Latest Posts by valreifang - Page 3

hello you magnificent human being.

I see your requests are open and I’m always ready to send my ideas to capable writers haha

so: Seungmin + angsty angst + redemption + happy ending (bc I’m a weak and unstable bitch)

reader is pregnant, at the beginning maybe she knows, maybe not. Seungmin is having some existencial crisis (maybe he feels like he’s not living he’s youth as he should), gets distant, neglecting his relationship. he cheats on reader (maybe not, and it only looks like it), reader finds out, confronts him, he says some really mean words about her, the relationship, the baby. maybe (I know, tons of maybes, I have ideas but also want to give you freedom to write whatever you want! hahaha) he implies he doesn’t want the baby or mentions something about an abortion?

however the reader reacts, what he does after, the redemption and else is up to u.

I hope you like the idea as much as I do. happy writing🧚🏼‍♀️

Fractured Foundations | Seungmin

Synopsis: When secrets flow and hearts break during an argument, you are left wondering why you entered into this relationship.

Pairing: bf!Seungmin x fem!reader

Genre: Angst. So. Much. Angst. (But a fluffy ending!)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of drinking, implied cheating (he does not), arguing, mentions of Seungmin not wanting the baby, break-up This is a pretty triggering fiction, so if you need to skip this one, please feel free to!

Notice: No, I did not sob my eyes out while I was writing this; what are you referring to?! Nevertheless, my darling! Your suggestion is out of this world, and it broke my heart just reading it! The only thing I did not include was the idea of abortion just due to some past experiences of mine and because the topic is insanely controversial; however, I hope you enjoy the story all the same ! As I stated in the warnings, this fiction is one that is more on the triggering side, so please feel free to skip out on reading if you need to :)

The apartment felt cold, even with the heater on full blast. You sat curled up on the couch, a half-forgotten mug of hot chocolate cooling in your hands; your eyes were fixated on the little plastic stick on the coffee table. The two faint lines stared back at you, blurring slightly through your tears.

You should have been happy; this is what you have been dreaming of for so long - to start a family and have a minature you running around the house. Yet, all you could feel was an ache deep in your heart - one that had been festering for weeks.

Seungmin had not been the same lately, and you could sense it. He was not the boy who used to hold your hand under the table at crowded restaurants or sneak kisses when he thought nobody was looking. He was not the man who used to talk about the future like he could not wait to spend every moment of it with you. He was not the man who shared your dream of settling down and beginning a family of your own.

These days, he came home late, smelling like a mix of winter air, cigarettes, alcohol, and someone else's perfume. He did not touch you like he used to, and he did not look at you with the love he had once felt if he even made the effort to glance your way at all.

You tightened your grip on the mug, the ceramic bearing into your palms. The words you had practiced in your head over and over felt heavy in your throat.

How do you tell somebody you love that you are carrying their child when you are not even for certain that they still want you?

The sound of the door unlocking snapped you out of your consuming thoughts. You wiped at your face quickly as Seungmin stepped inside, his shoulders stiff and his expression unreadable.

"You're home," you commented softly, forcing a smile.

"Yep," he muttered, kicking off his shoes without looking at you. He walked past the couch, heading straight for the bedroom.

"Seungmin?" Your voice cracked slightly, and you hated how desperate it sounded. "Can we talk?"

"I'm tired," he stated as he stalled in the doorway, his back still turned to you. "Can it wait 'til tomorrow?"

"I don't think it can." You swallowed the lump in your throat, your fingers trembling against the cooling mug.

He turned then, his face annoyed and his eyes carrying a sharp, distant stare.

"What is it?"

The words were right there, ready to spill out. Yet, as you looked at him - the man you used to know better than he knew himself - you doubled down.

"I..." you hesitated, suddenly unsure. "I just want to make sure you're okay. You've been pretty distant lately."

Seungmin sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm fine," he replied. "Just stressed."

"About what?" you pressed gently.

"Work. Life. Everything and anything." He glanced at you then, his tone hardening. "And I certainly don't need you breathing down my neck right now, so just drop this."

Your stomach twisted, a painful knot forming in your chest. You wanted to cry, to scream, to break down and tell him everything. Instead, you nodded, your barely audible voice mumbling an, "Okay."

Seungmin disappeared into the bedroom, leaving you alone in silence.

For the first time, you had felt like you were truly alone.

---

The days that followed felt like they were unfolding in slow motion, each one darker than the last. Seungmin stayed locked in his own world, a stranger in the home you had built together. His absence lingered, even when he was physically present, silence replacing the laughter you once shared.

You told yourself to wait for the right moment to bring it up, to tell him about the baby, but the fear of his reaction gnawed at your gut. Every time you opened your mouth, his distant gaze or clipped tone shut you down.

The breaking point came one Friday night.

Seungmin had been out late again, the smell of whiskey clinging to him as he stumbled through the door. You were sitting at the kitchen table, a plate of untouched food in front of you.

"Seungmin," you called, your voice shaking slightly. "We need to talk. it can't wait any longer."

"Not this again," he groaned, leaning against the wall as he kicked off his shoes.

"I'm serious," you stood up as your hands trembled. "I can't keep doing this. You're never here, and when you are, it feels like you aren't. What's going on with you?"

"What's going on with me?" he repeated, his tone slurring out of frustration. "You're the one who's always picking fights here recently."

"Picking fights?" Your voice rose, anger bubbling over your previously meek demeanor. "I'm trying to save this relationship, Seungmin! You won't talk to me! You won't let me in!"

"Maybe because I don't want to, y/n!" he snapped, cutting you off.

The words hit you like a harsh slap; you stared at him, your heart pounding so hard you felt it in your ears.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm suffocating, okay?" He clenched his jaw, rubbing his temples aggresively. "This life we have? It's not what I wanted."

"Not what you wanted?" Tears blurred your vision as you took a shaky step backwards, nearly stumbling in the process. Seugmin exhaled sharply, pacing the small space of the kitchen.

"I'm 24, for fucks sake. I should be out living my life, not tied down to some boring routine."

"You feel tied down?" you echoed, your voice breaking. "Is that all I am to you? Some weight holding you back?"

"I don't know!" he shouted, his emotioned boiling over. "I don't know what I want anymore, but I do know that I can't keep pretending that everything is fine when it clearly isn't!"

The room fell silent, save for the sound of your muffled, shaky sobs. Slowly, you reached into your jacket pocket, pulling out the small ultrasound photo you had been carrying around for days.

"Maybe this will help you figure it out," you responded, your voice quiet, trembling even as you placed it on the counter in front of him.

Seungmin frowned, his eyes narrowing as he glanced down at the photo. When realization dawned, his expression twisted into something you could not quite discern - shock, confusion, maybe even rage.

"You're...you're pregnant?"

"Yes!" you replied, tears cascading down your face. "I found out a couple weeks ago, and I just went to the doctor to confirm it. I didn't tell you sooner because I knew, I knew this was how you were going to react."

Seungmin shook his head, a stressed hand clamped onto his forehead.

"This can't be happening."

"What do you mean?" you demanded, your voice rising several octaves. "This is happening, Seungmin. We're going to be parents, and you don't get to act like it's some inconvenience!"

"Inconvenience?" he repeated, his voice hard. "Do you know what this means? We're not ready for this! I'm not ready for this. I don't even know if I want-"

"Don't you dare," you cut him off, your voice growling with anger. "Don't you dare say something you can't take back."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to keep it."

The words hung in the air like a knife between you: sharp and unforgiving. Your breath hitched, your hands shaking as you stepped back from him.

"You're unbelievable," you whispered, pain prominent in your tone. "You know what? I'm done. You can figure out what you want without me here, because I'll be damned if I raise our child in an environment where I am treated like this."

Without waiting for a response, you grabbed your coat off of the rack in the living room, slamming the door behind you as you walked out.

---

You did not know where you were going, but anything felt better than the asphyxiating walls of that apartment. Your hands gripped the steering wheel as you drove aimlessly, hot tears streaming down your cheeks. The world outside blurred into a kaleidoscope of color. You could not stop thinking about what Seungmin had said.

"Maybe you should've thought about that before deciding to keep it."

The statement echoed over and over, each repetition cutting deeper than the last. You pulled into an empty parking lot and parked the car, burying your face in your hands as sobs washed over your body.

How had it come to this? The man you loved, the man you thought you would spend forever with, had looked you in the eyes and shattered every hope you had held onto.

After a few moments, the tears slowed, leaving you hollow and exhausted. You reached for your phone, scrolling through your contacts until you landed on a familiar name.

"Hello?" a groggy voice answered after the second ring.

"Changbin," you sobbed. "I need somewhere to stay."

---

The apartment was eerily quiet without you. Seungmin stood in the middle of the living room, holding the ultrasound photo you had left behind.

He felt horrible.

The anger and frustration that had fueled his words had disappeared, replaced by a sickening pit in his stomach. He had not meant to say half of the things that he did, but in the moment, it all came tumbling out.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" he muttered under his breath, sinking into the couch. He could not stop playing the look on your face - the way your shoulders had slumped, the tears in your eyes and anger in your voice as you left.

For the first time in weeks, he let himself confront the feelings he had been burying. The truth was, he was terrified. Terrified of losing his freedom, of not being good enough for you, and now of fatherhood. Instead of talking to you about it, however, he had lashed out, pushing you away when he needed you the most.

Seungmin stared at the ultrasound again, his thumb brushing over the tiny image.

'That's my baby.'

The thought sent a wave of emotion crashing over him, of fear yes, but also a deep unfamiliar sense of awe.

Yet, he was convinced he had already ruined everything.

---

Changbin greeted you at the front door in sweatpants and a hoodie, his face full of concern.

"What happened?" he questioned, his voice filled with concern but also tiredness. You shook your head, not able to speak without choking up. He ushered you inside, grabbing a nearby blanket and wrapping it around your shoulders.

"Take your time," he told you softly, sitting beside you.

The story spilled out in fragments - your fears about the pregnancy, Seungmin's distance, the fight, everything. By the time you had finished, Changbin looked angrier than you had ever seen him.

"That idiot," he mumbled under his breath. "I swear, I'm going to knock some sense into him."

"Don't," you replied quickly, your voice hoarse. "It's over, Changbin. I'm not going back." Changbin frowned but did not argue; instead, he pulled you into a comforing hug.

"You don't have to decide on anything right now. Just focus on taking care of yourself, okay?"

---

The next morning, Seungmin woke up to an empty apartment and a gut-wrenching sense of dread. He had tried calling you, but your phone went straight to voicemail. Panic set in when he realized he had no idea where you had gone.

It was not until later that day that he worked up the nerve to text Changbin.

'Is she with you?'

'She's safe. But don't plan on coming here. She needs space.

Seungmin sank down onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. You were safe, and that was all that mattered for now, but he knew that he could not leave things like they were.

The empty apartment was becoming unbearable; Seungmin missed the warmth of your embrace at night, the sleepy sounds you yawned in the morning, everything. Nothing felt right without you there.

His first attempt to fix things was impulsive; he showed up to Changbin's house unannounced, despearate to see you.

Changbin opened the door, his expression a mixture of disappointment and stifled frustration.

"She doesn't want to see you."

"I know I messed up," Seungmin responded. "I just need to explain-"

"You don't get to explain," Changbin cut him off. "Not yet, at least. You can't just apologize and expect her to forget everything that happened."

Seungmin faltered, shame washing over him.

"Then what do I do?"

Changbin sighed, his tone softening slightly.

"Figure out why you acted the way you did. Fix yourself, then fix the relationship."

---

Seungmin took Changbin's words to heart. For the first time in weeks, he had sought out therapy.

Sitting in the therapist's office, he struggled to put his thoughts into words.

"I feel trapped," he had finally admitted. "Like my life is moving faster than I can keep up with, and I took it out on my girlfriend." The therapist nodded, encouraging him to continue. "I think I'm scared. Scared of failing her, of failing the baby, of being stuck in a life I don't know if I'm ready for."

"That's understandable," the therapist gently assured. "But you need to know that running from your fears doesn't make them go away; it just hurts the ones you care about."

Seungmin left the session feeling lighter, though the weight of his actions was still pressing down on him.

He knew he could not fix things overnight, but he wanted to show you how serious he was about changing.

He started small, dropping off groceries at Changbin's house, knowing that you would not accept them from him directly. He began attending prenatal classes on his own, learning everything he could about what you were going through.

One day, he left a note for you with a small gift; it was a baby onesie that read, "I already have the best mom."

---

Weeks passed before you agreed to see him. You met at a park, the winter air crisp and cool. Seungmin looked nervous, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he approached.

"I'm not here to ask you to forgive me," he began, his voice steady but soft. "I just want you to know how sorry I am."

You crossed your arms, giving him a wary, "Go on."

He took a deep breath, his gaze meeting yours.

"I was selfish, and I let my fear and insecurities control me, and I hurt you in ways I can't even begin to make up for. You didn't deserve that."

"You're right," you replied quietly. "I don't." Seungmin nodded, swallowing hard.

"I can't change what I said, but I'm working on being better, for you, for our baby, and for myself. I understand if you never want to be with me again, but I'll always be here for our child. No matter what."

His sincerity caught you off guard. For the first time in weeks, you saw a glimpse of the man you had initially fell in love with.

---

The months that followed were not easy. You let Seungmin attend the doctor's appointments with you, but you kept your defenses up. Seungmin did not push; he showed up for every appointment, every class, and every moment you allowed him to be apart of. He listened more than he spoke, letting his actions do the talking.

One night, after a particularly long day, he found you sitting in the nursery, staring at the crib. You were far along at this point, about six or seven months; the realization of having this baby was finally beginning to set in.

"Everything okay?" Seungmin asked gently, leaning against the doorframe.

"It's just...a lot," you hesitated before nodding. Seungmin walked over, standing behind you and resting his head on your shoulder and wrapping his arms gently around your belly.

"I know, but you're not alone in this. Not anymore."

---

A few months later, you found yourself laying in the delivery room, clutching Seungmin's hand as your baby lay in the hospital's makeshift cradle just in the corner of the room. Seungmin's cheeks were stained with tears, his love evident within his expression as he walked over to the baby.

"I didn't think it was possible to feel so much love," he whispered, his voice breaking. You smiled through your exhaustion, watching as he gently cradled the baby for the first time.

In that moment, you knew he had changed.

And as he leaned down you press a gentle kiss to your forehead, you felt it too - the hope of a new beginning.

﴾ haunt me

pairing: demon!lee minho x f!reader

genre: one-shot, horror au, smut

word count: 11,2K

warnings: small!stalking ⋆ obsessive behavior ⋆ blood ⋆ hair!pulling⋆ ass!slapping ⋆ biting! ⋆ pain!kink⋆ choking! ⋆ small!fear play⋆ dom!leeknow & sub!reader ⋆ rough!sex ⋆ ass up face down!position ⋆ fingering (f.receiving) ⋆ oral (f.receiving) ⋆ cunnilingus ⋆ unprotected!sex ⋆ creampie!

summary: on Halloween night, you and your friends gather for a classic spirit summoning, eager to make the most of this tradition, unaware that you will be the one to face the consequences…

author’s note: this is actually the first ever thing I wrote here, but I forgot about it but now it’s finally seeing the light of the day

──────────────────────

The blanket around you did nothing for the coldness that seeped into your skin. Your teeth are still chattering, lips dry and nose runny. You should’ve known better, all of you. Your muscles are straining with every small move you make to get yourself a little more comfortable on the hard floor. Your eyes go over the room, finding only disappointment. The costumes, makeup and left over mess reminded everyone of how horrible the party was. You remember how excited you and your friends were. You all spend so much time getting ready, almost freezing to death while walking to the so called party. You looked forward to it so much and maybe you did have way too high of expectations. Everything was awful and mostly — it lacked the Halloween spirit.

Your attention goes back to the television, just as the lead character is being chased by the killer. Her screams pierce your ears, while you take a small sip of the wine in your hands. You and your friends decided to just rather go home and have a small party of your own. The disappointment was so great that none of you had an appetite for searching for another party. However the costume still wrapped around your body was telling you something different. Just watching horror movies and sitting in a costume didn’t fill the need of thrill you so needed.

Soft footsteps are heard, making you all turn, some in fright, thinking that something evil is coming right towards you all, but is just your friend Katherine. The soft light, illuminates her figure clad in dark, long dress, her nails glimmering as she lifts up something to show you. Firstly you only see what seems like a plate, but as another one of your friends goes to switch on a lamp beside you, all of you immediately realize what she was holding.

“Look what I got!” Her voice is chippery, but it holds a small mocking at the end. A series of groans and small sounds echo around you, while your eyes are still on the Ouija board in her hands. Your eyes go quickly over the letters and the planchette. Even with alcohol in your system, you are getting a really weird feeling from the piece of wood. It makes the hair at the back of your head stand up, shivers going down your spine. You are definitely not alone, because your friend Jade is almost trembling from even the thought of using such thing. Your hand falls on top of her messy hair to soothen her, but your eyes are still on the witch who rolls her eyes at her other friend’s noises. “Oh, common, it’s mandatory.”

The girl next to you shakes her head immediately, hand pointing to the board, making the others for a second silent. “You know what happens after using that thing, right?” You have to agree a little with her weariness. You have ever actually thought about talking to the death. Nothing made you believe something evil existed, but also you were not a sceptic. just nothing made you believe there was something more so far. Jade was scared of everything, so your friends didn’t take her warning so seriously and you have to huff softly at that.

“Well, yeah—“ Katherine shrugs, looking down at the Ouija board. “But also no, because I’ve never tried it.”

You watch her as she sits down on the floor before you, your other two friends circling around her to look closely at the wooden tablet. You too can’t help, but tilt your head at it. There were few scratches, dark smudges, but maybe it was that design. “Where did you get this?” You wonder, because you don’t think she has these kinds of things just laying around in her apartment.

She looks up at you, dark eyes peeking out from behind her neon yellow contact lenses. “The thrift store.” Some of you have to laugh shortly at her dry response, some too occupied by the board laying before you all.

“Are there at least instructions?” Wonders out loud your friend Hannah who sits across from you in her scary clown costume.

“Who needs them?”

It has to be the alcohol or maybe you were already getting tired, but as the television is shut off, lights switched off, you have this weird feeling on the back of your head. You scratch at the burning spot, distracting yourself for just a second by liting up some few candles. The flame gives you the small amount of warmth you so desperately need. You can still feel the coldness licking at your skin, but there was also this awful heat gathering in your chest. Were you nervous? Scared? A frown is plastered on your face, eyes never leaving the Ouija board, like the planchette would move at any second.

This uneasy feeling is not shared however, but still your friends seem to get a little quieter. All of you sit on the floor, the only light being the few lit candles around you and the Moon peeking behind the curtains. Was it the thought of doing something you shouldn’t that was scaring you? You refuse to believe that something in the shadows was peaking at you. The paranoia was eating you alive. Your frozen finger digs into your skin, pulse jumping rapidly and you have to remind yourself that it is all just in your head. None of you were touching it so far, however the sight of those scratches, dips and cravings on the board seem to pierce your soul.

You blink rapidly, smudging your makeup, because you have to sigh in exhaustion. You can’t remember the last time you were so paranoid and — scared. Maybe it is only because you have never tried it, but looking at your other friends they didn’t seem too into it. They still chatted between each other shortly, swallowing down the cheep wine. You look down into your own cup, swirling the liquid around as you can’t find the appetite to take a sip right now.

You are startled a little when someone claps their hands together, making your attention move to Katherine who rubs her palms together. “Are we going to do this?” Your eyes flicker to your scared friend, a little tipsier than before, so you are not too surprised by seeing her just nod in agreement. You do not protest either, putting down your cup next to you and outstretching your hands to the planchette that sits in the middle of the floor.

The silence is heavy, completely aware of the darkness wrapping around you, piercing your back. You try to ignore it as best as you can, shaking your head at yourself, pressing your finger lightly on the planchette. Nothing is heard for a second, all of you looking at each other briefly, before Amanda speaks up. “Is anybody here?” She calls out and her voice seem to echo around you almost.

Silence again, but you can’t help, but look around. Though you have to sigh a little when the same question is repeated. “It doesn’t work like that.” You say, cutting through the quiet.

Everyone turns to look at you and your friend can’t help, but raise a challenging eyebrow. “Okay, you try then.” Says Hannah.

You clear your throat a little, swallowing the invisible lump in your throat. The way you are becoming nervous is making you anxious. The blanket around you slips from your shoulders, the cold immediately kissing you. It felt like there was no layer left between you and the darkness. When you straighten your back, shuffling a little closer to the board, your fingers start to tremble. The small frown of confusion by your body reacting like this is visible, but you try to keep it together. Licking your lips, your eyes go around the room, before plastering your eyes back down. “We welcome everyone who wants to join us and if anyone is here, we would like you to make a sign.” You take a deep breaths between each word, not knowing exactly what is suitable to say in this kind of situation.

Your voice seems almost loud in the quiet room, but everyone seems to listen carefully to you. You do too, a little too hard, because the only thing you can hear for a while is your blood rushing in your ears. Your eyes are wide open, searching in the dark behind your friends. You don’t even know for what you are searching, but you feel like the answer is close. You have never talk to the dead, but you can’t say that people who do this are exaggerating. The waiting for something to happen is frightening and you think you have never been so on high alert over something that wasn’t even there.

“Could you maybe knock on something?” Asks Jade, her voice quiet, but in the room even a pin drooping could be heard.

“Or make that candle blow out?”

Questions fly across the room, though nothing happens for a moment. All of you look at each side of the room, your eyes however fall into the hallway where you were sitting next to. Nothing is seen, only those specks of light made by your eyes. However you swear you feel warmth coming from the end of the hallway. It was almost suffocating in a way, already thinking it’s just you, but then something does happen and you feel it yourself as very one else in the room.

“It’s moving….” Exclaims Amanda in shock, staring down at the planchette. Your own breath gets stuck in your throat, because you swear you feel the planchette vibrating under your fingers. Your eyes immediately trail over to your friends in disbelief. It moves subtly in short stops and you have to shake your head at it.

“Who is moving it?”

“It’s not me! You’re doing it!”

The voices of your friends fall to deaf ears. You don’t want to believe it, but looking at the frightened faces of your friends, you can tell that their reactions are completely genuine. Nervous feeling creeps up on you, watching the planchette travel over the board, before it stops at a corner. “Yes?” You say softy the word and you swallow roughly, eyes trailing over the room. You don’t want to believe it, but you are now left with no choice. “Is it yes that someone is here with us?” You ask again, listening carefully.

For a moment you only hear your friends’ whimpers of fear and your own heart in your ears, but then a small tap is heard behind you. Your head whips around quickly, your own gasp matching with the others as you stare with wide eyes at the window behind you. Only the Moon and swinging trees can be seen, nothing other than that. You turn back around to look at your friends, but your eyes fall onto something different.

The candles around you seem to rise, flame flickering and bending like something is blowing at them. Your own face of your fear, makes them look into the direction and few hushed curses are being shared across the room. “Holy shit–“ Says Hannah.

“Maybe you left the window open?”

“You know damn well that I didn’t, Jade”

You are not following their conversation again, lost in thought or to be honest you can’t even think straight right at this moment. Your face scrunches up, shivers going down your spine. You eyes widened again, freezing in your spot. The side of your body burns, it left like something was poking you, telling you to turn around. You can’t move however for a second, from the corner of your eye watching your friends panic over the planchette moving again, but you are not even touching it anymore. The thing that frightens the most is the feeling of someone’s eyes staring at your back.

Your head turns slowly around, body screaming at you not to, but something is controlling you, pushing you to look back into the hallway. The hot air rushes to your face and it wasn’t from the candles. When you finally turn to glance into the darkness, your blurry eyes from not blinking at all don’t see anything for a moment, but soon from the darkness appears a sphere, then it forms and forms till it turns into a silhouette of a person.

You gasp, breath getting stuck in your chest. It is eery, horrifying sight and even if you finally blink rapidly, like it was just your own eyes playing tricks on you, it only seems to get closer. It reaches for you and you want to pull back, but can’t. You watch the mass of darkness become fuller slowly, before you see pair of red beaming eyes forming out of it. You lips fall apart, a loud scream at the back of your tongue, but before it can fall out of you, the candles that you just now realized became even higher dim back down by blink of an eye.

The sound of the board being thrown across the room, makes you snap out of the trance, scrambling away, just like your friends. You are breathing hard, head turning to look at others who only have their eyes on the board in the corner of the room. And you at the moment realize in your frightened state that you have been the only one who saw the truth.

────

With every step, with every breath you took, your head would turn around. Paranoia seemed to follow you the moment you left your friend’s apartment and you hoped that was the only thing truly following you. You lived quite far, too late to catch the last bus, leaving you to walk your way home. However you were at least walking through the city and maybe you were just imagining the burning eyes at the back of your head. And if you weren’t, a look from a stranger couldn’t make you feel like this. Someone — something was sizing you up, following you, perfectly mimicking your movements like your own shadow and just as you though you caught it, turning around swiftly — nothing, only a crowd of people who didn’t even acknowledge your presence.

You didn’t either, there seem to be invisible to you and the thing following you that couldn’t be seen either however, had a strong sense of presence. Was there really safety in numbers? After a while, every little noise made you jump, laughter and occasional screams of terror when the unreal monsters jumped at someone, made your head spin. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe, like you already you have already considered, it was only in your head. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to try and talk to the dead and on this night specifically as everyone around you made your delusions even stronger.

You couldn’t breathe. Every time your feet moved faster, it seemed to be even closer to you. So close you that you could feel it reaching the back of your neck or was it just the wind? Your eyes trailed over the people. No one was looking at you, everyone minded their own, drinking the night away and crowding the small square. What if you and your friends decided to go here instead and not the party? What if you wouldn’t play with the board?

Your stroll slowed down to a full stop. It felt like whatever that was following you disappeared, but also at the same time seemed even closer to you. Just out of sight. You didn’t want to search for it, but something was telling you to do so. You stopped at the middle of the crowd, eyes almost like being pulled by a magnet stopping on a one specific place. The people walked through your line of vision before it become clear to you why you were so drawn to that spot.

There — right there, under the roof of a stand stood what it looked like a man by his slightly broad shoulders and short hair, but by the shadow which the roof casted on him, you couldn’t even get a glimpse of his face. However that wasn’t necessary. The way he stood…from his whole body radiated this menacing, evil aura that made your whole body freeze. Your breath was taken away from you, eyes wide, staring at the unknown figure. The same, almost even more intense wave of fear washed over you, it felt the same when you looked down the dark hallway. He didn’t feel like a real person, he felt like something way more than that. Something dark and hungry and it was staring right back at you. You didn’t see his eyes, but you just know. This couldn’t be real…

This couldn’t be real. Things like this don’t exist and if they did you feel like they would be more documented. You weren’t a true believer nor a sceptic, but you really didn’t feel like wanting to know the truth right now. He, it didn’t move and even by blinking, it didn’t vanish like you wished it would. It was probably just a person, a person with a really scary costume.

A gasp leaves you as suddenly someone elbows you. You turn to the person, catching there sneer and you realize that maybe standing in the middle of the street wasn’t a good idea. You looked stupid, but that was the least of your worries as you glance back at the man, only him being nowhere to be found. Were you just imagining things at this point? Maybe your fear was only playing with you. You ignore the weird occurrence as best as you could, deciding to continue heading back home. Your apartment was just few blocks away and at the thought of finally being inside your safe space makes you pick your pace.

The feeling of being followed doesn’t leave you however, but you keep your head high in a mock confidence, showing whatever this thing was that you are brave. You really weren’t much of an actress, because as soon as you reach the entrance door to your building, you rush to unlocked it, slipping in quickly, like the thing would just squeeze right through you. The doors slam shut loudly and you hope that none of the other residents won’t come to scold you. The more you walk your way up the stairs to your apartment, the more you don’t acknowledge the creepy feeling that someone is watching you.

Your apartment door shines brightly at you and you out of breath fumble with your keys. The satisfying click and smell of your home made you sight out in relief. You were so happy to be finally inside, greeting your cat who waited for you just as you opened the door. Your hands smoothen down her fluffy hair, sighing at her calming purring. Everything that happened flew over your head as you finally started to feel at ease. Like you thought — it was just your imagination, nothing more…

You weren’t one for drinking till you passed out, but you find yourself stumbling just a little as you pull off your shoes, already ruined just by a one night of walking. Making your way into your kitchen, you go to give some food to your fluffball who meowed at your every move and that sound really ease your racing heart.

Putting down the bowl on the floor, you watch your cat eating away for a second. You are lost in thought, though nothing specific was running through your head, just blankly staring into space. But just as you move to make your way to your bedroom, you saw something shift from the corner of your eye. Looking up, you however find nothing, but the dark corner of your unlight living room and at that your patience runs low. For yourself, because you can’t believe that you are making yourself see things in your own home where you are supposed to feel the safest.

You flip the light switch next to you, illuminating the room in subtle orange hue, your eyes still unmoving from the spot and still nothing was there. A sigh leaves you, but you refuse to say it was out of relief. At that you went to take your upper layer off, also fixing yourself something knowing that if you won’t eat or drink something, it will kill you in the morning.

You are exhausted, a heavy weight on top of your shoulders telling you to just lay down. In some way however you are still on high alert, maybe the aftermath of your own self scaring you. You thought about showering, but to be honest you didn’t have the energy to do all of your routine at this hour and also there is nothing for you to wash off.

You stumble again, but now over the bottom of your dress, catching yourself just in time with your hand on the doorway to your bedroom. The sheer, soft fabric is thrown on your bed, ignoring the mess all over the room. The corset around you didn’t suffocate you and you wonder what exactly is it that is making you lose your breath. Your hands fumble over your back, fingers just at the lacing of your top, but just before you can pull at it, you hear a noise.

It was loud and it momentarily makes you look back into the direction of your living room. You sigh shortly after, shaking your head at your own delusions. It was just your cat probably. However when you again go to pull at the string of your corset, you hear a meow right beside you, before you see your cat jumping into your field of vision on your bed. You freeze slightly, hands stilling. It is an old building, it makes noises all the time — it was nothing. You try to gaslight yourself by thinking it didn’t even happened, but then there’s even a louder bang! coming from behind you.

Your head whips around wildly, hair falling into your wide eyes that stare into your dark hallway. You feel your heart pounding against your chest and in your state of shock you are not quick enough to stop your cat from running to the direction of the noise. Your hands outstretch before you, in hushed whisper pleading your cat to come back, but her fuffy, long tail is soon gone from your vision. You hate the lump forming in your throat and the way your bottom lip quivers. That noise almost again makes you wonder if you imagine it, but then you hear it again, now in series of three bangs that echoed in your apartment. It sounded like knocking, mocking you to let whoever — whatever it was in, but what if it was already here with you? It sounded like the noises were meant for you to come in, get closer.

The noises weren’t the only thing making you frighten, it was also the way the air around you seems to drop in temperature. You immediately shiver, goosebumps appearing all over your body. But there was this odd warmness, starting right at the entrance of your open bedroom door. It was so appealing…

You finally take a step closer to the hallway when you hear another loud noise. The sudden realization that your cat might be in danger makes you take few steps further even with the fear you held in yourself. You hate her for it, but you are now only scared for her. You quickly look around your room for any kind of weapon, but you find nothing, realizing that your pepper spray was in your purse that you left on your kitchen counter. You just have to be brave…That’s what you try to tell yourself, while slowly making your way out of the room.

The darkness seemed deeper that when you went in your bedroom. It is intoxicating, heavy, it pierces your skin and stings at your eyes. Your lungs scream for air as you try not to breath at all, scared to even make a sound. Your light costume leaves you in very vulnerable state and it makes you wrap your arms around your stomach that grumbles uncomfortably. What if the thing you thought followed you was a man and he somehow got into your apartment? You don’t know if a man is better than an entity, but it certainly would make you feel less crazy. You hope that the knocking was mistaken, that it was only someone at your door. You have to tell yourself that there’s no way for someone to break in, because you locked the door immediately when you came in. However something at the back of your mind is telling you that you have the right to be frightened.

And you were to death, when you stop at the corner, living room just right behind a wall. Your eyes didn’t get use to the darknesss and looking at the threshold leading to your living room, you realized you weren’t going after light. You were only going down the path that seeped warmness, blazing hot, coming right from your living room. There was no light, the one you switched on was left that way, but now there’s not a single flicker of it peeking out. You listen carefully, for your cat or your intruder, but the sound of your heart makes your ears ring, so you had nothing, but your sight right now.

Your hand almost tears the fabric of your skirt as you lean forward a little, squinting into the room. A whiff of the same feeling washes over you again, making you pull yourself back with a choked sigh. It is the same one — like the one you felt while looking into the hallway, like the one when you saw the silhouette of the man and the same one that has been following you. Your eyes become blurry with tears, panicking, mind racing. You have no clue what to do. You have no weapon, your phone is in your kitchen and your keys…right beside the door to your apartment.

It is a bad idea, but if you would run through the living room quickly enough, you can get out. There’s still a chance that the intruder had your keys, so you ask yourself — are you willing to take the chances? Of getting caught by this…thing. You don’t want to leave your cat alone or worse with it, but if you would just make it next door to your neighbor, you can safe her and yourself. Your hand tightens around your skirt, picking it up and sprinting out of your hiding spot, but as soon as you do — you see him.

You choke, the sound bumbling in your throat, your eye staring straight at the silhouette in the corner of your room. Even in the dark, you can see it. The mass of darkness coming from him alone and the hot air suffocates you, just by looking into his direction. Tears stream down your face as you turn back to the direction of the door and back at the man, but then you hear a soft purring sound. Your cat is rubbing herself against the man’s feet and even if you are thankful nothing happened to her, you are terrified from seeing her so close to that man. Her white fur is bright and you almost come rushing to her, but as your eyes go back to the door, you run to that direction instead.

Your hand outstretches, reaches for the doorknob, even if you can see the keys glimmering before your teary eyes there was no salvation for you. You are turned around, roughly pushed to the door and a whimper of pain leaves you as your back meets the wood. Your mouth opens, ready to scream, but like he knew, his hand falls over your lips, silencing your cry for help.

Your teary eyes stare at the faceless person, eyes streaming down your face and pooling at his hand. You are held against the door, but not with his body, it was like your whole body had frozen over. You want to scream in fear, instincts telling you to just run, but you can’t move an inch. Though your body trembles, eyes searching, trying to get a view of this man. He didn’t feel real, his skin is hot, breath fanning over your face. You are starting to sweat from all the different temperatures, sobbing in fear as you hear his lips fall apart.

“Don’t scream.”

His voice is low, quiet yet strong. You don’t want to fulfill his demand, but the tone of voice — it echoed in your mind, repeating and repeating. His hand falls from your lips and you take in deep breaths, choking. You can’t even muster to scream, you can’t and you don’t want to, because he maybe will hurt you. “Please, don’t hurt me — don’t kill me.” You are shuttering over your words, choking again in your tears.

You can see him tilt his head at your pleas, standing right before your shaking body so casually it made you sick. He didn’t even try to do something to you yet and that definitely heightens the terror in you. You sob, crying and you gasping at the sound of him sushing you. You back pressed harder against the door, finally finding enough strength to move just a little away from him, when he leans just a little closer to you. “Where’s the fun in that?” He whispers to you, teasing you almost, amused tone in his voice. You look at him slightly confused, eyes blurry, still not knowing what this man looks like. You don’t feel at ease at his tone nor his words of small assurance. It is like he could see you, because you can hear the click of his shoes, stepping a little away from you. “I thought you wanted me to make myself known?”

You are left even more confused, before it quickly comes clear to you. You can’t — you won’t believe it. Those words pierce you painfully and with seeing him this much away from you, makes you immediately think of the silhouette you have seen following. This man could be just a man, but his words…back at the small seance you spoke them. A sharp intake is heard, shaking your head at the thought of this man being something more. The thought crossed your mind, but you actually never would think that it might be the truth. If it is — if this man is something from the other realm, haunting you, making you tremble in fear that it probably thrives in…you can’t – “No…” Your disagreement is quiet, heart beating wildly in horror as you look over the mass of darkness around him, evil. “This is some sick joke — you are just playing with me. Who’s behind his?” Your words are not making sense anymore to you, too many thoughts of how it could be possible leaves you thinking that it might be just a stupid prank, but no human could make you this sort of fear.

The man sneers, hissing like a snake at your words. It sounded like you just insulted him, gasping loudly when he makes a one big step closer to you and you swear your noses almost bump together. “Do you think your friends can do this?” He says, raising his hand, putting it right before your eyes. Your wide eyes stare at his hand forming into fist and by the act you see the light in your kitchen flickering with every subtle move of his. You look at him, finally seeing in the small flickers of light his face. You didn’t know what to expect, maybe a gross man or the devil himself with horns and a face of death, but you are certainly left speechless.

His dark, brown hair is slightly in his eyes. They shine, deep red at the corners that flicker with the light. Long and sculpted nose leads you to trail your eyes over his high cheekbones to his cupids bow and then his bitten, plump lips. This wasn’t a face of evil, he looked like an angel, no face that should make you feel terrified, but you can see it in his eyes. Sinister, holding evil as well as wisdom that you could never imagine or reach. Even in this small moment you had enough time to look him over, but as his hand closes into tight fist, the sound of the lightbulb shattering makes you fall back into the stage of horror. You can hear your cat running away from the scene and your tears recur, because you finally start to believe. “Do you think your friends could ever make you feel so frightened?” You shake your head, head spinning at what just happened.

He turned on the light with just his hand in the air, with just putting his hand into a fist he crushed it and you don’t want to know what else he can do. “I don’t understand…w-who are you?” You are hyperventilating, praying that is just your imagination again, but you can’t close your eyes and let him vanish from your sight. You need to see him.

“The better question is… what am I?” You are again shaking your head and it’s like he can see your thoughts, because he is making you say out loud what you have been thinking all along. You don’t seem him, but his lips lift up slightly for a moment at his own memory. “When you were playing with that Ouija board, do you know, that you opened the gates for anyone to go through?” A cry leaves you, just as the light in the corner of the room is light up with a flick of his finger. Your eyes stare into his amused ones and somehow you wished you didn’t have to see him. “You didn’t even closed it...”

Realization strikes you, your trembling stopping when you thought of your friends. What if they are also in danger just because of you? You would definitely wouldn’t be able to live with that guilt. ‘What am I?’ His words are the one thing on your mind right now. How much is he dangerous? He doesn’t even blink, doesn’t even breathe it seems, your eyes staring blankly at his face. “Oh, my—“ You can’t even finish the word as his hand quickly by a blink of an eye wraps around your throat.

You feel him squeeze his fingers in a warning, not quite choking you, but it still makes you gasp for air. “Don’t say his name, he can’t help you. You did this to yourself—“

“Are you the devil?” You wonder out loud and his whole demeanor changes, laughing drily at your question.

“I preciete the compliment, but no.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his weird behavior. You still fear him, but he doesn’t seem like he wants to hurt you at all. Maybe he already has you right where he wants, under him with his hand on your throat, playing with your life.

He maybe might not be the devil himself, but he still had those rings of fire around his irises. He is evil, you know it and evil always wants something. Like he said, you have done this to yourself and you have to pay. You know he won’t let you go, he didn’t stop following you from the apartment and even if you know who or maybe what he looks like, it doesn’t calm you down. You still know so little and you wish you didn’t have to know further. You are completely at his mercy and you are pulled back into the present when his hand tightens again, pulse jumping against his fingers.

“Just take what you want—“

He tsked at you, he now being the one shaking his head and you can’t move away from him or even fight against his strong hold as he makes you lean closer to his face. “Be careful with your words.” His upper teeth are revealed with how much he is sneering and it makes you look down at his mouth. His upper front teeth are bigger slightly, but they weren’t the thing that makes your heart skip a beat — his canine teeth were sharp as a razor and you wonder if his sneering is prediction of him maybe biting you, eating at your flesh. “I’m not the type of evil you’re imaging right now…” His voice is a little softer than before and you wonder if he can read your mind.

Then what is he? “T-then what are you?” You ask him, genuinely curious about his answer.

He lowers his head, your breathing stilling, leaving you speechless as he comes close enough to you that your lips are almost touching. “Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to find out yourself, like the big girl you are?” His breath words bounce off your parted lips, taking in his raw scent.

Heat pools over you, watching him pull away from you just to look back at your face. His words sounded suggestive and you hope your own mind isn’t messing with you. “You won’t hurt me?” Was he just playing with you all along? Just taking in the pleasure of seeing you scared?

“Not if you don’t want me to…I still have to take something.” His dark eyes fall over your body and you want nothing more than to cover yourself, because you realize at the moment how much your costume is provocative.

“Why? I didn’t ask for you — this.”

He tilts his head again, his eyes not holding amusement and you can feel the air thickening around you. “Did you now? Or were your drunk thoughts just speaking for you?” You breathe out, embarrassment making your skin hot at touch and you know he can feel it under his hand.

You are not sure if you wished for it, but it quickly reaches the surface. Your darkest desire of being taken over, filled with heat and pleasure…”Are you—“ You don’t even have to say it as he releases his hold on your throat, just to press his thumb on your bottom lip.

His touch is electrifying, addictive almost and your whole mind and body swirls for a moment. “A demon, that’s all what you need to know.” You almost nod your head in agreement, letting him trail his thumb across your lips, dangerously close to slipping in your warm mouth. You are puzzled by your own behavior, but you can’t fight it. The urge of him just coming a little closer to you, so you can feel more of him is strong. He can see it on your face and then there’s the subtle smile on his lips again, pouting and nodding at how much your body stops to shake. It certainly had an effect on him as wel, but the look on your tear stained face makes the hunger in him even bigger. “Or I could visit one of your friends…” He teases, though also too occupied by the feeling of his skin on yours.

“Just take me.”

You try to justify yourself, that you are doing this for them, but both of you know you want it — need it more. The fear is at the back of your head, forgotten almost replaced by the fuzzy feeling your mind is in. “Careful what you say.” He warns you again, maybe not to provoke him into doing something you didn’t want, but it flies over your head rather quickly.

His touch leaves you, but you don’t search for it as you are again left in small confusion. You know that you somehow wish for something specific, but you never thought it would come in this way. It makes you feel dirty, used already, but also it makes your nerve endings tingle. Desire for pleasure is normal for humans and you wonder how much he has seen them before. “Why me?” You ask him, surely you can’t be the only one on this night wishing.

“You intrigued me — your soul.” He says and his words hit you deeper than they should. “Calling for something to fill this hole in your chest. I can see into places that people so desperately try to keep hidden…tell me, are you hiding something Y/N?” You are taken back by the sound of your name, but you are aware that he must know you better than you know yourself.

“No…”

“Really…interesting.” The soft light creates shadows across his chiseled face, when he leans over you. “The moment I appeared…you didn’t seem so scared anymore. Does this idea of being used by a blood thirsty demon excites you?”

“No…”

The smile is tugging at your heart, a little eery in some way. “Then why can I smell your arousal from here?” You swallow roughly and you soon realize how much you have been pressing your thighs together. You can feel your slick coating your inner thighs, but the embarrassment doesn’t even reach you, because he looks like he drinks it all up. “I’m a demon of pleasure and desire, there’s no need to feel even an ounce of shame…” He is now reassuring you and his soothing voice is so different from the one you heard moments ago.

“But you’re a demon.” You state the now obvious and the statement should make you laugh in disbelief, but it only strikes you with a feeling you definitely feel shame about.

You feel the heat of his skin way before you feel the subtle touch of his hand on your exposed thigh. Goosebumps spread all over your body, swallowing your gasp at how pleasurable just this felt. “And a man still…” His fingers trail over the outer part of your thigh and your leg does jump away a little, but he was too addictive. “Doesn’t this idea of someone inhumanly powerful taking over your body and soul not excite you?” His voice is hushed and it feels so sweet in your ears.

You shake your head, though not doing anything to move away from him. “I won’t let you take my soul.” You can’t let him take the thing that makes you who you are.

“Maybe not…” Your eyes blink at him, head rolling back against the door as he straightens his back to tower over you. “But your body will be mine—“

You have now words, not even a sound leaves you, because you are left paralyzed when his hand squeezes roughly at the soft skin of thigh. Your wide eyes are staring into his, taken back by the bold move. He doesn’t have to hear any permission to touch you, it was all written right in front of him — all over you face, body and even your soul that you seem to be very sure that it will never be his. He has to wonder himself about how much this might be true, because you are responding to his touch like you have never been touched before. Just by his hand, playing with the string of your garter belt that held your white stockings leaves you gasping.

You are in trouble, you know, because you shouldn’t feel this much pleasure from the touch of a demon. However you already feel your body succumbing to him, just like he wanted. His hand travels under the thin layer of your skirt, dipping right into the mess you made of yourself. A sound leaves you unknowingly, head empty as he moves your thighs apart. The skin of your inner thighs is raw from how much you have been pressing your legs together, but you find yourself not caring anymore. With every breath you take, his hand trails higher and he bites his lip at how hot you feel against him.

His eyes travel across your face. Your eyes are barely open and he thinks he has never seen someone so away from their own mind by his moves. And obsessive, disgusting feeling washes over him, watching you sigh out in bliss as the tips of his fingers finally press over your covered clit. Your back arches a little, breasts pushing against your tight corset and he marvels over your barely covered body. “Who are you?” He asks you. You are dirty, thinking that wearing something like this in public is proper. His nature rages at the thought of anyone else seeing you like this.

You are slightly puzzled by his question, because the feeling of his hand right between your thighs is already too much for you to handle. “Christine…from Phantom of the Opera.” You response, eyes blinking open at him, just as he starts to form circles over your twitching clit.

“Adorable.”

Sharp moan flies out of your mouth, when he suddenly pulls the material of your underwear to the side. The air kisses your cunt, but it soon is warmed up by his fingers again. You are horrified of yourself right now. Why are you enjoying this? You have to remind yourself who and what is touching you, but you think nothing ever felt better. You have never made yourself and definitely not anyone else almost fall apart just by running your fingers through your folds. He is looking at you so intensely, you want to quiver. “Already this wet?” You can’t feel any shame in you and it is definite that he is making you feel like that. Should you be thankful? He is giving you sheer pleasure, circling your clit directly, after pushing the hood away from it. “Just like that, huh?” You don’t have any response for him, only whimpers of euphoria. “How long has it been?”

Your head rolls back, gasping at his touch. He knew your body better than you. Rubbing just at the perfect pace to make you crazy, pressing hard enough for your hips to buckle. Saliva gathers in your mouth, listening to the noises of your dripping center. You are so lost already that the only thing that makes you wake up is when his movements come to a stop. “What?” You say more because you didn’t want him to stop, looking back at him with big eyes and you realize he just asked you a question.

He leans closer to you, head falling on top of your shoulder so his lips are right beside your ear. He doesn’t really like to repeat himself, but being so responsive to him, he will let you do it once. “How long has it been since someone touched you?” With his question, his fingers travel down, right to your hole.

His breaths hit the sensitive skin of your neck and you have to swallow back a moan when his pointer finger just barely dips inside of you. “Long.” You confess in a whisper.

He smacks his lips, pressing them against your neck so you feel every word that comes from his mouth. “You poor thing, such a pity, but don’t worry—“ He is looking at you again, hand leaving you, making you whine a little and he can’t help but smirk a little. “I will make you feel things you have never felt before.”

With his promise, his hands find the back of your thighs, before he lifts you off your feet. You yelp from how smoothly he does it, pulling you up into his arms and you have no choice, but to wrap your legs around his waist. You are shocked by his strength, not used to being picked up so easily, staring at him with wide eyes. He doesn’t look away from you, even if he walks with you to your couch, not even when he lays you down on it. You feel special in this moment, drowning in the thought of him wanting you, but still his nature is not forgotten. He is made like this, he lives from the pleasure of the other.

Your head falls on the armrest, looking up at him looming over your body. He is already consuming you with his eyes alone and it feels delicious, but it sends a small sense of danger. His eyes flash red under the soft light, body clad in dark clothing perfectly contrasting with yours. Your hands are still in the air, fingers just barely grazing over his broad shoulder, but he soon leans closer to you, letting you hug him again. You feel small, vulnerable and weak, but you don’t want him to know he was right about you liking this. But, oh, trust me that he knows…

His hands grip the fabric of the couch, coming closer to you, placing his lower body right between your parted legs. Your hands seem to push him away from how bashful you have become and he surprises by not entirely rushing you. His head falls next to your neck again, slowly trailing his lips over the skin. Your breathing is formed into short gasps at his wet, soft kisses, eyes falling shut for a moment to savor the feeling. He can smell your perfume, sweat and even blood and it makes him groan quietly, kisses turning rougher, just to get closer to you. “Is this it? Is this all that you want?” You say, shivering still from his own sound.

His lips still for a second, but he doesn’t move away. “Is this what you want?” He now asks you.

You know, you don’t have to think much about your answer, but you still pause for a second. Your fingers twitch on his shoulders, legs closing around his and is it even necessary to give him an answer? The only thing you do is pull is head back down your neck, rolling your head back to give him more room, you are too embarrassed to say it out loud. He lets you, he is letting you have your way a little too much he thinks, but he can’t refuse the offer of your delicious neck.

His tongue licks a long stripe up your pulse, making you moan loudly when he starts to suck all over your neck. His bunny teeth nip lightly at your skin, fighting the argue to just bite down. He feels your nails digging into him, while he moans with you, enjoying just the taste of your skin like this. However the strong scent of your arousal is playing with his head, growling at the thought of eating your cunt. He can picture your face of ecstasy and shock all together. He would suck you all up, fuck you with his tongue and you coating his face in your pleasure.

You are shaking at how rough he nibs and sucks at your neck, the small fear of his sharp teeth piercing your quickly forming into pleasure. But before you can feel it, he releases himself from your neck to slide all the way down on the ground to kneel before you. His sharp movements always leave you in disbelief, your senses not quick enough to keep up with him. You pull yourself up to your elbows, watching him put his hands on your thighs, making your skirt pool at your waist.

Your legs are already trembling, knowing your pussy is left uncovered by his touches, but his attention is still fully on you. “White looks good on you, you almost make me feel bad that I will ruin it—“ The ‘you’ is silent, but the smirk is just a small reminder of what he is capable of.

When his eyes fall down to your cunt, he can’t help, but groan. He maybe is the one living of pleasure of the other, but what he is about to do to you is mostly for him. He doesn’t waste any time, he is inpatient and you as well as he can see from your fluttering hole. He doesn’t trail kisses over your thighs, nothing soft, nothing that you don’t want and when he pulls on your underwear, tearing the fabric he is sure that this is what you really want. It stings a little, the fabric snapping against you, before it is thrown away. His head fall between your legs so quickly your hips jump, clit hitting his nose and hard. Though even if you wanted to apologize, he didn’t seem to mind it at all, only letting his mouth fall open to suck at your folds.

“Oh…” Comes out of you, hand flying over your mouth from the feeling of his blazing, hot tongue running all over you. He spits and drools, saliva mixing with your slick and pooling right under your ass. Your hips keep jumping from the sheer and sharp pleasure. Your clit burns as it is caught between his lips. You are shocked by how quickly you feel yourself on the edge.

His head tilts back, releasing your bundle of nerves with a pop to run his tongue over your labia. Your clit twitches in need, mewing, just as he opens his eyes to stare right back at you. You can’t look away from him, from his red irises, his mouth wide open to catch every drop you give him. The pleasure and pain from his grip on your thighs forms into something else — something you haven’t felt before. You didn’t even know that just by someone going over your lips with their tongue felt so good. You swear you have never been this sensitive and he looks like that he knows exactly how to push you. He doesn’t need any guiding, nothing — he is a true man.

You can’t stop your sounds, the pleasure so good, you think you need to run away from it just to catch your breath. He doesn’t let you, his one hand pressing down against your lower stomach, preventing you from trashing around as his other goes to your hole. When his two fingers breaches you, a silent scream leaves you, your own hand flying to his to stop him, but you are already falling apart. Heat, waves of nonstop pleasure wash over you and your ears ring. Your mouth becomes dry, whimpers turning into cries, because you are sure you are going mad. You didn’t want it to end so soon, you wanted him to stop, to feel more.

Your whole body shakes wildly, the skin of your thighs jiggling around his head. You try to catch your breath while your orgasm is still washing over you, siting up to grasp at his hand. Your mouth is open, eyes now filled with tears, pleading and he watches you in your full glory. “I’m not stopping.” He says, words you so desperately needed to hear vibrating against you, fingers scissoring in you.

You immediately fall back down in relief and you can feel his crazed smile against you. The orgasm is none stopping. You don’t know if it’s because he isn’t stopping or if it was just him, but it is a out of body experience. Your hands press against your eyes, moaning wildly as his fingers pick up speed, tongue not stopping to move your clit up and down. He suck just perfectly, curl his fingers just right and doesn’t stop to take a breath nor to change position — he knows what he is doing. You push your legs up to your chest slightly, wrapping them around his head and the sight is to die for.

His eyebrows are furrowed, hand on your stomach searching for yours to put it in his hair. You instantly run your fingers through his soft hair, before tugging roughly and the deep growl that seems to make the whole room shake, sends you over the edge again. It is stronger, more burning and even painful and he eat it right up. You go silent again, eyes rolling into the back of your head and you pull his head with you also. You do hear him release himself from your messy, puffy cunt, just to watch you fall apart again. You don’t need him to help you ride out your orgasm, it was too good to not let it take over your whole being again.

The taste of you is on his tastebuds, licking at his lips hungrily, before crawling over your body. Your skin is hotter, almost like his and his cock pushes painfully against his pants at your drunk state. You looked beautiful…he needs to have you now. His hand moves your hair away from your sweaty face, making you finally open your blurry eyes. “Kiss me.” You say, hands pulling at the hairs on the back of his neck.

You haven’t seen much emotion on his face before, but this felt unnatural. It was just a split second, but you saw it — disappointment. “I can’t.” He says, shaking his head. His eyes held longing, but he makes you forget about this whole moment by kissing you on your collarbone.

You sigh, pressing your chest closer to him, just as he begins to trail down the valley of your breasts. “Can I at least have your name?” His lips wrap around the soft skin of your breast, sucking it in his mouth.

You hiss, pushing at his head. He sucked a little too hard, maybe telling you something by his action, but before you can question it he glances at you back again. “Minho.” He tells you his name, looking into your eyes as you repeat it softly back. You stare at each other for a moment, you moving around a little and just by it you graze over his bulge. Your leg stops in middle of his legs, gaze still unmoving, even if you press your thigh against him. It makes him hiss and you gasp a the sheer size of it. You can see your own desire reflecting in his eyes and he just couldn’t wait anymore.

His hands fly over to his belt, watching you watching his hands as he works to unbuckle his pants. You are holding your breath as he stands up to push down his pants. Your legs immediately press back together as you finally see him. Your lips parted, drooling almost at the size of his cock. Thick, long, veiny, a little curved just to hit those spots deep inside of you with an angry red mushroom tip covered in cum. You are breathing heavier from just the thought of him splitting you open and ruining you for everyone after him.

Minho is breathing through his nose to take in the smell of your emotions, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt and when you sit up, pulling down your skirt, he marvels over the sight of your body covered just in corset and stockings. You looked heavenly funnily enough. When he pushes his shirt from his shoulders you sigh at his muscular body — he was simply perfect. “Turn around.” He demands, voice so low you almost do a double take and when you don’t do immediately as he says, he just does it for you.

He moves you down the couch, turning your body around so your face is pressed into the cushion. Your ass raises in instinct and it grates you a smack across your right cheek. You cry into the couch, the soft skin rippling under his eyes. Then it’s his cock, slapping against you, before laying it flat between your asscheeks. “Fuck, look at that, I’m gonna split this little pussy apart.” You moan back at him, already hazy from just him humping against you teasingly. “Think you can handle it? Oh, you will, all of it—“ He is basically talking to himself right now, already drunk on you.

You are a little concerned, you have never taken something so big, but the thought of him not fucking you dumb is making you whimper like a bitch in heat. You don’t even recognize yourself. You press your ass back at him and Minho only slaps you again, but he finally at that guides his cock to your entrance. The sight of his precum mixing with yours is sending him over the edge, not believing that you are letting him fuck you raw, even if he sees it in the back of your mind. It makes him pull your head back roughly, wanting to watch you crumble on his cock.

You watch him from the corner of your eye, seeing the wild look in his eyes, pretty lips forming into ‘O’ as he finally pushes his tip inside of you. Just that is already too much, but you subconsciously push your hips back at him, swallowing another inch. He lets you adjust, because the way he will fuck you — you will need it. With only hallway through you already feel full to the brim, him already pressing against your cervix, but he is determined to fit all in. He knows you can do it and just after few moments, your ass is finally perfectly flush with his pubic bone.

Your walls suck him right in, wet, warm and soft. He wonders if he is the one being enchanted right now. His hand trails over the string of your garter belt again, loving the way it digs into your ass from how much you arch for him. Minho leans over you again, making him press into you even deeper and he sharply exhale at his tip basically breaks your cervix. “Feel that?” His hand falls down to press at the bulge on your lower tummy. “I’m in your fucking stomach that’s how fucking deep I am—“

“M-Minho—“ He enjoys his name falling from your mouth so much that he accidentally pushes a little too hard against your stomach. To his surprise you only moan louder, hips pushing against him. An open wide smile stretches across his face, watching you move your ass against him.

Your movements are put into stop rather quickly as he pulls out, before pushing into you again with a deep, long thrust. Your mouth is wide open, drooling on the couch already. You feel an abnormal tingling sensation, with his every move of his and with everything that happened that led to this moment it felt worth it. Your pussy molds into a form of his cock, making him smoothly pick up his pace. His one leg on the couch and the other on the ground gives him leverage and with the first sharp thrust of his, you both moan, the sound perfectly mixing with the wet slaps of your skins.

It’s not soft or loving, it’s hard. cock pushing with every move even deeper into you if it’s possible. You are too far gone to do anything other than to take him, your own hand pressing against the bulge in your stomach. It’s sickening how much you enjoy feeling his cock run into you under your hand. Minho has to hiss with every trust in your swollen cunt, hands pinching at your ass and pulling at the strings digging into you. “So g-good— ah!” Your face buries back into the couch, when he snaps at the string, skin burning.

Minho is literally going mad, thrust so harsh, that the couch rocks a little under you both. You can’t believe how much you enjoy feeling pain mixed with pleasure just like he enjoys doing it. The sight of your ass bouncing, hands tearing the material under you and mostly your sounds — he knows that he has to have you someday again. His hand pulls at your hair again, not even missing a beat as he pulls you to his chest. You can’t hold yourself on your own and he helps you rather kindly, with his hand on your neck again, but now he is not being gentle. “Fucking look at you—“ He laughs at your fucked out face staring up at him and he knows he is not looking any better. “Ever thought you would enjoy a demon cock this much?” You choke around the hand on your throat, legs shaking under you. He needs to see more of you, all of you. So he quickly pull out of you, not missing a beat and turning you around to lay you on your back again. You can’t even grumble, because he is inside you back again and the view you have is better than you could’ve asked for.

You don’t say anything, when he rips through the front of your corset, tits spilling out and bouncing immediately with his none stop movements. He spits down right at your nipple, making you gasp at how sensitive it is, feeling his thumb smear the liquid all over you, marking you. Your own hands dig into his hard chest, droopy eyes catching his, before he goes down to your neck, now biting roughly. It makes you arch your back, his sharp teeth piercing you and it doesn’t even hurt half as much as you thought it would.

Moaning, Minho licks at the small drops of blood, eyes rolling back into his head at your sweet taste. Everything about you was so fucking sweet, he can’t believe his own luck right now. Your nipples catch on his, letting you hug him close to you and with the trembling in your legs, he knows you are nearing your orgasm again. “I-I am close—“ You can’t even voice out your words with his rapid moves, feeling yourself drip down on the couch. Your clit rubs deliciously over his pubic bone and with you walls spasming you can feel him twitching inside of you, knowing that he’s getting close too. You just need so desperately something to get you over the edge, something that would make this experience even better and soon those words are spilling out of you. “P-please….kiss me.” You whimper in his ear.

Minho pulls away from your neck, seeing small smear of your blood on those plump lips. “I-I can’t.” He repeats the same words to you and you can’t help, but cry.

“Why?”

“It will tie us together, a kiss will ties us together and you will have to be mine forever.”

He is loosing himself, never he had thought about kissing someone, but yours lips — so perfectly bitten and definitely sweet as every part of you are calling his name. You hear his words, you realize what he is saying, but why would any of you want to end this so soon?

“I want it, I truly want it, Minho—“ Your hands press against each side of his flushed face, his eyes wide, going between your eyes and lips, before he finally leans in.

The whole room around you seems to be set on fire around you, tongues tangling around each other. You taste yourself on his lips and mostly him. You are moaning into him, biting down on his lip, like he did to your neck and he groans lowly when your own teeth breach his skin, mixing your blood now with his. “I’m yours—“ You mumble between kisses, just as you fall apart on him, squeezing him. Minho can’t help, but smile into the kiss, hips stilling as his cock swells, twitching inside of you. He fills with his warm cum, not stopping at kissing you. He will be here every day and every night like this for you and for himself, for eternity, because he found something more pleasure than anything else he ever knew.

And that was you.

THE BREAK UP BUSINESS — EP. 1

[ an advent calendar series ]

— contains adult content, minors do not interact 🔞 —

[ abstract ]: He breaks up relationships, professionally. Lee Minho is the man people call when they wanna end things with their (not so) better half but don’t have the guts to do it. But this Christmas time everything changes, when he receives an offer from his former best friend and college roommate who needs desperate help to break up with his fiancée—you. However, this complicates everything. After all, you’ve been the only person that’s ever made Minho believe that true love might actually exist. So, what happens when you take the delivered message about the break up not so well and Minho—feeling guilty—offers you a place to stay, all while pushing away the feelings he’s had for you for years?

[ general ]: minho + fem reader, childhood friends/enemies → lovers, non idol au, best friend’s ex, demisexual reader, angst + fluff + smut, sunshine x grumpy, she falls first but he falls harder

[ warning ]: break up, mention of infidelity

[ words ]: 2.6K

[ note ]: here’s the first part for my advent calendar series! I hope you guys enjoy. The huge excitement when I announced my story made me so happy (but also nervous ngl) so: enjoy! And let me know what you thought about the first episode by commenting, reblogging or sending an ask my way 🩵

[ !! ]: the beautiful dividers are from @saradika-graphics

Minho decides to not hit the snooze button yet another time, when the alarm starts ringing once more. What a start of the week. He desperately would have needed another hour of having his eyes closed but there’s no minute left for that.

Sitting upright on his king sized bed, he swings his feet to the ground and gets up. When he finally blinks a few times and takes in his surroundings, he notices the red leather purse that’s placed on his huge sofa in his studio apartment.

”You’re still here, Tanya?” he asks, hearing his own voice echo into the distance.

There she is, already freshly styled and in a new outfit, reaching for her bag, “What do you mean, Min?”

She looks confused. Like she usually does when Minho asks weird questions like this. They’ve been dating for some time, so why is he speaking as if he wants to get rid of her?

“I’ve got a work appointment in less than an hour. I should get going. I wasn’t aware you’d stay here for so long,” he tries to save his ass but only makes it worse.

The blonde woman scoffs, “So, what? Am I an inconvenience for you? Good morning to you too, Lee.”

She grabs her jacket, already on the way to the door.

“Shit—wait, that’s not what I meant. It came off weirdly, I’m sorry. You mean so much to me,” Minho replies, running after her, as he reaches for Tanya’s hand.

She raises one of her eyebrows. “How much?”

“Very much,” he instantly replies. Because that’s the truth. At least he thinks so. He enjoys spending time with that woman, so why make such a huge fuss about it? Isn’t that all that counts?

“So much that you still haven’t introduced me to any of your friends, huh?”

Ouch. Right. 

“I’ve explained it to you…” he says, sounding like a broken record to the woman whose hand he’s gripping onto right now.

“Yeah, Minho. And I’ve been patient,” Tanya starts again. “For way too long. I can’t do this situationship type of thing. You’re a great guy and I thought it was worth it to give it a try despite your commitment issues–“

“I don’t have–“

She sighs, “Are you lying to yourself now?”

“Sorry,” he says, his voice dropping quiet.

“That’s all you ever say, Minho. That you’re sorry. But your actions don’t show it. Last night was the last chance I gave you,” she explains to him.

He looks at her bewildered, not quite getting it. Now Minho is the confused one. “Last chance? I wasn’t even aware of that.”

Tanya chuckles, “That’s always what it’s like with you men. You didn’t see it coming.” She takes a deep breath. There’s no bad blood there, but she’s tired of it. “I’m not mad at you—maybe a bit, for wasting my time. Which is why I have to go. But I hope if you find the woman that’s worth fighting for so that you will man up and do so.”

“Tanya– wait!”

“Don’t. Have a nice day,” is what she says, her voice gentle, before Minho hears his front door close.

Fucking hell. What a start of the week. It’s only Monday. Minho pushes the sadness and all his feelings away, as he’s done for the past 26 years. Even though he just ended something that could have become so serious if he didn’t have those commitment issues. He’s gotta get himself together—there are a bunch of customers waiting for him, ready to get what they ordered.

So, that’s the irony, to explain a bit of context here. Minho basically has turned his weakness into his passion and career. Similar to Batman—but whereas the rich superhero saves the city, Minho basically destroys it. Okay. That’s a bit harsh. He only breaks hearts, professionally.

What does that mean?

Well, Minho works for a company that does the dirty jobs no one wants to do. They’re the ones you call when you—for whatever reason—aren’t able to end a relationship on your own. Minho will do it for you—visit your (still) significant other, deliver that message to them, offer a bit of empathy, and go to the next appointment.

He’s been doing this for a little over two years now, after he’s decided to start all over again and it’s going great. Minho is the most successful in his team, ending a couple of relationships per day. Seoul is a big city and there seem to be a lot of unhappy people that would rather have someone else send those awful news than do it themselves.

Jokes aside—there are situations in which it’s better for safety reasons to call a professional like Minho. The Break Up Business (they could have been a little more creative there) will also do the aftercare. A huge basket full of chocolate, awful romantic movies on DVDs (retro), tissues and whatever one asks for to get them through the next stage of their life.

It’s already noon and time for his lunch break, when Minho has saved a woman out of the claws of her possessive (now ex) boyfriend, called out a serial cheater and ended a relationship between two more couples that just didn’t know how to communicate.

When he’s done with his caesar salad and the iced americano, he receives a call from his boss.

“What is it?” he asks, listening to the man at the other side of the speaker.

“I’ve got another spontaneous job for you. I’ll send you the address, alright?”

That’s also how it’s gonna be sometimes. Usually, Minho meets the part of the relationship who wants to end things first, discussing everything with them. However, from time to time, there might be a job that one of his colleagues has already started and for schedule reasons he needs to finish it. It’s less work but also a bit more complicated to really get into a case this way. But he's gonna ace it anyway.

Minho takes a quick glimpse at the information and data his boss sent him, when he notices something. Weird. He’s heard of that street before. He remembers that his former best friend thought about moving there and even visited an apartment for sale.

Why is he remembering this?

Well, Minho has always compared himself to Hyunwoo ever since they became roommates in college. The slightly older one used to be way more charismatic, bringing home women after women, while still succeeding and being year’s best in school.

Minho has never had issues with that life—he’s kind of become this way nowadays too, having strangers sleeping in his bed over and over again—but a very certain detail makes his stomach do a little twist.

Chill the fuck out. It’s just the same street. This doesn’t mean that Hyunwoo is the customer.

Until he reads further.

Customer: Choi Hyunwoo

Fucking hell. The thing is—it wouldn’t be much of an issue if his former roommate didn’t start a relationship with a very certain someone. A person whose heart  Minho does not want to break. After all, they destroyed his own little feelings years ago, without even knowing.

You.

The only woman he’s ever loved, cherished, imagined a serious future with. Until she decided to go out with his roommate instead because Minho was too much of a coward to be straightforward and honest when he knew he had the chance.

Shit. First Tanya breaks up with him and now a person from season 3 of his life returns to season 5. This can’t be real. And it’s only Monday.

And when Minho reads further, all his assumptions turn out to be true.

Partner: Y/L/N Y/N

He can’t do this. He can’t deliver a message of heartbreak to you. But Minho also has never cancelled a job offer. This would look very bad and he knows his boss has high expectations especially when it comes to him.

Minho knew this was gonna come back and bite him in the ass one day.

When he reaches your apartment building, luckily the door downstairs is opened, so he can just crawl up the stairs and get ready for his misery. The irony yet again. You are the one who’s gonna have their life changed in less than a minute and Minho is projecting it onto himself. But it’s the first time it feels as if he’s actually breaking up with someone and not just delivering a message.

The door swings open and he notices your smile fade away the second you see him. Gosh. You look even prettier than two ago when he last saw you. You’ve got your hair and nails done all prettily, wearing one of those illegally tight skirts that would make him go crazy even back in college.

Minho and you have known each other for a long time, getting way back to middle school, which makes his emotional attachment to you worse. Especially since that man has commitment issues and this is a foreign terrain for him.

“W-What do you want?” you ask. No hello, no greetings. But he doesn’t blame you. After all, you ended things on not so good terms.

“I’m…” he begins, his words getting caught in his throat. Shit. This has never happened to him. He’s so utterly nervous. “Can I come in?”

“Why?” you ask, looking at him confused, “Hyunwoo is at work, he won’t be back until the evening hours.”

Yeah I know. I read his case file. He’s already got someone else to stay the night with that’s been going on for some months but I’m gonna spare you the details.

“It’s… not related to him,” Minho lies.

And then, suddenly, your whole demeanour shifts.

“Shit. Did something happen? Something with your mum?”

Fuck. The fact that you’re instantly getting worried about his family makes him feel like an even bigger asshole. Why the hell is he doing this to you?

But it’s his job. He’s got no choice.

“Can I come inside?” he asks, ignoring your questions.

“S-Sure.” You let him in and tell him to sit down on the couch in the huge living room. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“It’s fine, thanks,” he declines.

Your apartment is beautiful, although a little pretentious but he knows Hyunwoo’s taste a lot.

“So, what’s with mum?” you ask now, referring to his mother. But you’re close to her too—after all she’s best friends with your mum—since Minho and you have known each other for over ten years.

“Nothing. I’m here for something else,” he admits.

“W-What is it then? Minho, you’re starting to scare me…”

He throws his head back, showing off his adam’s apple and it does something unholy to you that you’re way too ashamed to admit.

“I’m here because of Hyunwoo,” he confesses.

“I told you he isn’t there,” you state, looking at him confused. God, can all women stop looking at him like this?

“I know. I’m delivering a message from him,” he starts again.

“What are you now? A pigeon? I don’t understand this,” you try to handle the situation with humour.

“I work for a company called The Break Up Business and people call us if t-they want to end their relationship. I’m here to tell you that Choi Hyunwoo doesn’t want to be with you anymore,” he runs over his own words, blurting them out as fast as he can. Usually, he’s much more charismatic with that.

“What? Are you kidding me? It’s not even April Fools day,” you tell him.

“I’m sorry.”

You scoff, “No, you’re not, Minho. You’ve actually never been sorry for anything in your life. I know you too well for this.”

Ouch. That hurt. Although you might be right.

He reaches for a package that’s placed beside him, “I can offer you a basket filled with–“

“Shove that up your ass, Lee.” You laugh in his face because what else are you supposed to do?  “Why the hell are you the one delivering that message? Why can’t Hyunwoo end things like an adult with me?”

You’re not gonna break my heart again. I’m over you. That’s why I started dating your roommate in the first place.

“Fucking shit, six months before the wedding. What a prick,” you sigh, speaking to yourself but you know that Minho is still listening. It’s probably part of his job. What a weird career path he’s chosen there. He might as well have ended up on a reality TV show instead.

“We offer–“ he starts but immediately gets interrupted.

“I don’t care, Minho. I’m not in a state to function right now, as you can see. I’m sure you’re familiar with these things, regarding you’re doing this professionally. I didn’t know you’d become so low.”

Ouch. That was personal. That was some hidden resentment that’s bubbling up like a volcano from within. But Minho is used to way worse reactions—objects being thrown his way, being yelled at until his ears hurt, having to call the police in a few cases.

“I understand that you’re angry. You’ve got every right to be,” is what he says—a typical customer service phrase that won’t get him in any legal trouble but serve the bare minimum of fake-empathy.

“Did he even give a reason?”

He realises now—that’s the first time you’re actually asking for details on the break up. So far, you’ve complained about Minho talking to you or Hyunwoo’s timing but not the situation itself.

“He did. He’s found someone else,” Minho states, telling you what he’s read in the case file.

“Cool. Cool. Cool. Yeah, no doubt. Kinda saw that coming, but I’ve always been blind I guess,“ you say, pushing your glasses a little higher on your nose.

“Again, I am really sorry. If you ever need help or someone to talk to–“

“That someone is definitely not you,” you spit back.

Minho takes a deep breath, pressing the palms of his hands together. “We have professionals. Here’s a list of phone numbers and mail addresses you can contact,” he says, handing you a piece of paper.

“Okay,” is all that makes it past your lips. “Can you please go now? I need to pack my shit and see where I’ll be staying the night.”

“Right,” he says, handing you another sheet, “we’ve booked a hotel room for you. You can stay there for the next night and then you’re asked to leave the apartment since it’s under Choi Hyunwoo’s name.”

Minho sounds like a robot.

He’s never thought he’d break your heart some day. But Minho is blatantly unaware of the fact this isn’t the first time this has happened. After all, you wouldn’t be in a position like this if he made the right decisions a few years ago.

“I’ll… I’ll see you again tomorrow, for another appointment regarding the moving out process,” your former childhood frenemy informs you.

“You’re gonna be there too? So your company does everything to ruin people’s lives?”

Nothing new for Minho and you. After all, he’s the one who was constantly picking fights and annoying you during middle and high school, then became friends with you in college just to walk out of your life again. You’re used to it by now.

“We will help you find a place to stay. You don’t have to take that offer. But we’re here,” he explains.

“Oh, I will. You’re the one who put me in this situation so you’re gonna find a solution for me.”

And perhaps there’s a slight chance that you want him to stay in your life for a day longer now that he’s back.

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Minho announces, before he leaves the apartment.

When he’s out the door, he feels tears pricking on his lower lashline. Fuck. He should have just told his boss to give that case to someone else.

But on the bright side—he’s got you back. You’re single. He’s single.

What if–

Shit, slow down. You wouldn’t give him a chance anyway, right?

© leeknowsallyoursecrets 2024 — copying, stealing or translating my work is prohibited

THE BREAK UP BUSINESS — EP. 9

[ an advent calendar series ]

— contains adult content, minors do not interact 🔞 —

[ abstract ]: Minho takes you on a business meeting where you meet one of his fellow colleagues and his boss. Caught up in the mess inside your head, you start flirting with the mysterious man—especially when Minho’s eyes are on another woman.

[ general ]: minho + fem reader, childhood friends/enemies → lovers, non idol au, best friend’s ex, demisexual reader, angst + fluff + smut, sunshine x grumpy, she falls first but he falls harder

[ warning ]: jealousy!!!, smut [ includes fingering (f rec), semi-public, praise, reader gets called baby, darling and good girl ]

[ words ]: 2.5K

[ note ]: the updates are slow but I hope you’re still interested in reading. enjoy my dears 🩵 I hope you like this cameo of another skz member 🤭

[ !! ]: the beautiful dividers are from @saradika-graphics

“Thank you for the spontaneous meeting, everyone,” the man with the muscular arms speaks greeting everyone. No, you’re not objectifying him but you just noticed. You’re just a woman after all. A woman that’s still going through a rough heartbreak that can’t think straight at this point anymore. “And also a ‘hello’ to everyone else attending.”

He looks at you, making eye contact and you’re immediately drawn into his gaze. Gosh, you’ve really hit rock bottom. But can you blame yourself?

After all, you woke up next to Minho once again, who was clinging his body against your back, skin to skin, and after you met him in the kitchen he pretended as if nothing happened. Perhaps he doesn’t notice. But two mornings in a row? You doubt it.

For a second you wonder if it’s weird that Minho dragged you to this business conference with him but he just told everyone you’re his assistant and he’s not the only one sitting here with another person together. You realise that his company has a lot more female employees than you would have expected and you wonder why that’s the case. Well, you used to work in different fields of customer communication too and usually it’s a women dominated field, but that break-up-business-thing… you only expected men to be so soulless to work for a company like this.

“How’re the statistics going?” the man asks again and starts a conversation. Everyone is handing in their data that’s showing off their huge success—at least that’s what they call it, you still find it pathetic. You don’t care if anyone calls you a goody-two-shoes with a stick up your ass, but you can’t imagine yourself working a job that does more harm than it brings good to this society. Maybe you’re naive, yes, but sometimes you like that about yourself. It’s what’s kept you positive over the years of growing up.

“Mr Lee is once again ahead of all of us, well done,” the man next to him with the squishy cheeks is speaking. He looks a bit like a squirrel and now you can’t unsee it. Dammit.

“Han, don’t make me blush. I’m just very ambitious that’s all.”

And I’m close to throwing up.

You’ve always known that Minho has an ego as big as Antarctica but he could have toned it down a bit, huh?

“Absolutely,” the man in the front, you realise now he might be the team’s leader, replies, “that’s why he’s our best employee. You can all learn from him.”

“Thank you, Chan,” Minho says, sounding actually thankful for once. “We could go out after this, drinks on me?”

Wow, that’s very spontaneous and not very Minho-like.

Wait.

Does that mean you will go with them?

God, you’ve always thought Minho was an introvert just as much as you are. For a second you contemplate texting Soyeon and asking if she wants to spend the evening with you instead, but then you remember she’ll be on a date with her new boyfriend Felix. Shit. If you don’t wanna get bored inside Minho’s apartment—which is at the other side of the city—you’re gonna have to go with them. If he even wants you there.

“What are you waiting for?” your childhood friend asks you.

“What?”

Your gaze darts up, meeting his awaitening eyes.

“You’re coming with us. Here’s your coat,” he explains, handing you the jacket and helping you inside it.

You don’t notice it but Jisung—the squirrel guy—stops in his tracks and observes the sweet little gesture his colleague does for you. Giggling a little, he brushes it off and leaves the conference room.

Half an hour and a limousine ride later, you find yourself inside yet another posh bar—what a surprise—sitting around a huge table with Minho and all his coworkers.

“You’re Y/N, right?” the woman sitting next to you asks. “Minho has told us so much about you.”

She seems nice, hair blonde hair falling over her shoulders and she carries a bright smile on her face. “Yes! O-Oh, really?”

“Only good things, don’t worry,” she reassured you. “I’m Yuqi by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“So, you’re all working for the company?” you ask her and she pours a bit more water into your glass. You thank her, watching her take a sip from her red wine.

“Yes! I’m doing the same job as Minho and Jisung. Jeongin, the guy over there,” she points at a man with fox-like eyes who waves in your direction, “is my assistant, so he’s basically in the same position as you. Oh, and Chan is our boss but I’m sure you already know him.”

You don’t. And you wonder now if it’s weird.

When you hover your eyes around in the room, you notice that the woman sitting on Minho’s other side is caught in a conversation with him. Quite a deep, focused conversation. She’s even throwing her arm around him, pulling him closer.

You’ve never thought about it but… what if Minho is dating someone?

He’s never been the type of relationship kind of guy. In addition, he’s been sleeping in a bed with you for the past two days just because you’re feeling lonely.

Perhaps he just views you as a little sister at this point. You wouldn’t be surprised. He made that very clear that he’s not interested, when you poured your heart out to him and he never replied to your confession years ago.

Maybe she’s his girlfriend. She’s beautiful, almost looks like a doll. You wouldn’t blame him.

He leans over, whispering a joke into her ear and she laughs out loud, covering her mouth.

Fuck this.

You notice the sound of footsteps behind you, as a man is tapping Minho’s shoulder.

“Hey, can I talk to your assistant alone for a second?”

His assistant?

Wait. That’s you.

Minho catches a quick glimpse of you and you nod. “Yeah, sure.”

Fuck. He realises now that Chan must be confused. Yes, they’ve been friends for some time and since Minho is his best employee he usually lets him decide things on his own. However, it’s common that when an employee hires an assistant, this person has to be introduced to the boss first before starting their job.

Minho watches you get up from your seat, utterly irritated from the sudden situation and the flirting session he’s been focusing on for the past five minutes. Yuqi sends you a reassuring look and gestures two thumbs up, before you follow the team leader to a separate room.

“Don’t worry. It’s nothing serious. I just haven’t had the opportunity yet to properly introduce myself. I’m Bahng Chan,” he starts.

You smile, “Nice to meet you, Mr Bahng. I’m Y/N.”

“Oh, please, call me Chan,” he chuckles. “It’s fine. I’m not your boss, you’re working for Minho after all.”

“Y-Yeah, I am. For not that long yet,” you explain. Fuck. You hope you’re not gonna get Minho in trouble for anything you might be saying.

“Yeah, I figured, but you seem to have a big influence on him. At least from the customer reviews of these last few days.”

Shit. Yes, you might have been successful with crashing the wedding but the day before that you… kind of messed up.

“I’m… I’m sorry if something wasn’t meeting your expectations, Sir,” you try to phrase it as sensitive as possible.

“Sir? Stop with the honorifics, Y/N. It’s all good,” he emphasises. “I think that a little backlash and a not so successful experience is good for Minho too. His ego…”

“Oh, yeah. He’s got a lot of that,” you finish his sentence.

Chan laughs along, “You get it. As the team leader it’s my job to organise everything and guarantee that all employees get along, you know?”

“Yeah, I understand that. I used to work in a position similar to you, in customer communication,” you inform him.

He tilts his head, “Oh, what happened?”

“I… quit the job. It’s silly now looking back but I wanted to become a stay at home wife. Until my fiancée called off the wedding not that long ago,” you tell him the short version of how your life broke down to its pieces.

Chan’s eyes are widening, “Fuck, I’m sorry. Truly sorry. My fiancée ran off at the altar a couple of years ago.”

“Fucking hell, that’s even worse, Chan,” you reply.

God, this must be more terrible than the shitshow that you’ve been going through.

“It’s okay,” he says, “otherwise I would have never started this job and found all those wonderful people you know?”

Hm, some type of revenge story? You don’t blame him. Maybe this job they’re doing isn’t as evil as you thought it is.

“You’re right.”

“I mean it,” he repeats. “Even if it feels as if your whole life might be falling apart right now—that’s because your new life is waiting for you.”

Those words stick with you. It makes sense. Your new life is gonna cost you your new one.

“Thank you for this. Seriously.”

“Maybe it’s what I would have needed back then,” he adds, shrugging his shoulders.

“Well, from a neutral perspective, you seem very happy and stable,” you compliment him.

“Thank… you?”

“Gosh, I didn’t mean it in a weird way,” you tell him

Chan chuckles, “I know.”

“Did you… find love again?”

Is it weird to ask him that? Well, this conversation started off strong on the oversharing part on both sides, despite not knowing each other so who cares?

“Not yet. I’m not looking for anything serious right now, as cliche as it sounds,” he explains. “What about you?”

“I’m confused. You know, that man, my ex fiance, I really thought that it was the right decision despite knowing he’s not… the one. This sounds so sad and I’m yapping and–“

“It’s okay, Y/N,” the man reassures you. There’s something about his soothing voice and the glitter in his eyes that gives you comfort. Not in a way that Soyeon or Minho do, but it fits the occasion.

“I’m… utterly confused,” you repeat. “I think… it’ll take time, maybe some distraction to get him off my mind and actually grasp and figure out what I want in life.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Chan says, letting his mouth speak faster than his brain can grasp his proposition.

You raise one of your eyebrows, “An idea?”

“I could help you with the distraction part,” he offers, licking his lips.

“I’m–“

“Oh, God, I'm sorry if I overstepped your boundaries,” he immediately pulls back his words.

Well…

The thing is, you do find him attractive. And maybe that’s what you need right now. A little meaningless intimacy to close that chapter.

“N-No, it’s just, I usually don’t do this casual thing, but maybe it’s a good idea to do it with someone I barely know,” you tell him.

It’s not rational. And it doesn’t need to be. This is future-Y/N’s issue to deal with.

“You wanna come with me?”

“Yes,” you say, placing your hand on his tie and he grins back at you.

“You’re so beautiful, fuck,” Chan whispers into your ear.

He’s got your spread out on the bathroom counter, your thighs apart and his fingers playing with the hem of your very much soaked underwear.

“Don’t… tease,” you tell him, a moan slipping right between those two syllables.

“Be a bit more patient, baby. I’m gonna make you feel good, I promise. Get your little head away from all those worries, yeah?”

He slips his hand under the fabric, only pulling it to the side, not bothering to take it off. Then Chan’s fingers are brushing your wetness, spreading your pussy lips apart. His thumb is grazing over your swollen clit, smooth circles stimulating your bundle of nerves and it works. In that moment, you’re only thinking about the sensation right between your legs.

“Please,” you whisper and he continues with those sweet motions.

“You’re doing well for me, darling. Such a good girl,” he praises you.

When Minho allowed you to live with him for an unknown time, you thought that the two of you would get close again. But you remember how he ruined everything back then so why should things be different now?

Yes, the first thing that came to your mind was the idea of Minho being the next and hopefully last man to touch you, given the fact that you’ve never entirely gotten over him, but you also know that your mind is too much of a mess right now to let that happen.

If you ever get close again then it must come from the heart. No distraction. No revenge. No other motifs thrown in the mixture.

“R-Right there,” you say, when Chan slips two fingers inside your hole at once, curling them a bit to search for that sweet spot and finding it.

He picks up his pace, rutting into you land you’re caught in trance. So much, that you almost don’t notice now your purse falls down and everything inside is now splattered on the bathroom tiles.

“Shit—we can grab that later,” you say.

Chan nods, but when he catches a quick glimpse of all the items that aren’t inside your bag anymore, he comes to a halt—seeing your ID card.

He immediately pulls out, licks his fingers clean and licks up the plastic card.

“Y/L/N? Your full name is Y/L/N Y/N? Fuck, I’m such an idiot and an asshole,” he immediately hyperventilates, “how have I not noticed?”

“W-What do you mean?” you ask, very confused to say the least.

“Your Minho’s childhood friend aren’t you?

“Yes,” you say.

Chan closes his eyes and throws his head back. Regret is washing all over his face. “We should stop this. I’m sorry, I’ll never touch you again.”

“Chan, I don’t get this. Why… what’s going on?” you ask.

Is this some… bro code? But that wouldn’t make any sense. You’re not Minho’s girlfriend and he’s made it very clear in the past that you’ll never be either.

“I can’t tell you much but… it feels like betrayal,” he explains.

“Why? It’s not like Minho and I have ever been anything serious.” It’s not easy speaking those words out loud when your heart still aches after all those years.

He gulps. “Let me help you put on your clothes again.”

You allow him that, still, you don’t stop the conversation. “Talk to me, Chan.”

He sighs, “I can’t, okay?”

“Is Minho in love with me or something?” 

Chan doesn’t answer. He doesn’t answer.

“He is, isn’t he?”

Chan takes a step back, before he scoffs, “The fact that you’re asking this when he talks about you behind your back as if you placed the stars in the sky should tell you to get new glasses.”

“Hey, that was mean,” you laugh out loud.

And then you grasp it.

Is it true? Or is this just some weird way of turning you down?

“I’m right, though,” he repeats. And despite not knowing Chan quite well, you believe him.

“Yeah, you are,” you whisper, standing on your feet again. “Fuck. I… I think I should go back or… go home. With him.”

“Use condoms, yeah?” Chan teases you.

“Thanks for… the talk,” you say, before you reach for the door knob.

“Anytime, Y/N. It was nice to meet you nonetheless.”

© leeknowsallyoursecrets 2024 — copying, stealing or translating my work is prohibited

♡torturé pour l'éternité - Han Jisung

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: author! Jisung x fem! reader

summary: you've been hired to clean for a tortured writer who never leaves his office. Angry and antisocial, can you find a way to soften his hardened heart?

warnings: alcohol mentions, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, emotional

a/n: I decided to go a different way with the arranged marriage trope and I hope you guys like it!

Somewhere deep in the French countryside lived a man. A mysterious, troubled and misunderstood man. He often felt overwhelmed by even the most basic human interaction. So overwhelmed in fact that he isolated himself away from the world. The world that never seemed to want him.

Through his pain, he wrote. He built worlds with just the flick of his pen. Han Jisung.

You were hired just a week ago by Jisung's publisher to clean his home so he could “focus solely on his next novel” as she do elegantly put it. When you first started cleaning, you noticed that the house was a mess, not just your typical bachelor pad mess, but a mess of someone who had given up on life. Dishes piled up in the sink, clothes were thrown all over the floor, and ashtrays were overflowing with cigarette butts. You would clean for a few hours and leave. Once a day, every day. But you had still never seen him, the illusive author.

One day after a few hours of cleaning, you finally finish and decide to take a break, sitting down at the kitchen table with a glass of water. That's when you hear the creaking of the stairs as Jisung descends, his footsteps slow and heavy. He appears in the doorway, looking tired and worn out. He rolls his eyes at the sight of you. "You're still here," Jisung mutters, his voice dripping with displeasure as he looks at you sitting at the kitchen table. He enters the kitchen, his presence filling the room with a palpable tension. "I thought maids were supposed to be invisible.”

Your eyes take in the sight of a someone that was more ghost than man now. He swirled a glass of whiskey in his hand as his eyes scanned you up and down. “I'm sorry Mr. Jisung,” you started, “I'm almost done here. Would you want me to make you something to eat?”

Jisung scoffs at your suggestion, his eyes narrowing. "You think I need you to take care of me?" He pulls out a chair and sits down heavily, his gaze never leaving yours. "I've been taking care of myself just fine without you." He pauses, his jaw clenched.

You stir at his sharp words but swallow hard as you stand and make your way to the sink to continue washing the dishes.

Jisung watches you with hooded eyes, studying your movements in the kitchen. Despite his initial hostility, he seems unable to completely ignore you. After a moment of internal struggle, he speaks, his voice slightly slurred, “who hired you anyway?”

“Your publisher. She wants you to focus on your writing. How is the novel coming?”

Jisung's expression darkens at your question, his fingers drumming impatiently on the table. "It's fine," he bites out, clearly annoyed at the intrusion into his writing routine. He glances at you disdainfully, his eyes lingering on your appearance before looking away. You continue to scrub away at plates and cups. You have a kettle on the stove for tea and you had opened the window to let some fresh air inside. His curiosity piques as he observes you diligently washing the dishes, ignoring his rude behavior. He finds himself wondering why you're so insistent on taking care of things that aren't your responsibility. He swigs his glass of whiskey, his mind racing with unanswered questions. As you finish up the last plate, you wipe your hands clean and turn back towards Jisung still seated at the table. “I'm finished for the day, sir.”

He looks up at you, his eyes slightly unfocused from the alcohol, but there's a hint of something else there - confusion, perhaps even a flicker of interest. "You're... finished," he repeats, as if testing the words. He hesitates, the whiskey making him second-guess his usual cold demeanor. He opens his mouth to dismiss you, but instead finds himself asking, "Have you eaten?” You smile softly at Jisung's hint of kindness and turn towards the fridge. “I haven't eaten yet, but I made this turkey sandwich for you. We could split it?” You set the plated sandwich down on the table. Jisung's eyes widen slightly in surprise as you place the sandwich in front of him. No one has shown him this kind of consideration in a long time. He stares at the sandwich, then back at you, his expression unreadable. “Why... would you do that?”

“Because, everyone deserves kindness.” You answer gently. His eyes betray a brief flash of something raw and vulnerable - something that quickly turns into irritation as he covers it up. "Don't act like you actually care about me. You're just here to clean my house," he snaps, though there's less bite to his words than before. “Yes, sir.” You giggle softly to yourself as you grab one half of the sandwich and sit down at the table with him.

He finds himself sitting across from you, sharing a sandwich like it's the most normal thing in the world. He can't remember the last time he shared a meal with someone, let alone sit in silence without feeling uncomfortable. He steals glances at you as you eat, his mind racing.

The next day when you return, you start your cleaning routine in the living room first. A location that has not seen light or laughter in quite a few years. You work on during first, clearing cobwebs in every corner you can reach. The sound of cleaning downstairs disrupts Jisung's writing once again. He grits his teeth, annoyed at the interruption. A part of him wants to yell at you to be quiet, but another part is almost curious. He stands abruptly, stalking to the balcony overlooking the living room. You pause your cleaning for a moment as if sensible Jisung's presence in the room. You turn and look up at his slender frame pressed leisurely against the balcony railing. His eyes narrow as they meet yours, trying to maintain his usual cold demeanor despite the warm flicker in his chest at the sight of you. "Keep it down, will you?" he shoots back, but his voice lacks its usual venom. "When will you learn to be quieter?” You hold back another giggle as you too try to keep your composure. “Yes, sir. I'll be quieter.”

Jisung watches you clean and move around his house. A warmth to you that he's never experienced before. As days turned into weeks, he found himself sitting in the living room while you cleaned. He would read a book out loud to you while you wiped windowpanes and dusted the fireplace mantle. You would ask him about himself, where he grew up and what his favorite season was. It was all so simple. The two of you together was like love but Jisung knew that “I love you” could not properly portray what you had done for him. He would spend years writing the exact words to express to you what love truly was to him now. You had found him and save him. And he could never thank you enough for that. But he would spend each day telling you that you were, without question, his long awaited love.

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star @minh0scat @kibs-and-bits @minhosgirlposts @firelordtsuki

sucking him off

he's tired and he can't seem to sleep. still high on adrenaline so you decide to ease his body...

-contains mature themes (this is very fluffy and hyunjin is so babie)

touring around different countries, across continents and having to perform for 3 hours nearly every two days was exhausting.

watching as hyunjin plops on the bed after reaching the hotel after the macau concert. seungmin and jeongin deciding to go live while hyunjin makes an appearance. staying for some time before he returns back.

sitting on the edge of the bed, quietly watching you cook some instant cup noodles for y'all.

he sniffles, sighing loudly and you can't help but laugh at his almost puppy like behaviour. turning around to see him flat on the bed. laying on his back with his legs spread apart. bathroom slippers hanging off his feet funnily.

"m'tiredddd" he groans, stretching his arms up. rolling his head around in the soft pillow.

bringing his hand down to pat his tummy. making all sorts of disgruntled noises while he lifts his legs up and drops them down. letting out another sigh.

continuing to press his lower abdomen with a firm hand. breathing slowly. he looks so calm, it makes you want to give him the world.

he's exhausted. but he can't fall asleep. adrenaline still rushing in his veins. still hyper from the concert yet too tired to even have energy to get up.

"..jinnie"

you mumble sweetly, deciding to give him something to relax. or maybe you just needed to calm yourself down after seeing him lay down in such a seemingly sexy way.

"mh- MH?!" he hums. going higher in pitch when you sit between his legs.

pressing a kiss to his inner thigh. taking him by surprise. neverthess he stays still, sinking deeper into the mattress. pressing kisses over his covered crotch.

"b-baby" is all he whispers, lifting his hips up for you to tug his tracksuit pants down just enough.

the cardigan he had on, exposing the tank top he was wearing underneath. exhaling as you fiddle with his waistband.

pulling it down to wrap your fingers around his hardening length. never failing to always surprise you with how pretty his dick looked. (i believe hyunjin has the prettiest most beautiful elegant dick and you cannot convince me otherwise)

smiling to yourself at how he pats his stomach in anticipation. cardigan sleeves so long that only the tips of his fingers stick out.

placing a small kiss to the tip, tasting his slick on your lips. so you sweetly circle your tongue over his weeping slit. body tingling with how loved you were feeling.

"m-mh babyyyy"

hyunjin drawls. voice cracking ever so slightly. absolutely strained after singing. you glance up at him. only seeing the underside of his chin and his heaving chest.

sticking your tongue out to lick a long stripe from his base all the way up to his tip. taking him in your mouth with a relieved sigh.

god, you loved thus man so much that you dreamt of doing this just to ease your mind.

"s-shit just like that"

moaning softly. goosebumps rising on his skin when you slide your hand underneath his tank top.

earning a surprised little squeak at your cold fingertips. thoughtlessly you suck on him. eyes closing with the pleasant weight on your tongue. warm and heavy.

breathing out shakily from your nose. his bigger hands sliding on top of yours. interlacing your fingers while you place wet sloppy kisses all over his dick.

looking up to see his chest heave. throwing his head further back and whining.

"cumming! c-cummi..."

hyunjin groans. squeezing your hand. feeling him twitch in your mouth and you take him deeper.

moaning your name sweetly while he cums harder than ever. legs closing around you. arching his back with a long drawn out whine.

you swallow. tasting the thick white slick that fills your mouth. sqeezing his hand reassuringly.

when you do lift your head up. his eyes are struggling to stay open.

making grabby hands at you sleepily.

"hold me, baby"

he whispers, grinning happily when you lay on top of him. kissing him on the cheek.

.

.

.

.

.

.

i love this liddol dumpling

"Forever"

✰—-summery: seungmin has been realizing that he wants a forever with you. Honestly in whatever way you’ll have him. And maybe little domestic things like kisses on cheeks, lacing fingers a shared lived in home and a big ass ring on your finger, but now so overcome with love, he’s coming to realize he also wants to breed you. He knows no kids are on the radar for now… but a guy can have a fantasy right? And a guy can dream right?

✰--- approx: 30 min read

✰--- A/n i really have noting to say. I’m gonna continue my smutober series in the coming couple weeks yall trust 🙏🏼I have a few more smut fics that I’ll be getting to over the next couple weeks so think of it as an expansion of my lil smutober;)

✰— warnings/info: kissing, smut with sort of a plot ig, cursing, fluffy lovey dovey, tooth rotting fluff basically, breeding kink, raw fucking (do as I say not as I do wrap before u tap yall) ummm sex dream? As always bad spelling. Think that’s it

~this is simply a piece of fiction. My imagination onto “paper.” This is in no way is mean to be taken as an actual and real representation of anyone.~

if you don’t have an age indicator saying you’re not a minor in your blog then I will be blocking you! So minors dni!!

•••••••••••••••••••••

Seungmin can't count how many times hes fallen in love with you. from every time you laugh to the way you smoothed our your shirt that one time and have never done it since but for some reason hes been thinking about for two months.

hes a guy of repetition. he likes having a routine, he loves that youre a part of it. and for him, thinking about you is always a part of it. but so much so that he sometimes finds himself daydreaming and distracted, he should be embarrassed, having to ask people to repeat themselves because "oh wow y/n likes that shade of green that they're wearing" but he really doesn't care. but at the same time you make him work that much harder. make him want to do better to either make you proud or impress you like some eighth grader he doesn't know.

he loves his job, he really does, but all he wants to do sometimes is come home to you. it makes him not only work faster sometimes but harder. maybe because he wants to be good enough and worthy for you and your love or maybe just because you bring that side out of him more than it already is. whatever it is he knows you just make him better. and its cheesy and mushy but you really do complete him

his arm looks better when you hold it, his pictures feel empty when youre not beside him, and you feel the same way too-- the bed always is unreasonably cold when he isn't behind you holding you close to his heart. or when hes not inside you, lets be honest.

he laughs at the members when they tease him about you having "girlfriend privileges". and tells him he doesn't see it. but at first he really didnt. now he sees it so well he hears it. he prides himself in making you happy, being the best boyfriend he can. thats one of the things you love about him he takes everything on with a passion, devoted to his goals.

sure he still pokes fun at you and is a lovely little menes but lets be real he lovey dovy with you a lot of the times too! and you get away with so much more with a lovesick puppy look on his face than anyone else. he wouldn't go all aspiring poet and say youve changed him but youve just... brought out another side of him. and as much as he gives you hard time you both know he loves it.

and you secretly love it when he says ew when you kiss him then he tackles you peppering your face with them a mintute later

the slight obsession with you is borderline concerning he thinks at this point-- once someone flirted with him at a bakery and the only thing he could think about was how they were standing in front of that dessert he knew you liked and he politely just asked them to move cause "I think Im gonna buy that for my parter I want to take a closer look". needless to say the person got the message.

though he didn't even fully realize they were flirting with him until he told you the story of how "a week ago when I was at that bakery someone was talking to me but I wasn't paying attention cause they were standing in front of the cold case." he though they were, with the over the top smiles and that little giggle. but sadly he was easily distracted by the thought of how "yn would like this"

The downside to how much he thinks of you is that at some point during the day if he isn't careful hes gonna get half hard. he feels like some pre pubescent boy that can't control himself and he hates it. nevertheless, the girlfriend privileges continue-- with the playful banter between you two and how much you tease him. not many other people could get away with poking seungmin in the cheek and saying "poke" for a full minute without him saying something.

in fact, hes smiling.

and not that youre complaining one bit when sees you after a long day and pounces on you, trying to rip your clothes off. but make no mistake, as stated before hes soft for you. well, mentally at least, cause most of the time he can't seem to control his boner around you. but all this overwhelming feelings of love has to go somewhere... right?

and it just so happens to be expressed and poured out so wonderfully in bed. you think you noticed it before he did, but there has been a pattern with him as of late--

it all started with a team a out you. noting too out of the ordinary. you started on top of him, as he helped you bounced on his cock, so hard and leaking for you. somehow you needed up beneath him after you came, but seungmin wasn't done yet, still pumping into you, somehow deeper than before trying to reach spots he never breached. "damn I love you so much. mhm, gonna fill you up" he breaths out in his dream. your eyes rolled into the back of your head in pleasure, "you gonna put a baby in me? please?" you moan, cupping his cheek and holding his hand in such a sweet and domestic way that it should offset the way he was filling you up with his cum, slipping out of you then plugging your pretty hole with his fingers, thrusting anything that leaked out back in. gotta make sure it takes right? make sure you get nice a round a swollen in a few months

but it didnt, the look of pure love you gave him as he was babbling about breeding you? fuck that really got to him. dream you wanted this too? dream you loved and trusted him so much and wanted forever with him just as he did with you? So when he woke up, still hard and cum leaving a dark stain on his boxers. he didnt know what to do. usually he'd know the answer or honestly go to you to help him. but this was... different, uncharted territory. sure there was always the thought of something like this in the back of his mind but it was never this strong. let alone had he ever had a dream about it.

He turns to the clock, 3:43 sharp and after tossing and turning, flipping his pillow over three times and realizing it felt better on the first side he still can’t fall asleep. He lets his eyes graze over your sleeping still figure, you’re faced away from him body covered by the blanket. But the curves and dips of your are still visible. It’s dark but he feels like he can still see you so clearly. He could probably feel every bit of your too over that thin little blanket. If you could even call it that I mean it wasn’t really doing much to warm you he was sure. That’s when he pulled you close by your middle, pressing your back up to is chest, his fingers dipping under your shirt like it always does when you two cuddle (though when you’re awake it sometimes slides higher than others) god your skin was cold.

He subconsciously moved you closer moving his hips flush with your ass. Though in hindsight that might’ve not been the best idea. Seeing as he was now fully hard from his dream and your body settling into his wasn’t doing him any good. “Min?” Did you really have to call him that right now? But against his better judgement since it very much was 3 am in the morning right now, he stayed glued next to you. “Min?” For once he fumbles, “yeah?” “I know you’re awake.” He bends his neck down to peck the top of your head “doesn’t mean you have to—“ “thank you, I was a little cold” you interrupt him while turning your body around to face him, hooking a leg over his”

well if you didn’t know before now you do. He thinks. “I was already half awake don’t worry,” he sighs “I figured” you smile at the fact that by now he knows all your little ins and outs all your little quirks. “You we’re kinda loud” you chuckle, and before he gets a chance to respond you’re reaching over him to turn on the light, it’s something so mundane so normal but somehow he’s still enamored by you. And with the way you’re basically on top of him, titties in his face he’s not getting soft anytime soon. “I think you’re hearing things.” He playfully scoffs “I think I should schedule you an ear appointment. My grandma knows a good one, maybe you can get matching hearing aids” you chuckle “and I think you still have a hard on”

that shut him up quick enough. you smile to yourself, you swear the man was all bark no bite sometimes when it came to you. seungmin glances over to the clock again. "sweetheart its so late its early..." he mumbles, sliding a not so sneaky little hand up your torso. his hands finds the side of your breast, then your collar bone, then settles back down on the neckline of your sleep shirt, playing with it.

"your dream sounded interesting," you peck his cheek and he flushes as if he didnt just dream about pumping you full of cum a second ago, "what was it about?" you ask, ignoring his comment about the time. you lace your fingers with his and he brings your hand with him under the blanket, settling it on his now painfully hard feeling cock straining against his boxers without a word, just that mischievous little devils grin.

you peck his lips this time, seungmin craining his head to chase you, lips still slightly smelling of that chapstick you always put on before bed. his tasting salty like the light sheen of sweat that coats his face from his dream. though you plan on making him much hotter in the next coming minutes. he pulls you back down to his lips by the back of your neck. a gentle but firm touch that mad you go crazy. the kisses are needy, lustful, but somehow also full of pure love and passion. he doesn't quite know how to express all the good that he feels for you, he isn't sure he ever will, but whenever he kisses you like this of late, he hopes his feelings will get through to you.

and you feel the emotion he pours into it when it happens, you really do. he pulls away a little later, never tired of kissing you and hand down in-between your legs rubbing your soaking pussy. "I just" he smiles through his gasps of air, "love you so much" it was sad really, that that was all he could say but he felt something for you that words cannot express in the English language, or Korean, or any language hes come across.

his eyes look like that one begging emoji. he just... he needs you to understand. he doesn't know why he just blurted it out. but you had just made this cute little face of pleasure. pleasure he was giving you. you felt good because of him. and it had just slipped out!

you didnt realize how much you wanted him, how desperate you were until in a matter of minutes youre gasping and whining for him. "fuck, breed me, make me yours" you say, barely over a whisper into his ear, chin on his shoulder. your sleep shirt bunched up around your hips that raped around his, his arms are laced behind your back, hugging you a keeping you close chest to chest as you bounce and rock yourself on his dick. so caught up in the moment, he misses the smirk on your face when you said it, blissfully unaware that you knew full well what he was dreaming about. and how hot you found it.

he whines, "no dont say that youre gonna make me cum... not--" he breaths out when your cunt tightens around him just so, "not now--" he already had you close to cumming earlier, when he was guiding your wt heat along his leg, grinding you on him. but he wanted to take care of you first ya know? be a gentleman. but he knew he wasn't going to last long if you kept talking like that. he reaches down to your core and swollen bud, rubbing it just how you like.

"well fill me up then min." you accentuate your words with a long, languid rock of yourself on him, his leaking cock hitting just where you want him to. god you feel so full, your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head thinking about how full you'd feel with all his warm seed inside you.

"no baby please dont say that either." his voice is strained, his words are lazy unlike how he usually sounds. thats hw you knew he was already close. "no please, I wanna feel so full." you pout, and his mind goes almost blank. he moves his free hand to your hip bone, guiding you as you impale yourself on his cock ever time you lift up and slam back down. though he wasn't really doing much guiding as he was mostly enjoying the soft squeeze of your skin, fingers on your plush thighs. he subconsciously nibbles at your collarbone, surely it'll leave a mark later you said you wanted him to make you his right?

"but you already have my cock in you baby. dont you feel it?" he wonders aloud, meeting your pumps up n' down with renewed vigor. "its so hard for you, god you make me so hard" you still your movements, letting him do most of the work thrusting up into your pussy, making wet squelching noises that fill the room.

"mmhm so big n' hard. cum inside me? I know you'd fill me up so good."

"oh god." that nearly sent him over the edge. you look down to where your bodies meet and his hand is rubbing you, fuck his hand looks delicious, fingers perfectly long and hand with veins popping out. "I need you to cum with me." and not long later you do. you cm hard, knees shaking and out of breath. you'd asked him to cum inside and thats what he does. you feel your insides flood with warmth. damn he must've cum a lot.

he stays inside for a moment and is about to pull out when you stop him, hand on his bicep, "keep it inside." you tell him, and this time he catches your smirk. And seungmin just laughs, kissing your neck in a manner so sweetly you almost forget about his dick inside you. “You heard my dream?” Though he already knew. “Mmhm” “I love you so much” his nose presses into your neck “I wanna spend forever with you” “aw me too min” “hm was it good for you then too?” “So you didn’t hear me moaning for you? Guess not” you tease and he scoffs. “I did. And I think the neighbors heard too. We’ll have to talk more in the morning and do some googling I guess. But thank you” “you’re thanking me now?” You laugh. “Yeah I—“ “I think it’s hot too don’t worry. That’s why I want you to stay inside. We want it to take huh baby” he shivers, running his palm up your spine.

seungmin was a reasonable guy, he knew that this was alll fantasy and having kids wasn't on your radar right now. but he still loved it. He didn’t know what it was, maybe it was just you two growing together, growing intertwined. But as of late, he’s just been wanting or maybe finally realizing just how much he loves and cares for you. how much he wants with you. seungmin hasn't really thought of it before, but maybe he wants and already cherishes those cute little things with you-- like the kisses on cheeks when one of you greet the other at the door, the waking up next to each other at dawn, and everything in-between.

and maybe one day, if you'll let him, he wants to put a big ass ring on your finger. well, some day.

and you loved it too. And him. The way he took his time with you no matter what it is no matter if he already did it a thousand times. Just like a second ago, he caressed every curve and did of your body. Constantly wanted his hands on you, kissing from your neck to your lips over and over.

“Why are you so silent? Don’t you want it too honey?” He smiles from ear to ear “ugh sweetheart you’re amazing” he mumbles before kissing your lips.

~end

thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed please leave some love like comments or a reblog if you did!

I LIKE IT — [18+!]

AN INTERACTIVE CHRISTMAS CALENDAR

You know the difference between right and wrong—but you’re gonna do it anyway.

🎁 First, you’re getting ghosted by your situationship. Second, you lose your job. Third, your landlord decides to double the rent of your shared apartment. And it’s only Tuesday. Luckily, your friend and roommate Chan has a crazy idea that might solve (most) of your sudden problems—start a streaming channel to film spicy videos together while earning some money. What could go wrong, right?

❕ [READ CAREFULLY] You, Y/N, are actually part of this story and the one who makes the decision which will have an impact on the following chapters. Simply choose an option at the end of every chapter that you think fits best! [updated daily from 1st to 25th December; polls will stay up for 1 or 3 days]

📷 CONTENT INFO: chan, minho, jisung x afab reader, angst/fluff/smut, camgirl au, camgirl!reader, camboy!chan, childhood friend chan, enemy minho, friend jisung, perv!jisung, and they were all roommates; rest of ot8 is part of the story and their tropes will be revealed throughout the story [chapters, warnings and taglist info under the cut]

📕WORD COUNT: ?/~30K

the incredible banner is made by the lovely @cherrrywon 🍒 // the beautiful dividers are from @strangergraphics ✨

CHAPTERS:

[1] — CRIMSON | chapters will be updated daily from 1st to 25th December!

🔥CONTENT WARNING: smut tags will be specified for each chapter, alcohol consumption, cyber sex work and discussion of morality behind that, different feminist takes/perspectives on sex work, commitment issues, financial problems, flawed characters and that makes them human [might add more later]

❤️AUTHOR’S NOTE: what would be christmas without tan’s interactive calendar? 2 years ago, I introduced the first interactive fanfic to stayblr and it’s been such a great time ever since. I’m taking a different route with this one and hope you will like it—it’s spicier but also a more serious take on a trope that’s super popular and that I adore so much too. taglist requests will only be taken in account by blogs with an age indicator, pfp and header and that actively reblog/comment/interact with fanfics! please comment here on the masterlist if you wish to be added. thank you so much. thanks for all the support, I love you so much. have a wonderful time 🫶🏻

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nsfw content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.

© j-One25 2024 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

「Inferno」 · Chapter 12

DAY 24: PASSION ⋮ PART 5 ➥ Heaven and Hell trade places, and when the dust settles, your heart feels unbearably heavy.

➥ 3k (~13 min. read)

⚠ — Explicit sexual content (see masterlist for more before reading)

This isn’t even the half of it.

Not even half.

For Hyunjin, becoming one with you wasn’t anything less than being choked. Your hands around his neck, your walls around his cock… Same thing. He wasn’t able to breathe in either case.

“God… Oh, god… OH…”

“Didn’t your little books describe what this would feel like, my prince?” you chuckled as he entrusted his life in your hands, “All sweet nothings, weren’t they? They never told you what fucking is.”

“Please…”

“When you fully sink into me, you will start moving. Trust your instincts, they will lead you where you need to go,” you intertwined your fingers with his and quietly instructed against his trembling lips, “Do not hesitate. You are not hurting me. The more you move, the more pleasurable it will be. I promise.”

It was just an excuse. Rather than him, you were trying to prepare yourself, thus the neverending suspense, but deep inside you knew. Simply dipping your toes in the water was never going to get you used to the temperature. You had to take the leap of faith and dive in headfirst no matter how much you were terrified of heights. 

You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and finally let yourself go. He was only halfway in when you jumped off the cliff, so naturally…

“JESUS!!!”

The cry that ripped from Hyunjin’s throat was completely involuntary for he couldn’t process the sensation at all. It wasn’t the same feeling as when you caressed him under the sheets. Or when you kissed him in places that made him lightheaded. Or when you did unspeakable things to him with your mouth. This was beyond all of that. It had to be death itself.

Why else would he be ascending like this?

“S–Slow… Slow down!” he urgently held onto your waist, “I–I don’t want it to end so soon.”

The amount of pleasure coursing through his veins was so impossibly addictive that no wonder this was a sin. No one would be able to resist this once they got a taste, and you had made the biggest mistake of your life by teaching him this. Now he was never going to stop seeking the tiniest opportunity to seep into you every chance he got, pull you into the depths of insanity with him trying to find out whether his appetite for you could ever be satiated. He was going to intoxicate himself with you day and night, kiss every inch, lick every spot. There wasn’t going to be a singular grain on your body he didn’t touch, he didn’t mark, he didn’t love to death.

He suddenly remembered your words about how important it was to… to make his lady… beforehand. He hadn’t managed to do it yet, not that he had any mental faculty to properly execute it, but he understood exactly why because… Because your wetness… The way you dripped around him… It was making your voice echo louder in his head.

…it will also be easier for you to… to navigate.

…to navigate.

…navigate.

Was this what it meant to navigate? Was that the name given to setting sail on your body? Did it mean charting the map of the field where the most beautiful flowers were planted? Because he could quite literally feel the most fertile soil on his extremities. So soft. So moist. It needed plenty of water to bloom.

And he held all the aqua vitae necessary to irrigate.

“How do you feel?” you touched his flushed face burning with the fever he was spiking, “Tell me, how do you feel?”

He was falling into an abyss of fire, but he had never felt so alive. He pulled you even closer and kissed all over your breasts, leaving wet trails behind the paths he walked.

“Nothing ever hurt this good,” he breathlessly uttered, depriving himself of his sight to bask in your perfection, “Call me that again, darling. Call me the name that tears me apart.”

“Look at me.”

You gently lifted his chin and made him face you. His eyes were all hooded like he was half asleep, barely able to keep them open. You wanted to get lost in them as you confessed your most well-kept secret to him. That you couldn’t believe your luck that you got to taste love this pure during your lifetime. That you were falling in love with him all over again every time he called you darling. That you hated him for becoming your everything.

But all you were able to utter was…

“My treasure.”

“Kill me!” he throatily groaned as he pressed his forehead on your collarbones, eyes squeezed tight like he was in torturous agony. Words were forcing themselves out of his lips, almost like a chant as if he were possessed, “Crush me to pieces with your bare hands. I’m yours. My soul is yours. Everything I was, everything I am, everything I’ll ever be is yours.”

There is a moment when the souls of lovers entwine, rendering the need to use words obsolete. You were talking to each other just with touches. You were telling him how you wanted time to stop so you could live this moment forever. He was telling you how he couldn’t bear the thought of detaching himself from your body and that he would much rather die a thousand deaths as long as he was trapped inside you. Overcome with too many emotions, you found yourself tackling him, and took him on top of you.

You wanted everything from him.

“Put my legs on your shoulders.”

He kissed your ankles as he obediently followed instructions, then pressed his tip on your entrance. This was supposed to be a continuation of what you had been doing. He was going to disappear into you again like the newly-turned fiend he was, and your warmth was going to envelop him. Nothing had changed in its essence. 

Except for one thing. 

When he made the mistake of looking down at you, Hyunjin suddenly became aware that you were under him, so vulnerable and completely at his mercy. He could wreck you right now if he wanted, and you had brought this on yourself. Very much willingly for that matter. His thoughts were getting blurry, dissolving within each other to become this incomprehensible mass. Neither liquid nor solid. He couldn’t discern where his love ended and his lust began, rapidly losing sight of what was appropriate. Something very dangerous was taking over him, and his instincts kept whispering the same damn thing.

Give in. Give in. Give in. Give in.

“YES!!!”

Oh, that sound was everything to him. He must have done the right thing by ramming himself into you like that. It was just polite to return the favor, no? Catching you off guard exactly in the way you did to him not too long ago. Getting you wetter. Making you moan louder. Fucking you at a pace so ardent, his hair was sticking to his sweaty forehead. You looked fucking incredible under him, pinching your nipples with how gone you were with pleasure. He wanted to lick them. He wanted to lick your lips. He wanted to lick your pussy, and he was cursing at his damn luck that he wasn’t able to do all of that at once. His veins were getting raided with something akin to venom, almost making him angry. It was downright impossible to fight it. 

And once he let it consume him, Hyunjin had absolutely no control over what he was doing or saying.

“Have my children.”

What?!

Your reaction to the abrupt declaration was purely instinctive. It made you throb so hard that you felt your walls clamping themselves around his cock. It was as if your body was forcing it to happen even though your logic was reciting a whole other sermon, yet you were in no position to lend an ear with your barely-there defenses against Hyunjin taking massive damage.

“I want at least five,” he panted heavier, drops of sweat trickling down his chest to yours, “Let’s just start right now.”

God, you wanted to. You really wanted to. In your wildest daydreams, you were giving him as many children as he wished to raise with you. You had a happy family. You were whole for the first time in your life.

But in your wildest daydreams… That reality was enough to induce an acute urge to sob because how come the one thing you wanted in this entire world was the one thing you could never have?

You shook your head to rid your mind of any cloudy thought that didn’t belong to this moment. This was no time to wail over your woes. It was time to love. 

Love the only man ever.

You held onto Hyunjin tighter and jerked a little forward to make him fuck you deeper. Neither of you was able to talk. The only thing heard in the room was the shamelessly loud sounds of pleasure melting into each other. Being loved by Hyunjin was nothing short of a religious experience. It was heavenly. So heavenly.

Too heavenly.

“There! Cum right there if you want to breed me,” your vocal cords came back to life when he hit a spot inside you, “There is no way it won’t hold with your virility. Maybe we can even have twins.”

“DON’T—!”

This feeling… It was brand-new. The most intense kind of pleasure, unbearably overwhelming like an entire earthquake happening in his body. Nothing like he’d ever experienced before. In his dreams. By himself. With you. It was like a pair of hands reaching inside him and pulling something out. It didn’t hurt whatsoever, but it did severely weaken him as three loads worth of cum gushed out of him.

And even though he said that on a whim, it was as if his body was forcing it to make absolutely sure you conceived.

It was a brand-new feeling for you, too. Watching him cum, feeling him completely invade you, fill you up to the brim… It pleased you. That book he had was indeed telling the truth. When it was a man you were this in love with, nothing was more gratifying than his raging tempest. Nothing was more beautiful than a Hyunjin in rapture. You caressed his hair as he took shelter in your chest until the storm passed.

“Was it… good for you?” he looked up and hesitantly asked once he managed to gather his wits.

“Gold star,” you brightly smiled at him as you brushed his cheeks with the back of your fingers.

“But did… did you…?”

“No,” you kissed the crown of his head, “but it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!” he suddenly propped up on his elbow in protest, “Let’s do it again.”

You were so endeared by the little tantrum that you couldn’t help heartily laughing.

“You are physically unable to,” you brushed his hair behind his ear, “We need to wait a while until you can… you know.”

He followed your gaze to see what you were looking at, and when he found his target, he connected the dots.

“Become erect?” 

You nodded in response, smile still intact whereas Hyunjin looked dead serious. He reached for your hair and began playing with it as he uttered ever so nonchalantly.

“I can still fuck you.”

It may have been because of your residual arousal or a particular weakness you had developed recently that you throbbed that hard at his words, who knows? In either case, the matter of the fact stayed the same.

You were never going to be able to resist him. Whatever he asked for, yes to everything, all the time, forever.

“Stop the profanities, or I’m going to have a problem,” you attempted to roll over to hide your face.

“Good, I want you to have a problem!” 

And just like that, you were in his arms again. His kisses were as hungry as they were five minutes ago as if he hadn’t just poured himself inside you. You contently sighed as he kissed your neck, then your chest, sneakily making his way down to your crotch while gently grazing his teeth on your skin.

“I’ve learned other ways to pleasure my lady,” he hugged your legs, “We don’t have to wait.”

“I mean… N–Not really, but—”

“Shh. Enjoy me,” he tenderly kissed your thighs, “Let me take you to the stars.”

You were dying. 

He spread your legs as wide as he could and brushed his fingers on your pussy like he was touching the delicate petals of a flower. He watched you throb, yearning to feel just one kiss. He obliged. One kiss became two kisses. 

Then three. 

Then four. 

Again. 

Again. 

And again.

He finally closed his lips around your clit and began to softly suck on it, swirling his tongue around every once in a while like commas in a very long paragraph. As your taste became denser on his tongue, Hyunjin found himself moving further down, licking longer stripes on your folds until he reached your entrance, quietly whispering little confessions into your cunt.

You kept sighing in delight as he relaxed and tensed you simultaneously, fingers in his hair, moaning a bit louder every time he licked you with more pressure. Hyunjin could listen to this sweet melody forever if you let him, but there was one thing he was dying to see. The vista he loved gazing upon in complete awe, nothing short of a miracle. He briefly paused, and your moans climbed three floors at once when he sank his fingers into you. With every pump, they seemed to be getting even louder. Your body was getting tenser. You were tugging at his hair harder. He remembered. He remembered everything. Every single step you had taught him.

“Like this, right?” he hooked his fingers upwards.

You couldn’t talk. All you could do in response was fervently nod. He was fingering you with your clit in his mouth, but it felt like he was beckoning your demise to come closer. 

Meanwhile Hyunjin was learning things about himself he didn’t even know were there. Three weeks ago, if anybody told him he was about to pick up a severe addiction to a woman’s taste very soon, he would burst into the most disgraceful derisive laugh. But there he was, salivating as he stared at his cum leaking out of you. Nothing was more arousing than the sight of the two of you fused together. Nothing was more delectable than this savory concoction he was slurping on. It was the flavor of the crimes you committed together. Of his undying passion. Of his devotion to you.

No one else could make him feel like this.

His hand moved on its own, and before he knew it, it was fondling your breast, his thumb brushing on your still-moist nipple. He wanted to know all the buttons he could press just so he could orchestrate the ultimate symphony of a violent eruption for you, crescendo so loud you would forget who you were by the end of it. Until only one thing remained in your memory. 

His name.

“I’m a slave to your love, darling,” he whispered loudly enough for you to hear this time, “There is nothing I won’t do for you.”

“Hyunjin!!!”

Your entire body convulsed from head to toe when you arched into his mouth, still getting licked and fingered until your moans subsided into deep breaths. You couldn’t tell how long that orgasm lasted. Maybe ten seconds, maybe ten lifetimes, but in each one of them, every fiber of your being longed for Hyunjin. 

He finally crawled back up to you, breaking into a bright smile at how brightly you were glowing. He was so happy he was able to make you happy. 

“I don’t want to sleep without you by my side anymore,” he quietly breathed his words into your soul as he stroked your hair.

At this point, you had not choice but to admit it to yourself. Neither did you. You wanted him to be the first thing you saw in the morning and the last thing you saw at night. You wanted him to make love to you like a soothing lullaby rocking you to sleep. You wanted to drift to your dreams with his scent on your nose. 

But every word he uttered was cutting open a wound in your soul instead.

“I’m your man now,” he rested his head on your chest, listening to your calming heartbeat, “I love you, my night sky.”

You tried your best not to flinch as your heart got ripped out. You knew how much this was going to hurt eventually.

Because it had happened once before.

It was true. You loved Hyunjin beyond the horizons you could see. You loved him to an unbearable degree. You were terrified out of your mind, but you would rather die than hurt Hyunjin in any capacity. One week. You had him only for one more week. Then he was going to slip away for good and leave you as the shell of a woman you once were, utterly unsalvageable debris. 

Because it had happened once before.

“Aren’t you going to call me your moon again?” he looked at you with his big brown eyes, drowning in sadness just because you couldn’t respond as fast.

“Of course,” you pulled him closer, trying your hardest to swallow the sobs piling up in your throat, “Of course, my moon.”

「© 2024, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

Reckless Convictions

Copyright Ⓒ 2024 by Moonjxsung

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.

Pairing: Han Jisung x fem reader

W/c: 31.5K

Warnings: masturbation, perversion, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, dry humping, trespassing, sex in a semi-public place (no one is around), fingering, cum eating, mention of cheating

Synopsis: Your senior year of college takes a strange turn when you develop a relationship with your professor.

18+. Mdni!

•

The first time you come across a coda in a piece of music, you are to ignore it. You may only jump to it once you’ve begun from the da segno symbol, and played through until reaching the written indication to return to the coda.

If we've passed the coda once, let this be our sign.

Come back to me.

•

Upon entering your senior year of college, the news is broken that the old lecture hall on the east side of campus is officially on its last leg as a functioning location for classes. You’re made aware of this through an email from the school’s president, detailing the intricate plans to demolish it entirely and build a new gymnasium in its place. And for the most part, the students are happy about this fact, whispering excitedly amongst themselves as they traverse the grand cherry wood flooring and picture all of the new sporting equipment this facility will soon house. They speak of the bright painted walls that will represent the school’s colors like every other new modern replacement for the old-fashioned buildings- cobalt blue and white, resembling that of a dentist’s office on most days. And they make sure to voice their very robust distaste for the spiral staircase that leads to the second floor of the lecture hall, the stairs always announcing the late arrival of students with the deafening creak of wood and a tarnished banister.

Yet as you hoist your bag further up your shoulder and follow a trail of students into the lecture hall for your first day back at classes, you can’t help but feel sorry for the old place, always having loved the courses you took here. A philosophy course one semester, where the ancient feel of the building only made stories of Greek myths more vivid as they graced your imagination. A writing course the semester after that, where your professor could hardly be bothered to properly read your essays, despite the attention to detail you gave to them. And now this course- the only remaining course with afternoon availability, something about the history of classical music.

One glance around the room tells you all you have to know about this course- it's full of students who couldn’t care less about courses pertaining to music, especially not general education ones for mindless credits. You reckon all of the students here would rather have landed art analysis, or even some form of a writing course, yet instead they’ll be stuck learning about Bach and Mozart for the next few months. Of course you’re not bothered by it, being a music major yourself, but it’s painfully evident in the way that they keep their faces glued to their cell phones and blow bubbles of gum as you wait for the arrival of the professor. The rows of chairs are fuller than you’d anticipated, groups of friends chatting amongst themselves, while those sitting alone are busy on their laptops or with headphones blasting muffled music.

You settle on a spot in the middle, away from most of the students already acquainted with each other, and cross your legs as you wait in silence. While the others groan about their courses and inquire about their remaining credits, you take in the sight of the lecture hall- it’s just as massive as you remember it from last semester, the ceiling housing patterned medallions and hanging pendant lamps that give a dim glow to the room. The seats are just as uncomfortable as you remember them, too, folding suede brown chairs that jerk violently if you move a little too much, and at the very bottom is a crescent-shaped desk and a tall podium reserved for the professor. It’s a little old, sure. And it smells like mothballs on most days- but it’s a shame to tear down someplace so historical like this.

Your course is set to start at three, and at almost five minutes past the mark, the students are visibly confused by the absence of a professor. You can hear them murmuring and speculating about canceled courses or retired professors, and it’s then that you realize you’re not even sure who the professor is. So you reach into your bag, pulling out your schedule for the one class you have today, and printed in bold black text to the right of the course name is the professor’s name.

Mr. Han, it reads, and you scan the name over a few times before shoving the paper back into your bag. You conclude he sounds like an older man, probably a little irritable toward students who couldn’t care less about music history. And he’s probably late to most of his classes like he is today, not bothering to be punctual for a group of students who will grow to despise him mere weeks into the semester.

A little past the ten minute mark, some students have begun to pack their belongings, ready to depart from the confines of the lecture hall and go inquire about why there’s no professor assigned to this course, maybe even beg for a switch of classes. And then, as though he can sense they’re making attempts at an escape, a man you can only assume to be the professor shoves past the double doors, a leather laptop case slung over his shoulder, making his way to the desk in rushed motions.

“Sorry, sorry,” he calls out, hoisting his bag over the desk and motioning for students to take their seats again.

“I apologize,” he reiterates, sighing deeply, hands tucked in his pockets as he glances around the room. It’s then that you notice he’s drenched, stringy black strands of his hair falling into his face, droplets of water speckled on the thin wireframe glasses that sit on his sharp nose.

And your second observation- he’s not old. In fact, he’s nothing close to the likes of the average professor- he’s attractive. Not just attractive- he’s alluring, captivating, like a model cut out from the thin pages of an editorial magazine. He’s tall, with a slim frame that contrasts his broad shoulders and sculpted biceps that protrude through the sleeves of his collared button up shirt. The white fabric clings around his broad chest so erotically, patches of dark gray rainwater conveniently providing you a better view, and his shirt is tucked into a tight pair of khaki slacks, hugging his toned thighs and leaving little to the imagination. He’s not even dressed provocatively, you mentally remark to yourself. He just looks like that.

All of this so perfectly complementing his flawlessly sculpted face, an angular jawline that clenches as he speaks, and plump pink lips that pull back to expose a pearly white and perfectly straight set of teeth. His pronounced nose bridge is made more attractive with his geeky pair of glasses, and those eyes- big and brown, framed by thick black eyelashes that flutter as he pulls off his glasses and wipes the lenses with the cuff of his sleeve.

“Lots of traffic when it rains,” he says sheepishly, pinching the frame of his glasses with two fingers and setting them so delicately back on his face. “It won’t happen again.”

And then he pulls his hands out of his pockets, leaning against the podium at the front of the room and taking a good look at the array of students.

“Welcome,” he announces, giving a small nod before continuing to speak. “My name is Professor Han. I’ll be your instructor for the duration of this course.”

He pulls back from the podium, shuffling through the leather bag on his desk and pulling out a stack of papers. The first student to the left is handed the stack, instructed to pass them to the back of the crowd as he explains it’s your course syllabus.

“Pretty much everything you need to know is listed here,” he says a little louder, as the room teems with echoing chatter. “I accept late work up to a week after it’s due, with a point subtracted every day it’s late. If you’re going to be later than 15 minutes, please don’t show at all. The stairs are too loud. Food and drinks are permitted, just don’t make a mess. And do whatever you want with phones and laptops, just shut off the sound.”

He paces back and forth as he speaks, his wet shoes squeaking along the tiled flooring as he does. He wears canvas sneakers with his fancy teaching attire, and he pulls them off remarkably well.

“A little bit about me,” he then says, and you perk up at his words, intrigued by just everything about his presence. “Been teaching here for about five years now, since I finished grad school. I love music, and I love music theory, so you’ll hear me talk about it a lot in between historical lectures. I teach three classes in total, all pertaining to music history, and in my free time, you can usually find me doing something related to music. Any questions?”

The class falls silent as his gaze scans the room, his curious eyes falling over the rows of seated figures who in reality, desperately want to ask him questions, but they’re also painfully shy in his presence. He gives a little nod as he takes note of their blank stares- and then his gaze falls momentarily over yours- staring directly into your paralyzed figure, almost as though he’s challenging you to ask him something, anything. But you don’t- you just remain seated, staring back at him, hoping the glowing blush on the tips of your ears doesn’t pick up under the dim lighting of the room.

“Okay,” says Professor Han, clasping his hands together and gesturing to the board behind him now. “Let’s see if I can figure out how to use this projector this time around.”

*

Lucky for you this semester, your schedule is sparse throughout the week, just a total of three classes on varying days. Which means you have ample free time to laze around your dorm when you’re not attending courses. Students make the most of their senior year, scoping out parties and sneaking out late at night to catch a movie or a quick bite- and you would join them, if you had people to join.

It’s not that you failed to make friends in the duration of your college career- in fact, you made solid efforts to befriend most of the people you came across, sometimes even allowing yourself to be dragged to a party and entertain mindless frat boys. But none of them stuck around, and you quickly realized they were much further from the simplicities you actually enjoy about college. Like the coffee shop on the second story of the student union, where the barista always adds a little too much caramel to your lattes. Or the windowed seat at the very back of the 8th story in the library, where when it rains, you can watch lines of people rush to their classes with hands over their heads and desperately clutching their umbrellas. Even your dorm room is a preferred spot for you, where you often find joy in curling up under your covers and getting lost in a good book. And although you’ve grown to love being alone, it’s a little jarring some nights, like the following Friday in your first week when almost everybody is out at a party, and the return to your dorm room is pitch quiet as you walk down the carpeted hallways. As you swing your door open, you gasp at the sight of your roommate, who’s not usually occupying her side of the room- not unless she needs something.

“Oh,” says Mina, as she places a stack of folded clothing into a large duffle bag and zips it up. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”

You chuckle softly at her remark- of course you’d be here today. And the day after that, and the day after that… you’re always here. It’s Mina who seldom graces you with her presence, usually too busy at her boyfriend’s dorm or out with a group of friends.

“I’m here,” you say sheepishly, assuming your spot on the edge of your bed. Mina says nothing, raising her eyebrows a little and nodding, and you can tell she’s thinking about what a pathetic life you must lead.

You and Mina have never quite gotten along- not for reasons much more complicated than disagreements regarding her cleaning style or her boyfriend coming over unannounced. You’re simply from two separate worlds, and it’ll remain that way for the next few months until you graduate.

“I’m going to my boyfriend’s,” Mina announces unsurprisingly, hoisting the duffel bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Okay,” you say to her finally. “Have fun with Lucas. I’ll see you on Monday.”

She seems to roll her eyes as she makes her way out the door, not so much as a goodbye from her. And when the dorm is all to yourself again, you reach for the book on your shelf, one you’ve gotten halfway through since yesterday’s time spent alone, and curl up under the covers, the sound of gentle rain tapping on the window behind you.

By the time Monday rolls around, you’ve almost forgotten entirely who your course professors are.

It’s always taken you a few months to get situated with their lecture styles, and on occasion, even their names- but this semester in particular feels so unimportant. It’s your final one, after all, and while students talk excitedly about plans for the future and their graduation parties, the only thing you’re looking forward to is the physical degree you’ll get to leave here with.

Mondays are for your intermedia course, led by a professor who dismisses the class early almost every chance he gets. Wednesdays, you have another writing course, and you have to stop yourself from dozing off while students review their essays dissecting music theory during critique sessions. And Thursdays are spent in the old little lecture hall on the east side of campus with Professor Han. You’ve forgotten about him by the time your first official class with him rolls around, and you mentally scold yourself for dressing so casual in his presence when you remember how attractive he is.

When he saunters in, much earlier this time around, the students cease their chatter, and all eyes are on his handsome figure as he makes his way to the podium. He wears fitted slacks again, a knit sweater tucked into the belt that hugs his thin waist, and a collared white button down is visible at the neckline. His jet black hair is styled neatly out of his face to reveal his chiseled features, and his wireframe glasses are absent this time around, emphasizing the big brown eyes that peer back at his students.

“Good afternoon,” he says to the class, and they utter mumbled replies back at him.

“I hope you all had a good weekend,” he then remarks, pulling his laptop out of his bag plugging in a series of wires to set up the projector. The class remains quiet at this, not a single word from any of the students as they sip coffees and navigate their own laptops in hushed motions. Professor Han looks up at the class as his fingers hover over the mouse of his keyboard, his lips pulling into a grin, eyes forming little crescents as he lets out a soft chuckle.

“Come on guys,” he says dramatically. “Why are you so silent? You’re killing me.”

It’s the first time the classroom fills with laughter, and Professor Han seems to relax a little as he takes in the sight of smiling faces. He’s not quite sure he’ll ever get used to the silence that falls over college lectures, especially in the awkward first few weeks, when students are too scared to even look him straight in the eyes. And what Professor Han never quite grasps is that the students aren’t afraid of him- they’re intrigued by him, just the way that you are.

The girls wear full faces of makeup to a single 3pm lecture in hopes that he’ll take special notice of them, and the boys almost seem to mirror his dapper choices of clothing, trying their hand at knit crewnecks and slacks with canvas sneakers. Anybody who knows him concludes he’s just about one of the coolest professors around, yet he’s too consumed by his passion for music and theories of composers to take notice of anybody’s fascination for him.

And aside from that fact, he’s a professional at his job, only here for the purpose of lecturing and distributing course materials. He doesn’t make friends with other professors on campus, he doesn’t traverse these buildings when he doesn’t have to be here. And he certainly doesn’t care to know any of his students beyond the space of these four walls.

The projector starts up with a low hum, and a slideshow is promptly shone onto the wall across from you, a painting of some historical figure accompanying the title slide.

“I want to preface this lecture by saying that this particular composer is often deemed one of the greatest of his time, which is true for the Baroque period, and untrue in comparison to some of the other greats.”

There are stifled laughs from around the room as he makes his way to the screen at the top of the wall. As he transitions to a speech about the Baroque period, he reaches up to pull on the little string that dangles from the center, and your eyes can’t help but observe his lean figure as he does. The hem of his sweater is untucked from his slacks momentarily, revealing the small waist he flaunts beneath such a broad chest, and one hand reaches down promptly to cover himself again. It feels so wrong losing your focus from the lecture like this, your mind wandering places you know it shouldn’t be. Yet as he speaks, you can’t help but imagine what the rest of his chest must look like underneath the oversized knit that swallows his sculpted figure. Your eyes graze briefly over his navy slacks, ones that hug him so generously, and down to the stylish canvas sneakers he wears, the same ones he wore last time. They squeak along the tiled floor as he paces, hands gesturing passionately as he recounts the history of Johann Sebastian Bach, who you’ve only just realized this lecture is about.

“Not only was he a composer, but he was an organist, a harpsichordist and a violinist,” he explains, clicking the little remote in his hand and proceeding to the next slide. “He was a prolific part of the Baroque period, and he’s well-known today for some of his most famous instrumental and choral pieces.”

He paces the room confidently as he speaks, head down most of the time as he details accounts of Bach’s life, seemingly having memorized most of it.

“Does anybody happen to know any of his orchestral music? There’s one in particular he’s very famous for.”

The class falls silent again as Professor Han scans the room, pausing from clicking through slides as he awaits an answer. Nobody says anything, and all that fills the air are the sounds of keyboard clicking as they do their best to mindlessly copy his words. Without a second to properly think it over, and before you can even begin to doubt yourself, your hand is shot straight into the air, heart racing as his eyes fall to your seated figure, and then he gestures toward you, a small smile on his face.

“Yes!” he says enthusiastically. “Go ahead.”

“Brandenburg Concertos?” You voice quietly, a slight tremble in your voice as you speak. You’re not sure you’ve ever done adequate research on Bach- let alone any classical composer. But you are familiar with German history, and the Baroque period and the grand titles of symphonic pieces are still ingrained into your memory from years of piano lessons.

“That’s correct,” he replies, an amused breath escaping his lips as he speaks. His gaze lingers on yours for a second- just a brief second, not enough for the students to imply anything.

And Professor Han is admittedly fascinated by you himself, the question always marking the course as his first official question of the semester. One he’s never gotten the right answer to until now. In fact- one he’s never even had a student take a stab at answering until now. He’s well aware that no normal college student is going to have the Brandenburg Concertos in the back of their mind like the rest of the frivolous knowledge that dwells there, but perhaps he’s finally been assigned a student who gives the slightest shit about this course and its materials.

“Sorry- what was your name?” Professor Han then asks, the corner of his lip pulling into a half-smile before he proceeds with his lecture.

Students in front of you crane their necks to get a good look at you, and the peers on either side of you glance at the single sheet of notebook paper on your desk, scribbled with sparse notes in dark blue pen.

“Y/n,” you finally respond, your voice coming out more timid than you’d hoped it to. You feel microscopic with all eyes on you like this, quietly praying he’ll proceed with the lecture so that you can go back to admiring him from afar and in the comfortable silence of your thoughts.

“Y/n,” he repeats, giving a small nod, and then he finally transitions to the next slide.

Professor Han might not care to be on campus when he doesn’t have to- but that certainly doesn’t mean he’s generous about early dismissal when it comes to his courses. The analog clock above the doorway counts down the seconds before he finally dismisses his students- and even then, he’s not averse to keeping students a few minutes past to wrap up his lectures, either. While it’s a trait most students despise during their classes, not a single student utters a word of dismay when he requests just five minutes more of their time, their eyes still fixated on his pacing figure as he rushes through the remainder of his slides. He has a way of encapsulating a whole room when he speaks of ancient composers, like he’s meant to be up on a podium recounting Bach’s concertos. And the students soak up every last second they get to be in his presence, a sort of melancholia present in the room when they finally file out the door for the afternoon and back to their dorms.

When you find yourself lingering in the classroom a bit longer than the other students, completing the futile task of shifting around papers in your bag, Professor Han seems to take notice, glancing at you over the screen of his laptop and observing the way you shuffle about in the now silent room.

“Brandenburg Concertos, huh?” He calls out to you, and your gaze falls to him, where he’s seated at his desk, the familiar wireframe glasses now sitting upon the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah,” you respond, a little unsure of how to entertain the conversation without coming off as painfully awkward as you truly are.

Professor Han chuckles a little, and then he glances back to his laptop, typing something as he continues speaking.

“Nobody’s ever gotten that one right. In my five whole years of teaching.”

“Really?” You reply, thoroughly surprised nobody’s heard of the most famous orchestral pieces by one of the most significant composers.

“Nope,” he says plainly, shaking his head to affirm his answer. “Are you secretly a composer or something?”

It’s your turn to chuckle lightly, approaching his desk with your bag slung over your shoulder as you shake your head.

“Just years of piano,” you say to him.

“Piano? Very tricky instrument, it’s good to pick up when you’re still young.”

“I’ve been playing competitively for ten years,” you explain to him, heartbeat quickening a little as he lowers the screen of his laptop to make eye contact again.

“Wow,” he breathes out, thoroughly impressed by the fact. “I might have you teach a lecture or two, then.”

You chuckle in unison with him, shrugging as he pushes his glasses a little further up on his face.

“Convince them to put a piano in here and I’ll think about it,” you say to him. “I need a few course materials.”

“Deal,” he replies, narrowing his eyes a little as his lips pull into a smile, flashing you his perfect set of teeth. He glances around the room momentarily, and just as you think the conversation’s over, he sighs deeply, pushing back his laptop screen once more and continuing to type.

“Pity they’re tearing it down, though. A piano would have been a nice addition.”

It’s your turn to glance around the room, craning your neck up toward the tall medallion ceilings and elegantly crested walls. The room looks even more beautiful at this hour, rows upon rows of vacant brown chairs folded neatly back into their place, beams of afternoon sunlight streaming through the long glass windows on either side of the room.

“It is a shame,” you echo, grazing your fingertips along the smooth wooden finish of his desk. He seems to be lost in thought as he stares at his computer screen for a brief second, eyes glazed over as he remains silent. There’s not a sound in the room as he pauses his typing- no students remain in the hallways, no one taking notes in the stillness of the lecture hall. Just you and your professor, in silent thought about the unfortunate fate of the grand lecture hall.

“Maybe next year I’ll be teaching in a gymnasium,” he says finally, shooting you a sad smile and shrugging.

And then he winks at you- nothing romantic behind the gesture, just a brief blink of his left eye as he lets his gaze fall to yours.

And for the second time in the confines of this grand lecture hall, you pray the dim lighting doesn’t reveal the growing blush across your cheeks.

*

As the weeks pass, Professor Han’s lectures are stuck in your head like the piano melodies you’re so acquainted with. Beethoven Fidelio. Le nozze di Figaro. Adagio Cantabile.

The titles of famous composer pieces circle your mind like they’re suggestions by him, to you. And you like to think they are, when he’s slipping comments into his lectures about which pieces are his favorites, which are the most evocative and which ones he’s listened to the most.

The other students sit absentmindedly as he lectures, hearing the words he utters and writing notes like they’re translating his musical language to one they can comprehend. But they’re not listening to him- you’re certain they’ll never understand it the way that you do.

“Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake was my first piano recital piece,” you’d told him once after class. And the way his face lit up when you did, indulging you in a long list of reasons why he deems Tchaikovsky his favorite composer of the Romantic period.

“Only a genius could have produced 1812 Overture,” he said to you excitedly, throwing his head back in disbelief and slouching back in his swivel desk chair as he collected his thoughts.

“That’s the one he used real artillery as background noise in, right?” You had responded, a bright smile on your face as you spoke the common language only the two of you seemed to understand.

“And church bells!” He had responded excitedly, clasping his hands together as he recalled the booming melody.

And then he had played it for you- despite the two of you already knowing the piece very well. His slender fingers hovering over the keyboard of his laptop, searching for the overture he’s listened to almost daily in the duration of his career as a professor.

As a quiet stillness fell over the lecture hall following the departure of the last few students, the speakers echoed with the booming instrumentals of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture- the entire four minutes of the song. You watched in fascination as Professor Han gestured at his all favorite parts, waving his hand in the air to mirror the harsh eighth and sixteenth notes that span the intricate melody. Excited chuckles escaping his lips as the familiar sound of cannons could be heard in the background, followed by the lull of harmonious church bells.

It was then that he turned the music down a few notches, explaining how he helped teach this piece back when he still worked as a musical director. You recall the fleeting sadness that seemed to overtake him, his smile faltering a little as he seemed to think back to his time there. And when asked why he didn’t teach anymore, he had simply shrugged, failing to give you any sort of explanation for it. He just kept his gaze on his desk for a moment, snapping out of it seconds later, turning the volume up again and waving his hands in composing gestures as the song reached its end.

It was also the first time you recall feeling a little sorry for him, carefully observing the way these talks of music and composers seem to bring out a sort of sadness from within him. The dichotomy of him against the overtures he’s so drawn to- their booming crescendo notes and tempos noted allegro con brio, and yet when the lecture hall is empty and he’s all alone, he carries himself like a somber melody, beaming only with the mention of music and then shrinking like a diminuendo set of notes, dying down until a silence falls over the two of you again.

Some several weeks in, you’re certain the fascination is no longer rooted in lust, but simply a desire to speak this mutual language of music with him, the only time either of you ever really feel heard.

*

If someone were to tell you that you’d ever find interest between the pages of a course-assigned college textbook, you would have taken them for a complete liar. And yet you can’t help but find yourself engrossed in the textbook for this course, the thick red book taking complete precedence over the stack of unfinished books on your nightstand.

Weekends are spent flipping through the pages of quotes by famous composers, stories detailing their fast-paced lives and detailing all of their greatest accolades. You carefully study the music sheets, too, reading between the staff lines the same way you scan the plain text of the chapters. It comes to you easily, translating quarter notes to melodies you hum to yourself, reading key signatures like novel dedications.

And the book ignites a sort of spark in you again, reminding you of the days you still spend in front of the monochrome keys for hours, memorizing pieces and adding in your own annotations along the treble and bass.

So when Mina comes home one afternoon, desperate to borrow your textbook, you’re admittedly vexed by the request, reluctantly reaching into your bag to retrieve it for her.

“I didn’t know you had this course,” you say to her, wiping fingerprints off the matte cover and carefully handing it to her.

“Yeah, it’s the worst,” she says, making no effort to avoid transferring new fingerprints onto the cover as she stuffs it into her bag. “But the professor’s hot.”

And her mention of him is somehow vexing to you- of course she only sees the young, attractive professor he is, and not the sheer brilliance behind his lectures. Of course she doesn’t care to understand his background, his favorite historical pieces or take notice of the way he lightens up at the mention of his old days as a musical director. She’s just like the other students in your class- hearing him, but not really listening.

“Professor Han?” You inquire, knowing very well he’s the only professor who teaches that particular course.

“Yeah,” she says, reaching into her duffle bag and shuffling around for something. “Pretty sure he’s the only reason people still show up to that stupid class. I wonder if he goes for younger girls.”

She chuckles as she pulls out a tube of lipstick, uncapping it and reapplying the dark red tint to her pouty lips.

“I’m going to my boyfriend’s,” she then says to you, tucking the tube of lipstick back into her bag and pivoting to face you. “I can have your book back by Monday.”

“Could you have it back by early morning?” You say to her, voice almost cracking as you plead so desperately. “I really need it back before my quiz.”

You’ve already practically memorized the chapter you’re being quizzed on, but you’re always well-prepared for quizzes and tests in Professor Han’s course, reviewing the textbook a thousand times to earn the highest grade possible. You’d be ashamed to score any less than remarkable on his tests, feeling a need to prove to him that his course is something you take just as seriously as he does.

“I guess,” she says furrowing her brows a little at your desperation. “I’ll try to have my boyfriend drop it off before my class or something.”

“Tell Lucas it’s important,” you relay to her, as she keeps her gaze on yours. “I really need to pass this quiz.”

“I said I’ll try,” she emphasizes, making her way to the dorm with the same pink duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

And then she’s gone again, not so much as a wave goodbye as you’re left alone for the weekend.

*

By the time Monday rolls around, Mina is nowhere to be seen. She does this sometimes, spending entire weeks at her boyfriend’s apartment and ditching a long list of her classes.

Except along with the absence of your roommate, comes the absence of your textbook.

Lucas never shows on Monday to return your textbook, and Mina is completely MIA when you try to call or text. So by Thursday, you have no choice but to attempt your quiz without having read the textbook chapter a millionth time.

“Welcome, welcome,” Professor Han calls out as students take their seats. “Put your phones away and get out a pen or a pencil. We’ll start the quiz in a few minutes.”

You occupy the seat at the very front, where you always do now, and wait patiently as he digs around his bag for the stack of quizzes.

“This quiz covers all of chapter 7,” he says, passing along the stack of papers and instructing students to distribute them across the room. “You have 30 minutes from now. If you have questions, please raise your hand and I’ll come to you. Other than that, good luck.”

And the room falls silent as he makes his way back to his desk, the etching sound of pencils scribbling on paper as students begin their quizzes. You swallow nervously, scrawling your name across the top of the paper, and then let your gaze fall to the first question.

Name one the symphonic pieces Ludwig van Beethoven was famous for.

Your lips pull into a knowing smile as you pencil in a response with ease- Symphony No. 5, the same one you discoursed with Professor Han about just last week.

What time period defined Classical antiquity?

Between the 8th century BC and the 5th century AD, you write down quickly, moving on to the next question.

From his desk across from you, Professor Han glances over the screen of his laptop at your slouched figure, observing how you pencil in responses quicker than any of the other students, without even taking a moment to think over the answers. He smiles to himself a little, amused at the clear indication of the only music major in here, a clear liking for this subject the way he has, unlike the students rushing through his course for credits. His eyes fall back onto his laptop screen where he begins to work on an email, and yet before he can continue, you’re sauntering over to his desk with your quiz in hand.

“You’re finished already?” He inquires, lowering the top of his laptop to meet your gaze.

“Yes,” you say simply, sliding him the sheet of paper and giving him a little nod.

He grasps your quiz between his calloused fingers, and just like you assured him, every line is complete with a clear response in pencil.

“I can grade it right now since you’re the only one finished,” he asks, a challenging expression on his face as you stand confidently across him.

“Sure,” you say, gesturing to the paper as he retrieves a red pen from his bag.

You watch with bated breath as he scans the first question with the tip of his uncapped pen, giving a small nod as he then moves on to the next. The second question is the same, Professor Han looking it over and moving on to review the third now. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as he reviews your answers, despite being confident you’ve gotten at least the majority of them correct. Your gaze averts his seated figure as strands of his hair fall into his face, head hanging over your little sheet of paper as he checks and then double checks your responses.

“Yeah,” Professor Han finally says, sitting up straight once more and fidgeting with the red pen he neglected to even make use of. “It’s all right.”

He looks up at you with a curious expression, a kind of twinkle in the big eyes that are magnified by his geeky looking glasses. And his lips quiver with the intention to say something to you, but he can’t quite find the words. He’s simply taken aback by your skill, never having seen somebody share this similar level of knowledge regarding music history as he does. He wishes you would stay and discourse all your favorite pieces with him the way you normally do after his lectures, but the rest of the class remains quietly scribbling down their own answers, probably most of them incorrect like they usually are, and he can’t possibly request your presence for much longer in an unassuming fashion.

“You can leave early,” he whispers so as not to disturb the other test-takers, giving you a small nod as he slides the quiz into his bag.

“Really?”

“Yeah. That’s all I had planned for today. Just read chapters 8 and 9 for next class.”

You begin to pivot on your heel, excited to depart from class a little bit earlier today and hopefully catch up on other course work, despite this being your favorite class. But his words make you stop in your place, turning to face him once again and shrugging sheepishly.

“Professor, I…don’t have my textbook,” you say awkwardly, fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater as you speak. “My roommate borrowed it last Friday and I haven’t been able to get a hold of her. If there’s a PDF you know of, or maybe a library rental-”

He doesn’t let you finish before he’s reaching into his bag again, pulling out his own textbook and sliding it across the desk to you.

“Take mine with you,” he says confidently, giving you a thin-lipped smile. “Just remember to bring it back next week.”

“Are you sure?” You question, taking the thick book from his grasp and flipping it over to examine the cover. It looks a little different than yours, a varying colored font on the cover and much yellower, older pages, but it’s the exact same book as the one you’ve familiarized yourself with so well already.

“Positive. I think you’ll enjoy the next two chapters, too. Lots of piano stuff.”

He grins as he finishes, flashing you his signature toothy smile, and you feel your heart flutter at the fact that he’s even remembered you play the piano.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” you reply, tucking the book under your arm and smiling back at him. You hope that nobody behind you suspects why you’ve been standing at his desk for just a little too long, but you’re entranced by his presence in the silence of the room, wishing so badly you could stay and ask him about all of his favorite pieces like you normally do after class is dismissed. But you can’t be sure if they’ve taken notice, and you make your departure, anyway, giving Professor Han a small wave as you finally make your way out of the class and to the hallway.

Inside the lecture hall, Professor Han observes the remainder of the students working on their quizzes, not missing the way they visibly struggle to comprehend some of the questions or make guesses to material they should definitely know by now. And it’s a familiar sight to him, seeing his students disregard the course entirely and drag their feet just enough to pass the course.

You seem to be the only exception, though, thoroughly understanding and even enjoying the course material. And try as he might to brush off the thought of you, he can’t seem to, fascinated by the way you not only hear him, but listen to him, making his role on campus feel a little less futile- something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

His brows are furrowed as he works on his laptop, the room teeming with the scribbling noises of doubtful penciled-in answers by students on their quizzes and the subsequent erasing because they simply don’t know. But you know- you always know. Like the passing moments after class in which you indulge him in a fact about your journey as a music major, and he’ll often gift you with tales from his days as a prestigious symphonic director.

And you always send him off with a benevolent wave, tucking your hair behind your ear and sauntering out so gracefully, your short skirt flowing with your purposeful strides back to your dorm room.

Not that he’s taken notice of you, of course. Not that he sometimes prays you’ll be the last one out the room so that he can try to impress you with a fact about his musical knowledge or earn little anecdotes about your life he pieces together. That would be entirely inappropriate considering he’s a professor and you’re his student- and no fleeting amount of finally feeling listened to could change that fact.

Conversely, is he wrong to admit to himself that he’s fascinated by your musical knowledge? That the silence of the room is more unnerving when you’ve already gone home for the day?

Furthermore, that he doesn’t feel like such a loser when you beam at his stories and press him for more details about his musical career? Of course he can’t admit it to himself, because that would be entirely inappropriate- he’s a professor, and you’re just a student. But as he remains in front of his laptop, his eyes scanning the room at the students who are lost in thought- or lack of, rather, there’s only one empty seat in the front row. A seat typically occupied by your graceful presence, where you do your best to avoid making heavy eye contact, too, tucking strands of hair behind your ear and smiling at all his jokes. And inappropriate as it may be to admit it, he misses you when you’re not around- musical conversations, the sight of your delicate figure seated and paying attention to him and only him. Learning, listening.

*

The library is empty that same weekend, the gentle tap of rain on the window closest to you making for a peaceful ambiance as you settle on the velvet cushions of the vacant sofa. In your possession, a warm cup of coffee, as well as Professor Han’s textbook, held tightly in your grasp as you navigate to the inside cover.

Mr. Han, the inside hard cover reads, written neatly along the bolded black line. You smile to yourself, grazing the tips of your fingers along the black sharpie, imagining how he’d looked when he first penned it in. Probably the same way he does now, his big eyes blinking as he cocked his head in concentration and grasped the pen between his slender fingers.

You wonder briefly how old his book is- it appears much older than yours, the pages thin and worn like it’s something he’s utilized for a good while. Your fingers skim the smooth stack of pages before thumbing to the inside, landing on chapter 8 as he requested for this week’s reading assignment. And you smile as you do, taking careful note of the state of his book pages.

Surrounding the small black text, in disarray and almost indistinguishable in loopy blue penmanship, are his annotations, carefully analyzing the sentences as though he’s studied them a million times.

“Written at just five years old!” One sentence reads, underlining a sentence describing Mozart’s Minuet in G major. You can’t help but chuckle softly to yourself, fascinated at the fact that he annotates with the exact same level of enthusiasm he speaks of these pieces.

Another annotation specifies how Mozart’s music was tuned to 432 hertz, a frequency commonly associated with instilling a sense of peace and calmness within one’s body. And as you continue reading the bolded text of the chapter, his annotations provide a clearer image into the history of the composers, detailing minuscule facts about their lives and their music. They aren’t facts mentioned in the book, but rather ones he seemed to know based off memory alone, and you’re impressed he’s able to retain such a vast collection of information pertaining to the subjects. Some excerpts are simply marked with a “wow!” Or a series of exclamation points, and you find yourself endeared to how much of a clear liking he’s taken to the work of a textbook chapter.

As you skim a paragraph explaining the intricate work of Piano Sonata no. 12, his familiar blue annotation catches your eye again, except this time, it feels as though it transcends the page and speaks to you.

“Listen to this one,” it reads, underlined twice in blue pen. And for a moment, the thought overtakes you that he may be telling you to listen to it.

The sentence looks so intentional, almost begging for you to give into the simple request. The implication of underlining it not once, but twice, knowing he’s the only one reading this book. Except maybe he had intended to lend it to you, so that you might take the suggestion and listen to it like he had when he annotated it.

So without another second wasted on analyzing his intentions, you pull out your phone, popping in your earbuds and selecting Mozart’s Piano Sonata no.12 from a list of classical pieces. The piece is almost 20 minutes long, a fact which you find comfort in, knowing you get to think about Professor Han for the entirety of the 20 minutes you’re listening to his suggestion.

The notes begin short and vibrant, melting into one another with such fluidity and color. You shut your eyes to the flowing melody, letting yourself melt with the harmony and become one with Professor Han’s recommendation. And 30 seconds in, there’s a shift, from the joyful tune to a more rushed one, notes transitioning to staccato touches along the keyboard and picking up in pace. Like a gentle stride to a fast-paced sprint, similar to many of the tunes you lose yourself in completely while performing.

Then back to a gentler tune again, the pace slowing down once more and moving again in gentle strides. And just as you think it’s died down, the tune assumes both tempos- fast and then slow again, from a relaxed stroll to a purposeful sprint, in the direction of resolution and with every intention of taking your emotions for a wild ride in the process.

You scan the text again as you listen, indulging yourself in the complex history of Mozart’s experience writing the soulful piece, one he was presumed to have written in either Munich or whilst visiting Vienna. And you read Professor Han’s annotations in the process, heartbeat quickening as you allow yourself to imagine they’re all for you.

“This part is the best,” he annotates, referring to the melancholy movement that begins at nearly seven minutes in. It’s much slower, assuming a minor key and with little resolution at the end of every measure. Dragged-out half notes make up the majority of the piece which bewitches you, your mind racing with thoughts of Professor Han and his little inscriptions jotted down just for you.

The piece sounds a little like him- robust and enchanting, but with something more behind it all. Perhaps a story that’s dying to get out, a history he keeps tucked away in the back of his mind or even a secret he harbors. You think back to the way he gets when he speaks of his favorite pieces and his favorite composers- undoubtedly full of life and glowing with passion. And yet when questioned about his time directing, he’s quick to pull back again, shifting back into the professional composure he wears everyday, simply there to lecture from his memories alone and assign textbook pages as homework.

You’re not sure you’ve ever met somebody who mirrors your passion for music so well- like the two of you speak a language nobody else seems to comprehend. Even his annotations must look like gibberish to the masses, who probably wouldn’t bother to tune into Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 for the sole purpose of understanding him through it. Your alphabet transcends the English language- perhaps the two of you speak only in treble and bass, utilizing the eight notes available to you on a pin-straight staff and yet producing hundreds of thoughts in the process.

Ones that yearn to know him beyond the confines of a classroom, to understand who he was before all of this, before he was stuck in the old hall to the east of campus and made to preach to students who couldn’t give less of a shit about it all.

But you do- you always do.

And as the third movement begins at the 12-minute mark, the sounds of distressing melodies and ill-paced harmonies flooding your ears, you grasp a red pen in hand, leaning over his textbook and inscribing similar annotations to his.

“I love this one,” you scribble alongside his words, smiling to yourself as you converse on the thin pages of his old textbook. It doesn’t cross your mind once that your annotations will exist on the pages for eternity- in fact, you hope they do. You hope his message is received on the pages as much as they are by every inch of your yearning soul, that the bright red pen you wield contrasts so clearly against his blue marks and provides reciprocation to all of this passion.

“The third movement is my favorite,” you then note, scribbling something about the melody in juxtaposition to the evocative choice of tempo. And your annotations continue, and continue, all through the page, as though the book is yours and not something entirely borrowed.

The final paragraph is concluded by him with a simple sentence- one that critiques the lack of resolution.

“Discoordinate, fading notes,” it reads. “Feels like it’s missing something.”

And a bold decision it is, to make a record of Mozart having possibly forgotten something. But music is only reflective of your own emotions- perhaps it’s not Mozart forgetting something, but rather Professor Han feeling as though something’s missing. To you, the piece ends here- discoordinate fading notes that serve as the resolution. To Professor Han, there’s still something beyond those final few eighth notes, like the song isn’t reaching its full potential.

Beside his comment, one last penned-in annotation, one that you observe for a good while, reading it once, twice, and three times over as he practically offers a suggestion to Mozart himself.

“Coda?” It reads simply.

A coda- somewhat of an epilogue in music. It’s ignored the first time around- not really regarded by the musician until the da segno- to which a musician then plays until the indication to jump to the coda. And the coda serves as a resolution to the entire piece, typically a sonata, concluding with triumphant notes and the complete opposite of fading discoordination like Professor Han is so averse to.

You bring your red pen down to his comment, hovering the ballpoint tip over the paper for a moment, before making your final annotation along his pages.

A circle, with a cross in the center- a coda, a musical epilogue, an offer for resolution.

*

“Here’s your textbook,” Mina says casually when she finally returns that week, tossing it beside you on the bed and averting your gaze.

“Thanks,” you reply, entirely failing to confront her about having returned it a week later than you’d originally requested.

“I shouldn’t have even borrowed it,” she says with a frustrated huff. “I failed his stupid quiz.”

“Chapter 7?” You question, unsurprised by the admission to you.

“Yeah,” she replies, hoisting herself over her duvet and spreading her arms out behind her. “I don’t know a single person who’s passing that useless class.”

She keeps her gaze on the wall for a moment, and then she glances at you briefly, her expression unreadable as she speaks.

“Can’t believe I also have to waste my time at the stupid extra credit thing this week,” she announces, huffing as she concludes her speech.

You continue working on your laptop, not yet meeting her gaze as she rants, her legs dangling carelessly over the edge of the bed.

“What extra credit thing?”

Mina turns to look at you again, furrowing her brows together, almost in disbelief at your words.

“The extra credit thing Professor Han emailed about? There’s an exhibit at the art museum nearby for famous dead composers or something. If you turn in a ticket for proof you attended, you get like, 10 whole points or something.”

You stop typing on your laptop momentarily, glancing over the top of your screen to meet her gaze at last, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“This week?”

“Yeah,” she says, frowning slightly as you turn back to the computer. “You didn’t get the email about it?”

“I guess I didn’t,” you say to her, beginning to look up the event online. “I’ve been so busy.”

In reality, Professor Han’s email missed your inbox because you weren’t invited, consistently boasting an A in his class all semester. The extra credit is only intended for students like Mina, who are well on the route to failing his course without some form of extra credit. But to you, the event won’t serve as extra credit- it’s just an excuse to catch a glimpse of Professor Han again, maybe gain more insight into his favorite pieces and converse with him beyond the four walls of the lecture hall.

The rain is still coming down in sheets by the time your next lecture with Professor Han rolls around, the class much emptier than usual, most students opting to remain in the comfort of their dorm rooms. Professor Han produces a thought-provoking lecture on Mozart this time, conveying many of the works you read about in his textbook. And when his lecture concludes, he leans back against the podium, thanking all students who did attend today, an unspoken race against the clock unfolding as the two of you stall and wait for the rest of the students to clear out.

When the class is finally empty, he beckons for you with two fingers, remaining slouched against the podium and crossing his muscular arms out in front of him.

“I have your book,” you say to him, reaching into the bag slung around your shoulder.

He accepts it from your grasp, glancing at it briefly, before setting it down on his desk and folding his arms again. You want him to open it, to read your annotations and feel heard like the purpose your little scribbles are intended for. But he doesn’t- he just leaves it there, keeping his gaze on yours and remaining silent for a minute.

“What did you think of chapters 8 and 9?” He asks finally.

“Good stuff,” you say, giving him a shy nod. “I was familiar with a lot of it, but definitely still some new pieces I hadn’t heard of. I’ll try to get around to them when I can.”

Professor Han nods, and then you watch as he sprawls his hands out behind him, leaning back against the podium still and crossing his legs at the ankles.

“There’s an exhibit at the museum across the street later tonight,” he says, voice trembling a little as he speaks.

He’s not sure why he’s even bringing it up- maybe because he’s trying to keep the conversation course-related. It’s definitely not because he wants you to be there- a reckless way of thinking indeed.

“I know,” you say to him with a knowing smile. “I was wondering where my invite was for the extra credit.”

A breathy chuckle escapes his toothy grin as he holds his gaze on yours.

“You have a perfect score,” he replies in a low voice. “The extra credit is for people who are failing my class.”

“It can’t also be for art enthusiasts?” You retort, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I want to tour the dead composers gallery, too.”

Professor Han wants to entertain this- so, so badly. He wants to drop the professional act and flirt with you like you’re so clearly doing to him- but he can’t. You’re just a student, and it would be wrong to toy with the imbalance of power he holds over you. Still, there’s no reason you can’t also show to the exhibition, as a student who simply wants to partake in a walkthrough of the subject at hand. He can’t prohibit you from going, after all.

“I can’t give you any more credit,” Professor Han says with another breathy chuckle, cocking his head to look at you a little better. Your eyes sparkle as they stare back at him, a giddy smile plastered on your face and your hair tucked behind your ears between laughter as you meet his gaze again.

“But I can’t stop you from going, either.”

At this, he pivots on his heels, turning around to reach into the leather bag by his laptop. You watch curiously as he pulls out a small piece of paper, handing it to you and saying absolutely nothing.

But one glance at it tells you exactly what it is- a ticket to the exhibition, one that’s already been paid for. You remember Mina telling you she had purchased her ticket already, meaning this one was purchased for you- by Professor Han.

“Really?” You question with wide eyes, examining the ticket and then looking back at him with an excited smile.

“I didn’t ask you to come,” Professor Han reiterates. “You asked for extra credit. And you bought that ticket yourself.”

At this, he cocks his head a little, and then he shoots you a wink the same way he did once before. Only this time, your heartbeat quickens at his actions, ones that seem to desperately seek out attention from you and even make attempts at getting closer to you.

“I wanted extra credit,” you repeat to him finally, shooting him a wink, too. “And I bought this ticket myself.”

*

The so-called “dead composer’s gallery” has been an extra credit assignment of Professor Han’s for all five years he’s been teaching. It’s hosted in the art museum right by campus, the same few paintings of composers he lectures about making the rotation every fall to tell stories of their lives and flaunt the work they produced. Students don’t typically care for it, showing up to walk the duration of the gallery in a rush, flashing their ticket to Professor Han and collecting an easy ten points so as not to repeat his class.

He’s aware of the fact that they don’t read a single one of the bronze plaques that detail the names of the composers, or that they audibly insult the paintings, despite Professor Han being within earshot of them in the quiet space that houses the art. But for him, it’s simply a way to avoid teaching the same set of students a second time. One semester of watching them drag their feet is enough, he’s always thought to himself.

Professor Han has walked the exhibit a plethora of times, thus he usually shows in a simple sweater and some jeans, and the students marvel at the sight of him dressed so casually unlike at his lectures. And despite the exhibit being no different than the last few years, he feels compelled to dress up for this visit, admiring his efforts in the mirror as he adjusts the collar of his white button-down and centers his tie.

Of course, deep down, he’ll never admit he’s dressed up for you tonight, his mind racing with the unprofessional thoughts that you might show up just for him. He’s usually a mere spectator at these exhibits, silently assuming a spot in the corner of the room as the students make their rounds and eye him nervously. He emphasizes the notion that asking questions is encouraged, or that the students are free to chat with him about their favorite paintings and apply them to his lectures. Yet they never do- they just pace the marble floors at an expeditious pace and send him off with the wave of their ticket, not a single painting having resonated with them in the process. Some of them even groan, or verbally complain about the task, as though Professor Han’s forced them here tonight, and not the near-failing grade so many of them are stuck with. As though he’s not doing them a favor by offering extra credit for such an easy task, and an enjoyable one at that- or at least to him.

Wet sneakers squeak along the marbled floors as the students make their rushed rounds, many of them accompanying groups of friends as they stifle laughter at the art and then make their departure with the flash of a ticket in Professor Han’s direction. He remains in the corner of the large gallery room, one hand shoved in the pocket of his black slacks, the other grasping a folded pamphlet as he skims the artist names and waits for students to approach, should they require his attention. Yet it’s a futile task, having been at the event for nearly two hours now as the students come and go.

Admittedly, and with all the profound guilt weighing deep in his chest, Professor Han can’t think about anything except for you, desperately scanning the halls and glancing at the doorway for the familiar sight of you sauntering in, a beaming smile on your face and purpose in every stride. The exhibit is near closing by this point, just a handful of students remaining as he glances around the room and watches them rush to finish touring the display.

And embarrassingly enough, he counts down the seconds on the silver wrist watch he wears, hoping maybe you’re just running late by chance.

As the little hands on his watch tick in seconds, and you’re still nowhere to be seen, the thought suddenly overtakes him that this is all so stupid. What is he thinking, waiting around for a student like this- one he teaches, and one he’s tried his best to avoid having non-platonic thoughts about? It's silly. Not to mention- wildly inappropriate.

As Professor Han gathers his canvas bag hoisted over a nearby bench, and sends the last handful of students off with a polite bow, a quick turn of the corner confirms his first theory.

“Hi,” you say to Professor Han, bowing to him and tucking a wet strand of hair out of your face. “Sorry, I was running a bit late. Lots of rain outside.”

Professor Han can’t help but hold your gaze momentarily, enchanted by the sight of you, despite coming to the conclusion that this is wrong. If it’s wrong, he’ll have to sort out the logistics some other time- because you standing in front of him like this, dressed much more elegantly than he’s ever seen you, a smile on your face and already glancing around at the gallery at the works of art- everything about this feels right.

“Hi,” he says back, a nervous exhale escaping his lips as he does. He silently prays you can’t tell that he’s been waiting around for this all evening, longing to see you just once tonight and maybe talk about musical composers the way he’s been dreaming of.

“Vivaldi?” You question, brushing your way past him to the giant painting across from you, depicting the famous composer in a red robe clutching his signature violin. “I’m assuming, by the violin.”

“Yeah,” Professor Han says, turning to face the painting, too. “Kind of a scary dude, isn’t he?”

Professor Han realizes you’re the first student to make a single comment about one of the paintings here- a fact he’s well endeared by, and simultaneously completely unsurprised by.

“Debatable,” you respond. “For his portfolio alone, sure. But if we’re talking looks, I think Brahms might win this one.”

Your eyes shift to the left of Vivaldi’s at the cold stare of Johannes Brahms, a long white beard and a sharp mustache framing his glaring eyes. Professor Han laughs lightly, and then he takes note of the way you cock your head at the bronze plaque, reading a detailed little account of Brahms and scanning the art as you do.

“Brahms wasn’t scary,” he finally says with a shrug of his shoulders. “He was actually really lonely.”

“Yeah?” You question back, observing the way he stares up at the painting.

“Yeah,” he affirms. “There was a long-standing rumor that he had a crush on pianist Clara Schumann- of course she was already married. Some think Clara may have cheated and secretly reciprocated feelings for Brahms, too- but regardless, he died alone.”

The space is quiet between you both, a sort of melancholia falling over you two as you piece together the story in your mind. You can’t help but imagine how lonely it must have been for Brahms, keeping his love for Clara a complete secret in the presence of her spouse. A love so strong and so unmoving that he chose to die alone rather than find a woman that served as replacement for the love he felt for Clara.

Your mind paints images of Brahms and Clara together, his gaze fixed on hers and so helplessly in love while she was wed to another man all along.

“That’s tragic,” you say finally, feeling a pit form in your chest. “What a lonely life it must’ve been.”

Professor Han seems to take note of your change in tone, perking up a little as he chimes in again.

“He still had his music,” he says to you. “And a very successful career.”

And your head cocks again at Brahms’ face across from you, a stoic expression in his eyes and his thin-lipped pout- almost as though he was hiding part of himself from the masses all along.

“But he didn’t have the one thing he wanted,” you finish telling him.

Professor Han says nothing, giving a small bow to the painting with his arms tucked behind his back. He searches for the words to say, ones that might comfort you in this pity you take on him. But he can’t, feeling as though you may be right.

Brahms had music, a successful career composing everything from Wiegenlied to Symphonies 1 and 3, a long list of credits and enough fortune to travel the world when he wasn’t producing excellency. But he never had Clara Schumann- a tragic unrequited love he took with him to the grave. Could the tender touches and kindred soul of a lover ever be replaced by half and eighth notes on a staff? By the wave of a baton in a sea of brass and wooden reeds? Was he happy, simultaneously getting everything he wanted and nothing he dreamed of?

Johannes Brahms never had Clara Schumann. And conversely, perhaps Professor Han will never get close to what he wants, either.

The dead composer’s gallery quickly proves to be a lot more tragic than you’d anticipated. The paintings are beautiful- grand golden crested frames that house detailed depictions of famous composers, wearing powdered wigs and fancy dress robes. And every stride to the next work of art is accompanied by Professor Han’s tragic, detailed account of their love lives.

“Tchaikovsky was gay during a time when it was highly illegal,” Professor Han explains. “He had a long list of gay lovers with whom he’d write romantic letters to, and he came under heavy scrutiny when it was made public- especially since he was already of a low social class.”

“Must’ve been terrifying,” you tell him, narrowing your eyes at the intense stare of his painted portrait. “What did he do?”

Professor Han is quiet for a moment, glancing over at you and parting his lips as though he’s going to say something. But he simply remains silent, staring back up at the painting and swallowing nervously.

It’s only when you glance over at him, raising your eyebrows a little in the direction of his looming figure and almost gesturing for him to continue, that he reluctantly provides an answer to your question.

“He married a student,” Professor Han says quietly.

And he understands very well what the implications are here, producing stories of instructors being romantically involved with their students, when he’s here with a student himself.

Here with you, the very same student he’s been waiting on all evening. The student he’s enjoying telling stories of composers and their romantic involvements to, and the same student he’ll find any excuse to spend more time with once the dead composers gallery is already closed for the night.

“They didn’t last, of course,” Professor Han then continues. “It was impulsive, and they were severely incompatible. Not to mention his heart already belonged to another.”

It’s your turn to get quiet, simply nodding at his words and piecing together tidbits of Tchaikovsky’s tragic romance.

“Professor,” you say to him suddenly, turning to face him with a small smile on your face. “How do you know so much about the romantic histories of famous composers, anyway? Is this part of your lecture style?”

Professor Han chuckles lightly in response, his eyes forming little crescents as his lips pull back into a big grin. He looks much happier here like this, compared to the way he carries himself during his teaching- more laid back, comfortable, even.

“I think you have to understand where they fell short in romance,” he says, maintaining the same warm smile on his face. “It’s where most of the passion, and pain alike, stemmed from in their pieces. The sheer intensity of some of the orchestral or symphonic pieces, they’re…” his voice trails off momentarily, observing a painting of Mozart on the wall in front of the two of you, whose story he hasn’t even indulged you in yet as the museum staff prepare to close for the evening. He tilts his head to one side, pondering his words briefly and giving a little nod before continuing.

“They’re all crafted from yearning in one way or another.”

*

The evening rainfall is torrential outside, the sidewalks almost empty as people seek shelter in the safety of their cars and apartments. Once you’ve both exited the museum, Professor Han remains under the concrete roof that spans the entrance, looking out at the glistening pavement roads that reflect with red and green traffic lighting.

“Are you parked on the street?” He asks hesitantly, his hands shoved in the pocket of his slacks as he awaits your reply.

“I walked here,” you say to him, a light chuckle escaping your lips. “My dorm’s just a few blocks away.”

His eyes widen at the admission, thinking back to where his car is parked, just around the corner in the museum’s designated parking garage. He debates offering you a ride, but he knows it’d be in his best interest to avoid being alone in a car with the one woman he so dangerously can’t stop thinking about.

“Do you need a ride?” He then asks, the words leaving his lips before he can even stop himself. It’s like he’s overtaken by another version of himself- one who can’t cease this little chase you’re indulging him in, too.

“I don’t want to burden you,” you respond, a sheepish smile on your face as you try to veil the fact that you’re elated he’s even offered.

One more chance to make things right- and yet there’s no discernible boundary between what feels right, and what is right.

“It’s not a burden,” he affirms. “It’s not safe to walk home in this rain.”

Your gaze meets his, a sort of triumphant smile pulling on your lips as he cocks his head in the direction of the parking garage. There’s no distinctive plan either of you have in mind, but you’re also drawn to each other, admittedly wanting nothing more than to find little excuses to put off your departure for the evening.

He begins in the direction of the garage without even waiting for verbal confirmation, and yet he doesn’t have to, because you’re already trailing alongside him like it’s been your plan all this time. You maintain a giddy smile on your face as you both brave the rain together beyond the concrete ceiling of the museum entrance, tucking your necks into your shoulders and laughing as the rain drenches your clothes completely, strands of hair falling into your face and dribbling rainwater down your glowing cheeks.

“It’s just past here!” he calls out over the deafening sounds of rainfall, squinting his eyes amidst the drops of water that weigh on his eyelashes and making out the faint outline of his car in the dimly lit parking garage.

You trail behind him as he gestures for you to follow, also catching a glimpse of his parked car in the garage, seemingly the only remaining one at this hour.

Professor Han opens the passenger door for you, stringy pieces of hair falling into his face as he gestures for you to get in. And you do without hesitation, smoothing down your skirt and occupying the sleek black leather seat. When the door is shut, there’s a brief silence that falls over you as he makes his way around to the driver’s side, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the rearview mirror. Your makeup is a little smeared from the rain, wet hair slicked down and your clothes clinging to your figure with dampened spots. But for the first time in a long while, you look happy, finally making use of your time beyond the walls of your dorm room.

Professor Han slides into his seat at last, the door shutting promptly beside him, and he runs his slender fingers through the slick black strands of hair that fall into his face. You watch him curiously, heart racing at the sight of him so close to you, your bodies almost touching if not for the center console that so conveniently separates your yearning bodies. Drops of rainwater find purchase on his bent knees, further dampening his slacks as he wrings out his jet black hair over them. And he chuckles as he does, a little embarrassed he looks so disheveled in your presence.

When he hears you reciprocate with a gentle laugh, he turns to look at you, and it’s then that he realizes how dangerously close he is to you.

From this proximity, he can make out the spheres of rainwater that collect on your blushed cheeks, every last speck of mascara that collects under your eyelashes and flutters as you blink curiously at him. He can distinguish the lipstick you’ve strategically worn just for him, one that almost mirrors the natural pink shade of his pouty lips. He can feel the clear tension that bubbles over the center console as you lean in just a little, not enough to graze his mouth over yours, but certainly enough to feel the sharp breath that escapes his lips as he leans in, too.

And just as your eyes begin to shut, with every intention to kiss him right then and there, the sound of distant rainfall lessening as your rapid heartbeat fills your ears, he pulls back again.

“Sorry,” Professor Han remarks quietly, resting his hands on the steering wheel and shaking his head as though he's physically ridding himself of the urge to kiss you.

Your eyes open again, met with his trembling brown pupils that fixate on the dashboard in front of you both. And then he starts the car without another word, not yet backing out as he sits with his thoughts for a moment.

You desperately want to think he was going to kiss you, too, but you feel painfully stupid for being turned away like this in his car. Maybe it’s not how you’ve been reading into- maybe this is strictly a teacher-student relationship the way it’s supposed to be.

“Do you want to go back to your dorm?” He asks amidst the silence, not meeting your gaze. He’s scared he’ll get the urge to kiss you again, or that you might clock how nervous he is to be here with you.

You’re quiet for a moment, a little angry with things as you ponder the question. He’s not quite telling you to go home- but he isn’t asking you to stay, either. He’s just putting the ball in your court- both a safe, and a risky play at hand.

“No,” you voice finally.

He just nods at your response, clicking his tongue once and waiting for you to say something else. But you don’t- instead, you wait for him to say something else, too.

“Do you want to get out of the rain?” He then asks in a quiet voice, not specifying where that may imply. And although he doesn’t, you nod in agreement, meeting his gaze briefly as he reciprocates with an affirmative nod of his own.

*

Professor Han may have physically refuted the notion that kissing you in his car was anywhere near appropriate- and yet at this hour, the only place he can think to seek shelter from the rain with you is his apartment.

His apartment is nothing special at first glance, just your typical run-of-the-mill unit on the third floor of his building, but at a closer inspection, everything is exactly what you’d expect it to be.

Music sheets scattered along tables and couches, scribbled hastily with notes and annotations, much like his textbook was. A studio piano against the wall of his living room, the leather-seated bench that accompanies it stacked high with music theory books and more sheet music. The walls are decorated with rows of photographs, ones that you wish you could derive answers from, much like the dead composers gallery.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says sheepishly, peeling off his coat and draping it over the back of a chair.

Your arms are folded behind your back as you traverse the wooden floors as though this place is a museum, too. You relish in the sight of every decorative item, every sheet of music and every placement of his old-looking furniture, like it might give you more insight into exactly who Professor Han is. It’s just like he is- classic, enchanting, captivating.

“What are all these?” You ask him, pointing to a wall with a neat collage of photos.

At a closer inspection, you realize many of them include him, presumably from several years ago. He’s blonde in one of them, wearing a black pinstriped suit and a stylish pair of silver earrings. Another one shows him with midnight blue hair, the cool-toned hue contrasting rather beautifully against his tanned skin. His hair is still black in many of them, but he looks younger, dressed casually with a big smile plastered on his face.

And the most fascinating quality in all of them- he looks important. Like he’s a notable figure among the other subjects, usually standing in front of a podium or a music stand, sometimes with a baton grasped between his hands and raised in motion.

“Are these from your directing days?” You then ask, knowing the answer already.

It feels a little wrong to be seeing the photographs, almost as though they’re not supposed to be visible to just a student of his. They’re a glimpse into another life he’s lived- one you’re too late to be a part of. And more importantly, one he hasn’t seemed to be interested in talking about. You remember the times he’d brush off the mention of directing, change the subject or even just respond with an absent shrug. And yet standing in front of the proof it happened, you can’t help but probe for answers, feeling as though they might provide insight into who exactly he is underneath this pensive mask he wears.

“Those are from my directing days,” he confirms with a sad smile, making his way over to you and staring up at the wall. He examines one in which he’s in the middle of composing, stick held high in the air and a concentrated expression on his chiseled face.

“You look really cool,” you tell him, and he laughs lightly in response.

“Thank you,” he replies politely. “I always felt cool.”

You begin to tell him that he’s still cool, the way he captivates a whole room with lectures about famous composers and music theory he just knows offhandedly now. But you quickly get quiet again, not wanting to overstep any boundaries.

When you turn to face him again, you’re well aware of how close he is to you, droplets of rain still gliding down the bridge of his nose and onto the damp collar of his dress shirt. You also notice he’s wearing his glasses again, which remain the only dry part of his attire.

He seems to take notice of the heightened proximity for the second time today, too, making his way over to the couch and sitting on the edge of the velvet green cushions. But his gaze still remains fixed on yours, admiring the way you peer at his space.

“Professor, can I ask you something?” You say to him, approaching him cautiously, yet keeping a comfortable distance from him.

“Anything,” Professor Han replies, swallowing nervously and resting the palms of his hands flat on his knees. His long legs are draped over the edge of the couch, bent at the knees and spread so that he’s comfortably resting against the back of the cushion.

“You didn’t tell me about Mozart,” you say to him, twiddling your fingers in front of you. “What was Mozart’s love life like?”

Professor Han thinks it over momentarily, his eyes darting to the ceiling as he recalls Mozart’s romantic involvements. And it doesn’t take long, because it’s another tale he knows very well already.

“Well he lived with a family during his time in Vienna,” he explains. “They had a daughter named Constanze, who he took a particular liking to.”

You nod at his words, approaching him a little more now and observing the way he tenses a little, yet also noticing he makes zero effort to move away.

“His father didn’t approve,” Professor Han continues, eyeing the gentle sway of your skirt as you near him. “And yet when Mozart moved out, they maintained a relationship in secret.”

“A secret relationship?” You echo, and he nods affirmatively. “And then what happened?”

“Well,” he begins, dropping his hands to his sides as you stand right in front of him now. “Mozart wrote Constanze’s disapproving father a very famous letter. And they later married.”

“A letter?” You question. “Do you recall what was in the letter?”

You eye him from above, your thighs practically grazing his kneecaps as he remains seated in front of you.

And then in a painfully slow movement, all the while reminding yourself not to rush it, your hands find his, intertwining your fingers together and allowing you to pull yourself even closer to him, effectively slotting yourself between his knees. Professor Han’s breath hitches in his throat as you do, his heart racing wildly in his chest, pulsing reminders grazing his conscience that this is wrong. Yet juxtaposed against your delicate touches on his skin, and your curious eyes awaiting a resolution to his story, he can’t help himself.

“The letter?” He asks nervously, and you nod at him.

“Yeah. Do you remember it, by chance?”

Of course he remembers it- he could recite it in his sleep if he wanted to, every last word and emotion ingrained so deep within his soul as though its memorization was some requirement to work in a music-related field. But he hesitates to utter the words, knowing that if he does, they serve as permission for this- all of this, to indulge himself in all his reckless convictions right here with you.

“You don’t have to,” you say to him shyly, loosening your grasp on his fingers.

And you refer to both the utterance of Mozart’s letter, as well as the actions you know are bound to unfold if he does.

“No, I…” he interrupts, a sharp breath leaving his lips as he speaks. “I want to.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, tightening your grasp around his fingers once more, and then you wait for him to begin.

Professor Han takes a deep breath, some form of a prayer or maybe a beg for absolute forgiveness to a higher power racing his mind before he speaks again. And then, with all the weighing guilt in his heart, he begins to voice the letter back to you.

“I must make you better acquainted with the character of my dear Constanze,” he begins, finally allowing you to pull yourself onto his lap and steady yourself with two hands on his strong forearms.

“Keep talking,” you say to him, reaching out to tuck a strand of wet hair out of his face.

“Her whole beauty consists of two little black eyes and a pretty figure,” he continues, swallowing nervously at every tender touch you produce against his skin. His hands rest on the curves of your waist, delicately grazing up and down as you watch him curiously. Your legs bend to straddle him, skirt flowing over his black dress slacks and draping over the fabric of his crotch, where he can feel himself growing unbearably hard for you.

“Mhm,” you say, two hands now grazing the fabric of his silk black tie and loosening the knot at the collar.

“She likes to be neatly and cleanly dressed, but not smartly; and most things that a woman needs, she is able to make for herself.”

At this point, Professor Han’s tie is completely undone, your nimble fingers now undoing the buttons of his shirt and grazing fingertips along the exposed strip of his chest to you.

He pauses momentarily, eyes fluttering briskly as he relishes in the sensation of your skin against his. And then in one swift motion, your hands tug the fabric of his tie toward you, grazing your open mouth over his and pressing a short, chaste kiss to his pink lips.

He waits for more, but you don’t indulge him just yet, pulling away to stare into the swirling galaxies he houses in his big eyes.

And before he can finish reading the letter, you’re speaking again, putting out the same words he completely intended to produce.

“I love her, and she loves me with all her heart,” you say to him, finishing Mozart’s signature letter for him. “Tell me whether I could wish for a better wife.”

Professor Han says nothing, his eyes widened with shock for a moment as you toy with the fabric of his tie. He wasn’t expecting you to know the tale, let alone echo the letter back to him- one he’s had memorized for most of his life.

“Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father,” you voice with a small shrug. “It’s always been one of my favorites.”

And Professor Han can’t take it anymore, finally allowing himself to pull you in by the small of your back, desperately gripping his fingers against the fabric of your shirt and locking his lips with yours once again. His kisses are purposeful, and needy, but he’s still gentle with you, guiding you further down the length of his legs until you’re sat right over his crotch. The two of you say nothing in between kisses for a good while, remaining like that and exchanging gasped breaths into each other’s mouths as his hands explore every inch of your still-clothed body. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into you and arching your back into his touches. And when his hands graze the length of your skirt, tenderly stroking up the skin on your inner thighs, you chuckle lightly into his mouth, well amused by the actions as though you haven’t wanted it all this time, too.

“Is this okay?” He says nervously, pulling away momentarily to scan your expression.

“It’s more than okay,” you say to him, toying with his tie again. “I’ve wanted to do this so badly.”

Professor Han chuckles lightly, not wanting to admit he’s been thinking about it, too. Maybe externally you’ve already taken note of the way he stares at you as he speaks during lectures, or the way he eyes your short skirts when you assume your seat in his classroom. But you don’t know the nights he spends alone in his apartment, desperately fucking his fist to the thought of you bent over the podium in his lecture hall and filling the space with your erotic moans. Or the way he’s had to divert your gaze in class sometimes, lest he accidentally flaunts a hard-on for the whole class to see, because he knows his mind will run someplace it shouldn’t be.

He’s completely ridden with guilt, his sleep schedule almost nonexistent as he spends hours after he’s already tucked himself into bed, praying the universe won’t punish him for thinking about a student like this.

But he can’t help it- not when you saunter into his classroom so confidently every week, speaking of composers with the same level of admiration he shares, earning the highest grade possible and taking a genuine interest in his life. He’s almost angry at the reality of it, questioning constantly why you hadn't crossed paths before he became a teacher.

“Where were you during my college days?” Professor Han says out loud, a sort of disappointment evident on his face as he speaks. “I wish I’d known you earlier.”

You chuckle in response, one hand tangling in the back of his hair as you rub in gentle massaging motions.

“What’s wrong with right now?” You retort, trailing one finger over his plump lips.

“What’s wrong is that I’m your professor,” he emphasizes, scoffing lightly. “Everything about it is wrong.”

“I’m an adult,” you respond, pulling him in by his collar to work kisses down the column of his neck. “And I want this.”

“Yeah, but…” he begins, the guilt weighing heavily on him all over again.

“You don’t want this?” You then ask, pushing yourself off him briefly and holding eye contact with him. He looks as nervous as he always does when he’s near you, his eyes wide with fear and his timid movements conveying a clear reluctance to reciprocate the affection.

“I do want this,” he mutters sheepishly, knowing it’s also not in his best interest to lie to the woman he’s been leading on for several months now.

“I can leave,” you say to him finally, acknowledging how scared he sounds at the prospect of being here with you. “I won’t tell a single soul. It’ll be like it never happened.”

And Professor Han’s eyebrows arch up in an almost pleading motion, not verbally conveying anything, and yet telling you all that you need to know in the process.

Without saying anything back to him, you reach down to pinch the bridge of his wireframe glasses between your index finger and thumb. His glasses are fogged up, resting almost crookedly on his face when you pull them off, snapping the frame shut between your teeth and setting them on the couch beside you. You can hear Professor Han’s breath hitch in the back of his throat, nervously awaiting your next move and practically shifting total control over to you, who wastes no time reattaching your lips to his and humming into his mouth. He looks completely helpless under you like this, beads of sweat forming on his temples, indistinguishable against the rain droplets that still grace his attire. When you pull away, you examine his chest again briefly- the very same one you couldn’t seem to look away from on your first day of classes. His broad pectorals jut out against the thin white fabric of his button-down shirt, almost completely see-through all drenched in rainwater. And two buttons reveal his sharp clavicles to you, but you’re still just as eager to see the rest of him.

So in slow movements, you graze your hands down lower, snaking off his tie and discarding it alongside him with his glasses. Your nimble fingers work his buttons now, undoing them one by one, pulling open the hem of his shirt so that his chest is visible to you, and when the very last one is undone, you practically tear open both sides of his shirt, allowing the fabric to drape down over the couch and slouch off of his shoulders.

His waist is a sight to marvel at, delicate yet still muscular, made even more erotic in contrast with his broadened shoulders that span much wider than his hips. And your lips quickly find every curve of his chest, pressing a trail of kisses along his clavicles, up to the crook of his neck, down where his nipples protrude and along his shoulders, which tense up beneath your touch.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes in blissful pleasure as your kisses turn a little harsher, pulling his flesh between your teeth and sucking small bruises onto the raised goosebumps that grace every inch of him. You can feel him shift beneath you, trying his best to keep his now swollen cock at a distance from you, as though the act might be less incriminating if you can’t feel his physical yearning for you. And yet it’s enough for you to take notice, scooting closer to him with a smile on your face as you meet his lips once more.

When he feels you squeeze your thighs around his still-clothed cock just once, enough for the friction to emit a bead of precum from under his slacks, his hands find your waist again, tugging lightly at the fabric to signal you to remove it.

“Can I take this off?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes now hooded with lust, lips parted at the sight of your body practically grinding onto his.

You don’t reply, simply crossing two arms over your torso and pulling your shirt off over your head. It’s discarded along with the pile of other things, and then before he has to ask, your bra joins it beside him, too.

Professor Han feels as though he might finish right here at the sight of your breasts on display for him, your hardened nipples protruding generously with arousal and practically begging for his touch. He feels his mouth water with saliva, desperate to take you in his mouth, but somehow even with you straddling him like this, he’s too scared to make a move.

“Professor,” you say to him quietly.

“Hm?” He responds.

You say nothing back to him, blinking innocently down at him and waiting for him to act upon his urges. You know what it is that he wants so badly- and you want it, too. But you want it to feel as mutual as the yearning has, for some confirmation neither of you are manipulating the other into this. His eyes don’t leave your breasts, examining the way your chest rises and falls with every heavy breath as you wait for him. And then he meets your gaze again, a sharp breath escaping his lips as he does.

“Jisung,” he says, now chuckling lightly. His hands snake up your sides, rising higher, and higher, until they’re resting on the mounds of your breasts, not yet making contact with your hardened nipples.

“What?” You hum in response, a small smile on your lips as he watches you carefully.

“That’s my name,” he now says, leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss again. As he does, his hands move lower, until his slender fingers are sprawled out over your nipples. He doesn’t stop kissing you, moving his hands in gentle kneading motions over your breasts as his kisses turn more eager.

“You don’t have to call me professor,” he says in between kisses, hands now reaching around to pull you in closer, gripping your ass just as tenderly the way he did your breasts and desperately grazing your smooth flesh against his calloused fingers . “Just call me Jisung.”

As you smile into the kiss, he flips up your skirt, looping one finger into the hem of your panties and toying with it as he adjusts himself below you. He tugs at your panties just an inch, now transitioning his movements to find the buckle of his pants, metal clinking between your bodies as he unfastens it and snakes it out beside him.

You pull your own panties off as he unbuttons his slacks, awkwardly parting from you momentarily to rid himself of the still-drenched fabric. And then all that remains are his boxers, his erection pitching a tent against the constricting fabric as he resumes his kisses.

“Jisung,” you breathe into his mouth, earning a toothy grin from him against your parted lips. “I love it. I love your name.”

“You’re welcome to say it whenever you want,” he says back, running his hands along the small of your back.

“Just me?” You ask teasingly, tangling two hands in his ebony hair.

“Just you,” he emphasizes, grazing his fingers along your inner thighs. “Just like you’re the only one who scores a perfect on everything she does,” he continues, the pads of his fingers attaching to your clit.

“Just like you’re the only student I’d bring back here in the first place.”

Jisung’s fingers begin slow, circular motions on your bundle of nerves, earning a gasp from you as he dips once into your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it around again.

His mouth accumulates with a needy wad of drool, cock growing even harder at the sight of your eyebrows arched for him as you grind into the pads of his fingers and push him even harder against your flesh.

“Do you think about me often?” You ask him between labored breaths, tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. His eyes are wide with lust and curiosity alike, peering back at you so innocently, with every intention to pleasure you.

“I do,” he affirms, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“What do you think about?” You now ask him, scooting even closer and allowing your chests to make contact as you wrap your arms around him.

“Those short little skirts you wear just for me,” he replies, smiling as he speaks. “They drive me insane.”

“That’s on purpose, you tell him, grazing your nails along the back of his neck. “What else?”

“Your stories of piano,” he then says, surprising you with his response. “It’s so sexy how talented you are.”

“Really?” You ask him, chuckling lightly as he kisses you once again. He nods affirmatively, dipping two fingers into your entrance with ease, just past your glistening folds, but not yet moving them inside of you.

And then he grows quiet for a moment, meeting your gaze with a serious expression, before he begins to pump his fingers slowly in and out of you as he speaks again.

“I touched myself to your book annotations,” he tells you, this time a smile absent from his chiseled face.

“My book annotations,” you repeat, and he cocks his head to look at you.

“All for me,” he continues, filling the ache between your legs with the gentle thrust of his fingers. “Were you trying to get my attention?”

“Depends,” you reply, clutching his shoulders and moving down the length of his fingers a little further.

“On what?”

“On whether yours were for me,” you say to him finally, clenching down around his digits.

He moves his thumb to stimulate your clit as he fucks you, earning a breathy moan as you struggle to speak now.

“Tell me what it was like,” you say to him breathlessly. “Describe it to me.”

“It was earlier today- just before the gallery,” he explains, cocking his head as your lips part in pleasure. “I never annotate in red. I knew instantly that it was you. Your handwriting- your words,” he continues. “I wasn’t expecting it- I’d hoped maybe you penned in a phone number or something.”

You chuckle lightly as he speaks, taking note of the way his fingers pick up the pace inside of you.

“You would’ve loved that, huh?” You retort. And his fingers now move inside of you in a ‘come hither’ motion as he resumes his actions.

“I would’ve loved that,” he groans. “Too bad all I had was your handwriting, and the thought of you in that skirt you wore today. And ten minutes alone with my right hand, praying you’d actually show up tonight.”

Jisung can’t cease his perverted confessions once they begin escaping his wet lips. In complete contrast to his reluctance earlier, his fingers now thrusting in and out of your sopping pussy with such force, spilling every little detail about how much he’s thought about you these past few months.

“God, I love your body,” he breathes against you, craning his neck to take your breast in his mouth. His mouth latches around your erect nipple, tongue swirling in circular motions as he hums helplessly. And you let out a fervent moan at the sensation, not missing the way his fingers prod into your squelching entrance, your thighs trembling as you near your finish.

“Jisung,” you gasp, tangling a hand in his hair and tugging him gently off of you. A string of drool connects his wet lips to your flesh as he meets your gaze, labored breaths grazing your skin, desperate to taste you again.

“What is it?” He coos back.

“I want to finish with you,” you say helplessly. And your hand reaches down between the two of you onto his still-clothed crotch, taking his girth between your hand and giving a light squeeze. He’s wet, as though he’s already finished once for you, and he whimpers powerlessly at the contact.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, shutting his eyes in pleasure at the sensation. “Fuck, touch it again, will you?”

You chuckle lightly in response, looping a finger into the hem of his boxers and tugging down.

“I can do a lot more than just touch you,” you tell him, allowing his fingers to depart from your entrance as you position yourself over him. He watches too as you tug his boxers over his crotch, his eyebrows arching in preemptive arousal as he feels the cool air graze his exposed flesh. And when his cock is finally free, growing erotically against the concave of his abdomen, you can’t help but gasp, completely in awe at the sight.

He’s much bigger than you’d anticipated, a thick girth lined with pink protruding veins and a generous length, his cock almost red at the tip and leaking with precum.

“Fuck,” Jisung says for a third time, feeling another bead drip down his length at the prospect of you watching.

“Is it okay if-”

Jisung doesn’t let you finish your sentence before he’s nodding eagerly, practically begging you to ride him. And you waste no time indulging him in the request, positioning your entrance over him and steadying yourself with two hands on his broad shoulders. He says nothing as he waits, his nails digging into the small of your back as he shuts his eyes, reveling in the sensation of your body so close to his. And then before he can meet your gaze again, you’re sliding down the slick of his length with complete ease, almost bottoming out fully as he opens his eyes again and whimpers loudly.

He’s already pulsating rhythmically inside of you, the tip of his cock kissing your walls as you move even lower, precum mixing with your wetness and producing a light sloshing sound as you begin to move up and down.

His eyes watch your pussy swallow him for a few motions, doing his best to stave off his orgasm as you pant at the sensation. You can feel him all the way in your stomach, filling you up so fully and deeply, labored breaths leaving your lips as his whimpers fill the room. And then you capture him in a wet kiss again, just barely grazing your lips over his as his voice rises in pitch.

“Shit, I can’t,” he whines, gripping your skin a little tighter. “I’m gonna cum so fast.”

“It’s okay,” you emphasize, clenching around his girth and smiling against him. “We have all night.”

The words make him twitch once inside of you, the thought of fucking you a second time making him dizzy with anticipation. Any fleeting thought that this might be a bad idea is completely dissipated from his mind, replaced with unwavering pleasure and his longing to fill you up the way he’s imagined for the better part of the semester now.

“Can I cum inside of you?” He groans, using two hands to move you down his length a little deeper, your clit grinding softly against his abdomen as he bottoms out inside of you. “Jesus, you feel so good.”

You nod in response to him, burying your head in the crook of his neck as he continues to help you, one finger stimulating your clit again as beads of sweat trickle down his forehead.

For a while, no one says anything, the only sounds present between the two of you being the gentle slosh of your juices around his girth and the helpless panting that bridges the gap between your bodies. Your moans and his whimpers are a lot like the discoordinate piano pieces he analyzes so deeply, fading in and out of pace and searching relentlessly for resolution.

And as you crescendo toward your release, you can’t help but take note of how right it feels to be here with him, consuming each other the way you pour yourself into your music, as he does his work. He had asked you earlier where you’d been all his college life- but you know you’re supposed to be together like this now, regardless of his relationship to you. Had he been ten, twenty years your senior, you wouldn’t care- it’s your souls that keep you intertwined like this, the way he sees you for your passions and your interests, beyond just the traditional sense of a student and a teacher. He’s so much more than that- he’s so much more than just a professor.

As Jisung reaches back to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, you feel yourself clench once around his pulsing girth, and then you let go entirely around him, grasping his broad chest as you breathe out his name like a prayer in the duration of your release.

“Jisung,” you moan against him, allowing his first name rather than his professional title to linger between your two listless bodies.

“Y/n,” he groans back, shutting his eyes briefly and arching up his eyebrows. And then as you tremble in exhaustion around him, legs aching from working yourself to your finish, he reaches his finish, too, shooting generous ropes of cum up inside of you and wrapping two arms around you to pull you closer to him.

He remains like that through his finish, his head finding purchase in the valley of your breasts, resting against the chest that rises and falls with deep breaths as his release dribbles down out of you.

And neither of you make any haste movements to get cleaned up just yet, allowing yourselves to remain pressed up against each other, hands tenderly caressing flesh and limbs tangled together.

In the midst of massaging his soft ebony locks, the pads of his fingers clinging tenaciously to your body, you can feel the presence of tears graze your chest, soft sniffles emitting from his flushed face against you. He weeps for you- for his guilt, for yearning, for the confirmation that he’s not better than his filthy conscience after all. And contrastly, because he knows he has all night to do it again, and again, and again.

*

By the morning, your bodies are sore and bruised, sunbeams absent through the giant glass windows of Jisung’s apartment as it continues to rain outside. There’s a chill in the air as thick clouds of fog caress the windows, and not even the layered duvet of Jisung’s bed is enough to warm your still-nude body.

You blink in a state of confusion around you, not realizing where you are momentarily. It’s not until you eye the stacks of music books, loose sheet music and picture frames that you recall last night’s events.

How many times had he fucked you- four, maybe five times? You can’t remember; you do remember he was good at it, switching back and forth between having his way with you, and then submitting to you again, letting you take the reins and ride him until you physically couldn’t anymore. As you sit up in bed, you catch a glimpse of him beside you, his bruised chest visible under the white duvet that drapes lazily over him and covers only his lower half.

He’s still asleep, lips parted innocently and his hair tousled around his chiseled face. He’s also in need of a shave, flaunting a generous patch of stubble on his chin. And you’re not sure he’s ever looked so tantalizing to you before.

When he hears you stirring about, his eyes flutter open, meeting your tired gaze and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He begins to say something, but then he gets quiet again, sighing deeply and shutting his eyes once more. You observe as his lips pull back into a sheepish grin, his straight teeth exposed as he chuckles lightly.

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” He says with a groan. And you simply shrug in response, lying back down beside him, resting one hand on your pillow as he turns over to face you.

It’s a little more real at this proximity, the fact that you’re in bed alongside your professor. But the point still stands- it doesn’t feel awkward, nor do you regret any part of what unfolded yesterday. It’s like something that was bound to happen- if not last night, it would’ve been a week from now, maybe two weeks- definitely not three considering how long you’ve been thinking about him.

Jisung swallows from across you, his hand tucked under his pillow, too, and he watches as you reach out to trace the mole he flaunts on his cheek. It’s not one you’ve had the pleasure of noticing until now- it’s really not one that can be noticed from the vast distance between a lecture chair and a podium. But beside him in his bed, you take notice of everything- the mole in his cheek, the flutter of his long lashes, the sheer guilt he still wears on his face.

“Come on,” Jisung says from beside you, cocking his head in the direction of his bedroom door. “I’ll make you coffee.”

“The blue hair was a bold choice,” you say to Jisung, gripping a warm mug of coffee in hand as you sit cross-legged on his wooden flooring.

You’re in nothing but one of his t-shirts, your hair still messy from last night’s events and lipstick staining the edge of the white mug he’s provided you with. He’s a little more put together this morning, despite canceling today’s classes, a white woolen cardigan enveloping his figure and gray sweatpants hung loosely around his toned legs.

“I dyed my hair a lot back then,” he says from his spot on the couch, staring up at the photograph you admire.

And for some reason, the utterance of “back then” makes you laugh, the way he speaks as though he’s twenty years older than he is. He’s really just six years beyond you, a gap that most would overlook had he not been a professor. And sure, he already boasts a master’s degree and years of experience, but it’s not as though you’re not on the same path yourself.

“Why did you stop?” You ask, turning to meet his tired gaze.

He sighs momentarily, bringing the mug up to his lips for a sip, and then he shrugs at you.

“It’s not professional,” he says plainly. “I had to look the part.”

You smile at him, shaking your head before responding.

“Not the hair,” you emphasize. “Directing. Why’d you stop directing?”

It’s the first time you’ve asked the question so boldly, despite pondering it for all the time you’ve known him. And his composure turns uncomfortable again, as though the question implies much more than it lets on.

“You don’t have to answer,” you say to him after a brief silence, feeling guilty for having overstepped. But Jisung shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows before speaking again.

“It was eating me alive,” he explains, his gaze falling to a distant stack of books as he thinks back to his days as a director. “I couldn’t do anything else. I couldn’t focus on anything. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep- I wanted to be the best. I just wasn’t a very good person.”

You nod at his words- it’s a phenomenon you know very well already, being a music major yourself. The soul-crushing weight of turning everything into a competition, of bypassing your peers and losing loved ones along the way. You’re pretty sure your lack of friends in college can be largely attributed to the same thing.

“Well I think you’re a good person,” you say finally, but his gaze still doesn’t find yours. You can tell there’s more he wants to say- but he remains there, staring into the distance, pondering a lifetime of regret he’ll continue to take with him if he doesn’t at least try to address the hurt.

“I wasn’t,” is all he can say, earning another head shake from you.

“You can’t blame yourself for wanting to be good, Jisung. I’m sure you feel the same thing working as a professor. Besides, that doesn’t mean you can’t-”

“I was a lousy husband,” Jisung finally blurts out, and your eyes snap to his gaze again, finally making contact with his trembling eyes.

“Husband?” You echo, and he swallows nervously.

“I married so young,” Jisung tells you now, folding his legs on the couch in front of him. “I thought it was the right move, fresh out of college with a girl I’d been dating for four years. I had everything- a job, a wife, a sense of stability.”

You’re taken aback by the admission, never once having taken Jisung to be a formerly-married man. He is young, and aside from the sexual tension that’s risen between the two of you, he shows no interest in pursuing another partner.

“The divorce cost me everything,” Jisung says, his eyes glazing over again as he recounts the story. “I was responsible for somebody walking away from what they believed was a lifetime of stability. And she knew it, too, that I was lousy. She told me- her parents told me. I just wanted to be the best at my work. And it cost me everything. So I quit. And I opted for something that wouldn’t drive me crazy anymore.”

Jisung’s heart races wildly in his chest as he speaks, and then he’s hit with the realization that he’s venting to a student of his- one who shouldn’t be occupying his apartment in the first place. One he slept with several times last night- one who he feels oddly safe confiding in. But a student, nonetheless.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Jisung finally says, furrowing his brows again. “I’m sorry- maybe you should go.”

You remain quiet, still sat on the floor, not even halfway finished with the cup of coffee he’s brewed. And he feels bad again, knowing it’s not fair to be taking his frustration out on you.

“Do you want me to leave?” You ask in a meek voice. Jisung chews the inside of his lip, meeting your gaze with a sorrowful expression. At first he shrugs, like he might indeed want you out of this space he calls home. But then he shakes his head sheepishly, shrinking back into the couch cushions and sighing heavily.

You’re not entirely sure what to say to him, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, but longing to keep him company. He just seems lonely, you can’t help but think to yourself. He’s so ridden with loneliness, and guilt and yearning for more.

“Jisung,” you say to him, setting your mug aside and folding your hands in your lap.

He meets your gaze again, a sort of heavy, exhausted expression on his face.

“Do you really think Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 is missing something?” You then ask him, referring to the annotations from his textbook.

He keeps his gaze set on yours, fascinated you’ve remembered his penned-in opinions on the aforementioned works from class. And then he nods lightly, humming a little in response to you.

“There’s no resolution,” Jisung huffs. “It just fades into nothingness.”

You nod back at him, sitting back on the palms of your hands and cocking your head slightly.

“That's a resolution to some listeners,” you say to him. “Maybe you just desire something beyond those last notes.”

His gaze flickers over your knowing expression, pondering the way you speak of the familiar tune.

“Maybe you ought to seek what a resolution is to you.”

*

“I think Professor Han is fucking somebody,” Mina says to you one day as she gets ready in front of the full-length mirror across from her bed.

“Why do you say that?” You retort with a small chuckle, your interest piqued at her words.

“Haven’t you noticed he cancels class a lot?” She replies, wiping a mascara smudge off from below her left eye. “He runs late all the time now, he just shows up in a t-shirt when he does lecture. And he just seems happier, overall. That’s every indication that he’s getting some action.”

You thumb the pages of your textbook- or rather, Professor Han’s textbook, red pen grasped between your fingers as you finish up an annotation.

An annotation you pen in just for him- responses to his music suggestions, comments about his analyses and flirting between the lines of music notes. The textbook is exchanged back and forth between the two of you, conversing secretly between the thin pages of music theory, producing poetry from a language only the two of you speak- by each other, and for each other.

Sometimes you imagine it the way Mozart and Constanze’s relationship unfolded- secret, but robust, full of passion and yearning for one another.

And when you tell Jisung about it later that week, he practically doubles over in laughter, eyes forming little crescents as the melodious tune of his “ha ha’s” fills the space between the two of you.

“I guess I never realized how presumptuous you students can be,” he says, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t seem worried in the slightest- at least not with this cautious system the two of you have developed to maintain the secrecy. You don’t linger in his classroom when lectures conclude, careful not to make it too obvious that you’re waiting around for him. Instead, you meet him at his apartment, just a few blocks away from campus and void of people who might piece together the reality of the situation, like Mina. It’s convenient that she doesn’t seem to suspect anything regarding why you’re always absent from your shared dorm now, considering she’s always at her boyfriend’s place, anyway. And although Jisung makes a mental promise to himself to stop canceling his evening classes so frequently, he can’t help it.

He’s just as drawn to you as you are to him, finding solace in the way he can finally confide in somebody after so long. Jisung thinks back to the way he handled the divorce so privately, quietly putting in his two weeks notice as a musical director and opting for a career path which didn’t take so much of his time and sanity.

He recalls the majority of his friends and family acknowledging what a lousy husband he’d been, and the feeling of knowing he’d made a colossal mistake agreeing to marry so young when he could hardly grasp what he even wanted further down the line. But to you, he’s just a work in progress- you’re still enchanted by the way his mistakes are rooted in sheer passion for his work. The way he lights up when he speaks of his old days as a director, the alluring poetry he produces for you between the pages of a course-assigned textbook. He’s so much more than his mistakes- he’s so much more than the evident loneliness, and guilt, and yearning he harbors.

And although the physical aspect is but a minuscule factor of the relationship, it’s still undeniably sweeping, as though it’s another language the two of you share in secrecy. Jisung had admitted once that he hadn’t even been with another woman following the divorce- a fact which you now know to be true, the way he fucks with such desperation, as though he’s going to lose you to the same careless mistakes as before. But he also understands that you’re different, and that you don’t apprehend him for any of his former mistakes.

He indulges you in tales of his days directing, one arm slung lazily around your waist as he holds you close and plays old films of the symphonic band in action. And it’s more captivating to watch him get lost in his work, the way his eyes glaze over as he watches himself on screen, the thin black baton waving around in rushed motions as the band plays. He wears elegant suits lined with brass buttons and expensive cufflinks, and the expression on his face when the on-screen symphony turns to him for direction- hundreds of eyes eagerly awaiting his next move, as though he controls them. Pairs of eyes who actually give a shit about the field of work- not just make an appearance for a grade. He grins ear to ear when you pry for more answers, and especially when you conflate the pieces to that of your own, mentally recalling your own piano sheet music. And when you deluge him in compliments, reminding him that he’s remarkable for all that he’s done, and he’s still remarkable- as a professor, and even following his divorce, he can’t help but grow hard at the affection, reveling in the robust support and the love he’s not sure he’s ever felt before you.

He’ll often make love to you right there on the sofa, symphonic pieces still playing faintly on the tv in the background, and he’ll do it again and again to convey the reminder that he’s grateful, and that no one has ever heard him the way that you do.

*

One month into the arrangement, Jisung texts you in a sheer panic, requesting you meet him in the east lecture hall. It’s extremely uncharacteristic of him to make efforts to meet in the one place you could get caught, but still you adhere to his request, throwing on a sweater and rushing out of your vacant dorm to the east side of campus.

The campus buildings are almost haunting at this hour, no more than two, maybe three students in sight under the dim glow of the lamps that line the concrete pathways. The building names are also completely indistinguishable at this hour amidst the sheer darkness, and the only sounds that can be heard are the distant chirp of crickets and the occasional roll of a skateboard. When you arrive at the grand hall, you quickly realize it’s no longer accessible, closed off by rows of fencer wire and shut off entirely from the rest of the school.

“It’s finally done for,” a voice says from beside you, and you know it to be Jisung’s before even turning to face him.

“Already? I thought construction was supposed to begin next semester, though.”

Jisung shakes his head, hands stuffed in his pockets as he exhales deeply.

“I got the email today,” he says in a frustrated tone. “Just some short thing about not delaying the project. They’re moving me to the tiny little hall around the corner.”

You take a moment to think over the hall he speaks of- it might as well be a mobile classroom with how small it is in size, just one narrow hallway that branches off into a line of 3 other rooms. The desks are reminiscent of those from your high school days, and you can’t remember the heating ever having worked during your time passing through, the hall constantly freezing when it rains.

“I didn’t even get a proper send-off,” he reiterates, his gaze not moving from the bright orange temporary fencing. “I would’ve taken a moment to appreciate it one last time.”

You think for a moment, taking a brief moment to glance around you at the eerily empty campus, and then you turn back to Jisung with a small shrug.

“Don’t you still have your keys?”

“Yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “But…”

Jisung doesn’t finish his sentence, instead pondering the suggestion as he keeps his gaze on the fencing. He knows it would be reckless, practically breaking into the old lecture hall like this to give it one last look, but he’s also overtaken with frustration and a longing for closure.

“I do have my old keys,” he says suddenly, glancing around the vacant buildings nearby, at the faint silhouettes of shadowy trees and dim streetlamps. You watch curiously as he runs a hand along the tip of the neon orange fence, pushing down to locate where it gives in a little. And just at the very end of it, it does, pulling down much further and lowering just enough so that it’s adequate to climb over. Jisung hoists himself over the fencing, his muscular arms steadying himself as he lifts one leg over the fence, followed by the other, and then grounds himself in the muddy grass on the other side. It's the first time you take notice that he’s in a simple pair of blue jeans, brushing mud off his toned thighs and then meeting your gaze again.

“Come on,” he says to you, nearing the fence again and holding a hand out, beckoning you to follow his lead. You don’t think twice before you’re mirroring his actions, hoisting your frame over the plastic fencing and planting two feet in the mud, Jisung helping you regain your balance with his calloused hands finding purchase on your waist and then interlocking his fingers with yours.

“I hope they haven’t changed the locks yet,” he says, leading you to the familiar grand entrance of the lecture hall. His keys are fished out of the pockets of his jeans, jingling softly as he twists his gold key into the lock, and then with an affirmative thud of the door being pushed open, he smiles to himself, beckoning for you to follow him inside.

The lecture hall is even more eerie than the campus is at this hour, not a single light illuminating the dark wooden floors that span the tower. The moonlit glow through the windows flashes with the gentle wave of trees that almost grazes against the glass panes, and you can’t quite distinguish where the gargantuan ceilings even end in this darkness. Jisung makes his way to the spiral staircase to the right of the room, craning his neck up to get a good view of the room, and then he beckons you again with the wave of his hand.

“They haven’t touched the stairs yet,” he says, beginning up the stairs with one hand cascading along the wooden banister. You follow behind him, the only sound echoing around the hall being the familiar loud creak of the stairs as you make your ascent. And for the first time, it’s a sound you realize you’re going to miss very dearly, never having realized it was something you took for granted all this time. The way these stairs obnoxiously announce your arrival when you’re late to class with a coffee in hand, or how the wooden steps boom in volume when students rush down them in hordes toward their next class. Although you’ll have graduated and moved on by then, the knowledge that everything is going to be different remains a jarring fact.

At the top of the stairs, it’s comforting to see that nothing looks different just yet, the podium still intact and rows of chairs folded neatly in their places. Jisung doesn’t make any move to turn on the lights, careful not to reveal that anyone’s broken into the old building, and he makes his way to the podium, staring out at the sea of vacant chairs that sit untouched amidst the darkness.

“I loved this room,” he says after a moment of silence, his voice laced with regret.

You span the perimeter behind the podium, grazing your hands along the old walls, recalling how many times you’d stared at them beyond Jisung’s pacing figure as he spoke of composers and musical theory.

When you make your way to the podium alongside him, mirroring the way he stares out at the empty seats, he glances at you briefly out of his peripheral vision. Jisung wonders if you can tell that the demolition of this room is so painfully metaphorical for him, like one final indication that he deserves no better than the confines of a dingy little room far away from this one. As though every time he feels he’s that much closer to redeeming himself following a nasty divorce, he’s shut out again, misplaced, suddenly right back to where he was five years ago. Misguided, lost, full of regret and a permanent yearning for resolution- one that never seems to come.

In fact, he’s pretty sure you’re the closest he’s ever gotten to one, when you’re assuring him that there is a life beyond the mistakes he made in his early 20s- that the curse of pondering his place here doesn’t have to define him entirely. And that there’s always still time- to love, to better himself, and to revisit the passion which once drove him mad.

It doesn’t mean it’s going to repeat itself, you had told him once. You could do it differently.

“I don’t think Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 needed a coda,” you say to him, breaking the deafening silence between you two in the vast empty space of the room.

Jisung finally turns to look at you, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his jeans as he replies.

“Why’s that?”

“It doesn’t need to repeat the entire first part,” you explain to him. “That part is emphasized enough. I think the listener should appreciate that it just ends where it ends.”

Jisung thinks over your words for a moment, not entirely sure why you’ve brought up the piece way back from chapter 8 of his lectures. And yet he nods in response, his breath hitching in the back of his throat a little when you turn to face him, too.

“I like that it’s a little unclear,” you finally say to him.

And this time he doesn’t respond- not with words at least, opting to pull you in for a gentle kiss, his hands working their way down the small of your back. His lips feel somber against yours, like he seeks to inhibit his sadness with the tender touch of your lips against his, pushing you back against the wooden podium and spinning you around to work kisses down your neck.

There are no words spoken between the two of you, just the vibration of small moans echoing from your lips as he sucks a hickey into your flesh, even though he knows he shouldn’t mark you. And yet he does, a physical reminder that you belong to him, and hopefully one to convey the notion that you’re the closest thing he’s ever gotten to resolution.

Jisung’s hands work your blouse open, his jeans pressing into you from behind, already rock-hard for you as his hands tug off your shirt. And he giggles against your flesh when you gasp at the cold air that grazes your skin.

“Jisung,” you say to him, your hands gripping the wood of the podium. “We probably shouldn’t do this here.”

It’s he who brushes off the lewd act, consoling you with the unzip of his jeans, his bulge pressing into your thigh as he continues to work kisses down your neck.

“We won’t get caught, baby,” he says as his fingers rub circles over your clothed core under the thin fabric of your skirt. “I promise.”

And then it’s you tugging your own panties down, allowing him full access to your wet cunt as the palm of his hand works you in rhythmic back and forth motions. He doesn’t even need to touch you- not when you’re already dripping for him. And yet he remains like that for several minutes, breathing heavily into the shell of your ear as your moans echo around the dark lecture hall, his cock only growing harder against you with every touch.

It’s undoubtedly arousing for him to look out at the classroom he’s lectured in for so many years, one he usually associates with nervous test-takers and monotonous speeches- and to watch the very same space be filled with your gasps of pleasure. His eyes scan over the very seat you occupy every week, recalling the times he’s fantasized about exactly this- touching you the way he knows you deserve to be touched and making you his in the forbidden confines of a classroom. Without so much as a word, his boxers are pulled down too, positioning you in front of him and allowing his fingers to wrap around the base of his leaky cock. He strokes himself just once, eyes shutting at the sensation of his tip brushing against your warm flesh. And then he prods into your entrance, tapping ever so gently as his other hand intertwines with yours.

You take him with complete ease, the way you always do when he’s fucking you this sweetly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as indication to speed up his movements. But he doesn’t- he just maintains a steady pace inside of you, his hips smacking lightly against yours as he resumes wet kisses along your shoulder.

A million thoughts graze his mind as he fucks you- like the fading notes of Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, and how evidently his annotations referencing a coda have resonated with you. Or the tales of Mozart and Constanze’s secret love, of Johannes Brahms and Clara Schumann and a lifetime of unrequited romance that never quite got its closure. Jisung thinks about the nights you two spend in his apartment, watching reruns of him directing symphonies, or mornings when he cancels class because all he can do is lie entangled with you and bask in the love you two share in the privacy of his home.

His mind also goes back to the divorce, a constant pain he carries with him, remembering all the ways he let other people down in efforts to focus on his career and his love of music. Nights he stayed out far too long annotating sheets of music, knowing very well that his wife was waiting up for him. Anniversaries he forgot, birthdays he failed to prioritize because music always came first. And consequently, begging his ex-wife to stay, knowing very well she had already made up her mind- that he was a lousy person, far too consumed by his career and incapable of loving the way she had.

Jisung’s movements pick up in pace as he thinks about the future of this old building- soon demolished into a pile of dust, the old walls crumbling despite the years of history pent up inside of it. Tests failed and lectures given, days he spent funneling that same passion into something entirely new, because directing was never the same once he understood what a neglectful husband he’d been. The walls to be painted blinding shades of cobalt blue and white, like a fucking dentist’s office, and not an inch of the building to suggest it had ever housed an appreciation for music, simply replaced by a basketball court and cold metal bleachers.

He also thinks about you, and how you made the semester far more tolerable, your beaming smile and your curiosity about not only music, but him, serving as a beacon of hope that perhaps this wasn’t all in vain. And your comforting words helping him understand that perhaps this isn’t what he wants after all, that this chapter of life may very well crumble along with this old building. Maybe this is the end, like resilient music notes approaching the finale of a symphonic piece- and he can either allow the fading discoordination to mark the finish- or take to the da segno, and start again.

Maybe a coda is sooner than he thinks- maybe resolution is closer than he thinks.

You’re well aware of Jisung’s now rapid movements inside of you, gasping at the sheer size of his swollen cock grazing your walls, your hand tightly gripping his and your mind wandering to where his currently lies.

But you can’t verbalize the curiosity- not when he’s interrupting you to tilt your face to his, planting a wet, open-mouthed kiss on your mouth and breathing desire back into you.

His fingers prod themselves into your mouth as he fucks you, murmuring little pleas to let him watch you taste yourself, his cock inserting in tandem with his fingers as he matches their pace. Your moans are stifled as your tongue swirls his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you let the pleasure overtake you.

And then he slides his fingers out for a moment, watching strings of saliva drip so erotically down your parted lips as you continue to take his cock obediently.

“I love you,” he says like it’s an epiphany. But it’s not- he reckons he’s known it for a long time now, almost scared at the intensity of his emotions for you. He’s not quite sure he loved his wife like this, and he’s not sure he knew he was even capable of loving again. In fact, Jisung only knows that he truly loved one thing in his lifetime- music. Music, and now you.

“How could I ever ask for a better woman?” He breathes against your skin, goosebumps rising as his words echo Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father and echo in the vast, empty room.

Your reciprocation is muffled with the re-insertion of his fingers in your mouth as he reaches his finish inside of you, painting your walls with his release, holding you close and stimulating your clit again as he coaxes an orgasm out of you, too. And the finish is nowhere near fading, nor discoordinate, as the echoes of your moans reverberate off the walls and fill the emptiness with your passionate yearning for one another.

Da segno

Returning to the dorms to find Mina in her bed for once is a shock to you- especially considering she’s been speaking of a camping trip with her boyfriend for several weeks now.

At first you check your phone, briefly, thinking maybe you’ve gotten the date wrong. But you haven’t- it’s a Friday evening, the same evening you know she should be on route to her planned trip with Lucas.

She’s propped up in bed, carefully examining something when you make your way past her, eyebrows furrowed and deep in thought.

“Hey Mina,” you say to her cautiously, pulling your sweater up a little higher up on your neck.

She doesn’t reply, eyebrows still furrowed as she keeps her head down. And then she chuckles lightly, still not looking up at you.

“I feel like you’re out more than I am these days,” she says to you, and you can’t quite make out whether she’s being condescending or cordial with you.

“Yeah,” you reply nervously, sitting on the edge of your bed across from her and crossing your arms. “Just been trying to take more walks.”

Mina purses her lips, nodding, and then she exhales sharply before she speaks again.

“Lucas broke up with me,” she explains. But she doesn’t sound sad, or even angry- she simply relays the news with a straight face, not even glancing up to catch your shocked expression.

“He did?” You blurt out, feeling an overwhelming sense of sympathy for her- of course you don’t really care for Mina, but you also know how frequently she’s out with him, how highly she speaks of him and how in love she’s been with him for all the years they’ve been together.

“Yeah,” she reaffirms, sighing as she speaks. “He’d been cheating for several months. I’m over it now- I just thought I might get a head-start on this week's notes.”

You nod at her again, still aware she seems to be repressing something, far too casual for your liking and almost ready to lash out at any given second.

“That’s good,” you tell her, crossing your legs on the bed. “I’m really sorry. Let me know if you need anything-”

“I did find this week’s chapter to be particularly interesting,” she interrupts, slouching further back against the wall by her bed.

It’s your turn to furrow your brows, a little confused by her behavior, especially considering she hardly ever reads assigned textbook chapters.

“Listen to this,” Mina says, and then her lips pull into a wicked grin as she begins down the page, her voice laced with rancor.

“I must make you better acquainted with the character of my dear y/n,” she begins, and your heart all but stops in your chest.

It’s then that you notice the textbook in her grasp, the familiar old font and the yellowing of the pages- Professor Han’s textbook, the same one riddled with erotic poetry between the lines of music theory.

“Mina, please-” you begin, voice cracking, a futile task as she raises her voice and continues speaking.

“Her whole beauty consists of two sparkling eyes and a delicate figure,” she reads. “She likes to watch me direct symphonies, and she knows music theory like the back of her hand.”

Your heart races in your chest, mind swirling with fearful thoughts as she voices the familiar love letter back to you. Professor Han’s most recent addition to the textbook, derived from Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father, and a written account of Jisung’s affection for you. A letter you’ve read over and over since he produced it, and the same one you so carelessly left lying open on your dorm bed in a rush to go see him at the lecture hall.

“She likes to hear the stories of famous composers and their romances, and she lets me make love to her as though she belongs to me,” Mina reads, her voice growing even louder as you now approach her. Your hands reach desperately for the book, which she holds away from your reach as she now stands up on her bed, her feet digging into the mattress as she steadies herself with one hand on the wall.

“Please, stop,” you beg, to no avail, as she then concludes the letter.

“Most things that a student neglects, she excels in. I love her and she loves me with all her being- tell me whether I could ask for a better woman.”

The room falls painfully quiet as she finishes, thumbing through the pages with a soft rustling sound.

“That’s just one,” she says, maintaining the same wicked expression on her face. “The book is full of them.”

And then she shuts the book, examining the cover, meeting your gaze as she assumes her position back down on the mattress and crosses her legs.

“This is the professor’s textbook, right? That’s why it looks a little different. I had wondered, when I first snatched it from your stuff.”

You stay quiet, your gaze falling to the floor as tears brim your eyes. You want to fight back, but in reality, the book serves as admission itself- there’s no denying it’s a letter from him, to you. It’s incriminating by his loopy cursive handwriting, the book she’s seen him wield so many times in the classroom during lectures and the way he speaks of making love to you.

“You’re fucking Professor Han?” She finally says aloud, and the words sting, although you’ve been expecting them.

“It’s not like that-”

“That’s why you’re doing so well in his class? While the rest of us bust our asses studying for his stupid quizzes? What do you even do, suck him off when nobody’s looking? How big is he?”

“Stop!” You exclaim, the tears now cascading down your flushed cheeks and gathering on your trembling chin.

Mina says nothing as she wears the same stupid smirk on her face, and then she tosses the book to you, which you grasp in your shaky hands. You hold it close to you, wishing so badly you could undo whatever it is she’s seen in the book, but you know that it’s far too late- the book is no longer a sacred little thing between you and Jisung.

“What do you want?” You say to her quietly, sniffling as you tuck the book under your duvet.

“What do I want?” She echoes.

“Yes,” you huff frustratedly. “Anything. Just please don’t tell the dean about this- or anyone, for that matter. I promise to do whatever it is that you ask, especially since-”

Your rambling comes to a sudden halt when Mina begins laughing, her hands clutching her stomach as she does, almost doubling over on the bed and kicking her feet with enthusiasm.

“Do you think I’m gonna blackmail you, or something?” She questions between laughter, meeting your gaze with tears in her eyes as she continues giggling between words.

“I always knew you were weird,” she remarks. “Not like, ‘fuck a professor’ weird. But it is weird that you think I’m gonna blackmail you.”

You don’t say anything to Mina, sitting on your bed again and sprawling one hand out to rest atop the book, which remains hidden under the duvet.

“You mean… you… won’t tell?”

“I’m impressed,” Mina replies, now lying on her side and propping her head up in her hand. “He is the hottest professor on campus. But no, I’m not going to tell anyone. Contrary to your belief, I really don’t care to ruin either of your lives. I have more important things to worry about.”

You sigh a heavy breath, relieved that Mina’s taken the high road and chosen to ignore the situation altogether. But you can’t cease the heavy weight it bears within you, one that fears not for your future, but for Professor Han’s. You know the majority wouldn’t believe it, the tale that this was a mutual thing between the two of you, that he’s just a pained divorcee, and you’re a lonely college student. To the masses, it would look like complete manipulation, Professor Han requiring a sexual relationship from you for an A in his course, and keeping the discrete flirting alive within the pages of his textbook. It’s more irresponsible on his end than it is yours- and although you both know it’s wrong, it still feels different. It still feels as though it’s rooted in yearning.

“I still need a textbook,” Mina says, breaking the silence between you two. “Like, for this week’s chapters.”

“Oh, right,” you say to her quietly, reaching inside your school bag for the correct book. You toss it to her without another word, observing the way she flips to the page she was on, and resumes reading as though nothing happened.

But her voice still replays in your head, reading aloud the sacred letter Professor Han produced for you within his textbook, one that never should have graced anybody else’s eyesight except your own.

And the tears resume as you watch her, a heavy guilt present as the words play in your mind again, and again, and again.

*

Jisung’s apartment doesn’t feel the way it normally does later that week- not when you’re first sauntering in with meek steps, being flooded by a barrage of questions about why you’ve skipped class for two weeks. And especially not when you finally recount the incident to Jisung, tears flooding your eyes and cascading down the deep gray bags that hammock under your lashes. The nights have been sleepless for all fourteen days, tossing and turning on your mattress about whether Mina is actually going to keep her promise about not telling. And she appears to, failing to acknowledge it whenever she’s in your presence, visibly still coping with the aftermath of her breakup. She simply comes and goes in casual strides, sometimes still borrowing your textbook from you and returning it far later than you care for, but it really doesn’t matter by this point. You’ve stopped reading the textbook entirely, coming to terms with the fact that you’ll have to rely on your own knowledge to pass any of the assignments distributed. And Jisung knows something is wrong when he finally does see you after two weeks, dressed loosely in a pair of sweatpants, your face flushed with tears and averting his gaze.

“You’re going to be so mad at me,” you emphasize to him, shielding the tears that fall from your trembling eyes with one hand, as he crouches on the floor in front of you and gives your hand a little squeeze.

And he’s adamant that nothing could make him hate you- that whatever it is you’re facing can be worked through, and that he’s going to stand by you regardless. Yet when you recount the incident to him, explaining the way Mina had read through his written confessions of sleeping with you and expressing his love for you, Jisung falls completely silent- a reaction which is somehow more scary to you than vexed words.

“Are you sure she knows it’s mine?” He asks, pulling away to stand in front of you. He feels much taller when he’s towering over you like this, pacing frantically along the wooden floorboards and chewing on the inside of his lip nervously.

“I’m sure,” you reply quietly. “She must’ve been reading it the entire time I was out. It has your name in it and everything.”

Jisung is quiet again, thinking over your words, and then he places his hands on his hips as he speaks again.

“Did she say anything else?” He inquires.

“She said that she wouldn’t tell anybody. As far as I know, she hasn’t. I just feel-”

“I’m never going to get it now,” he then says, running his hands through his hair nervously and glancing around the room.

“Get what?”

“Jesus,” he says, almost chuckling in disbelief. “I spent all this time interviewing, and if this gets out it could ruin everything.”

“Interviewing?” You echo meekly.

“Just when I thought I had it all again. I was so close to being back. Getting out of this shitty job and making a name for myself again.”

Jisung assumes a spot in one of the chairs across from you, burying his head in his hands and remaining silent. You want to ask him to clarify what he means by interviewing, but you’re also scared of him when he’s like this, knowing he’s reverting back to the version of himself who puts music above everything.

“You couldn’t just make something up?” Jisung then asks, scoffing lightly as he finally meets your gaze.

“What?”

“You couldn’t just fucking lie? Why on earth would you admit to it?”

“Lie?” You repeat to him with a shaky voice. “What did you want me to say?”

“Say I wasn’t interested in you,” Jisung retorts. “Say you were writing the letters to yourself. You’re putting my entire career at risk because you couldn’t be bothered to put my book away?”

You’re taken aback momentarily by Jisung’s words, hardly making sense of them at first. There’s no way he could be blaming you for this- not when he’s just as guilty as you are. In fact, Professor Han may be more guilty, acting upon his urges when he knows the power imbalance he wields over you- you’re just a student of his, nowhere near the status he upholds at this school. But as he continues prodding you for questions about why you hadn’t just lied, or made a bullshit excuse, or something, the message is conveyed loud and clear. He’s blaming you entirely for being found out.

“This is about directing,” you say when the realization hits you, almost laughing at the sheer absurdity of it.

“Of course it’s about directing,” he retorts, throwing his hands in the air and scoffing loudly. “I worked my ass off interviewing for one of the most prestigious roles a few hours out of here, I got an offer just yesterday, and now this is going to ruin everything. When they hear about the little fling I had, and they assume I coerced you into it, when you know damn well you led me on. And it’s going to be my divorce all over again.”

A silence falls over the room as you take in his words. You suddenly feel microscopic in his presence as the betrayal sets in, and for the first time since the arrangement, the discomfort of this being a student-teacher relationship washes over you.

“It’s not going to get out,” you say to him softly. “Mina hasn’t told anybody, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

Jisung gives a small nod at your words, and then he slides his hands into the pocket of his jeans.

“I hate that you don’t realize when you’re doing the same thing all over again,” you then say to him, averting his stern gaze.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why are we even doing this?” You continue, scoffing lightly. “Is this some sick way of reenacting the same mistakes you did before, and hoping for a different outcome? Now your directing days are just within reach again, and you’re doing the same thing, making your shortcoming’s everybody else’s fault except your own. I think you’re more afraid of not being able to relive your glory days than of losing anybody you love.”

“That’s not what this is, and you know that,” Jisung retorts. “You know how I feel about you.”

“Just admit that I’m a distraction because you miss your old life,” you continue, a little calmer now. “It’s the first time your career felt like it once did when you were directing, and in love, and I’m just some good fuck who takes genuine interest in your stories.”

“That’s not what I’m-”

“Do you ever imagine I’m her?” You ask him, meeting his concerned gaze. “When you’re fucking me in your bedroom? Do you ever imagine I’m your ex-wife waiting up for you the way she used to? Pretend you’re still a director and that you finally have everything you want?”

“That’s enough,” Jisung voices, and you shake your head at him.

“You might have been infatuated over some fleeting moment, seeing the face of your ex-wife whenever you looked at me. But I really, truly loved you. And she was right- you are a lousy person. You just can’t seem to understand when your interests take precedence over your emotions.”

Jisung is silent as his lip quivers in response, experiencing all over again what he did on the night his ex-wife left him. He’d always feared it would come back to haunt him- but not like this. Not through repeating the same mistakes all over again- just as he thought he finally found closure.

Like a musical piece with triumphant notes approaching an end, suddenly directing him right back to the symbol forcing repetition. It’s dizzying, and it’s painful, and he’s sure that a conclusion is far from his reach now.

Without another word, you pivot on your heel, gathering your bag and making your way toward his front door again.

“Y/n, please wait,” Jisung calls out, but he can’t find the words to clear his name of your accusations. Instead he remains quiet when you turn to face him, his shoulders sagging in a defeated manner as you shrug in his direction.

“I really think you ought to find what resolution means to you,” you say to him finally. “Repetition isn’t always it.”

*

The dingy old hallway within the radius of the old east lecture hall is indeed just as undesirable as you remembered it- it’s freezing cold when it rains outside, the students struggle to traverse the narrow hall as they brush against each other in passing and the classroom is nowhere near as enchanting as the grand room of the old hall. Made much worse are the stripes of cobalt blue and a blinding shade of white, which line every wall in the building, almost distracting as lectures are conveyed from the front of the room. The students maintain their same positioning as the lecture is given, typing on their laptops, the clicking sounds of keyboards much louder now at this close proximity of all the chairs to each other. And you don’t write down a single thing, staring at the stripes of blue and white on the walls, following their trail from one side of the room until they reach the hinges of the door, and then repeating the process over and over again.

Professor Han’s departure comes as a surprise to many, the students murmuring amongst themselves as they theorize what could cause such a sudden leave. He fought with the dean and quit. He has a terminal illness. He’s sleeping with a student.

Of course some of them come close to the truth, but they’ll never know for sure- not unless they’re one of the two people on campus who do know.

Mina makes an attempt to ask you about it at first, fiddling awkwardly with the pages of your textbook as she inquires about the status of your relationship. She proceeds to ask if you’d known he was leaving, but not before tears are streaming down your face, your words coming out between hiccupped sobs. And all that she’s able to coax out of you is the verbal confirmation that yes, you knew he was leaving, and no, nobody else found out about the arrangement.

Professor Han’s replacement is a shameful excuse for a lecturer, an older man who only knows as much as the textbook explains, and nothing beyond the printed text. He goes so far as to actively discourage questions, expressing his distaste for “wasting time”, yet the students are well aware it’s because he simply doesn’t have the answers they seek. Your classmates don’t care of course, their grades cushioned by the generous 20 points, instead of 10, which Professor Han opted to distribute for the dead composer’s gallery walkthrough as one final parting gift. And aside from one last email thanking the class for their participation in the duration of the few months he taught it, Professor Han promptly makes his departure from your life, too. Not so much as a thank you, an apology or even a love letter the way you know he once would have written, had he not been so consumed by a yearning for his old life. Just like his ex-wife, you’re shut out by him, made to feel as though reciprocated affection is somehow a selfish request. And maybe it is when it comes to Professor Han- maybe he’s truly just incapable of loving without the limitations of his work. Like the famous composers you learn of, he’s a genius in so many ways- just not in romance. And certainly not in learning from his mistakes.

On occasion, you write to him again, tearing out pages from old chapters in your textbook and scribbling along the vacant margins.

“The old lecture hall’s finally been torn down- all that remains are gray dust and pieces of the old stair banister. They’ve already built up part of the new gymnasium. If I look out the new classroom window, I can see them sampling paint swatches- all shades of blue and white, of course. The students miss you- the boys still dress like you, and the girls don’t even look up from their laptops when your replacement speaks. There’s nothing to look at, of course- not when you’re absent.

We finally reached Constanze’s short chapter in the textbook- chapter 14. Did you know she remarried after Mozart? There was no animosity between the two until his death- she spoke so highly of him until the end. We credit Constanze for many of his posthumous works. Ones that never would have seen the light of day without the respect she paid to him.

I think highly of you, too- I know you don’t know it, but I think back to your old videos, when you’d wave around that black baton of yours and lead symphonies. I understand the fear you harbored in letting all of that go.

You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. I wish you hadn’t told me that you were falling in love, and I hope you’re doing terrible-”

Your red pen is set down promptly as you allow yourself to catch your breath, ceasing this unproductive flow of consciousness you spill onto the pages of your textbook. Many nights end this way, your thoughts poured out and then repressed once more, no method of delivering them to him, regardless. And although you want to reconnect with him, you have no way of actually doing so, even his apartment now vacant as he assumes his new role as a director a few hours out of town. It’s a jarring fact, coming to terms with the notion that you’re likely never going to see him again. But you know it’s his way of resolution- repeating the same process as before, hoping for a different outcome.

*

“You’re starting the tempo change too slow,” Jisung says with a heavy sigh, setting his baton down on the music stand and waving his hand. “Pick up from measure three, on your own this time. I’ll be back in five.”

The room fills with the discoordinate overlap of instruments practicing, woodwinds rotating their reeds and brass players emptying spit valves. Jisung makes his way past the double doors, shielding his eyes from the almost blinding rays of sunlight that glare down over the music hall at this hour. And then he leans against the same brick wall he always does when he’s this mentally exhausted, shutting his eyes momentarily and exhaling.

He’s directing again, conducting symphonic pieces he’s only ever dreamed of. His hair is two shades lighter than it was when he was teaching, his closet is filled to the brim with elegant blazers and he’s compiled a generous collection of gold and silver cufflinks the way he once used to. But something feels different- and it’s felt that way for months now.

Sometimes Jisung can’t recall if symphonies were always this arduous to lead. He’s almost certain he’s verbally noted the painfully slow tempo change to them about a trillion times, and yet every time the metronome is turned on, guiding them with the obnoxious repetitive click at 80 beats per minute, they’re too slow.

Slow enough for his mind to wander elsewhere- like whether they’ll ever have the chance to rehearse the final few bars of this piece. Or questioning if they actually respect him here, as a director, and not just as a replacement for a metronome when he’s not yelling at them.

And occasionally, as much as he hates to admit it, the thoughts involve you. His pride’s too far gone to admit he ruined things, and his ego would never let him find you and convey some form of an apology- especially not after begging someone to stay once long ago, to no avail. But his mind wanders to the image of you in the audience, observing him keenly with the same beaming smile on your face and a genuine interest in whatever it is he’s doing- whether it be conducting grand symphonies, lecturing facts he’s memorized like the back of his hand or even just recounting old tales alongside you.

In the pocket of his blazer lies the same pathetic scrap of paper he just can’t seem to let go of- and as he glances at the inching second hand on his wristwatch, he pulls it out again, carefully undoing it from its folded state and scanning the contents. Page 256 from his textbook, detailing Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, complete with his scribbled annotations, and yours, so perfectly complementing all of his remarks.

“Coda?” He had written along the margins- a little addition that stuck with you all that time. Every time you were tangled in his embrace, listening to stories of his days as a director, Jisung pressing little kisses to your forehead, you’d inquire about his need for a musical epilogue. One that you didn’t believe was necessary within the piece, feeling as though the repetition equated redundancy in this case. “I think the listener should just appreciate that it ends where it ends,” you’d told him once, a statement he disagreed with at the time, but one he finds himself thinking over a lot these days.

Perhaps you were so certain about the finale of Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 because you could appreciate every other measure of the piece. The triumphant swell of the crescendos that mark the introduction, the changes within tempo and the distinctly separate movements that complement each other with such force. Measures that Jisung seemed to neglect, always searching for something beyond the eight notes that make up the piece in its entirety. But maybe you were right all along, that sometimes a listener should simply appreciate where a piece ends- that there doesn’t need to be any form of repetition, or even the need for a coda. Maybe those fading, discoordinate notes are enough- maybe that’s a coda in itself.

The double doors swing open as Jisung takes careful note of the symbol you also tagged at the bottom of the page, an oval with a cross through the center, a coda- an offer for resolution.

“Jisung?” Somebody asks, and he glances up to catch the gaze of who he remembers to be a third chair woodwind player.

“We practiced measure three again,” he says cautiously. “Could you… have a listen one more time?”

Jisung sighs, tucking the folded piece of paper back into his blazer and glancing beyond the student through the double doors. The music hall is dark inside, despite it being the middle of the day, the navy blue carpeting and the tinted windows completely obscuring the beauty of the world beyond the four walls. And then he looks the other direction, at the clear blue skies and the bustling roads, where the people don’t look back the way he’s done for so long.

“Sir?” The student asks again, twiddling his fingers together in front of his collared shirt.

“Not now. I’m leaving early today,” Jisung says, buttoning his blazer closed and giving the student a small nod. “Practice measure three until it’s perfected for next time.”

And then he begins toward his car, taking purposeful strides with a plan he hasn’t even conjured up yet, only knowing he has to keep looking forward if he wants any sort of resolution to all of this.

“And for god’s sake,” Jisung then calls out suddenly, stopping in his tracks to convey the message clearly.

“Get the tempo right, next time, will you? I’m tired of hearing the same thing over and over again.”

Coda

The evening of some important date in December is marked by the particularly frosty air, your dorm window fogged up with a sheet of ice and the halls much too cold to traverse without generous layers of clothing.

The remaining students here walk up and down the length of the hallways with cardboard boxes balanced in their arms, talking excitedly amongst themselves about plans for graduation parties and post-college life. And you can’t seem to part with the comfortable atmosphere of your dorm bed, neglecting your own stack of boxes as Mina makes her way in and out of the shared dorm room you’ve gotten so accustomed to.

“Are you using that box?” She asks, loudly sealing one with packing tape and setting it on top of another.

“No,” you say plainly. “It’s all yours.”

She takes careful notice of the way you remain draped over the bed, eyes glued to the ceiling as you think back to the last of your college days. A formal graduation in a week, which you’ve already opted out of. A series of parties even Mina tried to drag you to, every invitation promptly declined. And a prestigious internship in the city waiting for you come springtime, where you’ll be right back to appreciating the intricacies of music theory and piano.

Everything should feel as though it’s falling into place- and yet it doesn’t. It feels different- and it’s felt different for months now.

In a perfect world, you reckon you’d be elated to make your departure from these dorms, and anticipate the new life that awaits you after these four years of dedication. But you can’t help but feel as though something is missing from all of this- something well beyond your reach.

You think back to Brahms and Clara Schumann a lot these days, and the passionate, yet unrequited love that he took to the grave with him. He never got close to what he wanted- he had music, and a career so successful he was deemed one of the best composers who ever lived. And yet much of his life’s work was still rooted in unadulterated yearning, because he never had Clara Schumann. You want so badly to place your own musical accomplishments over your yearning, and yet you can’t. Not when the yearning had quickly transitioned to unrequited love the same way it did for Brahms, and it’s been that way since Jisung left.

You also think of Mozart and Constanze, and how he fought for everything to be with her, despite the hardships they faced. And you want to scream at Jisung when you recall Mozart’s letter to her father, one that’s now been tainted by his poetic words to you along the margins of his course textbook.

“Y/n, you’re never going to finish packing today at this rate,” Mina remarks, occupying a spot next to you on the bed. “Do you need help or something?”

“I’m good,” you say to her, meeting her gaze as she looms over you.

She remains quiet for a moment, examining your expression, and then she folds her hands in her lap politely.

“You know,” she begins. “You’re the smartest musician I’ve ever met. It’s a little weird how much you know sometimes.”

“Thanks,” you retort with a small chuckle.

“And I don’t think messing around with anybody got you where you are today. You did that yourself.”

You meet her gaze finally, not speaking as she shrugs softly. You’re a little surprised at the kind tone she assumes, wondering briefly if there’s some sort of catch to her words.

“Just… give yourself what you deserve,” she finishes. “Whether that means going back, or looking forward. But don’t settle for less than you really want. I did, for so long. And I’ll be the first to tell you it’s not worth it.”

You swallow as you nod at her words, knowing who she refers to without the utterance of a name. And then you furrow your brows as you press her for one more thing.

“Mina,” you say to her. “Why didn’t you tell anybody? What did you get out of keeping my dirty secret?”

She chuckles softly, throwing her head back and shrugging before speaking again.

“Those annotations,” she begins. “They’re not just some dirty little secret. That’s… a sort of thing I’ve never seen at that proximity. They way you speak to each other, it’s like some language the rest of us would never understand. At first, I thought I was skimming too far ahead in the textbook or something. Of course, maybe it also had something to do with the 10 extra points he gave us before leaving.”

You laugh lightly at the same time she does, and then her expression grows serious again as she picks at a loose thread on the duvet.

“It just kinda sounded like you two were in love,” she finishes. “I wouldn’t get in the way of that.”

You hold her gaze for a moment as she stands up again, brushing off her jeans and hoisting another box into her arms.

“Anyways,” she continues. “I’m out of here. Good luck in the city, and-”

“Mina,” you interrupt her, sitting up to look at her properly.

She blinks a few times, surprised you’re sitting up in bed for the first time today, and holds your gaze over the sealed top of her cardboard box.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it enough.”

Mina smiles, her pink glossed lips pulling into a kind grin, and there’s no remaining tension between the two of you for possibly the first time since you’ve lived together.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, accompanied by a gentle nod. “Oh- and you might want to check out the new part of the gymnasium they finished constructing today. I think they followed your advice and finally put a piano in there.”

And then she’s off again, shooting you a small wink before she saunters out of your dorm, this time for good.

*

The chill of the December air is unforgiving at the early hours of the morning like this, the campus nearly empty as students depart from the place they’ve called home for four years, their college years packed up into cardboard boxes and sealed away at last.

You still have a lot of packing to finish yourself, a new chapter in the city awaiting you while you traverse the concrete village one last time. And although these halls have housed some of your most stressful memories, staying up late studying for exams and rushing to make it to class on time, you’re going to miss every part of it. Like the coffee shop on the second story of the student union, where the barista always adds a little too much caramel to your lattes. Or the windowed seat at the very back of the 8th story in the library, where when it rains, you can watch lines of people rush to their classes with hands over their heads and desperately clutching their umbrellas.

And of course, the grant east lecture hall- one you’ve already missed for the better part of the semester following its demolition. As you round the corner, you can make out the new gymnasium that’s already partially erected in its place. It’s another blinding shade of white, like the rest of the buildings are, closed off to the public and still lined with the same bright orange temporary plastic fencing as before. At where is supposed to become the entrance at some point in time, a rectangular cutout in the concrete slab of a wall, nothing but a thin plastic tarp prohibiting entry. And though you know that you really shouldn’t, you can’t help yourself, hoisting your legs over the orange fencing to the other side, your feet planting into the grass lining with a gentle thud.

There’s nobody around at this hour to watch you sneak into the new gymnasium- and realistically, what form of punishment can they even issue, anyway? Expel you?

The tarp sways with the gentle caress of a December breeze, like an invitation to come wander the new space which once housed years of history, now structured for basketball games and college rallies alike. And with one last look around, only to ensure nobody’s watching you partake in the prohibited act, you sneak your way past the orange fencing, kicking the tarp aside to gain entry, and then taping it back into place behind you.

It looks like a gymnasium- and it smells like a gymnasium. Gone are the overpowering scent of mothballs that once graced the music hall’s staircase, replaced instead by the woody notes of sawdust and fresh paint. The walls are white, true to the rest of the school’s buildings, and along the walls which are finished, the signature cobalt blue stripe. At this proximity, it’s almost humorous to bask in the putrid colors you’re grateful you’ll never have to stare at again.

As you take in your surroundings, you remember Mina’s words from earlier, recalling a new piano they placed here, and you scan the room from left to right- only there’s nothing. No piano- not even a dingy keyboard like the one in the old practice room. Why would a piano be here, anyway? In a gymnasium meant for sports and jock gatherings? Could it be Mina’s way of sending you off with one final bout of animosity?

You’re doubtful- that isn’t Mina. You know her way of comforting you earlier was rooted in the good intentions she’s always had. Which still begs the question- why did she send you here?

As you begin toward the other side of the gymnasium, a gentle rustle from the tarp startles you, the blue masking tape being lifted piece by piece and moved aside for another person to gain entry.

Construction workers, you think to yourself. It’s going to be awkward getting out of this one. And as you approach the cutout in the concrete wall again, ready to conjure up some form of an explanation, another person does make entry, crouching so as not to bump his head, as he stumbles inside and regains his balance.

His hair is two shades lighter than the last time you saw him. He still wears the same dorky wireframe glasses as before. And he looks elegant, in a white button down and black blazer, the same canvas sneakers he used to love double-knotted at the laces and complementing his black slim-fitting slacks.

“What are you doing here?” Is all you can say to him as he approaches, his hands shoved in his pockets and a leather bag slung over his shoulder.

“Mina practically chased me when I was leaving,” he says, gesturing to the empty space around you both. “Said I had to come see some new piano they put in here.”

He glances around the room, eyebrows furrowed in a confused manner, and then he turns to face you.

“Where is it?”

“There is no piano,” you say to him, crossing your arms frustratedly. “She told me the same thing.”

Jisung begins to say something, and then he stops, giving a small nod as he averts your cold stare.

His thumb toys with a loose thread inside the pocket of his slacks, and then he meets your gaze again, strands of brown hair falling into the shy expression he wears on his face.

“Graduated, huh? How’s it feel?”

“Fine,” you reply in a reluctant tone. “I leave today.”

“Where are you headed?” Jisung asks, swallowing nervously.

“Landed an internship in the city,” you tell him. “It’s close by. Just some piano thing.”

Jisung’s lips pull into a grin, chuckling lightly as he nods in response. “I always knew you’d land something good.”

You remain quiet, looking around the gymnasium once again, and then you turn to him with some hesitation.

“What are you doing here?”

Jisung sighs deeply, looking around the gymnasium, too, before speaking.

“I had an interview. Quit my directing gig.”

His words take you aback momentarily, a million questions racing through your mind about why he’s no longer directing and why he’d be interviewing here of all places.

“You interviewed here?”

“Wasn’t so much of an interview as it was a conversation,” he retorts. “They even had my old badge. I really need to get that updated considering my hair’s not technically black anymore-”

“Why would you interview here?” You emphasize to him again. “You hated it here. I thought you wanted some fancy directing thing.”

Jisung is quiet again, digging the heel of his canvas sneaker into the thick layer of sawdust that lines the floor. He knows that his ego is far too big, and he’s still consumed with an overwhelming amount of selfish pride. But he also knows that he’s not going to find any form of resolution without breaking this vicious cycle of repeating his mistakes, especially when a resolution is finally within reach.

“Look, I fucked up, okay?” Jisung finally says, taking you by complete surprise.

“The minute I started there again, I knew that wasn’t my calling anymore. Maybe it was back when I was still young, and all starry-eyed for the stupid baton and the fancy suits.”

He turns to face you at this point, taking a step toward you and almost physically demanding you reciprocate the eye contact.

“But you were right- that chapter of my life is finished now. And yeah, maybe the students don’t pay attention when I stand up there and lecture. And sure, I’m just going to be some lousy assistant college band director out here. But finding you- and the way you’d listen to me, and the way you never judged me for my shortcomings, even though I was a shitty husband once, and a shitty professor and an even shittier boyfriend to you- you made me realize it was finally time to let go.”

Jisung can’t seem to cease his emotional speech once he begins, frantically gesturing as he continues speaking. He feels like a different person entirely in this vulnerable form- like the Jisung you knew when he was first breaking his walls down around you. And the Jisung you know when he isn’t putting his dreams of a past life before the people he loves.

“… and then I couldn’t stop thinking about Brahms and Clara, and how he died without ever having told her how he felt. Or Tchaikovsky who had to hide who he loved- and then Mozart! God, that stupid letter- she remarried, you know that? Did you ever get to that chapter? Of course you did, before I could tell you, at least.”

Jisung paces the floor in rushed motions as he speaks, his wet sneakers squeaking obnoxiously along the gym floor as the words escape his lips. You don’t try to speak for a little while, carefully soaking in what you assume to be an apology. And then he stops in his tracks, eyebrows arching into a pleading expression as he towers over you.

“Music isn’t the same without you,” he finishes. “None of this is.”

You lock your gaze with Jisung’s, his big brown eyes almost trembling as he awaits a reply. And simultaneously, you do your best not to let your guard down too quickly.

“Is this how it unfolded back then, too?” You ask calmly. “When you begged somebody to stay after the first time you made this mistake?”

Jisung’s lips part to say something, but then he’s quiet again, waiting for you to continue, praying for something better than this.

“I think you’re a genius,” you continue. “I think you’re remarkable, and talented, and loving you comes so easily. But you make it hard when you do the same thing to everybody you’ve ever loved.”

“You’re the first woman I’ve ever loved,” Jisung blurts promptly, and a deafening silence falls over the room. He hesitates to continue at this point, fearing as though he’s going to scare you off, but he’s also never verbalized it to you despite thinking about it every waking second of the day, and he’s determined not to form new mistakes he could risk repeating.

“I let it happen back then because music was the only thing I loved,” he explains. “It was a shitty thing, and for so long I struggled to move on because I was still lost in the only thing I ever loved. And then you came along; I don’t need to direct when I have you. I’ll be a teacher- hell, I’ll be a fucking janitor if that’s what you want. You were my sign to move on from repeating the same fucking thing all over again- you are my end.”

Jisung breathes heavily as he finishes, gauging the shocked expression in your trembling eyes. He waits for you to say something, and then without averting your gaze, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper and handing it to you.

You unfold it slowly, already knowing it by the familiar yellowing color and small printed font- page 256 of his course-assigned textbook, detailing Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, complete with all your annotations alongside his. Only his are no longer visible- they’re crossed out, completely scribbled over in black pen, concealing his call for any form of repetition within the piece. All that remains at the bottom of the page, in the same red pen you first marked in, is a single oval with a cross through it- a coda.

Your gaze meets his after examining the page briefly, surprised he’s kept it after all this time. And then he sags his shoulders a little, gesturing to the page still in your grasp.

“I passed my sign once,” he says sheepishly. “Just please come back to me.”

Jisung doesn’t wait for you to respond this time, instead cupping your cheeks gently with his hands and pulling you in for a passionate kiss, which you don’t hesitate to reciprocate, letting your hands wrap around the back of his neck to pull him even closer to you. His lips work against yours eagerly, but still tenderly, breathing all of his desire back into you and confirming the notion that this is all he’s ever really yearned for.

He smiles into the kiss against you, grazing his thumbs up to wipe stray tears that cascade along your cheeks, and then with one more chaste kiss to your lips, he pulls away once more, chuckling lightly.

“Can we just start over?” He asks you innocently. “No repetition, no secrecy. Just start anew.”

You chuckle lightly at his proposal, nodding in his embrace, and then he pulls away entirely to hold a hand out to you.

“Han Jisung,” he says. “I’m an assistant director for the college band.”

“Y/n,” you respond with a smile, shaking his hand firmly.

“So lovely to meet you- can I interest you in a tour of the gymnasium I work in?”

He throws an arm over your shoulder, beginning down the length of the vast space and gesturing to the walls beside you.

“This is where I yell at students to fix their tempos,” Jisung explains, giving your shoulder a little squeeze as you chuckle in response to him.

“And this is where I tell stories about famous composers and their love lives. Tell me, y/n- do you know the tale of Mozart and Constanze?” He then asks with a smile.

“I can’t say I do,” you play along, earning an exaggerated gasp from him.

“Well then I’d love to tell you all about it. How do you feel about art galleries? There’s one not far from here…”

And Jisung’s hand drops to yours, intertwining your fingers together as he lets himself start anew, alongside who he now knows to have been a sign for him this entire time- a coda, an epilogue, an offer for resolution.

|You will always be mine ~ Lee Minho series|

Paring: Minho x Y/N

Genre: smut, angst, university au

Warnings: sex, 18+, Minho is a psycho, dom!Minho, sub!reader, abuse, BDSM, kidnapping, violence, age gap, Minho is an university professor, Y/N is a student, Y/N can be hurt physically (and mentally too I guess); TW! mention of murder and rape; fighting; Stockholm syndrome; Y/N getting drunk.; mention of sexual punishments and more... !This is adult content, If you don't like it or feel uneasy about the stuff I mentioned above, please do not read!

Synopsis: Who knew that accidental fuck in the club bathroom with a handsome man will bring you to a lot of unexpected events.

Author's note: I kept this series for a really long time not sure if I want to post it or not, but I decided to do it anyway, so I hope you'll like it. If you want to be added to the taglist just let me know :)

Chapters will be released on Tuesdays and Thursdays!

——————————

-> Part 1

-> Part 2

-> Part 3

-> Part 4

-> Part 5

-> Part 6

-> Part 7

-> Part 8

-> Part 9

-> Part 10

-> Part 11

-> Part 12

-> Part 13

-> Part 14

-> Part 15

-> Part 16

-> Part 17

-> Part 18

Masterlist

Crave you

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

genre: smut, fluff

synopsis: you wake up craving your boyfriend.

wc: 1.3k

warnings: oral (m), somnophilia, unprotected sex, creampie

a/n: i usually don't do requests, but an anonie sent in an ask for their birthday and i wanted to write something for them, if you're reading this i hope you like it and it's what you wanted🫶🏻 happy bday💕

~masterlist

The warmness of the sun was peeking through your curtains, warming you up even further than you already were.

With all the blankets thrown over you and the warm body pressing against your backside, you were more than comfortable.

Your lovely boyfriend finally had a few days off and he wanted to spend them attached to your hip, which of course you were excited about.

As you were slowly waking up, your eyes still closed, the familiar smell of you and Hyunjin was enveloping your senses and making you tingle.

Hyunjin had his arms around you, his hand on your breast of course, 'for emotional support', as he'd say and you pushed back into him, your core throbbing with want.

You listened to his slow deep breaths, realizing he was fast asleep, not moving a muscle but still as you wiggled your ass against his crotch, you could feel him getting hard, his cock pressing against you.

Arousal pooled on your panties, waves of hotness running over your body, you were needier than ever.

You managed to slither out of his arms somehow (after lots of struggling because he didn't want to let go of you), turning towards him as he grunted a little, smacking his lips before continuing to sleep.

Perfect, you thought, your eyes raking all over his frame, he looked so beautiful, angelic even, a vision of everything you love right there in your bed.

You didn't want to waste much time as you felt impatient, your hand reaching out for his bulge as you grabbed it gently, palming him for a few moments.

Hyunjin moaned in his sleep, pushing up into you without even realizing it.

You hooked your fingers in his boxers and slid them down, his cock slapping against his abdomen, hot and heavy, so delicious just for you.

You leaned in as you wrapped your fingers around the base, your tongue darting out to pick up the pre cum oozing out of his tip.

The salty liquid woke your taste buds up, spurring you on as you started swirling your tongue around his head.

Hyunjin's breathing became ragged but he was still asleep, his fingers twitching by his side as you played with your tongue, dipping it into his slit and down his sensitive underside.

Hyunjin's legs trembled as you wrapped your lips around the tip, sucking on it, your free hand fondling his balls.

"Mm... ah!" he moaned, jolting into you when you squeezed him, slowly taking more of his length in.

His hips moved involuntarily, lifting up to meet you half away as you started sucking on him slowly, the tip of your tongue running over the prominent vein gracing his entire length.

"L-love..." he was waking up now, blinking before looking down at you with a mix of lust and confusion that almost made you laugh, but he was too deep inside your mouth so you just hummed around him.

"Oh! That feels good." his head fell back into the pillow, his voice deep and laced with sleep, his hair a mess around his face which was now twisted in pleasure as you started bobbing your head faster.

"Fuck, darling!" he whined, his hand tangling in your hair as you kept taking him in, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, making your eyes water but it only made you even more hungry to have him inside you.

You lifted off of him and he whimpered, looking at you like he was completely lost in you and the pleasure you were giving him, his brain still in the state of sleep.

"I need you, Jinnie." you slid your shirt off, before hooking your fingers in your panties.

"I'm right here baby." he said, lifting up but you pushed him down with your hand on his chest.

"Lay back, lover." you smirked at him and he groaned, his head hitting the pillow once again.

Tossing your panties somewhere behind you, you threw your leg over him, grabbing his cock and running it over your wet folds.

"Ah please, put it in." Hyunjin whines, hot and bothered from the way you woke him up.

You moan in response, slowly sinking down on his cock, the stretch is always delicious as you take him in all the way until his tip kisses your cervix and you sit on him, circling your hips a little to adjust.

Hyunjin's eyes roll back, his hands on your thighs as he grips the flesh.

You start to slowly move your hips, lifting up only a little and Hyunjin is already a moaning mess, his eyes falling down as he stares at the place where the two of you are connected.

He looks mesmerized as you fuck yourself on him, his big hands running all over your thighs to your waist and up to your breasts as he squeezes them, playing with your perky nipples.

Your eyes flutter closed as you lose yourself in the feeling of Hyunjin filling you up perfectly, his cock stretching you just right and touching you in all the right places, like it was made just for you.

You start fucking on him harder, lifting up more as your juices coat his length and drip down into his trimmed bush, you keep taking him in deeper as your hips smack down on his deliciously.

Hyunjin groans, his eyes shut tight, brows furrowed, his middle lifting up into yours, meeting your movement as his skin glistens with sweat.

You look down as you keep rocking on him, your eyes caught on the little hairs sticking to his sweaty forehead, the way his eyelashes lay on his skin, the way he keeps licking and biting at his lips, little moans and gasps of pleasure leaving them.

Your eyes fall to his neck, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows and you clench around him, making him whine.

Hyunjin opens his eyes and looks at you, almost crossed eyed from the pleasure and something burns inside his soul when he sees the way your eyes travel all over his body, the way you fuck on him, taking him so well, your titties bouncing with every movement.

He grips your hips and starts fucking up into you harder, the bed creaking under you and you almost fall apart when he starts abusing your hole like that.

A string of loud moans and curses leave your lips as you become putty in his hold, your pussy clenching around him, his pelvis stimulating your clit as it keeps rubbing against him.

You cry out as you come, squirting on him with tears of pleasure gathering in your eyes and Hyunjin groans, fucking up into you hard twice before you feel his cock twitch followed by hot spurts of cum filling you up to the brim.

You whine, riding out your high as you keep moving against him, milking him dry.

"B-baby..." Hyunjin whimpers, his whole body shuddering against the bed and you lean down to capture his lips in a passionate, loving kiss.

You lay on top of him as he slips out, and you can feel his cum seeping out of your fucked out pussy, both of you wet but you don't care, you need to be close to each other.

His arms wrap around you as he gently caresses your hair, carding his fingers through it, leaving little kisses on your head.

You listen to his heartbeat, almost falling asleep against him until he giggles.

"What's gotten into you? Not that I'm complaining, just curious." Hyunjin smiles cutely as you look up at him.

"I just needed you." you pout and he chuckles again.

"My sweet girl. You can take me whenever you need me." he grabs your face gently, guiding you to his lips. "I love you."

"I love you so much, Jinnie." you mumble against his lips.

"That was the best way to wake me up, but tomorrow morning I'm returning the favor." he smirks and you laugh happily, kissing him again.

You're in no hurry to get up, even if you need to wash up and eat because stealing as many moments as you can with Hyunjin is more meaningful than anything.

~taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @jeonginslefthand @porangporangmeong @laughatdanger @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @starlost-mochi-x @saintcosette @ooshyana

Kinktober Day 23: Breast Worship

[kinktober masterlist.]

🔞 warning: smut below! mdni.

pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x Han Jisung x reader

•

Hyunjin’s arms wrap firmly around your figure as you lean back against him in bed, his slender fingers toying with the buttons of your Henley tee. He traces them one by one, reaching lower and lower until he’s at the valley of your breasts, and then he dips a finger into the hem of your shirt, lightly caressing over the mound of your left breast.

You let out an amused chuckle, glancing down to observe his still-traveling fingers, and then you turn to meet the growing smirk on his face.

“Sorry,” he voices simply. “I’m a bit distracted.”

“I can tell,” you say to him, leaning further back into him. He takes the opportunity to cup both of his palms over your mounds, massaging them in circular motions as he tries to draw his attention back to the movie playing on the television across from you, yet failing miserably.

Before you can comment about his visibly failing attempt at distracting himself, he tugs your shirt down over your chest, exposing your chest and allowing his palms to sprawl out over your bare flesh. You let out a soft moan at the sensation of the air conditioned room grazing your skin, your nipples already erect at the gentle breeze that caresses them. And then you let out a little gasp when Jisung now turns to face you, beginning to say something about the movie, yet pausing his speech at the sight of you and Hyunjin.

His eyebrows furrow at first in a state of what you initially presume to be confusion, until he lets out an audible whine, gesturing to Hyunjin frustratedly.

“See, this is what I mean,” he begins. “Every time you get to sit next to her, you guys leave me out.”

“No one’s leaving you out,” Hyunjin responds with a light chuckle.

“Sure feels like it,” he retorts.

“Hey,” you chime in gently, reaching out to caress his toned arm. “Why don’t you join in on the fun?”

“And share with him?” Jisung whines, running a hand through his hair. “You know I don’t do threesomes.”

“Suit yourself,” Hyunjin replies plainly. And before Jisung can protest any further, Hyunjin is leaning down to take your breast in his mouth, sucking gently around your nipple and kneading your flesh with the palm of his calloused hand.

Jisung observes as your lips part in pure ecstasy, your body arching up into him almost instantly at the contact. He feels his heart quicken as he watches Hyunjin’s plump lips wrap around your nipple with such purpose, emitting a light sucking noise when he pulls away to litter your skin in kisses. And you don’t miss the way his eyebrows arch up in a desperate manner, as though he’s hoping Hyunjin will provide some form of invitation a second time.

You know not to embarrass Jisung, refraining from reiterating that he’s welcome to involve himself in the dirty little act. Instead, you coax him with a simple wave of your hand, gesturing to your vacant right breast while Hyunjin works on your left.

Jisung doesn’t protest it this time around, scooting toward you on the bed to assume a position in front of your seated figure. He leans down so that he’s face-level with your chest, positioning his right leg in front of him to shift his weight comfortably against the mattress. And then his glistening lips part over your right nipple, before taking you in his mouth, too.

An audible gasp escapes your lips at the feeling of both their mouths working you at once, sucking generously around your erect nipples as though they might coax fluids from you. Hyunjin litters your flesh in wet kisses before taking you in his mouth again, humming softly against your flesh as he kneads your skin in comfort motions.

Jisung’s pace is much quicker, his tongue swirling around your nipple in rapid flicking motions, trailing over your mound and tracing little patterns along the goosebumps that arise with their sensual touches. He moans against you, muttering something about how good you are to him, though his words are barely audible when his lips are suctioned firmly around you.

Your hand reaches down to cup around the back of his neck, tangling in his silky tresses and tugging lightly to break his contact with you. When he’s effectively parted from your chest, drunk on the feeling of your perfectly sculpted breasts in his mouth, he meets your lips this time, indulging you in a wet, needy kiss. His lips work against you much like they worked your chest- quick, desperate, with every intention to taste you and pleasure you. And he pulls away just as quickly as he’d captured you in a kiss, bending down to take your chest in his mouth once more. He feels entirely whole with your nipples gracing his tongue, as though he’s meant to be here feeding off your chest for his own pleasure. His eyelids flutter shut in a state of pure bliss, humming softly against your skin when he lets his teeth graze against you, emitting a soft moan from the back of your throat.

At the same time, Hyunjin now breaks the contact, pulling away to observe the way your nipple glistens with his saliva. A long thread of his own saliva connects his pink lips to your nipple still, dissipating against your chest when his lips pull into a satisfied grin. And then he gathers a wad of spit in between his lips, letting it trickle down over your breast and coat your flesh in a sheen layer of moisture.

You let out a fervent moan when he does, throwing your head back slightly as you relish in the sensation of your chest feeling even colder now. His fingers plunge toward your chest to gather a bead of saliva before it can find purchase on your Henley shirt, pressing firmly against your skin as he rubs it into you in soothing motions. Your shirt is already a mess of drool, both his and Jisung’s, as the pads of his fingers tweak your nipples and trace the convexes of your mound.

Then he’s taking you in his mouth again, his motions much gentler than Jisung’s, yet intentional, as he begins to suck you again.

The pleasure is overwhelming now, your legs squirming beneath you as their hot breaths swirl against your skin, their hands groping every inch of you while you arch up into them. They take turns uttering affirming words when they pull back to gasp for air, chuckling lightly when you massage their tresses in encouraging motions.

“So sexy,” Hyunjin remarks, tracing kisses along your mound as his hands work you eagerly.

“God, I fucking love your tits,” Jisung chimes in, rutting against the mattress with every slight motion of his mouth.

Your head throws back when they quicken their pace to suck at the same speed now, the entire room filling with lewd, wet noises and soft moans. Your legs cross over each other to calm the rhythmic ache between your legs, chasing the sweet friction of your pajama shorts against your aching clit.

And before you can ask them to touch you elsewhere, you feel it at last- a gush of fluid when you reach your orgasm, your entire body contracting as their tongues flicker over your sensitive nipples and suck little bruises along the flesh of your mounds.

Hyunjin is the first to pull away, embracing you for a drooly kiss, before uttering his thanks to you and glancing down at Jisung. When Jisung pulls away, he’s red in the face, his mouth glistening with saliva, heavy breaths escaping his parted lips. He mutters his own thanks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he turns his attention back toward the television and makes an effort to ignore the raging erection he now sports beneath his jeans.

Hyunjin’s hands dance along the hem of your shirt again, tugging it back up over your chest and adjusting the buttons once more. Your shirt is littered with dark spots of saliva, your nipples still protruding against the tight fabric, as Hyunjin leans down to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, keeping his lips pressed against the shell of your ear for a passing second.

“We’ll pick this up again in a little bit,” he remarks, wrapping his arms around you as he had before. And your breathless gasps are almost louder than the movie playing, languid bodies tangled with each other, as you anticipate a second round of pleasure.

*

Yup

Hellion Inn : moodboard

— FIC TEASER 🌖 ( releasing late october)

Receiving an ominous letter in the mail, a monster invades Seoul days later, carrying an uncanny sense of smell despite its blindness. Countless people have been slaughtered already, and with your letter as the only meager explanation to this madness, you find your feet leading towards the one place it said was safe: Hellion Inn.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

Preview: Sweet as Cherry Wine

In which the cold librarian's heart gets melted by his best friend's sister

Synopsis: Kim Seungmin was the assistant librarian at your uni's library and the love of your life. Oh and also your brother's best friend.

Pairings: Seungmin × fem!reader, includes rest of skz, Winter (aespa)

Warnings: brother's best friend trope, a play on Hades and Persephone, secret relationship, flufff, seungmin is a menace, SMUT MINORS DNI, p in v sex, oral (m receiving), verryyy little choking, slightly sub minnie?, just a lot of me simping after his fingies, semi public sex (in the library)

A/N: whadup mona fam. Surprised im alive? yeah me too honestly lol. anyway im very sick rn BUT i wanted to complete this because this shit has been stuck in my wips since september 2023 and anyway it's my Minnie phase. Please look forward to the full fic!!!

STATUS: Coming on 23/10/24 (Subject to change)

TAGLIST: Open

“And how she let the pomegranate juice,

Drip from her smiling lips,

Even Hades trembled under sweet Persephone’s gaze.”

The tantalising smell of old leather and paper hugged your nostrils as soon as you crossed the threshold of the outdoors into the library. The entire room had the faint smell of sandalwood wafting through it as well, which your lungs appreciated as you breathed the air in.

Having spent only six months in your university as a freshman, you had never dared to step foot into the university’s famed collection of books more than five times. You were far too intimidated by it. That, and also the fact that you had a tremendous amount of work hanging over your head. And you certainly did not want to disappoint your parents, who worked day and night in ensuring that you had a proper education.

“Y/Nnie come on!” Your friend, Jeongin, grabbed your hand and dragged you further into the grand building. Jeongin was the first friend you had made in college, having argued furiously with him in your sociology class on the modern feminist forms of thought. Deciding that he was smart enough to never keep you bored, you promptly shook hands with him. He must have thought so too, because the very next day, he introduced you to his band of friends, with whom he had grown up since childhood.

And now, you could see one of those friends waving to the both of you from a very large table. It was Lee Minho–dance prodigy, archeology student in his third year, frequent arson enthusiast and a cat dad. That was what you had gotten from him, six months into your friendship

“Hyung!” Jeongin practically leapt on the stunningly beautiful man as soon as he came near him, “I’ve missed you so much!”

Minho made a face of disgust, but you could see the faint smile threatening to spill out as he hugged Jeongin back.

“Let go of me before I suffocate you, brat.” Minho said, giving you a smile as Jeongin reluctantly pulled back, “Alright, Y/N?”

“Good as always.” You responded with a grin. “Oh, congratulations on your win at the Dance Masters by the way!” Minho tilted his head at you as a ‘thank you’, with his ears turning furiously red, and his smile widening.

“And what about me?” A smooth voice made you jump as the ever-present smile of Hwang Hyunjin appeared before your eyes.

“Give me a warning before you pop out of nowhere!” You laughed, being engulfed into a tight hug by Hyunjin, “And congratulations to you, as well.”

“Why thank you.” Hyunjin did a dramatic sort of curtsy after unleashing you from his arms, “Hyung, have you seen Lix anywhere? He forgot his keychain with me.”

“He’s still stuck in class.” Minho muttered, raising his arms up abruptly and stretching with a very loud sigh, “My bones are so stiff, I swear to God.”

“Could you keep it down, old man?”

Perhaps the most annoying voice in the entire campus rang in your ears as you spun on your heel to see the bane of your existence. The world’s most insidious bastard faced you, in the form of a 5 '10, history-majoring, glasses-wearing, probably drinks pomegranate juice in the morning sophomore.

Kim Seungmin.

The universe couldn't have made a more negative person.

And a more perfect secret boyfriend too.

Taglist: @vixensss @miyeonna @15092000volcano + comment or send an ask to be added!

how they fuck you against a mirror/window

changbin + hyunjin

changbin:

- a muscle momm-ahem i mean daddy!!

- normally prefers shower sex because he likes to pin you up against the shower door and watch your tits be squished on the door in the reflection of your bathroom mirror as he fucks you from behind

- is a giver so loooves to eat you out

- if you were down, he would eat you out in one of those bathtubs with massive windows next to it, and his cock would leak of pre-cum with how much trust you have in him to be exhibitionists together

- his knees would literally tremble when he glances to his right and sees your reflection in the fogged up mirror of the bathroom

- he would be holding you up with ease on the corner of the bathtub, your leg propped up next to you and the other leg over changbin’s shoulders, hands tangled in his slightly wet, dark coloured locks

- after eating you out to the point where your legs clamped shut and you were cross-eyed, he would plant soft kisses on your damp shoulder

- and then BAM! he’s got you flipped so your tits will be the only view of your next door neighbour, holding your arms back by your elbows, entering you slowly yet desperately

hyunjin:

- a romantic boy who would buy a full-length mirror and place it in your bedroom just for you

- every time you got changed, he would sneak a glance at the naked reflection of you, cock forming a tent in his sweat pants

- his dream came true though

- he had your legs wide open, pussy exposed to the mirror

- he would be kissing your nape, your neck, your shoulders…everywhere because he loves you so much and thinks you are a piece of art

- he would roam his hands all over your body, pinching your nipples hard, then caressing them softly with the tip of his fingers

- he loved the way he could see his fingers disappear in your heat, other hand rubbing gentle circles on your swollen clit

- would be SO hard and his cock would be digging into your back but we don’t talk about that

- dips his fingers into your pussy, then pulls it out to show you (and the mirror) the wet strings that formed between his fingers from your juices

- makes a show of sucking his fingers with a moan, making eye contact with you in the reflection

- would fuck you reverse cowgirl style, making sure you could see for yourself how your tits bounced with every thrust, the way your face crumpled up with pleasure

- also the way his glistening cock would slide in and out of you with ease

- would stop thrusting if you weren’t looking at your reflection

Ghada's Journey from Gaza:

A Plea to Save My Family from the Horrors of War

Hello, my name is Ghada, I am 32 years old,

and I once lived a life full of hope and ambition.

gofundme.com

Donate to Rising from the Ashes: Ghada’s Journey of Hope and Resilien, organized by ghada alanqar

**Humanitarian Support Request: Ghada Nabil Al-Anqar** My… ghada alanqar needs your support for Rising from the Ashes: Ghada’s Journey o

I studied Information Technology and earned my bachelor’s degree, working for a private company for some time. But when the war in Gaza erupted, the company stopped operating and was completely destroyed, leaving me without a job and no place to work 💔.

As the bombing intensified and the violence escalated, we were forced to flee our beautiful home, which was completely destroyed, to the city of Rafah in southern Gaza. We lived in a small tent barely a few meters wide, but even that was not enough. We were forced to flee again to central Gaza, where we now live in a school for displaced people, moving from one place to another without knowing when this tragic journey will end 💔🏚️.

My father, Nabil, who is 62 years old, used to own an aluminum workshop, but it was destroyed during the war. My mother, Fatima, 57 years old, faces daily struggles with the lack of electricity and the closure of bakeries. At their age, my parents suffer greatly from the constant displacement and the challenges of moving from place to place 🚶‍♂️🚶‍♀️.

My younger brother, Khaled, 23 years old, graduated with a bachelor’s degree in accounting and worked at a contracting company before the war took away his job and shattered his dreams. Despite this, Khaled now bears the responsibility of providing for our basic needs like food and water, trying to keep our family afloat under these harsh conditions 🍞💧.

I also have two married brothers, Mohamed and Ahed, who live with us in the same displacement location with their children (Lama, Nabil, and Amir) and (Fatima, Eman, and Noor). The children, having lost their toys and games, have found some joy playing with the pets 🐾, trying to find happiness in the darkest of times.

But the bitter reality is that we are living in an uninhabitable environment. Diseases and insects are widespread, and sewage water floods the area around us. The children, who should be focused on learning and playing, now suffer from malnutrition and disease. Recently, the spread of the polio virus among them has only added to their pain and suffering 🦠😔.

Life here no longer meets basic human dignity. We live without clean water, without a home, without even the basics of survival. Our children have no education, no toys, no new clothes, not even shoes to protect their feet. Skin diseases, malnutrition, and polluted water and food are our daily reality. We are living in inhumane conditions in every sense of the word, and we beg you not to forget us 🙏.

All we hope for now is to find safety, to not die before we can escape or move to a safer place. But even that simple right seems impossible. We need your help to raise the money needed to cross the Rafah border between Gaza and Egypt, where the coordination cost for one person ranges between $5,000 and $7,000.

We are trying to hold on to hope 🌟, trying our best to find safety for ourselves and our children. With your support, we might just achieve that. Every share of this story, every donation, every bit of help can make a huge difference.

gofundme.com

Donate to Rising from the Ashes: Ghada’s Journey of Hope and Resilien, organized by ghada alanqar

**Humanitarian Support Request: Ghada Nabil Al-Anqar** My… ghada alanqar needs your support for Rising from the Ashes: Ghada’s Journey o

Please, help us raise our voices, and help us save our family 🙏💙.

GoFundMe campaign link 💔❤️ >>>

My campaign Vetted by @gazavetters

on their verified list, number 6.

Link vetted ➡️

Urgent help 🙏 📣

I stand on the rubble of our home, but my heart is filled with hope. I need your help to leave Gaza and complete my education to build my future. Every donation, no matter how small, will help me achieve my dream. Join us on a journey of rebuilding

GoFundMe link: https://gofund.me/463cbf01

Thank you for your support. Every bit of your kindness means so much to me 💔

My campaign has been vetted by:

1-@beesandwatermelon here #190 link here

2- @gazavetters

Shared by :

1- @a-shade-of-blue here

2- @dlxxv-vetted-donations here

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Donate to Help Mahmoud and his family escape Gaza & continue education, organized by Renee Hassert

Help Mahmoud Jehad and his family to leave Gaza to study and … Renee Hassert needs your support for Help Mahmoud and his family escape Gaza

Tags for reach, please rebloog 🙏

@tamamita @northgazaupdates2 @90-ghost @schoolhater @timetravellingkitty @deathlonging @briarhips

@mazzikah @mahoushojoe

@sar-soor @rhubarbspring

@pcktknife @transmutationist @sawasawako

@feluka @appsa @anneemay-blog @commissions4aid-international @wellwaterhysteria

@mangocheesecakes @kyra45-helping-others

@7bittersweet @tortiefrancis

@ot3 @amygdalae @ankle-beez @dykesbat

@aristotels @komsomolka @neptunerings

@riding-with-the-wild-hunt @heritageposts

@watermotif @stuckinapril @mavigator

@lacecap @determinate-negation

@deepspaceboytoy @paper-mario-wiki

@kibumkim @neechees

@socalgal @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli

@sayruq

@himejoshikaeya @rooh-afza

⚠️⏰Warning ⚠️ ⏰

Time is running out😥💔

Hello my friends and supporters of my campaign to save my life and the lives of my beautiful family.❤🥺

We have made significant progress in achieving our campaign, thanks to you, your support, and your generous donations. There is only a little more to go.😁✌💜

gofundme.com

Donate to Help Us Escape the Ravages of War: Emergency Evacuation Fund, organized by N ALDEEB

Help Us Escape the Ravages of War: Emergency Evacuation Fund … N ALDEEB needs your support for Help Us Escape the Ravages of War: Emergen

First, let me reintroduce myself: 😃

I am Dr. Mohammad Al-Deeb, an ER physician at Al-Shifa Hospital in the northern Gaza Strip 🩺🩸💉

before the brutal war forced us to leave our homes, memories, and workplaces, which have now become rubble after years of hard work to build them.😓😰

Our beautiful home, filled with cherished memories, holds in every corner the story of my childhood and youth💙, which my siblings and I dedicated our lives to building.😪😣

Now, I am displaced in the southern part of Wadi Gaza😪,

living with my family in a small tent that lacks even the most basic necessities of life—

no food, no water, no place to sleep, or even a place to personal needs.😓

I

I ask for your continued support, as I have always relied on it.

We have achieved 72% of our campaign goal, and with your help and ongoing support, we will soon reach 100% of our goal.😁✌🙏🕊

Sar-

gofundme.com

Donate to Help Us Escape the Ravages of War: Emergency Evacuation Fund, organized by N ALDEEB

Help Us Escape the Ravages of War: Emergency Evacuation Fund … N ALDEEB needs your support for Help Us Escape the Ravages of War: Emergen

Dr. Mohammad Al-Deeb from Gaza.

Our campaign is vetted by

@90-ghost

@mangocheesecakes

@sayruq

@el-shab-hussein

@nabulsi (number 212)

Please help me by publishing my story 🥹🙏🏻

@timetravellingkitty @deathlonging @briarhips @mazzikah @mahoushojoe @sar-soor @rhubarbspring @schoolhater @pcktknife @transmutationisms @sawasawako @feluka @appsa @anneemay-blog @commissions4aid-international @wellwaterhysteria @mangocheesecakes @kyra45-helping-others @7bitter @tortiefrancis @ot3 @amygdalae @ankle-beez @communistchameleon @dykesbat @aristotels @komsomolka @neptunerings @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @heritageposts @watermotif @stuckinapril @mavigator @lacecap @determinate-negation @deepspaceboytoy @paper-mario-wiki @kibumkim @neechees @socalgal @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq @himejoshikaeya @rooh-afza

I kindly ask for your support to ease my suffering and help me achieve my delayed dreams❤🙏🏻

Hello, I am Kenzi, 17 years old. I once carried big dreams and saw a bright future ahead of me, but the war has taken everything from me. This year was pivotal in my life—my final school year, after which I was supposed to enter university and fulfill my dream of becoming a doctor.

Now, those dreams seem distant, like a mirage, and hope fades with each passing day. Yet, despite everything, I still try to hold on to a glimmer of hope, believing that the end of this suffering will come one day, and I will find my way again toward achieving my dream

Help me restore my life, achieve my goal, and save the rest of my family

gofundme.com

Donate to Help my family survive and start a new life, organized by Hazem friend

Hello everyone, I hope you take a minute to read our story. I’m Ha… Hazem friend needs your support for Help my family survive an

vetted by :

@dlxxv-vetted-donations (vetted)

@a-shade-of-blue

@gazavetters , my number verified on the list is (#75)

URGENT: FUNDRAISING FOR BREAST CANCER TREATMENT

I have tried my absolute best not to seek financial help online, especially when our collective focus should be aimed towards the welfare of our Palestinians, Congolese, and Sudanese brothers and sisters. I truly have considered countless options before resorting to asking for monetary assistance but I no longer have the means to keep myself alive and my little family afloat. Following my father's death almost three years ago due to colorectal cancer, I was diagnosed late last year with Stage 2A breast cancer.

There's an even elaborate explanation on the fundraising page that I will be attaching in this post. Please, take some time to read it. I am our family's breadwinner, and I am only asking for monetary assistance because I no longer have a job/source of income nor is my previous company willing to shoulder my medical expenses. I am left to fend for myself and I have used all of my savings to afford numerous physical/health examinations and the prescribed medication.

I am going to attach photos of how disfigured my right arm now is, the evident lumps/tumors on my armpits and if you want proof of how the cancer affected my breasts, please directly message me. I don't think I can explicitly share the photos here. But to put enough context, my left breast shrunk into at least 1/3 of its original size.

I am sincerely sorry for being a bother, but if you have the means to donate to my fundraising post, please do. I badly needed all the help I can get so I won't be summoned to court and would be able to afford surgery on time. If you cannot donate, please kindly share this post. If you have any other questions, please reach out to me through direct messaging. This is my only account (I will probably reblogged this on my side blog as well) so please, if you see someone using my photos, alert me. Thank you. Please understand, too, that I will take a bit of time to respond because I am struggling to grasp my phone/only typing using my left hand. Thank you, and please consider helping me.

GoGetFunding

URGENT: Fundraising for Hospital Expenses (Battling Breast Cancer)

We are trying to make a heartfelt appeal to gather enough monetary assistance for my niece, Alex, who is currently battling stage 2A breast

💔❤️‍🩹🇵🇸🇵🇸To Those with Compassionate Hearts and Conscience,🇵🇸🇵🇸💔❤️‍🩹

My name is Mohammed Nasr, from Gaza, where war and suffering prevail. In this land that has turned into hell, my family has lost everything. I lost my brother Mahmoud, my brother Ahmad suffered a leg amputation, and I have been injured in my legs and abdomen. My parents suffer from chronic illnesses, and my children, Nasr (7 years) and Alin (6 years), are suffering from malnutrition and skin diseases.

The war has destroyed our homes and businesses, leaving us without shelter or resources. Our displacement has caused my mother and siblings to live in different areas of Gaza, while I, my wife Yasmin, who is battling cancer, and my children are in the south.

We are living in a state of displacement, having fled more than ten times, and we are struggling with a lack of food and water. My wife now requires treatment abroad, which is extremely costly, and we cannot afford it.

Therefore, I appeal to you with open hearts to extend a helping hand, whether through financial assistance or psychological support. Even a small contribution could change our lives.

gofundme.com

Donate to Helping Mohammad's Family :Escaping War to New Life, organized by Mohammed Nasr

Hello everyone, my name is Mohammed Nasr, my wife's name is Yasmine … Mohammed Nasr needs your support for Helping Mohammad's Family :Escapi

I thank you from the depths of my heart for your support and concern.

Sincerely,

Mohammed Nasr

gofundme.com

Donate to Helping Mohammad's Family :Escaping War to New Life, organized by Mohammed Nasr

Hello everyone, my name is Mohammed Nasr, my wife's name is Yasmine … Mohammed Nasr needs your support for Helping Mohammad's Family :Escapi

﴾ let me blow your mind

pairing: badboy!han jisung x f!reader

genre: one-shot, high school au, smut

word count: 10,1K

warnings: a lot of marking! ⋆ groping! ⋆ biting!⋆ light!spanking ⋆ experienced!han and inexperienced!reader ⋆ dry humping ⋆ oral (f. and m. receiving) ⋆ dirty talking (han has a nasty mouth) ⋆ cunnilingus ⋆ squirting ⋆ face!cumshot

summary: you noticed him watching you from afar, though it never occurred to you why han jisung, the school’s bad boy, would be watching a shy, nerdy girl like you, but before you can even blink, you are thrown into a world of pleasure and right into his greedy hands

request by @khandzilla

──────────────────────

He thinks you are doing it on purpose. Your teeth nibbling, chewing at your pencil. Pink tinted lips, wrapping around it and staining it — and he just knows that the lip balm you always apply is strawberry flavored. You always sit at the front of the class, like the good student that you are and even from the back of the room, he can see the sweat glistening on your skin. In his opinion schools should not be open at such weather, but he isn’t that against it, because he could see more of your white thigh highs sliding down your yummy thighs. Such a good student — there has never been a day when he hasn’t seen you wearing the school uniform. You always made it look so good and especially when the weather was too much your luscious skin to handle. The sleeves of your white blouse are rolled up and to his delight few buttons undone at the top, but to his displeasure hair not put up to show off your neck. Everyday he tried to at least catch a glimpse of new skin.

But it wasn’t enough for him. He ignores his friends snickering, the loud noise disturbing his thoughts for a split second. His head falls into his hand, leaning to the side when of the students moves before him and into his view. He is only pulled away from his thoughts when you turn around to look at the teacher. He only at that realized that the teacher is walking around the class to hand out their graded tests. Han doesn’t even have to see it, he knows that he totally blew it. It didn’t matter, l the only good grade that matters is yours.

No, he doesn’t want to say that it’s a crush. To be honest it’s a borderline obsession. He wouldn’t go to school so often if you weren’t there, he doesn’t even care about keeping up his reputation anymore. He had basically memorized your whole schedule — you are always the first person in class, glasses almost falling off your nose as you are always buried in some textbook, you are always eating few pieces of fruit during the third break — strawberries, just like your lip balm, are your favorite, then your are eating lunch at the far corner of the cafeteria where you are looking out of the window and mostly, he memorized how you would always push your skirt down — how your tits would strain against your blouse and how you would apply your lip balm with that cute pout — there’s a individual obsession just with your lips and he wonders if they taste just as sweet as the look…and from what he has seen, you are also super sweet. He doesn’t talk to you, he wants to, but it’s way more fun making you flustered when you catch him staring. He wonders if you like him, because you are shy around literally everyone, however he wants to say that he is the one. He didn’t talk to you, just observed you, waiting for the golden opportunity to arrive and when the teacher goes to hand him his test he sees it.

Han notices the teacher’s frown before even seeing his score. “Do something about it, buddy…” Sighs out Mr. Lee, his tone almost sounding fatherly. Pity is the last thing Han wants, and he knows his friends won’t offer it anyway. They laugh at his score, loudly cheering when one of them matches it. Zero, in bold red and circled, just as he expected. He’s never been good at this sort of thing — put him in an English class and he will score the highest, when it comes to a physics test, only one person can do that.

Han looks up from the paper, eyes going back to the front and he has to hide a small smile appearing on his face, when he sees you already looking at him. Just from the corner of your eye, subtly, masking it as if you are looking at the teacher who happens to reach your desk at that moment. You tried to be sneaky, but when you met his eyes, you instantly look away, almost giving yourself a whiplash. “Good job, Y/N.” Says the teacher and you flash him a small smile of gratitude, putting your 100% marked test on your desk. And then Han sees it.

Maybe it’s easier than he thought.

────

You already sprayed the entire capsule of your portable perfume on yourself. You are sweating from head to toe and you for the first time wished that you were wearing anything other than your uniform right now. Even if your tie is loose, it feels like it’s choking you, scratching at your neck. You also hope no one, especially him, can smell your nerves. You feel like you died a little when you caught him staring again and you know, you can’t possibly face him anymore. You are already in rush you want to say, few hours of classes still ahead of you, so when you dash out the door that’s your excuse. Though can’t help, but wonder if he will ever talk to you and just as the thought crosses your mind, you hear someone call out to you.

“Y/N—“ The well known voice sings out your name. You feel your heart jumping, stopping in the packed hallway. You feel so many eyes on you right now, the cheerleaders few feet away from you, glaring daggers at you. You are already feeling hot, but now you are sweating just from the way he said your name. To be honest you thought he didn’t even know you which is kind of stupid — you always catch him looking at you, but you want to say that it is just a coincidence every single time. You slowly turn around and you breathe out shakily when he literally jumps right in front of you.

Han breathes heavily, chest rising up and down and you can’t look at him when his shirt is so open that you think he should be dress coded. Your eyes fall onto his tie instead, hanging low on his neck, but you still see the bright smile on his face. You don’t even want to think about how you two look next to each other. You — hugging your textbooks close to your chest as much as possible to calm your racing heart, hair sticking to your sweaty skin and him — shining brighter than a star, effortlessly gorgeous and confident in his stance.

He pushes his hair back, eyes wide to get a full look at you. You are slouching a little to appear smaller and he almost coos at how cute you look, however his eyes go a little lower and not in innocent manner. No one can judge him for looking down your blouse when your tits are perfectly smashed together and thinking about licking your salty sweat off them. His nose is hit with a big whiff of your perfume and it’s so intoxicating that he almost doubles over. When you push your glasses up on your nose, it pulls him out of the magic spell your perfume held him in. “Are you free after school?” He should’ve said it differently, but the look on your face was definitely worth it.

Your lips parted, finally glancing up at him. You can’t believe those words left his mouth. You feel your heart pounding, ears ringing. However when you give a small glance your eyes drift behind him instead. “Ehm…” Your eyes fall on his friends, leaning on the lockers and staring right at the two of you. They have their lips turned up into smiles and you hope it’s not what you think it is. This can’t be just some kind of joke, because when your eyes drift back to Han his eyes are shinning with hope. “Why?” You ask, quietly not being able to look at him fully from how intensely his stare is.

“Well—“ Han notices your attention drifting off, eyes going back and forth between him and something behind him. He frowns, turning around to look back and when he sees his friends he almost screams. They are visible making you uncomfortable and even if their smiles were nothing, but teasing, he doesn’t want you looking anywhere else than him. With the first word still on the tip of his mouth, he blocks your view with his body, resulting in him standing right in front of you. “You’re really good at Mr. Lee’s class.” Han could have gotten to the point a long time ago, but he purposely makes this small conversation last longer, just to shake you up a bit more.

You feel heat traveling to your face, eyes glaring at his tie, but now he is way closer. The fact he is not afraid to walk into your personal bubble should make you uncomfortable and it in some point does, but it also awakens butterflies in your stomach. You become giddy inside and you can’t hide the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, but it quickly fell at his intense look. “Thank you.” You whisper in question, perfectly done eyebrows rising to your forehead at disbelief. Han bites his lips, just like you are doing right now, completely unknowingly and he swears he can taste the strawberries on your mouth from here.

“Will you tutor me?” He asks and you have to step back a little to glance at him better, because you can’t breathe from how close he keeps getting. You pause at the ‘will’, he already knows that you won’t say no. “I suck so bad at physics and if I don’t do good at the next exam, I’m done. Mr. Lee said you are the only one who can safe me.” He says, exaggerating with his big expressions. He huffs, frowns and mostly looks at you with big puppy eyes.

Han drowns in your bashful state when he says the last sentence, you trying not to melt at his feet from the tone of his voice. You are just so overly taken back by this interaction that it is kind of hard to fully take it all in. You are already shocked that he walked up to you, talked to you and now he wants — no, needs your help? You don’t know if you can take it. “I-I—“ Your mouth is open, words at the tip of your tongue. However your mind is empty as you are not even sure what to say to him. Your mind goes back to his smirking friends and then to those jealous cheerleaders whose glares you still feel on your back. So much attention at once and mostly from him. Han waits, hands in his pockets, but both of you already know what you are going to say next. “I-I guess, I can—“

Han claps, the sound startling you, but he doesn’t see it as he looks at ceiling in greatfulness, though you don’t know it is mostly because of something else. “Thank you, Y/N! You’re a savior!” You shrink back at his loud voice, few people passing by you whispering to themselves. You feel hot, ready to pass out. You didn’t say yes, but also not no, you are not really sure what you wanted more — to go home after school or tutor him, well, he seems to know the answer for you. “Meet me before the school after?” Han says, already jumping back to walk back to his friends.

Your shuttering is cute, glasses fogging up at the bottom from your heavy sigh. “Oh, yeah!” Your voice breaks at the end and you want the floor to swallow you whole, but he only flashes you one of his dazzling smiles at the sound.

You stand there frozen in your spot, looking at him with small disbelief. You are already full of anxiety from just imagining yourself talking to him, he on the other hand only feels delight. He beams brightly, ignoring the remarks from his friends to look back at you for the last time. His eyes fall to the back of your thighs, hand keeping up your right sock up and he just can’t wait to see your skin up close again.

────

You are for the rest of the day on high alert, but at the same time and for the first, you see yourself not paying too much attention to your classes. Your hands are shaking, lip quivering. You don’t see Han anymore till lunch, however your eyes are staring into your book, though not even reading. He watched you the whole time, like usually, but other than lunch he didn’t go near you. You noticed that, but maybe you are just delusional, maybe those other times he actually wasn’t really everywhere near you, just like now. Maybe you are actually reading too much into things.

Han on the other hand really tried hard not to go near you. A lot of people were whispering about how there’s something going on between him and the nerdy, shy girl — well, not yet, he wants to say. He stays away from you to make you even more nervous and after school when he finally will meet up with you, you will be all shaken up, shuttering cutely like you always do.

When you stepped out of the school, the sun was already setting. You felt exhausted, but at the same time not at all, because you know you will not be able to relax because of him. For whatever reason…You stood at the end of the stairs to the main entrance, watching people walk by you, chatting. You kept looking down at your phone, reading the time minute by minute. It was getting really late for you and your heart kept beating faster the longer you stood there.

Han thinks he literally breathes just because of you. He can’t help those feelings and the thoughts running through him when he watches you stand there under the stairs, waiting for him. Your hair is tucked behind your ears, glasses hanging low on your nose and he melts when you nervously shift your weight from foot to foot. The way his heart skips a beat when he sees you move to turn around and walk away, breaks him and yet again it pulls him out his thoughts. He can’t let you get away, not when you are already so close, so he runs to catch up with you.

You hear heavy footsteps behind you and you are again startled by a booming voice. “Y/N, wait!” Han yells at you and your ears ring from just how loud he always is. You turn subtly around and he shakes his head at your unusual posture. It looks like you are guarding yourself. “Where are you going?” He asks you, puffing out air.

Shrugging softly, your eyes fall on the lit lamps around you and then the Moon. “Well it’s kind of late…” You are surprised by your leveled voice, but when you turn to look at him your voice dies at the end. You hate when you do that, it’s so embarrassing and even more when infront of him. You are actually surprised he even showed up, because you were really starting to think, it really was a joke after all, but how could you think that? He is so sweet…however, when looking at you, he thinks the exact opposite of himself.

Han is starting to panic a little at your words, walking around you to get a better look at you. “Huh?” He exclaims, glancing at his reflection in your glasses. “You promised to tutor me.” He pouts then, furrowing his eyebrows. You don’t hear the little fake tone in his voice, but his hurt expression melts your guard a little.

You didn’t promise him anything or did you? You can’t even think right now. “The library is closed.” You state softly.

He fights the urge to smirk, smiling only a little. “Yeah, I know.” He definitely knows. “I was thinking about going over to my place…to study of course.” Han drinks up your flustered state, the moment the words left him, you turned away so he wouldn’t see your face of shock. He can taste your shyness on his lips already and he is slowly starting to shake in excitement when you turn back to him.

The thought of going back to his place…it never crossed your mind. You definitely can’t handle being in a basically locked room where there would be just the two of you. On the other hand, you can’t say that the thought isn’t making you curious. “I don’t know…” You mumble, glancing at him briefly.

“Come on—“ He pressed, taking a bold step closer to you. “I won’t keep you up late.” Now there’s that smirk and when you timidly nod, he wants to kneel before you right then and there. The excitement pumping in him almost makes his veins burst, cheeks flushing just by the thought of you sitting on his bed and talking with that cute voice of yours. “Come on then, I won’t bite. It will be just the two of us, don’t worry.” Of course, he didn’t pay his roommate to stay out of their shared flat tonight.

‘Yeah, that’s what worries me’, you think. He walks you two back to his place, you keeping a small distance from him and he definitely didn’t like that. He lets you though, he would let you do anything and everything. Walking with you, his steps are quick, just to have more time with you inside his room. He really wants to know what is going on in the little head of yours. He wants to get under your skin, know your biggest likes and dislikes, fears and desires — what makes you shake. Han is acting crazy around you and you don’t even see it. You are so smart, but also such a dummy...He needs to show you, make you feel what you deserve.

The walk is silent, but it doesn’t take long before you two are standing in the elevator, waiting for it to lift you up to the 10th floor. It’s unusually quiet, no parties, no one in your way and he sees it as a blessing. You are not looking at him, even when you finally get into his shared apartment, but he knows he has your attention. He licks his lips, dry and thirsty and his whole head is spinning when he enters his room with you right behind him.

Your eyes go around his room, genuinely surprised by how clean it is. The walls are full of movie posters, musicians — your eyes land on his desk which is messy on the other hand. When you see the known magazine peeking out of the scattered papers, you instantly feel heat rising to your cheeks. You realize that he has been watching you the whole time when you glance at him and you are weakened by his look. His fingers play with the blue tie around his neck, nibbling at the material, loosening it and you breathe out sharply at the sight.

He finally has you in his room, he couldn’t believe it. “Take a seat.” Han says, gesturing to his unmade bed. Your eyes widened a little and his on the other hand close a little when your fingers just barely graze over his duvet.

“Here?” You mumble, playing with the strap of your shoulderbag.

He laughs, he has to. “Don’t act like you have never been in a boy’s room before.” He snickers, pulling out his phone from his pocket, but he doesn’t hear anything from you. His heart beats faster and he can’t help, but look somehow excited by your silence. “Fuck…really?” He is in disbelief, looking at you, just as you take a seat on the edge of his bed.

He is smiling wide and you thankfully don’t see it, attention on your sock clad feet instead. You are embarrassed to admit it and also too shy to lie. You can’t never lie or say no, it angers you a little, but Han could do that for you if you let him. He could be your voice, yours everything if you let him. Seeing you sitting on his bed, arched back as you fumble inside your bag is not helping him keep his sanity. Your tucked blouse rides up, exposing the skin of your lower back and he has to distract him by going through his playlist.

When you take out your small notebook and your phone, you suddenly hear a soft hum of music from behind you. Turning around, you see Han putting down his speaker which is playing a way too inappropriate song to listen to while studying. The low bass makes you vibrate and the thoughts of doing something completely different fill your mind. Why does he have to keep doing that? He is getting under your skin with his smooth moves and what you want to say, flirting. You don’t even know what it stands for really, maybe playing music while walking to your bed to lay down you means nothing.

“Won’t that be distracting you?” You wonder out loud, eyes still on the speaker even if he goes to sit on the bed with you.

“Not really.” He says, while looking at you. “Just don’t want you to hear my thoughts.” He whispers and you shiver at the tone of his voice, however you masked it well by shuffling a little more up on the bed. His eyes immediately fall down your shirt, watching your tits jump from your moves and he swears he can see the lace of your bra — was it baby pink?

“So what do you need help with?” You cough in your hand not to shutter again and it worked out well for you. You push for glasses up your nose, fanning your skirt so it drapes over your thighs, but from his point of view, he still can thankfully see your skin.

“Everything, honestly.” He laughs shortly.

You nod. “Let’s start with the basics then—“

You swear, he does it on purpose. Pushing his hair back, leaning back on his hands, looking with you with that twinkle in his eyes again and again. You don’t know what it is, you are not sure if you want to know. Every time your mouth would open, his attention drifts away, yet he looks only at you. You can see it in his eyes that he is somewhere else and it definitely reflected in his answers. Every one was incorrect and you don’t want to say that you are starting to get frustrated, but you explained everything to him at least twice, you told him a couple of good ways how to solve the questions, but no.

Also, something else didn’t help you keep your cool either. His room was awfully hot, even worse than a school’s classroom. You want to say it’s the weather, not those fuckboy-like songs — his playlist is vile or the way his also sweaty chest glistened in the city’s lights. The soft night breeze couldn’t reach your skin nor the sounds of cars under his window, you were really starting to drown in yourself. Han kept getting closer and closer, subtly, but after half an hour, it became clear to you. He was sitting in the middle of the bed, like the textbooks, while half of your ass was basically hanging out of the bed. If he gets any closer you think you will start to hyperventilate.

Han of course noticed your behavior. It surely must be because of him, your voice kept going lower, quieter, the more he shuffled closer to you. Your skin was almost drenching with sweat and the way your perfume flooded his whole room, he thinks, he will never open his bedroom window ever again. He can’t say that he also isn’t sweating and you definitely noticed that, because your eyes kept drifting to his naked chest. Maybe he should’ve changed and maybe he should’ve let you borrow something, so he then could cuddle with it later, but it would only ruin his fantasy.

He smiles again at your cute frown of frustration, it’s nice seeing something different on your face. Your pretty voice starts to melt more into the song, the more he looks at you. Never had been in a boys room…huh, he wonders if you have ever been with anyone before. One side is telling him yes, because — fuck, look at you. The school’s uniform looks on you way more sinful that it should and also your plush body, pink lips and pretty eyes hidden behind your glasses. Also you are a sweet person! Why does he keep forgetting about that? You are way more than your looks, you have brains and also charm that you don’t even know about. He wants to do more with you than just this, way more, but his filthy thoughts win over. On the other hand, you are just so shy, has someone ever tasted you? Suck at your pretty neck and tits, grabbed a handful of your ass? Tongue fucked you? Pulled your hair? Choked you? Bit you, mark you up…

“Why are you so tense, Y/N?” He cuts you off, not even realizing it, till your lips press into thin line. “Loosen up a little.”

You sigh, putting down your notebook to pull at your tie. “It’s just so hot…” You feel sweat dripping down your back a little, inner thighs glued together, because you didn’t change your position once in fear you would flash him. ‘Pity’, he thinks, staring at you while pulling off your tie with your painted nails — baby pink, just like your lips.

You literally have him wrapped around your finger, how can you not see it? Maybe if you would for once look at him in the eyes for long enough than you would see it. His eyes like to always drift lower and he just can’t help it when you look like that. Why do you? And why do you not see it yourself? Fuck, he wants to show you how pretty you are…He can’t go any longer, his mind is already all over the place and when he sees a glimpse of your bra, he has to fist his pants. Baby pink, like he imagined — he wonders if it matches.

“Yeah, that blouse is…tight.” Han almost moans out loud, but he thankfully bites down his on lip just in time, silencing that sound. Your own eyes drift to your blouse and then back at him. “You can take it off—“ He voices out his thoughts.

You are bewildered, in disbelief from what he just said. He doesn’t even seemed a little bit moved by his own words, leaning back on his hands, eyes fully on you. Did he look into your textbook at least once? Why didn’t you realize that it was on the same page the whole time? Maybe you were too occupied with trying to sound cool and collected and his nonstop staring didn’t help at all. “I don’t think you are even paying attention.” You sigh, playing with the fabric of your skirt.

“How so?” He asks, eyes going over your body and trying to memorize how it looks in the softly lit room.

“Well, you didn’t answer any of my questions right…” Which doesn’t mean, he was not paying attention, but his eyes tell you that you are right. In your state of pushing up your glasses again, you jump slightly in your seat when he sifts his weight to lean closer to you. “Why are you so close?” You ask, lump forming at the back of your throat.

Han stops moving, sitting right infront of you and trying to have a better look at eyes, but there is only the reflection of your phone screen in your glasses, preventing him from doing so. “Ask me again and if I answer correctly, I’ll get a treat.”

You frown. “Why?” You ask him.

“Motivation.”

There is short silence, the only noise being the music coming from his speaker. You take a small look around his room, squirming in your seat. “What do you mean by a treat? I don’t have any sweets…” You say, confused.

He wonders if you are truly so innocent and oblivious or if you are just playing with him. The sincere tone of your voice though told him everything he needed to know. A treat…he bets your lips taste like one. Han moves even closer, moving away your textbooks and you watch him with careful eyes. “I meant you.” He says smoothly with a cheeky smile and you are smacked across the face with his words.

He surprises you way too much and each time it’s a bigger surprise. You almost choke on your own spit, looking at him with wide eyes. “Oh! Oh, I-I…” And you are shuttering again, like always, but he never seems to mind. You are definitely not capable of talking right now, no words running through your mind, only him. Your hand grasping your phone is shaking and he at that points down at it.

“Ask me.”

You take a deep breath, a couple actually, because it’s seems like you can’t find it. Han’s stare is hard, unmoving from your eyes and you have to look down at your phone. Your thumb hovers over the screen, asking yourself if you should keep going. You are already feeling goosebumps on your sweaty skin, just from the thought of him doing something to you, but…what if he doesn’t answer correctly? Han can’t be serious right now…With your heart hammering against your chest, you scroll down the list of questions, trying to find the hardest one, because you don’t know what you would do if he answers it correctly. You don’t know if you want him to, you don’t know what you want. What does he want? You can’t help, but be curious and scared at the same time.

Han can see your internal struggle, but nothing about your body language is telling him, you don’t actually want him. “When a police officer uses a radar gun to measure a vehicle’s speed, what type of speed is measured? “ You ask, blinking at him in the lightly lit room, voice small. You actually think that this question is not even that hard, but seeing him having trouble with the other ones, you are curious what his answer will be.

Han fights to not smirk, while staring at you and he likes how your breath hitches when he confidently pushes all the things on the bed to the floor. “Instantaneous Acceleration.” He leans closer to you and you are having hard time to back away, watching him with mouth open as he puts your phone away.

“That’s correct…” You whisper in small disbelief, because you are starting to think he’s been playing with all along. However you can’t think much about it when he goes to sit right infront you.

Han is shaking inside when he leans over you, you fanning your pretty eyelashes at him and he swears you have never looked prettier. His eyes as well as his hand fall to your exposed leg. He hears the short, sharp intake of air, feeling goosebumps appearing on your skin as he trails his hand up and down. You are silent, squirming a little from how cold his hand is, but he quickly warms it up on your own skin. You are looking at him with big eyes, lips parted as his other hand comes to caress your cheek. Your chest keeps rising rapidly and you know, he can feel your skin lighting on fire. You watch his eyes fall to your lips and yours to his by reflex. “Just a kiss, Y/N.” His voice is like honey, his breath hitting your lips.

The hand on your leg stops at the meat of your thigh and when you feel his thumb rubbing small circles on your cheekbone you are in a daze. “Just one…” You whisper back, mostly to yourself, playing with your fingers nervously.

Han was right — you do taste like strawberries. You are sweet in taste and also in your moves. With your hazy state, he sees the opportunity to let his hand travel to your waist, squeezing immediately. A small noise of surprise falls from lips, just as he leaned to kiss you softly. However the moment he tastes you, the moment he feels the subtle touch of his lips over yours, the moment you made that sound — he needed more. The hand on your waist pulls you closer and at the same time, he presses his lips harder against yours.

You are trying to catch your breath through your nose, but it’s only taken away from you when moves his head to the side to lick into your mouth. Your head is empty, hands gripping at the fabric of your skirt as you try to at least keep up with him. His lips mold into yours, spit gathering in his mouth from hunger. When you poke your tongue against his he looses it. You are overwhelmed and he is not getting enough. Han wants to slurp at your spit, drink you whole in. He wants you to take over his own body, but at the same time, he wants to have you under him. Writhing in pleasure, fidgeting nervously from every move he makes, just like now.

He sticks his tongue in your mouth, tangling it with yours and he groans lowly at that. Your lips meet in nasty sounds that are perfectly mixing with the music he put on — it was perfect. The hand on your waist travels to the front, squishing the soft rolls of your tummy forming by how you are sitting. Even now you are trying to make yourself smaller, but he definitely won’t let you get away. You were so occupied by kissing him back that you let out a loud gasp when he suddenly bites down at your lip.

You pull away from him a little, the best you could do anyway, because he has you in a very tight grip. “Han! What are you doing?” You gasp out, bottom lip tingling in small pain.

Han is out of breath, a little disappointed to be pulled away so soon from you, but when he looks down at swollen lip, it didn’t matter too much. “Kissing you?” He says, smiling breathlessly and looking over your body. He can feel the weight on his hands, but also you are slightly frozen over, looking down at your lap. “Do you want to stop?”

He hopes not, he can’t live on otherwise. The hand holding your delicate face drifts down to your neck, pushing away strands of your hair to lean closer to you. His nose is hit with your sweet perfume again, eyes almost rolling back into his head. Seeing that you are not pushing him away, he leans down to kiss your skin. It tickles you, startles you from how good it feels to have his lips on your neck. He keeps distracting you with his moves, his mouth and you have to squeeze his shoulders to win his attention back. “Han, I—“

“Sorry, just can’t help it.” He whines out and you have to bite at your abused lip to silence your own sounds. You are not even recognizing yourself, while glancing at your reflection in his mirror. His body hovers over yours, both of yours legs almost tangled and you watch him pull away from you just to look down your shirt. “Do they hurt?” You are taken back by his question, following his eyes, seeing him look down your blouse.

Han is way more bold than he himself expected to be, but he can’t do anything other than act on his desires. “No…” Your bottom lip is pouts out and he almost goes to kiss you again, but he decides do something else.

You are gasping, hot breath hitting his face when his hands grasp your underboob. You are chewing already on your lip, watching his hands wrap around your tits, blunt nails digging into your skin. He definitely can feel your nipples hardening when he squeezes both of your tits at the same time. A small whimper leaves your lips and you have to shut your eyes in embarrassment.

Fuck, he knows that he probably looks crazy right now, when he literally drools over the sight of his hands on your tits. The tips of his fingers nibble at your blouse, pushing it to the side to reveal your bra to him. He is in shock that you actually wear something like that to school when someone could just take a peak or spill something over you. The almost see through fabric wraps around you so nicely, cute little bow in the middle and his thumb flickers hungrily over the soft skin spilling over the top. “Hmm, your bra looks really tight…are you sure?” You choked out another sound when he gropes your tits. “You want a massage? You’re always so tense, Y/N—“

You whine, pressing your hand over your mouth when he latches his lips on your nipple, taking the material of your blouse and even your bra inside his mouth. He can taste your perfume, the softener you use, but mostly you. His eyes are still on your scrunched up face, even while drooling over you. “Fuuuuck, look at you—“ When he bites down at your nipple a soft, shy moan leaves you.

“Han…” You breathe heavily, hands in your lap shaking from his mouth on your breast. He switches to your right nipple while his fingers twist and pull at the other. You are trembling already, shivering when he suddenly blows cold air on you. You look drown at him with your eyes droopy, glasses fogged up at the bottom and he definitely doesn’t look any better.

His plump lips are red and swollen, spit all over his mouth and when he leans away from you, you finally see what he has done to you. Your white blouse is soaked through, pink bra showing under the now see through material and you still feel your nipples tingling when he pulls you closer to him. “Closer, come closer—“ His voice is whiny, stuck at the back of his throat. You watch him spread his legs out, caging your body and when he taps both of his thighs you are startled a little.

“On your lap?” You bite your lip, looking at him from beneath your glasses. Han is already nodding his head, pulling you closer to him, scrunching up the material of your shirt between his fingers. His cock is already straining against his pants, twitching at the sight of you. Your skirt rides up when you shuffle your way to him and his hands are already on your waist, eagerly pushing you down on him. And when you did — oh, he almost fucking cums right when your pretty, clothed pussy falls on his cock. “Yeah, that’s it —move a little–“

He is already putting pressure on your hips and you can’t even breathe at that moment. You can feel him under you and it sparks up something in you that you have never felt before. You are embarrassed that you can already feel your underwear sticking to your slick, hands shaking on his wide shoulders. From this angle you see him in new light and he is glowing. His eyes are comically wide, tongue poking out his mouth when he just barely grazes his crotch over yours. “Han, I’ve never..” You whimper at the end, too weak to stop him from moving against you.

His hands are gripping your hips rather painfully, he is aware, but when his cock grazes over your pussy, he blacks out. “It’s okay, let me show you, yeah? Want you to feel good, you want that right? You deserve it so much—“ His mouth is full of you, kissing down your neck. He licks a long stripe over your pulse, wrapping his lips around the pumping vein just to suck at it. Fuck, he is really getting under your skin…

Your hand falls to the back of his neck, crying at how hard he sucks your skin in his mouth, making you burry your nails into his skin and he literally growls. He doesn’t stop at that though, his lips move way lower, right to the skin peaking out of your bra. His saliva drips down your neck to that spot and he sure sees it as a sight to mark it up. You are already calling out his name and he is kind of disappointed in himself that he told his roommate to go, because you definitely deserved to be heard. Your moans, whimpers, choked sighs — no, those are his, his only. He is thriving with the fact that he is the one making you feel like this and he is hoping that he will be the only one.

He needs more of you, he thinks, while nibbling at the soft skin of your breasts. Han pulls away from the spot with a pop! and to his delight you are already looking at him with those glossy eyes of yours. “Someone will see that!” Your voice is still so soft, even if you at trying your hardest to sound angered.

Han glances back to the spot, where a purple hickey is forming and he has to go over it with his fingers. “I don’t care and you shouldn’t either.” Your lips fall into thin line, silent moan coming out of you when he squeezes your tits. Your body looks absolutely sinful in his hands — glasses on your nose almost falling off, neck covered with love bites, white blouse hanging off your shoulders, exposing your pretty tits covered in that pink bra and your legs? You keep squeezing them around him to relief yourself and that makes him grab a hand full of your ass to push your cunt against his cock. “Come on, Y/N, make yourself cum…” Han is literally in heaven when your hips jump forward and when your face shows a shock by the sudden pleasure you start doing it more. “Like that yeahhhh-“

Your breathing is heavy, hands grasping his shoulders, holding for dear life. He wonders if you ever humped your pillow, because you are moving like you did — he has to buy you a pillow with his face on it. He leans back on his hand to get a better look at you. You are pouting, huffing, trying so desperately not to let out any sounds but, he is not having it. His hand pushes your skirt up, just so his hand can meet your cheek with a nasty slap.

The sound echoes in the room and you finally let out a moan, the stinging pain quickly melting into pleasure. “Fuck, I can feel your pussy soaking my cock–“ Han grits through his teeth, his own hips jumping to bump into yours. “You are so pretty — so fucking pretty…you like when I call you that?” Humming, he watches your face become beet red even if your skin is dark in the soft light of his room. He can feel your legs shaking, his hands traveling to your ass to abuse it between his fingers. It almost looks like Han is only using you for his own pleasure and he kind of is.

He is huffing, groaning, spit gathering in his mouth from the sight of you bouncing on him. His hands on your ass jiggle the fat and you whimper in small embarrassment that is only being swallowed by his mouth. Your mouth is basically just hanging open, letting him tongue fuck you, because you can’t simply keep up with his moves. You are already out of breath, hips jumping wildly in pleasure and you know you are on the edge as well as him when he slap your ass again to gain your attention.

“Gonna cum, baby? Gonna cum on this cock — fuck, yeah. Make it messy, Y/N, because I want you to soak through my pants, so every time I wear them, I think of you humping your pussy on me—“ A sharp moan leaves you, feeling the rumbling in your lower tummy. You are having a hard time keeping up with your own pleasure, whining from the pain in your thighs, but he thankfully takes over. Han fucks into you rapidly, eyes drifting from your bouncing tits that are falling out of your bra back to your face of euphoria. “That’s it, such a good girl–“

With a loud moan you burry your face into his neck, cumming hard over him. Your legs are shaking from pain and pleasure, eyes blurry with tears. Han is smiling breathlessly like a crazy man, caressing your head, smoothing down your hair. He can feel your hot cunt leaking, cream from your orgasm staining the black material of his pants. His hold is soft, letting you ride out your high just because his minds keeps spinning in images and the image of him burring his face into your spend cunt is one of them.

You are thrown onto the bed and you can’t do much against it in your exhaustion. You sigh when he comes to hover over you, your eyes automatically going to his open shirt and you almost drool at the sight of his abs and tiny waist. “Fuck, baby you are amazing—“ You close your eyes, shying away from him a little and he laughs at that. “Always so shy…” You hum in agreement to his surprise and he at that goes back to suck more at your neck. His bites are mean and also his bold hands that grope everything in their way. His nose tickles your ear, his hot breath hitting your skin. Your hands finally rest upon him, just barely, but he can feel your fingers at the bottom of his shirt. When he looks down is eyes however don’t fall on your fingers, but at the spot right between your legs. Your thigh high socks are still by some miracle, digging into the skin of your inner thighs. Your skirt is flipped up, so he has a perfect view of your underwear and how he hoped, it fucking matched.

The lacy material is already ruined by your leaking pussy and when he if looks carefully enough he can see the outline of your folds. “Holy shit, look at that!” He leans back into his knees while you press your face into his pillow in embarrassment. How can you be so shy when you literally rode his cock just few minutes ago? He thinks, he’s in love…

The panties are deliciously digging into your hips, thighs just begging to be wrapped around his head and how could he resist that. Han shuffles down the bed rather quickly, mouthing at your thigh next and you are left trembling again. You are already exhausted, yet you think you want more — need more. You are curious about what else he can do to make you not feel like yourself anymore. The skin of your inner thighs is sensitive, you know that, because you sometimes like to pinch the skin between your fingers, just like he is doing it with his teeth. “Sensitive—“ You warn him, shuttering as he bites and licks at your thighs.

He looks up to you, not stopping however and then the tip of his tongue is hit with sweetness. His head is already so close to your pussy, but he has to lick up all of your juices from your skin firstly, just replacing it with his spit. “Let me eat your pussy, I need it…I swear, I will make you feel so good—“ You are already nodding your head, fisting the sheets, just as he hooks his finger in your underwear. “Let me blow your mind, baby.”

Han almost pulls out his phone to take a picture, because he has never seen a pussy so pretty. From your orgasm it’s a little swollen, red, clit just begging to be sucked into his mouth. He can smell your arousal from here, but he needs you closer — he needs to drown in you. His hands slide your body down and you yelp form how easily he did that, letting him push your legs up to your chest. You want to cry from his blown out pupils, tongue hanging from his mouth and then finally watching him press the slick muscle against you.

Your body jerks from the new feeling, a little puzzled by it, but you can’t really think straight, when he starts to fuck you with his mouth. Han’s eyes are rolled back into his head, while slurping you all up, sucking at your labia, your hole, just barely letting his tongue slide in and flicking your puffy clit. He can feel it pulsating in his mouth, smacking his lips at your taste — strawberries and cream. Han can’t get enough of how soft you feel, cock painfully pressing against his pants, however it only makes it feel better. The pain combined with the pleasure of eating your cunt is the most erotic thing he has ever felt.

“S-slow down!” A pathetic plea leaves you, but he doesn’t hear it. His nose is buried in you so deep that he has trouble breathing, face becoming red from the low intake of oxygen. He doesn’t need oxygen when he is breathing in something much more pleasurable. He can’t fight his hips from humping against his bed. The hands on the back of your thighs push them further to your chest, letting him press his mouth into your leaking hole. His tongue flattens, licking a long stripe from the rim of your ass to your clit. “Han!” So sweet and tight…

Your pussy sucks his tongue right in, even if you are shaking from overstimulation. He needs to feel you orgasm on his tongue, so he is on a mission to make you cum as fast as possible, just to taste more of you. “How do you taste so good? It’s the fucking strawberries, you always eat, I swear-“ You are literally crying, tears streaming down your face and his hips flew away from the bed, because he almost cums in his pants.

Your hand comes to push his head away simple because you can’t even think from hard he is pressing his tongue against you. Your pussy is on fire, liquid lava filling up your tummy and you literally scream when he starts to slurp meanly at you. The sound is so loud, hand shaking and just lying on his head. You can’t control your trembling body and when he starts to shake his head from side to side, you are crying out, pleading for him to just slow down a little, but he only starts to suck your whole pussy into his mouth. “Han! F-feels weird, ah!” You want to push his head away, but he is acting like possessed, nails digging into your skin and you know there are definitely going to be bruises.

Han can’t stop, not when he tastes the hot cream leaking from your hole, smearing all over his chin. He is shaking inside, because he knows, why you are warning him and that makes him go even harder. His tongue is numb, lips red, but when he goes to suck at your clit, he hears that moan again. Your eyes are wide open, back arching when he nibbles at your nub and this orgasm almost takes you out.

He sees your eyes rolling back into your head and then he feels you squirt all over him, coating his face and bed in your pleasure. His lips are parted, drinking you up and he wants to cry at your beautiful state. “So, good—“ Han is whining, hips jumping in the air, looking at your squirting pussy. Your holes spasm, your painfully swollen slit pulsating on his tongue and he is simply amazed by your body.

“Fuck…” You mumble, feeing your soaked thigh highs melting into you. Han is shocked by the word leaving for pretty lips, while he crawls his way up your exhausted body to kiss you sweetly. You taste yourself on his lips and you have to say you do taste rather sweet. Leaning back, you try to look at him, but your glasses are all the way down your neck, so he puts your glasses back on your nose for you and you immediately sigh in embarrassment at his wet face, shirt and even few strands of his hair. “I’m sorry—“

Han eyes widened at your sad eyes, shaking his head immediately. “No, baby.” He coos, caressing your cheek softly, like he just didn’t make you squirt just by his mouth. He is really a lot to take in. “You did so well for me—“ With each word he kisses a part of your face — your forehead, cheeks, nose, cupid’s bow, before his lips land again on your lips.

“I did?” You shiffle slightly and he feels filthy, because your face is making his cock swell painfully. He needs to cum or he will go mad. You can tell he that he is hurting in his pants, because you can feel his hard cock against your thigh and your eyes quickly fall down to catch a sight of it.

He breaths out in a small disbelief at your move, catching you in act. “Wanna make me feel good too?” Your big eyes gaze at him in wonder. “How about I teach you how to suck a cock?” You sharply gasp at the words coming from his plump lips and he knows that he won’t last long, just by your cuteness. You softly nod your head, just a small shy smile appearing on your face and Han then roughly pushes your cheeks together to maneuver you.

It hurts a little, but you let him guide you to the end of the bed, throwing one of his pillows down on the floor for you to kneel on. You are in a trance, while looking up at him, watching him move down the bed, so his crotch is right before your face. You are looking at his covered cock innocently, hands in your lap. You look heavenly in your post-orgasm state, kneeling before him like a slut…”Come on, baby — pull them down.” Han helps you guide your hands to his zipper, your fingers grazing over him in the process. The sound of the zipper is loud, it rings in your ears like your heartbeat as you watch him push down his pants with his boxers following right after.

Your gasp is delicious, mouth hanging open, eyes only on him. His cock is leaking, droplets of pearly cum coating his flushed, almost purple tip, his balls are swollen, ready to burst at any moment. Han is fully aware that this is your first time seeing someone like this and he really is enjoying himself, because of it. Your eyes keep going up and down, mesmerized by the length and thickness. You don’t know what is considered big, but you are sure Han never let anyone down with his pretty cock.

You watch him closely, when he wraps his hand around himself, squeezing at the base. Han is watching you too — how you bite your lip, how your glasses are slightly dirty from all the activities you two did and how you are keeping a good eye on how he jerks his cock off. “Gimme your hand—“ You are careful, slowly giving him hand. The moment your hand is replaced by his, you sigh in surprise and he groans in pleasure. “Move your hand up and down…yeah, just like that, you are doing so good for me—“ The feeling of him in your hand is weird, but not bad, he feels hard yet squishy and you have to squeeze him to see how it feels. “Fuck! Come closer.”

His hand becomes tangled in your hair and you hiss softly, when he pulls at it, pushing your head closer to him. “Should I lick it?” You asks, shyly, glancing up at him. “Just like you did to me?”

Han wonders where you have been his whole life for a second, before he quickly nods. “Yeah, lick it, baby — suck on the tip too.” Your hot tongue then meets his painful tip and he hears you hum at his taste. Kitten licking it, he pushes your hair away from your face to look at you better.

Your eyes are closed, frown that he knows is from concentration plastered on your face. Your hand is still around him, not moving, maybe because it was too much for your little head to handle, but he still wraps his own hand around yours to move it up his cock. Your eyes shoot open, hand moving now on your own and when you start to kiss at his cock head, he moans in delight. “Squeeze your hand a little…good girl, now suck on my cock—“

Your lips wrap around him, tongue poking at his hole perfectly. You can see why he enjoys giving so much and you definitely want to thank him for that. He’s been so nice to you, making you feel so good. You suck a little harder, mouth already halfway full of him and you for a split second think you may have done it a little too hard, but you are quickly proven wrong.

Han whimpers, the beautiful sound, making you press your legs together. When he pushes your head down further you let him, even if your scalp is on fire from his grip. “Put your hand on my balls and keep your mouth still for me, okay?” You only hum around him, making him whine more. Like he said, your hand unwraps from his cock to travel down his balls, keeping it there and waiting for the next instructions. “Play with them, do what you want with them, while I fuck your mouth.”

You moan around him again, spit pooling out of mouth and down the hand that squeezes his heavy balls. You almost pull away from him when he starts to snap his hips up. You immediately gag around him, breathing through your nose heavily. Han is leaking into your mouth, watching carefully how your throat contracts around him. From having you hump his cock to making you squirt on his tongue and now having your mouth on him, he can’t fight his quickly approaching orgasm.

When your nose and glasses hit the hair on his pubic bone, it makes you gargle a little and he finally knows where he wants his cum. Those fucking glasses — they complement you so well and you look like wet dream right now, his dirty fantasy come true, he wonders what would you do if anyone would catch you like this. The nerdy, shy girl taking a cock down her throat like total slut and being so obedient for the school’s notorious badboy. “Ha! Ahhh, fuck, I’m cumming—“ You suck in air, face red as he suddenly pushes you off him. You look at him, hand still playing with his balls that you feel twitching in your grasp. The cute, confused face makes him groan loudly, his own hand wrapping around his cock. The hand in your hair tightens, pushing your head down to make you kneel down at his feet again. Your eyes caught the sight of him jerking himself off quickly, cock right in your face and you gasp when he cums over you.

Thick ropes of white land on your glasses, making you close your eyes in reflex. Han is moaning loudly, pumping himself dry and he thinks he could cum again just by the sight of your pretty face covered in his cum. “Y/N…” It lands on your glasses, your eyebrow and lips and when you on instinct go lick it off, he knows that it is over for him.

Han Jisung is completely speechless. Your face is covered in him, lips red, body teared apart and covered in his marks. Purples, reds from his selfish lips and hungry hands. Mind empty, only pleasure lingering. He caresses your face softly in a absolute devotion, mirroring your smile of happiness, mixed with exhaustion. He looks down at you, like you are the thing he has been searching for and all that’s left to say is that...you are going to be forever his.

!! DONT SKIP !! donations urgently needed They are only at €5,561 out of €50,000 goal

I was contacted by Nader to draw pictures for and help spread his brother Abdulsalam Al-Anqar’s fundraiser to save their family. Nader is a 17 year old boy who lives in Gaza with his family: parents Ahmed (54) and mother Iman (49), brothers Abdulsalam (26), Mohammed (14), and Omar (21) and Abdulsalam’s wife and their one year old daughter Iman. Imagine it was your sibling, your friend, your son, who should be in school or with his friends, who instead has to hide from bombs and ask for help online to save his family. His family have suffered through one year of genocide. All of you are their hope to get to safety.

This fundraiser is vetted by @gazavetters, number four on the spreadsheet here

Abdulsalams daughter Iman is only one year old and has lived most her life in a war zone. She is suffering from malnutrition. It’s every fathers worst nightmare to see their child starve and not be able to feed her. Please help him feed his daughter and get her to safety. No child should grow up hearing the sound of bombs. Every child has the right to food and safety. You can help give Iman the childhood she should have, where she can sleep in a safe bed at night with a full stomach.

Their father Ahmed has cancer and needs surgery and medication. It is not possible to get the treatment he needs in Gaza. every day his illness is left untreated, the cancer will continue to spread through his body, so he very urgently needs money for treatment and travel. If you help them get to their goal, you are saving their fathers life. Don’t let this family who have already lost so much lose their father, husband, and grandfather

Nader has showed me pictures of this explosion close to them, thankfully they were able to get away. Every day they stay in Gaza their lives are at risk from israeli bombs. Every day and hour counts. I know there are compassionate and kind people who are willing to help. every euro helps, YOUR donation will bring them one moment closer to safety. With love and hope I’m asking you to give what you can, I believe in the kind people of the world and I beg you to not let them die. If you can’t donate, please share so it may reach people who can.

Never forget that palestinians are not numbers on a list of deaths. Please think of each of them, think of their names and faces and know that you can help them. I think of them every day. I think of the hopes and dreams they should achieve, I think of their education, their future, and the love they show when they work hard every day to get help. You may feel powerless to stop this genocide, but you have the power to save Abdulsalam and his family. I dream that the day will come soon where they may use their days to rest and recover from what they’ve been through, where they can share a meal and laugh and the children will play, instead of having to use their time to beg the world to listen and help them. We can make this possible.

50 000 euros is a lot of money for one person to give, but for all of us together, it can be done. Please don’t look away.

(drawing above by @neechees)

Thank you for reading their story. Please don’t keep scrolling without sharing

here is the link again to their fundraiser

tagging for reach:

@90-ghost @heritageposts @gazavetters @neechees @butchniqabi @fluoresensitive @khanger @autisticmudkip @beserkerjewel @furiousfinnstan @xinakwans @batekush @appsa @nerdyqueerr @butchsunsetshimmer @biconicfinn @stopmotionguy @willgrahamscock @strangeauthor @bryoria @shesnake @legallybrunettedotcom @lautakwah @sovietunion @evillesbianvillain @antibioware @akajustmerry @dizzymoods @ree-duh @neptunerings @explosionshark @dlxxv-vetted-donations @vague-humanoid @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @sar-soor @northgazaupdates2 @feluka @dirhwangdaseul @jdon @ibtisams @sawasawako @memingursa @schoolhater @toesuckingoctober @waskuyecaozu

Help me escape the war and reach safety 🇵🇸🇵🇸

My name is Ibrahim, and I am 15 years old 🧒. I spent my childhood in northern Gaza, where I used to go to school every day, dreaming of a future full of achievements 🏫. But suddenly, everything changed. My home 🏡, where I lived with my family, was bombed, and we were left with nothing. We were living through difficult days, but I never imagined the situation would get this bad. 😞🌹🌹

gofundme.com

Donate to Help Ibrahim's family escape the Gaza war, organized by Safaa Yasser

Hello I am Ibrahim, 18 years old, I seek your help and assistance to save … Safaa Yasser needs your support for Help Ibrahim's family e

After the bombing destroyed our home, we had no choice but to flee to the south. We are now living in a tent ⛺ inside an old school 🏫 along with hundreds of other families. This tent has become our new home, but it doesn’t feel like one. There are no walls to protect us from the heat of the day or the cold of the night. During the day, the sun ☀️ is so scorching that I feel like my skin is burning, and at night, the cold 🥶 is unbearable. Sometimes, I cry because of how cold it is, covering myself with whatever I can, but it's no use.📢🗣️

The school where I now live has become a place that holds all our pain. I no longer go to school as I used to. Standing in long lines for water 💦 has become a part of my daily life.

I stand in line for hours just to get some water for my family. I feel exhausted, but I try to endure it for their sake. My mother looks at me with eyes full of sorrow, and I can't help but feel helpless. I wish I could do more, but I’m just a child. ❤️❤️

I dream of returning to my old life, where I used to go to school and play with my friends. I dreamed of becoming something great in the future, but now I feel like these dreams are slipping further away from me every day. The war has taken everything from us: our home, our safety, and even our dreams. 🇵🇸🇵🇸

I live in this place, not knowing when we will be able to escape this nightmare. I wish I could scream at the top of my lungs, but no one hears. We are here in the shadows, in a world filled with destruction and sorrow. All I ask for now is for this war to end, and for us to find a way out. We just want to live a normal life, far from fear and destruction. 💔🇵🇸💔

A part of our suffering.😞🙏🙏

I ask for your help with anything that could ease the burden on me and my family. We have been greatly affected by the war and are now living in extremely difficult conditions inside a tent after losing our home. We struggle daily to secure our basic needs and face significant challenges. Any help, no matter how small, would make a huge difference in our lives and give us hope to keep going. Please help us if you can hear my voice. We just want safety; we want to live again. 🙏🙏

gofundme.com

Donate to Help Ibrahim's family escape the Gaza war, organized by Safaa Yasser

Hello I am Ibrahim, 18 years old, I seek your help and assistance to save … Safaa Yasser needs your support for Help Ibrahim's family e

༄ INTO IT B. CHAN !

PAIRING✰ — best friend!Chan x blackfem!reader

synopsis: having a crush on your best friend Chan couldn’t be hidden anymore.

genre: angst , smut

warning: foul language, reader uses she/her prns, reader is black coded, some fluff, unprotected sex (pls don’t do this), creampie, rough sex, praise kink, softdom!chan, pet names ( bunny & baby, but mainly bunny! ), pussy drunk Chan, Chan is HUGE (sorry not sorry), aftercare, let me know if there’s more !

a/n: requested by @penny44224 ! I finally finished thiss! this only took long because my computer was acting up and I got it fixed last week so sorry for the slow updates. I’m also trying a new style hope you guys like it 🙃🫶🏽

“Fuck, I’m nervous.” You smoothed out your outfit after you stepped out your car. Checking your reflection on your car windows, your hair looked fine and so does your makeup. Your heels clicking on the concrete floor as you made your way towards the house. The further you got to the door, the louder the music got. You could immediately recognize the song, tgif by glorilla playing.

Twisting the doorknob you was instantly greeted by the smell of weed and alcohol. People dancing and just vibing. You grabbed your phone out your purse to text your friend Mina again to see where she was at.

y/n: Mina, wya I’m here?

Mina: finally girl, I’m in the back outside with the rest.

y/n: okay!

Putting your phone away back in your purse, you started to move through people, saying excuse me along the way. “Damn, can’t say—” You were about to go off on the person that bumped into. When you turned around, you were met with Chan, your best friend looking down at you with a smile on his face. You almost lost your balance because damn, he looks good.

He could make a simple black outfit look so good. “Sorry about that bunny, didn’t see you.” Chan teased before giving you a hug. You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach from the cute pet name he calls you all the time.

He pulled away from the hug taking in your outfit with a raised eyebrow. “What? I look bad.?” Your voice coming out softly caused Chan to shake his head. “No no, you just— wow, you look beautiful.” He complimented still staring at your appearance. You smiled muttering a small thank you, feeling shy about his compliment.

Chan snapped out his trance before clearing his throat, he grabbed your hand before saying, “i was on my way to get another drink, wanna come?” You moved closer to his face due to the fact you couldn’t hear him since the music got even louder once the next song after party by Don Toliver played. “Say that again.” You said loudly over the music. He pulled you closer by the waist, moved his face closer to your ear and whispered lowly.

“You coming with me or not?” He said before pulling away to look down at you. What he didn’t know that you were going crazy on the inside from the way his voice deepened. He did that on purpose or are you trippin?

“U-uhm, yea I’ll go with you.” You didn’t know where he was going to take you, but you really didn’t care, “good.” He gave you that famous innocent smile like he didn’t just make you feel butterflies and took you further away from the people who were dancing and grinding.

Yall made your way to the kitchen, you could see two familiar faces chatting together while holding a red plastic cup in their hands. The beautiful man that had long blonde hair was the first to notice you two, his eyes slightly dazed, but they sparkled once seeing you and Chan coming towards them. “Omg you’re here!” You giggled as he made his way towards you, pushing Chan out the way and hugged you tightly.

“Hi Felix.” You smiled embracing him as well before he let go to look at you. “Damn, you look fine as fuck, who you trying to get dick down by tonight?” Your eyes immediately widen before laughing once Chan delivered a punch to Felix shoulder causing him to glare at him while Chan did the same.

“You look stunning y/n.” The voice coming behind Felix came in view as he smiled at you. “Thanks Minho.” You smiled causing him to wink at you. “Ok enough flirting you two.” Chan said playfully but firmly before pushing the two lightly out of your way so you could walk further into the kitchen.

You grabbed a red plastic cup and filled it a little bit of half and half. “Not in the mood to drink?” Chan watched your movements as he did the same, but filling the cup with more alcohol than fruit punch.

“Yea—” “y/n! There you are.” You peeked over Chan’s shoulder seeing your friend Mina walking towards you, smiling ear to ear. Her eyes soon averted towards Chan, eyes sparkling a little “Hii Chan.” Mina voice came out smoothly in a flirtatious manner, that you ignored, wanting to believe your mind was playing tricks on you.

“Hi Mina.” Chan didn’t even glance her way, more focused on his cup, voice coming out nonchalant before taking a sip of his mixture that he created. Mina finally acknowledged you again and looked you up and down. “You look..pretty.” She complimented.

“Thank you?” You said, not really feeling the compliment, it felt fake? “I thought you were coming out back with me?” She tilted her head, grabbing a cup as well to get a drink.

“I was, but I bumped into Chan on my way and—” Mina gasped as she interrupted your sentence, she looked at Chan once again grabbing on his bicep before speaking again. “That reminds me, Chan are you in the mood to play beer pong?”

“Damn, just going to interrupt her talking like that?” You could hear Minho voice laced with irritation in the back as he watched along with Felix leaning against the counter. Mina smacked her lips, giving Minho a dirty look, while Chan released her grip.

Minho never really liked Mina, but you told him before that she’s a really good person and has a kind heart. “I don’t know something iffy about her.” Minho once said a couple weeks ago when you and Jisung was out shopping for some things, Mina soon brought up into the conversation out of know where.

You honestly didn’t know where this attitude was coming from, but you sure as well didn’t have a good feeling about it. You being you still brushed it off, “It’s fine Minho.” You said calmly.

You didn’t notice the way Mina rolled her eyes before looking back at Chan, waiting patiently for his answer. “I’ll play if y/n plays.” Chan finally said looking at you with an unreadable expression. Mina gave a tight lip smile before giggling. “Of course she’s playing silly, right y/n.” “Uhmm, yea I’m down.” You smiled, glancing at the still left over drink in your cup, “you finish?” Chan asked softly.

You looked up at him nodding your head yes. Without a word he took your cup for you, “I can throw it away.” You said watching him switch the cup where your lip gloss stain wasn’t on the ridge. “Nah It’s fine, I added a shit ton of alcohol in my cup.” He joked.

“Ok enough smalll talk, let’s go!” Mina was quick to grab both yours and Chan hand dragging the both of you out the kitchen. You look back to see Minho and Felix trailing right behind.

You could hear laughter and shout as soon as you stepped outside. You could see the rest of your friends already playing beer pong. Changbin was the first to notice y’all, he instantly smiled, “look who’s finally here!” Changbin came up to you and and Chan, giving you a tight hug which you excepted with a warm smile gracing your face.

“You wanna play beer pong?” Changbin released his grip on you and dapped up Chan, waiting for your answer. “She already agreed bin.” Mina said for you, pulling you closer towards her after Chan moved away from her.

“I wasn’t asking you Mia.” “It’s Mina.” She replied glaring at him, “whatever.” You stifled your laughter at their bickering, Mina held up her hand dismissing Changbin before looking at you. “You and me are playing first.” She grinned linking her arm around yours, dragging you away from your friends.

You could see Seungmin and Hyunjin having an intense round while Han watches keeping score. Han eyes shift towards you and Mina, smiling that big smile he waved at you both. “Look who’s here!” Han shouted causing Hyunjin to lose his focus and miss one of Seungmin’s cup. Hyunjin groaned earning a cocky smirk from Seungmin and a sorry look from Han who received a glare in return.

“Drink up or spill a secret.” Seungmin teased waiting patiently for Hyunjin to make a decision. Hyunjin doesn’t back away from a challenge so he shrugged his shoulders answering without any fear. “I slept with your cousin two weeks ago.”

“OK! anyone next to play.” Han cut the tension short as Seungmin was ready to pounce on Hyunjin. “Is that why you have been texting me asking about her!- yah, come here.” Seungmin grumbled something in Korean before trying to get ahold of Hyunjin who only ran away laughing. He saw you and instantly hid behind you. “Y/n, get him! He’s trying to kill me.” You shook your head as Seungmin got closer.

“I would to if you slept with my cousin.” “But we like each other, it’s not like I hit and quit, that’s not like me.” Hyunjin retorted, letting out a yelp in the process as Seungmin finally reached him, putting Hyunjin in a headlock while he apologized profusely.

“He was so cocky while saying that, now look at him.” Chan said smiling while shaking his head, watching the scene unfold.

“Han me and y/n want next.” Mina pulled you over towards the table going to the opposite side. “Do you know how the rules work?” Han asked looking at you. You shook your head no, letting Han explain the rules “Ok so, we do beer pong our own way by shooting a ball in the other person’s cup, if you miss you drink or tell a secret. If you don’t miss, the other person has to drink or tell a secret.” You took in the information, understanding the rules before smiling.

“That sounds easy.” The game was going fairly smoothly, you were surprised by how many cups you got the ball in. Han, the rest of your friends and others watched intensely as Mina and you came down to a few more cups.

You felt pressured because even though music was playing loudly and people having fun, it felt like it got quiet. You focused on the cup you were aiming for and shot it lightly. “Fuck.” You mumbled, watching the ball bounce away from the cup, you glanced to see Mina smirking.

“Go ahead. Spill a secret.”

Her words were taunting you, she looked you in the eyes, communicating with you causing you to gulp down hard on your own saliva while feeling eyes watching you.

You were quick to pick up the cup ready to put your lips on it and down the drink that was inside, just to get over with it. “Oh come on y/n, I know you have a juicy secret to tell.” Mina was not looking at you anymore with playful eyes it felt like she started to get irritated.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You replied voice coming out in a small whisper.

“Oh but I think you do.” Mina watched as you hesitantly glanced over at Chan, embarrassment creeping up your skin as you felt like all attention was on you.

“Mina I think you—” Han reached out to Mina trying to get her to stop, but she wouldn’t budge, in fact she was determined for you to say it. The secret that you and Mina only know, the one thing that you trusted her with if anything. You felt your lips start to tremble as you stayed silent. Pleading with your eyes to Mina, but it only made her annoyed further.

“Since you’re being so scared I’ll say it,” Mina took one look at Chan, grinning proudly. “Y/n has a crush on you Chan.”

Instant heartbreak. It felt like your whole body froze and your stomach had dropped. You felt the tears welled up in your eyes feeling betrayed as Mina scoffed at you. “Can you believe that? Out of all people, you have a crush on Chan!” She clapped her hands meanwhile everyone around you stood in complete silence watching the scene unfold.

You could hear low whispered around you and small laughter being passed around, “Mina what the fuck is wrong with you.” Seungmin was the first to break the silence, eyes filled with anger.

“Omg, we were all thinking it,” she turned back to you making sure you understood everything she was saying. “You knew I like Chan, yet you still want him? Face it, he would never date you.” You let her words sink in and you immediately let the first tear slide down your cheek, that was enough before your feet could finally move and head straight to the door.

Not even glancing at anyone else especially Chan’s eyes, ignoring him calling your name as your main goal was to go home and never come back.

The sound of heavy rain tapped against your window and music playing in the background along with it to help you stop thinking about what happened twenty minutes ago at the party. You felt your tears never stop as you packed your clothes inside two different suitcases. You couldn’t stay, not after such embarrassment, you just couldn’t.

Knowing Chan witnessed everything, such a vulnerable moment had you crying even more. Zipping up your suitcase, you paused the song that was playing on your tv before carrying both suitcases by the door leaving them there. Before you could turn around and finish with your other stuff, a hard knock was coming from your door, startling you because you wasn’t expecting anyone. You didn’t even get a call or text that someone would be coming.

You looked through the peep whole to see who it was, “Chan?” You opened the door seeing Chan standing there all soaked, breathing hard, and eyes staring into your soul. You looked at him confused not finding any words to say.

“Are you not going to let me in?” He sounded out of breath, but his tone was in a teasing manner. Snapping out your trance you stepped aside letting him step inside your apartment. Chan took notice of your suitcases, letting out a sigh while placing his shoes to the side before turning towards you. All playfulness leaving his body as he stood there soaked and serious.

You hate to admit that he looks good right now. You felt shy in front of him, you couldn’t even look him in the eyes. Too nervous to do so.

“So that’s it, you’re going to leave because of what Mina said.” Was he angry? Of course he was angry, “look Chan I already have been embarrassed enough tonight, just— please don’t scold me.” Your voice trembled as you finally looked up at him, tears glossing your eyes. Chan face dropped moving closer towards you, gracing your face with his cold hands that somehow brung a sudden warm feeling to your body.

“I would never scold you I just…don’t want you to leave.” He whispered wiping the tear that managed to escape your pretty eyes. “I don’t want you to leave me.” You could’ve sworn Chan eyes flickered from your lips back to your eyes.

“B-But Mina was right.” Your voice died down as Chan shook his head no, looking at you with an unreadable look. “Fuck Mina and whatever she said to you at the party, she doesn’t know shit.” Chan let go of your face, but never once step away from you.

“She’s not the one I want.”

Your heart started to beat faster at Chan’s words. “She’s not?” “No and she’ll never be.” Chan smiled as he let you put two and two together. Chan laughed as pulled you even closer than before, his words finally dawned on you.

“I want you bunny.” There go that nickname again, the smirk that graced his face and his eyes shifting to something different. Love and lust. You felt like you were dreaming, this couldn’t be real. “I don’t know what to say-.” You gulped as Chan leaned his face in, whispering to you, “You don’t have to, just let me show you how much I need you.”

Chan was serious and he was definitely going to prove to you that he wants you. It took you a minute to nod your head yes, but only one second for Chan’s lips to be yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck while he wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing you with so much passion and love.

The kiss turned eager as you both went further and further to your bedroom. Along the way, Chan placed hot kisses along your neck, releasing pleasurable moans from your lips. You combed your hand in his wet hair as he picked you up and placed you on your bed softly. He stood there, lips red and eyes filled with lust, drinking in your appearance.

“You look beautiful baby.” You felt like he was undressing you with his eyes, without any shame he got on top of you, kissing your lips once again. “I’ve waited for this moment for so long.” He mumbled against your lips, hands roaming your body with need. “Me too.” You whispered causing Chan to smile before pulling away.

“Yeah? I’m sorry I took so long…” He looked at you with so much love and affection. “Don’t be sorry— just..please I need you Chan.” Your voice grew needy, not realizing that you started to grind on his leg in the process. “Shit. You’re driving me crazy bunny.” Chan leaned up disregarding his wet shirt that was sticking to his body. You gawked at the sight of his abs flexing and glistening.

You couldn’t believe you were finally seeing him up close like this—on top of you at that. You pulled him down by his belt to kiss you more, breaking the kiss from time to time to help you take off your clothes. “Eager huh?” Chan teased earning a whine from you as you laid bare underneath him, only leaving your panties on.

“Of course I am, I need you so bad.” You confessed watching as he played with the Lacey material of your underwear in a teasing manner, loving the reaction you give him from doing so. Chan placed a kiss on your thigh before dragging your panties down and off your body, spreading your legs for you, he hummed at the sight of your glistening cunt presented to him.

“Fuck, what a pretty pussy you have.” He whispered, moving his thumb down to tease your clit causing you to jump a little from the sudden contact, his hands felt cold making you shiver as your legs almost closed. With his free hand he held one of your leg open, looking up at you, “keep your legs open.” It was more of a demand than a request. You listened, watching in awe as he came closer, wasting no time replacing his thumb with his mouth. “Fuck! Chan.” Mouth gaping open as Chan held you closer to his mouth.

Lapping up every bit of your arousal with a satisfied groan. Chan eyes pierced up at you during the process, watching the way your back arched, eyes rolled back, and mouth wide open releasing those beautiful moans he loves to hear.

You placed your hand into his hair gripping tightly making him groan from the impact and sending vibrations to your pussy. The feeling felt so unreal to you, your brain felt blank. “S-Shit Chan.” You whined, finally looking down to see him now with his eyes closed as he fucked you on his tongue. “Feels so good.”

You felt the knot in your stomach causing you to whine more, Chan never faltering as he gripped your thighs tight, determined for you to cum on his tongue. “M’gonna cum!” You warned mouth going slack as Chan entered two of his fingers inside of you, bringing you closer to your release and lips attached to your sensitive bud.

You screamed his name while Chan watched your body washed over with pleasure, back arched off the bed and beautiful cries leaving your lips trying to calm down. He pulled away from you completely, lips and chin glistening with your arousal. He looked good.

Chan stood at the foot of your bed, teasingly taking off his belt. You watched with shaky deep breaths, waiting so patiently that he smiled. Tugging his pants down, you were met with the sight of his black boxers doing a poor job at hiding his bulge. Chan watched you crawl closer towards him, having a mind of your own you reached out for him. Helping him take off the last layer of clothing for him. Chan hissed at the feeling of his cock finally being released and met with the cold air from your room.

Your mouth was practically drooling and your eyes wide with fascination. You knew he was big, your dirty mind always reminded you every time you see this man, but you weren’t expecting him to be this big. It honestly scared you, but in a good way.

“You’re just going to stare bunny, or help me out.” Chan tilted his head staring down at you with so much desire in his eyes. You muttered a small yes before wrapping your small hand around his cock causing him to immediately moan.

You pumped him a few times, feeling how heavy he feels in your hand before wrapping your pretty lips around his pink tip. Chan watched you closely as you tried your best to take him at least half way, the way your eyes looked so innocent, but your actions clearly was the opposite of innocent, had Chan eager. “Fuck, look at you…need help hmm?” He smirked, already gripping the back of your neck while you laid flat on your stomach on the bed, for more comfort.

Mouth still full of him as he eased his way down your throat. Chan had to hold back from going too fast, afraid you’ll get hurt, but the small rub on his thighs and a quick communication with your eyes— all carefulness went out the window.

“You’re fucking irresistible you know that.” Not holding back his moans as his hips snapped with each thrust in your mouth, “mouth feels- fuck, s-so good.” You were getting turned on even more hearing the sounds he was making. The whimpers and moans that left his lips, the wet sound of his balls slapping on your chin with each thrust made you go insane.

Strings of cuss words left his mouth from intense pleasure. The whole scene was messy, something you both enjoyed. Drool and spit coating his cock, dripping down your chin, and tears welling in your eyes.

Chan felt his stomach cave in, abs flexing as he look back down at you. “You look so pretty like this bunny, your mouth was ah! made for me.” Chan felt so close that he had to pull away from you. Feeling oxygen come back, you coughed up spit trying to calm your breathing, pretty eyes looking up at him. He couldn’t help it but lean down and kiss you with so much passion, not caring about the drool coating your chin and lips.

“Need you to fuck me chan.” You said in between the kiss, growing more needy by the minute. Chan was quick to manhandle you in the position he wanted you in. Legs pushed all the way up, his hands resting on the back of your thighs to keep them there. Cock resting on your stomach, “look how deep I’m gonna be.” Chan would never admit out loud that he has a size kink, but the way you glanced down to see what he was talking about, pretty eyes going wide— had his mind spinning. “Fuck wait— it’s not going to fit.” You looked so scared that Chan had to clam you down with kisses. “I promise I’ll go slow, ok?”

You shake your head yes, eyes still looking down between the two of you. “Bunny,” finally looking up at him into his eyes, a silent communication letting you know he got you. Leaning his body in half way he distracted you with more kisses—honestly he couldn’t get enough of your lips.

“Chan!” You gasped as you parted away from his lips, feeling him slowly entering inside of you. Only the tip and you somehow felt full. Eyebrows knitted, a surprised yelp leaving your lips, staring deep into your eyes he shook his head, “I know bunny, I know.” Chan was trying to control himself, he was only half way in— the urge to snap his hips and fill you up in one go was tempting.

Chan hissed at the feeling of you sucking him in, your walls felt like heaven to him and it only made his desires fuel even more. He halt his movement to let you adjust, taking small breaths before signaling him to continue. Each painful push soon turned into pleasure, but what scared you was that he was only half way in. “F-Fuck you’re tight.” Chan groaned, eyes almost rolled to the back of his head, hips finally meeting your thighs as he was now fully inside of you.

Immediately kissing your cervix, you let out a shaky moan from feeling him deep inside you, “mhm faster Chan, please.” Your voice sounded so angelic to him that he gave you what you wanted without hesitation. “Sound so pretty,” Chan’s hips moving with such smoothness in a fast pace, skin slapping and y’all moans mixed together, “Making me feel- oh fuck! So good.” Chan let out the most pornographic moan as he gripped your thighs tighter, pushing them until your pussy was in perfect view.

Chan took one glance seeing how you wrapped around his cock with each thrust, the mixture of yours and his cum forming a ring at the base of his cock and abdomen made his body shiver. “your— fucking me so good.” You gasped, feeling Chan roll his hips feeding you deep strokes, glancing up at him, you can truly say he looked so fucking good.

His hair sticking to his forehead, eyes dazed, muscles flexing, and lips letting out the most toe curling words and moans to you. He was perfect. “Love it baby, love you so much.” He mumbled looking down at you, loving the feeling and wishing it never end.

You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him down for a kiss, his hips never faltering during the process. Missionary felt so intimate, eyes filled with lust but so much love, staring into one another had both of you feeling weak. It was like this moment was bound to happened and you and him were loving every moment of it.

He made you forget everything, the party, your now ex friend that you wish you could’ve at least slapped before you left— everything except for Chan. And he made sure you didn’t, with each thrust he was soon close to his breaking point, “Chan…I-im ffuckk— im close.” You warned, feeling him lock his hands with yours on the bed and his hips flattering slightly.

“Me too baby, me too.” He let out the loudest moans as he chased his high, the clapping sounds of skin and so much mixture of yours and his cum dripping from your cunt to your bed was such a unholy sight, but it felt so good. “Ffuckk baby, fuckfuckfuck, I need to fill you up, be a good bunny for me and let me fill you up.” He used his free hand to rub fast circles on your puffy clit causing you to yelp.

Gulping down on your saliva, you nod your head, “fill me up please.” How could you say no when he moaned and whimpered so beautifully, it honestly made the knot in your stomach snap as you finally reached your climax, along with Chan painting your walls with his white thick cum. You shivered at the feeling, chest puffing up and down.

Chan let go of your hand before leaning back, holding your hips to keep you still. “D-don’t move..still so much.” He said shyly, biting his lips while closing his eyes. Registering on what he just said you leaned up on your elbows to get a look only to be met with such a sticky mess. “Oh.” Was all you could say, he rubbed your tummy and finally pulled out slowly hissing along the way before watching a lot of his cum leave your pussy.

“God— let me go get a rag before I fuck you again.” Chan got up off the bed smiling from hearing your small laughter, trying to shy away by using a pillow to cover your face.

Only a minute passed and Chan was back with a rag in hand. “Open.” He softly command, you hummed softly doing so and relaxed at the feeling of the warm rag on your skin. Your eyes wanting to close, but you tried your best to keep them open.

“Chan..” he hummed softly, focusing on cleaning you up, but made sure you knew he was listening. “What does this make us— I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.” You asked softly, heart throbbing at the feeling of him taking care of you.

“I’m your boyfriend who loves you.” He said seriously, finally looking at you with loving eyes and a smile gracing his face. “And you’re my loving girlfriend that loves me.” He teased earning a smile from you.

You both fell into a comfortable silence afterwards. Once Chan finished cleaning you up he carried you into your guest bedroom so you could sleep, since the sheets on your bed would be too uncomfortable to sleep on for obvious reasons.

He got in the bed after you tugging your body closer, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

“Good night bunny.”

“Good night Chan.”

bonus! :

♫ Brandy and Monica • The Boy Is Mine

♡︎ 18.8k 💬 9.8k

Y/NTHEDOLL : The boy is mine 💕

COMMENTS:

MINIVERSE.___ : bout damn time

RANDOMUSER : y’all are soo cute

YONG.LIXX : I took the first pic

I.2.N.8 : not you third wheeling 😭

LEEKNOWW : @/theemina wish that was you..

Y/NTHEDOLL : OMG MINHO STOP

_DOOLSETNET : @/hynjinnnn I called it

HYNJINNNN : I did too

GNABNAHC : I love you

Y/NTHEDOLL : I love you more

JUTDWAE : get a room pls and thank you.

CNABNAHC : you hatin? 🤨

Y/NTHEDOLL : yall not finna start this in my comments

Hope y’all enjoyed :)

Trophy Husband - Chapter 1

Hyunjin x Reader (fem.) Genre: Arranged Marriage au!, Marriage of Convenience-ish, Romance, Angst, Frenemies-to-Lovers, NSFW (eventual) mdni Warnings: tw-panic attack, mentions of cheating, cursing, crude language, somewhat proofread WC: 6.1k A/N: did anyone catch the easter egg for this series in last chapter of “The Youngest Son”👀. ALSO, had to create a surname for y/n for plot sake. Feedback, Reblogs, Likes are greatly appreciated! Happy reading! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Two individuals with polar opposite lifestyles are thrown into an arranged marriage for the benefit of both their families, or so they claim. One is a frivolous playboy, living off familial wealth, while the other is an overly controlling workaholic. Navigating their marriage with a business-like approach, their relationship is marked by a whirlwind of bickering, banter, and societal pressures. Amid misunderstandings, they uncover layers of unexpected qualities, eventually discovering a sweet love neither saw coming.

CHAPTER 1 ───────────────────

It was common, very common amongst the elites to let their children mingle, to marry them into wealthier families, alliances through marriage that brought benefit for both parties. 

Yet, even after living amongst them, growing up with such a common custom. One that automatically came to those in the upper tax bracket, like a built-in lifeline, Y/N could not grasp exactly what was happening to her.

No.

She understood. But why was it happening to her?

Y/N was the only child of wealthy parents who had poured their souls into building their business, yet as their only child, she felt an immense disdain for their corporate empire and everything that came with it. From a young age, she was told it all belonged to her. Groomed to inherit it. The deals, the ties, the connections.

The headaches, the stress, the immense boredom of it all.

From a young age she was told that it was her duty, to ensure it continued to thrive, continued to grow bigger than it was. A duty to fulfill her father’s ambitious vision. To nurture an inner ambition that her parents didn’t realize, is not a quality one inherits.   

Y/N harbored no such ambitions. 

Her heart beat to the rhythm of creativity, her fingers itching to paint, to sculpt. Drawn to the array of colors that lured her with their vibrancy. Passions she had managed to hide away from her parents’ scrutinizing eyes. 

Until she couldn’t.

The discovery of a double life that led to countless fights, trashed materials the young girl filtered out the dumpster. Cold shoulders, arguments ending with tears and leaving home quite often. By the time it reached that turning point where her father realized he could no longer control her rebellious streak, he sat her down.

A discussion that ultimately resulted in what one would only describe as a compromise.

“You get what you want now, and one day you pay me back.”

The then teenager keenly agreed, her aspirations of going to art school, and starting her own gallery with her father’s aid, took the front seat. 

She chased after those colorful streaks.

Over time, busy with the whirlwind of establishing her own artistic success, her freedom, she almost managed to forget the bargain she thought she struck with her serpent-like father.

Almost managed to.

Of course it came back to bite her in the ass.

Y/N stared at her father incredulously, hoping his next words would reverse the bombshell he’d just dropped. 

   “Tell me you’re joking—no, you have to be joking.” Her voice wavered with disbelief as she looked back at his stern expression.

   “Hwang Hyunjin!? HGroup’s second son, Hwang Hyunjin? Dad, have you gone crazy?!” Incoherent stutters left her lips in disbelief. 

   “No, this must be a prank.” Her head darted around the room, eyes raking the emptiness in hopes that someone would pop out with a camera.

Someone would laugh in her face saying “haha, got you!”

But no one does, and she only stood under the intent gaze of her father.

The older man’s stern expression intensified, and he sucked in his teeth sharply before pointing at her, his finger wagging as he spoke.

   “That’s no way to talk to your father.” He admonished firmly. “You heard me right. HGroup has sent a proposal for your hand, and I’ve accepted.”

She blinked rapidly, clearly caught off guard by the news delivered so quick, one after another. A repeat of the crazy talk he had ambushed her with the moment she had arrived.

   “What is this, the nineteenth century?” She retorted incredulously.

   “Why in the world would you accept without consulting me? I’m never marrying that-that dimwit!” She huffed, watching as her father’s expression hardened, unyielding. 

   “I’m your father, I know what’s right for you. Marrying into that family is not only going to be good for you, but good for us as well. Don’t you understand? They view you in such a positive light, itching to make such an accomplished woman a part of their family. They jumped at the opportunity.”

She let out an unamused laugh, but it quickly stilled into clenched teeth, a sign of her frustration and anger simmering beneath the surface. Coming to one conclusion.

   “Dad…Then just say you’re selling me off.” 

Her father furrowed his brows deeply, pointing at her once more, but this time he was at a loss for words. He couldn’t immediately retort to her objections, maybe because he was stunned by the absurdity of them.

Or maybe deep down he knew there was some truth to what she had said. 

She could see it in his eyes.

   “There’s no way you’re doing this for me. It’s obvious why you’re doing this. Your company needs HGroup to back it up. And you’re just using me to get to them—maybe even taking it out on me because I didn’t want to inherit your business.” She asserted firmly, arms crossing over her chest, her eyes brimming with frustrated tears.

A speck of silence settled between them, before the old man’s expression softened, hoping that perhaps a cooler tone would allow his steadfast daughter to at least hear him out.

   “I need someone to take over once I retire. You think I could leave it in the hands of that good-for-nothing cousin of yours?” Her father countered, finally revealing his true intentions, his voice was tinged with exasperation.

   “—And you thought Hwang Hyunjin is a better choice? Dad! Don’t you know what kind of person he is? He’s the farthest from responsible!” She refuted, her voice only growing louder, more defensive.

Once again, her father found himself unable to respond to her pointed objections. Instead, he reached out and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. An action that made her flinch because she knew what he was trying to do.

   “Right, I know he isn’t the best choice. But with his family’s backing, and perhaps a push from you, our business can flourish for many more years.” He reasoned, his tone softening even more so, as he tried to persuade her.

As if he was on her side.

Except Y/N wasn’t five anymore, no longer the little girl who skipped around her father. She brushed his hand off her shoulder, taking a step back.

   “Then listen closely. There is no way I’m going to do this.” She declared firmly, her voice wavering slightly with emotion.

Turning on her heels, she moved towards the door, hastily wiping away the tears that had slipped down her cheeks.

   “If you want to keep that art gallery of yours standing, you’ll do exactly as I say. Remember, you owe me this.”

Her father’s words were cold, the softness in it long gone. The daughter halted in her tracks immediately. Her figure tensed with surprise and disbelief as she slowly turned back towards him, wide eyes staring in shock at the weight of what he had just uttered. 

How could he hold this against her? 

She must have been foolish indeed.

Similarly in another part of the city, the Hwang Hyunjin in question, stared at his father in the same contempt and shock.

   “Father!” His shout had resonated, rising abruptly from his chair and staring down at his father behind the desk in disbelief. 

   “Marriage? Are you kidding me?”

The father, who would have ignored him if it was up to him, handed his assistant some files as he spoke, not even sparing Hyunjin a glance.

   “No one asked your opinion. We’ve agreed to marry you into the Yeom family.” His father replied coolly, unaffected as he leaned back in his chair.

   “That makes absolutely no sense. Do I not get a say?” He demanded, looking towards his father’s assistant for support, but the older man remained silent, avoiding eye contact.

   “You’re serious? This isn’t some kind of drama. Why are you jumping to such extreme measures—” His frustration peaked, but before he could continue, his father’s hand slammed loudly against the desk with a resounding slap. 

The sudden noise stunned Hyunjin into silence, and he took a step back, his angry expression replaced by wide-eyed stunnedness.

   “You think this is just about you getting arrested? You good-for-nothing slob. You’re damaging both your and HGroup’s image, and I’ve been letting you get away with it for far too long.”

Hyunjin narrowed his brows, feeling the weight of his father’s words bearing down on him. He couldn’t find a way to argue against the truth in what the man was saying. 

   “I’ve had enough of it. This time you’ve gotten your brother involved and I’m not going to let you ruin his reputation as well.” His father continued, his tone firm and resolute.

Hyunjin’s eyes shot up in surprise and stiffened at the mention of his brother, instinctively falling silent as he processed the gravity of his father’s statement. Sure, there was a small hiccup, sure he had been taken to the police station, his brother rushing after to prevent him from being thrown behind bars, but it was not all Hyunjin’s doing.

But would his father even understand if he told him it really wasn’t his fault this time? That his brother only got involved because he just happened to be there? That he didn’t start that drunken brawl.

Hyunjin chose to stay silent, listening to his father berate him, eyes cast downward.

   “There will finally be something good attached to your name and you’re refusing? Hah!” His father’s laughter dripped with sarcasm, and he pointed at his son, glaring.

   “Listen closely. You are getting married to that Y/N Yeom, and staying out of trouble. Got it?”

Hyunjin stayed silent, his angry gaze silently screaming at his father, who refused to give in this last time.

   “If you don’t, I’m cutting off your expenses. If you want to be a homeless slob, be my guest.” ─────────────────────── The gallery director’s arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face twisted in displeasure as she observed her to-be husband from a distance. He sat with legs crossed, nonchalantly sipping iced coffee, sporting black sunglasses on his nose. His relaxed figure, leaned back against his chair as he tapped on the cafe table, glancing around, as if he’s come sightseeing.

She sighed deeply, steeling herself to approach him. Determined steps finally approaching him. Clearing her throat to get his attention, she leaned forward, closing the gap between them at the table. The dark-haired man peered over his glasses, observing Y/N as she stood tall, almost towering over his seated figure.

Hyunjin slowly took off the sunglasses, hooking them onto his shirt, his expression studying her frigid figure once more, easily guessing she wasn’t too thrilled to see him.

   “You.” Her tone was laced with bitterness.

   “Are you aware that because of you my human rights are being violated? Why in the world did you agree to marry me? We barely know each other?”

Hyunjin blinked, a little taken back by her sudden bombardment of questions before his brows relaxed if he’d come to a conclusion. She was definitely not thrilled to see him.

Y/N’s emotionless tone managed to catch his attention. Her gaze, her words, were oozing of some superiority complex, clearly looking down at him, like everyone else around him does.

He eyed his future wife up and down once more before clearing his throat and setting down his glass.

   “Why? Anyone would be ready to marry me. Don’t I have the perfect face for the future son-in-law of Yeom Co.?” He leaned in, cupping his face in his hands, parading his looks with a pretty smile.

Y/N rolled her eyes and let out a sarcastic laugh. The sound of her chair being pulled back, harsh as she settled into it and sat across him.

   “You think I want to marry you? Don’t be fooled, you’re nothing but your pretty face.” She stated, arms crossing over her chest.

Hyunjin’s smile faltered at her harsh but truthful words. He leaned back, squinting at her upset expression before finally letting out an exasperated sigh. His head dropped for a second before looking at her.

   “Look, we’re both in the same boat. It’s tiring trying to argue about it. We just have to get along, that’s all.” He answered nonchalantly, as if his father hadn’t threatened him only two days ago.

The headache Y/N was getting from conversing with him was inexplicable. Running a frustrated hand through her hair, she took a deep breath.

   “I don’t want to be in the same boat as you. From which angle do the two of us look like a good match?” There was a bitterness dripping from each word she spoke.

His lips twitched, fingers tapped on the table, suddenly sitting up and leaning closer. Offended slightly.

   “And exactly what makes you a catch? What makes you so high and mighty?” He asked, tired of the insults she kept throwing at him.

Her mouth fell agape for a brief second, stunned by his directness and the shift in tone. The stupid expression on his face was no longer apparent, instead replaced by a cold gaze she was surprised to see.

   “Hey, Hwang Hyunjin, you idiot. My father’s ready to sacrifice nine years of my hard work just for you.” Y/N exclaimed, incredulous.

He glared at her, biting the inside of his cheek.

It wasn’t like Hyunjin himself had gone to her father to ask to marry her. This woman he only encountered in social settings, getting glimpses of her face here and there. The only similarity shared between them was the school they attended together. But even then, they didn’t even exchange a glance, let alone a conversation.

  “You’re not the only one being threatened.” Hyunjin began.

Then a thought zoomed passed in his mind, a sudden question that he didn’t want to ask because he had an inkling he knew what her answer would be.

But still he asked. As if he was actually looking forward to being further insulted.

   “Would you have been happier if it was my brother sitting here instead?” He asked, studying her frustrated expression.

His gaze had narrowed into a slight frown as he asked. But she only rolled her eyes. Clearly disgusted by even that idea.

   “I dislike both of you. If I had a choice, I’d rather stay single forever. Besides, what did your father threaten to take away from you—no, what do you even have to protect?” Her blunt words stung, further aggravating the usually cheerful, usually patient man.

The dark-haired man sitting across fell silent, his expression unreadable.

   “Listen to me straight, speak to my father. Tell him you’re against this marriage—”

   “Nope.” His abrupt refusal cut her off.

   “I’m gonna marry you. I’m gonna make sure you become my wife.” 

His gaze was no longer playful, instead replaced with an anger and darkness she had never seen in them.

   “H-hyunjin…” Her voice trailed off, realizing his ego was preventing him from listening to her, though her provoking hadn’t helped either.

But something about this wasn’t right.  

He sighed, noticing her expression. Amused that Y/N could even make such a face. 

Hyujin chuckled. His fingers covering his mouth to stifle his laugh. Amusement in her shocked expression, in the big eyes she stared back at him with, unsure of exactly what was so funny in their situation. 

   “I’m joking. I’m really not a fan of all this as well.” He chuckled, observing her blink in confusion. 

   “But I really have no say either. You’re giving me too much credit for even thinking your father would hear me out.”

Neither of their opinions seemed to matter, an arrangement so ridiculous she kept having to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming such a horrible dream.

But why wasn’t her opinion valued?

Why was she suddenly being pushed to reform the screw-up Hwang son?

She looked at him silently, her mind processing his words. Her eyes trailed over his smug expression, the tug of his lips that thinned into a pitiful smile. Perhaps pitying himself. Their situation.

Hwang Hyunjin, the black sheep of his family, a fact as clear as day. 

Whenever responsibilities came knocking at the door, he would find a way to slip out another exit. 

This had been the pattern ever since Y/N had known him, known of him. 

Their acquaintance, though distant, spanned quite a long time. They had grown up together, their small social circle ensuring frequent encounters that neither of them particularly cared for to remember. And though they had never been close, his reputation made sure everyone knew of him. 

Hwang Hyunjin was the embodiment of a pampered rich kid. While his older brother dutifully managed family affairs, Hyunjin indulged in a lavish lifestyle. Wore the trendiest clothes. The shiniest accessories. He vacationed in the most exotic places, had passion for flying planes, driving sports cars. Preferring excitement over corporate boardrooms, suffocating under the intent gazes of the corporation, the suits and the pale, dull walls.

His personality was clearly written on that beautiful face of his.

Carefree. Careless.

Meanwhile, Y/N, the daughter of ambitious, business-oriented parents, had fought hard to carve her own path away from their influence. Just when she believed she had finally gained independence, fate intervened, entangling her deeply in a complicated situation involving none other than this greatest playboy Hwang Hyunjin. 

   “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

   “Mmmm… I’m gonna have to end it.” He shrugged, as if it were no big deal.

She rolled her eyes, not entirely surprised by his response. That was Hwang Hyunjin for you. Tales of his flings and situation-ships managed to reach even her ears every now and then.

But a sudden thought gnawed at her. An imaginary scenario arising in her thoughts, one that made her stare at him with a sudden intensity.

   “And what if I had a boyfriend. One I truly loved?” She questioned with a raised brow.

Everyone knew there was no such guy. That the only thing Y/N Yeom truly loved was her gallery and her career.

Still, he nodded, as if considering the possibility. “I know you’re depressingly single, but since this is a what-if situation—” He began, while her expression darkened at his jab.

   “You can continue it behind closed doors, I won’t judge. You’re in love after all.” He grinned, pretty confident that it was an ideal answer, the right one she wanted to hear.

But instead, her expression fell, and she clenched her jaw in frustration.

It was clear where his morals lay, and she really didn’t want to continue sitting here, let alone be associated with him.

Except she could only recall her father’s words. No, his threat replayed in her mind once more. 

The only thing that kept her sane amid the suffocating environment, the success she thrived in, independent from her father’s empire, was being dangled in front of her. It made her blood boil, and seeing her “to-be husband” sitting in front of her, nonchalant about the whole ordeal, left a bitter taste in her mouth.

It angered her that her father thought this man was worthy of her. This man that had zero care for anyone but himself. This man that had zero value for marriage, let alone respect for his “to-be wife” even if they were practically strangers.

Y/N slammed both her palms against the table between them, an action that startled him.

      “Listen here. There’s one thing that’s not going to happen if we go through with this ridiculous ordeal. That is infidelity.”

He narrowed his brows, confusion etched on his face.

   “Surely in a perfect marriage, but everyone has their needs—”

   “Jerk Off.” She cut him off, stunning him with her response.

   “Watch porn if you’re that desperate! But If I ever catch you having some extra-marital affair, I swear to god, I will make your life a living hell.” There’s anger on her face, words laced with a sudden disgust that finally poured out. 

It was clear to the stunned man across, the notion of cheating was a touchy topic for her, but Hyunjin only narrowed his brows.

...Cheating? 

Would it even be cheating if they didn’t really love each other? 

But Hyunjin wasn’t really hung up on that. Instead, he wondered if she demanded such a thing because she looked down on him. That she thought he was a loose man who had no control over his play-boy instincts.

      “Why? Afraid I’ll show up in an article? ‘Hwang Hyunjin of HGroup, caught cheating on his wife, daughter of Yeom Co.!’” His voice carried a mocking edge, as though he were already reading the headline from a real newspaper. 

A laugh escaped his lips, tinged with a hint of self-deprecation. His jaw tightened at the sight of disgust in her eyes.

She could only take a deep breath, shaking her head. Y/N exhaled, pondering his words.

      “There’s that too... but that is where I draw the line.” She stated, sitting back in her seat and crossing her arms again.

He let out an exasperated sigh once more, clear frustration on his face. They suddenly sat in a tense silence, furrowed gazes observing, watching each other. But neither budged. 

Neither wondered why they still sat there when it was clear as day that they would never get along.

Their thoughts differed, their values didn’t align. Like oil and water, things that could never mix together, no matter how hard you stir.

And finally after a long moment of consideration, Hyunjin gave in with a sighed “fine...”, though she’s not totally convinced.

      “Look.” She softened her tone, sitting straight in her seat, closing her eyes tightly for a brief second, unable to believe what she was about to say.

      “You don’t have to do anything. Live your life, spend money. Flash some pretty smiles every once in a while. Like the perfect trophy husband. How does that sound?”

Y/N wasn’t sure when the tables had turned, how she was the one now convincing this rake to agree to her terms of their impending marriage. One that was starting to become clear in their near future. Because deep down she knew she had no other choice.

Well she did have another choice, but this was the easiest path. One that would bring nothing but headaches, having to stare at this pretty but insufferable face. It was better than giving up on her career...right?

A part of her tried to to see where her father was coming from. He valued his hard-work, his company, his empire. She tired to understand, as a business woman. As the ambitious daughter who chased after her own dreams.

Perhaps her father was right. If she could mold Hwang Hyunjin into a husband that doesn’t get in her way, push him into a role that didn’t require too much of her attention, this all might work out. Even though the idea of even standing next to him still aggravated her.

The dark-haired man let out a deep breath, annoyingly sipping the last bits of his drink, the ice clinking loudly against the glass. While she only watched in an irritation that grew with each smug smile he shot her between his sips. Purposefully grating on her nerves.

      “Deal.” He finally voiced.

His acceptance didn’t offer Y/N any comfort though. Instead, it confirmed her worst fears, that this absurd marriage was truly going to happen after all. 

That Hwang Hyunjin, who she had avoided like some insect growing up, was going to be attached to her side, tied to her in the pretense of whatever sham of a marriage that was going to happen.

      “Will you marry me, Y/N?” He asked, his lips thinning into a grin.

He extended his hand for a shake, sealing a deal that had suddenly been made, and although she wanted to walk away from all of this, she sighed because she knew she was going to return his handshake. ─────────────────────── The wedding was as grand as one expected it to be. 

Why wouldn’t it be? 

It was celebrating the union of two of the wealthiest families in high society. 

There were whispers about the unexpected couple. Murmurs of curiosity and excitement.

The rumors that were spread, created a love story straight out of a movie. That the couple had crossed paths again at a high-profile auction. Instead of falling for the pretty paintings and glimmering trinkets, Hwang Hyunjin’s eyes were drawn to Y/N Yeom, who seemed radiant as she shared her insights about a particular piece, her passionate ramble captivated him. Enough to make him forget his playboy past and hand her his heart.

It was an ideal scenario. Curated specifically for this crowd of their elite society, eating up the narrative, the romantic drama. The gossip.

Yet, amidst all the grandeur, Y/N sat in the bridal room, staring at her good-for-nothing cousin who had just dropped yet another bombshell on her.

Anger and shock simmered beneath her calm facade as she crossed her arms over the silk of her wedding gown. She composed herself.

      “I already knew. I’m surprised you found out this late. Did you expect me to throw a tantrum and walk out of here?” Her lie was remarked coolly, though inwardly, that’s exactly what she wanted to do.

She actually had no idea what this idiot was talking about. But she couldn’t give him an opening. Allow him to attack her when she was vulnerable, allow him to get under her skin, something this parasite was really good at. Before he could utter more nonsense, she cut in, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.

      “Get the hell out, I’m not done getting ready.” She muttered.

Of course he huffed and puffed. Probably the only thing he was good at, before he exited. As soon as his figure disappeared out the sliding doors, the sound of it clicking close, Y/N’s legs instantly faltered.

Alone at last, the weight of the situation and the sudden onslaught of information hit her like a tidal wave. Her cousin’s words repeated in her mind, wide eyes stared into the shine of the tiles. Her legs gave out, and she staggered against the makeup station, clutching onto its hard surface to steady herself. Makeup products scattered around her, but her eyes seemed to disassociate from the chaos in the room, welling up in tears.

The silence was deafening, yet a ringing sound in her ears was getting louder at each passing second. Normally, Y/N wouldn’t have reacted in such a way. Maybe she would have said something snarky, make the younger cousin cry from frustration even. Something she was good at. But it seemed like everything was finally crashing down on her, as if it dawned on her all over again that this was really happening.

There was a knock at the door that she barely registered amidst her struggle with her rising panic attack. Without waiting for a response, the door slid open, revealing her future husband’s lean figure as he let himself in.

      “What are you trying to pull now?” Hyunjin’s voice cut through her turmoil, but Y/N couldn’t bring herself to reply. 

Her fists balled tightly. So hard, her nails dug into her palms, she tried to calm her trembling figure. But tears streamed down her face uncontrollably, her eyes catching his reflection in the mirror. His narrowed gaze morphed into shock immediately, concern etching his face.

Hyunjin was taken aback for a moment before swiftly spinning on his heels to peer out the large doors, checking if anyone was outside, then closing them with urgency.

      “Woah, what’s wrong with you?” His voice was laced with worry this time, as he hurriedly locked the tall doors.

Turning to face Y/N, he found her almost folding onto the ground, and rushed to her side.

The groom had come to check if his outfit clashed with his bride’s wedding gown. Despite their agreement to be civil through the wedding preparations, she still failed to show up at the dress shop to pick out their attire. Something about being too busy, of course. Though Hyunjin truly had no care for any of this either, he didn’t want to look tacky standing next to her. 

In their ideal scenario, of the Y/N who met Hyunjin at the auction, she might have complimented him on his striking appearance in his black tuxedo, and he might have looked at her with love-filled eyes. 

But that couple did not exist. Just part of a curated story.

Nothing about this was ideal.

Hyunjin did not expect to find her in such distress. Yet he almost froze as he looked down at her trembling form, almost gasping for air.

He had been called a lot of things, but he wasn’t heartless. He could not ignore her. Although he wasn’t sure what to do either. He crouched down, awkwardly extending his hands to graze her back, gently patting it as his voice dropped to a stern whisper. Soft pats that slowly fell into a rhythm.

      “Breathe.” He coached her.

Her fingers tugged at his free hand almost desperately, trying to follow his instructions. Trying to soothe that burning feeling that seemed to ignite her fully.

      “Deep breaths. Slowly.” He continued, squeezing her hand softly, brows knitting with a worry he didn’t think he’d have.

But as his eyes trailed over her crouched figure he felt a sting. 

The silence between them was heavy as she fought to regain control. Her nails dug into his skin, and he found himself breathing deeply, loudly, hoping she would mimic his steady breaths.

      “Yes, keep breathing.” He urged softly, exhaling slowly, trying to match his breaths to hers.

And after what felt like an eternity, Y/N began to breathe steadily, the burning sensation in her chest eased, leaving a dry, scratchy feeling in her throat.

She glanced sideways and saw Hyunjin still beside her, his face etched with concern as he took in her disheveled state. An expression she didn’t think he could make.

      “Did you know?” She finally croaked, tears smudging her makeup further.

      “About?” Hyunjin’s confusion was evident.

She closed her eyes briefly, composing herself. 

      “It was my father who proposed this marriage. Yours accepted because I would fit well into your family. I could keep you in check, the ideal daughter-in-law for his screw-up of a son.”

Hyunjin blinked, his expression softening despite her sharp words. He had assumed she had known all along about their families’ arrangement. One which her father had proposed with sweet talk and buttery words.

But even she was left in the dark.

Probably because Y/N was capable of actually having the courage to back out of all of this if she truly wanted.

His silence confirmed her suspicions, and she let out a bitter laugh, almost pitiful for herself, realizing the full extent of her father’s schemes.

      “He planned for this since he made that deal with me all those years ago…My father did sell me off after all.” There was a mix of hurt and bitterness in her voice that she had tried to bury, that came out pouring with her tears.

Hyunjin sighed aloud before he slowly stood, gently guiding her to sit properly in front of the makeup station, his touch lingering on her arms as she staggered into the seat.

He wasn’t sure what he could say to make her feel better. What he could do to make all this less shittier than it was. 

Hyunjin had already weighed the outcomes of marrying Y/N. And although it sucked that he didn’t have the option to choose his own partner, he truly did not see how this marriage would affect him negatively. 

It seemed only she had gotten the short end of the stick. And it tinged at his heart, making him feel guilty for a decision he did not make.

Hyunjin was not heartless.

      “We can go out there and ruin everything right now if you want. I’ll create a scene, and truly live up to my screw-up reputation.” He offered with a half-smile, brushing a tear-stained strand of hair from her face, a move that came almost naturally.

      “Or, we can get married and then figure out a way to screw all of them over.” He suggested seriously, meeting her gaze with a determination she hadn’t seen before. 

      “Your choice.”

Y/N looked at the man she had branded an asshole since they first met, the man who would soon be her husband if she agreed. The man who looked at her with a new intensity. Steadfast... worried.

At that moment, she realized. 

She had really been stuck on the same boat with Hwang Hyunjin, ever since she made that deal with her father nine years ago.

Everything felt like a blur. Y/N wasn’t sure what had happened or how she managed to compose herself as she walked down the aisle.

Was she even smiling? Did she appear to be the shy but happy bride everyone had created an image of?

The bouquet felt heavy, the dress even heavier. She felt like she was trudging. She felt herself focus on her steps. Right, left, right...

Suddenly, Y/N found herself standing before Hyunjin, his eyes locked onto hers.

The officiant had to call her name a second time, pulling her back to the question he had asked. One she hadn’t heard through the chaos in her mind. Though she hadn’t heard anything he had said at all since she stood here.

The silence in the hall and the intensity of Hyunjin’s gaze snapped her out of her thoughts. He squeezed her fingers in his grip.

Now was the moment. It was clearly written in his eyes.

She swallowed.

      “I do.”

Suddenly, they were married.

The cool touch of the wedding band felt foreign.

Surreal.

She already felt like she was dreaming. Everything felt so unreal. So when Hyunjin’s lips pressed onto her, she froze. A kiss that had truly caught her off guard.

It was something they had briefly touched on during the endless preparation meetings. Ones Y/N managed to show up to but hadn't paid any particular attention, allowing Hyunjin to take the reigns, which he reluctantly did. Of course, since he didn't have anything better to do after all.

Still, she was surprised. Amidst the whirlwind of all her emotions, she had forgotten entirely about the kiss newlyweds typically share, though she expected only a peck. Perhaps just a light graze even. A brief press of their lips for the cameras to snap. 

But Hwang Hyunjin had a reputation to uphold.

Hwang Hyunjin had to show everyone he was truly in love. With the girl he supposedly fell head over heels for at that high-end auction.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, fingers latching tightly onto her hips, pulling her close to engulf her lips with his. 

A kiss that made her gasp into his mouth. Eyes growing big with surprise at his sudden action.

She could feel his smirk against her mouth, his breath warm and teasing.

A new emotion bubbled within her. One that made her furrow her brows. Hyunjin’s daring act pushed away the anxious thoughts that still had seemed to cloud her mind. Instead, it was replaced with a sudden competitiveness.

Refusing to let him taunt her like that, Y/N responded to his kiss, fingers gripping at the smooth fabric of his blazer to pull him closer, to kiss him deeper, feeling him grow stiff. A surprising action he did not expect her to return with more intensity.

Hyunjin had perhaps met his match.

The audience erupted into applause.

The groom stared at his bride, stunned eyes taking in her content expression as she pulled away, a hint of mischief in her gaze.

      “Smile.” She muttered, her lips thinning into a smile themselves, turning to face the crowd with a wide grin.

Hyunjin inhaled sharply, mirroring her expression, playing his part. Waving to their guests who cheered the newlyweds on. Yet he couldn’t help but glance at Y/N. His bride who was full on laughing now, at the camera flashes, at their families, the wide smile on her face radiating as they started making their way down the altar as a couple.

As if minutes ago she wasn’t lost in her thoughts.

As if her hands weren’t trembling in his.

Hyunjin’s chest tightened. An unknown feeling that pricked him. A little irritated that she could so easily mask her inner turmoil with show-smiles.

A little upset that she had to make those expressions, her eyes twinkling, her smile bright.

A little of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

The new bride and groom seemed to radiate under the spotlight.

Waving, smiling, pretending.

Suddenly they were married. And that unknown feeling persisted. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

── ask to be tagged! (18+) - @jellyleggz, @binniesbabe, @bookswillfindyouaway, @lemonn015, @scarlet789, @onlyhyunjin, @freekyfangirl, @candyquokka, @jehhskz, @stayjinnie, @minh0scat, @qwonyoung23, @lemonn015, @kpopjackie, @rundontwalkshesaid, @sheerfreesia007, @thecutiepieme, @danihwang882, @hyunebunx, @seeeeking-skz, @hanadulsetaad, @velvetmoonlght, @alrm02, @tirena1, @suzyhhj, @d34thon2legs @dessianna1, @hityoulikebahng, @tsunderelino

★ ── LE SEXE, JE VEUX DIRE ! [MAKNAE LINE]

what happens when you give the maknae line an aphrodisiac 。 。 。?

꒰୨୧ ꒱ pairing。stray kids maknae line x fem!reader genre。 pure smut , pwp warnings。 aphrodisiacs , sex while intoxicated , mutual masturbation , unprotected sex , vaginal fingering , oral (f. and m. rec) , spanking , cowgirl position , face sitting , squirting , overstimulation

a/n ⸝⸝ requested maknae line version of my hyung line drabble! [ 0. 6k words ] ⸝⸝ [ m. list ]

𝓙ISUNG

god, he’s already so needy just as he is… losing all self control instantly, shoving his hand down his sweats to pull out his thick cock before you can even reach for him. masturbating together on either side of the couch, greedy eyes watching eachother get off, jisung’s cock growing harder and harder with every stroke of his hand, every circle of your fingers against your swollen clit. unable to stop yourselves until you’ve both cum, the cushions wet and sticky from your combined releases— jisung doesn’t care as he shreds the clothes off of the both of you, tugs you down to meet him as he guides his already stiffening cock against your drenched hole. you’ll fuck until you can’t anymore, the both of you drained completely dry, embraced in eachothers arms as you lay spent on the ruined couch. “let’s do that again,” jisung giggles into your hair, “that was fun!”

𝓕ELIX

felix is always more of a giver than a receiver, and nothing could be truer than when he’s under the spell of an aphrodisiac. all he wants is to please you, make you feel good, let him give himself entirely to you so you can drown in pleasure. opening you up on his fingers slowly and expertly, making sure you feel every inch of his short fingers inside of you, his rough fingertips pressing just right against your gummy sweet spot as he plays with your clit in his other hand. bringing you to the edge over and over, making you cum until your juices drip down his wrists. it’s like he gets stuck in some kind of trance, unable to pull himself away or stop himself from touching you, kissing you, loving you. finally breaking out of it when you cry out loudly and tug at his hair, his own deep moan intertwining with yours as you sob out for his cock instead. and of course lixxie is going to give it to you, he’d do anything you asked.

𝓢EUNGMIN

you made him this way, seungmin grumbles, when you let out a pathetic hiccup of “t-too much!” , your voice garbled and ruined from his cock in your mouth. it’s your responsibility to fix the mess you made, on your hands and knees swallowing his cock down your throat, little hand stroking what couldn’t fit— seungmin reaches over you to land a harsh slap to your ass, snickering at the way you gag and choke around him. you’re just a toy for his pleasure, a sex doll for him to use to get off; ordering you to serve him and take it all like the good girl he knows you are. his fingers tangling in your hair, his pretty cries he tries to hold in, take it like he knows you love it and he’ll reward you with his hot cum down your throat and his cock speared deep in your pussy. maybe he’ll even give you a creampie, if you beg prettily enough.

𝓙EONGIN

innie gets so thirsty for pussy when he’s given an aphrodisiac, absolutely shameless in rolling over onto his back and begging you to sit on his face. he’ll eat you with your clothes still on, he doesn’t care one bit— pulling your skirt up to your waist and tugging your wet panties to the side with his teeth before diving into your cunt. and he really wants you to sit, put all of your weight on him, don’t worry, he’s strong enough! tugging you down onto his face when you hover over him, too nervous to fully sit down, “c’mon, i said sit!” his big veiny hands constantly wandering all over your body as he eats you out like a starved man, his nose bumping your clit as he gropes at your exposed ass and tits, your little waist, your plush thighs. make him breathless , smother him with your pussy— and watch him cum in his sweatpants as he makes you squirt on his tongue, his pretty whines and whimpers muffled by your thighs.

NATIONAL ANTHEM.

Seungmin x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: At first, you knew Seungmin as the guy you made out with on a flight home but once the plane landed, you discovered that he's the son of your father's rival candidate for the upcoming election, causing you to be caught between love and loyalty. (13,6k words)

Author's note: Happy birthday to the agent of chaos, Seungmin ☆

Some people might call it fate, serendipity, or kismet, but you're not the type to believe in romantic clichés like that, so let's just call it a coincidence.

It's merely a coincidence that the car got a flat tire on the way to the airport, causing you to miss the flight you were supposed to be on. Otherwise, you would have been sitting in seat 4B on a completely different plane next to a completely different passenger in seat 4A.

As you make your way to your seat, you notice him immediately. A young man sitting in the window seat next to yours, he possesses a rare, gentlemanly beauty. With refined features, a charming smile, and tousled dark hair, he exudes a sophisticated appeal. In other words, he’s the kind of guy who instantly catches your eye.

He glances up as you stow your bag in the overhead compartment, offering a polite nod. You take your seat next to him, trying to keep your cool even though your heart skips a beat.

There’s something about him that draws you in, something magnetic—a quiet confidence that doesn’t need to be loud or showy to be felt.

After you settle in and the plane takes off, you feel the urge to talk to him. You're usually not the type to strike up conversations with strangers, but for some reason, with him, you can't help it. Also, you realize that if you want something to happen, you have to start somewhere.

“Is this your first time flying out of here?” you ask, turning to him with a smile.

He looks at you, his lips curving into a small smile. “No, I’ve been here before, but it’s been a while," he answers, his voice smooth and calm, making something flutter in your chest.

You introduce yourself to break the ice and make interacting easier.

"Seungmin," he says, taking your hand and holding it for a moment as he introduces himself. "Traveling alone?"

"Yes," you answer innocently.

"Business or pleasure?" he asks, a playful glint in his warm brown eyes.

You stare into his eyes and faintly bite your lower lip before answering, "Hopefully, pleasure."

From there, the conversation flows effortlessly. You talk about everything—from favorite travel destinations to the books you're reading. Something about Seungmin makes it feel so natural, and before you know it, two hours have passed in the blink of an eye.

“I can’t believe we’ve been talking for hours,” you say with a low laugh, glancing out the window at the darkened sky.

The Atlantic stretches endlessly below, and the flight attendants have dimmed the cabin lights, casting a soft, intimate glow over the rows of seats.

“Time flies when the company’s good,” he says, his eyes lingering on you in a way that makes your heart race.

The space between you feels charged now, the conversation slowing as the connection deepens into something more. You can feel the pull—the undeniable attraction that’s been simmering since you sat down. Then you catch him glancing at your lips, and you know he feels it too.

Daringly, you lean in slightly, testing the waters, and he responds by shifting closer. The air between you is electric, and when his hand brushes yours, a spark shoots through you.

Both of you hesitate for a moment, caught in that intoxicating space where everything hangs in the balance until neither of you can resist any longer.

Your lips meet in a soft, tentative kiss, and the world outside the window seems to fall away. His kiss is gentle at first, cautious, testing, but when you respond, he takes it as permission to deepen it. He rests his hand on your cheek, and warmth spreads through you as his lips move against yours in a slow, intoxicating rhythm, making you forget you’re on a plane surrounded by strangers.

For those few moments, it's just you and him, lost in each other, the quiet hum of the plane fading into the background.

When you finally pull apart, breathless and dazed, you exchange a look that says everything. This isn't just some fleeting attraction. There’s something real here, something undeniable.

However, once the plane touches down and the cabin lights flicker back to life, reality begins to creep in. It's the altitude, the change in air, and the fact that you now have both feet on the ground. The intimacy of your shared moments with Seungmin starts to fade as you both prepare to disembark.

Everyone stands from their seats to gather their things, and you can feel Seungmin watching as you reach for your bag in the overhead compartment.

"So…" Seungmin begins as you both shuffle out of the row and into the aisle. "Can I get your number? Or at least, a last name?"

Your heart is still fluttering from the kiss you shared just hours ago, but you hesitate. There’s an inexplicable tug in your gut telling you not to give in so easily, to be cautious. You like him—really like him—but you're not going to make it that easy.

You flash him a playful smile. “Hmm... I’m not sure I should make it that easy for you,” you tease, shifting your bag onto your shoulder.

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a half-smile. “You’re going to make me work for it?”

You nonchalantly shrug, trying to keep things light despite your racing heart. “Let’s just say I like a challenge.”

As you walk together through the terminal, the chemistry between you still crackling, you step outside and notice a car waiting at the curb. The driver, standing beside it, is holding a sign with Seungmin’s name. At first, nothing seems out of the ordinary, until you notice his jacket. The driver is wearing a dark blazer, but pinned to it is a familiar emblem—the logo of a political campaign.

Not just any campaign. It's your father’s rival’s campaign.

Your smile falters as you look more closely, and your heart drops when something clicks. You turn to Seungmin, your mind racing.

“Is that your driver?” your voice comes out sharper than you intended.

Seungmin follows your gaze, looking a bit confused. “Yeah. Why?”

Your throat suddenly feels dry. You clear it before asking the big question. “Are you from the Kim family? The same Kim family running for governor?”

"Yes," Seungmin answers, clearly puzzled.

The Kim family. The Kim family. Your father’s bitter rival in the upcoming election. This isn’t just some random guy you met on a plane—he's the son of the man your father has been railing against for weeks. You feel the blood drain from your face as the realization crashes down.

Seungmin’s expression shifts from confusion to concern. “What’s wrong?”

You unconsciously take a step back. "You’re... you’re a Kim," you say, still in disbelief.

Seungmin opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. "Your father and mine—they’re both running for governor."

For a moment, Seungmin seems to be processing what you’ve said. Then his face hardens slightly in understanding. You take another step back, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

“This changes everything,” you whisper.

He looks at you, his eyes searching. “No, it doesn’t have to," he says.

If only he knew how badly you wanted to believe him. But you can’t ignore the reality of the situation. Both of your families are in a brutal political war, and no matter how much you like him, getting involved with Seungmin could blow everything up—for both of you.

"How is it not? Your father accused mine of siphoning money from the city’s budget for his campaign."

"Because he did!" Seungmin says boldly.

"There’s no concrete proof!" you counter.

"Of course, because they know how to make things disappear. Your family is known for their generosity with hush money," he remarks bluntly.

You’ve never been one to argue about things that aren’t your business, but when it comes to your family, you naturally defend them.

"As opposed to your father’s blatant hypocrisy," you calmly reply. "He’s fighting the climate crisis, but his wife keeps taking private jets for her shopping trips."

You come up with a concrete data point. "According to the data, those trips contributed 58 metric tons of carbon—the same amount emitted by 4,625 cars in a day."

That seems to shut him up. His jaw clenches, and it's unfair how good he looks when he's mad.

The driver awkwardly clears his throat, glancing between you both. “Sir, we should get going. Your father’s waiting.”

"It was good to see you," Seungmin says before storming off, childishly bumping your shoulder as he passes.

"Goodbye, I guess," you mutter, scoffing in disbelief as you watch him walk away.

That concludes everything, officially making it an unpleasant coincidence.

-

It was just a coincidence!

That's what Seungmin has been telling himself after spending days wrestling with his feelings, convincing himself that it doesn’t matter, that you are just a fleeting moment, a passing fancy. But the truth is undeniable: no matter how much he tries to push you out of his mind, he just can’t stop thinking about you.

When his friend mentioned that you’re living separately from your family, something shifted inside him. The tension between your families has always been an obstacle, a reason to stay away, but now it seems more like an excuse. If anything, the fact that you aren’t on good terms with your family only deepens his curiosity—and somehow, his feelings.

Seungmin hadn’t planned to find your hotel room, but once he knew where you were staying, he couldn’t help himself. And now, as he stands there, waiting for you to open the door, his heart races in anticipation despite the cool facade he tries to maintain.

After a moment, the door creaks open, and there you are—your hair slightly tousled, your expression showing slight shock to see him there. His heart leaps at the sight of you, but instead of the warmth or excitement he hoped to see, your face remains cold, indifferent.

“Are you stalking me?” your voice is cool, a little too casual, as if you haven’t been thinking about him at all.

There's no going back now, so Seungmin pushes forward. "Well, you're not that hard to track."

You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms in front of you defensively. “You shouldn’t be here,” you say flatly.

Seungmin notices the flicker in your eyes, something you’re trying to hide. He takes a small step closer, his gaze softening, and playfully says, “Maybe."

You stare at him for a moment, your expression hard, but he sees the hesitation in the way your fingers grip the edge of the door. You’re fighting something, trying to keep a wall between the two of you. He understands why you keep your guard up so high—you’re trying to protect yourself, your heart, and maybe even protect him from the mess that is your life right now.

“You shouldn’t be... with me,” you make it even clearer, but even as you say the words, your voice wavers.

Seungmin takes another step forward, placing his hand near where yours rests. “Let me in, and we'll find out."

Your eyes soften for a brief moment before you quickly look away, the conflict clear in your expression. It’s obvious that you want to shut the door, to push him away, but something is holding you back. Maybe it's the same thing that brought him here in the first place—the connection, the spark between you that refuses to be ignored.

The conflict in your eyes only encourages Seungmin. He leans against the doorframe, his eyes never leaving yours. "Why are you staying in a hotel anyway?" he asks, his voice casual but tinged with curiosity.

You remain aloof, folding your arms across your chest as you raise an eyebrow. “Why should I let my enemy know?"

The coldness in your tone is deliberate, a shield to guard against him, against what you’re really feeling. But he doesn’t back down; his smirk only grows wider.

His hand inches closer to yours as he leans in just a bit closer, making his presence suddenly more overwhelming.

“See, that’s the thing..." his voice drops lower, with a teasing edge.

“What?” you ask, trying to keep your cool even though the proximity makes your heart race.

“We’re enemies,” he states the obvious, his gaze locking onto yours with such intensity that it sends a shiver down your spine.

You let out a sigh, already prepared for whatever line he’s about to throw at you. “And what’s your point?”

Seungmin’s smirk deepens as he leans in even closer, his face now mere inches away from yours. His voice is low and soft, almost a whisper, but filled with mischief.

“Sleeping with the enemy is hot.”

Your breath hitches slightly, but you keep your expression in check, refusing to let him see just how much his words affect you. You tilt your head a little to the side, raising an eyebrow, but the corner of your mouth betrays you with the slightest hint of a smile.

“Is that so?” you respond with a daring smirk.

Seungmin lets out a low chuckle, his eyes flickering with something dangerous and alluring, like he knows exactly how this game is going to end.

As you stand there weighing your options, the tension between you and him becomes unbearable. You can feel the electricity crackling in the air, and despite everything, you find yourself taking a step back, opening the door wider without saying a word.

Seungmin’s triumphant smile tells you that he understands your silent invitation. Without wasting another second, he steps inside, the door closing softly behind him as the world outside fades away.

Before you can even catch your breath, he’s on you—his lips crash against yours with a force that makes you dizzy. The kiss is urgent, an explosion of passion and frustration that has been building between you and him for so long.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer as if the mere touch of your skin isn’t enough to satisfy the hunger between you.

All the walls you’ve built, all the reasons you shouldn’t be doing this, crumble in an instant. It doesn’t matter that he’s your enemy. Right now, all that matters is the way his lips brush against yours, the way his breath mingles with yours, the way your hearts seem to beat in sync.

In that moment, nothing else exists but the two of you.

-

Doing it on the bed is overrated to Seungmin, so he grabs you by the waist and swiftly hoists you up, setting you on the nearest table. Fortunately, it's sturdy and at the perfect height for whatever he's planning next.

He plants his hands on the table behind you and aligns his body with yours, fitting just right—hardness to softness, curves to hollows. Oh, he has so many ideas of what to do with you. On second thought, he's fine with paying the fine for property damage if it comes to that.

He leans in slowly, teasing your lips for a kiss, but just a millimeter away from contact, he moves to the side and whispers softly into your ear, "Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this moment?"

You look up at him, eyes wide and seductive, a grin peeking at the corner of your mouth. "I don’t want to know. I want you to show me."

Something flickers in his eyes—something that both scares and thrills you. He places a hand on your waist and glides it up your side, stopping at your ribcage.

"What is it about you..." His words trail off as he places a deep, slow kiss on your lips.

As he keeps your mouth busy, his hand palms your breast through your nightdress. When he pinches your hardening nipple, you gasp at the jolt of sensation.

To return the favor, you slide your fingers beneath his shirt, feeling the hard ridges of his stomach. He's soft yet firm, and if it weren't for the warmth under your fingertips, you’d think he was carved from marble.

"I just can’t stop thinking about you and our kiss," he says, a mix of wonder and disbelief in his voice, before capturing your lips again in a hungry kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth.

Seungmin’s thumb rubs your nipple just right, making your insides melt.

"Look at you, getting weak in the knees for me," he says with a triumphant grin.

He pulls his hand from the table and gives it a new task, sliding under your dress to grip your inner thigh, pulling your hips against his arousal, letting you feel the heat of his desire.

"And what we could have done after that kiss..." he continues, your lips meeting again in a breathless kiss.

Seungmin breaks the kiss to move his lips elsewhere—your neck, your chest. His hand roughly pulls down the front of your nightdress, sending your breasts spilling out. He wastes no time, his lips closing over your skin.

Your hand flies to his hair, tugging as he sucks hard on your breast. You watch as his tongue swirls around your nipple before he fills his mouth with your flesh.

"Seungmin..." you call breathlessly, unsure whether you want him to stop or keep going.

Hearing his name roll off your lips soothes something deep inside him, and he wants to hear it again and again. He pushes the hem of your nightdress up around your waist, and in return, you rip open the fly of his jeans, freeing his swollen member.

"Mmh..." you hum with delight, wrapping your hand around his length, hot and pulsing with desire.

Seungmin mirrors your action, palming your clothed core, his thumb tracing your engorged bundle of nerves. Soon, your underwear is damp with arousal.

"What is it about you, mmh?" he asks, eyes locked on yours.

He pulls your panties aside and runs his long fingers down your folds, drenching them in your essence. As his fingers drag down, he pushes them inside you, earning a broken moan from your lips.

"What is it about you that makes me want more..." He keeps pumping his fingers in and out of you, savoring the way your face contorts in pleasure. "And more, and more..."

As he continues, you fist the front of his shirt, pulling him close, your legs opening wider, bringing his cock even closer to where you want him.

He withdraws his fingers, replacing them with his cock. Your legs are raised slightly higher than the table’s surface, aching for more than just the feeling of his tip rubbing between your folds.

"Stop teasing me," you mutter.

His lopsided grin returns, and before you can react, he thrusts into you hard and fast, burying himself completely inside you.

Your breath hitches, and you moan his name, which he finds incredibly hot. He strokes his tongue over every inch of your mouth, claiming it as he angles his hips to hit your clit.

The tight grip of your body, your sweet mouth, your legs wrapped around him—perfection. He indulges in every part of you. His heart races, his need grows desperate, but he holds back, determined to wait for your high to come first.

When you finally shatter and convulse around him uncontrollably, he allows himself to thrust harder. He grasps your hips, your thighs, pressing your foreheads together so he can look into your beautiful, dazed eyes as he thrusts one last time, losing himself completely as he pours everything into you. As his breath saws in and out, he holds you tight, with no intention of letting go.

The theory is proven: sleeping with the enemy is hot.

-

It’s Seungmin’s third time staying over in your hotel room this week alone, and no, you're not complaining at all. You've already grown accustomed to him—Seungmin is part of your routine now, part of your life, and his absence leaves you feeling restless.

When you're not with him, you recall what he’s done to you: the way he kissed you, caressed you, all the things he's said. Your hand unconsciously flies down to your thigh, wishing he was touching you right now.

But don’t get it wrong—the non-bedroom side of Seungmin appeals to you just as much as the lover side, if not more. He makes you laugh, and he listens to you, even when what you talk about isn’t particularly interesting. He’s comfortable around you, and that makes you comfortable around him. You like how he fills the empty space in the bed, and you also like just lying with him in a comfortable silence that doesn’t beg for questions.

However, tonight is an exception.

As you lie on the bed with Seungmin, still recovering from the passionate lovemaking you shared earlier, you feel the weight of reality slowly creeping back in. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it feels heavy, as if there are things that need to be said.

You roll over slightly to face him and place your hand on his arm, fingers gently tracing the veins coiling down his inner arm. “I need to tell you something,” you murmur.

Seungmin turns his head to look at you, his gaze soft but curious. “What is it?”

You inhale deeply as you gather your thoughts, looking into his eyes as you begin with the one thing you're sure of.

“I really like you, Seungmin.”

“I know,” he says confidently, one corner of his mouth curling into a half-smirk.

You bring your hand up to cup his chin, gently scratching his jaw with your fingertips as you flash him a soft smile and continue speaking.

“What you don’t know is that my family isn’t speaking to me right now, and that’s something I’d like to change.”

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” he says earnestly, softly caressing your cheek.

“My family used to control me—I’m sure you know what that’s like. I rebelled, took off, and a year into it, I found out my younger sister was going through something, and I wasn’t there for her because I was trying to prove some... stupid point,” you explain with a dry chuckle.

His gaze remains steady as he listens to you without interrupting.

“I’m just trying to find my way back in, and I happened to bump into you along the way.”

“And I’m glad you did,” he says, catching your other hand in his and resting it on his chest.

You hold his chin, wanting all of his attention focused on you, because what you're about to say is the most important part of this conversation.

“Being seen with you would send the wrong message, and I really can’t risk making my family more upset right now.”

Seungmin’s eyes soften, and without the slightest hesitation, he nods in agreement. “I understand,” he says calmly.

“Don’t worry, I’m pretty good at secret relationships,” he adds with a playful smirk. “And all the sneaking around... it’s kind of thrilling. I find it really hot.”

You let out a soft laugh, suddenly feeling at ease. “Of course you do.”

Seungmin pulls you closer, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face before placing a chaste kiss on your lips.

“We’ll keep it a secret, but I want you to know that it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

As Seungmin presses a tender kiss to your forehead, you feel the warmth and reassurance sinking in. For now, the secret doesn’t feel like a burden—it feels like a shared world that belongs only to the two of you.

-

In under a month, Seungmin has learned a lot about you.

In bed, you respond best when he goes slowly, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. But if he wants something more intense—or anything, for that matter—you’re game and eager to please. He couldn’t ask for a better partner.

Out of bed, you live by routine. You get up at the same time every day, then shower away the evidence of morning sex (because Seungmin loves starting the day off right). Your breakfast usually consists of a cup of black coffee and French toast. You share a kiss before parting ways; you get picked up at the hotel entrance while Seungmin makes his exit through the hotel kitchen.

During the day, you help your father with his campaign at the headquarters, returning to your hotel room around 8 or 9 when you have dinner with your family.

As for your evenings, they belong to Seungmin. When you’re not fooling around like hormonal teenagers, you spend time having late-night snacks, talking about random things, or just cuddling in bed—things Seungmin has never experienced with anyone before.

Day by day, he wants more of you, not less.

Tonight, you both decide to watch something on pay-per-view. You rest your head on his shoulder while your eyes are fixed on the large screen mounted on the wall. From time to time, Seungmin kisses you, and it feels so good having you near, as if he were made to be your lover.

Occasionally, you react to certain scenes in the film, your bare legs shifting beneath the hem of your nightdress.

“Are you wearing underwear?” he jokes into your ear.

You part your legs, giving him the opportunity to find out for himself. It’s funny that he only realizes now—you’ve never turned him down; you’re just as starved for him as he is for you.

Seungmin pouts when his fingers meet silky fabric instead of your tender flesh, but that doesn’t stop him from continuing to touch you. You gasp as he massages your clothed clit, and your head lolls on his shoulder.

It doesn’t take long before you’re wet, your essence coating his fingertips as he traces your folds. His cock aches inside the confines of his jeans, as if it’s been weeks since he last had sex, not just hours. He wants you again—craves that closeness, that connection, that unbelievable, mind-blowing pleasure. No amount of you is ever enough for him.

Before long, you give in and pull him down for a hungry kiss, which leads to another, and another, and another...

The next thing he knows, the credits are rolling on the TV screen—the whole film played while the two of you were busy with other things. At the end of the night, you climb into bed and nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, wrapping your warmth around his body.

Seungmin brushes a stray hair from your face, his fingertips trailing over the smooth curve of your lips before placing a gentle kiss, tender and possessive.

“Goodnight,” he mutters when he breaks the kiss.

The next morning, he finds you wearing his shirt—the one from the very first night you spent together. He doesn’t know how to describe how he feels seeing you in his clothes, knowing you kept his shirt and have been wearing it; all he knows is it’s a good feeling.

Truthfully, he’s been feeling like this a lot lately—whenever you smile, ask for a kiss, or cross the room just to be near him. But also when the two of you aren’t together. He has spent the past few weeks in a euphoric high, grinning for no other reason than thinking of you.

There’s no doubt about it—Seungmin is stupid in love.

-

The fundraiser party is in full swing, the lights casting a warm, polished glow over the room as it's buzzing with conversations and the clinking of glasses. You stand beside your father, perfectly poised, playing the part of the dutiful daughter.

This night isn’t about you—it’s about him. Every charming smile, every polite nod you give is an extension of the image he wants to project: a perfect family, a perfect father. But you know the truth.

As you watch your father work the room, shaking hands and making connections, you know your role is to boost his image—not because he cares about you, but because you are part of his political strategy. Still, this is your chance to prove yourself, to show him you can be the daughter he wants, even if the real connection is long gone.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin and his brother-in-law approaching. Your heart skips a beat, but you hurriedly calm yourself down, knowing this isn’t the time for emotions—it’s the time for control.

Seungmin and his brother-in-law stop in front of you and your father. Seungmin’s gaze briefly meets yours for a second, and despite the public setting, the intensity of that look sends a small thrill through you.

“Good evening,” Seungmin’s brother-in-law says politely and formally. “We’re here representing our father tonight, and he sends his regards.”

Your father, ever the politician, gives a thin, practiced smile. “Ah, yes, it’s unfortunate he couldn’t attend himself. I suppose running a campaign must keep him quite busy.”

There’s a subtle edge to his words, a slight sneer that isn’t lost on you or anyone, but fortunately, Seungmin and his brother-in-law remain composed, not rising to the bait.

“Of course,” Seungmin replies calmly. “He’s doing everything he can for the campaign.”

Your father’s gaze shifts to Seungmin, sizing him up before his eyes narrow in curiosity. "Seungmin, isn’t it? I’ve heard good things about you. You’ve been quite the asset to your father’s campaign, haven’t you?”

“Oh, please. I’m just doing the best I can to help,” Seungmin humbly replies, perfectly nailing the model son role.

“It’s refreshing to see someone so dedicated to their family’s success. We could all learn from that, couldn’t we?” your father says, glancing at you, making it clear that his praise for Seungmin is a thinly veiled comparison.

You keep your composure, your smile unwavering, even as a knot of discomfort forms in your stomach. You entertain yourself with the thought that your father has no idea what is really going on—that the very man he is praising is the one you are secretly seeing. The joke is on him.

“Have you met my daughter?" your father asks, gesturing toward you as if you haven’t been standing there the whole time.

Seungmin turns to you, his expression steady, but his eyes flicker with something only you can recognize. He holds out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you reply, keeping your smile polite. You have to continue acting as if nothing has ever happened between you and him.

Hours pass as you mingle with other guests, but the pressure of keeping up appearances starts to weigh on you. Toward the end of the party, when most of the guests are distracted, you slip away, catching Seungmin’s eye as you do. He follows discreetly, and soon you find yourselves in an isolated part of the building, the muffled sounds of the party still audible.

The moment he comes into sight, you let out a sigh of relief, allowing yourself to drop the mask you’ve worn all night.

"I missed you," he whispers as he steps closer. Before you can respond, he presses his lips to yours, the kiss filled with longing and the tension that has been building up since your last secret meeting.

"I missed you too," you murmur between kisses.

In the dimly lit, secluded hallway, you and Seungmin find a rare moment of peace. His hands cup your face, his lips moving urgently against yours, pouring all the longing and frustration of the past few days into every kiss.

It is reckless, but being with him feels too good to resist. In fact, it feels so good that you almost forget the dark shadow that has been hanging over your mind. Almost.

"My mom found out about us," you blurt out after breaking the kiss.

Seungmin freezes, his lips barely an inch from yours, his brows furrowing as he processes what you’ve just said. "Wait... what?"

“I guess we didn’t fool the doorman,” you say with a heavy sigh as the gravity of the situation sinks in.

For a moment, Seungmin just stands there, panic rising in his chest. If your mom knows, it won’t be long before both of your families find out, and he knows exactly what that would mean for both of you—and for his father’s campaign.

“So... you told her the truth?” he asks, focusing on the possibility that your mom might indirectly support this relationship.

“Obviously, I didn’t want to risk everything with my family for some fling that wasn’t going to last,” you reply meekly.

Seungmin blinks, then his lips curl into a teasing smile. "Oh, so it isn’t just some fling?”

“Seungmin, I’m serious!" you whine in frustration, giving him a playful slap on the chest.

"You can’t keep sneaking into the hotel anymore. It’s too risky, and if my father finds out...” You can’t even finish your sentence without feeling sick to your stomach.

Seungmin’s smile fades as he realizes the danger you are both in. It feels as if the walls are closing in on both sides, and it won’t be long before someone else notices the two of you together. His mind races, trying to think of a solution, somewhere you can be together without the prying eyes of your families.

Just as he opens his mouth to say something, a voice interrupts, and both of you stiffen.

“Seungmin?”

His brother-in-law is standing a few feet away, his eyes narrowing as he glances between the two of you, catching sight of Seungmin’s hand still holding yours.

None of you speak, and in that moment, it feels like the quiet before a storm about to break.

-

Seungmin’s brother-in-law has always been sharp, and tonight is no exception. As you and Seungmin slipped out of the party, thinking you were being discreet, he spotted the two of you. From the moment you met, he sensed something was already there. He observed further, noticing the sneaky glances, the looks that said more than words, and the way you interacted with each other. He must admit, both of you are poor actors.

When his brother-in-law corners the two of you in the hallway, Seungmin braces himself, expecting him to spill everything to his father immediately, knowing what he could gain from it.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Seungmin asks, suspicion creeping in. He knows his brother-in-law has always been loyal to the family, especially to his father, so this calm, nonchalant reaction doesn’t add up.

Instead, his brother-in-law glances between you both with a knowing smile and says, "You two are playing a dangerous game, but you know what? I won’t stand in your way."

That doesn't make Seungmin relax. If anything, the words make him more cautious. "And why’s that? Why are you suddenly on my side?”

“Seungmin, I already think of you like my own brother,” his brother-in-law replies simply, with enough sincerity to convince anyone who hears him. “I want you to be happy."

Seungmin remains quiet for a moment, still wary, but realizing he has little choice. Whatever his brother-in-law’s motives are, this is the only lifeline he has right now.

“So, what’s the plan?” Seungmin finally asks, keeping his voice steady.

“I have a boat. It’s docked not far from here. No one checks it, no one comes by." His brother-in-law reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small set of keys, handing them to Seungmin. "You two can stay there, alone, as long as you need."

Seungmin’s gaze flicks from the keys to his brother-in-law’s face, still unsure if he can fully trust him. But this is the best option you both have right now. He decides to take a leap of faith and takes the keys from him.

"It's docked on the west side, slip twenty-three," his brother-in-law informs him. Before Seungmin can say anything else, he adds, “Oh, you may want to check the first aid kit on the boat.”

Seungmin’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “What for?”

His brother-in-law puts on a mischievous grin. “Let’s just say you’ll find some essentials in there."

Seungmin’s suspicion deepens, but he doesn’t question it further. Maybe his brother-in-law is being sincere, so Seungmin stops overthinking it. On a more important note, you both need a place to hide, and this is as good as it’s going to get. He glances over at you, and with a silent agreement, you both know you have to take this opportunity, no matter the risks.

“Thanks,” Seungmin mutters, cautious but grateful. “I appreciate it.”

His brother-in-law pats him on the shoulder, giving him a reassuring nod. “Just be careful,” he says.

With that, you and Seungmin slip away into the night, heading toward the boat where, for at least one night, you can finally be alone.

-

The boat is bigger than you thought it would be, bobbing gently in the moonlit water. As you step onto the deck, you feel a sense of freedom, as if, for once, the outside world can’t reach you. You settle into the small but comfortable space, the tension between you fading into something softer, more tender.

When it’s just the two of you, you can finally let your guard down and be your authentic self. You walk up to him and slip into his arms for a warm embrace.

"It's just you and me now," you say, resting your forehead against him.

"Just you and me," he repeats, gently tilting your head with his hand on your chin, and places the gentlest kiss, treating you like a fragile piece of art.

Seungmin leads you through the cabin, the scent of saltwater and wood lingering in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of the sea breeze drifting in from the open hatch.

“This is nice,” you comment, running your fingers along the edge of a worn leather couch. “But do you think your brother-in-law keeps any food around? I’m starving.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and makes his way to the small kitchenette, opening the fridge with a creak. “Looks like frozen pizza is on the menu,” he says, pulling out the pack and showing it to you.

As Seungmin prepares the frozen pizza and tosses it into the microwave, you head to the bedroom to find something comfortable to wear. In the bathroom, you find a soft bathrobe neatly folded on the top shelf. Without a second thought, you change out of your dress and into the robe. As you tie the belt around your waist, you sigh in relief, feeling a great sense of comfort.

By the time you return, Seungmin is plating the pizza, the smell filling the small cabin. He has also found a bottle of champagne in the cabinet, the label a little worn and the drink lukewarm. Both of you eat in comfortable silence, exchanging small smiles between bites, enjoying this rare moment of normalcy.

When the food is all gone, you lean back in your seat with a contented sigh. The dinner is simple, yet it feels more special than any you’ve had before.

Being the neat person he is, Seungmin wastes no time cleaning up after dinner.

“You can clean up later,” you tell him, sipping your warm champagne.

“There’s not much to clean anyway,” he replies, taking the dirty plates back into the cabin.

Remembering what Seungmin’s brother-in-law said before you left, you decide to go on a little hunt for the first-aid kit he mentioned and see what’s inside. It doesn’t take long to find it tucked away in one of the cabinets in the control room. As you open it, you blink in surprise.

“Well, well…” you murmur, pulling out a small Ziploc bag among the usual bandages and ointments.

Seungmin raises an eyebrow when you bring it over and show him. He shakes his head, already deciding it’s a bad idea.

You shrug, holding the pack out to him with a playful smile. “Why not? Let’s live a little.”

“We shouldn’t even be touching his things,” he says, leaning back on the sun lounger.

“What are you talking about? We’ve just eaten his frozen pizza and drunk his champagne,” you remind him, settling onto his lap.

“I can buy those things back for him,” he replies, folding his hands behind his head.

“But he mentioned it, so that means he’s fine with it, right?”

He shakes his head, eyes closed, unwilling to hear more persuasion.

“Come on,” you urge, taking a rolled blunt out of the bag and rolling it between your fingers. “Just one. It’s a special night, isn’t it?”

He opens his eyes and finds himself unable to resist you when you smile so sweetly. He reaches for the blunt.

“Alright, fine," he gives in, "but just one.”

You light it and take a slow drag, letting the smoke curl lazily into the air before handing it over to him. His fingers brush against yours as he inhales, and you watch as his shoulders visibly relax.

The two of you take turns smoking, the night enveloping you in a peaceful cocoon. The quiet of the water, the gentle sway of the boat, and the faint glow of stars above make everything feel far away, as if the world and its complications couldn’t touch you here.

“I could get used to this,” you softly mutter, your voice barely louder than a whisper as you nuzzle into Seungmin’s side, sharing the sun lounger with him, the blunt hanging loosely between your fingers.

Seungmin exhales long and slow, his arm coming around your shoulders to pull you close. “Yeah, me too.”

The smoke, the sea, and the quiet lull you into a different kind of peace—an escape from everything, if only for tonight.

With one last drag, you finish the rest of the blunt yourself. You rest your head on Seungmin’s shoulder, your hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath. For once, you don’t feel like you’re running away from something.

“I wish it could always be like this,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “I feel happiest when it’s just us, alone like this.”

Seungmin shifts slightly, his arm tightening around you as if he wants to hold onto this moment forever. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, and your heart flutters in response. He doesn’t say anything at first, just holds you closer, and you wonder if he feels the same way—that the world outside seems so distant when it’s just the two of you.

“I feel it too,” he finally says. “When it’s just us… it feels like everything makes sense. Like we’re the only two people in the world that matter.”

His words make your heart ache with a bittersweet warmth. In a moment like this, it’s easy to forget about the chaos waiting for you back home.

Here, it’s just you and him.

You stare at him, your faces merely inches apart. The moonlight casts a soft glow across his features, and God, he’s just so beautiful. His eyes meet yours, and the longer you look into them, the more you see the depth of his feelings. There’s something tender, something vulnerable—you’ve never seen him look at you like this before.

Seungmin swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as if he’s gathering courage. Then, in a soft yet steady voice, he says, “I love you.”

The words hang in the air, suspended between you, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. He’s never said it before, and hearing those words now, spoken under the starry sky with the waves lapping gently against the boat, it feels… magical.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice more certain this time, his eyes steady on yours. “I don’t care about the rest of it—our families, the politics, all of it. I love you."

Tears well up in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming joy of hearing him say those words. You feel the sincerity in them, the weight of what it means for him to admit it, to declare it, despite everything.

You reach for him, cupping his face in your hands. Using your thumb, you softly rub his cheek. “I love you too, Seungmin, and I think I’ve loved you for longer than I can admit," your voice breaking as you try to hold back your emotions.

Seungmin leans in, closing the small distance between you, and kisses you softly, slowly, as if savoring the moment. His lips are warm against yours, and in that kiss, you feel everything: his love, his promise, his fear, and his hope.

-

It's the wine, the blunt, the sense of freedom you're feeling at the moment, and the way you keep replaying the moment Seungmin said those three words in the back of your mind—all of those things make you high, so high that you believe you're on the way to cloud nine.

As you sit straddling him, looking down at him, you feel more attracted to him than ever. It's his beautiful face, his short dark hair that complements his features well, how the white shirt he's wearing accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, and the rolled sleeves exposing the evident veins on his arms. Oh, he's just so fucking hot.

You prop your hands on each side of his head and look into the two orbs of his eyes. He remains unfazed by the intensity of your stare, but he would be stupid not to see the want in your eyes.

Unable to help yourself anymore, you lean in and kiss him, and it feels so good when he kisses you back, responding to your desires. But the kiss is just one of many; you want more, you need more.

As your lips are locked in a rapturous kiss, you take his hand and put it around your neck; his touch feels hot against your skin. To allow him more access, you untie your bathrobe and let it fall, pooling around your waist, exposing your bare chest to him.

Seungmin slowly rises from his seat, wrapping his arms around you without breaking the kiss. You whine when he finally detaches his lips and moan when he places them on your neck next.

"Seungmin," you seductively mewl his name as he nibbles on your ear, your head spinning when he sucks on the sensitive skin.

Your heart is pounding in anticipation of what he's going to do next. You look down and find him gazing at you through his lashes as he drags his lips down your chest. His hands are also making their way to the front when, all of a sudden, he does the unexpected.

Seungmin pulls your bathrobe back on you, tying the belt around your waist with his hand. You look at him in slight shock and disbelief; it's a moment later that you're finally able to speak again.

"Why not?" you ask, blinking at him.

"Not here," he simply says, endearingly tucking your hair behind your ear and then kissing your cheek.

What he does would usually make your heart flutter, but you feel bitter from his indirect rejection of your want. "Yeah but why not?"

"Because it's indecent," he innocently answers.

You scoff because back in the hotel room, Seungmin wasn’t shy about doing indecent things—some of which are far more than just indecent.

"Why? We're on a boat, we're alone, we're under a starry sky... it's romantic," you point out why doing it here would make for a special occasion.

He takes your hands and looks at you. "Then let's get inside."

"No," you flatly refuse with a pout.

"Come on," he says, shaking your hands to get your attention. Unsuccessful, he leans in and kisses your jaw before bringing his mouth close to your ear.

"I know another way to make you see stars," he whispers in a low, sultry voice.

Ugh! You hate how easily he cracks through your defenses. You smile at him and nod, allowing him to lead the way to the cabin, through the small living room, and finally into the cramped bedroom.

He grabs you by the waist and steers you to the bed, laying you down gently. He doesn’t hesitate to come on top of you, hovering above you as he captures your lips in a hard, deep kiss that consumes you whole.

Your hands refuse to remain idle; you pop every button on his shirt without looking, and when you’re done, you part it open, impatiently placing your hands on his body, trailing the outline of his abs with your fingertips.

Seungmin lets go of the kiss to take a breather, helping you with the shirt, shaking it off his shoulders, and tossing it aside. But the task is not done there; you loop your finger around the belt loop on his slacks and pull him close.

The head of his belt clinks as you take it off and hastily tear open the zipper. Without wasting a second, you pull his slacks down until they pool around his ankles.

"Oh, la la," you exclaim delightedly, biting your lips at the sight of him standing gloriously naked before you.

"Are you going to do something about it?" he asks, his voice heavy with assertiveness, hinting that he demands you to.

"Uhm... not sure," you coyly say, slowly wrapping your hand around his length and stroking it as it gradually hardens in your palm.

You land a few licks under the tip and around the length, and when you’re ready, you take him into your mouth, compensating the rest with your hand. He feels hot, hard, and veiny, slipping in and out of your mouth while you maintain eye contact with him.

Seungmin grips your shoulder, his nails faintly digging into your flesh, but he’s aware that it might hurt you, so he tangles his fingers in your hair, tugging at it when pleasure overwhelms him.

"Stop!" he gently says, though his voice remains assertive.

You slowly pull away with a string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock. He runs his thumb over your lips, separating them before shoving it into your mouth, and you gladly suck on it.

There's a loud pop when Seungmin takes his thumb out, and with his hand on your chest, he pushes you onto the bed, sending you lying back down. He parts your legs and kneels on the floor, wanting to return the favor to you.

All the times he has pleased you with his mouth, he’s done a wonderful job, so you lay on your back and close your eyes, knowing you’re in for a treat.

The kisses he places on your inner thighs are electrifying; his lips are soft as they land on your clit, and his tongue feels hot as he licks a long stripe down your folds. He uses two fingers on each side to pull your folds apart, diving in and drowning himself in you.

"Oh..." you moan as his tongue teases your entrance.

Every kiss, every lick, every place his tongue explores, and every gentle pressure he applies to your clit—Seungmin calculates everything to give you the utmost pleasure. But tonight, he isn’t being generous; he stops just when it starts to feel so good.

You almost groan in frustration, but before it can escape your mouth, he catches your lips in a hungry kiss, making you forget your complaints, your ability to speak, and your whereabouts, but not your wants.

You part your legs wider to welcome him, seeking that closeness, wanting his delicious cock as close as possible to where you want him the most.

"If you don’t put it in, I think I’ll die," you dramatically mutter against his lips.

Seungmin lets out a chuckle and kisses you again. "I want that embroidered on a pillow."

The feeling of your needs finally met—oh, there’s nothing like it. When it comes to Seungmin, though, you’re not sure you’ll ever be satisfied; you keep wanting more.

More of those hard kisses on your lips, more of those hands kneading your breasts and gripping your legs, more of those moans slipping from his mouth into yours, more of his cock slipping in and out of you, more of those hard, shallow thrusts making your eyes roll back—more and more and more...

He isn’t lying when he says he knows another way to make you see stars. As you hit your high and your eyes screw shut, you see nothing but stars.

Seungmin comes not long after, collapsing on top of you. His lips immediately search for yours, kissing you with such haste when they find you.

When you finally pull apart, you both lay there in the silence of the night, wrapped in each other and the warmth of this tender moment. The world outside feels far away, and for now, this is enough—just the two of you, tangled in each other, both of your heads full of stars.

-

Things are going well. Your relationship with Seungmin remains a secret, and the results of the pre-vote are out, revealing that your father is leading the race by an 8% margin. Everyone is happy, all is well—but you have this nagging feeling in your chest that things won’t stay like this for long. You hope it's for the better, and God, you hope that's true.

To celebrate your father leading in the pre-vote, your family holds a brunch this afternoon. Being invited to this is a significant step toward winning your way back into the family. Your little sister has taken your hand under the table, squeezing it as a sign of solidarity. She hasn’t said it out loud, but you can feel that she’s happy to have you here, part of the family again, even if only for a moment.

However, as the minutes tick by and your father doesn’t appear, a gnawing feeling settles in your chest. You try to brush it off, focusing on how far you’ve come. After all, you’re here, included, proving that you can still be the daughter your family wants you to be.

Then your mother calls you and asks you to follow her to your father’s study. She makes you sit on the leather sofa in anticipation. Her expression is soft, but there’s something behind her eyes that makes your stomach churn, and you know something is wrong before she even speaks.

“When was the last time you saw him?” she asks, her voice quiet but direct.

Your mind flashes back to that night with Seungmin on the boat. You haven’t told anyone, and as far as you know, no one has seen you. But your mother’s gaze is sharp, and she’ll know if you lie.

“I… I went on a boat with Seungmin,” you admit meekly, your voice small and low. “But we were discreet. I swear, no one saw us.”

Your mother lets out a heavy sigh, her hand going to the nape of her neck as she massages it lightly. She doesn’t say anything but takes out her phone from her tweed jacket, tapping the screen a few times before handing it to you. Your eyes widen as you look at the screen, the shock hitting you like a punch to the gut.

There on the screen are photos—compromising photos. Some show you smoking; others are more intimate, even naked. You feel the blood drain from your face. These are pictures from that night on Seungmin’s brother-in-law’s boat, now plastered across the internet.

“Mom…” you stammer, trying to make sense of it. “There was no one there except us. This can’t be happening. It wasn’t Seungmin… it couldn’t be.”

“I’m afraid you weren’t as discreet as you thought,” your mother says, her expression composed but with a grave undertone. “Your father found out about the relationship. He’s furious, and this… this could ruin everything for him.”

You feel faint and hurriedly lean against the table to steady yourself. “No… no, it can’t be. Seungmin would never—”

The idea of Seungmin betraying you is unthinkable, but the pictures don’t lie. Someone had been there, someone had taken them, and now your life is spiraling out of control.

“I don’t believe it’s him,” you insist, shaking your head in denial. “Seungmin wouldn’t do this to me. He cares about me.”

“Think about what’s best for you,” your mother says, her voice rising slightly as she struggles to keep her composure. “Whether it’s Seungmin or his family behind this, we can’t take any more risks. You need to stay away from him, at least until I can figure out what’s really going on.”

Your heart aches, torn between your love for Seungmin and the loyalty you’re still trying to prove to your family.

“I’m sending you back to your hotel,” she says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “And you’re not to leave until I say it’s safe. Your father is already angry enough, and we can’t afford any more mistakes.”

Before you can protest, she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving you standing in the middle of the room. You want to believe in Seungmin, but now doubts plague your mind. A question gnaws at you: Is your love for Seungmin worth risking everything you have left?

-

The car ride back to the hotel is a blur of tears and shattered trust. Your chest feels heavy, the weight of betrayal pressing down on you, suffocating you.

The man you trusted, the one who held you close, is part of the very family responsible for leaking those photos. Whether Seungmin is directly involved or not doesn’t matter anymore—his family is, and that’s enough for you to push him away.

The car pulls up to the curb, and the doorman is there instantly, opening the door and offering his hand to help you out. You feel faint, your legs trembling from the emotions raging inside, but you force yourself to stand, to walk, and to keep your head up if you can.

Just as you step onto the pavement, a familiar hand grabs your arm. You stop in your tracks, your heart aching in your chest.

Seungmin. He’s there, his eyes wide with worry, as if he hadn’t expected to see you like this. And oh, the sight of him, the man you thought you could trust, brings everything crashing down.

Without thinking, you rush at him, your fists pounding against his chest in a fit of anger and betrayal.

“How could you?!” you scream through your tears, each punch that lands fueled by the pain inside. “How could you let them do this to me?!”

Seungmin doesn’t fight back. He just stands there, letting you hit him, his face filled with shock and pain as he tries to reach for you, to explain.

“It wasn’t me,” he tries to say, but the words are lost in the chaos of your emotions. “You know I’d never—”

“Stop lying!” you shout, cutting him off.

Your emotions hit their boiling point, the pain overwhelming you. “You expect me to believe you didn’t know? That this wasn’t some way to tear me apart?”

His eyes widen in disbelief, his hands reaching for you, but you slap them away. “I don’t know who’s doing this, but I would never let anyone hurt you like this. You have to believe me!”

“Believe you? After everything that’s happened? I’ve been humiliated, and you come here pretending like you had nothing to do with it?” Your voice rises with every word, and you’re too far gone, too hurt.

He tries again, stepping closer, but you shove him hard enough that he staggers backward. “I can’t even look at you right now. Get out! Get the fuck out of my face!” you scream, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Seeing you like this is painful for him, but not as painful as knowing he caused this. His hands tremble as he tries one last time to reach for you. “Please, don’t do this—let’s talk—”

Drawn by the commotion, hotel security steps in between you and him, blocking him from approaching you.

“Sir, you need to leave,” one of them says, placing a firm hand on Seungmin’s shoulder.

“Wait! Just let me talk to her!” He tries to push past them, but they hold him back, stronger.

It’s too late. You’ve already turned away, not even sparing him a last glance. He can’t bear the thought of being the cause of all this.

As the door of your hotel room clicks shut behind you, the silence fills the room, and everything comes crashing down again. This time, you don’t have anything left to fight with, so you let the pain and heartbreak consume you, sinking to the floor as tears flood your eyes.

It hits you now—you’ve pushed away the one person you thought you could trust, but everything feels broken beyond repair. It feels like you’re losing everything: your family, your trust, and the man you thought was different.

Leaning against the closed door that seals you off from the outside world, you wonder if there’s anything left to hold on to.

-

The more Seungmin thinks about it, the more certain he becomes that there is only one person who could have leaked the photos—someone who knew about the boat, someone involved. His brother-in-law.

He doesn’t waste any more time. He grabs his car keys and drives straight to his brother-in-law’s place. A storm rages in his chest, anger mixed with dread, his head full of accusations and possible answers.

When he arrives, he skips the courtesies and storms inside. He finds his brother-in-law leaning against the kitchen counter, looking surprised but not startled to see him.

“Seungmin? What’s going on?” he casually asks.

Seungmin doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of him, glaring into his eyes, refusing to be fooled again.

“You know damn well what’s going on. You’re the only one who knew about the boat, the only one who could’ve tipped off the paparazzi. Tell me the truth!" He slams his hand on the counter, causing a spoon resting on the edge of a bowl to clatter. "Did you leak those photos?”

His brother-in-law’s face tenses, the calm façade slipping, replaced by panic. “Look, Seungmin, before you go off—”

“Just answer me!” Seungmin urges, his voice cracking with anger. He can’t bear the thought that someone so close to him—someone he thought of as a brother—has betrayed him like this.

After an intense silence, his brother-in-law sighs and rubs his forehead. “Fine. Yes, I hired the paparazzi.”

Deep down, Seungmin knew this would be the answer, but it doesn’t stop the anger and betrayal surging through him. His hands ball into fists at his sides, his body shaking from holding back violence.

“You set us up? Why?”

His brother-in-law looks at him and licks his lips before answering, “It wasn’t just me, alright? I had permission—permission from your father.”

Seungmin could understand his brother-in-law’s motive: he wants to get on his father’s good side, to be acknowledged and approved. But his father? His own father, whom Seungmin respects and admires, someone he has helped campaign for because he believes in him?

“My father? He knew? He approved this?” Seungmin stammers, struggling to comprehend it.

“Your father’s been watching you, Seungmin. He knows about your little affair with her, and he’s not happy. So yeah, he gave the go-ahead. The idea was to expose her, make her the problem,” his brother-in-law explains, and as if he couldn’t say anything more stupid, he adds, “It’s nothing personal, just politics.”

Seungmin knocks everything off the table—plates, glass, spoon—all clattering to the floor. “You ruined her life for politics!" he shouts, hoping it’ll knock some sense into his brother-in-law’s crooked mind.

“You know how this works, Seungmin,” his brother-in-law says calmly, still leaning against the counter. “Your father is just trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? By destroying her? By ruining her reputation?” Seungmin’s jaw clenches as he fists his hands so hard his knuckles turn white.

“She’s not innocent in all of this, and you know you shouldn’t have gotten involved with her in the first place,” his brother-in-law says, his gaze piercing.

It’s betrayal upon betrayal. Seungmin’s mind is still struggling to process the fact that his father orchestrated the entire thing, using his brother-in-law to tear them apart.

Without another word, Seungmin storms out, but his brother-in-law daringly runs his mouth once more, “You’ll thank me later, Seungmin. Trust me.”

But Seungmin isn’t listening. His mind is busy planning what to do next—how to fix this, how to make things right. His number one priority is not letting his family ruin your life any further.

-

Seungmin storms into his father’s office, despite his father clearly being in the middle of an interview. His father hurriedly signals his secretary to escort the interviewer out of the room, knowing Seungmin is barely containing his anger.

The man behind the desk doesn’t flinch, already knowing why his son is there. He’s always composed and in control, but today, Seungmin isn’t going to let him keep that control.

“You set me up,” Seungmin spits, his voice sharp with betrayal. His father looks up, surprised but not shaken. “You used your own son to destroy her, to ruin her life, just because of some political rivalry?”

His father leans back in his chair, calmly putting his hands together in front of him. “It’s not about you, Seungmin. It’s about our family’s legacy. You were distracted, involved with the wrong person. I had to make sure you stayed focused on what really matters.”

“What really matters?” Seungmin’s voice shakes with disbelief and anger. “What really matters is that you took someone I care about and humiliated her! For what? Your campaign?”

“That girl was trouble,” his father remarks coldly. “She’s from a family that stands against everything we’re trying to build. You should have known better.”

“I don’t care about the politics!” Seungmin shouts, stepping closer to his father’s desk, unafraid for the first time of going against his father’s principles. “I care about her, and you—you ruined her for your own gain.”

His father stands, towering over the desk and staring intensely into his eyes. “You think you can just walk away from this? From your family? We’ve sacrificed everything for you, Seungmin. You’re going to be a part of this, whether you like it or not.”

“No, I’m not. I’m done with all of this. I’ll never be a part of this family again,” Seungmin says, shaking his head, done being a pawn in his father’s political games.

His father’s eyes darken, and a cold smirk rises at the corner of his lips. “You think this is all about one girl?” he scoffs.

“You’re naïve, Seungmin. You haven’t been in this world long enough to understand how power works. Sacrifices have to be made. And if you walk away from this family, from me, there’s more where that came from.”

Seungmin’s chest tightens with disbelief. “What do you mean by that?”

His father leans forward, his voice low and dangerous. “You think those were the only photos? There’s more from her past. I have them, and if you walk away now—if you so much as think about turning your back on this family—I will release every last one. She won’t have a life left to salvage.”

His father pulls open a drawer and takes out a file, showing Seungmin the photos he’s been keeping as a weapon. “But if you stay—if you fall in line and keep your head down until the election is over—I’ll make sure they disappear.”

Seungmin is hit with another wave of betrayal. His father had planned this all along, dangling her reputation as leverage over him. He expected manipulation, but this? This was beyond anything he could have imagined.

“You’re willing to destroy everything just for power?”

His father doesn’t flinch. “It’s not about power, Seungmin. It’s about winning. And I have won.”

-

TEN DAYS LATER.

The election is over, and his father has indeed won, but to Seungmin, it means he has nothing left to lose.

The man in front of him has torn apart the one thing that means the most to him, and for what? A title? A seat in the governor’s office?

As everyone gathers around his father, congratulating him and celebrating his victory, Seungmin can't help but wonder: does his father feel the slightest bit of disgust for what he did to achieve this win? Seungmin certainly does. He can't look at his father the same way anymore and he refuses being related to him apart from sharing the same DNA.

Seungmin makes his way toward his father, and when he's close enough, he extends his hand. His father doesn't hesitate and grips it, shaking it with a triumphant smile plastered across his face.

"Are you happy now?" Seungmin asks calmly.

"Well, I've won," his father replies with a sickening smirk.

There’s not a hint of remorse on his face for what he did to his own son, which only convinces Seungmin further that he wants no part of this anymore.

"But you've lost your son," Seungmin boldly remarks, each word carrying a finality his father can’t ignore.

Without waiting for his father’s reply, Seungmin turns on his heel and walks away—from his father, his family, everything. He leaves the office behind, as if it’s already become a distant memory.

There's only one thing left to do now.

He drives straight to your father’s campaign headquarters because he doesn't know where else to start. Your family is the only one who knows where you are, and although he doubts any of them would tell him, he can’t—he mustn't—give up.

When he arrives, the place is busy with activity, but it offers a different kind of atmosphere compared to his father’s headquarters. He balls his hands into fists in determination and enters the building without hesitation.

"Apologies, sir, but the headquarters is strictly for staff only tonight," a security guard blocks him from stepping inside.

"I need to talk to someone in there," Seungmin says, hoping the guard will understand and let him through.

"Unless you’ve already made an appointment, we can't let you in, sir," the guard says firmly, crossing his arms and standing in front of the doorway.

Reluctantly, Seungmin steps back, trying to come up with a new plan. He considers waiting outside until one of your family members leaves. It’s a flawed idea, but it’s the best one he has.

Then, as if by divine intervention, your younger sister appears at the reception desk. Seungmin takes a step closer to the entrance, ignoring the guard, and does everything he can to catch her attention, even calling her by her full name.

She looks over her shoulder and, upon seeing him, her expression turns cold and defensive. She never trusted him, and Seungmin doesn’t blame her. Still, he’s desperate, and this might be his only chance to find you.

“I need to know where she is,” Seungmin says, his voice steady but pleading. “I need to see her before it’s too late.”

Your sister crosses her arms, scrutinizing him. "Why should I help you? After everything that’s happened, why should I trust you?"

His throat tightens, but he meets her gaze with unwavering sincerity. “Because I love her. I had no part in what my father did. I’d give up everything to be with her. I already have.”

There’s a long pause as your sister’s expression shifts, her defenses slowly lowering. Perhaps she sees the earnestness in his eyes, the depth of his regret, and his determination.

She turns to the receptionist, writes something down on a piece of paper, and hands it to him. “If you break her heart again, I swear to God...” she mutters, leaving the threat unfinished.

Seungmin’s heart leaps. He’s just met her, but she already feels more like family than his own ever has. “Thank you," he says, his voice full of gratitude.

“She’s leaving the country tomorrow, so you’d better hurry,” she adds, turning away before he can say anything more.

Every second becomes precious as his heart pounds with a new sense of urgency. This is it. He won’t lose you—not to his father, not to the mess his family has created. This time, nothing will stop him.

-

The country house is quiet, almost too quiet. The only sounds are the soft rustling of the trees outside and the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath your feet. The room is stifling, but it’s your thoughts that press down on you the most. You fold another shirt and tuck it into your suitcase, packing for tomorrow, planning to leave nothing behind.

It was a mistake to come back here, and you know it now. This city was once a refuge; now, it feels like a prison, a place to hide. You’ve become a liability to your family, and your father made that painfully clear when he sent you here. You were told to stay quiet, remain hidden, and leave without a trace in the morning.

There’s no future for you here anyway.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you zip up the suitcase. You can’t take any more of this—feeling like a pawn in a game that was never yours to play. Leaving is the only choice left. It’s for the best, even if it means abandoning everything you’ve ever known. It’s not an easy decision, but you force yourself to push through it.

Then, suddenly, there’s a knock on the door, breaking the stillness of the night.

Your heart leaps, and for a moment, you freeze. You remember your father’s warnings: Never open the door. No one is to know you’re here. Stay hidden. You take a step back, away from the door.

Another knock comes, this time more urgent.

You remain still, holding your breath, praying that whoever it is will go away. But then you hear a voice—his voice.

“Please... it’s me, Seungmin.”

Your heart races at the sound of his voice, familiar and full of emotion. You badly want to rush to the door, to throw it open and fall into his arms, but the alarm bells in your head ring louder. You can’t. You shouldn’t.

“I know you’re in there,” Seungmin says, his voice breaking between words. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Please... just let me in.”

You clench your fists, torn between what you know is right and the ache in your chest. You stay quiet, pressing your back against the door, fighting the overwhelming urge to respond.

"I had to find you," Seungmin continues, his voice softer now, almost desperate. “I couldn’t let you leave without seeing you. I can’t lose you—not after everything we’ve been through.”

Tears well in your eyes as you lean your forehead against the door, trying to keep your emotions in check. You *shouldn’t* let him in. This is a mistake—all of it—but hearing him on the other side, so close yet out of reach, is tearing you apart.

“I just want to be with you," Seungmin whispers. "I love you.”

The words break something inside you, and before you realize what you’re doing, your hand is on the doorknob. Torn between fear and love, you know you shouldn’t open the door, but your heart is aching for him. No matter how hard you try, you can’t ignore the pull you feel toward him.

“Please, don’t shut me out," he mutters, his voice thick with hopelessness.

Your walls crumble almost immediately and with shaking hands, you unlock the door and pull it open, revealing Seungmin standing there, his face full of worry and relief. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours. Without a word, he steps forward and takes you into his arms.

He holds you tightly, his warmth familiar and comforting. He feels like home. Finally, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Seungmin buries his face in your hair, whispering, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his. In that moment, without thinking, you lean in and press your lips to his—a kiss full of longing and everything you’ve been holding back for so long.

In the quiet of that night, with the stars shining through the open window and the future uncertain, you know that, despite everything, being with him is the only thing that makes sense.

-

The soft glow of moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a delicate sheen across the room. Your naked bodies are entwined beneath the sheets, the warmth of the moment lingering between you.

Seungmin hovers above you, his chest rising and falling as he gently caresses your face, his fingertips tracing the outline of your cheek like you are something sacred. His gaze is intense but tender, as if memorizing every part of you, still unable to believe you are really here in his arms.

His touch is soft, but the weight of the emotions between you is palpable. You can feel it in the way his fingers brush over your skin. He hasn’t said much, but his eyes tell everything—relief, love, fear of what could have been if he had lost you for good.

“I almost lost you,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing your lips. You lean into his touch, savoring the feeling of being so close, so connected. “I don’t ever want to feel that again.”

You gaze up at him, your heart aching with affection. Here, in this moment, it is just you and him, and nothing else matters.

Seungmin lowers his head to place a soft kiss on your forehead, then your lips, as if sealing some unspoken promise between the two of you.

“Let’s go somewhere,” his lips brush against yours with every word. “Let's start over, somewhere far away from all of this.”

The invitation comes so suddenly that you don’t know how to react. You blink up at him, feeling a mix of emotions—hope, love, but also fear. You love him deeply, more than you thought was possible, but you don’t want him to lose everything for you the way you have for him.

“Seungmin…” you whisper, your voice barely audible as your hand comes up to cup his face. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to lose your family, not like I did.”

“I’m sure,” he says firmly, his voice filled with conviction. “This, us, it’s what I want. I want to leave all of this behind and just be with you.”

A tear rolls down your cheek as you stare into his eyes, seeing the truth in his words, the earnestness of his intentions. While it makes you indescribably happy, it also breaks your heart a little. He is giving up everything—his family, his place in their world—just to be with you. You love him more for it, but it's also a heavy burden to bear.

“You really mean that?” you ask, your voice trembling with emotion.

Seungmin nods, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “Yes. This is what I want.”

It feels like the world has finally shifted, like things are starting to fall into place. Even though the future is still uncertain, you believe in him, in the two of you together, and that's enough.

“I love you,” you whisper, pulling him down into a soft, lingering kiss. “As long as we’re together, everything’s going to be okay.”

He kisses you back, holding you tightly against him, and in that moment, everything becomes clear. This is not just a mere coincidence. This is fate. You and Seungmin, together, is fate.

-

The hum of the plane's engines is comforting, familiar, as you both settle into your seats, side by side.

The memory of that first flight together—the stolen glances, the whispered conversations—comes rushing back, but this time it feels different. This is a new beginning, a chance to start over.

Seungmin glances over at you, a playful glint filling his warm brown eyes. He shifts in his seat, turning toward you just like he had the first time.

"Hi, I’m Seungmin,” he softly says, offering his hand in mock formality, his smile full of warmth. “Traveling alone?”

You can’t help but smile back, slipping your hand into his. “Nice to meet you. And I’m traveling with someone very special, actually.”

You both chuckle, the familiarity of the moment easing the tension of everything that came before. It's like stepping into a memory but with the promise of something better ahead.

Seungmin’s eyes soften as he looks at you, and he leans in closer, his voice lowering.

“Business or pleasure?” you ask playfully, replaying the conversation that had sparked your connection all those months ago.

“Neither,” he answers, his voice gentle but certain. “I’m traveling for a happy ending.”

His words send a flutter through your chest, and you feel the warmth spread all the way to your fingertips. You look at him, your heart overflowing with emotion, knowing that this isn’t just a flight—it is a leap into the unknown, into something new and full of possibility.

You squeeze his hand, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin against yours. “A happy ending,” you repeat with a smile.

As the plane begins to taxi down the runway, he intertwines his fingers with yours, holding on tightly, unwilling to let go. You both stare out the window, watching the world fall away beneath you, your hearts beating in sync.

And as the plane lifts off, climbing higher into the sky, you know that whatever the future holds, as long as you are together, everything will be okay.

The past is behind you now, and in this moment, with Seungmin by your side, the world feels wide open, full of hope and promise. Into a happy ending, you go.

-

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