep inside your hungry cunt.
When he finally pulls out, you’re left gaping and dripping, his seed oozing out of your well-fucked hole. He flips you onto your stomach, pushing your legs up and back, leaving you with your ass in the air and head pressed into his cushions.
“Fuck, look at that pretty little pussy, all stretched and sloppy,” he grumbles out, gathering the cum leaking out of you and pushing it back in with his two fingers. He takes some moments, looking at your fucked form. Your legs are still shaking slightly and your eyes have rolled back in your head while you shudder under him. “I need to fill you up again.”
Before you’re able to completely comprehend his words, Seonghwa’s lifting you off the couch and carrying you to his bedroom. You try to keep your eyes open in an attempt to observe his space, cream and silver objects quickly blurring past you, but it takes Seonghwa only a few strides until he's thrown you onto his sheets and is hovering over you again.
He rakes in your body, the bruising of his harsh hold already taking place on your hips, your heaving chest trying to catch its breath, and the mess that he’s left in between your legs. With a shuddered groan, he positions himself at your pulsing pussy, rubbing the head of his reddened cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your juices and his own release.
The overstimulation has you running on overdrive, needing to close your legs at the tingling sensation.
But with a quick shove, Seonghwa has them spread again. “You’re mine, my little student, my little cumslut. Do you understand?” he asks, his voice rough with desire. “This pussy belongs to me, and I’m going to fill you up over and over and over again until my cum is leaking out of you for days.”
And with that, he pushes his hips forward, burying himself inside you to the hilt once more. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your walls already sensitive from your earlier orgasms, but he doesn’t give you a chance to adjust, immediately setting a fast pace that has his headboard slamming against the wall.
He leans down, capturing one of your nipples between his teeth and biting down just hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. “Stay still,” he mutters onto your skin, but you’re gone, thrashing at his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. You’re barely able to hear him over your own moans, hiccuping at the overstimulation.
As if he didn’t already feel amazing inside of you, Seonghwa tightly grips the underside of your thighs, sure to add to the collection of bruises on your body. You’re not making it any easier for him, and with your legs constantly threatening to close, Seonghwa’s pace was faltering, unable to put his energy completely into fucking you dumb.
Having had enough of it, he brings your ankles over his shoulders and presses his weight onto you, pushing himself deeper into your sopping pussy as Seonghwa all but folds you in half. You can let out a strangled cry as your eyes roll back into your head at feeling him nestled so deeply inside of you.
“I said stay fucking still,” he presses his forehead against you again, and you feel like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. He looks at you with a crazed look in his eyes. “God, I’ve wanted to cum so deep inside of you for so long. I’ve wanted you to feel me for days. I want you to feel me when you’re in class, I want you to feel me when we’re talking to the all the old fucks in our department meetings. Fuck, you don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to take you in my office with a line of students outside.”
Your voice feels caught in your throat, and for a moment, the only sound in the room is of your skin slapping together. Seonghwa takes in your aghast expression and finds himself smirking, leaning in once again to capture your lips with his in a quick kiss.
Seonghwa entirely surrounds you. His forearms are near your ears, fingertips tangled in your hair. His lips huff at your temple, and beads of his sweat drip onto your neck. The smell of your release, his release, Seonghwa’s woody perfume, the vanilla encapsulating his apartment is all around you. When his dick twitches inside of you, signaling his climax, you realize you needed his cum inside you.
“Please cum inside me, Hwa. Please, I need it so bad, please, please,” you whine. “Fill me up, please, fill me up,” you repeat like a mantra. The words are slurred together, spoken in between moans and cries, not making much sense.
Yet, just as he did before, Seonghwa answers your pleas, and with one sharp thrust, he fills you up once again with a low growl. He stays buried to the hilt, and you can feel rope after rope of his cum being spurted inside your pulsing walls.
He’s flipped your lethargic body on its stomach again, pulling your ass up to his face. With rushed fingers, he’s smearing the mix of your arousal and orgasm with his around your lips and clit. It’s overwhelmingly messy and the sound of the mess is nothing less than obscene, but you feel like you’re floating, riding the high of your orgasm.
You’re not quite sure what Seonghwa’s doing when his fingers are pulled away from your core, and it isn’t until he utters his next words that you know what’s running through his mind. “Again.”
Your eyes widen as he pushes your face into his pillows while pulling your hips upwards. “I-I thought it only took one good shot?” you mumble against his sheets, unaware of the perverted plans Seonghwa had for you.
Perspiration had gathered at your back, and Seonghwa could only laugh at your already beyond fucked-out state. His fingers run up and down your abused pussy, stopping at where his cum was trickling out of you. With two fingers, he pushes his release back inside, curling his fingers in the process, watching the way your eyes flutter shut.
“Better to be safe than sorry,” he comments, removing his fingers and incessantly aligning himself against your ruined pussy once again for the third time that night.
Author's Note II: I would really appreciate you leaving your thoughts in the form of comments and/or reblogs! It really helps me out and keeps me motivated to write more, so thank you in advance to those who do! Much love <3
Summary: The one where Seonghwa, the assigned mentor for your masters degree, suggests you practice making children before teaching them.
Word Count: 5.01k
Genre/Warnings: phdstudent!hwa x gradstudent!reader, elementary education majors (do postgrads have majors??), slightly aged-up hwa, smut with some plot, hair pulling, dirty (filthy) talk (f reader is called a slut/cumslut), spitting, fingering, marking, breeding, unprotected sex (pls do NOT do this irl), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, manhandling, mating press (heh), inappropriate academic relations?, horny!reader x perverted!hwa (match made in heaven frfr)
Author's Note: Here's the very first installment of Campus Romancers (yay!) Kids are most likely NOT in my future, but I'm not opposed to practicing, especially with Seonghwa hehe 🤭 (Let it be known I was clearly ovulating during the writing process bc ??oh my god???). Anyways, pls let me know what you think of the first installment of Campus Romancers!! Much love <33
🎧 playlist 🎧: ateez: deep dive 🍒 kehlani: water 🍒 nct dream: poison 🍒 the weeknd: popular 🍒 the kid laroi: nights like this 🍒 giselle: dopamine 🍒 ateez: selfish waltz 🍒 ningning: bored! 🍒 le sserafim: impurities
This is a work of fiction, and it is not meant to be a realistic representation of any real person mentioned in any way, shape, or form.
Seonghwa’s apartment, despite being lit by multiple soft white lamps, couldn’t have been any warmer than the brisk temperature outside. Nonetheless, you compliment the way he’s designed his interior as you take off your shoes. Some months ago, when you’d started your masters program, you’d never thought you’d be invited inside your mentor’s home.
In fact, of all that came with a masters degree, you were probably least excited about having to deal with a mentor. They’d been marketed as people who’d help you set off your path with the right connections, with the proper networks, but it had always seemed like an unfortunate byproduct of higher academia.
You were so not looking forward to meeting older, snooty, PhD candidates and spending time with their holier than thou attitude. So much so that you had to forcefully drag yourself to the orientation hall that early fall morning where a small batch of nervous education masters students were waiting for their mentors. You stood by them, cheeks sore in a painfully superficial friendly smile, and one by one, your peers were pulled away, greeted by their older mentors.
A good amount of the bunch were older, hair peppered with streaks of silver and white, and you had sighed, dropping your smile momentarily as you looked around you. As more and more of the other students were picked away by their mentors, you had slowly slinked away to a quiet corner near the refreshments.
As you were stuffing a mini poppy seed muffin fully into your mouth, you turned back to the crowd to find that a man, not much older than you, was making his way towards where you were standing alone in a corner of the bustling hall. Mistaking him for another masters student, you look over his shoulder, only to have him stop directly in front of you, with your name on his pink lips posed as a question.
Somehow, you had lucked out and landed Park Seonghwa as your masters mentor, and suddenly, having a mentor didn’t seem all too bad.
He was very pretty, his face maturely slender and plush lips settled in a pout. He had a lean frame, which helped him seem as if he was towering over you despite being only some inches taller. His hair was jet black, almost blue, and settled straightly over his face, lengthening it. You’d have to be completely oblivious to not notice the jealous stares thrown your way from the other female masters students. But a successful PhD student in his own right, Seonghwa was also breathtakingly intelligent.
In the months that followed, you came to find that his quietly offered advice always came from a place of care and genuine concern, and his methods of conducting research were something you couldn’t compliment enough. He was sure of himself, albeit clandestine with his ways, and thereby, his work, modestly confident between the group of incredibly well-respected and experienced mentors, all of which had at least a decade or two on him.
But it was hard to focus on the knowledge he had to offer you completely when the words falling from his pillowy lips always sounded so strangely seductive. His quiet manner and low voice didn’t do much to quell your unruly, and absolutely unprofessional, desire for him.
When you were helping him sort through his research, it was always his fingers you’d zero in on. When you met him early in the mornings to discuss your progress, it was his gravelly voice, still heavy with sleep. When you were sitting side by side discussing your own thesis, it was his distinct scent of Black Opium coming from his skin.
Utterly ashamed with yourself, you had gotten off to the thought of Seonghwa a multitude of times, conjuring different ways he would take you. Sometimes it would roughly after a particularly challenging day around his older colleagues. Other days it would be gently as the weather cooled on the campus around you. Whichever way it was, you were always able to make yourself cum to him.
It didn’t help that he was great with children, too. As you observed him in the field, you saw his usual demeanor falling away to reveal smiles and playfulness, taunting and teasing the children. Many of the children’s eyes would be filled with tears when the time for goodbyes came, already asking when he’d be coming over to play again.
It wasn’t until the semester really kicked into effect some weeks later when the piling work was threatening to take its toll that you decided enough was enough. So you promise yourself to push your immature infatuation aside, focusing on your degree and on your degree only, but every now and then, you’d catch yourself shamelessly ogling and desperately praying Seonghwa would mistake it for admiration.
Despite that, now well into the fall and the semester, you and Seonghwa were working like a well-oiled machine, efficient and functional. Which was incredibly important now that you’d received your topic for the spring seminar that was to be held sometime early next year.
The night you had received your topic, you and Seonghwa were teeming with ideas. Cooped up in his office, you wrote potential outline after outline, gathering research and preparing as many stances as you could conjure up. Sat side by side on the carpet of his intimate 100 square foot office, the two of you worked nonstop. The mid-afternoon had turned into late evening and still, your shoulders stayed firmly pressed against Seonghwa’s as you combed through more and more research.
Though as the hours passed by, your strong resolve began to fade away. The proximity that you didn’t seem to mind at 5:00 pm was beginning to make you dizzy at 8:00 pm. His woody perfume, the way his fingers expertly typed away at his laptop’s keyboard, the glasses that kept slipping down the slope of his nose.
Thankfully soon after, Seonghwa had decided to call it a night, but by the time you were packed up and ready to leave, you realized there were no longer any buses running on campus, so when Seonghwa offered to drive you to your apartment, you happily took him up on the offer.
After dropping you off at your own place, Seonghwa had offered to hold the next meeting at his apartment just off campus tomorrow and you had giddily agreed, deciding to meet after your lectures wrapped up in the late afternoon.
Breaking your own promise, you had gotten yourself off to him that night from the remainder of his scent that had seeped into your own clothes.
But now, in the quiet of his cool apartment, you’re feeling a little out of place. It felt a little surreal to be in a place that was completely Seonghwa. Sure, his office had bits and pieces of him, but the equipment was clearly the university’s. The bland brown carpet, the sturdy gray desk, and the harsh fluorescent lights didn’t belong to Seonghwa.
This space, which was completely his, felt like Seonghwa. In the center of his living room was a clean white rug, and instead of turning on the overhead lights, he began switching on many of the lamps. The cushions on his white couch were fluffed to resemble clouds, and there was a mild fragrance of vanilla that hung in the air. On his center table was a neatly arranged stack of literary journals and as you take off your shoes, you notice the way he’d organized his own pairs in a small closet.
It was overwhelmingly Seonghwa. Of course, in the best way possible.
The two of you waste no time, immediately unpacking the research from your bags, and per Seonghwa’s suggestion, splay them on the floor to get another perspective. You try desperately to ignore being surrounded by Seonghwa and hone in your focus on your research.
Adn to your credit, things are going well, and hours pass as you collect evidence and build up your strategy. It isn’t until half past ten that you hit a wall.
For maybe the past hour, you’ve been trying to find evidence to lay the groundwork for your second hypothesis with no luck. The spread out research has made a shuffled mess on the floors, and both you and Seonghwa are sitting on the ground with your aching backs against the couch. You flip through your notes in search of a journal to get past this godforsaken roadblock.
“We could use Hoffman’s essay in Journal No. 51 to provide evidence for the requirement of substantially good parents to raise substantially good children?” you offer with a tired sigh, holding out your highlighted copy of Journal No.51 to Seonghwa.
Instead of taking the journal from you, he scoots closer from his end of the couch to yours, shoulders bumping yours. Features softened with exhaustion, he moves even closer in an attempt to read the words on the page of the journal.
Suddenly, the image of Seonghwa playing with children flashes across your eyes. It wasn’t uncommon to shadow other teachers in your line of majors, and you’d even shadowed Seonghwa shadowing another teacher. He was great with kids, seeming able to read into their every microexpression, knowing exactly what they wanted from him before they had the chance to tell him. “Do you think you’d make a good parent?” you find yourself asking, already knowing the answer.
You’re met with silence. You can hear a group of probably drunk students walking outside of the apartment complex before Seonghwa’s air conditioning system kicks in. He’s contemplating the answer, unsure if answering would be crossing a line.
He backs away from the journal, choosing instead to look at the disarray of pages and books. “I’m not sure,” he finally says, admission quiet. It’s the first time you don’t hear the confidence in his voice. “Do you think you would?”
Frankly, you weren’t so sure either. You think you were very clinical in your approach, very textbook. You weren’t naturally attuned to children and were honestly quick to be irritated at irrational behavior that one would obviously expect to come from children, but you did care for them. You wanted to be a good parent. And for a second, your brain slips to Seonghwa, thinking what parenting would be like with him.
God, you think it would be the most easiest thing in the world. So before you can filter the thought away, you respond, “Yes, if I was doing it with you.”
“With me?” Oh my god. Your eyes widen a little in shock. You wanted the material of his rug to swallow you alive or shrink into a subatomic particle or become a child. Anything to explain the reason why you said what you said.
But, unfortunately for you, none of those things happen, so you clear your throat in an attempt to at least appear put together and justify, “I mean, we’re both studying elementary education, you know?”
It was a bullshit excuse. You knew it, and you were painfully aware that Seonghwa knew it. There was no correlation in parenting a kid and educating them. It was too far of a reach to even begin to entertain.
But Seonghwa only smiles, exhaustion fading away to reveal mischief, leaning back to rest his back against the couch. Kids were the absolute last thing on your mind. You’d had to work with them enough for your degree, and putting an additional strain on yourself, especially while you were still in school, seemed all too unwise.
“Kids are tough,” he says, eyeing your stiff form. He wraps his arm over the couch, not touching your body, but resting close enough for you to feel its presence. “There's a lot to consider. They require a lot of attention and care and love. You’ve got to raise them right, under the right supervision, to get them ready for the world. It’s a lot of effort for something that only takes one good shot. Ever considered that?” What the fuck was going on?
In the moments that pass as Seonghwa waits for your answer, you wonder if he’s thought about you as much as you’ve thought about him these past several weeks.
One part of your brain shouts at you, scolding you for entertaining the thought and not stopping yourself. It wasn’t as if this wasn’t completely and absolutely immoral. Having relations with your mentor is probably up there on things you definitely shouldn’t do as a student. But all the momentary panic and anxiety felt overruled by the wetness collected on your panties.
Because the other part of your brain is eager to give into the temptation. It makes you rub your legs together, which Seonghwa no doubt catches, and it also makes you speak up. “I’ve thought about it,” is how you choose to summarize your thoughts.
The ghost of his arm falls away, and you think you've visibly deflated against the couch at the loss of his pseudo-touch. Suddenly his hand is in your hair, fingers threading through the strands at the nape of your neck. You stiffen again, holding back a moan. Seonghwa scoffs, and at your silence, decides to tug.
He pulls your hair, tilting your head back to look at him. His eyes are dark, filled with a primal hunger that makes your pussy clench. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear, voice low with intent, “Is that so? And have you thought about what it takes? The sacrifices, the intimacy, the practice?”
His other hand trails down your body, over your clothed breasts, your stomach, coming to rest on your thigh. He squeezes, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he slides his hands higher, pushing your skirt up. “Because I have. I’ve thought about all the things we’d need to do to get it right. All the ways we’d have to touch, all the ways we’d have to taste, all the ways we’d have to feel each other.
He nips at your earlobe before pulling back to look at you, his gaze knowing. “You think I don’t notice the way you look at me? If I didn't know any better, I’d assume that you would start drooling for me if I asked,” he mocks.
Seonghwa isn’t as oblivious as you’d like him to be. He’d be a complete fool to not notice how you often zone out staring unabashedly sometimes at his hands, other times at his shoulders. But the times when you’d stare openly at his lips, while he was talking that too, had him growing hard under his desk.
And it wasn’t like he was completely innocent either. After your first couple of meetings, he moved your desk, which prior to meeting you, was facing his, to the corner of his small office only to get a better view of the swell of your breasts under your silken blouses and to watch the material of stupidly short pencil skirts rise higher and higher on your thighs when you’d eventually cross your legs.
Every now and then when you were working on your seminar project, you’d pull up your chair next to him, and Seonghwa could barely contain himself. The smell of your perfume would hit his nose, and just like that he was gone. He’d pull himself together for the sake of your work, but it took everything in him to not shove the papers off his desk and take you right there.
“I bet you would. In fact, I bet you’ve fantasized this moment in your pretty little head countless times, haven’t you?” His hand reaches the hem of your skirt, fingers brushing against the damp material of your panties. He smirks at the evidence of your arousal. “Seems like you have,” he says, giving your clothed pussy three sharp slaps.
You feel like you can’t breathe. Of course, you’ve thought about this. More times than you’d care to admit, but you feel like you’re glued to the edge of Seonghwa's couch, taking his touch without much fight. When he pulls on the waistband of your underwear and lets it snap back onto your skin, that is when you finally exhale and reach for him.
Messily, your lips clash against his, and there’s no formality, no decorum. It’s raw, and it’s messy, and there’s spit and teeth everywhere. You’ve definitely caught Seonghwa off guard, but he’s quick to regain his composure, one hand keeping your legs spread while the other is back at the nape of your neck.
He pulls your leg over his lap, sitting you down on his hard cock. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, the same hot desperation in his touch. He presses you down, grinding your body over his, while he nips at your lips, his tongue fighting only momentarily for dominance before you give in.
As he’s kissing you, he wraps your legs around his waist before standing to set you down on his pristine couch. He breaks the kiss, moving away to look down at you. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with lust. He licks his lips, tasting you on them. “Fuck, you taste good.” He leans in to lick your lips while his hands grope every inch of you as he grinds his cock against your clothed pussy.
You tilt your hips up to meet his thrusts, and the friction feels delicious, sending sparks of pleasure down your spine. “Please,” you whimper, not sure what exactly you’re begging for.
“So needy already,” he says, unbuttoning your blouse while kissing a trail down your torso. “I’ve barely even started with you.”
He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, and he does the same to your clothing, leaving you in just your underwear on the couch. You’d feel shame, but your busy eyes rove over Seonghwa’s chest and wide shoulders instead, taking in the hard planes of muscles, making you swallow thickly. God, you wanted to mark his skin so badly.
But Seonghwa’s giving you no time, tugging your panties aside, exposing your wet folds to the cool air of his apartment. His fingers teasingly circle your clit, making you gasp. With impatient hands, he’s taking your panties off, and as soon as they’re on his floor, he’s running the thick pads of fingers up and down your pussy, spreading the slick that’s been collecting for probably the past several hours.
“Fuck, you’re so ready, aren’t you? So eager for my touch. You want me to fill you up? Hmm?” he asks, increasing the pressure and speed of his movements. “Want me to finger this tight little cunt until you’re squirting all over my hand?”
The shame comes back in full force, hitting you altogether, all at once, because with the little stimulation that Seonghwa’s providing you, you think you’re going to cum.
He finally slides a finger inside, incredulously scoffing at how tight you are. He pumps his finger in and out, adding a second not long after, and curling them, before pushing them deeper inside and curling again, experimenting to find that sweet spot. He finds it fairly quickly when your moans increase in volume, and he focuses his attention there.
“Fuck! Please, please!” You arch your back, legs shaking at the rapid movements. But Seonghwa doesn’t let up, picking up the pace.
He fucks you harder and faster with his fingers, his thumb pressing down hard on your clit. You can feel yourself tensing, your walls fluttering around his slender fingers as your orgasm crashes down on you. “That’s it,” Seonghwa says, not letting up. “Cum all over my hand like the dirty little slut you are. Show me how much you like having my fingers inside you.”
He leans in, biting down on the skin at the base of your neck, sucking hard to leave a mark as he feels you come undone. He keeps his fingers moving until you’re shaking with the force of your release. Only then does he slow down, gently massaging your sensitive flesh as he brings you down from your high. “Good girl,” he whispers into your ear, withdrawing his gingers and bringing them to his lips to lick them clean. “Mm, you taste even better than I imagined.”
With wide eyes, all you do is watch him, taking in how his long tongue wraps around his pretty fingers, sucking your essence cleanly off of them with his own eyes shut in ecstasy.
Your filter seems as if it's taken the day off, because the next words that leave your mouth are, “Hwa, I need you inside of me, please.”
He removes his fingers from his mouth with a pop, looking down at you. He leans in to whisper in your ear, pressing his chest against your, and you hope he can’t hear how fast your heart is beating.
“You’re going to take everything that I give you without any complaints. You’re going to be a good student and listen to your mentor, got that?”
You think you could come again from his words alone, and when he backs away, eyeing you for an answer, you can only shakily nod.
He takes his cock and runs it along your pussy, watching you with hungry eyes. He spits into his hand, coating his cock in a mixture of his own spit and our orgasm before he slowly starts pushing into you.
You tremble beneath him, completely at his mercy as he takes what he wants from your willing body. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he all but growls, fingers digging into your the flesh of your hips hard enough to leave you covered in bruises for days. He stays there, buried deep inside you for some moments, feeling the rhythmic beating of walls hugging his cock. “Fuck, I’m gonna ruin this pretty pussy for anyone else.”
Seonghwa sets a brutal pace, each snap of his hips jostling you further up the couch. You can only cling to the hand rest and take it, lost in the haze of pleasure and overstimulation. “Use me,” you whimper, voice breaking on a moan. “I’m yours, your slut.”
Through your half-opened lids, you can see him grinning down at you ferally, pupils blown with lust. He brings one of his hands up, wrapping it around your throat. Contrasting the bruising thrusts of his hips, the hand around your throat is gentle, squeezing lightly at your airways.
Seonghwa drops his head forward, forehead resting against yours, his pace not faltering. “Damn right you are,” he says. “This cunt belongs to me. Say it.”
“Yours,” you gasp out, feeling your pussy clamp down around him at the dominance in his voice. “It’s all yours, Hwa.”
He moans prettily at the way the nickname falls from your lips, thrusting into you even harder. “Good girl,” he praises, thumb brushing over your pulse point. “I’m gonna fill this pussy up until you're dripping with my cum.”
You cry out, head thrashing on the cushion as you cum, your release barreling down on you like a freight train. “Please,” you beg, voice wrecked. “Fill me up, mark me, make me yours,” you whine, words jumbled together.
But Seonghwa understands anyways, obliging your request with a harsh thrust, slamming into you one more time and emptying himself inside you with a hoarse breath. You can feel him pulsing inside you, filling you up to the brim until it’s leaking out around his cock. Seonghwa grinds into you, making sure every last drop is deposited deep inside your hungry cunt.
When he finally pulls out, you’re left gaping and dripping, his seed oozing out of your well-fucked hole. He flips you onto your stomach, pushing your legs up and back, leaving you with your ass in the air and head pressed into his cushions.
“Fuck, look at that pretty little pussy, all stretched and sloppy,” he grumbles out, gathering the cum leaking out of you and pushing it back in with his two fingers. He takes some moments, looking at your fucked form. Your legs are still shaking slightly and your eyes have rolled back in your head while you shudder under him. “I need to fill you up again.”
Before you’re able to completely comprehend his words, Seonghwa’s lifting you off the couch and carrying you to his bedroom. You try to keep your eyes open in an attempt to observe his space, cream and silver objects quickly blurring past you, but it takes Seonghwa only a few strides until he's thrown you onto his sheets and is hovering over you again.
He rakes in your body, the bruising of his harsh hold already taking place on your hips, your heaving chest trying to catch its breath, and the mess that he’s left in between your legs. With a shuddered groan, he positions himself at your pulsing pussy, rubbing the head of his reddened cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your juices and his own release.
The overstimulation has you running on overdrive, needing to close your legs at the tingling sensation.
But with a quick shove, Seonghwa has them spread again. “You’re mine, my little student, my little cumslut. Do you understand?” he asks, his voice rough with desire. “This pussy belongs to me, and I’m going to fill you up over and over and over again until my cum is leaking out of you for days.”
And with that, he pushes his hips forward, burying himself inside you to the hilt once more. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your walls already sensitive from your earlier orgasms, but he doesn’t give you a chance to adjust, immediately setting a fast pace that has his headboard slamming against the wall.
He leans down, capturing one of your nipples between his teeth and biting down just hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. “Stay still,” he mutters onto your skin, but you’re gone, thrashing at his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. You’re barely able to hear him over your own moans, hiccuping at the overstimulation.
As if he didn’t already feel amazing inside of you, Seonghwa tightly grips the underside of your thighs, sure to add to the collection of bruises on your body. You’re not making it any easier for him, and with your legs constantly threatening to close, Seonghwa’s pace was faltering, unable to put his energy completely into fucking you dumb.
Having had enough of it, he brings your ankles over his shoulders and presses his weight onto you, pushing himself deeper into your sopping pussy as Seonghwa all but folds you in half. You can let out a strangled cry as your eyes roll back into your head at feeling him nestled so deeply inside of you.
“I said stay fucking still,” he presses his forehead against you again, and you feel like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. He looks at you with a crazed look in his eyes. “God, I’ve wanted to cum so deep inside of you for so long. I’ve wanted you to feel me for days. I want you to feel me when you’re in class, I want you to feel me when we’re talking to the all the old fucks in our department meetings. Fuck, you don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to take you in my office with a line of students outside.”
Your voice feels caught in your throat, and for a moment, the only sound in the room is of your skin slapping together. Seonghwa takes in your aghast expression and finds himself smirking, leaning in once again to capture your lips with his in a quick kiss.
Seonghwa entirely surrounds you. His forearms are near your ears, fingertips tangled in your hair. His lips huff at your temple, and beads of his sweat drip onto your neck. The smell of your release, his release, Seonghwa’s woody perfume, the vanilla encapsulating his apartment is all around you. When his dick twitches inside of you, signaling his climax, you realize you needed his cum inside you.
“Please cum inside me, Hwa. Please, I need it so bad, please, please,” you whine. “Fill me up, please, fill me up,” you repeat like a mantra. The words are slurred together, spoken in between moans and cries, not making much sense.
Yet, just as he did before, Seonghwa answers your pleas, and with one sharp thrust, he fills you up once again with a low growl. He stays buried to the hilt, and you can feel rope after rope of his cum being spurted inside your pulsing walls.
He’s flipped your lethargic body on its stomach again, pulling your ass up to his face. With rushed fingers, he’s smearing the mix of your arousal and orgasm with his around your lips and clit. It’s overwhelmingly messy and the sound of the mess is nothing less than obscene, but you feel like you’re floating, riding the high of your orgasm.
You’re not quite sure what Seonghwa’s doing when his fingers are pulled away from your core, and it isn’t until he utters his next words that you know what’s running through his mind. “Again.”
Your eyes widen as he pushes your face into his pillows while pulling your hips upwards. “I-I thought it only took one good shot?” you mumble against his sheets, unaware of the perverted plans Seonghwa had for you.
Perspiration had gathered at your back, and Seonghwa could only laugh at your already beyond fucked-out state. His fingers run up and down your abused pussy, stopping at where his cum was trickling out of you. With two fingers, he pushes his release back inside, curling his fingers in the process, watching the way your eyes flutter shut.
“Better to be safe than sorry,” he comments, removing his fingers and incessantly aligning himself against your ruined pussy once again for the third time that night.
Author's Note II: I would really appreciate you leaving your thoughts in the form of comments and/or reblogs! It really helps me out and keeps me motivated to write more, so thank you in advance to those who do! Much love <3
Summary: The one where Seonghwa, the assigned mentor for your masters degree, suggests you practice making children before teaching them.
Word Count: 5.01k
Genre/Warnings: phdstudent!hwa x gradstudent!reader, elementary education majors (do postgrads have majors??), slightly aged-up hwa, smut with some plot, hair pulling, dirty (filthy) talk (f reader is called a slut/cumslut), spitting, fingering, marking, breeding, unprotected sex (pls do NOT do this irl), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, manhandling, mating press (heh), inappropriate academic relations?, horny!reader x perverted!hwa (match made in heaven frfr)
Author's Note: Here's the very first installment of Campus Romancers (yay!) Kids are most likely NOT in my future, but I'm not opposed to practicing, especially with Seonghwa hehe 🤭 (Let it be known I was clearly ovulating during the writing process bc ??oh my god???). Anyways, pls let me know what you think of the first installment of Campus Romancers!! Much love <33
🎧 playlist 🎧: ateez: deep dive 🍒 kehlani: water 🍒 nct dream: poison 🍒 the weeknd: popular 🍒 the kid laroi: nights like this 🍒 giselle: dopamine 🍒 ateez: selfish waltz 🍒 ningning: bored! 🍒 le sserafim: impurities
This is a work of fiction, and it is not meant to be a realistic representation of any real person mentioned in any way, shape, or form.
Seonghwa’s apartment, despite being lit by multiple soft white lamps, couldn’t have been any warmer than the brisk temperature outside. Nonetheless, you compliment the way he’s designed his interior as you take off your shoes. Some months ago, when you’d started your masters program, you’d never thought you’d be invited inside your mentor’s home.
In fact, of all that came with a masters degree, you were probably least excited about having to deal with a mentor. They’d been marketed as people who’d help you set off your path with the right connections, with the proper networks, but it had always seemed like an unfortunate byproduct of higher academia.
You were so not looking forward to meeting older, snooty, PhD candidates and spending time with their holier than thou attitude. So much so that you had to forcefully drag yourself to the orientation hall that early fall morning where a small batch of nervous education masters students were waiting for their mentors. You stood by them, cheeks sore in a painfully superficial friendly smile, and one by one, your peers were pulled away, greeted by their older mentors.
A good amount of the bunch were older, hair peppered with streaks of silver and white, and you had sighed, dropping your smile momentarily as you looked around you. As more and more of the other students were picked away by their mentors, you had slowly slinked away to a quiet corner near the refreshments.
As you were stuffing a mini poppy seed muffin fully into your mouth, you turned back to the crowd to find that a man, not much older than you, was making his way towards where you were standing alone in a corner of the bustling hall. Mistaking him for another masters student, you look over his shoulder, only to have him stop directly in front of you, with your name on his pink lips posed as a question.
Somehow, you had lucked out and landed Park Seonghwa as your masters mentor, and suddenly, having a mentor didn’t seem all too bad.
He was very pretty, his face maturely slender and plush lips settled in a pout. He had a lean frame, which helped him seem as if he was towering over you despite being only some inches taller. His hair was jet black, almost blue, and settled straightly over his face, lengthening it. You’d have to be completely oblivious to not notice the jealous stares thrown your way from the other female masters students. But a successful PhD student in his own right, Seonghwa was also breathtakingly intelligent.
In the months that followed, you came to find that his quietly offered advice always came from a place of care and genuine concern, and his methods of conducting research were something you couldn’t compliment enough. He was sure of himself, albeit clandestine with his ways, and thereby, his work, modestly confident between the group of incredibly well-respected and experienced mentors, all of which had at least a decade or two on him.
But it was hard to focus on the knowledge he had to offer you completely when the words falling from his pillowy lips always sounded so strangely seductive. His quiet manner and low voice didn’t do much to quell your unruly, and absolutely unprofessional, desire for him.
When you were helping him sort through his research, it was always his fingers you’d zero in on. When you met him early in the mornings to discuss your progress, it was his gravelly voice, still heavy with sleep. When you were sitting side by side discussing your own thesis, it was his distinct scent of Black Opium coming from his skin.
Utterly ashamed with yourself, you had gotten off to the thought of Seonghwa a multitude of times, conjuring different ways he would take you. Sometimes it would roughly after a particularly challenging day around his older colleagues. Other days it would be gently as the weather cooled on the campus around you. Whichever way it was, you were always able to make yourself cum to him.
It didn’t help that he was great with children, too. As you observed him in the field, you saw his usual demeanor falling away to reveal smiles and playfulness, taunting and teasing the children. Many of the children’s eyes would be filled with tears when the time for goodbyes came, already asking when he’d be coming over to play again.
It wasn’t until the semester really kicked into effect some weeks later when the piling work was threatening to take its toll that you decided enough was enough. So you promise yourself to push your immature infatuation aside, focusing on your degree and on your degree only, but every now and then, you’d catch yourself shamelessly ogling and desperately praying Seonghwa would mistake it for admiration.
Despite that, now well into the fall and the semester, you and Seonghwa were working like a well-oiled machine, efficient and functional. Which was incredibly important now that you’d received your topic for the spring seminar that was to be held sometime early next year.
The night you had received your topic, you and Seonghwa were teeming with ideas. Cooped up in his office, you wrote potential outline after outline, gathering research and preparing as many stances as you could conjure up. Sat side by side on the carpet of his intimate 100 square foot office, the two of you worked nonstop. The mid-afternoon had turned into late evening and still, your shoulders stayed firmly pressed against Seonghwa’s as you combed through more and more research.
Though as the hours passed by, your strong resolve began to fade away. The proximity that you didn’t seem to mind at 5:00 pm was beginning to make you dizzy at 8:00 pm. His woody perfume, the way his fingers expertly typed away at his laptop’s keyboard, the glasses that kept slipping down the slope of his nose.
Thankfully soon after, Seonghwa had decided to call it a night, but by the time you were packed up and ready to leave, you realized there were no longer any buses running on campus, so when Seonghwa offered to drive you to your apartment, you happily took him up on the offer.
After dropping you off at your own place, Seonghwa had offered to hold the next meeting at his apartment just off campus tomorrow and you had giddily agreed, deciding to meet after your lectures wrapped up in the late afternoon.
Breaking your own promise, you had gotten yourself off to him that night from the remainder of his scent that had seeped into your own clothes.
But now, in the quiet of his cool apartment, you’re feeling a little out of place. It felt a little surreal to be in a place that was completely Seonghwa. Sure, his office had bits and pieces of him, but the equipment was clearly the university’s. The bland brown carpet, the sturdy gray desk, and the harsh fluorescent lights didn’t belong to Seonghwa.
This space, which was completely his, felt like Seonghwa. In the center of his living room was a clean white rug, and instead of turning on the overhead lights, he began switching on many of the lamps. The cushions on his white couch were fluffed to resemble clouds, and there was a mild fragrance of vanilla that hung in the air. On his center table was a neatly arranged stack of literary journals and as you take off your shoes, you notice the way he’d organized his own pairs in a small closet.
It was overwhelmingly Seonghwa. Of course, in the best way possible.
The two of you waste no time, immediately unpacking the research from your bags, and per Seonghwa’s suggestion, splay them on the floor to get another perspective. You try desperately to ignore being surrounded by Seonghwa and hone in your focus on your research.
Adn to your credit, things are going well, and hours pass as you collect evidence and build up your strategy. It isn’t until half past ten that you hit a wall.
For maybe the past hour, you’ve been trying to find evidence to lay the groundwork for your second hypothesis with no luck. The spread out research has made a shuffled mess on the floors, and both you and Seonghwa are sitting on the ground with your aching backs against the couch. You flip through your notes in search of a journal to get past this godforsaken roadblock.
“We could use Hoffman’s essay in Journal No. 51 to provide evidence for the requirement of substantially good parents to raise substantially good children?” you offer with a tired sigh, holding out your highlighted copy of Journal No.51 to Seonghwa.
Instead of taking the journal from you, he scoots closer from his end of the couch to yours, shoulders bumping yours. Features softened with exhaustion, he moves even closer in an attempt to read the words on the page of the journal.
Suddenly, the image of Seonghwa playing with children flashes across your eyes. It wasn’t uncommon to shadow other teachers in your line of majors, and you’d even shadowed Seonghwa shadowing another teacher. He was great with kids, seeming able to read into their every microexpression, knowing exactly what they wanted from him before they had the chance to tell him. “Do you think you’d make a good parent?” you find yourself asking, already knowing the answer.
You’re met with silence. You can hear a group of probably drunk students walking outside of the apartment complex before Seonghwa’s air conditioning system kicks in. He’s contemplating the answer, unsure if answering would be crossing a line.
He backs away from the journal, choosing instead to look at the disarray of pages and books. “I’m not sure,” he finally says, admission quiet. It’s the first time you don’t hear the confidence in his voice. “Do you think you would?”
Frankly, you weren’t so sure either. You think you were very clinical in your approach, very textbook. You weren’t naturally attuned to children and were honestly quick to be irritated at irrational behavior that one would obviously expect to come from children, but you did care for them. You wanted to be a good parent. And for a second, your brain slips to Seonghwa, thinking what parenting would be like with him.
God, you think it would be the most easiest thing in the world. So before you can filter the thought away, you respond, “Yes, if I was doing it with you.”
“With me?” Oh my god. Your eyes widen a little in shock. You wanted the material of his rug to swallow you alive or shrink into a subatomic particle or become a child. Anything to explain the reason why you said what you said.
But, unfortunately for you, none of those things happen, so you clear your throat in an attempt to at least appear put together and justify, “I mean, we’re both studying elementary education, you know?”
It was a bullshit excuse. You knew it, and you were painfully aware that Seonghwa knew it. There was no correlation in parenting a kid and educating them. It was too far of a reach to even begin to entertain.
But Seonghwa only smiles, exhaustion fading away to reveal mischief, leaning back to rest his back against the couch. Kids were the absolute last thing on your mind. You’d had to work with them enough for your degree, and putting an additional strain on yourself, especially while you were still in school, seemed all too unwise.
“Kids are tough,” he says, eyeing your stiff form. He wraps his arm over the couch, not touching your body, but resting close enough for you to feel its presence. “There's a lot to consider. They require a lot of attention and care and love. You’ve got to raise them right, under the right supervision, to get them ready for the world. It’s a lot of effort for something that only takes one good shot. Ever considered that?” What the fuck was going on?
In the moments that pass as Seonghwa waits for your answer, you wonder if he’s thought about you as much as you’ve thought about him these past several weeks.
One part of your brain shouts at you, scolding you for entertaining the thought and not stopping yourself. It wasn’t as if this wasn’t completely and absolutely immoral. Having relations with your mentor is probably up there on things you definitely shouldn’t do as a student. But all the momentary panic and anxiety felt overruled by the wetness collected on your panties.
Because the other part of your brain is eager to give into the temptation. It makes you rub your legs together, which Seonghwa no doubt catches, and it also makes you speak up. “I’ve thought about it,” is how you choose to summarize your thoughts.
The ghost of his arm falls away, and you think you've visibly deflated against the couch at the loss of his pseudo-touch. Suddenly his hand is in your hair, fingers threading through the strands at the nape of your neck. You stiffen again, holding back a moan. Seonghwa scoffs, and at your silence, decides to tug.
He pulls your hair, tilting your head back to look at him. His eyes are dark, filled with a primal hunger that makes your pussy clench. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear, voice low with intent, “Is that so? And have you thought about what it takes? The sacrifices, the intimacy, the practice?”
His other hand trails down your body, over your clothed breasts, your stomach, coming to rest on your thigh. He squeezes, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he slides his hands higher, pushing your skirt up. “Because I have. I’ve thought about all the things we’d need to do to get it right. All the ways we’d have to touch, all the ways we’d have to taste, all the ways we’d have to feel each other.
He nips at your earlobe before pulling back to look at you, his gaze knowing. “You think I don’t notice the way you look at me? If I didn't know any better, I’d assume that you would start drooling for me if I asked,” he mocks.
Seonghwa isn’t as oblivious as you’d like him to be. He’d be a complete fool to not notice how you often zone out staring unabashedly sometimes at his hands, other times at his shoulders. But the times when you’d stare openly at his lips, while he was talking that too, had him growing hard under his desk.
And it wasn’t like he was completely innocent either. After your first couple of meetings, he moved your desk, which prior to meeting you, was facing his, to the corner of his small office only to get a better view of the swell of your breasts under your silken blouses and to watch the material of stupidly short pencil skirts rise higher and higher on your thighs when you’d eventually cross your legs.
Every now and then when you were working on your seminar project, you’d pull up your chair next to him, and Seonghwa could barely contain himself. The smell of your perfume would hit his nose, and just like that he was gone. He’d pull himself together for the sake of your work, but it took everything in him to not shove the papers off his desk and take you right there.
“I bet you would. In fact, I bet you’ve fantasized this moment in your pretty little head countless times, haven’t you?” His hand reaches the hem of your skirt, fingers brushing against the damp material of your panties. He smirks at the evidence of your arousal. “Seems like you have,” he says, giving your clothed pussy three sharp slaps.
You feel like you can’t breathe. Of course, you’ve thought about this. More times than you’d care to admit, but you feel like you’re glued to the edge of Seonghwa's couch, taking his touch without much fight. When he pulls on the waistband of your underwear and lets it snap back onto your skin, that is when you finally exhale and reach for him.
Messily, your lips clash against his, and there’s no formality, no decorum. It’s raw, and it’s messy, and there’s spit and teeth everywhere. You’ve definitely caught Seonghwa off guard, but he’s quick to regain his composure, one hand keeping your legs spread while the other is back at the nape of your neck.
He pulls your leg over his lap, sitting you down on his hard cock. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, the same hot desperation in his touch. He presses you down, grinding your body over his, while he nips at your lips, his tongue fighting only momentarily for dominance before you give in.
As he’s kissing you, he wraps your legs around his waist before standing to set you down on his pristine couch. He breaks the kiss, moving away to look down at you. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with lust. He licks his lips, tasting you on them. “Fuck, you taste good.” He leans in to lick your lips while his hands grope every inch of you as he grinds his cock against your clothed pussy.
You tilt your hips up to meet his thrusts, and the friction feels delicious, sending sparks of pleasure down your spine. “Please,” you whimper, not sure what exactly you’re begging for.
“So needy already,” he says, unbuttoning your blouse while kissing a trail down your torso. “I’ve barely even started with you.”
He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, and he does the same to your clothing, leaving you in just your underwear on the couch. You’d feel shame, but your busy eyes rove over Seonghwa’s chest and wide shoulders instead, taking in the hard planes of muscles, making you swallow thickly. God, you wanted to mark his skin so badly.
But Seonghwa’s giving you no time, tugging your panties aside, exposing your wet folds to the cool air of his apartment. His fingers teasingly circle your clit, making you gasp. With impatient hands, he’s taking your panties off, and as soon as they’re on his floor, he’s running the thick pads of fingers up and down your pussy, spreading the slick that’s been collecting for probably the past several hours.
“Fuck, you’re so ready, aren’t you? So eager for my touch. You want me to fill you up? Hmm?” he asks, increasing the pressure and speed of his movements. “Want me to finger this tight little cunt until you’re squirting all over my hand?”
The shame comes back in full force, hitting you altogether, all at once, because with the little stimulation that Seonghwa’s providing you, you think you’re going to cum.
He finally slides a finger inside, incredulously scoffing at how tight you are. He pumps his finger in and out, adding a second not long after, and curling them, before pushing them deeper inside and curling again, experimenting to find that sweet spot. He finds it fairly quickly when your moans increase in volume, and he focuses his attention there.
“Fuck! Please, please!” You arch your back, legs shaking at the rapid movements. But Seonghwa doesn’t let up, picking up the pace.
He fucks you harder and faster with his fingers, his thumb pressing down hard on your clit. You can feel yourself tensing, your walls fluttering around his slender fingers as your orgasm crashes down on you. “That’s it,” Seonghwa says, not letting up. “Cum all over my hand like the dirty little slut you are. Show me how much you like having my fingers inside you.”
He leans in, biting down on the skin at the base of your neck, sucking hard to leave a mark as he feels you come undone. He keeps his fingers moving until you’re shaking with the force of your release. Only then does he slow down, gently massaging your sensitive flesh as he brings you down from your high. “Good girl,” he whispers into your ear, withdrawing his gingers and bringing them to his lips to lick them clean. “Mm, you taste even better than I imagined.”
With wide eyes, all you do is watch him, taking in how his long tongue wraps around his pretty fingers, sucking your essence cleanly off of them with his own eyes shut in ecstasy.
Your filter seems as if it's taken the day off, because the next words that leave your mouth are, “Hwa, I need you inside of me, please.”
He removes his fingers from his mouth with a pop, looking down at you. He leans in to whisper in your ear, pressing his chest against your, and you hope he can’t hear how fast your heart is beating.
“You’re going to take everything that I give you without any complaints. You’re going to be a good student and listen to your mentor, got that?”
You think you could come again from his words alone, and when he backs away, eyeing you for an answer, you can only shakily nod.
He takes his cock and runs it along your pussy, watching you with hungry eyes. He spits into his hand, coating his cock in a mixture of his own spit and our orgasm before he slowly starts pushing into you.
You tremble beneath him, completely at his mercy as he takes what he wants from your willing body. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he all but growls, fingers digging into your the flesh of your hips hard enough to leave you covered in bruises for days. He stays there, buried deep inside you for some moments, feeling the rhythmic beating of walls hugging his cock. “Fuck, I’m gonna ruin this pretty pussy for anyone else.”
Seonghwa sets a brutal pace, each snap of his hips jostling you further up the couch. You can only cling to the hand rest and take it, lost in the haze of pleasure and overstimulation. “Use me,” you whimper, voice breaking on a moan. “I’m yours, your slut.”
Through your half-opened lids, you can see him grinning down at you ferally, pupils blown with lust. He brings one of his hands up, wrapping it around your throat. Contrasting the bruising thrusts of his hips, the hand around your throat is gentle, squeezing lightly at your airways.
Seonghwa drops his head forward, forehead resting against yours, his pace not faltering. “Damn right you are,” he says. “This cunt belongs to me. Say it.”
“Yours,” you gasp out, feeling your pussy clamp down around him at the dominance in his voice. “It’s all yours, Hwa.”
He moans prettily at the way the nickname falls from your lips, thrusting into you even harder. “Good girl,” he praises, thumb brushing over your pulse point. “I’m gonna fill this pussy up until you're dripping with my cum.”
You cry out, head thrashing on the cushion as you cum, your release barreling down on you like a freight train. “Please,” you beg, voice wrecked. “Fill me up, mark me, make me yours,” you whine, words jumbled together.
But Seonghwa understands anyways, obliging your request with a harsh thrust, slamming into you one more time and emptying himself inside you with a hoarse breath. You can feel him pulsing inside you, filling you up to the brim until it’s leaking out around his cock. Seonghwa grinds into you, making sure every last drop is deposited deep inside your hungry cunt.
When he finally pulls out, you’re left gaping and dripping, his seed oozing out of your well-fucked hole. He flips you onto your stomach, pushing your legs up and back, leaving you with your ass in the air and head pressed into his cushions.
“Fuck, look at that pretty little pussy, all stretched and sloppy,” he grumbles out, gathering the cum leaking out of you and pushing it back in with his two fingers. He takes some moments, looking at your fucked form. Your legs are still shaking slightly and your eyes have rolled back in your head while you shudder under him. “I need to fill you up again.”
Before you’re able to completely comprehend his words, Seonghwa’s lifting you off the couch and carrying you to his bedroom. You try to keep your eyes open in an attempt to observe his space, cream and silver objects quickly blurring past you, but it takes Seonghwa only a few strides until he's thrown you onto his sheets and is hovering over you again.
He rakes in your body, the bruising of his harsh hold already taking place on your hips, your heaving chest trying to catch its breath, and the mess that he’s left in between your legs. With a shuddered groan, he positions himself at your pulsing pussy, rubbing the head of his reddened cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your juices and his own release.
The overstimulation has you running on overdrive, needing to close your legs at the tingling sensation.
But with a quick shove, Seonghwa has them spread again. “You’re mine, my little student, my little cumslut. Do you understand?” he asks, his voice rough with desire. “This pussy belongs to me, and I’m going to fill you up over and over and over again until my cum is leaking out of you for days.”
And with that, he pushes his hips forward, burying himself inside you to the hilt once more. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your walls already sensitive from your earlier orgasms, but he doesn’t give you a chance to adjust, immediately setting a fast pace that has his headboard slamming against the wall.
He leans down, capturing one of your nipples between his teeth and biting down just hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. “Stay still,” he mutters onto your skin, but you’re gone, thrashing at his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. You’re barely able to hear him over your own moans, hiccuping at the overstimulation.
As if he didn’t already feel amazing inside of you, Seonghwa tightly grips the underside of your thighs, sure to add to the collection of bruises on your body. You’re not making it any easier for him, and with your legs constantly threatening to close, Seonghwa’s pace was faltering, unable to put his energy completely into fucking you dumb.
Having had enough of it, he brings your ankles over his shoulders and presses his weight onto you, pushing himself deeper into your sopping pussy as Seonghwa all but folds you in half. You can let out a strangled cry as your eyes roll back into your head at feeling him nestled so deeply inside of you.
“I said stay fucking still,” he presses his forehead against you again, and you feel like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. He looks at you with a crazed look in his eyes. “God, I’ve wanted to cum so deep inside of you for so long. I’ve wanted you to feel me for days. I want you to feel me when you’re in class, I want you to feel me when we’re talking to the all the old fucks in our department meetings. Fuck, you don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to take you in my office with a line of students outside.”
Your voice feels caught in your throat, and for a moment, the only sound in the room is of your skin slapping together. Seonghwa takes in your aghast expression and finds himself smirking, leaning in once again to capture your lips with his in a quick kiss.
Seonghwa entirely surrounds you. His forearms are near your ears, fingertips tangled in your hair. His lips huff at your temple, and beads of his sweat drip onto your neck. The smell of your release, his release, Seonghwa’s woody perfume, the vanilla encapsulating his apartment is all around you. When his dick twitches inside of you, signaling his climax, you realize you needed his cum inside you.
“Please cum inside me, Hwa. Please, I need it so bad, please, please,” you whine. “Fill me up, please, fill me up,” you repeat like a mantra. The words are slurred together, spoken in between moans and cries, not making much sense.
Yet, just as he did before, Seonghwa answers your pleas, and with one sharp thrust, he fills you up once again with a low growl. He stays buried to the hilt, and you can feel rope after rope of his cum being spurted inside your pulsing walls.
He’s flipped your lethargic body on its stomach again, pulling your ass up to his face. With rushed fingers, he’s smearing the mix of your arousal and orgasm with his around your lips and clit. It’s overwhelmingly messy and the sound of the mess is nothing less than obscene, but you feel like you’re floating, riding the high of your orgasm.
You’re not quite sure what Seonghwa’s doing when his fingers are pulled away from your core, and it isn’t until he utters his next words that you know what’s running through his mind. “Again.”
Your eyes widen as he pushes your face into his pillows while pulling your hips upwards. “I-I thought it only took one good shot?” you mumble against his sheets, unaware of the perverted plans Seonghwa had for you.
Perspiration had gathered at your back, and Seonghwa could only laugh at your already beyond fucked-out state. His fingers run up and down your abused pussy, stopping at where his cum was trickling out of you. With two fingers, he pushes his release back inside, curling his fingers in the process, watching the way your eyes flutter shut.
“Better to be safe than sorry,” he comments, removing his fingers and incessantly aligning himself against your ruined pussy once again for the third time that night.
Author's Note II: I would really appreciate you leaving your thoughts in the form of comments and/or reblogs! It really helps me out and keeps me motivated to write more, so thank you in advance to those who do! Much love <3
very tempted to recreate that werewolf meme everytime I see new pictures of seonghwa recently, so I can relate too well I'm afraid 😪 but thank you so much for reading <33
I'm late to this party as the weekend is now over but I wanted to know how you got into writing and what fuels your inspiration, typically? I'm going through the longest writer's block I've ever experienced and I miss the thrill of letting a new idea cook inside my brain to the point it's the only thing on my mind.
Also, friendly reminder I adore your work ♥
Have a lovely day! x
not late at all!! feel free to send things whenever <3
I actually got into writing pretty young, sometime in 2nd grade! When I immigrated to the states at the age of 5, I didn't really know how to read/write/speak English, so I was pretty closed off from my other classmates in fear of saying the wrong thing. But when I got to 2nd grade, my teacher insisted that I join in. She made me read out loud from our textbooks, helped me pick out books from the library, and even asked me about them the next day. She would make us do these paragraph stories where she would print out a coloring sheet and make us write at least a paragraph of a story underneath it. I remember only being able to write a couple of sentences when I started the school year, but I ended up being able to write several paragraphs by the end of the year. She really instilled the love of reading and writing into me.
As for my inspiration, I think it comes from all sorts of places. If I read a beautiful tumblr post, I get inspired. If I hear a beautiful song, I get inspired. If I watch a beautiful move, I get inspired. I think a big part of it for me is being able to find beauty in everything. I think absorbing art and content, not in a social media kind of way but more intentional, also really helps me. I also just like to read a lot. I haven't put as much time as I wanted to towards reading with university and all, but I'm getting back into it now! I've started reading Jurassic Park yesterday and am about 60 pages in! So reading also helps!!
And of course, I get writer's block too, but I try to think of it as a temporary thing that will absolutely pass. Knowing that the nature of not being to write or create is temporary helps me get out of potentially spiralling into that thought. Additionally, I think we've gotten accustomed to thinking that we should be producing content fast. Writing, and any form of art, really takes a lot of time, and I think it's supposed to! So definitely don't be too hard on yourself if your art comes slow!
this got a little long, but I really appreciate the questions! and I also adore your work <333 I hope your inspiration finds you soon!!
Author's Note: Hi guys! For this new year, I wanted to try my hand at doing an event! This is the campus romancers event that I've had in mind for some time to exercise the fact that I never got to experience a university/college love (pls don't tell me I wasn't missing out on much, I WILL start crying). Anyways, below are the titles, summaries, and release schedules for each minific (no wc this time bc we have learned that I probably NOT follow through... but probably/hopefully under 5k for each fic lol), so I hope you guys look forward to and enjoy reading!!!
Incessant (Seonghwa x Reader) 💋
↪ The one where Seonghwa, the assigned mentor for your masters degree, suggests you practice making children before teaching them. (breeding, roughplay)
Tailormade (Hongjoong x Reader) (coming 250117) 💋
↪ The one where Hongjoong, a textile design student, is the only available TA in the entire design building during the late hours of the night. (choking/breathplay, bondage)
Citation (Yunho x Reader) (coming 250124) 💋
↪ The one where Yunho, your literary studies tutor, spots an incredibly important reference for your thesis in an abandoned corner of the library. (manhandling, exhibitionism)
Repitition (Yeosang x Reader) (coming 250131) 💋
↪ The one where Yeosang, your personal student trainer, helps you get "dressed" after your sore muscles leave you incapacitated. (manhandling, bondage, body worshipping)
Eutony (San x Reader) (coming 250207) 💋
↪ The one where San, your criminal justice group partner, has an unorthodox approach in getting you ready for your first mock trial. (spanking, roughplay, edging)
Melodies (Mingi x Reader) (coming 250214) 💋
↪ The one where Mingi, the cute audio engineering major student you've admired from afar, finally manages to get you alone at a frat party. (sensory deprivation, squirting)
Semantics (Wooyoung x Reader) (coming 250221) 💋
↪ The one where Wooyoung, a linguistics major, can't seem to keep his thoughts, or his hands, to himself in the back of a busy lecture hall. (exhibitionism, edging)
Hands-On (Jongho x Reader) (coming 250228) 💋
↪ The one where Jongho, a biochemistry major, wants to see how the material he's learning in his physiology class applies to the human body, your body in particular. (overstimulation, squirting)
🎧 playlist 🎧: ateez: deep dive 🍒 kehlani: water 🍒 nct dream: poison 🍒 the weeknd: popular 🍒 the kid laroi: nights like this 🍒 giselle: dopamine 🍒 ateez: selfish waltz 🍒 ningning: bored! 🍒 le sserafim: impurities
Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!
Those guys at your old workplace literally sound like assholes, glad you’re outta there. Anyways, for the q&a, I wanted to ask what you’ve been listening to lately? Your playlists for each of your fics always slap 😮💨
thank you 😭😭 they were so fucking gross and they keep deleting the bad reviews I'm leaving trying to leave for them on their google profile so that's really annoying.
and these are some of the songs that I've been listening to lately:
AOA: Like a Cat
Doechii: Denial is a River
Triple S: Inner Dance
ARTMS: Virtual Angel
Lee Hi: HSKT
SISTAR: Give It to Me
FLO: Check
Girl's Day: Something
Miss A: Only You
Nathy Peluso: Buenos Aires
kind of all over the place genre wise, but hope you get the time to listen to some of these tracks <3
Is there a trope that you want to try to write out? If so, do you have a specific member in mind? I love your fics btw. My favorite is Ugh, As If
ooh, I really want to try my hand at writing a enemies to lovers undercover spy trope, I'm not sure if this classifies as an actual realized trope, but one of my favorite movies is the 2008 Get Smart, and I just think it's such as fun trope.
I feel like if I did write it, it'd be well over 30k and would take an obscene amount of time to write, but I do have kind of an outline written for it 🤭🤐 but it's something I'd really have to put ALL my focus into so it probably won't be seeing the light of day until I'm finished with all my incomplete series
as for the specific member, I think I'd have to choose yunho? he's got a really playful personality but he knows when to be serious BUT I also think he's goofy enough that someone would surely have an enemies to lovers relationship with him lol
