Shes My Collar

﴾ she’s my collar

pairing: han jisung x f!reader

genre: idol au, one-shot, smut

word count: 10,1K

warnings: alcohol use ⋆ choking ⋆ mutual!choking ⋆ switch!han and switch!reader ⋆ mostly sub!han ⋆ mommy!kink (ehm…yup) ⋆ spitting! ⋆ fingering (f. receiving) ⋆ unprotected!sex ⋆ creampie!

summary: while playing a game of spin the bottle, you learn some very interesting things about your friends that night, but probably the most memorable one of them is when the cute boy next to you confesses his dirtiest dream

author’s note: another boy absolutely obsessed with the reader, but that’s exactly how it should be

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You lick your lips, tangy liqueur burning at the back of your throat. Mind fuzzy, you feel your body softly vibrating with the side effects of your sugary drink. Even after one taste you just knew it would not be long, before you would feel your body loosing up, laying back in to the back of the couch with a heavy sigh. The bartender, your long haired friend, sure is not shy with alcohol and looking around the room your blurry vision falls on the mess on the living room floor. If you knew that you would be in such a state like this, you wouldn’t spend so much time getting ready. The black dress, which was probably way too formal for a small house party, started to stick to your skin from the humid air and alcohol in your system. You pulled your hair up just to feel the light breeze going through the room, skin glistening in the soft light, itchy slightly with sweat. You just know you look like a total mess, but there is someone who finds himself disagreeing with this statement.

Han nervously played with the liquid inside his glass, thirsty, but not taking a sip, because he couldn’t miss the opportunity to literally gawk at you. He wasn’t subtle with his looks, but you out of anyone didn’t notice it. Maybe because you got kind of used to his big, doe eyes looking at you or maybe you are simply oblivious. His friends already knew about his little fascination with you, but they didn’t say anything — but one thing about it was funny. Han looked like he didn’t know it himself.

Did he really not realize how much time he spends just staring at you? Tonight especially. Though he did register how he got completely stiff when you walk in with that pretty, little dress, makeup done a little darker than usual. He has an eye for a detail, literally spending the whole party going over your body with his eyes. The first time, the only time, he didn’t look at you was when he got seated next to you. He wanted to sit across from you, get a clear view of how your legs spilled out of your dress, how your fingers played with the pillow between your thighs, how a drip of sweat slowly rolled over your neck down, right between your breast— but no…He has to sit next to you, because of his friend who though it would finally help him talk to you.

You are friend of Seungmin’s. He still remembers when he first met you — so sweet and smiley, he wondered how could you be his friend, but the more he got to know you, he realized, you are really different from what he first thought. Well, get to know you in the sense of watching you from afar and maybe throwing a few words when you would be having a conversation with one of his friends. He usually wasn’t so quiet — Is he really that stupid? He knows that maybe there’s a small crush or something, maybe he is just admiring you. Though his silence, almost shyness, seems to be natural when it comes to you.

There is something pulling him in…He must say that he always liked how confident you are. You didn’t put yourself above or anything, but your humor and the way you spoke made him feel like a fucking high school girl who has a crush on the one popular jock. Oh, but you do really make his heart throb as he purposefully, unintentionally, took a deeper breath to inhale your spicy perfume. Even if he doesn’t want to keep himself away from you, your whole presence intimidated him enough for him to tuck himself a little away from you. Not to make you uncomfortable and also for him to not do anything stupid.

You tilt your head slightly to the direction of the man next to you who for a while seems to only shuffle around in his seat. You wipe away the sweat forming on your forehead, before putting your attention back to the game before you. Few minutes ago you laughed at the idea of playing spin the bottle, but after putting few new rules and twists to it, you are kind of really getting in to it. After few rounds of spinning, still not being picked, you grew amused with the scandalous questions and answers from the guys. However when the bottle suddenly points at you, your smile flatters.

Seungmin watched your face fall into small scowl, completely natural reaction you always have when looking at him. His brown eyes for a second flicker to his friend next to you who again is only looking at you, but other than that his attention is fully on you. “Choose your next words wisely, Kim.” You say, eyes forming into slits at the way he grinned evily.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be anything crazy.” Those words sounded ridiculous coming from him, but you only lean back on the couch, challenging him. The twist to this game is probably the results of the alcohol. From what you heard so far your jaw dropped every time at every new information about your friends and you think that you now know a little too much about them. The brunette across from you, basically knows everything about you and than makes it easier for him to choose his question, easier for him to embarrass you. “Y/N, do your favorite position with someone of your choice.”

Your lips parted in shock. Your hand flies to smack him across his exposed thigh peeking from his jorts painfully, the noise being muted by the others laughing. You scoff at him, watching in small delight how he hissed in pain. You immediately feel heat traveling to your already hot cheeks, eyes going back and forth between your friends. Everyone was still laughing drunkenly, everyone expect him as you turn to look into his direction.

You think he looks even more flustered than you. His pouty lips, stained a little red from his chapstick, fall apart, eyes wide, glistening in the darkness. When you turned your head to him, he almost jumps out from his spot next to you. Han’s heart skips a beat from the question, more like a dare, send your way. He doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer, because that would mean you would have to do it with someone — someone else than him. God, he wished for you to pick him. Seungmin wants to kill him doesn’t he? Maybe it is a payback for the time he figured him all out, he was the first one to confront him about it — of course he denied it. By giving you a free choice of choosing whoever you wanted was probably the most painful thing about his revenge.

However your eyes are still on his and he almost shivers from the way your eye color shined through your slightly smudged eyeshadow. “Hannie.” His mouth falls more open, ears ringing from the way his name fell from your tongue, he nearly forgot his own name.

You could have chosen anyone. Maybe your close friend and put him into some embarrassing position as a payback, but you chose him. He felt sick to his stomach, but in a good way. The lump in his throat was hard to swallow as his whole body froze for a moment in shock. From his small inner tantrum, your sudden difference in body language came unnoticed till now.

The laughing stops at your voice, everyone turning back at you with their own faces of shock. Yours is only turned to the man facing towards you. You feel a small nervousness creeping up on you from his silence, maybe the alcohol gave you a little too much confidence. “You up for it?” You trail off slightly, not so sure about your chosen partner at the moment.

Han however feels his body shake in adrenaline, sitting up quickly. “Yeah-“ His voice was kind of piched, making him cough into his fist, already dying of the embarrassment as his friends snicker. “Yeah, sure.” He corrects himself, leaning back in to his hands, trying to act nonchalant. His friends watch him and you carefully, but not laughing further, they kind of wished for this to happen. They are invested in your answer and also eager to see their friend finally getting to be close to his dream girl in some way.

Han’s confidence which was already fake from the start, now flies out of the room, when he watches you make your way closer to him. His boba eyes fall on to the pillow between your legs, silently wishing you would shove his head between them — wait that would be his favorite position, how silly of him. The soft material is thrown away, drool forming in his mouth as he catches a quick view of your soft thighs and the way you for a moment sit up to pull your dress down, they just so happened to smash together so beautifully.

All air then gets taken away from him when you make your way to him, but mostly because you boldly crawl up to him. The vibe in the room shifts slightly as you go closer to him on your hands and knees. You don’t even know where the confidence of doing that came from but the look on his face is totally worth it, you don’t even look at the other people in the room as they only mimic his expression and his is the only one that mattered. He wants to look away from you, heat spreading all over his chest and face, but the way you move so smoothly and they way your tits spill over your top, is basically impossible for him to look away. You have him totally under your spell, he hopes you know your own immense sex appeal, because watching you crawl over to him from between his legs, should be illegal.

You stop before him, your hands touching his legs, balancing your weight. “Lay down for me.” Han is literally in heaven right now. He almost whimpers at your honeyed voice, eyes falling on to the soft fat of your chest. You literally have him mesmerized so it isn’t too difficult for him to comply, but he still feels how his breathing becomes heavier when he slowly layed back on the floor.

You wish he doesn’t see your hands shaking when you touch his knees, pushing his legs down, so he lays completely flat. You can’t lie that you are not enjoying they way he is trying so hard to look unfazed — Is he really that nervous around you, like Seungmin told you or is it because you crawl up his body like a predator?

Both, definitely both.

Han thinks he will never get this view out of his head ever. You are careful enough not to touch him too much as you suddenly come into his field of vision. Gosh, how pretty are you actually? Your hair falls to your face slightly since you hover above him, licking at your lips. If it would be possibly, he would turn into dust, watching you slowly sit down on his upper thighs, hands falling on his heaving chest. He hopes you don’t feel his heart pounding, he hopes you don’t feel him getting hard like a pathetic boy. He just can’t help it, he can’t help those dirty thoughts racing through his head. He wants so badly to touch you, left hand forming into fist as he looks up at you.

You nearly let out a sound, gasp of sorts, from the view you are having. His eyes were slightly glossy as his spit licked lips, looking good enough to eat. The glasses on his nose fogged up slightly at the bottom from his deep breath which you feel him take under your fingertips. You for a moment forgot about the others, not even caring that your dress is pushed up. You want so badly to sit down, to not be hovering, but already this is even for you too much. He looked so yummy with his sweater pulled down his one shoulder, exposing his collarbones, Adam’s apple bobbing, having the biggest argue to bite at it.

However a voice speaks up at the moment, making you and your current partner snap back to reality. “Cowgirl?” Seungmin voices out, looking at you like you just grew a second head. “That’s it?”

You choke a little over your answer, pushing your weight more onto your hands as you look back at him, not missing the small huff under you. “And? Simple, but good…” You answer, shruggering.

“Who would’ve guessed, Y/N likes to be on top.” Laughs Hyunjin and to you it kind of sounded like an insult, immediately glaring at him, but your head snaps to the man next to him.

“Kind of expected you to be a pillow princess or something.” Says Minho, taking a sip of his beer. His eyes held a teasing look, smirking at you and mostly his friend who still had his eyes on your figure.

“Yeah…” Agrees your close friend again, head tilted up to the ceiling like in thought, before shaking his head with a small smile. “Can’t imagine you toping someone.”

You nearly roll your eyes at them, it hurt your pride a little. Your fingers scrunch up the soft material of Han’s sweater, weight now fully on your hands. He doesn’t move, because he simply couldn’t as he feels the delicious pressure on his body. While you were conversing, you probably didn’t even realize that by leaning more forward, your back formed a little arch. He almost missed the saliva rolling over the corner of his lips, head pulled to the side just to see the way your body formed into the beautiful arch. Fuck, he hopes you don’t feel him under you, because he tugged himself into his boxers maybe a little too stupidly back into his room, where he literally spend his whole day picking up his outfit with Jeongin’s help. If you would just push yourself a little higher, to the right, you would be literally grazing his —

“I can…” Han nearly chokes over the word, eyes widening, not even expecting himself to speak up. You then look down at him, your eyebrows raising to your hairline in a silent question. This all feels to him, like he should be thankful for even getting a look at you like that. “I mean–“ He laughs, but it doesn’t sound amused, he only let the noise out of embarrassment he literally put himself in, it was going so well for him till now…well, at least he can say that he had you on top of him at some point. “–it’s hot when a girl tops.” He swallows, lips jumping into a small smile, feeling sweat drip down his forehead from yours and his friends’ stares.

You have never felt so full with power, looking down at the cute, flushed boy with a smile. Slapping him across his chest, made his body jump, eyes widening, before he snaps his hips immediately back down. “Thanks, baby boy.”

He knew it was meant as joke, watching you in disappointment as you stand up, but he couldn’t stop his cock from twitching in his pants. He immediately sits up at that, grabbing the pillow you were holding before and putting it between his own legs. His moves are so obvious to all of his male friends he wants to literally die, but some of them look like he wasn’t the only one moved in some way with your small performance. The realization that the pillow was literally between your plush thighs, really doesn’t help him find his composure.

You black out a little from the moment you pull away from Han, because you can’t believe you just did all that and said that. It rolled out of your tongue so naturally that it shocked even you. Your hand grasps one of the pillows next to you, putting it between your legs, so you won’t expose anything, well you think you definitely did flash someone by crawling up to Han like a slut, but whatever. It was mostly because you don’t want anyone to get a glimpse of the growing wet spot on your panties. You know it’s not the alcohol anymore, after what you did, you are totally sober.

You were never that shy about speaking about things like that, but this kind of comes to the top of the list of the wildest things you have ever done. You can’t look at him, you can’t. You can’t however get him out of his head, how good he looked under you…You look up from your hands playing with the pillow between your legs, eyes falling on the muscular man, watching his lips move, till you finally find your sense of hearing again.

“Who you would make out with in this room?” From this and the other questions, you think you kind of had the worst one. With only being your first one, you already thought it was enough. You wished that it was something like this, instead of the thing that you did, but deep down you kind of enjoyed it in some sick way.

The question was meant for the cat like man who really didn’t seem to be even a little bit bothered by such question. “Easy, Y/N.“ Minho almost scoffs, gesturing to you, before looking at you for an answer.

From the look in his eyes you think he is hiding something from you, like he knows something you don’t. You give him nothing in return, still salty about his comment, but the man next to you definitely had to pull a face or something as the oldest points at him. “Han looks a bit offended there.” Chan laugh blends into the rest of the cackle and even if you also smile in amusement, there is still confusion. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, but his hair is too into his face to let you see him. Thank God, because he would dig his grave even deeper if you would see his furiously red face.

Jeongin brings the attention back to the game as he grips the glass bottle in the center of the circle to spin it again. You watch the bottle spin quickly, reflecting the lights before it stops right between you and Han. However the youngest doesn’t think further about who is more close to it, eyes falling on his friend immediately. “What kink you haven’t tried before?” It still shocks you that this cute faced guy can be sometimes so blunt.

Your own interest in his answers makes you look at him and like he can just feel your stare, he also glances at you briefly. He humms long and loud in thought, eyes going everywhere around the room, before he tugs his head back into his chest. But you didn’t know that from the corner of his eye, he was watching your fingers playing with material of the pillow. His mind grew fuzzy at your lovely manicured nails, mouth again opening before he could even think his answer through. “Ehm…choking?” He answers truthfully, but he wishes for the day he could lie instead.

“What — really?” Says Felix, the others also voicing out their own disbelief.

Han only nods, already wanting to end this conversation, but he can’t help himself from glancing at you to see your own reaction. To his surprise you are not looking at his flushed face, but at his fingers instead. He stops the unintentional playing with his rings, the move making you look up at him through your eyelashes. Your gaze meets his and he again doesn’t look at you, simply because it is impossible. However to his surprise you look away from him first when both of yours eyes met. Did he just catch you checking out his hands? Now he is the one feeling powerful, liking this new, shy look on you just as much as the other.

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You don’t even know how you lasted this long. It is now the early hours after midnight, maybe not that spontaneous, but considering the party was going on since the late afternoon, you are really shocked that you are still standing. You think that the reason for your upstanding is the game of spin the bottle which kept your body and mind occupied till now. You only drank soft drinks after that, craving something sweet. Sadly your sweet tooth wasn’t suppressed, because there was something way more sweeter you were craving.

Han, not to your surprise again kept this weird distance between you two. Perhaps the thing that you put him through totally blew any chance you had with him. However you are also aware that his silence was a little different from the other ones. Those times felt like he was just kind of shy, but now? He literally looked like he was trying so hard not to finally say something to you.

You spend a long time in the bathroom after that. Trying to make yourself a person again as well as also trying to calm yourself down. You still can’t believe you basically sat on him like that…also this one thing still lingered in your mind. Choking. How on earth had he not tried it before? You don’t know about his game, but from what you have seen he seems to be quite bashful about this kind of thing. Though when you would catch him with the guys talking, he was always the loudest of the bunch. Maybe he didn’t like you? No, he liked you a little too much…

As you felt somehow fresh, wiping of any smudged makeup on your face and also washing the sweat off your body, because you couldn’t function otherwise, you did feel confident enough to walk up to him. Everything is now cleaned up, looking like there wasn’t a party at all and now it was the time for sleep. Seungmin, even if he mostly acts like he isn’t actually one of your closest friends, let you have his bed, while he would sleep on the couch. Still it shocked you a little, because he likes his beauty sleep, but he only scoffed at you, saying that the couch was actually way more comfortable than his bed ever will be. Oh, how you loved your friend’s love language sometimes…

You approach Han while he pulls out a bottle of water from the fridge. You are thankful that everyone else was already either in their room or showering, because you just had to stop in your steps to just stare at his profile. Your eyes travel down his strained neck, head thrown back, you watching closely how he eagerly swallows every drop. A small drop rolls from the corner of his lips and you wonder how can someone look so hot when drinking water, because the way the liquid rolled down his sharp jawline all the way down is throat was simply sinful.

Wiping the small drop of water from his neck, he almost chokes on his water when he sees you from the corner of his eyes. Pulling the bottle away from his lips quickly, he looks at you with big eyes, you not really catching his spooked reaction, because you are trying so hard to play it cool right now. “Do you have something I could change into?” You ask him, breaking the awful silence between you.

“Doesn’t Seungmin have anything for you?” Is his immediate response and your mouth opens and closes at that. His question is genuine, but also yours makes him jump in the inside.

You smile softly at him, shrugging. “You know how he treasures his stuff…” Looking at him, you realize that maybe you shouldn’t have asked him that. You were already bold enough for today…His face didn’t tell you much, but from what you can see, it looks like he doesn’t want to. “Sorry, I’ll ask someone else–“

His hand silences you, lips pulled together. He again feels embarrassed by the way he reacts so brightly yet so dimly around you, but he can’t missed the opportunity of giving you something his. “No…come with me.” Your face forms again in the same smile as before, but now it is more genuine.

He knows his steps are looking a little too fast, eager even, but when he walked pass you his nose was again hit with your perfume. He really couldn’t wait anymore to give you something, for you to return it back leaving only the linger of your smell behind. When he nears his room, he suddenly remembers the small mess he left it in. He is already dying inside, because no way you will see his room, be with him even just for a few minutes alone and he really is looking forward to bask in your presence alone. Though he really didn’t want to flick the lights on and give you the view of the mess of clothes, so he just goes inside blindly, trying to find his lamp. After few stumbles he finally turned it on, but it still didn’t make the mess disappear much to his disappointment.

You however don’t really put too much mind to it, because he is man after all and also you are a little occupied with looking around his room. Few posters are plastered on the wall, eyes falling on to his guitar at the corner of his room. You remember liking every post of his playing, spending a little too much time analyzing how his fingers moved so smoothly over the instrument. Han unknowingly to you came after each one of your likes to Minho, jumping in excitement from this small gesture, only for it to be answered with a groan every single time.

You watch the brunette go through his closet, making your way to his bed. His back was turned to you, so he didn’t see you slowly lowering yourself to sit on his bed. He was too caught up in finding the perfect thing for you to leave your scent on. “So…” You trail off, so quietly you feared the he didn’t hear you, but his head snaps so quickly to you, you think he had a whiplash. “You really haven’t tried it before?” You hate yourself for not keeping this small wonder to yourself.

Han nearly forgot about you being here with him, the question striking confusion in him. “What exactly?” Maybe there is too much on his mind right now, like you for example and the need of finding something for you to sleep in.

The small pout on his face is cute, cheeks puffed out and eyebrows furrowed. Again the way he lets himself be so quiet and quite soft spoken around you, helps you come out of your shell more. The fact you don’t feel any effect from the alcohol anymore tells you that this confidence was coming from you only. In the air lingered something raw as he looked at you sitting on his bed and he really can’t say that he hates how you just sat on it without his permission. He kind of liked it how bold you are sometimes. Maybe it isn’t actually such a deal, but it is to him, any way of having you on his bed is a win for him.

You pat the spot next to to you, hand digging into the softness of his sheets. “Come here.” You say, nearly in a whisper and again you are using your spell on him.

A dumb ‘huh?’ flies out of his mouth, because that is the only answer he could form at that moment. The quietness seems to suffocate him as well as also your intense stare, looking like an angel from the way the light of his lamp created a halo around your head. It was never this quiet in the dorm ever, even at night, it felt like you two were the only people here — but in his heart it is only you.

“Come here.” You repeat again with the same tone, patting the same spot again.

Right next to you, again. A little closer, too close, he just knows, he will shut off from the proximity. But he really wants to make you happy and also he is getting really curious about what you want to whisper to him in that sultry voice of yours. Han is a literal puppet, you have him in the palm of your hand and finally — you see it. Your lips are tugged up in to a small smile as you watch him take careful steps to you, before sitting down right beside you.

With your hand blocking him from getting even closer to your body, it kind of calms him. His hands fall onto his lap, eyes going over the crotch of his jeans. The situation, the awful situation you put him through was painful and hard to get through. After you literally made him hard just by hovering over him, you put him through hell, him fighting the argue to not just go to the bathroom and jerk off, till he would cum all over himself at the thought of you. The reason was that his band members would never let him live out a peaceful day if he would and also he didn’t want you to figure it out. Not let you figure out that he would jerk off, just because of you, literally few rooms away — though it’s not like he hasn’t done it before…

“Okay.” He says, palms of his hands sweating wildly as you leaned back on to your hands. He can’t let his eyes travel down the length of your body, he can’t — “What were you talking about?” His voice came out smooth, but not too much to his the ability to talk again vanished away when you say the next word.

“Choking.”

“Oh!” Is the first thing he says, laughing again in disbelief at the way you just so casually brought this thing up. You didn’t talk much before this. Only a few side conversations about a new movie, his love for superheroes etc., but never anything that would get you guys close enough for you to get the green card to ask something so intimate. He swallows nervously as you only stare at him back, waiting. “Yeah, I have never tried it before.” He also shakes his head as he didn’t answer you already.

You know he didn’t. He seems to be honest whenever you are around and you think you’re slowly understanding his behavior towards you. Even if there’s a mask of fake confidence on your face right now, you still try to be the leader of the conversation as you also started it. The more you think this through, the more you realize how you are probably taking this way too far, but in some way you can’t help it. The thing about confidence is that no one know if it’s fake or not. However he still in some way makes you feel a little more sure about yourself, but also you still can’t help, but feel shy around him. How could you not?

You literally sat on top of him, like you would ride his cock hidden inside his baggy jeans to your displeasure. He gave you the vibe of a total loser, maybe because of the black framed glasses, but also he is the hottest guy you have ever seen. You already feel the change between you two when you hovered over his body like that. His brown eyes shined in the light the same way as they are right now, him still patiently waiting for you to continue. You at his stare really become unsure about this whole thing you are trying to get at. “And do you want to?” You ask him, your eyes momentarily falling onto his hands. “Do you want to try it?”

His lips parted at that, answer a little late as his attention is slightly taken away by the way your lips moved, forming those pretty words. “Well, yeah?” He says, both of you already knowing the answer, but his little, pretty head didn’t catch that you meant it a little differently.

“I meant with me…” You say quietly, turning away from him as he only looks at you in total shock plastered on his face.

His heart jumps wildly, head spinning from your sentence. He thinks he is dreaming, he must be, because there’s literally no way that you just said that. He wished to take you right there, but he is only capable of looking like a fish on a desert. ‘-with me…’, he repeats again. Han is ready to pass out. He already thought that he was lucky enough for you to chose him when you were playing the game, but now this? He feels his chest warm up, heat totally different from the usual one spreading across his body.

He watches you turn away from him and — is that you being shy around him? His heart already can’t take this further, but most importantly it hates the fact you are not looking at him. “Are you serious? I don’t know, we are–” He is again lost of words as usual. He really doesn’t want to say the status between you two and ruin everything for him.

Your eyes fall shut for a split second, throwing the obvious embarrassment over your shoulder so you won’t crumble at his feet. “If it would make you uncomfortable–“

“No!” You jump, frightened a little by his loudness, looking at him with wide eyes. His own flicker over your features, missing how your chests rise with the same deep breaths. “Sure!” He says, again wanting to slap himself for answering that. “I mean…whatever — it’s cool.” There is no such thing as cool when it comes to you and specifically this.

The temperature in the room rises up as your frozen body slowly melts. A short silence hangs in the air, taking your time to go over his pretty face. “Okay.” You whisper.

The confirmation makes him hot all over, fidgeting. Han held his breath as you pull yourself up, turning your body into his direction. You both look at each other with longing in your eyes, he almost making a noise when you bite down at your lower lip. He doesn’t know how it is possible, but you are even more beautiful when you are looking at him. Fully at him, no one else, just him. He can already die as a happy man when you shuffle a little closer to him, your hand just grazing his leg over his jeans. Your own breaths came out rigid as you glance at him, following the slow closing of his eyes, like a cat.

A moment past by just staring at each other and even if you don’t mind it that much, the more you glance down at his pretty hands the more you became desperate. You crave his hands on your neck, squeezing just right and hard for you to see black spots. He doesn’t seem to notice your slow struggle, looking at him in waiting. Han only has this look on his face and other than that he doesn’t move an inch. Your mouth opens, nearly a chuckle thumbling out of you by this, it was starting to get a little awkward. “Well…are you going to?” You roll the words slowly out of your lips with a small embarrassed giggle, when he still doesn’t move.

Your words snap him out of the state he is in a little, gaze traveling to your own hand that gestures to your neck. He feels the immediate known burning sensation on his cheeks and chest. “Oh!” Again with this, it seems like you always make him speechless. The shyness on your face makes him smile a little, but it was more sheepish. He should’ve known by the look you were giving him back in the living room that you meant it like this. He is starting to get the idea that there really wasn’t even a small thought of you doing it to him…Though the image of his own hand around your pretty neck is pleasing it’s just not something he truly desires. “I thought…i meant it the other way kind of–“ Han mumbles, scratching the back of his neck.

Your jaw falls to the floor a little at his confession. The embarrassment melts into something way more different after those words, even if he looks like an absolute blushing mess, he still waits for your answer. You actually are a little…troubled. Your gaze falls on to his neck, remembering how his Adam’s apple moved up and down, how the small stray string of water traveled down the length of it. “You want me to choke you?” You say, just to be sure, starting to feel the rumbling inside your tummy.

He wants to die. No way you said it out loud. He knows it was kind of obvious from his statement but still…you are literally talking about one of his biggest dreams. He can’t count how many times his own hand was squeezing at his neck, imagining it was yours instead. “Yes-“ He says breathlessly in desperation, swallowing the embarrassing reaction right after at your unrelenting expression. “Well, I haven’t try it either way, but I can do it to you.” He isn’t so sure If he could handle that, but he’s not that stupid to miss the opportunity.

You are still trying to get over the fact that he wants you to do it to him more. You completely forget that you wanted it first, because you simply can’t get the idea of having your hand around his neck out of your head. “Well, I kind of want to do what you want to do…” You say, again biting at your lip.

“Okay–“ He squeaks out.

You slowly move even closer to him, knees touching each other. You don’t waste anymore time, because you think you will go crazy otherwise. You raise your hand to his neck, watching how he nervously swallows, but you realize something. This whole thing was a little…casual in some way. You want him way closer than this, you need it. “Wait–“ You say, laughing a little at how awkward you are behaving. He nearly falls down to his knees to beg you to not stop as the hand that just graze his sensitive skin falls back to your side. “I can’t just do it — that would be weird.”

He sighs through his nose quietly. “Why?” Han hopes you don’t see the way his eyes shinned in neediness.

“It is better if it’s in the moment, you know? Otherwise it’s just not it.” You click your tongue at him, the muscle mesmerizing him for a second as you lick at your red stained lips. Han is actually really in the moment right now, he is already getting off to this in some way. He thought it couldn’t get better as you sit so closely to him, ready to choke him to a blissful death he hopes, but then you really surprise him. “Can I kiss you?” The question hangs heavily in the air. “Just to show you how it feels?”

You leaned closer to him with those words, boldly fanning your words across his face, fogging up his glasses. Han literally moans in his head. He wants to pinch himself right now, but even so if this would be a dream, he wouldn’t want to wake up. Your eyes become hooded, your eyeshadow making your whole look a little too intense for him to handle. He becomes putty in your hands, breathing out a sigh that sounded dangerously close to a whine. “Yeah, just to show me how it feels…” He repeats, already pushing his head down to line his face with yours.

“Yeah…” You say in the same tone, before smashing your lips to his.

You could taste everything on him. From his sweet chapstick that made his lips feel so soft, to the cider he drank on his tongue that slightly grazed over yours. Your eyes are closed to fully savour this feeling, but you could just tell he is trying really hard not to touch you. You want him to, those freaking hands of his make you feral. How they move across his guitar or how he simply opens a can with his middle finger like nothing, made you gush. It’s embarrassing that you are already feeling your panties sticking to you, but you can’t help it. The boy really knows how to kiss.

The quite loud smacks of your lips echoed through the room and when you experimentally pull away little, you immediately feel him chasing your lips. But you make it even better for him as your teeth wrapped around his plump bottom lip, biting and nibbling at it. His mouth falls open in a silent moan and you perfectly take the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Your tongue wraps itself around his and you have to sigh into him as your spits mix together. It was so fucking messy, just how you like it and just how he needs it. Han was completely at your mercy, body slumped forward, towards you and he just could feel the tears of pleasure burning and begging for more. He didn’t even know that this was your plan all along — to get him like this, completely drunk on you, so he wouldn’t expect your next move.

You had experience, you knew how it feels like when you are the least expecting it. You tremble just at the thought, hand touching his chest, momentarily trailing up and down. Your hand just barely touches his fresh tattoo and it makes him pull himself closer to you at that, but he completely still as your hand travels up. His kisses become a lot less precise, saliva trailing down his chin, but your own tongue stops it, licking him all up. His lips again parted, but now the whine building his chest is finally released as you wrap your finger around his neck, squeezing.

You shiver at the sound, hand already grabbing a little too hard for his first time, but he doesn’t seem to be opposed to it. He throws his head back, letting you climb onto your knees so you could still catch another small whine in your mouth. You are already soaking through your underwear, juices leaking onto your inner thighs. If he would just looked down he would see it, your lace panties completely ruined only by him. You have to pull away a little for him to see his face and it is to die for.

“Good?” You tease a little, because the pathetic frown on him is probably the best thing you have ever seen. You can feel him swallow under your hand, sweat rolling down his face and you quickly wonder what else you can do to him. The need to have him under you again is immense, you want to suffocate him with your body — in a good way of course.

Han is completely fucked right now. His cock is painfully digging into the hard material of his jeans and he knows that if you would squeeze more he would literally cum untouched. “Fuuuck…I-I–“ He can’t form any words, eyes blinking open to look at you.

You humm a little, head tilting to the side, your hair falling over both of your faces. You can see it on his face, in his eyes that the tears reflecting in them are just a pure pleasure. “Hm? Talk to me.” You say, loosing your grip a little to maneuver his head to the side. You feel his pulse pumping wildly around your fingertips as your lips touch his jaw.

A low moan rings in the air, loud enough for you to hear it. Han’s head – whole body is only supported by your hand on his throat, because he can only tremble in your hold when you kiss his jaw, all the way to his ear lobe. “Fuck me…” He groans a little, head fuzzy as your teeth nibble at his ear. Your sudden stop at your passionate kissing, makes him realize what he just said. “I mean–“ He tries to safe it by turning his head to look at you, only again going mute by the way your lipstick is smudged across your lips — he just knows it’s also all over his own and he will gladly wear it for you. “It feels good, better than I imagine, but…”

“But?” You continue, hand still unmoving, tips of your noses touching. He finds the gesture endearing.

His own tongue comes to lick at his lips and he realize he was right as he faintly tastes your glossy lipstick. His hands grip at his sheets tightly, material spilling over his fingers. He looks at you like a marvelous painting, not even feeling the small pain by having his neck in such position. “I need you closer…please.” Those are his words, the last one voiced out in a complete desperation.

You can’t fight against the smile spreading across your face and he melts again at such sight. The next thing that comes makes his cock jump, lips open wide. You swing your leg to strandle him like before, but now he could fully feel the delicious weight on him. “Holy shit–“ You really want to laugh, you really do, maybe make him a blushing mess, but seeing that this is already a little too much for him, you keep your mouth shut for now.

His throat is released from your grip, but before he could complain, your mouth is again on his. When you feel him deepen the kiss, you let out a small noise of bliss. There’s no way you can’t feel him under you and his guess turns out to be the truth when you ground yourself on him. You pull away from him again, just to hear the delicious gasp. His eyes are wide, dark, staring into yours, watching you move on his lap. There’s again this small smile on your lips and you can’t help yourself, but roll your hips harder against his to feel his tip hit your clit.

“You can touch me you know…” Your breathless voice sounds like honey to his ears, eyes shining at your request. You are starting to love the way you can make him look like this. Like a complete mess, so pathetic…If only he knew how much you are actually trying to stop yourself from just dry humping him till you both cum. You grab his hands that are still on his bed, before placing them on your waist, still not stopping your movements. “Here-“ You move his right hand up to your breast, not missing the small twitch of his cock. “–or here.” You leave his hand on your left tit, his hand fitting perfectly around it and he could your nipple poking at his palm. He watches you closely, a nasty curse flying out of his mouth when you move his other hand to your center.

He looks down at your legs, muscles jumping from your smooth moves. Your dress rides up to your thighs and when you tilt your hips closer to him, he gets a glimpse of your underwear. With the lamp light he sees the wet spot on to the front of the lacy material as well as also your stained inner thighs. Han can’t believe, he made you look like that, so wet and so full of lust, keeping his hand on your thigh for a while. You are so so soft — he remembers the day when you put that amazing smelling lotion on your legs after a day at the beach. He didn’t get a look at your bikini nor your body, because he had to go early to help Minho with groceries. He wanted to kill him for that. But now? This is better than he could have ever imagine.

He squeezes your tit lightly, only doing it harder right after when you whimper. You are a literal siren, luring him in to giving you anything and everything. He does want that. His fingers tweak your nipple skillfully, letting out a shocked moan at his sudden confidence. His other hand finally trails up you thigh, dipping his fingers in your essence before they press into you. You just happen to roll into them, sighing at the pressure. “More – give me more, Han.” You sound incredible. It should’ve come out as a plead, but he only hears it like demand.

His eyes keep going back and forth between his hand fondling your breast to you rolling your pussy, but he stops his gaze on your face. Your mouth is open, freely letting out sighs of pleasure and even if he’s probably the one that should be dominant, it’s you instead. He pulls your panties to the side, moaning with you when he trails his fingers through your folds. The grip you had on his shoulder, nails digging into his exposed skin peaking out of his sweater, makes his head momentarily roll back.

Your hole gushes more as his fingers circle your clit, you messily rolling your hips into his hand. The sight of his exposed neck and the need of being filled, the need leads you to shoving him in the chest. He lets out a small yelp as his back meets the mattress, watching you taking his hand between your legs and moving it a little more down. The tips of his fingers find your opening, letting you sit down on them.

He now finds himself again at this position with you being on top of him, but now with his fingers inside of you. The way he curls the tips of his fingers, makes you whimper, his ring rubbing deliciously against you. You are so warm and wet, your ass rubbing against him as you start to ride his fingers. “Oh…oh!” He gasps out, eyebrows shooting up as you bounce on his fingers, his hand becoming still..

Your thighs shook from the pleasure, palm of his hand just grazing over your clit. Even in your state you can’t miss how his breathing is getting heavier and heavier, like it was his cock you were riding. The thoughts make you look down, seeing the perfect outline and you realize you in fact can’t torture him and yourself for ever. “Want me to ride you?” You rasp out, the confidence radiating from you making his hips jump. “Want me to ride your cock, Han?”

“Fuck, yeah – please, ride me–“ He sounds so good like that, looking at you with puppy eyes as you pull yourself off his fingers. You miss the feeling of being filled, but you know it won’t take long before you have something even better.

You shuffle a little down to take his sweater from the front his jeans, giving you a glimpse of his hard abdomen. You are thankful that there’s no belt in your way, just flicking his fly open, pulling at the hard material and his boxers. He helps you pull his pants hallway, both of you too desperate to really strip fully. Your mouth waters as his cock springs up, hitting his stomach, the material of his sweater roughly grazing over him.

If you knew sooner that he was sporting such a pretty cock, you maybe would’ve said something sooner. His tip is painfully red, leaking, big vein running all the way from his balls to his tip. You wish for him to fuck your mouth, so deeply that the short hairs on his pubic bone would tickle your nose — next time…there will be next time definitely.

You grasp his heavy cock, thumb pushing at his hole, leaking even more around your digit. “How much do you want me, baby? Tell me–“ He moans wildly when you start to pump him too slowly to his liking.

He again gets a good view of your tits hanging out of the top of your dress, areola peaking at him. He blushes at your words, gasping as you pucker your lips, spit falling onto his tip, before spreading it over him. “I want you so bad.” He cries out at the end, because you squeeze him even harder. “Y/N, please. I wanted you for so long — ah! Do anything you want to me–“

You get a lot more out of him than you expected and his confession and plead, made you even wetter. “Anything you say?” You ask, him furiously nodding his head as you lean over his body, hand releasing him, cock slapping against your inner thigh. “Then open up–“ Han’s mouth is opened wider with your fingers at his lips and he nearly comes all over you when you spit in his mouth. He whimpers at your taste, he fucking whimpers — he even swallows it before you could even say it to him and that makes you finally sit down on his thick cock.

You quite underestimate his size, you own desperation blinding you. You feel him stretching you, burn however so good, your hips instantly roll down onto him. He already sees stars, looking onto his ceiling, wondering if was just send to heaven. Your walls suck him right in, pussy so good he already fights the urge to not fuck into you — he wants to be good to you, he wants to be your good boy.

You say his name, hands grasping the bottom of his sweater to pull it up, so you can see his slutty waist. He is so loud — he probably doesn’t even realize it, with his hands falling to your chest messily groping you, glasses already falling from his face. You let him pull the top of your dress down, tits spilling out and letting them bounce in the air. “You feel so good.” He moans, a sob or sorts falling out his lips, emotions all over the place.

He is so happy and so fucking horny. The way you move on top of him is so good that he just lets you do all of the work, pushing yourself up and down on him, rutting, hips rolling — he’s a total wreck. But he becomes a total mess when your hand again falls onto his neck, immediately grasping it roughly. “Oh my–“ He can’t finish, your grip kind of stoping him to do so, but he just can’t do anything other than be a whimpering mess. Han didn’t even know himself he could sound like that. You also let out a series of high pitched sounds, your fast movements making his bed creak and bang onto the wall. You hope everyone hears how good you are riding his cock. Fuck, Hyunjin, Minho and Seungmin, they can only wish to be in his place instead.

“Momm–“ Han chokes wildly from his own voice, eyes flying right open to look at you. Your hips shutter against his, your own eyes widening, but he could feel how you tightened around him. The grip on his neck surprisingly becomes tighter as you also pick up your speed. You never thought he would be so submissive, but you loved every second of it and hearing him almost call you that…

“Yeah, baby wanna cum? Wanna cum for mommy?” Han cries out, head pressing into his pillow. His mind spins from your words, hands gripping your waist.

He can’t think straight. A drool rolls down his chin to pool at your fingers around his neck, glancing at you. You moan at his state — he looks like a complete fucked out slut. “Please, mommy wanna cum for you, but — I-I need you to cum first-“

“Such a good boy.” You compliment him, your tongue tasting the sweat on your body. He whimpers again, letting you take his hand from your waist to put it around your own neck. “Make your mommy cum, Hannie–“ You lowly mumble.

As his own hand grabs your delicate neck, pressing into roughly, he soon sees why you love it so much. Your red face, puffy lips and his hand keeping your head tilted down for your gaze to be only on him, Han thinks that this look will be the death of him. His cock throbs inside you, feeling his tip kissing at your cervix slightly — so good. His other hand grips full of your waist, helping you move even more wildly against him.

You both gasp slightly for air, the familiar black spot appearing in your vision. Your own hand tightens around his neck, him giving you a long deep groan in return, completely different from the other sounds he gave you. Your skins meet with nasty loud smacks!, sticking and melting into each other. Your sweat starts to mix together, your hips jumping as you feel your sweet release. Like he could read your mind, he starts to fuck into you, making you see stars, his cock pressing roughly into your spot.

Your mouth hangs open, drool also rolling down your face, before in falls onto his stomach. He groans at your face, loving your messed up make-up and your body leaning more into him. When you start to moan more he keeps up the same pace, watching your legs tremble, body shaking, cunt forming a creamy ring around him as you cum. “Holy fuck! Just like that–“ Han slurs out.

You for a moment just lean into his hands, because you think you almost blacked out for real for the mind shattering orgasm. The way he still keeps fucking you, using your body to chase his own pleasure brings you to a quick overstimulation. You whine, grasping his hand around your throat and he at least loosen his grip a little to let you catch your breath. It burns, but with everything happening so fast you only cry out, squeezing his throat a little too much by your overstimulation.

Han’s eyes widened at your roughness, not missing your own state of fucked out even with the tears in his eyes. “I’m going to cum! — ohhhhhhh–“ He starts to literally sob, making you snap back to reality just to watch him cum under you.

“Gonna cum? Gonna cum for mommy? You’ve been such a good boy – you are mommy’s good boy. l-look at you, fucking this pussy so good, making your mommy cum so fucking hard –“

His hand falls from your neck, pressing into your tummy, his hips jumping as he cums inside you with a loud moan of pleasure. You gasp for air and same for him when you release him from your grip, your body slumping on top of his. With how deep he’s breathing his chest makes you move up and down, the hands on your body falling by his sides, completely wasted. His cum leaks slowly out of you, his cock still twitching and you on the other hand milking him dry. Your head is a fog and his is nothing – literally nothing, because the fact this was the best sex he ever had, makes him unable to form even a single thought.

You both take your time catching your breaths and after few deep intakes of air, his right hand start to caress the top of your head and yours his arm. You can feel him smiling when he kisses your forehead lovingly, making you mirror his expression, pulling your head from his chest. However your eyes firstly fall on his neck, red marks left behind and as he touches your own, you know you must have them also. “Did you like it?” You ask him and he rolls his eyes into the back of his head at such question and also from the fresh memories.

He groans firstly, before laughing in delight, the sound rumbling his chest. “Are you kidding?” Han asks you in disbelief, pulling you down to kiss you sweetly on your lips. “I loved it.” He whispers against your lips, your own forming into a smile. “But–will you...can I be your boyfriend?”

You laugh at him, pushing yourself up to our elbows to fully look at him. “Of course, you dummy ah!–“ You can’t finish as he flips you over, silencing your cry of surprise with a kiss.

When his laugh mixes with yours, body pressing into yours, feeling his soft cock hardening again, you knew you were in for a ride.

What Sorsha said 🫠

a/n: minho puts a vibrator in you and makes you ride his thigh idk there is no plot here. i wrote this in 20 mins. smut - MINORS DNI.

this might have been the most stressful car ride of your entire life. every single bump, turn, and stop of the vehicle sent pangs of want pulsing through your core, and the worst part is that the toy wasn’t even on the highest setting yet. 

minho had handed the thing to you as you were walking out of the door and watched with hungry eyes as you slipped it under the hem of your sundress, past the lining of your underwear and into your hole with a slight shudder. it was the kind that settled right against your spot, curving perfectly, with a piece jutting out that nestled against your clit. it came with a remote control that minho tucked into his pocket with a smirk and a wicked glint in his eyes. 

he had kept you at a low buzz as he drove down roads, speeding through yellow lights and jerking at stop signs just to see your reaction. he was a good driver usually, so you knew he was doing this on purpose, the fucker. 

he turns it off when he parks at your destination, a busy market street that the two of you liked to frequent to window shop. he was kind to you when you were walking in public, only slipping his hand into his pocket when you got too comfortable with the sensation of the toy inside of you. you nearly forgot about it several times until he’d hit you with a series of quick buzzes that makes you stop in your tracks and press your legs together. you could feel wetness building in your core, dripping onto your underwear and you prayed that it wouldn’t start dripping down your thighs. as much as he would enjoy it, the thought of the sensation made you cringe in disgust. 

it’s only when you both return to the car in a secluded parking garage that he takes out the small remote and runs his fingers against the buttons. every time his nail catches on the button that raises the vibrations you tense up, but he repeats the motions again and again until you relax into the carseat. the click of a button echoes through the entire car when he finally presses it, and you’re embarrassingly close to coming from how on edge you’ve been for the past hour. 

he knows - of course he does. he knows you better than he knows himself, can read your body like it’s a worn out novel on his bedside table. he turns off the vibrator when you’re reaching the crest of your peak, and you’re left clenching around the toy as your high escapes you. you try to chase it but it runs faster than you can move your hips, and you collapse against the seat with a groan. 

“come here,” he pats his leg and pops back his seat as far as it can go, making room for you to fit between him and the steering wheel. the angry retort on your lips dies as you meet his eyes and see the possessiveness in them; he looks close to feral. you take a glance outside the windows to make sure that no one was outside before climbing over the central console, trying to climb into his lap. 

you want to be wrapped around him, you want to feel his comforting touch against every inch of your hypersensitive body, but he pulls you away when you try to press close. he pushes you to the side until you’re straddling just his thigh, and the hard muscle there pushes the toy closer to your clit and deeper inside of you. your dress falls to the sides, leaving your thighs touching the material of his jeans and your soaked underwear definitely staining them.

he turns on the vibrator again, pushing it to a higher setting than you’d been before, and the moan you let out was borderline pornographic. you don’t have time to feel embarrassed about it because he throws the remote into the cupholder and wraps his fingers around your hips in a tight grip. he pushes you back a bit before pulling you back into him, over and over until it clicks - he wants you to ride his thigh. in a public parking garage, where anyone could walk in and see your desperation and helplessness. the thought makes your entire body burn and you can’t help the way your hips jerk along with his movements. 

it’s absolutely euphoric, the way he’s gripping you in a way that will leave fingerprint shaped bruises on your skin paired with the vibrator buzzing against your clit and rumbling inside of you. you can’t think of anything other than the searing pleasure building up inside of you and you don’t realize that your eyes have fluttered shut until he moves one of his hands to grip your chin, keeping your gaze pinned on him. 

he looks wrecked just watching you, his lips parted and his eyes unblinking as he watches you fall apart. you come with a full body shudder, your eyes rolling back into your head as you lose your balance and fall into him. he keeps the vibrator on as you ride your way through your orgasm, and he wraps his arms around you as overstimulation starts to set in. you squirm, trying to escape the near painful pleasure sparking through your belly, but he keeps you pinned to him until you start to cry into his shoulder. 

you don’t see it, but you know he’s smiling at your cries; there’s nothing he loves more than bringing you to tears from pleasure. 

he turns it off after a few moments and your body melts against his, your limbs feeling like jelly and your head fuzzy like cotton. you bury your head into his neck, the collar of his jacket digging into your cheek and the smell of leather invading your senses. he strokes your back until your tears stop, whispering praises into your hair in between gentle kisses. when you gain some control of your body, you shift a little and you can feel the slick that’s collected between your legs. you wince and let out a little whine, and he shushes you and presses a final kiss to your forehead. 

“i’ll run you a bath when we get home, angel,” he promises. 

“mm,” you agree, nuzzling against him. “but i’m not moving for at least another ten minutes.” 

Thanks for the tags @skzdust @silverstarburst

This is in fact... accurate lmao

No tags, if you see it and wanna do it, do it

so as one does i decide to scroll through uquiz bc im easily distracted and find this quiz

“can i guess your sexuality?” no!! ofc you can’t you’ll never-

nvm i guess ill just shut up

[but anyways you should try it too!! @saturnneedsspace ]

---

Okay. I need a moment... Professors are just so ... There's just something about it...

hiiiii <333 I have lovedddd lovvvveeeddd alll of your works I actually spent my day reading each and everyone of them I love it so muchhh!! 😭❤️

I have a request teehee, could you write one where Sannie is like a professor in your college and there’s little teasing here and there and where he ends up having her alas!! DOM - SAN ‼️💋

his favourite

<prof!san x fem!reader>

Prof Choi likes playing favourites.

You’re his favourite.

Genres/Warnings: smut, dom professor Choi San, pwp, face fucking, unprotected sex, oral (m receive) ,mutual pining, age gap, size kink, cream pies, mild jealousy plot, sir kink, light bondage (just tying up reader) teasing, sexual tension, teaching assistantxteacher obv forbidden but we still eat it up anyway!

Word count: 12.3K

a/n: happy birthday to the man of my dreams </3 enjoy this little choi san birthday treat. i put my love into this so please love this as much as i did! and thank you @bro-atz for the tidbits of help as always 🩷

apply for taglist here!

You stare at the laptop screen, scanning through your details on the application form, double, and triple checking that everything was filled in correctly. 

“Which professors are you trying as a teaching assistant for?” Your roommate asks, her neck craning over to see you attaching the file to six different emails, to six different professors within the department, pretty much answering her question the moment she reads off each professor’s email. 

“Why not try for the department chair?”

You scrunch your eyebrows as if it’s the first time you’re hearing that. 

“Who?”

“Professor Choi?”

Your eyes widen, your neck almost getting whiplash from how fast you turned to your roommate at the sound of his name. 

“Why the fuck would I try him?” 

Your roommate shrugs in an attempt to hide her amused reaction from your reaction at his name. 

“Who knows? I’m confident he remembers you even though you spent only one semester with him”, she hums turning away to pour herself another ice drink from the pitcher. “On a serious note, you may as well just get all the help you can get. Besides, what are the chances that Prof Choi sees your email? He’s the department chair. I’m sure his mailbox is just flooded anyway.” 

True, you think to yourself, turning your head back to your laptop, and adding the professor’s email address in. But you still hesitate, staring at the application form, your cursor hovering over the send button. Your roommate looks over at you, and she decides that your wishy-washy behaviour is just being the biggest nuisance on earth, so her hand flies over yours and helps you to press send, and she watches you freak out at her while she giggles and escapes after committing her crime, chasing your roommate around the kitchen island for a good seven minutes.

Settling back down in defeat, you sigh in your hands, giving yourself pep talks. 

Right. 

The chances are close to zero that Prof Choi will see my application anyway. 

The chances of him remembering me are close to zero anyway. 

You shut your laptop, and the applications are completely erased from your mind. 

“Yo, check your emails, babe. The application results are out for me”, your roommate says, her eyes glued to her laptop screen. 

You settle yourself down across her, a chilled drink in your hand, pulling up your email inbox. As you expected, you see the subject headline ‘Teaching Assistant Application Results’, and you expand the email.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me”, you mutter, loud enough for your roommate to hear. Her head pops out from behind her screen. 

“Who did you get?”

“Choi San.”

Professor Choi San. His classes weren’t the bane of your existence—but he, himself was. 

And the fact that it only took one semester to solidify that claim. Almost everyone wanted to get into his class, so fucking many of them just squealing over how he looked almost god-like. You wonder how much of a swoon he would be, how much of the rumours that travelled down the stream were factual, though with thousands of students constantly fighting for a spot in his class, you sure were coloured surprised when you landed a spot in Professor Choi’s class. 

The moment he walked in, the whispers within the confines of the lecture hall erupted into gasps and squeals. Unfortunately, the rumours were right—the moment ProfessorChoi walked in, it was as if your eyes naturally followed his movement—confident strides in his steps dictated by his outfit—a simple dress shirt under a dark gray vest that accentuated his wide shoulders and skinny waist.  

He was so fucking handsome—his hair neatly slicked back, frameless glasses sat on his nose bridge, his sharp and small eyes hiding behind the lens. Undoubtedly, seeds of infatuation began lodging themselves in you. Well, it’s not like you had a chance with him anyway, especially when the gold band reflected from his ring finger being a huge indicator. Maybe keeping him as an eye candy would work out just fine. 

Prof Choi’s classes were interesting, and he as a professor, other than being a distraction during the majority of his classes, held his credentials. However, at times, some sarcastic comments would bubble to the surface, and even though he did tend to commend top-scoring students for tests, he still maintained professionalism for the most part—the content taught wasn’t rocket science anyway. You saw yourself being able to breeze through the syllabus for the most part until you received your grade for one of your essays. You stared at his comments, marked in red lines, circles, and words—tone cold and direct—not that you weren’t used to it, but this time? You felt his comments alongside him marking you down were completely unjustified. 

It was then that you pushed past the group of girls who would stay back after class to shamelessly flirt with him, under the guise of wanting to discuss more about the content taught that day, and you stood before the group, asking to speak to Prof Choi personally. Prof Choi did have people staying back after class to consult with him about grades, although they would stay shortly with him staying stern to his marking rubrics, but when he realised you weren’t backing down on top of the way you approached him so directly, it intrigued him.

His office was spacious, considering that he was the department chair—and without introductions, he had you dive in immediately in consultation. 

You wasted no time, flipping through the spent pages of your essay, pointing out areas where you felt his comments were unjustified. Prof Choi listened, and he refuted your points, some of which you decided to accept but not for one particular part;

“This part had no proper scientific support of your argument for this point-“

“Bullshit”, you cut him off. Prof Choi blinked, shocked at the blunt cut from you. His eyebrows were scrunched in confusion next, wondering if he heard right that a student not only just cut him off, but cussed at him.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s here. A small significance value is still something isn’t it?” You replied, pointing at the paragraph after. He glanced at the paper once more, forcing himself to focus while you fought back that your argument was supported. 

So you made Prof Choi sit before you and listen to your elaborations, and needless to say, he was rather impressed, although he had to hold his expression neutral. 

You came out of the consultation victorious—the day Prof Choi called you over after his class again, handing you your script, and you saw your total marks shooting up to a gorgeous score. Your head was so into the clouds that you returned a smirk along with a shrug—showing off your victory and satisfaction as your thanks—an I told you so, leaving the professor to stare after you in awe while you practically skipped to your seat. 

That sealed your fate. 

From then on, Prof Choi would have his attention on you—recognising which seat you picked to sit in in class, wondering why you hadn’t dared sit nearer. And when it came to picking people to answer questions, his gaze would fly to you immediately—either waiting to call you out once you raised your hand or simply calling you when he felt like it. For some sick reason, he finds the way your face scrunches up in stress when he calls your name in his honey-soaked voice amusing, and even adorable at times, though he would never admit it. But oh, did he love the comments and answers you would give him. 

Despite that assignment being the only one where you decided to consult Prof Choi, following every grade release of an assignment, he would single you out, especially after class, to fucking ask if you had questions regarding said assignment, which honestly started to freak you out—mostly because he never gave you the attention before, and you weren’t used to it. The whispering gossip in the class about you being the teacher’s pet slowly reached your ears too, and even Prof Choi heard it—and he only exacerbated that rumours by constantly giving you his attention. 

Every time you reached your dorm, the words that left your mouth which your roommate could recite verbatim, “I swear to god, Prof Choi has it out for me!”

Not to mention you were fucking relieved when the last day of his class rolled around, but unfortunately, his parting words to you were, “I’m sure I’ll see you around, y/n”. You did everything in your power to avoid getting into his class and even bumping into him, which seemed to work swell. 

Until now that is. 

Now here you are again, standing before the familiar heavy wooden door, staring up at the wooden plate, embossed with gold lettering “Department Chair Choi San” staring right at you. You had to physically drag yourself off your bed to prepare for the first day partnered with Prof Choi. And when your roommate’s words of “oh come on, he can’t be that bad. He’s hot!”, echoed through your ears, it all the more made you want to just ditch your first day by clawing your eyeballs out. 

You had to collect yourself before Prof Choi collected you. 

With a raised knuckle, you rap against the door, taking deep inhales in the process. His voice, which sounded deceivingly like honey, remained the same as you remembered. 

“Come in.”

You pause for a moment, embracing yourself before holding onto to doorknob and pushing his door open. 

There he was, Professor Choi, his eyes focused on the scripts on his desk, which had piled up. His space remained the same as you remembered, for the most part—shelves littered with awards and files, the same desktop taking up one-quarter of his huge ass desk, and the couch with the coffee table left to the side of the room. Prof Choi wore a stern look of concentration on his face, still preoccupied with finishing up marking his scripts. 

When his pen pauses and his gaze shifts towards the door, a small smile spreads across his face. He lifts his head and drops his pen, interlocking his fingers on his desk with growing amusement when his eyes meet yours. 

Fuck, he’s still so handsome.

“Professor Choi”, you greet, holding your expression neutral as you bow, forcing yourself not to fidget with your tote bag. 

“Y/n!” Prof Choi greets almost too enthusiastically. “I would assume you would be more than delighted when I picked you to be my teaching assistant.”

“Honoured, almost”, you reply. It’s taking all of your energy not to break his gaze. He’s staring at you with unreadable eyes, and you’re wondering if the fluttering in your chest is from the anxiety or the way Prof Choi is staring at you.

Prof Choi laughs, and it tickles your ears a little too good. 

“Sit. We have a lot to go through today”, he gestures to the seat before him, and you take it.

He switches on his monitor to his course syllabus and turns the monitor slightly towards you. 

“Oh, before we begin, it’s a pleasure meeting you again, y/n.”

Oh boy, was being Prof Choi’s teaching assistant a fucking handful. You knew it was gonna be rough, but to be assisting Professor Choi San? He was on another level—his schedule would be filled to the brim with meetings with the faculty on top of conducting classes weekly. You struggled in your first month, learning the ropes, especially from a busy and challenging professor like him. He wasn’t mean or cold at all, on the contrary, more direct and meticulous. Well, he had to be, considering his position. Nonetheless, it felt like he was always too busy to attend to your questions sometimes, and that would leave you to your own devices. 

You stand in the aisle, looking down at the assortment of foods lined up in the chiller. Has Prof eaten yet? Does he even eat? What does he even eat? By instinct, you pull out your phone and open his chat. 

[you]: Hi Prof. Have you eaten? I’m at the convenience store near the campus. I could grab something quick for you. 

A couple of minutes go by, but your phone doesn’t receive a ping, and you had to reach the office soon. So you pick up another tuna rice ball for the professor alongside yours before making a beeline for the cashier. 

Prof Choi hears the knock on his door and as usual, he utters his usual “come in”. His gaze lands on you, and he glances at the clock. 

“You’re on time today”, he points out. 

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. “I’m always on time, Professor.”

“You’re usually in a little earlier.”

“Right, because I got you this”, you reply, rustling through the plastic bag in your hands, fishing out the rice ball.

He looks up at you, confusion hinted in his expression. He doesn’t take the food yet. 

“What’s this?” 

“Tuna rice ball. Surely only having coffee in the morning is not filling your stomach.” 

You put the food in front of him. “Besides, I messaged you but you didn’t reply. So I just chose something safe. Unless you’re telling me you’re allergic to tuna or something.”

Prof Choi blinks. His hands reach out to take the snack from the desk, unwrapping the plastic packaging as he watches you leave his office to grab a mug of coffee. He glances over at his phone, and sure enough, your name is there with your message.

Since then, his reply would pop up in mere minutes whenever you asked him if he wanted anything to eat. 

Of course, the more you spent time with him, the more you grew comfortable, and all the thoughts you ever stressed about slowly faded off. Prof Choi grew more relaxed around you, internally grateful that you’re able to tank a significant fraction of his workload for him. Undoubtedly, you also come to realise that Prof Choi is human after all—he obviously would make mistakes, even as someone of his caliber, and deep inside, you found it rather cute, well, until you had to stop yourself from developing deranged thoughts. 

Not to mention, another problem seemed to pop up—his flirty banter. He likely picked up that it made you flustered sometimes, and since then, he wouldn’t let it go, relishing at the way pink creeps up your cheeks when he would say something that wasn’t like his ‘professor-self’, and at worst, feeding into your crooked thoughts. 

You stare at him as he types away, particularly, the metal band around his ring finger. You wonder who was the lucky lady who had the chance to be with him. You blink. 

What the hell were you thinking?

“It’s rude to stare, you know”, Prof Choi’s voice snapping you out of your daydreams. 

“I’m just wondering about your ring, that’s all”, you reply, forcing your attention back to your half-marked assignments.

“I’m not actually married”, he suddenly confesses, and for some reason, it makes your heart beat slightly faster. 

“Huh?” Is all you manage to reply. 

Prof Choi chuckles. He pauses his work on the desktop, turning his attention to you. Even though you have worked so closely with him for a while already, you can never seem to find your composure around him. 

Even though you see his face every week, you can’t seem to wrap your head around how insanely good-looking he is, how sometimes you struggle to maintain eye contact with him, because it doesn’t take long before you feel yourself slowly flushing. 

“I wear it on my ring finger so the students stop asking about my marital status”, Prof Choi clarifies. You watch him pull the ring from his ring finger and fit it over his index. 

“So you’re single”, you echo.

He nods, “I’m single.” 

What is this strange feeling of relief?

“What about you?” He suddenly asks. You’re not looking directly at him, and you don’t realise the way he’s looking at you attentively. And if you do, you just might combust.

“I’m…single too”, you answer, trying to meet his gaze, fidgeting with the red pen in between your fingers. 

“And why’s that? Too busy fighting with your professors for grades?”

You glare at him. 

“I think it was my professor picking fights with me”, you reply quickly, jabbing right back at him. 

You watch Prof Choi lower his gaze, a smile spreading across his cheeks—an actual smile—his dimples showing up. Oh fuck. Just when you thought you could depend on your ribcage to contain your heart properly, you found out Prof Choi could actually smile. 

When he looks up at you again, you break the eye contact, your gaze flying back to the papers before you. 

“You know, I’ve met many students, but you were the first to cuss out at me.”

You did? “I did?”

Your professor nods, cocking his eyebrow at the way you had seemed to have simply forgotten something as eventful as that. 

This time, Professor Choi bursts into a chuckle, completely amused by your reaction. 

“Is that why you kept-“

“Giving you chances to answer in class for credit? You should really thank me for that. Your grade for my class was one of the highest you know.”

You feel your cheeks flush. But before you can retaliate, Prof Choi cuts you off.

“Jokes aside, no. I think the discussion we had that afternoon had an impression on me. The cherry on top was you cussing at me. I liked that. Refreshing and endearing”, Prof Choi continues, his attention seeping back to the pile of scripts before him. 

“I think this side of Professor is pretty refreshing and endearing too”, you let it slip.

His pen pauses in mid-air. You don’t catch his gaze completely softening on you. 

As the semester continues on, you began easing into the class schedules. You watch prof get swarmed by a group of students, a usual ritual that happens right when the class ends. At this point, you had grown used to it. Sometimes the students would come and approach you instead, which honestly surprised you, but your heart would feel warm, knowing that these students trusted you.

It was then you became acquainted with another teaching assistant under Prof Choi, who joined shortly after you did—Choi Jongho. Initially, he came off as a rather shy individual, but the both of you warmed up quickly with each other, sharing the workload and bonding over gossip with each other. Gosh, was he fucking amazing with gossip, especially when it came to Professor Choi. Soon enough, the both of you were texting almost on a regular basis, the conversations weighing more towards academic topics sprinkled with a little gossip. 

“You’re going off with Choi Jongho?”

“Yeah”, you reply, bunching the papers in your hands. “I’ve got some things to discuss with him about.” Partially true. 

For some reason, even though your professor has been completely swamped with papers to grade and meetings to attend, you would always find him loitering around your desk from time to time. He seems to especially enjoy doing that when you’re around. 

“You’ve been spending an awfully lot amount of time with him”, Prof Choi points out, looking over your shoulder as he watches you scribble on another student’s paper. 

“Yeah, we get along well actually. Isn’t that a good thing, Prof? Both your teaching assistants are besties.”

For some reason, that makes Prof Choi frown, but you’re too absorbed in your work to notice it.

A couple of minutes go by, and you still feel his presence, not that you mind, but you’re starting to find it peculiar that he’s been hanging around your desk a lot recently.

“Do you have something to discuss with me, prof?” You ask, eyes still glued to the paper.

“Yes”, he replies, taking another sip from his mug. “What do you think of Choi Jongho?”

Such a random question to ask, you think. Maybe he’s just making sure you and Jongho get along well?

You pause, giving yourself to think, tapping the back of the red pen against your bottom lip, taken aback by Prof Choi’s sudden question, but the conversations you and Jongho had resurfacing into your brain, and a giggle escapes you, which makes Professor Choi subconsciously narrow his eyes and furrow his brows. 

“He’s fun to be around, and despite how he looks, he’s actually got a wicked sense of humor. Oh god, wait. Let me tell you what you he did that day while we were having lunch together-“

You turn your head to continue to run your mouth, only to slowly trail off when realise his face is just inches from yours, and you swear your heart is on a treadmill from the lack of distance between you and Prof Choi. It’s as if time paused, the both of you sinking right into each other’s gazes. You can’t help but notice how intense his gaze is, and you can’t seem to decipher his thoughts, but from the way this situation played out, you swore he’d just lean in and kiss you. 

Your heartbeat accelerates at the thought—why would he do that?

And when his fingers are on your chin, your rational thoughts are getting flushed out. 

“That’s an awful lot of cute things about Choi Jongho. I’ve never heard you talk about another Choi like that.”

You swallow hard, your body still frozen in spot. 

“What do you think about him then?” 

“Jongho? I was just-“

“No. Choi San.”

Oh god. You could only stare back at him. Prof Choi tilts his head, his eyebrows raised, waiting for his answer. His cologne floats and almost shuts down your senses—has he always smelled this good? 

The corner of his lips curl slightly at the way you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights. 

“I t-think Prof-“

“San. Choi San”, he corrects you. 

Another hard swallow the more you try to focus your gaze on him. 

“I think Choi San’s a great professor. He’s really competent, a lot softer than he presents himself as-“

Fuck you can’t think. Not when he’s staring down your eyes to your lips like that. 

“Mmhm.”

“And he’s really so-“

Then a loud knock echoes across the room, breaking the tension. Prof Choi’s body doesn’t shift, but he looks up at the door, shouting “door’s unlocked”, before he stands back upright, adjusting his glasses and walking back to his desk. 

Jongho’s head peeks in, then he bows at Prof Choi before he walks to your desk. You stare up at him with a forced smile. 

“Ready to go? I was waiting for your message”, Jongho says, his eyes glancing over the professor, then you, a strange feeling that he probably interrupted something. 

You nod, while shoving your belongings into your bag, then slinging it on your shoulder. 

Barely being able to look at Professor Choi, you still force yourself to, bowing goodbye to him. 

“Thank you Prof Choi. See you tomorrow.”

He looks up from his desk, right into your eyes. 

“See you too, y/n.” 

You can’t help but wonder how far things would have gone if Jongho didn’t knock the door.

Jongho isn’t an idiot. Initially, he assumes that you and the professor were on much friendlier terms considering that you came in before he did. Granted, the workload he would give the both of you was the same, he would take the initiative to have lunch with the both of you both individually and together whenever he had pockets of free time, but what roused his awareness was the lingering glances Professor Choi would cast at you from time to time, the way he seemed to relish the reactions you would give him whenever he teased you. 

He notices the way your ears would grow red even when you roll your eyes at the professor and jab him with another playful snarky remark. 

Though he wonders how dangerous things could get, Jongho thinks this could get interesting. 

The semester continues smoothly, the only change being that Jongho being absent from the office more often due to his other commitment to soccer. You remember him telling you he had quite a big match coming up, the sparkle in his eyes bright and twinkling whenever he talks about said sport. 

If he wasn’t in classes, he’d be off for training, hopping into the office from time to time to pass Professor Choi marked scripts and reports. Prof Choi pretty much didn’t mind—he stated as long as Jongho did his job, he could be free to do what he wanted outside of being a teaching assistant.

Needless to say, the office was mostly Prof Choi and you, now even more time spent with him with Jongho mostly being absent. By then, the both of you had grown so accustomed to being in each other’s presence that banters amongst each other became the norm—the both of you competing with each other with unserious remarks, laced with almost flirtatiousness, just to see who would back down first. 

Then came the proximity—since Prof Choi would wander over your desk as if he had all the free time in the world, he would somehow strike up another conversation with you, leaning over to hear you better, his arm bumping into yours to look over at the papers you were grading to check if you were doing them correctly. But what he absolutely adores the most is when you’d roll over to his desk to pester him with your questions—sometimes even testing him on his own content. 

He likes the way he gets to be closer to you. He likes the way your shoulders touch his when you lean in to push the paper towards him so he can see the script better. 

He likes the way you would finally look up and meet his eyes when you’re done formulating your question, waiting to hear his opinion.

Today is no different—Professor Choi being so used to the notion that he would only be seeing you in the office, the corner of his lips pull upwards at the thought of the types of banter you would have with him, the kinds of shenanigans you would bring into the office.

He hears your knock at the time you would always arrive, watching the way the door opens, and your head popping from the door, as you greet, “Hi Prof!” 

“Good morning, y/n”, he would greet back, sipping on his morning coffee. 

You walk over to his desk, dropping his tuna rice ball. “Here you go. Enjoy your breakfast, Prof!”

“You can stop calling me Prof”, Prof Choi suddenly says, twirling the pen in his hand. For a second, you wonder what triggered the sudden change. You’ve been calling him Prof since day one, pretty much used to it already, the only time you didn’t was when he—never mind. The thought of it is making your face flush again. 

“Is there something else you want me to call you?” You ask, trying to calm your heartbeat down when that memory suddenly resurfaces. 

“You can call me San. I’m fine with that. I know you’re still my teaching assistant but we’ve been working closely. I think it’s fine to drop the Prof honorific.”

You try out. 

“Sure thing San”, you reply. “Though it’s gonna take a while for me to get used to this.”

“If you’re able to cuss in front of me, calling me by my name should be the least of your worries, y/n”, San teases.

You raise your hand, feigning a stance ready to smack him before you lower your arm, listening to the way San laughs before rolling your eyes and sinking into your desk. 

The day marches on as normal—attending a class or two with Jongho before he’s whisked away to his soccer practice, leaving just the two of you for the rest of the day. 

San is leaning at your desk again, looking at you typing out your report. He squints slightly before he leans down to your shoulder, his finger pointed at one of the paragraphs, asking you about the content. You answer him, and when you turn your head once you’re done, you find yourself looking at San’s side profile mere inches away—his sun-kissed skin, his pretty lashes, his thick, well-trimmed eyebrows, and the way his lips protrude out a little—he always looked like he’s pouting in the most adorable way. 

That’s when you realise a problem seemed to be bubbling up to the surface, try as you might to ignore it, repress it—that you’re falling for your professor. Fast. 

You snap back to reality, finally aware of how loud your heart is beating against your rib cage, and your hand flies up in instinct as a divider between you and San. San blinks at the sudden movement, confused. 

“Y/n, what are you doing?” He’s not moving. 

“I think I’ve got something on my face.”

San cocks an eyebrow. “You do? Let me check-“ 

His palm covers yours, bringing it down to the table, and you’re kicking yourself for sprouting such a self-sabotaging lie.

Why? Because now San has his hand on yours on top of his face in full view of yours, his eyes meeting yours before his gaze flutters around your face, checking for whatever hell you said was on your face. 

His gaze meets yours and for a split second, something else glints in his eyes. 

The door swings open, and San straightens himself up, slightly irritated at the interruption, leaving you to spin your chair away from San, your hands cupping your cheeks, the heat warming you up against the cold air conditioner. The heat from his hand on yours lingers for a little longer. 

Jongho walks in, his duffel slinging on his shoulder with his shoe bag clipped. 

“Hey, Prof. Hey cutie.” 

San blinks. What did he just call you?

“Hey jjongie. Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?” You ask, forcing yourself to focus on your colleague instead. 

“Supposedly, yeah, but there was a sudden downpour midway so training got cancelled. Might as well get some work done here”, he shrugs, dropping his bag onto the floor. 

San is wrapping his head around the fact that you and Jongho seem to have pet names for each other. 

“Didn’t miss me too much right?” Jongho teases. “‘Cause I did!”

“That’s a first coming from you jjongie”, you reply, surprising a smile. 

“Of course! It’s been a while, how could I not? We should go eat dinner together sometime.”

San only stares on in silence, pretending to sink back into his grading.

Jongho walks over to your desk, taking his turn to look at your report. San watches the way Jongho’s arm is comfortable over your seat, as he asks you about your report, talking to you as if San wasn’t just behind you seconds before. 

The fact you’re entertaining him—hitting his arm playfully and laughing at his remarks—all the more rouses some kind of irritation in San. It’s like a boiling pot. 

He pretends he doesn’t see the way Jongho leans in to whisper something into your ear although it’s bugging him so fucking much. For once, he wishes Jongho’s training didn’t cancel. 

“Oh right before I forget”, Jongho mutters, rushing back to his desk, digging through his bag. He walks back over with a paper in hand and places it before you. You glance down and your face brightens up—it’s a ticket to his game. 

“For real?” You exclaim, your eyes bright, taking the ticket in your hands. “I’ll definitely make time for you.”

“I’ll score goals for you, kay?” Jongho teases, his eyes glancing at San, who is progressively looking more irritated. 

“Ah, Is San not going?” 

“San? Since when were you on first name basis with him?” Jongho wonders aloud, the suspicion only brewing even more. 

“Jongho, don’t you have reports to hand in?” San asks curtly. 

You feel like you are caught in between crossfire for some reason. 

Jongho smiles, then has your head under his arm, which elicits another irritated reaction from your professor. 

You have never had Jongho done this before. In fact, you recall him offhandedly mentioning that he’s never a physical touch person, and that anything with physical touch makes him shudder. 

“Relax, Prof. You’d rather your subordinates get along than not right?”

Just when San is about to reply, Jongho suddenly exclaims. 

“AH, coach is calling me back to the field. Prof, I’ll send you the report by tomorrow okay? See you guys!”, Jongho hums as he runs back to his desktop to turn it off. 

“Has he always been like that?” San wonders aloud, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“I guess. It’s actually what makes him cute.”

“Cute? You think Jongho is…cute?” 

“Is he not? Doesn’t he remind you of a bear? Big and cuddly.”

San clears his throat, and you watch him walk over to your desk, his hand resting on the tabletop. He leans in. 

“So… you find it cute when he gives you pet names?”

“Well, I mean-“

“You find it cute when he plays with your hair?” San curls your locks around his fingers. 

You can’t seem to get words to leave your throat. 

“You find it cute when he has his hands all over you like that?” He’s leaning in even closer this time, arms trapping you at either side.

“Prof-“

“No. It’s sir.”

Your mind is in a whirlwind at the way he’s towering over you, his scent the only thing filling your olfactory senses, the way he’s staring right into you, gaze sharp as a blade. 

“You find it cute when his touches run up your body like this?” His fingers are trailing up your arms, every touch he burns into your skin, and when his thumb pauses at your chin, you realise you’re royally fucked.

Once more, his face is mere inches away from yours. You wonder if you’ll be teased like two previous times before. 

“Of course you don’t. You’d rather I do that to you, right?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Yes, sir.”

His voice is barely a whisper, his eyes downcast, staring at your lips like it’s his reward to claim. 

“Good girl.”

Of course, he claims it.

His kisses are so greedy—his lips prying yours open, and you feel yourself completely give in to him, surrendering whatever resistance, rationale, repression to Choi San. 

You want more—you want seconds. Every swipe his tongue passes your lip, it makes your head float. How does someone taste this fucking good?

He pauses mid-way—barely a couple of seconds, to pull off his glasses and strew them across the desk—then goes back to devouring your lips. 

San would smile in between kisses when he hears your whimpers. He thinks you’re so fucking adorable when you tremble slightly at his touch. It all goes straight to his cock. 

He thinks you’ll be even more adorable when he ruins you. 

When San pulls back, he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, watching your glazed-out expression with amusement. 

"I'd love to continue messing you up, but I have a meeting to attend. I’ll deal with you later, sweetheart. See you next week.”

His touch lingers on your chin for a couple of seconds longer before he pulls away and shifts to walk back to his desk, leaving your heartbeat wild and erratic, and your thighs squeezed tighter.

Since then, that was all you ever thought about—the slight smile before his lips collided with yours, the way his words rang in your ears. You could barely meet his eyes. 

In more instances than one and with any chance given to him, he’d close up any physical distance he had with you. Worried that your emotions would bubble and overflow when he does that, you developed a habit of avoiding his eye contact. 

Even after classes, you swore he was casting you glances even with lines of students waiting to talk to him. 

“Did you piss Prof off or something?” Jongho asks as he shuts his laptop. 

“Why are you asking?”

He shrugs. “It’s just that he’s been eyeing you down like a hawk recently. Did something happen between the both of you?”

You freeze when the flashbacks of the taste of his lips return to your memory when you remember how hungry he looked just wanting to devour you. 

“Y/n?”

You blink, then force yourself to meet Jongho’s eyes. 

“No. Nothing happened. At least I hope I didn’t make any mistakes.”

“You’re fine. There’s a reason why the department chair chose his teaching assistants.”

You laugh softly at his words.

But when you hear San’s voice from behind you, you almost jump. 

“Y/n, Jongho, the both of you can wrap up here and head back to the office”, he instructs. You feel his warmth radiating from behind, and it only makes your heart jump at the proximity. 

You watch Jongho slowly pack up, small conversations sparking between the both of you about his soccer practice. 

You glance at the door. San isn’t back yet. 

“I think it’ll take him awhile to be back. The students there seem to really like him.” 

No doubt, the female students for this class seemed a lot more assertive, almost always demanding all of San’s time. Well, not that it should matter. It’s not as if he should mean anything-

“Y/n? Are you okay? You seem pretty off recently. Even Prof’s pretty worried”, Jongho’s voice grounding you back to the cold office. 

You force a smile and shake your head. 

“I’m fine. I guess it’s just so much workload to deal with.” 

Jongho places his hand on your shoulder in comfort, “You’re doing fine. You know you can approach either of us if you’re struggling right?”

You feel comforted, even though your messy thoughts weren’t even about the workload, so you return an assured smile before waving Jongho off for his soccer practice. 

You’re wondering what you’re feeling nervous about, because when the door of San’s room opens, you jolt slightly. 

“You’re still here?” You hear San ask. 

“Yeah. Need to reply to some emails and double-check some of their assignments.” Not a total lie. It’s the swirling feelings he’s been giving you whenever that day surfaces in your mind, the small bouts of attention he pays you and the touches he lets linger a little too long that’s all a dopamine rush in you. You can’t help but want more. But in the same breath, meeting his gaze will allude doom for you. 

San nods as he sits back at his desk, going right back to his computer. The silence continues for awhile and you’re surprised that you’re even able to concentrate. 

“Y/n”, you hear San call you. 

Your gaze doesn’t break from your screen. “Hmm?”

“Come here. Help me look at this.”

You walk over, ignoring the way your heart is just pounding so damn loudly. It’s painfully obvious that San is staring right at your face, and it’s also painfully obvious that you’re avoiding looking at him. 

And it definitely seems to be ticking him off. 

Your eyes stay locked to his screen reading off whatever is on the screen, and nothing is processing in your brain. 

“It looks good”, you curtly reply, trying to ignore the fact that you’re being stared down by a certain professor. You turn away, your eyes still not acknowledging San, only for your professor to stop you in your tracks. 

“Now where do you think you’re going?”

He’s making you face him now. 

You’re still not giving him eye contact. 

“Back to my desk?” You say, looking off into the distance. But San seems to have other plans. 

“You know ‘looks good’ isn’t the feedback I’m looking for, right?”

Shit. You know that clear as day. 

Now San has both his arms trapping you on his desk. 

You somehow still manage to avoid his sharp gaze even when you’re backing up against him, easily letting him corner you.

His belongings are strewn all over the desk when he pins you down. By some miracle, only papers flutter down his desk. 

And you’re finally looking right at him. 

“You’re finally looking at me, y/n”, he states the obvious. “Now tell me, did I do something wrong?” 

“No, you didn’t, sir”, you reply curtly. 

He leans in closer. 

“Then why are you avoiding my eye contact?”

You shut your eyes and squeeze them. There’s no pure way out of this—your dirty thoughts are seeping into the smallest crevices of your brain, and the more San is prodding you, the more it makes you throb.

“It’s because that evening when we…” you feel your cheeks burn with every word leaving your lips. 

San is waiting for you to continue. 

“When we kissed…couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“And?”

“It made me want…more.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Has anyone told you how adorable you are when you’re honest?” He chuckles. “I’m gonna finish what we started sweetheart, like I promised.”

It makes your heart flutter. 

“Am I getting your consent for this?”, San’s voice rings in your ears. You’re finding it hard to focus, especially when his thumb is pushing past the corner of your lips, and you’re just growing wet as fuck. 

This is not right. This is so dangerous. 

“Yes sir”, you reply back, trying to ignore the way your cunt is just tingling from the feeling of San’s thick erection pressing against you.

“That’s my good girl”, he praises before he dives in for a hungry kiss, his fingers roaming around your body, squeezing your tits before he unbuttons your shirt at an agonising pace. He smiles on your lips when he hears your soft gasp, and he presses his lips down to your jaw and then to your neck, sucking and biting the soft skin against your neck, his erection growing tighter against his trousers when he hears you moan and squirm. 

When he’s satisfied with the light marks he decorated down your neck, his lips are pressed against your ear, and his hands are moving dangerously close to your cunt, and inevitably, your bottoms are off in seconds, leaving you in your pretty panties. 

“I would prefer fucking you on my bed instead for the first time, but taking you on my desk? Maybe not too bad.”

Your cunt squeezes at the sound of San cussing. You never thought he’d sound this fucking hot. 

He groans when his fingers press against the soaked patch of fabric hiding your pussy. All that wetness for him. He bunches up the fabric and rubs it against your clit, the friction drawing frustrated whimpers from you, much to his satisfaction. It feels so good but it’s not enough, and it’s driving you crazy.

San’s fingers finally hook against the waistband of your panties, sliding them off your legs, and pocketing them, much to your shock. 

And he doesn’t give you much time to focus on that because when he pulls his cock out from his unzipped pants, it makes your head spin from how thick Choi San is. 

“Sir, I’m not sure-“

“It’ll fit, sweetheart, like it’s made for me”, is all the warning San gives before he lines up to your hole and pushes his cock in. 

You can’t tell what’s fucking you up more—the way his cock is stretching you open or the San groaning in relief when he finally gets to stuff you full. 

You bat away your tears, his cock so fucking full inside of you, pressing against your walls, being squeezed so perfectly by you. 

God, Choi San thinks he’s in heaven. 

His fingers brush across your cheeks, collecting your teardrops. His eyes lack any ounce of empathy. 

“Aw, are you crying because it feels good? You look so fucking pretty crying when I’m stretching you open.”

You barely find the words to reply to him, all stuck in your throat, your mind only flooded by the way San’s cock is buried in your cunt, your thighs trembling from the pleasure. It’s almost sickening. You know you shouldn’t be doing this—not with your professor, not on his fucking desk, but when he has you wrapped you around his finger and cock fucking the daylights out of you, it’s a temptation you can never resist. 

A soft hiccup escapes past your lips when San pulls out almost all the way, his cock covered in a sheen of slick and precum before he pushes himself in once more, groaning when you clench around him for the nth time. 

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart. God, I could just fuck you all day. You’d like that right?”

You’re barely keeping track, eyes rolled to the back of your head while your thighs twitch from the pleasure, but you manage to hold the eye contact, and through blurry tears, you mutter a weak, “Yes sir”. 

“Of course you do”, San hums before he pulls out once more and starts fucking you dumb on his desk. 

No matter how much you try to cover your mouth, bite your tongue or your lip, your moans only come out louder in defiance, the dopamine shooting up your pussy over and over again whenever San’s cock hits your pretty spots. 

Your mind is addicted to the way San’s shirt is buttoned down his chest, his cleavage almost fully out for you to gawk at, the way strands of his hair cling to his forehead because of the sweat, the way his eyes roll back when he feels you squeeze him with every loud fuck, and the way he looks down to you from time to time before he eats up your pathetic moans with hungry kisses. 

He fucked you up so good, you didn’t even realise it until now. 

“S-San”, you manage out a whimper, “please…”

“Please what, sweetheart?”

You don’t even know what you’re begging for. 

“Please… you feel so fucking good. I’m gonna cum. It’s so fucking good”, you babble, trying to force your eyes open. 

San can’t help but smirk when his ego is being stroked so nicely like that, especially by you. He’s a good person, of course, he’ll give what his good girl wants. 

His thumb slides south on your body until you feel the ticklish sensation of him on your clit. Cream and precum pooling at the base of his cock makes it even worse for you—with every graze, his finger pressed onto your clit, the knot tightened in your stomach. 

Your nonsensical strings of words only push San to tease you more as he endearingly watches you break slowly when your orgasm builds up. 

Your body twitches, your back arches, your eyes roll back, white splashes beneath your eyelids. Your orgasm burning through you while you cry out San’s name and you twitch pathetically on his cock, letting your cream leak all over his wet cock. 

“Fuck. You’re such a good fucking girl for me, aren’t you?”, you hear San curse. He fucks you through your orgasm, the overstimulation building up. The sensitivity feels so fucking good. 

His hand catches your jaw, and he forces you to meet his eyes. 

“Wanna pump you full of my cum, keep you so fuckin’ full for days on end,” he huffs, “but not now, sweetheart.”

Not that you minded, but there’s a strange tinge of disappointment ringing at the back of your head. 

San thrusts into you a couple more times before he pulls out, his thick and wet cock resting on your pelvis, twitching as his hand takes over. 

Nothing can beat Choi San’s fucking face when he cums. He looks like he’s in fucking heaven, and he’s tearing up the sky because of you. His fingers leave light marks on your thighs, you hear him groan at such a low tone that your cunt flutters uselessly against the air. Translucent spurts land on your skin, but it barely registers in you—you’re too busy swooning over the way your Professor just cummed over your body. 

San’s high dies down, and he catches his breath, casting you a glance, red dusting his cheeks, before he reaches out for the tissue box to clean you up. 

A quick kiss on the lips before he goes on to collect all the papers all over the floor.

That night he drives you home, filling the space with light conversations as if he didn’t just railed you on his desk. 

It’s only when you reach home that you realise one important thing—San still has your panties. 

You know you shouldn’t be telling secrets to your colleague, especially when it’s about your fucking boss. But here you are, facing Jongho, who has his arms crossed in front of you. 

“What’s up with you and Prof?” You predict the words that leave his lips. 

You hesitate to tell him, unsure how you should even say it, where to even start. 

The worst part you knew clear as day was that nothing changed since that day. You chalked it off as San being swamped with assignments to deal with, that’s why the topic was never brought up again, but something still irked you. The only comfort you had was that the semester was ending, and so was your term as San’s teaching assistant. 

Maybe it was how it was meant to be. Just nothing more than that.

But when you realise the dreaded feeling prickling at the back of your eyes, you knew you were fucked. 

“I don’t know how to even start jjong”, you sigh. Jongho scrunches his eyebrows. 

You watch his expression switch from one to the other. You expected him to freak out at you, yell at you for unprofessionalism or something, but he doesn’t. 

“It’s so fucked up. But I just can’t help but wonder if he feels anything”, you mutter. The thought of you not being the only one he’s doing this with makes your stomach churn. But somehow, in the most twisted ways, confiding Jongho made you feel slightly better. 

“Well, looks like we’ll have to play that card I guess”, Jongho shrugs. “But you should mentally prepare yourself for the results, that’s all I gotta warn you. I just need your consent to play along.”

It’s a risky bet you’re playing, but drastic times called for drastic measures, right?

As the semester closes to its end, so does the workload. San feels a lot lighter on his shoulders, and while he’s grateful for his teaching assistants for lifting a significant amount of workload off him, the end of a semester meant the end of the working relationship between him and his teaching assistants. He usually doesn’t feel that much, considering he has had many teaching assistants in the past, but for some reason, he feels a sense of discomfort lodged in his stomach when he thinks about having to let them go.

Especially one of them. 

He sighs, removing his glasses from his nose and shutting his eyes while reviewing the exams. San feels like a fucking idiot when his eyes land on your empty desk, his frustration bubbling when you cross his mind again. 

Even though he pretends to keep himself busy by flooding his mind with work, somehow, you would bubble to the surface once more, pushing him into the pits of frustration when he’s reminded of the way you get a kick arguing and refuting him just to get a reaction out of him, the way you taste like sweetest thing on earth he’s ever tried and the way you completely unravel when San fucks every single thought out of you—

He bites his cheek. 

No. He has to keep it professional. At least, until the term is over. 

He just doesn’t know how to tell you. 

He knows he’s entered deep waters when he crossed the line that evening, the sight of you undone right before him snapping all his rationale. More than anything, he’s suffering the withdrawals, maybe that’s the punishment he has to bear. 

He glances at the colourful ticket at the corner of his desk. It’s Jongho’s big game. Even though he usually doesn’t let himself intertwine with his subordinate’s personal interests, it’s hard not to. 

In addition, you’ll be there. Maybe he’d snag you after the game and talk to you properly. 

The meeting ran overtime, San glances down at his silver watch, realising he’d missed almost thirty minutes of Jongho’s game. Despite the exhaustion, he pushes it aside and heads to the stadium. 

He watches the brightly lit scoreboard as he takes a seat on the bench, Jongho’s team is in the lead by one point. 

Somehow he gets wrapped up in the game, cheering when Jongho’s team takes championship as the benches all burst into loud cheers too. 

He gets up to leave, already thinking of drafting a text to congratulate Jongho in his head, maybe get him a small congratulatory gift on the side. 

Then he spots you, just rows below. Now, he’s walking down as if on instinct, to get to where you are.

San pushes past the crowd to approach you. He’ll offer to drive you back—he knows it’s all an excuse but anything to get you into his space once more. 

His arm outstretched, reaching out to tap your shoulder, then suddenly stopping when he sees Jongho appear right in front of you. That’s fine. San could just congratulate him at the same time—

Which all of those thoughts immediately disintegrate when he watches Jongho cup your cheeks with his hand, his eyes widening in complete silent horror as Jongho leans into you for a kiss. 

You seriously doubt that Jongho’s plan would work. Didn’t San decide not to come anyway? You heard it with your own ears too. 

Nonetheless, you pushed it to the back of your mind, focusing on cheering for your friend, watching the leading scorer jump from one team to the next. You couldn’t help but erupt into cheers when Jongho’s team won, screams echoing through the open stadium. 

You watch Jongho walk up to the benches where you are, and his arms wrap around you, his smile big and bright, competing with the stadium lights. 

“Congratulations, baby bear”, you tease, pushing against his shoulders lightly. Jongho inches close to you. 

“He’s behind you by the way”, Jongho mutters, loud enough for you to hear, but not long enough for you to process, because his hands are cupping your jaw, his thumb pressed against your lips. 

He hears you muffle some kind of question but your lips stay sealed. 

“You owe me one for this,” is the last thing you hear before he leans in. Your eyes widen in shock, and you freeze in your spot, even though his lips don’t meet yours, evidently separated by Jongho’s thumb, his action had caught you off guard.

You barely have the capacity to process what had just happened, and you feel someone’s warmth tightening against your wrist. 

Jongho lets go of you immediately, but you’re staring right at your professor, who is staring right at Jongho with an unreadable expression, with his fingers curled tightly against your wrist. It feels like an eternity since you saw him. He’s not wearing glasses today and his hair is down instead of his usual slicked-back look, donned with a simple dress shirt and tie which framed his wide shoulders so perfectly.

“Congratulations on your win, Choi Jongho. I believe you should be with your team to celebrate right?”

Jongho only smirks back. “Right. See you babe. Thank you, Prof. See you next week.”

Jongho casts you a glance, the mischief twinkling in his eyes before he turns his heel down the stairs and back to the field. 

What the fuck just happened?

And you find yourself staring up at the male before you, his gaze piercing into yours. 

“Prof—San?” You blink. “I thought you weren’t-“

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart. Why would I not want to see the cute relationship my teaching assistants have right?” His voice is laced with venom. 

San doesn’t really elaborate further, leading you to his car, sealing your fate once more when the passenger doors close shut. 

He’s all over you. His body is burning up, maybe just as fast as yours is, and it’s making you feel dizzy. His moves are aggressive, impatient and you swear you feel something else too—desperation. 

“S-San—“ you gasp, in an attempt to take control of something.

“It’s sir to you, sweetheart”, his voice low and gentle, but commanding. Goosebumps scatter across your skin, making you shiver in response when his palms slide up your waist. 

You never saw it coming—from the second his hand grabbed yours, pulling you away from Jongho, his eyes locked into yours for a moment before he turns to Jongho, then to the car ride back, where you noticed the way his knuckles turned pale from gripping the steering wheel. On the walk to his car, you asked him where you were going, and all he did was turn to you and reply, “We’ve got things to talk about, don’t we, sweetheart?”

Now you’re becoming undone once more under San’s touches, trapped beneath him like the first time, now at his place, on his fucking couch instead. 

“It was just foolish of me to just let it be, wasn’t it?” He asks. “Fucking you dumb on my desk wasn’t a good enough indicator, was it?”

“S-sir…!”

“And you think it’s cute getting all cuddly with Jongho? Letting him kiss you all over, touch you all over?” San mutters, his fingers wrapped around your throat, his grip tightening slightly and you’re sure he’s about to leave light imprints. 

But oh, was it so fucking exhilarating—the thought of Choi San riled up like that, a sight you’ve never seen before, and you’re not sure if fear or excitement running through your veins right now, but what you do know, is that if he finds out that your panties are completely soaked through, you’re fucking done for. 

His lips collide with yours again, branding himself as some kind of oxygen thief when he’s turning your mind into complete mush. 

“I’m not sure if it’s a little game to you sweetheart, but if it is, I think you need a reminder.”

You breathlessly look up at him, and he looks ethereal even when he’s panting and looking pissed as hell. 

“What reminder, sir?” You dare ask back. 

The side of San’s lips tugs upwards. His hand leaves your throat and trails down your blouse, effortlessly unbuttoning the apparel until he tugs it off you, panting at the sight of your tits hugged by your lace bra. Your bottoms are off again on the floor of his bedroom, alongside any ounce of rationale. Your soaked panties are agonisingly pulled off your legs, and before you know it, his hands spread them open too. It takes all of San’s self-control to not stuff you full. At least, not yet.

“It’s my cock you’re gonna cum all over. Even when you have another guy’s lips on yours, it’s my name you’re gonna fucking scream.”

Oh. Oh god. 

The pieces of what Jongho was trying to do suddenly come together, unfortunately, the realisation doesn’t last long because San has his lips greedily on yours again on top of the way his full-blown erection is pressing onto your pussy. 

“Sir”, you manage out a weak mutter when he finally pulls away, trying to press and grind against his clothed dick for some friction or anything to rid the burn that’s going through your body. But San remains still. 

“Use your words since you love using your mouth so much.” Like kissing Choi Jongho. 

Your mind is a complete puddle. 

“I really…fuck. I really need you to fuck me right now, sir”, you beg, red flushing your cheeks, but it’s not from the shame. There’s a feral glint in San’s eyes that you don’t miss. 

“No”, is all he answers, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach. 

“Not until I’ve fucked your mouth full, sweetheart.” 

All you can do is watch him speechlessly as he hooks his index finger on the knot of his tie and loosens it, unraveling it back to its original form. 

“Hands together”, he commands you, and you do so immediately, basking in the scent of his cologne while he leans into you, his hands tying knots around your wrists with his tie. “Don’t let it loosen, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. Now on your knees.” 

You’ve never dropped to your knees so fast.

San forces you to watch him unbutton and lower the fly of his trousers, and you’re just doing your best not to get drool on his expensive carpet. 

When his cock springs out, you’re also forced to watch him fuck his palm at a slow pace, drinking in his groans, slick staining your inner thighs, and the fucking floor next if you don’t do anything. 

His cock is heavy against your cheek when he taps it there, and your tongue slips out of your mouth by instinct, given experimental kitten licks on his slit, before his fingers catch your chin, and he forces you to look up at him. 

“Look at me”, he instructs. 

You do. You do your best not to break the eye contact, trying not to be sidetracked by his big fucking cock, but your eyes can’t help but dart to his appendage. 

“No, keep your eyes on me”, he redirects once more, his fingers fixing your head in place. 

Then he slides his cock into your mouth and pulls out a choked moan from you. 

“That’s it. Good girl”, he grunts when you start bobbing your head, fucking his cock with your mouth. 

His fingers trail to the back of your head, but he’s using all of his strength not to force your head down. 

But as you pick up the momentum, it’s an automatic reaction to push your head down so his cock hits the back of your throat. Your eyes are watering but fuck you feel like you’re in fucking heaven. Your head spins whenever his wet cock is forced down your tight throat, and you break eye contact a few times, which San has to tap your jaw to make you keep eye contact while he fucks your face. 

“I’m cumming, sweetheart. Fuck. Keep that pretty little mouth open for me yeah?” He groans, bucking his hips, letting streaks of warm white paint your throat and mouth, watching the way you’re looking up at him with doe eyes, taking his cum in your mouth like a good girl. His good girl. 

He smudges his thumb against the corner of your lips before his arms carry you up, only to dump you on the couch.

Your back is on the couch again, hands still tied behind your back and legs up with San pressing his body weight on you.

He props your leg on his shoulder, and he stretches you open inch by inch. You gasp when he fills you up, your walls immediately clenching around him. 

“So fuckin tight for me, sweetheart. You take me so well.”

His thrusts are growing more aggressive mixed in with the possession that’s bleeding in and it’s setting your whole body on fire. Your words are caught in your throat when he’s buried into you to the hilt. He groans at the way your pussy is fluttering pathetically against him. 

It feels so fucking good that nothing but stars engulf your vision when his cock stuffs you full to the hilt again. His name leaves your lips like a mantra on top of broken moans and whimpers, and it only makes San fill up the space in your pussy all the more better. 

His shoulders are so wide that he’s towering over you, his fingers forcing you to face him whenever you’re drifting because of the pleasure, his eyes feral when you look so fucked out for him. And when he combines his heavy thrusts with a squeeze around your throat, it makes your mind shut off and your cunt cream all over his dick.

“Good girl, looking all so fucked out for me.”

 His cock is hitting all the perfect spots, and it’s driving you insane with the knot tightening in your stomach at such a fast pace. You think you’re sliding off the couch but San isn’t letting you—especially not when his thrusts are keeping you on the couch. His name continues to leave your lips in broken moans every time he fucks you. 

San snakes his fingers to your scalp and he tugs sharply, enough to force you to look up at him. You’re tearing up again, and it feels so fucking good with the way he’s keeping your hair tugged while he fucks the ever-loving shit out of you.

“My name does sound much better when you’re crying it doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

You choke back a moan when he hits your g-spot once more.

“Y-yes sir.” 

“How are you feeling?”

“Full. So full sir. Want more. Please. Need you to ruin me”, you beg once more, your mind floating in an endless euphoria.

“Oh, I definitely will”, San hums, watching in sheer pleasure as your eyes roll back when his cockhead presses perfectly against your g-spot over and over.

Before you realise it, your orgasm hits you like fucking train, spreading through your body like a fucking wildfire, engulfing every crevice of your body. 

He’s gonna break you, and you’re fucking loving it. 

“San-“, you cry out, not registering the way he’s wiping the tears off your eyes. “So good. You feel so good. Cumming so much-“ 

“I know, sweetheart. It feels so fucking good doesn’t it?” He asks with a smile, satisfied when you nod frantically while he rubs your thighs.

Your thighs are shaking from how good this all feels, cream staining your inner thighs and his cock when he pulls out. 

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart”, San reminds you. 

He turns you over, keeping one hand on your tied hands, while the other pressing your head against the back of the couch. He lines his cock back to your cunt, pushing into your hole once more. You choke on your moans again, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes until he’s fully seated in you once more. 

The sounds are even wetter now, especially when you’re overstimulated, pussy just being so perfectly abused by Choi San. You fucking love the way his hands are around your neck, forcing you against the cushions when he fucks you dumb from the back. 

Your stomach is in knots once more, the feeling building up faster than the previous time, and all you can mutter is that it feels so good. San thinks you’re so fucking adorable when you’re not having banters with him and being this cock drunk for him. 

Then he pulls you off the couch, letting you catch a breath before he sits you on his lap, his cock still buried in your cunt, and starts bouncing you off his cock from below.

He alternates between melting your brain with his pornographic moans right at your ear and planting more love bites down your jaw. 

“Gonna cum again. You feel so fucking good in me. Oh god”, you hiccup through your tears, the sensitivity pushing your limit. 

“Cum as hard as you want, sweetheart. I’ll let you milk me dry, fill you up so fucking good that you’ll be leaking with my cum for the next two days.” 

That was enough to set you off. Your pussy convulses when your second orgasm hits, fireworks bursting in your eyelids, long drawn-out cries while San fills your tight cunt with his warm and thick cum, while his groans fill up in your ears. You feel his fingers massaging your thighs, coaxing you from your high. 

You’re dizzy, and light-headed as your head slumps against his shoulders, too spent to acknowledge the male behind you leaving more marks down your neck. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” San breaks the momentary silence, well aware that his softening cock is still in you. 

Your hand flies up to his chest to stop him, even though you’re still recovering from seeing stars. 

“We need to talk-“

“After we clean up”, he cuts you off, lifting you off his cock and carrying you bridal style to his bathroom. 

But you’re stubborn. 

“N-no. It wasn’t what you thought it was”, you say, feeling your tears well up in your eyes on top of the weight. 

The prickles are starting to form at the bottom of San’s heart, but he’s more focused on trying to hose you down with warm water. But he’s listening you run your mouth, not that he minded. 

“We didn’t kiss”, you reiterate. 

Now he’s just confused. He stares at you. 

“We just had sex, y/n”, San reminds you, trying not to let the red reach his cheeks. 

“No—I mean Jongho and I. We didn’t kiss”, you clarify.

San doesn’t really know if he should believe your words or his eyes, but now he’s focused on lathering your hair and body. 

“That wasn’t what I saw”, he replies, avoiding eye contact. 

“That’s cause we did this-“ you huff, turning his head to face you, imitating the way Jongho had slid his thumb between your lips and his, demonstrating San the fake kiss. 

San only stares at you wordlessly when you pull back, only more questions than answers. 

“But why would he do that for?”

“He was trying to rile you up.”

“For what?”

“To see if you felt anything for me?”

“By kissing you?”

Oh god. It felt like the more you explained, the more San was getting the wrong ideas. You let your head sit in your hands, unsure if it’s from the embarrassment or the fact that you don’t even know where to start. 

“It wasn’t a kiss, Choi San”, you groaned, your hands leaving your face, suddenly self-conscious that San is staring intently at you. “After we, um, fucked the first time, you acted like nothing happened, and I felt like shit about it, and I told Jongho and then…” you trail off, feeling your cheeks heat up again. It’s probably the hot water, at least that’s what you try to convince yourself with.

“I don’t kiss people I’m not in love with, San”, you sigh in defeat. Your eyes are downcast, but you feel his fingers cup your cheeks, and his lips press onto yours. You swear you could go another round again. 

The silence hangs in the air for a while, only the sounds of the shower filling the emptiness when he pulls back. 

“I didn’t do anything since after that evening because I wanted to properly tell you after the term ended.”

“Tell me what?”

“That I’m in love with you, too.”

You blink. Somehow that shocked you more than the both times he fucked your brains out. 

You don’t answer him because your head is just swarming with so many thoughts, and San lets you do so, satisfied that he’s finally have you quieten down so he can finish washing you up. 

Even when he’s dressed you in his oversized hoodie, San peppers you with kisses, basking in the way you sometimes cover his face with your hands to stop him, which only rouses him to continue to attack you with his lips.

San’s arms are tight around you when the both of you are finally on his bed. You smell like his favourite body soap and he can’t seem to get enough of it—nuzzling against the crook of your neck, muttering sweet nothings. You think this is probably your favourite version of Professor Choi. 

Your fingers twirl around his splayed-out locks, and you speak. 

“Prof Choi”, you tease, and San looks up, and it’s the first time you actually see him pout—it almost makes you combust. 

“I told you to stop calling me that”, he frowns, burying his face, feigning trying to cut off physical contact from you, which only makes you laugh in response. 

“I just wanted to disturb you”, you respond, trying to yank him back into your arms. “I do have a question though.”

His head pops up from his pillows and he stares at you, waiting for you to speak. 

“When did you realise you had feelings for me?”

He pauses, giving himself a couple of minutes to think. 

“The moment I received your teaching assistant application.”

<divider> 

📚 Bonus Epilogue 📚

“Prof Choi!” One of his teaching assistants calls out to him. 

He turns his head and attention to her, pushing up his glasses. 

“Yes?” 

“I need help with this part of the assignment. Could you help me check that I’ve marked it correctly?”

San nods, taking the papers from her. 

As he scans through her work, the teaching assistant’s eyes glance down at the band hugging his ring finger. 

“Prof, you’re married?”

San pauses his writing to glance at the glistening gold on his finger, and a small smile spreads across his cheeks. 

“You know, I used to wear a ring on my ring finger so students would stop asking me if I was married or not.”

She raises her eyebrows, her curiosity piqued. “So you’re not?”

“I am.”

Her eyes brighten, invested in her handsome professor’s love story. 

“Tell me more then”, she asks. 

San scoffs playfully, turning his gaze to her. 

“All I can tell you is that she’s always been my favourite.”

taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @pre1ttyies @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @ywtf @woojirang @yuyusgirl

@jeon-ify @itza-meee @miss-fallon @hwallazia @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @yunhogrippers @watermelon2319 @vampiregirl215 @kibs-and-bits @s-h-y-a @liyahbug05-blog @luvt0kki @httpseungmxn @vic0921 @sanhwajoong @bitejoongie @no1likevie

network: @atzhouse @cultofdionysusnet @cromernet

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LDWL masterlist!!

Summary: Fei Kai moved to South Korea to get a fresh start. The fresh start included a man with curly hair and glasses.

Story warnings: Single mother! Kai x Ex military! Changbin. Strangers to lovers. Enemies to lovers. 3rd person. Disabled! Changbin. Kai flirts with people as always. Kai has a toddler. Suggestive in many chapters. Themes of PTSD.

Chapter 1

1.4k word count. Written on mobile. Chapter warnings: themes of imposter syndrome. Kai has a bad relationship with her parents. Han being a douchebag.

Chapter 2

2.2k word count. Chapter warnings: a wee bit of violence

Chapter 3

2.7k Word Count. Chapter Warnings: Time skip, Angst towards the end, suggestive teasing(in like, one line), Kai getting hurt(Signs of a concussion), Changbin being slightly violent(he pushes Kai away from him), graphic depictions of traumatic scarring, self image issues(Changbin), a bit of fear of abandonment/fear of being replaced(Changbin again. Mans going through it)

Chapter 4

1.9k Word Count. Chapter Warnings: Concussion symptoms(No treatment), Alcohol, Drunk Han and Felix, Changbin not knowing how to be a big boy and handle his emotions, emotionally constipated Changbin

Chapter 5

2.6k word count. Chapter Warnings: Fleeting mentions of Night Terrors, Blood, Graphic depictions of bodily harm and death, How Chanbin lost his leg, Both Kai and Changbin being emotionally immature, both Kai and Changbin need to touch grass, one suggestive scene(Kai is naked, Changbin needs to stop being curious), angsty

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Extra: Memes, Playlist, incorrect quotes

Tags!: @mynameisnotlaura, @palindrome969

comment if you want to be on the taglist

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LOWKEY — lee minho

pairing: minho x fem!reader genre: smut, angst, fluff, friends with benefits!au word count: 10k warnings: 18+ mdni. fingering (f. rec), semi-public sex, oral (m. rec), kitchen sex lol, unprotected sex, praise kink, overstimulation, this is my attempt at writing smth NOT laced w humor please bear w me ok... its a hard life trying not to be funny </3

summary: catching feelings for lee minho was inevitable from the start. falling for him is as easy as breathing, but how are you supposed to let him know how you feel when you spend more time fucking him than talking to him? OR, the only thing you're more scared of than losing minho is loving him.

"Minho—" you pant. "We're—mmph—we're going to g-get caught."

"Not if you shut up."

He tightens his grip on your hair, gathering it in a makeshift ponytail at the base of your neck.

"That's not fair," you hiss, but the tail end of your sentence breaks off in a moan as his fingers curl upwards inside you. "—Oh, right there."

"Yeah?" Minho mutters, and the rasp of his voice—calm and collected and outlined with just the tiniest bit of ego—is so hot you can't stop yourself from clenching around his fingers.

"And what's not fair, exactly?"

The answer to that question is so easy it is laughable. The words are on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill over: it's not fair that you are so weak for him. That just one look melts you into a puddle, that just one touch sets you alight.

It's not fair that you can't resist him no matter how hard you try (and oh, have you tried.)

Instead, your response is only one word.

"You."

The single syllable slips from your lips right as Minho lays an open mouthed kiss on your pulse point, tugging your hair to the side and baring your neck to him for better access.

His mouth is wet and hot and he flicks his tongue out against your neck. You bite your lip and inhale but remain silent otherwise.

A moment later, he licks a long stripe down your feverish skin in retaliation.

"Really?" Minho raises a brow, his words vibrating against the curve of your throat. "Should I stop, then?"

Inside of you, his fingers come to a painful halt. The loss of movement is visceral, but you are determined to make sure he doesn't know just how frustrated you are, and so you bite your lip hard to remain silent.

"Doesn't matter to me," you say breathlessly.

If this had been a few weeks ago, you probably would have already been begging him to fuck you however he wanted to. If this had been a few weeks ago, your mind would have been blank and your senses would have been overloaded.

But it's not. By now, you've hooked up with Minho countless times—by now, you are in so deep that you aren't willing to (can't) let him know just how much of an effect he has on you.

And so, resolutely, you remain silent.

Still...

You can just imagine how the two of you look right now. Minho, pressing you against the wall in this dark corridor, his body flush against you, his fingers inside you, his mouth against your neck.

Your hands are clinging to his shoulders, your skirt is flipped up, and your skin is so flushed from pleasure and pain both that you think you might pass out soon if he doesn't hurry up.

It's lewd, the way that the image only makes the whole thing hotter. Especially when you weren't supposed to end up like this in the first place.

Downstairs, you can hear the muffled thump of some awful EDM music from the party below. You are supposed to be down there. Today was supposed to be the day when you—finally—were able to think with your head instead of your pussy and actually, truly, be strong enough to resist Lee Minho.

But then he walked into the party with his mischievous smirk and those sinfully tight vinyl pants that he knows you love, and, well... You were a goner.

You didn't even try to resist when, a few hours later, he grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you up the stairs. Not when he pushed you up against the wall and pressed his lips against yours, and definitely not when he hiked your skirt up and slid two fingers inside of you.

It was pathetic, how easily Minho could get you to fold. His hold over you was rapturous, and frankly, rather worrying, considering that the two of you were nothing more than friends that fucked sometimes.

"Doesn't matter?" Minho asks. The look on his face is a familiar one, and the competitive gleam sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

The two fingers inside of you remain frozen, but then he lifts his thumb and without warning, presses hard on your clit.

"Oh."

You are unable to stop the breathy moan that slips past your lips, and the satisfied curve of his mouth lets you know that he definitely heard it.

"Hmmm," he muses, and then his fingers are moving once again. His thumb remains on your clit, rubbing tight and precise circles until you see you stars.

Despite your best efforts, your breathing stutters, coming out faster and deeper as pleasure branches outwards through your body.

"I think it does," Minho breathes in your ear.

"No-oh," you shake your head.

His smirk widens as your eyes begin to droop. You don't even have to know what you look like to know you look absolutely fucked out right now—but the longer he continues his skillful ministrations, the less you find yourself caring about standing your ground.

He is just so good with his hands. He smells perfect and feels perfect and is perfect, and the closer he brings you to your orgasm, the less it seems to matter that you have feelings for the man knuckles deep inside of you.

"Are you gonna cum for me, baby?" He asks, and the goading curve of his voice makes the words sound like a taunt, like a challenge.

Stubbornly, you refuse to submit.

"M-maybe," you breathe out.

By now, you are gripping his forearms for support, and his hand in your hair drops to your waist, pulling you even closer to you while simultaneously supporting some of your weight. Underneath you, his fingers continue to work you open with precision that has your thighs quavering.

"And what if I don't want you to cum?" Minho meets your unwavering gaze with his own, moving his thumb quicker against your clit still.

The words are a cruel suggestion, and yet accompanied with the heated look in his eyes, they send a shot of arousal straight to your core. You clench around his fingers once more, and he inhales sharply.

"I-I'll find someone else t-to help, then," you say, but the words hold no real threat. You and Minho both know that you would never, and yet his gaze still narrows at the thought.

"I don't think so," he coos, his dark eyes an unmistakable juxtaposition to his sweet tone.

And then his lips are on yours, devouring you in a messy kiss that is mostly tongue, but some teeth too. The passion in the kiss takes your breath away, and your brain short circuits as his fingers speed up, hooking upwards just right to brush against your spongy g-spot.

Simultaneously, his mouth trails down from the corner of your lips to the column of your neck, and the sensation overload is too much for you. This time, despite your best efforts, you can't stop the moan that slips past your lips.

"Who else can make you feel this good, hmm?" Minho asks, punctuating his words with a particularly vicious thrust of his fingers.

You can tell your high is cresting closer and closer, and the sheer pleasure makes it hard for you to find your words.

His teeth nip at your neck, sucking a deep purple bruise into your skin as the pad of his thumb continues to rub hard and fast against your clit.

"Answer me," Minho says lowly.

You shake your head instead, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as a whine builds in the back of your throat.

"I asked you a question, Y/N." His voice is dangerous, the threat clear when he digs his thumb unforgivingly against you.

"N-No one," you choke out, clenching around his fingers once more. "Only... O-only you."

"That's what I thought."

He is satisfied by your answer, if the movement of his fingers are anything to go off of.

"M-Minho," you pant, your eyelids sliding fully shut. "I-I—"

"Fuck," he groans under his breath, the wet sound of his fingers getting louder and louder.

"I'm s-so close," you whimper.

"I know, baby." His voice sounds strangled, and the thought of how hot he must look right now is the only thing that gives you the strength to open your eyes.

Minho's brow is furrowed in concentration, his face drawn taut as he continues to work his fingers in and out of you. The determination inscribed on his face is even hotter than you imagined it would be. Even outside of the bedroom, it is one of your favorite things about him.

The reminder of it now, however, makes this—a simple quickie at some random party—somehow feel that much more intimate, and it sends a weird pang through your chest.

"Come for me," he whispers then, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he looks up at you with his wide, blown-out brown eyes.

And that—that is what finally sends you over the edge.

"Mmph!" With a muffled whimper, your orgasm hits you, and Minho groans unabashedly at the clenching of your walls around him.

His fingers fuck you through your high, and the entire time, his eyes remain firmly on yours. The desire in his gaze is evident even through the haze of bliss, but there is an undercurrent of something more there, too—something that you don't quite pick up until the after effects of the orgasm have worn off and he is sliding his fingers out of you.

There is something tender about the way he sets you down gently, smoothing your skirt down and patting your hair until it looks less like he finger-fucked you in a dark hallway and more like he was trying to show you where the bathroom is.

But when you look up at him, his face is blank, and you are reminded once again that this isn't special, that he has probably done this countless times before. After all, Minho could have anyone he wanted—in fact, he probably has at some point.

The arrangement between the two of you is just convenient, and there isn't anything more to it. Not for him, anyways. In this equation, you are the sole outlier, the only actual problem.

"Can I..." Your voice trails off, hoarse and slightly awkward in the muffled silence of the hallway.

Your eyes are glued to Minho, watching as he adjusts himself in his pants.

"Can I help you with that?"

You already know the answer before he says it.

"Nah, 'm good," he says easily, a loose smirk on his lips as he runs a hand through his hair. If it wasn't for his blown-out pupils, you would have thought that you didn't affect him at all.

Still, your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach anyways.

His words echo inside your head, and you're sure that he must have figured out the way you feel about him. When you first started sleeping together, Minho had been obsessed with your mouth. Nothing quite got him off the way that you, on your knees in front of him did.

But recently, he has been staunchly rejecting your advances, and you can't think of an answer for why, except one: that he must know that you are in love with him, and he doesn't quite know how to let you down easy.

And, despite how much the thought hurts, you can't quite blame him for it. After all, when you both started this whole thing months ago—on a night with a few too many shots and a scandalously tight dress—the terms had been clear: that this was just sex, nothing more.

You and Minho had never been particularly close; in fact, before you started fucking, you were barely friends. You just happened to run in the same circles, and your best friends somehow ended up also being his best friends.

That is exactly why, after the first time you slept together, the first thing you agreed on was that things would end the moment feelings got involved. Anything that compromised your mutual friendships wasn't worth it, you both concluded.

Except, somehow, feelings got involved for you anyways, and you didn't do anything to stop it.

Which is why, after all this time of shoving down how you feel about Minho, you are left with only one choice.

"Minho," you say quietly after a moment. "I think we should stop doing this."

He pauses where he is straightening out his shirt, his hands frozen in place on the hem of his top. A moment passes. Two.

Then he looks up at you, his expression painfully devoid of any emotion.

Here is the thing: Lee Minho has always been a mystery to you, impossible to read in most circumstances, and difficult to unravel in the rest. But throughout the past few months, you thought you were slowly worming your way past his hard exterior, maybe even learning the puzzle pieces that consist of the real him.

The impassive look on his face, however, tells you otherwise.

And then, finally, he opens his mouth and simply says, "okay."

It is just a single word. One straightforward, lonely word.

And yet, it feels like an arrow through your chest. Your reaction is physical, visceral, as goosebumps trail down your arms and the blood thrums viciously through your ears.

This is what you wanted. This is what you needed—to end things right here, before you could fall any deeper, and for Minho to accept it with no questions at all.

This is what you wanted... So why does it feel like your heart has been cracked in two?

Maybe the third bottle of soju wasn't the brightest idea.

Maybe letting Jisung bully you into coming out tonight, after endless days spent moping alone, wasn't the brightest idea.

Maybe, in fact, fucking Lee Minho and then promptly falling in love with him wasn't the brightest idea.

Then again, you never were one for bright ideas. That is why it is no surprise that, two weeks after you end things with Minho, you find yourself shoved between Felix and Jisung at your favorite barbecue place as you down yet another shot.

The alcohol-induced haze of the night blurs the edges of your vision and your face sports a healthy, fuzzy flush, but no amount of alcohol is enough for you to ignore the elephant in the room with you.

The elephant being, of course, Lee Minho himself.

You had been proud of how diligently you managed to avoid him over the past week. Sure, it is kind of hard to run into a person when you hardly leave your bedroom, but still, the fact stood: you hadn't seen Minho since the party. It had been wishful thinking, hoping that you would be able to avoid him forever.

And yet, you still didn't think it would happen this soon. You hoped beyond all hope that you would be able to avoid seeing him for at least however long it would take for you to sort out your stupid little feelings for him. Then, things could go back to normal. Or, at least as normal as things could be.

The scheme was perfect, too—you and Minho had never been friends anyways, so it wouldn't be suspicious if you two suddenly weren't on speaking terms anymore. And none of your friends knew about the arrangement (aka fucking each others brains out) so it wouldn't make much of a difference to them now that it was over.

Except, in your endless consideration of how to navigate the aftermath, you forgot to take into account one very important factor: Han Jisung.

And perhaps it was stupid of you to think that Minho wouldn't be here tonight. But when Jisung basically dragged you out of your apartment, telling you that the guys were already at the restaurant waiting—well, you missed actual human interaction just enough to forget that wherever Jisung goes, so does Minho.

Which is how you ended up here—sat as far away from Minho as humanly possible, absorbed in some conversation with Felix about his most recent gaming obsession.

"Okay, that's enough of that," Jisung declares drunkenly, his eyes narrowed in on you.

His cheeks sport a warm flush, and his jacket has been abandoned on the back of his chair. The exposed biceps tell you one thing: he's well on his way to full-on drunk mode. If you were a little less absorbed in your own despair, you would have been worried about where he was going to end the night; but you aren't, and so all you can do is raise an eyebrow at him.

"When are you going to tell me what's been going on with you?"

"What do you mean?" You ask, your voice sounding much more level than you feel.

"Something's been off lately," Jisung frowns, "and I was trying to be a good friend, y'know, waiting for you to come to me first and tell me what it is, but it's been weeks!"

"Off?" You laugh awkwardly.

"Off?" Jisung mocks, his face scrunching up as he glares at you. "Yes, off! What the fuck is going on with you?"

"Nothing, Ji," you roll your eyes.

And then, because you can't help it, your eyes drift over to Minho. It is only for a split second, but his attention is focused completely on his food and he doesn't notice.

Not for the first time tonight, your heart clenches.

"I don't believe you," Jisung declares.

"Work's just been a bitch," you sigh. "But seriously, I'm fine. A little tired, but that's all..."

His expression twists in distrust, but there must be something written on your face that even he recognizes, because he decides not to push it any further.

That, or he's reached the point of the night where he starts to lose object permanence and he simply can't see your face anymore.

"Lee Minho, I didn't know you still remembered us," A boisterous voice drags the attention away from you.

Hyunjin, another one of your mutual friends, stumbles over to where Minho is, a bottle in his hands and a playful pout plastered across his face.

"Sorry, who are you?" Minho grins at him, and it is both the first time you have heard him speak and the first time you have seen him smile in two weeks.

It should be criminal, the way your heart flutters at such a simple act.

"Shut up," Hyunjin flops down in the empty chair next to him. "Feels like I haven't seen you in forever."

You want to look away, but it's the first time that Minho has glanced up all night, and now that Jisung's attention has been captured by Changbin, you find that you simply cannot.

"It's been, like, a week," Minho points out.

"It's been two, actually," Hyunjin complains. "You cancelled dinner with me last Friday, so we haven't seen each other since Chan's party."

Minho is silent for a moment. You wonder if he's thinking about what happened at that party—if he's thinking about the dark hallway, his fingers inside of you. If he's thinking about you at all.

He barely even takes a breath, and you think for a moment that he might finally turn and look at you.

But then, the corner of his mouth turns upwards in a smirk.

"I didn't know you were this obsessed with me, Hwang," he teases. "If you want my attention, all you have to do is ask."

"Shut up," Hyunjin says again. "Stop it, I'm mad at you! You barely even said hi to me that night before you disappeared to God knows where. Where's the love and appreciation for your friends, huh? What do you have to say for yourself?"

"When has Minho ever apologized for ditching you for a girl?" Seungmin interrupts from a few chairs down.

A scandalized gasp escapes Hyunjin's lips and your eyes shoot down to the table immediately, embarrassment searing through you.

Nobody knows that you are the girl Seungmin is talking about, and yet you can't help but feel like he has just turned on a glaring spotlight and shined it directly onto you.

Before you can think twice, you pour yourself another shot and throw it back.

"You abandoned me for sex?" Hyunjin screeches, smacking his arm.

"I did not," Minho denies.

And, well, technically it's true. After all, it wasn't anything more than a little fingering in a dark hallway.

"Yeah," Seungmin snorts. "That's why he didn't come home until the next morning."

Or... is it true?

Just because he didn't have sex with you doesn't mean that he didn't have sex at all...

Maybe, in fact, after you left him high and dry, he decided to try his luck with someone else. It wouldn't have been hard to find someone willing—not when he's Lee fucking Minho.

The thought of him caring so little about you makes your stomach turn violently. You were never exclusive, so he was never obligated to only hook up with you, and yet you find that you can't stomach the idea that he chose someone else anyways. That he didn't even hesitate after you ended things pierces you like a bullet, and your next few breaths come out shallow.

This time, you can't stop yourself from staring at him. You're waiting for him to deny it—waiting for him to tell Seungmin to stop fucking around, for him to say something, anything.

Instead, he remains painfully silent, which is all the answer you need.

"You bitch," Hyunjin says, but his voice fades into the background as you try to process the slew of emotions this revelation brings.

And then, for the first time all night, Minho looks up at you.

It's just for a second, if even that, but it is enough to push you over the edge. His buttery gaze is just as it always is—wide and curious, and you feel like you can't breathe.

Abruptly, you push your chair back and stand up.

"What...?" Jisung slurs through his drunken haze, a confused sort of concern on his face.

"I need some air," you tell him. "Feeling a little stuffy in here."

"Want me to come with?" He offers immediately, but the way he sways in his seat makes you wonder if he's even capable of standing, let alone walking.

"I'm fine," you assure him. "I'll be back in a few."

And then, before someone can stop you, or worse, before you implode, you stride towards the exit of the restaurant.

Despite being the middle of summer, the outside air is surprisingly cool. The low buzz of the city at night normally calms you, yet you find yourself feeling only slightly less suffocated than you had only moments before.

Your mind is as it has been for the past few months: occupied by thoughts of the one person you've been trying so desperately to forget.

God, you wish someone would knock some sense into you.

What's so special about Lee Minho, anyways? It's not fair that just one look at him sends your heart racing and your mind spiraling, that just one look from him makes you wish the ground would swallow you whole...

With a sigh you slide down into a squat, gripping the strap of your purse tightly as you take a deep breath.

You didn't think that you had drank that much, but the sudden movement has your head spinning. Your brain feels squeezed tight, your skull feels stuffed with cotton balls, and when you blink slowly, the world looks a degree warmer than it had before.

"You okay there?"

And of course, you have reached the point of drunkness where the familiar timbre of his voice that has haunted your dreams for the past few weeks is now haunting your every waking moment.

Two and a half soju bottles must be just the correct amount for your brain to conjure up an image of Lee Minho for you.

"Go away," you mutter, annoyed that even your subconscious was unable to let go of him.

"No thank you."

"You're talking too much," you pout. "I don't like it."

"Sorry," fake-Minho responds with a laugh, and you pout even more thinking about how real-Minho would have laughed at you if he could see you too.

"You should be," you say.

You sway where you are squatting, caught off guard by how light you feel. Alcohol has always had a tendency to exacerbate your clumsiness, and, well—let's just say your sense of balance isn't that good to begin with.

"Woah," fake-Minho says, and then a hand is on your back, steadying you.

"Seriously, are you okay? Should I get you water or something?"

"What...?"

It takes a moment for the warmth of his skin to register. Almost belatedly, your gaze snaps upwards to the man towering over you.

Because right there, looking as perfect as he always has, the real Minho stares down at you, concern furrowed between the ridges of his brow.

"O-Oh my god," you scramble backwards.

Embarrassment colors your cheeks even as Minho bends down to your level. He reaches for you, as if to offer assistance, but at the last moment pulls away.

"Y/N," hesitancy drips from his voice, and it kills you just how delicious your name sounds falling from his lips.

"I-I'm fine!" You insist, suddenly feeling more sober than you had only moments ago.

Somehow, in your rush to get away from him, you manage to push yourself up from the ground without his help. Your back feels exceptionally cold and you try to ignore the absence of his touch as you stand up straight.

"Okay," Minho says, his voice level as he pushes himself up too.

A moment of silence passes as you try to calm your racing heart. What, exactly, is the correct way to act when interacting with a former fuck buddy who you just so happen to be hopelessly in love with? You would love to know the answer to that.

"S-So," your voice comes out shrill and you wince. "How have you been?"

"Good," Minho nods. "What about you?"

"Yeah, me too."

A crisp breeze ripples through the night air and your grip on your purse tightens.

You can't look at Minho—even the thought of it is overwhelming, and so your gaze focuses on the street as cars pass by. Inside the restaurant, a round of laughter trickles out to you. You wish you were there with them.

"I—" You begin, your brain desperately scheming for ways to get as far away from Minho as quickly as possible.

"That night," he clears his throat, interrupting you. "After you—left. I didn't... I didn't hook up with anyone else."

Far away, the angry sound of a car horn reaches your ears.

"Right," you nod, not really understanding the words coming out of his mouth. "Um. You don't need to, like, justify yourself."

It's a herculean effort to keep your tone steady, to try and sound uninterested even as your stomach turns violently.

"I just wanted you to know that," Minho says, his dark eyes focused on you.

"Okay."

Why is he telling you this? You want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. You want to yell at him until he leaves you alone. You want to pull him close and beg him to kiss you.

Instead, you roll your shoulders back and purse your lips.

"Well," you try to make yourself sound more cheery than you feel. "It was nice seeing you. I think I'm going to go home now—woah!"

Your efforts to seem cool and collected are ruined when you take a step forward on wobbly knees that decide now is the perfect time to give out. And of course, in a horrible stroke of luck, Minho somehow manages to anticipate your stumble before it happens.

In only a split second, he's right in front of you, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you.

"Are you okay?" He asks, concern shining in his eyes.

You waste no time in shoving him off of you, brushing his question off.

"Well, let me take you home at least," Minho says finally.

"No!" You exclaim sharply. "I'll be fine on my own!"

He raises a brow. "Really?"

"Yes," you insist. "Jisung can take me home. You don't have to worry."

"Don't be silly," Minho rolls his eyes. "Jisung is so drunk he can't even stand."

One glance into the restaurant is all the confirmation you need to know he is telling the truth. At the table, Jisung is slumped over and can barely lift his head, even as Changbin continues to badger him.

"Just let me walk you home. Please? If not for your sake, then for mine," Minho implores.

His earnestness is clear, and it is like he knows that you have never been able to say no to him—that, likely, you never will.

"...Fine," you say finally.

Minho's shoulders sag in relief, and the tentative half smile that forms on his face is enough to take your breath away.

You turn quickly, determined not to let yourself spiral any deeper.

The only saving grace of the night is that Jisung, in all his glorious idiocy, actually chose a restaurant close to your apartment. Minho remains quiet the entire seven minute walk back, maintaining a precise pace exactly half a step behind you.

Every time you stumble (more than you care to admit), his hand hovers over your back, ready to catch you, but other than that, it is like he isn't even there.

The alcohol running through your veins makes the journey simultaneously quick and also horribly, painfully long. You can't tell if you have been walking for ten minutes or for ten hours by the time you finally arrive in the lobby of your apartment building.

"Well," you say awkwardly. "Thanks... for walking me home."

"Of course," Minho nods. "Text me when you get up?"

"Right."

That's not going to happen because the first thing you did after you ended things with him was block his number, but you don't tell him that.

The walk towards the elevator is excruciating because of the way his eyes bore holes into your back. All you want to do is turn around, just for one last look at him.

A deep breath leaves you when you remain resolute, and you press the button for the elevator. Except, where it would usually light up, it remains dark.

You press again, and then one more time. Dread rises in your stomach, and when you look up, a big red-lettered "out of service" sign greets you.

"Fuck."

"What's wrong?" Minho asks.

"Elevator's broken," you squeeze out, pinching the bridge of your nose.

A sense of panic swells inside of you—how are you supposed to get home now? You could barely walk here. Climbing the four flights of stairs to your apartment seems the wrong side of possible.

Minho reaches the same conclusion at the same time. His gaze lingers on the elevator and then to you as you chew on your lip, contemplating how long it would take you to sober up like this.

Then he crouches down next to you.

"What—?" You begin, noticing the way he hunches over.

"Get on."

Your jaw drops.

"N-No—"

"Are you going to be difficult again," he sighs, craning his neck to look at you. "Or are you going to listen to me and get on?"

If you were a little less drunk, or if his gaze had been a little less piercing, maybe you would have been able to refuse.

Instead, you purse your lips tightly and you do as he says, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Good," he says, his tone soft and satisfied.

Even in your drunk haze, the single word sends electricity through your entire being. Trying to ignore it, you rest your cheek against his back and relish the feeling of his warmth.

Minho adjusts his grip on your legs, pulling them closer so they wrap around his hips, and the reminder of just how strong he is doesn't do anything to help your situation.

While keeping your distance from him, you were able to deny the visceral effect Lee Minho has on you. In your lowest moments, you were even able to fool yourself into thinking you never cared about him in the first place.

But with him this close, with the scent of him in your knows and the heat of him underneath you, it's undeniable. The soju in your brain and the man carrying you up the stairs to your apartment are confusing enough to cross the wires in your brain.

The only thing you know clearly enough is that you want to hold on tightly and never let go. Your eyelids slide shut, and you decide to savor this moment—no matter how short it is.

"Y/N," Minho murmurs, coming to a stop. "Where are your keys?"

"Purse..." You mumble, not making any move to grab them.

You feel the sensation of him reaching behind, rummaging through your bag, and then the click of a lock echoes.

Beneath your cheek, the soft sound of his breath is like a lullaby. In, out, in, out.

A door opens and then closes, and the familiar scent of your apartment invades your senses. You burrow further into Minho's neck, clinging onto the fading scent of him.

His breath stutters, but you hardly notice as a hum of contentment bubbles up in your chest.

Another door opens and the sound of bare feet padding across carpet fills the room. Then the soft cushion of your mattress appears beneath your legs as he lowers you onto your bed.

"You've got to let go of me," Minho whispers when you cling onto him.

You shake your head, squinting into the darkness of the room. Only a small lamp illuminates the space, casting a warm glow across his face as he looks down at you.

"C'mon," he coaxes, gently prying your fingers apart.

Too hypnotized by the tenderness of his expression, you let him unwrap your arms from around him and lay you down. Your eyes remain on him as he fluffs your pillow and pushes it under your head, before pulling your blanket over you.

Your hand wraps around the edge of the duvet as he trails out of your room. The sound of him rummaging around in the kitchen echoes, then the sound of the tap, and finally Minho appears again.

Your heartbeat kickstarts again at the sight of him, and you want to kick yourself. You feel light and floaty as exhaustion sets in and your eyelids grow heavier. Still, you keep them open, if only to stare at him for a little bit longer.

"I'm going to leave some water here for you," Minho says. "Make sure to drink it."

"Uh huh."

He looks like an angel as he speaks to you, his voice soft.

"Text me or call me if you need anything."

"Yup." The words go in one ear and out the other as you find yourself enraptured by the curve of his jaw, the swoop of his hair, the swell of his lips.

He lifts his hand, as if reaching towards you, but freezes. The cogs in his brain whir almost loud enough for you to hear, even as he slowly lowers his hand again.

"Well..." Minho says, taking half a step back. "Good night."

He turns around and your heart stops. You hardly think as you reach out, your hand wrapping around his wrist.

"Don't go."

He seizes, as if your word have struck every crevice of his body.

"What?"

"Can't you..." you mumble as a strange ache hollows out your chest. "Can you stay with me?"

"Y/N..."

"I know I'm the one who said we should stop..." You whisper. "But... Just this once."

"You're drunk," he says softly, his back still towards you.

"Please?"

He inhales a deep, shuddering breath that wracks his entire frame.

"I'm not going to fuck you while you're drunk," he says tightly.

The words pierce your heart, send a cold chill through your veins as you process them.

"I—no," your voice cracks. "That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, then?"

"I'm cold," you whisper instead.

"I'll bring you a blanket."

"Minho..." His name falls from your lips like a plea.

The room freezes for a moment and you can hear his breaths as clearly as if your cheek was still pressed against his back.

Blood thrums through your ears—you shouldn't have asked him that. You shouldn't have said anything, really, but the alcohol...

Well, now you aren't even sure you can blame your actions on that.

The silence swells, a tidal wave just waiting to break, and right as you are about to take your words back, Minho turns around to face you. His face is a watercolor mural of uncertainty and something else you can't quite place.

Still, he takes a deep breath and slowly walks towards the other side of the bed. When he sits down and stretches his legs out, his movements are almost robotic. His body remains stiff and on top of the duvet.

Your breath hitches a moment later when he lays his arm hesitantly over your waist. It barely touches you, as if he is making a conscious effort to hold it up.

"Better?"

You nod.

The duvet is thick enough that if you try hard, you can pretend like this isn't as intimate as it seems. You can pretend that you can't feel his body heat radiating onto your skin, you can pretend that you don't notice the irregular staccato of his breathing, you can pretend that you didn't just ask him to stay with you. You can pretend that he didn't listen.

But as you hear to the light hum of your heater in the corner, you know that you can't pretend that this isn't the most alive you have felt in weeks.

"I missed you," you breathe out.

"You can't say things like that," Minho says, voice barely there.

"I—"

"You're going to get my hopes up," he murmurs. "And that's mean."

"What?"

He sighs.

"Go to sleep."

"Minho..."

He doesn't respond. You wait, your heart stuck in your throat, to see if he will say anything else. But as the minutes pass and his breathing evens out, the room remains quiet. And even though you don't want to listen to him, even though his words play over and over in your head, eventually you can't deny the pull of sleep that drags you under, too.

A pounding headache snatches you from the deep throes of sleep. When you open your eyes, bright rays of sunlight burn the back of your eyelids and you can't quite remember what you did last night to put you in such an abysmal state.

A glance down at your clothes confirms that when you arrived home, you must have been too drunk to change. Which, now that you think about it... How exactly did you get home last night?

Your head swims when you push yourself up, eyes barely open as you shuck off your current attire in favor of your comfy clothes—aka an oversized shirt that you might have stolen from Minho a few weeks ago and your favorite fuzzy socks.

All you can think about is the Tylenol calling your name from the medicine cabinet as you walk out of your room. The only plus side to your current state is that your roommate isn't here to see how horrible you look.

The pounding in your ears is loud enough to drown out the sizzling coming from the kitchen, strong enough for you to not notice the smell of eggs wafting from the stove.

Unfortunately, it is not potent enough to erase the man standing with your favorite apron wrapped around his waist as he points a spatula at you.

"Good morning."

A surprised yelp leaves your lips as you make eye contact with Minho.

“W-What?”

“I made breakfast.” He says it like its the most normal thing for him to be standing in your apartment, cooking for you.

“…Why are you here?”

He stares at you. “Do you not remember last night?”

Your brow furrows as you think back on the night before. The last thing you remember was taking a step outside of the restaurant to get a breath of fresh air, and then—

Your mouth falls open as the memories flood back—of Minho walking you home, putting you to bed, and…

“You stayed?”

The words come out small and he shrugs.

“You asked me to.”

Your mouth gapes and your stomach turns as you struggle (and fail) to process his words. “But…”

“Sit.” 

Minho takes you by the shoulders and steers you towards the barstool, pushing you down into a seat. You are just disoriented enough to not protest, taking the food of plate he puts in front of you without words.

Your heart flutters when you look down to see he has cooked your eggs just the way you liked them, without even having to ask you. 

“What is this?” You ask faintly.

“Breakfast,” Minho says. “Obviously.”

“No, I mean—” you stutter, but he shushes you.

“Eat first,” he tells you firmly. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m not the one who told you drink so much last night,” he tuts. 

Your lips press together. The reason you were drinking was because of him, but you aren’t sure that’s the best thing to say right now. 

“Eat,” he stresses again. “We’ll talk after.”

“Fine.”

You pick up the fork, torn between threatening him with it or digging into the food he made. In the end, your stomach makes the decision for you when it rumbles loudly. It is slightly uncomfortable the way that he watches you as you eat, but you are so hungry and hungover that the attention eventually fades to the periphery of your awareness as you scarf down the food faster than you probably should.

“Happy?” You ask, setting the fork down.

He nods, taking your plate and putting it in the sink.

“Great. So, about that talk?”

Minho shrugs his shoulder noncommittally, his back facing you as he turns the faucet on and reaches for the dish sponge. He looks so domestic washing your dishes that your stomach clenches.

“Minho,” you push yourself up, walking around the counter to close the distance between you and him.

“Yes?”

“Why are you still here?”

“Is that how you thank someone who just made you breakfast?”

“Stop deflecting,” you say.

“I’m not.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“I already told you.”

You are barely a few feet away from him and he still won’t look at you.

“We aren’t…” you hesitate. “We’re not anything.”

“Believe me, I know,” he mutters.

“Stop acting like this,” you sigh. “Can you answer my question?”

Minho turns off the tap and places the plate on your drying rack.

“What do you want me to say?” He asks finally. 

“The truth, maybe?” You let out, annoyed.

“Really?”

“Yes, really!”

“You want me to tell you that even though it’s only been two weeks since I last saw you, it feels like it’s been forever?”

His words hit you like a punch in the stomach.

“W-What?”

Minho turns around, running a hand through his hair. He still refuses to look at you, but now that you can see his face, you can see the way his expression pinches as he continues on.

“Or that waking up next to you this morning was like a breath of fresh air? That I want to cook you breakfast every day and take you on dates all the time, and tell all our friends about us, and even do cringey things like take those stupid overpriced photobooth pictures because I know how much you like them? That I want to be embarrassing and irritating and overly affectionate with you because I really like you and it kills me that you don’t feel the same way?”

Your jaw drops. Blood thrums through your ears, your head pounds for a reason entirely different than your hangover from last night, and you think your heart might jump out of your throat.

Over the course of the past few months, you have seen Minho in countless compromising positions, but never has he looked more vulnerable than he does now. The rawness of his expression floors you.

And then he takes a deep breath, and the look is gone, his face oddly blank.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice level and controlled. “I didn’t mean to…”

He purses his lips, and you notice his fingers turning white as his digs his nails into his palms. When he notices you looking, he quickly hides his hands behind his back.

“I’m sorry,” Minho repeats. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I meant to keep that to myself—”

“Do you mean it?” You interrupt.

“—What?”

Your words catch him off guard, and for the first time, he turns to look at you. His eyes are wide and confused as they snag on your face.

“Do you mean all that?” You whisper.

He looks at you—really looks at you—and then, candidly, he says, “yes.”

A moment of silence lapses, and then you burst into laughter.

“Oh my god,” you huff. “We’re both so fucking stupid.”

And then, you take a step towards him, wrap your arms around his neck, and pull his lips down to yours.

He doesn’t move, frozen as you press your mouth against him, his hands frozen at his side. And then, a small noise escapes him and he melts into the kiss, his lips working deliciously against yours. His hands press into your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“W-Wait,” he pants, breaking the kiss.

“I—I can’t do this,” Minho says, taking a step away from you. “You said you wanted to end it, I-I don’t want to feel pressured—”

“Minho,” you sigh. “The only reason I ended things is because I liked you too much. I was literally on the verge of confessing any time you even looked at me.”

This time, it’s his turn to look at you with surprise on his face.

“Seriously?”

“Why do you think I was drinking so much last night?” You ask sarcastically.

“…We really are stupid,” he sighs, and then his mouth is on you again. 

This time, he kisses you gently, tenderly. His hands lift to cup your jaw and his lips move slowly against you, sensual in the way they suck and lick against your mouth. Underneath you, your legs turn to jelly and a small moan slips through as his tongue works its way into your mouth. 

“M-Minho—” you gasp when he nips at your tongue, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a way that sends arousal flooding your core.

“I missed you,” his words come out muffled against your mouth. 

“Mmm,” you hum in agreement against his lips. He presses further into you, crowding you back until the countertop presses against your spine.

The two of you are chest to chest, bodies flush against each other as he devours you, the kiss going from sensual to downright carnal as Minho kisses you as if he needs it to breathe. A moan worms its way out of you when you feel the way his dick, hard through his pants, rubs against your stomach.

“Y-You’re so—” you gasp, pulling back from his mouth. “Already worked up, just from a kiss?”

“I’ve been hard since you walked out here in nothing but my shirt,” he says as you catch your breath.

“Well,” you bat your eyelashes, your fingers playing with the zipper of his pants. “Why don’t you let me help with that?”

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth as you slide down to your knees.

His pupils dilate at the visual of you below him, and a positively delicious groan escapes his lips when you nuzzle your face against his bulge.

“Yes, please,” he breathes. 

You unzip his pants dangerously slowly, relishing the way that he watches you with such intensity. Your mouth waters at the thought of his cock, and you swear just the visual of it when you pull him out of his pants is enough to soak your panties.

A finger runs against his slit, light touches collecting his precum on your finger, and he hisses at the feeling. Your eyes stay glued to his when you push the finger into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. The taste of him is familiar and has you moaning against your finger.

“Don’t be such a tease,” he grits out. “Your mouth…”

“You’re the one who has spent the last month rejecting my mouth,” you pout. “And now you want it?”

“God,” he groans. “Because I knew if I had my cock in your mouth, I would have told you in three seconds flat how I feel about you.”

“Hmm…” You feign disinterest, even as your thighs clench together.

His jaw tenses, the muscle tightening, and you decide to put him out of his misery. 

You lean forward, placing a kittenish kiss on the head of his cock, and then you suckle him in your mouth, taking inch by torturous inch down your throat until you have him firmly to the hilt. The press of him against the back of your throat is painful and pleasurable in one, and you moan around him just to tease him.

“Fuck.”

His hand laces through your hair, tugging lightly at your scalp.

When you look up at him through hooded eyes, his tight expression has you pulling back off, your tongue running on the underside of his cock as you go.

“So good,” Minho tells you, and you push yourself further down his length.

He gathers your hair in a ponytail, holding it out of your face for you as you build a slow pace, sucking on the head of his cock every time you pull yourself off. Your eyes remain trained on his face, and you take delight in every minute change of his expression—the furrow of his brow, the bite of his lip, the parting of his mouth.

Curiously, you graze your teeth against him lightly. He groans at the feeling, his hips unintentionally jerking forward, and you smile around his cock.

Your hands rise to grip his thighs, and then you speed up, bobbing your head up and down fast and hard, ignoring the burn in your throat when the head of his cock hits the back.

“Fuck, oh my god,” he moans, his hand tightening in your hair. 

And then, he pulls you off completely, panting as you wipe the spit from the side of your mouth.

“Why’d you do that?” You ask, your voice hoarse.

“You were having a little too much fun,” he says, the words coming out more breathy than he probably intends them to.

“I was,” you agree.

“Well, it’s my turn,” Minho says, and then he pulls you up from the ground, lifting you to place you on the countertop behind you.

“Gotta take care of you too, baby, hmm?” 

Your legs part so that he has enough room to stand in between them, and you nod slowly.

“Yeah…”

“Are you gonna let me?” He asks. “Or are you going to stubborn, like last time?”

Your mind flashes back to the party, to the hallway, to his fingers, to the way that you were trying so hard not to slip up and let him know how obsessed you are with him.

“Take care of me,” you mumble, tugging on the hem of his shirt.

“Of course, baby,” he smiles sweetly at you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

It is a stark juxtaposition to the way that he hooks both of your legs onto his elbows, spreading you further so that your covered cunt is visible to him.

“Hmmm, so wet already?” He teases, running a finger over your soaked panties. You whimper at the feeling of his feather-like touch, leaning back on your elbows to support your weight. 

“I missed you,” you whisper as he continues to feel you over your underwear. 

“I couldn’t tell,” Minho smirks, his thumb rubbing your clothed clit in a way that has you squirming underneath him. 

Your hips lift off of the counter in an attempt to get closer to him, and Minho takes the opportunity to pull your panties off completely. The air against your exposed cunt is cool and sets you on edge, making you starkly aware of how turned on you are.

His thumb comes down on your clit once again, and the feeling is ten times more intense than before. Your hips cant towards him and you moan as he rubs slowly, leisurely, drinking up your reactions.

“I love when you make those noises for me,” Minho says. “Knew you could do it, hmm? Why’d you hide them from me before?”

“C-Couldn’t,” you pant. “Couldn’t let y-you know how much I like you.”

He clicks his tongue.

“You better not hold back right now, baby,” he says, and then his fingers leave you, wrapping around the base of his cock.

You whine when he rubs it against you, his length hot and hard against your wet folds. 

“Ready?”

You nod quickly, a content sigh leaving your lips at the familiar stretch when he pushes into you.

His pace is torturously slow and has you gasping before he even bottoms out. When his length is fully sheathed inside of you, he remains there, staring at your face with wide eyes that have cheeks warming.

“What?” You ask, self-conscious.

“You look so pretty like this,” Minho murmurs, a hand lifting up to smooth down your hair before trailing down to cup your jaw.

The praise has you clenching down on his cock, which in turn has him inhaling sharply.

“You like it when I say nice things to you?” He asks.

You bite your lip and look up at him but don’t answer.

“You’re always so pretty, baby,” he coos, pulling out slightly only to push back in.

Your mouth falls open at the feeling of him inside of you, every line and ridge so easily identifiable because of how slow he moves.

“I like everything about you, hmm,” Minho says, his breathing getting heavier as he repeats the motion until he is rocking into you, his dick brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you. “Your voice, your personality, your pussy, you…”

You whine as he presses closer to you so that his face is only inches away from yours. His eyes bore into you as he reaches down and crooks your right leg over his shoulder, spreading you wider. The angle has him hitting deeper than before, and your insides burn with arousal. The slick sound of him inside of you in combination with your whines and his heavy breathing only make it all the more erotic.

“After this,” he pants, his breath fanning out against your face, “will you let me take you out?”

You nod quickly. “Yes, yes, oh.”

His hips snap against you, moving faster in a way that has your eyes rolling back in your head.

“You feel so hot, so good, yeah?” Minho grunts. “Silly girl, thinking that I don’t like you.”

You whimper at his words, rolling your hip upwards to meet his precise thrusts.

“I’m obsessed with you,” he says, kissing your neck. “It’s kind of a problem, actually, fuck.”

You clench down again, a string of breathy moans accompanying the visceral reaction his words have on you.

“You really like that, huh?” He groans, his hips stuttering at the feeling.

“Mhm, I-I really like you,” you whimper. 

“Look at me like that,” he grits out, “and you’re going to make me come.”

“Please,” your eyes glaze over at the idea of the feeling of his cum, warm and wet inside of you, and you roll your hips against him again.

“Fuck, forgot what a cumslut my baby is,” Minho gasps. 

“Min, please,” you whine. 

“Only been a few weeks and you’re still so desperate,” he taunts. “Is this not enough for you?”

“A-Almost—” you moan. “Almost there.”

“Yeah?” He asks. “Gonna come for me?”

You nod. 

“You’re so pretty when you come, god, I love when you come on my cock,” he groans.

Your orgasm is so close you can taste it, and the way that Minho continues to thrust into you hard and deep only eggs it further along. Your toes are tingling, you can barely keep your eyes open, and your core is clenching down so hard on him that you can see stars.

“Come for me baby, hmm?” He coos. “Show me how much you like me.”

All it takes is him leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss to push you over the edge. His mouth muffles the drawn out whine that you let out as your walls spasm around him. You aren’t sure how long your orgasm lasts—it feels like it could be minutes or hours, but he continues to fuck you through it, his mouth moving to your ear to mumble praises of how good you’re doing and how amazing you feel until you all but collapse on the counter beneath you, feeling boneless.

“You did so well, baby,” Minho murmurs, his hands gripping your hips as he continues to rock in and out of you slowly.

He is still hard, painfully so, and you can feel him throbbing in your oversensitive cunt.

“M-Min—” you cringe away from him, but his hold on you is firm.

“Think you can take a little bit more, hmm?” He pants.

You whine at the feeling of him inside of you.

“Thought you wanted my cum, baby,” Minho says. You nod your head deliriously, still basking in the afterglow of your orgasm.

“You can give me one more,” he tells you, “it’ll feel good, hm? Being good for me?”

His thumb drifts down to your swollen clit, and your back arches at the pain and pleasure of the direct contact.

“Minho,” you moan, “Oh, please—”

You aren’t sure if you are begging for him to stop or for him to keep going, and the smirk on his face tells you that he knows that. His thumb rubs tight circles on your clit, and you clench down hard on him, feeling another orgasm cresting dangerously close.

“So good,” he sighs, his hips stuttering. “Doing so good for me, baby.”

“Come, please,” you gasp. “Please, please, please.”

Minho’s thrust become sloppier the harder you clench down on him, his breaths coming out in rough pants—yet his thumb remains firmly where it is, rubbing and rubbing until he, dangerously quickly, brings you to your second orgasm.

You cry out as you come again, your hands gripping his wrists tightly as you writhe underneath him.

“Fuck,” he groans, thrusting jerkily into you twice more before pulling out, warm ropes of cum landing on your thighs. 

You watch in blissful satisfaction as he jerks himself off through his orgasm, the veins in his forearm very visible. 

He slumps against you, his forehead pressing against yours, and you smirk at him.

“You missed me that much, huh?”

“Yes,” he sighs. 

“Well, lucky for you, I also missed you a lot.” You press a kiss against his cheek, giggling at the feeling of his hair tickling your face.

“So about that date…” Minho begins. “How long do you think it will take you to get ready?”

You jaw drops. “You wanted to go now?”

He grins. “No time like the present, right?”

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