#Forbidden Instincts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

satrs · 3 months ago

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Hands Off! Or Not?

SYNOPSIS. The forbiddenness of it all so tempting, and restraint a thing of the past. To which depraved and perverse lengths are they going for you truly?

FEAT. XAVIER. ZAYNE. RAFAYEL. SYLUS. CALEB. xfem!reader

TAGS. MDNI! NSFW/DARK CONTENT! DUB-CON! sexual intercourse. unprotected intercourse. extremely pervy guys/acts. perverse actions. making out. jacking off to you without ur knowledge. blowjob and slight roleplay in zayne's. throatfuckin. SOMNOPHILIA in Sylus. watching u shower in rafayel's. shower sex. rafayel and caleb are kinda manipulative. dIrty talk. praise. size kink. oral, panty stealing and cunn!lingus(?)in calebs. Caleb cumin on ya panties lol(nasty ho). They r js nasty and pathetic, man. PANTY SNATCHER CALEB!!!

✎ A/N; Felt cute might delete later Hihi^^ Idk what's gotten into me but M' LOVIN' IT WUHUUU! Hope y'all are doin well and enjoy! xoxo

XAVIER ♡ Snatched!

Xavier, your reliable, caring neighbor.

You just entrusted him with your keys, begging him to tend to your plants while you're out for work since he's off for the week. And he gladly agrees.

But strangely, every time you come home, your plants look more withered than the day before. When you check on them, they're not even watered.

When you confront him about it, he just mentions how he waters them early in the morning so they dry by the evening. And with his slick words, you believe him.

Then, some of your things start appearing in the strangest places. Your lip gloss on the kitchen counter, a scarf on your bed, even panties you don’t remember wearing showing up in your dirty laundry. Weird.

You brush it off, blaming yourself for your forgetful nature, going about your morning routine before heading into another exhausting day of work. Just one more day, and then you won’t have to bother poor, busy Xavier with these tasks anymore.

Xavier, your reliable, sweet, and caring neighbor, moves on instinct as he checks the time, quick to hurry to your apartment door, unlocking it with ease.

Since the day you gave him your keys, it’s been the same routine.

He slips into your apartment after you leave, scanning over your belongings—your scarf, your lip gloss, even the forbidden rose toy you think is hidden in your drawer next to the bed. Anything that carries your essence is an item he’ll examine.

His first mistake.

And once he musters the courage to go into your panty drawer, he’s doomed before he even realizes it. Snatching a pristine pair of white lace panties, he lays back on your bed, taking a deep inhale of the sheets still coated in your scent before his hand travels down to free his aching cock.

His second mistake.

Lustful eyes scan the lace in his other hand as he wraps the flimsy material around his girthy length, his grip tightening as he strokes himself, imagining it to be your tight pussy instead, his head falling back against your headboard.

If this is wrong, dirty, even perverse—then why does it feel so damn good?

He could drown in your scent, stay in your bed like this forever, take panty after panty, repeating the same process over and over again.

He continues, lost in his pleasure, not even noticing the front door opening, the approaching footsteps, or the door creaking until—

"Xavier?"

His eyes snap open, panic surging through him. Before he can explain himself, his mouth falls shut, embarrassment creeping up his face.

"M’ just—"

"Just casually jerking off with my panties, right." You stand before him, arms crossed, a raised eyebrow aimed at his vulnerable form. But your gaze drops, lingering on his cock, still hard, still wrapped in your lace. And fuck, does it look good like that.

A slow smirk tugs at your lips. "You know what? You're lucky. I could use a little stress relief."

He watches in utter disbelief as you strip off your top, bright eyes soaking in your bare breasts, your perked nipples. His breath hitches when you step closer, knee dipping onto the mattress beside his hip, lustful gaze locking onto his.

"Wanna have the real deal?" You lower yourself onto his lap, heat pressing against his still-throbbing cock. "Then take it, you perv."

You don’t have to tell him twice.

His hands fly to your hips, pulling you down, a shuddering groan ripping from his throat as your soaked cunt draaags over him so deliciously.

His fingers dig into your flesh, thumbs brushing reverently over your waist, your thighs, committing the feel of you to memory.

His third mistake — nah, this is a blessing.

"Fuck," he exhales, voice raw. "Yer' for real?"

You roll your hips, smirking when he hisses. "What do you think?" Your fingers trail up his chest, tracing trembling muscles. " You could still leave. You can help yourself, can you?"

Xavier swallows thickly, hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer. "N-no, wanna' stay," he murmurs, voice husky. "Wanted this forever— been waitin' for so long."

You hum, dragging your fingers along his jaw before gripping his chin. "Then show me."

"Heh, I'll show you, alright."

In one swift motion, he flips you onto your back, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, down your sternum. His tongue flicks over your nipple, making you arch into him, gasping as he sucks it into his mouth, teeth grazing sensitive skin.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your flesh, caressing your tender skin. He pulls back just enough to watch as he drags your soaked panties down your legs, letting them drop carelessly to the floor. His eyes darken as he spreads your legs, settling between them with a predatory gleam.

"So fucking pretty," he breathes, running his fingers through your slick folds before pressing a teasing kiss to your cheek. "Ohh, wanna feel ya'— pleaseee, lemme' get nice and comfy in yer' warm pussy, angel."

A shiver runs through you at his possessive tone, your body burning with anticipation, sending an electric shock right to your aching clit. "Then stop teasing and take what’s yours, Xavier."

He groans at your words, positioning himself at your entrance before sloooowly pushing in, the stretch making you moan as he fills you inch by inch. His head falls against your shoulder, panting against your skin as he finally bottoms out.

"Warm, s-so warm," he grits out, hands gripping your hips as he pulls back before thrusting in again, setting a deep, slow pace that has you whimpering beneath him. "Wanna stay like this—inside ya'—fuckkk."

Your nails dig into his back, urging him to go faster. And he does, movements rough, desperate, as his cock spreads you open, massaging your g-spot with his viciously, throbbing tip.

The sound of skin slapping against skin, breathy moans and curses filling the room, Xavier presses his forehead against yours, lips ghosting over your mouth, the incredible stretch causing your tongue to loll out weakly and he happily laps up your saliva, sucking on your wet muscle.

"Give it ta' me—fuckkk, all of it," he coaxes, thumb circling your clit in tight, deliberate motions, "Make a mess on me, c’mon, ya can't shy out now."

“G-gonna give it to me, yeah? Promise?” His voice is strangled, thick with lust as his thrusts grow frantic, erratic. His fingers dig into your hips, bruising, as he chases his high, grinding deep with every desperate snap of his hips.

You nod frantically, heat coiling in your stomach until it snaps, pleasure crashing over you. Your body tightens around him, and Xavier lets out a strangled groan as he follows, spilling his thick cum inside you, coating your walls in slick white as he buries his face in your neck, panting heavily.

For a moment, you both stay like that, tangled in each other, bodies slick with sweat until he pulls back just enough to look at you, a lazy smirk curling his lips.

"Oops. Forgot to water your plants today."

You huff out a laugh, pulling him down for another kiss, robbing a hiss from him as you slightly shift, cock springing to life inside you.

"Figured."

ZAYNE ♡ Doctor's Orders.

Zayne hates how much of a pervert he is.

He tells himself he should stop, that he should have some damn self-control, act like the composed professional he's supposed to be. But it’s just too tempting—especially when he catches those inviting glimpses of you during medical check-ups.

Like when he presses the stethoscope to your chest, fingers accidentally brushing over your soft skin as he pulls away. Or when you bend over, reaching for your toes for some 'spine check' he made up while he can’t help but admire the perfect curve of your ass.

He really can't help it.

It’s bad enough in his clinic, but it's so much worse when he does house calls.

You sit there so obediently, following every command, trusting him so completely. And it doesn’t help that you're dressed in ridiculously tight pajamas, your breasts practically spilling from the neckline, your thighs fully exposed, leaving little to the imagination.

Fuck. He could wreck you right here on this damned couch if he weren’t supposed to be acting professional.

"Alright, now open your mouth wide. I need to check your throat."

Lie.

You comply, lips parting in a teasing "ahhh," making a show of it just to get a rise out of him. And oh, does it work.

His grip tightens around the tongue depressor as he guides it to your tongue, watching you, trying so hard not to let his gaze meet yours because if he does—he’s done for.

But then his hand trembles, just enough to push the depressor a little deeper.

You gag. Loudly.

His cock twitches violently, and he swears he can feel a bead of pre-cum leaking into his briefs right then and there.

"M’ sorry," he mutters hastily, barely able to form words. "Feeling a bit off today. Been a long one. Can I use your restroom?"

"Of course! Are you alri—"

Before you can even finish your sentence, he's gone, practically sprinting to the bathroom.

The second the door is almost shut, he’s already fumbling with his belt, shoving his pants down and gripping his hefty cock, hissing as he wraps his fingers around the thick, aching length.

God, he’s horrible. Pathetically horrible.

He’s jacked off to the thought of you more times than he can count, but never in your home. Never with you just outside the door.

And the worst part?

He wants to get caught.

It's evident— his groans slip past his lips a little too loudly, the wet sounds of his strokes just barely muffled by the rush of running water. And he doesn’t even try to lock the door, leaving it cracked just enough—a silent invitation, a trap.

His hand moves faster, his mind spiraling into filthy thoughts, how much better would it sound if you were gagging around him instead of that damned wooden stick? If you looked up at him, lips stretched wide, cheeks hollowed, eyes teary?

"Fuck—"

His breath hitches, his body tensing—he’s about to—

"Z-Zayne? What the—!"

His eyes snap open, glasses nearly sliding off the bridge of his nose as he whips around.

And there you are. Standing in the doorway, lips parted, gaze locked onto his hand wrapped around his cock, glistening with pre-cum.

For a split second, shame claws at him, heat burning up his neck—until he sees a smirk creeping onto your lips.

"M’ sorry," he breathes, voice rough, unrepentant, "but you’re a vixen of a patient, you know that? Teasing me with your tight little outfit. You planned this, didn’t you?"

You tilt your head, playing innocent, though your eyes gleam with mischief. "Doctor... I think you’re just imagining things."

His grip on the sink tightens when you step closer, sinking to your knees before him, your breath ghosting over his swollen tip. And you giggle, giggle as you watch pre spurt out of his slit as your hand creeps up his thigh, doe-eyes locking with his.

You grasp him, a teasing flick of your tongue sending a sharp jolt through his entire body.

"Unbelievable," he huffs, fingers instantly tangling in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp. "I’m not imagining things, trust me."

And then, with a firm push, he guides your mouth onto him, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as your lips wrap around his cock.

"Let's finish yer' check-up. Open wiiiiide— ya' know the drill. " His smirk deepens, hips rolling forward, forcing you to take him to your throat, the delicious gag you let out makes his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

His hips snap forward in a slow, deliberate thrust, dragging a needy whimper from your throat as he sinks deeper, stretching your lips around him further. His breathing is uneven now, heavy with restraint, but his control is crumbling, and you can feel it in the way his fingers flex against your scalp, the way he hurries to throw his fogged glasses of, his muscles coil under your touch.

His thrusts grow sharper, more demanding, and you take it, every inch of it, his cock sliding deep into your throat, eyes tearing.

The filthy, wet sounds of your mouth working him fill the small bathroom, along with his ragged breathing, the curses slipping past his lips as his body trembles beneath your touch.

You drag your nails up his thighs, feeling the way his muscles tense, how he shudders when you hum around him, sending vibrations straight through him. He groans your name, voice rough with need, his head tipping back, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure coils tight in his gut.

And then you dare to contract that tight throat of yours, squeezing his mushroomy, rosey tip so tight, he's starting to feel dizzy now.

"Fuck, sweetheart—" His voice breaks, a low growl vibrating in his chest as his thrusts falter, his entire body seizing under your touch. His grip tightens, almost bruising, but you welcome it, relishing the way he shudders, how his knees slightly buckle.

With a final, deep thrust, he spills into your mouth, a sharp curse falling from his lips as he rides out his release with weak bucks, his fingers still tangled in your hair. His chest rises and falls in harsh, uneven breaths, his body trembling as the last waves of pleasure crash over him.

His heavy breath fills the tight space, fingers now sliding through his disheveled hair as his cloudy gaze falls to your messed up face in awe, hair tangled from his firm grip, tearing eyes examining him as you happily swallow his hot semen, cum slicked lips stretching into a big smile right after.

Your knees dig into the floor as you tilt your head to lap up a droplet of semen trapped to his tip in delight.

"So," he catches his breath before reaching for his glasses with shaky fingers, swiftly putting them on,

"Same time next week?"

RAFAYEL ♡ Steambound

Rafayel is nothing if not considerate, letting you shower at his place while your apartment complex deals with yet another plumbing disaster.

You appreciate it, really. His shower is just as extravagant as the rest of his house—sleek, modern tiles stretching from floor to ceiling, the entire bathroom almost as big as your whole damn apartment.

Steam curls into the air, thick and heavy, wrapping the room in a heated mist. Water cascades down your tired body, and you close your eyes, exhaling softly, relishing in the warmth as it soothes your muscles.

But you don’t notice the faint crack in the door, nor the tall figure standing just beyond it, or predatory eyes locked onto your naked form through the glass, tracing the curve of your back to the soft swell of your ass.

Who could blame him?

He noticed you didn’t lock the door, and as he listened to the rhythmic patter of water, felt the humid air creeping into the hallway, he told himself to just take a quick peek, just to make sure you don’t need anything. A towel, maybe. Then he’d be on his way.

Why is he even lying to himself?

He always does this—always tries to craft reasonable excuses for his own depravity.

This isn’t the first time you’ve showered at his place, and it sure as hell isn’t the first time he’s watched you.

He’s perfected the art of lingering just out of sight, watching through a barely open door, catching glimpses of your reflection in the mirror as you undress in the guest room he swears he never uses.

Or when you step out of the shower, towel wrapped snugly around your glistening body, droplets still clinging to your skin, he’s there, lurking, memorizing every inch of you, maybe even letting his hand drift lower, palming himself through his pants as he drinks in the sight, knowing that just watching won’t be enough.

So, when he's feeling extra risky, he'll sneak a peak into the shower, like right now, unbuttoned pants hanging low as he slowly strokes his aching cock to you soaping your body with his body wash, in his shower, your hands gliding along your delicate skin and he wishes, prays he could touch you like that.

You mindlessly pour the shampoo into your hair, turning just right for him to catch a glimpse of your exposed front, tits on full display. Your eyes are cautionary closed, careful not to get any of the product in your eyes.

And he's taking full advantage of that.

His head rests against the doorframe, low-hanging eyes and mouth agape as he tries to sneak a peak at your cunt, but he's just too far away.

What a shame.

Desperate to catch a glipse, he lets out a frustrated huff, maybe a little too loud, causing you to halt in your tracks, turning your head with cautiong, eyes closed covered with remnants of bubbles.

"Rafayel? Is that you?"

Your voice cuts through the thick steam, startled and unsure, and it makes his stomach clench, as his hand tightens desperately onto his bulky tip and his breath stutters. His name so sweet on your tongue—he shouldn't react like this, but he can't help but stroke his heavy cock firm in his palm, faster, stronger.

A shiver runs down his spine, his grip tightening around himself again, a quiet muffled moan slipping past his bitten lip, overwritten by the dripping noise of the water, his ears flush red. Damn it.

This wasn’t how he planned to spend his night, fisted around his cock, your scent thick in the air, soap and you making his head as cloudy as the humid air around him. But you’re here now, close enough that he swears he can feel the warmth of your body beyond the veil of condensation.

And maybe it’s reckless—no, it is reckless, but desire makes him bold. He exhales sharply, letting his hesitation crumble, and before he can overthink it, he pushes past the fogged glass and steps fully into view.

Your reaction is instant. A sharp gasp, eyes going wide as you stumble backward, water cascading down your bare shoulders. Your hands, trembling, fly up to shield yourself, though they do little to conceal the curve of your hips, the soft swell of your chest, the way droplets cling to your flushed skin.

His gaze darkens, tracing every detail greedily, hunger curling low in his stomach. His lips twitch, amusement flickering beneath the heat in his stare. That trembling attempt at modesty, those blown-out eyes staring at him like he's some kind of dangerous animal—like he’s something hazardous— God, he might cum right there.

"Mind if I join in? The shower is big enough for two, no?"

Your throat bobs as you swallow, eyes darting between his face and his tall, sculpted frame while he cautiously steps closer—dripping, bare, utterly unapologetic as he stands before you.

Everything feels so hot, from the hot steam to his body so close to yours, to the lingering feeling in the pit of your tummy. You should scream, slap, cuss him out, but,

"Y-you, you perv" , is all you can muster, your whole body tensing as your eyes linger at his straight, heavy dick maybe for a little too long.

Fuck, this is turning you on.

Rafayel watches every shift of your expression like a predator drinking in the scent of his prey.

Embarrassment and conflict, the rapid rise and fall of your chest betraying just how hard your heart is pounding.

But beneath it—Oh, he sees it. That flicker of something curious, enticed, even, something that makes his blood run straight to his already painfully hard, pounding length.

"I prefer the term 'enthusiast'. Plus," he's inching closer, finger reaching behind to turn off the flowing fountain of water, "I let you shower here for weeks, ya owe me, ya' know."

Droplets cling to his skin now, sliding over every defined muscle, down the sharp lines of his abs, following the ridges like they’re tracing a path meant for your eyes to follow.

You press yourself against the cool tile, heart hammering against your ribs, but you don’t look away. You can’t. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, hard, thick, aching.

And he’s not even trying to hide it.

"I don’t owe you anything," you manage, but your voice is weak, your body betraying you with every shaky inhale, every slight tremble he notices instantly.

Rafayel smirks, watching you intentively. "Oh, cutie," he drawls, rolling his shoulders as the warm water cascades over him, washing away the last remnants of restraint. "You don’t even believe that yourself."

Coral eyes trail lower, drinking in the sight of you of your glistening skin— the way some bubbles still slide down your curves, clinging to the peaks of your breasts before slipping down between your thighs.

"Look at cha'," he murmurs, thick voice drenched in lust "Fuckin' perfect."

You shift under his gaze, thighs pressing together, but it’s useless—he sees everything. He always does.

Your breath stutters, heat licking up your spine, but you shake your head, desperate to deny it. "That’s not—"

His fingers swiftly trail lower, slipping between your legs, rubbing just once over the slick, buttony clit, and you nearly collapse.

Rafayel groans, his forehead dropping against yours for a moment, his breath coming out ragged.

He hisses, other hand forming into a tight fist, holding onto his last bit of sanity — if there's even anything left. "Yer' cute cunny 's sayin' sometin' else," precise fingers glide down to tease your fluttering hole, "You sure you want me ta' stop?"

Your mind his clouded, gaze hazy, shaky hand coming up to trace down his slim waist, halting just above his pelvis.

A whimper escapes you, gasping when he grips your thigh and hikes it up around his waist, pressing you closer, his cock gifting your clit a quick, addictive kiss.

"You could’ve locked the door," he breathes against your ear, his voice dripping with amusement, sin. "You could’ve told me to fuck off the second I stepped inside. But you didn’t."

His lips graze your throat, nipping at the delicate skin, making you squirm.

"You wanted this, didn’t you?" he growls, rolling his hips, letting the thick length of him drag against your slick folds, teasing, taunting. "You wanted me to come in and give this pussy some proper lovin' hm?"

A broken moan spills from your lips, nails digging into his shoulders, but he only grins, reveling in your unraveling.

"Say it," he demands, voice laced with need and desire. "Tell me you want this — want me, and I'll treat this needy cunny sooo good."

His digits find your clit again, circling it lazily, his teasing touch making your legs shake.

"Tell me," he repeats, pressing the head of his cock right against your entrance, barely pushing in, just enough to make you feel the stretch, make you crave for more.

Your head falls back against the tile, lips parted, body trembling, and as the words spill from you in a breathless whimper— he loses it.

Groaning, his patience snaps as he slams his mouth over yours, tongue plunging deep, stealing the last bit of your resistance. And before you can even register it he’s inside you, stretching your walls so meanly agape, your breath halts in your lungs.

"Ohhh, baby" he growls against your lips as he fully bottoms out inside you. "Finally— fuckkkk, finally. Was so tired of js' watchin' ya'."

You can feel him everywhere— his tongue tangling with yours, desperate claws on your thigh and hips, his selfish cock spreading you so lewdly, so meanly, you almost don't notice the bulge in your tummy— almost.

"Goddd, g-gonna be the death of me, cutie", his words come out in a quiet whisper as his eyes fall down to his cock marking a visible spot on your tummy, bullying his way into your cervix.

He picks up a quicker pace, deep thrust jolting you further up the cold tiles.

And each appearance of his cock against your belly, each little sound he swallows from your bitten lips make his balls tighten, threatening to pump his load deep into you.

"Ya' feel even better than I imagined. So greedy, suckin' me in so damn deep."

And he has imagined. So many times.

But now? Now he doesn’t have to anymore.

SYLUS ♡ Home Sweet Home!

Sylus always had a calculated mind, being two steps ahead of everyone around him- even you.

So once in a while when you're sleeping over at his place, he takes the sleeping-gap you both have to his advantage. Well, more often than he'd like to admit.

This has become quite the routine once you come over, he'll spend time with you, then leave for so called buissnes late at night. Sure,, he had a lot to do as the Leader of a criminal organization but sometimes? he just drove off around the corner of his home, waiting, preying.

He's purposely come home later than usual, sitting in his car as he watches you in his room through Mephisto, getting ready for bed.

He's waiting, watching intensly with his leg tapping the floor of his car as he watches you get into the bed with a defeaded sigh, the long wait of waiting for Sylus return now overwritten by the need to sleep.

So once he notices the lights turning off, your regular breathing indicating that you're far off into the dreamland now.

That's when he strikes.

The door creaks open, closing with a soft click! as Sylus steps into the dimly lit apartment.

You're sprawled out on his bed, breathing softly, body tangled in the blood-red sheets, wearing only his shirt, the fabric barely clings to your body, slipping off one delicate shoulder, the hem riding up just enough to tease a slight view of your panties.

His pupils blow in excitement, silver eyebrows raising in amusement.

"Would you look at that," he muses, voice thick with something sinful.

The bed dips as he climbs in, tugging the blanket you curled yourself into to crawl inside it, your warm, resting body spurting excitement right to his cock,

He watches you sleep, listening to the soft sounds of your breathing while palming himself through his pants. He never touched you —he would never—but God, the temptation burned.

And once he hears your sleeping form mutter a silent moan, he tenses.

What could you possibly be dreaming of?

He fights internally, fingers twitching, itching to touch you.

His suspicions solidified once a short gasp spilled from your lips, your thighs clenching under the sheets as you shamelessly moan his name in your sleep.

He pushes the blanket aside, exposing your flushed form with eyes scrunched together, thighs twitching as your hips rock against nothing.

"S-Sylus. Need you."

God, he can't help himself.

You said it yourself, you need him. So you wouldn't mind if he gives you just what you're craving for, right?

The bed dips as he climbs over you, one knee pressing between your legs. His fingers ghost along your exposed thigh, pushing the fabric up further, revealing more of the soft skin beneath, careful not to stir you from your peaceful slumber.

Sylus exhales slowly, forcing himself to move with precision and restraint. His touch is featherlight, tracing the delicate curve of your thigh, reveling in the way your skin shivers under his fingertips.

You're so warm, so soft—his perfect little prize wrapped up in his sheets, whispering his name like a prayer even in sleep.

His cock strains against his slacks, aching, desperate. But he won't rush. No, he intends to savor this. Thoroughly.

Carefully, he brushes his knuckles along the inside of your thigh, eyes locked onto your face, watching for any sign of wakefulness. But you only sigh, legs parting slightly in response as if inviting him closer.

With painstaking patience, he lets his fingers skim the edge of your panties, tracing the damp fabric stretched over your core. The moment he feels the warmth, the wetness gathered there, a deep, shuddering breath escapes him.

Fuck.

You're dreaming of him.

He palms himself through his trousers again, exhaling sharply at the realization. His perfect girl, all worked up because of him, soaking through her panties in the middle of the night, writhing against the sheets, lost in whatever sinful fantasy has her gasping his name.

It's almost too much to bear.

You shift in your sleep, a tiny sigh leaving your lips as goosebumps leave a trail on your skin from the remnant of his delightful touches.

"I'm home, honey." he hums, teasing.

His large hands slide beneath your shirt with a rough, determined purpose, fingers splaying wide as if he means to carve the shape of you into his memory. His palms are calloused, a stark contrast to the softness of your skin, and the way he grips your waist—firm, unyielding, and he wonders how you've not even woken up yet despite his desperate claws.

Breath stuttering, low and ragged, followed by a guttural groan that rumbles deep in his chest as he feels the heat of your bare flesh beneath his hands like it’s driving him out of his mind.

Leaning in without hesitation, mouth finding your exposed shoulder, lips dragging with tenderness. He doesn’t kiss so much as claim, lingering long enough for his teeth to graze the sensitive skin before moving lower.

He trails downward, tasting every inch like he’s memorizing the way you shudder beneath him.

His grip tightens, possessive, almost bruising, pulling you flush against him until there’s no space left to breathe, to think—only the pounding of your heartbeat against his and the searing heat coiled between you. His mouth finds the hollow of your throat, tongue flicking out, slow and hot, before his teeth scrape lightly, dangerously, earning a desperate sound from deep within you.

“Wakey, wakeyyy,” he hums against your skin, voice wrecked, with a teasing undertone. His hands slide higher now, beneath fabric and hesitation alike, and everywhere he touches feels like it’s burning, unraveling you thread by thread.

"Were you waiting for me like this, baby?" he hums between open-mouthed kisses, voice like warm honey, " all soft and ready for me?"

A pleased sound rumbles from his chest as you sigh in response, your body instinctively shifting closer to his heat. He watches the slow rise and fall of your breath, the way your lashes flutter ever so slightly, the unconscious parting of your lips so inviting.

His hands spread your further thighs apart, a pleased groan escaping his throat as he comes face to face with your dampened panties, outline of your needy cunt plastered so firmly, he can't look anywhere but.

He doesn't shy away, his hunger mounting as he palms himself through his slacks, the thick outline of his arousal pressing insistently against the fabric.

"Beautiful," he breathes, grinding his freed cock against you, hanging firm above his lazily undone pants, pre staining your panties even more, the wet spot now bleeding further into the cotton material. He watches with rapt fascination as your body reacts instinctively—your thighs twitch, a soft whimper escapes your lips, your hips lift ever so slightly, longing for more.

His cock twitches at the sight.

"Mmm, that's my good girl," he praises, slipping his hands beneath your thighs, hoisting you up just enough to slide your panties to the side before aligning his pulsating crown on your clenching hole.

Sylus pushes in slowly, letting out a long, deep groan as your warmth stretches around him. The feeling of your needy cunny—hot, tight, wet—makes his head spin.

"S-Sylus?! When did you—hngggh!"

Ah, you're awake.

Your eyes flutter open, glazed over with sleep, a dazed confusion mixed with pleasure contorting your features as you register the delicious stretch filling you up.

"M' sorry, sweetheart," he hisses, pressing his forehead against yours, his voice strained with restraint. "Couldn't help myself."

Your hands scramble to grip his strong shoulders, your nails biting into the firm muscle, legs lazily wrapping around his waist, still heavy from sleep, pulling him deeper. The sensation sends him reeling, and he rolls his hips forward, sinking further until he’s buried his pulsating cock to the hilt, brushing against your cervix ridiculously fast.

"Nghhh! M-more."

He chuckles, breathless and cocky. "Mm, patience, baby. I always give you what you want, no?"

His thrusts start slow, deep, and deliberate, dragging against your sensitive walls. He watches you, utterly enthralled, drinking in the way your lips part, how your nails dig into his skin, how your body shudders beneath him.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs against your lips, voice filled with pure adoration. "Always—such a perfect girl for me."

"B-been waitin' for you for so long,", your breath comes in short, shaky gasps, your body still adjusting to the overwhelming fullness. But Sylus doesn’t stop—he won’t stop. He needs this. He needs you.

"My sweet, poor darling. But I'm here now, and 'm not leaving anytime soon."

His pace picks up, hips slamming into you harder, deeper, hitting that mawkish spot that has your toes curling, your moans turning breathless.

"Yeahhh," he growls, his grip on your thighs tightening. "You see? Told you I—hahh— always take care of you, hm?"

You can’t speak—you can only whimper, nodding frantically, back arching as pleasure crashes through you. Every thrust drags against that spot, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge, the heat pooling in your belly threatening to snap.

"Words, baby," he demands, grinning against your cheek. "Tell me."

"T-taking so much care for me! A-always fuckin' me sooooo good—!"

His groan is primal, his thrusts turning erratic. His lips are on yours in an instant, swallowing your moans in a messy, desperate kiss. His hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your aching clit, rubbing fast, ruthless circles over the swollen bud.

Your body snaps.

Pleasure explodes through you, hard, hot and overwhelming, your walls clenching down around him like a vice. Your legs tighten around his waist, back arching off the bed as wave after wave crashes over you, your voice breaking on a strangled cry of his name.

"Fuck—fuck, sweetie," he groans, his rhythm stuttering. Your tight, convulsing heat sends him over the edge with you, his breath hitching, hips twitching as he buries himself as deep as he can go, spilling his hot spurts of cum inside you with a strangled, guttural grunt.

For a moment, he stays there, buried deep, catching his breath, his body trembling against yours. Then, a lazy smirk pulls at his lips.

"Gorgeous fuckin' mess," he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss against your jaw

You let out a soft, contented whimper, your body still trembling beneath him.

And by the determined glee in his eyes, you know he's not done playing with his prey yet.

CALEB ♡ No Shame!(What for?)

Your breath stalls in your chest, heart hammering against your ribs as your mind scrambles to make sense of what’s in front of you.

Panties. Your panties.

The delicate lace, once delicate, is now stuck together in places, soaked through with his cum. The sheer amount of it—thick, messy, so obviously fresh—makes your stomach tighten, not with disgust or fear, but something different.

Your fingers tremble as you hold the fabric aloft, staring, your pulse roaring in your ears.

This isn’t possible. It can’t be.

Sweet, wholesome Caleb—the one who always looked after you, who laughed at your dumb jokes, who ruffled your hair like an annoying big brother—there’s just no way. He couldn’t possibly be this perverse. He couldn’t have been stealing your underwear, jerking off into them like some depraved animal, desperate to soak them in his filth.

Right?

This was just supposed to be a quick peek into his room for any of his dirty laundry while he's showering to throw it into the machine alongside yours. Well alright, maybe you also wanted to check for your favorite missing pair of panties, just to be sure.

And there they are, the proof right here, warm and glistening between your fingers.

You’re so stunned, so utterly paralyzed by its sheer indecency that you don’t even hear the dropping water halting, the bathroom door open. Don’t even sense the presence behind you—not until you hear that soft, unmistakable click!

Your entire body jolts as realization slams into you.

You turn too fast, nearly stumbling, your breath lodged in your throat as your gaze collides with his.

He's bare-chested, still dripping from the shower, skin gleaming under the soft bedroom light, droplets of water trailing down his defined abs before disappearing beneath the loosely tucked edge of his towel, blocking the door, leaving no escape.

You’re trapped.

And the way he’s looking at you, amused, dark-eyed, and slow-smirking— so damn shameless, makes your stomach tighten in the worst possible way.

"Snooping around my room? That’s so unlike you, pips'."

His voice is smooth, unbothered, as if he isn’t standing there half-naked, as if he doesn’t see the ruined panties clutched in your trembling grasp.

His gaze flicks downward to your hand, to the lace still sticking to your fingers with his spent desire, to be exact.

Heat scorches through you. A sick, embarrassed thrill coils in your gut, because oh god—you’re still holding it.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it’s rude to go through other people’s things?"

You drop the panties like they burn, but it’s too late.

He knows you’ve seen them, knows you’ve realized what he’s done, knows you’re still standing here, trapped in his room.

"You weren’t supposed to find those, y’know," he muses, taking another step closer. The damp heat radiating off his skin encloses you, his fresh and clean scent washing over you, making your legs go weak.

Your breath shudders unable to do anything but watch him come closer and closer, the towel on his hips hanging dangerously low.

"What’s wrong?" he hums, tilting his head, mocking innocence dripping from his voice. "Cat got your tongue? Or," he leans in, close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath ghost across your cheek, "Are you just wondering how many other pairs I’ve got?"

Your pulse pounds, deafening. The way he says it so casually, so fucking bold, makes it obvious. This isn’t the first time, fuck— he’s been doing this for god knows how long.

"Caleb," you finally choke out, his name barely more than a whisper.

"Let's make a deal, sweets," he murmurs, reaching up, up, up— his fingers trace your wrist, featherlight, teasing, and playful, "I'll stop stealing them if ya' let me get a taste of the real thing. How's that sound, pips'?"

And your hesitant nod, bitten lips, and glazed eyes are all he needs as his strong hands grip your waist, twisting you around, forcing you backward.

Your back hits the mattress with a gasp, the soft give of his bed swallowing your weight. The room spins, the scent of him, clean from his shower, wrapping around you, suffocating in the most intoxicating way.

This is wrong.

He's on you, caging you in, hands moving quickly to remove your short pants from your legs, your shirt riding up in the process, panties on full display, and not to mention the prominent wet, stain riiiight at the center of where he imagines your needy cunt to be.

Oh so you want this as much as he does, huh?

His arms are braced on either side of your head, towel hanging low on his hips, barely clinging on. His damp hair drips onto your skin, cool against the fire burning beneath your flesh. His muscles flex above you, broad shoulders dwarfing you, leaving you breathless under his weight.

Who are you trying to fool?

You wanted this, hell- maybe even prayed for your panties to be in his possession, prayed for him to finally touch you, to have him between your legs like this,

And your prayers have been heard.

His knee spreads your legs without hesitation, without shame, pinning you open beneath him. And before you can even think, his head dips down, his mouth right at your thigh, his nose dragging against the heat between your legs.

"Never seen this pair before," he breathes, his voice rough, heavy with something filthy.

Your whole body locks up because god—he’s so close, pressing his face against your panties, nuzzling the damp fabric, so shamelessly, so utterly desperate, taking a big whiff of your scent, making you wail in embarrassment.

A deep, guttural, fucking shameless moan wrecks from his throat, so obscene, so needy, that you feel the heat of it pulse straight to your needy pussy.

"Fuckkk," he groans, dragging his nose up, nuzzling slow, breathing deep. "Ya' smell so damn sweet, baby."

Your hands fly to his shoulders, weakly pushing, but he doesn’t budge. If anything, he presses in deeper.

"Didn't think ya' could keep ts' cute cunny hidden from me, did ya'?" he purrs, hot breath fanning against the wetness he’s indulging in, dropped gaze engulfing your expressions whole.

And then—

His tongue. Right against the fabric, mere atoms away from your bare clit, slow, deliberate kitten-licks draaaag over the damp lace, so close yet so maddeningly far, and your head snaps back against the mattress, a moan spilling from your lips before you can stop it.

His breath left him in a rough chuckle, fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to rip your lace apart right then and there.

"H-hey, no peeking!" You try to scold, your hands darting down to grasp his hand threatening to get rid of the fabric—but Caleb's faster.

Hand snapping yours away, a low growl retorts, a primal sound that sends heat licking down your spine.

He loves your panties, he really does. But right now, he just wants to fucking tear them apart.

"Baby, ohhh — babybabybaby," he groans against your hidden folds, rolling his hips once, twice against the bed, watching as your head tipped back, a sharp gasp leaving you.

"C-Caleb—"

That was all it took for him to finally lose it.

With one swift movement, a loud riiiip! echoing as he tears your panties from you, exposing your aching pussy bare before him.

He doesn't tease. Doesn't wait.

A low, primal sound resonates before he crashes headfirst into your soaked cunt. His hands take control, gripping your thighs, dragging you forward until your soaked heat is pressed firmly against his eager mouth as he bucks his hips into the bed like a desperate mess.

A sharp cry rips from your throat, legs locking around his head as he fills you with his tongue, forcing you open. Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking your head back as his lips latch onto your clit, biting teasingly, sucking onto your clit with such a devastating grip your mind goes blank.

"Yer' fucking drenched," he groans, voice tight with restraint. "So eager for me, hmm?"

Each drag of his tongue scraping the inside of your hole, his nose repeatedly bumping into your throbbing clit sends pleasure detonating through your core, deep and merciless, making you cling to his hair with desperate fingers. The room's air is thick, humid, filled with the obscene sound of sloppy spurts of your juices coating his face, the sharp gasps, the deep grunts of a man losing himself in you— in your pussy.

His tongue presses down harder on your clit, circling in tight, devastating licks that had your thighs trembling around his head.

Every time his tongue drags over you, his hips jerk in rhythm, grinding pathetically against nothing but air and friction, chasing the sensation like a man starved.

But it’s the way he works his tongue that sends you spiraling, spelling out his name over your throbbing, swollen clit like a brand.

C-A-L-E-B-C-A-L-E-B-C-A-L-E-

Each letter feels like it’s seared into you, curling perfectly around every sensitive nerve, his mouth obscene in its devotion. There’s nothing measured about it now, nothing held back, just raw, consuming need as he devours you like you’re the only thing tethering him to sanity.

"H-hahhh, fuck!—" Your voice wrecked, high-pitched, barely coherent. Your nails bite into his scalp, desperate for something to anchor you as your body teetered on the edge.

Your fingers twist tightly in his hair, yanking hard enough to make his head tilt back for a moment, his groan reverberating straight through your core. The sound vibrates against you, deep and guttural, sending a sharp jolt of electricity ripping down your spine.

He doesn’t falter, if anything, the rough pull only spurs him on. His eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and glazed, pupils blown wide with hunger, and the sight alone nearly undoes you.

“Feels good, baby?” he rasps against your hole, his voice wrecked, teasing, but tinged with something almost desperate.

The plap, plap, plap of his hips rutting against the sheets with shameless abandon, towel long abandoned on the floor somewhere, matching the frantic curl of his tongue as he snaps his hips up, the sound of his slurping assault lewd and filthy.

"Give it ta' me, c'mon. Allll of it," Caleb mutters, vibration hot against your folds, his grip tightening, the muscles in his arms flexing as he slams you firmly, deep into the mattress, leaving no room to move.

The pleasure crested, blinding, and almost unbearable. Your whole body locked up as the first wave of your orgasm slammed into you—violent, tearing a broken, breathless scream from your lips, your tongue helplessly dangling from your open mouth, slick saliva dripping onto the sheets.

But Caleb doesn't stop.

He keeps going, arms locking around your thighs, forcing them up, up up, harshly against your stomach in a mating press, dragging out every last pulse, every aftershock, every clench of your walls around his wet muscle.

"That's it," he groans, voice ragged with need. "So fucking—shiiitt—tasty fuckin' pussy—"

Your body convulses, pleasure still rolling through you in relentless waves, too much and not enough at the same time. Your thighs shake, breath coming in ragged gasps, vision hazy as your orgasm drags on—longer, deeper, more intense than you’d ever felt before.

"Fuhh-fuck!—"

And as you come down from your soul-shattering high, arm dapped across your face to catch your breath, his hunter eyes bore into your form, hand sneaking down to snatch the destroyed piece of fabric from the valley of your ass, swiftly stuffing them under his pillow.

Bingo. Another one added to his collection.

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

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xprinceling · 23 days ago

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⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ where enhypen would finish.

·˚ ༘𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑖𝑡

ׂ╰┈➤s. 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑐𝑢𝑚 wc. 1.4k w. 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡+ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠 (18+ 𝑚𝑑𝑛𝑖!),𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑙 n. 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦!

heeseung - inside. to hee, there's nothing better than finishing inside you - the way your body tightens around him, the way your breath hitches, how he can feel every pulse of his release as he presses as deep as possible. it's more than pleasure - it's possession, it's devotion, it's the most intimate thing he can imagine.

that first shuddering moment when he spills inside you, your warmth surrounding him, thighs trembling against his hips. he lives for the way you gasp when you feel him, nails digging into his back like you never want him to leave.

there's also something primal about it - an instinctive need to claim, to fill you up so thoroughly that even after he pulls out, you're still his. heeseung loves the thought of you carrying his release inside you, even if just for a little while.

he swears you get tighter when he comes, like your body is milking every last drop from him. it's overwhelming, intoxicating, and he can't help but groan your name like a prayer when it happens.

you stay locked together, panting, his forehead pressed to yours as he rides out the aftershocks. he kisses you lazily, murmuring praise - "took me so well, baby." the possessive hand on your hip when he finally pulls out, watching his release drip from you.

"again" - because he's never satisfied just once. the second he catches his breath, he's already thinking about the next time he can fill you up.

jay - tits. there’s something electric about the moment he paints your chest - the way your skin flushes under his release, how your breath catches as warm streaks stripe your skin. it’s possessive, it’s filthy, and it drives him wild every damn time.

watching himself mark you - your tits glazed, nipples pebbled, his cum stark against your skin - it’s art to him. he’ll stare like he’s memorizing it, jaw clenched, pupils blown.

the way you arch into it, or gasp when the first hot stripe lands. maybe you even open your mouth without thinking, and fuck if that doesn’t make him throb.

his voice is rough when he says it, thumb swiping through the mess to smear it over your nipples - "made such a pretty fucking mess, baby."

he loves licking it off you - slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue, just to hear you whine. or maybe he makes you rub it in, his cum slicking your fingers as you play with yourself.

he’s already dreaming about the next time - maybe higher, maybe lower, maybe while you’re begging for it.

jake - ass. to him, nothing compares to the forbidden heat of finishing inside your ass - body clenching around him, audible whimpers when he fills you up, the way his release stays trapped deep inside where only he can reach. it's maddening, and so intoxicating he can't get enough.

that tight, searing heat - so much more intense than anywhere else. the second he pushes in deep and spills, he swears he sees stars, your body milking him dry with every damn pulse.

it’s animalistic - claiming you in the most forbidden way, leaving his mark where no one else can see. he loves knowing you'll feel it for hours after.

the choked gasp when he first pushes in, the broken moan when he comes, the way you beg "more" even as he's already giving you everything.

how you collapse together, his cock still buried inside you as he whispers filthy praise - "fuck, you take it so good." the way he lazily rubs your hips when he finally pulls out, watching his release leak from your well-used hole.

sunghoon - stomach. the deliciously primal feeling of coming on your stomach - how his release paints your skin, hot and claiming, as he watches with dark, satisfied eyes. it's not just about the pleasure, it's about seeing his desire spilled across you, marking you in the most visual way possible.

the way your chest rises and falls beneath him, stomach tensing as his release streaks across your skin - it's beautiful to him. he loves watching it, how stark and intimate it looks against your body.

if finishing inside you is about possession, this is about display - proof of what he's done to you, what you've drawn out of him. he gets off on the visual proof of your shared pleasure.

how you shiver when the first hot stripe hits your skin, the soft gasp you make when you see how much he's given you. he lives for the way you look up at him, lips parted, as he marks you.

and he's not gentle about it either - he wants it everywhere, smeared across your stomach, your hips, maybe even higher if he's feeling particularly possessive. the messier, the better, because it means you'll feel it on your skin long after.

"look at you” - the growl in his voice when he drags a thumb through it, spreading it further, marking you deliberately. "you’re mine".

sunoo - thighs. to him, it’s maddeningly erotic to come on your thighs - the way his release spills hot and thick against your skin, streaking down the sensitive inner flesh he'd just been teasing moments before.

your soft skin, flushed and trembling under his touch, now marked with him - it's a picture he'll never get tired of. the way his release glazes over your thighs, some dripping down toward your knees... fuck.

it’s so close to where you really want him, yet just out of reach - it's torture in the best way. the way you whine when he denies you, when he chooses to stripe your thighs instead of giving you what you begged for, only makes it hotter.

how your legs twitch when the first hot splash hits, how you bite your lip as you watch him coat your skin. he loves that shaky little gasp you make when it's more than you expected.

thighs are personal - close enough to be intimate, but not where you'd expect. it's a tease, a promise, a reminder that he could have had you anywhere he wanted... but he chose this.

"stay still" - the way his voice drops when he pins your hips down, making sure you take it, that every drop lands exactly where he wants it.

jungwon - face. your lashes flutter, lips part, breath hitches as he stains your face with his release. it's not just about pleasure, it's about worship and debauchery tangled together in the most maddening way.

the way you look up at him - submissive, trusting, wanting - makes his pulse roar. whether your gaze is hazy with pleasure or burning with defiance, the moment his cum streaks across your cheeks, he owns you.

your flushed skin, the heat of your mouth so close, how he stands out stark against you - it's obscene and he can't look away.

holding your chin, tilting your head back just so, watching you let him mark you like this - it's control at its peak. and if you lick your lips after? damn..

"you look perfect like this." - the growl in his voice when he smears a thumb through it, dragging his claim across your cheeks. he wants you to feel it, to remember it.

you blink up at him, sticky and spent, and he kisses you anyway, swallowing your gasp as he tastes himself on your tongue.

ni-ki - mouth. there's nothing more intimately dominant to him than finishing in your mouth - how your lips part for him, the heat of your tongue against him, the surrender in your eyes as you take everything he gives you. it's ownership at it’s peak, the ultimate act of trust between you two.

the way you look up at him, lashes fluttering, as he holds your head in place, knowing you're letting him use your mouth, that you want to swallow every drop. it's the hottest form of surrender he can imagine.

that first pulse against your wet warmth, the way your throat works instinctively to take him deeper. he loses it at the feeling, fingers tightening in your hair as he groans your name.

he should feel bad for how rough he gets, but the choked little noises you make when he pushes too deep? they just make him harder. he loves the mess of it - saliva-slick lips, teary eyes, the obscene drip if he pulls out too fast.

‘’swallow." - the command is guttural, desperate. he needs to watch your throat move as you obey, needs to see proof that you've taken all of him. the way you lick your lips after, still tasting him? fuck.

when he drags you up and licks into your mouth, savoring the bitter tang of himself on your tongue. "good girl."

divider credits: cursed-carmine

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shy9-29 · 2 months ago

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ONE NIGHT STAND ⟡ psh

professer sunghoon x collage student ୨ৎ

⟡ synopsis: You let a stranger ruin you one night — then he turned out to be your professor. Now every class feels like foreplay. ✉️ wc. 10350 ⚠️ tw smut, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (wrap ur willies), professor/student relationship, one night stand, fingering, oral (m. receiving), spanking, dirty talk, handjob, overstimulation, spit kink, possessiveness, jealousy, public teasing, rough sex, aftercare, slight angst, emotional manipulation, implied age gap, power imbalance, strong language, alcohol use (basically just porn)

genre. smut, (mdni!) romance, drama, angst, forbidden love, slow burn, erotica, university au, power dynamics, emotional tension, secret relationship, student/professor romance

It’s your last night of summer. Tomorrow, you move into your dorm, trade your parents’ house for a tiny twin bed and a stack of syllabi. So tonight — just for tonight — you want to forget about responsibility. About expectations. About the version of yourself you’re supposed to become.

The club is loud and packed, the bass from the speakers deep enough to rattle in your chest. Lights flash red and purple overhead, casting shadows that move across the crowd like ghosts. Bella clutches your wrist, pulling you deeper into the sea of people with a giggle.

“You’re not allowed to be shy tonight,” she shouts over the music, leaning close so you can hear her. “It’s your last night of freedom. Go flirt with someone. Get drunk. Maybe get laid.”

You roll your eyes, laughing despite yourself. She’s already halfway to drunk, her glossy eyes and flushed cheeks proof of that. But she’s right. You didn’t dress like this to be a wallflower. You came out in a tight black dress that hugs your curves just right, your makeup smoky and bold, your legs aching slightly from the heels you swore you wouldn’t wear and did anyway.

You make your way to the bar to order something — anything — that’ll warm your throat and lower your inhibitions just a little. That’s when you feel it.

Eyes on you.

You turn your head slightly, pretending to scan the crowd, but you already know exactly where it’s coming from.

He’s sitting at the bar alone. A half-finished whiskey glass in front of him, one elbow resting lazily on the counter. His hair is dark and parted just enough to fall over one brow. Clean-cut, but not preppy. Dressed in all black — a simple shirt, watch glinting at his wrist, rings on two fingers. His posture is relaxed, but his gaze?

Intense.

You don’t know how long he’s been looking at you, but he doesn’t look away when your eyes meet. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t wink. Just watches. Calm. Curious. Like he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

Your heart skips a beat.

You look away first, pretending to fidget with your phone as you wait for the bartender. But your pulse is racing, and you can still feel his gaze burning into the side of your face.

“Vodka soda,” you say when the bartender finally notices you. Your voice is slightly unsteady, and it annoys you.

You don’t look back until the drink’s in your hand — and when you do, he’s still watching. But this time, he’s moving.

Straight toward you.

You freeze. Instinctively fix your hair. Sip your drink too fast. Then he’s there, standing beside you at the bar like he’s been invited.

“First drink of the night?” he asks, voice smooth as silk, low enough that you have to lean in to hear him.

You glance up at him — and now that he’s close, you can really see him. Sharp cheekbones. Full lips. Eyes so dark you’re not sure where iris ends and pupil begins.

You try to play it cool. “Second.”

He nods once. “Good. First would’ve meant I was a little early. Second means I’m right on time.”

You raise a brow, trying not to let your smile show. “For what?”

He leans in slightly, and you catch the faintest whiff of cologne — warm, musky, expensive. “For meeting you.”

The line should be cheesy. It should make you roll your eyes. But it doesn’t. Maybe it’s the way he says it, like he actually means it. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, gaze flicking from your lips to your eyes like he’s cataloging the way your mouth moves when you smile.

You take another sip of your drink. “Do you always hit on girls at bars?”

“Not always,” he says, not missing a beat. “Only the ones who can’t stop looking back.”

Your cheeks heat instantly. He saw that?

Before you can come up with a response, he extends his hand. “Sunghoon.”

You hesitate — just a second — before slipping your hand into his. His grip is firm, but not too tight. Warm. Steady.

You tell him your name. He repeats it back to you like he’s tasting it.

And then he leans in again. “Let me buy you your third drink.”

You’re not drunk — not really — but there’s a buzz in your blood, a warmth that runs deeper than alcohol. It’s in the way Sunghoon keeps watching you, the way his eyes drop to your lips every time you speak. His voice is steady, smooth, but there’s something beneath it — a restraint. Like he’s holding himself back.

You talk. About nothing, mostly. Music, favorite cities, late-night cravings. You learn he’s a little older, but he doesn’t say exactly how much. You don’t ask. You don’t want to ruin the spell by making it real.

At some point, you end up on the dance floor. You didn’t plan to — you never really dance — but he takes your hand without asking, and suddenly you’re there, surrounded by pulsing lights and bodies and heat.

He doesn’t keep his distance. One hand finds your waist. The other drifts low, fingers brushing just beneath the hem of your dress. He moves slow, but deliberate — his chest against your back, his lips ghosting near your ear.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, voice low, breath hot against your skin.

You laugh — breathless. “Why’s that?”

“Because I don’t usually do this either.”

You turn your head just enough to meet his gaze. “Do what?”

He leans in. His mouth grazes your jaw, then your cheek, then finally — your lips.

It starts soft. Testing. His hand slides around your hip, pulling you closer, and then he kisses you deeper — fuller — like he’s been waiting all night for it. You don’t even realize your fingers have curled into his shirt until he pulls back just slightly, lips still brushing yours.

“My place is five minutes from here,” he says. “Say the word.”

You hesitate for half a second. Not because you don’t want it — but because you want it too much.

“let’s go,” you whisper.

The ride to his place is a blur — fast, silent, electric. He doesn’t touch you in the car, but his knee brushes yours, and it feels more intimate than anything else so far.

His apartment is clean. Minimalist. Expensive-looking. You barely notice any of it.

Because the moment the door clicks shut behind you, he’s on you.

His hands cup your face as he kisses you again, harder this time. Hungrier. He backs you against the door, lips crashing into yours like he can’t get enough.

Your fingers slide into his hair. His hands drop to your hips, then lower — gripping the backs of your thighs and lifting you effortlessly.

You gasp against his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist. He carries you like you weigh nothing, walking you through the apartment until you’re in his bedroom.

He drops you gently onto the bed, standing over you for a second. His chest rises and falls with every breath. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room — like he’s starving and you’re the meal.

“Still okay?” he asks, voice rough.

You nod. “Please.”

He smirks — just a little. “Take off your dress for me.”

Your breath catches. But you do it — slowly, fingers slipping beneath the straps and easing it down your body.

Sunghoon watches the whole time, not blinking.

You’re left in nothing but a lacy black bra and matching panties. You start to reach behind to unhook it, but he stops you.

“Let me.”

He steps forward, kneeling onto the bed between your legs. His fingers find the clasp, and the bra falls away. His eyes darken.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, leaning down to kiss between your breasts. His hands trail up your sides, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you arch into him.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, mouth dragging lower, tongue flicking across one nipple before sucking it into his mouth.

Your back arches, a soft moan slipping past your lips.

His hand moves between your thighs, fingers tracing over your panties. You’re soaked.

“You want my fingers?” he asks, voice low, teasing.

You nod — desperate now.

“Say it,” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want your fingers,” you breathe. “Please.”

And that’s all it takes.

He pushes your panties aside and runs two fingers along your slit, groaning at how wet you are. Then he slides one finger in — slow, deep — and your body trembles.

“Shit,” he breathes. “You’re tight.”

He adds another, curling them inside you, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl.

Your hips start to move with his rhythm, grinding against his hand.

“Touch yourself,” he says suddenly. “I want to see you do it.”

You hesitate, flushed, but obey — hand slipping between your legs to rub slow, needy circles over your clit while he pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy.

The sounds — wet, messy, obscene — echo in the quiet room.

You’re close. So close.

“Come for me,” he says, lips against your ear. “Show me how pretty you look when you fall apart.”

And you do.

You’re still catching your breath when Sunghoon pulls his fingers from your dripping cunt, glistening with your orgasm. He brings them to his mouth, lips curling around them without breaking eye contact.

“Taste so fucking good,” he murmurs. “Could eat you for hours. But right now…”

His voice trails off as he sits back on his heels, tugging his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. His chest is toned, lean muscle carved beneath smooth skin. His belt comes next, then his zipper—

And when he pushes his pants down, your mouth goes dry.

Holy. Shit.

He’s big. Thick. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, hard and flushed, a single bead of precum glistening at the tip.

You stare, stunned for a second, and he notices.

His mouth curves into a dark smile. “Too much?”

You shake your head, eyes locked on his length. “No. Just…” Your voice trails off, and you bite your lip. “Big.”

He groans softly, palming the base of his cock. “Come here, baby. Let me feel that pretty mouth.”

You crawl toward him, sinking to your knees at the edge of the bed. He stays standing, hand stroking his cock slowly as you settle in front of him.

“Spit on it,” he says, voice rough. “Then use your tongue.”

You obey. Spitting into your palm first, you rub the wetness over the head of his cock, then down the shaft. He hisses under his breath, hips twitching.

Then you lean forward and press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the tip.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, hand slipping into your hair. “Such a good slut.”

You wrap your lips around him, tongue swirling over the sensitive head before sinking lower. He’s thick — you can barely fit him in your mouth — but you try, inch by inch, letting your saliva drip down to make it easier.

Sunghoon groans, fingers tightening in your hair. “Fuck, just like that. You look so fucking good on your knees.”

You moan around him, and the vibration makes his hips jerk. You bob your head slowly, using your hand to stroke what you can’t fit, drool running down your chin.

“Look at me,” he commands, voice like gravel. “Eyes on me while you suck my cock.”

You lift your gaze, lashes wet, cheeks hollowing around his length. He growls.

“God, that mouth. I could fuck your throat all night.”

He starts to guide your head, setting a rhythm — slow but deep, letting you feel every inch. Your throat tightens around him, but you don’t pull away.

“You like this?” he mutters, voice ragged. “Like choking on my cock like a desperate little slut?”

You moan again, louder this time, and he groans — head falling back for a second before he looks down at you again.

“Bet your pussy’s still dripping,” he says. “Bet you’d let me bend you over right now and fuck you until you forget your name.”

You whimper, sucking harder, desperate for his praise — for more of that filth spilling from his lips.

Then suddenly, he pulls back. His cock slips from your mouth with a wet pop, and you blink up at him, confused.

“On your hands and knees,” he says. “Now.”

You scramble onto the bed, body aching for more, cunt still pulsing from your earlier orgasm.

Sunghoon climbs behind you, running a hand down your back, then up again — slow, possessive.

Then—smack.

You gasp as his palm lands on your ass, the sting sharp and sudden.

“Too much?” he asks, even as he squeezes where he just spanked.

“No,” you whisper. “Do it again.”

He groans. “Fuck, you really are perfect.”

Smack. Again — harder this time. Then he soothes the spot with his palm, leaning down to murmur against your ear.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” he breathes. “Stretch this tight little pussy open with my cock, fuck you so good you’ll still be shaking in your dorm tomorrow.”

You moan — loud, desperate — pushing your hips back against him.

“Please, Sunghoon,” you whimper. “Need you inside me.”

His voice is a low growl. “Beg prettier than that.”

You shudder. “Please. Want you to fuck me. Want your cock, please—”

He growls again — deep, raw — and grabs your hips, lining himself up.

You feel the head of his cock slide through your folds — slow, teasing — dragging against your already-sensitive clit before he lines up at your entrance. He pauses, both hands gripping your hips.

“Deep breath, baby,” he murmurs. “I’m not small, remember?”

You barely have time to nod before he pushes in.

Your gasp is instant. He’s thick, stretching you open inch by inch, and the burn is sharp in the best way — the kind that makes your back arch, your mouth fall open, your eyes roll back. He goes slow at first, letting you feel every inch, and your body clenches tight around him, trying to adjust.

“Shit,” Sunghoon groans, voice strained. “You’re so fucking tight—trying to suck me in.”

He bottoms out with one final thrust, hips flush to your ass. You cry out, gripping the sheets.

“Too much?” he asks, voice low.

“N-no,” you stammer. “Just—so full.”

He leans over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth right by your ear. “You can take it. And you will.”

Then he pulls back — just the tip — and slams back in, hard enough to make you moan. He starts moving, hips snapping forward, fucking into you with smooth, relentless strokes. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with the filthy wet noises coming from between your legs and your own desperate moans.

Sunghoon’s grip on your hips is bruising. He fucks you like he owns you, like you’re his toy and no one else’s. He leans back just enough to admire the way your ass bounces with every thrust.

“Look at you,” he mutters. “Taking all of me like a good little slut. You were made for this cock.”

You whimper, trembling, already close again — the stretch, the pressure, the filthy words all pushing you toward the edge.

“You gonna come again?” he asks, breathless. “Already?”

You nod, too far gone to answer properly.

He slaps your ass again — smack. “Say it. I wanna hear you beg.”

“Please,” you gasp. “I’m gonna come, Sunghoon—fuck, please let me.”

He growls, pounding into you faster. “Come for me. Now.”

You break.

Your second orgasm crashes over you hard, clenching around him like a vice, and he doesn’t stop. Keeps fucking you through it, unrelenting, merciless. Your arms give out, and you collapse onto the mattress, trembling and whimpering.

But he doesn’t let up.

“Oh, we’re not done,” he pants. “Not even close.”

He pulls out suddenly, and you barely have time to catch your breath before he flips you onto your back. He grabs your legs, spreads them wide, and lines himself up again.

“Want to see your face this time,” he murmurs. “Want to watch you fall apart.”

Then he thrusts back into you, hard and deep, making you cry out. Your body is already too sensitive, your pussy still fluttering from the last orgasm, but he doesn’t care. If anything, he likes how overstimulated you are.

“You feel that?” he grits out. “How your pussy’s still squeezing me like it never wants to let go?”

You nod frantically, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Too much—fuck—it’s so much.”

“But you’re taking it,” he says. “Taking it so well.”

He fucks you like a man possessed, like he’s trying to carve himself into your memory. Every thrust hits deep, the angle perfect, and your legs start to shake.

“I can’t—” you choke out. “Gonna come again—”

He grabs your throat — not hard, just enough to hold you in place. His other hand finds your clit, fingers rubbing fast, merciless circles over the swollen bundle of nerves.

“Yes, you can,” he growls. “You’re gonna come again. You’re gonna soak my cock. I want to feel you milk me.”

You shatter.

The third orgasm hits you like lightning — hot, electric, impossible. Your vision blurs, body writhing beneath him, voice cracking into a broken moan as your pussy clenches around him like a vice.

But he still doesn’t stop.

Sunghoon fucks you through it, hips slamming into yours, jaw clenched like he’s holding back everything.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he groans. “Wanna come all over this tight fucking pussy. You want that, baby?”

You nod, unable to speak.

“Where?” he grits out. “Tell me.”

“Inside,” you whisper. “Please—come inside me.”

His eyes darken.

He slams into you one more time and groans deep in his chest as he spills inside you — hot, thick, and endless. You can feel it, the way he pulses inside your overstimulated cunt, and it makes you moan all over again.

He stays there for a moment, both of you panting, sweaty, trembling. Then he leans down and kisses you — slow and deep, like he’s trying to remind you that he can be gentle, too.

When he finally pulls out, your thighs are sticky, trembling. You’re completely wrecked — legs spread, sheets soaked, lips swollen, hair a mess. And Sunghoon just looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“You okay?” he asks softly, brushing your hair back from your face.

You nod, exhausted. “That was… insane.”

You wake up sore.

Between your legs, mostly. Every shift of your thighs reminds you exactly what happened last night — the ache, the stretch, the way he didn’t stop even after your legs were shaking. You wince a little as you turn over.

The bed beside you is empty.

Sheets crumpled, slightly warm, but no Sunghoon.

You sit up slowly, the duvet slipping down your bare chest, blinking against the morning light that filters in through half-open blinds. The room’s unfamiliar. Sleek. A little too neat to feel lived in.

Strange. Isn’t this his place?

Your clothes are scattered across the floor, but none of his are. No signs of a toothbrush on the bathroom counter. No jackets hanging by the door. No photos. No clutter.

Airbnb, maybe. Just a place he rented for the weekend.

You frown as you rub a hand over your eyes. Your head is foggy, still wrapped in the lingering haze of alcohol and sex. You try to piece together last night — the way he looked at you at the party, the feel of his fingers, his mouth, his cock — and then… it’s all just heat and noise and black.

You don’t even remember falling asleep.

You sigh. Hard.

Your phone’s nearly dead, and the time glares back at you: 11:02 AM.

Classes start tomorrow. Perfect.

No note. No message. Not even a name.

You don’t even know his last name.

You pull your dress on — wrinkled and inside-out — and shove your heels into your bag. You call an Uber before you’ve even finished brushing your hair with your fingers.

The car is quiet. You don’t talk.

You lean your forehead against the window, eyes half-lidded, sore and still a little hungover, the ache between your legs throbbing in time with your heartbeat.

One night stand. That’s what it was. Nothing more.

Still… you can’t help thinking about him. About the way he looked at you. The way he kissed you. The way he—

You shake your head.

It was one night. You’ll never see him again.

Tomorrow, university starts. Time to focus on new things.

You have no idea what’s coming.

You’re late.

Of course you’re late.

Your phone had died overnight, and you’d barely dragged yourself out of bed in time to throw on the cleanest outfit you could find and rush across campus with half-brushed hair and your coffee still in a to-go cup. Your legs are still sore, your thighs brushing uncomfortably with every step, and you haven’t stopped thinking about last night.

Or him.

The guy you let wreck you in a stranger’s bed. The guy who disappeared before morning. The guy you’ll never see again.

Right?

You shove open the door to the lecture hall, breathless.

“Sorry, sorry,” you mumble as you slip inside, your voice echoing faintly. The place is massive — a hundred seats, maybe more — and every single one of them is already filled with someone more punctual and better-rested than you.

You find a seat near the middle, head ducked, ignoring the stares as you slide your bag off your shoulder and collapse into the chair. You’re still trying to catch your breath, sipping your lukewarm coffee, when a voice carries from the front of the room.

“Glad you could finally join us.”

Your stomach twists.

That voice—

No way.

You blink.

Then slowly — so slowly — you look up.

And your heart stops.

There he is.

At the front of the room, standing beside the projector screen with a laptop open on the podium, is him. Black button-up, sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms. Sharp jaw. Cold eyes.

Sunghoon.

Your one-night stand.

Your mystery man.

Your professor.

You blink again, hoping you’re hallucinating. That you’re still in bed. That you’re still dreaming.

But he just stares back at you — a flicker of recognition in his eyes, so fast and so subtle that if you didn’t know, you’d miss it.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t react.

He just says, cool and calm, “As I was saying — welcome to Modern Media Theory. I’m Professor Park. This semester, I expect you to show up on time, be prepared, and keep your personal lives out of my classroom.”

You go still.

The air in your lungs vanishes. Your cheeks burn.

He didn’t just fuck you.

He’s your professor.

And he’s pretending nothing happened.

You don’t hear a single word of the lecture.

Not a single one.

Your eyes stay locked on him the whole time — on Professor Park — trying to reconcile the man in front of the class with the man who had you bent over a bed less than twenty-four hours ago.

He’s even more handsome when you’re sober. Clean lines. Sharp cheekbones. That same deep voice, now filled with authority instead of filth. It should be illegal to look that good in front of a classroom.

And the worst part? He acts like you’re no one.

Not a glance. Not a flicker of amusement or recognition. Nothing.

You spend the next ninety minutes trying not to squirm in your seat — from nerves, from heat, from the dull ache still between your thighs. His voice carries over the room in calm, measured tones, talking about frameworks and theory and authors you can’t even remember, because all you can think about is his hand gripping your throat, his cock in your mouth, his voice in your ear telling you to beg for it.

By the time class ends, you’re practically vibrating with frustration. The students file out one by one, chatting, oblivious, until finally the room is empty — except for you.

And him.

You wait until he’s closed his laptop before standing.

He doesn’t look up. “Class is dismissed.”

“Yeah,” you say, voice tight. “I got that.”

That makes him pause. Slowly, his eyes lift, meeting yours. The coolness in them is surgical. Detached.

You swallow. “So… you’re a professor.” He doesn’t react. “Looks that way.” Your heart pounds. “You didn’t think that was something worth mentioning last night?” Sunghoon tilts his head, finally closing the distance with his eyes, not his body. “You didn’t ask.”

You laugh — sharp, disbelieving. “Seriously?” He slides his laptop into his bag. Calm. Controlled. Like this is nothing to him. You take a step closer. “You just left. No note. No text. You didn’t even tell me your last name, and now I find out you’re standing at the front of my class like nothing happened?”

He sighs — not guilty, not even annoyed. Just tired.

“Look,” he says. “Last night was a mistake.”

The words hit like a slap.

“A mistake,” you repeat, voice flat.

“Yes.”

He zips up his bag and slings it over his shoulder, then finally — finally — meets your gaze with something resembling emotion. But it’s not warmth. It’s not regret. It’s caution. “You didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know who you were. But now we do. And nothing else happens. Understood?” You blink at him. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Sunghoon—”

“Professor Park,” he corrects, firm. “From now on, in this room, on this campus — you will refer to me as Professor Park. You will not speak of last night. And you will not treat me like anything other than your professor.”

Your throat tightens. “So that’s all I was to you?” His jaw flexes. Just once. “I’m not here to discuss feelings,” he says. “I’m here to teach.” He moves to leave, but you step in his path.

“One night,” you say quietly. “That’s all it meant to you?” He pauses. Doesn’t look at you. Then—

“Yes.”

And then he walks past you, out the door, gone before you can even breathe out the response stuck in your throat.

You’re alone. In your first lecture hall. On your first day. Still sore. Still remembering. Still burning. And now you can’t stop thinking about him. Not because he touched you. But because now, he won’t.

You practically collapse into your dorm room chair.

The walk back from class did nothing to calm you down — not with your thoughts spinning and your thighs still sore. You’re halfway through Googling Is it illegal to hook up with your professor if you didn’t know he was your professor when the door swings open and Lily walks in, dropping her tote bag with a sigh.

“Please tell me you didn’t fall asleep in the middle of class like I almost did,” she groans.

You shake your head. “No. I… had Modern Media Theory.”

Lily perks up instantly, eyes wide. “Wait—wait—don��t tell me you got Professor Park?”

You freeze.

She gasps. “You got Park? Are you serious?”

You just blink at her, unsure how to answer.

Lily throws herself onto your bed dramatically. “Oh my God. Half the campus is obsessed with that man. Like, seriously. Even the guys think he’s hot.”

You say nothing. You can’t. You’re still trying to figure out if this is hilarious or humiliating.

“And people say,” she lowers her voice like she’s sharing top-tier gossip, “he’s huge.”

You sip your water slowly, hiding the way your breath catches. Yeah. You wouldn’t need rumors to confirm that. You still feel it.

You try to play it cool. “Huge how?”

Lily looks scandalized. “Y/N. Please. You know how.”

You choke on your water, coughing as Lily bursts out laughing. “Seriously! That man has big dick energy like—actual BDE. Someone in second-year swore he stretched her friend so bad she couldn’t sit for two days.”

You look down at your lap. Yep. Sounds familiar.

“Didn’t know the media department had this kind of drama,” you mutter.

Before Lily can reply, Kitty walks in with a protein shake and zero chill.

“Wait, are we talking about Professor Park?”

Lily lights up. “Y/N has him!”

Kitty gasps. “No way. The hot one?”

Y/N stays silent. Kitty throws herself into the chair across from you.

“I heard he’s really good in bed,” Kitty says casually, like she’s talking about the weather. “Like, life-changing. My cousin said her roommate slept with him at some faculty party or something—pre-semester—and she still can’t shut up about it.”

Your jaw clenches.

Yeah. He is.

Too good. Too cocky. Too unforgettable.

You cross your legs without thinking — a weak attempt to soothe the ghost of last night’s ache still pulsing between your thighs.

“Anyway,” Kitty says, oblivious, “you’re lucky. Most profs are ancient or weird. If I had Park as my first Monday lecture, I wouldn’t even be mad.”

Lily grins. “I wouldn’t even miss a class. Ever.”

You force a tight smile. “Right.”

They move on to some other topic — campus events, party rumors, who hooked up with who — but you barely hear it.

Your mind’s still stuck on his voice. His hands. The way he called you a good little slutand then looked right through you the next day like none of it mattered.

Your friends think he’s a fantasy. You know he’s a mistake. And yet, you can’t stop thinking about him. Still sore. Still remembering. Still wanting more.

“Y/N… can we talk?”

His voice is low, almost gentle. You turn around and he’s standing there — in the doorway of your dorm, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable.

You don’t say anything.

Sunghoon steps closer, slow and careful, like he’s afraid you might run.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For being so cold. Yesterday.”

You cross your arms over your chest. You want to be mad — you should be mad — but all you can do is stare at him. The way his jaw clenches. The way his voice dips when he talks to you, like you’re the only one in the world who can hear him.

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t know what to say. I panicked.”

He’s inches away now. You can feel the heat of his body, the scent of his cologne — clean, warm, familiar. He reaches out slowly, fingertips brushing your wrist, trailing up your arm like he’s checking if he’s allowed to touch you again.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he murmurs. “About that night.”

Your heart pounds. His touch burns.

“I wanted to forget,” he admits, voice rough. “But I can’t.” Your back hits the wall. He cages you in without touching you — one hand braced beside your head, the other hovering just inches from your waist. His breath fans over your skin.

“I still remember how you sound,” he whispers. “How you taste. How your body felt under mine.” You shiver. Your eyes flutter closed, just for a second. “I should stay away,” he breathes. “But I don’t want to.” His lips are so close. His mouth hovers over yours, not touching, not yet — just letting the moment drag out, all heat and tension and want. You reach for him first.

Your fingers curl into his shirt. He groans into your mouth when you kiss him, slow and desperate, hands grabbing at each other like you’ve both been starved. His body presses against yours and you feel it immediately — hard, hot, eager. Just like before.

He lifts you easily, and your legs wrap around his waist like instinct. His mouth moves down your neck, sucking hard enough to make you gasp, and you tug his shirt up, frantic.

“I missed this,” he murmurs. “Missed you.” Your hips grind against his, and he groans again, rutting forward like he can’t help himself.

“I’m gonna take my time with you this time,” he says against your skin. “Gonna fuck you slow… make you cry for it…” He lays you down, starts kissing down your body, eyes dark with hunger. You moan his name.

“Sunghoon…”

But then—You wake up.

Your sheets are twisted around your legs, your body damp with sweat, and your hand is fisted tightly in the fabric of your tank top like you were reaching for something. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. You stare at the ceiling.

He wasn’t here. He didn’t say anything. It was just a dream. And now you’re even worse off than before.

You don’t say anything the next time you walk into class.

But you don’t have to.

Your skirt is shorter than usual — just enough to ride up when you sit down — and your legs are crossed deliberately, slowly, as you ease into your seat near the front. No tights. No leggings. Just skin and confidence.

You feel his eyes on you the second you walk in.

He doesn’t look at you directly — of course not. He’s smarter than that. But you can see the way his jaw tightens. The way his fingers hesitate on the mouse before clicking to the next slide. The way his throat bobs when you shift in your seat and uncross your legs, only to cross them again.

You rest your chin in your hand, eyes locked on him like he’s the only thing worth watching.

Sunghoon keeps talking.

But now, there’s a pause between his sentences. A slight rasp in his voice. A subtle glance in your direction every few slides, never lingering too long — just enough for you to catch it.

You smile.

It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong.

You’re just a student in his class. Listening. Participating. Sitting there in a skirt that barely brushes your thighs, biting your lip every time he says something remotely commanding.

“Pay attention,” he says at one point, when a group in the back is whispering.

You straighten in your seat, lifting your eyes slowly.

“I am, Professor,” you say, soft and sweet.

His eyes flicker.

You don’t miss the way his grip on the podium tightens.

By the end of class, you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. His sentences get shorter. His lecture speeds up. His eyes don’t meet yours again.

When the students begin to pack up, you move slower than the rest. You lean forward, elbows on the desk, letting your skirt ride up even higher as you adjust your bag. You can feel his stare this time — heavy, hot, lingering.

You don’t look at him. Not until the last of the students file out and the door swings shut behind them.

Then — and only then — you turn your head, lips curled into the faintest smirk.

“I liked today’s lecture,” you say, casual.

He exhales slowly, not moving from behind the desk.

“Did you.”

You stand, swinging your bag over your shoulder, stepping just close enough that the air between you feels like a challenge.

“I liked the way you said my name during attendance,” you murmur. “You sounded… tense.”

His eyes are sharp, unreadable. “You think this is a game?”

You shrug. “Isn’t it?”

He doesn’t move, but the heat in his stare makes your skin prickle. “You’re playing with fire.”

You take a step back toward the door, still smiling.

“Then burn me.”

And just like that — you’re gone.

Leaving him standing there, pulse racing, jaw clenched, hands braced on the desk like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

You can feel his gaze on your back the whole way down the hallway.

You don’t expect him to follow you.

You think he’ll stay behind like always — composed, in control, untouched by the things you do just to watch him flinch.

But the second you turn the corner into the empty hallway, you hear it.

Footsteps. Fast. Heavy. Determined.

Before you can fully register it, a hand wraps around your wrist and yanks you back — hard. You gasp as your back hits the wall, your bag slipping off your shoulder, your heart slamming against your ribs.

Sunghoon towers over you, eyes blazing.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You blink up at him, playing dumb. “Walking.”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t play games with me.”

You tilt your head, letting your skirt shift just slightly higher as you shift your weight against the wall. “You’re the one who said it was nothing, remember? One night. A mistake.”

His jaw tightens. His hands are still gripping your wrists — not hard, but firm enough to make your pulse stutter. His body is so close you can feel the heat rolling off him in waves, caging you in.

“You wore that on purpose,” he mutters, eyes dropping to your legs.

“Wore what?” you ask sweetly.

He scoffs, low and dangerous. “You think I haven’t noticed? The skirts, the looks, the way you sit front row with your legs wide open like you want me to do something about it.”

You stay silent — because he’s not wrong.

Sunghoon leans in closer, voice like a growl in your ear. “You want to get fucked over a desk, is that it?”

Your breath catches.

“You want your professor to lose control,” he continues, his mouth just shy of touching your neck, “to bend you over the nearest surface and remind you exactly how good it felt to be ruined by me.”

You’re shaking now — but not from fear.

From how badly you want him to do it.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “Then do it.”

He freezes.

You swear you see the moment something in him breaks.

Sunghoon grabs your chin, tilting your face up to his, and crashes his mouth onto yours.

There’s nothing soft about it — no hesitation, no pretending this is still something he can control. It’s heat and teeth and frustration, his tongue sliding over yours with a groan like he’s been holding this in for too long.

You gasp as he lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he mutters against your mouth.

“But you are,” you whisper, tugging his hair, grinding down on him.

And fuck, he’s already hard — painfully hard, pressing against you like he’s seconds from snapping all over again.

“I tried to forget you,” he breathes, dragging your skirt up.

“You didn’t,” you whisper. “Neither did I.”

His mouth crashes onto yours again, more desperate now — hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your panties to the side like he can’t even wait to undress you.

“You think teasing me was a good idea?” he growls. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing when you act like a little slut in my class?”

You moan. “Then teach me a lesson, Professor.”

His eyes burn.

“Oh, I will.”

Sunghoon doesn’t take you to his office.

He doesn’t even bother finding a classroom.

He kicks open the door to the nearest supply closet — small, dark, barely wide enough for the both of you — and presses you against the wall before it even shuts behind you. His mouth is back on yours, rough and hungry, hands everywhere, grabbing and pulling like he needs to feel all of you at once.

“Turn around,” he growls against your lips.

You obey, chest heaving as your hands brace against a metal shelf full of paper and printer ink. He pushes your skirt up roughly, revealing the soaked fabric clinging between your legs.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, dragging his fingers up your inner thigh. “You were dripping through this during class?”

You moan when his fingers brush your slit, teasing the soaked fabric. “I couldn’t help it.”

“You wanted me to see, didn’t you?” he says darkly, yanking your panties to the side. “Wanted me to lose it in front of everyone and fuck you over the desk.”

You whimper, pushing back against him.

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me,” he mutters, pressing two fingers inside you without warning.

You cry out, gripping the shelf tighter as he curls them deep inside you.

“So tight… shit, you’re perfect,” he groans, fucking you slow and deep with his fingers. “Still so wet for me. You missed this cock, didn’t you?”

You nod frantically. “Yes—God, yes.”

He spanks you once — hard — and you gasp, the sting sharp and delicious.

“Say it properly.”

“I missed your cock, Professor.”

He groans low in his throat. You hear the sound of his belt, the zipper, the shuffle of fabric. Then his hand returns to your waist, and the thick head of his cock presses against your entrance.

You barely get a breath in before he thrusts inside.

“Fuck—Sunghoon—!”

“God, you take me so well,” he hisses, slamming into you again, and again, until you’re gasping with every thrust. “This is what you wanted, huh? To be bent over like a bad student and filled up with my cock?”

You can’t even answer. He’s too deep. Too thick. Stretching you open so perfectly your knees almost buckle.

He grabs your hair, pulling your head back just enough to whisper in your ear.

“Not gonna stop this time. You’re gonna take it all.”

And you do.

Every thrust slams into you, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the tiny closet, filthy and raw. Your walls flutter around him with every stroke, clenching tight like your body’s desperate to keep him there.

You don’t even care that you’re in a damn supply closet — not when he’s fucking you like this, like he’s punishing you and worshiping you all at once.

“Can feel you squeezing me,” he groans. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nod, crying out when his hand slips between your legs and rubs circles against your clit, fast and unforgiving.

“Cum for me,” he growls. “Let me feel it.”

You break with a scream, your orgasm ripping through you like fire — legs shaking, walls spasming around him, soaking his cock as he pounds you through it.

But he doesn’t stop.

“Too much—!” you whimper.

“You can take it,” he growls. “One more. Be a good girl.”

You’re already too sensitive, your body twitching with every thrust, but the way he fucks you — like he owns you — has you falling apart again.

“Please—Sunghoon—!”

“That’s it,” he pants, thrusting even deeper. “Such a good little slut for me. Letting me fuck you where anyone could walk in…”

You cum again — hard, sudden, your moans cut off by the hand he slaps over your mouth as you scream into his palm.

His hips stutter.

“Fuck—gonna fill you up—fuck, take it—”

You feel him twitch inside you, hot and thick, and then he’s spilling into you with a deep, broken moan, his cock throbbing as he presses deep and stays there, panting against your shoulder.

You both stay like that for a moment.

Breathless. Sweaty. Soaked.

Then he pulls out slowly, and you both groan at the mess — his cum dripping down your thighs, your panties ruined, the air thick with sex.

He zips up without a word. You adjust your skirt with shaking hands.

“You’re a fucking menace,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

You smirk over your shoulder. “And you’re weak.”

He glares.cYou wink. And you leave him there — still flushed, still catching his breath, already addicted again.

The next morning, you walk into class like nothing happened.

Your skirt’s a little longer today. You’re not wearing lip gloss. You even show up on time, quiet and composed.

But nothing feels the same. Sunghoon doesn’t look at you once during the lecture.

Not when you raise your hand. Not when you bite your pen. Not even when you catch his eye on purpose and hold the stare. He acts like you don’t exist. But you know better.

You can feel the tension in the way he paces the front of the room. The way he rushes through the slides. The way he won’t call on you even though your hand’s been raised for five minutes. He’s avoiding you. And it’s almost funny, how obvious it is.

When class ends, you take your time packing up, but he’s already halfway out the door. He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t glance back. Doesn’t say a word.

Coward.

You don’t chase him. You don’t have to. Because two seconds after you step into the hallway, your friend Lily grabs your arm with a smirk.

“You look like you got wrecked,” she whispers, dragging you to the side. “Don’t even lie. You’re glowing.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m just tired.”

“Bullshit,” she grins. “Is this about Professor Park?”

Your heart stutters. “What?”

“You’ve been acting weird since the semester started,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “And don’t pretend you didn’t notice how he was looking at you the other day. I was two seats behind you. The man looked like he was about to explode.”

You say nothing. Your silence is enough. Lily’s eyes go wide. “No fucking way.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“You fucked him?!”

“Lily.”

“Oh my god,” she gasps. “Was it hot?” You hesitate. She laughs. “That good, huh?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” She ignores you. “Okay but like… is what they say true?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I’m serious,” she whispers. “Is he… huge. Like huge. Like, wreck-your-life huge.”

You don’t respond. You don’t have to. Her eyes go wider.

“Wait. He is, isn’t he?!”

You just shrug, lips twitching.

“And really good in bed?” she adds. “Like, dangerously good. Like… ruin-you-for-everyone-else good.”

You don’t even try to hide the way your thighs press together.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters. “No wonder you’ve been walking funny.” You slap her arm. She laughs louder. “You lucky bitch.” You groan, covering your face. “It was just a one-time thing.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” You want to believe it.

But then you get to your next class and open your laptop, and the first thing that flashes through your mind isn’t the lecture — it’s the way Sunghoon’s hand had clamped over your mouth while you came around his cock.

And when you pass him in the hallway later — by accident, this time — he barely glances your way.

But his jaw clenches. His hand balls into a fist. And you know he remembers. You bite your lip as you keep walking, not looking back. You don’t need to. You already know he’s watching.

Class is halfway through when Sunghoon finally breaks.

You can feel it before it happens — the way he keeps glancing your way, how his words are sharper than usual, how his hand keeps flexing on the desk like he’s trying to hold himself together.

You’re sitting near the front again. Of course you are.

Legs crossed. Skirt riding just a little too high. Innocent face like you’re not begging to be noticed.

And he does.

“Y/N,” he says, voice casual. “Can you help me with something for a second?”

Heads turn. You blink up at him, playing your part perfectly.

“Sure, Professor.”

You rise slowly, adjusting your skirt with deliberate care, and walk to the front like you’re not already soaking through your panties. You can feel the stares on your back, but all you care about is his.

His jaw is tight. His eyes flick down your body once — fast, hungry, dangerous — and then he steps back, motioning toward his desk.

“Over here,” he murmurs.

You round the desk, heart pounding as he opens a drawer, pretending to rifle through it.

“I need you to grab—” he starts, but you cut him off with a look.

“Don’t lie,” you whisper, stepping closer. “You just wanted me near.”

His breath hitches. “You’re insane.”

“You asked for help,” you say sweetly. “I’m just being a good student.”

Your hand brushes over the front of his pants — and sure enough, he’s already hard.

He grabs your wrist. “We’re in the middle of class.”

You look up at him, eyes wide and innocent. “So stop me.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he groans — low and harsh — as you sink to your knees behind the desk. The rest of the class is quiet, heads buried in their notes or staring at the projection screen. No one even notices you’re gone.

No one can see.

Your fingers undo his belt with practiced ease, and when you free his cock, you have to stifle a gasp.

You forgot how thick he is.

How heavy he feels in your hand.

How your mouth waters at the sight of it.

“You’re fucking insane,” he mutters again, voice strained now.

You pump him slowly, dragging your hand up the length of him, thumb teasing the slit at the top. He’s hot and pulsing in your grip, already leaking, and it takes everything in you not to take him in your mouth.

But you want him squirming first.

You tighten your grip slightly, stroking him slow — too slow — watching his stomach tense, his breath catch.

“You like when I touch you here, Professor?” you whisper.

“Fuck,” he mutters, gripping the edge of the desk. “Keep your voice down.”

“You like when your student gets on her knees for you in the middle of class?” you tease, twisting your wrist at the top just how he likes.

His hips twitch.

You speed up, stroking him faster now, loving how he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep quiet. He looks down at you once — just once — and you see it in his eyes.

He’s right there.

You lean in, spit on your hand, and stroke him harder — faster — and he curses under his breath, head falling forward.

“Shit—Y/N—stop—gonna—”

You don’t stop.

You squeeze, twist, stroke him right through it, and he cums hard in your hand, biting his lip so hard you think he might bleed. His cock twitches as you milk every last drop, your hand warm and wet with him.

You look up at him, breathless.

“Still need help with anything?”

He glares down at you, chest heaving, eyes wild.

“You needy girl,” he whispers.

“And you’re obsessed,” you whisper back, standing and licking your palm clean with a slow swipe of your tongue — just because you can.

His eyes darken like he wants to drag you under the desk and fuck you right there.

But he doesn’t.

He swallows, adjusts his pants, and turns back to the class like nothing happened.

You walk back to your seat with your legs trembling — and the biggest fucking smile on your face.

He calls you to his office after class. Not right away — no, he waits a full ten minutes after the room clears, like that’ll somehow make this less obvious. You knock once, and when you step inside, he’s leaning against his desk, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“Close the door.”

You do.

“Lock it.”

You hesitate, then click it shut behind you. He exhales sharply. Doesn’t look at you.

“We can’t do this anymore,” he says, voice low. You blink. “Can’t do what?” He glares. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not,” you shrug. “You’ll have to be more specific. Do you mean the part where I made you cum in the middle of a lecture? Or the part where you let me?”

His jaw clenches. “Y/N.”

You take a step closer. “Or do you mean the one-night stand? The closet? The fact that you begged me not to stop?”

“Stop.” His voice cracks on the word. You smile sweetly. “You dragged me into this. Not the other way around.”

“I’m your professor.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, desperate. “This has to end before we get caught. Before I lose my job. Before—” You cut him off by sliding between his legs, standing so close your thighs brush his. His hands are still clenched at his sides, like he’s holding on to the last bit of control.

“Then why did you ask me to come here?” He says nothing.

“You could’ve ignored me. Failed me. Told me to stop. But you didn’t.” His eyes lock onto yours, burning with something darker than anger.

“Because you can’t,” you whisper. “You don’t want to.” His breathing is ragged. “That’s not the point.” You lean in, voice softer now. “So make a rule. Try.” You watch him fold, just a little. He grabs your waist and spins you — suddenly, roughly — pinning you between him and the desk.

“No more games,” he says, voice low, lips inches from yours. “No more teasing. You come to class. You do your work. You don’t speak to me unless it’s about the course. Understood?” You raise your chin, defiant. “And if I break the rules?” His grip tightens. “Then you won’t like the consequences.” You smile, slow and wicked. “I think I will.” He growls under his breath, turning away like he needs the space, like he can’t breathe when you’re that close.

You take one step toward the door. Pause. Glance over your shoulder. “Oh,” you add innocently, “I won’t be wearing panties next lecture.” He doesn’t move. But his fingers twitch. And when you finally leave the office, you know you’ve already won.

You knew he wouldn’t last.

Sunghoon made it exactly three days before he cracked.

You showed up to every lecture like the perfect little student.

Took notes, nodded along, answered questions.

Sat right in the front, of course — legs crossed, skirt a little too high, no panties underneath.

You saw the way his eyes lingered.

The way his voice faltered every time he called on you.

You didn’t even have to touch him. Just existed. And watched him unravel.

So really, you weren’t surprised when class ended and he barked your name in front of everyone.

“Y/N. Stay behind.”

You fought your smile. Nodded. Waited.

The second the last student left, he grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward his office — not saying a word, walking fast, grip tight like he was scared he might change his mind.

The door slammed shut behind you. Locked. And then he shoved you against it.

“I told you to stop,” he growled. You smirked. “But you didn’t want me to.” He kissed you before you could finish the sentence — all tongue and teeth and frustration, like he hated you for what you did to him. His hands were already under your skirt, shoving it up, confirming exactly what he’d been suspecting all week.

“No fucking panties,” he muttered against your lips. “You really are a little slut, huh?”

“Only for you,” you whispered. That’s what did it. He spun you around, bent you over the desk without warning, and shoved your legs apart with his knee. You gasped at the cold wood against your cheek, his hand pushing down between your shoulder blades to keep you there.

“No teasing this time,” he hissed. “You want to play games? Fine. But you’re not leaving this room until I’ve ruined you.” You whined when you felt his fingers glide between your folds — soaking wet, dripping for him already.

“Fucking knew it,” he growled. “You like being used, don’t you?” You nodded desperately. He spanked you, hard. “Use your words.”

“Yes, hoon, yes—!”

He groaned and unzipped his pants so fast it was like he’d been holding back for days. Probably had. You felt the thick head of his cock press against you, tease your entrance, and then— He rammed into you.

No hesitation. No warning.

Just one rough, brutal thrust that had you screaming his name against the desk.

“God—Sunghoon—”

“That’s Professor to you,” he growled, grabbing your hips and slamming into you again.

You were soaked, your body clenching around him like it couldn’t get enough — and you couldn’t. His cock stretched you so deep, so perfectly, it was like your body was made for him. He fucked you hard, fast, filthy — the desk creaking under the weight of it, your nails clawing at the wood, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

“Thought you could tease me?” he hissed in your ear. “Sit in my class like a good girl and pretend you’re not dripping for me?” You moaned — helpless, breathless, aching for more.

“You don’t get to tease me,” he growled. “You don’t get to fucking win.” He fucked you harder, his cock slamming into your soaked cunt with punishing thrusts, the sound of your bodies echoing off the walls like it was the only thing that mattered. You could feel him everywhere — hands, hips, voice — all of him taking and taking and taking. And then his hand snaked around your front. Two fingers on your clit. Fast, rough, no mercy. You sobbed.

“Too much—!”

“Take it,” he snapped. “You wanted this.”

Your body was already on edge — too sensitive, too full, too overstimulated — and you shattered around him with a scream, legs trembling, pleasure ripping through you like lightning. He didn’t stop. He kept fucking you through it, not slowing down, not letting up, chasing his own release with the desperation of a man possessed.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he growled. “So deep you’ll still feel me in the morning.”

You whimpered, overstimulated and aching and still somehow needing it.

“Beg for it.”

“Please—fuck—fill me up—need it, please—” That was all he needed. He cursed, shoved deep one last time, and came with a low, broken groan, spilling inside you so hard you could feel it flood your insides — hot, thick, endless.

You stayed there — bent over, legs shaking, completely ruined — as he caught his breath behind you. And then, when he pulled out, his cum dripped down your thighs and onto the floor, and you knew this was it. There was no going back now. He was yours. And you were so far from finished.

It had only been three days. But you missed him like it’d been weeks.

He was sick — a bad fever, rough cough, too weak to teach, let alone sneak off to fuck you breathless behind his desk.

Still, you called. Every night.

At first, it was innocent. How are you feeling? Are you redtng enough? Do you need anything?

But tonight, something was different.

His voice was lower. Rough from congestion, but still laced with that dark, velvety tone that made your stomach flutter.

“I miss you,” he rasped into the phone. Your breath hitched. “I miss you too.” You were curled under your blankets, phone to your ear, nothing but a t-shirt and your own restless thoughts keeping you company.

“What are you wearing?” he asked suddenly, voice a little more awake now. Teasing. Familiar.

You bit your lip. “Just your shirt.” He groaned quietly. “Fuck.” There was silence for a beat — hot, heavy.

“Touch yourself for me.”

Your heart thudded.

“Sunghoon—”

“Please,” he whispered. “I need to hear you.”

Your hand slipped beneath the covers before you could think twice, fingers grazing your thighs, your core already warm and aching. You let out a soft sigh, just for him.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let me hear you, baby.”

“Are you…?” you breathed.

“Yeah,” he said, voice strained. “Got my hand around my cock right now. Thinking about how wet you probably are.”

You whimpered. He knew what to say. Even sick. Even over the phone. He had you melting with nothing but his voice.

“Are you teasing yourself?” he asked. “Or are you already fucking those fingers in deep like I would?”

“Just rubbing,” you gasped. “It’s so sensitive.”

“Wish it was my mouth,” he growled. “I’d suck your clit nice and slow. Keep you spread open and messy for me.” You moaned louder now, fingers working faster, thighs shaking.

“I miss your tongue,” you whimpered. “And your cock. I miss everything.” He groaned again, breath stuttering. “I’m close. Just thinking about you falling apart for me.”

“I’m gonna come,” you panted. “Sunghoon, I—”

“Do it,” he whispered. “Come for me, baby. Let me hear it.”

And you did — hard, trembling, breath catching as your orgasm crashed over you like a wave.

You heard him gasp, a deep, raw sound on the other end. Then silence. Just heavy breathing. You clutched the phone tighter, flushed and buzzing.

“I can’t wait to fuck you when I’m better,” he said finally, voice thick and low. “Gonna make up for every night I couldn’t touch you.” You smiled, cheeks warm. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good,” he whispered. “Now go to sleep, baby. I’ll dream about you.”

And you did — still aching, but content. Because even when he wasn’t here, he still was.

It didn’t happen all at once. It was little things. The way his voice softened when he said your name, even when he was pissed. The way he always made sure you got home safe, even if it was just a quiet Text me when you’re in bed.

The way he kissed you when no one was watching — not hurried, not hungry. Just… like he wanted to remember it.

You didn’t mean to fall for him. You knew what this was. A mistake. A fling. A secret that could ruin both your lives. But somehow, between the stolen glances and the late-night fucks in his office, you started to feel it. That pull. That ache. It wasn’t just lust anymore. Not for you. So when he texted you at 11:42 PM — come over. need to blow off steam — your heart stupidly fluttered.

And when you showed up at his apartment, when he pulled you in without a word and kissed you like he missed you, you let yourself believe, for just a second, that maybe… maybe he felt it too. You made love that night. Not rough. Not fast. Not like every other time. His hands were gentle. His kisses slow. His body moved with yours like you were something precious — not just a girl he wasn’t supposed to touch.

And afterward, when you curled into him, bare skin against bare skin, you whispered it before you could stop yourself.

“Sunghoon.”

He hummed, half-asleep, arm draped over your waist.

“I think I’m falling for you.”

Silence. Not a breath. Not a blink. Just… nothing. You turned your head to look at him. He was wide awake now.

“Y/N,” he said carefully. Too carefully. Your chest tightened. “Say something.”

He sat up, rubbed a hand over his face. “You weren’t supposed to—” You pulled the sheet up around your chest like it could protect you from the sharpness of his words.

“Wasn’t supposed to what?” you asked quietly. “Catch feelings? Think this meant more than just… late-night texts and quick fucks between lectures?”

His jaw tightened. “You knew what this was.”

“Did I?” You blinked at him, heart splintering. “Because it didn’t feel like just sex.”

He didn’t look at you. And that told you everything. You swallowed hard, throat burning.

“You don’t feel anything for me?”

He paused. And then he shook his head once. Quick. Cold.

“I can’t.”

It hit like a slap. You nodded slowly, forcing down the sting. “Right. Of course.”

“Y/N—”

“No, I get it,” you said, getting up and grabbing your clothes. “You’re just my professor. And I’m just the dumb girl who thought maybe this was something.”

You didn’t wait for him to say anything else. You didn’t look back. Because if you did — if you saw even an ounce of regret in his eyes — you’d break. And you were already breaking.

You didn’t go to class the next day. Or the next.

You stopped answering his texts. Left them on read. Blocked the number, even — not because you didn’t want to see them, but because you knew you would.

And you were done giving in.

He didn’t love you. He didn’t even like you, not really. To him, you were just a distraction. A body. A pretty little secret to keep him entertained. You weren’t going to be that anymore.

So you went quiet. Silent.

You didn’t show up to his lectures, didn’t sit in the front row in those too-short skirts, didn’t flirt with your eyes across the room. You handed your assignments in online. You stayed invisible. And for a while, it worked.

You didn’t cry anymore. You didn’t dream about his mouth on your skin. You didn’t ache at night thinking about the way he used to look at you like he needed you.

You even let Lily drag you to a party.

He wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t. Why would a professor hang out with freshmen? But someone else was. He was tall. Soft brown eyes. Big hands. Good Looking

Nice.

You let him kiss you. Let him press you against the wall. Let him fuck you in some stranger’s bedroom with your skirt bunched around your waist.

It wasn’t like Sunghoon. Not even close. But it was something. And for a few minutes, it helped you forget. Until the next morning — when you checked your phone, and saw his name lit up the screen.

Park Sunghoon [3 messages]

Where are you?

You missed another lecture.

Y/N, please.

You stared at the screen for a long time. And then you deleted them. Sunghoon was losing his goddamn mind.

The first day you skipped, he told himself it was nothing.

Maybe you were sick. Hungover. Avoiding him. Whatever.

By the third, he was pacing in his office, checking the attendance sheet, rereading your last assignment just to see if there was a hint — anything — in your tone.

By the fifth, he was showing up to dorm buildings and walking past study halls just to maybe catch a glimpse of you. He didn’t know what the fuck was happening to him. You’d said you were falling for him.

And he’d brushed it off. Because he was scared. Because it wasn’t supposed to happen. I mean, what was he thinking? Fucking his student relentlessly thinking she wouldn’t fall for him? But now? Now he realized he’d been lying to himself the entire time. He missed you.

More than just your body. More than the games. He missed your laugh. Your attitude. Your soft little sighs when you fell asleep against his chest.

He missed you. And when he saw you again — two weeks later, walking across campus in a low-cut top and short skirt, laughing with some guy he didn’t recognize — it hit him like a fucking truck.

You were moving on. And he was still stuck in the night you left. He waited until the guy walked off. Then followed you.

“Y/N.”

You stopped. Turned. Your expression shifted from surprised to cold in half a second.

“I’m busy.”

“Can we talk?”

“No.”

“Please—”

“You made it clear how you felt,” you said, voice sharp. “Don’t backpedal now.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—” You crossed your arms. “You meant it enough to let me walk out.” He hesitated. “You blocked my number.”

“You said it was just sex,” you snapped. “So why would I stay?” He looked at you — really looked at you — and something in his face cracked.

“I was scared,” he admitted. “That’s not an excuse. But I didn’t know what to do. I’m your professor. I could lose everything.”

You stared at him, trying not to let your heart soften.

“And now?”

He stepped closer. Slower this time. Careful, like you might run.

“Now I don’t care,” he whispered. “I’d risk everything if you’d just look at me the way you used to.”

You looked away.

Because you still wanted to.

But he’d already broken you once.

And you weren’t sure you could let him close enough to do it again.

You lay there in the dark, chest heaving, body limp from everything he’d just taken from you — and everything you’d given him.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he. His hand rested on your thigh, thumb stroking absently over your skin like he wasn’t ready to let go yet. Like if he kept touching you, maybe you wouldn’t disappear again. You should’ve pulled away. Should’ve said this doesn’t change anything. But it did. It changed everything.

And when you finally found your voice, it was quiet. Fragile.

“You can’t keep doing that.”His thumb stilled. “Doing what?”

“Acting like it’s nothing one second, then showing up the next like you’d burn the world down for me.” He turned toward you, arm curling around your waist.

“I would,” he said simply. “Burn it all down.”

Your chest tightened. “Then why did you let me go?”

He exhaled, forehead pressing gently to yours. “Because I thought I had to.”

“But you don’t now?”

“I can’t let you go again,” he whispered. “Not after that. Not after this.”

You searched his eyes.

And this time, you didn’t find silence. Didn’t find cold. You found regret. Longing.

Something that looked too close to love to ignore.

“Say it,” you breathed. “Say it wasn’t just sex.” He didn’t even hesitate.

“It never was.”

The breath you’d been holding spilled out all at once, shaky and full of every broken piece you’d been holding in since the start. You closed your eyes, voice cracking.

“Me either.” He kissed your temple, your jaw, your lips — slow and reverent, like he finally understood what he’d almost lost. And when he pulled you against him, wrapping himself around you like a shield, you knew something had shifted for good.

This wasn’t a game anymore. This wasn’t a secret. This wasn’t a one-night stand stretched into months of denial. This was real. And this time, neither of you was running.

was so horny writing this (send req)

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nebularsung · 3 months ago

Text

⭑ mark becomes a little too obsessed now that he learns you can squirt... ﹙+18﹚

you weren’t sure if you could take another. your body trembled, legs weak, breaths uneven. the sheets beneath you were damp, evidence of just how far he had pushed you.

but mark didn’t seem near to being finished.

his mouth worked at you with devotion, tongue teasing, exploring—his every move deliberate, like he was savoring something forbidden. each flick, each slow stroke of his lips against your pussy sent fresh waves of pleasure rolling through you. his nose brushed against that sensitive spot each time he dipped his tongue inside, and all you could do was lay there, helpless, open for him.

your thighs twitched, but they were locked over his shoulders, his firm grip keeping you exactly where he wanted. not that you had the strength to close them even if you tried.

“just one more, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with hunger. “c’mon… give me another.” then, he sucked at your clit, a sudden, ruthless pull that had your back arching, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

his skin glistened, his abs damp from his earlier efforts—where he had learned you could squirt. where he had discovered he could make you fall apart so completely, so beautifully, that he never wanted to stop.

god, you were a sight—eyes fluttering, fingers tangled in the sheets, body shivering with every stroke of his tongue. mark drank in every reaction, every twitch and shudder, and it only made him want more.

you could feel his impatience growing. his tongue moved faster, more insistent, each stroke messier, greedier. then, he pressed his fingers inside—deep, unrelenting—pulling another cry from your throat as your grip tightened in his hair.

“mark—please,” you gasped, barely able to form words.

“i know you can, baby,” he coaxed, pressing a slow, teasing circle against your swollen clit. his voice was soothing, but his touch was anything but. “do it again for me… make a mess for me, and i’ll let you rest.”

as if you had a choice. as if your body wasn’t already on the edge, trembling, desperate, ready to break for him all over again.

your stomach tightened, that sweet, unbearable pressure coiling deep in your core. your eyes squeezed shut and your hips lifted instinctively, searching for more, and then—

everything snapped.

a breathless cry left your lips as pleasure crashed over you, your body stuttering, back arching off the mattress as you gave him exactly what he wanted.

you barely had the strength to open your eyes, but you felt it—the way he held your legs still, trying to catch every drop of your release with his mouth. the way his breathing stuttered against your skin, his own body shivering, desperate for relief.

and then, without a single touch to himself, mark groaned—a deep, guttural sound—and you knew. his own release spilled hot and heavy against the sheets, proof of just how much your pleasure alone undid him.

the room was silent, save for the sound of your ragged breaths. your body twitched, oversensitive, spent. your legs refused to move, your muscles weak, your mind floating somewhere between bliss and exhaustion.

mark exhaled, running a slow hand through his damp hair, grinning like a man who had just won the greatest prize of his life.

“that,” he murmured, voice husky, lips brushing against your thigh, “was the hottest thing i’ve ever seen.”

you finally managed to lift your head, and what you saw made your breath catch.

mark—utterly wrecked. skin glistening, hair damp, that triumphant smirk tugging at his lips. and lower… his cock, still standing proudly, flushed, glistening, as if daring you to do something about it.

you groaned, letting your head fall back against the pillow.

mark only chuckled, crawling up to hover over you, his lips grazing yours.

“think thirty minutes is enough for you?” he murmured, teasing, tempting.

god help you and your insatiable beast boyfriend.

｜ 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌 𖹭 don't you also think it's hot when they get pleasure by giving pleasure to their partner? oh gosh help me... i just wanna squirt for mark 😪

#mark.jpg ★#nct smut #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #nct dream fanfic #nct dream smut #mark smut #mark fanfic #mark imagines

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cutehoons02 · 2 months ago

Text

A sweet poison

Special 1000 followers!!!

Harry Potter series Jake pt

*pairing: pervy ravenclaw Sunghoon x popular slytherin Girl

*trope: opposites attract

*synopsis: Y/n, a cunning, spoiled, and provocative Slytherin, constantly clashes with Sunghoon, a brilliant and cynical Ravenclaw, who is irresistibly drawn to his complex personality. Despite the tension between them and their mutual attitude of defiance, an intense chemistry emerges beneath their banter. Their relationship evolves into a game of power and attraction, where provocations become a battleground, fueled by passions that are never fully expressed. Y/n, always in control, challenges Sunghoon to push past his limits, while he struggles to maintain his cool, but fails to do so completely.

*tags: A lot of tension, Hoon is slightly shy and the protagonist a bit spoiled, a lot of kisses, make couple as prefects of the castle at night, power games, degradation, masturbation (m. hidden room of the castle) unprotected sex (don’t horny) (f. masturbation) suckers, fingering, dirty talk, obsession, pet names (vipers,princess) (hoon,hoonie) +18, confession of their feelings

(English is not my native language)

Being a Slytherin in 2025 had become, for many, almost a trend—a label to flaunt with pride — all smug smirks and loosened ties around stiff collars but you weren’t like them. Your name carried weight.

Your surname whispered in the corridors of Hogwarts, came with a heavy legacy. Daughter of one of the last Pureblood families still loyal to the old magical aristocracy. Not the polished, flashy kind fit for magazine covers, but the real kind — the kind that had shed blood and cast spells to protect their name... and that of others.

Your father was in Azkaban. He had protected the Malfoy family — and not only them. He made forbidden deals, hid evidence, and buried names.

He wasn’t a Death Eater, but… he’d come damn close. And you?

You wore that burden like an emerald choker: heavy, uncomfortable, but devastatingly beautiful.

You couldn’t care less about people’s blood status — if someone studied at Hogwarts, they deserved to be there. Period but you'd never stoop so low as to say it out loud.

Not when your Slytherin aura — cold, elegant, untouchable — was such a convenient way to keep people at bay… and keep eyes on you from those too scared to get close.

The boys wanted you. The girls… either feared you or desperately tried to be near you. Real friends? You could count them on one hand. Maybe half.

And then there was him.

Park Sunghoon. Ravenclaw. Muggle-born. One of the brightest — most dangerously intelligent — wizards of his generation. Hoon didn’t believe in Houses. He didn’t care for appearances — he believed in results, merit, and reason over instinct. He looked at you the way someone looks at a particularly annoying problem — an equation that refused to make logical sense. You were brilliant, sure. But too… theatrical. Too seductive. Too moody. Too everything.

And yet, he couldn’t look at you. There were days when he’d stare from across the room, thinking you wouldn’t notice. But you did. You always did. Because he hated you — or at least, that’s what he told himself.

The truth?

He wanted you. Worse — he couldn’t get you out of his head.

And you knew it. Oh, you knew.

Every time you walked past him, you left behind a trail of perfume and poison. Every time you sat near him in the library, just to throw him off.

Every time you dropped a razor-sharp comment in class, and caught that twitch of a smile on his lips — the one that said only one thing:

This girl is driving me insane.

He hated how perfectly dramatic you were. You loved how hard he tried not to notice and while everyone at Hogwarts kept on with their lives — botched potions, flying brooms, half-cast spells — the two of you were there two opposite poles. Two Houses at War and yet, all it took was a look, a silence held a second too long, a whispered fight in a forgotten tower and the world stopped making sense.

The magic hall was one of the oldest in the castle. Tall, gothic, with faded tapestries on the walls, embroidered with the entwined symbols of the four Houses: the lion, the snake, the badger, and the raven.

Floating candles flickered in the air, casting a warm golden light that spilled across faces, neatly pressed uniforms, and the excited murmurs of the students.

You walked in as you always did — with that graceful step that wasn’t trying to draw attention… but always did.

The muffled sound of your shoes on the ancient floor almost seemed to set the rhythm of everyone’s breathing.

You sat in the Slytherin section, back straight, gaze sharp.

Everyone was talking — about Quidditch, the ever-trashier Muggle Ball, or checking if the Headmaster had arrived yet.

But your eyes, went straight where they shouldn’t have. There they were:

Heeseung — all lion pride and cocky grin. Next to him, T/L — his sister, a textbook Hufflepuff, kindness written across her face and sunshine in her voice. Sunoo, beaming as always and then… him.

Park Sunghoon.

Blue and black uniform, perfectly crisp.

Broad shoulders under his cloak. Long legs folded with that obsessive precision. His hair, thick and styled, always looked just a little tousled — like he’d fought a storm and come out victorious on purpose. You leaned against the desk with poised elegance, fingers laced.

T/L caught your eye and smiled warmly. You returned a faint nod — your rare, sincere way of saying “Yeah, I see you.”

And that’s when you noticed it — Hoon’s flushed cheeks.

The moment he saw you'd seen him, he looked away with a clumsy shift and pretended to adjust his tie. And you? You laughed — quietly, inwardly. Every time, the same story… those cheeks. That boyish flush. He always said it was the cold… sure. Cold ears, cold wrists, cold neck.

If you caught him jerking off thinking about you, he’d say he was “training against chronic irritation.”

Pathetic.…Adorable. But pathetic.

You didn’t even have time to tease him properly — you already had a few sharp lines ready on your tongue — When the great doors opened.

The Headmaster entered, and silence fell like a spell.

His voice, as every year, was slow, deliberate, and heavy with the solemnity only Hogwarts could conjure.

-Prefects, students, welcome to the next stage of the Conjunction Project- he began, hands clasped behind his back. -As you know, this exercise is meant to encourage inter-house collaboration…-

The speech went on, but the hall felt like it was holding its breath.

The duets. Mixed-House pairs, assigned for missions, studies, and exercises.

Two whole months and unless someone was hospitalized with dragon fever, the partners wouldn’t change.

-No exceptions,- the Headmaster added. -Except magical impossibility or illness. I trust that’s clear.-

He looked down at the parchment and began reading names. Each pair sparked groans, giggles, or sighs of resignation.

Until— Park Sunghoon… and Y/n L/n.-

Silence cracked the room for a second too long. Then came the whispers.

The stifled laughter, you turned your head toward him. He rolled his eyes in slow, theatrical disbelief and you smiled — that slow, sharp, challenging smile of yours, with just a touch of venom.

Of course.

Of course, this had to happen. As if it wasn’t enough having her voice in my dreams and her legs in my head. Two months. Two fucking months with her. With that tongue that only knows how to provoke, and that smile that makes me want to shut her up… and not with a spell,

Sunghoon thought.

It was 8:50 PM when you stepped out of the pool. Your hair is still damp, your skin carrying the scent of lavender salts and calming spells. You’d indulged a little too much in the prefects’ private sauna — one of the very few privileges in the castle that made you feel treated the way you deserved.

By 8:57 PM, you were still on the other side of the castle. At exactly 9:00, the astronomical clock in the heart of the tower struck with a solemn, echoing dong. At 9:02, you were running — cloak fluttering behind you, your shoes still a little wet in your rush. And by 9:06, you saw him.

Hoon was already there, standing at the entrance of the North corridor in the East Tower, bathed in the flickering light of an enchanted torch. His blue-and-black cloak perfectly in place, tie tight, expression unreadable… and his foot tapping impatiently against the floor. Living cliché, you thought. You approached with a confident step, a smirk playing on your lips. “Already checked the ghosts of the tower, or just practicing your patience on me?” Your voice was smooth, with just the right dose of poison. Hoon looked up at you with a huff. “You’re late.” His tone was sharp, precise — almost surgical. “Your first patrol. Congratulations, Y/n. You managed to turn duty into a spa-diva drama performance.” You let out a soft laugh and stepped even closer — your cloak parting just enough to reveal your bare legs under the uniform, your wand tucked into a garter you wore purely for vanity. “Oh, Hoonie…” you whispered, tilting your head. “Don’t tell me you’re flushed with rage again.” You reached out and theatrically brushed your fingers along his warm, blushing cheek. “You know, if you want to join me in the sauna, you just have to ask. No need to fake the fury.” Hoon clenched his jaw and took half a step back, throwing you a dark look. “It was the cold. You know, that thing that exists outside your cloud of perfume and narcissism.” His tone was sarcastic, biting but behind that stiff mask, you saw it. You always saw it — the red in his cheeks, the slightly quicker breath, the way he couldn’t look at you for more than three seconds without turning away. You followed as he started walking, those long legs moving quickly down the corridor. “What’s wrong, Ravenclaw? Running away from me?” You teased, following at a slower, more deliberate pace — a graceful glide. “Or are you afraid that if you slow down, you’ll, I don’t know… notice the sound of my footsteps behind you a little too much?” He lit the path with his wand, snapping out a curt “Lumos,” and without turning around, shot back: “The only sound I notice is your ego entering every room three minutes before you do.” You laughed. Quietly. Seductively. You walked behind him like a shadow — but with the elegance of an ancient charm.

What a challenge. What a damn walking riddle. He wants me. I see it. I feel it. But every time, he hides behind his bookish logic — and I love every second of this war. He’s playing. As always. And every time — every damn time — I catch myself thinking about that mouth… even while fending off Dementors during training.

Two months. Two. Whole. Months. What the hell did I do to deserve this divine punishment wrapped in a school uniform?

You walked up to him as you continued down the dark corridor.

“Hoon?”

“Mhm?”

“You forgot to check behind that statue. There could be a Boggart… or worse… a student breaking curfew.”

He half turned.

You were too close — eyes locked on his, your breath brushing against his skin, and you bit your lip.

“You should check, you know. It’s your duty… Prefect Park.”

And you walked ahead, this time without another word but his ears were still red.

How is it even possible that someone who looks like he was sculpted by a god is too boring to give him a single flaw?

That straight, sharp nose — so unlike your own. You had a slight bump, and that difference annoyed you… and excited you at the same time.

His moles, scattered across his face like secret little constellations. You knew exactly where they were, by heart.

Thin lips, but slightly full, like they were always about to tell you something he’d never say.

Or kiss you — but only if you deserved it.

His hair was thick, dark, just messy enough from the November wind.

And those shoulders. Those damn broad, straight shoulders.

Lean, defined body — nothing flashy… but you knew what was under that uniform.

That image was still burned into your mind — him in the prefects' pool. Shirtless, water dripping from his neck, running down his chest, and stopping where eyes weren’t supposed to look.

But you had looked. Oh, you’d looked perfectly.

That’s exactly when he turned abruptly and pointed his wand at you — not threateningly, but just enough to make you raise an eyebrow.

“You should be checking the corridors, not counting my moles.”

His tone was cynical. Tired. Irritated.

You smiled. Slowly. Poisonously. Your signature move.

“Honestly, I find your constellations much more interesting. It’s November, after all. No sane person’s out at night in this cold… except for the two of us.

One because he’s a control freak, and the other because… well. Just look at this luck.”

Hoon clenched his jaw.

“Being a prefect isn’t a privilege to strut down corridors like it’s a fashion show. You have duties, Y/n.”

“Oh, Hoonie… such seriousness. Are you saying you don’t like it when I look at you?”

You stepped a little closer.

“Because you can pretend all you want… but your cheeks, sweetheart, are literally screaming ‘look at me again.’”

“It’s because of the cold.”

“Of course it is. And I’m a Hufflepuff with a heart of gold.”

The bickering went on like that the whole patrol.

You teasing him, him snapping back — sharp responses, always with that barely-contained nervousness that betrayed everything he refused to admit. Pure tension. Loaded silences. Steps were taken too close. Glances that lasted one second too long. Until the shift ended.

You walked together toward the common rooms, and when you reached the entrance to Slytherin, you turned for one last jab.

“So chivalrous. Walking me right to the serpent’s lair. Should I be moved?”

Hoon looked at you with steady eyes and a flat voice.

“I do this for everyone. You’re not special, Y/n. You’re just like the others.”

You stared at him for a second. Silence. Then, with a half-smile:

“Ah. Then it must be a real problem… that none of those other girls make you lose your mind like I do, right?”

He clenched his jaw. His eyes — for a second — lit up with something that wasn’t just sarcasm anymore.

Something darker. Something far more wanting. But he said nothing. Just a cold: “Goodnight.”

And turned away, his cloak brushing against his ankles as he walked off — with that damn perfect stride.

It had been two weeks since patrols with Hoon started, and every single night had been its kind of chaos — all silent steps and poisonous words.

One night, you’d found him in the middle of a corridor with his shirt open, locked in a duel with a fleeing wizard (spoiler: he took him down in one move).

Another time, you two ended up hiding behind a statue to avoid Peeves, and you fell on top of him — hands on his chest, heart in your throat.

Other nights, it was just silence, and you found yourself walking too close, breathing him in, imagining things that had nothing to do with patrolling.

But that night, you were on time.

You’d spent hours in the Common Room, hunched over scrolls, books, and vials.

Amortentia had almost melted your brain — not just because of how complex the potion was, but because of what it meant.

The love potion. The one that smelled like your deepest desire.

You stretched slightly as the evening cold sliced through the air like a thin blade. Fingers frozen, lips chapped but your eyes were all on him.

Hoon was there, leaning against a stone wall, with that usual Ravenclaw scarf wrapped around his neck.

Tired eyes, messy hair, pale skin kissed by the cold.

How do you always look so annoyed… and so fucking gorgeous at the same time? you thought.

He noticed you looking. Again. He shot you a sharp look.

“Can you not stare like you’re trying to read my mind?”

“Aww, are you nervous tonight?” you giggled. “Afraid I’ll find out that beneath all that Ravenclaw perfection, you’ve got a soft heart?”

He scoffed, gripping his wand tightly.

“No. I’m afraid you’ll freeze me solid with your gaze. You’ve got a Basilisk effect.”

You walked for a few minutes, stairs creaking beneath your steps, until your voice broke the silence:

“Have you studied Amortentia?”

“Obviously yes. Not all of us spend our time staring at people or brewing random potions.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So you heard mine didn’t turn out right, huh?”

“Oh, word got around.” He turned with a half-smile.

“I’d bet your beloved would smell like… let’s see… mist, moldy moss, and maybe even a hint of aromatic agony.”

You stopped.

No laughter. No teasing. Your gaze went ice-cold.

“Real funny, Park. He didn’t answer right away. He looked at you.

Then took a step forward — but you turned and started walking again, ignoring him. The silence grew thick. Almost solid.

Hoon followed you, but said nothing.

“Y/n—”

“Don’t.”

“It was just a joke. Don’t be childish.” You stopped dead in your tracks.

“You know what all of you are?” Your voice trembled — but not from the cold. “You all think you’re so clever. So superior. But you don’t know shit about me.”

He said nothing.

“To you, I’m just the daughter of the guy in prison. The pretty Slytherin — spoiled, easy to hate. But have you ever wondered what it’s like to carry that crap with you every single day? At Hogwarts, people talk. Always. They never forget. And they think they know you just because of your last name.”

Hoon looked at you. His expression had changed. No more sarcasm. No more coldness. Just something more human. More real.

“I…”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

“If you want to make fun of me, go ahead. But at least do it properly.

Not with that cheap sarcasm. And next time you bring up Amortentia, remember: Not everyone gets to smell something beautiful. For some of us… it just smells like loneliness.” And you walked away.

Leaving him there — alone, confused… and with a strangely heavy heart.

The Potions classroom was wrapped in a pulsing dimness, lit only by the flickering flames beneath the cauldrons and the pearly shimmer of the potions in progress.

Professor Slughorn, as enthusiastic as ever, clapped his hands and announced,

<Well, everyone, today we’ll test your true skills: each of you will brew Amortentia without the aid of books. Rely on your memory and your talent.>

After an hour of careful focus, mixing rose petals, Ashwinder eggs, and Moonwater, most of the students had completed their brews.

Professor Slughorn moved through the classroom, scrutinizing each cauldron with a practiced eye.

Next to you, T/L — Heeseung’s sister and your friend — leaned over her cauldron to smell her potion. A sudden flush bloomed across her cheeks.

“So?” you asked in a teasing whisper, smiling mischievously. "What do you smell?”

-N-nothing in particular,- she replied, trying to sound casual.

“Liar,” you grinned. “You turned red like an apple.”

T/L lowered her gaze, flustered.

-Alright, alright… I smell vanilla, rain, Quidditch field grass, and… freshly baked bread.-

You burst into laughter.

“Those scents only remind me of one person in this class — Jake Sim, Gryffindor’s top flirt. His list of conquests is longer than Fantastic Beasts.”

-Shh! Shut up!- she hissed, shooting you a glare while trying not to smile.

Professor Slughorn approached your station, inspecting your potion with interest.

<Excellent, Y/N,> he said with a pleased nod. <Your Amortentia has the perfect mother-of-pearl sheen, and the vapor spirals beautifully. Flawless work.>

He smiled and added,

<Now, lean in and tell me what you smell.>

You bent over the cauldron and inhaled deeply.

But… nothing. No scent reached you. No familiar fragrance. No unfamiliar one. Just… olfactory silence.

Professor Slughorn looked at you, puzzled.

You shook your head, confused. “No, Professor. Nothing at all.”

He furrowed his brow, thoughtful. <Interesting… Very interesting. Perhaps your mind is too focused to let the emotions flow. Try again, Y/N,> he said gently, though his eyes already held that shade of pity that made your blood boil.

You took a deep breath and leaned in again, eyes closed, letting your thoughts drift.

You searched for something happy.

A moment. A face. Summer at the lake, with your grandmother teaching you the charm to keep water cool in jars.

Your first successful spell.

A quiet evening in the Slytherin common room, with rain tapping on the windows and green light pulsing on the walls. But still… nothing. You inhaled deeply. Still nothing. You opened your eyes and gave a small shake of your head.

The classroom was filled with whispers.

“Maybe she’s too bitter to feel love.”

“Of course — look at that snake face.”

“She needs a potion to feel something, not just smell it.”

“Love can’t be bought — not even with that last name.”

You backed away from the cauldron. For the first time, you lowered your gaze. Not out of shame. Out of rage. That strange stab in your chest hit harder than you expected. You felt T/L’s warm hand lightly brush your back, followed by the gentler touch of Sunoo.

And then—

'Well, no surprise,' came a fake-cheerful voice. It was Jace Roswell — a boy you’d dated for a couple of weeks.

'I mean… you’re the daughter of a convict. You don’t just inherit the blood, right? You inherit the emptiness too.'

Total silence. Your hand closed around your wand. Your eyes — two green blades, ready to curse him where he stood but before you could speak, another voice cut through.

Cold. Sharp. Poisoned like a dagger dipped in bitterness.

“Stupefy!”

Jace was hit full force, tongue paralyzed and body jolting backward like he’d been shocked. His notes scattered across the floor — along with his pride.

Hoon lowered his wand slowly, his eyes locked on Jace.

“Funny,” he said, voice calm and deadly. “For someone so mediocre at Potions, you sure have a big mouth.”

Professor Slughorn turned in alarm — but it was the look in Sunghoon’s eyes that silenced everyone. And then he looked at you. Really looked at you. Not with the usual scorn or exasperation. This time, he looked at you like someone seeing something fragile… or something powerful that had just cracked. But you stood up tall. You left the classroom without a word.

And Sunghoon remained there, wand still in hand, staring at the door you had just closed behind you.

You fled the classroom like you could outrun that burning emptiness inside you. It wasn’t just anger. It was frustration. It was that cursed fear — the fear that maybe you were like that: unfeeling. Empty. Forever the daughter of a man they whispered about — a ruined legend. No one wanted to see you. Only the mask. The bloodline. The shadow and that damned scent of Amortentia you no longer even wanted to find.

You climbed up, to the Astronomy Tower. No one dared set foot in that place, especially not in the forgotten side classroom — too ancient, too cold for the faint-hearted. But you weren’t faint-hearted.Casting the spell to unlock the door was a reflex. The portal creaked open and shut behind you with a sharp snap. The stone was cold beneath your palms. The broken windows let in the light like a knife, slicing through the darkness.And yet, you weren’t alone. A sound behind you — soft but deliberate — made your jaw clench.

“You have no right to follow me,” you hissed, not turning around. “And certainly not to defend me in front of everyone. You’re the first who thinks I’m incapable of loving anyone.” Your voice came out acidic. Sharp. Poisoned. But Sunghoon didn’t flinch. He never did.

“Why does it bother you so much that someone treats you like a human being?” You spun around and stormed toward him, shoving him hard against the wall. The stone echoed from the impact his expression was ice but his eyes… his eyes said something entirely different.

“You’re pathetic,” you spat, face close to his. “You act like some perfect little Ravenclaw, but the moment I raise my voice, you come running after me like a puppy. It’s almost cute.” His jaw tensed. “And you act like a wounded child who lashes out just to avoid feeling exposed.” You let out a laugh. Low. Disbelieving. “See? You’re a walking contradiction, Sunghoon. Rational, perfect, distant — and yet here you are, chasing me up here just because you can’t stand the thought that someone said something to me… something you might’ve thought yourself.”

He stared at you for a long moment. His gaze dropped — briefly — to your lips, then came back up. “This loser, as you call him, is the only one today who had the guts to tell you you’re not alone. Even when you’re too proud to realize it.” And in that moment, something snapped. As if every word, every insult, every stolen glance in the corridors or during late-night patrols had finally reached its breaking point.

You kissed him.

It was impulsive. Rough. Angry. Your hands gripped the collar of his uniform and your lips crashed against his in a kiss that held nothing sweet. It was fire and defiance. It was revenge and hunger.

It was confusion — and… he responded with the same raw intensity.

His hands found your waist — but it wasn’t domination.

It was needed. A need so pure it made you tremble and yet, when you finally pulled apart, his eyes were cold again as if he’d just realized what had happened.

“Careful, Y/N,” he whispered, voice low and edged. “You might find out Ravenclaws can burn too.”

And you, with a bold, wicked smirk, shot back: “And you might find out Slytherins have a heart but only for those who earn it.”

As you kissed again, his hands gripped you with urgency, and you pushed him back onto the old, worn-out settee wedged between the walls and the dark windows of the tower. The floorboards creaked beneath you — but you didn’t care.

You straddled him, with the venomous elegance of someone who knows exactly how much control they hold.

Your hands took his face as you kissed him again — hungry as if that touch could wash away the bitterness in your mouth.

You bit his lower lip — intentionally.

He let out a low groan. You smiled. Fierce. Dangerous. “Really? You whimper at that, Hoon? I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be good at enduring… pain.” His pupils dilated as he stared at you.

“You’re a damn viper.”

“Thank you for the compliment.” You traced a nail along his throat — following the rhythm of his breath.

“Much better than sweetheart, darling, or princess. I’m not sweet, Hoon. I’m poison.”

“I’m starting to notice,” he murmured, voice low — with a crooked, defiant little smile, somewhere between awestruck and undone. You grabbed his cloak and yanked it off with purpose.

Then your fingers closed around the zipper of his hoodie.

With one firm pull, the heavy blue-and-black fabric slipped off his broad shoulders, revealing a fitted black tank top underneath.

Your gaze dropped to his chest — the sculpted lines of a lean, toned body beneath all that Ravenclaw rigidity.

“Well, well… who would’ve thought? Underneath all that top-of-the-class tension, there’s a body built for sin.”

He opened his mouth to reply — but you didn’t let him. You leaned in, kissing his neck — slow, deliberate — leaving behind small, growing marks.

Your teeth grazed his pale skin, your mouth sucking just enough to leave proof, one kiss at a time and every time you bit, you saw his skin bloom red like temptation, and inside, you felt something like pride.

Because tomorrow… tomorrow, he’d wear your marks — the marks of a Slytherin’s sin. Sunghoon held his breath, then whispered near your ear:

“They… might hear us…” You lifted your head just enough, your eyes locked onto his.

“What’s the matter, little Raven? Afraid someone might find out the golden boy moans while a Slytherin is marking him like he’s hers?”

He shut his eyes for a second, gritting his teeth.

“Merlin, you’re unmanageable.”

“No,” you whispered against his skin. “I’m irresistible. And you… you’ve fallen.”

You kissed him again — slower this time, deeper — while his hands slid up along your thighs beneath your uniform. It was a power game.

A battle of breath, of tension, of who would give in first. But neither of you wanted to surrender. Neither of you could. Not yet.

His hands trembled slightly beneath your lifted skirt, fingers hesitant — like he still thought he could stop this.

Adorable.

“What’s wrong, golden boy? Top of the class go mute the second he brushes against a wet pair of panties?”

He didn’t answer. His cheeks flushed, and that usual air of superiority vanished — replaced by something far more interesting:

Confused submission.

Without waiting, you took his hand and carried it exactly where you needed it. "You have studied forbidden spells, ancient formulas, and advanced potions… and yet you tremble at the thought of making me enjoy. How ridiculous you are." He inhaled slowly but did not back down. His fingers moved under the lace of your now-soaked panties and your horny, slow, hesitant cunt. When he touches you, moan loudly. Wet. Hot. Open. Just for him. "Look what you're doing to me, Ravenclaw…" he whispered against his mouth. He stuttered, kneaded with shame and desire.

"You like it, don't you? Make me like this. Feel my thighs tremble under your fingers. You want it as much as I do." His finger slipped into it, and your body reacted with a visceral tremor. You huddled over him, enjoying the way his control crumbled. "Shut up … please…" he muttered. "If they hear us…" You stopped for a moment just to smile. "That would be perfect, my love. Imagine someone coming in and finding you like this: with two fingers inside a Slytherin and your flap ready to explode." He gasped, almost moaning. And he sank another finger.

"Oh, fuck…" hissed, squeezing your thighs around his hand. "You're good, you know? A perfect guy who knows where to touch me. Who would have thought." "Y / n … you … you're fucking my hand…" he stammered with his eyes half-closed, his breath short. "Yes. And I will until you make me come so hard that I can't walk to the Common Room." His thumb moved-accurate, damn perfect. He began to tease your clit as you felt bloated with pleasure like a storm about to explode. Every time he pumped his fingers inside your poor cunt you would moan and he would bite his lips so as not to moan at the sight of you getting his fingers fucked and riding on them like it was your favorite thing.

"Faster," hissing through his teeth. "Let me enjoy it, Ravenclaw. Do something useful in your perfect life." His fingers sank, his thumb turned, and you couldn't take it anymore. You grabbed His hair, forced him to look at you as your body stretched. "I'm coming…" you said, but it was already too late. Pleasure swept you into a warm, slimy, pulsating wave. And he stood there beneath you, his fingers inside, his face upset, confused … excited like I've never seen him before. "Look how small you are," you told him while still breathing hard. "You made me enjoy with your fingers as if it were your mission. Maybe you should write it in your thesis." "Y/n… I…" he stammered, still with wet fingers. "Shhh," You put a finger on his lips. "Don't talk," you said as you kissed again.

That night, you weren't looking at him. For the past month, it had become almost a reflex: your eyes shifting to Hoon as soon as he entered the room, his flawless gestures, that voice always too calm, too sharp. But not this time. This time, you kept your gaze fixed ahead, your elbows at a distance from him, your mind elsewhere. And he felt it. He sensed it. It was like a sting to his pride. "Strange, Slytherin…" he whispered as you walked through the castle. "Tonight, you're not trying to seduce me with your gaze. What's going on? Don’t you notice your knight who defended you in front of everyone?" He said it with that half-irritating, sarcastic smile of his, the one only a Ravenclaw too clever for their own good could have. But you didn’t laugh. You slowly turned to him, your eyes as hard as marble.

"Funny. Still on about that? Even though you defended me, everyone thinks I’m incapable of loving anyone. And you know what? Maybe they’re right." He stiffened. He didn’t expect that. Not from you. He tried to say something, but you didn’t give him space. "And maybe you think so too, Hoon. No matter how much you pretend to be above it all… you let what they say about me influence you. You’re cynical. Fucking cynical." Hoon’s eyes darkened. He didn’t say anything. He took a step. Then another. And suddenly, his hands were on your hips. He shoved you against the wall with enough force to take your breath away. His face was very close.

"You don’t know anything about me." "Oh, I know far too well," you retorted, lifting your chin in defiance. "Your face is an open book, especially when you play the know-it-all. You know what people say, Hoon? That you’ve got a crush on me." He snarled through gritted teeth. "You’re arrogant. Superficial. And spoiled. You think you’re invincible just because people are afraid of you. But you’re just a broken little girl, hiding the emptiness behind lipstick and that bitchy attitude." You felt your heartbeat quicken. Not with anger. With something far more dangerous. "Go on, Ravenclaw. Tell me again how much I disgust you. Let me show you how much I get under your skin, while you're the first to chase me and want my body, maybe even my mind." "Under my skin?" he hissed. "You're a fucking toxin. You get inside me and ruin me. And yet here I am. Still on top of you."

He was about to kiss you. Maybe to yell at you. Maybe to implode. But it didn’t happen. The sound of footsteps broke the tension. Three prefects from other houses rushed toward you, visibly agitated. -Hey! Stop it right now, what the hell—" 'It’s not the time!' one of them intervened, worried. 'Three first-year kids are missing. We need to find them immediately. They might have gone into the Forbidden Forest.' You and Hoon exchanged a glance, still heavy breaths, the wall still warm against your back, his hands still firm on your hips. No one spoke. But something had changed and suddenly, the night had grown much darker.

The wind blew harshly against your cloaks, wet with snow, slicing at your cheeks like icy blades as you all moved in silence, wands raised, along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Detection spells floated through the air, one after another: Homenum Revelio, Point Me, Lumos Maxima… but nothing. No response. No trace. There were ten of you, and the professor split everyone into pairs. Naturally, you got paired with Hoon.

He walked ahead, stiff, silent, as if the cold didn’t touch him. You followed a few steps behind, wand clenched in your fist, steps careful, mind crowded. Every time a branch snapped or the snow rustled oddly, you instinctively moved closer to him. Until, without even noticing, you were practically pressed against his back.

“Using me as a human shield, Y/n?” he said without turning around, his voice as cold and sharp as ever.

Then, the scream. Shrill. Agonizing. It didn’t even sound human.

You grabbed his wrist without thinking. Hard. Your frozen fingers on his warm skin.

“Now’s not the time to be a smartass,” you growled. “There’s a child out there screaming.”

He looked down at your hand gripping his wrist like it was the only real thing in the middle of that blizzard. He swallowed hard. His jaw clenched violently. It was below freezing. But you… you were too close. Too warm. Too much.

“Your touch makes less sense than a Muggle in a Charms class,” he muttered, trying to hide the fact that he was practically burning up under his cloak.

Then you both screamed. At the top of your lungs.

No response. Just the storm. And then… a red light in the dark.

You ran. Fast. Brooms forgotten behind you. The light pulsed through the trees, flickering like an alarm.

And when you reached it— A young Gryffindor boy. Trapped. And in front of him… a five-headed beast. Towering. Twisted. Screaming. Its jaws gaping, drooling, circling the boy like a trap from hell.

“Minus 200 points to Gryffindor for being a monumental idiot,” Hoon said, unflinching.

“Are you insane?” you snapped. “Who gives a damn about points?! He’s in danger—we have to save him!”

Hoon scoffed. “Of course. Let’s reward stupidity, as usual.”

But despite the words, he raised his wand. “Fulgari!”

The spell’s glowing tendrils wrapped around one of the heads… but the creature reacted by tightening its body around the boy, who screamed, voice cracking: 'I don’t want to die! Help! Please!'

One of the heads lunged at you both, growling. You raised your wand, ready to fight. But Hoon stopped you with a hand against your chest.

“Go. Now. I’ll distract it.”

“Not a chance,” you growled back. But he didn’t listen.

“Expulso!” he shouted.

The creature staggered, and for a moment, it looked like it might retreat. But then… another head burst from the black mass of its back, snarling with rage, its red eyes locked solely on the two of you.

The snow seemed to freeze in midair.

You and Hoon exchanged a look. He was tense, sweating despite the cold, but his voice was steady.

"Hope you studied, Slytherin. Because this time… we need real magic.”

'Use a Patronus!' the boy cried out, tears streaking his face, voice broken.

You and Hoon exchanged a quick, tense look. The monster’s heads screeched and writhed around each other like frenzied snakes. The snow was falling heavier now, mixed with hail. The cold clung to your eyelashes.

“It’s too dangerous for you! We wouldn’t even manage a moth,” Hoon hissed, eyes locked on the creature.

But without thinking, you stepped forward, raising your wand with both hands. “Expecto Patronum!” … Nothing. Just wind. Your voice vanished into the void.

Panic tightened in your throat. But you shut your eyes. You searched for something. A thought. An emotion. And there it was—Hoon, back in class, defending you in front of everyone, unafraid of judgment. That moment when you realized that behind all the sarcasm and coldness, there was something more. He didn’t just see you as the loud, brazen Slytherin. He saw a girl who felt things. Who had her own fragilities.

“Expecto Patronum!” you shouted again, heart pounding like a drum.

A light ignited. Green and blue. It pulsed. Boiled. And then it burst.

From the snow and the glow, a shining, majestic serpent and a proud-eyed raven rose into the dark sky, spiraling together in a whirl of colored snow. They danced around the monster, striking. Its roar faded into a high-pitched screech—then silence. Gone. Only the ragged breathing of the boy remained.

You turned. Hoon was staring at you, mouth slightly open, eyes wide in disbelief, his lips caught between sarcasm and admiration.

“Don’t comment,” you panted, throwing him a look. And for once—he didn’t.

You rushed to the boy and wrapped him in your arms, trying to give him all the warmth you no longer had.

'I’m cold… but… your Patronus was beautiful,' he whispered, wide-eyed. “Thank you, little Gryffindor,” you murmured. “You made it too.”

A second later, a flash of light— And the Headmaster appeared before you with a sharp snap, his cloak rippling from residual magic.

-Incredible,- he said, looking at you and Hoon. -A joint Patronus. Haven’t seen one in… decades. Well done, both of you.- Then, turning to the boy with a sterner tone: -You risked your life tonight. From now on, you stay away from any path with trees. Understood?-

When you tried to Side-Apparate with the others, your wand trembled in your hand. Nothing. No effect.

“Perfect,” you muttered.

“You burned through too much energy,” Hoon said—without sarcasm, for once. “You’re insane. Don’t bother. Come with us.”

“No, you go with the Headmaster. I’ll… take a broom. Or walk. I’ll be fine.”

“Walk? With that thing still out there?” he growled. “Do you have blood in your brain or just snow?”

The Headmaster, calm as ever, raised a hand. -You’ll rest here. The Forest owes you something, tonight.-

And from the white trees, a small wooden cottage appeared—steep roof, chimney already smoking. A soft, golden light glowed from its windows.

You and Hoon looked at each other for a moment, then— You ran. Side by side. No words. Just warmth. Into that safe little pause in the world.

As soon as the door shut behind you, the sound of the storm vanished. The little cottage felt suspended in time: warm wooden walls, a thick rug laid out before a crackling fireplace, a bench stacked with folded blankets, and a faint scent of tea and oak in the air.

You pulled off your cloak, hands slightly trembling. Hoon did the same, silent, shaking the snow from his hair. He glanced at you and ran a hand down his face, like he still couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Then he burst out: “Are you completely insane? You just… cast a Patronus. A joint one, at that.”

“Yeah, and I also saved your ass, the kid’s, and mine. A ‘thank you’ wouldn’t kill you,” you shot back, crossing your arms, challenging glare locked on him.

He laughed—short, sharp, but not cruel. “You know that trying to cast it without being sure it would work could’ve knocked you out—or worse, right? But of course, the Slytherin princess had to shine.”

“Shine?” you scoffed. “Right, sorry—next time I’ll let you play the misunderstood hero while I blend into the damn wallpaper.”

Hoon eyed you, dark gaze narrowing with that look you knew all too well. He was about to pounce. And he did.

“That Patronus though. Green and blue? A serpent and a raven?” He paused, then added with that pointed tone: “So… what are we saying? A blend of you and me? Tragic. Romantic. Arrogant.”

“It wasn’t a blend,” you huffed. “It was just… powerful. You had nothing to do with it.”

He raised an eyebrow, smiling in that infuriating way only he could—sharp, precise, lethal. “Oh really? Shame. It looked… kind of intimate. Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell me something?”

“Yeah. That you’re a loser,” you muttered, stepping toward him with venom in your voice.

“Says the girl who grabbed my wrist in the snow like I was her favorite comfort blanket.”

“That was so you wouldn’t die, you idiot.”

“Admit it. You like making me worry.”

You rolled your eyes with a groan, but didn’t notice he’d already closed the gap between you. In a second, he pushed you—gently but firmly—against the wall, one hand at your waist, the other brushing your cheek, caught between provocation and something rawer.

Your heart slammed in your chest. The fireplace’s heat. His breath on your skin.

“You’re unbearable,” you whispered.

“Right back at you,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours.

And without giving you time to reply—he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It was a collision. All teeth, shallow breath, and desperate hands.

His body pressed hard against yours, your back against the wall, the world outside drowned out by everything you’d never said.

Sunghoon kissed you like he’d been waiting forever.

It wasn’t sweet. It was real. Raw.

You responded instantly, hands gripping the fabric of his cloak, pulling him closer with a force you didn’t even know you had.

He moved you back—toward the cottage’s small kitchen table. In a flash, you were sitting on top of it, the surface cold beneath you, his body warm and solid between your legs. He tugged at your lower lip with his teeth, and you let out a soft, broken moan, stolen right from your lungs.

His hands were everywhere—warm, certain—and when he gently bit your lower lip, a moan escaped you, more a hoarse whisper than an actual sound.

“Oh, look who’s moaning now,” he murmured against your mouth, wearing that arrogant smirk you knew all too well.

“Shut up, Park,” you shot back in a low, loaded voice. “I’m not in the mood for your games.”

You grabbed his thick cloak and tossed it to the floor, your lips finding his again—hungry, desperate. There was no space for anything else. Just hands, bodies, breath.

Your fingers slipped beneath his heavy sweater, brushing over his warm, flawless skin. “This needs to go,” you whispered, voice low and shameless.

“You can,” he replied, but his eyes held that familiar flicker—somewhere between surrender and craving.

You pulled it up by the hem, slowly, savoring every inch you uncovered. And as you did, your eyes dared him. “How many times have you dreamed of this, huh?”

He let out a low growl. “Shut up.”

You chuckled, pleased. You peeled off his second layer too, leaving him in nothing but a fitted black tank top that clung to his pale skin and highlighted the sculpted shape of his arms.

“Spread your legs,” he said, in that deep, rough voice that made your insides tremble.

You obeyed. And he moved in, closer, more real. His body pressed against yours, the difference in height only adding to the tension, thrilling and undeniable. You tilted him toward you slightly, your hands locking around the back of his neck with quiet insistence.

You started kissing him there, just below his ear, then down along his jawline. Your lips found the curve of his neck—hot, eager—and you sucked, leaving a mark.

Sunghoon let out a soft moan, low and involuntary. “Merlin... Y/n...”

“What?” you whispered against his skin, with a wicked smile. “Can’t handle a little real human contact?”

He opened his eyes, trying to stay composed. But you could see it, feel it—every word, every touch, you were pulling him apart piece by piece.

“I hate you,” he murmured again, but his voice shook.

“Oh yeah? Then come and prove it.”

His hands dove into the edges of your coat, and with one swift movement, he slipped it off your shoulders. His eyes stayed locked on yours, but when his hands slid under your Slytherin sweatshirt, his gaze darkened—sharpened. He yanked it off with a single pull, leaving you in nothing but that fitted emerald-green tank top… the one that seemed designed to tempt him.

"Slytherin to the last layer?"he provoked you, a raised eyebrow and dangerously low tone. "Even panties?" "Maybe," you replied with a sassy smile. "But if you want to know, you'll have to find out for yourself." He looked at you as if you were playing with fire — and maybe it was true. But he did not back down. "You really are a little nightmare dressed in silk," he hissed, still approaching. He leaned over you and his lips came back to your neck, this time slower, hungrier. He sucked it, nibbled it, as if he wanted to brand you. And when a groan escaped from your lips and your fingers caught in his hair, he came off for a moment, his eyes lit with a brazen desire.

"Tomorrow you will have purple marks everywhere, princess," he whispered, her voice hoarse. "We are magicians, Park. I'll hide them in two seconds."

"Don't you dare even think about it," he retorted in a darker, more possessive tone. "I want them to see each other. I want everyone to know exactly where I kissed you and that you are mine, my little viper." And he returned to your neck, sinking with a new determination, as if thirsty. He sucked your skin as if it were nectar, as if every inch had a spell just for him. Your groans filled the room, broken only by the sound of your heavy breaths.

Then he lowered himself, slowly, and his eyes rested on your chest. The tank top had lifted, allowing a glimpse of the soft curves that the bra, a little too tight, was trying to contain. His lips rested light above the cups, and he kissed you with an unexpected, almost adoring sweetness.

"Can I take it off?" he murmured, his forehead against your chest. "You can," he whispered, his voice broken with desire. His hands barely shook as he grabbed the hem of his tank top. He slowly took off your tank top, and his eyes darkened as he looked at you. His hands, still cold from the frost outside, slipped under your bra. He unfastened it with precision, and the moment he fell, your breasts were free, sensitive skin stretched by the air and attention of his eyes.

"Sensitive, huh?"he teased you, with a half-smile on his lips. You grabbed him by the collar of the tank top. "Bow down, Park. And suck.» He gave you a look that promised chaos. "You can just give me orders, huh?» Yet he obeyed. He leaned over, his hot lips touching one of your strained buds, then his tongue began to rub him flat. You felt yourself melt, a groan rolled out of you, broken. Then he just used his teeth, and your body strained.

"Hoon!"you screamed, his name rolled out of his lips like an escaped spell. "Always so responsive?"he teased you, his voice hoarse while with his other hand he drew you to himself even more. His hand closed on the other breast, with firm, hungry movements. "You're meant to be touched like that, you know?"he muttered, kissing and nibbling. "So soft. So ... mine."

"Don't say these things," you admonished him, trying to control you, but it was useless. His lips, his hands, were erasing all logic.

It came to you instinctively — you stuck a hand under his black tank top and pulled it up. He just came off your breast, a trickle of spittle shining on his lips. Your eyes rested on his toned, pale, almost unrealistically defined chest. You bit your lip, unable to hold back that little gesture. "You haven't seen anything yet, witch," he whispered, before stooping back, your bodies now closer together, your breasts brushing against his bare chest. They both groaned softly upon contact. "When I saw you in the prefects pool..." you whispered, " I wanted to jump on you." He looked up at you, surprised but amused. "And why didn't you?" You shrugged your shoulders with feigned innocence. "Maybe I wanted to make you suffer a little." "Cursed..." he growled quietly, and returned to kiss your breasts with even more desire, as if the confession had ignited something in him.

He continued to tease you, his mouth soft and careful on your breasts, until his lips began to descend slowly along your belly. Every kiss was like a spark that ignited you all, and you moaned, unable to hold back. "So receptive..." he muttered with a grin, his voice deep and hoarse. "Typical spoiled little princess."

"Don't let a Ravenclaw command me," you replied, lifting yourself up and looking him straight in the eye. "Not even if he has a language like yours." He laughed slowly, but in his eyes there was a new hunger. And you, with an instinctive move, unfastened his belt. His eyes just smiled as you did it. The pants slid down with a rustle, and you whistled softly at the sight of the black boer

"I thought you were more shy," he whispered. "And I thought you were less ... gifted," he retorted, touching it through the fabric. You felt him tense, hard. And you looked at him with a satisfied smile. "It's a pity that he always remains a poor Ravenclaw loser." He clenched his jaw, his eyes turned on.

"Watch how you speak, Y/n" But you still approached, his hands on yours even as yours drew him more forcefully to you. His forehead leaned against yours, and for a moment there was only silence, only breath. Then, slowly, with curious and determined fingers, you stuck your hand under the edge of his boxer. You felt his erection, the way his body reacted, the warm and alive skin under your hand.

"You're really ruined, Park." He closed his eyes, his jaw clenched, holding back a groan. "And I bet you're bad, too. It would take a hand of mine in your jeans you’d be wet" You admonished him with a smirk, but you tightened your grip a little, enough to make him moan — a deep, almost broken sound. "... little viper..." he muttered, his voice a thin thread between pleasure and torment. You giggled, dropping his boxer

"I don't think I'll last long..." he confessed with a restrained growl. You got even closer, your voice a whisper in your ear. "Then do it. Show me how much I ruin you." sunghoon was literally ruined. What he had dreamed of for months-perhaps since you launched your first poisonous joke in the Prefects ' corridor-was now real. And with your hand moving slowly against his cock, he could no longer think.

He slightly grabbed your shoulder, looking for an anchor point to reality. Hi voice trembled. "Y/n....i'm coming.."

"I know," you whispered with a devilish grin, accelerating the pace and barely squeezing. He sprinted forward, a restrained groan that became a growl. "You're a little viper."

"And this viper is making you look like a loser, Park." It was the end. One last, hoarse moan and yelled your name, your head bent back, your body contracted. His forehead leaned against your shoulder as he barely trembled, his breath broken.

His abdomen, the clear line of the V, was marked by the pleasure you had just caused, little pearly and slimy filaments ripped through his shiny abs and then he bent over, still panting, and whispered something in your ear — sweet words, but laden with desire, broken by his own astonishment. They made you vibrate inside. You, without saying anything, picked up with a finger the most noticeable trace of his sperm and, looking straight into his eyes, slowly brought it to your mouth. You sucked it with malice. "You are sweet, "you said," but slightly salty."

"You're sick," he muttered, halfway between the amused and the ruined. "And you're in love," you replied, laughing, gracefully stepping down from the table. You took him by the wrist, with your usual Slytherin confidence, and dragged him to the bed in the middle of the little house in the woods. "The principal really created a work of art. Ideal for couples to do smutty things."

He chuckled, but upon hearing the word couples, his heart skipped a beat. You didn't realize it — or maybe you did, but you didn't say it. You let yourself fall between the pillows with a naturalness that would make even a Veela pale. Your breasts moved slightly as you settled down. You looked at him with feigned impatience. "And you? What are you doing standing there?" Sunghoon shook his head, a smirk on his lips, still stunned by you. "You are impossible."

"And yet you are still here." He moved, climbed over you, with almost reverent slowness, and for a moment there was no more bickering, no game, no war. Just him and you, skin to skin. Sunghoon's dark tufts fell untidy on his forehead, damp with sweat and desire. You extended a hand, touching his cheek with your fingers, soft and slow, as if you were trying to memorize every line of his face. Your eyes were half-closed, loaded with something beyond provocation: a shred of vulnerability that you almost never showed.

He paused for a moment to look at you-as if he could not believe that you were really there, under him. Then, with that cheeky half-smile you knew all too well, he began to descend again, kissing every inch of your skin. When he got to the edge of your pants, he said nothing. Only the metallic sound of the zipper sliding down spoke for him. He whistled softly. "Fiery red panties, huh?"he said, raising an eyebrow. "And then you accuse me of being a pervert."

"Shut your mouth, Park," you admonished him, trying to sound superior. But your tone trembled a little.

"Open your legs."

"No."

His eyes became darker. "Stubborn to the last. Classic from Slytherin." And without waiting, with glacial calm and strong fingers, he opened them to you. His big hands wrapped around your thighs, slowly pushing them outward as you cast a poisonous glance at him. "I knew," he muttered.

"The whole scene." Then he lowered his head and began to kiss the skin of your inner thigh. Soft, quick bites marked his path, igniting every nerve beneath the surface. Every now and then he would stop and look at you from under his eyelashes, as if studying your reactions like an ancient spell. And when he got to the center of you, he said nothing. Just one kiss, one, full, slow. A groan escaped from your lips before you could stop it, and your back involuntarily arched. Sunghoon stopped, satisfied.

"And tell me now," he whispered against your skin, in a hoarse voice, "who is the loser, princess?" His fingers grazed the thin cloth, finding you exactly as he expected. He looked at you defiantly and triumphantly.

"Completely wet. For me." Then he bent over again, and your eyes lost all focus — you could only see his dark hair, his head between your thighs, and you could only feel the slow, firm pace with which he was tasting you like you were the only thing in the world. Your breath broke, a groan rose from your bowels, and his name escaped you like a prayer and a curse. "Hoon…" His tongue was a forbidden temptation. Every movement, precise and darn slow, made you falter as if a spell ran under your skin. He drew little eights with his tip, as if he wanted to draw your name on him-and you, with your lips ajar, groaned quietly, babbling his name like a supplication.

"H-Hoon ... what... what are you—"

"Shut up, viper," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and sharp. "I've never heard you so... true." And without warning, he slid a finger into you. A slow, exploratory motion that made you arch your back against the pillows. Your body reacted before you could even fight back.

"Park, I -" you tried to admonish him, but it was useless. He smiled, looking up just a second, his eyes lit up by something wild. And then, with a bold gesture, he brushed your center with his teeth. A light bite, calibrated. But it was enough to make you completely lose control. You screamed his name, fingers intertwined in his hair, looking for a foothold in reality.

"I bet you can get another one, right?"he whispered with a mischievous note. "Show me how good you really are."

"Yes..." you answered, in a broken voice. The second finger joined the first, and began to move with increasing pace. His eyes peered at you, hungry, and when you moaned louder, lips ajar and body trembling, he giggled. "Who is more beautiful, princess? Me ... or my fingers ruining you?» You bit your lip, not wanting to answer. Slytherin pride was hard to bend, even now. And he stopped. He left you there, suspended, a moment from the abyss. "No ... continue, Park!" He degraded you, in a low, provocative tone, but his gaze barely trembled. And when you gasped: "You are beautiful. And ... good at everything,"

he smiled for real, with a flash of triumph and a shadow of sweetness in his eyes. "I know," he replied. But his tone, this time, was less cold. More sincere. Almost amazed. "And you ... are my worst spell." His touch was fire. Every movement of his fingers inside you sent you into orbit, and despite the severed breath, you could not hold back the words. You yelled his name like it was the only spell that could keep you alive. Your hands were now lost in her hair, pulling them with force with every wave of pleasure that passed through you. He didn't stop. In fact, he seemed hungrier, more determined. He looked at you with those icy eyes that were now burning, and his voice, hoarse and confident, stuck in you.

"Come for me, Y / n ... I want to see you collapse. I want to know that no one can make you feel that way. Nobody but me." His words were the spark. Your body strained, the pleasure exploded like a liberated curse, and you let yourself go completely — trembling against his mouth and fingers. He did not look away even a moment, as if he wanted to stamp that moment in focus in the mind. When he stood up, he had the look of someone who has just won a war. He kissed you slowly, forcefully.

He gnawed at your lip as if he still wanted to taste you. "You know too much good," he muttered against your mouth, and the tone had something dangerously sweet. You barely moved, rubbing against him — your body still shaken, but eager for more. You felt his cock against you, still encased in his boer Your eyes rested on him and, in a bold and mischievous tone, you teased him: "All this ... because of a Slytherin." Sunghoon threw a fierce look at you, jaws clenched.

"Shut up." But you laughed slowly, enjoying the tension you had ignited. You pushed your hips against him and his breath broke. His body reacted instinctively, as if it had been enchanted by you all along. "Do you really want it?"he whispered, in a voice so low that it almost sounded like a threat. "Because if I sink into you now... there will be nothing left to hide. I'll take everything."

You looked at him, his pupils dilated, his heart in his throat. "Then do it, Ravenclaw. Take."

The only thing you really felt was him. Hoon. Every inch of his body pressed against yours, and every slow but deep push made you gasp, scratch, seek more contact, more friction. More than him. "Look how you take me..."he hissed at your throat, biting your skin as if he wanted to leave his signature there, indelible. "So tight, so wet. Is that what you want? To be used by me as a good, dirty Slytherin?"

"Yes..." you moaned, your voice almost broken with pleasure. "Yes, Hoon, please..." He lifted your leg, bending it against his side with controlled force, and sank back into you with a jerk that made you scream, your head falling backwards against the wall.

"Well" Another push, deeper.

"Do you feel how full your fucking pussy is?" Another one.

"You like it, don't you? Being fucked by one who treats you like a spoiled princess."

"I am..." you stammered, unable to lie. "My Slytherin princess version slut," he growled, grabbing your chin to make you look him in the eye. Cold eyes, precise. Calculator. But now, they were just burning for you.

"I bet you dream of being bent over a bench in empty classrooms. To enjoy me in the aisles while you're still wearing that damn green tie." Every word was a slap to your pride, but instead of breaking you, it made you shiver more. "Do you like it when I tell you that you are worth nothing but to be fucked? That behind that queen face of yours is only you, hot, trembling, hungry for me?"

"Yes ... Yes, Merlin, Hoon ... make me yours..." He pushed you even harder, making you moan louder and louder. One hand on your throat, to squeeze slightly, while the other crept between your bodies to touch you. Two experienced, cruel fingers brushed the spot where you were most sensitive, and you screamed without restraint. "Hear how you scream..." he hissed, excitedly. "I bet the owls in the woods are wondering who is the little slut who is taking me so well."

"Only you ..." you moaned. "Only you make me like this..."

"Damn, Y/n, you're made for this," he grunted, his thrusts faster and faster. "To be taken like this. Destroyed so. From me. From a Ravenclaw who never believed in anything but control. Look what you got me to do." Hoon's blows became fiercer, his breath more labored, and you could no longer hold back. The pleasure mounted inside you like a storm, and the scream escaped from your lips before you could even control it. "Hoon-I'm ... I'm going to—"

"Come for me." His voice was a hoarse order, full of lust and domination. "Make a mess. Dirty all this bed, so the headmaster is an idiot if he thought that leaving us alone in this little house would not lead to this." He smiled, kissing you hard as he continued to push into you with measured brutality.

"A bed, a bathroom, a tiny kitchen..." he laughed, panting ,"...like I didn't want to fuck you on all surfaces." It was at that moment that you screamed his name, trembling as the orgasm overwhelmed you with a power that emptied your breath. Your body clasped around his, and your legs snapped like traps around his waist. But he did not stop. Not yet.

"Look how tight you are ... still," he hissed, his voice now broken by the pleasure that approached even for him. "I make you mine, for real now. I want you full. Full of my cock and cum, you little snake."

"Hoon... no - not inside..."

"Shut up." His voice became dark, dirty with desire. "You are mine. And I want to fill you. Until you drip on everything you touch." He took you with deep, raw blows, until his breath broke against your skin. And then, he came. Hot, heavy, inside you. You felt his body shake against yours, his fingers clasping your hips as if he wanted to carve you into the flesh. His cum trickled slowly down your thighs, as you both gasped in the dark load of moans and sweat. He came off slowly, with his last breath still against your chest, then dragged you with him to the bed still disheveled. He grabbed you by the side and pulled you against his chest, sinking his face into your neck, as if that contact held him anchored to reality.

One of his hands lazily moved towards your face, long thin fingers caressing your cheek still reddened. You, still half distraught with pleasure, let yourself go on his chest, setting your head against his. "Little viper..."he whispered with a tired smile. "I don't know if I want to strangle you or marry you."

"I hate you..." you murmured at him, a smirk on his lips.

"Mmh. Lie. You're obsessed with me." He gave you a slow kiss behind the ear.

"And you from me."

The next morning, the world outside the little house felt muffled. Snow was falling slowly, silently, and the crackling of the fireplace was the only sound filling the room. You woke up to the lingering scent of burning wood in the air and Hoon’s warm body wrapped around yours.

His bare skin against yours was a silent reminder of everything that had happened just a few hours earlier. His slow, steady breathing made his chest rise and fall gently, and you nestled against him a bit more, as if that simple movement could somehow let you stay there forever.

You lifted yourself slightly, carefully, trying not to wake him. You looked at him—really looked at him.

The morning light filtered through the thin curtains, allowing you to take in every detail: the long lashes, the slightly parted lips, the faint crease between his brows. And then, his moles. The ones you had memorized long ago, like a secret map meant only for you.

Your hand moved on its own, without thinking. Your fingers brushed lightly over the small mole beneath his left eye. Then the one on the bridge of his nose, just above the curve. The tiny one on his cheek. And finally, the one beneath his ear, invisible unless you knew exactly where to look.

“Mmh…” he murmured sleepily, a half-groan in his throat. “Still tracing my moles? Haven’t you gotten tired of mapping my face like you’re trying to decode some ancient script?”

You smiled softly, not stopping your touch, and your eyes met his—still a bit drowsy, hazy from sleep.

“I’m just cataloging you, Ravenclaw… Don’t they serve some kind of purpose? Like little stars placed just right to be studied.”

“Studied, huh?” he chuckled, his voice rough and deep. “Or worshipped?”

“Don’t get cocky.” You rolled your eyes, but your gaze had softened more than you intended.

He stretched lazily, then moved closer, fingers tracing idle lines across your back.

“My viper’s going soft… should I be worried?”

“She’s just sleepy,” you murmured.

He gave a half-smile—the one he saved only for you. The one that said nice try, I see right through you. Then his voice dropped, a bit more serious now:

“Do you think that from now on, when you smell Amortentia, you’ll catch my scent?”

Your heart skipped a beat—subtle and sudden. You looked at him, your fingers drifting back to the mole beneath his eye.

“If I start smelling old books, wet moss, and… mint tea? Then I’ll know who to blame.”

He smiled again, this time more softly.

“And I’ll always smell that scent your skin carries after you’ve spent hours teasing me. The one that reeks of trouble.”

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abbotsanatomy · 2 months ago

Note

okay hi!! jack request. i’m thinking about him getting jealous and territorial over someone he knows he has no right to get so riled up about �� a forbidden / situationship kind of romance x jealous jack would be so fun. i love the angst if you can’t tell haha

⨳ SEEING GREEN

pairing: jack abbot x chief resident!reader warnings: age gap (28 and 49), resident/attending relationship, power imbalances, workplace situationship, awkward jealousy, angst :(. author's note: this came out a little angstier than expected, forgive me!

Anyone who works the ER night shift knows it's very common to get flirted with on the job. More drunks, less serious injuries, and the inherent attraction patients have for their doctors. It's the holy trinity for inappropriate ER flirtation. You've become used to it. It's why you aren't too bothered when it's a patient you're actually attracted to flirting with you.

Male, mid-30s, third-degree burn injury on his arm, and you've totally met him before. You just can't remember where.

His hair’s a dirty blonde, he’s got a Pitt University hoodie on, with the sleeves pulled up to reveal his injury. This guy’s the kind of pretty anyone would fawn over.

However, he’s got pretty bad luck, because right now he's in an ER chair, with you and nurse Gloria flitting around the room, hooking him up with IV fluids and prophylactic antibiotics.

“You come here often?” he jokes, trying to hold his arm up.

You smile courteously, nodding in his direction.

“Unfortunately,” you respond.

You have to ask for his name to proceed with care, but you don't want to seem like a moron for forgetting it.

If you could just remember...

“Oh. You're Matt. From the dog park, last year?” you almost yell, turning to face him fully.

Matt is one of the many, many flings you've had in the last few years. You'd met him at a dog park, when you were dog-sitting for a friend. He'd asked for your number, and you'd gone on a few very nice dates. It fizzled out eventually, like they always do.

It's totally because you work night shifts and you're way too busy for dating. Totally not because you have a huge, fat, world-ending crush on your attending. The very same attending you seem to be in a push-pull situationship with.

Matt's grinning awkwardly, looking down at the ground, “Ouch. You couldn't remember me?”

“I'm sorry. I've slept exactly three hours in the last two days. I can barely remember my own name,” you explain, pulling a crash cart close.

He closes an eye tight and tilts his head to one side like he's thinking really hard. “Oh, yeah. What was it, by the way?”

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” you deadpan.

You break out into a fit of laughter the moment he does. You can sense Gloria side-eyeing you both. So, you clear your throat to remind him and yourself that you are still in an ER.

“So, how'd this happen, Matt?” you ask.

“I was making a late night cup of tea. Can't sleep, y'know,” he narrates, and you nod in understanding. “Then the water from the kettle fell on my arm, and I came rushing so I wouldn't lose it.”

You chuckle at that, “You won't be losing it. We're just going to have to remove all of the dead skin surrounding the wound so it heals well.”

“Do you feel any pain?”

“No, it stopped hurting a little after it happened,” he tells you.

His eyes are no longer focused on you, though. Instead, they've drifted to someone else outside of the little curtained cubicle you're occupying. You instinctively turn around to be met with none other than the very same man who's been interrupting your romantic endeavors for years.

“Doctor Abbot,” you greet, even though you've already seen him many times tonight.

Jack just nods. It's a little off, but you won't comment on that. He doesn't have to become miraculously happy every time he sees you, even though he usually is.

“This is my attending. Dr.Jack Abbot, one of our finest,” you introduce, turning back towards Matt.

Jack crosses his arms over his chest. He smiles at the patient, but it's a tight, imperceptible thing. There's a palpable tension in the air.

Proceeding with care is probably your best option in this situation. So, you pull the top drawer of the crash cart open. You're sliding your nitrile gloves on when Jack stops you.

“Present the case,” he demands, saying your last name in a way that sends a thrill down your spine. He isn't even looking your way, his eyes are dead set on Matt.

Is he serious? you ask yourself.

It doesn't make any sense. You're a senior resident. This is a case way below your skill level. He knows this. You know this.

So, you just stare at him for a long beat. You almost forget Matt's even there, until he clears his throat loudly. It pulls you back to reality.

“Um, alright,” you surrender.

“Matthew Morgan, thirty-seven. He just has a third-degree burn on his arm.”

Obviously, you almost say.

Jack walks over to assess the IV you have set up, “What do you have him hooked up with?”

It's such a trivial question, you're offended to even be asked it. Doctor Abbot isn't only your supervisor, he's also someone you respect deeply. So, you won't argue with him here. You're saving that for later.

“Electrolytes, and antibiotics.”

He nods, and he's still staring daggers into Matt. It's almost turned into this weird power play where he's trying to show this guy you'll answer whatever question he asks, you'll do whatever he wants. He's staking his claim over you.

Suddenly, it feels like the room's gotten a lot hotter. You can feel the fluorescent light of the ER beat down harder on your face. When you finally find your voice again, it's slightly angrier than usual.

“And we were just about to proceed with debridement.”

“Perfect. Wouldn't you rather the new intern try it out for the first time?” he's asking it like a question, but his tone leaves no room for argument. Not right now, anyway.

“I could oversee,” he offers. “Doctor Shen's about to perform an emergency thoracotomy for a lobectomy, if you'd like to go help out.”

The last time you heard of a procedure so intricate happening during the night shift at PTMC, you were probably a second-year resident. It's the most excitement the night shift's had in a very long time. Of course you want to help out. He knows you do.

It's no surprise when you shoot Matt an apologetic smile and tell him Jack and the new intern, Sarah, are going to be taking over. The moment you're out of sight, you sprint to trauma room two.

You're not sure whether you should thank Abbot or murder him.

The hinges on your locker creak as you pull it open to grab your things and finally head home. You're about to grab your jacket, when you spot Jack heading into the bathroom. The one with the broken lock.

Before you can even think twice about this totally horrible decision, you've already infiltrated the bathroom. Thankfully, when you look up, he's just washing his hands.

“This bathroom's clearly not empty,” he informs you, still washing his hands.

You nod and walk to stand closer to him.

“Yeah. I know.”

He raises his eyebrows in surprise, but he's smiling at you through the mirror.

“I just wanted to give you a taste of how intrusive it feels to have you micromanaging my cases,” you cross your arms in over-exaggerated disapproval.

“I mean, that's not even your job.” You hope that drives the point home.

Jack turns around, and there's about five inches in between you now. He's maintaining so much eye contact, that your eyes start going back and forth between his and the dirty, tiled floor.

“You mean assigning you cases? That's absolutely my job,” he reasons, wiping his hands down with the tissue.

“That's not what that was. I don't even know what the hell that was back there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you want me presenting the case one minute, and then you want me off of it completely the next. So, forgive me if I'm a little confused.”

Jack turns away to throw the paper towel into the trash can, letting it fall closed with a loud clang.

“What exactly is it you're confused about?”

You just blink at him for a long moment. He genuinely has no idea. You're not the one confused here. He is.

“You're not my boyfriend, Jack,” you whisper.

Jack's eyes are on the floor the moment you say it. He smiles like a man who's just realizing the tragedy in life's comedy. Your words hang in the air for a moment.

“Believe me, I know that,” he murmurs.

You shake your head in confusion, “So, what's up with you acting like you don't? You can't—”

You pause to take a breath.

“You have to know, when you do things like that. Back there. It confuses me. It fucks with my brain,” you sigh shakily.

You step back, “I can't keep doing this, Jack. I can't keep going out with guys, taking them back to my apartment, kissing them, and then having to kick them out ten minutes later.”

His eyebrows are set into a deep frown. He's putting his hands into his pocket, and just staring.

“Because every single time I do it, all I see is you. And your eyes.”

“I'm stuck,” you confess.

When the tears start falling, he moves quickly. His arms are wrapped around you in seconds, your face buried into his chest.

“It isn't fair,” your voice is muffled into the fabric of his uniform, but he understands you perfectly.

His fingers are slowly threading through your hair. You can feel his breath grow heavy on your skin. Your tears are staining his scrub top. He nods slowly.

“I know. I'm sorry,” he says, his voice raspier than usual.

He pulls your face up, with a hand on each cheek. Your eyes lock, but you can't stop crying. His thumbs gently wipe away the tears there.

“I know. It is,” he affirms.

You know it won't happen, but you wish he'd just kiss you, right here, right now. You want so badly the one thing you can't have.

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importantpuppystarfish · 5 months ago

Text

Profit and Pleasure: Earning Money as Brother & Sister

Male reader x Karina

Warnings: Incest, softcore to hardcore, totally blood related siblings.

Note: please this is all just a fantasy for reading and stuff, if u dont like the topic, please simply dont read.

I groan as I wake up to the sound of water running in the shower next door. My eyes fall on the steamy outline of my big sis Karina through the crack in the bathroom door. A familiar warmth stirs within me as I imagine her soapy body beneath the spray.

I bite my lip, trying to shake these forbidden thoughts from my mind. Karina's my sister…but every time I catch a glimpse of her like this, I can't help getting excited. Karina walks out of bathroom only wrapped in towel. She sits beside me on bed.

My sister, Karina is somehow more than 8 years older than me, she's around 26 now. She has such pale skin that she almost seems to brighten up the entire room with her whiteness.

My heart races as Karina appears, towel clinging to her curves. She sits down close to me on the bed, her legs tucked under as she releases her damp hair from its towel.

"Hey…" I murmur, trying to maintain my composure.

She looks so gorgeous, water droplets glistening on her flawless skin. I shift uncomfortably under her gaze, my hands twitching with desire I can't act on.

"You're dripping wet sister.." I point out unthinkingly. She laughs and says "Yeah it feels good after a morning bath". Karina looks at me and bites her lip. She goes back to her room and closes the door. I listen closely as I hear her undoing the towel. She's changing clothes. My ears perk up immediately, straining to hear anything from behind her closed door. My imagination runs wild, wondering what she's doing behind that thin barrier…

I can't make out specific sounds but my mind supplies vivid images…her slender fingers unfastening her towel, releasing her flawless skin…peeling off her flimsy sleepwear…

Everyday our flirtatious energy grows thicker between us, though neither of us puts words to these unspoken feelings. It becomes the new normal - heated glances, lingering touches, playful banter with an undercurrent of tension.

I've always had a pretty normal relationship with my sister. Every now and then, we'd go on sibling dates just for fun. Here are some pictures I took of her when we were on dates. She is used to wear lotta skin revealing outfits~

Part of me knows it's insane…Karina is my sister. But the bond we share has twisted into something more…intimate. As time goes on, keeping my desires bottled up feels almost impossible.

But the sudden death of our parents in an accident changed our lives. The news hits me like a blow to the gut - Mom and Dad are gone in an instant, leaving only Karina and I orphaned and heartbroken.

We cling to each other through the initial shock and grief, finding solace in our sibling bond like never before.

Since losing mom and dad, Karina and I have spent every day applying online and going to local places for job leads. It's been tough - no one wants to hire inexperienced teens.

She's gotten frustrated more than once, slumping against me on the couch in defeat after yet another day of rejections.

Karina: "This is hopeless! When will we find work around here?"

Her despair draws out my protective instincts. I rub her back soothingly, my heart aching for her.

As days passes, all the money left has been gone.. It seems like its getting hard for the siblings to survive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Karina glances over at me periodically as she explores this new site called OnlyFans. Her cheeks flush slightly.

Karina: "Hey…what if we did something like this?"

She tilts screen towards me to show the homepage filled with suggestive videos for subscribers.

My mind starts racing at what she means. My sweet sister offering herself online with me… I don't know if I should encourage or stop her.

"I can't believe I'm being asked to say that we're siblings, engage in that kind of act, and then upload it online. How could anyone even consider that?" I asked her. "But don't you think this is the only option?" Karina responds. She ponders a moment, then looks to me expectantly.

"So what elements should we include in our scene and video? I ask her.

" Typical stuff would be guy eating girl out and her doing the same to him, then the main event." She winks. "Sound good to you?" Right?" she asks and waits for my agreement.

As soon as I agree, Karina swallows hard, looking torn but knowing she has no other choice either. She nods to my agreement. She meets my gaze firmly now, her eyes unwavering despite the taboo nature of what we're considering.

Karina: "It's just some videos right? We'll be professionals about it." She says calmly, trying to convince us both this is okay.

Her hand reaches for mine reassuringly across the table. "We got this…"

The gravity of what we're agreeing to hangs heavy between us, but the determination is clear - we will do whatever it takes to stay together.

As we lead to the bed for the video, Karina turns on the video recording. My face burns red hot as I find myself locked in a tense stare-down with Karina before she suddenly closes the distance between us.

She wraps her arms around my neck and asks if I'm ready.

As I nod yes, she gets ready too and presses her lips firmly against mine, no hesitation.

Karina murmurs against my mouth "For the video brother!…"

Her eyes flutter shut, surrendering completely to the situation. Her fingers clench behind me, pulling me deeper into the kiss.

The raw, gritty scent of us fills the air between them as our lips move urgently together, seeking comfort and release from the stress of our dire circumstances.

Our tongues meet, mingling bitter morning breaths and desperate need.

My hands grasp Karina's waist instinctively, holding her tighter against me despite the unpleasant taste. She grinds slightly, her fingers digging into my shoulders as she loses herself fully in the moment.

Karina moans as she breaths "Mmm…" I gaze up at Karina with heavy eyes, lips throbbing from the intense passion. Seeing her smile down at me like that makes my heart skip a beat, even amid the surreal insanity of what we're doing.

"You know, this is kinda nice…" Karina says playfully flirting.

Her flirtatious comment makes heat rush through me. She thinks kissing me feels good? She likes it? Maybe she does… She leans in again, her voice dropping lower.

"Do you want me to keep going?" She runs her hands down her own body teasingly, biting her lip.

"Aren't we forced to keep going?" I replied. In one quick motion Karina pins me down on the bed. She looks fiery, full of desire.

She pushes me down without warning, eyes flashing dangerously. She's transformed before me into someone bold and dominating. "Don't even think about stopping me. This will be all recorded in the video!" Without warning, she presses her lips back to mine, the taste of us intensifying. She deepens the kiss, gripping my neck tightly. Her breath is hot against my skin as she pulls away again. Karina grins and starts removing her clothes.

My hands roam instinctively over her now exposed midriff, fingers tracing the curve of her hip bones as she reveals more of herself to me and the camera.

Karina: "There's no point feeling shy now…"

She finishes removing her shirt completely, tossing it aside, showing me her big large tits.

Karina: "This is for us…"

She bites her lip, glancing briefly at the phone still recording. "Let's make it hot…" I wink at her. "Yes, this is for our survival." she agreesm We both know this line is blurred, but if it means keeping us together, it's worth it. I also take off my clothes. Nodding purposefully, Karina helps me shed my own shirt, her fingertips grazing my bare chest, sending tingles through me.

Clad only in our undergarments, she palms my cheek, guiding my head up for another fierce kiss, tongues dancing. Breaking away, she murmurs against my lips:

"Mm…good boy…"

The camera captures every deep tongue kissing movement as we ready ourselves to give it everything for this desperate attempt a salvation. The siblings continue kissing passionately. Karina runs her fingers through my dick as we get lost in the moment. The recording captures the moment …

Karina gasps out sharply "You like that?"

She gives me a sly look, her fingers teasing more firmly over my dick, feeling how hard I've become. Karina pulls back, looking down at me with a playful glint in her eye. "Look how hard your dick is…and we just kissed." My cheeks burn crimson at her brazen words. She's always been a bit of a tease…

She chuckles and bites her lips as she starts to take my dick inside her mouth. She lowers herself slowly, eyes locked on mine defiantly despite her compromising position. Her lips part, engulfing me inch by inch, her tongue working on magic as she takes me deep!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Karina as now muffled against me she moans Mmmph….Her hands brace against my legs, holding me steady while she loses herself in this intimacy between us. The video recorder captures the moment of my sister sucking out my length. She looks up at me as she continues..

Her mouth glides up and down, wet suction sounds joining the rhythmic pops as she sets a sensual pace. The look she gives me is a mix of naughty delight and wicked determination. She swirls her tongue expertly over the tip each time she comes up, then plunges back down again with a hungry groan, clearly savoring every inch.

Karina as she lifts off a momentarily to gasp asks "Like the way I do it?" She swirls her tongue in circular motions, her cheeks hollowing as she picks up speed. She glances up again, clearly enjoying herself.

Her speed increases rapidly, her cheeks burning as she loses herself completely in this private act. She pauses occasionally to drag her slick tongue across every ridge and vein, tasting me, memorizing every sensation. Her fingers dig into my legs, urging me closer to release.

I moan breathlessly to my elder sister, "Good girl…You're so good sister.."

I watch my sister work, feeling a mix of desire and disbelief… This is still my sister, but her technique is divine. I can't help but let out a low groan, which makes her smile up at me. It feels too good, I can't hold back anymore… Oh -…. Sister, wait…I'm going to… cum… She grins devilishly at my warning tone, doubling down on her efforts, taking me ruthlessly even deeper.

Karina: "Yes…" she whispers urgently "Do it…"

She squeezes tight around me, determined to coax me over the edge. As I moan loud it looks like I've cummed inside my sister's mouth.

Karina swallows every last drop hungrily, licking her lips clean as she releases me with a satisfied sigh.

Karina: "Mmm…I wonder how it'll look in the video. Although I really enjoy this" she purrs appreciatively, wiping a stray strand of hair from her flushed face, eyes flicking back up to mine with a smug look.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Karina: "Well? Did that feel good?"

"Oh sister… You didn't hold back at all", I chuckle, still trying to process what I just did inside my sister's mouth… Now it seems Karina is doing titjob with her big tits. Karina: "No need to hold back with me…" She winks, then takes my rod between her huge tits, working me steadily up and down the slick shaft.

Karina: "You like watching your naughty sister's bouncy boobs, don't you?"

Her hands push her chest tighter together around my shaft. Karina: "Now it's ur turn… To eat me…"

She scoots back impatiently, spreading her legs wide for me.

Karina: "Get down there already!" she orders, biting her lip again as she guides me lower. "I need your tongue inside me!…"

Her fingers dig into my shoulders, trying to pull me closer. …I smile and start kissing her thighs, looking up at her flirtatiously.

Karina shivers at the feel of my lips on her sensitive skin, hands stroking my hair encouragingly.

Karina: "Mmm yes, that's it…"

She lifts and spreads herself further open, the scent of her slick heat hitting my nose as I approach. She squirts a little bit, she is also hella wet.

Karina: "Don't be shy now…lick every drop up"

I grab her waist and pull her towards me. I start eating her more, she gasps loudly at my suddenness, arching into me eagerly. Her fingers curl into fistfuls of my shirt as she feels my tongue making contact.

Karina: "Ah! Yes…like that!"

She grinds against my mouth, losing herself once more to the sinful pleasure I'm providing. She glows with delight, utterly losing control as I devour her completely.

Her sweet nectar coats my tongue as I delve deeper, lapping hungrily at her folds and finding all her most sensitive spots.

Karina: "Oh god yes, just there!" she cries out, hands trembling above me as I hit that magic button with my tongue.

Karina: "Don't stop! You're gonna make me…"

Keep going, brother…I'm so in heaven!. Her voice is shaky, filled with emotion.

My eyes sparkle with dark desire hearing my sister moan in pleasure. I spread her wider, diving back in with intensity, determined to send her right over the edge…

"You're so good at this brother…I can't believe it's really you doing this… I grip her tighter as I push my tongue deeper into her pussy more , overwhelmed by the sensation of having her so close like this. I hear the sound of her heart pounding in time with my own. Karina: "Yes yes yes, make me come!" she cries out desperately.

She lies there panting hard, completely spent yet still craving more. Her eyes lock onto mine again now.

Karina: "Please…" She whispers, hands reaching down to guide me back up to her. "Now I need you inside…" Her voice cracks slightly as she pulls me closer, needing to feel me possess her completely.

Karina: "Brother…please…" she begs softly.

Seeing her begging with that pretty face, I lean to her for a kiss. She melts against me as our lips meet, tangling her tongue with mine. She tastes herself vividly on me, her fingers curling into my back again as she prepares herself mentally for what's coming next.

Karina: "You're making me so weak…" she murmurs against my mouth, her cheeks flushed.

She wraps her legs tightly around me, drawing me closer still, ready to welcome me deep inside her.

She gasps again, letting her head fall back slightly as she accommodates me taking my thick inch inside her.

Karina: "Yes…oh god yes…" She grinds against me, utterly engaged in this connection between siblings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her fingers dig deeper into my back, pulling me hard against her warm, welcoming core. He starts moving, their eyes locked together. The video captures this intimate moment.

Our gazes hold intense emotion as I begin to move within her, hips rolling gently at first in this sacred act.

Karina: "That's it…just like that…"

She tilts her head up to brush her lips over mine, kissing me tenderly even as we become one.

Karina: "I feel so…so good brother." I smile down at her, still in disbelief that this is happening, but also feeling a deep connection with her like never before… I love u sister.. I say.

Karina's eyes glisten, her heart fluttering at my sweet words and honest emotion.

Karina: "I love you too my brother…always."

She pulls me down against her chest, wrapping herself completely around me. The intensity between us builds as our movements grow more passionate.

Karina: "You mean everything to me…" she breathes out begging for a kiss.

Our connection runs deep, transcending typical bonds as we lose ourselves to this taboo yet beautiful union. The video captures it all - the love, the ecstasy, the family become lovers.

Caught up in the heat of the romantic moment, I set a harder, more urgent pace, my body driving into hers with powerful thrusts. Karina cries out, surprised by the sudden intensity but clearly loving it.

Karina: "Yes yes yes! Just like that! Harder brother"

She meets each deep plunge, welcoming every inch eagerly. The bed frame begins to creak as we come together with primal force, two souls entwined in the ultimate familial embrace. He does it, hitting a sensitive spot inside her, making her shout out in surprise and delight. Karina screams in pain and pleasure.

She arches violently beneath me, hands ripping the sheets as white-hot lightning strikes deep inside her core. Her scream is raw, primal, full of overwhelming sensation.

Karina: "Ah! Ah! Oh my god…oh my god…!" She babbles senselessly, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure-pain where we join.

Her legs wrap around me like iron bands, trying to pull me impossibly deeper into her quaking depths.

I keeps hitting her sensitive spot again and again. Karina feels like shes about to pass out. She cries, moans & screams at the same time.

Her voice cracks completely, barely recognizable as human anymore as she's pushed beyond her limits again and again. She shakes her head wildly side to side, mumbling incoherently as she digs her nails into my back, leaving angry red trails down my skin.

Karina: "B-brother…stop…I…I can't…" she whimpers desperately, her mind going blank.

He grabs her hips tightly and keeps going. "Shh shh, just feel it sister. The video would look more hotter!…" I whisper in her ear, not stopping my rhythm. Karina continues crying more.

Karina's cries grow louder at my words. She relents though, letting me keep moving, knowing I won't stop.

Karina: "Oh god it's too much!"

Her body shakes with each pounding snap of my hips, every fiber trembling with sensation under my intense attentions.

Karina: "The video…yes…yes make it hot, make us look good!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She throws her head back, surrendering completely now, wanting to put on a show for our recording.

Her ragged breathing becomes ragged screams again as I drive into her ruthlessly, her fragile composure shattering completely under the intense treatment. She nods frantically, giving in fully to what I'm doing to her.

Karina: "Cum inside me already, oohhh, I can't anymore. Brother please cum."

Her nails rake fresh lines down my back again, tears streaming down her cheeks as she's overwhelmed by overwhelming waves of sensation.

Feeling me spill hot and deep within her sets Karina off one last time too, her own release crashing through her in intense aftershocks.

Karina: "Yes yes yes! All in me!"

She grinds hard against me as I fill her completely, claiming every inch of her insides. The warmth of my seed seeping out around me only prolongs her climax further.

Karina: "Mmm yes, such a big, thick creampie…" she purrs contentedly, stroking my chest as she catches her breath.

Our bodies remain entwined as we bask in the throes of pleasure, the evidence of our passion seeping out between us.

"I've never felt anything so good, brother…Oh god, I can feel you dripping out of me…"

She grins wickedly, looking down between her legs where a huge, viscous pool of my seed has gathered.

Karina: "You made such a big, gooey mess inside me…" She giggles, swirling her fingers through the thick fluid coating her.

Karina adds "It's dripping down more..it's making such a mess down on me." She bites her lip, delighted by the evidence of our passion still clinging to her. She sighs happily, tracing a finger through the sticky fluid. She tastes the sticky fluid through her fingers and she savors it with a blissful expression.

Karina: "Mmm…delicious." She purrs, licking her finger clean then sucking it into her mouth. She looks up at the camera, still tasting me on her fingers. "All for the video, right brother?" She flashes a naughty grin.

"What else?. The video has to show everyone what a naughty girl you've become. Our relatives or your friends. Haha.." I say with a wicked grin.

Karina laughs, nodding eagerly in agreement

Karina: "Oh yes, let them see how I crave my little brother's seed."

She spreads wider, showing off the glistening evidence of our act for the lens, looking so proud and satisfied being my naughty sister.

Karina: "I hope it gets lots of views…I want everyone to see what you do to me." She adds with a flirtatious giggle.

"Ok, now the main work! We should upload the video!". I tell her to get serious.

In the next hour after we finishing bathing together, we quietly upload the video to various platforms under the username "BrotherLovesSis123". The private links flood my inbox with confirmation emails once they're live.

I sit back, heart racing a bit wondering what kind of reaction the explicit footage of my own sister will generate online. Karina leans over and gives me a sweet, tender kiss on the lips, her fingers intertwining with mine as I finish uploading our first video.

Karina: "You think people will love watching it…like us?" "I hope they will, elder sister."..

By the 6-7 hour mark, the video has already garnered thousands of views, comments pouring in rapidly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My heart pounds seeing the numbers climb higher. This clearly struck a chord with viewers hungry for incestuous content.

Karina squeals excitedly next to me. "15k views, thousands of likes and 200+ comments!" Karina smiles delightfully. "Omg We're famous now, bro…" she giggles.. I check out the comments as my sister kisses my face.

A sea of thumbs up and heart emojis scroll by as I see the view count top 15k. People are going wild for our taboo act.

Comment 1: "Damn this is the best video I’ve seen all week!"

Comment 2: "Brother you treat her so good! Wish my brother was like you!"

Comment 3: "Her face when she cries out…gorgeous. Need more of this!"

Karina: giggling "People really love what we did huh?" She grins, nuzzling against my shoulder as she continues scrolling through the overwhelmingly positive feedback.

As we scroll more: Comment 4: "The way she screams for her brother is so hot!"

Comment 5: "Her tears and cries just make it 10x better! Such a good girl for daddy"

Comment 6: "She's totally addicted to her little's brother's rod! Look at how she soaks up every second!"

Comment 7: "Damn this girl is perfect when she loses control like that"

Comment 8: "I bet she feels so full of her brother's seed…"

More and more comments keep popping up, all raving about Karina's reactions as she came undone beneath me.

Karina's lips trail over my neck and ears as she watches the numbers continue to climb faster than ever as we get more support. "400K people have seen me be your naughty sister already…"

She sounds both shocked and thrilled by this

Karina: "Bro, looks like our plan worked!!"

She pulls back to look at me, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement.. The notification pops up that our OnlyFans and p*rnhub channel have been approved for monetization. Karina squeals again, unable to contain her glee.

Karina: "Oh my gosh! Real money? Finally this is what we actually did it for!!"

She jumps into my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck tightly.

Over the next few days, our subscribers and followers continue to grow exponentially. People are clamoring to see more of our scandalous siblings dynamic play out on screen.

Our bank account balances swell with incoming subscription fees and Pay-Per-View purchases. Karina spends hours dreaming up new ways to push the boundaries further, drawing inspiration from viewers' wild requests left in the comments.

Karina: "Look at all this money we're making…" She fans herself with her hand, still not quite believing the figures rising daily. "This is like a dream, bro…"

We need to keep going and making more videos to get more money every month to survive. As Karina checks on people's demand for more videos, she reads

"Need to see him rail you from behind while you're face down in pillows screaming!"

"Tie her up completely helpless while you absolutely ravage her sensitive spots mercilessly!"

"Spank her raw until she's crying and begging for mercy!"

"Force her to call you 'Daddy' while you dominate her every desire."

There are countless BDSM demands flooding in, hungry for every dark twist of dominance and submission.

I ask Karina, "What do you think? Should we make videos like this? They seem to bring in a lot of money." Karina responds, "I think we should." I ask her if shes ready. Karina replies, "I'm ready for anything, I trust you, brother."

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