Run Along With The Gods | A Lullaby On His Throat Chapter Four

run along with the gods | a lullaby on his throat chapter four

pairing: demigod!hyunjin x f!reader + felix x hyunjin (past relationship heavily mentioned) | word count: 21k | genre: mythology au, romance | warnings: adult and sometimes dark themes ; complicated feelings ; angst ; elements of contemporary fantasy ; explicit sexual content. View all compiled warnings here (+nsfw warnings). This work is for adult audiences only.

He loved you in the way a mortal could love, which was to say, like he was running out of time.

A shooting star.

It was, after all, what you had always been. A temporary burst of light in the night sky of people’s existence. Something one of a kind, something flashy and fun but intrinsically ephemeral. A bench for people to sit on and rest when they were too tired to walk. A gentle voice to soothe their loneliness. Balance in their chaos. Mayhem in their order. A cold beer after a long day of work. A soft, woolen jacket on a chilly day. An upbeat song after a breakup. 

A tree to protect them from the harsh heat of the sun. A tree for them to sit under, to find refuge in its shade. 

You had been that to so many people that you weren’t sure what bore the curse exactly—your heart, your lips, or your cunt. It seemed that as soon as your heart warmed up to somebody they just ran away from you. As though your love was a contagious illness that people did not want to catch so they fled as soon as you exhibited symptoms. Your first boyfriend at the age of eleven. Your first real boyfriend at the age of fourteen, who broke up with you because you wrote him a love letter on Valentine’s Day but wouldn’t have sex with him yet. The boy who you had come to learn had asked you to prom so he could fuck you, which he did. His breath smelled like cheap beer and he dragged you to the back of the house where the afterparty took place. And he just fucked you there with your face pressed against the trunk of a tree, taking your virginity at the same time and staining your pretty prom dress with the pinkish cum that oozed from your pussy after. 

The woman who showed you the difference between fucking and making love, but had also taught you that people could make love even though they did not actually love you. That guy in college who only remembered you when he was drunk. That other guy in college who was mostly interested in pictures of your pussy or videos of you playing with it. The neighbor at the apartment in which you lived while you worked on your PhD, who turned out to be married.

Jisung, with whom you had fallen in love even though he couldn’t, or perhaps wouldn’t, get you off with meaningful lovemaking. Jisung, who had made it clear there was nothing between you two except sex and that your feelings were unwelcome because he wasn’t ready to commit yet. Except he kept you around, never too close, never too far. He’d call you at night if he had been bored and horny or something. Maybe fucking you was better than fucking his hand, but at least his hand couldn’t fall in love with him.

There had been another after that. A man more beautiful than you thought possible, his beauty coming from within. A man who held entire universes in his eyes, a man who fucked you so good that you saw god as you clenched around his cock. A man with whom you had believed you’d never run out of things to talk about. A man who you had believed might love you someday. As in, love love, not the fake kind. Except you had been wrong about that. You had been wrong about the whole thing since the very beginning of it, letting your loneliness win over your logic. Your brain had not put up much of a fight. Your heart had won that battle. Your stupid, irrational, foolish heart. 

And Hyunjin had left you. 

You had been a shooting star for him, something that was only fun for a second or two. After all, there were plenty of stars in the sky, so why try and get attached to the one that was meant to disappear? You had been a shooting star for him. A brief streak of light in the night. Something for him to wish upon.

Superficial. Temporary. A key to a museum vault. An opportunity. A cumdump. You had been many things to Hyunjin, but a lover was not one of them.

And you couldn’t care less.

“Miss? Miss?” 

The host’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts almost painfully, almost as though you had fallen into a pit full of them and he had grabbed you by the nape of your neck to hoist you back up. Suddenly you were no longer plummeting in the night sky—you were back in the reality of your life, which, for now, was a TV studio.

The spotlights blinded you and warmed up your skin more than the summer sun would. The chair they had given you was uncomfortable and the host conducting the interview kept looking at your cleavage as soon as the camera was away from him. 

The man, whose name you had forgotten already, stared at you, tilting his head to the side. “Are we experiencing issues with your earpiece, miss?” he asked, his gaze flicking to your tits once more. 

“N—No,” you responded, gulping thickly. “I just… What was the question again?” You couldn’t be more grateful that Seungmin had adamantly refused for you to do any live interviews. You only participated in pre-taped stuff. 

The host had an amused smile in which you detected flirtatious undertones. If he thought you had been distracted by him, he was wrong, but you wouldn’t let him know that. Later, you’d unbutton your shirt a little more so he could see your tits better, and hope that memory crossed his mind the next time he masturbated. 

He shot a glance at the camera to his left. “I’ll just do it again.” He sat straight on the chair again. “Miss, the world has given you many titles since you have shared your discoveries with it. You’ve been called a master linguist, a prodigy, a genius. But what about you? What do you think describes you the best?”

A shooting star. 

“I’m still just an art historian,” you replied, which was a rehearsed answer to a rehearsed question. “I guess you could say I got lucky.” That part wasn’t rehearsed, but they could cut it out later if they wanted, or if Seungmin didn’t like it. 

You had been adamantly against the idea of having an agent at first. How preposterous. How absurd that an art historian would hire an agent to handle the public aspect of this new life of hers. Yet Jisung insisted, claiming he could certainly not do that for you and that he knew a guy. That guy, Seungmin, was very good at his job and you were glad he was there to help out. There was so much to deal with—the publishers for the books, the business inquiries, the press… and everything else. 

This current interview, for example, was a PR stunt to shut down the accusations against you. People said you were a fraud, that someone else must have made the discovery, which you supposedly stole from that hypothetical person. Because, how on Earth was it possible for an art historian to take one look at the engraved words on one piece of a tablet and suddenly understand the entirety of this obscure language? It made no sense. And truly, you understood. There were days you still thought you were crazy. 

Others, however, were slightly more vile in their comments. They said that you hadn’t discovered anything, not because you had stolen someone else’s work, but because you had simply invented this language. Something to get money and attention from. The long list of world-renowned linguists who had double, triple-checked your work didn’t matter to them—they were persuaded that everything was made up. They somehow blamed the government for it, too.

“Lucky? I think you’re selling yourself short,” the host retorted. “What you did is no small feat. The circumstances around it may be… unusual, but it doesn’t take anything away from the immense worth of the gift you’ve offered the world.” 

Jonathan. His name was Jonathan.

You wondered if Seungmin had gone around the studio to find the host that needed to get his dick wet the most. This guy was really working hard to get some. 

You thought about his words for a second. They appeared in your mind in Cipherian too, but these symbols were coated with a deep, dark crimson light. “You flatter me, Jonathan.” You made yourself smile. Your lipstick was thick and left an unpleasant taste in your mouth. “It’s true that I’ve dedicated many years of my life to the myths and to the art created from them. Now, if some believe that isn’t enough to acquire the ability to understand a dead language, that isn’t my problem. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.” 

Jonathan looked at the left camera again, behind which the director was standing. “Is it true? Is it true that they studied your brain?” He asked it hurriedly like he was afraid someone would stop him before he could finish his sentence. You understood why—that question was off-script. It had been posed to you many times, but not necessarily something you were meant to discuss today. 

The director raised his hand but you could barely see him because of the spotlights. You heard Seungmin’s voice behind you, complaining, but you made a reassuring motion, keeping your eyes on the host. “Yes, they’ve studied my brain. Scans and MRIs, and more.”

Jonathan frowned. For the first time since you sat down with him, he seemed to be experiencing a genuine emotion. “That’s kind of… unprofessional, isn’t it? No, even worse—inhumane? You aren’t a lab rat after all.”

You shrugged. “I was curious myself,” you admitted. “I still don’t understand how it all happened, and I figured that tests could help. But they didn’t really see anything. No structural abnormalities in my brain, no strange mutation, and nothing to report in their screenings of my blood and organs. Whatever happened had nothing to do with the state of my body.”

“But they can’t study your mind, can they?” He seemed interested enough to stop glancing at your tits. 

“They did. As much as science allowed it. I spent a lot of time answering questions and submitting myself to all those tests. I thought… that whatever it was ought to be discovered. What if it had been just a tiny thing that could have been, eventually, implemented in other people, developing the parts of their brain responsible for language? What if it could have helped treat patients with aphasia, or even amnesia?”

Jonathan shook his head with a sigh. “That’s a noble cause, miss. I salute you.” He dipped his head. “I understand, unfortunately, that they found nothing on that front either?”

“Nothing at all. I couldn’t be more normal.” You were so normal that it was super easy to walk away from you. You were so normal that you left nothing behind, no pain, no scar. “I tell myself that all this time I spent studying—you know, I even traveled a lot around the Mediterranean, visiting different sites—created some sort of puzzle in my head. Only, the pieces had no order to them. At one point, they aligned with one another and it just… appeared to me, finally. I maintain that I got lucky.” 

Your grandmother used to say that a person couldn’t be both lucky with love and with wealth, that one would always outdo the other. Safe to say that all of the buzz around Cipherian had filled your bank account with so many zeroes that you developed tachycardia anytime you checked the number. 

But you had never been more alone. 

“And I maintain that you sell yourself short,” Jonathan responded, smiling. “You are quite literally in the process of creating a guide to this language—which opens the world to a second lost language also. Your contribution to the world of history and art is unmatched, wouldn’t you say?”

You had nothing to say about that. You didn’t really care. You had figured out a language, then another. You didn’t even have any credit for it because none of it had been deliberate. It had just happened. More like a curse than a blessing.

Seeing that you weren’t reacting to his statement, Jonathan went on. “How is the book coming along, then? I know a good portion of the world is more than impatient to delve into Cipherian.”

You nodded but it was out of habit more than because it meant anything—you did not feel human but you could at least try to look like one. “I’m aware of that and it’s why I’d rather take my time with it and do it right.”

“Of course—this kind of project deserves to be executed well.” The flirty glimmer returned on the host’s face. “It’s almost all the time we have, but I know everyone at home would want me to ask this—can you share some of it with us? A sentence, a grammar rule, anything?” 

They had told you beforehand that Jonathan was going to ask you this. This was part of the publicity stunt around your book. After you had brought forth your discovery to the museum, the director had it validated by a few world-renowned linguists and translators. One of them had dedicated most of his life to try and decipher the Voynich Manuscript, another had worked on several movies and TV shows to help authors create whole new languages for their script and the last had published several books on the Sumerian language. 

While they could fully verify what you were telling them, they couldn’t believe it. Not even from a lack of faith or trust in you—it was just that incredible. So they consulted colleagues, and historians, too. And a good portion of the language had leaked on the internet, meaning that by now, a lot of it had been elucidated by amateur linguists. Hell, they had most of it right—you had seen their work. They weren’t wrong but they didn’t understand it. Cipherian had countless layers to it and was too complex to ever fit it in one book, let alone a Reddit thread started by some incel in search of validation between his wanking sessions. 

The word for a dream that one would have when they slept didn’t even have syllables or a sound—it was a soft exhale of about 1.5 seconds with a relaxed jaw. There was no other meaning to the word dream, as though whoever spoke that language never used it for any other reason such as an aspiration or an ambition. In Cipherian, you couldn’t dream of visiting Iceland, you could only fall asleep and experience it through your slumber.

There was, however, a word for yearning. It was beautiful and sounded like a poem. The word sounded eerily similar to both Hyathos and Feliks, almost like their names had been melted together to create a new one.

Yearning. You knew it. You knew its cruel burn intimately. 

But you couldn’t care less. 

“I can tell you about the word, or rather, words, for never in Cipherian.” You tried as hard as you could to sound friendly or like there was still a soul inside you. “In the paragraphs of the Casnea tablet that have been made public, there are two sentences in which the word never is found,” you began, and for the first time since the interview had begun, you felt comfortable, at ease, at home. The language, the words, their meaning—they had become your sole purpose now. 

The first sentence was, Feliks lies beneath the cypress tree, alone. Sometimes he wants to take people there, but he never does.

The other, Feliks knows that Hyathos doesn’t belong anywhere near the cypress tree. He never did, even if it felt good to be there.

It turned out that, in Cipherian, never was conditional when it was associated with a person, and whether that person was awake or not. 

The meaning behind the first sentence was that people other than Hyathos did visit the cypress tree, but never when they were awake or even alive. Corporeal. 

The meaning behind the second sentence was that no matter how happy he was there, Hyathos never belonged beneath the cypress tree, except for when he saw it in his dreams. 

So you told him that. Jonathan. You said it just like that in its most simple form, also speaking Cipherian so that people could hear the two different pronunciations of the word never. The interview ended like that—he thanked you and shook your hand for the camera but kept your hand in his after the director had called ‘Cut’. He thanked you again, saying it had been an honor to meet the woman behind this new language and he looked at your tits again, so you accepted his offer when he suggested grabbing a drink together. There was a small bar right by the TV studios and he often went there. 

“We’re not going.” Jisung appeared in front of you like a ghost yet you barely reacted—you were used to his lingering presence by now. 

“You’re not going,” you retorted. Behind you, the filming crew was wrapping up and gathering their things. Darkness was creeping up in the room as one by one, the spotlights were being turned off. “I’ll meet you guys at the hotel.”

Seungmin joined you hurriedly. “It’s his job to stay with you and make sure you’re safe,” he pointed out with an accusatory tone, phone in hand. 

“You hired Ji because he was following me around with some sense of duty, he just wasn’t being paid for it.” You wrapped yourself in your soft jacket. 

“And you hired me to take care of those things.” Seungmin’s voice left little to no space for arguing. He pushed his dark hair away from his eyes as though he really wanted you to see how serious he was.

“Don’t make me regret it, Seungmin.” You glanced at him, catching sight of Jonathan at the other side of the room, waiting for you by the door. 

You had hired Seungmin when things had picked up for you in the past weeks. But it was rather suspicious now that you were thinking about it. What had happened exactly was Jisung saying he ‘knew a guy’ and now these two seemed to have formed an alliance against you. 

As if on cue, Seungmin’s phone rang. He lifted his index at you, motioning you to wait a moment, and stepped away as he took the call. 

As you went to grab your purse, Jisung put his hand on top of it to stop you. “Do you really want to go with that guy?” he asked softly. Too softly. “Didn’t you see the way he was looking at you?” 

You gulped, staring into your almost-ex’s eyes. “It’s because he was looking at me this way that I want to go, Ji.” You pushed his hand away, finally getting a hold of your bag. “If you wanted to keep fucking me, all you had to do was tell me.”

A cloud of darkness passed on Jisung’s face. “Let’s not go there.” He handed your bag to you, effectively quieted by your remark. “I’ll go with you. Yes, I’m going,” he added when you opened your mouth to refuse. “I’ll stay out of your hair, but I want to be around.” 

Jisung let Seungmin know of the new plan and you joined Jonathan, who led you through the TV station building, giving you—and Jisung—a quick tour. He told you how excited he was for the interview to air because it was something the audience had been asking for. He said, “It’s an honor to be a part of this grand thing, grand enough that it might change the world.” You almost told him he wasn’t a part of shit but remained quiet. You did, however, hear Jisung’s soft snort at the back and couldn’t suppress the amused smile that appeared on your lips.

The weather was as awful as it had been for the past weeks. It hadn’t really stopped raining for a long while, which broke several records. It was cold and dark, so you pulled the hood from your jacket over your head as you jogged on your way to the bar.

The bar was small but cozy. Just one room, crowded with tables and chairs and people. Each wall, except for the one to the left where the counter and bartenders were located, had several private booths. That was where Jonathan led you while Jisung took a seat at a table on the other side of the room.

You looked at your phone while Jonathan was ordering your drinks. Your work inbox was filled with emails and inquiries—more interviews, neuroscientists requesting to get a look at your MRIs, linguists asking to be involved in your current project because they claimed they had a good understanding of Cipherian already. But you knew they were full of shit. Seungmin had access to that same inbox and usually dismissed all of those. He must have been busy today if he hadn’t done it already, but you took a certain pleasure in deleting the most annoying messages. 

You checked your missed texts, too. There were fewer of those, although your phone had been ringing non-stop for the first week after the discovery. Colleagues from abroad or even locals who wanted to congratulate you and get juicy details. You hadn’t slept that week—no more than two hours a night. 

Minji had texted you, updating you on the current events at the museum. With everything going on, you hadn’t been able to fulfill your duties as assistant curator of the Deities exhibition and Minji had taken over for you. Still, she consulted you regularly and dared not make any major decision without your or Mrs. Yoo’s approval, which was almost a shame—the young woman was intelligent and had a bright future in front of her.

Still, you responded quickly to her. The issue today was with space in the rooms of the exhibition—a few new pieces had been added and it was difficult to find the right location for them. 

You pressed Send, and as you were about to put your phone away, another conversation, way below on the screen, caught your attention. The device, all of a sudden, weighed a ton in your hand. There was a little red exclamation mark next to the recipient’s name, letting you know your message hadn’t been able to make it to him. 

You opened the conversation. The last message Hyunjin had sent you was begging you to let him speak with you, only you, about the myths, some time before he visited you at your apartment and fucked you. You had ignored that message. 

Here is what had happened—you had been beyond exhausted and had slept a lot after your discovery. A lot. Yet Hyunjin had been there when you’d woken up. He had made food for you, had helped you bathe. He made love to you on the floor of your apartment and his cum had been warm, unnaturally so. You could still feel its heat within you, as though it had stained you with something that couldn’t be washed away. That morning had changed you in ways you couldn’t explain—but that warm pressure between your legs made you crave things you had never wanted before. 

You had written the essay. The first of many, but still. A quick analysis of Feliks and Hyathos’ relationship, based on the pieces of the Casnea tablet that had been uncovered. It had taken days. One morning Hyunjin had fucked you and filled you with his cum which seemed to have aphrodisiac properties.

And then he left. 

There had been no tears, no sobs, only resignation. A shooting star. You were a shooting star, ephemeral, short-lived. Your pussy was tight enough for men to want to fuck it a few times but not good enough to make them want to stay around. 

You: I’m done writing the essay. Where are you? I want you to be the first to read it. 

[Message could not be sent] You: Hyunjin?  [Message could not be sent] You: Are you alright? Is something wrong? [Message could not be sent]

The number had been deactivated, which you had found out when you had tried calling him. Many times. 

But there had been no tears and no pain. You waited for it to hit you, to pin you to a wall, cut your chest open, and crush your heart in its cruel, cold hands. You had loved him. Hyunjin. It was crazy to think of it this way but you had fallen in love with him. And now he was gone. And you didn’t care. 

You were empty and you didn’t care. Your mind was empty, and your heart, and your cunt. You weren’t lustful, you weren’t even horny—nothing else in your life existed except Cipherian and that insatiable craving between your legs. And you didn’t care.

Jonathan came back with a tray of tequila shots and some lime wedges. He handed you the first shot which you did not follow with lime juice. You let the liquor burn you on the inside just to feel something. 

There was a short silence during which Jonathan suckled on his lime, glancing around the room. “That guy, your bodyguard,” he said after a while. The room was loud with conversations and music but you heard him well. “He’s your boyfriend or something? You two seem close.” 

You shook your head. “Nah. We had a situationship some time ago but he broke it off because I had too many feelings for him.” And now you didn’t have feelings about anything at all. 

“Situationships are like that.” He handed you another shot. “Bad idea, especially with coworkers.”

You squeezed some lime juice into your glass and it made your fingers sticky. “So I assume you are more the one-night stand type of guy, Jonathan?” You raised your eyes at him as you spoke just to see his face. 

He was both pleased and a little uncomfortable. He hid behind his lime again. “Call me Jon,” he said after a while. 

You reached for him under the table, squeezing his thigh gently. He jumped a little in his seat but let out a satisfied grunt. “So, Jon. Do you have a condom with you? How about we chat, get drunk, and then you can fuck me in your office?” 

And this is exactly what happened. More shots followed. You went to sit on the same bench as Jonathan instead of facing him. He fingered you a little under the table and you rubbed his semi through his pants. Both of your voices low, you told each other how you liked to fuck. You knew very well there would be none of that tonight, nothing fancy, but warmth pooled between your legs anyway when Jon told you about the threesome he had a few years back. 

You weren’t sure what to say when he asked your preferences, and you almost left the bar when he inquired about your best sexual experiences. Your preferences? You weren’t sure. Maybe you liked it when people fucked you like they meant it. Like they loved you. Your best sexual experience? He had a name, and you did not want to speak it, so you said whatever came to your mind instead.

Men like Jon were easy to read. “I like being used.” Ironic. Ironic but perhaps true—after all, wasn’t it exactly what everyone who touched you did anyway? Like you were a disposable fleshlight?

“Oh, you’re very upfront, aren’t you?” At that, he buried his fingers deeper into your cunt, and you clenched around them, needing more. Jonathan hissed through his teeth. “Ah, shit, you’re tight…” 

His hard-on throbbed underneath your palm and you figured there was no point in delaying the inevitable, so you simply pulled away and stood next to the booth while Jonathan was attempting to conceal the bulge in his pants with his jacket. He paid the tab and took your hand in his. 

Jisung followed you with his eyes, glaring at you from his seat. You pretended you did not see him and walked the same way you had when you came here except in silence now. It was dark after nightfall, and the TV station was empty except for a few people here and there. 

You shoved your hand into Jonathan’s pants in the elevator, really feeling him, tugging at his cock. He groaned, his fingers digging deeper into the skin of your waist, his other hand pulling your shirt down to expose as much of your tits as he could. 

You didn’t let him kiss you, so he nibbled at your neck instead. And when you made it to his office, he did the same to your breasts, now fully exposed in private, while you were unzipping his jeans. 

“I love little cockhungry sluts like you.” Jonathan’s eyes were glazed over, inebriated. Or maybe just horny. His breath smelled like liquor. “Suck me.”

He put his hand on your shoulder and one weak shove was enough to get you on your knees. The carpet burned your skin a little but you didn’t care. You pulled his jeans, then his boxers down, exposing his erection. His cock was on the shorter side, but thick—thick enough that you struggled to take it in your mouth.

You released a liberal amount of spit on his tip, using your hand to spread it on his length. 

“Come on. Don’t be a tease.”

You looked into his eyes when you took his cock between your lips. He tasted bitter, salty, unpleasant, and you had a hard time adjusting your jaw to his size. But from the way he throbbed on your tongue, you could tell Jonathan reveled in the sight of tears welling up in your eyes. 

You didn’t care. You couldn’t give any less of a shit about any of it—Jonathan, the vile taste of his cock, the emptiness within you. 

“That’s it, ohh, fuck…” Jonathan caressed your head in a way that looked tender at first, but only for a second—quickly, he grabbed your hair in a fist, pulling you closer, forcing his cock deeper into your mouth. 

You gagged, your body convulsing with it, your cunt throbbing with it. You let your mouth fill with saliva until it ran at the corner of your mouth and down your chin, until it clogged your throat, until you couldn’t breathe. Your vision blurred as Jonathan fucked your mouth in desperate, shallow thrusts. You welcomed the sting in your throat and the one in your lungs, too. These days, this was the closest you could get to feeling alive. To feeling anything.

Gagging again, you anchored yourself to this stranger, your fingernails digging into his thighs. Jon, bent over, was losing his cadence, muttering deep, throaty groans without a care for volume, despite the occasional footsteps heard on the other side of the door.

“Fuuuuck. Ah, fucking—” Jonathan used the grip he had on your hair to pull out, leaving you panting and choking, lips swollen and sensitive. Some spit and precum dripped on your chest, rolling down your tits. “Get up, come here.” 

He helped you up, dragging you to the other side of the room to access his desk from which he produced a condom. You watched as he applied it over his flushed, straining cock. 

Before you knew it, he had you pinned up against the wall face first. He hiked up your skirt and pushed your panties to the side before burying himself inside your warm cunt in one swift motion. 

You cried out as he stretched you, keeping you firmly in place. You wouldn’t have guessed he was that strong, but he had no problem keeping you still as he worked you open for him. “Relax now,” he grunted, his hand at the back of your neck, squeezing you there. 

“Fuck me.” Your voice was weak because of the burn in your throat but he didn’t need you to tell him what to do. 

Jonathan thrust into you until he bottomed out—and he let out a strangled sigh when he did, but wasted no time pounding into you. He was frantic, chasing his high and yet doing everything to delay it. Jonathan fucked the way a man who watches too much porn did—a way that was relentless and impersonal. 

“Tell me you love my cock,” he grunted into your ear, one arm draped over your chest to keep you close while he fucked you. When you took more than two seconds to respond, he grabbed your hair again, pulling it, forcing your head to fall back. It hurt a little and you clenched around his cock. “Fucking say it,” he repeated, his voice low.

You didn’t love his cock, but it was inside you, momentarily occupying your mind and your cunt. “I love your cock,” you said nonetheless as Jon’s hand trailed up, his fingers wrapping around your throat. You knew what men liked to hear. “I love your big cock,” you added, eyelids fluttering, electricity spreading all over your core. “Harder, harder, please…” 

Men like him liked it when women begged. Jon loved it—he let out a series of breathy growls as he forced his cock deeper into you, his hips slamming your ass hard enough that you were losing your balance, and also, losing sight of yourself. You closed your eyes, letting your body take control, allowing your mind to recede, to become nothing. A few seconds of peace. Just a few instants where nothing existed except the ache in your dripping pussy and the sting of fingers around your neck and waves of fire spreading under your skin. There was a word for that in Cipherian. Llhas. There was no direct translation for it, but it represented a place or a moment where pain and pleasure blended together to become one. 

Jon came to a stop abruptly. “Let me see while I ravage you.” 

He wasted no time dragging you to the floor and you found yourself laying with your back on the carpet, your legs spread wide open. Jon bit his lip as he lowered himself to you, staring at your pussy. You imagined it must be flushed and swollen and pretty. His cock, heavy, bobbed when he got on his knees. He guided himself inside you again, but this time you saw his face as he buried his cock into your heat. You tried to read it but you could not. You understood a dead language better than empty lust, it seemed. 

You cried out when he moved, setting a fast and steady rhythm with deep, powerful thrusts. He tugged at your shirt to expose your tits better and watch them bounce as he fucked into you. Then he buried his face into your neck and you knew he was close. You clenched around him and he called you a whore. You moaned when he did so and he called you a desperate slut. He retreated a little to watch his cock disappear into your folds and he said, again, that you were a whore because you were creaming all over him. 

“I know you like having your tight little pussy stretched like that, don’t you?” But he wasn’t even talking to you really. He was just talking out loud. It wouldn’t have been any different if he had been fucking a blow-up doll. You listened to the sounds of flesh and wetness as he sank into you over and over. He held your face in his hand a little harder than he needed to but another wave of llhas came over you. 

It felt good when Jonathan came—he came like a feral animal, letting go of your face to hold your waist instead, slamming you onto his cock as he arched into you, hips stuttering, spilling himself into the condom. His hair stuck to the sweat on his temples and he kept fucking you to ride his aftershocks, returning to your tits, massaging them, and suckling onto your nipples as you milked the rest of his load with strategic clenches and rolls of your hips. 

He collapsed onto you, out of breath, a little pathetic. The office smelled like sweat and sex. 

“Fuck…” he sighed after a little while. You could feel him softening inside you—he moaned when he pulled out. “You’re amazing…”

But all you had done was lay there and let him fuck you. 

He tried to kiss you again but you did not let him do that. It took him a few more moments to gather himself and manage to stand up, and you watched as he discarded the condom. It fell into the bin with a heavy thump. You became aware of the ache between your legs—not llhas, just pain. And you welcomed it because pain was better than nothing at all. 

Jon had the grace to help you up. He pulled you against him into an embrace that meant nothing. “Did you cum?” he asked, then immediately, “When can I see you again?”

You pulled away slowly, buttoning your shirt back up before adjusting your panties under your skirt. Some of your arousal dripped into them and it reminded you of something foreign. 

“No,” you replied. “And you won’t,” you added before grabbing your purse and walking away. You heard Jonathan stammer in an attempt to keep you in his office but cut him off when you closed the door behind you. 

It’s without any real surprise that you found Jisung in the hallway, sitting on a bench, scrolling his phone. Waiting for you. 

Neither of you spoke at first, but when he stood, Jisung stared at you for a long time, as though he was trying to say something but the right words didn’t come. In the end, he gave up, and you walked together toward the elevator. 

It was still raining outside. Pouring. The drops rolled down the wide windows of the TV station’s entrance, distorting the colored lights of the city and cars on the other side of it. The night sky was dark, darker than usual, like thick ink. 

“Wait here, I’ll go get us a cab,” Jisung said finally. “There’s a restroom over there.” He motioned toward a short hallway. 

It seemed like lifetimes ago now, but back in the day when you and Jisung used to fuck, you had been the one to explain to him how beneficial it was for girls to pee after sex, and he had always made sure to remind you afterwards. He apparently had not forgotten that. You wondered if he heard the things Jon said to you while he was using your pussy. 

You did use the restroom when Jisung went out, attempting to wipe your slick off your panties and yourself as well as you could. You washed your hands and returned to the lobby, only to find Jisung near the door. Together, you went outside and the raindrops were cold and unforgiving. At least the cab was warmer and Jisung took care of speaking to the driver, so you just rested your head on the window and watched the pretty lights. There were many words in Cipherian to talk about light. 

Light coming from a flame. Powerful and dangerous. Cekliptio. From cekl, which meant fire, and ptiox, which was a word to designate the opposite of shadow.

Light coming from the stars, glimmering, faint, undeniable. Axst. Similar to the word Ixst, which meant freckles. 

Light coming from the Sun, which belonged to those with a soul that needed warming up. Feyllhks. Pronounced Feliks.

The light in one’s eyes when they see the owner of their heart. Arra. A word that could also mean belonging and eternal. 

There was no word in Cipherian for the lights of a city you didn’t know, but you wished one existed. These days, the dead language was all you had to find comfort in because it was the only thing that mattered. It was the only thing you had, the only thing you cared for. 

You watched the traffic light ahead turning to red. After a moment of sitting at the intersection, Jisung’s hand found yours and he squeezed it gently. 

“Are you alright?” you heard him ask, his voice soft and low. 

You did not know how to respond to that. Your pussy was sore and you wanted to get back to the hotel to soak in a hot bath. Not warm, hot. Until your skin reddened all over. Until the heat made you dizzy and hurt you all over. Then you’d sit at your computer and work on translating and analyzing. Because it was all that you had. You’d be drinking all the while and masturbate a few times while watching cheap porn before passing out on the bed or the floor. 

You weren’t alright. 

You weren’t anything. 

You opened your mouth to tell Jisung that—you figured you at least owed him the truth, no matter how bleak. At the same time, the light turned green, and the taxi crossed the intersection.

And another car hit it. It hit the front of the car on the passenger side. Your side. And it knocked the air out of your lungs. Your head hit something and the sound of bending metal and shattering glass was horrendous and deafening, becoming one with the pain that was slowly spreading within your body.

It hurt you all over, but not for long, because darkness enveloped you.

You were dreaming. 

And you knew that you were dreaming because pain no longer existed here. 

It was not a meadow with a lilac sky that you found yourself in. 

The air smelled sweet in this place, the crisp scent of apples, the soft scent of plums. The smell of peaches, ripe, juicy, warming up under the sun. 

The orchard you stood in stretched as far as you could see. It was bordered by the ocean on one side and grassy hills on the other. Among the fruit trees grew other trees in places, tall and lush, casting their shadow, cooling the air. Your bare feet sank into the soil a little as you walked and it was pleasant. Like a caress. 

Maybe you were dead and this was heaven. 

You were at one end of the orchard—you decided to visit the hills nearby and went on. And on. You walked for a long while, your mind empty. But the sight was pretty from here with the fruit trees and the sea glimmering under the warm sun, whose light felt like a kiss. 

Movement caught your attention at the other side of the orchard—somebody else was here. You stretched your neck to try and see better but they were just too far away. Soft brown hair floating in the breeze. A slow but steady gait. 

You took a few steps, trying to decide if you could make it to the mysterious figure before being pulled out of this dream. Then you saw something else, closer—a woman was sitting under a pine tree. She was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen, with skin like honey and hair like silk. Her posture was both perfect and nonchalant, and you found yourself envying her effortless beauty.

She noticed you, too, and a smile appeared on her lovely face. “There you are. Come here, child. We do not have much time.” 

Maybe because you wanted to see her from a little closer, you did as you were told, hurrying to close in the space between you and the woman. She raised her hand, asking to take yours, and when you grabbed it, she gently tugged at your arm to invite you to sit with her. 

Her beauty left you speechless. There were roses braided into her hair, thorns and all, and the air carried their scent to you. 

“You have to tell me who did this to you,” the woman told you, pulling you closer as though she was trying to find the answer to her questions in your eyes. “Who did this to you, child?”

“Did what?” You frowned, confused. “Are you asking what killed me?” You did not remember. All that you remembered was loud noises. And pain.

She shook her head. “I want to know if you remember who put our words into your mind, my dear. I want to know who it is that wove them into your soul.” 

You looked away, your gaze trailing toward the sea, while you thought about it. It was difficult—it seemed like your thoughts had been separated from your body and your mind. It took a while to reach them. 

“A kiss,” you replied, and it was the best you could do. You could not say it with words. You could not remember it with words either, or images. But you remembered the kiss.

The woman nodded slowly as though she had been expecting your response. She sighed, turning her attention back to you. She caressed your cheek, still trying to read you. 

“The gift bestowed upon you was not yours to have,” she said. “But it is yours now, and it can’t be taken back. I am sure he’s sorry for it, you know. The one who gave you the kiss. He only ever wants to help people. He bleeds compassion, you see. I believe he thought he was giving you a message to relay to someone.” 

You looked behind her at the other side of the orchard, where the person there was now picking some fruit off the trees and putting them in a basket. “Are you talking about him?” you asked.

“No,” she murmured. “That is my son. This is his orchard.” 

“Your son?” You almost felt something at that but your heart dodged it. “I know him.”

“You do. You do know him.” This time, she caressed your hair before cupping your cheek. “You love him, but you don’t remember.”

“I love him.” Saying the words was strange. Distant. Cold. As though it was somebody else’s voice speaking through your lips.

“Oh, child…” The woman’s eyes filled with tears. “You can remember him here, if you want. In this place, love is stronger than anything.” 

You stood so that you could see her son a little better. He was still walking slowly among his trees, plucking dead leaves or harvesting ripe fruit. He hadn’t seen either of you yet.

“I remember that I loved him,” you said. “But I don’t remember what love feels like.” Your words made no sense, yet the woman understood you very well. She rose, and instead of standing idle like you, she made her way toward the closest tree on which peaches grew. She tugged at the ripest peach she saw and brought it back with her as she stood by you again.

“Eat,” she invited, handing you the fruit. 

You felt it with your hand, caressing its velvety skin—it was warm, unnaturally so, and dense. Denser than other peaches you had held before. It smelled good. It smelled like a peach that had been grown by the sea, and with all the care in the world.

You brought it to your lips, and then you bit into it.

And you remembered. 

It came to you all at once, so much of it that you felt physically heavier—like whatever had been contained in the peach had been transferred into you. But you remembered. Slow dancing in the night. A kiss. Many kisses. Pomegranate lips. Making love and meaning it. Being seen. Being understood. Being desired and desiring in return. You remembered him and his voice and his cock and his mind, as beautiful as a flower, as complex as life itself. His heart, sweet like a peach, fragile like one, too. 

“Say his name if you want,” she whispered. 

You closed your eyes, suddenly blinded by the sunlight shining upon you. You remembered him. You remembered Hyunjin and the depth of your feelings for him. 

It was too much—you cried. Then you laughed. You sobbed, you smiled. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen and the most painful thing you had ever felt. You remembered love.

“Can I remember when I go back, too?” you asked.

“I’m not sure,” the woman explained. “But I hope you do.” There were tears in her eyes. “He was always so alone before he met you. Even when he snuck out to meet the boy… I pretended I did not know, but a mother always knows. I could see it in his eyes, I could feel it in the heaviness of his steps. But you… It is different with you.”

The wind became cold, then colder. Somehow, you knew it meant your time here was coming to an end.

“Can I go see him?” you asked between bites of this peach, watching the young man as he carefully picked his fruit. 

“No. Not now. He is not really here.” Already, the taste of peach was fading away, and the world was turning dark again. “You’re in danger, child,” the woman went on. “My husband, and others, they do not want you to know what you know.” 

The peach was no longer in your hand, yet its juice still rolled down your wrist. “What should I do?” 

“Just remember.” 

It appeared to you in pieces, and you couldn’t tell whether you were dreaming or not. Pain in your arm. Your lower back. Your legs. Your head. The scent of gasoline, cold rain seeping through, twisted metal. Jisung, with blood on him, calling your name. 

The ambulance. More people talking to you and bright lights and more pain. The taste of peaches lingering on your tongue. 

Jisung again. Saying words you could not understand because you were busy trying to remember something, but it just would not come to you. It was a name. No, it was a name but it was also something else. Something sweet, and important.

Cold darkness. Then warm darkness, a mattress beneath you. Jisung. Again. With Seungmin. Their whispers makingtheir way to you, but instead of words, you just heard a breeze, like wind over the ocean. The pain wasn’t gone but it was different, more diffuse. There were moments you couldn’t even tell where it came from.

Jisung. His hand holding yours, his head resting on the bed. His face turned toward you. It was dark but not too dark, and you could see that he was sleeping. There was a bandage on his eyebrow and he had a few bruises on his arm. But he did not let go of you. Once upon a time, you thought you loved him, but that was before you understood love. 

He was still there when you woke up for good, awake this time. The light in the room blinded you and the first thing that Jisung did was to hurriedly close the blinds over the window and dim the ceiling light a little. You were in a hospital room, hooked up to a few machines and an IV, and there were vases with flowers surrounding your bed. Their scent permeated the room, subtle yet undeniably there underneath layers of antiseptic.

“Hey,” Jisung said, taking your hand again. “You’re back.” 

You almost joked by saying, I never left, but that would not have been true and you knew that. You did leave. You could still feel something velvety under your fingertips. You could still smell the rich scent of a pine tree under the sun.

You tried speaking and yet no words came out. They weren’t even stuck in your throat—it was as though they wouldn’t even leave your mind. After a few deep breaths, you made another attempt, forcing your lips open and focusing on nothing except the thought that you wanted to express, which was the overwhelming thirst making your mouth dryer than the Sahara. Panic took over you as you once again failed to speak. You looked around as if anything here could solve your problem. 

Nothing could, except Jisung noticed your gaze lingering on the water pitcher by your bed and understood what you wanted. He poured you a glass of ice-cold water and held it for you while you drank. Swallowing it was almost painful, yet immensely relieving. Llhas.

“You weren’t supposed to move before the doctor came to see you,” Jisung explained while he helped you lie down again, yet he remained by your side once your head lay on your pillow. 

The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds, and then the seconds stretched into a longer moment. There were so many things you wanted to say to him and your inability to do so had nothing to do with whatever made it hard for you to form words. You wanted to thank him for everything he had done for you these past months, yet it seemed those words did not even exist.

You wanted to apologize. For all the times he had asked you not to do something stupid, and you didn’t listen to him. Because you didn’t care. But it felt so unlike you not to care, and you could see that now. 

Jisung opened his mouth to speak but instead, cupped your face in his hand, pushing a strand of hair away from your eyes. He looked like a mess—he was wearing the same shirt he had been before, he hadn’t shaved, and he smelled like cheap spray deodorant. 

He seemed to read your question in your eyes because he gave you an answer. “A car hit the front of the taxi—the engine, actually. The police said he wasn’t drunk or anything. His car just… malfunctioned.” 

You frowned, trying to remember the actual event, but finding yourself unable to. Not clearly at least. All that you remembered was fear and the smell of gasoline. 

“Actually,” he went on, “they said it came close. We—you—were lucky.” He took a deep breath, struggling to keep his voice steady. “If the guy’s car hadn’t glided on the wet pavement before his brakes failed, he would have hit you directly.” He offered you a faint, joyless smile. “Everyone is begging for the sun to return, but if it hadn’t been for the rain, you wouldn’t be here I think.” 

You gulped, wincing as you did so, and Jisung took it as a signal to help you drink more water. It was only then, as you tried holding your own cup, that you noticed the cast around your arm. 

“I’ll go tell them you’re awake,” Jisung said, and he left the room. It seemed all incredibly empty then. Not even the flowers made it look any livelier. You lay on your hospital bed, eyes to the ceiling, letting the pain in your body speak to you. Your arm didn’t hurt as much as your neck and your shoulder, but it felt sore and heavy. 

It didn’t take very long until a doctor came in to see you, and Jisung remained by the door, waiting politely as you were told about a small fracture in your upper arm and a mild concussion, which explained the strange pressure you felt behind your eyes. It was alright because all you had to do was nod and say “Hm hm” in a variety of intonations, so your little problem went vastly under the radar. The doctor mentioned you were probably tired and advised you to rest—he didn’t want to discharge you until tomorrow, to make sure things were alright.

You slept most of the day. At one point, Jisung left to go shower but he was immediately replaced by Seungmin, who, it looked like, was inclined to speak just as much as you. He seemed troubled, often returning to his phone with a frown on his brow, but he brought you a phone. Not your phone, because yours had been destroyed in the accident.

In between naps, you held the new device in your hand. It was similar to the one you had, only a slightly newer model. You opened the text app and, naturally, it was empty. 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Seungmin told you when he caught sight of the screen. “The SIM card was also ruined so I had to get a new one. Did you sync your stuff online? I can do it for you.” It wasn't worth it. On your other phone, you had settings that synced pictures and videos, but not text messages. 

You remembered the conversation you wished to look at with your own two eyes, the one where the recipient’s phone number was now deactivated. 

You slept more. You slept until a nurse woke you up for dinner, saying that you hadn’t eaten enough today and that youhad to finish your meal. 

Jisung watched you play with your food—some sort of casserole—for a while. “You need to eat,” he said, but he tookthe plate away from you. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to you after opening a food delivery app. “Order whatever you want. I’m starving, too.” 

Half an hour later, the two of you were eating burgers with french fries and an unhealthy amount of soda. He even ordered some cake for dessert, which you also ate. While you had dinner, Jisung showed you the flowers from up close and explained to you who they came from. They were pretty. 

There was one huge flower arrangement from the museum and one specifically from Minji and Mrs. Yoo, which brought tears to your eyes. There was a vase from the publishing house where you’d publish the book, and the last was a little smaller than the others, more modest, but lovely nonetheless. Chrysanthemums, aster and some leafage. There was a card with it: 

Get well soon. I hope to meet you again,

P. Seonghwa 

You looked at this one for a little longer than the others. Jisung seemed to believe you didn’t know, or remember, who the sender was, so he clarified for you.

“Remember? He’s the journalist who interviewed you a few months ago, about that tablet.” The Casnea tablet. How could he think you wouldn’t remember that? “Looks like you made a strong impression on him.” 

There were quite a few innuendos in Jisung’s last sentence and they did bring back a few memories—not anything that you had forgotten, just things that did not matter in the grand scheme of things. Not that Mr. Seonghwa himself didn’t matter. After all, he was a good person and a talented journalist. But Minji had hinted—no, she had claimed with certainty—that he had been hitting on you. And he did ask you out to dinner. And you never even responded to him, yet he sent you flowers? How did he even know you were in the hospital?

To Jisung, you gave a nod so that he wouldn’t insist, and you both finished your food. He helped you to the bathroom so that you could wash up—you sat on a chair while he ran a damp towel on your face and your neck. The gestures were familiar to you, only, not from his hands. He even brushed your hair with the comb that came in the bag of toiletries that Seungmin brought you. “I’m gonna have to tell the doctor, you know,” he said under his voice, nowspraying rose water in your brushed hair. “That you can’t talk.” He looked at you then. “Or is it that you won’t talk? Did that guy hurt you?”

It took a few seconds for you to even remember who Jisung was talking about. You shook your head, almost mumbling a no, but the words melted on your tongue before they could form. No. Jonathan hadn’t hurt you. You felt nothing about him, or for him.

He sighed. “I’ll go get us some coffee.” He remembered that you liked to drink one after a particularly big dinner. It spilled a little bit of warmth into your chest. “If it hasn’t come back in one hour, I'll tell the doctor. Aphasia’s no joke. They’re gonna have to do more MRIs.” 

You knew he wasn’t even talking about the tests the doctors did last night—this was about how nobody could figure out how, or why, you suddenly acquired the knowledge of a dead language. They had studied you and your brain for weeks without finding anything even a little abnormal about it. And yet here you were, involved in yet another language-related incident.

You sat on the bed with your empty phone, not even knowing where to begin with it, or perhaps enjoying its silence. The nurses Jisung had tasked with watching over you were pretending not to be staring, leaning against the wall by your door. He had done that when he went to pick up the food too. As if you needed a babysitter. 

You cleared your throat, inhaling as much as you could. You could talk. You really could. You could read and talk. And write. None of these things were foreign to you, so it wasn’t supposed to be hard. You needed to be able to speak again if only to tell Han Jisung that you wouldn’t allow him to put a baby monitor in your bedroom later on, no matter how overprotective he acted with you.

“Here I am,” Jisung announced proudly when he returned, a cup holder in one hand and a paper bag in the other. He gave a not-so-inconspicuous nod to the nurses by the door, who then walked away. “I had an idea while I was downstairs—I figured, maybe some reading could help. Make your brain think about words.” 

He handed you your coffee which was average hospital coffee, and left a pile of magazines on your bed. “They didn’t have much,” he apologized. “But it’s better than nothing, I guess.” 

When he went to sit on the chair, you made space for him on your bed. He seemed to hesitate before he sat next to you. It reminded you of the few instances after you had sex with him, when you’d smoke before sleeping, or before he left your place. He rarely spent the night at yours. 

The first magazine was a little boring—it didn’t have much going for it other than a few scientific articles. One about Antarctica, one about heirloom tomatoes, and another about the fauna in certain African countries. You flipped through the pages, finding no problem in reading, just having no interest in doing it. 

You finished your coffee by the time you made it to the second magazine, which was a well-known, music-oriented magazine. This one seemed to have a bit more life to it, so you started on page one and actually read the article—about an up-and-coming alternative band—alongside Jisung, who commented on it. You knew he was doing it just to stimulate your speech abilities and you appreciated it. A lot. 

Actually, you were just laughing at one of his stupid jokes when you turned the page you were on and came face to face with a full-sheet advertisement for a luxury jewelry brand. Your heart dropped in shock, putting an abrupt end to your laughter. It stirred in your throat, becoming something else, as tears tickled your eyes. You fought them, though, so that your vision remained as clear as it could be, staring at the ad before you. 

Hyunjin.

You would say that you had almost forgotten how beautiful he was but he possessed the kind of beauty that was impossible not to remember. He was handsome in a way that nobody else before him had been or after him would be.

In the ad, he was dressed in modest, white clothing and sported his usual chin-length hair. He sat nonchalantly yet with his usual perfect posture in a white porcelain bathtub, posing with elegance and looking directly into the lens of the camera. Droplets of water could be seen sticking to his honey skin. One hand was buried into his damp hair while the other displayed a textured silver bracelet and a ring. 

Hyunjin.

You reached for the magazine, caressing his face with your fingertips as though you could feel him, but it was only a fool’s attempt at making sure that he was real. That he had ever been real. Just yesterday, you could still pick up your phone and scroll through your texts until you found the dead conversation with him just to verify that he had indeedexisted. That he had indeed once existed with you. In your life. And you in his. 

Just yesterday, you didn’t care that he had left you.

“Fuck.” Jisung tried to take the magazine from you but you were quicker, which caused you to moan in pain from having moved a little too fast. He raised both his hands, yielding before you could hurt yourself any further. 

You reported your attention to the page only you weren’t really seeing it. You were seeing other things. You were tasting expensive wine, you were slow dancing in the cold night, you were talking for hours about history and art and everything else. You were smelling petrichor and amber and rose and peaches and you were feeling Hyunjin’s smooth skin under your touch. Under your tongue. His lips on yours kissing you alive and his cock inside you fucking you to your demise. 

You exhaled in an unexpected sob which caught you off-guard and brought you back to reality. You turned to Jisung, your lips trembling, your heart sprinting, its beat echoing within your ribcage like a song, or more accurately, war drums. 

The words came to you as though they were meant to be the ones you spoke all along. 

“I miss him,” you uttered, your voice no more than a whisper, but not weak. “Hyunjin. Ji, I miss him so much.” 

There was nothing that Jisung could do, but he held you as you wept as finally, the scorching pain of his absence tore through you like a serrated blade. And yet you relished it. Every moment of it, every tear, every second of agony. Nothing had ever hurt you quite as much as losing him, but you would choose to be tormented over being numb any day. Because it meant your heart was still beating in your chest. It meant that you could feel something. Anything. It meant that you had loved him. That you still loved him. 

But had he loved you? No. Why would a man like him love you?

If he loved you, why would he leave?

You did not sleep, but Jisung did, his arms around you as though he could bear some of the weight of your sorrows for you. You let him sleep, tears rolling down your cheeks quietly as the night shift of the hospital began. 

It was two in the morning when Jisung stirred in his sleep before waking up almost violently. His first instinct was to check on you. Your cheeks were still damp and your eyes were dry and sore but you had cried all of the tears you had to cry.

“Do you know, Jisung?” you murmured as he took your hand in his. “Do you know why he left? Was it because of me?”

You had spent all these months without thinking about it but had made up for it these past few hours, analyzing the situation, going through all of your memories to find something. A reason. The shadow of a reason. But you couldn’t think of anything, so the natural conclusion had been that Hyunjin had realized he didn’t want you and had left. He was kind and sensitive, and you could imagine that he had found himself unable to tell you because he knew it would break your heart. You couldn’t compare with that past lover of his, the one he never forgot. The one he still loved. 

It probably felt wrong. To kiss you, to fuck you, when he loved another.

“Because of you?” Jisung frowned, squeezing your hand harder. “I’m not supposed to—” He cut his own sentence off, biting his lip. You couldn’t make out his exact expression in the darkness of the room but you saw the moment his shoulders went from tense to relaxed. Not from relief, but from a surrender. “He came to see me. Before he left.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“He came to see me,” Jisung repeated, his voice low. “He… he wouldn’t give me details, but he said that you would be in danger, and he asked me to watch over you while he was gone.”

The words spilling from Jisung’s mouth were so unlikely, so foreign, that you took the time to translate them in your mind. But none of the languages you knew could explain their existence. Nothing made sense anymore. You hadn’t really questioned Jisung’s sudden willingness to become your personal bodyguard. But you hadn’t really questioned anything back then. 

It wasn’t even the part about you being in danger that shocked you the most.

“But why would he ask you that?” You shook your head. “It’s not like he cared, is it? If he cared, he wouldn’t have left. He never… loved me. Or anything like that.” It hurt you to say those words, but it was better than not speaking at all. 

Jisung’s breath hitched softly, ending in a sigh. “Is that what you think? Is that what you’ve thought this whole time, why you… do these things?” And you knew he meant getting drunk and fucking strangers just to feel something.

There were no words for the feeling that was creeping up in your chest, and it had nothing to do with your temporary aphasia. 

“God, I hated not telling you, I should have told you.” Jisung leaned closer to you then, as though you wouldn’t hear him from a few inches farther. “He did. Love you, I mean. He said so, I promise. I swear, he told me that he did.”

You thought that you were dreaming, but you knew that you were awake because of your desolation, that feeling of emptiness—the barren thing that you had become, it all felt too real to be a dream.

Outside, the rain stopped.

Hyunjin: How is she doing? You said they’d remove her cast yesterday but you didn’t text me. Please respond. 

Hyunjin put his phone down and grabbed his glass instead. Half of it was filled with wine and the other half was pure boredom. Despair. Sorrow. And it was sour, the taste of it overcoming the wine. 

It was a white. It was the wine that he had with you on your first date.

It wasn’t supposed to be a date but it became one. Nothing was supposed to happen the way it did but it was too late now, and what had been done could not be undone. You could not unlearn Cipherian. 

He could not unlove you.

He tried. He did try, not because he wanted to, but because he thought that making you insignificant might be the only way to save you. Making it so that you did not matter, that you were invisible to the gods. But it just was not possible. He could put the whole world between the two of you; he could prevent any access to the internet from his phone or laptop to resist temptation; he could keep his days and his nights busy with photoshoots and fashion weeks, but it did not mean that you would leave his mind for one second. You never did.

You haunted him. 

Hyunjin looked at the horizon before him. The view from his hotel room was stunning—he was right by the sea, close enough that its scent invaded the room through the double doors he left open. Tonight, however, he was sitting on the suite’s private balcony, with a bottle of wine kept on ice and a dinner he hadn’t touched in front of him. 

The sun was setting and taking its time doing so, blending and melting into the blue of the sea. The sight of it cut his breath short. He reached out, as though he could feel it with his fingers. Its light, its warmth, its force. And he did. He did feel it. Light came to him as a gentle caress. Like somebody taking his hand in theirs. 

“Feliks,” he said under his breath, and the sounds of the promenade below him swallowed his voice. The waves, lazy but steady, and the conversations. All these people, so alive, so mortal. Alive because they were mortal. 

Hyunjin was neither of these things. One might believe that immortality granted an unlimited amount of vitality, ofresolve, too. He found that it was rather the opposite. Did they know? All of these people? Did they know how lucky they were? 

He jumped when his phone vibrated on the table—Hyunjin let his arm fall back on the side of his body while his other hand grabbed the device quickly, eager to read the response.

Seungmin: Sorry, things have been busy. The cast came off and she’s fine, just a little sore Hyunjin: Is she eating? Sleeping? Seungmin: Mostly. Han is on it 24/7. You ok? Hyunjin: I’ve got lots of really cool gigs.

Which was his way to say that he was okay even though he was not. However, he would keep pretending otherwise over the phone so that his former manager wouldn’t worry. During their time together, he and Seungmin had grown fond of each other—enough so that Hyunjin knew he would leave your employment and come find him again should he feel like it was necessary. But Hyunjin had asked him to keep an eye on you. 

He could not tell Seungmin, or Han Jisung, that you had angered the gods, and that it was all his fault. But it seemed like they did buy his made-up conspiracy story about how your big discovery made many people jealous. They even believed they had a distant connection to Hyunjin through past jobs and that they could use him to find you, because they would find you. At any cost. You mean any cost? Seungmin had asked while Hyunjin was going around his bedroom, throwing random items of clothing into a bag—he had booked a last-minute flight to get away from you as quickly as possible. Why does that sound like these people are going to… kill her?

Because they fucking will, had been Hyunjin’s answer. It was the closest word to it anyway—kill. Death. It was the only way he could explain the urgency of the situation to a mortal, but what he feared might happen to you was so much worse. Death was the proof that one used to be alive, that they loved and were loved. 

But when some of them would get ahold of you—his father, or perhaps Feliks’ father—they would just unmake you. They would make it so that you had never existed. Nobody would remember you. All of the things you had ever touched would go untouched by you. Including him. His lips, unkissed. His cock would never have known the miracle between your legs. His heart, his mind, and even his soul would have no recollection of you, same as everyone else. 

They were greedy, self-important, arrogant gods. It would not matter to them that it was Feliks who had kissed their language into you without consulting you about it—it would not stop them from doing what they felt was necessary to do in order to remain that. Gods.

Because it was that for them—that rift separating them from the mortal, all the pieces of it that made it whole and solid—was what made them godly creatures. It wasn’t about who they were, what they were, and the vastness of their dominance. It was about who they were to mortals, what they were as opposed to mortals, and how they could use their sovereignty to establish themselves as supreme beings. 

And maybe it had been why he never fit in. Because Hyunjin had never cared much for it—for who he was to others, and whether he was worshiped or not. He’d much rather have a simpler life, where one has to earn love instead of claiming it by force or manipulating others into it.

Seungmin: I saw that. Congrats!

Hyunjin let his thumb hover on the screen as the next text he wanted to send appeared in his mind. It was the very same text he had wanted to send since day one, since the very moment he sat his ass down on that first flight that put distance between you and him. 

Maybe it had been foolish. To think that by making this sacrifice, he was saving you. That it would take the gods’ attention away from you a little—after all, it was him they were meant to observe while he served his sentence on the mortal plane, not you. Hyunjin knew his father, he knew the anger of others like him—they were probably furious that you had come to learn the secret language of the gods, but he knew that they were even more resentful that he, Hyathos, had fallen in love with a simple mortal and had decided to devote his life to her. 

Hyunjin typed the words just to see how it felt to do so. Does she ask about me sometimes? What a pathetic question. Counterproductive, too. Kyma had been generous—and brave—enough to provide you with indifference, but there was only so much she could have done from here after all, so it was Hyunjin who was cursed with the yearning for your love.

A blessing can sometimes come disguised as a curse.

There was no winning with that, no matter what Seungmin would tell him. If he said you never talked about him, it would crush him. If he said you asked for him or missed him, it would be even worse. That was also why he never let Seungmin tell him where your public appearances took you—otherwise, nothing would stop him from just getting on a plane and finding you. And kiss you again. And tell you how he felt. 

There was no point in sending that text to his former manager because Hyunjin had been very clear—if for any reason, at any moment, you asked about him, Seungmin and Jisung were to tell you that he had ghosted them, too, not even bothering with saying goodbye.

He drank the rest of the wine in his glass and instead of filling it again, Hyunjin started to drink directly from the bottle, then he erased the text and put his phone back. He had typed those words many times yet never sent them. 

Hyunjin jumped when a flash of light illuminated the world, followed by another. When he heard the rumble of thunder, he looked up out of habit, only to be faced with the sunset again. Although it was rapidly descending, it was still very much there in a clear, limpid sky. 

One glance behind him showed another story—over there, dark, thick clouds were rolling over the world, coming face to face with the last slither of light, blending with it in the sky like oil on a canvas. Lightning cracked once again as the scent of petrichor invaded the air. Hyunjin remained there, motionless, as the tourists on the promenade were becoming aware of the incoming weather, hurrying to take shelter. It was noisy, but then Hyunjin realized the racket didn’t only come from downstairs—it came from the skies, too.

And then it rained. It rained so hard that each drop felt like tiny shards cutting into his skin—if Hyunjin had been able to feel pain, he was certain that this would be enough to make him pass out. Instead, it just felt like a hundred little cuts. Still, he lingered on the balcony for a few moments, watching the sunset as it struggled to withstand the sudden storm. The world was becoming dark and cold. Somewhere on the promenade, a child was crying and calling for its mother, only the rain was so dense that he couldn’t even see where the screams came from. 

The clouds swallowed the sunset and Hyunjin retreated inside, closing the double doors behind him. Tomorrow, on the news, they would once again talk about the strangeness of the weather and the impact it had on the world. He envied them. The mortals. They thought it was climate change. They thought it was some meteorological once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon. 

Well, it was a once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon but it had nothing to do with climate change. 

Despite the closed doors and the rain falling hard outside, it seemed to him that he could still hear the child. Screams coated with cold-blooded terror, with sheer panic. The child begged for their mother over and over and Hyunjin heard it despite thunder and distance.

He grabbed a hoodie left on the back of a chair and quickly put it on, pulling it over his head before heading downstairs. Dismay was tangible in the hallways—people were afraid of the sudden rain. He ran into many of them, drenched, making their way back to their hotel room, just grateful to be somewhere dry.

Hyunjin was glad to have chosen the stairs instead of the elevator when the power went out in the building but even more so when did not come back on. No auxiliary power seemed to be functional either as the entire place turned dark. He used his phone to navigate his way outside, but by now, it was difficult because of the straight-up agitation that reigned in the hotel. He heard a scream downstairs, then someone asking others to keep calm. 

Hyunjin found the lobby crowded. By the mismatched arrangement of people here, he figured that some of them had probably been lounging on the beach when the rain hit and had simply run for shelter to the nearest door they could find. Others clung to their suitcase. The room was lit up by many other phones and a few small lanterns that people sometimes brought on camping trips. 

Outside, it looked like the end of the world.

It wasn’t raining. Oceans were falling from the sky, crashing down hard enough that it felt like an earthquake. Or maybe there was an earthquake. 

Hyunjin elbowed his way toward the door. Two security guards were standing by it, not guarding per se, but like everyone else, watching the peculiar scene outside. Water was rising in the streets—it wouldn’t take long before it reached the door and crept under. Some buildings farther down the promenade were already half-submerged. 

“You really should stay inside,” one of the two men told Hyunjin, barely glancing at him—just enough to notice that he had wrapped his fingers around the door handle. 

“There was a child in distress,” Hyunjin replied. 

“Authorities have been called,” the guy assured. “Was this your child, sir?” 

His child? No. He wondered sometimes if his divine seed could have taken within you. You were the first woman he had fucked without protection and he wasn’t entirely sure mortal birth control worked in this case. That would have been so much worse. Should he have put a baby inside you, his father’s retaliation would surely be the worst imaginable. Hyunjin could very well picture it and the way his father would tear the unborn child out of your womb and claim you for himself by putting one of his inside you. It was the way they did it. The gods. The cruel ones. 

He had been so careless. He had been negligent. Clearly, you weren’t pregnant so there was no point in ruminating and yet, he realized the magnitude of his mistake as he watched the torrents fall from the sky. He had been foolish and fearless when he should have been the opposite. He should have walked away the moment you made his heart flutter at the museum. He should have walked away the moment you made his cock hard just because of the words you were saying, or because of your perfume. He should have walked away the moment he realized he could not walk away because he did not possess the strength to deny himself this, to deny himself you.

He had been unreasonable, unwise, and imprudent. He had been a mortal.

He gulped, his throat dry. “I’m just gonna go see.” He did not wait—Hyunjin pulled the door open and walked outside. 

It was probably as close as it could get to drowning while standing with two feet on the ground. The storm went on, worsening the deluge, yet Hyunjin could still hear the panicked screams. Somewhere farther, much farther, were sirens and honks. But here, it was just him, standing in the middle of the street as he tried to locate the source of the cries. Whenever he thought he found it, thunder rumbled, or someone pounded on the window of the hotel, surely to incite him to come back. 

The water had risen above his ankles when he figured out where to go, weighing down his footsteps. The rain was cold and unforgivable, and for once, he felt like something was matching the desolation of his life since you were no longer in it. He felt like it was that, this torment of his, that was descending from the skies, permeating every molecule around, flooding the entire place. This is how he felt without you. Like he was drowning, except not. Like every footstep, every inhale of oxygen cost him part of his soul, and maybe it did.

Could one drown in emptiness the same way they could in water? 

The more he walked, the louder the cries became. He called out to see if he would be heard in return but got no response. His heart was pumping so hard in his chest that he felt something strange happening to his body, something that had never happened before. It felt a little like his brain was floating in jello, like his body was going limp despite his unwillingness. His balance was weird too, like he really had to focus just to stay on his feet. 

Was this what being dizzy felt like? He had heard so much about it during his time here but had never experienced it himself. He did not think he even could experience it. Maybe it was the wine—while alcohol didn’t affect him as much as it would a mortal, he wasn’t insensitive to it. But this… was a lot.

Hyunjin held onto a ramp by the side of the promenade as he fought his way through the wall of rain. Using his hearing to guide himself, he stopped again near a small shop that rented beach chairs and other similar items. The cries stopped then, but he had enough time to finally be sure that they came from the other side of the building.

He jumped over the fence, landing in water that now reached close to the middle of his shin. He did not know what he expected to find when he turned the corner of the shop, but it certainly wasn’t this.

A child stood there. A little boy, his posture stiff, his hands closed in fists. He did not move when Hyunjin appeared beside him, keeping his gaze fixated on the horizon, toward the place where the sunset had been before it got swallowed by a storm.

Hyunjin tried to speak but the words remained stuck somewhere in his throat. He reached for the boy, not really thinking, or perhaps thinking that he would at least take him back with him to the hotel, where they could try to find his parents after the rain was over.

When his fingers came in contact with the child’s shoulder, the boy turned to him, his head snapping at inhuman speed. Hyunjin had not been afraid very often in his life—certainly not among mortals—but he was now. The child’s face was distorted with emotions too deep for a boy this age—terror, agony, and dread decorated his traits, taking control over them, over him entirely. 

Hyunjin looked into the boy’s big, intricate eyes, and then his gaze lingered on his soft brown hair. Damp, it stuck to his honey skin. He had seen this face before. He could not shake off the feeling of familiarity he felt, no matter how scared of one another they were. He had seen this boy before.

He had been this boy before.

It became obvious then, that Hyunjin was staring at a version of himself when he was still young, even by god standards, when he was little and innocent. I must be dreaming, he told himself, unable to look away. Tears pricked at his eyes as terror invaded him too. 

How could this be possible? 

Then, the boy resumed his screaming, his face contorting even more as though he was in pain. He screamed and he cried and he begged for his mother, for their mother. Hyunjin wanted to tell him that no matter how loud he shouted, Agatheia would never hear him, not from here. 

Before he could even do anything, the boy ran away, but not for long—he ran toward the other side of the promenade, stopping at the fence, which was the only thing between him and a nasty fall into the sea. I won’t hurt you, Hyunjin wanted to say, but that would have been a lie. He had hurt himself plenty. 

The boy climbed on the fence—Hyunjin darted in his direction but it was too late. The child glanced behind his shoulder, looking straight into Hyunjin’s eyes, and he jumped. 

He looked down into the sea when he reached the place where the boy had been just two seconds ago but he couldn’t see anything, just waves. It was at this moment that the rain began to falter, too, the incessant sound of it becoming less and less deafening, the pressure of it less and less unpleasant.

He stood there for a long time, not moving, staring at the water. Neither jumping after the child nor walking away. The rain had completely come to a stop when Hyunjin finally looked away, finding the avenue crowded with emergency services. A firefighter was coming his way and even spoke to him but Hyunjin could not respond yet. In his head, the scene kept playing over and over—the child turned ugly by fear, the child screaming, the child running, the child jumping into the sea.

“Sir?” the man insisted, putting himself in front of Hyunjin. “Sir, are you hurt?”

Hurt? No, he could not be hurt. Not his body anyway. A curse, a blessing. All of his wounds were within him, bleeding, raw, sensitive, and you were the worst of them all. 

He shook his head, walking away. The firefighter followed him for a few meters before being called somewhere else, so Hyunjin went back to the hotel on his own. His shoes were filled with water, much like his clothes. He didn’t look at anyone when he reached the hotel lobby, and he climbed the five floors in the staircase because the power was still out. 

He was cold, or at least he thought he was. 

Once he reached his room again, he put his phone on the table and removed all of his clothes, and then Hyunjin lay down beneath all of the covers of his bed. It seemed like he had never been as tired as he was now. 

He fell asleep, only it felt a little too much like it.

Like he jumped over a fence and fell into a stormy sea.

Hyunjin was dreaming. 

And he knew that he was dreaming because he was back here in the meadow with the cypress tree. The sky was lilac, the air smelled like evergreen trees, like salt, and like gold. The soft grass caressed his bare ankles, and it was at that moment that he realized he was fully naked, much like the figure sitting underneath the tall tree. 

Feliks. 

He wanted to run yet he knew there was no need to hurry in this place, so he simply took one step, then another, crossing the space between the sun and him at a steady pace. The closer he got, the sweeter the air became as undertones of ripe peach and plums blended with it. 

Hyunjin could not take his eyes off him, off Feliks. He knew that it was a dream, but it felt so real. The warm glow of his light-colored hair, the shimmer of the constellations on his skin.

His smile. The smile that he had for him, back when he could still call this place home. Not that the land of gods had ever been that for him, a home, but this meadow had been the only thing that felt like it for him before you came into his life. 

“Hyathos.” Feliks’ voice filled him like sunlight melts ice on a winter morning. “I’ve missed you.”

He was there then, towering over his past lover, looking at him as though he could not believe what he saw. And yet he was there, undeniably. His smile, his delicate and beautiful body, his thighs, his cock. Soft, it rested lazily on Feliks’ flat stomach, as tantalizing as ever.

Feliks offered him a hand. When Hyunjin took it, he pulled him gently to the ground with him, and he let him. His knees sank into the soft grass, and then they sat close to one another, their bodies touching in more than one place. It started little fires all over Hyunjin, its flames coursing through his veins, settling at the back of his neck, somewhere within his ribcage, and between his legs. 

“I miss you,” Feliks repeated, and the slight alteration in his sentence made Hyunjin want to cry. 

“I miss you too.” And he did. He missed him and how easy and forbidden their love had been. He missed his lips and his laugh and his hands all over him. He missed the man he had been when they were together—hopeful, self-assured, courageous. Yet, he resented the god he was facing now. “Why did you do this, Feliks?”

He knew he didn’t have to explain any further—they never needed a lot of words to understand each other. Besides, Hyunjin imagined he could read it in his eyes. 

Feliks bit into his lip, his glimmering eyes filling with tears. “I thought it would help if you could read the stories again, the real ones, not those the mortals tell each other. I thought... since you could no longer understand our language, that I could give it to someone close to you. Someone who wasn’t selfish, who would share it with you willingly.” 

Hyunjin found nothing to respond to that, but he had to admit he had been waiting eagerly for your published translations of the ancient texts so that he could remember them, really remember them, once more.

“I didn’t think enough,” he went on. “I should have known this would anger them.”

Them. Hyunjin’s father, Feliks’ father, the others. “Do they know it’s you who did it?” he asked, his voice low and strangled. He had lost you already and he wasn’t sure he could lose Feliks also.

The god of light nodded slowly. “That is why I called you here, Hyathos. I wanted to see you one last time before…”

“No.” Hyunjin felt something tickle his throat. 

Feliks sighed. “They’ll probably send me to my aunt Ismene and she will be the one to judge me for my actions, which I know are highly punishable.” He reached for Hyunjin’s face, cupping his cheek in his warm hand. He had forgotten that feeling—the feeling of light itself spreading on his skin like kisses, like honey on warm bread. “My betrayal runs deep, I don’t expect exile would be quite enough to pay for my mistakes.”

“Don’t say that.” He hadn’t noticed before, but there was a small basket with peaches on the other side of Feliks, their skin soft and brightly colored. He recognized them. His peaches, the ones he used to grow in his orchard. The ones he used to bring here to share with Feliks. How did he get ahold of these? “It can’t be the end. They can’t unmake you, you’re… Feliks.” 

“There are other suns. I am just one of many. I am replaceable.” Feliks let go of him to grab two peaches, handing him one. 

Hyunjin understood that feeling—he had been that, once. Replaceable. One of many. He had been that to Feliks, and it had broken his soul. Or so he thought. Sometimes he wondered if he had truly loved Feliks but then regretted having those thoughts—of course he had loved him. Part of him still did love him and always would. It just had not been truelove. The kind of love that binds souls no matter what. The kind of love one doesn’t have to beg or wait for. 

Still. A world without Feliks was not a world that Hyunjin could imagine. When he tried to think about it, his brain only sent him white noise. 

He did not taste the peach, but he watched as his former lover bit into his, as the sweet juices ran down his chin. Feliks wiped them with the back of his hand. 

“Am I dreaming?” Hyunjin asked.

Feliks nodded. “Yes. It’s the only way I can reach you. It’s the only way I could reach her.”

He gulped as a strange sensation spilled into his chest—not quite anger, something milder than that. Irritation. Displeasure. “It’s the only way you could reach that painter too,” he pointed out, doing his best not to scowl. 

“I wanted you to get the message somehow, and back then, even bringing you here in your sleep would have been dangerous,” Feliks retorted before taking another bite of his peach, slurping as flesh and juice filled his beautiful mouth. 

The message. Yes, Hyunjin had read it in Caverley’s painting. It was not a message meant for mortal minds or words. It was a message of love. It was an apology. It said something along the lines of, I’m sorry I could not love you enough. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to love you enough. I miss you, but I can’t have you.

Hyunjin tilted his head. “It killed the man who painted it.” 

Feliks averted his gaze, letting go of his half-eaten peach. “I wanted you to—”

“You wanted me to understand, I know,” Hyunjin cut him off. It was always that with Feliks—he was so scared of being forgotten and misunderstood that he did not hesitate to use drastic measures to prevent it. Like fucking an apology into a clueless human, or kissing a dead language into the mortal Hyunjin had fallen in love with. 

They had been lovers for quite a while, but it had not been enough time for Hyunjin to make Feliks see that he loved the sun even after the night fell. 

“Feliks, have you ever loved me? Truly?” Sometimes, ignorance was worse than a dreaded truth.

“Is that what you think? That I never loved you?” Feliks’ eyes filled with tears. “Of course I did love you. I still do. Our loves are just not in the same language.” 

Hyunjin disagreed—the language was the same, it was the tenses that varied. Feliks only ever spoke to him in the present tense while he had seen his future in him. He had been a little foolish, perhaps, but he had truly believed thattheir love could unite their families. That, with time, his father would see that the gods from the realm of Light were not enemies, not rivals, but could be powerful allies instead. In return, he had been certain that Feliks could have convinced his parents that the people from the realm of Blood could be more than simple-minded warriors. The land of the gods had never known peace, and he had wanted to change that. He loved him enough for that, Feliks, that it could have changed the world. 

“It couldn’t have worked,” Feliks continued, his voice lower. “There are too many things between us.” 

He was right. Except that Hyunjin had wanted to try anyway. He would have tried, he would have. 

But when he went to respond, Feliks stopped him, raising his hand, listening. “Someone’s here,” he whispered. He turned toward the tree line at the other side of the meadow and spoke to it. “Come, dear. I’m sure he’ll want to see you.” 

Hyunjin turned his head just in time to see a person step onto the tall grass and approach the cypress tree with slow but purposeful movements. 

You. 

He stood, his heart stopping as you made your way toward him, more beautiful than any god or goddess he had ever seen.

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Hyunjin asked no one in particular, but it was Feliks who gave him a response.

“Yes.” He stood, too, and embraced him from behind. It felt a little like Hyunjin was propelled two hundred feet farther. Feliks’ body was warm, comforting. Familiar. Like many times before, Feliks kissed his neck, pressing his full lips on his skin there. “There’s a reason why she’s here, but she is just a dream. It would be too risky to bring her whole here again. You want to keep her safe, right?”

Hyunjin gulped, hating the sudden weight tugging at him in his lower stomach, or perhaps hating that he relished it. “Yes. More than anything.”

You came to a stop before him, looking at him with big, sad eyes, your lips trembling. Your hair was longer than it had been the last time he saw you. He was stunned at the unexpected sight of you. He hadn’t thought about the moment he would see you again because he had just assumed there would be no such moment. 

“But she looks real,” he insisted, his body going limp. 

Feliks held him tighter, leaving little kisses on his upper back, his bare shoulder, wrapping an arm around his chest to pull him closer. 

“She looks real because you want her to look real, Hyathos.” Feliks offered you his other hand. “Come see me.” 

So you did—you obeyed, walking past him to join Feliks but never letting Hyunjin leave your sight. He couldn’t hold it against you—nobody could ignore it when the light itself summoned them. It used to be all he had. Those moments when Feliks called on him and they would come here in this secret place to talk and to fuck. It used to make him feel so big, so important, to be loved by someone as bright and warm as Feliks. It used to drive him crazy when Feliks would get hard under his touch, or when Feliks begged to suck his cock. Then Hyunjin would watch as his length disappeared between his lover’s pretty lips, and everything felt right. 

He used to believe it when Feliks said I love you. And he did. Love him. This, Hyunjin and Hyathos alike knew. But Feliks wanted to be loved by all—he felt inadequate and small and lacking when he did not feel the love of many.Hyunjin, on the other hand, felt inadequate and small and empty when he did not feel the love of Feliks. He never sought more than that—he never needed more than that. Feliks, perhaps, had a bigger heart than he did, and it just required more to replenish it. 

Feliks let go of him to take both your hands, pulling you closer to him. He left a chaste kiss on your cheek. “You should taste a peach, they’re delicious,” he advised you, and you complied. When you were at a reasonable distance, Feliks approached him again. “It’s time to say goodbye, Hyathos. I don’t think I’ll ever see this place, or you again.” 

No. It did not matter that he had not been enough for Feliks, he couldn’t imagine his life without him. Hyunjin had learned that—that love was rarely fair. But that did not bother him.

“They’ll come get me and you have to be gone before they do. They can’t see you. It’s too dangerous,” Feliks insisted. He pressed his small hand on Hyunjin’s cheek, pulling him into a kiss. Lips on lips. And then the lips parted, deepening the kiss. 

It felt good. Like returning to a favorite travel destination knowing that it would never be your home but enjoying being there nonetheless. It felt good like a ray of light appearing from behind clouds after a storm. It felt good like a blade through the heart.

Hyunjin pulled away, realizing that kissing Feliks felt exactly like it always had, only he no longer wished to do it. It hurt him. It hurt him to become aware of it, and yet relief overtook him. 

Feliks had a faint smile. “Go now, take her with you. They’ll be here any minute.”

He wasn’t quite ready to let go yet. “You have to fight. You have to lie, to tell them… it wasn’t you. You have to—”

Feliks shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what I tell them. Aunt Ismene will see everything.” 

Hyunjin wondered what she would see. He wondered if, perhaps, Feliks had wanted to give mortals the language of the gods so that they found new ways to love him. That was something that he did, sometimes—giving up entire parts of himself seeking validation, admiration, and affection. As though he was blind to himself, to how bright and regarded he was. Nothing would ever be enough for him. Nothing. And for that, Hyunjin pitied him. 

He could hear them now—footsteps coming from the forest, and voices, too. As though whoever was coming to get Feliks had no fear of being heard. “Feliks…” 

“Whatever happens, we’ll never be fully apart,” Feliks said, letting go of him, even nudging him away. “Please. You have to leave.” 

But Hyunjin’s feet were anchored to the ground. He wanted to weep and scream. He looked away, past the forest, toward the mountains separating the realm of Light and the realm of Blood. On the other side of them was his mother. She was probably sitting in her garden, hoping for the safe return of her only remaining son. He wanted to stay here and go see her. He wanted to stay here and eat peaches with you and Feliks. He wanted you to get to know him. Feliks. You’d like him, he was sure of that.

“Now!” Feliks insisted through his teeth, and when Hyunjin still didn’t move, he turned to you. “Get him out of here, please. Please, both of you have to go.”

The peach that you were holding fell to the ground when you let go of it, immediately taking action. You made your way to him, taking his face in your hands. “Hyunjin, come with me.”

You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“Follow me. We’re leaving.” And he did follow you, but not without a last glance at Feliks from over his shoulder. He could see it now—Feliks had summoned you here because he knew you were the only thing Hyunjin would choose over him. “Faster. Faster!” 

You were running then and so was he—both of you bolted, sprinting to reach the safety of the trees surrounding the meadow before it was too late. Feliks still stood underneath the cypress tree, looking at the both of you even though he could not see. 

Six figures appeared, but before he could make out who they were exactly, you forced him to look away, holding his head in your trembling hands. “Wake up now,” you whispered. “I miss you. I miss you. Please come find me.” 

You were a dream. You weren’t really asking him this. It could not be real.

Behind him, noises of a fight echoed.

“Wake up,” you said again. But all he wanted to do was go kill the men who were taking Feliks away and then fuck you hard. He missed you in a way he did not know something could be missed—like he had put a part of himself in your heart and existed without it since. 

He kissed you, tears running down his cheeks. Feliks screamed, and Hyunjin woke up.

The hotel room was dark, the air humid and cold. Hyunjin stayed motionless in his bed, his heartbeat the only thing he could hear, holding onto the last thing he had felt from his dream, which was your lips. He was rock hard underneath the sheets, sensitive, leaking as though he had been aroused for hours. 

He closed his eyes again, chasing the dream, trying to make sense of it. It was night outside and it was night inside andit was night inside of him too. He didn’t know if any of it was true. Feliks. He didn’t know if they had taken him away or if it was just his mind telling him that he, Hyunjin, was ready to let him go.

Maybe it was both.

He remembered you, too, your body, the feeling of it against his. Your skin, your lips. Your scent. You. He rolled on his stomach to rub himself on the mattress, an unbearable pressure building between his legs, an ache spreading all over his cock and his balls and his chest. 

He loved you. He did. He loved you in the way a mortal could love, which was to say, like he was running out of time. He needed more of it, more time, to kiss you, to love you, to make you breakfast. To eat your pussy. To bake a peach crumble with you. To make love to you, to visit hundreds of museums all over the world with you. 

He was running out of time. He had been wrong. He had been wrong to leave. How could he keep you safe if you were on the other side of the world? 

Hyunjin came then, the thought of seeing you again more than enough to tip him over the edge as he humped the mattress desperately, longing for you, yearning for you. He came whispering your name like a madman, spilling himself all over the satin sheets. His high lasted him for an unusually long time during which he could not stop seeking friction and imagining it was you he was fucking, remembering your pussy, remembering you. 

When he had fully emptied himself, he collapsed on the other half of the bed, his stomach covered in cum, his body covered in sweat, the fancy sheets stained in a way that ought to make him ashamed except he was not. The rain had stopped outside. He stared at the darkness around him, panting softly. Maybe the sun would never rise again, but that would not stop him. 

He could see it now—he was meant to be with you. At all costs. He would give his immortal life if it meant it would keep the selfish gods away from you. 

Night fell early these days, and the air smelled crisp—the fall winds were merciless outside of the car. You wrapped your woolen cardigan tighter around you, your gaze fixated on the road ahead. Music was playing at low volume on the car’s satellite radio—just some late-night chill beats to fill the silence that reigned inside the car. 

Jisung sat behind the wheel, driving carefully—neither too fast nor too slow—with his fingers tapping on the wheel to the rhythm of the music. 

Jisung sat behind the wheel, driving carefully—neither too fast nor too slow—with his fingers tapping on the wheel to the rhythm of the music. 

He cleared his throat. “Feels kinda weird to be back home, doesn’t it?” As though to support his statement, he motioned vaguely at the scenery around you, which was the highway between the airport and the downtown area. “It’s been a while.”

You nodded distractedly. “Yeah, been a while.” 

But even as you came upon familiar buildings and as you entered and drove deeper into the city, none of it felt like home. It felt no different than being on this stupid press tour. You wondered if perhaps it might feel strange because it was nighttime and that everything would be alright tomorrow morning, yet you knew you were only telling yourself lies. 

Maybe out of habit, Jisung slowed down the car as you drove past the museum. Your museum. You had visited so many of them to give press conferences that you had almost forgotten how much you liked this one. Maybe it was just because you were used to it. Maybe it was just because once, Hyunjin had kissed you within these walls. 

You almost told Jisung to stop here, that you’d go get something from your office just so you could see this familiar place again but changed your mind at the last minute. Still, you watched the museum from the side mirror after you went past it, not letting it leave your sight until the car took a right turn. 

When you turned your head at the front again, you noticed that Jisung had been watching you from the corner of his eyes, but pretending he wasn’t at all. 

Again, he cleared his throat. “Maybe—I mean, look, do you maybe wanna spend the night at mine?” He spoke a little too fast for it to sound natural. “I mean, not like, spend the night, I mean, just sleep there. I’ll take the couch. Then I’ll go help you unpack your things at yours tomorrow.”

You took a deep breath. Could he really sense that you weren’t exactly sure how you’d react to being back there again? At your apartment? It had been months, after all. You feared, almost, that Hyunjin’s scent would linger in places, like your couch or perhaps even your bedroom. And you didn’t know how that would make you feel. 

The same question that had been haunting you since the night of the accident returned to your mind, like pieces from a shipwreck lost at sea resurfacing after a violent storm. 

Why did he leave? If what Jisung said was true—if Hyunjin did love you, or even something close to that, why didn’t he stay?

For your safety had been Jisung’s only and relentless response whenever you questioned him, but that was a pile of horseshit. You couldn’t even blame Jisung for it—you knew he had been fed that aforementioned horseshit by Hyunjin himself and was only repeating his words.

“I’d rather go home,” you replied, but your voice sounded strangely foreign. You knew he offered because he cared and because he seemed to genuinely believe you were in some kind of danger. You, on the other hand, didn’t. Or maybe you didn’t care. “I’m not really tired so I’ll be up all night anyway. I’ll just work.”

Jisung let out a non-committal hum while he was trying to form a response. “It’s all you’ve been doing though. Working.” Still, he negotiated a turn, heading toward your neighborhood. 

“It’s all I have.” And it was just true, yet you knew it was a bit dark and that he would worry. He always worried, it seemed. “To do,” you added quickly. “It’s all I have to do.”

He saw right through you yet Jisung pretended he didn’t. “Will you go back to work at the museum? Like, after the books are out?”

You shrugged, feeling a strange weight pressing on your chest as you approached your building. “I mean, yes, I figure.” Technically, you were still employed there, and the entirety of your work on Cipherian and the myths was sponsored by the museum. You wondered how strange it would be, though. To walk on those floors again. To remember the woman you had been before.

That woman, you figured, was dead. She had been changed forever, altered to the point that she no longer existed. You would never be her again. You had been stained by something you couldn’t describe with words. 

Jisung did help you get your suitcase up to your door and stayed by your side while you were looking for your keys—you hadn’t used them in so long, after all. He asked if he could look around before you got inside, and you granted him that—after that, you knew he would be at peace and he would leave you alone. And it wasn’t even that you minded his company. If anything, you had come to enjoy it quite a lot. You just needed to be alone for a few hours, as though it would allow you to mourn something. 

“Looks fine to me,” Jisung told you. He hugged you, keeping you in his embrace a little longer than he needed to. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will. Thanks, Ji.” 

He smiled but there was no joy on his face, only remorse. 

It felt strange to close the door behind him. You listened to the sounds outside—his footsteps in the stairway, the cars passing in the street. His rental starting and driving away. Then you focused on the noises coming from inside—the steady buzz of your fridge, your upstairs neighbor walking from his bathroom to his bedroom. Your breathing, deep, slow. Different. The same.

Sometimes, you only notice that things changed after you brought them back to the place they were before. 

You showered. It was still the same body wash as it had been before you left and it reminded you of Hyunjin. Of showering with him, here. His body against yours. His big hands lathering your skin, his lips on your cheek, your jaw, your shoulder. Other places. It felt strangely empty without him.

Everything was empty. Your fridge, your cupboards. You still had some gyokuro green tea though, so you put some water to boil and made yourself a cup, but without anyone to share it with, that felt rather hollow, too.

Just sitting on the edge of your bed while changing into your clothes was too much. Nothing felt right. Someone else ought to be there. For an instant, you considered calling Jisung and telling him you had changed your mind, that he should come spend the night, and then you realized there was no point to it—it just wouldn’t do. Even if he slept with you in your bed. Even if he fucked you in it all night. 

You found your laptop in your luggage and went to sit in a corner of your living room, which was also barren and cold. But you sat by a window and drank your tea while the night deepened outside—there were fewer cars on the road, lesspedestrians too. You cracked open the window and started by checking your personal email. You composed a simple email to your mother to let her know you were back in your apartment, figuring it ought to suffice for now. She had been asking you to come visit but you kept telling her you were too busy. It wasn’t even a lie, but you just didn't want her to realize that the woman who had once been her daughter was gone forever.

In your work email, however, one message in particular caught your attention because it came from the most prestigious university in the country. It wasn’t that you never received correspondence from people attending art history classes there—you had worked with quite a few PhD students these past few years, and even some professors who wanted to consult you for their courses. 

But this email wasn’t from someone at the university. It was from the university. It was a rather short email, yet a deeply significant one. You read it once, and then another time, but it took two more read throughs for the words to be processed by your mind. 

Your phone rang then, and you wouldn’t have taken the call if you didn’t know exactly why Seungmin was calling you. 

“Did you see the email?” you asked, but you knew he had because he had access to your work email and he was always on his phone.

“I did.” You could tell Seungmin was in a car. “So, you’re going to accept it, right?” 

The Alden Breay Award, presented to scholars whose research distinguished itself by its contribution to the world. It wasn’t unlike a small-scale Nobel prize. Only one of them was awarded each year to researchers from all across the globe, all fields included. It was a highly sought-after honor that generally immortalized the researcher’s work.

Your selection had apparently been voted by a vast committee of experts in philology, palaeography, ancient history, linguistics, archeology, art history, philosophy and semiotics. There was, apparently, no doubt that you ought to be this year’s recipient of the award for your work on Cipherian and the ancient myths. According to the selection committee, your discoveries had propelled the world of history several decades into the future, making the impossible possible.

You gulped, but a knot remained in your throat.

“I don’t think I really deserve it,” you murmured, closing the lid of your laptop as though it would make the award disappear forever. The living room was dark without it. “I didn’t really research anything. It just happened.”

“You made the discovery regardless,” Seungmin insisted. Before you could add anything, he went on. “Of course they gave it to you. You’re all over the news already. Everyone says it’s the discovery of the century. They had to give it to you. I think you'll also get a Pulitzer, but you didn't hear it from me. It’ll be good exposure. Good money, too.”

You didn’t care about money. You already made more of it than you needed. 

Your silence lingered, during which you heard Seungmin pay the driver of his cab and come out of the car. You stared outside, looking at this place that didn’t feel like home, wishing that it did. 

“Okay.” You tasted the word in your mouth, finding it had no flavor. “I’ll do it.” You may not be of much importance, but whatever exposure this would get you, the museum would get as well. “The email said we could choose the location for the event, right?” 

“Yes!” Seungmin sounded happy about it. It painted a faint smile on your lips—at least one of you was excited. “Do you have a preference? There are some very good venues—” 

“The museum.” You thought about Mrs. Yoo, about Minji, about everyone who had worked so hard on the Deities exhibition. They should be the ones who reaped the honors of it all. Not you. The least you could do was to bring the party to them. 

Oh, you had spent many late nights at the museum, same as anyone else, trying to make everything work, organizing shipments of valuable artifacts, trying to convince other museums to let you borrow something of theirs for a while. But none of this was of any importance because a language had appeared in your brain, and now that language was your prison. Now, that dead language was the only thing about you that mattered. 

“The museum’s a great idea,” Seungmin retorted and you could hear him typing frantically on the phone. He must have put you on speaker and was already drafting an acceptance letter for the award, no doubt. “It’s so late, why don’t you try getting some sleep? We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Well. Later.”

It was already two in the morning. You cleared your throat, taking a deep breath to keep your voice as steady as you could make it. “Yeah, okay.” It was best not to argue with him. 

“I forgot to tell you—congrats, really,” Seungmin said and you could even hear the smile in his voice, which somehow made you feel even worse.

There was nothing to congratulate you for. You had done nothing. Yet all these people wanted to speak with you and give you awards and call you grand things but you knew it had nothing to do with you. None of these people knew you. You had not let them know you, nor would you ever. 

You had let someone in once and it cost too high a price.

None of this was about you personally. Whatever had happened, you were simply the voice for a language that had been extinct for millennia. After you were done translating all the available texts, after you had written down every ounce of knowledge you possessed on Cipherian, your purpose would be fulfilled, and the world would no longer have a use for you.

It was, after all, what you had always been. A temporary burst of light in the night sky of people’s existence.

A shooting star.

It took you a long time to fall asleep—by the time you drifted off, the sky was beginning to turn pale. You dreamt. You dreamt that you ran, holding someone’s hand, dragging them with you. You ran away from something terrible but you did not know what. You ran toward the unknown but it did not matter and you were not afraid. There was a hand in yours, familiar and warm and the feeling of it was intimate. You never looked behind you to see who it was—there was no time for this, there was only time for running. 

When you woke up hours later, you were out of breath as though your dream had been real. 

You noticed it as soon as you opened your eyes—in the sky, a sun had risen, but it did not look the same as it did yesterday. 

.. to be continued.

author's note: Hello everyone! How are you guys doing? I hope you all have been well & that you are having a good summer. I wanted to say a huge thank you for all the love that you give me. It's such a wonderful thing and yet I cannot help but feel like I don't deserve it. I will always work hard so I do deserve it one day 🤍 I appreciate every ask sent, every reblog, everything. I am the luckiest author on here and maybe in the world, and I owe it all to you guys. So, thank you.

I would like to extend a special thank you to @cb97percent who helped me with this chapter when I struggled a lot with it. Thank you, love.

Also, a special thank you to @hyunskizz whose love for Hyathos has kept this story alive. Thank you my lil apple. May he always bring you comfort and delicious fruit.

permanent taglist:

@abiaswreck ; @accalus ; @aimeexx ; @anylady-fics ; @b4kuho3 ;

@binstitsweat ; @casualtaelyn ; @cb97percent ; @changbinheart ; @chans1aptop ;

@chartrucewhore ; @djeniryuu ; @dwaekkiracha ; @erispancakes ; @fwess ;

@hanjingin ; @hwan-g ; @hyuneyeon ; @hyunfruits ; @hyunjinswifeee ;

@hyunniethepooh ; @hyunsungbased ; @hyuwunjinie ; @hyyuniverse ; @iam2out ;

@imseungminsgf ; @jollchacho ; @katsukis1wife ; @k1ra4a ; @lilbabiebunni ;

@leedunno ; @lotus-dly ; @miraworldsstuff ; @mmoonriseflowerr ; @moasworld ;

@naoristerling ; @neosracha ;@palindrome969 ; @revehosh ; @skzfelixlove ;

@starseekersworld ;  @straydhampir ; @straykids5star ; @suhomylife ; @sunlitwilderness ;

@ven-fic-recs ; @yourmercibeaucoupsblog

Yet another series from, Cece. I'm excited to read the third installation of this au

The Artist's Garden At Midnight

— contains adult content, minors do not interact 🔞 —

[ abstract ]: Instead of playing the princess in an upcoming movie, it turns out you got scammed and are portraying her in an amusement resort to entertain tourists in Paris. On top of that, you are paired up with the man who you thought you would never see again. Hwang Hyunjin, an ambitious painter who broke your heart half a decade ago (your version of the story). However, you are not entirely innocent in this either when you were the one to rip his own into a thousand pieces first (his version).

[ parts ]: EP. 1 — DAFFODIL DAY DREAMS [ coming soon! ]

[ general ]: hyunjin + fem reader, painter hyunjin, florist reader, kind of second chance au, almost lovers to enemies to lovers, coworkers au, story is set in paris, smut + angst + fluff

[ warning ]: explicit sexual scenes [ will be individually specified for each chapter ], consumption of alcohol, mention of cheating and dishonesty, [ I might add more during the writing process and pls always make sure to read the chapters’ individual warnings and remember you’re responsible for your own media consumption ]

[ words ]: ?/?

[ note ]: This is Hyune's promised spin off to the The Experience Project and SIMP universe! Tag list is open. If you wish to be added in order to engage meaningfully with this little story just let me know! If you asked me before under some other post please comment here again, I couldn’t keep track of all wishes to be tagged since I didn’t have a list at this point. I hope you will like this story 🩷

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

---

﴾ 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.

────

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.

At the risk of sounding like I'm in a really bad headspace. I promise I'm doing okay. But these songs really describe the path I've walked so far

NP tags: @hyuuukais @moonchild9350 @moonlightndaydreams @catiuskaa @skzms

3 kpop songs I think represent me the best

-Hello by Weeekly

-Bloom Bloom by THE BOYZ

-Power Up by Red Velvet

I wanna know what 3 songs you think represent you the best!! Let's make this a tag game :) @ashxxgyu @igotkpoops @casemoa143 @boba-beom & anyone who would want to join!!

---

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.”

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network: @atzhouse @cultofdionysusnet @cromernet

---

JFC

What is this masterpiece

harmony ; 3racha x reader ; one-shot

masterlist.

porn without plot. you want to have some fun and you know exactly which boyfriend can help get it started.

pairing: 3racha/reader content info: sub!reader, dom!changbin, dom!chan, switch!jisung, polyamorous mmfm foursome (so they’re all involved with each other and interact with each other), very enthusiastic consent with an implied red/yellow/green light system (yellow is employed once).  some rough play (esp with changbin), cnc game that reader initiates, face-slapping, choking, dirty talk, pussy eating, double penetration, blow job, all three holes at once, multiple orgasms, jisung having a monster dick for no reason, aftercare.  (technically no mention of birth control but it’s a long established relationship and you can safely assume it’s taken care of.) 

word count: 5255 words.

enjoy <3

-

When you want to play – really play – you know where to go. 

Jisung can be an overthinker and Chan is always protective, so they hesitate before getting too rough with you. Changbin, however, never holds back.  You know how to touch him, how to smile that particularly provocative smile, how to bat your eyelashes and invite him to play.  

You are thinking about it when he returns from his work-out, muscles straining in his black tank shirt, body damp with sweat, and looking like pure, unadulterated sex.  Chan and Jisung are huddled around a laptop in the living room, their entrepreneurial endeavours a seemingly endless chore, and they are so engrossed in their work they don’t see you leave. 

You sneak off to your room to change, ditching your shorts and underclothes, slipping into one of Changbin’s old t-shirts and absolutely nothing else.  

You intend to hunt him down after his shower, but it’s Changbin who comes to you.  He ambles casually into your bedroom without knocking, comfortable and relaxed and at home.  You have your own rooms for personal space but you all come and go as you please.

Your room is dimly lit with strings of fairy lights, the bed crowded with pillows and teddy bears, not to mention a big strong boyfriend who makes himself at home.  Changbin is dressed in sweatpants and a black t-shirt, his hair blow-dried soft and fluffy, but body as bulky and powerful as ever. 

“Look at this,” he says, holding out his phone.  A sweater you were eyeing has gone on sale so he sits on your bed and buys it for you without hesitation.   He giggles to himself with all that self-satisfied delight, teasing that he is the best boyfriend and your number one favourite. 

He knows the truest harmony lies among the four of you, together, always, but he likes to tease.

You like to tease back. 

“Be careful, you big bully,” you say, because he plops himself down at the head of the bed, knocking a teddy bear over.  You pick it up and aggressively shove it back into place. 

He quirks an eyebrow, his giggling joviality replaced with a studious expression.  He seems to finally notice what you are wearing, blinking his gaze up and down your body as you rearrange the pillows behind him. 

You bat your eyelashes, all playful innocence.

“Don’t be so serious,” he says.  He deliberately knocks a teddy onto the floor. 

You playfully gasp, bending over with a flourish and flashing him. 

“Ah,” he says, putting his phone on your bedside table.  “It’s like that?” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, blinking. 

“Hm,” he says, giving you another quick once-over.  “Okay.”  

Changbin hauls you over his shoulder and wrestles you onto the bed.  He puts you on your back, upside down so your head is near the foot.  He climbs right on top of you, not an inch of muscle budging even when you thud your fists against his firm chest.    

“Binnie,” you say, wriggling underneath him, the t-shirt riding up your thighs.  “You’re crushing me, you big mean brute.” 

“Brute,” he says, laughing.  He grabs your hips and pins you to the mattress.  “Tsk.  You like it like that.” 

“No, I – ah!”

Changbin never hesitates.  He knows you will tell him if you don’t like something.  It’s a game of trust, full of an all encompassing love that boasts such tender affection beneath each action.  Being with Changbin is like being nestled in blankets by a warm fire on a snowy winter’s day.  You are sheltered in the storm, feeling that protection even more keenly because of the dangerous cold.    

Between you, there is nothing but heat. 

He gathers the hem of the t-shirt and shoves it up, past the skin of your tummy, exposing your thighs and all the bare softness between them.  Oh, yes, all softness against his hard body, the thickness of his biceps as he holds you down, his big thighs shoved between your open legs, broad shoulders relentless and ungiving even where you smack him repeatedly. 

“Binnie, be careful,” you say, trying to close your legs around his hips. 

You gasp when he puts a hand up your shirt, squeezing your breast in the cup of his palm. His mean fingers immediately find the stiffening peak, thumb tormenting you while you whine. 

You buck as if you want to throw him off, but he is right where you want him and he knows it.  He knows you, your body like a well-loved instrument, his strong hands drawing every musical gasp and sigh out of you. 

“Where’s your panties, hm?” he asks.  Undeterred by your continuous bucking and writhing, he slides his hands down to your naked hips.  He was slouched half-on top of you but he gets up on his knees now.  He pushes your thighs apart, forcing his hips between them. 

“Shameful,” he says.   He tries to grab your flailing hands to no avail.  You smack his chest and shoulders, dodging the reach of his fingers. 

He smacks your face, a tap hard enough to register the game has really begun, but not so hard to sting for long.  You still gasp, your hands pausing.  It gives him time to work a hand between your open thighs. 

“Ahh—!” 

“Yah, look at you,” he says, rubbing his fingers through your wet pussy without finesse or gentleness.  You twitch every time his knuckle rides over your clit.   “Bad girl,” he says.  “Who are you so wet for?” 

He gives you no time to answer, scooting back to drag you to the middle of the bed. You are still upside down, your pillows and teddies piled behind him, all the dreaminess of your girly lace bedroom in contrast to his stark masculinity.  It makes your whole body thrum with arousal, hot from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head.  You feel him even where he is not touching you.  

Where he is touching you, you burn, heart erratic with anticipation as he squeezes your thighs, as he shoves your hands out of his way, as he uses his thumbs to spread your pussy open to his gaze. 

“Ah – Binnie—!”  You get louder.  Your bedroom door is open.  Chan and Jisung might be focussed on their work, but not for long, not if you keep this up.  Still, to speed things along, you scream, “Chan!  Channie!  Ch—hmmph!”

Changbin shoves a pillow in your face, holding it there, smothering you to soften your shrieks.  His other hand is on your thigh – no, slipping higher, a surface touch through all that wet desire.  Then his blunt fingers are inside you.  You moan into the pillow, clenching around the thrust of his fingers.  You get dizzy quickly, partially because of the pillow, partially his skilled hand. 

He abruptly lifts the pillow.  The oxygen goes straight to your head, as intoxicating as a kiss.  You realize you are close to coming already, hiccupping with all that sudden breath as he fucks his fingers into you. 

Changbin is relentless.   You smack his chest but he ignores it, his strong arm keeping a steady momentum.  An orgasm builds and builds, your fingers hooking into his t-shirt for some leverage.  He puts a hand on your belly and holds you down.  He feels so strong and heavy, utterly unmovable, and it makes falling apart so much easier. 

“Didn’t you have something to say to Chan?” he says. 

You gasp and turn your head.  Sure enough, Chan is standing there, watching you.  Changbin does it on purpose, knowing when you are close, so you look at Chan just as the orgasm crests.  

Chan is standing beside the bed, dressed in his basketball shorts and a sleeveless black shirt, a baseball cap over his curly dark hair.   He must have entered the room while the pillow was on your face, and now he is standing there, watching Changbin hold you down and fuck you with his hand. 

“Channie, please—” you say, then you come all over Changbin’s fingers.  You cry out because he keeps tormenting you, thumb shaking back-and-forth across your throbbing clit.  “Ah, Binnie—Channie, please!”

Chan gives Changbin a look, his eyebrow quirked, then he just leans towards the open door and whistles.  It’s a sharp, high whistle, a call to attention. 

“Han,” he says, not even very loud.  Chan never needs to shove or force or yell.  When Chan says come, you come. 

You always obey Chan.  You throw your head back, gasping as you come a second time.  It is so soon after the first orgasm that it feels like one long, rolling wave.  It continues to shudder through you, even after Changbin slips his hand out. 

The shirt is still shoved up your tummy, soft skin and wet pussy on display.   Chan does not look away, reaching blindly behind himself for your desk chair.  He yanks it closer to the bed and plops down, taking off his cap and tossing it on the floor.   He is bare-faced, expression so open and honest, but a hunger in his eyes that darkens his whole face. 

Changbin just looks giddy.  You look at him as he giggles, that funny little chortle leaving that buff body.  Then you realize he is rolling his sweatpants down. 

“Channie!” you yelp, shrieking and twisting while Changbin licks his palm and strokes his cock, his other hand effortlessly holding you down. 

Chan slouches in the chair.  He props an elbow on the arm-rest and puts his chin in his palm.  His other hand slips under the waistband of his shorts. 

“Careful, baby,” Chan says, seconds before Changbin smacks you again.  It is within your limit, but still enough to turn your head on impact.

Like before, it breaks your concentration, and Changbin takes the opportunity to grab your hips, line up, and shove his cock inside you.  Chan and Jisung always give you a minute to adjust, the size of a hard cock definitely different from fingers, but Changbin never waits.  Even while you wince and complain, he fucks you through it, gripping your hips hard and ignoring your hands pushing against his chest. 

“Too much, Binnie,” you say, even though the sting is quickly passing.  You’re so wet and it makes it easy for him to fuck you.  It even sounds messy, every thrust opening you up, getting you even wetter, the bed creaking as he pulls you onto his cock over and over. 

You look over at Chan who is still watching, the shape of his hand and his dick so clear through the material of his shorts as he fists his cock slowly. 

You hiccup as Changbin switches from long, deep strokes to short, pounding ones. 

At which point Jisung finally walks in, yapping about work, saying, “I was thinking we could postpone the meeting to Monday and—oh, hi, WHAAAT, we’re having sex in here?  All right, man, okay, that’s cool, all right, what’s up.”   

Oh, your sweet Jisung.  He is also in house clothes, black shorts and a sleeveless white shirt, dark hair feathering through his fingers as he runs his hand through it.  He walks further into the room, kicking the door closed behind himself for no reason.  His attention is firmly fixed on you, holding your gaze while Changbin fucks you.  The unmoving intensity of those big brown eyes leaves you tingling, a swoop in your belly that feels as thorough as a good fuck.  It crashes into the feeling of Changbin inside you, makes your whole body get tight so Changbin groans and curses. 

“Oh,” is all you can say.  You cover your face with both hands, gasping when Changbin goes back to longer, deeper thrusts. 

“Heyyy, baby, why are you hiding?” Jisung says in his sweetest voice. 

You hear him approaching, even above the sound of you getting fucked, above Changbin’s little grunts, above Chan cursing.   You feel the dip of the mattress when Jisung climbs up on the bed, sitting near your head.  Then his hands are on your wrists, prying them away from your face.   You try to wrestle them back but he holds them calmly, his own arms boasting a subtle musculature as he pins your hands to the mattress to stop you from moving. 

“Yes,” Changbin says.  “Like that.  Come on.” 

“Jisungie,” you whine, looking down at where Changbin is driving into you, feeling each thrust deeper than your pussy, all the way up to your throat.  You tip your head back, looking at Jisung upside down. 

He leans down, his hair swooping forward, tickling your face as he kisses your forehead and temple. 

“It’s okay, baby,” he says.  Despite his soft voice, he does not lighten his grip, your hands still locked in place.  “Does it hurt?” he asks, wide-eyed. 

“Mmm,” you say, nodding, even while shuddering with so much pleasure that a tear spills down your cheek. 

“Aww,” he says, licking that tear track, making every nerve spasm.  “You’re so cute, baby.” 

“She gets tighter when you choke her,” Chan says.

“Awww,” Jisung says.   He releases one hand to reach for you.  He wraps his fingers delicately around your throat, not even squeezing at first, just a caress as his hand curls around you. 

Your adrenaline naturally peaks, body clenching, just like Chan said.  Changbin groans his satisfaction and Jisung tightens his grip, keeping you pinned by the throat while Changbin goes still, coming inside you. 

“Fuck,” Chan says. 

Jisung releases your throat and you suck in a shaky breath.  It is interrupted when Jisung swoops in, kissing your lips upside down.  You squirm under the confusing messiness of his open mouth at this angle. 

He comes up with a breath, one as shaky as your own, ravished from a kiss.  He runs his hand through his hair and nods to Changbin, saying, “Turn her around.” 

Two pairs of hands find you, manhandling you so easily between them.  You yelp, startled by the movement, as they lift you up and turn you around so your head is in Changbin’s lap and Jisung is now the one between your legs. 

Changbin hoists you into his arms, holds you in the cradle of his bicep as Jisung lays down between your open legs. 

This is one area that Jisung never hesitates to indulge, his open mouth descending on your pussy with ravenous excitement. 

You are so, so sensitive down there, almost numb beneath the first few searching swipes. 

He presses his whole mouth there, moaning as he sucks on your clit then licks up and down, back and forth, around and around.  His tongue rubs where Changbin just came, circling your sensitive hole, pressing there then licking back up to your already throbbing clit. 

“Can’t come again,” you say, not entirely sure if it comes out coherent because your eyes are closed and your brain feels fuzzy.   

He answers with a hum.  He does not seem to be eating you out with the intention of making you come, but purely for his own pleasure as he sucks and licks and tastes.  Despite that – and despite your words – you feel a tightening in your belly, a dull throb that feels too feels too deep to reach. 

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Changbin says when you start to writhe, his big arm wrapped around your neck, holding you tight to his beating heart. 

The thud of that heart, the relentless flick of Jisung’s tongue, and Chan’s approving nod makes your thighs press around Jisung’s head. 

“Oh—” is your last word before you come again, bucking hard against Jisung’s face.  You gasp and cling to Changbin’s arm. 

Jisung keeps licking at you, not relenting until your gasping whine is more of a scream.   Then he kisses your thighs and hips before pushing himself up onto his knees. 

He and Changbin wordlessly work together, sitting you upright to remove your only article of clothing.   Both pairs of hands find you again, touching and groping and stimulating everywhere. 

You shudder under all the sensation, eyes closing, rocking against nothing.  You are desperate to close your legs to relieve the tension, but Jisung is kneeling between them.  Fortunately, he knows you well, his hand sliding down there, fingers finding you, curling into you. 

“You’re soo wet, baby, it’s embarrassing,” he says.  “You need it that bad?” 

He is still using his sweetest voice, like he doesn’t know he is about to utterly wreck your shit.  Because Jisung always does without very much effort, simply by effect of having the biggest dick you have ever taken.   It is part of the reason you usually can’t start with him, or why he takes his time when you do, because it is an aching endeavour whenever he tries to fit all that inside you. 

Even the bulge in his shorts is obscene, the material rubbing against your thighs.  He brings your hand to that bulge and groans when you squeeze it, saying, “That’s it, that’s it—”

He leans over you.  It sounds like he and Changbin might be kissing above your head, sloppily at that.  Jisung is probably shoving his tongue into Changbin’s mouth, the same tongue that was just inside you as it licked up the mess that Changbin made.   

They press you between their bodies in an envelope of desire, utterly dominating your senses.  Changbin smells like his shampoo, a deep scent like mahogany, while Jisung tends to douse himself in cologne, faded now at the end of the day but still a rich, expensive smell.  Beneath all that is that simple sweat, bodies getting worked up, raw sex overwhelming all those other scents. 

You breathe them in, whimpering because you are pressed so tightly between them. You can feel Jisung twitching in your hand and Changbin beginning to stiffen again at your backside. 

 There is a wet pop and a shared gasp when they stop kissing.  Jisung grabs your face and pulls you up, his mouth hot when it claims yours, that stupidly talented mouth making you crazy. 

“Hold her,” Jisung says, speaking against your lips while guiding Changbin’s hands.  Jisung grabs your thighs and pushes them up, not quite folding you in half but almost there.  He knows you need to be open to take him.  Even then, you are already clenching, fluttering around nothing in anticipation.

Changbin holds your thighs back, hands pressed under the curve of your knee.  Jisung hastily shoves his shorts down his thighs, leaving them gathered at the knee.   He touches you and uses your desire to wet his dick, frantically jerking it as if it is not already intimidatingly hard and ready. 

“Jisungie,” you say, already whining, wiping an embarrassing spot of drool as it spills over your bottom lip.  Your body is so eager that it thunders out of control, clenching around nothing, and you can’t seem to stop it.   

Jisung is so mean, just using his fingertip for a second, circling your fluttering hole.  You try kicking him but your ankle manages little more than a flick, your legs trapped in Changbin’s hold. 

“Sorry,” Jisung says, giggling and obviously unapologetic.  He flicks your pouting bottom lip before finally putting the tip of his dick at your entrance. 

The first little bit is always fine.  It feels good to be full, your body needing him, pulling him in.  He rocks back and forth a little, pushing an inch then another, and that’s when your body realizes how much there is, clenching and stretching and burning as he pushes in.   

He goes slow, his whining mouth against your throat.  But then Chan sits on the edge of the bed and touches his back.  He bottoms out quickly and you squeak, eyes closed and breath coming fast. 

You hear Chan say, “Take it off.”   Confused, you blink your eyes open.  Chan is talking to Jisung, tugging his shirt up his back. 

Jisung groans but complies, tugging it over his head with one hand.  The few seconds give you a precious moment to adjust, barely enough before he comes back and starts to fuck you with short, rolling thrusts.   You think Chan is getting Jisung’s shorts out of the way given the jerky way Jisung moves on top of you, but then you are skin to skin with no obstruction. 

“Mmph, yellow – legs,” you say, breaking only briefly to prevent a cramp in your thighs.  Changbin is quick to smooth you out, helping reposition you more comfortably.  

You sprawl flat on your back as Changbin moves away, wrapping your legs around Jisung’s waist without any hindrance.  He holds himself above you, alternatively muttering expletives and cooing sweet nothings at you. 

Changbin sits on one side, Chan the other, both fully clothed despite the obvious strain below their waistbands.  It reminds you a little of the time Changbin topped Jisung while Chan fucked you, the pair of you kissing and touching between them the entire time.   

Today is a little different.  You are at the centre of it all, Jisung inside you, Chan’s hand on your chest and Changbin’s fingers circling your mouth.   You take those fingers when prompted, sucking dutifully, batting your eyelashes up at him while he softly finger-fucks your mouth. 

Chan’s fingers join him, touching your lip.  You open your mouth wider and drool messily around the intrusion. 

“Fuck,” Chan says.  He rips his hand back in sudden needy haste.  “Turn over,” he demands, smacking Jisung on the ass. 

It makes Jisung yelp but he complies.  With some help from Changbin, you roll over until Jisung is on his back and you are on top of him.  Changbin kneels upright too, taking your face in his hands and kissing you, tongue penetrating your mouth as Jisung holds your hips and thrusts up into you. 

Chan grabs the back of your neck, holding you in place while Changbin kisses you.  Chan’s other hand runs down your front, tweaking a nipple and making you mewl into Changbin’s mouth.  You are more panting than kissing by the time Chan’s fingers reach your pussy. 

Jisung slows down just a little, out of breath and whimpering as you clench around him.  This angle makes him feel stupidly deep, your eyes rolling back.  He makes a few small, jerky movements, not even a deep thrust, and it still feels like he his hitting your heart. 

Chan joins the kiss with Changbin.  You are not even sure who is kissing you, just that it is one or the other, back and forth until you are dizzy.  You know it is Chan’s fingers between your legs, the unmistakable pattern of his deft, familiar stroke making you spiral towards another orgasm. 

“Oh, god, she’s – she’s—” Jisung says, squeezing your hips, going still for a minute to stop himself from coming when you do.  He is breathing as hard as you. 

You look down at Jisung, holding eye contact while you come hard on Chan’s fingers. Chan and Changbin are each sucking a bruise into either side of your neck. 

“Fuck,” you say in a watery voice, thighs shaking, hands on Jisung’s abdomen as you lean forward. 

“That’s it,” Chan says, kissing your throat sweetly while Changbin bites you meanly.  Both of them swipe their tongue across the mark they leave behind.  “Jisung,” Chan says, a demand without further explanation.

“Fuck, I know,” Jisung says, slowly moving his hips again. 

It is so quick off your orgasm, it makes aftershocks move through your whole body.  You are a livewire, making every ridiculous sound possible as Jisung fucks you, Changbin kisses you, and Chan gets up behind you. 

Chan runs his hands down your sides, gently bending you forward until you are chest to chest with Jisung. 

“Yup, just like that,” Chan says, rubbing the base of your spine then lower.  His hands cup the curve of your ass, squeezing, tilting your hips just so.  It gives him a good view of Jisung’s cock moving in and out of you, no doubt obscenely wet and messy, as well as exposing the smaller hole in your ass as he spreads you open. 

“Changbin,” Chan says, still with that same confident assurance he will be obeyed no matter what, “Pass me the lube. Bedside drawer.” 

As if you were not already sensitive enough, just hearing those words makes everything clench, which makes Jisung fuck you harder, which makes some place inside you that is so unbelievably soft and tender start to ache. 

“Ah, that sound,” Changbin says when your moans turn to high-pitched whimpers.  He pats the back of your head and reaches for the bedside table. 

After a bit of rustling, he tosses the lube at Chan who catches it easily. 

“One second,” Changbin says while Chan uncaps it.  “She’s gonna come again.  Big one, isn’t it, yes?” 

The fact he knows before you do is a testament to how closely he watches you, how well he knows you.  He is completely right, of course, as Jisung repeatedly pounds into some squishy, vulnerable part of you, so deep and so tender.  You are not sure your clit would even respond if someone tried to touch it, but they don’t need to.   It is enough that Jisung is hitting that place again and again. 

You come with a scream, literally gushing around Jisung as you come.  It takes everything in his willpower not to come, nonsensically begging Changbin to help so he doesn’t finish.  Changbin just grabs him by the throat, much harder than Jisung grabbed you, making Jisung choke out a strangled gasp immediately.  It works, though, as Jisung goes still but stays hard, letting you rock desperately on top of him as your orgasm seems to last ages. 

When it finishes, you are completely boneless.  You slump onto Jisung who takes a breath when Changbin lets go. 

“All right,” Changbin says, smacking your ass.  You hear him kiss Chan quickly.   “Your turn.”

It is a good thing you feel so willowy; it makes it easy for Chan to open you up on his slick fingers.  The few times you have done this, it always took forever, which was fun in its own way, but today it is so easy.  He slides a finger right in, then another, hardly any obstruction as your body surrenders so completely to your boyfriends.

“You gonna take it okay, baby?” Jisung asks, his hands on your sides, holding you steady. 

You look up at him, nodding, and open your mouth with a whine.  He understands, lifting his head, meeting you in a messy, lazy kiss while he rocks slowly inside you.   The kiss only breaks when Chan replaces his fingers with his cock, reigniting every spark in your over sensitized body.  

“Ugh, god,” Jisung says, barely above a breath as he pants against your mouth.  “He’s inside you, baby?” 

You don’t answer because he can probably feel it when Chan is fully inside you.  It takes a second for them to calibrate, find a rhythm that works.   You are not sure if you are more impressed with yourself for taking it so easily this time, or impressed that Jisung has lasted this long and is still coherent enough to keep a steady rhythm. 

“Changbin,” you say, his name a moan on your lips.  You need to feel him too, his hand on your back not nearly enough. 

“Go,” Chan says, groaning, your hips in his hands as he fucks you.  “Oh, baby, you’re so good,” he says.  “Isn’t our girl so good for us?” 

Changbin and Jisung basically just grunt in reply, affirmative but irrevocably distracted. 

Changbin kneels near your head, rubbing the back of your neck and gently guiding you to turn your face.  Jisung swears when you open your mouth, a bit of spit drooling past his own lips as he watches you take Changbin’s cock past your lips.   You mostly just lay there with your mouth open, letting him fuck it rather than really blowing him, but there are no complaints. 

Chan squeezes your ass, a gentle knead that just makes you feel more open, stretched to your absolute limits, so full that you do not know how you will ever be happy without them all inside you.  

It reinvigorates you.  You find strength in your arm and use it to touch Changbin, fist circling where your mouth does not reach.  You get him off first but Chan follows quickly, muttering things like you, tight, perfect, baby, baby, baby.

“Oh god,” Jisung says, somehow still holding out.  When Chan slips out, it gives Jisung slightly more leverage.  He pushes himself upright, letting you slump in his arms and cling to him while he fucks up into you with quick, desperate little uh-uh-uhs. 

Finally, he comes, your name melting into a moan as he buries his face in your neck, mouth open where Changbin left his bitemark. 

They surround you after that and you hum happily, letting them pass you from one pair of arms to the next.  Jisung flops back, running his hands through his hair and catching his breath.  Changbin is there with a cloth of some kind – you think it might be Jisung’s shirt, but Jisung is way past caring – and he gives you a quick and gentle wipe-down while kissing your sleepy brow. 

“I should buy you sweaters more often,” Changbin says, giggling. 

It makes you snort with laughter, blinking up at him with a grin.  “Was gonna fuck you anyway, dummy,” you say. 

“In that case, I’ll buy you another one right now.” 

You giggle when he rubs his nose against yours in a cute little nose-kiss, eyes crinkling with an affectionate smile. 

“Mm, c’mere, sleepy,” Chan says, rightfully as you are still mostly slumped in his arms.  You manage to string an arm around his neck as he scoops you off the bed and holds you against his chest.

You are still a little dazed from so much sensation.   You let your boys take care of you.  After some quick inspection and care, you are plunked in a bath with Jisung to clean and decompress while the other two go strip and re-make the bed. 

Jisung kisses your face while helping you wash, his careful hands and the hot water soothing every achy limb. 

“Totally worth it,” you say, head under his chin, eyes closed and sighing contently. 

Changbin comes to help you out.  By then, you are bright-eyed, sore but in a way that makes you alive.  You feel clean and fresh and loved, bundled up in a robe and then carried off in Changbin’s arms to the living room where food, a comfy couch, and Chan is waiting. 

Jisung joins a moment later.  The laptop is long since closed and utterly forgotten, the four of you snuggling up in a big blanket.  Chan has an arm slung across the back of the couch, your head on his chest, Changbin’s arm around your middle, and Jisung half-asleep where heis  slumped against Changbin. 

“Round two?” Jisung asks then promptly yawns, making you laugh as Changbin playfully smacks him and Chan just sighs an amused sigh. 

Taking the cue from Jisung’s yawn, you close your eyes and snuggle down. 

“Love you,” you say, drifting off to each of them saying it back.  You know one of them will carry you to bed eventually, so you let yourself drift into sleep, safe and warm, happiest when you are all together, just like this, the four of you always in perfect harmony. 

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