Katie - Tumblr Posts
Practicing Hands :)
also yes this was inspired by the clip from today, hOLY MOLY good food
Katie, I adore you 😭💙🫂. It means the world to me that you liked it (bc I know you love Minho just as much as I do😁).
Also I have a love/hate relationship with tag lists bc I want to do them, especially if people ask, but then my brain is like “they actually don’t want you to tag them in everything you write, doofus” - even though I logically understand they wouldn’t have asked if they didn’t want to be added…but I panic over it anyway 😂🥴 but I can tag you bc we go way back and I know you won’t yell at me or be annoyed with me (probably?) 😂🤣
Of Course, Professor
Pairing: Law Professor!Lee Know x Female Reader
Genre: Smut. Romantic-ish. Basically just porn with a hint of plot tossed in so I don’t just keyboard smash sex stuff on the page and feel bad about myself. 18+.
Summary: The law professor everyone is scared of generously offers to help you with your school work.
Warnings: There is explicit language. There is explicit sex (oral, penetration, teasing, edging, cumshot). There is a Professor/Student relationship, and IRL I do think that’s super inappropriate BUT this isn’t real life and I promise everything is very consensual, there’s no like “give me sex and you’ll get an A” kinda stuff, so, it’s all very much in my own personal scope of comfort. I wouldn’t write anything I felt was yucky. If any of that rubs you the wrong way though, that’s totally fine, and this one isn’t for you which is completely okay.
A/N: So, once upon a time in my undergrad years I was determined to be a lawyer. For a solid academic year I changed my major to Paralegal Studies because I figured that would be a perfect foundation for law school (smart, right?). Except like, three months in I was miserable and hated everything about it and realized that it absolutely couldn’t be me. I ended up having a similar discussion with my academic advisor/professor - except I didn’t end up fucking them - not that professor anyway (kidding). I always wanted to write a story about that awful year, and now I have - kinda…sort of. With a twist of delicious Lee Know and forbidden love. Yum.
“Can you stop please?”
You look at the girl sitting next to you in class. Her name completely escapes you but her eyes are burning lasers at the pen you’ve been clicking nervously in your hands.
“...Sorry…”
You apologize and gently set the pen down on your desk. Professor Lee is taking his sweet time passing back the most recent term papers and you dig your nails into your palm in anticipation of your grade.
To say you’re struggling in his Civil Procedures course is an understatement. In fact, you don’t seem to be doing well in any of the classes you’re taking this semester. The voices of your parents condescendingly telling you “Law School isn’t for everyone and that’s okay,” sound like they’re playing on repeat in an echo chamber.
If you bomb this paper you’re out. You stayed up almost all night last night going over the pros and cons of dropping out. You went back and forth so long fighting with yourself that you fell asleep thinking about it, and when you woke up the only thing you could think of was letting the universe give you a sign.
You had worked on your term paper for weeks, carefully piecing it together, you spent so much time in the library that you now know the TA who works at the help desk on a first name basis. So if you flunk it, there’s your magical sign.
“Ms. ___,” Professor Lee sets your paper face down on the desk - bad sign. He leans down just a tad, “Why don’t we meet in my office after class?” - even worse.
“Yes, Professor,” you nod. You think about not even flipping the stapled monstrosity over, but curiosity gets the better of you.
There it is, a painful 55% staring back at you in thick, blood-red marker. You spare yourself the trouble of pouring over the thinner red notes made in the margins of every page. You can’t help the tears of frustration that pool in your eyes.
“Everyone enjoy your break and the time spent with your families, when we return we’ll begin our discussions on Summary Judgement, so please make sure you complete the reading outlined in the syllabus before we see each other again. Dismissed,” Mr. Lee nods and the ruckus of chairs against linoleum and exasperation fill the room.
Mr. Lee’s office is four floors above the classroom, so you have a few minutes to spare - which you spend in the restroom crying, drying your eyes, then crying again.
You’re dropping out of Law School. All that work, all that trying, all those late nights - and don’t even start on the amount of money spent on coffee and tuition and fucking textbooks and…you start sobbing again.
“How did you do?” Seungmin asks when you emerge from the ladies room, his face immediately contorts into a painful frown at your red, puffy face, “That bad huh?”
“I can’t really talk Seungmin,” you take a deep breath, “I’ve got to go meet Lee in his office before his next class begins.”
“Fuck,” Seungmin frowns even more, “That man scares the shit out of me.”
“Thanks,” you say, “That’s helpful.”
“Sorry. We’re all heading to the Coffee House before everyone starts driving home for the break, do you want to come? After your meeting of course,” he asks.
“Not today,” you shake your head, “but thank you for asking.”
He gives you a sympathetic look and your shoulder a tiny squeeze.
You stand outside Professor Lees office for a few moments, gathering yourself. Professor Lee makes everyone nervous. He’s a hard instructor, emotionless sometimes, so direct it’s painful, and it doesn’t help anyone that he’s also devastatingly attractive. He’s a giant walking slab of intimidation.
You softly knock on the door and he looks up at you from over his glasses as he types something.
“Ah, Ms. ___, there you are. Come, sit down,” he instructs and you slide through the doorframe and slouch in an old green armchair across from his desk.
“Just give me one second,” he says slowly as he continues typing, “alright.”
“I’m sorry sir, for the term paper, I should have done better,” you offer up, electing to go ahead and fall on your own sword.
“There’s no need for apologies Ms. ___, a waste of time in this kind of situation. I would like to speak to you about your grades this semester though. After I graded your term paper, I reached out to some of my colleagues - some of your other professors - and they all had similar reports to give me, can we talk about that?”
You sigh, fanning out your fingers over your thighs, “Please, Professor, you mentioned a moment ago about time wasters - and I don’t want to waste anymore of your time - I’ve decided to drop out of law school.”
The defeat you feel just saying the words out loud to someone is enough to bring tears back, but you fight them off. You will not cry in Professor Lee Minhos office. Absolutely not.
Professor Lee purses his lips and nods, “I think that’s probably for the best.”
Your jaw drops, “Aren’t you supposed to encourage me to do the opposite? To try harder or something?”
“Miss ___, I fear if you tried any harder your hair might burn out from the roots,” he smiles and if you weren’t so shocked, you’d laugh at the first joke you’ve ever heard him utter.
Before you can think of something to say, he produces a file folder from his drawers and smacks it on the table making you jump.
“These are all the papers you’ve written for my class so far this semester. Your papers intrigue me Miss ___.”
Intrigue? That’s a funny word to use for ‘disgusted and disappointed beyond imagination.’
“But you-,” you begin to point out that the highest grade he’s ever given you on a paper was a 68%. Far from intriguing.
“But…as legal writing? They’re all absolute trash,” he tells you. “What intrigues me about them is the way you write, it’s quite good, every time I read one I feel like I’m in the room with a friend who’s trying to sort of explain law to me, the problem is you just don’t think, rationalize, or talk like a lawyer. I noticed in your transcript that your undergraduate degree was in education, and you had a 4.0 GPA. I can’t help but wonder, Miss ___, what career are you looking for?”
“A…a lawyer,” you say in a quiet voice, staring at a knick on his desk.
He looks skeptical as he leans back in his chair, “Why?”
“Because…” oh fuck it all, you may as well just say it, “because my father, my mother, and my older brother are all lawyers, who went here.”
“I see, so one could deduce that you wanted to be a lawyer because they wanted you to be one, they expected it of you?” he concludes.
You smile comically, the truth is much more pathetic.
“No, actually, they all told me I couldn’t do it. They told me I wasn’t smart enough, sharp enough, bold enough. I wanted to teach art to school children, but when that’s exactly what I elected to study, their comments started. I was just a private joke between the three of them, and I hated it, so I wanted to show them that I could be a lawyer.”
“You came here to study law out of stubborn spite?” he reiterates.
“Yes sir, I did,” you look at your lap and play with a rogue string from your sweater cuff.
“That’s quite impressive, Miss ___, to go through all that trouble, strife, and money to do something you have no interest in just to best your family.”
“Well when you say it like that I sound like a psycho,” you laugh timidly, trying to keep the sludge of humiliation down.
“I don’t think you’re a psycho, I think you’re a bright woman who wanted to show her family they were wrong, but just ended up making herself miserable,” his expression is soft, almost understanding. “However, as your professor, I don’t think I could recommend continuing with law school. This is your first year, with first year level studies, and you’re struggling this much all for something you don’t even want, it will only get more difficult from here.”
You nod, “You’re probably right sir,” you stand, “I should get to the admin office before they close for the break, I’m sorry for wasting your time,” you give him a respectful smile and grab your bag.
“Miss ___,” he motions for you to sit back down, “First of all, you’ve not wasted a single second of my time. Second, I don’t recommend dropping out right now, I think you should finish this semester at least.”
“You just said…”
“I said I don’t think you should continue with law school, and I don’t. However, we’re past the official mid-point of the semester, the cut off to withdraw for a full refund of tuition was last week, if you go now you’ll never get that money back.”
You plop back down in the chair, even more defeated, “I didn’t realize that,” you drag your hands down your face in frustration, “shit.”
Professor Lee chuckles, “I do have an alternative plan for you, if you’re willing to hear it and put in the work,” he offers.
You sit up straight, “Yes, of course sir.”
“I suggest you finish this semester, and I will help you - starting with rewriting your latest term paper. I’ll even try to assist you with some of your other courses, if you’d like. If we work diligently enough, you can finish this semester with an acceptable GPA, that keeps your academic record away from probation or academic expulsion,” he explains.
“You would do that?” you ask in disbelief.
“Well, of course, I am a professor after all. What sort would I be if I wasn’t willing to help my students?”
“I don’t know what to say Professor,” you smile, “that’s too generous.”
“It’s not a problem Miss ___. Now, let’s talk strategy, I assume you don’t plan on spending break with your family?” he guesses.
“No sir, they’re too busy anyway, I plan on staying in my apartment off campus during the break,” you answer.
“Splendid. This evening I have a night class to teach, but perhaps we could meet tomorrow? The library will be closed for break, but my students enjoy meeting up together at that coffee place downtown, uh, Coffee Shack or something,” he struggles.
“The Coffee House?” you help him and try to hold back a grin.
“Yes, would you like to meet there, say, 1PM tomorrow afternoon? We can go over some of your papers together and I’ll help you with your legal writing technique,” he asks.
“Yes, I’ll be there sir, I really can’t thank you enough, truly I appreciate this,” you tell him.
“I look forward to it, Miss ___.”
📖 ❤️
You adjust your backpack as you walk towards the Coffee House doors. You packed your laptop, all your text books, notes, and a few other things because you weren’t sure what Professor Lee would want to cover. The weight of it all is dragging you down and you have to hunch over a bit to balance it.
“My goodness, here, let me get that for you Miss ___,” Professor Lee greets you at the door, he seems to have already picked a table near the front and grabs your bag with a grunt. “Did you pack your entire house?” he teases.
“I didn’t know what you’d want me to bring, so I brought all my school things,” you laugh.
“Well, I suppose it won’t matter that the library is closed since you brought it with you,” he chuckles and you take the seat beside him.
“Should we start?” you open your laptop and power on.
“I thought perhaps you’d like a beverage?”
“Oh,” you look behind you at the register, “Yes, I suppose we should caffeinate,” you smile.
“What would you like?” He stands up and brings his wallet out.
“Oh please sir, let me pay, it’s the least I could do for all of your help,” you beg.
“Nonsense, as much as I love to argue Miss ___ I don’t see the point over a cup of coffee, what would you like? Are you hungry?”
“No, I ate lunch before coming, just a latte for me, small,” you concede, “and thank you…again.”
He smiles and departs from the table. You watch him in the line from where you sit. Seeing Professor Lee like this feels…different. In a less formal setting he’s almost approachable, and you’re starting to see things about him that you don’t in class. Like his generosity, and kindness, the man even has a sense of humor and you think of texting Seungmin about it but stop yourself. You want to keep this all a secret. You don’t want anyone knowing that you’re in such desperate need of assistance with your courses, but also you want to keep this side of Professor Lee to yourself.
You could think of worse ways to spend your Saturday afternoon than with an attractive law professor who’s willing to help you pass your classes. You wonder if he’s aware that all his students find him so hot, or if it’s something that’s never occurred to him. He doesn’t wear a ring on any of his fingers, which tells you he isn’t married, but that doesn’t mean he’s single. You can’t imagine that he’s not seeing anyone. In class he’s usually got on some academia aesthetic looking suit on, lots of tweeds and browns - today he wears a fitted pair of jeans, and a navy sweater with a white collared button up fashioned underneath, the sleeves pushed up his forearms. His jet black hair isn’t styled like it usually is in class, and hangs long and loose around his face. He looks like such a boyfriend…
You blush and go back to focusing on your laptop. What the hell was that? He’s your professor. Which is actually kind of enticing…
You press your lips together and roll your eyes at yourself. Stop with the intrusive sexual thoughts about Professor Lee - the man is trying to save your ass, not spank it - having inappropriate daydreams, no matter how justified they may be, is unacceptable.
“Here we go,” he comes back to the table and sets two mugs on the surface as he takes his seat again.
“Thanks,” you smile politely, trying not to look at him. If you don’t look at him, maybe you won’t think about how cute he is and instead focus on what you ought to be: your failing grades.
“So, let’s start with the main issue of your papers. Writing, in the legal sense, is cut and dry. It’s all about facts, findings, and nothing expressive or personal, which is where you seem to have the most trouble,” he begins and you try to absorb the information instead of noticing the way his lips look while sipping his coffee.
This endeavor may be harder for you than just pulling your grades up.
📖 ❤️
“I think that was a very productive first meeting,” he says optimistically as you start piling things back into your backpack.
“I think so too,” you nod. Productive, yes - but now the real work begins and you’ll have to go home and actually re-write the damned thing.
Professor Lee carries your backpack out the door, “Where’s your car?”
“Oh, it’s at home, I just live a few blocks away,” you point in the general direction of your apartment.
“You mean to tell me you carried this while walking from your house?” he holds the backpack with two hands for dramatics and you giggle.
“It’s not that terrible, how long has it been since you were carrying books around, Professor? Surely you remember the struggle,” you tease.
“I suppose it’s been a bit, here,” he reaches in his pocket and the SUV beside you beeps, he opens the passenger door, “I’ll drive you home so you don’t have to endure the struggle.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that sir,” you shake your head.
“It’s fine, it’s a small college town Miss ___, I can get literally anywhere in less than five minutes, especially since the majority of students are gone this week. Let me be chivalrous for you,” he smiles and you melt a little bit.
“Well, if you insist,” you look up at him as you slide into the passenger seat.
“I do,” he closes the door, then places your bag in the backseat before coming around to the drivers side.
“Are you always this difficult, Miss ___? Or are you just trying to be overly polite because I’m your professor?” he asks when you point him down the street towards your apartment.
“Difficult, sir?” you look at him wide-eyed.
“Mmhmm,” he nods, “You didn’t want me to buy your coffee, you nearly refused my ride home electing to carry a small library on your back while you walk,” a look of panicked concern washes over his face and he looks over at you, “This isn’t making you uncomfortable in any way is it? Being alone with me?”
“No! No, absolutely not,” you assure him, though you wager that your thoughts about him would certainly make him uncomfortable. “I’m just so incredibly grateful for your help, and you continue to go out of your way for me. It’s just never something I…” you stop yourself.
“Never something you what?” he presses.
You laugh awkwardly, “It’s just not ever something I expected from you, given your reputation with the other students.”
“Ah, yes,” he sucks his teeth, “My reputation of being an uptight jerk who doesn’t like anyone.”
“I would never use those words sir,” you tell him.
“You might not, but I have the internet too, I’ve seen the threads about me on social medias,” he shares.
“You read those?” your voice raises at least three octaves.
“Of course, I’m only human, curiosity gets the best of me from time to time.”
“I don’t participate in those conversations,” you shake your head, “I understand that it’s only natural for students to want to know about the personalities of their upcoming professors, but the bias that occurs in those threads is absurd.”
“I agree, though sometimes they can be helpful, to my ego at least,” he laughs.
“How so?” you wonder, because you don’t remember seeing anything about his classes online that would feed his ego.
“Some of my students may not like my personality, but they like looking at me,” he grins.
“Professor Lee! That’s scandalous,” you laugh and playfully smack his shoulder.
“What?” he laughs with you, “I’ve got to take something positive from it! 75% of those comments are atrocious, but I’m quite proud that I scored three hot peppers on the professor hotness scale.”
“Oh my God,” you cover your mouth, “I cannot believe I’m sitting in your car having this conversation,” you giggle.
“Is this your building?” he points.
“Yes, it is.”
He parks on the street and you take a deep breath when he exits the car. He knows his students think he’s hot, and now he knows that you know he knows. You pat yourself on the back for indicating you’ve never participated in those threads before the conversation took a turn towards hot peppers. Though you are 100% guilty of voting for his peppers.
He opens your door, hanging your backpack across his shoulder.
“I’ll walk this up for you,” he offers and you swallow hard.
“Sure,” you smile, your heart pounding out of your chest. Professor Lee Minho is about to see the inside of your apartment. You try to recall the state you left the place in. You remember doing your dishes before you left, but that’s about the only productive thing you can remember doing today.
You unlock your door and flip the lights on. Your art supplies are everywhere, and you have a bag of laundry by the door because you plan on hitting the laundromat this evening. In trying to move it out of the way you knock it over, a pair of your underwear spilling out onto the floor right at his feet as he walks through.
“Jesus,” you mutter, humiliated, as he looks down at you grabbing up the black lace thong and shoving it back into the bag.
To your utter relief, he says nothing about your undergarments. He sets your backpack down and looks around.
“Can I offer you anything to eat or drink?”
“Did you do all these?” he walks forward into the room towards the area you dry your paintings in. Canvas after canvas sits up against the wall, some completed, most unfinished.
“Oh, yes,” you say, walking up beside him, “This semester has been really frustrating for me, and painting helps.”
“Well, they’re beautiful, truly - you’re quite talented,” he looks down at you, “I can see why teaching art is a passion for you, you’ve certainly got quite a knack for it.”
“Thank you,” you say quietly.
“Teaching is very rewarding,” he adds, “I think that you should pursue your original dream Miss ___. You’ve clearly got a lot to offer the world,” he smiles down at you and you catch his gaze, a few quiet seconds pass as you look into his dark eyes.
“You could just call me by my first name, ___, if you wanted,” you say softly, “and um, thank you, for complimenting my art.”
“You’re very welcome, ___,” he responds, staring at you again. You watch his eyes flit down to your lips and your heart speeds up again. He suddenly clears his throat and looks back at the paintings, “I think we should make the most of the week, since classes aren’t meeting, this is a perfect time for you to catch up with your studies. Tomorrow is Sunday, which is the day I typically devote to catching up on grading, and I do have midterm grades to enter. Perhaps Monday?” he asks.
“Monday, yeah. That works, um, I have a shift at work on Monday morning, but I’ll be free after 3PM.”
“Perfect, we could meet at the Coffee House again, around 4:30?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Great,” he begins walking back to the door, “and, um, while we’re together - working on your coursework I mean - feel free to call me Minho. However when classes resume, it’s probably best to address me as Professor Lee.”
“Of course, Professor,” you agree. “Thank you, er…Minho…for everything today.”
“You’re most welcome,” he opens the door then pauses, turning his head slightly in your direction, “Nice panties, by the way. See you Monday!”
You stand there, speechless, staring at the closed door.
📖 ❤️
Monday afternoon you can’t help but notice that Professor Lee - Minho - sits closer to you at the table in the coffee shop as he helps you study for one of your other classes. You don’t blame him, truth be told, you spent over an hour after your shift at the bookstore getting ready, hoping he’d look at you the same way he did Saturday. You are, without a doubt, down bad. To impress him even further you’ve got a surprise for him.
“I re-wrote my term paper,” you blurt as the two of you are clearing up the table after studying.
“Already?” he looks at you.
“I worked on it all night Saturday, and most of the day on Sunday. Do you want me to email it to you?”
“Absolutely,” he smiles, “Good girl.”
Fuck off, he did not just say that. You bite down on your lip and your thighs press together as you bring up your student email. You attach the file and send it to him.
“It should be in your inbox the next time you check,” you say…like a good girl. Swoon.
“Great, um, I was wondering - and just tell me to shut up if you want to - but I was wondering if you had plans this evening?”
Your heart grows wings and begins to fucking fly.
“No,” you shake your head, “I have zero plans for a Monday evening in a town that’s practically shut down.”
He chuckles, “Right. So, would you want to join me for dinner maybe?”
You at least pretend to mull it over instead of just shouting YES in some unflattering, desperate tone.
“Where were you planning on eating?” you ask.
“There’s a really nice place I like, it’s about a twenty minute drive out of town, but the food is impressive, never had a bad dish there,” he shares.
“I am hungry,” you say, “I’d love to.”
“Good, shall we?”
📖 ❤️
“Are we celebrating anything special this evening?” the waiter asks as he sets two glasses of water down, “A first date? An anniversary perhaps?”
“No.”
Both of you answer him at the same time, and try to hold your laughter in when the poor man looks taken back.
“Okay,” he says, “Can I get you all anything to drink from our wine or cocktail menu?”
“I’ll have a glass of this pinot, chilled, please,” you point to the wine and the waiter writes it down.
“I’ll have the same,” Minho smiles.
“I’ll get those right out.”
Minho bites his lip and stares down at the tablecloth, you frown.
“Is everything alright?” you ask.
“Everything’s fine,” he says, “I’m just trying to remind myself that nothing inappropriate is happening here, I’m having dinner with one of my female students, but you are an adult and so am I and it’s fine.”
“I won’t be your student after this semester,” you point out, “I don’t know if that’s helpful or not though.”
“It is,” he nods, then tilts his head, “yet somehow I still feel like I’m misbehaving.”
“It’s only food, how is that misbehaving?”
“It’s not what I’m doing,” he bites his lip again and looks up at you, “It’s what I’m thinking.”
You take a sip of water, your body practically vibrating with curiosity, “What is it that you’re thinking, exactly?”
“Things that I shouldn’t be thinking about my student,” he says quietly.
“This isn’t high school, Professor, this isn’t even undergrad. Don’t be harsh on yourself, I’m sure whatever you’re thinking about isn’t a bad thing,” you point out, hoping you sound cool and collected and not like you’re ready for him to take you right on this table.
“So if I was thinking about fucking you after class in my office, across my desk, that wouldn’t be a bad thing?”
You nearly choke on your water. Before you can respond the waiter returns with your glasses of wine, not a moment too soon.
“I’ll let you guys look over the menu and come back in a few minutes.”
You clear your throat once the waiter is gone, “I think fucking me on your desk would probably be inappropriate,” you smile, “especially to your neighboring colleagues. I have quite a mouth on me,” you say, opening your menu.
You can feel him staring at you. “I’d very much like to hear it.”
“Maybe you will, I guess we’ll see,” you shrug.
The smile that spreads across his face is so dangerously mischievous, your clit throbs where you sit and you shift uncomfortably, only making it worse.
📖 ❤️
The sexual tension between the two of you could be cut with a knife as you make your way back to his car. You reach for the door handle, but he grabs your arm and spins you around, your back pushed up against the door.
His lips crash against yours, arms caging you in which is completely fine by you. You bury your fingers in his hair on either side of his head but he pulls away.
“I want it to be clear I have never had any kind of sexual relationship with a student, ever,” he says quickly, then his lips are against yours again.
“I believe you,” you manage between lips and tongues.
He pulls away again, “And the only reason I’m pursuing this is because I can’t fucking resist you and you’re not going to be my student again after this semester,” he adds, then more kissing.
“Got it,” you mumble into his mouth.
Again he pulls away, “Seriously, even if you don’t quit law school I can never have you in class again, okay?”
“Yes! Fuck that place, I’m done, and even if I wasn’t - I wouldn’t take you again, you’re an uptight jerk of a professor, remember?” you tease him, then desperately pull him back onto your lips.
He shoves you harder against the car, his knee coming between your legs and you press yourself down on his thigh. You moan softly into his mouth and his hand smacks the side of the car.
“Get in, fuck, please get in the fucking car.”
He scrambles around to the drivers side as you jump in.
“Your place or mine?” he asks, turning the ignition.
“Which is closer?” you ask, pulling the seat belt so hard and quick that it locks up.
“Uh…mine… mine I think.”
“Then there’s your answer,” you tell him.
Five minutes of him burning rubber down the highway is too long for you not to be touching him. You reach over and caress his thigh through his jeans, moving higher and higher until you find what you’re looking for in the darkness.
He hisses as you stroke and massage his hard length through the fabric.
You unbuckle your seat belt, “Are you as good a driver as you are a professor?”
“I…why?”
You scoot as far as you can and lean over, undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, sliding your hand through the opening of his boxers until you feel the warm, velvety skin of his cock in your fist.
“Oh fuck…oh my fucking…” he pants, his knuckles turning stark white around the steering wheel.
You unbuckle his seatbelt as well and help him get it out of the way before pulling his cock from the confines of his jeans.
You stroke him a few times, then let a glob of spit drip from your lips onto him so you can continue stroking more comfortably.
“God…”
You take him in your mouth and suck, running your tongue over the tip. The way he’s nearly whimpering, eyes so wide on the road, delights you. You put your mouth on him again, taking him deep in your throat, taking turns stroking and licking.
“I’m going to cum,” he whispers hoarsely after several minutes, “I don’t have anything to…” he looks around frantically but you shake your head, popping your mouth off of him momentarily.
“I can take it,” you whisper, then suck him between your lips once more. You can feel the base of his cock twitch and brace yourself, spurts of hot cum follow seconds later and you take it all from him greedily, swallowing then wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
“Holy shit,” he says through clenched teeth. “That was so fucking hot.”
“Thank you,” you grin, pulling down the visor so you can fix yourself in the mirror. The “kiss proof” lipstick you wore today is evidently not “road head proof” and you clean up the edges of your mouth.
He reaches over and grabs your hand in his, squeezing and rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb while he speeds down the road.
📖 ❤️
The door to Minhos apartment isn’t even locked before he shoves you against it and presses his mouth to yours.
“I want to make you feel so fucking good,” he whispers, trailing kisses down your neck. He drops to his knees and unbuttons your pants, pulling them down your legs. You kick your shoes off so he can get the pants off completely.
He looks up at you and grins, tracing the lines of the black lace thong that toppled over at your apartment, “I was wishing very much that I’d get to see you in these,” he says, pressing his tongue against the tiny bit of cloth.
You gasp at the way his lips move, teasing and licking through the thin lace, “Are you really going to eat me out against the door?”
“Mmm,” he moans against your clit and your legs jerk, “Yes,” he says hooking his fingers in the strings and pulling the soaking wet cloth down your legs.
“No patience at all Professor, I’m shocked,” you tease.
“So… you can call me Minho,” he smiles, kissing and licking trails back up your legs, “but in class and when I’m fucking your pretty pussy feel free to use Professor.”
“Absolutely Professor Lee,” you rest your head against the door as his tongue wiggles between your slick. “Fuck!”
He finds your clit and wraps his lips around, gently sucking. You lay one of your thighs over his shoulder and try to steady yourself while he laps and sucks you off. You grab his hair with your fingers and move with him, fucking his face and listening to the delightful slurping, wet sounds erupting through the quiet room.
“Oh…just like that, right there,” you whine when he begins to softly lick the perfect spot, “fuckfuckfuck…yes!” you release his hair from your fist and hold yourself against the wall as your legs begin to quake, cunt throbbing in rhythmic spasms as he milks you with his lips.
“Oh my god,” you groan, trying to stand straight. He finally gets around to locking the door then picks you up, carrying you down a hallway. He pours you onto the bed and you watch as he strips himself of clothing, you follow suit, though half your outfit is in his foyer.
You lay back, bottom lip between your teeth as you watch him crawl over you, positioning himself between your legs.
“You’re sure this is okay?” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours, the head of his cock leaking against your open cunt.
“Yes, fuck, yes I want you,” you assure him, nails digging into his shoulder. He makes a gruff noise deep in his throat and lines himself up with your opening. You wrap your legs around his waist, encouraging him to push into you and he does, slow and deep. You both moan into each other at the sensation of it.
Slowly he begins to move quicker, still deep, but urgently. The sound of skin against skin intoxicating. He sits up a bit, your hips coming with him and he grabs them, using you as an anchor to thrust into you.
“Minho…” his name comes out as a whisper, your eyes screwed shut. “So close…”
“No, no,” he tsks, slowing down and pulling himself out, pushing the head of his cock against your clit. “I’m not done with you yet.”
He slides his cock against you until you start squirming beneath him, your clit still sensitive from his front door excursions. “Please? Fuck…” you whine loudly.
“You want it?” he asks in a growl, stuffing himself inside you then pulling out again.
“Yes! Yes! Please!” you cry, your nails scraping against the sides of his legs.
“Are you sure baby?” he smirks, pushing into you and pulling out slowly several times. Your orgasm begins to build again and you meet his thrusts with your hips, chasing it. Until he pulls out again.
“What are you doing?” you groan, half laughing and out of your mind.
“Beg a little,” he urges, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock but pulling away every time you try to push against it.
You snap your eyes open, the sight of him looking down at you makes you unhinged. “Please, Professor Lee, please let me cum,” you say it as sweetly and earnestly as you can muster.
His eyes practically roll back in his head as he lines up with you again and pushes in deep, his hands fly back to your hips and he drags you on and off his cock until your vision goes white with the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.
“Sit up, please,” he begs breathlessly as he pulls away, stroking himself. You do as you’re told and watch as his lips part, his hand stills and shots of pearly strings shoot across your breasts.
“Hold on,” he says when he can move again, then disappears behind a door, emerging a few moments later with a warm damp hand towel. He kisses you deeply as he cleans his cum off your chest.
“That was so fucking good,” you whisper, taking his face in your hands.
“Yes,” he sighs, pulling you down beneath the blankets with him, “Yes it was.”
He holds you close to him, your eyes getting heavier, “I think my books are still in your car. We could go over the paper on tort law I bombed over breakfast tomorrow?”
He chuckles and nods, “It’s a date.”
📖 ❤️
You sit in Professor Lees classroom as he passes back the latest exam. Term is almost over and everyone seems to be reeling with nerves around you.
He slows beside your desk and lays your test down, “Much better, Miss ___, much better.”
Seungmin looks over at your test, “Hey! Not bad,” he smiles cheerfully.
“I’ve had a lot of help this semester,” you smile.
At the bottom of the last page you read the note of thin red ink,
See you at my place tonight?
The End
Endnote:
I am in my Lee Know slut era. I will not be taking questions about my worship of him at this time, thank you. As always, if you made it far enough to read this, please accept my virtual smooch.
Also as always this is unbeta’d bc that’s typically how I roll so it could be absolute trash but that’s okay bc we’re just having fun.
Your tags tho 🥰🥰🥰😂 thank youuuu - you always make me smile so big my friend 😭🫂
Of Course, Professor (Drabble)
Pairing: Professor! Lee Know x Female Reader
Genre: Romantic. Smut. Fluff.
Summary: A spicy but sweet night at home.
Warnings: Explicit language and explicit depictions of sex.
WC: 950
A/N: I was originally going to end the main story with some 🌶️ but I changed my mind and never finished the scene. You all voted for spicy domestic fluff over raunchy, totally unethical office smut - which btw I'm proud af of you all lmaooo - so here it is.
“What are you working on?” Minho asks as he sits beside you on the couch with a pile of papers in his lap.
You look up from your sketchbook and shrug, “I’m trying to sketch out some ideas, I’d like to put some original paintings in my classroom as decoration.”
He looks over your shoulder onto the notebook in front of you, “I like all the different shapes in this one.”
“I like it too,” you turn your head and peck his lips with yours, “I think I’m going to do it in really bright, bold colors. The kids will like it.”
“They’ll love it,” he smiles, “Are you nervous for school to start?”
“No,” you say sheepishly then chuckle, “but yes. It’s been a while since I was in a classroom, and when I was I was still a student, with a veteran teacher to correct my mistakes - being in a room alone, with no one there to fix it if I mess up is intimidating. Then again, it’s just art, how bad could I possibly fuck them up?” you laugh and Minho chuckles too.
“It’s not just art,” he takes your sketchbook and starts flipping through, “To at least one of those children, it’s going to be the most important class they ever take. Years - decades - from now they’ll remember what they learned from the teacher who taught them that their art mattered, that it was important. They’ll think of you every time they pick up a brush, or pencil and I can’t think of a more perfect person for the job.”
You stare at him, a soft smile playing at your lips.
“What?” he grins back, “Is there something on my face?”
You shake your head and crawl over him, pushing his paperwork to the side, your legs straddling his lap and you take his face in your hands.
“I just can’t believe there was a time when I didn’t know how sweet and soft you were,” you tell him, pressing your lips against his.
“Mmm,” he moans into your mouth, “I am not.”
“You are.”
He tosses you over onto your back and you giggle, “And I can’t believe you ever thought you were going to be a lawyer,” he clicks his teeth and sorts his papers back in order, shaking them at you, “No discipline at all. Your classes don’t begin until August, but some of us are teaching Summer classes and Sunday is my day to grade…”
As he lectures you, you slide your shorts and underwear off. When he looks back his eyes go dark as you allow your knees to gently fall apart.
He makes a raspy sound in his throat as his eyes narrow, “No fucking discipline…” he mutters, tossing the papers on the coffee table.
“Then teach me some, Professor,” you bite your lip.
He chuckles as he pulls his shirt over his head, “A pointless endeavor. I spoil you is what I do,” he grins, situating himself between your legs. He begins kissing the inside of your thighs, the cool air hitting your center tells you you’re already soaked.
He dips a finger into your cunt and twists, your hips come off the couch and you sigh. He continues to pump you while his tongue paints swirls of pleasure over every centimeter of your pussy. He’s so fucking good. You find yourself burying your fingers in his hair, latching him onto you as you move your hips with his mouth as the pleasure builds. Every time he eats you out you try to hold it, to stop yourself from coming just to bask in how good his tongue feels on you, but maybe he’s right - you have no discipline. You spread your legs as far as they go and stiffen, your orgasm hitting you in rhythmic waves.
“More,” you manage to squeak out.
“Spoiled,” he whispers back, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm as he pulls the rest of his clothes off and resumes his place between your legs.
He grabs your hands and holds them in place above your head, his lips come down on one of your nipples and he gently sucks and licks wide languid strokes over the sensitive bud. You squirm beneath him, needing to feel him inside you. Finally he relents, and removes his mouth from your breast, still stiffly holding your hands while he pushes into you.
He pauses for a moment, even all these months later both of you still need a second to adapt to him deep inside you. It’s more than a physical connection of body parts, it feels incendiary, it feels right - it feels like love.
You wrap your legs around his hips so he can go as deep as he needs to, his open mouth against your neck spilling rapid breaths and dirty, sexy secrets. You know he’s close, so you lift your hips slightly because you’re so in tune with him that you know it will hit just right, know it will push you over the edge too and he needs it.
When the coil all wound up inside you springs, you spasm around him and he moans, freezing all movement except for the throbbing of his cock spilling inside you. He remains on top of you for several moments, letting his breath return to normal. He lets go of your fists and slides his palm over yours, lacing your fingers together as he plants kisses along your cheek and jawline, his cock softening inside your body.
“I love you,” he whispers against your temple, eyes closed.
You use your free hand to wipe his sweaty bangs from his face, you kiss his nose and lips, “I love you too Minho.”
THE END
Endnotes:
Thank you for reading, and here's your virtual smooooooch 😘
My Sluts for Minho tag list / people who asked to be tagged in pt 2: @katieraven , @linocz , @screamobubbles , @hpnsfwaddict , @simpforleeknaur also @moni-logues (so she doesn’t send me threatening discord messages 😂) …If I missed you somehow I’m sorry, I’ve got zero organization methods when approaching tag lists and relied on re-reading the replies on the main fic to remember who asked, so if you asked a different way it probably got lost in my brain 🙃
Katie!!! I can’t believe you read through the gore and guts just for me 😂😭🫂 I love you bestie!!!
Safe.
Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin X Fem. Reader X Lee Minho
Summary: A broke ER Nurse offers up her services to a large crime organization in exchange for much higher pay and benefits that are unconventional, but lucrative. The life proves to be questionable at best, and downright isolating at worst which leaves her feeling unsure, unstable and dangerous.
Warnings: Explicit language. Explicit depictions of sex (some chapters will be more explicit than others sexually). Violence. Blood. Trauma injuries. (Organized) Crime. Emotional manipulation. Me not knowing a single thing about medicine and relying on Google to give me accurate-ish information and the hope that I'm kind of explaining it correctly but knowing I'm probably not, so apologies to any reader who may work in medicine and is rolling their eyes at me lol. 18+ Only.
Chapter WC: 6k
AN: I have never ever in my life written a mafia fic, at least nothing I’ve ever posted or kept so…good luck. Additionally, this fic was originally all one doc which ended up being too much to handle, like Tumblr would not even try to meet me halfway. So I decided to break her up into chapters which I will post routinely until she's over. No idea how many chapters bc I’m still deciding on how to separate some of the later parts of the story…so hang tight with me.
-PART ONE-
It’s the blare of a phone ringing that wakes you in the middle of the night. You pull yourself to the edge of the bed and look at the two phones that lay on your bedside table. One is personal, in a shiny black case that in truth, hardly ever rings or blips anymore. The other is a silver phone, caseless, a little worse for the wear and the screen is illuminated with an unsaved telephone number. This particular detail doesn’t really matter, there’s only a few people who would be calling it, and they cycle through burner phones so often there’s no point in saving anything.
“Hello?” your voice is scratchy from sleep.
“We’re ten minutes out,” Changbin says urgently, skipping greetings entirely. You sit up and throw your feet over the edge of the bed.
“Who is it and how bad?” you ask, flitting around your bedroom switching lights on and grabbing a hair tie.
“It’s Hyunjin, and I don’t think he’s going to die but I can’t stop the bleeding,” Changbin grunts.
“Gun shot?” you assume, already downstairs and clearing the dining table, wondering what kind of trauma you need to prepare for.
“Stabbed.”
“Fuck,” you stop. Possibilities like artery and organ punctures start spinning around your head. You pray it’s not abdominal, but you know these men too well so you don’t ask, because you’re sure you already know the answer.
“We can’t take him to an ER, ___, his face is on every list in the city. You know they always keep informants in the emergency departments, we can’t take him there,” Changbin urges and it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
He’s correct. When Lee Minho, crime lord and your current employer first found you, you were working the night shift at the emergency department. You knew that because of the high crime rate in the city, many of the staff who sat at the check in and triage stations were also paid police informants, ready to dial up the officers to run any names or faces that looked sketchy, had a shady story, or came in with GSWs, or similar combative injuries.
“Okay. Okay, keep direct pressure on the wound and I mean a lot of pressure Changbin, it’s going to feel like you’re hurting him but trust me, lots of pressure. I’ll prep the dining room,” you tell him.
You take a deep breath and think. You start a pot of boiling water and lay out some clean towels on the counter. Then fly around the room opening drawers: Gloves, scissors, gauze, bandages, wound packing strips, disinfectant, antibiotics, stitch kit, and the silent prayer that no arteries, or internal organs have been compromised because you are not a surgeon and you will have to send them out to a hospital, which is more time wasted and gives Hyunjin a significantly lower survival chance.
You weigh a clean sheet down over the table just as you hear tires squeal into the driveway outside. You run to the door and unlock it, propping it open so they can carry him in.
“It’s bad ___, he’s out cold,” Felix grunts breathlessly as he and Changbin carry an unconscious Hyunjin into the room. All three are covered in blood and you don’t bother asking if it’s Hyunjins, theirs, or someone else's. The two of them are walking, conscious and breathing, so it doesn’t matter at the moment.
“Okay, it’ll be okay,” you blather in a much higher tone than you mean to.
You don the gloves and grab the scissors, cutting up the seams of Hyunjins black satin shirt, soaked with blood. Changbin keeps his hand pressed to Hyunjins left side, a balled up tee shirt gripped in his shaking fist.
“Bin,” you say softly, “I need to cut the shirt away, okay? When I say three I want you to pull your hand off,” you explain and he nods, “Felix, I need you to bring the pot of water and those clean towels from the kitchen in here for me,” you instruct.
You look at Hyunjins sweet face, ghastly pale, and lips several shades lighter than what they ought to be. He’s clearly lost a lot of blood and you briefly think of a transfusion, but have no way of performing one - most of these men have no idea what blood type they are anyway but even if they did you don’t have the means to do it.
“Okay,” you breathe deeply once the shirt is mostly gone, the scent of iron and copper floods your nose, “One…two…three.”
Changbin pulls the balled up, blood soaked cloth from the wound and you watch as the thick, red substance trickles out while you finish off the shirt. You hear Changbin gasp and curse under his breath.
“It’s okay,” you say, “That’s a fairly good sign, see how it’s a slow trickle and not a burst or spurt? That’s a good sign,” you repeat for him, grabbing a handful of gauze to press into the wound.
Changbin nods and backs away.
“No, no,” you stop him, “Go wash your hands, put some gloves on and come back here, Felix, you do the same. Quickly.”
The two men disperse to do as they’re told and you hold the gauze in place with one hand, wetting a towel to clean off the area with the other so you can see what you’re working on better. It’s on his left side, above his hip in the small of his waist. That significantly decreases the number of organs possibly punctured. Left kidney, lung, and/or possible intestinal damage - none of which are good news, but that will make it easier to look for tell tale signs, which as of right now you don’t see.
Changbin and Felix return, gloved up and ready to assist as you work diligently to stop the bleeding by packing the wound.
“How long was the blade?” you ask as you work. You stick your fingertip into the open flesh to feel it out. This seems to perk your patient up, Hyunjin jerks up on the table, screaming in agony and cursing the room. The good news is the wound isn’t as deep as you feared.
“Hold him down!” you yell and both men scramble to steady him. “Changbin? The knife?”
“Um,” Changbin shakes his head, “Small, smooth, no more than ten centimeters I’d say.”
Hyunjin gasps and goes eerily still on the table.
“___?” Felix cries, you can hear the fear in his voice.
“It’s okay, he’s responding to pain and that’s good, but he’s going to slip in and out of consciousness because of the blood loss,” you explain but you still see the fear on Felixes face, “Why don’t you tell me what happened Felix?”
He looks at you, eyes wide with fear and you give him a shaky but reassuring smile and a nod of encouragement, “We were ambushed. It was just supposed to be a collection run, so only the three of us went. As soon as we walked into their storehouse bullets were flying. Hyunjin knocked the gun out of the guys hand and he pulled a blade out of his boot as a backup,” Felix adds, “He stabbed Hyunjin but he got in one last punch that knocked the bastard out cold,” he smiles proudly.
“Was Hyunjin significantly taller than the man?” you wonder.
“Definitely,” Changbin nods, “Why does it matter?”
“Because it appears that the man stabbed into his side at a difficult upward angle, which prevented it from going in deep. That’s good, because that means it probably bypassed any of his organs. Felix, bring my stethoscope and the blood pressure cuff please, over on the end table.”
Felix runs over and you cautiously release the gauze. To your relief the bleeding seems to have at least slowed to a manageable rate.
You stuff the stethoscope in your ears and try to ascertain some vitals now that he seems stable(ish). His heart rate is lower than normal, but his lungs sound clear. Pupils are responding to light slowly but normally, and his blood pressure is low but stable. You grab his hand and press on his fingernails, O2 seems fine.
“What now?” Felix asks.
“I’ll need you two to lift him up a bit, I’ve got the wound packed but I’ll need to wrap a bandage around his torso to keep the packing in place, then, in an hour or so, if we’re lucky the bleeding will have stopped completely and I can clean him up and stitch it,” you say shakily.
The boys do as they’re told and you carefully wrap the bandage around him, making sure the wound is secured.
A knock pounds at the door as you lay him back down on the table, the three of you exchange glances and Changbin pulls the 9mm from his strap and makes his way toward the door with Felix tiptoeing behind as backup.
“It’s me,” a voice hollers from the other side and your little trio breathes a sigh of relief. It’s Lee Minho, obviously coming to check on one of his best.
Changbin opens the door and sweeps the front yard with his eyes for good measure before closing up again.
“How is he?” Minho stands over Hyunjins still body as you discard your gloves in a nearby bin.
“He’s lost quite a lot of blood, if we were at the hospital I’d imagine they’d call for a transfusion, which is impossible here - but if I can get him stable, he might pull through the blood loss thing. The wound wasn’t as deep as I thought it would be, but it’s quite a bleeder, so right now my primary focus is to make sure it’s completely stopped before sewing him up,” you explain.
Minho nods, and you watch as he quietly assesses the situation, considering his next move. You don’t know Hyunjin as well as some of the others. You do know he’s careful, cautious and very good at his job. The fact he was nearly bested this evening has you surprised, so you can only imagine the shock of the man standing in front of you. Minho taps his finger gently against his lips, then drags his hand across his mouth in frustration.
“I want retaliation for this,” he says quietly, darkly.
“Absolutely,” Changbin nods, “The motherfucker who did this has numbered days.”
“Find him,” Minho commands, “Find everyone who was there, I don’t care if you have to go to their homes where their god damned kids sleep, you find them, I want intel on them all, and we’ll go over it together. We’ll figure out who we can use for information, and who we’re going to,” he stops himself then and looks at you gently, “Well, who won’t be of any value to us.”
You appreciate the attempt at guarded candor, but you already know he means to murder them all. Knowing Minho, and how he probably feels he’s been screwed over tonight, he’s going to kill the valuable ones too - once he knows what he needs to know.
“I’m going to go wash up,” you say softly, “He should be alright for now. I’ll check him after I’m done. If anything happens just yell.”
When you’re safely closed off in the bathroom, you take the first calm breath since the phone rang, waking you from a dreamless sleep. You stare at yourself in the mirror and realize in addition to being covered in blood, you also still wear the black silk nightgown you wore to bed. You scoff, looking down at yourself, the lace hem falls across the top of your thighs, sticking to the skin with blood, and one thin strap hangs off your shoulder. You look like a dumpster fire. Your hair is in shambles as well. You start to take it down and decide to toss the nightie in the trash when the door to your bathroom opens. Minho.
“I sent Felix and Bin off, I need them to cool down a bit, they’re pretty keyed up,” he says, playing with the bottles and boxes on your bathroom vanity. “I’ve sent for Seungmin to stay with you and Hyunjin for a while as protection, I’ll stick around until he arrives of course.”
You clear your throat, “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing,” he whispers. He moves to stand behind you and you stare at each other in the reflection of the mirror. He takes two fingers and caresses your arm, hooking the rogue strap of your nightie and pulling it back into place on your shoulder. His other hand roams your figure, over your breast, down your ribs and waist, and stops on your hip as he gives it a gentle squeeze - never once taking his eyes off yours in the mirror. You say nothing, you don’t move.
“You look like a scared animal,” he chuckles, using his free hand to pull your hair off your neck, exposing it. His lips move in, his breath on the delicate skin, and he looks at your reflection once more, “Hm?”
You realize he’s asking for permission and you nod. His lips land right under your ear, his fingers spreading across your throat to gently pull you into him. You don’t stop the soft breath that escapes your lips and your hand flies to cover his as he continues to rub and squeeze your hip.
You’ve almost lost yourself in him, when you open your eyes and realize he’s spreading the blood on your arm around.
“Wait,” you gasp and jump away.
“What?” he frowns, and you see the flicker of rejection flash in his dark eyes, but he decides to suppress any reaction to it.
“You’re getting blood all over you,” you point to his hand, “I really do need to wash up and check on Hyunjin. I’ll need to monitor him constantly tonight to make sure there’s no change,” you say politely.
“Are you that scared of me, Kitten?” he asks, leaning over your sink to rinse Hyunjins blood away.
“I’m not scared of you Minho,” you tell him, and it’s mostly true, kind of. “You’ve been in my bed enough times that I think you know I’m not scared of you.”
“Yet you always send me away after,” he sighs, shaking the excess water from his hands. “It makes me wonder if maybe you only let me into your bed because you think you don’t have a choice, you know, due to our arrangement,” he motions broadly at the room.
You can easily see how he’d come to that conclusion. When you accepted his offer you went very swiftly from working your ass to the bone, on no sleep, in a shoebox of an apartment, with debt up to your eyeballs straight to having everything paid off, a credit card with essentially no limit, a huge, beautiful house on the edge of the city bought and paid for, and anything your heart desired. All of it was taken care of by him. So, yes, you could see how one might think you allow him to do whatever he wants just to keep things copacetic for him.
“Do you want honesty?” you ask, reaching into the shower to adjust the water.
“From my employees? I demand it, yes,” he nods. Well, there it is, you think. He looks at you as an employee, and you also look at him as your employer. The situation is so beyond wildly fucked that you’ve truly got no idea what you’re doing or why.
“I let you into my bed because I’m lonely, and you make me feel…not alone,” you tell him. “It has nothing to do with our arrangement. If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t.”
“Good,” he nods, “but why are you lonely? You’re not my prisoner, you are free to come and go as you please, with the caveat of you being available when I need you, and for you to keep what you know and have seen to yourself.”
“I know that,” you allow your nightgown to fall to the floor, “What I don’t know yet is how to compartmentalize my normal life with this life, how to live them separately. How to be normal out there, and business here. So until I do, well, you don’t seem to mind my using you for human connection.”
“That’s understandable and I don’t mind at all,” he licks his lips as you slide your panties down and off your legs, “I know this was a big change for you, and I understand that what I ask of you is taxing, that what you see and hear is sometimes unfathomable.”
You cross over to him, naked, skin streaked with another persons blood, “Thank you for understanding,” you say, and kiss him, pulling him into you by his collar. His fingers slide down your stomach and slide between your slick. You whimper into his mouth as he pulls away.
He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them with a grin, “Wash up Kitten, but next time you don’t have one of my men bleeding on your dining room table, you’re mine.”
You wait for him to close the door before you step into the water. You watch the white floor of the shower turn into red swirls being pulled down the drain. You scrub and scrub your skin until it feels raw, wash your hair in case any blood made its way up there to dry out in the strands. You dry off, moisturize and put on comfortable clothes - a pair of old scrub pants and a tee shirt you don’t care about. You pull your wet hair tight out of your face and then pick up your ruined night dress, tossing it into the bathroom trash on your way out the door.
When you return downstairs you see Seungmin sitting in a recliner in the living room, scrolling his phone. Hyunjin continues to lay still on the dining table, and you walk over to check his vitals again, catching Seungmins attention.
“Good evening,” he nods stiffly and you give him a wry smile.
“Where did Min- Where did Mr. Lee go?” you ask him as you wrap the BP cuff around Hyunjins arm.
“He left. You don’t need to know where,” he answers you with an uninterested cadence, not looking up from his phone.
“Right,” you fight the urge to roll your eyes, “Of course.”
Hyunjins blood pressure is back to normal, albeit a tad low, but well in the realm of being acceptable. Resting heart rate has returned to the low 70’s, which is also a good sign. You finger the bandage at his side and it’s a relief to find that so far, no blood has seeped through the packing. That is indeed very good progress.
As you fix his bandage back a hand flies up, landing over yours and you jump, looking up just in time to see his eyes flutter open.
“Hey there,” you say softly, “How do you feel?”
“Like I got stabbed in a back alley,” he chuckles and lifts his head but immediately winces at the pain and collapses back onto the table with a painful sounding thud.
“Be very still,” you place your palm against his stomach softly. “You did get stabbed in a back alley and you’re far from ready to move around.”
“Changbin and Felix?” he rasps.
“They’re fine,” you answer, “They brought you here but Mr. Lee sent them home for the night, they were both very worried about you.”
“But they’re fine?” he looks at you seriously and you nod.
“Totally fine Hyunjin.”
He shakes his head, “Those motherfuckers have to be the dumbest in the entire country. We weren’t even there for any rifts, we just needed to collect the monthly gun sales. I knew when we walked in something was off, everyone felt so nervous, I should’ve turned tail and gotten Bin and Felix out as soon as I felt it.”
“She doesn’t need to know any of this, you ought to keep your mouth shut,” Seungmin calls from the living room.
Hyunjin smirks, “Why’d they send the mean, strict grandpa? I almost died, I at least deserve Jeongin or Jisung.”
You say nothing, but suppress a laugh and shrug your shoulders.
Hyunjin wiggles around feeling his pants pockets and produces a square brass cigarette case.
“Got a light Doll?” he places one between his lips and you walk to the kitchen for a lighter.
“As your primary care professional, I don’t really recommend this right now,” you say dryly, but light it for him and allow it.
“I’ve been a good patient though,” he sticks out his lower lip and you roll your eyes.
“I suppose,” you say.
“So when can I get out of here?” he asks between puffs.
You scoff, “Well. If we were in a hospital and I could send you for bloodwork and images and definitively rule out any organ damage, I could send you home a lot sooner. As it is,” you think for a moment, trying to be both medically practical but also realistic to what Minho will expect. “As it is, I need to watch you for at least three days. I’ll need to monitor your wound, obviously, but also any sign of infection like swelling or fever. If that happens it could be because the blade nicked something it shouldn’t have, like your intestines for example, or that the wound itself is trying to go septic.”
“Ew,” he grimaces.
“Exactly.”
“And will I have to bunk on this very nice, but extremely uncomfortable table during that time? Not gonna lie Doll, I’m getting pretty stiff, and not in the fun way,” he jokes.
“No,” you laugh, “Seungmin and I will help you to the guest room in a bit. First I’d like to unpack your wound, make sure the major bleeding stopped, and stitch you. Then I’ll clean you up and put a new bandage on, after that you can go to a real bed.”
“Stitches huh?” he blows out a big puff of smoke. “Is that, uh…you know, going to hurt?”
You grin, “Well, it won’t feel amazing, but it probably doesn’t hurt any worse than getting stabbed, and now we know you can handle that.”
“Right,” he chuckles.
“I’ll try and see if I have any more topical anesthetic in my supplies,” you pat his leg sympathetically.
🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️
“Fuck! It hurts…” Hyunjin grumbles, you pause your needle as he flinches and bites down hard on his bottom lip.
“I’m sorry, I’m almost done,” you tell him, going back to it, “aside from me sewing you up, how do you feel?”
“I’m fine,” he says shakily, you can see the sheen of sweat on his upper lip and forehead, see his fingers shaking between weak grips on the edge of the table.
“Cute, acting tough like that,” you click your teeth, “Now, how about you tell me the truth? I can’t treat you properly if you’re not honest about your symptoms.”
He looks down at you, despite his current state, the corners of his lips twitch into a smile.
“I feel like shit, there, you happy now?” he pouts.
From the corner of the room Seungmin sighs, “She needs you to be specific, idiot.”
“Why are you speaking?” Hyunjin snaps at him and you see Seungmin stiffen, face defiant, but you notice he sinks lower into the recliner and goes back to his phone.
“He’s right,” you say quietly, finishing up the stitches, “I need to know if anything’s hurting, burning or itching from head to toe,” you stand up and help him lie back down on the table, carefully holding his head in your hands. This brings your faces closer together, closer than you’d ever been to Hyunjin, and you can’t help but notice the sweetness of his face, the wild innocence of his dark eyes. He meets your gaze with the same intensity and you have to look away.
“So how about it?” you clear your throat, “How are you really feeling?”
“My head is pounding, I feel like I could drink ten gallons of water, my side is burning where you just sewed my guts back in, and I feel like I couldn’t lift a feather without passing out. That good enough for you sweetheart?” he half laughs, then winces.
“Yes, actually,” you quip, “The headache and weakness are both from the blood loss, I’ll get you some pain meds, and you can slowly start to drink some ice water for the dry mouth, I also want you on antibiotics, and Seungmin can help me get you to bed so you can rest.”
You gesture to Seungmin, “I went ahead and pulled the covers down, I just need you to help me get him on the bed,” you instruct.
Seungmin saunters over and Hyunjin reluctantly puts his arm around Seungmins neck, “Ouch! Fuck!” he cries and you look up from where you’re putting his feet on the floor.
“Maybe support the side he doesn’t have a stab wound on boys?” you point to Hyunjins right side.
“Right,” Seungmin grumbles.
Getting Hyunjin from the dining room just down the hall to the bedroom proves to be quite difficult, despite the trip only being maybe twenty, twenty-five steps. The journey takes every bit of his energy and when he hits the mattress with a painful sounding thud he’s out again.
“Is he going to make it?” Seungmin stands back and somehow looks both concerned and unbothered by Hyunjins pitiful state.
“Yes,” you nod, “He needs to rehydrate, and rest. When he wakes up I’ll get him some pain medication, start some antibiotics, and get some fluids in him. Will you run down to the store and get a case of some kind of sports drink? He’ll need the sodium.”
“No.”
“Pardon?” you turn to Seungmin.
“My orders aren’t to do your shopping, my orders are to stay here and protect the safe house,” he answers seriously.
“For fucks sake Seungmin,” you sigh, “loosen up. I’ll grab my keys and be right back,” you tell him, “but if he wakes up and needs something urgent you’re on your own and whatever happens will be on you.”
“Then I’ll deal with it. Just because you fuck the boss doesn’t make you the matriarch of the organization,” he says flatly.
You freeze, your mouth setting into a tight, defensive line. You fight the urge to slap him, you know that he’ll hit you back and his fist most definitely packs a bigger punch.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Hyunjin says weakly from the bed, Seungmin nearly jumps out of his skin.
“It’s the truth,” Seungmin challenges softly.
“That’s not how you talk to someone who does so much for us, and besides I’d hate for that nasty remark to get back to Minho, you won’t be doing protection details for a while, I guarantee you that,” Hyunjin threatens.
Seungmin huffs and starts to stalk out of the room.
“You’re forgetting something,” Hyunjin says, weakly lifting a finger and pointing at you. “Apologize.”
Seungmins eyes narrow with rage, “I apologize,” he says through gritted teeth.
“It’s fine,” you sigh, knowing he doesn’t really mean it and also knowing that you don’t really give a shit if he does or not. “I’m going to get some things for Hyunjin, you boys play nice.”
You don’t give either of them the opportunity to respond, you just head for the door. You wait until you’re in the privacy of your own car, well, Minho’s car, before you cry.
Seungmins words cut deep, both embarrassing and insulting. You hadn’t really thought about anyone noticing that sometimes Minho slips away upstairs to your bedroom and because of that oversight you’d never really thought about how it would feel for others to know, and to comment on it. It feels lousy, turns out. It makes you feel cheap, and it makes you feel wrong.
🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️
It’s almost daylight before Hyunjin wakes again. He slept through almost every vital check, and at the most would only stir in his sleep when you put the cuff around his arm or the cold stethoscope against his chest.
“What are you reading?” his voice pulls your attention from the page and you wiggle around in your seat, joints and muscles stiff from hours of sitting.
“It’s just a silly romance novel, nothing life changing,” you tell him, setting the book down. “Here, you need to drink,” you hand him a cup of blue Gatorade, a bit watery from the melted ice.
Hyunjin attempts to sit up but winces, “Never really thought about how much I use these muscles,” his smile is twisted with pain, but you’re impressed with his positivity.
“Here,” you stand up and reach around to fluff his pillows up so he’s propped. “How does that feel?”
“God you smell good,” he says softly, his nose centimeters away from your sternum, right between your breasts.
“Thanks,” you sit back down quickly.
Hyunjin watches silently, sipping the blue beverage as you make a ruckus on the side table shaking pills out of bottles.
“What’s all that?” he asks.
“Your meds, since you’re up and lucid I want you to go ahead and take some,” you tell him, handing him two pills to take.
“Can I at least know what I’m taking?” he chuckles, rolling them around his palm.
“The smaller white one is an Oxycodone, for the pain, and the big one is Cephalexin, an antibiotic just in case,” you explain.
He tosses the Oxy back onto the table and pops the antibiotic into his mouth. Off of your stare he shrugs, “I don’t take pain killers, used to have a bad problem with pills.”
“Oh, well, it’s mainly just Acetaminophen, I think this one is 800mg and only 200mg of oxy. I think wherever your boss gets my drugs - they keep the hard stuff. I’d like you to take something, for your head and for the wound, but if you don’t want to I can’t make you obviously,” you say, standing up.
“I’m fine sweetheart,” he lays his head back down on the pillows, and puts the empty cup on the table. “I like a little pain,” he winks.
“Suit yourself,” you grab your book and start out of the room.
“Hey, where are you going?” he calls.
“Just giving you some privacy to rest,” you shrug.
“Read to me,” he gestures towards your chair.
“You’re kidding?” you snort.
“I’ve slept all night, and I’m bored,” he pouts, “Please?”
You huff and plant your ass back into the chair, deciding not to point out that he may have slept all night but you haven’t.
“You really want to sit here and listen to my silly romance?”
“Absolutely.”
You sigh and open your book to the page you dogeared a few moments ago. To be frank you can’t remember what was happening, you’d zoned out and the words weren’t exactly sticking. You scan the page to find anything familiar.
You freeze. Oh good Lord.
“Why are you blushing?” he laughs.
“I just…it’s…it’s sort of at a spicy part,” you squirm.
“Nice, lay it on me,” he grins.
“Jesus…” you shake your head and clear your throat.
“...Scooping her into my arms, I lavish kisses on her mouth and neck. We strip each other bare, our love making frenzied. I make sure she orgasms before me, holding back until her body achieves its release. Right before I come I whisper “I love you” between each breath before my mind goes blank with pleasure. As we lie across my-,”
“That’s it??” Hyunjin scoffs.
“What’s it?” you look up at him.
“That’s supposed to be spicy? That’s barely salted!” he chuckles.
“Well, I suppose it’s meant to not be super detailed, leave a bit to the imagination,” you answer.
“That’s lazy,” he shakes his head.
“Well what would you have written then?” you challenge, closing the book and crossing your legs.
“I don’t know, I’m no writer,” he falters, “but I would’ve written something about how she feels, how it feels to push into her - tight and wet and warm. What she tastes like - from her lipstick, to her skin, to her cunt.”
You shift in your seat, squeezing your thighs together.
“They could’ve at least described her noises, how playing with her in different ways makes her sound different, what her tits look like when I’m fucking her, bouncing fast or slow. I don’t know, something with a little actual spice,” he shrugs.
“Well write a book then,” you say before he can go into any more detail.
“I’m just saying, they could’ve painted a better picture, fucking is supposed to be fun, that sounded boring as hell,” he scoffs, “Who ever actually whispers “I love you” when they’re fucking?”
“I don’t know, I guess people who love each other,” you grumble.
“Yeah? Is that what Boss man says to you?” he teases. It’s not the same menacing tone that Seungmin had taken with you concerning Minho, and you can tell by the lightness of Hyunjins eyes he doesn’t mean anything by it, but God, these men. They all need to be lined up and slapped across the face. You’re sick of it. Sick of the power struggle. In every situation, in every conversation they have to feel like they’re holding the power. You let Seungmins comments roll off your back and ignored them like a coward earlier, but Hyunjin will likely be here a few days and you need to establish that you won’t back down again, you can fight fire with fire.
So you straighten up and look him dead in the eyes, “No. When Minho fucks me he pulls my hair and slaps my ass and calls me his gorgeous little slut while his cum drips out of my mouth.”
Hyunjins mouth turns into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen and his eyes go wide as he points to you, “Now that is a goddamn page turner.”
You can’t help the laugh that escapes as you stand up and straighten yourself out, “Okay, storytime is over, I’m going to get a little sleep. Try to rest. I’ll make you some breakfast in a bit.”
“Okay,” he nods and settles back into the mattress, as you go to switch the lights he looks at you, his head cocking to the side a bit, “Do you like that though? The rough and ragged and dirty stuff?”
You shrug, “Sometimes, I guess. Sometimes though…I don’t know… I think I’d like someone to whisper how much they love me, it sounds nice.”
He nods, then looks back up at you, “I’m sorry, I won’t comment on you and Lee anymore.”
“See you later Hyunjin.”
Too tired to even attempt walking up the stairs you drag yourself over to the sofa and collapse.
Seungmin sits in his recliner nearby and blinks at you.
You point to the blanket folded over the back of his chair, “Will you hand-,”
He balls up the blanket and throws it, pegging your face with a smirk. You shoot him a death glare before covering yourself up and sinking into the cushions. You try not to think about his earlier comments regarding Minho. You try not to think about Minho. You especially try not to think about dirty talk with Hyunjin, or how it stirred something within you that you absolutely must not allow to grow.
Endnotes:
1. Tentatively tagging my Minho lovers - @katieraven @linocz @screamobubbles @simpforleeknaur @moni-logues - because Minho will be centric to the story. However, if you do not want to be tagged for any reason just DM me and I’ll remove you, no worries at all 💙🥰 Alternatively, if you’re seeing this and want to be added to the tag list just let me know somehow!
2. As usual, here’s your virtual smooch for making it this far. Mafia is soooo far out of my wheelhouse and honestly even though this chapter is super unbeta’d - I may have future chapters looked at bc I’m not really sure I’m hitting the mark. Any feedback on it would be swell, just be gentle with me 😂👍
When im necromancin', everyones dancin'
No one can stop me, I dare u 2 try
The dead r infused with sensational groove
n theyr comin 4 u now
There's nowhere to hide!!!!
Mitski - Why Didn't You Stop Me?
Havent finished a shaded piece in a while so i did one with Katie! ^_^
She got that transgender swag!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Disciples
Phone call 📱🌠🚬
Demon + vamp + zomb
The Christmas kids were nothing but a gift 💀🎁
Penelope Scott - Lotta true crime
Happy birthday to Katie the tailless whipscorpion! (Order Amblypygi)
Posted to r/awwnverts by roguellama_420 on 10/11/23
Shared with permission - do not re-post!
Exactly every time I see her in Labyrinth:
Gif by @janusa
Just appreciate her legs.
