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[mainexiii]

Brainless Baby

Boyfriend!Felix x Afab!Reader x Best Friend!Hyunjin

♡ Genre - Explicit Sexual Content [MDNI]

♡ Word Count - 4k

♡ Summary - "You're the only guy to ever make me crawl"

♡ Warnings - Hyunlix action (mxm), Oral ( m & f rec.), Cum sharing, dom/sub dynamics (sub Hyunjin, Dom Felix & Reader) , unprotected sex, creampie [I think that's all] ♡ a/n - What's a plot? We don't know her. We just know the pure filth that is this fic. Would you believe me if I said that I haven't even seen the SKZ Code with that line that inspired this fic? I'm so behind. Anyway, Hope you enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡ MDNI

✧ Masterlist ✧

You like to say that you’re the best friend that anyone can have and you think that Hyunjin would agree if you asked him. You’re the type of person who takes pride in helping a friend in need. Someone needs money? You’ll lend them some. One of your friends needs help moving? You’ll lend a hand. Your best friend is feeling stressed from work? You’ll invite him over to fuck you and your boyfriend. It’s simple. 

Ever since you started inviting Hyunjin into your bedroom with your boyfriend, Felix, it’s been a rollercoaster ride. Since you and your partner are more of the kinky type each scene has been an adventure. It can range from simple planned out play to completely unpredictable. Even with you knowing all of that you never thought that you’d see something like this.

"You're the only guy to ever make me crawl." Hyunjin huffed with a smile as he looked up at the blonde smirking down at him. "You're just gonna let him do this to me, princess?"

He looks up at you with a playful glint in his eye. He doesn't hate this as much as he wants you to think he does but it's fun to play along. 

"I don't know I kinda like you on your knees" You kneel to Hyunjin’s level, running your fingers through his hair before closing your fist around the locks and forcing his head back slowly. A groan escapes him.

"Doesn't he look pretty down there, angel?" Felix kneels down to your level so that he's face to face with Hyunjin. "You wanna get up?"

You expected Hyunjin to roll his eyes. You expected him to tell you both that he obviously wants to get up with that annoyed rasp to his voice but he doesn't. He whimpers instead, shaking his head to the best of his ability while he whispers to you both. "I don't "

"You wanna stay on your knees for us? Follow us around on all fours like a pet?" Felix coos, his condescending tone pulls a whine from Hyunjin's throat. The blonde takes his middle and pointer finger and places it under Hyunjin's chin. He tips his head up so that there's nowhere else to look but at him. "You wanna be a good boy for me today, Hyunjinnie?"

 It’s seldom that Hyunjin lets his guard down like this. You and Felix have had this dynamic with him for close to a year now but he’s never taken on the submissive role like this. He’s more of the stubborn type, rolling his eyes and making you or Felix force him into submission but never fully going into the headspace. It’s always just enough to blow off some steam. 

You know that Hyunjin leads a busy life, that’s why he comes to you two. He says that he likes to relinquish control after the long and hard days of doing what everyone else wants him to do. He likes to put a chunk of his trust into the hands of you and Felix but it’s never this much. He never hands it all over. 

When he called you yesterday to set up today's meeting he mentioned something about not wanting to have to think anymore. He said that he just wants to exist and be told what to do, what to think, what to say. He said that he needed a break and that’s exactly what he’s getting.

“C’mere” Felix beckons the raven haired boy with two fingers as he walks three steps in front of him. You follow behind, trailing slowly as you watch Hyunjin follow the younger's orders. “Feeling brainless today, baby?”

Hyunjin shakes his head, no hesitation or thought to what he’s agreeing to at all. “That’s alright.” Felix’s accent is thick on his tongue as he stops walking, turning to the boy behind him with a sweet smile that contradicts all pending action. 

“We’ll take care of you, won’t we angel?” He glances up at you with the same smile.

“Such good care of you. I promise, Hyune.” You pet his head and he melts into the touch. You can’t help but to stare at him, awestruck by how fast he’s fallen into this headspace. He’s never been this far gone before. 

Hyunjin runs his tongue over his bottom lip before sucking the corner of it into his mouth. Felix notices and takes a step closer. His two fingers find a spot under Hyunjin’s chin once again, guiding the eldests gaze to his. “Need something?” Felix runs the tip of his thumb over Hyunjin’s bottom lip, freeing the corner from his teeth. 

“What do you need, pretty boy?” The rumble of Felix’s tone makes you press your thighs together seconds before Hyunjin does the same. Your best friend peers up at you with his big brown eyes glazed in a way that you’ve never seen before. He looks between you two, waiting for someone to decide what it is that he needs. 

“I think that he needs his mouth full, Lix.” Hyunjin nearly crumbles at your feet once your suggestion hits the air. His eyelids flutter shut for just a second as he sucks the corner of his lip back into his mouth.

You step closer to Hyunjin so that he can lean his head on the side of your leg. You watch as his fingers spread and the tips slightly dig into the carpet beneath him in anticipation. 

“Is that it?” Felix blinks down at Hyunjin with a teasing gaze as he slowly slips his finger between Hyunjin’s plump blushed lips. You watch, bare cunt dripping under your skirt as Hyunjin welcomes every bit of Felix’s finger into his mouth. 

The younger exhales a shaky breath as the kneeling boy swirls his tongue around the digit with a light moan. He sucks lightly while mindlessly bobbing his head a bit. His glistening eyes stare up at Felix like he’s hung the stars in the sky. You’re speechless. Wildly turned on but utterly speechless.

 Felix's finger slides in and out of Hyunjin's mouth at a slow, agonizing pace. The younger fights back a full body shudder as Hyunjin gets lost in the action. 

Your hand moves on its own as you watch them. You stroke Hyunjin’s freshly cut hair at the back of his head to coax him further into his relaxed state. 

 Felix's watches with an amused twinkle of satisfaction in his eyes as Hyunjin moans at the pressure of him pressing the pad of his thumb down onto the middle of his tongue. His eyes knit together as your boyfriend slowly pries his mouth open. Felix bends to Hyunjin’s level once again as he slides his finger out of Hyunjin’s mouth and replaces the digit with his tongue. He leans in quickly, pulling your friend into a slow and sloppy kiss.  

Hyunjin’s hand finds your ankle and the tips of his fingers sink into the flesh as Felix explores his mouth. He whines against your boyfriend, moaning and pushing into the kiss with a desperation that you’re not sure that you could ever match. 

A quiet moan slips past your lips as you watch them. Your pulse picks up at the naughty scene unfolding in front of you as you take in every inch of them. Every detail. You and Felix have opened your relationship to help several other friends, you’ve seen Felix dom some of your friends, some of his friends and even some strangers but this feels different. It feels so hot and effortless like he’s been preparing for the day that Hyunjin lets his guard down. 

The feeling of a new hand on the outside of your leg makes you jump, pulling your focus away from the boys in front of you and down to the source.You watch as Felix’s hand trails up the front of your leg, slithering up your calves and tickling the inside of your thigh before it disappears under your skirt. “Fuck.” He rasps, his mouth still semi full of Hyunjin’s tongue.

He nips down on Hyune’s bottom lip as he pulls away, a thin line of spit connects them until Felix turns to look up at you. “Watching us made you that wet, angel?” 

 While Felix is talking to you Hyunjin stares up at your boyfriend with a dazed expression. He’s fucked out, there isn’t a single thought in his head that makes sense. “How about we have this sweet boy taste you.” 

Hyunjin switches the target of his attention. He stares up at you as he sits back on his knees, still on all fours just how Felix wanted him. He almost looks like a cat waiting patiently for its meal. “C’mere Hyune.”

He scoots forward and you lift the front of your skirt to show off your bare cunt to him. He whimpers, squeezing his thighs together once again and looking up at you with watery eyes that are desperate to spill over with tears of pure pleasure. “Stick your tongue out.” You instruct softly and Felix watches it all from behind him. Hyunjin quickly obeys, poking out the muscle over his bottom lip with his head tilted back just enough to see both you and Felix at the same time. 

“Sit on it, sweetheart.” Felix takes your hand that’s not holding up your skirt and leads you forward until your cunt is resting on Hyunjin’s tongue. He moans just as you do, your head kicks back with eyes shut tight as he starts to lave over your swollen bud. The tip of his tongue dips and weaves between your folds sloppily encouraging your well watered flower to spill over his chin as he gets more into it. 

Your moans are echoing through the room and Felix listens to them like music. “Looks like he did need his mouth full, huh?” Felix muses while he combs his fingers through Hyunjin’s long locks.

 Hyunjin's eyes roll back and he lets out a satisfied sigh. “C’mon make my baby feel good.”  Felix fists Hyunjins hair and pushes him further against you. He groans, his nose is pushed up against your pubic mound as he sucks and swirls your clit. 

“Hyune, Hyunjin, ‘m gonna cum.” His thighs press together and his fingers twist and fist at the shaggy living room carpet beneath him. Felix notices it all, he notices everything. From the way that you’re rocking your hips against Hyunjin’s mouth and pinching your nipples over your shirt to the way that Hyunjin’s hard cock desperately twitches in his slacks in a pathetic attempt to feel any friction at all. “Oh fuck fuck fuck.” 

Felix gets behind you to make sure that you stand steady as you come undone on Hyunjin’s tongue. If you were dripping before then you are pouring now, soaking up every inch of Hyunjin’s chin with your sweet water. 

Felix kisses the curve of your neck as you come down from your high and Hyunjin kitten licks and cleanses every bit of you that he can reach. He’s so far gone, so fucking horny that he’s damn near panting for more. He needs more. “That’s my girl.” Felix leads you back and over to the couch so that you can take a second to come down from space. 

He sets his sights back on the cat-like boy a couple of steps away from you. You blink a couple of times in an attempt to take him in. He’s still in his work clothes, a white button up untucked from his black slacks with the first four buttons undone. There are wet spots on his collar and by his buttons courtesy of your dripping cunt. His dick is rock hard in his slacks, straining dangerously against the bulging zipper. It’s practically begging for attention. His hands are in fists and his lips are still wet, so fucking wet. 

“And that’s my boy.” Hyunjin’s hazy eyes nearly sparkle once Felix starts towards him. Your boyfriend grins with a faint chuckle. “She’s so sweet isn’t she?” Hyunjin nods, never breaking eye contact with Felix. 

“Care to share?” The blonde kneels, tipping Hyunjin’s chin up with a single finger before licking up his lips to collect your lingering arousal. He plants sloppy kisses against his lips that Hyunjin struggles to keep up with but tries to reciprocate anyway. “So damn good.”

He leans back, looking your best friend in the eye for a second or two before leaning in and kissing Hyunjin's forehead. His lips linger there for a few moments before he pulls away. “You did so good for her.”

Your vision is clearer now as you watch them from your spot on the couch, cunt still dripping. “Thank you, Hyune.” You coo and the corner of his mouth nearly turns up in a smile but that would require thought and he can’t seem to think right now. 

“He’s gone dumb, baby.” Felix stands, leaving Hyunjin on his knees. “Come.” He beckons him with two fingers and Hyunjin follows, crawling close behind Felix until he takes a seat next to you on the couch. 

“Let’s see if he can go dumb on my cock now.” Felix unties his sweatpants and Hyunjin audibly falls apart just for a second. He moans, bucking into the air as he sits back on his knees. “You wanna suck it? Or do you want me to fuck you?”

Hyunjin bites at his bottom lip, watching carefully as Felix frees himself from his sweats. “I think our brain-dead baby still wants his mouth full. Poor thing, isn’t satisfied yet.” You speak up for Hyunjin, leaning over and patting his head as he waits to have his mouth busy again. 

 “Poor thing.” Felix teases. “Lemme see your tongue.” 

Hyunjin sticks out the muscle just as he did before, perfectly flat over his bottom lip. Felix beckons him closer with a bent finger and Hyunjin leans forward so that he’s no longer sitting on his knees. He’s on all fours again. 

Felix slaps the tip of his cock against Hyunjins tongue with a deep groan. He rubs it back and forth a bit to tease the eager boy as spit drips off the tip of his tongue. “Suck.” Hyunjin acts immediately, wrapping his lips around Felix’s ruddy tip with a satisfied moan. His eyes flutter shut as he swirls his tongue and your boyfriend throws his head back against the couch at the feeling. 

“That fucking mouth.” You lean over, stretching your arm over Felix’s chest and splaying your hand over his toned stomach. 

“Is he better than me, Lixie?” Your boyfriend looks over at you with pinched brows and a fucked out glint in his eyes. The corner of his mouth turns up into a smile as he shakes his head. 

“Close.” He runs his hand up your bare arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. You don’t take your eyes off of him while he touches you. “But nothing can beat your mouth, baby.”

You lean in with a smile but it melts away once your lips meet Felix’s. He licks into your mouth with a hot desire that you feel right in your core. He moans into you and you swallow it with a greedy thirst for more. More of him, more of Hyunjin, more pleasure. More of everything. 

“Shit.” He rasps against your lips and you pull away to look down at Hyunjin. His eyes are closed as he bobs his head, deep throating Felix every now and then with drool running from the corners of his plump lips and over his chin. He’s more of a mess than before and it’s so hot. So damn hot that you just have to give your cunt some more attention. 

You open your legs wide enough for one of them to almost drape over Felix’s knee and you snake your hand down to where you're drenched for the boys in front of you. Your fingers carefully run over your swollen clit, it’s still sensitive from Hyunjin’s skillful attack but it feels too good to care. “Greedy, baby.” Felix tsks as he pulls you back in for a sloppy kiss. 

Your fingers dip into your cunt and after a bit of playing on your own Felix’s nimble fingers find your clit to show it some attention. You turn into a moaning mess just like Hyunjin. A desperate cry leaves him with each bob of his head. “Fuck, Hyune. Look at me, baby. Eyes on me lemme see em.” 

Hyunjin looks up at Felix with watery eyes clouded with lust and a drooling mouth full of his cock. It’s hot. It’s so hot that you’re shaking and cumming the second that you see him like that. 

Hyunjin whimpers and bucks his hips at the sight of you coming undone again. His straining cock brushes against the couch and it feels so good that he chokes on the throbbing cock in his throat.

 “Wanna touch yourself?” Felix asks, voice raspy with his pending orgasm lingering in the pit of his stomach. Hyunjin moans, blinking up at Felix in a desperate attempt to beg. “Jerk your cock while you suck me off.”  

That’s all Hyunjin had to hear to get his hands to rush down and pop the button of his slacks. The zipper undid itself with the pressure of his cock against it. He moans more wildly around your boyfriend's dick now that he has his own in his fist. He hisses as he polishes the angry tip, nearly choking on spit as he takes a sharp inhale. 

With Hyunjin’s attention split between himself and Felix the younger decides to help the desperate boy complete his original task. Felix’s hand fists Hyunjin’s hair and starts to help him bob his head over him. He speeds up and slows down to his heart's content until his cock is twitching in your best friend's mouth. “Gonna - fucking nut. Gonna fucking cum.”

Hyunjin is damn near crying as he works his cock and Felix’s in tandem. He’s a mess of moaning and groaning. His eyes are rolling back, spit is dripping down his chin and chest while pre-cum paints his throat and his fist. He’s fucked out. Debauched. 

“Ah, shit.” Felix bucks up into his throat, halting all movement as he spills his load into Hyunjin’s mouth. “Don’t swallow.” He grunts his demand through clenched teeth as he rides out his orgasm. He thrusts once, twice, three times into Hyunjin’s mouth before he slowly pulls out. 

“Fuck.” You and Felix hiss at the same time when a bit of cum drips down Hyunjin’s chin. He keeps his mouth closed while he strokes his own cock. He’s waiting for instruction, he’s waiting for you two to say that he can cum. “C’mere Jinnie.” 

He stops touching himself so that he can crawl in between you and Felix on the couch. He looks like a cat again, a desperate little kitty. 

You and Felix both move into him, your fingertips grazing over his skin as you unbutton his shirt further to reveal more of him. Once his chest is on display you lean in and brush your tongue over one of his hard nipples. He always tells you that that does close to nothing for him but the reaction you get from him as you wrap your lips around the bud would deem that a lie. 

“You’ve been so good.” You coo, kissing a trail up over his clavicle and licking bruising kisses into the skin of his neck.

“Such a good boy for us.” Felix fists Hyunjin's twitching cock and he moans into the air, throwing his head back with pinched brows as he twists his fist over his length. 

When Hyunjin leans up to get a look at the way that Felix is jerking him off you both lean in. Your mouths meet in a sloppy and passionate three way kiss that has Felix’s cum leaking from between Hyunjin’s lips and into your mouths. You moan at the familiar taste of Felix’s arousal and Felix moans at the mess spilling over his chin and down his neck.  

Felix pulls away and you take over the kiss, licking up all of the cum you missed and trailing sloppy kisses back down Hyunjin’s neck to collect what the two of you missed. While you're busy with that Hyunjin has his eyes on Felix who is spitting all of the cum he collected in his mouth onto Hyunjin’s cock. The warmth slides down his shaft in a sinful slow mo that makes Hyunjin’s toes curl. 

The lewd squelching of Hyunjin’s cum covered cock fucking Felix’s fist fills the room and you can feel the man next to you start to unravel with desperation. “Wanna cum, Hyune?” He’s nodding violently, moaning while staring over at you. “Here.”

You nod over at Felix and the two of you silently agree to switch. You throw your leg over Hyunjin to straddle his sticky cock while Felix pulls him in for a sloppy kiss. You position his pulsing tip at your soaked hole and he slips right in. 

“Gahh - Fuck. Fuck.” Hyunjin breaks his silence as he pulls away from Felix’s lips and throws his head back with a loud cry. He presses his hips into you, reaching you impossibly deep. “Can’t, can’t. Fuck, baby I can’t.” 

You grind against him, purposely clenching around him to pull some deeper cries from him. “Nghhahhh - Fuck. Lix, can I? Can I cum? Please, please, need it. Need to.”

He’s rambling as you start to bounce over him. He tries his damn best to look over at Felix and beg for his release. He really does try but his eyes just keep rolling back and fluttering shut. He can barely breathe right. His breath keeps getting stuck in his chest until he exhales with a shaky moan. 

“She feels so good doesn’t she? You like her riding your cock?” Hyunjin shakes his head, words don’t make sense anymore. He doesn’t think that they ever will again. He bites his lip so hard that he could draw blood. “Wanna ride mine like that when she’s done?”

“Shit.” Hyunjin hisses and Felix smiles that cocky smile that you seem to find contagious at the moment. “Please, please - gahhh - gotta cum.”

Felix looks over at you and you at him. He winks at you and you take that as your cue. You lean forward, wrapping your arms around Hyunjin’s neck and pulling his messy chest closer to you until he’s flush against you. His arms wrap around your waist as he lets you fuck him, he’s holding on for dear life. His honey skin is tinted red and he’s holding his breath until he hears you say it.

“Cum for us, Hyunjinnie.” A moan rips through him and he’s breathing again. His eyes are screwed shut and his fingers dig into you so hard that you just know that It’ll leave delicious bruises behind. He holds you still against him and starts fucking up into you desperately.

The sound of skin slapping against skin is decorated with your twin moans and Felix watches it all with his hardening cock between his fingers as he strokes it languidly. 

“Ah fuck.” He thrusts into you one last time before you feel him start to fill you up. Ropes of his hot sticky cum fall right on top of the other and collect around his cock that’s still plugging your pulsing hole. You grind against him, helping him ride out his orgasm as aftershocks of it all zap through him. 

“There we go.” You pepper kisses over his face as he pants beneath you, his head rests against the back of the couch and sweat beads and falls from his hairline. You comb back the hair sticking to his glistening skin with a smile. “How’re you feeling?”

“I-” He swallows hard, trying his best to form any words at all. “I’m good.”  

You chuckle, placing a quick kiss on his lips before starting to untangle the two of you. “You need water.” You move to get it once you’re up and Felix watches you walk away with Hyunjin’s cum sliding down the inside of your thigh. 

“You did well.” Felix pulls Hyunjin closer to rest on his shoulder. “Are you done for the day? Are you satisfied?”

The raven haired boy looks up at your blonde lover with that same fucked out gaze. It’s still hazy. Still desperate. “Not even close.” 

Thank You For Reading! Please Reblog or Comment to let me know how you liked it! It makes my day! 💕

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[mainexiii]

𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 ; 𝐛𝐜

𝐭𝐰: [afab!reader. angst at the beginning (not between chris and the reader). breakup (also not chris and the reader). best friend!chris. confessions. nipple play. cunnilingus. sliiiiiight pussy job if you squint. first time (together, they’re both experienced though). unprotected penetrative sex (don’t.). creampie. bff2l trope. fluff.]

𝐰𝐜: 5,7k;

🏷️: @silentcry01 , @capitainesyallin , @becomingmina , @cottontailtoy , @warpedspirit , @newhope8 (i tagged you since you interacted with my post but do tell me if it makes you uncomfortable and i'll remove your name!) ;

[check out my masterlist here]

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭. 18+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢. 𝐢 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬/𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬. 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬.

─── ⋆⋅🥛🍯⋅⋆ ──

When Chris opens his door you’re there in front of him. 

The pouring rain has soaked you from head to toe, clothes sticking to your body and it’s the worst feeling ever. When you raise your head and your eyes meet his, Chris’ breath hitches in his throat - they’re red and puffy and teary and it’s breaking his heart. You look absolutely shocked and devastated and he doesn’t know what to do to help you. 

“What… what…” he opens and closes his mouth a few times, unable to formulate a more complex sentence such as what are you doing here so late? or what happened? 

“Can I come in?” Your lips quiver as you speak, voice broken. You sniffle. 

Chris blinks a couple of times and then he comes to his senses. Stepping aside, he nods rapidly. “Of course. Sure, of course. Come in.”

He doesn’t give a fuck about the fact that you’re practically dripping and wetting the floor, his only preoccupation right now is making sure you’re safe and taken care of. Chris runs to his bedroom leaving you there, shaking and trembling and dumbfounded - he comes back a couple of minutes later with one of his hoodies and long sweats and a pair of warm socks. 

“You should change. Go take a shower and dry yourself. You can put these on, they’re clean.”

“It’s not… you don’t have to,” you hiccup, still crying, and then you sneeze. 

Chris cups your face in his large hand, brushing your puffy cheek with his thumb. “I don’t want you to get sick. C’mon. I’ll make you a cup of warm milk with your favourite cookies.” 

With one last sniffle and a weak nod, you accept the fresh clean clothes and make your way towards Chris’ bathroom. The feeling of the hot stream of water hitting your body is somehow regenerating, and once you step outside you feel light as a feather and so relaxed that you almost forget why you were upset in the first place. Chris’ clothes feel warm on your body and oddly familiar - maybe it’s his scent that makes you feel home, or maybe it’s the fact that you actually are in his home, wearing his clothes after you just got out of his shower. The tears are back, prickling in your eyes, and a few of them actually slip from your eyes before you can stop them. 

“Here you are,” Chris smiles at you as soon as he spots your figure standing in the hallway. You look so cute in his clothes. “Your milk is ready.” 

“With… with honey?” You pout and a smile spreads on Chris’ face. 

He nods. “Of course. Two teaspoons, as usual.” 

The tears are back, and so is the traitor lump in your throat you get every time you look at Chris or whenever he does something that shows extra care towards you. “I’ve… there’s… my wet clothes. I didn’t know where…” 

Chris shakes his head as a no, “ah, don’t worry about that. I’ll do the laundry and put them in the dryer. They’ll be ready before you know it. Just, please, come drink your milk.”

He leaves you a warm blanket for you to wrap around your legs, especially your feet, since he knows they’re always freezing cold. The milk is perfect, just the way you like it - two tablespoons of honey and your favourite cookies. It still amazes you, sometimes, the way Chris knows you like the back of his hand. You hear the sound of the washing machine going off, and then you hear footsteps, and then Chris is back. 

“Is it good?” He asks, sitting on the end of the couch, looking at you with a soft smile and warm, brown eyes. 

“It’s perfect,” you lower your gaze to the now half-empty mug, circling its rim with the tip of your finger. “Thank you, Chris.” 

“Ah, shut up. Don’t even think about thanking me.” Chris squeezes your foot, which makes you chuckle. “You feel like talking to me?”

“About… about what?”

“About whatever was the reason why you showed up here looking shocked and soaking wet.”

“Oh,” you murmur, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset at you. Just worried. I want to help you, please talk to me,” he pleads, worried - you can read it in his eyes, in the way he’s fidgeting with the silver bracelet wrapped around his wrist, in the way he’s biting on his lip. 

It’s time to let your walls down, it’s time to tell him the truth. Why are you so scared? It’s your best friend, the man sitting in front of you, and not a total stranger - however, part of you feels as if it’s even worse right now. With him, you know you can be yourself and one hundred percent honest, but right now everything feels different and you don’t know whether things will be the same ever again if you do tell him the truth. 

“We broke up.”

Chris feels a pang in his chest, knowing how you must feel right now. Broken and lost, not knowing what to do. He’s found himself in that exact situation before, when his long-term relationship had ended, leaving him heartbroken and hurt. You looked devastated when you showed up at his doorstep… He wishes he could ease your pain, make you feel better, but right now the only thing he can do is be there for you. 

“I’m so sorry, flower,” Chris squeezes your foot once again. “Was it… was it completely out of the blue or… had things been rough lately?”

Both - should be your answer, which is also the truth in some way. But the actual truth is that you weren’t expecting the breakup at all. There were problems between you and your ex, but you were both willing to work on them. 

“It’s complicated. I still… haven’t realised it. I’ve still got to process the whole thing.” 

Chris nods. “Right. If you need to talk I’m here. You know that, right?” You hum an affirmative response. “Talking about it might actually help you feel better.” 

“I don’t think so, but thank you, Chris.” You place the now empty mug on the small table besides the couch. “It was just sudden and I needed to get out that house as soon as possible.”

Chris furrows his eyebrows and goes into overprotective mode. “Why? Was he being an asshole about it? Did he hurt you?” He instinctively clenched his jaw at the thought of your ex, or anybody else for the record, hurting you - he’ll go beat his ass right now if you tell him that fucker laid one stupid finger on you. 

“No, no. Not physically. He said some… hurtful things, but nothing that isn’t true,” you sigh, and Chris rolls his eyes and scoffs. 

“No. You’re not defending that asshole and I’m sure nothing of what he said to you is true. Nothing.” 

Oh, you don’t know how you’re wrong, Chris. 

“I’m not defending him. Just - thinking rationally, I see his point of view now.”

“What did he tell you?” 

You don’t want to go there, Chris. 

“Just… random stuff. It doesn’t matter, it’s not important.” 

“It is important since you haven’t stopped crying since you got here. I can’t let you believe that asshole is right.” 

It feels insanely hot in Chris’ living room right now. Your palms are sweaty and there’s a weird feeling in your stomach - you can’t really decipher it, but it’s making you feel dizzy. And Chris is in front of you, waiting for an answer, waiting for you to tell him the truth. The truth. The same truth you’d told your ex before storming out of his place and walking to Chris’. It’s a weird thing - the truth. 

“He just… pointed out some things. Like, I’ve been emotionally distant for the past few weeks, and that I’ve changed.” 

“That’s bullshit and you know it, too,” Chris quickly comments. “People change. Emotionally distant? Does he not know you’ve just changed your job and that they’re making you work your ass off?” He scoffs, invested in the conversation. 

“I mean, he’s not wrong. I have been emotionally distant-” 

“It is completely normal to feel drained, especially if your life and your routine have changed drastically. He should’ve been more understanding of-” 

“He accused me of having feelings for somebody else.” 

Chris’ jaw drops. He stares at you, blinking, incredulous. As if you’d just told him the most absurd thing. 

“He what? He… he accused you of cheating? You?” Chris can’t believe the words that left your mouth - well, your ex’s mouth. You’re the most sincere person he knows. “You aren’t capable of such a thing, he should know that. You… you’re the most honest person I know.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, nervously toying with the pendant of your necklace. The necklace Chris got you for your birthday last year. You never take it off, not even when you shower, which is why you had to go get it polished. It’s your most prized possession, and not because it’s from an expensive brand or bullshit like that - it’s because he gave it to you. That’s what makes it so special. 

“He didn’t accuse me of cheating. Just of having feelings for someone else.” 

Chris rolls his eyes, annoyed. “Yeah, and who would this someone be? You’re always at work and when you’re not working you’re at home with him, and when you’re not with him you’re with me- oh.” Bingo, Chris. “Don’t… don’t tell me he thinks there’s something going on between us.” 

Your lack of response is everything Chris needs to know, even though he’s only partially right. 

“Is he for real?” Chris scoffs. “We’ve been friends for decades and nothing’s ever happened, there’s no reason for him to start feeling jealous now. You’ve been together for almost a year, he should trust you and not accuse you of having feelings for me-“

“He’s right,” you blurt out, much louder than you had expected. 

Chris, in front of you, freezes. “What?”

“He’s right, Chris. I… I feel something for you. I think I always have, and I think… I think he always knew.”

“You… you feel something for me?”

You pull the blanket he lent you over your head, but Chris can easily tell you’re nodding. “I’m sorry,” he hears you mumble, even though your words come out muffled by the thick layer, and then he hears a sniffle. 

He comes closer, sitting next to you now. “Hey. Flower,” he calls you softly. You don’t pull the blanket down, you don’t want him to see your tear-strained face. “Why are you sorry, hm?” 

Another sniffle. Chris figures you’re drying the tears with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Because… things’ll be different now. Between us.  And it’s all my fault.” 

“First of all, it’s not your fault. You can’t control your feelings. You can’t choose who to fall for, that’s not how it works.” 

You’re quiet for a few seconds. “So you… you’re not mad at me?”

“Are you mad at me?”

More seconds spent in silence. “Why would I be mad at you?” You ask, genuinely confused. 

“Because I have feelings for you, too.” 

The world stops. Everything’s silent and completely still. Nothing can be heard except for both yours and Chris’ heartbeats. The weird feeling in your stomach has been replaced by a more pleasant one, a more hopeful one. You wish you could turn back time only to hear those words come out of Chris’ lips one more time, to make sure you didn’t imagine them. 

“You’re lying…” is the only thing you manage to say after moments of dizziness. Your head is spinning, heart thumping in your chest. 

“I’m not,” Chris says. “I would never lie to you.”

“You… you have feelings for me?”

It feels weird, to have this conversation when you’re fully hidden by a blanket, but at least you can ask him all the question that come up to your mind without feeling shy. Chris doesn’t seem to mind it, either, even though he’d much rather see your cute face. He bets your cute, puffy cheeks are all red now. 

“I do. I have for a while,” he confesses. “It’s kinda hard not to fall for your best friend when she’s the cutest and the sweetest and most caring person on earth.”

“Stop it,” you mumble, embarrassed, and Chris knows you’re covering your face with your hands right now. 

“Nope, not gonna. Not when I’ve waited all this time to tell you.”

Chris’ hands are trembling, despite the confidence in his words and voice. The one thing he thought would never happen is happening right now - you’re there, in his living room, telling him you like him and he feels the happiest he’s been in forever. 

“Flower?” 

“Hm?” 

“Do you mind lowering the blanket so I can kiss you?”

You’re positive your heart has never beaten so fast in your chest. Chris wants to kiss you. Chris has feelings for you and wants to kiss you - it’s not an hallucination, he really said it. 

“You… you do it…” you murmur, feeling shy. You can’t wrap your mind around the fact you’re about to kiss him. 

Chris finds you the cutest. Grabbing the blanket, he gently pulls it down. Your face is as read as he imagined it, and you’re not looking at him. With two fingers under your chin, he lifts your head. 

Nothing can prepare you for the moment when Chris finally presses his lips on yours. It’s the moment when things change forever, because there’s no way you can keep on living without kissing those lips ever again. Chris feels warm on you, he feels familiar and foreign at the same time, he feels like nothing you’ve felt before, he feels like home. He pulls back only to lick his lips and press them back on yours, cupping your cheek in his hand, pulling you closer. 

Despite this being the first time the two of you kiss, it’s almost as if you’ve done this a million times before. It feels natural, there’s no shyness anymore in your actions, not even when you place your hand on the back of his head and pull him even closer. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long…” Chris mumbles, resting his forehead on yours when he pulls back to breathe. 

“Me too,” you bite your lip, nuzzling his nose, “thought it’d never happen.”

Chris crashes his lips on yours once more. “I never… wanna stop… kissing you,” he mumbles in-between kisses, hungry, craving the contact. 

“Me neither…” you wrap your arms around his neck. 

Making out with Chris feels amazing. It feels like finally being able to eat after weeks of starving. It feels like a dream come true. You truly do not want to stop kissing him, and even if you wanted to you’re positive you couldn’t, because it’s your body that craves him and his presence. It’s instinctual, the way you keep licking lips with him, a thirst that only him can quench. 

“Closer…” you mumble. 

You need to feel him closer. You need to wrap yourself around him, you need to feel his arms around you, his warmth surrounding you and keeping you safe. 

Chris shifts on the couch, but even then the two of you are uncomfortable. “Stupid fucking couch,” he curses under his breath. 

“Maybe we could…” you peck his lips, and then again, and then once more. You nearly forgot what you wanted to say in the first place. “Maybe we could take this to your room…” you breathe on his mouth, curious eyes looking into his and waiting for an answer, shyness long forgotten. 

Chris’ breath hitches in his throat. Okay, maybe you didn’t mean it that way, but he can’t stop his mind from going there. From imagining your body under his, from imagining the feeling of you wrapped around him. He should really stop thinking about it, even though the damage is already done and he’s already hard.  

“D’you mean… I mean, am I reading the room… the way I’m supposed to be reading it?” 

It’s when you give him a small nod that his brain start short-circuiting. The thought of sleeping with you has crossed his mind before, but he never thought he’d actually get to live the moment one day. Like, for real. And now you’re here, in his living room, looking at with with the sweetest eyes, your lips all red and swollen from the countless of kisses, implying what you’re implying and Chris feels like his heart is about to leap out of his chest right now. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Okay, let’s go to my room.” 

You cling onto him like a koala as he picks you up, hooking your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. As he walks towards his bedroom, you can’t help but overthink this. You haven’t really felt this nervous about sex before - it’s a good kind of nervous, though. You’re excited about it and you trust Chris more than you’ve trusted any of your partners. Everything feels right and natural with him. 

Chris’ bedroom is warm and cozy and welcoming. You’ve been here countless of times before, but never in a situation like this. You’ve slept in this room, just slept, you’ve watched movies with him, you’ve done research for your essays and worked on your stuff - you’ve never entered this room with the awareness you were gonna have sex with Chris. 

Even when he gently lays you on his bed with all the care in this world - even then it doesn’t feel real. He resumes kissing you with the same passion and reverence as before, the same hunger, but there’s no rush in his action - just a desire of living the moment and be in the present with you. He doesn’t care about anything else right now, you’re laying on his bed and that’s everything that matters - the whole world can go to hell for all he cares. You’re wearing his clothes, laying on his bed, and everything feels so beautifully domestic that he doesn’t want to let go of this moment, too afraid to ruin it. 

“Chris…” you breathe out when he starts kissing the soft spot below your jaw. 

Your legs part almost naturally, welcoming his body in between them, allowing him to press himself on you. The contact his erection makes with the front of the sweats you’re wearing makes you want more. The awareness that you’re the one who’s making him feel this way right now sends a shiver down your spine which makes you arch your back. 

Chris slips one hand under the hoodie you’re wearing, caressing your warm, soft skin. He’s never touched you in such an intimate way. His thumb draws imaginary shapes on your stomach, imaginary patterns that make no sense but that right now, to you, they’re the most wholesome thing in the world. Chris’ hand moves up, up, until the pads of his fingers come to brush the underside of one of your breasts and you gasp against his mouth. 

“Is this… not okay?” Chris has to ask, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable in any way. 

You shake your head as a no and he immediately moves his hand, but you place it back to where it was. “No, I meant… it’s okay. More than okay, actually.” 

Chris cups your breast with a delicacy only someone like him can have within himself, treating your body as if it were made of glass and he was terrified to scratch, or worse, break it. His thumb brushes your nipple, feeling it harden under his touch, and you want nothing more than for him to wrap his lips around it. 

He seems to read your mind. “Can I take it off?” He asks, referring to the hoodie. 

“Yeah. You too,” you tug at his black t-shirt, lifting it up just a little bit. 

“Together?” Chris asks and you nod. 

You both take off the pieces of clothing at the same time, remaining half-naked in front of each other. You’ve seen Chris shirtless countless of times before, but never in this context, and that’s why it feels completely different this time. He looks absolutely stunning and perfect and yours. You bite your lip at the realisation. 

He’s going through the exact same thought process inside his head - brain chemistry altered by the sight of your perfect breasts right in front of his eyes. 

“You’re all mine…” he mumbles, latching his lips on yours once more, his hands on your chest. 

It’s when his fingers slip under the thick waistband of the sweats he’d lent you, that you realise it’s not just an hallucination - Chris is about to see you naked and you’re about to see him naked and he’s gonna be inside you and you’re gonna make love to each other for the first time tonight. 

He starts kissing your neck and then your collarbone, and his fingers stay exactly where they are, touching you slowly beneath the waistband, but not going too far as to touch your most private parts. When his lips wrap around your nipple, however, it takes you so off guard that you gasp and arch your back, which allows his fingers to brush you there. You both blush at the sudden contact he makes with your pussy and clit. 

He lifts his head to look at you, searching for any sign of discomfort in your eyes - instead, you just beg him, “please.”

Chris hides his face in your neck, taking a deep breath as he feels his cock throb and twitch inside his underwear. He starts by pulling the sweats down your legs, slowly, while kissing you. You do feel a little bit shy about being fully naked while he’s still got his pants and underwear on, and he senses that, so he starts undressing himself, pulling down his own clothes. Even though you can’t see his cock, you hear the sound it makes when it slaps against Chris’ stomach. 

Both you and Chris shiver when his tip accidentally brushes your naked pussy, completely unintentionally since Chris was just trying to make himself comfortable and ready for what he’s about to do next. 

“Can I eat you out?”

You feel already dizzy at the mere thought of Chris going down on you. “Yeah. Please,” you beg once more and Chris is losing his mind. 

He leaves gentle kisses all over your skin as he moves down. Your chest, your stomach, your navel, your thighs, until his lips brush you there where you need him the most. He starts leaving small pecks there, too, taking his time, not wanting to rush anything, worshipping you like you deserve. 

The first lick on your clit makes you let out a small hmph sound which you try in vain to muffle with the back of your hand. Of course he finds it in record time. That should make you feel jealous of his previous partners and sexual encounters, perhaps, but right now you’re just thankful he’s nothing like your exes. 

Chris knows how to use his tongue, licking and lapping at your pussy like there’s no tomorrow - his only goal is to have you cumming on his tongue and hearing those pretty sounds you’re trying so hard to muffle and hold back. He grunts against your skin, wrapping his plump lips around your clit and sucking, chuckling satisfied when he finally manages to make you moan. All for him. It’s him who’s making you feel so good. 

He licks and kisses and sucks and strokes your clit with the tip of his fingers, pleased with the way your legs are shaking on each side of his head. He starts grinding his cock on the mattress by reflex, smearing pre-cum all over the covers, which you’ve already stained and soaked with your wetness that’s pooling under your ass, a mixture of your arousal and Chris’ saliva. 

“Chris… Chris…” you pant, legs shaking like crazy and Chris hooks his arms under your thighs to make sure you don’t move and squirm too much, burying his face in your sweet cunt. 

He makes out with your pussy, swallowing your arousal and humming at how delicious you taste. He lets out a tiny humph when you entangle your fingers in his hair and tug at it when you’re about to reach your high, pulling him even closer until all he can smell, taste, feel is you. 

“Chris…” with one last whimper of his name you come onto his tongue, clit throbbing in his mouth. He continues to suck and tease it with the tip of his tongue until you gently tap and push him by the shoulder. 

Chris kisses your inner thighs, your hips, your stomach as you come down from your high, your taste is still invading his mouth and he wishes it’d never fade away. He’s already addicted to you. 

“You okay?” He mumbles on your skin, resting his chin on your stomach as he looks at you. 

You nod. “I’m feeling great,” you toy with the ends of his hit, twisting it with your finger, “need you, though.” The need to feel him close is stronger than anything else. 

“Let’s get under the covers, yeah?” 

You feel incredibly at home between Chris’ bedsheets, in his arms as he finds his place between your legs, his hard, leaking cock pressed on your stomach. You can feel it perfectly, hard and hot and velvety at the touch. You want to return the favour, but you’re both too needy right now, and if you don’t get to feel him inside of you within the next couple of minutes you might actually explode. 

Chris’ strong arms are on each side of your head, and then his lips are back on yours. You’re tracing imaginary patterns on his back with the tip of your finger - at least Chris thinks they’re imaginary, while you’re actually drawing little hearts all over his skin.

He begins to tease you by slowly moving his hips, allowing his hard member to slide up and down your folds, his balls pressing on your clit with each thrust, and you feel yourself getting wet all over again, even more than before, perhaps. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer until you can’t even distinguish where your body ends and his begins, until you’re one thing. 

Chris pulls back only to stretch his arm out towards his nightstand to grab a condom, you suppose. You’re quick to entangle your fingers with his, stopping him. 

“Without…” you murmur, hiding your face in the crook of his neck - you’re blushing and your face feels super hot, almost as if it were on fire right now. “Can we do it without?” you ask him and Chris blinks a few times, incredulous. 

“Are you sure? One hundred percent?” He asks. He needs you to be sure, it’s a huge step. 

You nod repeatedly. “Need… need to feel you. I’m clean, I’ve never… I’ve never done it without a condom before. Want you to be my first.” 

Chris kicks his head slightly back and squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to control himself. Those words, together with the way that you’re looking at him and with how hot and wet you feel pressed on him. He knows you’re on birth control, and he trusts you and knows you’re telling the truth about being clean. 

“I’ve never done it without a condom, too. And I’m clean. We can… we can do it without one, if you promise me you’re really sure.” 

“I am, Chris. Promise.” 

He shifts all his weight on one arm as he wraps his fingers around his cock. You can’t help but bite your lip at the feeling of his tip brushing your entrance - Chris makes sure it’s wet enough before pushing inside of you, he would never hurt you. 

The both of you let out a gasp and look into each other’s eyes when he finally slips inside of you. It’s different than anything you know, it’s different than anything he knows. He pushes inside of you slowly, not wanting to rush it and give in to his instincts, and only when he’s bottomed out inside of you you feel complete. You’ve been dreaming of this for so long, and now he’s here, in your arms, between your legs and inside of you, and everything feels right for the first time in forever. 

You’re making love to Chris. Chris is making love to you. You’ve never felt more alive. 

He starts moving inside of you. The pace is slow, excruciatingly slow at first. Chris just sways his hips back and forth tentatively, feeling your warmth and your wetness engulfing his member wholly. He feels the closest he’s ever been to you - physically, of course, but also from an emotional point of view.

“You feel amazing,” he whispers in your ear, thrusting just a little bit harder, craving more and more. “All mine. You’re all mine. My pretty flower. Never letting you go, you’re stuck with me now.” 

You giggle, kissing his lips softly. “Fine by me. I’ve been wanting to be yours for the longest time.”

“I’m yours, too, yeah? I’ve always been, flower.”

He bites his lip to hold back a moan, continuing to fuck into you at a steady pace, sinking deeper and deeper inside of you with each thrust. A soft bite on your collarbone, a sweet suck on the soft flesh, then he cups one of your breasts in one hand and wraps his lips around your nipple once again while still fucking you, and keeps on sucking and licking until he feels his orgasm building up in his stomach. 

“Touch yourself,” he nuzzles your cheek. “Wanna cum together.” 

You look him in the eye as you touch yourself the way you like it, setting the right pace and applying the right pressure on the sensitive bundle of nerves, and it doesn’t take long before your toes begin to curl and your legs start to shake. Chris, on top of you, still fucking you, squeezes his eyes shut, his mouth falls open as he feels close to his release. 

Before he could pull out, you whisper in his ear, “inside. Cum inside of me. Need to feel you.” 

Chris reaches his high mere seconds later, with a choked moan, hiding his face in your chest, and you release around him immediately after. He fills you up slowly, and you can’t really feel it, except for the unfamiliar warmth that starts spreading down there. 

Neither of you move. Chris stays exactly where he is, on top of you, inside of you, and you have no intention to unwrap your limbs from around him. It doesn’t matter that you’re all sweaty and sticky and that his warm cum is already starting to ooze out of you - neither of you wants to let go. 

A giggle escapes your lips, and Chris snaps his head to look at you, curious to know the reason behind it. “What?” He asks with a smile on his face. 

His cute dimple appears. You poke it. “Nothing. I just realised that  now I know what you sound like in bed,” you  giggle once more, covering your lips with your hand. 

Chris’ cheeks turn red. “Ah… Hey, I know what you sound like, too!” He protests with a chuckle. 

“True, but I also know what your orgasm face is like,”you add, sticking your tongue out at him. 

“And I know what you taste like,” he whispers on your lips, looking into your eyes, “and I also know what you feel like when you’re wrapped around me. I know what it feels like to be inside you and to fill you up.” 

It’s your turn to blush now. You cover your face with both of your hands. “Chris! You can’t say things like that!” You whine, embarrassed. 

“But why not?” He asks, rolling over and carrying you with him so that you’re now lying on top of him. “I always thought I knew you like the back of my hand. But you know what I just realised?” He pulls a strand of hair away from your face. 

“What?” 

“There’s so many things I don’t know about you, and I can’t wait to find them all out, one by one. I wanna learn everything that makes you… you.” 

“Does this mean…” you mumble, absentmindedly drawing invisible flowers and hearts on his chest. “That you’re my boyfriend now?”

“Well, that depends,” he says seriously. 

“On what?” you pout, looking at him with big, doe eyes. 

He smiles at you, the dimple is back. “Do you wanna be my girlfriend?” 

-

You hate mornings. 

Tossing and turning in your bed, you soon come to realise there’s no way you’re getting back to sleep - the sun is already up in the sky and shining bright, lighting the whole room. When you open your eyes, realisation hits you - this is not your bed. 

You inevitably start thinking of the previous night, of Chris, of your confession and what happened after. The tingling feeling between your legs is the proof that it wasn’t a dream - your, actually Chris’, clothes on the floor are the proof you didn’t hallucinate it. 

You’re in Chris’s bed. The full ache between your legs is there because of Chris. The clothes on the floor are Chris’. But where is he? Why isn’t he beside you and why aren’t his clothes on the floor as well? 

Your heart beats fast in your chest as you get up and start dressing yourself to look presentable, thinking of the worst scenarios possible. Perhaps he realised last night was a mistake. Perhaps he doesn’t know how to turn you down without breaking your heart. You rush downstairs. 

And you find him there, in the kitchen. With his curly hair all dishevelled and all over the place. In a worn-out hoodie he just won’t throw out just because it’s was an old gift of yours. With his bare feet against the cold floor. 

Two mugs on the table. Plenty of cookies on a plate. 

“Oh!” Chris is surprised to find you standing there. “Good morning,” he smiles at you brightly. “I made you breakfast. I actually wanted to bring it to you in bed, but you beat me to it,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck nervously. 

Your favourite smell is lingering in the air. You check what’s inside the mugs. Milk and honey. You smile at Chris - your boyfriend. Everything feels right. 

─── ⋆⋅🥛🍯⋅⋆ ──

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞. 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢'𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝.

[mainexiii]

Premium Boy-Toy (l.j)

the one where your best friend gifts you an entire man, and that man just so happens to be in high demand for everyone but you, until now at least.

ao3 | m.list | minors dni! | if you read it, reblog it.

requested by anon: “I don’t like getting off on my own.” + “No one’s ever touched fucked me like this,”

wordcount― 10.3k

pairing― stripper!Jeno x afab reader

content― switch jeno, rich/lonely reader, jeno gets kinda in a weird headspace after he cums lmao

note― congrats, you are witnessing the fact that i cannot defend that this is basically smut from start to finish. theres a lil bit of sugar baby jeno at the end tho so…um, also there’s probably so many typos and way too many commas in this but to be fair i was in horny jail and just fucking going.

smut tags under cut:

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[mainexiii]

ex!seungmin who thinks about you when he receives his diploma during his graduation in law school because he couldn’t have done it without you, and it breaks his heart that while he’d reached his dreams, you couldn’t be there to see him make it.

he’d remember the countless sleepless nights you’d stayed up with him to review for his tests

or when you’d urge him to get some rest or eat his meals when he’d forget sometimes

you were there to help him realize he could do it, coming with him to apply for numerous universities

you were there from the beginning, so why couldn’t you be there to see him reach the end?

and it was a mutual decision—the breakup. but he finds that, as he reaps the rewards of his efforts, it doesn’t feel right that you aren’t in the crowd

that night, seungmin ponders over whether to call you or not

instead, he sends a few text messages

he doesn’t think he could talk to you without crying, doesn’t think he’s ready to hear your voice again

seungmin (9:57pm): i graduated today haha

seungmin (9:58pm): i just wanted to say thank you. i know that things are over between us, but it’s undeniable the influence you had on me while i was in law school. i don’t know if i’d be able to make it this far if you hadn’t believed in me the way you did. thank you. i can’t say it enough.

seungmin (10:01pm): there’s so much i want to tell you, but i guess i don’t really have the right to do that anymore. still, i hope you realize how much you’ve changed the way i looked at life (for the better, i can hear you complaining already)

seungmin (10:03pm): oh, and i found this letter i’d written back when i was still in my 1st year. it’s addressed to you, and i vividly remember telling myself to give it to you on the day i graduate. haha, somehow i’d thought we’d still be together when today would come. lmk if you still want it or if it’s too awkward then that’s okay too

seungmin (10:06pm): alright that’s it. sorry if these messages freaked you out a little. i’m not even sure this is still your number

seungmin (10:07pm): thanks again, (name). you are the one person who made me believe i could make it and i did :) thank you

[mainexiii]

. . . QUOKKA’S MASTERLIST ❥

⚠️ 18+, minors dni. most of my works contain NSFW content. you’ve been warned! my work is for entertainment purposes only. the characters do not represent real idols. ©quokkawritesarchive do not repost or translate my work.

s - smut, f - fluff, r - series all requests are here

♥︎ OT8

WHAT BODY PART IS THEIR WEAKNESS? s

BEND OVER AND ARCH YOUR BACK s

WHAT BODY PART IS THEIR WEAKNESS? 2 s

BE MY VALENTINE r COLLAB

⚤ LEE MINHO

DANCE BETTER s

STAIN s

HICKEY (f. jisung) s NEW

⚤ HWANG HYUNJIN

SPILLED TEA s

GUIDANCE s

EXAM s

⚤ HAN JISUNG

TINY WAIST s

WE'RE NOT HAVING SEX s

HE LIKES TO GET TIED UP s

HARD THOUGHTS #1 s

DATING JISUNG AS AN ASEXUAL f

TREAT HER RIGHT s

HARD THOUGHTS #2 s

AFTERCARE f, s

HICKEY (f. minho) s NEW

⚤ KIM SEUNGMIN

WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT? s

ACE OF HEART r ONGOING

WET TONGUE s

⚣ MINSUNG

SO I HAD AN IDEA... s

COSMOS FLOWERS f

BAD BOYS NEED GOOD DICK TOO s

➝ back to:

⬪ introduction ⬪ ko-fi ⬪ requests rules

[mainexiii]

Hiii!!

May I request top Jennie using dub reader as her little fuck toy, or something like that

Like with Jennie being a top I mean degrading the reader and riding the readers face

Thank you bby 🫶🏻

I am sorry for answering these just now after months... I'll do my best to write the requests I had before the hiatus thing. That being said... I hope you like this one. 💖💖💖 (ps: i'm getting back to writing just now so this isn't my best work of all times lol)

cw: humiliation, face slapping, face sitting, fingering, gagging, age gap, power imbalance, face fucking, not proof read, etc.

You were finally at the place you were supposed to be.

Alright, okay, it was an internship but it was an internship at the design department of Chanel. That basically meant you could only climb further to the top, and nothing and no one could stand in your way.

It was your third week and everything was going smoothly... sort of.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you quickly answered.

"Hello, is this the Chanel intern speaking?" You heard your best friend's voice and smiled.

"Yes it is" You sounded way too cocky but that was the fun of it. "Is this the new Versace intern speaking?" You asked and Ning exploded in a mix of screams and laughter.

"hell yes it is!" You guys briefly spoke about a few matters until she finally popped the question you were waiting. "So... did you meet my sister there?"

"I already know your sister from your house" You rolled your eyes.

"yes but here you only met Jennie" She said. "In there she is Ms. Kim, CEO and head of the department. Believe me, I know the difference."

"I know, I know..." You took a sip of your coffee in your desk on the lobby of Jennie's office. "Of course we met, I am basically her assistant" You sounded defeated.

"Why the sad voice? Is she giving you a hard time?" Ning sounded concerned and you pouted a bit.

"I think she is trying to state that it's not because me and you are friends that she is going to treat me any different..." You were interrupted by the sound of her private elevator. "Gotta go!" You immediately hang up, getting up to wait for her by the door.

As soon as it opened you felt your heart drop. Jennie was everything you aimed to be, had everything you wanted to have. Of course she didn't spare you a glance and of course that made her feel even more alluring to you.

"Good morning, Ms Kim" You bowed and she handed you her bag and coat, going straight to her office and shutting the door off. You took a deep breath, the perfume on her coat being the most inebriating thing you've ever felt in your life. Of course you knew it was not just her perfume, but her natural scent as well.

🌸🌸🌸.

The afternoon went smoothly, you two went to one meeting and that was it. Jennie let you go alone to your place of work to finish a few documents for her as she went to check a few things.

You got back and went straight to work, knowing very well she hated when you delayed anything she asked you to do. She commanded everything with an iron fist.

As you worked you could see the expensive coat hanging from the corner of your eye. It was so beautiful and smooth and... it smelled like her. It was as if you were in a daydream, you could feel yourself walking but with no real thought in mind, reaching it but not really minding that you were still inside the building and that she was there too.

You stopped in front of the huge mirror in front of her office, she loved looking at herself and you knew exactly why. She was perfect. You wanted to be like her.

You tried the black fur coat over your tight outfit, a baby pink mini skirt and matching blazer over a white button up.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, engulfed in her perfume, her scent, imagining how it would feel being her for a whole day, feeling the coat as if you were feeling your own skin in an almost erotic motion, up and down; But it wasn't your own self you were lingering to touch. You wanted to feel her, touch her.

"Having fun?" Her voice felt like a bucket of cold water, not only alerting you to what you just did but scaring the hell out of you.

"Ms Kim, I-" You stuttered and she raised her perfect hand in a 'Stop talking" kind of motion. You swallowed your words, along with the tears threatening to escape your eyes.

She felt even more overpowering standing there with her eyes on you, her perfect posture and incredibly expensive suit did nothing to help your heart lower the crazy beating.

"Who gave you permission for that?" She said, slowly walking towards you, her gaze heavy on your already shaky body.

"I am sorry i just- I thought..." You tripped over your words as her eyes roamed over your figure. She scoffed.

"You thought?" She arched one perfect eyebrow. "I really didn't knew you were capable of such thing" Her voice was venomous and you lowered your gaze, pouting.

"I am sorry" You finally managed to say, starting to take off the coat.

"Keep it on" You stopped and she continued, grabbing your face between her fingers, her nails sinking in a bit. "I think we should play a little game" Her body was so close to yours your knees were almost giving up on holding your weight as her breath fanned over your lips. "You give me something good and I don't kick you out for touching what's mine" She scanned your beautiful face: red cheeks, furrowed eyebrows, closed eyes to avoid her cat like ones.

A single tear escaped your eyes as she rolled hers in annoyance.

"What should I give you, ma'am?" You asked but she shook her head, turning your face towards the mirror and you whimpered. She smiled, nearing her lips to your ear.

"What could a little dumb intern possibly give me that I don't already have?" She whispered and you felt goosebumps, watching your reflection on the mirror. You were pretty sure that was a wet dream of yours.

"Please..." Your hand held her wrist and she made you look into her eyes again. They were like a fire, slowly burning yours. "I will give you anything you want but please don't fire me" You gulped, feeling yourself getting wet. What she wanted crossed your mind and you really prayed you were correct.

"Anything?" She playfully said and you took her by surprise when your knees touched the floor, both hands on your thighs, lowering your eyes to her expensive shoes.

Of course the dom inside her saw the erotic side of kneeling when you did it, she just didn't think you'd be bold enough to do what you did next.

You reached for the button of her trousers and she followed your movements with her eyes, not moving to see until where you'd go. Your trembling hands unzipped them, and you pulled them down to her ankles, a drenched mess as you saw her lacy underwear visibly shining with wetness seeping trough.

You whimpered when she held your chin up, staring at your pleading demeanor with a smile forming on her lips.

"I could report you for sexual harassment right now" She said and you panicked a bit.

"Please don't..." Your eyes were full of tears now. She smiled even wider, her thumb caressing your lower lip.

Oh Jennie Kim... not just her eyes were a cat's, her actions were much like a feline's as well, playing with her prey before actually devouring it. Enjoying the despair on your face as she pushed the digit between your lips and you promptly sucked on it, rolling your tongue over it and closing your eyes.

She kicked her trousers off her ankles, taking you off of that trance when she pulled you by the hair so you would open your eyes.

"Tongue out" She commanded and you did what she said, whimpering and bawling your fists. "Unbutton your blouse" Your trembling hands did as she told and her eyes darkened by seeing your boobs and tummy. She spat on your tongue without warning, watching her saliva and yours trickle down to your boobs and chin. "Fuck"

Without saying any more words she pulled her panties to the side and mounted your face, lowering her pulsing cunt to your lips, feeling the vibrations of your moans against her core.

She tasted like heaven, her thick wetness made you roll your eyes as she held your head with both hands to grind better on your gorgeous face.

"I knew you had to be good for something" She growled, speeding up the pace so her clit could get stimulated faster as your nose bumped it.

The pleasure she felt was not only on the fact that you were so willing to give her good head, no; it was in the way you so willingly submitted to her. That was a dream of hers since the first time you entered her parent's house with her sister: short little skirt and a gullible expression, ready to be thrown around like a little doll.

But Jennie was a patient woman and of course she picked on your personality traits to realize you enjoyed being degraded , ignored and of course, coerced by the right person. That's why she put on some effort to have you under her eyes at all times, under her command.

You thought she was your obsession but little did you know she was the one obsessing over you.

"That's right, keep going" She said, rolling her hips against your lips. She saw in first hand how your pupils grew wider, your hands tempted to hold her by the ass so you could savor her better.

Suddenly she forcefully pulled you away by the hair, your hooded eyes and glistening face made her pride grow inside of her. You whined trying to get your face back where it belong.

"Please, more..." You were shaking, drooling like a mad animal.

You felt a sharp sting on your cheek and that made you clench, specially when Jennie kneeled in front of you to lick your cheek up and down until she stopped on your neck.

"Dumb little thing" She said, harshly sucking on your skin. "Do you want me back in your mouth, pup?" She said and you mewled, nodding. Another slap. "Use your words, slut" She held your hair by the nape so you'd look into her eyes.

"Yes ma'am, please let me lick you please please" You cried out, desperate to make her feel good. She smiled, pushing you to lay down as she pushed open your legs, a satisfied grin on her perfect lips.

"Oh, I knew you'd enjoy eating me out but you are soaked" she admired the wet patch on your panties, promptly pulling them from you. "Open your mouth" She commanded and you did as she told, feeling the fabric being pushed past your lips deep down almost in your throat. You gagged, gasping for air and she stopped. "Keep it there and don't you dare touch my hair" her voice was dangerous and you almost glued your hands to your sides.

She spread your pussy lips, admiring your hole and pretty pussy, spitting on it before giving it a tempting lick to taste you. Jennie nearly growled, latching her lips to your clit and your scream was muffled by the fabric in your mouth. You saw not only stars when she licked your slit next, humming upon feeling your taste.

Her nails dug in your thighs and you hissed, trembling a lot and making her smile against your wet pussy; Her tongue kept circling your clit and with not much effort she plucked two of her digits inside you to harshly thrust them up, quickly finding your gspot and rubbing it.

"I wanna hear you now" She got up to your face, puling the panties from your mouth and you gave her a relieved moan, your eyes full of tears as you felt her relentless pounding, knuckles deep inside you. "Such a good little slut" She said, finally kissing your lips.

Her lips felt delicious and you clenched when you managed to feel your taste on them, creaming on her fingers, rolling your eyes when her tongue didn't stop the assault on yours. She gave your tongue a harsh suck and you almost cried, hugging her against you, trying your best to feel her. You needed that woman; everything, anything.

You could feel your heartbeat in your ears; she ws your best friend's big sister, the unapproachable Jennie Kim.

Oh you were fucked. So fucked.

Without stopping her fingers she got up enough to fully sit on your face in a 69 position and you could finally feel that heavenly taste again, moaning against her core and hooking your arms on her thighs to hold her down. Who cares if it was suffocating? You got the chance to make the Jennie Kim feel good, it was worth dying for it.

"god" You felt her mutter against your clit, humping your face full force, you could see her hole clenching and unclenching the more she moaned against you. "I'm gonna paint your pretty face with my cum" She said through gritted teeth and without much warning you came, melting under her, shaking like a leaf in the wind, going limp as she kept the relentless pace of staining your whole face with her juices while she came as well, that creamy liquid delicious against your lips and face.

You just laid there, taking whatever she wanted you to take as she kept humping, trembling on top of you, her breath heavy as she tried to recompose herself.

Without warning (again because of course she didn't need to tell you shit) she got up, dressing herself as you tried to do the same but you only managed to sit on your ankles, knees on the floor again. She collected your juices from her chin on her fingers, stretching her hand out to you and your foggy brain thought she was helping you get up.

"Don't be dumb" She said, rolling her eyes. "Clean my fingers, pup" You pouted, obeying. Your tongues swirled against her fingers as the two of you made eye contact, her dilated pupils following every move you made. "Enough" She said and you got back to positioning yourself on your knees, lowered head. "For a dumb little intern you are quite a fast learner" she held you by the chin. "I wonder who else you kneeled to" She said, annoyed by that thought.

Jennie let your face go, bending to get your panties from the floor.

"Keep the coat" Her eyes sparkled. "I'll keep these" She put it in her pocket as prize, taking a black card from it. "You are mine now" She handed you the card. "Buy more lingeries and nice outfits for you" Jennie said leaving to get in her office. "I still want a lot of things from you, pup" She said, closing her door and leaving you dumbfounded on the floor.

[mainexiii]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 ; 𝐛𝐜

𝐭𝐰: female anatomy ; virgin!chan ; experienced!reader ; minsung if you squint (sorry nari my girl) ; mention of male masturbation ; dirty talk ; corruption kink kinda ; dry humping ; cumming in pants ; mention of a handjob ; nipple play ; mentions of porn and chan admitting he watches it ; clit play ; oral (m receiving) ; cum eating ; chan is self conscious and thinks too much ; confessions ; phone sex (video call sex technically) ; masturbation (both m and f) ; oral (f receiving) ; protected sex ; aftercare kinda ; they’re so beautifully in love and my heart hurts ; ♡

𝐰𝐜: 15k

inspired by this ask, it’s part of the same au.

🏷️: @bookobsessedfreak

𝐚/𝐧: this was supposed to be a 3-4k words drabble…… :) a huge thank you to @jilixthinker for beta reading this and for her feedback and support ♡

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 18+, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢

ᥫ᭡

Chan is spiralling. 

His hands are fidgety, and just can’t stop bouncing his leg, which is pissing his friends, especially Minho, off. None of his other friends are really paying attention to him, though. They’re all minding their business - Jisung and Felix are playing some dumb videogame on the tv as per usual, and Seungmin is sulking on the couch because, well, he’s the one who lost first and now he’s gotta wait for his turn again.

And Chan… well, Chan is kind of panicking right now. 

“Dude, stop, really. It’s annoying,” Minho rolls his eyes, slapping Chan’s thigh to get his friend to stop bouncing his leg relentlessly. 

“‘M sorry, dude, ‘m just anxious I guess.” 

Minho stays awfully quiet, which kind of upsets Chan, who furrows his eyebrows confused, staring at his younger friend. 

“What?” Minho asks, eventually lifting his gaze from his phone and staring back at Chan. 

“You’re not gonna ask me why I’m anxious?” 

Minho shrugs, his gaze drops back on his phone screen. “Eh. You’re gonna tell me anyway, aren’t you?”

Chan tilts his head to the side, confused. Minho is a good friend, and Chan trusts him. Maybe talking about it with Minho will help Chan, who knows. The older feels suddenly much more nervous at the thought of voicing his insecurities out loud, but at the same time he knows he needs it. 

“I have a date tomorrow.”

Minho frowns. “With that Y/N girl, right?” Minho asks, he knows his friend has been seeing you for a couple of months now. Chan nods. “Okay, and? Is that why you’re nervous? You’ve seen her before.”

That’s the problem, actually, Chan thinks. 

“She, uh… she doesn’t know,” Chan mumbles, toying with the black ring on his pointer finger, elbows resting on his knees as he stares at the floor. 

“Doesn’t know what?” Minho hates that he practically has to force the words out of Chan’s mouth. 

“That I’m, uh, a… that I’m inexperienced,” Chan blurts out. 

“Ah, that you’re a virgin, you mean,” Minho paraphrases, his voice is incredibly loud and Chan cringes, because that word, virgin, makes him feel like a complete loser. Deep down, he knows he’s not a loser just because he still hasn’t gotten his dick wet at the venerable age of twenty-six, but at the same time he does feel a bit self-conscious about it. 

Seungmin’s head snaps in Chan’s direction, and Changbin’s does the same. Even Jisung and Felix stop focusing on the videogame for a good couple of seconds. 

“Yes, uh… that,” Chan clears his throat. “I haven’t told her yet.”

Minho’s eyebrows lift in surprise, his mouth falls open as he lifts his head to look at Chan. “Oh. Why?”

“I don’t know! I wouldn’t want her to think any less of me, I guess,” he sighs, slumping on the couch, feeling absolutely hopeless. 

“Why would she think less of you?” Changbin butts in, significantly confused. 

“Because I’m twenty-six and I still haven’t had sex?” He asked, mentally adding a duh?, as if the answer was the most obvious ever. 

“But she likes you,” Minho comments, “I don’t think she’ll care about it, if she’s anything like you described her.”

And Chan knows Minho’s probably right, but can’t help but feel insecure about it nonetheless. He just doesn’t want to give you a series of disappointing sexual experiences, or embarrass himself in front of you if you’ll ever decide to sleep with him. Not that he’s expecting you to - he’s just thinking of possibilities and eventualities right now. 

He’s not even thinking anymore, he’s overthinking. 

“I know, I know. But the internet is full of girls disappointed inside the bedroom, I wouldn’t want her to experience the same thing with me.”

“You haven’t had sex, like, ever. It’s not like you’d disappoint her intentionally, Chan,” Changbin points out. 

“So you’re saying I would disappoint her.”

“No, Changbin is saying you shouldn’t stress over this. Nobody’s first time is earth-shattering or life-changing,” Minho rolls his eyes. 

“How do you know? You haven’t had sex either,” Chan tuts, crossing his arms over his chest, kind of offended. 

“Incorrect,” Minho argues, lifting his pointer finger matter-of-factly. “I haven’t had sex with a girl yet. I’ve had plenty of sex with boys.” 

“Boys? Plural?” Jisung’s head snaps in the older’s direction so fast he almost breaks his neck, quirking an eyebrow at Minho. “And what do you mean yet?”

“Fine,” Minho grumbles, “I’ve had plenty of sex with a boy.”

“You didn’t answer my question - what do you mean yet?” Jisung insists. 

“Jisung, please. We’re trying to help Chan here, not everything’s about you,” Minho sighs. “Anyways, where were we?”

Chan blinks, gaze snapping from Minho to Jisung and then back on Minho. Surprisingly enough, though, none of the other boys seems surprised. “I, uh… I’ll ignore your unexpected and casual coming out for now, and the whole… best-friends-who-are-apparently-fucking thing,” he clears his throat, “you were… reassuring me, I think. Nobody’s first time is perfect and blah, blah, blah.” 

“Ah, yeah. Don’t stress over it, dude. Just try not to cum as soon as you put it in,” Minho shrugs. “Oh, and don’t forget the condom. Be responsible, dude. You know how to put it on, rig-“

“Okay, okay! Enough!” Chan shouts, embarrassed, as he blushes of a deep shade of red until even his ears look like they’re on fire, waving his hands in front of Minho to get him to stop talking. 

ᥫ᭡

Chan feels like an idiot, and if his friends were here now they’d totally make fun of him. No, no, scratch that, they wouldn’t let him live this down ever again. 

For starters, he spent an indecent amount of time on his phone, online, looking for the best brands of condoms, describing in specific details how his dick looks so that the search bar at one point read “which condoms for 5” length 2,5” width penis” and yes - he literally measured it. He visited dozens of different websites ad clicked on countless of links, desperately looking for the best condoms he could find. Eventually, he bought two different boxes online, and cringed reaaaaally bad when the delivery guy smirked at him and gave him the thumbs up. 

And now he’s in his bed. The bedroom door is locked - he’s made sure of that, with his sweats pulled down his legs together with his underwear - free, hard cock resting peacefully on his abdomen. Chan feels incredibly stupid, holding two different kinds of condoms between his fingers, trying to figure out which one he should try on first. When he takes another glance at his dick, another question pops up in his head - should he shave? Usually, he just trims his pubic hair from time to time when he’s in the shower, but maybe you’d like him fully bare? Guys in porn usually shave their cocks, so maybe that’s what girls prefer - he truly has no idea, and he’s not gonna ask his friends for advice, it’s already embarrassing enough. Why is he even thinking about all this? He was just supposed to practice how to put on a stupid condom!

“Okay, okay, I can do it. It’s easy. It’s supposed to be easy, I mean, everybody does this, it can’t be that complicated. Well, not everyone, otherwise you wouldn’t have all these unplanned pregnancies, but -“ he cuts himself off, realizing he was rambling too much already. 

Chan is kinda ashamed to admit that yes, he even watched a tutorial to figure out how to do this properly, so he’s fully prepared and knows exactly what he’s supposed to do. He tears the wrapper open, careful not to tear the rubber, and then pulls it out, cursing under his breath when it slips from his fingers due to its slipperiness. He picks it up again, and places it on the tip of his dick, pinching the tip as he rolls it onto his length easily. It feels… weird. Not bad weird, just… weird, but at least it’s easy, just like that article online read, and he’s sure he’ll have no trouble in doing this if you’ll ever sleep together. 

Sometimes, Chan can’t help but wonder what it feels like - to have sex. Being so close, so intimate with someone, literally being inside of someone. When he thinks about it, it’s you the someone he imagines as he strokes his cock, mostly late at night, when his roommate Changbin’s asleep. He’d lie in his bed, legs spread, fully naked. 

Chan’s been jerking off a lot lately, two times per day at least. He’d grab his cock, squeezing it by the base, whimpering at the feeling of his balls kind of tightening. And then he’d start stroking himself again and again and again until his eyes roll in the back of his head and he cums with a choked sound, biting on his lower lip until he can almost taste blood. 

Then, he usually showers and changes his clothes, and feels kinda embarrassed about what he did, ignoring the fact that it’s completely normal to fantasize about someone. He still feels guilty nonetheless, completely unaware that you, in the privacy of your own bedroom, do the exact same every other night - pleasuring yourself to the thought of him. 

ᥫ᭡

The night of your date Bang Chan learns two things. The first is that ‘Netflix and chill’ doesn’t actually mean, you know, Netflix and chill. It means sex, apparently, and everyone knows except him. The second one is - he’s absolutely whipped for you already. 

He’d been nervous the whole day, trying on four or five different outfits and eventually asking Changbin for advice, and he’d sprayed on so much cologne he had to literally open the bedroom windows in order not to get intoxicated. He spent an indecent amount of time under the shower, washing his hair two or three times just in case - you’d once told him you loved the scent of his shampoo. 

When he saw you, the anxiety suddenly kind of… left his body. All the nervousness he’d been feeling suddenly vanished, and his entire body and brain was filled with excitement and happiness and all kinds of positive, good feelings. You greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and he never wanted to let go. 

And then, when he drove you back to your place, things got kind of… hot, and he wasn’t expecting it at all because he thought that the expression you used, Netflix and Chill, actually meant “watching a good movie and cuddle on the couch” - but it didn’t. It didn’t, because as soon as you both lay on the couch, you started making out like two horny teenagers unable to keep their hands for themselves. 

Which led to… now. 

His lips are on yours, have been for the past ten minutes. The movie’s still playing, but neither of you are paying any attention. You’re both red in the face, your lips are swollen and wet and tingling, but neither of you has ever felt this good. You like Chan. You like him very much, and you want to take things to the next level - maybe not all the way, not tonight at least. 

You’re still kissing Chan, tiny little hmphs leaving his mouth, when you wrap your hand around his wrist and bring his hand on your thigh. And then you move it up, up, up, until… Chan’s breath hitches as his thumb brushes your clothed groin. You take the lead, unbuttoning your jeans, and then, wrapping your hand around his wrist once more, you bring his hand to the front of your panties, and he freezes. He literally stops moving, he stops kissing you and you can clearly hear the sound of his heartbeat pumping loud in his chest. 

“Do you… want to?” You pull back to whisper on his lips. Chan’s arms and hands start to tremble. He blinks rapidly, and the next thing he does, stupidly, is shaking his head as a no. Could he be more stupid? “Oh… I’m… I’m sorry,” you mumble, letting go of his hand, finding yourself pretty stupid all of a sudden.

“No! No, I… I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, you have nothing to be sorry about,” Chan is quick to say, placing his hand on your thigh when you try to pull away after unbuttoning your jeans. “It’s just… there’s something I have to tell you.” 

You’re expecting the worst - maybe he’s tired of you and wants to break up. 

“Uh-oh,” you crack a nervous smile, fidgeting with your fingernails and your cuticles as you wait for him to speak. 

“No, no, it’s nothing bad, I promise. Well, it depends on you, actually… if you think it’s bad, then…” he rambles, toying with the bracelet wrapped around his wrist as he speaks. 

“Chan, relax. Just tell me.” He mumbles something so quietly you have no idea what he just said. “What?”

“I’ve… never done this before,” he blushes until the redness reaches the tip of his ears as he reveals the big secret he’s been keeping for weeks, “I’ve never done anything… sexual, actually.”

You’re beyond shocked because, well - he’s sexy. Girls probably throw themselves at him, how is it possible that he’s never fingered a girl before? It kind of turns you on even more, though. He’s so hot and so caring and such a gentleman and he’s… a virgin. And you’re dating him. It shouldn’t turn you on, right? You feel kind of a perv right now. 

While you’re getting lost in your train of thought, Chan is panicking because, well, you haven’t really said anything since he confessed his secret to you. “I’m sorry, I- I probably shouldn’t have said anything, it was stupid-“

“No!” You exclaim, interrupting him. “No, Chan, it’s okay. I promise, you just… surprised me. It’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with it, of course. I’m sorry if I pressured you into anything.” 

“You didn’t,” Chan reassures you, caressing your thigh with his thumb. “You didn’t, I promise. I was just caught off guard, I wasn’t expecting anything to happen tonight.”

You nod. “I know, I know, it was sudden. It’s just… it may sound weird, but I really like your outfit. You’re, like, super hot and I got a little carried away I guess.”

Chan is flustered, and he scratches the back of his neck as he lowers his gaze shyly. “Uh… thank you. You’re really beautiful, too, you know? I was left… speechless when I saw you tonight. You’re stunning,” he bites his lip, looking at you, and then his face drops. “I-I mean, not only tonight. You’re always stunning, I just mea-“ 

You cut him off by placing your lips on his in a tender kiss, and he relaxes under your touch. “You’re cute, you know that?” You smile, kissing him some more. “Are you okay with us kissing?”

“I’m more than okay with kissing you. It’s just… I don’t think I’m ready for the whole thing yet, but we can… do other stuff if you want.” 

“Are you sure?” You raise an eyebrow at him, and he nods. “Other stuff like…?”

He’s impossibly red in the face by now. “Ah, like… maybe we could, uh, touch each other? O-Over the clothes.”

You smile at him. “I know I already told you, but… you’re so cute. C’mere.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close to your body, kissing his lips again and again. In a matter of seconds, you find yourself laying on your back, sprawled on your couch, with Chan’s body between your legs - you both gasp at the feeling of his erection pressed on your body. 

“Can I… can I kiss your neck?” Chan politely asks, and you can’t help but bite your lip, nodding at him. He latches his lips on your neck with a confidence he never showed before, leaving open mouthed kisses all over your skin. 

You wrap your fingers around his wrist once more, and catch him by surprise when you place the palm of his hand on your boob, over the fabric of your t-shirt. Chan whimpers, involuntarily jerking his hips, forcing his hard-on on your clit. Throwing your head back in pleasure, you beg him to do it again. He does it again, and his own eyes flutter shut because it feels so damn good, even though his pants are definitely too tight for this. 

“You feel so good, oh my God,” you mumble, running your fingers up and down his spine, arching your back and rolling your hips to meet his once again and Chan has to stop you. Like, seriously, he has to stop you otherwise he’d cum in his pants and fucking embarrass himself. 

He’s about to tell you when you unexpectedly move your hand to the front of his jeans, sliding it right in the middle of your bodies, and you cup him and squeeze him - and Chan fucking cums. He cums in his pants.

“Oh my- fuck. Fuck, fuck, it’s not happening,” he mumbles, hiding his face in your neck in pure shame. “It’s not happening, it’s not happening,” he repeats again and again and you’re confused. 

“Chan, what-“ and then you feel it - a warm feeling on your hand, his cock starting to soften. “Oh.” Chan wishes the ground would swallow him whole. “It’s okay, Chan. It’s fine, really.” 

“No, it’s not. It’s not. Fuck, I’m so fucking embarrassed,” he mumbles, getting up from the couch, looking down in horror just to find a large, wet patch on his blue jeans. He never wears blue jeans, for fuck’s sake - he always wears black skinny jeans, and the one time he decides to wear blue jeans he fucking cums in his pants after you’ve touched him for literally two seconds. “Oh my God.” He covers the front of his pants with his hand, mortified. “I… I have to leave. I’m so sorry.”

Chan leaves in a rush, excusing himself a million times even though you told him it’s completely fine, that you’re not weirded out by it or anything. He leaves even if you begged him not to, face red and pouting. He leaves, but the thought haunts him - he keeps relieving the scene in his head throughout the whole drive back home. He just wants to shower, go to bed and fucking forget what happened back at your place. There’s no way you’ll ever want to see him again after tonight, he’s sure of it. 

When he opens the door to his place, he’s hoping Changbin’s not home. But of course he is - lying on the couch as he watches some stupid reality show. His friend snaps his head in Chan’s direction with a smirk on his face. 

“How did the date go? Got your dick wet?” Changbin suggestively wiggles his eyebrows. Chan is still as red as a pepper in the face, and then Changbin sees it - it being the huge stain on his friend’s pants. “Oh. You did.”

ᥫ᭡

Chan is surprised you don’t think he’s a real loser, and that you actually want to see him again. 

You don’t even mention the accident, and Chan is really grateful for that, even though he still cringes when he thinks about it. However, when he told Changbin and Minho what had happened at your place, instead of making fun of him they told him it’s a completely normal and natural reaction. Up to that moment, Chan had been the only person to ever touch his cock, so it’s completely normal to feel extra stimulated when another person touches you, or something like that. He just remembers taking a huge sigh out of relief after that talk. 

You want to see Chan again and again and again. And you do. 

You go on fun dates - trying out new coffee shops and bakeries, or having nice and relaxing picnics and watch the sunset as Chan puts his arm around your shoulders, and you end up making out shamelessly in the backseats of his car in the empty parking lot of the movie theater instead of going in and actually watching the movie you’d planned to see that night, and you even dry hump again there, and this time you both cum in your pants. You cuddle, too, so much - Chan really loves physical affection and is really glad you do too, because he really loves wrapping his arms around you, or kissing your cheeks, or hiding his face in the crook of your neck. It’s like you were made for each other, Chan can’t help but think.

Chan is happy, unbelievably so. 

For the first time in his life he’s found a person, you, who understands him and makes him feel important and appreciated. He’s been told he’s hot by a relatively high number of girls before, but they all seemed to be after his body and nothing else, and that’s why he never took things further with any of them. Chan craves something more, he craves a connection. He craves true feelings and somebody who’ll listen to him rambling at the end of a bad day, somebody who loves him for who he is and doesn’t care about how he looks, somebody he can be himself with. 

He found that someone in you, he’s sure of that. 

You’ve been seeing each other for nearly three months now, but you’ve been nothing but perfect to him. Like that he told you he was having the worst day and was feeling so frustrated, and what you did was inviting him over to your place, where you greeted him with a basket of freshly baked pancakes with strawberries and blueberries as well as maple syrup. Then, you’d cuddled him the whole time he stayed at your place, lay on the couch under a warm blanket and put on his favorite movie to try to cheer him up. He’s really glad he’s found someone like you.

Chan has never had such deep feelings for someone before. He’s never even had a serious relationship before - you’re the first. 

How beautiful is it, falling in love with the right person? Sometimes, Chan really can’t believe his luck. He’d met you casually, none of it was planned, and he’s fully convinced that’s the beauty of it - the spontaneity is what makes everything a hundred times better. Chan met you on a rainy day and, ironically enough, as soon as his eyes met yours it stopped raining. 

He thinks it’s a casualty, you think it was fate. 

After wasting the best years of your life begging for the love of a person who clearly wasn’t right for you and who made you feel completely worthless, you believe the gods above sent you Chan as an apology for all the shit you went through in your life. Sometimes, you think you truly don’t deserve him and his kind heart, you don’t think you’re enough for him. Even though you never explicitly told him, at one point Chan could sense there was something up with you, and what really surprised you was his maturity, because he actually wanted to talk it through with you. He cuddled you and suggested the two of you watched a movie so that he could cuddle you, and he spent the whole time placing soft kisses on the top of your head and with his arm wrapped around your waist - until he fell asleep, that is.

That was the first time he slept at your place. Neither of you had planned it, it just happened - you had fallen asleep on the couch, snuggled up to each other, and when you woke up it was already nearly two a.m. and definitely too late for Chan to drive back home. That was also the time when you gave him his first handjob - well, the first handjob given to him by somebody who wasn’t his own hand. And even though you fell asleep right after cleaning him up, curled up to his side and hugging him from behind, Chan couldn’t sleep. In fact, he spent the whole night lying wide awake and staring at the ceiling, unable to stop thinking about what had happened mere minutes earlier. 

Yes, because that night something else had happened - you’d told Chan you might love him, and he’d told you the same. It was in the heat of the moment, words spoken when you were touching him and neither of you was thinking straight, but you’re sure he meant it - you surely did. How could you not love Chan? He’s everything you’ve ever wanted and so much more, your sunshine in your darkest days and the most important person in your life. 

“Pretty?” Chan’s voice brings you back to reality. You blink a few times, turning to look at him. The room in the movie theater is almost full, but thankfully no one’s sitting next to you or Chan. “Do you not like the movie?” 

“No, no, it’s not that. Was distracted.”

“What’s distracting you, pretty?” He whispers, caressing your knuckles to soothe you. “Is there something wrong? Did something happen at work?”

You shake your head as a no, and then you smile at him. “Was just thinking about you.” Thankfully, the room is dark, otherwise there’s no way he wouldn’t notice the blush on your cheeks. “How much I’m thankful to have you in my life.”

“Ah, pretty,” he squeaks, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, embarrassed. He, too, is red in the face. “You caught me off guard, heh. I’m thankful, too, baby. You don’t know how much,” he kisses your shoulder, and squeezes your thigh. He’s unusually touchy these days - not that you mind it, of course.

That night, you don’t end up making out in the backseats of Chan’s car, surely because the parking lot isn’t empty at all, but mostly because Chan suggests going to your place after the movies, and by the way he keeps squeezing your thighs throughout the whole car ride, you kind of have the feeling you won’t be just making out tonight.

ᥫ᭡

Chan pulls away, a string of saliva connecting his mouth to yours. 

“I kinda… want to, uh, you know, return the favor,” he bites his lip nervously, blushing a little. 

“Favor?” You quirk an eyebrow at him with a smirk on your face. 

Of course you know what he’s talking about. He’s talking about the other night, when he slept over for the first time and you gave him a handjob, taking things a step forward in your relationship, and to be honest - it was all you could think about for days. You even touched yourself in the shower a couple of times thinking of how his chubby cock felt in your hand as you stroked him. 

“You know what I’m talking about,” Chan mumbles embarrassed, gaze dropping to where his hand is resting on your thigh. 

“Yeah, I know,” you tease him, “but I still want to hear you say it.”

He’s red in the face. 

“You’re cruel,” he whines. 

You shrug, “I just love seeing you squirm. So, what is it that you want to do to me?” You run your fingers up his arms, wrapping them around his biceps and biting your lip. He feels so big. 

“I wanna… I wanna make you cum,” he mumbles, still not looking at you. In fact, he’s looking at where his fingers are squeezing your thigh. “With my fingers.”

“That can be arranged,” you chuckle, placing two fingers under his chin and lifting his head to meet his eyes. Then, you kiss him on the lips and stand up, and he’s confused. “Let’s take this to the bedroom, hm?” 

Chan nods. His legs are shaky and feel kind of jelly as he follows you in your room and then on your bed, lying down next to you - his heart is beating incredibly fast in his chest. He’s never done anything like that, of course, and everything he knows about fingering comes either from porn or the online articles he’s read, and he’s scared he’s gonna mess up and he won’t be able to pleasure you the way he wants to. He knows he shouldn’t be so hard on himself, but he can’t really help it. He wants to make you feel good the same way you do him. 

Too lost in his own train of thought, he’s brought back to Earth when you take off your t-shirt in front of him - you’re wearing a bra, your favorite one actually, but Chan’s brain is already short-circuiting. His jaw drops, and he stares at your barely covered breasts like an animal in heat.

“You can touch, you know?” You tease him, grabbing him by the wrist, intertwining your fingers first and then guiding his hand to your chest until he cups one of your tits with his large palm. “You can do anything you want, Channie.”

He looks at you like a lost puppy, still pretty nervous about the whole thing, even though there’s a new feeling in his chest, a new desire that’s eating him alive. “You like it when… you know, I touch you here?” He squeezes your soft flesh lightly, careful not to be too rough because he knows it can be painful. 

You nod, nuzzling his cheek and kissing his jawline. “Yeah, I really like it. You can take the bra off, if you want to.”

Chan is about to see his very first pair of boobs, and maybe that’s why his hands are shaking like a leaf as he slides the straps of your bra down your arms. You caress his arm as he gently touches your skin, placing soft kisses on his temple to get him to relax, and once he’s done sliding both straps down your limbs, your reach behind your spine to unhook your bra, figuring it’d be much easier this way. When it comes off, Chan lets out a whimper as he bites on his lip, and then his eyes are back on yours. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he kisses your lips as his hand finds its way back on your chest, now touching you without the useless piece of fabric separating your bodies. 

“You’re just saying that because you just saw your first pair of boobs,” you chuckle. 

He shakes his head, “I’m saying that because it’s true. Oh, and by the way… I’m hoping it’ll be the only pair I’ll ever see in my life.” 

His words make your heart thump inside your chest, and you find yourself blushing at the implication - cheeks burning red, so you hide your face in his neck. “You can’t say things like that,” your voice comes out muffled by his t-shirt. 

“Why not? It’s true.” 

He doesn’t really know what he’s doing when he swipes his thumb over your hardened nipple, but he surely is surprised when he hears you whimper and feels you tugging at his t-shirt. 

“D-Do that again,” you bite on his shoulder when he brushes your nipple once more. And once more. Chan finds out he really loves hearing you let out soft, pretty sounds for him - because of him. “Please… use your mouth, please,” you beg, clenching your thighs to relieve some of the tension you’re feeling between your legs. You can’t wait for him to finally touch you there. 

“My mouth?” He repeats, and you nod. 

“Just… your lips and tongue. Please,” your breathing starts to become more irregular. 

You let go of Chan’s shirt only to lie down with your back flat on the mattress, boobs on full display for Chan to admire and worship, even though he’s pretty clueless about what he’s supposed to do next, so you decide to guide him. He positions himself between your thighs.

“Start by kissing my neck,” you instruct, “and then move down. Just do whatever you want, really.” 

Chan latches his lips on your neck and you moan. Now it’s his turn to clench his thighs, squeezing his neglected cock. He kisses your collarbone hungrily, occasionally scraping it with his teeth clumsily, not realizing you love it. And when he finally starts kissing the soft skin of your boobs, the both of you let out a tiny gasp. 

“Like this?” He mutters against your flesh, not even thinking about pulling away from you.

You nod, burying your fingers in his hair while you grip the bedsheets with your other hand. “Yeah,” you sigh, “now l-lick. My nipple. Lick me there.”

The first swipe of Chan’s tongue on your sensitive nipple has you arching your back in desperate need for more. And he gives you exactly what you want, wrapping his hot lips around your hardened bud, still continuing to swirl his tongue around it. With a confidence he didn’t know he had within himself, he starts playing with the other one using his fingers, the same way he did before, just brushing it with his thumb - when he pinches it, you let out a tiny squeak, and he lifts his gaze to check if you’re alright. 

“Are you,” you mutter between deep breaths, “are you sure this is your first time doing this?” You chuckle, tugging at his hair softly.  

He blushes a little, then nods with his nipple still in his mouth, and it’s the hottest sight ever. But you need more. 

You wrap your fingers around Chan’s wrist, and then you start sliding his hand down your body, past your navel, until his fingers brushes the hem of your yoga pants. That’s when Chan’s breath hitches, and he looks at you like a kicked puppy, slightly panicking inside because he has no clue what to do. Well, technically he knows what he’s supposed to do, but practically… He adjusts himself on the mattress, removing his body from between your legs, and you whine at the loss of contact when he lets go of your nipple. 

“You still want to do this?” You ask him, and he nods. “Relax,” you tell him, noticing he’s been holding his breath, “you’ll do good. We’re taking this slow, remember? It’s not like I’m expecting you to be a pro at it.” 

He nods once again, but looks more convinced and confident this time. “I’m sure. I want to do this.”

You smile at him, kissing the tip of his nose, “you’re so cute.”

Hooking your fingers in each side of your yoga pants, you slide them past the curve of your ass and down your legs, taking them off for good and letting them fall on the floor without a care in the world. Chan bites his lip at the sight of your barely covered pussy, and the lacy material is kind of see-through, so he can take a glimpse of it. He’s still fully clothed beside you, while you have only your panties on. Before taking things further, he takes his t-shirt off in record time, revealing his naked torso to your eyes. 

“You look so handsome…” you whisper, tracing the outline of his abs with the tip of your fingers, hard under your touch. “You’re gonna let me ride your abs one day, yeah?”  You kiss him right on his pecs, unable to contain your eagerness. 

“Ride them?” He asks, pretty confused because how can someone ride abs? Is it actually a thing?

“Yeah, just let me sit on you and rub my clit on your abs until I make myself cum.”

Chan had never heard of such a thing before you explained it to him, and now he can’t physically wait to try it. He wants you to use his body in every possible way - you wouldn’t even have to ask, whatever you want to do to him, you can do it. He’s yours. 

“Oh. Of course you can,” his fingers brush your panties, and suddenly you’re remembered of what you were about to do before you let your hormones take over. 

“You can take them off,” you mumble on his skin, kissing him one last time on his collarbone, and he nods, beginning to slowly slide the lace down your legs, finally revealing your nakedness to his eyes. 

Chan has never seen a naked woman before, if porn doesn’t count, and maybe that’s why he literally can’t tear his eyes off you, off your bare pussy, and he’s suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to kiss you everywhere, there, for hours, days even. He wants to do it slowly at first, peppering your skin with soft kisses, and they he’d want to devour you, he wants to kiss and lick and bite you until his lips physically hurt, until you both can’t take it anymore. 

Your panties are soon discarded on the floor after what feels like an eternity, but Chan’s still focused on looking at you. He looks at you as if you were a work of art, the most beautiful painting in a museum, as if you were the most perfect thing in the world and he’d ruin you with his goofy and inexperienced touch. His eyes move from your pussy to your boobs, and ultimately on your face. You’re naked in his arms. You’re letting him see the most intimate and private parts of you and he’s so flattered and honored and he just wants to kiss you and thank you for trusting him, even though he is the virgin. He doesn’t even care that other men saw you like this, he finds it completely irrelevant, because he knows that from now on it’s him and only him that’ll get to see you, touch you, kiss you and have you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he nuzzles your cheek, eyes fluttering shut as he lives the moment, enjoying the warmth of your body next to his. “Looks so pretty,” he mumbles, still looking at your pussy. 

You take his hand, that’s resting undisturbed on your thigh, and bring it closer to your most delicate part. Even though it’s you who’s being touched right now, it’s Chan who shivers once his fingers brush your pussy. A small huff escapes his nose. You feel foreign under his touch, and so fragile. Chan is scared he’ll mess up. 

“I’ll probably mess up,” he mumbles, finding the courage to open his eyes and look at you - you don’t seem to be bothered in the slightest. In fact, your own cheeks are tinted of a bright pink shade, and your own fingers are slightly shaking, Chan can feel it. 

“It’s okay,” you kiss him on the cheek. “You’ll learn. I’m not expecting you to be perfect on your first try, just so you know that. We’ve got a lifetime together to practice,” you chuckle, and he does, too, although he’s a bit more nervous than you. 

“Okay. Just… teach me,” his gaze moves to where he’s touching you, his fingers still on your mound. 

You move his hand slightly, and gasp when Chan brushes your clit. It’s dry, and not completely satisfying, but the friction still makes you throb, however slightly. “This is the clit. Do you watch porn?” 

Chan wishes he could physically stuck his head in the sand because of how much he’s embarrassed to admit this, even though it’s completely normal. “Y-Yeah, I… I watch it, some times.” 

“You know it’s okay to watch porn, right?” You chuckle, “nobody’s judging you for that.”

“I know, I know,” he mumbles, still quite embarrassed. “It’s just… I don’t do it regularly. Only some times. I prefer to use my imagination when I’m… you know.”

“When you’re touching yourself?” He nods, red in the face. “You’re so cute. One day you’ll tell me what you think of, yeah? For now, just focus on me.”

Chan feels kind of weird at the thought of sharing his dirty thoughts with you, mostly because, well, you’re in all of them, but you seem to be particularly interested in knowing, so he just nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll tell you.” 

You kiss his cheek once again. “This is the clit,” you repeat. “I really like to be touched here, but not like this. It’s too dry and kind of painful.”

“And how do you like to be touched?” He asks as if he were in class and taking notes. 

“It depends. I usually squeeze some lube on my fingers and it helps,” and then you move his hands only slightly farther. Chan still can’t believe how soft you feel. “But you made me really wet, so this’ll work, too,” you bite your lip. Chan’s now touching your entrance, fingers kind of dipping into your wetness. It feels kind of sticky on his skin, and there’s so much of it already even though he barely touched you. 

“I made you this wet?” He can’t help but ask, incredulous. 

“Yeah. You know, all the kissing and the dirty talk, you touching my boobs…” you trail off. 

Gripping Chan’s wrist tight, you allow him to move his hands up and down your pussy a couple of time, making sure to coat his fingers in your arousal as much as possible, and once they’re significantly wet, you guide him back on your clit. 

“You can do anything, really. Move them how you want, it doesn’t really make a difference for me. Just, whatever you do, be delicate.”

Chan looks completely lost, unsure what he’s supposed to do even though you literally just told him. Instinctively, what he does is move his fingers drawing a kind of circle on you clit - he saw it in a video once, and the girl had seemed to like it very much. 

“Like this?” He asks. 

You nod. “Yeah, it feels nice,” you encourage him. Of course his movements are not perfect, but it’s still pleasant. “You can go a bit faster.” 

When he does, his fingers kind of slip from your clit, and you reposition his hand to make sure he’s rubbing the right spot. “Oops, sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed, blushing a little, even though he’s got nothing to be sorry for. 

“It’s okay. You’re doing good,” you encourage him, kissing his shoulder while trying to muffle the sounds that leave your mouth. 

He keeps touching you exactly like you taught him to, rubbing you delicately, eyes on his fingers and, consequently, on your pussy as he remains quiet only to listen to the sweet sounds you’re making. When his fingers start to feel a little bit dry, he spontaneously dips them back in the pool of arousal at your entrance, and then he resumes the movements on your clit. Once he’s gained enough confidence, the circular movements slowly turn into tight, imaginary eights on your clit, and he’s not prepared for the moan you let out, your fingers gripping his arm tight.

“You’re doing so good, Chan,” you huff, pressing your lips on his skin, holding onto him as you feel the knot in your stomach begin to form. “Keep going.” 

Chan believes he could easily get addicted to the small, squeaky sound you make when you’re getting close to your release, and he still can’t believe he’s the cause you’re feeling that good. It’s a confidence booster he didn’t know he needed until now. He kisses the top of your head as he feels your legs starting to shake. He still can’t believe he’s about to make you orgasm despite this being the first time he lays his fingers on a woman. 

“I’m close, Channie. Don’t stop,” you stick your fingernails into his skin, and he muffles a whimper. 

His wrist is starting to hurt, but he has no intention to stop - he keeps rubbing your sensitive bud like he has no other purpose in life, and in a matter of seconds, he has you cumming under his touch, although he doesn’t realize it at first because you don’t warn him, even though you do let out a high-pitched moan that has him shivering. He only realizes you’ve come when you clench your thighs, practically blocking his movements because you’re starting to feel overstimulated. 

“’S too much,” you whine, hiding your face in his neck, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and moving his hand away from your pussy. He’s confused, so you explicitly tell him, “I came. ‘M too sensitive now,” and don’t miss the way he raises his eyebrows. 

He made you cum. He was able to pleasure you to the point you orgasmed because of him. When he looks down, not only your pussy is completely wet, but there’s also a small, wet patch on your bedsheets - the proof of what he did to you, and he can’t help but feel proud of himself. 

“Was it okay?” He asks you, lying down next to you as you try to catch your breath, brain still feeling kind of fuzzy. 

You nod, “it was great. You learn pretty fast,” you chuckle and Chan blushes. “But now I kind of want to do something to you, you know? As a thank you for a mind-blowing orgasm?” You squeeze his thigh. 

Chan looks taken aback. “You, uh… you don’t have to do anything, really.” 

“So you don’t want me to suck you off?” 

Chan’s cock positively throbs in his pants. The thought of you wrapping your lips around him drives him crazy, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined it before, especially when it’s late at night and his stupid hard cock won’t soften.

“I-I… I don’t want you to think I pleasured you just to get something in return.” 

“Chan, I want to do it,” you mumble, kissing his lips, “‘m not asking just because I feel pressured or I feel like I have to. I really want to suck your cock,” your hand moves farther, now almost palming his cock. 

Chan nods. “Okay. I, uh… I really want it, too, obviously. Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t pressuring you into it.”

“You’re not,” you smile at him, and then Chan feels you slowly unbuttoning his jeans, and then the zipper is next. 

Even though you already gave him a handjob and licked him cum off his stomach, he still feels kind of self-conscious about showing his naked body to anyone else who isn’t his bathroom mirror. Moreover, he knows his cock is not the biggest out there, and he can’t help but feel a little bit anxious because what if you think he’s not enough? What if your exes were bigger? He’s above average, maybe only slightly bigger, but what if it’s still not enough? He doesn’t say anything, though, and lets you undress him slowly, as if you were unwrapping a present, slowly stripping him of his skinny jeans. 

You’re naked in front of him, positioned between his legs and ready to touch him, to take him into your mouth, and he’s slowly starting to panic. Chan takes a deep breath when you hook your fingers in the hem of his boxers and you feel him tense up, shutting his eyes closed. He’s spiralling, you can see it, and you don’t want it this way, so you remove your fingers from his underwear. He opens his eyes to look at you, confused, nervous, scared you might just get up and leave, fed up with his insecurities eating him alive. Instead, what you do is look him in the eye as you palm his erection over his boxers, and then you press your mouth on it. Chan has to muffle a moan in the back of his hand, keeping his eyes on you. And then he feels your hot tongue on him, over the thin fabric of his boxers, and his cock throbs. 

“You feel so good already,” you mumble, continuing to lick him over his boxers until your tongue is pressed on his balls, and that’s when he involuntarily jerks his hips. It feels so good, better than anything he’s ever felt before. “Can’t wait to taste you,” your voice comes out muffled by the fabric of his boxers. You want him to feel confident, to stop panicking and finally realize that you find him unbelievably hot. 

Begging he does when you wrap your mouth around his balls as your fingers tease his sensitive tip. “Please,” he whines, finding it already hard to hold back. He’s not gonna last at all. It’s gonna be even worse than the dry humping thing, he’s gonna blow unbelievably fast. “Feels so good. Feels amazing, oh,” he whines, gripping the bedsheets tight. 

“You do realize you’ve got nothing to be shy for, yeah? You drive me crazy, Chan,” you place a few more kisses on his length, “I just want to make you feel good. Show you how much you turn me on. Will you let me?” 

Chan whines, a small “yeah” leaving his mouth, and he suddenly feels much more confident than before. You always manage to make him feel so loved, so appreciated, and he’s forever grateful that he’s experiences all of his firsts with someone like you - with you. It wouldn’t make sense with anyone else, it wouldn’t feel this way - so right. 

He helps you slide his boxers down his length, which finally springs free and hits his stomach with a slap, and then his underwear soon reaches yours on the floor. Maybe Chan’s cock isn’t the longest out there, it most definitely isn’t, but it’s definitely the prettiest you’ve seen. It’s kind of thick and feels heavy overall, with a thick vein on the underside and full, heavy balls yearning to be touched again. You want to give this boy all the head in the world. 

“Your cock is so pretty,” you mumble, leaving a couple of kisses on his groin, where his cock is lying undisturbed. Chan can’t wait for you to touch him, for you to do anything you want to him. “Can’t wait to taste you again, Channie.”

Chan doesn’t even have the time to say anything to you, because as soon as he tries to speak he feels your hot, wet tongue on his length and he has to bite on his lip to muffle an obscene moan. It’s not physically possible for a blowjob to feel this good, and you haven’t even taken him in your mouth yet. Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, and he throbs in your palm, heavy and eager. When you wet his sensitive tip with a gob of your spit, it catches him completely off guard, and a shiver runs down his spine, but it’s nothing compared to the way his legs tremble when you run your tongue along the underside of his cock. 

“Oh, my-“ 

You smirk, looking at him as you engulf his cockhead in your mouth, enjoying the way he’s squirming, fisting the sheets and holding on to them for dear life. He tastes kind of salty, but you don’t really mind, in fact it’s kind of pleasant. When you try to take more of him into your mouth, he can’t help but grunt, his balls tightening. You start moving up and down his length, taking a bit more of him in your mouth with each bob of your head, and Chan can’t take his eyes off you - there’s saliva dripping from your mouth and all over his cock, coating his entire length and his balls, and you’re making the prettiest sounds as you take him into your mouth until he’s almost fully buried inside of it. 

“‘M not gonna last very long, gotta be honest,” he chuckles, stomach tightening as you swallow around his length. His whole body shakes.

You simply squeeze his thigh to let him know it’s perfectly okay, that you don’t really care when he cums - what matters the most is that he enjoys what’s happening and that he’s feeling good. When his tip hits the back of your throat he hisses, fisting the sheets even tighter until his knuckles turn white, so the next thing you do is stretching out your arm to intertwine your fingers with his, and then you place his hand on your head, burying it in your hair. Chan feels kind of bad about pulling it, afraid to hurt you or to cause you any discomfort, but when he eventually pulls it and you moan out of pleasure he can’t help but raise hie eyebrows in surprise. So he does it again, closing his eyes and relaxing under your touch. 

“Your mouth feels so good, what the fuck,” he whimpers, clenching his thighs in a desperate attempt of putting off his orgasm. Now that he knows how having your lips wrapped around him feels like, he’s not sure he’ll be able to live without it. 

Just when Chan thought it couldn’t get even better, it does. His whole body shakes when you take all of him into your mouth and swallow around his length again. Then one more time, as your hand comes to cup his balls, caressing them delicately, and before he can’t warn you or pull you off his dick, he’s cumming, shooting his load in your mouth. 

“Fuck. ‘M sorry, ‘m cumming, oh my God.” He rambles, not even knowing what he’s saying because it just feels so good and his brain feels fuzzy and he’s still trembling and cumming in your mouth. 

But you don’t pull away - instead, you swallow his release with a hum. It’s salty, but with a bitter aftertaste that’s not necessarily bad. When you pull off his cock and look at him, Chan looks as if his soul had left his body, lying on the sheets completely spent, his cock softening where it’s resting against his abdomen. 

“I’m so sorry,” he pouts.

“It’s okay,” you giggle, licking you lips. “I liked it. You taste nice, just like I remembered.”

“C’mere,” he mumbles, opening his arms at you. You lie down next to him, resting your head on his chest. “No, no, let me kiss you. Wan’ kiss.” 

You smile as you lift your head to lean in and place your lips on his. He can taste himself on you, and it’s not as disgusting as he thought it would be. His hand comes to cup your cheek as he nuzzles your cheek when he pulls away. “You’re amazing, you know that?” 

“You’re just saying that because you just had an orgasm and your brain feels kind of as if it were floating. Wait until post-nut clarity hits you,” you tease him, poking his dimple with the tip of your pointer finger. 

“No, I’m saying it because I really think you’re amazing and I love you.” 

That’s when time stops, and nothing else in the world seems to exist apart from you and Chan in your messed up bed, covered in sweat and body fluids, with messy hair and out of breath. Nothing else exists and nothing else matters because Chan just told you he loves you. You don’t even realize your eyes welled up with tears after his spontaneous confession. Yes, you technically told each other you might love each other, but this is entirely different. This marks the start of something new. 

You sniffle, and hide your face in Chan’s neck - you don’t want him to look at you when your eyes are all red and puffy. “I love you,” you mumble quietly, but Chan hears you loud and clear, and he holds you close to his chest. 

“Why are you crying?” Chan asks, kissing the top of your head. 

“Because you… you told me you love me and now I’m all sensitive because I love you too and you make me so happy.”

He chuckles, thinking you’re the cutest in the whole world and that he’s so lucky to have found you. He stretches his arm to grab the sheets to cover your entangles bodies. You fall asleep like that, lulled by each other’s heartbeats, surrounded by each other’s warmth. And when you wake up the next morning, you go again - he pleasures you with his mouth this time, and then the two of you end up dry humping once again, this time without clothes separating your bodies until Chan spills onto your stomach and mentally notes to bring a condom with him the next time the two of you’ll have yours or his place for yourselves, because there’s no way he’ll be able to resist you. 

He’s ready. 

ᥫ᭡

Chan is starting to believe his boss really hates his guts, because he decided to send him off a work trip to Japan for a whole week, which means he won’t be able to see you for a week, which means your plans of touching, kissing, feeling each other will be delayed. It shouldn’t really be an issue, since he’s being a virgin his whole life, but Chan was really looking forward to spending some time alone with you this weekend. 

Three days left. Three more days and he’ll be able to kiss and hug you again and so much more.

Chan changes into his pajamas and slips under the soft covers, and just like every night since he left, he unlocks his phone and video calls you like a sort of nighttime routine he wishes will continue even after he’s returned from his work trip. It’s cute, watching you all snuggled up under the covers and fall asleep together like that. Only this time, when you pick up the phone, you’re not snuggled up under the covers at all. In fact, you’re wearing your bathrobe, one that’s kind of revealing. Chan’s eyes widen and he looks at you shocked, looking already kind of flustered. 

“Uh, hello to you too?” He chuckles, looking at you through the camera, and you greet him with a big smile on your face. 

“Hi!” You chirp, and of course you do realize he’s red in the face, but by now he’s well aware that you love seeing him all flustered and squirming. “I jus’ got out of the shower.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he stutters, embarrassed. “Do you want me to call you back? So that you can put something on?”

“Why? You don’t like me in a bathrobe?” You tease him, knowing it’s the complete opposite. 

Chan sighs, shaking his head as a no. “I think I like you way too much in that. Which is a problem, you know, because I’m so far away from you…” 

He truly can’t wait to see you again. 

“But you’ll be back soon…” you smile at him through the phone, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “and you’ll get to see me in way less than a bathrobe.”

Chan’s cock stirs in his pants at the thought. Ever since he’d seen you naked he hasn’t been able to think of anything else while he touches himself. Ever since he got to feel you and taste you, he can’t get the thought out of his head. 

“Oh?” His eyebrows raise. “Don’t say things like that. Please, not when I’m seven-hundred miles away from you and I can’t see you. I’m losing my mind over here, thinking of the last time we saw each other…” 

You smirk, and then slide the bathrobe off one of your shoulders. “Yeah? Whatcha thinking of?”  You bat your eyelashes at him, untying the knot on the robe, and Chan’s breath hitches in his throat. 

“Are we about to do what I think we’re about to do?” Chan can’t help but ask, a pained expression on his face as he palms himself over the shorts he wears to sleep, feeling himself growing harder under his own familiar touch. “‘Cause I’m down, fyi.” 

You nod. “If you’re thinking of phone sex, then yeah,” you bite your lip. “Now be good and take off your shirt, yeah?”

His t-shirt comes off in seconds and he shows his naked torso to you through the camera. He looks incredibly good, and you wish you could run your fingers all over his naked chest and pecs and arms and every single inch of his skin, really. Touch and kiss him until you get him all riled up - soft kisses on his neck that inevitably turn slutty until you’re fully sucking on his skin and leaving pretty marks there. The thought is enough to make you clench your thighs. 

“Now you. Please,” he speaks softly through the phone, slightly embarrassed to be the only one who’s so exposed right now. 

It’s only fair that you show him a little something, right? And even though he’s seen them a couple of times already, a tiny, muffled gasp still leaves Chan’s mouth once he finally sees your boobs on his phone screen. You’re smirking, of course you are, as you grope one with your own hand and squeeze it. Chan misses the feeling of having them in his hands. 

“Pretty. So pretty,” he mumbles, staring at your boobs while still palming himself, now fully hard. “How are you so perfect? ’t’s not possible, you’re not real. ‘M convinced you’re not real sometimes, you know?” 

You giggle, pinching your own nipple between your fingers. “I’m definitely real, I’ll show you when you’re back. And for the record, you’re the perfect one,” you bite your lip as you compliment him, still looking at his half-naked figure. 

“Baby? Pretty?” He mumbles, a tiny huff leaving his nostrils as he keeps looking at you playing with your tits, on full display for him to see. “Show me something more. Please, baby. Need it, need you.” 

“Only if you show me your pretty cock first.”

Taking his shorts off using only one hand is pretty uncomfortable, and Chan has to actually set his phone aside for a couple of seconds to slide them down his thighs, letting his cock spring free, hitting his skin with a loud slap. When he picks his phone again, he realizes he’s a bit self-conscious about showing himself completely naked to you over the phone, even though you literally had his cock in your mouth. You actually find it cute and somehow hot, honestly. 

“Don’t go shy on me, baby. It’s just us, you and me.” 

Chan nods convinced, and then angles his phone so that his hard manhood is now shown on camera, with his fingers wrapped around his base. Is he doing this right? Is there even a right way to do this? He’s never had phone sex before, obviously, so he doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do right now. Should he just touch himself? Or perhaps should he wait for you to show yourself to him first? He opts for the first option. 

“It looks so hard. Wanna touch it so bad, wanna feel you in my mouth again.” 

Chan kicks his head back into the soft pillows, squeezing himself even tighter. “I’d kill to feel your mouth on me right now,” Chan grunts, not really paying attention to what he’s saying because, let’s face it, there’s no blood left in his brain. “S-Show me, pretty. Your… your pussy. Please. Need to see you.” 

The bathrobe finally comes off, and you too angle the phone in the best way possible for him to see every bit of you. He finally sees your pussy and his eyes roll in the back of his skull as he bites his lip. He’s never even fucked you yet and he’s already whipped for your pussy. If he focuses hard enough, Chan can still taste you on his tongue, he can still feel the way your thighs clenched so hard around his head to the point he couldn’t move as you came onto his tongue. He can still feel how wet you were as he moved his cock up and down your folds until he spilled his cum onto your stomach. 

“‘M so wet for you, Chan,” you speak softly, and he watches you as you run your fingers up and down your slit, not missing the way a pained gasp leaves your mouth when your pads brush your sensitive clit. “Wish you were here. Wish you were touching me right now, you’d feel so much better.”

Chan gives a long and painful stroke to his hopeless cock. “Don’t say that, pretty. Been thinkin’ about touching you the whole day. I woke up so horny for you…”

“Me too. I touched myself in the shower to the thought of your mouth on me…” you admit, slightly red in the face, as your fingers begin to circle your clit. “I can’t wait to see you again, Channie.”

“Me too, pretty- fuck,” he whimpers, stroking his cock a bit faster now, setting the pace he’s so familiar with. “I wanna do it so bad. Had a dream about it, you know?”

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

Chan’s cock throbs in his hand at the thought of the dream he’d had a couple of nights earlier. “We were at my place and- and we were touching each other, you know?” He whimpers, swiping his thumb over his painfully red tip. “A-And things escalated? I can’t really remember how or when, but at some point you…” 

“I?” You encourage him to speak, touching yourself faster, the thought of Chan dreaming about having sex with you driving you absolutely feral. 

“You got on top of me, pretty,” Chan whines pathetically. “You got on top of me and-and took my virginity. I blew so fast, pretty,” he chuckles, “made a mess on the bed.”

“Channie, I’m- fuck, baby, I’m cumming,” you warn him, your own orgasm catching you off guard. It’s so intense you have to close your legs and clench your thighs due to the oversensitivity. 

“M-Me too, baby. Pretty, fuck,“ white ropes of cum shoot right onto his abs and chest as he lets out the prettiest moans you’ve ever heard. He just keeps cumming until it starts dripping down his skin and it pools right at the base of his softening cock, staining the soft hair of his happy trail and a bit of his fingers, too. 

Chan and you remain silent for a couple of minutes, trying to catch your breaths. You can’t wait to see each other, but it’s not just about sex. You miss each other in all the little things, in the routine, in the lunch breaks spent together and the stolen kisses when he drops you off at work, in the walks under the moonlight, in the soft touches you exchange under the covers when you spend the night together - all the sexual stuff is just a bonus.

“Wow, it was… it was really something,” Chan takes a deep breath. His hair is disheveled and he has his usual post-orgasmic grin on his face. Not that you’re doing much better, honestly - you’ll probably need another quick shower before going to bed. “Now I’m missing you even more, though. Wish I could hug you, wanna fall asleep together.”

“Soon, baby. Only a couple of days left and then we’ll be inseparable,” you smile at him through the phone screen, and he wishes he could kiss you right now. 

“I can’t wait,” he smiles back. 

A shower is very much needed, but neither of you feels like hanging up the video call, so you clean yourselves up while the call is still going, and then meet each other again once you’re done and ready to slip under the covers. And just like every night since Chan left, you fall asleep together, while watching each other’s cute, sleepy face over the screen, wishing you were in each other’s arms. 

ᥫ᭡

This time Chan is really, really ready. 

Shower? Taken. Cologne? Sprayed. He chose to wear his favorite t-shirt and jeans, and chose not to wear any piece of jewellery. He shaved his beard and put on a moisturizing cream to make sure his skin would be nice and soft for you to kiss and touch, and even applied lip balm for the exact same reason. Chan even shaved somewhere else, not fully, the same way he’s always showed himself to you. And ultimately, he sprayed some more cologne on, just to be sure he smells great. He spent an awful amount of time checking himself in the mirror, trying to ignore the way his legs felt kind of jelly and how fast his heart is beating in his chest - tonight is the night. 

That’s also why he touched himself in the shower, you know, to make sure he won’t blow as soon as he puts it in.

Of course, he brings with him the box of condoms he bought a while back - not that he’s hoping to use all of them, but he brought so many just in case something goes wrong because you never know. He rolled his eyes when Changbin and Minho teased him for a bit with their silly jokes and allusions to what’s going to happen, and raised his middle finger at them before closing the front door behind his back before hopping in his car and driving to your place, because you thankfully don’t have nosy and antisocial roommates who are always home. 

When you open the door, he thinks you’re more beautiful than ever. 

And no, you’re not wearing anything too special like a dress or something revealing or anything else. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts, the one he gave you before he left for his work trip to Tokyo, and some baggy jeans. Still, he thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Chan jumps into your arms as soon as you open the door, hugging you tight and burying his face in your neck, finally able to breathe in your scent after spending a week apart. 

“I missed you so much,” his voice is muffled, “‘m never leaving you again. Missed hugging you, having you in my arms. My pretty girl.”

You wrap your own arms around him, pulling him even closer, feeling his strong body pressed to yours. You’ve missed him so much, and now he’s here and you feel so happy you could cry.

“Missed you too, baby, so much,” you play with his hair, tugging at it while he’s still wrapped around you like a koala. “Video calls were fun and all, but I really missed the real thing, you know? Your hugs are the best in the world.” 

He chuckles. “I’m happy you like my hugs, pretty, because I’m totally gonna smother you with aaaall of my physical affection from now on to make up for the lost time.”

You pull away, looking at him, quirking an eyebrow. “All of your physical affection?”

Chan’s heartbeat picks up in his chest as soon as he hears your words - of course he understands the implication behind them, and he’s not caught off guard, it’s not that. He’s ready, he wants it, of course. It’s all he could think of for days, weeks even. 

“All of it,” he concludes, a hint of a smile on his face. 

“Oh,” you rest your palms on his broad chest, not tearing off your gaze from his beautiful hazelnut eyes, “sounds like a promise.” You tease him, kind of wanting to test his limits - you want to know if he’s really sure about it. Him being convinced and comfortable with you is what matters the most. 

“It is,” he nuzzles your cheek. “If you want to, of course. Want to show you how much I missed you,” he kisses you on the corner of your lips, “how much I want you,” a small peck on your mouth, “how much I love you.” 

Finally, he kisses you properly, his hot tongue in your mouth as you make out shamelessly in your living room. His hands come to cup your cheeks while yours pull him closer by the waist, hooking your fingers in the loop of his jeans until his body is pressed against yours. 

“Bedroom?” You mumble in between kisses, and Chan’s lips move to your neck - his touch so delicate and sensual it makes you shiver in anticipation. 

Chan hums against your skin, his hands squeezing your waist as he takes a tentative step forward, towards your bedroom. He doesn’t want to stop kissing you, doesn’t want to pull away from you not even for one second. His hot kisses on your neck make wetness pool inside of your panties, and you can feel him get hard - then his lips are back on yours as you try to reach your room without pulling away from each other, bumping on door jambs and furniture edges on your way there, but you couldn’t care less right now. 

“I love you,” you whisper on his lips once your back hits the mattress - Chan hovering over you, his hands on each side of your head. 

“I love you too,” he presses his body on yours, and you spread your legs to accomodate him. His fingers toy with the hem of your t-shirt and before you know it, his hand slips under it, brushing the bare skin of your stomach until he cups one of your breasts with his palm and he’s met with the feeling of the lacy fabric of your bra. 

“Take it off,” you breathe, craving the feeling of Chan’s hands on your skin. He nods, and you arch your back, allowing him to slip the t-shirt off you. 

You don’t miss the way his eyes roll in the back of his head at the sight of your semi-naked breasts, covered only by the sexiest bra he’s ever seen - black, of course. When your fingers tug at his t-shirt, he wastes no time in taking it off at the speed of light - not an ounce of shyness in his moves, and you’re soon met with the sight of his bare chest and abs. You run your fingers all over his muscles, feeling them hard and toned under your touch. 

Your jeans are the next thing that comes off. Chan slides them down your thighs relatively quickly, if it weren’t for the way his brain literally short-circuited at the sight of your matching lacy panties. His pants soon reach the floor as well, leaving him in only his boxers that do nothing to hide his erection. Chan’s lips are back on yours as he positions himself between your legs once again, pressing his clothed cock on your pussy, and you both moan at the feeling. 

“Wanna make you cum,” he mutters on your skin as he leaves open-mouthed kisses on your neck, and his words send a shiver down your spine. His hand reaches behind your back to unhook your bra. 

You whimper. “Right now?” You let him slide the piece of fabric off you, and Chan starts kissing your collarbone. 

“Yeah,” a kiss on the valley of your breasts. “It probably won’t be good, you know? The sex. Since it’s my first time and everything, so I really wanna make sure you cum. I don’t wanna be like those selfish guys who leave their partners unsatisfied.”

“You’re the most selfless person I know, Channie,” you mumble, breath hitching in your throat when he wraps his lips around your nipple, swirling his tongue around it before moving to kiss your stomach. “You really don’t have to,” you tell him, but he’s already hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties. 

“But I really want to.”

Oh. 

Chan slides your panties off, kissing every inch of your inner thigh as he removes the very last piece of clothing covering your body. Even though he’s definitely not a pro at giving oral, since it’s something he only experienced a couple of times, he feels confident in his skills - he had a great teacher, after all. He tries to remember what you told him the first time he did this as his kisses move closer and closer to your core. 

Slow, that’s how you like it. Chan starts with a filthy lick that goes from your entrance to your clit, where he starts sucking. He’s a fast learner, that’s for sure. Chan buries his face in your cunt, lapping at your clit and stroking your hips with his thumbs while your body shakes and trembles under his touch as he eats you out. It’s messy, and he’s still learning, but it feels amazing nonetheless. You tug at his hair and he moans, even though you’re the one who’s being eaten out as if the world ended tonight. Chan brings you close to your high fast - even he’s surprised when he feels your thighs clenching around his head already, but can’t help but feel proud of himself. 

Your pretty moans and whimpers fill Chan’s ears and your bedroom as you cum on his tongue. He licks your arousal off you, swallowing your sweet release as your flavor fills his mouth - he gets so drunk on it. Maybe you’ll let him eat you out once more tonight, if he’s lucky. 

“Channie, baby. Too sensitive,” you whimper, tugging at his hair to get him to stop lapping at your cunt. He does pull away, but nuzzles and kisses your inner thigh for a while in a soothing way as you come down from your high. 

“Was it good?” He mumbles against your skin. He’s not teasing you, he’s really waiting for a feedback. 

You nod, caressing the back of his head. “Are you kidding? ’t was amazing.” 

He chuckles, embarrassed, hiding his face in your skin as he blushes. “Ah, I had a really good teacher,” he kisses your thigh. 

“Nah, I think you’re just naturally talented. Those lips are a guarantee,” you smirk. “C’mere.”

Chan lies down next to you, and cleans his mouth with the back of his hand, but you can still taste yourself on his lips when you kiss him. He gasps in your mouth when you catch him off guard by wrapping your fingers around his manhood over his boxers. He feels only slightly bigger than usual and very hard and hot and in a few minutes it’s going to be inside of you. 

He pulls away from your lips when you slide your hand under the waistband, finally touching him properly. “Baby. Pretty, I’m- I want you.” 

You give one long stroke on his cock and he whines. “Yeah? You’re ready?”

Chan kisses your naked shoulder. “Yeah. Want you now.”

You nod, “alright.”

Chan’s hands and limbs are shaking with nervousness as he gets up from the bed to retrieve his jeans jacket on the floor, fishing the box of condoms from inside the pocket. He pulls out one. He feels nervous as he comes back to where you’re lying all naked and pretty, waiting for him, and all of a sudden he’s more nervous than he’s ever been. 

“How do you… uh, how do you want to do this?” He tries to hide his insecurity behind a warm smile. It’s not like he’s changed his mind - he wants this, he wants it very much. He just doesn’t want to fuck this up or embarrass himself. 

“However you want, baby. We go at your pace,” you brush his knuckles in a comforting way, “maybe you should be on top.”

Chan nods. He pulls his boxers down slowly, letting his erection spring free and slap on his abdomen. He’s shaking even now as he’s tearing the condom wrapper open, and you sense his nervousness, so you prop yourself on your elbows to look at him. He rolls the condom onto his length pretty easily, and then takes a deep breath, his heart beating fast in his chest. 

“Channie. Baby, c’mere,” you mumble. 

He looks at you with puppy eyes as he lies on top of you, resting his head on your chest. “I’m sorry. I want this, I really do - I’m just nervous.” 

You run your fingers through his soft curls. “I’m nervous, too, you know?” You speak softly, kissing the top of his head, admitting for the first time tonight how you’re feeling, catching Chan off guard, because why would you be nervous? You’ve done this before. 

“You’re nervous? Why?” He has to ask, lifting his head to look into your eyes. 

You caress his cheek with your thumb. “Because it’s your first time,” you smile at him, “and I want you to have a nice memory of it, you know? I mean, what if you don’t like it with me? It’s going to… you know, set the bar? For whoever is gonna come next.”

“Ah, are you crazy?” Chan looks at you with a serious look on his face. “Of course I’m gonna have a nice memory, baby. I’m gonna have an amazing memory, and you know why?”

You shake your head as a no. “Why?” 

“Because it’s you who I’m experiencing this with,” he whispers on your lips, looking you in the eye. “And don’t you ever say that again - you know, the whoever is gonna come next part. There’s not gonna be anyone else. I’m in love with you and I wanna be with you for a very long time, so don’t even worry about shit like that, ‘kay?”

Unable to say anything, you just nod as you feel tears prickle in the corners of your eyes, and you’re quick to dry them with the back of your hand. Chan kisses your lips tenderly, and his warm touch comforts you. 

“I, uh…” he trails off with a chuckle, eyes dropping to where his cock is resting between your bodies, still pretty fucking hard. 

“Do you want me to do it?” You offer, and Chan nods - ever since his friend Felix told him about that time he put it in the wrong hole accidentally he’s been terrified of embarrassing himself like that, too, so he figures it’s best if you help positioning his cock at your entrance. 

Your hand reaches down to wrap around his base, and you spread your legs a bit more just to be comfortable as Chan lifts his hips. You let the tip of his cock bump on your clit a couple of times, and then you gently position it on your entrance, still wet from your orgasm and Chan’s saliva. A shiver runs down Chan’s spine at the feeling - it’s already overwhelming in the best way possible. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Channie.” 

He nods. “You’re not gonna make fun of me if I cum too soon, right?”

You shake your head as a no, “I won’t make fun of you in any case, Channie. Promise.”

“Alright,” he takes a deep breath and then, he’s pushing inside of you. 

“B-Baby,” a chocked gasp leaves his mouth as soon as he feels your warmth wrapped around the tip of his cock. 

Even though he’s got a condom on, it still feels amazing, better than anything he’s experienced so far - even better than your mouth, which is his favorite thing in the world. You’re warm and so, so tight around him. You take a deep breath yourself since it’s been a while since you’ve last been intimate with someone, and your heart is beating so fast in your chest you’re actually scared you’re gonna pass out. 

“So good,” he mumbles, eyebrows furrowed and lower lip caught between his teeth as he slowly pushes the rest of his length inside of you. “Feels so good, oh my God, baby.”

Once he bottoms out inside of you, his body literally collapses on yours, and Chan hides his face in the crook of your neck. He leaves small pecks on your collarbone and shoulders, and you entangle your fingers in his curls and wrap your arm around his waist. He’s inside of you. He trusts and loves you so much and he gave you his virginity. He’s inside of you and hadn’t been inside of anyone else until now. The thought has you clenching around him involuntarily, and his head snaps up in your direction. 

“Don’t do that,” he whines, “I’m trying to last as much as possible, pretty.” 

You bite your lip, pulling a couple of strands of hair away from his face. Chan’s cheeks are flushed pink, and his pupils are fully blown - he looks so desperate and already on the edge. “Ah, it’s okay, Channie. You can cum whenever you want, baby. Just do what feels right for you.” 

But Chan absolutely refuses to bust after only putting it in without having even had the chance to fuck you. “N-No. Don’t wanna cum yet, wanna last longer. For you. Wanna feel you just a bit longer, pretty, wanna fuck you. You feel so good around me.” 

The first thrust inside of you is tentative and painfully slow. Chan lets out a cute hmph as he sinks back into your heat, not tearing his gaze off you. You’re beautiful, lying underneath him - your hair all over your pillow. He’s inside you. He’s finally inside of you, and he can’t believe it. He’s making love to the girl he’s so hopelessly in love with, and it almost feels as if his heart could explode out of joy and happiness and love right now. 

His thrusts are all but precise, he’s well aware of that. His movements are uncoordinated and the fact that he already feels on the verge of his orgasm doesn’t really help, but you seem to enjoy it. Your lower lip is caught between your teeth, and you’re taking deep breaths through your nose as you tug at Chan’s hair. It’s all good signs, right? 

“Does this feel good for you too?” Chan asks you, his voice coming out hoarse. 

You hum, “feels so good, Channie. Feel so full,” you whimper, looking down to where his cock is entering you slowly. Even though he knows he’s not the biggest guy out there, it still feels nice to hear. 

Chan’s gaze drops between your bodies, too, and he can’t help but let out an obscene grunt. “Feels so good, what the fuck,” he whines. “How can it feel this fucking good?” He whimpers and moans shamelessly as he continues to fuck into you slowly. “‘M not gonna last much longer, baby.”

You don’t mind. You just nod at him and wrap both your arms around his waist to pull him closer, and then grope one of his asscheeks with your hand, enjoying the way you can feel the muscle clench with each thrust. Then, you grope the other one, too, and then land a slap on his ass that has him folding like a piece of paper. 

“Baby… pretty, fuck-“ he sighs, already feeling his cock twitching inside of you - he won’t be able to stop it. “‘M sorry, baby, I’m- ‘m cumming, pretty.”

“Do it, Channie. Cum f’me. Wanna feel you cumming for me.”

His whole body freezes as he orgasms, spilling all of his white release inside the condom, and it’s the most amazing feeling ever. Chan keeps cumming for what it feels like minutes but it’s honestly just a handful of seconds, giving you everything. You wish there was no barrier between the two of you, you wish you could feel him fully, but this feels really nice nonetheless. 

Chan’s body collapses on yours as he pants heavily. He wraps his strong arms around your body, enveloping you with all of his warmth in a tight embrace. His head feels so light, and so does his body to the point Chan feels like he’s floating on a cloud. You kiss the top of Chan’s head, and he can feel your soft and delicate touch on his naked shoulders. 

Chan holds you closer, and you stay like this for a while until he pulls away when he can feel his cock starting to soften inside of you. Holding the base of his cock and the condom, he pulls out of you slowly and takes off the rubber, tying a tight knot on it to prevent his semen from spilling, then throws it into the bin together with the wrapper and lies down next to you once again. He feels absolutely spent, and hums happily when you pull the covers of your bed over your bodies as you snuggle closer to each other. 

“Is it normal I feel so tired?” He giggles, circling your waist with his arm. You rest your head on his chest, lulled by his heartbeat. 

You giggle as well, “yeah. It means it was good, hopefully?”

“It was amazing,” he kisses you on the forehead, his fingers drawing imaginary shapes on your skin. “I never knew something could feel this good. I’m convinced it’s because it was with you,” he sighs. “I’m so glad I waited, you know? Wouldn’t have been the same with anyone else.”

“Chan…”

“No, I’m serious. Everything feels right with you. It’s not just the sexual stuff, all the small things feel right with you. Even- even just lying on the couch with you or grabbing a coffee in shitty cafes, or cooking together,” he rests his forehead on yours, closing his eyes. “It’s you who make sense in my life. You just make everything better, pretty.”

“Stooop,” you pout, covering your face with both of your hands, “you’re gonna make me cry.”

He chuckles. “I’m so fucking happy I met you, pretty. I’m so fucking glad you got a flat tire that day, and I was there to help you. My life would be awfully plain and empty without you in it.”

He hears you sniffle and starts rubbing your back to soothe you. 

“Channie,” you mumble, voice muffled by his skin. “I’m- I’m happy I decided to open my heart to love again. I knew you’d be worth it, baby. I love you so much, Channie.”

He hugs you tighter and you stay like that for a long while - in silence, feeling incredibly happy and blessed to have found a love worth fighting for. A love that filled your lives with joy and serenity, a love that changed the both of you forever. You’re sure Chan’s the love of your life. He’s sure you’re his. 

It’s Chan who breaks the silence first, and you feel him getting hard against your thigh. 

“Pretty?”

“Hm?”

“You feel like going again?”

ᥫ᭡

-> 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬! "𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧", 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝.

[mainexiii]

HICKEY — MINSUNG.

pairing: jisung x reader(afab) x minho genre: smut, NSFW warnings: established relationship (jisung x reader), biting, protected sex, oral (f and m receiving), piv, mxm, threesome, overstimulation, handjob, multiple orgasms, dry humping, cumming in pants, switch of dynamics

it’s only been a couple of months since you and jisung started dating. jisung was shy most of the time, but he was not afraid to tell you about his needs and things he wanted to try next.

that is why you weren’t surprised, when during one of the make-out sessions jisung suddenly stopped, looked at you with pleading eyes and whispered. “can you give me a hickey?”

you laughed. “i’d love to, but i don’t know how to do it, ji.”

“ugh,” jisung whined. “fuck, i don’t know either. don’t you just need to suck my skin or bite it?”

“i can try,” you said, brushing your nose along his neck. he sighed deeply, his skin filling with goosebumps. “but i am scared that i am gonna hurt you.”

“what if… i ask minho to teach us.” jisung was not giving up.

you gave him a stare in return. there was no way your boyfriend just said that.

minho - the childhood friend. the guy everyone thought was jisung’s boyfriend, before you two started dating. of course, jisung trusted him. but you couldn’t even think that he trusted him that much.

your thighs trembled at the thought of having minho right here - on your bed. you’d lie if you said you weren’t charmed by his appearance. out of all jisung’s friends, he was catching your eye the most. his heart-shaped lips, big thighs, veiny hands…

“if you are uncomfortable with him specifically, it’s fine. we can-“

“okay,” you interrupted. “let’s ask him.”

​

​

there he was. sitting at the near end of the bed with the most irritated look on his face. you didn’t know how jisung even managed to get him here in the first place.

“are you guys serious? i am not participating in your sex games.”

“pleasee, minho, you can just show it on me once. i just wanna see how it is.” jisung whined, slowly scooping closer to his friend. you knew what he was doing - fluttering his lashes and furrowing eyebrows cutely - and it made you chuckle even louder. “nothing sexual, promise. we just don’t know who else to ask. plus you’ve always been bragging about your hookups, so i know that you are experienced.”

minho sighed, giving you and jisung another look. you smiled warmly, giving him a look of “i don’t know what’s going on too”, and jisung patted him on the shoulder.

“fine… but nothing more than that.”

jisung happily jumped, not hiding the excitement. it almost seemed like he wanted to feel minho’s lips on his skin more than yours. in a matter of seconds he was on his back, waiting for his best friend to crawl on top of him.

minho’s shyness disappeared like it was never there. he quickly got on top of jisung, making himself comfortable. the slight adjustment of his hips made your boyfriend suck in his breath. his lashes fluttered and you could see how hard it was for him to put his hands on minho’s thighs.

“okay, this is getting awkward.” jisung laughed, when minho’s face got closer to him.

“shut up for a second.” minho replied boldly, leaning closer to his best friend’s neck.

jisung hummed in response, leaning his head back to give better access to his neck. it felt like time had stopped, and everyone held their breath for a second.

the gray sweatpants minho was wearing hugged his legs in all right places. his muscular thighs were so big compared to jisung’s prominent small waist. sharp collarbones peeked out from under the collar of his t-shirt. he looked so sexy, especially on top of your boyfriend.

minho began to suck the skin harshly between his teeth, earning quiet whines from jisung.

the sloppy sounds of lips and saliva made your pussy throb. as much as you tried to, you couldn’t stay unaffected. the view in front of you was way too pornographic. as you saw jisung shut his eyes in ecstasy, you squeezed your thighs together, trying to do circular motions to relieve yourself. a million of lewd thoughts were already racing your mind, and minho just started. you didn’t know when exactly he would stop, but you certainly didn’t want him to.

watching the lewd act happening in front of your eyes, you were physically resisting yourself from sliding your fingers in your panties to touch your throbbing pussy. instead you placed your hand on jisung’s thigh, slowly sliding up it.

“hey-hey, babe! stop now or i am gonna get hard for real!” jisung quickly protested, attempting to get up and push minho off. but he was so weak, so tiny under minho’s body. it made him squeak in surprise.

“i’m just speeding up the process…” you murmured, your hand traveling higher on his thigh.

minho paused and turned at you slowly, but you couldn’t pick up the emotion on his face. was he getting aroused as well?

“is that enough for you two? can i leave?” he sat up and cleared his throat, looking away in embarrassment.

“no no, can you show it on me as well, pleeease?” you didn’t wanna let him go so easily. not when you finally had a chance to have somewhat intimate contact with him. “i want to be sure that both of us understood how to do it.”

minho sighed and looked at the ceiling. you could tell he was battling with his inner self. but if you push him any more now, he’d just get annoyed and leave. so all you could do was beg and use jisung’s tricks.

“please?” you made puppy eyes. “pretty please?”

jisung was still laying on the bed, probably trying to calm down his erection, and looking at the scene unfolding in front of him.

minho sighed again and gave you the look that sent shivers down your spine.

“c’mon then, lay on your back.” he commanded, and you obeyed immediately.

jisung chuckled. he knew exactly what you were doing.

when minho crawled on top of you, you tried your best to stay calm. how could you not react to his presence? the warmth of his body was transferring to you, his cologne was all you could smell, and his plush thighs were hugging your hips so tightly, yet so comfortably.

your heart was racing so rapidly, you thought it was going to jump out of your chest. the heatwave from the bottom already reached your face, and all minho did was just sat on top of you.

you felt his warm breath on your neck and squeezed the sheets, eyes closed in anticipation. you’ve never had a hickey before, so your mind was tracing with thoughts, besides the lewd ones. will it hurt? will it be less enjoyable as you imagined? 

minho buried his face in your neck, trying to determine the best place to leave a mark. a surprised gasp left your mouth as you felt him licking the spot right below your ear.

right as you were about to push him away and tell him to stop messing around and licking you like a cat, he bit down. it surprised you more than it hurt but you still let out a gasp as your body tensed up. the bite quickly turned into him sucking and licking at the spot, causing your body to relax. reflexively, you tucked his hair at the back of his head.

this was the first time someone’s ever given you a hickey. it was so… weird? but felt good. you could feel yourself slowly getting wet under minho’s body.

once he finished with that spot, he pressed a small kiss on it before moving to another one by your throat and doing the same. it seemed like he wasn’t even planning on stopping. and neither you nor jisung had these plans either. you let out a sigh of relief when you felt teeth turn into tongue, gently massaging and soothing the pain.

as time went by, you began to squirm under minho’s body. you badly needed relief.

“fuck- don’t start something you can’t finish.” minho groaned on top of you.

“what if I want to start something?” you moved your head, trying to get a better look at him.

you would lie, if you said you didn’t notice that something had been poking your inner thigh for the past few minutes. something big… and pulsating. he was hard. painfully hard from all the kissing and body contact that happened between the three of you.

he could feel your tits pressing against his chest, and the heat between your legs was radiating through his sweats right onto his now rock-hard dick.

after another slight movement of minho’s hips, as he attempted to get up, you gave up and made a loud moan. minho paused. his hot, heavy breath was tickling your neck.

“i think… i should probably leave…”

you grabbed his hand just as he was about to move away from you.

minho’s ears were red; a flustered look on his face with a slight blush on his cheeks. he wouldn’t lie, he didn’t want to move away from you. he shouldn’t have been so turned on by this… you were his best friend’s girlfriend, and it should’ve felt at least a bit wrong to be this hard because of the thought of fucking you. however, rock-hard dick in his pants said otherwise.

not being able to resist any longer, you touched the throbbing bulge with one hand and rubbed small circles on minho’s tummy with the other.

minho whimpered and tightened his grip on your waist, that he has been holding.

“ohh, fuuuck…” he groaned. “ohh, shit that felt so good, fuck-”

you giggled and pressed your fingers into the fabric harder, as you kept grinding your hand on his bulge.

“fuuuck…” he hid his face in the crook of your neck. you could see his flushed crimson ears and his back moving up and down the more you played with him. “don’t make me cum in my pants.”

minho was whining and panting already and you barely touched him. you were already wet too, clit swollen and pulsating between your thighs, absolutely begging to be touched.

you turned your head at the deep groan coming from aside. jisung was looking between you two with an amused expression. you totally forgot that your boyfriend was still there.

“ji?”

“you two look fucking amazing,” he said. eyes dark, filled with lust.

he smiled at you tenderly, making sure you know that he is comfortable with where this is going, and leaned in for a kiss. his tongue went all over yours, reminding of how good of a kisser he actually is. the lewd sounds of exchanging saliva and little moans teemed around the room.

minho watched you two patiently, his eyes flickering from your locked lips to the ceiling, feeling a little shameful when his gaze darted back down to watch you both.

jisung’s tongue glided along your bottom lip, smiling against you as you parted your lips. as minho watched you both, he admittedly got even more turned on at the sight.

“you are literally laying on top of me with you hard dick poking my thigh. can you stop blushing?” a little chuckle escaped your lips. “cm’ere.”

you grabbed minho’s neck and yanked him down to kiss you. he squeaked in surprise, but was quick to let his tongue press into your mouth, pouty lips against yours. he did not expect that much boldness from you. weren’t you a virgin a few months ago?

keeping up with the confidence, you touched his bulge again. he moaned desperately against your lips, impatience running over him. the kiss quickly became sloppy and desperate.

“aAaH!” minho moaned into your mouth again and pulled away. “gosh, i am so hard, sorry. i am acting like a horny teenager.”

the way the blush covered his cheeks, voice trembled and his unusual cockiness got replaced by timidity made you feel even more desperate for him. he was so patient, so careful and scared to hurt you. you had to lead the way, otherwise he’d sit here forever, scared to touch you more than his morality let him.

suddenly, you felt a second pair of hands on you, pulling off your pants.

“ji?” you gasped in awe.

“you two are too slow.” he groaned, already halfway to fully striping you. “i can’t wait anymore.”

you chucked both in shock, embarrassment and arousal. it felt so different when jisung took control over you.

the next time you looked at minho, he was sitting in front you in his boxers only. your gaze went over his relief of muscles, abs and the scar on his stomach. he looked utterly angelic, and you suddenly felt like you weren't good enough to be in the same bed with two that good-looking men.

“hey- relax. you are sexy. and i love you. and we are both hard just from looking at you.” jisung immediately read your mood and placed a kiss on your temple. “okay?”

“okay-“ you nodded, a bit of shyness still remained in your voice.

with that jisung got rid of the last bits of clothing from both of you. now you were laying there with your tits out and wet pussy on display for both men to see.

“she’s gorgeous, isn’t see?” jisung proudly said, as if bragging to minho about how lucky he got with his girlfriend.

“mhm-“ minho could barely utter a word, his eyes fixed between your legs. he's slept with girls many times, he's already lost count; but something about you was so different. you scent, your skin, your pretty face and pussy was making him lose his breath.

“c’mon, eat her out.” jisung chuckled. “stop staring like a virgin.”

minho broke out from the trance and looked at jisung, giving him an almost death stare.

“just saying-“ your boyfriend threw hands in compliance. “c’mon-c’mon, before she becomes all shy again.”

there was no need to ask minho twice. the usual cockiness returned and he boldly placed himself before your legs. his veiny hands grabbed your plush thighs and he scooted you even closer to his face. you squeaked in surprise, face flushed again.

minho then started planting a series of kisses up your skin, slowly getting closer to your core. all you could feel was minho’s saliva all over you - it was on your neck, your thighs, your mouth, lips. you were throbbing just at the thought of that.

when you felt his breath tickling your folds, your back arched involuntarily. oh, you were so turned on.

“please- minho…” you pleaded between rapid pants.

you knew he was staring at you, but still looked down. his dark eyes immediately met with yours. he was waiting for you to look at him, watch as he made his first lick.

the sexual tension was unbearable. so when minho finally made a move with his tongue - sliding it along your whole pussy - you couldn’t resist and let out a loud moan.

“fUck-“ jisung was sitting next to you and stroking his own cock slowly, prolonging the pleasure. “i didn’t know you two would look so hot together-“

he was cut off by another moan coming from your mouth. minho started wrapping his lips around your clit, licking off your juices. he was switching between kitten licks and making out with your cunt. his tongue knew exactly what to do next to make you arch your back in pleasure. your hands gripped on his hair tightly and thighs put him in a lock, not letting him move away.

“i’m cumming!” you cried out, letting go of the knot in your lower stomach. the orgasm rushed over your body.

“already?!” jisung was astonished, taken aback by how quickly you reached your release. it definitely hurt his ego a little; he wondered what exactly minho did to make you cum so intensely.

minho just smiled smugly, feeling self-confident as he usually did. his chin was covered in your release, eyes still staring at you, ready to catch any sense of discomfort.

you closed your eyes in pleasure and that alone made him feel sure that you were still fine with everything that’s going on.

“can i… lick everything?” you heard minho ask jisung.

“just be careful, she’s usually very sensitive after cumming.” your boyfriend replied.

maybe in another situation you would’ve protested, said that you were actually so sensitive right now. but you were so out of breath, you couldn’t even form a word. and well… maybe you wanted to feel minho’s tongue again.

the first lick already made you flinch. your back arched and you mumbled a quiet: “minhooo- can’t! slow down-“

the man chuckled, but obeyed. his tongue started moving patiently, slowly and carefully collecting your juices. that actually helped minho in a good way - now he could extend this moment, taste you properly, enjoy your scent on his tongue.

“aAaAhH!” you cried out as you felt your walls starting to clench. “i think i’m gonna cum again, if you won’t stop-“

your thought your words would make minho pause… but he did the complete opposite - sped up his movements.

“minho! fuCK! i’m cumming!” yours screams of pleasure could be heard all over the room. you whined, moaned, pleaded. the sensations of overstimulation were so new, but when you finally came, it hit you harder than your first orgasm.

“holy shit-“ you breathed out. “i’m- i- i’m-“

minho just left you speechless and was laughing quietly and your reactions between your legs. how proud he was that he managed to make you cum twice, and so fast. in contrast, the look on jisung’s face became a lot more grumpier than before. he tried to overstimulate you before, but you always ended up begging him to stop. and when you didn’t, you couldn’t cum for the second time so fast and intensely.

while you were restoring your breath, you didn’t notice how the men between your legs changed. now it was jisung, who was looking at you pleasingly with his boba eyes.

“hi, baby…” he smiled. his hand caressed your thigh, fingers circling over hickeys that just started to form.

“hi…” you smiled sleepishly, still unaware of what was coming to you.

gradually, his hands followed by quick kisses reached your crotch.

“ji- what are you doing?” you squealed in surprise, closing your legs reflexively.

“wanna give me another one?” his bottom lip stuck out a bit as he pouted, hands slowly stroking the soft skin of your thighs. “wanna be as good as minho.”

the pleading expression on his face got you smiling tenderly.

“you wanna be as good as minho, baby?” you repeated, earning a series of nods from your boyfriend.

“wanna make you feel good too…”

your heart melted. it was impossible to resist, when he was all pouty and needy.

his desperation to eat you out again was hot. his desire to beat minho in this silent battle was hot.

and so you complied, even though you weren’t sure you could cum one more time.

“can i?” jisung inquired. his lips were millimeters away from your core, breath tickling your skin and making you arch towards in desperation.

you promptly nodded and interlocked your fingers in his soft hair, tugging them lightly. the exhaustion was running over your body, so you had to hold onto something.

minho, who’s been watching you and your boyfriend from aside, finally appeared in your sight. he laid on his stomach and gave you another smug look. that alone made your pussy clench. what could he possibly do next?

a sonorous gasp escaped you as his lips latched on of your nipple, tongue circling around it. you watched his mouth taking your nipple fully, before he started sucking like a starved man. his other thumb then went to your other already hard bud.

jisung between your legs did not waste much time either. with eyes closed, he was slowly licking you like a kitten, copying minho’s earlier movements.

jisung was even more patient than minho with his licks. he started far away from the clit, kitten licking his way up, but doing it extremely slow. occasionally, your body would jerk up, yet arousal started to build up. jisung looked and sounded desperate. with every move of his tongue he let out a soft sigh, grinding his hard-on into the mattress. his cheeks turned slightly pink, and that made you wonder what he was so embarrassed about? but soon you realized he was just enjoying it too much for his own liking, and that made him feel ashamed.

minho’s lips around your nipple mixed with jisung's overstimulation. it was giving you that amount of pleasure you didn’t even think you could feel.

at this point, you stopped caring about your loud moans and let go, ready to vocalize everything that’s on your mind.

“minho…” you looked at the man next to you, who was still glued to your nipple.

“mhm?” he hummed, not letting go of the flesh. his eyes were narrowed cutely, too focused on the task.

“can you bite me on the neck again? like you did before?” every word coming out of your mouth was interrupted by heavy pants.

this time you didn’t even feel that much discomfort from overstimulation. perhaps, jisung’s kitten licks were the perfect formula to make you aroused again in seconds.

minho let go of your nipple and widened his eyes. were you asking for too much?

pink blush slowly covered your cheeks and minho giggled, noticing your reaction. “you want another hickey?”

“please?”

he gave you an amused smile and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. the blush on your cheeks became deeper as he slowly got closer to your ear and whispered. "of course, kitten. since you're asking so well."

his breath was ticking yet comforting. starting from the jaw, he pressed a series of kisses down the neck. the feel of his saliva on your skin made you clench harder yet again. as previously, minho repeated the act of biting down and licking your skin afterwards. you got used to the feeling by now, but still couldn’t help but whine.

the hand that you were holding sheets with, went to the back of his head. the other was still tangled in jisung’s hair.

it felt like heaven. too many new sensations for one night, but you've never felt so good. all you could hear were lewd sounds under your ear and between your legs. so much saliva, fluids and moans... your moans.

minho’s kisses on your neck have moved to your lips. you didn't notice how his tongue began to explore your mouth. now your moans were muffled, but you didn't hesitate to continue doing so into his mouth.

the third orgasm hit you unexpectedly. you were sure it was the most intense one out of all of them. instead of moaning like usual, your breathing started to shake; back arched for a good ten seconds and you gripped on jisung’s hair almost making him cry out of pain.

both minho and jisung waited until your breathing restored to make sure you were still okay.

a pleasant tiredness spread through your body, you yawned sleepily and looked at jisung. he was still between your legs, as if he was glued there.

“was it good?” his pouty face was ready to receive praises.

“yes.” you nodded. “so good. thank you, baby.”

jisung smiled proudly. “another one?”

“another?” you questioned at first, but then realized what he meant. “no-no! no! i’m so tired.”

“but…” his puppy eyes were looking at you. “i wanna do that again…”

“ji… i came three times already. i can’t. i’m so fucking exhausted.” you closed your legs and tugged them closer to your chest, signalizing that you were really done. “you can go fuck each other and i’ll watch.”

minho's face next to you changed with a mixture of emotions and jisung choked on his spit. 

“babe-“

“what? i already told you i’m tired. and both of you are hard, so the only solution for you is to fuck each other.” you said as if it was the most normal thing.

minho couldn’t lie that his erection has been painfully pressing against the fabric of his boxers for so long. he already came one time, but it didn’t prevent him from getting hard again. somehow, he didn’t feel disgusted about his cum being in there. rather the opposite - it only made him harder.

you could see the stain on his boxers and reached out to press on his bulge, just to tease him a bit.

“you’re so hard.” you breathed out.

minho flinched, his hips jerked under your touch.

jisung’s eyes were glued to when you hand was, even though he was trying to avoid the thoughts that seeing the outline of minho’s dick only made him harder.

but the truth was… you definitely could go for another round. seeing both of them with their throbbing dicks made your mouth watery. and the exhaustion that you felt disappeared like it was never there. but you couldn’t let them know.

the whole plan appeared in your head, when you saw how intensity jisung was looking at minho’s bulge. and the looks that minho was giving to jisung this whole time just confirmed that he wouldn’t mind fucking jisung either. you just needed to act a bit.

the glances that minho and jisung exchanged were almost comedic. they avoided eye contact, looked surreptitiously, studying each other's facial expressions. jisung’s cheeks were burning, and minho’s ears were red at the tips.

“d-do y-you-“ jisung made an attempt first, but shuttered. he didn’t know how to approach this. what was he supposed to say?

you chuckled, looking at he both of them. “minho, do you want to blow him or-“

the man nodded, gaze instantly switching to jisung’s crotch.

jisung gulped heavily, feeling himself shiver in anticipation. there was no way his friend was about to suck him off. “how do you want me to-“

“sit on the bed, i will sit on the floor.” minho tried to sound confident, but his face showed that he had not fully accepted the situation yet.

even for him, a man who fucks with someone new every second day, this was a novelty. he sucked a guy off more than once, but he never thought that one of these times it would be one of his friends.

jisung sat down as he was told. uncertainly, he lowered his boxers, revealing a hard dick with a bunch of sperm on the head. same as minho, he came while eating you out, no matter how hard he tried not to.

when minho sat on the floor with his legs tucked under him, jisung almost choked on the sight. minho has never looked so submissive... and hot. his ears were still red, which jisung found incredibly cute. 

minho's eyes mesmerizingly studied his friend's cock. his mouth opened slightly, revealing bunny teeth. he took a whole minute to study every inch of skin he could, gaze traveling along the shaft in front of him. and then he finally took it in his hand, trying to adjust. jisung immediately groaned.

you stayed on the bed, allowing yourself to recover and enjoy the view.

minho’s veiny palm began to slowly jerk jisung’s chubby cock. starting at the tip, he ran his hand down, spreading the wetness along the shaft.

jisung made a plaintive moan. it was so lingering; the pace was too slow compared to how much he was turned on. if only it was you, he would interlock his hands in your hair and start bobbing your head on his cock. but since it was his first time feeling minho’s touch, he had to be patient.

inevitably, you gradually got wet just from watching them. you couldn't deny the fact that your boyfriend looked hot while being jerked off. he was occasionally looking at you from under half-closed eyelids, sweaty bangs tousled over his face, and chest occasionally heaved as he let out the most pitiful sobs you've ever heard. you shifted slightly in place, hand going between your legs, trying to remove the tension.

“ay! i see that!” jisung called you out immediately. minho stopped his hand movements and looked at you too. “you wanna join us, baby?”

“if only you keep your dick in his mouth.” you pointed at minho.

“but then how do we…” jisung was confused, but minho beside him smiled smugly. it looked like he had an idea in mind.

you've never tried something like this, let alone threesome. minho assured that he will be fine in this position and laid on the back, waiting for you two.

he licked his lips impatiently as he saw jisung standing on his knees above him.

“you sure?” he asked again and minho nodded.

meanwhile, you opened a condom and gave one to jisung, and put the other on minho’s dick.

jisung began first, slowly moving his cock closer to minho’s mouth. the direct eye contact coming from minho was making him shiver. 

minho waited patiently at first, but seeing how uncertain jisung was, he grabbing the dick with his own hand and brought it closer. you chuckled. these two could do just fine without you, even if they try to mask it.

jisung’s eyes closed with pleasure. he let out a soft "ah" and almost knelt down. the urge to cum was almost unbearable already. the warmth of minho’s mouth pleasantly framing his cock was enough for him.

slowly at first, minho began to move. the familiar gulp sounds filled the room. he was skilled, knew exactly how to control his breath and what to do with his tongue to give jisung maximum pleasure. which was not surprising, because you came twice in a few minutes under him.

you watched them with big eyes, completely forgetting that you also had a place to "sit down"; but you just couldn't look away - minho looked so hot with a dick in his mouth.

“c’mon, baby.” jisung panted. “wanna see you ride him.”

you grinned at your boyfriend. he was definitely enjoying what was happening. the embarrassment was long gone, and now he looked so hot and confident, admiring you under half-closed eyelids.

you positioned yourself on top of minho and took his dick in your hand, aligning it with the entrance. but before that, you slid the dick between your folds, collecting all the juices.

feeling your hand, minho choked on a dick in his mouth. he was so sensitive, even a slight stimulation of the head brought a lot of pleasant sensations. his hips jerked up, dick brushing against your core.

you couldn’t wait anymore. the walls were clenching around nothing, ready to be filled. your body was craving for a dick, especially when minho’s mouth in front of you was still full. it was delicious to look at. 

the feel of his dick sliding in was so good it made you whine loudly. 

“s-so good-“ minho pulled away for a second just to say that. his eyelashes were shuttering in pleasure. it must have felt incredible.

for a moment you felt jealous of him. you wanted to be stuffed like that too, feeling full from both sides. but you could leave these thoughts for another time.

jisung was barely holding on. he didn't want to cum, tried to slow down his thrusts in minho’s mouth. but the movements were happening reflexively - his body was craving for a release. if only he could stay in this moment forever, looking down at how minho's cheeks were puffing, how wet his lips were and how much his hair were disheveled; how his cock entered you perfectly, how your eyes closed in pleasure.

even through the condom, you could feel how minho’s dick was different from jisung’s - longer and less chubby.

the exhaustion from before was coming back. it was harder and harder for you to ride him. that's why you just circulated your hips and you sat on the dick fully. the feeling of fullness was incredible. you closed your eyes, trying to memorize the way minho felt inside you.

you didn't want it to end either, but you knew it was definitely your last one. you’ve never came so much, and you were sure your legs would be sore in the morning.

jisung’s breathing quickened, a sign that he was close. after making a few last thrusts into minho’s mouth, he came first, throwing his head back. minho stared at him the whole time, not even thinking about closing his eyes. he came right after, cock pulsing inside you. and you were the last one, feeling your walls shrink again from a familiar feeling. it was wonderful to cum on minho’s dick like that.

the three of you got comfy on the bed, breathing heavily. minho happened to be in the middle, and that allowed you to wrap your arms around his waist and twist your legs over him. jisung, on the other side, buried his nose in minho’s neck, ready to fall asleep immediately. the oval of his puffy cheeks was visible even over minho's chest. you smiled fondly at that. minho hugged both you and jisung by the waist, gently stroking the skin. 

the comfort silence fell in the room, only jisung's snoring remained. no one said anything, but there was no need.

the only thought left in your head was that you would definitely do it again many, many more times.

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[mainexiii]

Soft, Strong and Very Long (Distance) | lfl

❝𝐆𝐨𝐝, 𝐰𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝.❞

↳ He goes to school a thousand miles away, and takes a piece of you with him every time he leaves. The struggles are real, but so is your love.

↳ Lee Felix x female reader

↳ Long distance relationship romance trope. Crack/comedy, fluff, mostly dialogue, sexy tension, very minor angst, clumsy attempts at nudes and phone sex, smutty ending.

! Explicit content, adult themes, 4.5k, suitable for 18+ readers only !

「Part of the skz tropes collab w @yoongihan」 「main contents list」 「© March 2024 by jl-micasea-fics」

The goodbyes were always so much harder than you could prepare for.

No matter how many times you went through it, this being the fourth, the pain of separation never failed to crush your chest and clog your throat, rendering you unable to speak but for the sobs that Felix gently hushed and cradled you through. It all seemed so unfair; that he should have to return to the other side of the world all for the sake of a diploma that he could just as easily achieve somewhere much closer, but he had been there before he met you, and so there was no accounting for love. Not then.

Now, he swept the tears from your cheeks and peppered your lips with sweet kisses that you would cling to for the long, dreary months of his absence, just as you would every piece of him he left behind— the hoodie that you’d stolen from his suitcase, the droplet earring that he said looked better on you than him anyway.

The bustle of the airport barely imposed upon your farewell, mere background noise and faceless intruders.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said.

“Three months is forever.”

“It’s not,” he laughed softly, sweet eyes curving to crescents. “We’re forever. This is just a blip.”

“I hate blips.”

“Me too, baby.”

He kissed you once more, the staticky announcement for the opening of his gate sounding around you. He pulled away, and despite your want to clutch at him, there was no choice but to let him go.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” he promised.

“Alright.”

“I love you.”

Emotion choked you. “Love you.”

With a bright wave and a smile so radiant of the sunshine he embodied, he hitched his rucksack to his shoulder, and departed. If you were left with a rock in your gut and a pit in your chest, none around you would have known, for you took a deep breath and through the tears that swam in your vision, marched from the airport and drove home alone.

The first night without him was spent in the company of ice cream and old movies; a ritual that did little to ease the weight of sadness, but that bore enough monotony to eventually lull you into restless sleep, where flashes of dreams came to you in soft gold and a smattering of freckles.

--

The second night was somewhat easier, no doubt in part due to self-inflicted exhaustion. Throwing yourself into work was, as you had come to learn, most efficient in distracting you from thoughts of the man you loved so far away. With a hundred and one things to do (for the role of an intern was never without labour), there was no time to afford to daydreams of Felix, and in these early stages of separation, that was nothing but a blessing.

It was as you were dozing contentedly on your bed that your phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Wow. That didn’t even ring.”

His voice was such a salve to all your upsets and complaints.

“Miss me that badly?” he laughed.

“You know I do.”

“You’re adorable.”

“Am not.”

His low laugh rumbled pleasantly in your ear.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“Busy. Don’t mind that, though. Takes my mind off you.”

“See? Adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“Never.”

“How was yours?”

“Fine. I was locked in the library from ten this morning until about an hour ago, so.”

“Fun.”

“Mhm.” He sighs. “Could have done with coming home to you, honestly.”

“Don’t say things like that,” you mumbled. “It makes me sad.”

“Baby. It should make you look forward to the future, when I will be coming home to you.”

“All I do is look forward to the future.”

“Me too.”

A moment of silence conveyed the weight of sadness, but was quickly broken by Felix, ever optimistic.  

“If I were there right now, I’d cook you a nice dinner, we’d have a glass of wine or three. I’d run you a hot bath and when you were done, we’d vegetate in front of Netflix until one a.m.”

“Sounds like heaven,” you sighed.

“Yeah? Wait until you hear what happens when we go to bed.”

A wry smile crossed your lips. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Well...” he spoke quietly, barely a whisper, voice reaching silky depths. “I’d keep you close to me, hold you until you were on the brink of sleep. I’d kiss your shoulder softly, run my hands down your body— you’d be wearing those cute pink pyjamas. The shorts with the lace.”

“Mhm. And?”

“I’d touch you carefully... brush my fingers over that little spot on your spine that makes you shiver. Kiss below your earlobe and over your neck, just the way you like it. The way I like it.”

A warmth of arousal began to stir, and so it was that you sank to the pillows at your back.

“And then?”

“Then… well. I’d spread your pretty thighs and settle between them, and you’d feel how hard you make me, but I wouldn’t give it to you. Not like that. Not yet.”

“So mean...”

“Oh, baby. Savouring the moment makes me mean?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s so easy to get you to plead for it. You look at me with those sweet doe eyes and a little pout on your perfect lips, and I want to kiss it right off. You say my name just the right way.”

“What way is that?”

“The way that makes me want to fuck you into next week.”

“Felix...”

“See?” He hummed. “Just like that.”

Now hot under the proverbial collar, it was hardly upon you to deny the urge as your hand crept ever lower to where you ached beyond imagination.

“This is so unfair,” you mumbled.

“We do it to ourselves. Talking like this.”

“But it’s fun. To talk like this. I like it.”

“Are you wet, baby?”

“... Yeah.”

“God.” A sharp intake of breath. “This isn’t just unfair, it’s fucking torture.”

“Maybe we should stop here, then.” You sighed. “Before we can’t.”

“Right. Wise. I somehow have to make it home with this raging hard-on.”

“You’re not even home?”

“You couldn’t hear?” He laughed. “I’m on the bus.”

“Oh my— That’s why you’re whispering?!”

His laughter flitted down the phone, bright and seemingly unashamed.

“You’re awful. Somebody might have heard you.”

“There's only, like, two other people here. Don’t worry about it.”

“You know I will.”

“Adorable.”

“Felix—”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, baby.”

Just like that, the sadness returned, a familiar friend wrapping its cold arms around you. “Alright.”

“Touch yourself for me in the meantime, okay?”

“Felix!”

“And send pictures. I want proof, baby.”

“You’re insane—”

“For you. Yes. Night, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight.”

--

The OF girls made it look easy. As did the porn stars and the cam girls and everyone else whose profession was even remotely related to capturing any part of their naked body on camera.

Never during the relationship had he asked you to do such a thing. To ‘send nudes’ was to trust implicitly, and while you most definitely did trust Felix, you couldn’t help but consider it almost a test of the relationship— of your commitment to him, the strength of which would be measured by your willingness to do this one small thing for him.

You could at least try, you supposed.

It seemed to be a question of position. Legs spread and laying back on the bed made you comfortable enough, but then the resulting shots were far from appealing. At least, to your mind. You’d have preferred a little less overhang of tummy and nearness of thighs. Felix would curse you out for such a thought. Bending over and presenting all and sundry to camera was too reminiscent of a hippo assuming birthing position, and so was also quickly ruled out with a shudder. Squatting over the camera in what you thought was a small stroke of genius soon devolved to a bout of horror; rewatching the footage inspired expectations of something too horrible to comprehend. As though looking up from inside a toilet bowl.

Thoroughly fed up and resolved to letting Felix down, you realised almost two hours passed since you’d begun this ridiculous exercise of sucking in, of pouting, of arching and of contorting your body to unrecognisable proportions at the expense of your discomfort and the onset of dysmorphia. Two hours of your time that could have gone into literally anything else better suited to soothing your spirits and the absence of your boyfriend.

When he called that night, he detected your upset.

“What is it, baby?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“You don’t want to talk?”

“I do.”

“Talk to me, then.”

“You talk to me.”

“I’d love to, but this vibe is making it difficult.”

“Fine. Don’t then. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Hey, woah— Wait a second. Baby.”

“What?” you snapped, voice breaking.

“What’s the matter? Did I do something? Are you upset with me?”

A huff of frustration caught on your tongue, for the truth of it was that your poor mood was no fault of his. Not really.

“No.” You muttered.

“Please tell me what’s wrong. Whatever it is, we can—”

“I couldn’t take any pictures for you.”

A moment of silence betrayed his stupefaction.

“What?”

“The pictures,” you said again. “The proof that you wanted. Of me. Touching myself. I couldn’t do it. I felt so ugly and looked so stupid and tried for so long but it just didn’t work.”

More silence preceded a heavy sigh.

“That’s why you’re in a bad mood? Because you couldn’t take pictures for me?”

“Mhm.”

“God. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m an idiot.”

“Wh—”

“I asked you to do that without thinking. I didn’t mean for it to become such a thing. I didn’t actually expect you to send me anything.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Then why ask?”

“I don’t know. It just... we were in the moment, I guess? Fooling around?”

“It didn’t feel like you were fooling around to me. You said you wanted proof.”

“I know.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I was... trying to be sexy, or whatever. I should have thought about how much pressure it would put on you.”

“It wasn’t pressure, it was just...”

“It was me being a thoughtless idiot. I’m sorry.”

A weight of relief seemed to evaporate from your shoulders in the instance of his apology and explanation, and then so trivial did the whole thing appear.

“I guess this is just one of those long-distance things we’re going to have to get better at,” he said.

“We’ll get there. It’s okay.”

“It’s hard, being so far from you.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Stop apologising. Let’s just... learn from it and move on. Next time I’ll ask if you’re serious or not.”

“There won’t be a next time, babe.”

“Alright. Well. If there is, though.”

“Alright. If there is.”

--

The tenth night of Felix’s absence was spent in the company of a long, extra-hot bath, sorely called for by the arbiters of self-care, i.e. your good and common senses.

Felix liked to bathe with you in this very tub. It was one of his favourite things to do after intimate exertions made you both sensible to the need, and so it was that you quietly recalled the sensation of his lathered hands on your skin, of his keen and practiced hands massaging your tender shoulders, arms and thighs. You’d been so unsure of it at first— to share a bath like that seemed to cross multiple boundaries that should be held between couples to maintain the air of mystery a relationship should possess to nurse the ‘spark’, for fear too much comfort will snuff it out, and yet there he was, happily stepping over it. It was all so easy for him. Everything was easy for him. He made everything easy for you, with his endless charm and gentile nature and the offering of a simple hand that would pull you near, and there all uncertainty would melt against his warmth.

He called that night, as he always did.

“What are you up to?” he asked.

“In the bath.”

His groan was equal parts despair and want. “I miss baths.”

“You don’t have one at your place?”

“At the student dorms? No. Not that I’d use it even if we did. Imagine the civilisations living in it?”

You scoffed a laugh. “Aw. You don’t want to take a bath with new and interesting life forms.”

“You’re the only new and interesting life form I’m interested in getting soapy with, thanks.”

“Rude.”

“You love it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Stop. Let’s not be one of those couples.”

“You’re right. Let’s not be disgustingly in love and happy about it,” he chuckled.

“Remember our first date? There was that couple in front that kept glaring at us whenever they heard us.”

“Mhm.” He hummed. “To be fair to them, movie theatres aren’t the most considerate of places to suck face.”

“We weren’t sucking face.”

“No? What would you call it then?”

“We were... getting to know each other.”

“Sure.” He laughed. “Getting to know how far our tongues could slide down each other’s throats.”

“Ew. Don’t taint my memory of our first date like that. That’s some Alien shit.”

“I’ll be your facehugger, baby.”

“Stop!” You laughed.

“There’s no escape.”

“Good. I don’t want to escape.”

“Huh. Kinky.”

“Oh my God, behave. I’m not suggesting we introduce roleplay, Lix.”

“Shame. Always wanted to cosplay as the Alien.”

“Are you suggesting we roleplay as the Alien and Ripley in the bedroom?”

“Ripley? Who said anything about Ripley? I’m far more partial to Ash.”

“Alright. I’m hanging up now.”

“You don’t want to be my pretty android princess?”

“Hanging up!”

“Baby! But we could be so good together!”

“Goodnight!”

--

Next day brought a string of messages from Felix containing links to both robot and alien costumes, each one more outrageous than the last.

>> this one has a butt flap. technology is awesome

<< wow you're really committing to this bit

>> who said it was a bit

>> ;)

If nothing else it made the working day less torturous, and if your thoughts had begun to wander down the fanfiction-paved rabbit hole of Alien versus whatever, that would have been entirely Felix’s fault. The less said about it, the better.

That night, he called on cue.

“Guess what?”

“If you’re about to tell me you’ve ordered an Alien costume, I swear to God—”

“No, no,” he laughed. “Though maybe my Amazon Wishlist looks a little scalier now than it did yesterday. That’s between me and my God.”

“You have a God?”

“No.”

“Then why—”

“Don’t worry about it. I have news. Actual news.”

“Go on.”

“I love you.”

“... What?”

“I love you.”

“What are you—”

“That’s the news. That I love you.”

If smiles could split your face, you might be in serious peril.

“Felix, baby,” you sighed. “That’s not news. I know that already.”

“Boo. But it’s my headline every day. Can’t I tell you again?”

“Of course, I just thought—”

“I love you.”

“Alright, I know. I love you too.”

“But I love you.”

“Lix—”

“I love you.”

Thus, the conversation derailed and remained on such tracks until laughter and exhaustion prevailed upon you to surrender to your boyfriend’s onslaught of affection.

He loved you, after all.

In case you hadn’t heard.

--

The sixteenth night of Felix’s absence was, as far as nights without him go, one of the better ones. After work you’d swung by the local university to listen to a talk on the art history of Studio Ghibli, the films and animation of which were close to your heart. At thirteen pounds a ticket and two hours long, you certainly felt to be on the end of good value, and better yet, had gotten to spend a little time in the company of people that shared your passion for the worlds of Hayao Miyazaki.

When Felix called, you told him all about it.

“I’m so jealous,” he sighed. “I wish I could have gone.”

“There’ll be other opportunities.”

“I hope so. Did they talk about Howl’s Moving Castle at all?”

“Of course. Did you know they used one thousand four hundred storyboard cuts for the movie? It’s amazing.”

“You’re amazing.”

“I— What? Where did that come from?” You laughed.

“My heart.”

“Weren’t we just talking about Studio Ghibli?”

“Yes. Now we’re talking about you.”

You grimaced as though as might see it. “I veto this topic.”

“Your veto has no power here, my friend. You are amazing. You do know that, right?”

“Felix…”

“I mean it. There’s not many girls would be prepared to put up with their boyfriend spending so much time away. You handle it so well.”

“I’m no saint. I have my moments.”

“I know. But that’s all they are. Moments. I can rest easy knowing you’re waiting for me.”

“Of course.” You swallowed over the lump in your throat. “I’ll always wait for you.”

“You won’t have to wait much longer. I promise. We’ll be able to do all sorts of things together when I’m back. We should go to the beach. Let’s go see the sea. And have a picnic. And take long walks and get lost. And find cute cafes to sit in while we people-watch. We can do that bookstore tour we always talked about.”

One wonderful idea after another, so appealing as to make you smile. If only the bitter stroke of impossibility didn’t taint it all.

“Until you have to leave again,” you whispered.

Silence followed Felix’s sharp catching of breath.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to spoil things.”

“No,” he muttered. “It’s okay. You’re right.”

Another beat of silence.

“One day I won’t have to leave though, you know?” he said. “When school is done, I’ll be yours. All yours.”

“Yeah. One day.”

“I know it’s hard, babe.”

“It’s not hard. I’m just— I’m having a wobble. I’m sorry. I don’t really feel like talking anymore.”

“Alright. Well. Text me, if you like. Or not. Whatever you’re up for.”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

“You too.”

A sad state in which to end the conversation, but going over the same promises and reassurances and apologies given a hundred times before simply wasn’t in your capability. Felix was perpetually optimistic; that was in his nature. Yours was melancholier and more susceptible to such depressions, and he knew that. Never once made you feel bad about it. You did that well enough by yourself. For all the peaks and troughs your relationship waded through, you should have by now developed a resilience. Instead, it seemed you only felt it all more.

Yes, you would wait for him. As long as it took and as painful as it was. Would your love withstand the resentment that, despite your better self, you bore towards Felix for the constant distance? Shameful even to admit that you entertained such petty emotion, but the fact of it was that you were not the martyr Felix often sought to paint you as, and to pretend otherwise proved exhausting and festered yet more bitter and bad feeling.

He had only meant to have you looking forward to the future. You had allowed your sadness to overcome you. So it was that the struggles of long-distance love were not so easily managed. Not even when you wanted them to be.

--

Two forty-five a.m., and the sound of the front door all but bouncing off the hinges awoke you with a start of fright.

Immediately reaching for the bedside lamp, a soft glow bled over the dark room, and with the encroaching footsteps that seemed to race through your apartment, your sleep-softened mind was too slow to catch up. Your bedroom door opened, and for a moment you thought to be still stuck in the dream you’d been having.

“F— Felix?”

Already stripped of shirt and midway through unzipping his jeans, the man’s wild temperament did more to alarm you than to excite.

“What are you— What is this? What the fuck—”

“I got an early flight back,” he said as he crawled to the bed, yanked aside the duvet and slotted gracefully between your thighs. “Wanted to surprise you.”

“But it’s the middle of the—”

Your protest cut short by groan of delight as his kiss silenced you, a mess of teeth and tongues reflective of two months yearning, two months wanting. His skin cool to touch wracked you with a shiver and broke out gooseflesh; nails scraped his muscular back as he rolled against you, evidence of his arousal thick. So quickly did it descend upon you— the lust, the ferocity of his attentions, you could hardly catch a breath. What alarm had been incited melted with his touch, leaving you with warm and gooey sensation, putty in his hands.

“Missed you,” he mumbled against your skin. “Missed you so fucking much. Couldn’t bear how we ended things before. I had to see you. Had to tell you and show you much I need you—”

He hitched your thigh up, freed himself from his jeans, his rigid length pressed to where your shorts just concealed you— his eyes flashed and he grinned, picking at the material of them.

“The pink shorts,” he said. “You’re so cute.”

Scrambled beyond any comprehension, Felix slid them aside to expose you, then guiding his length through your sensitivity, shuddered at the ease of the glide; at the depth of your arousal.

“God, you make me so hard. Look, baby. Feel how hard I am?”

A groan slipped from you. “Lix—”

“Just hearing your voice these last weeks has been enough to do this to me, but this—” He kissed you again. “Feeling you, touching you. You have no idea how I ache for you, baby.”

“Felix, please—”

Plush lips attached to your neck, your hands gathered and lifted to above your head where he might have further exploration of your quivering body. Soft fingertips ran the length of your chest and waist, and in dipping between your open thighs aligned himself to your arousal, and with a sharp inhalation of breath and gentle push, the immediate relief of penetration brought a shower of heat from your crown to your toes. Stretched out gently at first, and then with firmer determination as his wants possessed him, his cock plunged fluidly with his thrusts. So painfully delicious was the sensation he offered, of fullness and security, his physical absence so sorely missed and now restored with such alacrity as could bring you to tears if not for the overwhelming need to be fucked until you could no longer recall your own name.

“Oh my God, you feel so—” His jaw locked. “Fuck, baby.”

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and in Felix’s case, his fucking harder, for his pace was near ferocious. An onslaught of his desire to claim you in the ways he’d only dreamed of for a length of time, and so he fucked you as such. Slaps of skin matched the pace of the creaking bed, his gentle grunts and sighs and muted curses setting fires under your skin. Resting back on his calves, he held your ankles and kept you spread, better posed at an angle that brought you to a cry of delight.

“Oh my— Lix—”

The heavy drag of his thickness sparked white noise and ignited a hot daze, your thighs quivering with his insistence.

“Yes, baby—” He panted, bit the flesh of his plump bottom lip. “You’re made for me. All for me. No matter where you are, you’re mine.”

Such sentiments of possession touched parts of yourself hitherto unexplored, and those parts were felt keenly by both present. Felix groaned and unable to keep himself so supported, returned to a missionary state, his weight just held above you, his hips ever fluid in their hard, easing thrusts. Everything about you seemed to tighten, springs wanting to be released in the face of your encroaching euphoria, and with Felix knocking all the breath from you with every thrust, you could not well vocalise how loath you were to be unfilled for even a second.

“I— I can’t, I’m going to—”

Helpless trembling demonstrated to Felix all he need know, and with a victorious grin did he kiss you and speak openly:

“I feel you, baby. Come for me.”

And feel it, he did; all of it, down to the last wave of salacious pleasure that rendered you so dumb as to only pant his name. Slowly did he fuck you through the onslaught, a measure of mercy on his part and of surrender in the seconds that followed, for his falling apart was hard and hot, pink and beautiful.

On his breathless suggestion, the afterglow was spent in Felix’s favourite way— in a hot bath of lavender-scented bubbles, where his hands explored your skin and swept away the defilement he would no doubt later, once again, inflict.

“Why did you come back so soon?” you asked, voice a tired whisper. Against the heat of his firm chest, there was no possible harm could come to you nor stress that could ail you. Felix was all that mattered.

“Told you. Wanted to surprise you.”

“At this hour?”

“Was the only flight I could get so soon. I needed to see you. To talk to you, face-to-face.”

“There wasn’t that much talking.”

“Yes, well. Some things can be said without words.” He kissed your shoulder. “I also didn’t like the way our last conversation went. And this isn’t me blaming you, I just… I could tell you were struggling. You needed more than me just calling. You needed me. I had to step up.”

“You’re insane.”

“You keep saying that. I don’t know if it’s a complaint or not.”

“It’s not.”

“Sure?”

“My boyfriend being so worried that he gets on the first flight back a month early? No matter the time or cost? Why would I complain about that?”

“Some people might think it was irrational.”

“Those people have never loved like we do.”

A gentle thumb and forefinger under your chin tilted your head up to where he could reach your lips, his soft browns glimmering a depth of devotion.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you more.”

He grimaced. “Thought we weren’t going to be one of those couples.”

“We’re not. We’re a couple all our own. We’re unique.”

“Isn't that just a polite way of saying we’re weird?”

“No. It’s a polite way of saying that if I were a robot, and you were an Alien, I’d totally fuck you.”

“Oh yeah?” Felix laughed, eyes alight.

“Yeah.”

“God, we’re weird.”

“No.” You kissed him gently. “We’re unique. That’s how we make this work. And it will work.”

Felix smiled warmly, his kind eyes and soft complexion once more committed to memory. This wasn’t the end, you knew, and yet you felt you could face whatever came next with more certainty than ever. He had stepped up for you.

Only right you do the same for him.

“I promise,” you whispered.

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙠𝙯 𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 ♡ >

[mainexiii]

THIS IS AMAZING 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Reckless Convictions

Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung

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

Pairing: Han Jisung x fem reader

W/c: 31.5K

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

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

18+. Mdni!

•

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

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

Come back to me.

•

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What time period defined Classical antiquity?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you do- you always do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Coda?” It reads simply.

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What extra credit thing?”

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

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

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

“This week?”

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

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

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

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

When the class is finally empty, he beckons for you with two fingers, remaining slouched against the podium and crossing his muscular arms out in front of him.

“I have your book,” you say to him, reaching into the bag slung around your shoulder.

He accepts it from your grasp, glancing at it briefly, before setting it down on his desk and folding his arms again. You want him to open it, to read your annotations and feel heard like the purpose your little scribbles are intended for. But he doesn’t- he just leaves it there, keeping his gaze on yours and remaining silent for a minute.

“What did you think of chapters 8 and 9?” He asks finally.

“Good stuff,” you say, giving him a shy nod. “I was familiar with a lot of it, but definitely still some new pieces I hadn’t heard of. I’ll try to get around to them when I can.”

Professor Han nods, and then you watch as he sprawls his hands out behind him, leaning back against the podium still and crossing his legs at the ankles.

“There’s an exhibit at the museum across the street later tonight,” he says, voice trembling a little as he speaks.

He’s not sure why he’s even bringing it up- maybe because he’s trying to keep the conversation course-related. It’s definitely not because he wants you to be there- a reckless way of thinking indeed.

“I know,” you say to him with a knowing smile. “I was wondering where my invite was for the extra credit.”

A breathy chuckle escapes his toothy grin as he holds his gaze on yours.

“You have a perfect score,” he replies in a low voice. “The extra credit is for people who are failing my class.”

“It can’t also be for art enthusiasts?” You retort, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I want to tour the dead composers gallery, too.”

Professor Han wants to entertain this- so, so badly. He wants to drop the professional act and flirt with you like you’re so clearly doing to him- but he can’t. You’re just a student, and it would be wrong to toy with the imbalance of power he holds over you. Still, there’s no reason you can’t also show to the exhibition, as a student who simply wants to partake in a walkthrough of the subject at hand. He can’t prohibit you from going, after all.

“I can’t give you any more credit,” Professor Han says with another breathy chuckle, cocking his head to look at you a little better. Your eyes sparkle as they stare back at him, a giddy smile plastered on your face and your hair tucked behind your ears between laughter as you meet his gaze again.

“But I can’t stop you from going, either.”

At this, he pivots on his heels, turning around to reach into the leather bag by his laptop. You watch curiously as he pulls out a small piece of paper, handing it to you and saying absolutely nothing.

But one glance at it tells you exactly what it is- a ticket to the exhibition, one that’s already been paid for. You remember Mina telling you she had purchased her ticket already, meaning this one was purchased for you- by Professor Han.

“Really?” You question with wide eyes, examining the ticket and then looking back at him with an excited smile.

“I didn’t ask you to come,” Professor Han reiterates. “You asked for extra credit. And you bought that ticket yourself.”

At this, he cocks his head a little, and then he shoots you a wink the same way he did once before. Only this time, your heartbeat quickens at his actions, ones that seem to desperately seek out attention from you and even make attempts at getting closer to you.

“I wanted extra credit,” you repeat to him finally, shooting him a wink, too. “And I bought this ticket myself.”

*

The so-called “dead composer’s gallery” has been an extra credit assignment of Professor Han’s for all five years he’s been teaching. It’s hosted in the art museum right by campus, the same few paintings of composers he lectures about making the rotation every fall to tell stories of their lives and flaunt the work they produced. Students don’t typically care for it, showing up to walk the duration of the gallery in a rush, flashing their ticket to Professor Han and collecting an easy ten points so as not to repeat his class.

He’s aware of the fact that they don’t read a single one of the bronze plaques that detail the names of the composers, or that they audibly insult the paintings, despite Professor Han being within earshot of them in the quiet space that houses the art. But for him, it’s simply a way to avoid teaching the same set of students a second time. One semester of watching them drag their feet is enough, he’s always thought to himself.

Professor Han has walked the exhibit a plethora of times, thus he usually shows in a simple sweater and some jeans, and the students marvel at the sight of him dressed so casually unlike at his lectures. And despite the exhibit being no different than the last few years, he feels compelled to dress up for this visit, admiring his efforts in the mirror as he adjusts the collar of his white button-down and centers his tie.

Of course, deep down, he’ll never admit he’s dressed up for you tonight, his mind racing with the unprofessional thoughts that you might show up just for him. He’s usually a mere spectator at these exhibits, silently assuming a spot in the corner of the room as the students make their rounds and eye him nervously. He emphasizes the notion that asking questions is encouraged, or that the students are free to chat with him about their favorite paintings and apply them to his lectures. Yet they never do- they just pace the marble floors at an expeditious pace and send him off with the wave of their ticket, not a single painting having resonated with them in the process. Some of them even groan, or verbally complain about the task, as though Professor Han’s forced them here tonight, and not the near-failing grade so many of them are stuck with. As though he’s not doing them a favor by offering extra credit for such an easy task, and an enjoyable one at that- or at least to him.

Wet sneakers squeak along the marbled floors as the students make their rushed rounds, many of them accompanying groups of friends as they stifle laughter at the art and then make their departure with the flash of a ticket in Professor Han’s direction. He remains in the corner of the large gallery room, one hand shoved in the pocket of his black slacks, the other grasping a folded pamphlet as he skims the artist names and waits for students to approach, should they require his attention. Yet it’s a futile task, having been at the event for nearly two hours now as the students come and go.

Admittedly, and with all the profound guilt weighing deep in his chest, Professor Han can’t think about anything except for you, desperately scanning the halls and glancing at the doorway for the familiar sight of you sauntering in, a beaming smile on your face and purpose in every stride. The exhibit is near closing by this point, just a handful of students remaining as he glances around the room and watches them rush to finish touring the display.

And embarrassingly enough, he counts down the seconds on the silver wrist watch he wears, hoping maybe you’re just running late by chance.

As the little hands on his watch tick in seconds, and you’re still nowhere to be seen, the thought suddenly overtakes him that this is all so stupid. What is he thinking, waiting around for a student like this- one he teaches, and one he’s tried his best to avoid having non-platonic thoughts about? It's silly. Not to mention- wildly inappropriate.

As Professor Han gathers his canvas bag hoisted over a nearby bench, and sends the last handful of students off with a polite bow, a quick turn of the corner confirms his first theory.

“Hi,” you say to Professor Han, bowing to him and tucking a wet strand of hair out of your face. “Sorry, I was running a bit late. Lots of rain outside.”

Professor Han can’t help but hold your gaze momentarily, enchanted by the sight of you, despite coming to the conclusion that this is wrong. If it’s wrong, he’ll have to sort out the logistics some other time- because you standing in front of him like this, dressed much more elegantly than he’s ever seen you, a smile on your face and already glancing around at the gallery at the works of art- everything about this feels right.

“Hi,” he says back, a nervous exhale escaping his lips as he does. He silently prays you can’t tell that he’s been waiting around for this all evening, longing to see you just once tonight and maybe talk about musical composers the way he’s been dreaming of.

“Vivaldi?” You question, brushing your way past him to the giant painting across from you, depicting the famous composer in a red robe clutching his signature violin. “I’m assuming, by the violin.”

“Yeah,” Professor Han says, turning to face the painting, too. “Kind of a scary dude, isn’t he?”

Professor Han realizes you’re the first student to make a single comment about one of the paintings here- a fact he’s well endeared by, and simultaneously completely unsurprised by.

“Debatable,” you respond. “For his portfolio alone, sure. But if we’re talking looks, I think Brahms might win this one.”

Your eyes shift to the left of Vivaldi’s at the cold stare of Johannes Brahms, a long white beard and a sharp mustache framing his glaring eyes. Professor Han laughs lightly, and then he takes note of the way you cock your head at the bronze plaque, reading a detailed little account of Brahms and scanning the art as you do.

“Brahms wasn’t scary,” he finally says with a shrug of his shoulders. “He was actually really lonely.”

“Yeah?” You question back, observing the way he stares up at the painting.

“Yeah,” he affirms. “There was a long-standing rumor that he had a crush on pianist Clara Schumann- of course she was already married. Some think Clara may have cheated and secretly reciprocated feelings for Brahms, too- but regardless, he died alone.”

The space is quiet between you both, a sort of melancholia falling over you two as you piece together the story in your mind. You can’t help but imagine how lonely it must have been for Brahms, keeping his love for Clara a complete secret in the presence of her spouse. A love so strong and so unmoving that he chose to die alone rather than find a woman that served as replacement for the love he felt for Clara.

Your mind paints images of Brahms and Clara together, his gaze fixed on hers and so helplessly in love while she was wed to another man all along.

“That’s tragic,” you say finally, feeling a pit form in your chest. “What a lonely life it must’ve been.”

Professor Han seems to take note of your change in tone, perking up a little as he chimes in again.

“He still had his music,” he says to you. “And a very successful career.”

And your head cocks again at Brahms’ face across from you, a stoic expression in his eyes and his thin-lipped pout- almost as though he was hiding part of himself from the masses all along.

“But he didn’t have the one thing he wanted,” you finish telling him.

Professor Han says nothing, giving a small bow to the painting with his arms tucked behind his back. He searches for the words to say, ones that might comfort you in this pity you take on him. But he can’t, feeling as though you may be right.

Brahms had music, a successful career composing everything from Wiegenlied to Symphonies 1 and 3, a long list of credits and enough fortune to travel the world when he wasn’t producing excellency. But he never had Clara Schumann- a tragic unrequited love he took with him to the grave. Could the tender touches and kindred soul of a lover ever be replaced by half and eighth notes on a staff? By the wave of a baton in a sea of brass and wooden reeds? Was he happy, simultaneously getting everything he wanted and nothing he dreamed of?

Johannes Brahms never had Clara Schumann. And conversely, perhaps Professor Han will never get close to what he wants, either.

The dead composer’s gallery quickly proves to be a lot more tragic than you’d anticipated. The paintings are beautiful- grand golden crested frames that house detailed depictions of famous composers, wearing powdered wigs and fancy dress robes. And every stride to the next work of art is accompanied by Professor Han’s tragic, detailed account of their love lives.

“Tchaikovsky was gay during a time when it was highly illegal,” Professor Han explains. “He had a long list of gay lovers with whom he’d write romantic letters to, and he came under heavy scrutiny when it was made public- especially since he was already of a low social class.”

“Must’ve been terrifying,” you tell him, narrowing your eyes at the intense stare of his painted portrait. “What did he do?”

Professor Han is quiet for a moment, glancing over at you and parting his lips as though he’s going to say something. But he simply remains silent, staring back up at the painting and swallowing nervously.

It’s only when you glance over at him, raising your eyebrows a little in the direction of his looming figure and almost gesturing for him to continue, that he reluctantly provides an answer to your question.

“He married a student,” Professor Han says quietly.

And he understands very well what the implications are here, producing stories of instructors being romantically involved with their students, when he’s here with a student himself.

Here with you, the very same student he’s been waiting on all evening. The student he’s enjoying telling stories of composers and their romantic involvements to, and the same student he’ll find any excuse to spend more time with once the dead composers gallery is already closed for the night.

“They didn’t last, of course,” Professor Han then continues. “It was impulsive, and they were severely incompatible. Not to mention his heart already belonged to another.”

It’s your turn to get quiet, simply nodding at his words and piecing together tidbits of Tchaikovsky’s tragic romance.

“Professor,” you say to him suddenly, turning to face him with a small smile on your face. “How do you know so much about the romantic histories of famous composers, anyway? Is this part of your lecture style?”

Professor Han chuckles lightly in response, his eyes forming little crescents as his lips pull back into a big grin. He looks much happier here like this, compared to the way he carries himself during his teaching- more laid back, comfortable, even.

“I think you have to understand where they fell short in romance,” he says, maintaining the same warm smile on his face. “It’s where most of the passion, and pain alike, stemmed from in their pieces. The sheer intensity of some of the orchestral or symphonic pieces, they’re…” his voice trails off momentarily, observing a painting of Mozart on the wall in front of the two of you, whose story he hasn’t even indulged you in yet as the museum staff prepare to close for the evening. He tilts his head to one side, pondering his words briefly and giving a little nod before continuing.

“They’re all crafted from yearning in one way or another.”

*

The evening rainfall is torrential outside, the sidewalks almost empty as people seek shelter in the safety of their cars and apartments. Once you’ve both exited the museum, Professor Han remains under the concrete roof that spans the entrance, looking out at the glistening pavement roads that reflect with red and green traffic lighting.

“Are you parked on the street?” He asks hesitantly, his hands shoved in the pocket of his slacks as he awaits your reply.

“I walked here,” you say to him, a light chuckle escaping your lips. “My dorm’s just a few blocks away.”

His eyes widen at the admission, thinking back to where his car is parked, just around the corner in the museum’s designated parking garage. He debates offering you a ride, but he knows it’d be in his best interest to avoid being alone in a car with the one woman he so dangerously can’t stop thinking about.

“Do you need a ride?” He then asks, the words leaving his lips before he can even stop himself. It’s like he’s overtaken by another version of himself- one who can’t cease this little chase you’re indulging him in, too.

“I don’t want to burden you,” you respond, a sheepish smile on your face as you try to veil the fact that you’re elated he’s even offered.

One more chance to make things right- and yet there’s no discernible boundary between what feels right, and what is right.

“It’s not a burden,” he affirms. “It’s not safe to walk home in this rain.”

Your gaze meets his, a sort of triumphant smile pulling on your lips as he cocks his head in the direction of the parking garage. There’s no distinctive plan either of you have in mind, but you’re also drawn to each other, admittedly wanting nothing more than to find little excuses to put off your departure for the evening.

He begins in the direction of the garage without even waiting for verbal confirmation, and yet he doesn’t have to, because you’re already trailing alongside him like it’s been your plan all this time. You maintain a giddy smile on your face as you both brave the rain together beyond the concrete ceiling of the museum entrance, tucking your necks into your shoulders and laughing as the rain drenches your clothes completely, strands of hair falling into your face and dribbling rainwater down your glowing cheeks.

“It’s just past here!” he calls out over the deafening sounds of rainfall, squinting his eyes amidst the drops of water that weigh on his eyelashes and making out the faint outline of his car in the dimly lit parking garage.

You trail behind him as he gestures for you to follow, also catching a glimpse of his parked car in the garage, seemingly the only remaining one at this hour.

Professor Han opens the passenger door for you, stringy pieces of hair falling into his face as he gestures for you to get in. And you do without hesitation, smoothing down your skirt and occupying the sleek black leather seat. When the door is shut, there’s a brief silence that falls over you as he makes his way around to the driver’s side, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the rearview mirror. Your makeup is a little smeared from the rain, wet hair slicked down and your clothes clinging to your figure with dampened spots. But for the first time in a long while, you look happy, finally making use of your time beyond the walls of your dorm room.

Professor Han slides into his seat at last, the door shutting promptly beside him, and he runs his slender fingers through the slick black strands of hair that fall into his face. You watch him curiously, heart racing at the sight of him so close to you, your bodies almost touching if not for the center console that so conveniently separates your yearning bodies. Drops of rainwater find purchase on his bent knees, further dampening his slacks as he wrings out his jet black hair over them. And he chuckles as he does, a little embarrassed he looks so disheveled in your presence.

When he hears you reciprocate with a gentle laugh, he turns to look at you, and it’s then that he realizes how dangerously close he is to you.

From this proximity, he can make out the spheres of rainwater that collect on your blushed cheeks, every last speck of mascara that collects under your eyelashes and flutters as you blink curiously at him. He can distinguish the lipstick you’ve strategically worn just for him, one that almost mirrors the natural pink shade of his pouty lips. He can feel the clear tension that bubbles over the center console as you lean in just a little, not enough to graze his mouth over yours, but certainly enough to feel the sharp breath that escapes his lips as he leans in, too.

And just as your eyes begin to shut, with every intention to kiss him right then and there, the sound of distant rainfall lessening as your rapid heartbeat fills your ears, he pulls back again.

“Sorry,” Professor Han remarks quietly, resting his hands on the steering wheel and shaking his head as though he's physically ridding himself of the urge to kiss you.

Your eyes open again, met with his trembling brown pupils that fixate on the dashboard in front of you both. And then he starts the car without another word, not yet backing out as he sits with his thoughts for a moment.

You desperately want to think he was going to kiss you, too, but you feel painfully stupid for being turned away like this in his car. Maybe it’s not how you’ve been reading into- maybe this is strictly a teacher-student relationship the way it’s supposed to be.

“Do you want to go back to your dorm?” He asks amidst the silence, not meeting your gaze. He’s scared he’ll get the urge to kiss you again, or that you might clock how nervous he is to be here with you.

You’re quiet for a moment, a little angry with things as you ponder the question. He’s not quite telling you to go home- but he isn’t asking you to stay, either. He’s just putting the ball in your court- both a safe, and a risky play at hand.

“No,” you voice finally.

He just nods at your response, clicking his tongue once and waiting for you to say something else. But you don’t- instead, you wait for him to say something else, too.

“Do you want to get out of the rain?” He then asks in a quiet voice, not specifying where that may imply. And although he doesn’t, you nod in agreement, meeting his gaze briefly as he reciprocates with an affirmative nod of his own.

*

Professor Han may have physically refuted the notion that kissing you in his car was anywhere near appropriate- and yet at this hour, the only place he can think to seek shelter from the rain with you is his apartment.

His apartment is nothing special at first glance, just your typical run-of-the-mill unit on the third floor of his building, but at a closer inspection, everything is exactly what you’d expect it to be.

Music sheets scattered along tables and couches, scribbled hastily with notes and annotations, much like his textbook was. A studio piano against the wall of his living room, the leather-seated bench that accompanies it stacked high with music theory books and more sheet music. The walls are decorated with rows of photographs, ones that you wish you could derive answers from, much like the dead composers gallery.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says sheepishly, peeling off his coat and draping it over the back of a chair.

Your arms are folded behind your back as you traverse the wooden floors as though this place is a museum, too. You relish in the sight of every decorative item, every sheet of music and every placement of his old-looking furniture, like it might give you more insight into exactly who Professor Han is. It’s just like he is- classic, enchanting, captivating.

“What are all these?” You ask him, pointing to a wall with a neat collage of photos.

At a closer inspection, you realize many of them include him, presumably from several years ago. He’s blonde in one of them, wearing a black pinstriped suit and a stylish pair of silver earrings. Another one shows him with midnight blue hair, the cool-toned hue contrasting rather beautifully against his tanned skin. His hair is still black in many of them, but he looks younger, dressed casually with a big smile plastered on his face.

And the most fascinating quality in all of them- he looks important. Like he’s a notable figure among the other subjects, usually standing in front of a podium or a music stand, sometimes with a baton grasped between his hands and raised in motion.

“Are these from your directing days?” You then ask, knowing the answer already.

It feels a little wrong to be seeing the photographs, almost as though they’re not supposed to be visible to just a student of his. They’re a glimpse into another life he’s lived- one you’re too late to be a part of. And more importantly, one he hasn’t seemed to be interested in talking about. You remember the times he’d brush off the mention of directing, change the subject or even just respond with an absent shrug. And yet standing in front of the proof it happened, you can’t help but probe for answers, feeling as though they might provide insight into who exactly he is underneath this pensive mask he wears.

“Those are from my directing days,” he confirms with a sad smile, making his way over to you and staring up at the wall. He examines one in which he’s in the middle of composing, stick held high in the air and a concentrated expression on his chiseled face.

“You look really cool,” you tell him, and he laughs lightly in response.

“Thank you,” he replies politely. “I always felt cool.”

You begin to tell him that he’s still cool, the way he captivates a whole room with lectures about famous composers and music theory he just knows offhandedly now. But you quickly get quiet again, not wanting to overstep any boundaries.

When you turn to face him again, you’re well aware of how close he is to you, droplets of rain still gliding down the bridge of his nose and onto the damp collar of his dress shirt. You also notice he’s wearing his glasses again, which remain the only dry part of his attire.

He seems to take notice of the heightened proximity for the second time today, too, making his way over to the couch and sitting on the edge of the velvet green cushions. But his gaze still remains fixed on yours, admiring the way you peer at his space.

“Professor, can I ask you something?” You say to him, approaching him cautiously, yet keeping a comfortable distance from him.

“Anything,” Professor Han replies, swallowing nervously and resting the palms of his hands flat on his knees. His long legs are draped over the edge of the couch, bent at the knees and spread so that he’s comfortably resting against the back of the cushion.

“You didn’t tell me about Mozart,” you say to him, twiddling your fingers in front of you. “What was Mozart’s love life like?”

Professor Han thinks it over momentarily, his eyes darting to the ceiling as he recalls Mozart’s romantic involvements. And it doesn’t take long, because it’s another tale he knows very well already.

“Well he lived with a family during his time in Vienna,” he explains. “They had a daughter named Constanze, who he took a particular liking to.”

You nod at his words, approaching him a little more now and observing the way he tenses a little, yet also noticing he makes zero effort to move away.

“His father didn’t approve,” Professor Han continues, eyeing the gentle sway of your skirt as you near him. “And yet when Mozart moved out, they maintained a relationship in secret.”

“A secret relationship?” You echo, and he nods affirmatively. “And then what happened?”

“Well,” he begins, dropping his hands to his sides as you stand right in front of him now. “Mozart wrote Constanze’s disapproving father a very famous letter. And they later married.”

“A letter?” You question. “Do you recall what was in the letter?”

You eye him from above, your thighs practically grazing his kneecaps as he remains seated in front of you.

And then in a painfully slow movement, all the while reminding yourself not to rush it, your hands find his, intertwining your fingers together and allowing you to pull yourself even closer to him, effectively slotting yourself between his knees. Professor Han’s breath hitches in his throat as you do, his heart racing wildly in his chest, pulsing reminders grazing his conscience that this is wrong. Yet juxtaposed against your delicate touches on his skin, and your curious eyes awaiting a resolution to his story, he can’t help himself.

“The letter?” He asks nervously, and you nod at him.

“Yeah. Do you remember it, by chance?”

Of course he remembers it- he could recite it in his sleep if he wanted to, every last word and emotion ingrained so deep within his soul as though its memorization was some requirement to work in a music-related field. But he hesitates to utter the words, knowing that if he does, they serve as permission for this- all of this, to indulge himself in all his reckless convictions right here with you.

“You don’t have to,” you say to him shyly, loosening your grasp on his fingers.

And you refer to both the utterance of Mozart’s letter, as well as the actions you know are bound to unfold if he does.

“No, I…” he interrupts, a sharp breath leaving his lips as he speaks. “I want to.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, tightening your grasp around his fingers once more, and then you wait for him to begin.

Professor Han takes a deep breath, some form of a prayer or maybe a beg for absolute forgiveness to a higher power racing his mind before he speaks again. And then, with all the weighing guilt in his heart, he begins to voice the letter back to you.

“I must make you better acquainted with the character of my dear Constanze,” he begins, finally allowing you to pull yourself onto his lap and steady yourself with two hands on his strong forearms.

“Keep talking,” you say to him, reaching out to tuck a strand of wet hair out of his face.

“Her whole beauty consists of two little black eyes and a pretty figure,” he continues, swallowing nervously at every tender touch you produce against his skin. His hands rest on the curves of your waist, delicately grazing up and down as you watch him curiously. Your legs bend to straddle him, skirt flowing over his black dress slacks and draping over the fabric of his crotch, where he can feel himself growing unbearably hard for you.

“Mhm,” you say, two hands now grazing the fabric of his silk black tie and loosening the knot at the collar.

“She likes to be neatly and cleanly dressed, but not smartly; and most things that a woman needs, she is able to make for herself.”

At this point, Professor Han’s tie is completely undone, your nimble fingers now undoing the buttons of his shirt and grazing fingertips along the exposed strip of his chest to you.

He pauses momentarily, eyes fluttering briskly as he relishes in the sensation of your skin against his. And then in one swift motion, your hands tug the fabric of his tie toward you, grazing your open mouth over his and pressing a short, chaste kiss to his pink lips.

He waits for more, but you don’t indulge him just yet, pulling away to stare into the swirling galaxies he houses in his big eyes.

And before he can finish reading the letter, you’re speaking again, putting out the same words he completely intended to produce.

“I love her, and she loves me with all her heart,” you say to him, finishing Mozart’s signature letter for him. “Tell me whether I could wish for a better wife.”

Professor Han says nothing, his eyes widened with shock for a moment as you toy with the fabric of his tie. He wasn’t expecting you to know the tale, let alone echo the letter back to him- one he’s had memorized for most of his life.

“Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father,” you voice with a small shrug. “It’s always been one of my favorites.”

And Professor Han can’t take it anymore, finally allowing himself to pull you in by the small of your back, desperately gripping his fingers against the fabric of your shirt and locking his lips with yours once again. His kisses are purposeful, and needy, but he’s still gentle with you, guiding you further down the length of his legs until you’re sat right over his crotch. The two of you say nothing in between kisses for a good while, remaining like that and exchanging gasped breaths into each other’s mouths as his hands explore every inch of your still-clothed body. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into you and arching your back into his touches. And when his hands graze the length of your skirt, tenderly stroking up the skin on your inner thighs, you chuckle lightly into his mouth, well amused by the actions as though you haven’t wanted it all this time, too.

“Is this okay?” He says nervously, pulling away momentarily to scan your expression.

“It’s more than okay,” you say to him, toying with his tie again. “I’ve wanted to do this so badly.”

Professor Han chuckles lightly, not wanting to admit he’s been thinking about it, too. Maybe externally you’ve already taken note of the way he stares at you as he speaks during lectures, or the way he eyes your short skirts when you assume your seat in his classroom. But you don’t know the nights he spends alone in his apartment, desperately fucking his fist to the thought of you bent over the podium in his lecture hall and filling the space with your erotic moans. Or the way he’s had to divert your gaze in class sometimes, lest he accidentally flaunts a hard-on for the whole class to see, because he knows his mind will run someplace it shouldn’t be.

He’s completely ridden with guilt, his sleep schedule almost nonexistent as he spends hours after he’s already tucked himself into bed, praying the universe won’t punish him for thinking about a student like this.

But he can’t help it- not when you saunter into his classroom so confidently every week, speaking of composers with the same level of admiration he shares, earning the highest grade possible and taking a genuine interest in his life. He’s almost angry at the reality of it, questioning constantly why you hadn't crossed paths before he became a teacher.

“Where were you during my college days?” Professor Han says out loud, a sort of disappointment evident on his face as he speaks. “I wish I’d known you earlier.”

You chuckle in response, one hand tangling in the back of his hair as you rub in gentle massaging motions.

“What’s wrong with right now?” You retort, trailing one finger over his plump lips.

“What’s wrong is that I’m your professor,” he emphasizes, scoffing lightly. “Everything about it is wrong.”

“I’m an adult,” you respond, pulling him in by his collar to work kisses down the column of his neck. “And I want this.”

“Yeah, but…” he begins, the guilt weighing heavily on him all over again.

“You don’t want this?” You then ask, pushing yourself off him briefly and holding eye contact with him. He looks as nervous as he always does when he’s near you, his eyes wide with fear and his timid movements conveying a clear reluctance to reciprocate the affection.

“I do want this,” he mutters sheepishly, knowing it’s also not in his best interest to lie to the woman he’s been leading on for several months now.

“I can leave,” you say to him finally, acknowledging how scared he sounds at the prospect of being here with you. “I won’t tell a single soul. It’ll be like it never happened.”

And Professor Han’s eyebrows arch up in an almost pleading motion, not verbally conveying anything, and yet telling you all that you need to know in the process.

Without saying anything back to him, you reach down to pinch the bridge of his wireframe glasses between your index finger and thumb. His glasses are fogged up, resting almost crookedly on his face when you pull them off, snapping the frame shut between your teeth and setting them on the couch beside you. You can hear Professor Han’s breath hitch in the back of his throat, nervously awaiting your next move and practically shifting total control over to you, who wastes no time reattaching your lips to his and humming into his mouth. He looks completely helpless under you like this, beads of sweat forming on his temples, indistinguishable against the rain droplets that still grace his attire. When you pull away, you examine his chest again briefly- the very same one you couldn’t seem to look away from on your first day of classes. His broad pectorals jut out against the thin white fabric of his button-down shirt, almost completely see-through all drenched in rainwater. And two buttons reveal his sharp clavicles to you, but you’re still just as eager to see the rest of him.

So in slow movements, you graze your hands down lower, snaking off his tie and discarding it alongside him with his glasses. Your nimble fingers work his buttons now, undoing them one by one, pulling open the hem of his shirt so that his chest is visible to you, and when the very last one is undone, you practically tear open both sides of his shirt, allowing the fabric to drape down over the couch and slouch off of his shoulders.

His waist is a sight to marvel at, delicate yet still muscular, made even more erotic in contrast with his broadened shoulders that span much wider than his hips. And your lips quickly find every curve of his chest, pressing a trail of kisses along his clavicles, up to the crook of his neck, down where his nipples protrude and along his shoulders, which tense up beneath your touch.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes in blissful pleasure as your kisses turn a little harsher, pulling his flesh between your teeth and sucking small bruises onto the raised goosebumps that grace every inch of him. You can feel him shift beneath you, trying his best to keep his now swollen cock at a distance from you, as though the act might be less incriminating if you can’t feel his physical yearning for you. And yet it’s enough for you to take notice, scooting closer to him with a smile on your face as you meet his lips once more.

When he feels you squeeze your thighs around his still-clothed cock just once, enough for the friction to emit a bead of precum from under his slacks, his hands find your waist again, tugging lightly at the fabric to signal you to remove it.

“Can I take this off?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes now hooded with lust, lips parted at the sight of your body practically grinding onto his.

You don’t reply, simply crossing two arms over your torso and pulling your shirt off over your head. It’s discarded along with the pile of other things, and then before he has to ask, your bra joins it beside him, too.

Professor Han feels as though he might finish right here at the sight of your breasts on display for him, your hardened nipples protruding generously with arousal and practically begging for his touch. He feels his mouth water with saliva, desperate to take you in his mouth, but somehow even with you straddling him like this, he’s too scared to make a move.

“Professor,” you say to him quietly.

“Hm?” He responds.

You say nothing back to him, blinking innocently down at him and waiting for him to act upon his urges. You know what it is that he wants so badly- and you want it, too. But you want it to feel as mutual as the yearning has, for some confirmation neither of you are manipulating the other into this. His eyes don’t leave your breasts, examining the way your chest rises and falls with every heavy breath as you wait for him. And then he meets your gaze again, a sharp breath escaping his lips as he does.

“Jisung,” he says, now chuckling lightly. His hands snake up your sides, rising higher, and higher, until they’re resting on the mounds of your breasts, not yet making contact with your hardened nipples.

“What?” You hum in response, a small smile on your lips as he watches you carefully.

“That’s my name,” he now says, leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss again. As he does, his hands move lower, until his slender fingers are sprawled out over your nipples. He doesn’t stop kissing you, moving his hands in gentle kneading motions over your breasts as his kisses turn more eager.

“You don’t have to call me professor,” he says in between kisses, hands now reaching around to pull you in closer, gripping your ass just as tenderly the way he did your breasts and desperately grazing your smooth flesh against his calloused fingers . “Just call me Jisung.”

As you smile into the kiss, he flips up your skirt, looping one finger into the hem of your panties and toying with it as he adjusts himself below you. He tugs at your panties just an inch, now transitioning his movements to find the buckle of his pants, metal clinking between your bodies as he unfastens it and snakes it out beside him.

You pull your own panties off as he unbuttons his slacks, awkwardly parting from you momentarily to rid himself of the still-drenched fabric. And then all that remains are his boxers, his erection pitching a tent against the constricting fabric as he resumes his kisses.

“Jisung,” you breathe into his mouth, earning a toothy grin from him against your parted lips. “I love it. I love your name.”

“You’re welcome to say it whenever you want,” he says back, running his hands along the small of your back.

“Just me?” You ask teasingly, tangling two hands in his ebony hair.

“Just you,” he emphasizes, grazing his fingers along your inner thighs. “Just like you’re the only one who scores a perfect on everything she does,” he continues, the pads of his fingers attaching to your clit.

“Just like you’re the only student I’d bring back here in the first place.”

Jisung’s fingers begin slow, circular motions on your bundle of nerves, earning a gasp from you as he dips once into your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it around again.

His mouth accumulates with a needy wad of drool, cock growing even harder at the sight of your eyebrows arched for him as you grind into the pads of his fingers and push him even harder against your flesh.

“Do you think about me often?” You ask him between labored breaths, tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. His eyes are wide with lust and curiosity alike, peering back at you so innocently, with every intention to pleasure you.

“I do,” he affirms, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“What do you think about?” You now ask him, scooting even closer and allowing your chests to make contact as you wrap your arms around him.

“Those short little skirts you wear just for me,” he replies, smiling as he speaks. “They drive me insane.”

“That’s on purpose, you tell him, grazing your nails along the back of his neck. “What else?”

“Your stories of piano,” he then says, surprising you with his response. “It’s so sexy how talented you are.”

“Really?” You ask him, chuckling lightly as he kisses you once again. He nods affirmatively, dipping two fingers into your entrance with ease, just past your glistening folds, but not yet moving them inside of you.

And then he grows quiet for a moment, meeting your gaze with a serious expression, before he begins to pump his fingers slowly in and out of you as he speaks again.

“I touched myself to your book annotations,” he tells you, this time a smile absent from his chiseled face.

“My book annotations,” you repeat, and he cocks his head to look at you.

“All for me,” he continues, filling the ache between your legs with the gentle thrust of his fingers. “Were you trying to get my attention?”

“Depends,” you reply, clutching his shoulders and moving down the length of his fingers a little further.

“On what?”

“On whether yours were for me,” you say to him finally, clenching down around his digits.

He moves his thumb to stimulate your clit as he fucks you, earning a breathy moan as you struggle to speak now.

“Tell me what it was like,” you say to him breathlessly. “Describe it to me.”

“It was earlier today- just before the gallery,” he explains, cocking his head as your lips part in pleasure. “I never annotate in red. I knew instantly that it was you. Your handwriting- your words,” he continues. “I wasn’t expecting it- I’d hoped maybe you penned in a phone number or something.”

You chuckle lightly as he speaks, taking note of the way his fingers pick up the pace inside of you.

“You would’ve loved that, huh?” You retort. And his fingers now move inside of you in a ‘come hither’ motion as he resumes his actions.

“I would’ve loved that,” he groans. “Too bad all I had was your handwriting, and the thought of you in that skirt you wore today. And ten minutes alone with my right hand, praying you’d actually show up tonight.”

Jisung can’t cease his perverted confessions once they begin escaping his wet lips. In complete contrast to his reluctance earlier, his fingers now thrusting in and out of your sopping pussy with such force, spilling every little detail about how much he’s thought about you these past few months.

“God, I love your body,” he breathes against you, craning his neck to take your breast in his mouth. His mouth latches around your erect nipple, tongue swirling in circular motions as he hums helplessly. And you let out a fervent moan at the sensation, not missing the way his fingers prod into your squelching entrance, your thighs trembling as you near your finish.

“Jisung,” you gasp, tangling a hand in his hair and tugging him gently off of you. A string of drool connects his wet lips to your flesh as he meets your gaze, labored breaths grazing your skin, desperate to taste you again.

“What is it?” He coos back.

“I want to finish with you,” you say helplessly. And your hand reaches down between the two of you onto his still-clothed crotch, taking his girth between your hand and giving a light squeeze. He’s wet, as though he’s already finished once for you, and he whimpers powerlessly at the contact.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, shutting his eyes in pleasure at the sensation. “Fuck, touch it again, will you?”

You chuckle lightly in response, looping a finger into the hem of his boxers and tugging down.

“I can do a lot more than just touch you,” you tell him, allowing his fingers to depart from your entrance as you position yourself over him. He watches too as you tug his boxers over his crotch, his eyebrows arching in preemptive arousal as he feels the cool air graze his exposed flesh. And when his cock is finally free, growing erotically against the concave of his abdomen, you can’t help but gasp, completely in awe at the sight.

He’s much bigger than you’d anticipated, a thick girth lined with pink protruding veins and a generous length, his cock almost red at the tip and leaking with precum.

“Fuck,” Jisung says for a third time, feeling another bead drip down his length at the prospect of you watching.

“Is it okay if-”

Jisung doesn’t let you finish your sentence before he’s nodding eagerly, practically begging you to ride him. And you waste no time indulging him in the request, positioning your entrance over him and steadying yourself with two hands on his broad shoulders. He says nothing as he waits, his nails digging into the small of your back as he shuts his eyes, reveling in the sensation of your body so close to his. And then before he can meet your gaze again, you’re sliding down the slick of his length with complete ease, almost bottoming out fully as he opens his eyes again and whimpers loudly.

He’s already pulsating rhythmically inside of you, the tip of his cock kissing your walls as you move even lower, precum mixing with your wetness and producing a light sloshing sound as you begin to move up and down.

His eyes watch your pussy swallow him for a few motions, doing his best to stave off his orgasm as you pant at the sensation. You can feel him all the way in your stomach, filling you up so fully and deeply, labored breaths leaving your lips as his whimpers fill the room. And then you capture him in a wet kiss again, just barely grazing your lips over his as his voice rises in pitch.

“Shit, I can’t,” he whines, gripping your skin a little tighter. “I’m gonna cum so fast.”

“It’s okay,” you emphasize, clenching around his girth and smiling against him. “We have all night.”

The words make him twitch once inside of you, the thought of fucking you a second time making him dizzy with anticipation. Any fleeting thought that this might be a bad idea is completely dissipated from his mind, replaced with unwavering pleasure and his longing to fill you up the way he’s imagined for the better part of the semester now.

“Can I cum inside of you?” He groans, using two hands to move you down his length a little deeper, your clit grinding softly against his abdomen as he bottoms out inside of you. “Jesus, you feel so good.”

You nod in response to him, burying your head in the crook of his neck as he continues to help you, one finger stimulating your clit again as beads of sweat trickle down his forehead.

For a while, no one says anything, the only sounds present between the two of you being the gentle slosh of your juices around his girth and the helpless panting that bridges the gap between your bodies. Your moans and his whimpers are a lot like the discoordinate piano pieces he analyzes so deeply, fading in and out of pace and searching relentlessly for resolution.

And as you crescendo toward your release, you can’t help but take note of how right it feels to be here with him, consuming each other the way you pour yourself into your music, as he does his work. He had asked you earlier where you’d been all his college life- but you know you’re supposed to be together like this now, regardless of his relationship to you. Had he been ten, twenty years your senior, you wouldn’t care- it’s your souls that keep you intertwined like this, the way he sees you for your passions and your interests, beyond just the traditional sense of a student and a teacher. He’s so much more than that- he’s so much more than just a professor.

As Jisung reaches back to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, you feel yourself clench once around his pulsing girth, and then you let go entirely around him, grasping his broad chest as you breathe out his name like a prayer in the duration of your release.

“Jisung,” you moan against him, allowing his first name rather than his professional title to linger between your two listless bodies.

“Y/n,” he groans back, shutting his eyes briefly and arching up his eyebrows. And then as you tremble in exhaustion around him, legs aching from working yourself to your finish, he reaches his finish, too, shooting generous ropes of cum up inside of you and wrapping two arms around you to pull you closer to him.

He remains like that through his finish, his head finding purchase in the valley of your breasts, resting against the chest that rises and falls with deep breaths as his release dribbles down out of you.

And neither of you make any haste movements to get cleaned up just yet, allowing yourselves to remain pressed up against each other, hands tenderly caressing flesh and limbs tangled together.

In the midst of massaging his soft ebony locks, the pads of his fingers clinging tenaciously to your body, you can feel the presence of tears graze your chest, soft sniffles emitting from his flushed face against you. He weeps for you- for his guilt, for yearning, for the confirmation that he’s not better than his filthy conscience after all. And contrastly, because he knows he has all night to do it again, and again, and again.

*

By the morning, your bodies are sore and bruised, sunbeams absent through the giant glass windows of Jisung’s apartment as it continues to rain outside. There’s a chill in the air as thick clouds of fog caress the windows, and not even the layered duvet of Jisung’s bed is enough to warm your still-nude body.

You blink in a state of confusion around you, not realizing where you are momentarily. It’s not until you eye the stacks of music books, loose sheet music and picture frames that you recall last night’s events.

How many times had he fucked you- four, maybe five times? You can’t remember; you do remember he was good at it, switching back and forth between having his way with you, and then submitting to you again, letting you take the reins and ride him until you physically couldn’t anymore. As you sit up in bed, you catch a glimpse of him beside you, his bruised chest visible under the white duvet that drapes lazily over him and covers only his lower half.

He’s still asleep, lips parted innocently and his hair tousled around his chiseled face. He’s also in need of a shave, flaunting a generous patch of stubble on his chin. And you’re not sure he’s ever looked so tantalizing to you before.

When he hears you stirring about, his eyes flutter open, meeting your tired gaze and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He begins to say something, but then he gets quiet again, sighing deeply and shutting his eyes once more. You observe as his lips pull back into a sheepish grin, his straight teeth exposed as he chuckles lightly.

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” He says with a groan. And you simply shrug in response, lying back down beside him, resting one hand on your pillow as he turns over to face you.

It’s a little more real at this proximity, the fact that you’re in bed alongside your professor. But the point still stands- it doesn’t feel awkward, nor do you regret any part of what unfolded yesterday. It’s like something that was bound to happen- if not last night, it would’ve been a week from now, maybe two weeks- definitely not three considering how long you’ve been thinking about him.

Jisung swallows from across you, his hand tucked under his pillow, too, and he watches as you reach out to trace the mole he flaunts on his cheek. It’s not one you’ve had the pleasure of noticing until now- it’s really not one that can be noticed from the vast distance between a lecture chair and a podium. But beside him in his bed, you take notice of everything- the mole in his cheek, the flutter of his long lashes, the sheer guilt he still wears on his face.

“Come on,” Jisung says from beside you, cocking his head in the direction of his bedroom door. “I’ll make you coffee.”

“The blue hair was a bold choice,” you say to Jisung, gripping a warm mug of coffee in hand as you sit cross-legged on his wooden flooring.

You’re in nothing but one of his t-shirts, your hair still messy from last night’s events and lipstick staining the edge of the white mug he’s provided you with. He’s a little more put together this morning, despite canceling today’s classes, a white woolen cardigan enveloping his figure and gray sweatpants hung loosely around his toned legs.

“I dyed my hair a lot back then,” he says from his spot on the couch, staring up at the photograph you admire.

And for some reason, the utterance of “back then” makes you laugh, the way he speaks as though he’s twenty years older than he is. He’s really just six years beyond you, a gap that most would overlook had he not been a professor. And sure, he already boasts a master’s degree and years of experience, but it’s not as though you’re not on the same path yourself.

“Why did you stop?” You ask, turning to meet his tired gaze.

He sighs momentarily, bringing the mug up to his lips for a sip, and then he shrugs at you.

“It’s not professional,” he says plainly. “I had to look the part.”

You smile at him, shaking your head before responding.

“Not the hair,” you emphasize. “Directing. Why’d you stop directing?”

It’s the first time you’ve asked the question so boldly, despite pondering it for all the time you’ve known him. And his composure turns uncomfortable again, as though the question implies much more than it lets on.

“You don’t have to answer,” you say to him after a brief silence, feeling guilty for having overstepped. But Jisung shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows before speaking again.

“It was eating me alive,” he explains, his gaze falling to a distant stack of books as he thinks back to his days as a director. “I couldn’t do anything else. I couldn’t focus on anything. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep- I wanted to be the best. I just wasn’t a very good person.”

You nod at his words- it’s a phenomenon you know very well already, being a music major yourself. The soul-crushing weight of turning everything into a competition, of bypassing your peers and losing loved ones along the way. You’re pretty sure your lack of friends in college can be largely attributed to the same thing.

“Well I think you’re a good person,” you say finally, but his gaze still doesn’t find yours. You can tell there’s more he wants to say- but he remains there, staring into the distance, pondering a lifetime of regret he’ll continue to take with him if he doesn’t at least try to address the hurt.

“I wasn’t,” is all he can say, earning another head shake from you.

“You can’t blame yourself for wanting to be good, Jisung. I’m sure you feel the same thing working as a professor. Besides, that doesn’t mean you can’t-”

“I was a lousy husband,” Jisung finally blurts out, and your eyes snap to his gaze again, finally making contact with his trembling eyes.

“Husband?” You echo, and he swallows nervously.

“I married so young,” Jisung tells you now, folding his legs on the couch in front of him. “I thought it was the right move, fresh out of college with a girl I’d been dating for four years. I had everything- a job, a wife, a sense of stability.”

You’re taken aback by the admission, never once having taken Jisung to be a formerly-married man. He is young, and aside from the sexual tension that’s risen between the two of you, he shows no interest in pursuing another partner.

“The divorce cost me everything,” Jisung says, his eyes glazing over again as he recounts the story. “I was responsible for somebody walking away from what they believed was a lifetime of stability. And she knew it, too, that I was lousy. She told me- her parents told me. I just wanted to be the best at my work. And it cost me everything. So I quit. And I opted for something that wouldn’t drive me crazy anymore.”

Jisung’s heart races wildly in his chest as he speaks, and then he’s hit with the realization that he’s venting to a student of his- one who shouldn’t be occupying his apartment in the first place. One he slept with several times last night- one who he feels oddly safe confiding in. But a student, nonetheless.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Jisung finally says, furrowing his brows again. “I’m sorry- maybe you should go.”

You remain quiet, still sat on the floor, not even halfway finished with the cup of coffee he’s brewed. And he feels bad again, knowing it’s not fair to be taking his frustration out on you.

“Do you want me to leave?” You ask in a meek voice. Jisung chews the inside of his lip, meeting your gaze with a sorrowful expression. At first he shrugs, like he might indeed want you out of this space he calls home. But then he shakes his head sheepishly, shrinking back into the couch cushions and sighing heavily.

You’re not entirely sure what to say to him, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, but longing to keep him company. He just seems lonely, you can’t help but think to yourself. He’s so ridden with loneliness, and guilt and yearning for more.

“Jisung,” you say to him, setting your mug aside and folding your hands in your lap.

He meets your gaze again, a sort of heavy, exhausted expression on his face.

“Do you really think Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 is missing something?” You then ask him, referring to the annotations from his textbook.

He keeps his gaze set on yours, fascinated you’ve remembered his penned-in opinions on the aforementioned works from class. And then he nods lightly, humming a little in response to you.

“There’s no resolution,” Jisung huffs. “It just fades into nothingness.”

You nod back at him, sitting back on the palms of your hands and cocking your head slightly.

“That's a resolution to some listeners,” you say to him. “Maybe you just desire something beyond those last notes.”

His gaze flickers over your knowing expression, pondering the way you speak of the familiar tune.

“Maybe you ought to seek what a resolution is to you.”

*

“I think Professor Han is fucking somebody,” Mina says to you one day as she gets ready in front of the full-length mirror across from her bed.

“Why do you say that?” You retort with a small chuckle, your interest piqued at her words.

“Haven’t you noticed he cancels class a lot?” She replies, wiping a mascara smudge off from below her left eye. “He runs late all the time now, he just shows up in a t-shirt when he does lecture. And he just seems happier, overall. That’s every indication that he’s getting some action.”

You thumb the pages of your textbook- or rather, Professor Han’s textbook, red pen grasped between your fingers as you finish up an annotation.

An annotation you pen in just for him- responses to his music suggestions, comments about his analyses and flirting between the lines of music notes. The textbook is exchanged back and forth between the two of you, conversing secretly between the thin pages of music theory, producing poetry from a language only the two of you speak- by each other, and for each other.

Sometimes you imagine it the way Mozart and Constanze’s relationship unfolded- secret, but robust, full of passion and yearning for one another.

And when you tell Jisung about it later that week, he practically doubles over in laughter, eyes forming little crescents as the melodious tune of his “ha ha’s” fills the space between the two of you.

“I guess I never realized how presumptuous you students can be,” he says, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t seem worried in the slightest- at least not with this cautious system the two of you have developed to maintain the secrecy. You don’t linger in his classroom when lectures conclude, careful not to make it too obvious that you’re waiting around for him. Instead, you meet him at his apartment, just a few blocks away from campus and void of people who might piece together the reality of the situation, like Mina. It’s convenient that she doesn’t seem to suspect anything regarding why you’re always absent from your shared dorm now, considering she’s always at her boyfriend’s place, anyway. And although Jisung makes a mental promise to himself to stop canceling his evening classes so frequently, he can’t help it.

He’s just as drawn to you as you are to him, finding solace in the way he can finally confide in somebody after so long. Jisung thinks back to the way he handled the divorce so privately, quietly putting in his two weeks notice as a musical director and opting for a career path which didn’t take so much of his time and sanity.

He recalls the majority of his friends and family acknowledging what a lousy husband he’d been, and the feeling of knowing he’d made a colossal mistake agreeing to marry so young when he could hardly grasp what he even wanted further down the line. But to you, he’s just a work in progress- you’re still enchanted by the way his mistakes are rooted in sheer passion for his work. The way he lights up when he speaks of his old days as a director, the alluring poetry he produces for you between the pages of a course-assigned textbook. He’s so much more than his mistakes- he’s so much more than the evident loneliness, and guilt, and yearning he harbors.

And although the physical aspect is but a minuscule factor of the relationship, it’s still undeniably sweeping, as though it’s another language the two of you share in secrecy. Jisung had admitted once that he hadn’t even been with another woman following the divorce- a fact which you now know to be true, the way he fucks with such desperation, as though he’s going to lose you to the same careless mistakes as before. But he also understands that you’re different, and that you don’t apprehend him for any of his former mistakes.

He indulges you in tales of his days directing, one arm slung lazily around your waist as he holds you close and plays old films of the symphonic band in action. And it’s more captivating to watch him get lost in his work, the way his eyes glaze over as he watches himself on screen, the thin black baton waving around in rushed motions as the band plays. He wears elegant suits lined with brass buttons and expensive cufflinks, and the expression on his face when the on-screen symphony turns to him for direction- hundreds of eyes eagerly awaiting his next move, as though he controls them. Pairs of eyes who actually give a shit about the field of work- not just make an appearance for a grade. He grins ear to ear when you pry for more answers, and especially when you conflate the pieces to that of your own, mentally recalling your own piano sheet music. And when you deluge him in compliments, reminding him that he’s remarkable for all that he’s done, and he’s still remarkable- as a professor, and even following his divorce, he can’t help but grow hard at the affection, reveling in the robust support and the love he’s not sure he’s ever felt before you.

He’ll often make love to you right there on the sofa, symphonic pieces still playing faintly on the tv in the background, and he’ll do it again and again to convey the reminder that he’s grateful, and that no one has ever heard him the way that you do.

*

One month into the arrangement, Jisung texts you in a sheer panic, requesting you meet him in the east lecture hall. It’s extremely uncharacteristic of him to make efforts to meet in the one place you could get caught, but still you adhere to his request, throwing on a sweater and rushing out of your vacant dorm to the east side of campus.

The campus buildings are almost haunting at this hour, no more than two, maybe three students in sight under the dim glow of the lamps that line the concrete pathways. The building names are also completely indistinguishable at this hour amidst the sheer darkness, and the only sounds that can be heard are the distant chirp of crickets and the occasional roll of a skateboard. When you arrive at the grand hall, you quickly realize it’s no longer accessible, closed off by rows of fencer wire and shut off entirely from the rest of the school.

“It’s finally done for,” a voice says from beside you, and you know it to be Jisung’s before even turning to face him.

“Already? I thought construction was supposed to begin next semester, though.”

Jisung shakes his head, hands stuffed in his pockets as he exhales deeply.

“I got the email today,” he says in a frustrated tone. “Just some short thing about not delaying the project. They’re moving me to the tiny little hall around the corner.”

You take a moment to think over the hall he speaks of- it might as well be a mobile classroom with how small it is in size, just one narrow hallway that branches off into a line of 3 other rooms. The desks are reminiscent of those from your high school days, and you can’t remember the heating ever having worked during your time passing through, the hall constantly freezing when it rains.

“I didn’t even get a proper send-off,” he reiterates, his gaze not moving from the bright orange temporary fencing. “I would’ve taken a moment to appreciate it one last time.”

You think for a moment, taking a brief moment to glance around you at the eerily empty campus, and then you turn back to Jisung with a small shrug.

“Don’t you still have your keys?”

“Yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “But…”

Jisung doesn’t finish his sentence, instead pondering the suggestion as he keeps his gaze on the fencing. He knows it would be reckless, practically breaking into the old lecture hall like this to give it one last look, but he’s also overtaken with frustration and a longing for closure.

“I do have my old keys,” he says suddenly, glancing around the vacant buildings nearby, at the faint silhouettes of shadowy trees and dim streetlamps. You watch curiously as he runs a hand along the tip of the neon orange fence, pushing down to locate where it gives in a little. And just at the very end of it, it does, pulling down much further and lowering just enough so that it’s adequate to climb over. Jisung hoists himself over the fencing, his muscular arms steadying himself as he lifts one leg over the fence, followed by the other, and then grounds himself in the muddy grass on the other side. It's the first time you take notice that he’s in a simple pair of blue jeans, brushing mud off his toned thighs and then meeting your gaze again.

“Come on,” he says to you, nearing the fence again and holding a hand out, beckoning you to follow his lead. You don’t think twice before you’re mirroring his actions, hoisting your frame over the plastic fencing and planting two feet in the mud, Jisung helping you regain your balance with his calloused hands finding purchase on your waist and then interlocking his fingers with yours.

“I hope they haven’t changed the locks yet,” he says, leading you to the familiar grand entrance of the lecture hall. His keys are fished out of the pockets of his jeans, jingling softly as he twists his gold key into the lock, and then with an affirmative thud of the door being pushed open, he smiles to himself, beckoning for you to follow him inside.

The lecture hall is even more eerie than the campus is at this hour, not a single light illuminating the dark wooden floors that span the tower. The moonlit glow through the windows flashes with the gentle wave of trees that almost grazes against the glass panes, and you can’t quite distinguish where the gargantuan ceilings even end in this darkness. Jisung makes his way to the spiral staircase to the right of the room, craning his neck up to get a good view of the room, and then he beckons you again with the wave of his hand.

“They haven’t touched the stairs yet,” he says, beginning up the stairs with one hand cascading along the wooden banister. You follow behind him, the only sound echoing around the hall being the familiar loud creak of the stairs as you make your ascent. And for the first time, it’s a sound you realize you’re going to miss very dearly, never having realized it was something you took for granted all this time. The way these stairs obnoxiously announce your arrival when you’re late to class with a coffee in hand, or how the wooden steps boom in volume when students rush down them in hordes toward their next class. Although you’ll have graduated and moved on by then, the knowledge that everything is going to be different remains a jarring fact.

At the top of the stairs, it’s comforting to see that nothing looks different just yet, the podium still intact and rows of chairs folded neatly in their places. Jisung doesn’t make any move to turn on the lights, careful not to reveal that anyone’s broken into the old building, and he makes his way to the podium, staring out at the sea of vacant chairs that sit untouched amidst the darkness.

“I loved this room,” he says after a moment of silence, his voice laced with regret.

You span the perimeter behind the podium, grazing your hands along the old walls, recalling how many times you’d stared at them beyond Jisung’s pacing figure as he spoke of composers and musical theory.

When you make your way to the podium alongside him, mirroring the way he stares out at the empty seats, he glances at you briefly out of his peripheral vision. Jisung wonders if you can tell that the demolition of this room is so painfully metaphorical for him, like one final indication that he deserves no better than the confines of a dingy little room far away from this one. As though every time he feels he’s that much closer to redeeming himself following a nasty divorce, he’s shut out again, misplaced, suddenly right back to where he was five years ago. Misguided, lost, full of regret and a permanent yearning for resolution- one that never seems to come.

In fact, he’s pretty sure you’re the closest he’s ever gotten to one, when you’re assuring him that there is a life beyond the mistakes he made in his early 20s- that the curse of pondering his place here doesn’t have to define him entirely. And that there’s always still time- to love, to better himself, and to revisit the passion which once drove him mad.

It doesn’t mean it’s going to repeat itself, you had told him once. You could do it differently.

“I don’t think Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 needed a coda,” you say to him, breaking the deafening silence between you two in the vast empty space of the room.

Jisung finally turns to look at you, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his jeans as he replies.

“Why’s that?”

“It doesn’t need to repeat the entire first part,” you explain to him. “That part is emphasized enough. I think the listener should appreciate that it just ends where it ends.”

Jisung thinks over your words for a moment, not entirely sure why you’ve brought up the piece way back from chapter 8 of his lectures. And yet he nods in response, his breath hitching in the back of his throat a little when you turn to face him, too.

“I like that it’s a little unclear,” you finally say to him.

And this time he doesn’t respond- not with words at least, opting to pull you in for a gentle kiss, his hands working their way down the small of your back. His lips feel somber against yours, like he seeks to inhibit his sadness with the tender touch of your lips against his, pushing you back against the wooden podium and spinning you around to work kisses down your neck.

There are no words spoken between the two of you, just the vibration of small moans echoing from your lips as he sucks a hickey into your flesh, even though he knows he shouldn’t mark you. And yet he does, a physical reminder that you belong to him, and hopefully one to convey the notion that you’re the closest thing he’s ever gotten to resolution.

Jisung’s hands work your blouse open, his jeans pressing into you from behind, already rock-hard for you as his hands tug off your shirt. And he giggles against your flesh when you gasp at the cold air that grazes your skin.

“Jisung,” you say to him, your hands gripping the wood of the podium. “We probably shouldn’t do this here.”

It’s he who brushes off the lewd act, consoling you with the unzip of his jeans, his bulge pressing into your thigh as he continues to work kisses down your neck.

“We won’t get caught, baby,” he says as his fingers rub circles over your clothed core under the thin fabric of your skirt. “I promise.”

And then it’s you tugging your own panties down, allowing him full access to your wet cunt as the palm of his hand works you in rhythmic back and forth motions. He doesn’t even need to touch you- not when you’re already dripping for him. And yet he remains like that for several minutes, breathing heavily into the shell of your ear as your moans echo around the dark lecture hall, his cock only growing harder against you with every touch.

It’s undoubtedly arousing for him to look out at the classroom he’s lectured in for so many years, one he usually associates with nervous test-takers and monotonous speeches- and to watch the very same space be filled with your gasps of pleasure. His eyes scan over the very seat you occupy every week, recalling the times he’s fantasized about exactly this- touching you the way he knows you deserve to be touched and making you his in the forbidden confines of a classroom. Without so much as a word, his boxers are pulled down too, positioning you in front of him and allowing his fingers to wrap around the base of his leaky cock. He strokes himself just once, eyes shutting at the sensation of his tip brushing against your warm flesh. And then he prods into your entrance, tapping ever so gently as his other hand intertwines with yours.

You take him with complete ease, the way you always do when he’s fucking you this sweetly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as indication to speed up his movements. But he doesn’t- he just maintains a steady pace inside of you, his hips smacking lightly against yours as he resumes wet kisses along your shoulder.

A million thoughts graze his mind as he fucks you- like the fading notes of Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, and how evidently his annotations referencing a coda have resonated with you. Or the tales of Mozart and Constanze’s secret love, of Johannes Brahms and Clara Schumann and a lifetime of unrequited romance that never quite got its closure. Jisung thinks about the nights you two spend in his apartment, watching reruns of him directing symphonies, or mornings when he cancels class because all he can do is lie entangled with you and bask in the love you two share in the privacy of his home.

His mind also goes back to the divorce, a constant pain he carries with him, remembering all the ways he let other people down in efforts to focus on his career and his love of music. Nights he stayed out far too long annotating sheets of music, knowing very well that his wife was waiting up for him. Anniversaries he forgot, birthdays he failed to prioritize because music always came first. And consequently, begging his ex-wife to stay, knowing very well she had already made up her mind- that he was a lousy person, far too consumed by his career and incapable of loving the way she had.

Jisung’s movements pick up in pace as he thinks about the future of this old building- soon demolished into a pile of dust, the old walls crumbling despite the years of history pent up inside of it. Tests failed and lectures given, days he spent funneling that same passion into something entirely new, because directing was never the same once he understood what a neglectful husband he’d been. The walls to be painted blinding shades of cobalt blue and white, like a fucking dentist’s office, and not an inch of the building to suggest it had ever housed an appreciation for music, simply replaced by a basketball court and cold metal bleachers.

He also thinks about you, and how you made the semester far more tolerable, your beaming smile and your curiosity about not only music, but him, serving as a beacon of hope that perhaps this wasn’t all in vain. And your comforting words helping him understand that perhaps this isn’t what he wants after all, that this chapter of life may very well crumble along with this old building. Maybe this is the end, like resilient music notes approaching the finale of a symphonic piece- and he can either allow the fading discoordination to mark the finish- or take to the da segno, and start again.

Maybe a coda is sooner than he thinks- maybe resolution is closer than he thinks.

You’re well aware of Jisung’s now rapid movements inside of you, gasping at the sheer size of his swollen cock grazing your walls, your hand tightly gripping his and your mind wandering to where his currently lies.

But you can’t verbalize the curiosity- not when he’s interrupting you to tilt your face to his, planting a wet, open-mouthed kiss on your mouth and breathing desire back into you.

His fingers prod themselves into your mouth as he fucks you, murmuring little pleas to let him watch you taste yourself, his cock inserting in tandem with his fingers as he matches their pace. Your moans are stifled as your tongue swirls his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you let the pleasure overtake you.

And then he slides his fingers out for a moment, watching strings of saliva drip so erotically down your parted lips as you continue to take his cock obediently.

“I love you,” he says like it’s an epiphany. But it’s not- he reckons he’s known it for a long time now, almost scared at the intensity of his emotions for you. He’s not quite sure he loved his wife like this, and he’s not sure he knew he was even capable of loving again. In fact, Jisung only knows that he truly loved one thing in his lifetime- music. Music, and now you.

“How could I ever ask for a better woman?” He breathes against your skin, goosebumps rising as his words echo Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father and echo in the vast, empty room.

Your reciprocation is muffled with the re-insertion of his fingers in your mouth as he reaches his finish inside of you, painting your walls with his release, holding you close and stimulating your clit again as he coaxes an orgasm out of you, too. And the finish is nowhere near fading, nor discoordinate, as the echoes of your moans reverberate off the walls and fill the emptiness with your passionate yearning for one another.

Da segno

Returning to the dorms to find Mina in her bed for once is a shock to you- especially considering she’s been speaking of a camping trip with her boyfriend for several weeks now.

At first you check your phone, briefly, thinking maybe you’ve gotten the date wrong. But you haven’t- it’s a Friday evening, the same evening you know she should be on route to her planned trip with Lucas.

She’s propped up in bed, carefully examining something when you make your way past her, eyebrows furrowed and deep in thought.

“Hey Mina,” you say to her cautiously, pulling your sweater up a little higher up on your neck.

She doesn’t reply, eyebrows still furrowed as she keeps her head down. And then she chuckles lightly, still not looking up at you.

“I feel like you’re out more than I am these days,” she says to you, and you can’t quite make out whether she’s being condescending or cordial with you.

“Yeah,” you reply nervously, sitting on the edge of your bed across from her and crossing your arms. “Just been trying to take more walks.”

Mina purses her lips, nodding, and then she exhales sharply before she speaks again.

“Lucas broke up with me,” she explains. But she doesn’t sound sad, or even angry- she simply relays the news with a straight face, not even glancing up to catch your shocked expression.

“He did?” You blurt out, feeling an overwhelming sense of sympathy for her- of course you don’t really care for Mina, but you also know how frequently she’s out with him, how highly she speaks of him and how in love she’s been with him for all the years they’ve been together.

“Yeah,” she reaffirms, sighing as she speaks. “He’d been cheating for several months. I’m over it now- I just thought I might get a head-start on this week's notes.”

You nod at her again, still aware she seems to be repressing something, far too casual for your liking and almost ready to lash out at any given second.

“That’s good,” you tell her, crossing your legs on the bed. “I’m really sorry. Let me know if you need anything-”

“I did find this week’s chapter to be particularly interesting,” she interrupts, slouching further back against the wall by her bed.

It’s your turn to furrow your brows, a little confused by her behavior, especially considering she hardly ever reads assigned textbook chapters.

“Listen to this,” Mina says, and then her lips pull into a wicked grin as she begins down the page, her voice laced with rancor.

“I must make you better acquainted with the character of my dear y/n,” she begins, and your heart all but stops in your chest.

It’s then that you notice the textbook in her grasp, the familiar old font and the yellowing of the pages- Professor Han’s textbook, the same one riddled with erotic poetry between the lines of music theory.

“Mina, please-” you begin, voice cracking, a futile task as she raises her voice and continues speaking.

“Her whole beauty consists of two sparkling eyes and a delicate figure,” she reads. “She likes to watch me direct symphonies, and she knows music theory like the back of her hand.”

Your heart races in your chest, mind swirling with fearful thoughts as she voices the familiar love letter back to you. Professor Han’s most recent addition to the textbook, derived from Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father, and a written account of Jisung’s affection for you. A letter you’ve read over and over since he produced it, and the same one you so carelessly left lying open on your dorm bed in a rush to go see him at the lecture hall.

“She likes to hear the stories of famous composers and their romances, and she lets me make love to her as though she belongs to me,” Mina reads, her voice growing even louder as you now approach her. Your hands reach desperately for the book, which she holds away from your reach as she now stands up on her bed, her feet digging into the mattress as she steadies herself with one hand on the wall.

“Please, stop,” you beg, to no avail, as she then concludes the letter.

“Most things that a student neglects, she excels in. I love her and she loves me with all her being- tell me whether I could ask for a better woman.”

The room falls painfully quiet as she finishes, thumbing through the pages with a soft rustling sound.

“That’s just one,” she says, maintaining the same wicked expression on her face. “The book is full of them.”

And then she shuts the book, examining the cover, meeting your gaze as she assumes her position back down on the mattress and crosses her legs.

“This is the professor’s textbook, right? That’s why it looks a little different. I had wondered, when I first snatched it from your stuff.”

You stay quiet, your gaze falling to the floor as tears brim your eyes. You want to fight back, but in reality, the book serves as admission itself- there’s no denying it’s a letter from him, to you. It’s incriminating by his loopy cursive handwriting, the book she’s seen him wield so many times in the classroom during lectures and the way he speaks of making love to you.

“You’re fucking Professor Han?” She finally says aloud, and the words sting, although you’ve been expecting them.

“It’s not like that-”

“That’s why you’re doing so well in his class? While the rest of us bust our asses studying for his stupid quizzes? What do you even do, suck him off when nobody’s looking? How big is he?”

“Stop!” You exclaim, the tears now cascading down your flushed cheeks and gathering on your trembling chin.

Mina says nothing as she wears the same stupid smirk on her face, and then she tosses the book to you, which you grasp in your shaky hands. You hold it close to you, wishing so badly you could undo whatever it is she’s seen in the book, but you know that it’s far too late- the book is no longer a sacred little thing between you and Jisung.

“What do you want?” You say to her quietly, sniffling as you tuck the book under your duvet.

“What do I want?” She echoes.

“Yes,” you huff frustratedly. “Anything. Just please don’t tell the dean about this- or anyone, for that matter. I promise to do whatever it is that you ask, especially since-”

Your rambling comes to a sudden halt when Mina begins laughing, her hands clutching her stomach as she does, almost doubling over on the bed and kicking her feet with enthusiasm.

“Do you think I’m gonna blackmail you, or something?” She questions between laughter, meeting your gaze with tears in her eyes as she continues giggling between words.

“I always knew you were weird,” she remarks. “Not like, ‘fuck a professor’ weird. But it is weird that you think I’m gonna blackmail you.”

You don’t say anything to Mina, sitting on your bed again and sprawling one hand out to rest atop the book, which remains hidden under the duvet.

“You mean… you… won’t tell?”

“I’m impressed,” Mina replies, now lying on her side and propping her head up in her hand. “He is the hottest professor on campus. But no, I’m not going to tell anyone. Contrary to your belief, I really don’t care to ruin either of your lives. I have more important things to worry about.”

You sigh a heavy breath, relieved that Mina’s taken the high road and chosen to ignore the situation altogether. But you can’t cease the heavy weight it bears within you, one that fears not for your future, but for Professor Han’s. You know the majority wouldn’t believe it, the tale that this was a mutual thing between the two of you, that he’s just a pained divorcee, and you’re a lonely college student. To the masses, it would look like complete manipulation, Professor Han requiring a sexual relationship from you for an A in his course, and keeping the discrete flirting alive within the pages of his textbook. It’s more irresponsible on his end than it is yours- and although you both know it’s wrong, it still feels different. It still feels as though it’s rooted in yearning.

“I still need a textbook,” Mina says, breaking the silence between you two. “Like, for this week’s chapters.”

“Oh, right,” you say to her quietly, reaching inside your school bag for the correct book. You toss it to her without another word, observing the way she flips to the page she was on, and resumes reading as though nothing happened.

But her voice still replays in your head, reading aloud the sacred letter Professor Han produced for you within his textbook, one that never should have graced anybody else’s eyesight except your own.

And the tears resume as you watch her, a heavy guilt present as the words play in your mind again, and again, and again.

*

Jisung’s apartment doesn’t feel the way it normally does later that week- not when you’re first sauntering in with meek steps, being flooded by a barrage of questions about why you’ve skipped class for two weeks. And especially not when you finally recount the incident to Jisung, tears flooding your eyes and cascading down the deep gray bags that hammock under your lashes. The nights have been sleepless for all fourteen days, tossing and turning on your mattress about whether Mina is actually going to keep her promise about not telling. And she appears to, failing to acknowledge it whenever she’s in your presence, visibly still coping with the aftermath of her breakup. She simply comes and goes in casual strides, sometimes still borrowing your textbook from you and returning it far later than you care for, but it really doesn’t matter by this point. You’ve stopped reading the textbook entirely, coming to terms with the fact that you’ll have to rely on your own knowledge to pass any of the assignments distributed. And Jisung knows something is wrong when he finally does see you after two weeks, dressed loosely in a pair of sweatpants, your face flushed with tears and averting his gaze.

“You’re going to be so mad at me,” you emphasize to him, shielding the tears that fall from your trembling eyes with one hand, as he crouches on the floor in front of you and gives your hand a little squeeze.

And he’s adamant that nothing could make him hate you- that whatever it is you’re facing can be worked through, and that he’s going to stand by you regardless. Yet when you recount the incident to him, explaining the way Mina had read through his written confessions of sleeping with you and expressing his love for you, Jisung falls completely silent- a reaction which is somehow more scary to you than vexed words.

“Are you sure she knows it’s mine?” He asks, pulling away to stand in front of you. He feels much taller when he’s towering over you like this, pacing frantically along the wooden floorboards and chewing on the inside of his lip nervously.

“I’m sure,” you reply quietly. “She must’ve been reading it the entire time I was out. It has your name in it and everything.”

Jisung is quiet again, thinking over your words, and then he places his hands on his hips as he speaks again.

“Did she say anything else?” He inquires.

“She said that she wouldn’t tell anybody. As far as I know, she hasn’t. I just feel-”

“I’m never going to get it now,” he then says, running his hands through his hair nervously and glancing around the room.

“Get what?”

“Jesus,” he says, almost chuckling in disbelief. “I spent all this time interviewing, and if this gets out it could ruin everything.”

“Interviewing?” You echo meekly.

“Just when I thought I had it all again. I was so close to being back. Getting out of this shitty job and making a name for myself again.”

Jisung assumes a spot in one of the chairs across from you, burying his head in his hands and remaining silent. You want to ask him to clarify what he means by interviewing, but you’re also scared of him when he’s like this, knowing he’s reverting back to the version of himself who puts music above everything.

“You couldn’t just make something up?” Jisung then asks, scoffing lightly as he finally meets your gaze.

“What?”

“You couldn’t just fucking lie? Why on earth would you admit to it?”

“Lie?” You repeat to him with a shaky voice. “What did you want me to say?”

“Say I wasn’t interested in you,” Jisung retorts. “Say you were writing the letters to yourself. You’re putting my entire career at risk because you couldn’t be bothered to put my book away?”

You’re taken aback momentarily by Jisung’s words, hardly making sense of them at first. There’s no way he could be blaming you for this- not when he’s just as guilty as you are. In fact, Professor Han may be more guilty, acting upon his urges when he knows the power imbalance he wields over you- you’re just a student of his, nowhere near the status he upholds at this school. But as he continues prodding you for questions about why you hadn’t just lied, or made a bullshit excuse, or something, the message is conveyed loud and clear. He’s blaming you entirely for being found out.

“This is about directing,” you say when the realization hits you, almost laughing at the sheer absurdity of it.

“Of course it’s about directing,” he retorts, throwing his hands in the air and scoffing loudly. “I worked my ass off interviewing for one of the most prestigious roles a few hours out of here, I got an offer just yesterday, and now this is going to ruin everything. When they hear about the little fling I had, and they assume I coerced you into it, when you know damn well you led me on. And it’s going to be my divorce all over again.”

A silence falls over the room as you take in his words. You suddenly feel microscopic in his presence as the betrayal sets in, and for the first time since the arrangement, the discomfort of this being a student-teacher relationship washes over you.

“It’s not going to get out,” you say to him softly. “Mina hasn’t told anybody, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

Jisung gives a small nod at your words, and then he slides his hands into the pocket of his jeans.

“I hate that you don’t realize when you’re doing the same thing all over again,” you then say to him, averting his stern gaze.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why are we even doing this?” You continue, scoffing lightly. “Is this some sick way of reenacting the same mistakes you did before, and hoping for a different outcome? Now your directing days are just within reach again, and you’re doing the same thing, making your shortcoming’s everybody else’s fault except your own. I think you’re more afraid of not being able to relive your glory days than of losing anybody you love.”

“That’s not what this is, and you know that,” Jisung retorts. “You know how I feel about you.”

“Just admit that I’m a distraction because you miss your old life,” you continue, a little calmer now. “It’s the first time your career felt like it once did when you were directing, and in love, and I’m just some good fuck who takes genuine interest in your stories.”

“That’s not what I’m-”

“Do you ever imagine I’m her?” You ask him, meeting his concerned gaze. “When you’re fucking me in your bedroom? Do you ever imagine I’m your ex-wife waiting up for you the way she used to? Pretend you’re still a director and that you finally have everything you want?”

“That’s enough,” Jisung voices, and you shake your head at him.

“You might have been infatuated over some fleeting moment, seeing the face of your ex-wife whenever you looked at me. But I really, truly loved you. And she was right- you are a lousy person. You just can’t seem to understand when your interests take precedence over your emotions.”

Jisung is silent as his lip quivers in response, experiencing all over again what he did on the night his ex-wife left him. He’d always feared it would come back to haunt him- but not like this. Not through repeating the same mistakes all over again- just as he thought he finally found closure.

Like a musical piece with triumphant notes approaching an end, suddenly directing him right back to the symbol forcing repetition. It’s dizzying, and it’s painful, and he’s sure that a conclusion is far from his reach now.

Without another word, you pivot on your heel, gathering your bag and making your way toward his front door again.

“Y/n, please wait,” Jisung calls out, but he can’t find the words to clear his name of your accusations. Instead he remains quiet when you turn to face him, his shoulders sagging in a defeated manner as you shrug in his direction.

“I really think you ought to find what resolution means to you,” you say to him finally. “Repetition isn’t always it.”

*

The dingy old hallway within the radius of the old east lecture hall is indeed just as undesirable as you remembered it- it’s freezing cold when it rains outside, the students struggle to traverse the narrow hall as they brush against each other in passing and the classroom is nowhere near as enchanting as the grand room of the old hall. Made much worse are the stripes of cobalt blue and a blinding shade of white, which line every wall in the building, almost distracting as lectures are conveyed from the front of the room. The students maintain their same positioning as the lecture is given, typing on their laptops, the clicking sounds of keyboards much louder now at this close proximity of all the chairs to each other. And you don’t write down a single thing, staring at the stripes of blue and white on the walls, following their trail from one side of the room until they reach the hinges of the door, and then repeating the process over and over again.

Professor Han’s departure comes as a surprise to many, the students murmuring amongst themselves as they theorize what could cause such a sudden leave. He fought with the dean and quit. He has a terminal illness. He’s sleeping with a student.

Of course some of them come close to the truth, but they’ll never know for sure- not unless they’re one of the two people on campus who do know.

Mina makes an attempt to ask you about it at first, fiddling awkwardly with the pages of your textbook as she inquires about the status of your relationship. She proceeds to ask if you’d known he was leaving, but not before tears are streaming down your face, your words coming out between hiccupped sobs. And all that she’s able to coax out of you is the verbal confirmation that yes, you knew he was leaving, and no, nobody else found out about the arrangement.

Professor Han’s replacement is a shameful excuse for a lecturer, an older man who only knows as much as the textbook explains, and nothing beyond the printed text. He goes so far as to actively discourage questions, expressing his distaste for “wasting time”, yet the students are well aware it’s because he simply doesn’t have the answers they seek. Your classmates don’t care of course, their grades cushioned by the generous 20 points, instead of 10, which Professor Han opted to distribute for the dead composer’s gallery walkthrough as one final parting gift. And aside from one last email thanking the class for their participation in the duration of the few months he taught it, Professor Han promptly makes his departure from your life, too. Not so much as a thank you, an apology or even a love letter the way you know he once would have written, had he not been so consumed by a yearning for his old life. Just like his ex-wife, you’re shut out by him, made to feel as though reciprocated affection is somehow a selfish request. And maybe it is when it comes to Professor Han- maybe he’s truly just incapable of loving without the limitations of his work. Like the famous composers you learn of, he’s a genius in so many ways- just not in romance. And certainly not in learning from his mistakes.

On occasion, you write to him again, tearing out pages from old chapters in your textbook and scribbling along the vacant margins.

“The old lecture hall’s finally been torn down- all that remains are gray dust and pieces of the old stair banister. They’ve already built up part of the new gymnasium. If I look out the new classroom window, I can see them sampling paint swatches- all shades of blue and white, of course. The students miss you- the boys still dress like you, and the girls don’t even look up from their laptops when your replacement speaks. There’s nothing to look at, of course- not when you’re absent.

We finally reached Constanze’s short chapter in the textbook- chapter 14. Did you know she remarried after Mozart? There was no animosity between the two until his death- she spoke so highly of him until the end. We credit Constanze for many of his posthumous works. Ones that never would have seen the light of day without the respect she paid to him.

I think highly of you, too- I know you don’t know it, but I think back to your old videos, when you’d wave around that black baton of yours and lead symphonies. I understand the fear you harbored in letting all of that go.

You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. I wish you hadn’t told me that you were falling in love, and I hope you’re doing terrible-”

Your red pen is set down promptly as you allow yourself to catch your breath, ceasing this unproductive flow of consciousness you spill onto the pages of your textbook. Many nights end this way, your thoughts poured out and then repressed once more, no method of delivering them to him, regardless. And although you want to reconnect with him, you have no way of actually doing so, even his apartment now vacant as he assumes his new role as a director a few hours out of town. It’s a jarring fact, coming to terms with the notion that you’re likely never going to see him again. But you know it’s his way of resolution- repeating the same process as before, hoping for a different outcome.

*

“You’re starting the tempo change too slow,” Jisung says with a heavy sigh, setting his baton down on the music stand and waving his hand. “Pick up from measure three, on your own this time. I’ll be back in five.”

The room fills with the discoordinate overlap of instruments practicing, woodwinds rotating their reeds and brass players emptying spit valves. Jisung makes his way past the double doors, shielding his eyes from the almost blinding rays of sunlight that glare down over the music hall at this hour. And then he leans against the same brick wall he always does when he’s this mentally exhausted, shutting his eyes momentarily and exhaling.

He’s directing again, conducting symphonic pieces he’s only ever dreamed of. His hair is two shades lighter than it was when he was teaching, his closet is filled to the brim with elegant blazers and he’s compiled a generous collection of gold and silver cufflinks the way he once used to. But something feels different- and it’s felt that way for months now.

Sometimes Jisung can’t recall if symphonies were always this arduous to lead. He’s almost certain he’s verbally noted the painfully slow tempo change to them about a trillion times, and yet every time the metronome is turned on, guiding them with the obnoxious repetitive click at 80 beats per minute, they’re too slow.

Slow enough for his mind to wander elsewhere- like whether they’ll ever have the chance to rehearse the final few bars of this piece. Or questioning if they actually respect him here, as a director, and not just as a replacement for a metronome when he’s not yelling at them.

And occasionally, as much as he hates to admit it, the thoughts involve you. His pride’s too far gone to admit he ruined things, and his ego would never let him find you and convey some form of an apology- especially not after begging someone to stay once long ago, to no avail. But his mind wanders to the image of you in the audience, observing him keenly with the same beaming smile on your face and a genuine interest in whatever it is he’s doing- whether it be conducting grand symphonies, lecturing facts he’s memorized like the back of his hand or even just recounting old tales alongside you.

In the pocket of his blazer lies the same pathetic scrap of paper he just can’t seem to let go of- and as he glances at the inching second hand on his wristwatch, he pulls it out again, carefully undoing it from its folded state and scanning the contents. Page 256 from his textbook, detailing Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, complete with his scribbled annotations, and yours, so perfectly complementing all of his remarks.

“Coda?” He had written along the margins- a little addition that stuck with you all that time. Every time you were tangled in his embrace, listening to stories of his days as a director, Jisung pressing little kisses to your forehead, you’d inquire about his need for a musical epilogue. One that you didn’t believe was necessary within the piece, feeling as though the repetition equated redundancy in this case. “I think the listener should just appreciate that it ends where it ends,” you’d told him once, a statement he disagreed with at the time, but one he finds himself thinking over a lot these days.

Perhaps you were so certain about the finale of Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 because you could appreciate every other measure of the piece. The triumphant swell of the crescendos that mark the introduction, the changes within tempo and the distinctly separate movements that complement each other with such force. Measures that Jisung seemed to neglect, always searching for something beyond the eight notes that make up the piece in its entirety. But maybe you were right all along, that sometimes a listener should simply appreciate where a piece ends- that there doesn’t need to be any form of repetition, or even the need for a coda. Maybe those fading, discoordinate notes are enough- maybe that’s a coda in itself.

The double doors swing open as Jisung takes careful note of the symbol you also tagged at the bottom of the page, an oval with a cross through the center, a coda- an offer for resolution.

“Jisung?” Somebody asks, and he glances up to catch the gaze of who he remembers to be a third chair woodwind player.

“We practiced measure three again,” he says cautiously. “Could you… have a listen one more time?”

Jisung sighs, tucking the folded piece of paper back into his blazer and glancing beyond the student through the double doors. The music hall is dark inside, despite it being the middle of the day, the navy blue carpeting and the tinted windows completely obscuring the beauty of the world beyond the four walls. And then he looks the other direction, at the clear blue skies and the bustling roads, where the people don’t look back the way he’s done for so long.

“Sir?” The student asks again, twiddling his fingers together in front of his collared shirt.

“Not now. I’m leaving early today,” Jisung says, buttoning his blazer closed and giving the student a small nod. “Practice measure three until it’s perfected for next time.”

And then he begins toward his car, taking purposeful strides with a plan he hasn’t even conjured up yet, only knowing he has to keep looking forward if he wants any sort of resolution to all of this.

“And for god’s sake,” Jisung then calls out suddenly, stopping in his tracks to convey the message clearly.

“Get the tempo right, next time, will you? I’m tired of hearing the same thing over and over again.”

Coda

The evening of some important date in December is marked by the particularly frosty air, your dorm window fogged up with a sheet of ice and the halls much too cold to traverse without generous layers of clothing.

The remaining students here walk up and down the length of the hallways with cardboard boxes balanced in their arms, talking excitedly amongst themselves about plans for graduation parties and post-college life. And you can’t seem to part with the comfortable atmosphere of your dorm bed, neglecting your own stack of boxes as Mina makes her way in and out of the shared dorm room you’ve gotten so accustomed to.

“Are you using that box?” She asks, loudly sealing one with packing tape and setting it on top of another.

“No,” you say plainly. “It’s all yours.”

She takes careful notice of the way you remain draped over the bed, eyes glued to the ceiling as you think back to the last of your college days. A formal graduation in a week, which you’ve already opted out of. A series of parties even Mina tried to drag you to, every invitation promptly declined. And a prestigious internship in the city waiting for you come springtime, where you’ll be right back to appreciating the intricacies of music theory and piano.

Everything should feel as though it’s falling into place- and yet it doesn’t. It feels different- and it’s felt different for months now.

In a perfect world, you reckon you’d be elated to make your departure from these dorms, and anticipate the new life that awaits you after these four years of dedication. But you can’t help but feel as though something is missing from all of this- something well beyond your reach.

You think back to Brahms and Clara Schumann a lot these days, and the passionate, yet unrequited love that he took to the grave with him. He never got close to what he wanted- he had music, and a career so successful he was deemed one of the best composers who ever lived. And yet much of his life’s work was still rooted in unadulterated yearning, because he never had Clara Schumann. You want so badly to place your own musical accomplishments over your yearning, and yet you can’t. Not when the yearning had quickly transitioned to unrequited love the same way it did for Brahms, and it’s been that way since Jisung left.

You also think of Mozart and Constanze, and how he fought for everything to be with her, despite the hardships they faced. And you want to scream at Jisung when you recall Mozart’s letter to her father, one that’s now been tainted by his poetic words to you along the margins of his course textbook.

“Y/n, you’re never going to finish packing today at this rate,” Mina remarks, occupying a spot next to you on the bed. “Do you need help or something?”

“I’m good,” you say to her, meeting her gaze as she looms over you.

She remains quiet for a moment, examining your expression, and then she folds her hands in her lap politely.

“You know,” she begins. “You’re the smartest musician I’ve ever met. It’s a little weird how much you know sometimes.”

“Thanks,” you retort with a small chuckle.

“And I don’t think messing around with anybody got you where you are today. You did that yourself.”

You meet her gaze finally, not speaking as she shrugs softly. You’re a little surprised at the kind tone she assumes, wondering briefly if there’s some sort of catch to her words.

“Just… give yourself what you deserve,” she finishes. “Whether that means going back, or looking forward. But don’t settle for less than you really want. I did, for so long. And I’ll be the first to tell you it’s not worth it.”

You swallow as you nod at her words, knowing who she refers to without the utterance of a name. And then you furrow your brows as you press her for one more thing.

“Mina,” you say to her. “Why didn’t you tell anybody? What did you get out of keeping my dirty secret?”

She chuckles softly, throwing her head back and shrugging before speaking again.

“Those annotations,” she begins. “They’re not just some dirty little secret. That’s… a sort of thing I’ve never seen at that proximity. They way you speak to each other, it’s like some language the rest of us would never understand. At first, I thought I was skimming too far ahead in the textbook or something. Of course, maybe it also had something to do with the 10 extra points he gave us before leaving.”

You laugh lightly at the same time she does, and then her expression grows serious again as she picks at a loose thread on the duvet.

“It just kinda sounded like you two were in love,” she finishes. “I wouldn’t get in the way of that.”

You hold her gaze for a moment as she stands up again, brushing off her jeans and hoisting another box into her arms.

“Anyways,” she continues. “I’m out of here. Good luck in the city, and-”

“Mina,” you interrupt her, sitting up to look at her properly.

She blinks a few times, surprised you’re sitting up in bed for the first time today, and holds your gaze over the sealed top of her cardboard box.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it enough.”

Mina smiles, her pink glossed lips pulling into a kind grin, and there’s no remaining tension between the two of you for possibly the first time since you’ve lived together.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, accompanied by a gentle nod. “Oh- and you might want to check out the new part of the gymnasium they finished constructing today. I think they followed your advice and finally put a piano in there.”

And then she’s off again, shooting you a small wink before she saunters out of your dorm, this time for good.

*

The chill of the December air is unforgiving at the early hours of the morning like this, the campus nearly empty as students depart from the place they’ve called home for four years, their college years packed up into cardboard boxes and sealed away at last.

You still have a lot of packing to finish yourself, a new chapter in the city awaiting you while you traverse the concrete village one last time. And although these halls have housed some of your most stressful memories, staying up late studying for exams and rushing to make it to class on time, you’re going to miss every part of it. Like the coffee shop on the second story of the student union, where the barista always adds a little too much caramel to your lattes. Or the windowed seat at the very back of the 8th story in the library, where when it rains, you can watch lines of people rush to their classes with hands over their heads and desperately clutching their umbrellas.

And of course, the grant east lecture hall- one you’ve already missed for the better part of the semester following its demolition. As you round the corner, you can make out the new gymnasium that’s already partially erected in its place. It’s another blinding shade of white, like the rest of the buildings are, closed off to the public and still lined with the same bright orange temporary plastic fencing as before. At where is supposed to become the entrance at some point in time, a rectangular cutout in the concrete slab of a wall, nothing but a thin plastic tarp prohibiting entry. And though you know that you really shouldn’t, you can’t help yourself, hoisting your legs over the orange fencing to the other side, your feet planting into the grass lining with a gentle thud.

There’s nobody around at this hour to watch you sneak into the new gymnasium- and realistically, what form of punishment can they even issue, anyway? Expel you?

The tarp sways with the gentle caress of a December breeze, like an invitation to come wander the new space which once housed years of history, now structured for basketball games and college rallies alike. And with one last look around, only to ensure nobody’s watching you partake in the prohibited act, you sneak your way past the orange fencing, kicking the tarp aside to gain entry, and then taping it back into place behind you.

It looks like a gymnasium- and it smells like a gymnasium. Gone are the overpowering scent of mothballs that once graced the music hall’s staircase, replaced instead by the woody notes of sawdust and fresh paint. The walls are white, true to the rest of the school’s buildings, and along the walls which are finished, the signature cobalt blue stripe. At this proximity, it’s almost humorous to bask in the putrid colors you’re grateful you’ll never have to stare at again.

As you take in your surroundings, you remember Mina’s words from earlier, recalling a new piano they placed here, and you scan the room from left to right- only there’s nothing. No piano- not even a dingy keyboard like the one in the old practice room. Why would a piano be here, anyway? In a gymnasium meant for sports and jock gatherings? Could it be Mina’s way of sending you off with one final bout of animosity?

You’re doubtful- that isn’t Mina. You know her way of comforting you earlier was rooted in the good intentions she’s always had. Which still begs the question- why did she send you here?

As you begin toward the other side of the gymnasium, a gentle rustle from the tarp startles you, the blue masking tape being lifted piece by piece and moved aside for another person to gain entry.

Construction workers, you think to yourself. It’s going to be awkward getting out of this one. And as you approach the cutout in the concrete wall again, ready to conjure up some form of an explanation, another person does make entry, crouching so as not to bump his head, as he stumbles inside and regains his balance.

His hair is two shades lighter than the last time you saw him. He still wears the same dorky wireframe glasses as before. And he looks elegant, in a white button down and black blazer, the same canvas sneakers he used to love double-knotted at the laces and complementing his black slim-fitting slacks.

“What are you doing here?” Is all you can say to him as he approaches, his hands shoved in his pockets and a leather bag slung over his shoulder.

“Mina practically chased me when I was leaving,” he says, gesturing to the empty space around you both. “Said I had to come see some new piano they put in here.”

He glances around the room, eyebrows furrowed in a confused manner, and then he turns to face you.

“Where is it?”

“There is no piano,” you say to him, crossing your arms frustratedly. “She told me the same thing.”

Jisung begins to say something, and then he stops, giving a small nod as he averts your cold stare.

His thumb toys with a loose thread inside the pocket of his slacks, and then he meets your gaze again, strands of brown hair falling into the shy expression he wears on his face.

“Graduated, huh? How’s it feel?”

“Fine,” you reply in a reluctant tone. “I leave today.”

“Where are you headed?” Jisung asks, swallowing nervously.

“Landed an internship in the city,” you tell him. “It’s close by. Just some piano thing.”

Jisung’s lips pull into a grin, chuckling lightly as he nods in response. “I always knew you’d land something good.”

You remain quiet, looking around the gymnasium once again, and then you turn to him with some hesitation.

“What are you doing here?”

Jisung sighs deeply, looking around the gymnasium, too, before speaking.

“I had an interview. Quit my directing gig.”

His words take you aback momentarily, a million questions racing through your mind about why he’s no longer directing and why he’d be interviewing here of all places.

“You interviewed here?”

“Wasn’t so much of an interview as it was a conversation,” he retorts. “They even had my old badge. I really need to get that updated considering my hair’s not technically black anymore-”

“Why would you interview here?” You emphasize to him again. “You hated it here. I thought you wanted some fancy directing thing.”

Jisung is quiet again, digging the heel of his canvas sneaker into the thick layer of sawdust that lines the floor. He knows that his ego is far too big, and he’s still consumed with an overwhelming amount of selfish pride. But he also knows that he’s not going to find any form of resolution without breaking this vicious cycle of repeating his mistakes, especially when a resolution is finally within reach.

“Look, I fucked up, okay?” Jisung finally says, taking you by complete surprise.

“The minute I started there again, I knew that wasn’t my calling anymore. Maybe it was back when I was still young, and all starry-eyed for the stupid baton and the fancy suits.”

He turns to face you at this point, taking a step toward you and almost physically demanding you reciprocate the eye contact.

“But you were right- that chapter of my life is finished now. And yeah, maybe the students don’t pay attention when I stand up there and lecture. And sure, I’m just going to be some lousy assistant college band director out here. But finding you- and the way you’d listen to me, and the way you never judged me for my shortcomings, even though I was a shitty husband once, and a shitty professor and an even shittier boyfriend to you- you made me realize it was finally time to let go.”

Jisung can’t seem to cease his emotional speech once he begins, frantically gesturing as he continues speaking. He feels like a different person entirely in this vulnerable form- like the Jisung you knew when he was first breaking his walls down around you. And the Jisung you know when he isn’t putting his dreams of a past life before the people he loves.

“… and then I couldn’t stop thinking about Brahms and Clara, and how he died without ever having told her how he felt. Or Tchaikovsky who had to hide who he loved- and then Mozart! God, that stupid letter- she remarried, you know that? Did you ever get to that chapter? Of course you did, before I could tell you, at least.”

Jisung paces the floor in rushed motions as he speaks, his wet sneakers squeaking obnoxiously along the gym floor as the words escape his lips. You don’t try to speak for a little while, carefully soaking in what you assume to be an apology. And then he stops in his tracks, eyebrows arching into a pleading expression as he towers over you.

“Music isn’t the same without you,” he finishes. “None of this is.”

You lock your gaze with Jisung’s, his big brown eyes almost trembling as he awaits a reply. And simultaneously, you do your best not to let your guard down too quickly.

“Is this how it unfolded back then, too?” You ask calmly. “When you begged somebody to stay after the first time you made this mistake?”

Jisung’s lips part to say something, but then he’s quiet again, waiting for you to continue, praying for something better than this.

“I think you’re a genius,” you continue. “I think you’re remarkable, and talented, and loving you comes so easily. But you make it hard when you do the same thing to everybody you’ve ever loved.”

“You’re the first woman I’ve ever loved,” Jisung blurts promptly, and a deafening silence falls over the room. He hesitates to continue at this point, fearing as though he’s going to scare you off, but he’s also never verbalized it to you despite thinking about it every waking second of the day, and he’s determined not to form new mistakes he could risk repeating.

“I let it happen back then because music was the only thing I loved,” he explains. “It was a shitty thing, and for so long I struggled to move on because I was still lost in the only thing I ever loved. And then you came along; I don’t need to direct when I have you. I’ll be a teacher- hell, I’ll be a fucking janitor if that’s what you want. You were my sign to move on from repeating the same fucking thing all over again- you are my end.”

Jisung breathes heavily as he finishes, gauging the shocked expression in your trembling eyes. He waits for you to say something, and then without averting your gaze, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper and handing it to you.

You unfold it slowly, already knowing it by the familiar yellowing color and small printed font- page 256 of his course-assigned textbook, detailing Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, complete with all your annotations alongside his. Only his are no longer visible- they’re crossed out, completely scribbled over in black pen, concealing his call for any form of repetition within the piece. All that remains at the bottom of the page, in the same red pen you first marked in, is a single oval with a cross through it- a coda.

Your gaze meets his after examining the page briefly, surprised he’s kept it after all this time. And then he sags his shoulders a little, gesturing to the page still in your grasp.

“I passed my sign once,” he says sheepishly. “Just please come back to me.”

Jisung doesn’t wait for you to respond this time, instead cupping your cheeks gently with his hands and pulling you in for a passionate kiss, which you don’t hesitate to reciprocate, letting your hands wrap around the back of his neck to pull him even closer to you. His lips work against yours eagerly, but still tenderly, breathing all of his desire back into you and confirming the notion that this is all he’s ever really yearned for.

He smiles into the kiss against you, grazing his thumbs up to wipe stray tears that cascade along your cheeks, and then with one more chaste kiss to your lips, he pulls away once more, chuckling lightly.

“Can we just start over?” He asks you innocently. “No repetition, no secrecy. Just start anew.”

You chuckle lightly at his proposal, nodding in his embrace, and then he pulls away entirely to hold a hand out to you.

“Han Jisung,” he says. “I’m an assistant director for the college band.”

“Y/n,” you respond with a smile, shaking his hand firmly.

“So lovely to meet you- can I interest you in a tour of the gymnasium I work in?”

He throws an arm over your shoulder, beginning down the length of the vast space and gesturing to the walls beside you.

“This is where I yell at students to fix their tempos,” Jisung explains, giving your shoulder a little squeeze as you chuckle in response to him.

“And this is where I tell stories about famous composers and their love lives. Tell me, y/n- do you know the tale of Mozart and Constanze?” He then asks with a smile.

“I can’t say I do,” you play along, earning an exaggerated gasp from him.

“Well then I’d love to tell you all about it. How do you feel about art galleries? There’s one not far from here…”

And Jisung’s hand drops to yours, intertwining your fingers together as he lets himself start anew, alongside who he now knows to have been a sign for him this entire time- a coda, an epilogue, an offer for resolution.

[mainexiii]

pieces of you

single dad!chan. x fem!reader

genre : neighbors!au. fluff. angst. slow burn. mutual pining. 8.7k wc

summary : In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chris and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.

a.n. : my chris best girl dad agenda is going strong!!!!!! my second fic for the winter falls collab with my writer xi hehe i hope you will all enjoy reading!! feedback is highly appreciated 🤍 the song chris will write for sowon is light by sleeping at last, highly recommend listening to it!!

winter falls masterlist.

i. 

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Shh, daddy smile.”

Soft murmurs linger just beyond your door, elusive words that could easily be dismissed as figments of your imagination. However, any doubt in your mind dissipates with three resounding knocks, jolting you from your momentary contemplation. 

A reluctant groan escapes you as you glance down at your attire—a loosely hanging oversized hoodie, a testament to the numerous times it has been tugged down, and a pair of pajama pants whose matching top has mysteriously vanished. Clearly, you don't feel presentable enough to welcome anyone at this late hour. So, you remain motionless, futilely lowering the TV volume in hopes that whoever's behind the door will just continue with their night. But the knocks persist against your wish, so, with a resigned sigh, you rise from your seat, your blanket cascading to the ground in a soft descent.

“What–” the words dissolve in your mouth like a sweet nectar as you open the door, your eyes beholding no one in your periphery. A slight tug at your pants draws your attention downward, only to find the most adorable child your eyes have ever laid on. She's clad in Rapunzel-themed pajamas, wolf slippers bumping into your plain ones, and, to your surprise, a whisk cradled in her small hand. 

“Hey there,” your voice softens as you crouch to meet her warm gaze. You find an innocent happiness gleaming in her eyes, a radiant spark shining even beneath the corridor's muted light. Two dimples adorn her cheeks as she smiles at you. 

“Hi, my dad wants to tell you something,” she says, pointing with her whisk to the very end of the hallway. You crane your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure. 

“Your dad?”

“Mm. He’s a bit shy, that’s why he’s hiding,” she confides in a whisper. But, despite her earnest attempt, her words still resound loudly in the vacant space, causing giggles to spill out of your mouth. 

“And you aren’t shy?” you inquire, tilting your head. 

“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head with conviction as someone emerges behind her. She instinctively wraps an arm around their leg, nestling her cheek against their thigh. 

She isn't shy because she feels protected.

You rise from your place, eyes locking with a familiar shade of brown. Only these hold a mesmerizing quality to them making your very breath catch in your throat. Kindness pours from his gaze as it travels down your face, a sentiment that further materializes as delicate smile lines stitch around the corner of his eyes.  

He’s beautiful. 

Your eyes trail down to two pairs of dimples, mirroring the ones of his daughter perfectly. She is his living portrait, sharing his eyes, lips, and smile. Yet, his cheeks blush in a hue she does not possess, while his left hand fiddles with his earlobe, in an unspoken, timid gesture. For some odd reason, it pierces straight through your heart.

“Sorry for bothering you,” a smooth Australian accent rolls off his tongue, similar to rich butter spread on warm bread- it infuses your being with tingles pulsating from the base of your toes. You suddenly no longer miss your blanket.

“I'm your next-door neighbor. We were just making cookies and we realized we actually  don’t have flour,” he explains, a bashful smile imprinted onto his lips. 

“You didn’t check beforehand?” you ask, laughter tinting your voice. 

“I forgot,” he admits, but his tone sounds almost sad as if beating himself over it. A fleeting shadow veils his face briefly, dissipating like a passing cloud grazing the sun.

“Can we borrow some from you? I told Sowon that we could go to the store but she said it’s too cold out,” he asks, his hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder soothingly. 

“It is too cold out,” you agree with a frown, looking down at Sowon to which she smiles brightly, happy to have your support. 

“And of course, I'll bring you flour. Don’t worry about it. Do you want to come in meanwhile?”

“It's okay, we'll wait here. Don’t want to intrude.” 

“Thank you!” Sowon beams, her missing tooth in full display. 

“Yeah, thank you so much…” he trails out, tilting his head as if to silently inquire about your name.

“Yn. And you?”

“Chris.”

“Nice to meet you, Chris,” you smile, shaking his extended hand. His fingers wrap around your palm, and it feels as if you’re grasping thunder, crackling with an electricity that your eyes can’t behold, yet your soul does, suddenly illuminated from within. 

Your smile grows as you detach yourself from his hold, before bending forward to bop Sowon’s nose. “And nice to meet you too Rapunzel.” 

Your words make her hide behind her father’s leg, peeking out slightly to look at you. 

“See I'm not the only one who gets shy,” Chan chuckles, and Sowon whines in complaint, further burying her face in her dad’s grey sweatpants. 

Adorable, so much it stirs a long-forgotten melancholy within your being. 

“She gets a pass, she's still young, right Sowon?”

“Are you calling me old then?” Chan fakes outrage, bringing one hand to his chest while the other cradles Sowon’s back. 

“Old enough to forget about flour,” you wink and he laughs, looking down at your slippers. 

“Touché.” 

A few minutes go by before you come back, a recipient full of flour in your hands. The sight before you makes you pause in your tracks– Chris, leaning against the wall, Sowon propped on his hip, her arms loosely hanging around his neck, her eyes closed. 

“Did she…” you whisper and he turns to you. 

“Yeah, fell asleep,” he smiles fondly, tucking a few strands of her hair behind the curve of her ear. “She’ll be disappointed when she wakes up to no cookies. She wanted us to have a baking holiday tradition.”

“You don’t know how to make them?” 

“No, I was counting on a six-year-old to assist me,” he chuckles quietly, prompting a snort from you. 

“Well, keep the flour, in case you need it again.” 

“Thank you, Yn,” he grins, the smile taking over his entire face, grabbing the recipient from you. 

“You’re welcome Chris,” you say, as you both linger around the door still, not making any attempt to move. 

Your eyes refuse to peel away from his, as if there were a magnetic force drawing you to him, telling you that your gaze belonged to rest on him.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, leaning away from the wall. “I'll get going.”

“Yeah, sleep well, Chris.”

“Thank you,” he smiles before turning around. 

An idea brews in your head, a germ sprouted by the clear adoration in which Sowon gazed at her dad, and the disappointment in his face as he said he would no longer be making cookies. Had you wished to dig a little deeper, you would’ve also found a long-buried feeling of a little girl who would have loved holiday traditions as well. You close the door before heading straight to your kitchen. 

One hour later 

You knock softly on Chris’ door, fidgeting from one foot to another. You almost retract back to your apartment after your fourth knock, when the door finally opens, Chris coming into your line of sight. 

“Hi,” you greet, hands behind your back. 

“Hey,” he smiles, leaning his arm on the doorway, right above your head. He tilts his head to the side, silently wondering what you want. The words dissolve in your mouth at the way his eyes fixate on you as if trying to peer behind your irises onto your mind. 

“Cookies,” you bring the plate before him, as his eyes grow wide, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips. 

“You made them?” 

“Yeah, didn't want Sowon to be disappointed,” you shrug and his eyes grow wild, racking all over your face in disbelief. 

“You didn't have to do this,” he finally says, tone softening, syllables ringing like a sweet sonnet in your ears. 

“I know. I wanted to. and I'm a baker so making cookies comes easily to me, don't worry about it,” you shrug sheepishly, biting your lower lip slightly. You felt scrutinized by him in ways you haven't felt before. 

“Thank you, Yn, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, his smile resembling a beam of light. A surge of pride courses through you at managing to bring it forth. 

“No need to say anything. I hope I didn't wake you up,” you smile sheepishly and he shakes his head. 

“No, I- I was working in my studio and Sowon is asleep. It's just us two. Always has been,” he adds, tone slightly changing, air growing heavier between you both. It's just them two. 

“Studio?” you inquire, hoping to dispel the tension latching around you both. 

“I'm a music producer,” he clarifies. “I made a studio here so I could stay the night with Sowon.” 

“I'm sure she appreciates that,” you say as you hand the plate to him. His fingertips brush against your own, and a slight electricity courses through you at the touch, the hallway suddenly brighter from the fireworks ricocheting off of you both.

“I…. I'll get going.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't want to take more of your time.”

“I'll see you around.” 

“Yeah, I'll see you,” he says, words not ringing carelessly into the air, sounding more like a promise. He'll see you, he'll make sure of it. 

ii. 

“Can you wait!” a voice echoes near the building entrance, and you prevent the elevator doors from closing as hurried steps near you. 

You recognize the voice easily by the light tingles running down your spine, the Australian accent shooting straight through your heart. Its owner materializes, Chris— leather jacket hugging his muscles snuggly, black t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, cap nestled on his head, rebellious strands of ebony hair peeking behind it.

You find the breath knocked out of you once again at his sight. He's beautiful, even more so in broad daylight, where every feature of his comes to life, beckoning, demanding your sole attention. 

“Hey, Yn,” he smiles in delight, uttering your name in a familiarity that infuses your being with warmth. Even though you've only talked once, two days ago. 

“Hey, Chris,” you greet back, pressing the fourth elevator button again. you face the mirror to find Chris already looking at you, his eyes instantly locking with yours. 

“The cookies were good,” he smiles softly and you grin. “I'm glad you think so.” 

“Where is your bakery? I need to taste more of your baking.” 

The butterflies in your stomach tone down at his words, your attraction momentarily forgotten as gratitude coats your heart instead.

“I can text you the address?” you propose. 

“Yeah, here,” he takes out his phone, a picture of him and Sowon set as his lock screen— their cheeks are pressed tightly to one another, messily done eyeliner on both their eyes. you giggle to yourself as you grab the device.

“Cute picture,” you muse and he brings an arm to his neck, scratching the side of it timidly. 

“She insists on trying her makeup on me.” 

“She makes you look better,” you giggle and he rolls his eyes, tongue poking against his cheek. 

“She wants to become a stylist,” he explains, as the elevator doors open. He lets you out first, arm stretched forward.

“I find her passion really cute so I buy her anything she asks for,” he shrugs and you chuckle, pointing to the bag of pink ribbons he is carrying. 

“Let me guess, she wants to use these on you?”

“Yeah. She also said that I quote ‘need to learn new hairstyles because her friends always come to class with intricate braids, and she can't go to class with a simple one.’” He repeats, tone growing slightly high-pitched as he mimics his daughter's words. Yet, the fond smile on his face is louder, screaming of his love for her. 

“She has you wrapped around your finger,” you muse, leaning against your door. The keys in your bag are long forgotten. 

“She can be very scary for such a little girl.” 

“What does she threaten you with?” you ask, feigning horror. 

“No goodnight kisses,” he whispers, as if scared she'd hear him beyond the wooden door. 

“Torture,” you gasp, placing your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Yet, the smiles slip out of your face instantly. Was it normal for clothes to dissolve under your touch, layers of cotton and leather doing nothing to stop the warmth of his skin from seeping through you? Was it normal to be so affected by such an innocent touch? 

“Uhm,” you clear your throat, “I can help you. with her hair, I mean.” 

“You don't have to. I already took too much from your time with the cookies,” he seems truly apologetic, his tone sobering as if despising others doing things for him. You see yourself in him, in the way he wants to carry the world’s burden on his shoulders. It is a reflection you wish to mend. 

“I don't mind, I remember feeling jealous of the other girls in my school so I made myself learn all the braids.” 

And then you see his gratefulness, the twinkle in his eyes that you can only grasp for a millisecond before they disappear into moon crescents. Happiness looks grand on him, overtaking his entire face, brightening his features with a glow too ethereal to be of mankind, as if they were carved to translate joy. You find yourself willing to give up more of your time to see it.

“Thank you,” he breathes out and you nod, a grin taking over your face as well. 

“You’re welcome. Let me just change my clothes.” 

☃︎⋆꙳•❅

“And then, you pull the right strand all over to the middle one. Then you repeat, this way the ribbon is braided into the hair,” you explain to a very concentrated Chris, his eyebrows furrowed as he follows your movements. 

“It looks easy when you do it,” he frowns and you giggle, handing the mirror to Sowon so she'd be able to look at her hair. 

“Do you like it,” you ask, a tad apprehensive and she beams, dimples that almost swallow her chubby cheeks surging forth. 

“Pretty!” she exclaims and you giggle, bopping her nose. “You are pretty.”

“And you are pretty too. right, daddy?”

You turn back to find Chris watching you, a smile so fond on his face that it renders your insides putty, coats your cheek in the palest shade of pink.

“Very much so,” he says, tone quieter, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Sowon suddenly climbs on her dad’s lap, star and moon stickers in hand. She places them all over his face, and he sits there diligently, arms wrapped around her midriff so she won't slip away. Every carefully placed sticker is punctuated by a soft gasp from him and a small giggle from her. You could feel the love radiating from both of them, a feeling so strong it made your heart twist in your chest. 

Were there red neon exits you weren’t aware of in your being? Ones through which love trickled away all these years ago? Were the spaces between your fingers carved to hold someone’s hand, or to make everything you've ever wanted slip from your grasp?

“What do you think?” Sowon startles you and you force a smile on your face, willing the heaviness in your heart to dissipate. There were questions you'd never find the answers to, you had to make peace with that.

“I love it!” you grin and Sowon nods, satisfied. You look down at your lap as Chris fixates his eyes on you, a worried crease growing between his eyebrows. 

“Fun is over, you need to do your homework, Miss Bang,” he scolds and you snort, as Sowon rolls her eyes slightly. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he fakes offense and you giggle as Sowon huffs slightly. “Dad, I told you I have no homework. I already did it with uncle Felix.” 

“Oh, right,” he deflates slightly before brightening up once again, “then, you should put away all these hairbrushes and ribbons, okay?”

“Will you watch a movie later with me?”

“Of course, baby.”

“Okay then,” she grins, quickly standing up to start putting away her things. you smile, getting up your turn to leave. Chris understands and stands with you on cue. 

“You can stay and watch the movie with us.”

“It's okay, I have some things to work on,” you turn around, but then you feel his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, hand still burning straight through your skin, igniting a million nerve ends with a simple touch. You avoid his eyes, looking down at the ground. It seems to be response enough for him. 

“We’re conditioned to say yes even when we aren’t, right?” he speaks softly, his words travel through your veins in a rapid course against the current of your blood— which one will reach your heart first and flood it? 

Your facade cracks. His voice wins. 

“So, you don't have to reply now,” his thumb swipes once across your pulse. “But I'll be here if you ever wish to tell the truth.” 

iii.

You’ve grown exceptionally fond of Chris in the span of mere months, more than you would like to admit to yourself. It was an easy task, as natural as the current of a waterfall. Yet, you did not plan for it, for a new emotion to settle on top of your lungs, to make you more aware of your heart and how it beats, slightly faster, around Chris. But it happened serendipitously, against all odds, when he knocked on your door at 10 p.m. asking for salt.

“Should I start buying groceries for you?” you joked, and it took Chris a millisecond longer to respond, his gaze wandering across your face, as if discovering the world’s eighth wonder, hidden in plain sight all these years. 

“For my defense, I have a daughter that likes experimenting with cooking,” he smiled, and you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Just with salt?”

“She added four teaspoons of it in an omelet. Then forced me to eat it because I always tell her food shouldn't go to waste,” he shudders at the memory and you chuckle loudly. 

Chris knocks on the doors of your heart, once.

It happened when you spotted a cockroach the size of your palm on your bedroom wall. You would’ve killed it, you were going to, except it started flying towards you and you let out a loud shriek you didn’t know your vocal chords were capable of conjuring. So, you called Chris. 

“Can you please come over,” you murmured, crouching near the entrance door, a pair of slippers in your hand.

“Why are you whispering? are you okay?” he sounded worried, and you heard the turning of a lock as he opened the door to his apartment. He didn’t ask questions, instantly coming to your aid. A sudden urge to weep filled your being at his gesture. 

“There is a cockroach. a flying one,” you precised, horror dripping from your tongue and his laugh flooded your ear, tiny squeaks that made your hold on the slipper grow limp. 

“I'm from Australia,” he knocked on your door, and you stood up promptly. “I've seen worse,” he said once you finally opened it, his eyes softening incredibly when they met yours. 

He did kill the cockroach, by spraying your insect repellent enough times to asphyxiate you too. “I don't think I can sleep in there tonight,” you sighed, gulping down ice cold water, “why does it feel like we went through war?” 

“We? You were behind my back all the time.”

 “I was cheering you on, from afar. Spiritually.”

 “I can’t believe a cockroach scares you this much.”

 “You literally screamed when it flied towards you too.”

 “I didn't scream! I made a very manly, non-terrified sound.”

 “Mm, sure,” you giggled, voice softening at the blushing of the tip of his ears. Chris didn't have to force the door down to your heart, you willingly opened it for him. 

And after that, it was a race to find the silliest excuses to see one another. Chris suddenly taking up an inkling for baking, you manifesting a newfound interest in music, Sowon needing her makeup done for a dance, Chris visiting you in your bakery, Sowon craving your cookies and you teaching her the recipe, Chris knocking on your door and you knocking on his. The same giddy smiles on your faces as you usher each other in. And it always, always ending with a movie night. 

“Let's watch Tangled,” Sowon exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly. 

“Baby, we watched this movie for the past…” he looks at you for support. “Three,” you whisper, a bashful smile on your face. “Yeah, for the past three movie nights,” he whines slightly.

“But I love it,” she says, her pout morphing into a huge grin. “Again! Again! Again!”

“Fine,” he concedes, mouthing “save me,” from afar to you. You giggle softly while Sowon cozies up to your side, your arm naturally draping across her body while her legs stretch atop Chris’ lap, naturally, as if having you both by her side was the way things have always been. The only reality she’s ever known.

It is a fleeting fifty minutes as the three of you watch the movie, Sowon reciting excitedly the lines that she seems to remember. But then the quiet is replaced by her soft snores, her body growing light against you.

“She fell asleep,” you whisper, tapping Chris’ shoulder to catch his attention. He tilts his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes land on his daughter. 

“I'm sorry you have to watch the same movie every time,” he says apologetically and you shake your head. 

“I don't mind. Tangled is a good movie.” 

“Are you here just because of the movie?” he smiles, dimples peeking through. The juxtaposition between the weight of his words and the soft expression on his face makes a buzzing warmth spread through you. He’s cold and hot, in and out, yours but not. 

“What do you want me to be here for?” you throw back, squeezing his shoulder slightly. 

“The company.”

“I do find Sowon entertaining.”

“Just her?” he pouts and you giggle, tipping your head back. 

“And you too, I suppose, by extension.”

“By extension, mm,” he hums, as he gathers Sowon in his arms, freeing her from your hold. “Then I guess I shouldn't come visit you in your bakery anymore. Since you only enjoy my presence by extension.”

“So sassy,” you shout-whisper as you both walk to Sowon's bedroom, “I like your company too, idiot.” 

“Yeah?” he turns back to look at you, tone a tad bit too hopeful. He doesn’t care that he sounds eager for your approval, not when he feels as if he can only truly breathe when you're near. 

“Yeah, Chris, I really do,” you speak earnestly, and Chris bites his lower lip slightly, suddenly overwhelmed by the gentleness of your tone. Your eyes follow his action instantly. 

He lowers Sowon gently onto the bed and she stirs awake, blinking repeatedly at the both of you. “Yn,” she calls out quietly once her eyes land on yours and you kneel before her bed. Chris watches from the door entrance as Sowon cups her hand near your ear, before whispering something to you. He notices your body stiffening, your gaze fleeting to him before you relax, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

He wishes he could freeze time, stitch this moment into his eyelids until it is the only thing he sees when he goes to sleep. Loneliness is too big of an enemy for one person to fight off, but it seems more harmless when you are near. 

Chris sees you right here, every night, not forcing your place into his family, but falling seamlessly into place. Perhaps you were the missing piece that’ll soothe the burn in his heart. Perhaps he’d let you in, even as fear paralyzes his being at the mere thought of asking you to stay. 

One week later. 

You've grown used to the knocks on your door at ungodly hours of the night, Chris seeking your company each time you both fail to fall asleep. Except this time, there is a chilling premonition in your heart as you walk to your home’s entrance, anxiety coiling like a steel ball in your throat. 

"What’s wrong?" you ask upon opening the door, locking eyes with Chris's bloodshot gaze.

“Sowon,” he heaves, tone laden with fear, so different from how he usually pronounces her name. The syllables pierce through your heart like an arrowhead dipped in alarm. 

"Sowon?" you question, peering behind him to his slightly ajar apartment door.

"Yes, she has a high fever, and it won’t come down. I tried everything, and I-I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s shaking, but I can’t—" He trembles, his quivers akin to delicate chinaware on the precipice of an earthquake, poised to shatter at your feet. You'd plunge to the ground first, anything to soften his impending collapse.  

“It’s okay,” you soothe, your voice soft as you grasp his wrist. “Let’s go see her, okay?”

“It's her first time being this sick,” he whispers, clearly distraught, one hand running through his freshly dyed blonde hair. 

“It's okay. Don’t panic, it happens. Did you give her medicine?”

“Yes, a few minutes ago,” he replies as you guide him towards her room.

“Good, it'll start working soon,” you reassure, opening the door and crouching before Sowon.

“Hey, Rapunzel," you coo softly, and Sowon attempts to muster a smile. Her cheeks flush, eyes dim like withered petals.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, pressing your hand to her feverish forehead. You cast a wary glance at Chan, who's anxiously biting his thumb.

“Cold,” she whispers, and you nod, peeling off her blanket. “I know you are, but you have a high fever. We need to let it cool down, okay?”

“I-I’m shaking,” Sowon sighs, lower lip protruding and trembling, both from the iciness clawing at her frail being, and the tears welling in her waterline, like a cup on the brink of overflowing. 

“Shh, don't cry. It will pass, it's okay,” you murmur soothingly, cradling her face on your lap, gently moving damp strands of her hair behind her ear.

"Chris, can you bring me a towel and a bowl with cold water?" you ask softly, and the man startles, painfully peeling his eyes away from his daughter, as if doing so would consign her to a dark fate.

"Sure. Sure," he repeats, scurrying out of the room.

Sowon buries her cheek in your thigh, small hands clinging tightly to yours. You tie her hair up into a loose bun as Chan hurriedly comes back, a bassinet in his hand.

"Thank you," you smile, as he kneels beside the bed, his hand resting on Someone's knee gently.

“Hey sweetheart,” he coos softly, and Sowon blinks at him, light spilling over her face. 

“Hey daddy,” she replies as you dip the towel into the water, before squeezing the fabric to remove any liquid excess. 

“You're being so strong. I love you so much my pretty girl,” he says, bringing her small hand to rest upon his cheek, bestowing a gentle kiss on her palm. 

The moment feels so intimate, so tender, that you almost feel like an intruder. You imagine this is what thorns on roses must feel like, so out of place amid delicate petals and stems. 

“I love you too,” she grins, and you remain silent, diligently wiping her face and neck with the dampened towel. You soon lose track of the number of times you've repeated this motion, but Sowon’s eyes are now closed and her body is no longer trembling. 

You rest your palm upon her forehead, a sigh of relief escaping your body as you realize that her fever has gone down noticeably- the medicine finally taking effect.

“It's better now,” you smile reassuringly and Chris’s eyes widen, irises shaking as he looks back to his daughter. 

“Will she be okay?” 

“She will be. She just needs to sleep a bit.” 

“Okay, thank you.” 

“Can we prepare her something to eat meanwhile?” 

“Mm,” he absentmindedly nods, his fingers trailing down Sowon’s features delicately, resting upon her round cheeks. 

"She looks just like you," you softly smile.

"I know," he admits, not with pride but in surrender, as if his reflection was nothing but a cursed fate. His voice tastes like ocean water, salty, acid, suffocating.

“Chris…” you trail off and he shakes his head, abruptly standing up. 

“Let's make her chicken noodle soup. She loves it,” he says and you nod. A ticking bomb resides in his veins, devoid of a countdown, leaving you unsure of when he'll finally explode. 

You get your answer soon after—it takes two minutes and thirty-three seconds for the first tear to roll down Chris’s cheek. You spot it as you retrieve carrots from the fridge, averting your gaze as Chan angrily wipes it away.

A few seconds later, five tears follow the same agonizing trail, and now the knife is shaking in Chris’s hands. He squeezes his eyes shut as if frustrated by his pain, by the emotions escaping through the cracks in his heart.

You stay silent, bringing the water to a simmer.

The clank of metal against the counter snaps your attention, and you see Chris with his head lowered down, his hands tightly clutching the counter.

Your tongue moves before you can order it to speak. 

"Chris," you call out, your hand finding its place on his back. An ugly sob escapes his lips, a raw cry unearthed from the depths of the soil where he buried his feelings, never allowing himself the grace of grieving, then moving on. 

“I'm a horrible father,” he utters so brokenly as if this idea were cemented into his head, woven into every thought of himself—an adjective that lingers like a phantom each time Sowon calls him dad.

“You're not, what are you saying?” you gently turn him around so he'd face you. But his eyes remain downcast, as if ashamed to meet your gaze. 

“I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I-I wasn't enough to help her.”

“It's okay, you can't know everything, you are trying your best-”

“No, no, no, it's not just about this!” he snaps,  despair clinging to his eyes as he finally looks at you. “It’s hard. It’s so hard to be here alone, and I- I try but it's not enough, I can't do everything and I'm not a good enough parent for her, there will a-always be something missing.” 

“You're wrong,” you say but he shakes his head in disagreement. “Chris, you're wrong,” you cradle his face, taking you both by surprise. Your thumb swipes gently underneath the skin of his eyes, wiping his cascading tears. 

“You love Sowon. And she can feel it, she can see it, she can hear it. Everyone can. A parent can't be perfect, but they should love. And you love her.” 

“What if I can't even love her enough for a father? How will I ever fill the role of two parents?” he's leaning onto your palm, hanging onto your every word. You'd sit for hours and untangle every thread of his mind if you have to, until you single out the infested one and burn it away. 

“She loves you Chris. She looks at you as if you hang every star in the sky. As if you're responsible for every good thing that happens in our world. She loves you and you love her.”

You gaze up at the ceiling, tears welling in your eyes. Chan notices the subtle tremble in your hand against his cheek.

“If I had someone who loved me as much as you love Sowon when I was a child, I would've turned out so differently,” you smile bitterly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. 

“You won't be a perfect dad. You can't be. But she won't grow up with a throbbing heart, pulsating because of a void that cannot be filled. Her veins won't be poisoned by hate and abandonment. Because she knows what it's like to be loved,” you pause, as your voice breaks, traitorous tears rolling down your cheeks. “To be cared for.” 

Your eyes hold his in a silent conversation, secretly telling him what your tongue cannot speak of— Sowon, an untarnished blossom, won't unfurl into a solitary flower the way you did.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers after a while, eyes softening in understanding. His knuckles brush gently against your cheek. 

“Why are you apologizing?” 

“So you'd find a reason within you to forgive,” he says, as he leans forward to press a tender kiss on your forehead. And somehow it feels more intimate than any way you've been touched before. 

Five days later.

chris [11:32 p.m.]: you up?

yn [11:32 p.m.]: i just got bad flashbacks to my college years

chris [11:33 p.m.]: ajaksjsbsbbs

chris [11:33 p.m.]: i didn’t mean it like that ㅠㅠ 

chris [11:33 p.m.]: wanna come over? i'm in the studio but im not feeling inspired 

yn [11:34 p.m.]: and how will i help? 

chris [11:34 p.m.]: i find your presence inspiring 

You don’t reply, instead putting on your slippers and walking over to his apartment. He opens the door before you even have the chance to knock. 

“What are you working on?” you ask once you’re settled atop his chair, spinning around slightly. He looks down at the pillow on his lap, lightly plucking its pink fur. “A song for Sowon,” he admits softly and your eyes grow a little wide. 

“That is so sweet,” you pout, inching closer to him. “How is it going?”

“I've finished the melody and now I'm working on the lyrics. There is just.. so much i want to tell her, i'm unsure if ill be able to express it well.” 

“Can I read what you wrote?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he searches through his papers. “Here.”

May these words be the first to find your ears

The world is brighter than the sun now that you're here

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge

I'll hold the world to its best

And I'll do better

Tears spring to your eyes unexpectedly, you try to stop their flow but they fall upon the paper, splattering like a broken mosaic, mimicking the brokenness of your own heart. 

“I'm sorry,” you spin around, your back to him as you attempt to dry your tears, and yet they show no desire to stop. Chris is in your heart and he’s kicking every other emotion out, forcing you to make amends with your sadness, the one you buried years, years ago. 

Chris gently grabs the back of the chair, pulling you back to him before spinning your chair once again until you are facing him. You bury your face in your hands and his rests reassuringly on your knee, squeezing it slightly. “Is it so bad it made you sob?” 

“Shut up, you know this isn’t the case.” 

His hand delicately traces up your arm, gently lifting your fingers from your face. He kneels before you, his thumb tenderly wiping away the traces of tears on your cheeks.

“Talk to me?” 

“It's so beautiful, so warm, so loving. Everything a parent should think of their child,” a traitorous hiccup escapes your lips. “Everything my parents never felt for me.” 

Chris’ mouth morphs into a pout, eyebrows scrunching tightly. You shake your head, smoothing down the worried crease between his eyes. 

“I don't feel sad over things I can't control and I love myself enough now to compensate for what I didn't have, but sometimes-'' your voice breaks, Chan’s hold on your hands tightens. “It stings to remember what could’ve been.” 

Stings was an understatement, it is rather a pulsating void, throbbing in ache every day, calling out for its missing piece. How can I fill you with what was lost when it chose to walk away? 

“Come here,” he whispers, coaxing you to your feet, his arms enveloping your body as he guides your head to the crook of his neck. His body runs warm, the material of his sweatshirt soft, and he smells nice too, the contours of his muscles tailor-made to complement the ridges of your own. 

“You grew up well, Yn. You did well.”

You clutch his shirt, tightening your grip as you fist the fabric in your palm. He's patting your back, and time slows down to match the rhythm of his touch. 

“Love can be hard, I know. Especially when the people who left are the ones supposed to be staying.” 

He understands, more than anyone you know. He missed out on a different kind of love too, two facets of the same coin. 

“You’re doing well too, Chris. You shouldn’t doubt yourself as much,” your arms trail up to encircle his neck, as his nose tickles your hair. You're the one hugging him now. “Sowon is really smart, she told me that she loves you a lot. She can feel it. She sees everything you do for her.”

“Is that what she told you that movie night?”

“Partly,” you whisper, and Chris leans away slightly, his warm palms still pressed to your waist, holding you close. 

“What else did she tell you?” he asks, curiosity barely hidden in his tone.

You pause for a while, eyes going over the entire room before finally locking on him.

“She thanked me, said that I make you smile more.” You suck in a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Do I?” 

“There are small lines that don’t show on my face until you're near.” 

“Oh.” That is the only coherent response you can formulate, and Chris giggles, a tiny squeak escaping his lips in a huff. “Cute,” he murmurs, planting a tender kiss on your temple. His lips linger, holding onto the moment a beat longer than necessary, causing your eyes to close in delight. Both of you find yourselves blushing as he leans away, a shared warmth coloring the space between you.

“Sorry, didn't mean to make the mood somber,” you say sheepishly as you sit back down, eyeing Chris’s laptop. “I wanna hear this,” you quickly point to a random track on his screen before he can reply, hoping to make the sadness flee away.

“This one? It’s not really good, let's listen to something else,” his rambling and eagerness to change the track pique your curiosity and you quickly click on the song before he can stop you.

connected.mp3 starts playing. 

Sultry beats inundate your ears, weaving through your veins and whisking you away to the pulsating rhythm of a dance club. You knew Chris produced good music, yet you never fathomed that his voice could be so luxuriously rich, cascading over you like molten wax. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the suggestive lyrics, the innuendos peeking behind every word. And then, a sudden jealousy claws at your heart, at the thought of Chris hunched in his studio, fantasizing about connecting with someone who isn’t you. 

You wished to be the only one Chris liked. 

“It’s a- a demo for one of my clients,” he explains through a stutter once the song is done, and you nod meekly, willing your body’s temperature to go down, for the possessivity crinkling in you to fizzle out. 

So, you put on your best taunting smirk.

“I know you want me don’t crumble.. No need to be desperate we’re just getting started,” you sing-song back. “You were feeling so cocky when you wrote this, right?” you grin, inching your chair closer to his. “Feeling yourself, Mr. Bang?”

He chuckles with a hint of annoyance, running his tongue along the expanse of his lower lip. Leaning back into his chair, he casually spreads his legs a bit wider, a gesture that suddenly leaves you feeling dizzy, on him.

“It’s cute how affected you seem by it,” he throws nonchalantly, crossing his arms before his chest.

“I'm not,” you smile, although your erratic heartbeat spoke of a different tale, you just didn't need to voice it to him. “I think you were the one getting all hot and bothered in your studio,” you stand between his legs, hovering over him as he leans back fully in his chair. 

“I was thinking of a pretty girl.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he suddenly grabs your waist, you feel like your entire body is ablaze. “The prettiest.”

"Who is she?" you exhale, teetering on the edge of crashing your lips onto his, like an incoherent love poem, hastily scrambled on a notebook in a fit of anger.

“y–” The door suddenly opens, Sowon’s small frame standing by the door, she’s rubbing her eyes tiredly, her chick plushie dangling from her hand (a gift from her uncle Felix as she explained to you). You quickly scramble away from Chris as he clears his throat loudly.

“Daddy, I can't sleep,” she says faintly, a tiny pout drawn on her lips, and you can see Chris physically melt at her words, at the way she paddles to his chair, and tries her best to climb up his legs. She fails to do so, so he quickly scopes her up his arms until she’s buried in his hold. Her small hands wound up around his neck, and he tenderly pats down her hair, his gaze never wavering from her frame.

“Want me to sing to you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she whispers, before making grabby hands at you, your heart softens like clay dough as you scoot closer, enclosing her fingers in your hold. 

“Sleep well, Sowonnie,” you whisper. 

“Can’t you stay with us?” she asks and you feel your blood freeze in your veins, your heart skipping three beats at once.

To stay. What a frightening concept. Even more scary when you realize that you aren’t opposed to it. 

You yearn to stay, for the first time in years, you wish you could. 

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, before smiling reassuringly. “I'll stay till you fall asleep.” 

Conditions, it is the way it has always been for you. staying till you’re no longer useful, staying till you're no longer wanted. Staying, but always with a time limit, always with an expiration date. 

iv. 

You’re avoiding him. 

Chris knows you are, since you no longer come over to his house, claiming that you’re tired, or that you have an important order to bake for the next day. He would have believed you had he not seen you only once in the past three weeks. 

Those were excuses, and each one of them weighed heavily on Chris’ heart, on his home too, his studio particularly, the one that got used to the sound of your laugh. 

He misses you. He never thought he’d miss someone again, craving you presence as if every breath leaving his body depended on you. He wasn’t a stranger to intimacy, fleeting hookups every now and then. Strangers invited him to their bed, knowing what they were signing up for– one night of pleasure, never to be seen again, their faces blurring into an indistinct mass in his mind, like an impressionist painting where no features stand out. Yet, with you, every detail is etched in his memory. 

He could pick you out of a crowded room, recognize the delicate curve of your neck, the fullness of your lips, and the way your nose scrunches when you smile.

He could draw the moles scattered on your body from memory alone, recognize your scent from miles away– your cotton shampoo and the specific laundry detergent you love to use and a hint of vanilla that never truly leaves you. 

He’d remember the curve of your lashes and the cascading of your hair, the airy giggles you leave across like a trail for him to follow everywhere, and your eyes– the way they gazed at him, softening slightly around the edges, shining brightly as if crafted from stardust, the way they softened even more when you looked at Sowon, voice growing slightly high pitched as you listened to his daughter’s rambles.

How did you manage to make his home yours without ever living in it?

“Dad?” Sowon calls out and he snaps his head up, locking eyes with his little girl. She’s sitting on a high stool, munching on her pizza, a pensive look on her face.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks, walking over to her side.

“Where is Ynnie?” she asks in a small voice and he freezes, mulling over his response. He settles for the truth.

“I don't know, baby.”

“Does she not want to play with me anymore?” Sowon whispers, and he doesn’t remember his daughter ever being this tentative about voicing a question. 

“No!” he's quick to reassure, cradling Sowon’s face between his much larger hands. “Of course not baby she loves you a lot.”

“Okay…” she nods, a small pout drawn on her lips still. Chris senses his heart physically crack in his chest.

“Do you wanna work in the studio with me?” he says in a joyful tone, and she instantly cheers up, the twinkle in her eyes found again. “Yes!” 

“Finish your food first, okay Wonnie?” 

“Okay!” 

In Chris's life, regrets have been scarce, and certainly not in the form of Sowon, his beacon of hope, as he named her. Having her was beholding a sun wherever he went. However, a fear lingers, a whisper in his heart, suggesting that letting you go might be his one true regret.

So when his daughter falls asleep, he knocks on your door once again. He's suddenly transported into that cold night, months ago, where he asked you for flour. Had he known you were behind it he would’ve knocked much sooner. 

“Hi,” you greet softly once you open the door. He takes a step forward, his wolf slippers matching with Sowon’s bump into your plain ones. You avert your gaze, finding anything but him to fixate on.

“You're avoiding me,” he says matter-of-factly, voice soft, resigning to you.

“I'm not,” you contradict, even as your eyes remain on the ground. He finds himself missing the color of your irises.

"Look at me, hm?" he implores, and you stay rooted in place. A soft sigh escapes him as he cradles your right cheek with his warm hand, his thumb gently sweeping across your cheekbone. "Yn, please, I want to look at you."

Maybe it is the pleading tone of his voice or the way his thumb tenderly grazes your skin, but something about Chris makes your resolve unravel, threads of fear unknotting before your eyes. So, you finally look at him. An exhale of relief escapes him. 

And then you speak.

“You asked me if I was okay, and I didn't reply, back then,” you say, leaning your head further against his palm as tears well up in your waterline. “Do you still want to know my answer?”

“Of course, always.”

“I'm happy. With you, with sowon. I feel this warmth that I have never known before when I'm with you. It was almost easy to forget I've known you during winter,” you chuckle dryly, “but it is all an illusion, I lie to myself thinking I could stay, I… I can't, I-“

“What if I ask you to stay?” he brings your hand to his heart, where it beats erratically, pulse seeping through your skin.

He’s as scared as you are.

“Chris…”

“What if I told you, Yn, please stay with me,” he breathes out, guiding your hand to gently cup his cheek. “Would you? Would you stay?”

“I'm terrified,” you whisper, as he tilts his head, bestowing a tender kiss on your palm. 

“I know, so am I. But, you make me believe that even my bruised parts are worthy of love.”

He wins, before years of skeletons and piled up doubts, he wins. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I'm staying.”

“You are?”

“I am,” you giggle lightly and he staggers back, the sun pouring into his smile. 

“Um, wow, okay. Thank you for staying,” his voice sounds airy, happiness floating in his tone, and you find it contagious, imprinting into your own.

“Thank you for asking me to stay.”

“You made it less daunting,” he pats your head, smoothing your hair down. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He giggles in response and you can't help but mirror the sound. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Whaaat? I'm not,” his tone grows high-pitched and you roll your eyes amusedly. 

“What happened to connected Chris?” 

“He is flustered by the girl he wrote about.”

Your cheeks tint red as he places a hand above your head, caging you in place. 

“I think the girl should get paid for being the muse.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, “I'll think about it.” His grin softens, as a content expression washes over his face. You know you must look the same. “Let's talk more tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you grin, before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Chris.”

“Good night, yn.”

You quietly watch as he walks to his apartment door, his hand settling on the door knob. He pauses, for a few seconds where the air around you stills, before swiveling around and walking over to you again. 

you win. 

“I forgot something,” he breathes out, before crashing his lips onto yours, furiously, as if needing to imprint his essence onto you, tainting your soul the way you have tainted him, permanently altering the composition of his being. His lips move on yours as if they've done this before, a dance they have rehearsed countless times, perhaps in all the dreams Chris visited you in. Yet, nothing compares to how it feels to have him touch you, lick your lower lip and drag his hand up your hips, press you against your apartment door, and nibble at your neck. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the passion he shows you, for how delicious it feels to be pressed against him, for the storm that your lips conjure, swirling in your heart in vibrant shades of red. Then, for the softness of his lips as they slow down their course, plump and rosy as they meet your own, tenderly, more gently, one kiss after the other. “My hope,” he whispers, as his lips find yours again, “my missing piece.”

He’s hot and cold, in yet seeking no out, finally yours.

bonus (one year later). 

“So I brought the eggs, milk, sugar,” Chris enumerates as he takes out the groceries, and you turn to look at Sowon to find her already gazing at you, a mischievous look on her face. 

“How much do you wanna bet he forgot flour?” you whisper and she giggles, burying her face in her hands to stifle her laugh.

“And… Wait, where is the flour?” he trails off and you burst out laughing, as you and Sowon high-five each other excitedly. 

“Daddy, you are really bad at groceries.”

“Am I?” he smiles sheepishly, fiddling with his earlobe in a manner that still makes your heart melt, renders your insides butterflies speaking of Chris’ name.

“Yes, it’s good Mom bought it,” she says naturally, looking down at her iPad. You and Chris freeze in your tracks, eyes instantly locking with one another, yours and his, glossy with emotion, a loving tide enveloping you both. 

It's her first time calling you mom. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, crafted not by thorns but by petals, not by ache but with love, before placing your chin on the small of her shoulder, murmuring softly. "Mm, will you help me bake, baby?"

“Yes! I wanna be a baker when I grow up, just like you.”

“What happened to being a stylist?”

“I can't be both?” she frowns innocently. 

“You can be anything you want, princess.” you bop her nose and she giggles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. 

In the grip of winter, Chris discovers a warmth that defies the season, casting off years of cold from the recesses of his bones. A soft smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, his hopes, his girls, the three of you clad in wolf slippers.

He’ll propose to you tomorrow.

[mainexiii]

Young K: One Door Away [Part 2]

i truly cannot believe it's been almost 2 years since i posted the first part of this! 😬 it makes me incredibly happy to hear that you all enjoyed it so much, all my younghyun stories hold special places in my heart, so i'm happy to continue this one and hope you all like it too 💗 (fyi there will be a part 3, this story's not over yet!!)

Younghyun x Fem Reader. Smut (office coworkers, mutual pining). 5.3k

[Part 1]

You blinked your tired eyelids, a heavy sigh pushing itself out as you stretched and waited for your vision to adjust. You saw a pile of clothes on the chair next to your head: black men's dress pants, a sleek blue tie, and a maroon blazer...your maroon blazer. Suddenly everything came back to you, and you remembered you were not in your own room. Your head whipped around and you saw Younghyun still asleep, the soft skin of his bare chest a lovely golden hue in the light of the morning sunrise that streamed in through the large hotel window. So it wasn't a dream. You really had slept with Younghyun, the man you'd been pining over for God knows how long. You sat up and a blush rushed through you when you remembered all the things you'd said and done to and with each other the night before. Not that you wanted to take them back, certainly not, but slightly embarrassing to think about nonetheless. Things you'd only fantasized about, kept locked in your head for so long, had become reality.

A mild panic took over your senses though, the more you thought (and over thought). What if he didn't really like you that much? What if he was just trying to fuck you? What if now that he had, he would drop you, not talk to you at work anymore? What if, what if, what if?

You felt Younghyun stir then, and glanced over at him again. He carded a hand through his tousled hair and smiled up at you. "Hello," he chuckled groggily.

"Hi." You smiled warmly back at him, happy to see that he seemed okay. Despite everything he'd told you the night before, you still couldn't help your self doubt. It wouldn't go away that easily, despite your thoughts last night that it would.

Younghyun stretched an arm out across the mattress, silently inviting you into the warmth of his embrace, and you couldn't resist the urge to lay back down with him. So you didn't.

You fell back onto your side and your heart skipped a beat when he pulled you in to kiss you. That certainly helped convince you he was really into you. You started to wonder at what point you wouldn't need that kind of reassurance, if ever, and sighed internally at yourself.

"What time is it?" He asked through a yawn. You'd both stayed up late, indulging in quite a few fantasies for longer than you originally anticipated.

"Eight fifteen," you answered.

"Ugh, we have to check out by nine."

Your heart sank a bit at the acknowledgement that your little trip was almost over. You'd have to go back to "the real world", to your complicated lives that were suddenly even more complicated, instead of this sort of oasis you'd created.

"Hm, so forty five minutes yet?" You smirked, climbing to your knees and moving to straddle him.

Younghyun chuckled, getting the idea, and rubbed at his still sleepy eyes. "I suppose so. What did you have in mind?"

"Dunno," you shrugged, but pulled the T-shirt you'd borrowed over your head, leaving you completely naked.

Younghyun smirked and shook his head, then lunged playfully at you, tumbling you onto your back and pinning you against the bed below him, sending a high-pitched giggle from you. He glanced down, drinking in the sight of your body, then back up to your eyes, making you blush again.

But his expression was one of warm comfort, his gaze more loving than lustful. Younghyun lowered himself to press his chest, pleasantly warm, to yours, skin against skin, and kissed you passionately, not pulling back until you were both breathless. His lips just fit so perfectly against yours, you didn't even care if you had morning breath.

"We really can't be too long," he said halfheartedly between little kisses now. "Gotta pack..."

"Yeah..." You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, really not wanting to face the rest of the world when this perfect moment was right here and now, so warm and cozy...

Younghyun kissed you again as his hands curved over your legs. They moved over your waist, your torso, groped at your breasts briefly, and ended at your jaw, cradling it. A long, dissatisfied sigh left him before he reluctantly pulled back, forcing himself to sit up and get the day started.

You sighed too and subconsciously pouted as you stretched, then got up as well, cool, air-conditioned air ruining the warm bed.

You felt how shaky your legs were when you tried to stand, and tumbled back onto the mess of sheets for a moment. Ruffling your tousled hair, that you were sure looked like an absolute wreck, you heard Younghyun snicker as he walked past you.

"This is all your fault, you know," you teased, calling towards him as he entered the bathroom.

He laughed heartily and came back out in a few seconds, toothbrush in hand. "Uh huh, and why's that?" He leaned against the wall near the bathroom and started brushing away, watching you stretch your sore muscles. You grabbed your own shirt off the chair and pulled it on.

"You're the one who wanted to keep going," you answered with a sly smirk, securing a couple of buttons on your shirt. "Maybe I wouldn't be so sore today if we'd stopped after the first couple rounds."

Younghyun pulled the brush from his mouth and spoke in a slightly muffled voice. "Oh right, like you didn't want to keep going too."

You were only teasing him, of course; you wanted to keep fucking him the night before just as much as he did, if not more so. And while, yes, your muscles did ache a bit today, it was well worth it, and you didn't regret your actions at all.

"Hmm, maybe," you quipped.

You glanced at the clock; 8:21 now. Sighing, you grabbed the rest of your stuff and remembered then that you had locked yourself out of your own room. You actually couldn't recall if you'd left the adjoining room door unlocked from your side or not. So you tried the door. It opened. So you must have. Wishful thinking must have swayed your actions; hopes that you would have a chance to have a night alone with Younghyun.

"Gonna shower and pack, I'll meet you at nine," you called to Younghyun, who acknowledged it positively.

So you did exactly that, doing your best to stay focused on your tasks, even though all you wanted to do was jump around your room giddily and hop back into bed with Younghyun. In the middle of packing, you heard your phone buzz, and checked it to see Hyerin had texted you.

Hyerin: updates pls?? 🤲

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the huge smile that crept across your face. You wanted to call her and gush about the night you'd had. But things were just starting out, and you didn't want to jinx it. Besides, you had things to do, and didn't want Younghyun overhearing your conversation.

You: tell you when i get home!

That should be good enough. You set your phone down but it buzzed again before you fully set it down.

Hyerin: so there are updates???

You ignored it, getting back to packing, but heard a few more buzzes over the next few minutes. You got a quick shower, got dressed, and when you were ready to go, it was nearly 9:00. You cleared away your text notifications from your lock screen, not bothering to read them right now, and headed out the door with your luggage. Younghyun met you in the hallway just a couple minutes later, the door locking behind him. You didn't see him in casual clothes too often, but he looked extra cute in his jeans and t-shirt.

"Alright, let's go," he said with a smile.

🚪

When you were both back at work Monday morning, things were different. You knew they would be, but you were nervously unsure of the ways they would be.

While most were positive, you were a realist, and still acutely aware of the fact that things could always go sour. And then you'd be stuck working together with that between you.

You'd talked with him on the plane ride home how you'd handle things at the office. You both agreed it was far too early to say you were dating (you hardly knew if that was even true yet, anyway). For now, to them, nothing had changed between you two. To your coworkers, you and Younghyun we also only coworkers.

But you found yourself smiling more. In a better mood.

The next day, Tuesday, you met in Younghyun's office to compile your notes, the connections you'd made and information you'd received while at the conference. His door closed behind you and your heart pounded harder, especially when you heard the lock quietly click. This was the first time you were alone with him since getting home. Lucky for you he didn't leave you hanging. The second he turned around he whisked you into his arms and kissed you for the first time since you'd returned from your perfect weekend.

"Sorry," he said with a happy sigh, pulling away. Kissing you at work; was it professional? No. But were you happy he did it? Of course. Besides, it's not like you could focus on work distracted by his presence. Letting off a little steam now and then was...a good thing then? Right?

That logic was good enough for you. You didn't let him go far before pulling him back into your arms, lips back on his. Younghyun relaxed against you, smiling against your lips and kissing you back, wrapping his arms as far around you as they would reach.

"We shouldn't...at work..."

He nodded in agreement but neither of you showed any indication of stopping. "I know."

You found yourself soon straddling Younghyun while he sat in his office chair, your skirt hiked up your thighs and one too many buttons on his shirt undone. It was taboo, it was unprofessional, and it was exactly what you'd been fantasizing about for months. Younghyun mouthed hungrily across your jaw and down your neck, his hands helping your hips rock against his. Everything was rushed, breathless, hot. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your body into his touch, small whines making their way through your heavy breaths. Your hands carded through his hair as his mouth nipped at your collarbone, getting lost in how perfect it felt to be in his arms. Your hips were moving without his help now, rolling along his crotch, lust guiding your every action. You could feel Younghyun was getting hard but there was a part of you that was tied to reality, your rational brain pushing its way to the forefront. You reluctantly pulled back and though he instinctively moved towards you, you used your hands to physically push him back. Younghyun looked up at you expectantly, hair and clothes so gorgeously mussed.

"We can't do this here. Or, at least...I can't."

Younghyun swallowed hard and wiped his mouth that was a bit stained by your lipstick and nodded, pulling himself back up in his chair as you climbed off him. You stood in front of him, wanting so desperately to sit back down. But you really liked this job, and being here, in the moment, the paranoia that you might lose it broke through it all. But you didn't know if you could verbalize these feelings to Younghyun at the moment.

"I understand. It's totally fine." He cleared his throat and worked on retying his tie while you pulled your skirt back down. You sat into the chair on the other side of his desk and saw him adjust the tent in his pants. Ugh, leaving him like that felt cruel, to both of you. "I'll just...get off in the bathroom later," he said with a chuckle, smoothing his hair back into place.

"Sorry."

"No no, hey..." He waited for you to look at him. "I'm not gonna do anything you're not comfortable with. I promise."

Ughhhhh. Maybe...it wouldn't be a big deal if you did one or two things. Apparently Brennan and Sooin were doing it pretty often and they were still here. Why couldn't you let loose and have a little bit of your own fun?

You quickly undid a few buttons on your shirt as you walked back around to his side, and his brow furrowed, confused. "You don't need the bathroom." You sank to your knees and yanked at his belt, fumbling to undo it and his zipper, but he stopped you.

"Y/N, no." His hand held yours tightly and his voice sounded authoritative, which you were certain was not having the effect he intended. It only made you want him more. "I'm serious; I'm not letting you do something you're not comfortable doing."

"I know. I want to do this."

He studied your face, searching for any sign of wavering, but evidently he could tell you were fine, so he wordlessly let go of your hands and let them resume their task. Younghyun adjusted in his chair, helping you get his dick out, biting hard to his lip. Your heart pounded in your chest, a flush rushing through you when you had his length in your hands again. It grew harder in your grip, the veins trailing up it deliciously, the head red and starting to leak precum already. You watched his face as you dragged your tongue up the shaft, reveling in the way his mouth hung ajar. You swirled your tongue over the head then pulled it between your lips with a light moan. God, your mouth was simply watering. You heard the bustle of your office just outside his door, but you had found a way to bring the little slice of paradise you'd formed with him in Chicago back home. In the back of your mind you knew....there was no way this could be a regular occurrence. You'd have to do these things in the privacy of your own home, like everybody else (well, almost everybody else). And that was fine. Actually, that was more than fine, so long as Younghyun continued to be the one there with you. But for right now, this was perfect.

"God, your mouth feels so fucking good, " he murmured, not wanting to be too loud. His hand ran through your hair and gently pushed. Clearly he was impatient for more, perhaps worried about the time. You didn't waste any more time then, letting your jaw fall slack and taking in as much of him as you could, then hollowing your cheeks for suction. "Oh Y/N..." Younghyun breathed hard through his nose, teeth digging further into his reddened bottom lip. You worked your hand over the base of his length and bobbed your mouth over the rest, moving quickly, just wanting to see him cum. Besides, the longer you spent on this, the more turned on you were getting.  You knew you didn't have the luxury of time for you both to get off.

"Want you to cum in my mouth, Younghyun." You moved quickly, pushing him on, coaxing him along to that exact endpoint, and you heard his breath catch. He gripped the black plastic arm of his office chair and let his head fall back.

"That's not gonna be hard, believe me."

You smiled to yourself, absolutely loving that you could seemingly have the effect on him that he had on you.

You felt the way he subtly thrust into your throat, the way the head of his cock bumped against the roof of your mouth, and you struggled to keep your hand out from under your own skirt. Your panties were stuck to your skin and simply ruined by now, and your clit throbbed for attention. You weren't sure how you'd make it through the rest of the day, but you knew you'd be having a busy night with your vibe when you got home. You heard your phone chime in your pocket with an email notification and rolled your eyes. It could wait.

"I'm gonna...I'm so close," he groaned. He brought his gaze back to yours and held it, intently watching you, pupils dark with lust. "Gonna cum in your mouth, baby..." Those last words drifted out of him dreamily, like he couldn't believe his luck. That tone made your heart warm and the words made your pussy throb.

"Mhmm," you encouraged, taking his length further into your throat, almost making you gag. But you pushed on, doing your best to breathe through your nose, and just when you were about to pull off for some much needed air, he pulled you off himself.

"I got it, I'm--I'm gonna cum." He leaned forward and his hand took the place of yours. You sat back, positioning your outstretched tongue right in front of him. "God, you're so good, so fucking good." His hand tugged at his cock so quickly, in mere seconds you felt his warm release hit your tongue, splatter across your lips. The sound he made when he hit his climax was like fucking music to your ears, and you were absolutely soaked at this point. You were sure if you walked out of his office at that moment anyone who passed you would be able to smell exactly how turned on he made you. Thankfully your office was right next door and the day was nearly over.

Younghyun held your chin in his palm and tilted it up, letting you look into his eyes. You could see the genuine appreciation in his eyes, even when they were clouded with lust. He leaned down and kissed you, letting his tongue mingle with yours, saliva and cum mixing messily and making you feel absolutely filthy. You wanted to feel like that every day.

Younghyun helped you to your feet and you kissed again, both of you having a hard time pulling away from each other's lips. "How 'bout we get this work done?"

He sighed and rebuckled his belt and zipped his pants back up. "Yeah, we really should."

It certainly was not easy, but you got your mind almost entirely back on track, though it was extra difficult when every time you moved you could feel a huge damp spot between your legs. But finally you finished your work with him and were done for the day.

This would work, right? You wondered to yourself again if you were making a mistake, involving yourself with a colleague like this. It was clearly distracting you, and you worried it would affect your career. You walked to your car, your mind full of anxious thoughts, but Younghyun's voice broke in, when you heard him calling your name.

You turned around and saw him lightly jogging to catch up with you.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Um...just gonna eat dinner and watch some movies, I guess." And jerk off as many times as I can.

"If you want, I'd really like to take you to dinner, and also repay you for your, er...service." He smiled at you and you couldn't help but laugh at his phrasing. "Not necessarily in that order."

You blushed a bit and looked around, wondering if anyone saw you talking to him or heard him asking you out.

But you did want to go out with him. "Okay, yeah. That'd be nice." You smiled back and hitched your bag higher on your shoulder. "Time?"

"6:30?"

"Sounds good." You dropped your eyes, getting a bit shy at the idea someone you worked with could see or maybe even hear you. This wasn't what you'd talked about; you had planned to keep things quiet at work. Between an office blowjob and now him asking you out so blatantly...Could your plan already be going awry after only two days?

"I'll pick you up, just text me your address."

"Okay." You started to swerve away from him to make your way to your car, but his hand caught yours, stopping you.

"Wait, Y/N." You turned around, and you both had to move then to get out of the path of your coworker's car that was coming through. You instinctively yanked your hand out of his grasp and gave a little wave to your coworker as she passed. "Listen, I..." His voice dropped a bit so you knew only you could hear. "I know we've moved...pretty fast...physically." Younghyun cleared his throat and shifted his weight nervously. "But like I said the first night in my hotel room, I'm not usually so forward. And I don't usually, you know...do things like this. I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I just really like you."

You figured that was probably the case, especially because it was for you too. You so appreciated hearing him say that, though, as it helped immensely with your self doubt. But this was not the time nor the place. "I know, I'm not...really like this either, usually. We can talk about it more tonight. I'll see you at 6:30."

🚪

Younghyun picked you up right on time, and you felt almost giddy getting into the car. Outside of work, you could be normal, in a relationship like anybody else. You hopped into the car and gave him a big kiss that made him giggle, and you were off to your first official date with him.

He took you to your favorite restaurant and you had such a wonderful, relaxing evening. You connected with him so well, he was able to make your anxieties about work the furthest thing from your mind.

"I still have to repay you for this afternoon," he noted as he took another bite of his steak.

You shrugged innocently and smiled as you sipped your drink. "I wanted to do it. You don't have to repay me." While you meant that, you were also just dying to have him touch you too. You'd held back from masturbating the way you had planned and even though you'd changed from the soaked panties you'd worn at work, the current ones were quickly getting to a similar state.

Younghyun chuckled darkly and grabbed his own glass. "Not a chance."

You smiled and crossed your legs in an effort to quiet your clit that throbbed for attention.

He cleared his throat and broke the small lull. "Y/N, I wanted to get back to what I'd said in the parking lot earlier." He put his utensils down and crossed his arms on the table, giving you his full attention. You remembered his words and your heart started pounding. You stayed quiet and let him talk. "I...wouldn't have gotten involved with you unless I had good intentions. I don't want you thinking I'm some playboy that sleeps around. Or that I've only been with you for sex."

You let him finish his thought and nodded understandingly. Although you didn't want to believe it, that thought had crossed your mind, so you appreciated him acknowledging it without you needing to bring it up. You set your glass down and gave him your attention in return. "I know that, Younghyun. I don't think that about you. And I'm not...used to doing so much, so soon either." You dropped your gaze, embarrassed now. "It's been awhile since I've been with anyone."

"Me too."

You both left that topic alone after that, not wanting to dwell on it. You switched your conversation to a lighter one. It was so easy with him, you loved how freely you could talk to him. It felt like you'd known him your whole life.

🚪

You weren't sure exactly why you both were always so ready to jump the other's bones; you figured it was a combination of waiting so long to get together, having sexual tension built up for so long, and being in the proverbial "newlywed phase" of your relationship. But whatever it was, it landed you back in Younghyun's lap, straddling him in the front seat of his car in the back of the dark restaurant parking lot, like a couple of horny teenagers. But he did want to repay you, and who were you to deny him that?

He fumbled for the button on the side of his seat, sliding it back as far as it would go to give you more room. Your hips rutted desperately against his, your mouths moving perfectly together, his hot breath mixing with yours.

Younghyun's fingers slipped under your dress, the tips of the digits gliding along the outside crotch of your panties. "Oh my God, you're so wet already."

You blushed a bit, somewhat embarrassed at how crazy he made you, but you knew he'd find it hot. "Been wet ever since I sucked you off," you said breathlessly, spreading your legs more to give him better access. He moved your panties aside and let a single finger play with your clit, and you hummed your approval into his mouth. It was such a small action, but it felt so fucking good. The car was already getting humid, the windows starting to fog from two sets of heavy breathing. You yanked your shirt over your head and he quickly dropped his head to mouth over the swell of your breasts. A finger entered you and made you gasp, hands flying to grip the seat at either side of his head.

"This what we're gonna do?" You chuckled airily. "Just 'repay' each other over and over again?"

Younghyun laughed against your skin then peered up at you. "'Course not. You think I'm letting you go one of these times without fucking you?" Fuck. Part of you wished he'd do just that right at that moment, but you also couldn't get yourself to stop him when he was already making you feel so good. His hand moved quickly now, and he held your gaze and watched your mouth slip into an "O" shape, rubbing harshly to your clit and making you moan loudly.

His free hand came up to pull the cup of your bra out of the way, his tongue poking out to play with your nipple, prodding and teasing it deliciously. It felt like live wires were connecting you, sparking with every touch. You knew you would cum easily if he kept this up.

"Ah, Younghyun, please don't stop, please..." Younghyun sucked at your nipple, groaning all the while, his fingers making you see stars. You felt your heels hit his steering wheel and gripped your hands tighter on the headrest. Your climax was within reach, right there, already. Your voice got higher in pitch, your hips rutting more strongly, and Younghyun didn't stop for a second, determinedly reaching his goal. Your eyes jumped down to catch his just as your orgasm washed over you, the dark sensuality in his heightening the feelings that much more. You gripped his hair and pulled him off your nipple, leaning down to shove your tongue into his mouth hungrily. He moaned into your mouth and his fingers curled inside you and made you gasp, your pussy swollen and throbbing in overstimulation. Clenching as he pulled his fingers out, completely breathless, you closed your eyes and tried to swallow hard, but your mouth was quite dry. Your head was spinning at the whirlwind orgasm, but your weren't exactly surprised it didn't take you long, since you'd been so horny for the last few hours. Younghyun brought his dripping, sticky fingers up to his lips, making you blush as he sucked them clean. "Don't, oh my God," you giggled, embarrassed, pushing his hand down.

But he resisted, groaning at the taste when he got his fingers back into his mouth. "You taste so sweet, baby, I'd never let that go to waste. Need you to sit on my face again, like that first night."

Your pussy clenched again at the memory alone, and you sighed, sitting further back on his thighs. Your own were weak from shaking and your heart was thrumming strongly in your chest, but you felt that melancholy feeling of reality creeping back in when he kissed you.

He pulled back but kept his forehead pressed to yours, his warm breath ghosting over your cheeks. "It's late, gotta work in the morning. Let me take you home."

You sat in blissful, sleepy silence while he drove you home, watching the lights out the window pass, each stop light and street lamp like a twinkling Christmas light to you in your rose-colored haze. At least you could have this feeling outside of work. But every time you thought of the office again, you worried. Things were so different now. If you had to choose between Younghyun and your career, you worried you wouldn't know the right decision to make. You turned to look at him, remembering how he used to look to you when you were merely coworkers, just a few days ago even. Things changed so quickly, maybe they could change quickly again...

🚪

"So when are you and Younghyun gonna do something?"

You took a bite of your sandwich and raised your eyebrows with an inquisitive expression as Sooin sat beside you for lunch in the break room a few days later. "...'Do something'?"

"You know, get together. It's so obvious you want to."

God, if she only knew. But you were glad she didn't. Evidently she didn't suspect anything was going on between you and Younghyun already. And you preferred to keep it that way. It was really none of her business.

"What, like you and Brennan?" You scolded yourself internally for mentioning that as soon as it left your mouth. You weren't sure if that was something you were supposed to pretend to not know.

But she smiled, taking a bite of her pasta smugly. "Yes."

You popped a chip into your mouth and tried to seem nonchalant. You didn't want to get into this with her, even if she was probably the one person in your office who would understand your situation. "We're just friends."

"Whatever you say." She clearly didn't buy it, but so long as she didn't pry, it didn't faze you much. Unfortunately, she continued. "But I'm just saying, I can tell you like him. And he seems like he likes you. He's cute; someone else might snatch him up if you don't hop to it. Hell, I probably would have took my shot if Brennan hadn't gotten to me first." You might have something to say had your situation been different. If you weren't already with him, you might have a comeback, something to get her off your back. But you simply held your tongue. "I've seen Marissa eyeing him."

The mention of the cute new receptionist's name almost put you over the edge. You were so happy with Younghyun, and that should be enough, at least for now, but a big part of you wanted to just scream that you were with him, that you'd gone out with him, that you'd fucked him, that you'd sucked his dick, that you'd sat on his beautiful fucking face. But you didn't. You took another bite of your sandwich and you let it go. You were at work, in a professional environment, not in a frat house. You were all coworkers, not on a reality dating show.

"She can look wherever she wants. I told you, Sooin; Younghyun and I are just friends."

"Okay..."

🚪

You had a meeting with a couple of coworkers after lunch, including your "friend", and you again had to really focus to keep your attention on work. Especially now that Sooin was planting thoughts in your head, thoughts that played into your insecurities. You stared at Marissa through the glass of the conference room, as she obliviously typed away at her desk, then glanced over to Younghyun, across the table from you. You were just starting to feel confident in your relationship with him, and now felt like you were rolling back down the other side of the hill you just climbed. Not that you thought he'd cheat on you. You just didn't like the idea of someone else, especially someone pretty who also saw him every day, to be...Oh God, were you turning into a jealous girlfriend? You rubbed your temple and refocused, notes of pricing increases and new employee hiring needing to be in the forefront of your mind. You wondered if Younghyun was having any other similar thoughts, if your relationship was distracting him from work the way it was for you, the way you'd promised yourself it wouldn't...

If you enjoyed this, consider liking, reblogging, replying, or sending an ask (comments and messages provide so much motivation to keep writing!) 💌 Thanks for reading! 💋

[mainexiii]

In my dreams

Seungmin x reader. (fake) enemies to lovers. my interpretation of in my dreams by tearliner, love X stereo.

Seungmin has never liked you. You never understood why, but you were slowly coming to terms with it. However, you gradually come to learn that there is more to his feelings than what meets the eye.

skz song series

cw: reader has anxiety and deals with lots of self-doubt and insecurities.

a.n: the end of our skz song series!! and a pretty personal final fic, this one is based on my own experience with anxiety, so it might differ for everyone :) thank you for reading as always <3

You watch, a soft smile on your face as two little girls play with one another in the playground. It reminds you of simpler times, when you could just walk up to another human and become friends with them instantly.

But reality is much more challenging, especially for someone like you, constantly plagued by their anxious thoughts.

Anxiety didn't tiptoe into your life, one drop at a time so you'd get accustomed to its overwhelming presence. Instead, you woke up one day and it barged into you, through cracks and dents you didn't even know existed in your being, and then it made itself a permanent home within the confines of your heart.

You never truly learned how to live with this parasite feeding off your soul, draining you completely until you became a mere shell of who you once were. You never fully adjusted to the invisible hands choking you from within, to the voice nagging you in the back of your mind, telling you that something horrible was bound to happen.

Because nothing ever went wrong, day after day, nothing bad happened. And yet, the feeling of dread persisted and lingered until you started to believe that the problem was you.

And once you opened the door to self-doubt, you could never fully close it again.

You're too overwhelmed, too nervous, too much of everything bad. Your conversations are scrutinized, down to every syllable you uttered, to the way you smiled and how you laughed. The interactions might differ but the regret that haunts you after is the same.

So, you diluted your being, in an effort to be more acceptable, easier in the lives of the people around you. You believed that if you pleased everyone you ever encoutered then at the end you must satisfy yourself too.

You sigh softly, drumming your fingers along your knee. You’re starting a new year in college tomorrow. Your first one wasn't exceptional by any means. Aileen, the girl who sat beside you from time to time was nice, and you grabbed coffee sometimes as you prepared for your exams together. But she had other friends, ones she's much closer to, ones she invited to her birthday party, ones who she didn't simply fill her free time with.

You shake your head, putting a stop to the thoughts in your head before they get too much once again, pushing you over an edge you don't want to be in right now. 

You'll try harder this year. You'll be okay, for once.

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

Your professor Lee is scribbling something on the large whiteboard, as he waits for the class to fill up. Someone sits next to you, and the smell of their cologne wafts to your nose- hints of vanilla and wood seemingly calming down your nerves. You quickly take a glance at them, to find a guy with long brown hair and freckles dusting his cheeks. He's taking out his notepad from his bag, and you smile at the chick keychain he has on it. He catches you looking and you quickly avert your gaze, heat creeping up your cheeks. 

"Hi, I'm Felix," he greets enthusiastically, and you turn your head slowly to be met with his wide grin. It softens his features, making his eyes turn into moon crescents. You envy his ability to smile without overthinking how he looks. 

"Yn," you introduce back, and he nods, the grin still etched on his face. "You were in my Economics class last year, no?" he asks and you tilt your head to the side, as you mull over his question.

"I was but I don't remember seeing you," you admit sheepishly and he waves a hand in the air, not bothered the least by your words. 

"It's okay, I just remembered your presentation on Inflation. I finally understood why we can't just print more money," he admits with a chuckle, and you giggle against your will. 

"I don't blame you, it sounds like an easy solution," you agree, and his eyes widen. 

"Right! when I tell my friends they just stare at me in disappointment."

You laugh at his adorable pout, an unfamiliar warmth stirring within your chest. He's nice. 

"I'm glad I helped you then, I was so nervous presenting it," you clear your throat as he smiles impressively at you. "Really? I couldn’t tell at all." 

Mr. Lee calls for your attention and you both turn your heads back to the board. You couldn’t really focus, Felix’s words echoing in your head like a broken mantra- he couldn’t tell you were nervous. A sudden relief dawns on you at the possibility that, maybe, not everyone is aware of the neverending storm raging within you, threatening to drown you at any giving moment.

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

"Movie night at my dorm?" Felix proposes as he packs up his bag, your two hours long class finally done.

"Will Seungmin be there?" you ask, a slight edge to your voice and Felix pauses, shaking his head at you.

"Yn, you're overreacting. I promise he doesn't hate you."

"Have you ever seen him smiling at me?" you ask, arching your eyebrow expectantly at him. He stays silent and you wiggle your finger in the air. "Exactly! Please tell me he won't be there."

"About that... He's helping me bake the cookies," Felix smiles sheepishly and you groan, falling dramatically on your seat.

"I’m not coming."

"But the cookies," Felix pouts, and the promise of the chewy baked goods is so enticing it makes you second-guess your decision.

"The cookies...," you whine, and Felix giggles grabbing your hand to pull you up.

"I’ll see you at 5?"

"Yes," you concede, a small smile on your lips. You wait until Felix bids you goodbye for it to finally slip from your face.

Seungmin has never liked you, from the moment Felix introduced you to him. You still remember it clear as day, the way his eyes slightly widened when they fell on you, before narrowing down. How he didn't utter a single word when Felix left you both alone to get your drinks. Your panic grew as an uncomfortable silence reigned on the both of you, and you racked your brain for something to say to cut through that eerie quiet.  

"Seungmin, right?" you asked, a bit too cheerfully, and you winced inwardly at your tone. He didn't reply, only humming back. It was so faint you wouldn't have caught it had you not been staring at him intently.

"What's your major?" Your voice cracked.

"Computer science." He replied curtly, and you waited patiently, expecting him to return the question. He didn't. And you shifted awkwardly from one foot to another. Maybe he just didn't do well with strangers. Maybe he wasn't a chatty person, to complement Felix's extroverted nature.

But you were wrong. You watched in complete astonishment as he teased Felix relentlessly, a wide smile on his face. It made his eyes soften, a newfound fondness itching itself on his expressions. He laughed and he joked and you felt yourself shrink more and more, this way he wouldn't notice you anymore, wouldn't glare at you as if you did something horribly wrong to him.

Felix tried to include you as best as he could in their conversation, but you tuned it out. It was hard to focus on their talk when there was a tumultuous one ongoing in your mind. Seungmin's behavior just further cemented every horrible idea you held about yourself. There is something wrong about you, and he can see it. You may have fooled Felix but you didn't fool Seungmin. If you were him you wouldn't talk to you either.

Every encounter with Seungmin since then left you feeling fifteen years old again, in a classroom full of unkind eyes zeroed on you. You tried to talk about his interests, to string along a normal conversation, one that would reassure that your first encounter was a wrongful impression.

But he did not like talking to you, only offering short replies in response. It’s as if his tongue was tied in your response, and in return it only magnified the knot in your stomach. You went through every conversation with him a million times in your head, trying to pinpoint what exactly went wrong. What warranted him to be so silent in your presence, and yours only, as if you weren’t worthy of a simple conversation. And the answer always tied back to you.

So, you’ve been avoiding him like the plague for the past month, sparing him the chore that is existing near you. It was particularly hard since Felix was his best friend and roommate, and surprisingly he actually enjoyed spending time with you. Still, you couldn’t help but think that it was only a matter of time before Felix started to hate you too.  

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

"You're moving too much," Seungmin chastises and you freeze in your place at his words. You are sitting on the couch of Felix’s dorm later on that day, a horror movie playing in the small TV before you. Felix decided to lay on the floor, buried in a pool of yellow blankets, and a long pillow that weirdly had the picture of one of their friends printed on it. "It's my safety net," he explained and you didn't question him any further.

For some reason, Seungmin decided to sit next to you, instead of the opposing couch. Granted, he can see the TV more clearly from here, still this is the first time he willingly went somewhere near you, let alone talked to you.

You decide to ignore him, too focused on predicting the next jump scare, your feet tapping the floor furiously. But still, it happens so abruptly, eliciting a startled gasp from you, anf you clutch the edge of the couch even tighter.  

"Close your eyes," Seungmin speaks suddenly and you raise an eyebrow at him, confused. 

"There is a jump scare coming soon," he clears his throat, "just... close your eyes if you don't want to see it." 

You comply without much thought and soon enough, you can hear a shrill scream coming from the screen. He was right. 

"It passed," he says softly, and you tentatively open your eyes once again. There is a foreign expression on Seungmin's face, one you haven't seen before, but it passes as quickly as it came, like a dream slipping between your fingers as soon as you wake up. 

"How did you know?" you ask, hugging your knees tightly to your chest. 

"I already watched this movie."

"Really? Why are you watching it again?"

"Because. I had nothing better to do," he says, almost defensively, his hand now covering his mouth as if he had to physically stop the words from spilling out. 

You don't reply, turning back to look at the screen. Seungmin doesn't tell you when a jump scare is coming next, he simply taps your arm, and you close your eyes on cue. 

His hand brushing against your bare skin feels weird, not uncomfortable by any means, but it still is a foreign sensation. You didn't know he had such soft hands, and you always imagined them to be cold. But they are warm, and you wonder what other things about Seungmin you've been wrong about.

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

"I'm so tired," Felix groans, laying his head on your shoulder and you giggle, patting his head in mock sympathy. It's been three months since the start of your year, which means that the assignments are starting to pile up on you all.

"Me too," you sigh, and Seungmin stays silent next to you. Felix dragged you both to this coffeeshop, a little outing to recharge his spirit, as he texted you. You're slowly getting used to Seungmin's brooding presence. He talks to you a little more, even cracking a few jokes here and there. But you’re still wary of him. You keep your guard up just in case he forcefully brings a mirror to your face once again, reminding you of everything you despise about yourself.

"I'll go order, it's my treat. Pick a place for us?" Felix says and you nod, walking ahead of Seungmin towards a table near the back.

You sit down first, and Seungmin follows second, sitting right across from you. You quickly bring out your phone, scrolling mindlessly through the apps to distract yourself from the man in front of you.

"You have a presentation tomorrow, right?" Seungmin speaks up, startling you, and you slowly put your phone down.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Felix told me that it makes up 25% of your grade. Are you nervous?"

"A little," you admit, even though ‘a little’ didn't even begin to cover it.

"Don't be. You'll do well," he says, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You almost feel as if you've imagined it before it dissipates.

"Thank you," you nod, as Felix brings the tray down your table.

"Is this for me?" you ask tentatively, pointing to the strawberry milkshake, a sore thumb sticking out between the iced americano, and the hazelnut Frappuccino, Seungmin’s and Felix’s respective go to orders.

"They got the order wrong. I got you an iced matcha," Felix pouts, double checking his receipt.

"It's okay," you smile slightly. There was nothing you despised more than having to change up your order.

"You don't want to drink this," Seungmin says, staring at you expectantly and you wave your hand in the air dismissively. "I don't mind."

Seungmin stands up, grabbing the drink from your hand before taking the receipt from the table. He goes to the counter and you watch in astonishment as he comes back, a green drink in hand this time.

"Here," he hands you your cup, before grabbing his own and sipping from it. Your drink is cold, but the warm tingles spreading through your being at his sweet gesture outweigh any other feeling.

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

Talking in front of 267 people never gets easier.

You memorized your presentation; you rehearsed it so much you could probably recite it with your eyes closed. Yet, the nerves still found a way to weave themselves inside you. Your hands were shaking, so much you couldn't even stare at the notes you prepared. Your palms were sweaty, blood rushing rapidly to your ears, tuning out your voice as you spoke.

You can’t even recall what you said exactly, it’s as if your body had a mind of its own, your mouth moving itself without you commanding it. You aren’t sure how it was, but someone smiled at you reassuringly from the first row, and the professor clapped, so you assume you did okay.

The class finally ends, your nerves slowly dissipating and leaving in their trail an excruciating exhaustion. You rub your eyes tiredly, as you slowly walk out of the door, before stopping in your tracks when you notice Seungmin leaning against the wall, hands buried in his varsity jacket.

His eyes are closed, a pair of earphones dangling across his chest. But then, as if he feels you looking at him, he opens his eyes, locking his gaze on you. You stay put in your place as he walks to you, his bag loosely hanging from his shoulder. He hooks his thumb underneath the strap, keeping it in place

"How was it?" he questions, and it takes you a few seconds to register what he was asking about. Your presentation. Was he waiting for you?

"I think I did well?" you reply, but it comes out more of a question to which he giggles softly.

"Are you asking me?" he teases and you roll your eyes playfully. "I did well," you repeat and he smiles, nodding a bit. "I’m sure you did. Here." He opens his bag, taking out your favorite chocolate bar from it- it had bits of caramelized pistachio and almonds in it. Seungmin doesn’t like it, he prefers plain milk chocolate, as Felix told you one day.

"Eat this, I ended up buying two by mistake, I still have an extra one at the dorm." You grab it from his hands, and he quickly leaves before you could properly thank him.

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

You always dread the days you'd wake up with a heavy weight crushing your chest.

You try to distract yourself, try to focus in class and take notes. You try to laugh at Felix's jokes and savor the brownies he just brought you. But you can't. It feels as if you're a cup filled to the brim, each passing second bringing you closer to when that fateful drop would finally make you overflow. And you could do nothing but watch yourself unravel.

Seungmin's eyes never leave you, and it only makes your anxiety spike. It feels as if he's peering inside your soul, witnessing how a cord ties itself around your throat, making it impossible for you to breathe. You can't speak anymore, every word you say threatening to make tears spill out of your eyes. You aren't sure you can make them stop if they ever start falling.

Nothing happened, nothing's happening, you try to remind yourself. But you are scratching your hand incessantly, and you feel an overwhelming need to flee. To run away, somewhere where only you would witness the display of your broken soul. So you sputter a meek excuse, and then you stand up and head to your dorm.

It's raining outside, and you don't have an umbrella. But you are grateful for it, since the rain mingles with your salty tears, shielding them from the curious eyes of the people passing by. You need to get home, you need to hide somewhere and you need to remember how to breathe-

"Yn," a hand grabs your forearm and you startle, instinctively taking two hurried steps back. It's Seungmin. He removed his blue hoodie and he's now placing it over both of your heads.

"What are you doing? You'll get sick," he sounds mad, and you can't take his disappointed tone anymore.

"I'm having a bad day and I don't need you to make it worse," you say, startling yourself with the raw emotion in your voice.

He physically recoils from your words, his arms faltering as he gazes at you, a wounded look in his eyes. "I make your days worse?" he asks quietly and his voice sounds so small, you can't help the regret that courses through you.

"Come on, Seungmin," you chuckle warily, "don't you hate me?"

"No?"

"Hate is a strong word, okay. You dislike me."

"I don't. Why would you think that?"

"Because you never wanted to talk to me, from the moment we met. And it wouldn't matter if you were this way with everyone, but it's only me. And you make me feel so small each time I'm around you," you ramble angrily, as Seungmin's eyes widen with each passing second.

"Yn, yn, I don't- I didn't know you felt this way, but I don't hate you. I truly don't, I promise you," he's panicking, voice growing higher with each word, and you feel a sudden embarrassment flood your being for lashing out at him.

You don't know what to say and he sighs, looking up at the cloudy sky before meeting your eyes once again.

"This is embarrassing, God, um..." he places his hoodie on top of your head before running a hand through his face. "I don't talk to you because you make me nervous." 

"I do?"

"Yes. A lot," he chuckles, a pink hue tinting his cheeks. "I just... I find you very interesting, and funny, and I like watching you, not in a creepy way, my God what am I saying," he whines, hiding his face in his hands and you can't help the giggle that escapes your mouth.

"Don't laugh," he pouts and you nod, willing the smile to disappear from your face. 

"I like watching you exist. Just laugh and smile and talk. You look very pretty doing it. I just don't know how to deal with it. That's on me."

This time the smile is effectively gone from your face. The weight of his confession distracting you from the turmoil of emotions that swirled within you.

"I'm sorry, for making you feel that way. I never meant to. For what it's worth, you make me feel like a small kid again, as if I'm having a crush for the first time." 

A fresh wave of tears brims in your waterline, and Seungmin's eyes soften at the sight.

"Please don't cry," he says, gently wiping the rain droplets from your cheeks. "I don't hate you, I think I like you too much and that's the problem." 

I'm sorry I misjudged you, until you wiped my tears off away

"Okay," you say quietly, your mind not yet registering what he said, too busy focusing on his hands on your face. You can't believe you've ever felt invisible because of Seungmin, when he's looking at you like you're the most precious being in the world. 

"You had a bad day?" he asks, his knuckles brushing against your cheek tenderly, and you nod, silently. 

"Would you like a hug?" he asks, and you nod again. A hug sounded nice. 

He steps forward, wrapping his arms around you. His t-shirt is cold, clinging to his now wet skin. But a surprising warmth emanates from his chest, shielding you from the pouring rain- it travels from his body to yours, as if it's a familiar path, one it underwent a million times before. His hand finds your back, and he pats it gently, following a soothing rythme, one you try to sync your breathing to. "You did well," he whispers, "you always do well," and his words feel like a patch of shade on a scorching day.

You exhale softly, tightening your arms around his waist. You think you can stay here, for a while. You could rest in Seungmin, now and tomorrow, and maybe for the following months. If he still likes you this much. 

Bonus 

"I'm ready," Seungmin says, his soft hair tickling your bare skin. He's laying on top of your stomach, black tie undone, a piece of crumpled paper in his hands. You can tell he's nervous, with the way he looks up at the ceiling, avoiding your gaze. You lean down, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of his head. He closes his eyes, his hold on the yellowed paper slightly faltering.

"I'm all ears," you whisper, and he smiles softly at you, before looking at his written vows- the ones you decided to read to each other after your wedding ceremony, just the two of you, in your personal bubble. It feels much more intimate this way, they are words meant for you only to hear, after all.

"My love," he starts, and he can already feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He blinks repeatedly, in a desperate attempt to keep them at bay. "If I'm reading this it means I finally married you, which is probably the best thing I've ever done in my life." You giggle and he can't help but smile at the sound of your laugh.

"I am writing these vows one year into our relationship, I haven't proposed yet, but I just know you're the one I want to marry. And I suppose I don't want to forget everything I want to say to you, when that day comes." His words make your breath hitch in your throat as realization dawns on you- he wrote this three years ago, and he kept it safe, till this day.

"I still remember when I saw you for the first time. I couldn't talk because you looked so pretty, and you were smiling at Felix and I felt an overwhelming need to be the one you were smiling at. I think you cast a spell on me because I couldn't even ask you about your major back, I couldn't believe how awestruck I was. But you already know this, don't you?" He looks up at you, pressing a quick kiss to your stomach and you smile widely. You still remember when Seungmin recounted the first time you met, from his perspective. Rosy cheeks and fumbling words as he explained how much he felt for you in that instant, and how little he could express it.

"But there are still things I haven't told you," he clears his throat. "Like how Felix told me what horror movie he was planning to watch with you, and I looked it up the night before, to memorize all the jump scares just in case you were afraid. And you were, and I'm glad I did. I don't even like horror movies, but it was worth watching it three times in a row, just for you."

"Also, how I had to run out of my class to yours, so I'd catch you after the end of your presentation. I bought that chocolate only for you. I kept a stack of fifteen bars hidden in my desk, just in case you were feeling down, and you ended up needing it. I kept asking Felix about everything you liked, and disliked, and he was probably sick of me at that time," he chuckles, as memories of begging his roommate for any bit of information about you flooded his mind.

"I don't know how far into the future it'll be when I'll finally read this to you. I don't know how I'll be, or where I'll be, but as long as you're with me then I must be okay. I used to overthink everything, plan every part of my life so it'd run smoothly. That is until you came into my life, so suddenly, and you flipped it upside down. I didn't care to plan my life anymore, all that mattered is that it revolved around you," he pauses, sucking in a deep breath.

"I knew I wanted to marry you when you took me stargazing. You talked about the stars and galaxies so excitedly. And then you brought up Saturn; how it was unique among the planets, adorned with thousands of ringlets. And I remember thinking that you're my saturn, you're the dazzling planet that everyone admires and I'm the ring spinning around you, the one you're keeping afloat. And as long as you're here, I have a purpose and I'm okay. So please..." his voice wavers, as silent tears slip out of his eyes.

"Don't leave me. I know we're married now, but still, don't leave me. I love you. I feel like I've loved you in different lifetimes, in different earths and timelines. Everything can come crashing down around us, but one thing that'll forever remain the same is my love for you. I was made to love you, after all. My eyes were made to look at you, and my hands to graze your cheeks. And my heart... My heart was made to beat for you. And I love you. I feel like I don't say it enough but I truly love you. As long as I'm breathing then I'm yours."

[mainexiii]

Burning in the winter wind

changbin x reader. (fake) enemies to lovers. hurt/comfort but it’s a light fluffy read!! college!au. lowkey romcom vibes (i tried 😭) wc: 4.4k)

summary : Sustaining an ankle injury during a ski retreat isn't fun. Especially when Seo Changbin volunteers to stay back to tend to you- the one man you can never get a read on.

a.n: sahar finally writing a fic that doesn’t take an emotional turn… we cheered!!!!!!!!!!!!! my 3rd fic for the winter falls collab with my writer :,) if u haven’t checked out xi’s fics yet what are u waiting for!!!!! please enjoy reading, i hope you’ll like this one too <3 i love you muah

“Are you okay?”

It is quite difficult to roll your eyes when your face is pressed against the snow, you’ve found, so much so you're sure you’re breathing in dainty snowflakes rather than the intended oxygen. 

A dull pain emanates from your right ankle, the very one you just twisted while attempting to ski down a sled, making you plummet head-first into the hard ground. Despite how soft snow looks as it blankets the earth in a pristine white, it is quite incapable of cradling your fall. Instead, its snowflakes seem to liquefy, filtrating through your clothes and making a biting cold cascade down your spine. 

Clearly, you are far from okay; hence, your eyes roll in a silent protest at the stranger’s questioning, though they cannot see you. If you further bury your head in the snow and do not move, would they think you are a collective hallucination and spare you the embarrassment of helping you?

“Um, should we call an ambulance?” 

Clearly not. 

“I'm peachy!” you throw a thumbs-up in the air, not bothering to lift your face off of the ground, you’re sure that by now the blank canvas beneath you has reluctantly molded itself to the contours of your face. 

Much prettier than a snowman, you’d personally argue. 

“Are you sure?” the tentative voice quips up again and you suddenly feel bad for ignoring this passerby, now stuck comforting an odd person whose limbs are not adequately crafted for skiing.

“Yeah,” you finally turn around, realizing that the pain in your ankle will not disappear, even if you choose to ignore it. “Just resting, on the snow. The view is nice from here, you know.”

The stranger backs away subtly at your words, and you chuckle inwardly. 

“I got it.” Someone else speaks from your left and their voice carries a familiarity that drapes an uncomfortable weight atop your lungs. You pivot your head incredibly slowly, locking eyes with none other than Changbin. 

You scoff outwardly. 

“Need help?” he asks, hovering above you like a shadow. 

Changbin was once your partner in a lab chemistry project, he is also the one person you now avoid most in college. 

So, you do what any sensible person would in your place— you turn away, once again pressing your face into the comforting oblivion of the snow.

“I… can still see you.” His words linger, hesitating in the crisp winter wind, and you respond with a (now more effortless) roll of your eyes.

“I know.”

“Then, what are you doing?”

“If I pretend you are not here long enough, will you finally tire and leave me alone?”

“No.”

“Fine,” you huff, turning back once more. You summon the resolve to finally push your torso up from the pits of your embarrassment, before glancing down at your ankle, only to find that it has doubled in size. An angry scream bubbles up in your throat, but you will yourself to tame the fire within— if you think slightly more about your situation, you’d burst into tears right here and then.

“That needs to be treated,” Changbin states simply, his eyes also locked on your injury. You shut your eyes closed, forcing a deep breath to travel through your lungs. The oxygen you just inhaled seems only to fuel your anger more. 

“I actually think it’s fine,” you put on the brightest smile on your face, yet your eyes refuse to follow the movement of your lips, making you look like a catatonic doll. You hope that’s enough to make Changbin go away. 

“Who are you lying to?” he cocks an eyebrow at you.

You’re wrong. Again. 

His self-assured tone further aggravates you, so you will yourself to stand up, wincing as soon as your right foot touches the floor. You bite your lip hard enough to draw out blood, the metallic taste of it coating your tongue uncomfortably. 

“See, I can stand!” you say cheerfully and he crosses his arms before his chest, clearly unimpressed. “Try walking.”

“I actually wanna stay here.”

“Still as stubborn, I see,” he sighs, before bending his knees slightly. Next thing you know, you’re scooped up in his arms, your hands wrapping around his neck instantly. 

“What are you doing?” you ask incredulously, eyes darting furiously over his face. 

“Carrying you to the infirmary.”

“I can see that,” you say between your teeth. “I said I'm fine.”

“You clearly aren’t.”

“What are you? an ankle expert?” 

“When your parents own the ski resort you kind of become one,” his eyes meet yours once, still as emotionless as they’ve always been when they gaze at you. 

“Do your parents own this?” you clear your throat, surprise overtaking your tone. 

“Yeah.”

“Can you tell them to upgrade my room to a suit, then?” you bat your eyelashes at him, your smile as sweet as saccharin. 

“You literally buried your head in the snow two minutes ago because you wanted me gone.”

“Exactly,” you nod vigorously, “that was two minutes ago, I am a changed person now.”

“Yeah?” he smirks slightly, the corners of his mouth almost tugging upwards. “What changed?”

You shrug as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn't know your parents owned the resort.”

☃︎⋆꙳•❅

“It's not broken, thankfully, just sprained. You need to ice it, and not put any pressure on it. Keep your leg elevated at all times, and avoid walking at all costs.” Maria’s voice reaches your ears in waves, the pain in your ankle making it harder to grasp what she’s instructing you to do. Still, you easily understand that all your winter break plans are now officially ruined. 

“But I wanna ski,” you pout at the fifty-something nurse who smiles sympathetically at you, handing you a cooling balm. 

“You shouldn’t have fallen then.” Changbin deadpans before she can reply and your right eye squints in annoyance. Maria catches it and winks at you. 

“You shouldn’t have fallen then,” you mimic, voice high-pitched. He simply shakes his head, a ghost of a smile appearing for a second on his lips, before disappearing promptly. 

“Thank you, Maria,” he bows slightly, his voice sounding kinder when it speaks to everyone but you. 

“Welcome, baby,” she squishes his cheeks before patting them gently, and you stifle a giggle at the blush sprouting on his face. 

Maria leaves the room, stating that she has another patient to check up on. Your eyes remain downcast, glaring at your ankle as if it’ll scare your body back to health. 

“You'll burn a hole into your skin at this rate,” he comments, his hand suddenly appearing in your line of view. You sigh in defeat before reaching for his hand, intertwining fingers as he aids you in rising. His arm becomes a secure anchor around your waist as he guides you toward the elevator. There, he inputs a code on a small panel before pressing button 44.

“That's not where my chamber’s at.”

“I know, I had them move your stuff to the penthouse,” he explains simply as your heart skips a traitorous beat. 

“Actually? I was just kidding; I don't want an upgraded room.” 

“I wanted to,” his eyes locked on yours, a myriad of stars seemingly swimming in his pupils. “It has easier access for you since it opens up directly in the room.” 

“I'll pay you back. How much is the difference?” 

He leans in, whispering a six-figure number in your ear and you feel your knees buckle underneath you. 

“That much?” your face pales and he nods. “You still want to pay me back?” 

A nervous chuckle leaves you as you lock eyes with the camera in the elevator, “thank you Mrs. Seo for the gift,” you bow down to the best of your capacity. “Thank you, Mr. Seo.” 

The penthouse is much more spacious than your previous room, vast windows framing breathtaking vistas of pristine mountains. The sound of a crackling fireplace tames the fire within you, morphing it into a harmless ember rather than scorching flames, soothing your soul. A chandelier right above the bed casts a warm glow on the room, that softens your heart and makes you less resentful towards the snow.

“Here,” he sits you down on the edge of the bed, before heading to the mini-fridge across from the room. He takes out a packet of ice before promptly kneeling in front of you. 

“It'll be a little cold,” he reassures before placing the ice on your wound. the sarcastic retort you had withers at the tip of your tongue, like a candle flame blown away by a gentle breeze; because Changbin is being gentle to you right now. his eyebrows scrunching as he makes sure not to hurt you even more, his fingers encircling just above your ankle to hold you in place. Clad in his black hoodie and joggers, the tenderness of his touch is an echo of softness from days long past. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, hoping your voice would get lost in the crinkling of the wood. It doesn’t, as Changbin looks up at you, pausing his movements. “For helping me,” you add, “you didn’t have to do it.”

“It's okay. You’re not a stranger, so…” he trails off, as a buried bitterness floods your throat, akin to downing a shot of acid. You withdraw your ankle from his hold, taking the ice packet from him.

“You can go, I got it,” you smile, yet your eyes flee away from him, refusing to catch his gaze, refusing to peer into that same void that once lured you in.

“Fine. I'll come check on you later.” 

As Changbin swiftly exits the penthouse, you sink into the mattress, hands pressed against your forehead, squeezing tight. to Seo Changbin, you were not a stranger. To you, he might have been everything, once.

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ 

You first met Changbin on the stage of your nationwide rap contest, held within the confines of your campus. 

You did not know he was, but you were instantly captivated by his incendiary stage presence, and so was everyone around you, gleaming eyes turned unanimously toward him, the air ablaze with loud cheers erupting like a bubbling volcano. The question at the tip of your tongue was a natural one— “Who the fuck is this gorgeous man?”

It was as though he had sensed your inquiry, because soon after he concluded his rap with a boastful line— “They call me,” a pause, his eyes meeting yours, “Seo Changbin,” he finished, a subtle smirk painted on his lips, as if he knew that his name would become a golden trademark, one that the music world would remember for generations to come. 

His gaze lingered on you, but you did not shy away from it, you’ve never been one to run away from the things you want. Instead, you smiled at him, a toothy grin that left your cheeks slightly aching afterward.

He did not return the gesture fully, but the corners of his lips did tug upwards, as he dipped his head slightly forward in thanks. 

Cute. 

You stayed back long enough to witness Changbin accept his well-deserved first place award, clad in his gray joggers, a snug black tank top, and atop it a deconstructed hoodie boasting enticing holes on the side, giving you a generous view of his sculpted muscles. His silver chains glimmered under the resounding flashes, and you felt a surge of pride at this stranger basking in the spotlight. 

Your smile only grew wider as Chan and Jisung ran to him, encircling him in his arms and shaking him with palpable happiness. Thunderous cheers erupted, a chorus of voices chanting 'Seo Changbin' at the top of their lungs.

His name will stay with you long after that.

“So, is he single?” you inquired casually a few days later in the university cafeteria, three cups of iced americano placed before you, Chan’s extra sweetened. The latter looked up from his phone, eyes slightly widening, before leaning in.

“You like Changbin?” he asked incredulously and you squint your eyes, moving even closer to him. 

“Why? Shouldn’t I?”

“I'm just surprised because you’ve never liked any of the guys I introduced you to.”

“Because they’re all douchebags who can’t keep up with me,” you declared, tossing your hair over your shoulder as Chan smiled amusedly.

“Hey! He introduced me to you,” Jisung chimed in from your left and you rolled your eyes, patting his shoulder reassuringly. “We’re better off as friends, Ji.” 

That was true, your first, and last date with Jisung, ended up with you ordering sushi and laughing at your Tinder matches at an empty parking lot. He's been one of your closest friends ever since.

“Are we?” Jisung made obnoxious kissing noises and you faked a gag, pinching his arm. Han retaliated by yelling so loudly the entirety of the cafeteria turned to look at you. Chan attempted to cover his face with his palm, a desolated look painted on his features.

“Anyways,” Jisung cleared his throat once he settled again, “he is single. But he’s not looking for anything right now.” 

“Maybe he just hasn’t looked at me yet.”

Fate seemed to be on your side because Changbin did look at you after that. Your professor Kim, an unwitting cupid, paired you with him for your chemistry project, and for the following month, you found yourself meeting Changbin every day in the college laboratory, to work on the synthesis and characterization of aspirin.

Changbin was different from anyone you’ve ever taken a liking to. He did not stir violent butterflies in your stomach, nor made your palms sweat endlessly from nerves. Instead, he infused a peculiar serenity within you, enough to make you eagerly count down the minutes until your next meeting.

Contrary to the fiery persona he unleashed on stage, Changbin exuded a calming aura that held you captive each time he drew near. It was impossible to divert your gaze from him, especially when his loose curls cascaded perfectly over his dark brown eyes, ones framed by thick-rimmed black glasses. His scent, a captivating blend of pinewood and spices, lingered like a second skin on your body, trailing after him and enveloping you in its embrace, long after he was gone.

He felt like a winter wind brushing against your skin—strong enough to be felt, yet cool enough to be craved by each one of your senses.

You sensed his gaze upon you as well, felt the subtle brush of his hand against your spine when he moved around you, unnecessary yet deliberate. How he brought you hot chocolate every time you met up to warm up your icy fingers. He was sweet and caring; in a way you’d only notice if you paid attention to the things said silently. 

Yet, he remained an enigma—warm on certain days, cold on others. It seemed as if he restrained himself from growing comfortable in your presence, as if you were a bad weed that’d spread through his roots if he dared approach you. Or maybe that was how he viewed himself— a delicate shell with a void inside, guarding itself against any perceived threat. 

Who was Changbin, truly? What did he like and dislike? Why did he withhold his smiles, stifle his laughter, and avert his eyes after just a fleeting glance at you? Why did he draw near only to retreat each time you attempted to get close? The questions swirled in your mind, creating a tapestry of curiosity that begged to be unraveled by his hands.

“Wanna come to karaoke with me and hang out tonight?” Chan asked a week after the end of your chemistry project. You hummed non-convincingly, nose buried in your newly purchased book. 

“Changbin might come too,” he sang-sung and you quickly perked up, much more interested in his plans now. He snorted at your reaction, and in response, you playfully flashed him your prettiest middle finger.

Chan's disbelief was right though. It was unusual of you to be so expectant of someone’s presence, for your gaze to flee to the door every two seconds awaiting their entrance. 

Despite your high hopes, Changbin did not come that night, and as much as you tried to have fun, a sense of disappointment tainted your mood. That, and the realization that he wasn't a mere crush, but something much more to you. The man you couldn’t get a read on was already coursing through your veins when you thought he had only stopped at the surface of your skin. 

Muttering a quick excuse about needing some fresh air, you left the karaoke booth, exhaling heavily, the warmth of your breath translating into silver gusts of air in the chilly night. As you descended the stairs, however, your ankle twisted on the slippery ice, and you found yourself falling, bottom-first, onto the unforgiving concrete.

An ugly sob caught in your throat as hot tears streaked down your cheeks, your palm now scraped and bloody from the impact of the fall, in a useless attempt to soften the blow.

“Let me see,” someone crouched in front of you, and you gasped softly as your eyes met Changbin's concerned gaze.

“Oh god, this is so embarrassing,” you admitted, clasping your eyes shut as he gently held your injured hand in his own, blowing air into the open cuts to soothe their burn.

“I didn't see anything,” he reassured, his tone overly sweet, and you squint your eyes at his obvious lies. “Definitely did not see you trip over nothing,” he added, a teasing smirk drawn on his lips.

“Hey!” you punched his arm playfully and he laughed, full-blown high-pitched giggles you did not think Changbin, out of everybody you knew, would be able to conjure. His eyes were squinted close, his apple cheeks raising higher as he laughed some more, and you felt an electrifying warmth flowing through your being. Suddenly, you were burning in the winter wind. 

Suddenly, you wanted to confess. 

“Did you just get possessed by a five-year-old girl?” you teased as his laughter quieted down, the smile refusing to leave his face, yet. His eyes softened as they found yours, a simple hum leaving his lips in reply. He applied some pressure on your ankle, checking if it is swollen, but that was the last thing you cared about. The sight of Changbin smiling so freely still running through your mind, again and again. You replayed it enough times since to make sure it was safely guarded in your memory, that the long march of time may not wear it down, graining its delicate edges. 

“You should smile more,” you said softly and he looked up at you, a twinkle of gratitude gleaming in his eyes. 

“Your ankle is fine. Stay here, okay? I have a first aid kit in my car.” He didn’t wait for you to reply as he jogged up to his vehicle, and you sighed, heart clenching at how affected you were by his simple touches.

“It will sting a little,” he spoke gently once he returned, before dabbing up your cut slightly with an alcohol-drenched pad. You hissed softly and he frowned, pausing in his tracks. “Okay?” 

“Mm,” you nodded, a small smile playing on your lips, “Okay.”

He continued cleaning your cuts, before applying a cooling cream on it and wrapping it in a clean gauze. He hesitated for a few seconds and your breath hitched as he leaned forward, placing the faintest kiss on your palm. 

“Healing kiss,” he said shyly, a blush blooming on his face and you giggled, bringing his hand to rest upon your cheek.

“I like you, Changbin,” you said truthfully, simply, even as your heart thudded in your chest. “Tell me, should I stop? I don't want to hurt myself.” 

“I…” he began, his words trailing off, interrupted by Chan walking out of the karaoke booth.

“What happened? Are you okay?” he asked, worry clearly dripping from his tone and you cursed inwardly. You loved Chan but you’ve never been more annoyed to see him. Your eyes flee tentatively to Changbin as Chan takes your hand in his, inspecting it. 

“Let's go inside, it’s freezing here,” Chan pulled you up and you nodded, as Changbin followed suit, before he stopped you by the door, his hand on your arm. “Come over tomorrow, please? We can talk then.” 

“Sure,” you smiled and he nodded, swiping his thumb soothingly along your wrist. “Thank you,” he whispered, before walking inside. 

☃︎⋆꙳•❅

The landline ringing snaps you away from that long-buried memory, as it disappears before your eyes like morning mist. You rub your forehead tiredly before answering.

“Hello?” 

“Hello, I would like to inform you that we'll be coming up with food service shortly,” the sweet receptionist announces in a cheery tone, and you furrow your brow.

“I did not order anything, though.”

“It is on the house. Enjoy your food!” she explains gleefully before hanging up.

On the house meaning it is Seo Changbin's treat. You couldn't help but scoff at the array of food presented before you minutes later, including that damned hot chocolate he always used to bring you, complete with marshmallows on top and colorful sprinkles because why settle for plain when you could have rainbows in your drink.

“He remembers,” ou whisper to yourself before sighing. What was the point of him remembering now? Every bit of hope you had was dismantled two months ago, akin to a hopeful dandelion blown away by the bitter wind. 

You bite your lip, contemplating for a few seconds before finally dialing Changbin’s number.

“The food will get cold. Come quickly. I won't wait for you,” you mumble before hanging up and tossing your phone away.

A few minutes later, Changbin enters your room, his cologne still following him like a second shadow. You avoid his eyes as you dig into the seafood pasta, the one he ordered for you.

“Good?” he asks, and you glance at him from the corner of your eye. "Yeah, good."

“Are you okay?” he inquires, taking a bite of the pepperoni pizza. 

You knew he was asking about your ankle, and yet, in this moment, sitting on the floor of the penthouse Changbin upgraded for you, eating the food he bought after tending to your injury, you suddenly no longer cared about the state of your body. Instead, an exasperation built up in your throat, directed towards the man who had left you hanging many nights ago. 

“You confuse me,” you say honestly, putting down your fork and he frowns. “I confuse you?” he repeats incredulously.

“Yes. You always confuse me and I hate it.” Sudden tears threaten to well in your eyes and you groan, burying your face in a pillow to hide it.

“I can't believe you are saying this,” he whispers, pushing away his plate and you scowl, lowering your silky shield. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You never came, y/n,” His voice, draped in heavy emotion, catches you off guard like a sudden storm in the calm of the night. “I waited and waited for you and you never came.”

“I came,” you say quietly, the hurt suddenly feeling fresh within the confines of your heart. “At the wrong time, maybe the right one, I don't know. But I came.”

“What?”

“I came to your dorm only to see you kissing a girl’s cheek and hugging her by your door. You told her you missed her and to come later once you sorted something out. Was I… What? supposed to enter and sit there to hear you reject me?” You say quickly, finally releasing the words that had long haunted you.

An incredulous laugh escapes his lips as he runs a hand through his hair, slightly pulling at its edges. “My god, that was my sister.”

“What?”

“She came over unannounced that morning. I actually told her she can't stay the night because I had someone important coming over. That someone being you,” he explains and you feel hot embarrassment flood your being, then relief. For what, exactly? Wasn’t it too late?

“How was I supposed to know?” you ask defensively and his eyes widen as he comes closer to you. 

“You could’ve asked me!”

“I was embarrassed because I put my heart bare to you. I told you I liked you when I wasn't even sure you liked me back.”

“Of course, I liked you back.” His voice softens as if it were a truth known to everyone but yourself.

“Then why were you so… distant.”

“Because you scared me, you came into my life unannounced and everything changed around me,” he pauses, a shaky breath escaping him. “Because I wasn’t looking for anything but it turns out I just didn’t know to look for you yet.”

You giggle against your will at his words, shaking your head slightly. “That's exactly what I told Chan when I asked if you were single.”

“See, soulmates,” he grins, satisfied, and you feel tingles pulsate through your entire being at his words.

“Slow down Mr. Seo. We are not even dating yet.”

“Yet? So, is there still a chance?”

“I…” your phone rings and you let out a loud groan as you peek at who's calling— Chan.

“You have the actual worst timing ever dude,” Changbin nearly screams into the phone and you can clearly hear Chan’s confused voice asking “Changbin? Where is yn?” 

Changbin hangs up on him without answering, before putting your phone on silent. Then his, for good measure.

“It's like he’s my archnemesis or something,” Changbin sighs and you laugh, amused by his exasperation. 

“So,” he clears his throat, a bit shyly, “can we start again? Properly?”

“I don't know… I need to see if something’s still there…” you muse and he cocks an eyebrow at you, leaning even closer. 

“And how will you do that?”

You throw your hands around his neck, before resting your cheek on the slate of his shoulders. He remains still for a few heartbeats, only to tighten his hold on you, his lips delicately grazing the exposed canvas of your neck.

“I knew it, you smell nice, and you are really warm,” you sigh contently, closing your eyes as a soothing peace wash over you, all the worries you harbored dissipating at his warmth.

“You smell really nice too,” he whispers and a grin lights up your face. 

“I can hear you smiling,” you point out, leaning away slightly to look at him. 

“I’m happy.”

“That's cute.”

“You’re cuter,” he says, nuzzling your nose with his own. “Your total for the food is 160 dollars by the way.”

“Can I pay back with my kisses?” you smile cheekily, bringing your lips a hair breadth away from his. 

He’s breathless as he finally presses his mouth on yours, “Please do.” 

[mainexiii]

Chan with ❛ that really does make you hard. i can feel you pulsing inside me. ❜

summary: your husband is a university professor. when you sit in on one of his lectures, it gives both of you an idea...

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: husband!chan, kinky professor/student roleplay, though reader is his wife and not actually a student. dom!chan, sub!reader, degrading language (stupid, dumb, slut). corruption kink, power dynamics kink. explicit sexual content. word count: 2380 words.

part of the valentine's day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy! <3

-

Chan is giving a lecture when you reach the university.   You kill some time and grab a coffee, ambling around campus and idling in corridors until your wandering leads you to his hall.  The main doors are propped open, likely for air circulation with the spring heat, and you smile at his voice spilling into the hallway. 

It is a big lecture hall.  He is teaching a beginner level so the class is substantially large, a couple hundred freshman packed inside.  No one will notice an extra presence.  There are a few empty seats scattered across the back row so you slip inside and quietly take one. 

You like seeing Chan in his element.  Your husband is something of a chameleon, spending his down time in hoodies and baseball caps, listening to music and giggling at his own goofy jokes.  You almost forget his professional side, his prestigious and academic character.  He loves his research and his work and his students and it shows in every remark and gesticulation.  

You adore him.  His passion and intelligence never cease to amaze you.

Though right now your loving attention strays to his appearance.  You must admit: your husband is a hottie.  You suspect the tittering co-eds in the first few rows are not as interested in statistical analysis as their rapt attention might suggest.

Professor Bang Chan stands at the front of the hall, dressed down to his shirtsleeves.  His suit jacket has been tossed over the desk.  His pants are pressed, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, but his neat black hair is just this side of dishevelled, like he has been running his fingers through it. 

You slouch in your seat and smile a cheesy smile as you watch him work. 

He looks around the hall as he lectures, attentive to every student.   In his perusal, his eyes skim the back row.  They stop on you.   

“And that’s why we, uh, ah…” He stumbles so noticeably that a few heads turn to see what caught his eye.   He laughs and waves, drawing their attention again.  “Sorry, sorry, as I was saying…”    

Your smile only widens.  There is a little flutter in your heart as your husband looks at you with a glimmer in his eye.  You rest your head on your fist and watch the rest of the lecture without any interruption.  

You stay seated when it ends and the students file out.  Chan lingers by his desk to sort his papers.  You just admire him for a moment, then you make your way down the aisle.  He lifts his head, smiling at you.

“Hey, stranger,” he says, shrugging on his jacket.  “You’re early.” 

“Yeah, I thought traffic would be worse.”  

“Hungry?”

“Definitely, Professor,” you say.  Your original plans were dinner, but you lift an eyebrow while smirking, suggesting a different kind of hunger entirely. 

It makes him laugh, a nervous sort of laugh.  You are charmed by the tips of his ears turning red, a testament to your ability to fluster your man well into your marriage. 

“What’s wrong, Professor?” you ask, reaching up to touch his face.   “Aren’t you hungry too?”

He stares back at you for a moment.  His gaze is resolute despite his faint blush.  You cannot help your delight. 

“Ooh,” you say.  “Do you like it when I call you Professor, Professor?”

He finally takes your hand and lowers it. 

“I’m a professional,” is what he says, which is definitely not an answer to the question you asked.  He kisses your cheek before you can protest his reply, then he winks and grabs his bag.  “Come on,” he says, “I just have to put some stuff in my office.  Then we’ll go grab dinner.” 

You suspend your teasing for the time being, talking about your day as you cross campus in the sunshine.  You take the stairs up to the office floor, winding around the labyrinthine assembly of empty offices.  It is quite late in the afternoon, plenty of people seemingly packed up and gone for the day. 

He unlocks his office and lets you both in.  While he goes to his desk to sort his stuff, you close and lock the door.  He does not notice your deliberate movements, still talking about mundane nothings.  You do love your endless conversations, whether casual or important, but right now you are less preoccupied with Channie than Professor Chan.  There is something about seeing your husband like this, smart, competent, confident, and so in charge of his space. 

“Baby girl?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow at your slow, slinky approach.  “What’s up?” 

You circle the desk and lay a hand on his chest, smoothing your palm down his lapel.  You swear his eyes somehow darken, narrowing in focus, his whole expression coloured differently than before. 

“What are you doing?” he asks. 

“I know you’re married, Professor,” you say, blinking oh-so innocently at him.  “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable… it’s just that I… I need…”

He lets you nudge him back onto the desk chair behind him.  He gazes up as you lean over him. 

“Baby,” he says, warningly, but does not move or push your hands away. 

“We’re all alone, Professor,” you say.  “The door is locked.  No one will ever find out.” 

“Ah. Is that right?” he asks, looking like he is on the verge of giggles.  He sighs instead, dropping his chin and shaking his head, playfully disappointed.  With another breath, he lifts his head, and your sweet husband dons a more predatory air.   

He does not even have to say anything, does not even have to touch you.  He just has to look at you with all that desire in his eyes, turning your insides molten.  Every dirty thought is plain in how he checks you out.

“I saw you looking at me in class today,” you say, breathless already.  “Did you think I looked pretty, Professor?”                                         

“I think,” he says, “I was impressed you were sitting there, actually listening for once.”

You open your mouth to retort, but he touches a shushing finger to your lips.  He shakes his head. 

“Nuh-uh,” he says.  “Tell me what you want before I throw you out of my office.”  He cups your jaw, his gaze so clearly centred on your lips. 

“Oh, please, don’t do that,” you say.  “I need you, Professor.  I mean, I need your help.”

“I think you’re beyond help, baby girl,” he says.  He momentarily breaks character to glance at the wall, then he looks at you with a quirked brow.  “We are at my work, maybe we should—”

“I know you,” you reply.  

Because you do.  You and your husband are no strangers to roleplay or kinky fun, your desires and boundaries and safewords known.  Your backside is still tender from a good spanking the night before, just enough to leave you squirming today.  You were pent-up before you even saw Professor Chan administering his lecture.  But now that you have, now that you are here, you cannot let it go.  And given the way he is looking at you, he feels the same way.

“You’ve been hard since I called you Professor in the lecture hall,” you say. 

“Since I saw you sitting in my classroom, actually,” he corrects.  “I could fill in the rest with my own imagination.  Just… looking at you…”  He takes another breath and looks you over.  His gaze is heady.  “God, you just get me going every time, you know that?” 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” you say with another smirk.  Then you pout, batting your eyelashes, as you sink to your knees in front of him.  “Please, Professor,” you say.  “I’m begging you.  I need a good grade or else.  I’ll do anything.” 

“Anything,” he says.  “That’s, ah… that’s a bold statement.  Are you sure about that?”

“Of course I am,” you say.  You clasp your hands.  “Anything at all.” 

“You know, a man who is not as nice me could do bad things to you, baby.   A pretty girl like you.  It’s like you want someone to take advantage of you, yeah?”  He cups your jaw and tilts your face up, looking at your mouth thoughtfully, smiling as he circles his thumb over your lips.  “They could be really mean to you,” he says.  “Make you do things you don’t like.  Maybe even hurt you, baby.”

“But you wouldn’t do those things,” you say with a watery sniffle.  “You’re a good professor. I can trust you.”

“Of course you can,” he says.  With his thumb, he tugs your bottom lip down.  It flips back up with a bounce.  “I’ll help you then, if you do what I say.”

“Oh yes, of course, Professor, anything,” you say. You start to stand when he puts a hand on your shoulder. 

“Naw, naw,” he says.  “You stay there for me.”

“On my knees?”  You blink up at him.  “What for?” 

“Tsk.  Baby.  You know what for.”  He pats your head like he would an especially dumb puppy.  “You’re just a pretty face,” he says, “but you’re not that stupid.  You know what you’re good for at least, don’t you?”   

He cups your chin.  Before you can reply, his thumb is forcing its way into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. You wrap your lips around it, staring up at him while sucking diligently. 

��That’s it,” he says, and slides free with a wet little pop.  “Good job.  See?”  He speaks with saccharine sweetness, completely condescending as he pats your cheek.  “You are good at something.”  He unbuttons your shirt with deft swiftness, your breasts already heaving in your low-cut bra when he pushes the material off your shoulders.  He laughs to himself as he says, “It’s just the only thing you’re good at is being a dumb slut, but that’s okay, yeah?” 

“I… I guess…”

“Shh, it’s okay.”  He covers you whole mouth with his hand, tugging you close while he undoes his belt with the other.  “You don’t need to talk,” he says.  “No one needs to hear what you think.  Open your mouth for me.   That’s a good girl.  Come on.  You can take it.” 

With a shuffle, he gets his pants open and partially down, enough to get himself out.  He is already rock hard as he guides you forward, sliding into your waiting mouth.  He grunts with deep, obvious pleasure. 

He lets you take over, sitting back while you suck his cock with expert knowledge of exactly what he likes, when to take him deep, when to lick and suck and swallow.  You stop for a breath and his cock smacks your cheek.  Then suddenly he is standing and taking you with him, wasting no time bending you over his desk. 

“Professor!” you say, pushing your ass out with your theatrically scandalized cry.  “Oh no, sir, I’ve never done this before, please, ahh—”   

He lifts your skirt and tugs your panties to the side, sliding his fingers through all the wet arousal there.  He slides two fingers into you easily, with no resistance at all.  He leans down and laughs against the nape of your neck.

“I find that hard to believe,” he says, fucking you steadily with his hand.  “I think I’m not the only professor you’ve done this for, am I, baby?” 

“Ohh,” is all you manage, out of character and genuinely moaning as he works you towards a quick orgasm.  “Channie, you’re gonna make me come,” you warn, wriggling. 

Your moans turn to pathetic little whimpers when he wraps a strong arm around you, locking you in place as he lines up behind you. 

“What’s that?” he asks, holding you tight.  It stops you from writhing while he pushes his wet dick inside you, inch by slow inch.  “I’m not Channie, am I?” he says.  “What do you call me?  Huh?  Dumb little girl.”  He swats your ass and you yelp, clenching around him.  “Try again,” he says. 

“Oh, Professor,” you say.  Then you cannot help but giggle, recalling his evasion when you teased him in the lecture hall.  The evidence of his desire says it all.  “That really does make you hard,” you laugh, breathlessly, “I can feel you pulsing inside me.”

You squeak when he pushes you down onto the desk, holding your hips as he thrusts into you with more vigour.  Then you are not saying anything, just moaning and riding out every quick snap of his hips.  You are not sure how he manages to find the softest, squishiest, more sensitive place inside you, every time, no matter the place or position, sending you hurtling towards to an orgasm at breakneck speed. 

“Oh, help, Professor, I’m gonna—”

“Me too, baby,” he says.  “All inside you.”

“Ohh, fuck—”  You come with a shuddering convulsion, twitching and clenching, your eyes closed as you pant into the wooden surface of his desk.  Your orgasm ends and he is still fucking you, drawing it out.  Your voice is guttural, low and breathy as you say, “Professor, be careful, we have no protection…”

He lifts you up, arches your back, and covers your mouth.

“I… told… you…”  He punctuates each sound with a hard thrust.  “To… be… quiet…” 

Then he drives into you and stays there, groaning into your neck as he comes and comes.   When his hand drops, you take in a gulp of air, shivering from the aftershocks of pleasure.  You are spilling out of your bra from all the jostling, your skirt in disarray.  You whimper when he pulls out of you, then again when he just covers you back up with your panties.  They are soaked in a second. 

“Maybe, uh,” he says with one of his funny, embarrassed, little giggles.  “Maybe we should stop by home and clean up before we go for dinner.” 

You giggle too, turning around to face him.  You fix your shirt while he tucks himself back into his pants.  He is already blushing and smiling that dimpled smile, looking all sweet and goofy as if he didn’t just fuck your brains out on his desk. 

“Good idea,” you say.  “That’s why you’re the professor.” 

He laughs.  Looking at you fondly, he cups your cheek and pulls you in for a long, tender kiss.    

[mainexiii]

jennie kim fic recs

you are responsible for the content you consume‼️

✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

「🩰」 proof by @jigujellee jennie kim x reader | fluff, 1.3k

-life is full of changes, but jennie is one of things that managed to stay the same.

「🩰」 holidate by @sevlgi jennie kim x fem!reader | angst, fluff, holiday relationship, coworker!au, fashion interns, too many clothing descriptions, insecure!y/n

-you don’t know what you expect when you’re asked kim jennie to date her for the holidays. you definitely don’t expect for her to fall in love with you, too-- or that you won’t want her to.

「🩰」 groupmate by @dolljenn jennie kim x reader | mature content

-your professor decided to pair you with jennie for a science project, but ended up scissoring.

「🩰」 smut blurb by @xonaoi jennie kim x reader | biggest lesbian jenni, chances of getting caught, idol au, scissoring ( we love that ), and oral

「🩰」 the beautiful dress by @naughtyblackpinksnaps dom!jennie kim x sub!female!reader | dominant idol submissive reader relationship, semi-public groping receiving, slight teasing receiving, slight ear play receiving, making out, public restroom sex, slight nipple and breastplay receiving, female oral sex giving and receiving, and tribbing.

「🩰」 lead the way by @jigujellee jennie kim x reader | slight smut, some fluff, 1.8k

-you were always taught not to talk to strangers, but if the stranger is hot, then why not?

「🩰」 jennie gf headcanons by @fourseasonscomeandgo jennie kim x fem!reader | mentions of bug killing, knifes, and harming people with it, cursing

「🩰」 little show by @ninigummysmile dom!jennie x lisa x sub!fem!reader | smut

-you and your girlfriend are having a very intimate moment when you are interrupted

「🩰」 isn't this love by @drymbp jennie kim x reader

-love is when y/n listens to each and every word that leaves jennie's lips.

「🩰」 tiktok series by @chaepu jennie kim x reader | fluff

-the one where you call her by her name

「🩰」 typa girl by @writemekpop jennie kim x reader | fwb jennie, suggestive, smutty

-you're the type of girl who runs away after a one night stand, but can jennie make you change your mind?

「🩰」 girl friends or girlfriends by @girlgroupwriting jennie kim x fem!reader | fluff, smut, 2.4k

-in friendships and relationships, if there is one thing you’ve learned, it’s that communication is key.

「🩰」 drunk (and clumsy) romeo by @fourseasonscomeandgo jennie kim x fem!reader | fluff, cursing, alcohol, 1.6k

-you have known jisoo since you were both around six years old as your mothers are friends. you two remained close all these years, even when she debuted and became the superstar she is today. you're proud of her.

「🩰」 the jealousy playlist: that one twice song about jelly by @fourseasonscomeandgo jennie x gn!reader | fluff, 1.2k

-when you first started dating jennie you felt a little out of place.

[mainexiii]

Fic Author Self Rec! When you get this reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, or some snippets from upcoming WIPS. Let’s spread the self-love! Love ya and thank you for all you do!! 💖

5 Favourite Fics? Ahhh.. only five? lol

Crack Fic - Zombies And Ice Cream - Tao from Exo and Reader verses a zombie apocalypse.

Smut Fic - Pink Swirls - Hyunjin from Stray Kids is a painter and Reader is his muse.

Fluff Fic - A Charming Nuisance - Jun from Seventeen and Reader find themselves alone on Singles Day and shenanigans ensue.

Yandere Fic - The Lift - Seo Moon Jo from Strangers From Hell (Mr. Lee Dong Wook himself). In a lift. With no escape. It's hot lol. It's either this one or my Hwanwoong from Oneus Macabre Game.

Au Fic - You Belong To Me Now - Jungkook from BTS as a demon that ends up taking Reader away to the demon realm after she accidently/not really accidently summons him. Or my Gong Yoo (The Salesman) Squid game fic Playing Dirty which took two days to write which is super rare when it involves smut haha.

Bonus - My Chishiya from Alice In Borderlands Checkmate fic - Not the biggest fan of Chishiya lol but I love the way this fic turned out and I think it might be up there as one of my best!

Also here is a snippet from the Mingyu x Reader x Wonwoo host club fic that I wrote today (so it's not edited yet and might change a little):

“Well hello, gorgeous.” Gorgeous? Holy fuck. Look who’s talking. Soft strands of midnight black hair tease at his face, as he towers over you in a gray pinstripe suit, pastel pink tie loose around his toned chest right under the third unclasped button. He’s all leg; but it's his catlike eyes that hint of untold intimacy and sly smile that captivates. You want to see more. “Ah, hello,” you say to Mr. Tall, dark and handsome, flashing your platinum card. His eyes flicker to the card then back to you. “I. It’s my first time coming here, so I don’t really know what I’m doing.” “A virgin?” he asks, his teeth peeking out as his smile turns into a wide grin. “They are gonna eat you up.”