Sometimes I Still Think About This Look. Hes So Perfectly Perfect And Brown And Earthy Colors Look So

sometimes i still think about this look. he’s so perfectly perfect and brown and earthy colors look so good on him. i wish he was real 😞❤️‍🩹

Seungmin + ★★★★★ (5-STAR)

insanely good im gagged

Chan with ❛ that really does make you hard. i can feel you pulsing inside me. ❜

summary: your husband is a university professor. when you sit in on one of his lectures, it gives both of you an idea...

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: husband!chan, kinky professor/student roleplay, though reader is his wife and not actually a student. dom!chan, sub!reader, degrading language (stupid, dumb, slut). corruption kink, power dynamics kink. explicit sexual content. word count: 2380 words.

part of the valentine's day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy! <3

-

Chan is giving a lecture when you reach the university.   You kill some time and grab a coffee, ambling around campus and idling in corridors until your wandering leads you to his hall.  The main doors are propped open, likely for air circulation with the spring heat, and you smile at his voice spilling into the hallway. 

It is a big lecture hall.  He is teaching a beginner level so the class is substantially large, a couple hundred freshman packed inside.  No one will notice an extra presence.  There are a few empty seats scattered across the back row so you slip inside and quietly take one. 

You like seeing Chan in his element.  Your husband is something of a chameleon, spending his down time in hoodies and baseball caps, listening to music and giggling at his own goofy jokes.  You almost forget his professional side, his prestigious and academic character.  He loves his research and his work and his students and it shows in every remark and gesticulation.  

You adore him.  His passion and intelligence never cease to amaze you.

Though right now your loving attention strays to his appearance.  You must admit: your husband is a hottie.  You suspect the tittering co-eds in the first few rows are not as interested in statistical analysis as their rapt attention might suggest.

Professor Bang Chan stands at the front of the hall, dressed down to his shirtsleeves.  His suit jacket has been tossed over the desk.  His pants are pressed, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, but his neat black hair is just this side of dishevelled, like he has been running his fingers through it. 

You slouch in your seat and smile a cheesy smile as you watch him work. 

He looks around the hall as he lectures, attentive to every student.   In his perusal, his eyes skim the back row.  They stop on you.   

“And that’s why we, uh, ah…” He stumbles so noticeably that a few heads turn to see what caught his eye.   He laughs and waves, drawing their attention again.  “Sorry, sorry, as I was saying…”    

Your smile only widens.  There is a little flutter in your heart as your husband looks at you with a glimmer in his eye.  You rest your head on your fist and watch the rest of the lecture without any interruption.  

You stay seated when it ends and the students file out.  Chan lingers by his desk to sort his papers.  You just admire him for a moment, then you make your way down the aisle.  He lifts his head, smiling at you.

“Hey, stranger,” he says, shrugging on his jacket.  “You’re early.” 

“Yeah, I thought traffic would be worse.”  

“Hungry?”

“Definitely, Professor,” you say.  Your original plans were dinner, but you lift an eyebrow while smirking, suggesting a different kind of hunger entirely. 

It makes him laugh, a nervous sort of laugh.  You are charmed by the tips of his ears turning red, a testament to your ability to fluster your man well into your marriage. 

“What’s wrong, Professor?” you ask, reaching up to touch his face.   “Aren’t you hungry too?”

He stares back at you for a moment.  His gaze is resolute despite his faint blush.  You cannot help your delight. 

“Ooh,” you say.  “Do you like it when I call you Professor, Professor?”

He finally takes your hand and lowers it. 

“I’m a professional,” is what he says, which is definitely not an answer to the question you asked.  He kisses your cheek before you can protest his reply, then he winks and grabs his bag.  “Come on,” he says, “I just have to put some stuff in my office.  Then we’ll go grab dinner.” 

You suspend your teasing for the time being, talking about your day as you cross campus in the sunshine.  You take the stairs up to the office floor, winding around the labyrinthine assembly of empty offices.  It is quite late in the afternoon, plenty of people seemingly packed up and gone for the day. 

He unlocks his office and lets you both in.  While he goes to his desk to sort his stuff, you close and lock the door.  He does not notice your deliberate movements, still talking about mundane nothings.  You do love your endless conversations, whether casual or important, but right now you are less preoccupied with Channie than Professor Chan.  There is something about seeing your husband like this, smart, competent, confident, and so in charge of his space. 

“Baby girl?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow at your slow, slinky approach.  “What’s up?” 

You circle the desk and lay a hand on his chest, smoothing your palm down his lapel.  You swear his eyes somehow darken, narrowing in focus, his whole expression coloured differently than before. 

“What are you doing?” he asks. 

“I know you’re married, Professor,” you say, blinking oh-so innocently at him.  “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable… it’s just that I… I need…”

He lets you nudge him back onto the desk chair behind him.  He gazes up as you lean over him. 

“Baby,” he says, warningly, but does not move or push your hands away. 

“We’re all alone, Professor,” you say.  “The door is locked.  No one will ever find out.” 

“Ah. Is that right?” he asks, looking like he is on the verge of giggles.  He sighs instead, dropping his chin and shaking his head, playfully disappointed.  With another breath, he lifts his head, and your sweet husband dons a more predatory air.   

He does not even have to say anything, does not even have to touch you.  He just has to look at you with all that desire in his eyes, turning your insides molten.  Every dirty thought is plain in how he checks you out.

“I saw you looking at me in class today,” you say, breathless already.  “Did you think I looked pretty, Professor?”                                         

“I think,” he says, “I was impressed you were sitting there, actually listening for once.”

You open your mouth to retort, but he touches a shushing finger to your lips.  He shakes his head. 

“Nuh-uh,” he says.  “Tell me what you want before I throw you out of my office.”  He cups your jaw, his gaze so clearly centred on your lips. 

“Oh, please, don’t do that,” you say.  “I need you, Professor.  I mean, I need your help.”

“I think you’re beyond help, baby girl,” he says.  He momentarily breaks character to glance at the wall, then he looks at you with a quirked brow.  “We are at my work, maybe we should—”

“I know you,” you reply.  

Because you do.  You and your husband are no strangers to roleplay or kinky fun, your desires and boundaries and safewords known.  Your backside is still tender from a good spanking the night before, just enough to leave you squirming today.  You were pent-up before you even saw Professor Chan administering his lecture.  But now that you have, now that you are here, you cannot let it go.  And given the way he is looking at you, he feels the same way.

“You’ve been hard since I called you Professor in the lecture hall,” you say. 

“Since I saw you sitting in my classroom, actually,” he corrects.  “I could fill in the rest with my own imagination.  Just… looking at you…”  He takes another breath and looks you over.  His gaze is heady.  “God, you just get me going every time, you know that?” 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” you say with another smirk.  Then you pout, batting your eyelashes, as you sink to your knees in front of him.  “Please, Professor,” you say.  “I’m begging you.  I need a good grade or else.  I’ll do anything.” 

“Anything,” he says.  “That’s, ah… that’s a bold statement.  Are you sure about that?”

“Of course I am,” you say.  You clasp your hands.  “Anything at all.” 

“You know, a man who is not as nice me could do bad things to you, baby.   A pretty girl like you.  It’s like you want someone to take advantage of you, yeah?”  He cups your jaw and tilts your face up, looking at your mouth thoughtfully, smiling as he circles his thumb over your lips.  “They could be really mean to you,” he says.  “Make you do things you don’t like.  Maybe even hurt you, baby.”

“But you wouldn’t do those things,” you say with a watery sniffle.  “You’re a good professor. I can trust you.”

“Of course you can,” he says.  With his thumb, he tugs your bottom lip down.  It flips back up with a bounce.  “I’ll help you then, if you do what I say.”

“Oh yes, of course, Professor, anything,” you say. You start to stand when he puts a hand on your shoulder. 

“Naw, naw,” he says.  “You stay there for me.”

“On my knees?”  You blink up at him.  “What for?” 

“Tsk.  Baby.  You know what for.”  He pats your head like he would an especially dumb puppy.  “You’re just a pretty face,” he says, “but you’re not that stupid.  You know what you’re good for at least, don’t you?”   

He cups your chin.  Before you can reply, his thumb is forcing its way into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. You wrap your lips around it, staring up at him while sucking diligently. 

“That’s it,” he says, and slides free with a wet little pop.  “Good job.  See?”  He speaks with saccharine sweetness, completely condescending as he pats your cheek.  “You are good at something.”  He unbuttons your shirt with deft swiftness, your breasts already heaving in your low-cut bra when he pushes the material off your shoulders.  He laughs to himself as he says, “It’s just the only thing you’re good at is being a dumb slut, but that’s okay, yeah?” 

“I… I guess…”

“Shh, it’s okay.”  He covers you whole mouth with his hand, tugging you close while he undoes his belt with the other.  “You don’t need to talk,” he says.  “No one needs to hear what you think.  Open your mouth for me.   That’s a good girl.  Come on.  You can take it.” 

With a shuffle, he gets his pants open and partially down, enough to get himself out.  He is already rock hard as he guides you forward, sliding into your waiting mouth.  He grunts with deep, obvious pleasure. 

He lets you take over, sitting back while you suck his cock with expert knowledge of exactly what he likes, when to take him deep, when to lick and suck and swallow.  You stop for a breath and his cock smacks your cheek.  Then suddenly he is standing and taking you with him, wasting no time bending you over his desk. 

“Professor!” you say, pushing your ass out with your theatrically scandalized cry.  “Oh no, sir, I’ve never done this before, please, ahh—”   

He lifts your skirt and tugs your panties to the side, sliding his fingers through all the wet arousal there.  He slides two fingers into you easily, with no resistance at all.  He leans down and laughs against the nape of your neck.

“I find that hard to believe,” he says, fucking you steadily with his hand.  “I think I’m not the only professor you’ve done this for, am I, baby?” 

“Ohh,” is all you manage, out of character and genuinely moaning as he works you towards a quick orgasm.  “Channie, you’re gonna make me come,” you warn, wriggling. 

Your moans turn to pathetic little whimpers when he wraps a strong arm around you, locking you in place as he lines up behind you. 

“What’s that?” he asks, holding you tight.  It stops you from writhing while he pushes his wet dick inside you, inch by slow inch.  “I’m not Channie, am I?” he says.  “What do you call me?  Huh?  Dumb little girl.”  He swats your ass and you yelp, clenching around him.  “Try again,” he says. 

“Oh, Professor,” you say.  Then you cannot help but giggle, recalling his evasion when you teased him in the lecture hall.  The evidence of his desire says it all.  “That really does make you hard,” you laugh, breathlessly, “I can feel you pulsing inside me.”

You squeak when he pushes you down onto the desk, holding your hips as he thrusts into you with more vigour.  Then you are not saying anything, just moaning and riding out every quick snap of his hips.  You are not sure how he manages to find the softest, squishiest, more sensitive place inside you, every time, no matter the place or position, sending you hurtling towards to an orgasm at breakneck speed. 

“Oh, help, Professor, I’m gonna—”

“Me too, baby,” he says.  “All inside you.”

“Ohh, fuck—”  You come with a shuddering convulsion, twitching and clenching, your eyes closed as you pant into the wooden surface of his desk.  Your orgasm ends and he is still fucking you, drawing it out.  Your voice is guttural, low and breathy as you say, “Professor, be careful, we have no protection…”

He lifts you up, arches your back, and covers your mouth.

“I… told… you…”  He punctuates each sound with a hard thrust.  “To… be… quiet…” 

Then he drives into you and stays there, groaning into your neck as he comes and comes.   When his hand drops, you take in a gulp of air, shivering from the aftershocks of pleasure.  You are spilling out of your bra from all the jostling, your skirt in disarray.  You whimper when he pulls out of you, then again when he just covers you back up with your panties.  They are soaked in a second. 

“Maybe, uh,” he says with one of his funny, embarrassed, little giggles.  “Maybe we should stop by home and clean up before we go for dinner.” 

You giggle too, turning around to face him.  You fix your shirt while he tucks himself back into his pants.  He is already blushing and smiling that dimpled smile, looking all sweet and goofy as if he didn’t just fuck your brains out on his desk. 

“Good idea,” you say.  “That’s why you’re the professor.” 

He laughs.  Looking at you fondly, he cups your cheek and pulls you in for a long, tender kiss.    

☽⋆˳˚∗ all mine yang jeongin x f!reader

summary: you and jeongin, a party, chan's bathroom = 💥

word count: 2.2k words

author's note: innie brainrot. that's it. no other reason for this. no plot, just down bad innie eating you out in a bathroom and fucking you silly on the floor

warnings: porn without plot; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it & pee after sex, guys); oral (f receiving); fingering (f receiving); creampie; slight exhibitionism, as in sex where people can probably hear

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The bathroom door swings shut behind you, Jeongin’s tongue digging deeper into your mouth, his hungry hands unceremoniously tugging your shirt out of your skirt. His hands explore you greedily, smoothing up and down the slightly sweaty skin of your back.

He guides you backwards like that, stumbling feet nearly catching in each other, pushing you until your back hits the marble of the sinks, your hands messily fisted into the t-shirt at his side, a weak growl tearing from his lips when you finally grasp his waist and squeeze.

He angles his head, presses into you further, kisses you deeper, filthier, his hand slithering further up your back so he can hold you locked against him, pinning you to the sink with a strength that makes heat pool in your belly. Using his free hand, he manhandles you so he can shove his thigh between your legs and grind you down against himself, making fireworks of pleasure prickle up and down your spine.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he groans into your mouth, his breath coming out in strained pants, “need you … so … fucking bad.”

You only manage a weak hum back before he paws at your skirt, reaches underneath it and pulls down your panties. They drop to the floor by your feet. When Jeongin nudges his knee forward again, the cold air hits your soaked folds, making you mewl into his lips.

“B-baby,” you whisper out, “they’ll know we’re gone.”

Jeongin chuckles darkly, his hand surging up to cup your face. His eyes are hooded with arousal as he leans forwards, licks into your mouth possessively.

“Good.”

He sinks to his knees, hot palms sliding up your bare legs, dark, sparkling eyes staring up at you as he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder. He presses a heated kiss into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Because I need Hyunjin to never look at you like that again.”

The giggle that bubbles out of your chest devolves into a long, drawn out moan when Jeongin spreads you open and buries his tongue in your folds, lapping up your wetness with a deep hum. Your hips can’t forward automatically, hands surging backwards to grip onto the cold stone of the sinks.

One of his hands is holding your thigh in a vice grip where it’s resting on his shoulder, the other is still on your waist, holding up your skirt enough so it doesn’t get in the way of him devouring you. He flattens his tongue against you and massages your clit hard and fast before he pulls back and stares up at you.

“Did you do it on purpose, hm? Leaning over the pool table like that"

You shake your head, your hips twitching helplessly, when he digs his thumb into your thigh.

“Looked good …” he mumbles, pressing more wet kisses to the inside of your thigh, “caught him looking and couldn’t even blame him. But he doesn’t get to have you like this, does he?”

You shake your head again, more vigorously this time, and he finally dives back in, the tip of his hot tongue prodding against your hole, licking inside only a little, leaving you aching for more.

He growls when you clench around nothing.

“My baby, my fucking pussy.”

He drags you closer, bending your leg higher, pulling you into his mouth, and then he starts feasting.

His tongue is all over you, flattening against you, lapping at your wetness eagerly, lewd, sweet noises mixing with the sound of the party filtering through the door, so close yet so far. Somebody laughs loudly downstairs. You whimper and throw your head back.

Jeongin circles his tongue around your entrance before dipping in, hot and strong, and you just about manage to mute your whine by slapping a panicked hand over your mouth. He groans and pulls back, reaches out to tug your hand away.

“Lemme hear you,” he slurs, licks his lips absentmindedly, dives back in, laving at your clit until your legs are shaking. “Let them all hear.”

When he looks up at you, there’s something softer in his eyes, his pretty, sparkly eyes.

“I want them all to know how fucking perfect we are for each other,” he whispers, and your heart skips a beat. You reach out, thread your shaky fingers through his hair, running them through his locks softly. He preens, keens into your touch, his eyes slipping shut for a second when you drag your nails over his scalp. But it’s only a second, before he shakes himself out of it, trails his free hand between your legs and grins up at you.

“Now let me make my pretty baby cum.”

And with that, he leans back in, wraps his lips around your clit and rolls his tongue over it and, just like he wanted, the next moan you let out bounces off the tiles of the bathroom, loud enough for you to know everyone heard you. Jeongin hums happily, leans down further, and you gasp out, another deep moan ripping out of your chest when he fucks his tongue into you again and again. Your leg shakes, knocks against the side of his head; he only grabs it harder.

You can feel the coil in your belly already tighten dangerously, when he replaces his tongue with one of his pretty fingers, sliding it into you slowly but steadily, caressing your walls with his fingertips while he laps at your clit like a man starved.

He slides another one in, moans with you when you clench around his finger and your hand tightens in his hair, so much it probably stings. But he doesn’t seem to care, lets you hold him against you as he fucks his fingers deep into you, curling the pads of his fingers against your g-spot until your legs start trembling, and you whimper out a quiet I’m close.

His self-control seems to waver, his voice hoarse, breathless and needy when he moans as he continues to work you up and up, his hand tightening on your hip, his strong shoulder under your leg, holding you up as your legs start shaking harder – and then you’re cumming, your hips bucking into his hand and his mouth as you hold him against you, your head thrown back as wrecked moans echo off the tiles.

He helps you through it, his strong hand holding you up, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin, tongue now softly circling your clit until you twitch against him, and only then does he pull his fingers out.

He gets up with shaky legs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a lazy grin on his handsome face, and you can’t help but pull him in for a deep, toe-curling kiss, one he melts into immediately, his rock-hard cock pressing against your hip, his hand fisted into your shirt. You can taste yourself on his lips and the thought of him walking out of here later, everyone able to smell you on him, drives you nearly insane.

When you pull back, he chases after you, his expression entirely dazed. He hisses when you cup him through his jeans, and you fix him with your best doe eyes, blinking up at him.

“Fuck me, Innie,” you purr, and he blinks twice, and then it’s like a switch is flipped, his one hand buries itself in your hair to pull you into a kiss while the other guides you backwards until you hit the wall. He presses you against it without parting his lips from yours, hauls one of your legs up to rest on the sink, the other only half on the floor, before he unbuttons his pants with one hand and pulls his hard, leaking cock out.

“Baby,” he breathes out, leans forward, rubs the head of his cock through your slick, “fuck, baby.”

You whine, pull him back into your lips, and he guides himself in, twin gasps falling from your lips when he pushes inside, the stretch of him so perfect, so familiar, your insides light up with raw need again. They always do, for him. He makes you feel insatiable.

He holds you close until he bottoms out, lets his head drop to the crook of your neck, kisses a messy trail up until he can nip at your ear, before he finally rolls his hips into you, and you whimper, making his hands tighten on you with a groan.

“Come on,” you mumble, impatient, needy, and he complies, pulls back and bucks into you so hard you choke on a gasp. “Ah, fuck, yeah, like that,” you whisper and Jeongin huffs out a disbelieving laugh before he pulls you into another kiss, one that soon turns into you panting each other’s mouths with every thrust of Jeongin’s cock inside of you, and you can feel your legs get shaky again, though this time you’re not sure if you can even stay on your feet enough for Jeongin to be able to hold you.

“Innie, can’t …” he fucks up into you hard, and you moan, your leg wobbling slightly, “can’t hold myself … my legs.”

“It’s okay, baby,” he mumbles, pulling out gently, shushing your whimper at the emptiness. “I got you.”

He stays close to you while he slowly guides your other leg off the sink, but when your knees buckle immediately, he’s not prepared and he only half catches you before you both unceremoniously land on the bathroom floor in a heap.

You don’t know who laughs first, maybe it’s you, giggling at his weird fall, both legs still stuck in his jeans, or at his startled expression as holds himself above you. Or it’s him, about how you looked when you went down, your eyes immediately crinkling with a silly cackle. But there you are, looking at each other and giggling together on the plush bathmat, legs tangled, faces flushed.

When you’ve somehow calmed down, Jeongin cups your face, gives you a smile that makes butterflies erupt in your stomach, before he leans in and presses his lips to yours again. It’s slow and playful at first, but before long your tongue is rubbing against his, needy whimpers fighting their way out of your chest and then his hard cock is slipping through your folds, and you grind your hips into it needily. He props himself up above you, his eyes locked with yours as he pushes forward, and you gasp when he’s hard enough that the head of his cock just slips in.

He slides in easily this time, fills you up so well like this that your legs come up to wrap around his waist automatically, heels digging into his ass, willing him to move. And when he finally does, you see stars, your breath punched out of you with every filthy press of his cock inside of you, the lewd, wet slide of it so fucking perfect. He gets on his knees, rucks your legs up higher so he can pound into you harder, the sound of skin on skin ringing through the room, and you scramble for purchase, hands sliding under his shirt, all over his shoulders, nails digging in so hard you know you’ll see the marks when he takes it off later.

It doesn’t take long before you can feel the telltale hiccuping of his breath, the faltering of his pace, the haze in his gorgeous, dark eyes.

He slips his hands between you and clumsily finding your clit. His hips slow, fucking into you so deep and hard you’re getting pushed up with every thrust, only held in place by his arm, his fingers sliding messily over your slippery, messy clit and that’s all it takes for you to tip over the edge again, your face scrunching up, back arching as you cum around him, the wetness and the rhythmic clenching of your cunt making Jeongin groan out loudly.

He pumps into you a few more times, wildly, deeply before he slams his hand into the ground next to you, buries his face in the crook of your neck, fucks his hips forward as far as they can go, and then he’s cumming, spilling ropes and ropes of his cum into you, his back muscles ripping under your hands.

It takes you a while to clean up, which isn’t helped by Jeongin trying to convince you to let him fall to his knees again and clean you up with his mouth. But before long, you stumble out of the bathroom, your make-up haphazardly fixed, his mouth haphazardly washed, the bathmat somewhat pulled back into place. But you know you’re not fooling anyone, their incredulous stares meeting you when you stumble down the stairs, holding hands and giggling.

“Next time, you can just go home to fuck instead of defiling my bathroom, you know?” Chan mumbles, a grimace of resigned disgust on his face.

Embarrassment warms your ears, but Jeongin just winds an arm around your waist, pulls you closer. You lean into his comforting warmth, trail your hand under his shirt, ghost your fingertips over his spine, and he shivers, barely noticeably, fingers digging into the skin of your waist. But his cocky grin doesn’t falter. He winks at Hyunjin.

“Sorry, ’t was urgent. Had to make a point.”

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i just sobbed. he's so perfectly homey it pains my soul.

ways he shows you he loves you ☆ kim seungmin

kim seungmin x gn! reader. a short, soft drabble. no warnings, just soft and doting boyfriend seungmin!! 363 words.

being loved by seungmin comes in many forms.

it comes in the form of chaste kisses during early mornings — when the grass is wet from dew and the room is blanketed with silence. when seungmin thinks he's the only one awake and places kisses on your face, each kiss as tender as his heart when it comes to you.

it comes in the form of a fresh mug of coffee awaiting each morning. freshly brewed, the aroma of coffee beans lingering in the air, along with the subtle scent of vanilla. the coffee's made just how you like it. seungmin's already at the dining table, flashing a small smile and a reminder of the importance of breakfast.

being loved by seungmin is stepping into a spotless home, floor freshly mopped and clean laundry neatly folded. vanilla candles lit around the house, the scent giving you a sense that you're home. during weeks when you're slumped with work, seungmin tries his best to ease your burden at home.

at times when things are hard, and everything hurts — seungmin's love is the warm water you soak yourself in, his fingers softly threading through your hair. it's the smell of peony all over your hair, as he gently massages your hair. it's the soft tone of his voice as he hums your favourite song.

seungmin's love comes in the form of rainy days spent inside. old movies, take-outs, sitting on top of him on the sofa. your legs are wrapped around his waist, giggling as you feel feather-like kisses peppered all over your face. he's cupping your face, and for every kiss on the face, a love confession is whispered. soft and tender — like it's meant for you and only you.

sometimes, his affection is laced in the way he waits by your office door, hands shoved into his pockets. you see it in his eyes as he smiles at you, bidding a hello and inviting you for lunch. at lunch, the affection is shown when he peels your shrimps for you, despite teasing you about no being independent.

kim seungmin's love comes in many forms, each form a wordless way of saying "i love you."

disclaimer — © 2023 hyunverse on tumblr. all rights reserved. authors works are protected under the copyright law. do not plagiarize or translate my works. tumblr is my only platform.

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