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curious of you

pairing ot8 stray kids (seperate) x fem reader synopsis in which the dads successfully get seducedᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ⊹cw/ tw suggestive, borderline smut, alcohol, taboo situations, pet names, cheating, mentions of sexting, smut (hyunjin’s) food play with whipped cream, oral fixation, nipple play, mentions of fingering, talks about cunnilingus, lowkey smut (felix’s) foot job, kinda public sex, mentions of a vibrator, smut (jeongin’s) blow job, spit kink wc 10k +

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mocha note it’s been two days and i’m already on a part three of these helwsjk, can you tell that I love seungmin LMFAO, also the edit i’m referring to for jeongin’s is linked here

୨୧ bang chan

Chan was confused

He couldn’t wrap his head the idea of Y/n genuinely, a young woman in her twenties being interested in him, a man with two kids and hair that was more than likely soon to be fully gray before the decade ended, and like he always did when his overthinking got the best of him, he pulled away, abrupt and hard

Y/n really couldn’t understand why he pulled away, she thought it was clear that she really did like him, pepper hair, two kids and all, but she understood, she wasn’t the older one in the situation, she would feel the same way if the roles were reversed so she did the only thing she could do, wait

Unlike the boys in my age group, I found myself getting to know Chan for a person, and not for what was in his pants, he believed in making genuine connections with a person before even crossing the line of sexual. I soft sigh bubbled past my lips at how intimate he was, he never did anything ultimately sexual in nature, but his firm hands gripping onto my arm to prevent me from falling, or the way he held my hand while simply staring into my eyes

Chan was a man of many love languages, one being physical touch, in our private studying times in his office, his hands was always somewhere on my body, it didn’t matter, they could be kneading my thigh, or intertwined with mine, while reading the textbook to me so that I would understand it better

Not to mention the phone calls we used to have before he did a complete 180, no good morning texts, no texts making fun of my assignments, and no contact in real life either, when I came in early for my Friday lecture, he simply ignored me and threw himself into making assignments for the next month instead

I rolled my eyes at the thoughts of him flooding my mind even though I promised myself that I would give him space, if he was confused about how he wanted to handle things with me, I wasn’t going to interfere, the phone works two ways and when he was ready to act like the man he was, I would be there to console him

“Fuck this”

I immediately walked into my closet, deciding to head to a bar since I had no classes tomorrow, and a bit of soju never hurt when I found myself overthinking. My once clean roomed turned into a jungle of clothes and shoes strewn wildly against any crevice possible, I had an outfit in mind, and I couldn’t find the perfect bra to pair it with

Fifteen minutes of searching, I later found it in my dirty clothes hamper, making me scream at how unlucky my life was at the moment, but the good thing about me was that I always had a back up, and my back up came in the form of a strapless black tube dress and a pair of chanel heels my mother gotten me for my twenty first birthday a couple years back

I stepped out into the living room of the apartment I shared with my younger brother, my purse and flats in hands “I’m going out Jakey, don’t stay up too late for me” My younger brother scoffed and asked why would he wait up for me, he didn’t care that much, I giggled and raised my middle finger in retaliation and before he could say anything else, I was already out of the front door and walking to my car nearly parked in our drive way

“Have fun tonight Y/n, don’t let him ruin this for you” I didn’t know why I was reminding myself, deep down I knew that he ruined any man who wasn’t him for me, I knew that I would quickly find the bar boring, heading home before I could even explore my options, he was that important to me

Thoughts of Chan began to dwindle as I finally arrived at the bar, heels clicking against the asphalt while my body swayed, cat walking into the ever lively bar, the moment I stepped in, I knew I caught the attention of some people, but they weren’t interesting, they weren’t him

Loud music reverberated against my ears, while the red and blue lights flashed violently in tandem, I made my way towards the bartender who recognized me and immediately got started on making me a whiskey sour, it wasn’t like I enjoyed whiskey, but it wasn’t a soju type of night, and I wanted to feel tipsy

“Here you go madam, should I put that on your tab?” I shook my head, and pulled out the three hundred won the glass costed and thanked him, taking a seat on one of the chairs facing him. It hasn’t even been a minute, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a guy, who looked to be about my age, approaching me

I let my eyes drift forward, trying to ignore the soon to be awkward encounter, but he took that as me being shy, and asked to buy me another drink “No thanks, I still have this one” I smiled sweetly thinking that it would be enough to get him to back off, but instead he shocked me by taking my glass and finishing it for me

“What drink, how about you let me buy you another one baby” My eyes deadpanned and I rolled my eyes “How old even are you” The male puffed up his chest and immediately replied with ‘21’ which made me ick faster than him snatching my drink did “And you cutie? How old are you”

“She’s too old for you”

Chan needed to de-stress, taking on grading multiple assignments so he wasn’t stuck daydreaming about a girl he was supposed to mentor taxed on his body a lot harder than it should’ve, so he found himself calling his ex wife asking if she could retrieve their sons just for the night and he would pick them up in the morning, being the nosy woman she was, she inquired about his reasons, to which he laughed and told her that he would see her in a few

After dropping off his sons at their mothers and having his ex wife interrogate him in person, he silently drove his car to his destination. Chan felt stuck, he couldn’t turn on his radio because every song reminded him of the woman he was currently avoiding, her beauty was was unmatched, he often found himself getting lost in her features more than not, her voice was a symphony, a symphony that warmed his heart and melted his walls

But that didn’t stop him from being scared, he’s been married once, and engaged three times, he’s sworn off on relationships, and now a college student has him rethinking his decisions. “I'm fucking screwed” images of Y/n smiling into his chest raided his mind and he arrived at the bar faster than he expected, having blanked most of the drive out because his mind was busy

Chan didn’t know what he was expecting when he had walked in, but he sure didn’t expect to see you, getting flirted with by a boy who he was sure was only trying to get into your pants, and before he knew it, he was on his way to make his presence known

My heart thumped wildly at the familiarity of the voice beside me and noticed Chan, of all people staring down the poor boy who walked off, claiming that I was too ugly for him anyway “Well hello to you too Chris” The older man didn’t say anything, but his eyes told me everything I needed to know, my hand left my lap and began to travel onto his thigh while maintaining eye contact “I missed you… a lot”

I didn’t mean to immediately be clingy, but with the way his eyes dilated, I knew it was well received “Y/n, let’s go” I arched my brow but allowed him to lead me out of the bar, all the way to his car. Chan opened the passenger door for me and as if he could read my mind, he told me he would drive me back later to retrieve my car when it was less busy, and we were less likely to be recognized

Only then did I remember that this wasn’t a random dude I met and fell for, this was my Chemistry teacher and a lot of things rode on us not being together, being in a relationship, he could lose his job, and I could lose the degree that I spent the last four years grinding for, but as his hand traveled dangerously from my thigh inwards, the repercussions started to seem worth it

Anything was worth it if it was for Christoper Bang’s heart, and as we messily made out in his car, parked in his driveway, I began thinking about what it would be like to stake my claim on him “I’m so fucking sorry Y/n, thank you for coming back to me, I just needed time to figure things out…” He trailed off but his eyes never left mine, and I smiled, cradling his face in my hands “My poor baby, I’ll always wait for you” He cursed under his breath and hastily opened his car door, just to appear next to the passenger side, opening my door and leading me inside his house

“I don’t deserve you” He was mumbling now, but the moment the door closed, he pinned me up against it, nipping against my skin, leaving a trail of heat in his movements “Baby, we deserve each other, we just met in an interesting predicament” He pulled away to chuckle against the skin of my neck before starting his ministrations again “We’re about to get in an even bigger one baby” Before I could question him, he took hold on my body and threw me over his shoulders as if I weighed nothing, proving that his muscles weren’t just for show

“And ‘m gonna show you how much I appreciate you”

୨୧ minho

I found myself stuck between a rock and a hard place, the rock being my morals, and a hard place being my little’s father. Minho obviously didn’t make it easier on me, despite never reaching the step of penetration, we indulged in many activities that should’ve made me feel guilty, but instead it made me feel ensnared by the trap of Lee Minho’s body

Of course he was fit, he worked out every morning at five o’clock, and he ate meals fit for kings, it also didn’t help that he aged like fine wine, one drunken night and a couple of sloppy kisses later and he was pulling out a photo album, complete with baby photos of his two daughters and himself, and he definitely had multiple glow ups despite never needing them

Young dad Minho had nothing on the Minho right now and I could only hope to age like him if I ever was ever given the chance to have children and a husband and Minho knew he looked good, having said so an eye- rolling amount of times. Lately I found myself sleeping in one of the Lee’s households guest rooms even after the kitchen was repaired, Minho said it was because he had a feeling it wasn’t fixed up to standard, but I knew that it was because he liked having me around

Tonight was no different, Minhee was bar hopping with a couple friends who I deemed responsible enough to hang out with, so I didn’t feel the need to go, and while she was out, doing young adult activities, her 10 year old sister Minju had decided to sleep over her moms since as apart of the divorce proceedings, Minho had her every weekday, and his ex wife, her mother had her for every other weekend, this weekend being one of them

So it was just Minho and I in the house together and the thought of that sent a chill up my spine, I checked my phone and saw that it was only 8 pm so Minho was either taking his shower since he took walks every day after dinner and since he ate while out at work, he had to wait until he got home to do so or taking his nap. I told him multiple times that he was getting old, having needed atleast one nap just to function through out the day

I hummed softly as my hands moved in a rhythm that was comfortable to Soonie since he was laying in my bed, purring softly as my fingers rubbed against his ears “Do you think that your daddy is asleep or in the shower” Of course the room went silent after I asked a literal cat about his opinion, but that didn’t stop me from taking his silence as an answer

“Me too Soonie, me too” The tabby cat immediately began stretching and then moved away, having gotten tired of the petting and wanted to be left alone “You’re just like your father Soonie” If the cat could understand me, he didn’t make it known, because like always he sat unbothered and simply ignored me

“Well since i’m hungry, ‘m gonna go fix me some food” I smacked my head against my forehead and groaned, it seemed that the longer I stayed at Minho’s house, the more I began talking to myself “I am literally going insane” I shrugged and then remembered that I was still in my clothes from earlier and should change into my pajamas

A devious grin etched onto my face as I raided the drawers of the guest rooms dresser for the pajama set I packed on a whim, it was sheer and a beautiful pastel mint, it was a tank top that appeared more like a bra than an actual tank top, but the shorts took the cake, literally, they were ruffled and cupped my ass nicely, letting the underside of my rear peak through just enough to invoke indecent thoughts from the father of two

I stepped out of my room, clad in the pajamas and a pair of rubber gripped fluffy socks since his house was majority hardwood and I refused to slip and fall in front of Minho, instead of helping, he would more than likely stand there and call me an idiot, making me feel even more embarrassed

My sock covered feet muffled the steps I took from my room, all the way into his kitchen, It was only 8:17 and I haven’t eaten all day, so fixing the leftover gamjaguk, that Minho had made for dinner yesterday seemed like the best option “Where the fuck did they put the ladle” I searched every drawer and noticed that the ladle I was looking for seemed to disappear from the kitchen, I frowned and dipped down to check one of the small cabinets closer to the floor

thwack

A loud squeal erupted from me causing me to jump due to the pain arising from the left side of my behind, a loud snicker from the culprit made me roll my eyes, and as I turned around, I was met by the grinning face of Minho “What the hell was that for” he chuckled and shrugged without moving his eyes away from me “Why not it was right there” I rolled my eyes and massaged the area where his palm connected and whined

“But it hurt” Minho cooed and placed his hand on the exact area where it hurt “I can make it feel better for you b-” He was cut off by the front door opening and immediately backed away, while I began searching for the ladle once again, not even thirty seconds later, Minhee walked into the kitchen and headed straight for the refrigerator, grabbing a water bottle, then giving her father a kiss on the cheek, having greeted her dad, she made her way to me and engulfed me in a large hug, and while I usually enjoyed her bear hugs, I felt nothing but deep guilt, even moreso since I was staring into the intense eyes of Minho, her father, right behind her back figuratively and literally.

She pulled away and immediately went to the fridge, and there was the ladle, literally sitting on a shelf in the fridge for no fucking reason “you have to be kidding me” Minhee and her father both looked at me, silently questioning me, to which I briefly the fiasco where I was searching for the ladle so I could enjoy leftovers only to come up empty handed “Oh my bad, I left it in there because I didn’t want to misplace it” I stared at Minhee and placed my thumb across my neck, slowly drawing it across in a threatening manner making the girl raise her hand in mock surrender and running to her room

I cursed mentally at how awkward the atmosphere had become, less than a couple of minutes ago, it was hot and heavy, I was literally about to get intimate with my friend’s father. Our eyes met and shared a secret that only we could understand, whatever we were doing it was wrong, his long slender legs slowly moved until they our thighs were plush together, his hands that rested themselves on my waist, more than likely knew my body better than my ex

“This is wrong” Minho nodded, his eyes never leaving mine “It is” I moved my hands to place the palms of them on his chest “We should stop” His hands began to travel south towards my ass and he nodded again “We should” For a few seconds we held eye contact that only got hotter the longer we stared, my hairs curled themselves in his hair and leaned in “This isn’t right Minho” he then leaned in, his breath tickling my ear “But it feels right”

And I was putty in his hands, gamjaguk forgotten as I undressed her father in the middle of the kitchen, while she was less than a few feet in her room, literally able to walk in at any moment “Be a good girl and keep it down” He kissed my jaw and sucked lightly drawing a harsh breath from me and then pulled away chuckling “Then again it’s me, not many people can keep quiet with me around”

I rolled my eyes and traced my finger against his god chiseled jaw “Well that’s big shoes to fill Mr. Lee, are you all talk or are you actually going to be able to back up your statements” The male smiled, tongue coming out to lick his lips while his hands worked on pulling the straps of my tank top down- drawing a sharp breath having felt the warmness of my collarbones with the tip of his fingers

“Keep being a good girl and you’ll be able to find out”

୨୧ changbin

It wasn’t hard to predict what was going on through Changbin's head, he always seemed present, but never present in the moment. Over the span of two whirlwind months, we've always been together, only separating when we have to work, or he has to go to the gym and it was to the point that Eunha had some of her things at my house since she was frequently over

Today Changbin decided to take Eunha and I out to the movies so that she could see inside out two, after the movie, he would have to drop Eunha off at her mothers house because his ex wide requested to have their daughter for a week, with a heavy heart he agreed and understood that whatever happened between the two of them had nothing to do with Eunha, and she deserved both parents in her life

While he agreed, that didn't mean that I couldn't pick upon how he really felt, so while Eunha was napping before we left out for the movies, I began massaging his shoulders "It’ll be okay Binnie, Eunha is still here, let’s just make sure you two have the best time before her send off” Even though my hands worked deftly to knead his shoulder “She only takes Eunha whenever it benefits her, I don’t know what she’s planning but I don’t want my daughter hurt” I nodded and trailed my hands up towards his hair, massaging the roots

“And since she has a wonderful father like you she, I know you won’t have to worry about that, besides she has no filter, so she’s definitely going to tell you every small detail that happens” I stopped and dipped my torso down, looking at him upside down and giggled “Let’s enjoy Eunha while she’s still here, she hasn’t left yet hon” I kissed his forehead and held his face in place since he had a tendency to look away

“Plus Eunha said she didn’t like her mom all that much, so you’ll probably have your princess back before the week ends” I placed a feathered kiss onto his nose and stood upright again, after a few more minutes of talking and coaxing him to relax, he was finally smiling again

“You’re so good to me Y/n what would I do without you” I shrugged and chuckled “Suffer, but it’s okay, I think we’re a good pair” I pat his shoulders and sat down on the couch beside him, laying on his shoulder enjoying the atmosphere between us

Ever since Eunha started asking me to come over a lot more, I always somehow found myself wrapped in her fathers embrace, and much to much dismay it never went farther, probably because Changbin didn’t really know how to go about flirting, and he didn’t want to make it weird, but I would let him put me in a headlock if he wanted

“You’re so cute like this Binnie” I placed my hand on his thigh and trekked it closer and closer until his breath hitched “You’re not slick Y/n” I lifted my head from his shoulder and put on the most innocent face that I could muster “But i’m not doing anything, absolutely nothing Binnie” My fingers trailed higher and were now playing with the strings to the waistband of his sweats, I toyed with them debating if I should untie them but before I could even decide what to do, he immediately straightened and pushed my hands away

“Hey wha-” His eyes were telling me to look behind me and only then did I remember that Eunha was still here and she called our names, signaling to us that she was awake and was in need of our attention, a knowing look painted his face and he stood up, awkwardly fixing his pants and opening his arms, waiting for his princess to jump into his arms

Eunha ran, but before she could reach he father’s open arms, she jumped onto the couch and straight into my lap, causing a grunted noise to wind through my chest “Hey baby, how was your nap” Changbin sulked about being denied by his own daughter, but she could care less “It was good, can we go to the movie now” I held her for a moment and asked her father should I began getting her ready and he shrugged, saying that he was going to get dressed and I should head over to mine so that I could as well

It was finally time for the movie, and we walked in, hands linked and Eunha on my hip, making people stare in admiration and or envy, my heart swelled at the idea of people thinking that I was a mother, or better yet, Changbin’s wife and I found that I liked the sound of that better than being his neighbor who hung out with his daughter occasionally

I wanted to be in their daily lives, and I wanted to be an important role in their lives like they would be mine. It was finally time to say goodbye to Eunha for a week and being honest, it hurt me too, my schedule began filling up with the beautiful girl. Tears welled up in my eyes and I couldn’t help but sniffle, the little girl even cried in my arms while her mother angrily watched on

“Are you okay Binnie?” It was silent on the way home to the apartments but I knew that he was focused on not being upset due to not being able to physically see his daughter for an entire week “I’m fine i’ll just miss my baby girl” His hand slipped down onto my thigh as the car slowed because the light turning red “Yeah?” He turned his head and held eye contact “Yeah” His hand inched dangerously closer, hesitating to go completely “M’kay” I took his hand and trailed it up myself

“My poor baby’s so needy that she’s tryna fuck herself against my fingers, while i’m driving? tch” I smiled and giggled, not hiding the fact that he was correct “Well get me home fast enough and I wouldn’t be this needy honey” He chuckled, driving one handedly since his less dominant hand was occupied, I wasn’t one for assuming things, but with the way he stepped on the gas, attempting to stay on the legal limit made me think that he was actually excited about fucking me, but it wasn’t me if I didn’t tease him through it

My fingers busied themselves with unzipping his pants palming him, and at every red light, I applied a bit of pressure “You’re hard baby, but i’m the needy one apparently” He ignored me, but with the way his jaw began tensing, I knew that I was in for it, not that I would want it any other way

୨୧ hyunjin

It was tense in the Hwang household, Somi was never home, making Hyunjin disappointed in his children’s mother, but that wasn’t the sole reason for the change in the house. Ever since his drunken confession that lead to the start of our cyber affair, he’s been trying hard not to step out of his marriage in front of his kids, outside we were nanny, and a tired father who had a mutual understanding of the lovely three kids

That still didn’t stop Hyunjin from initiating acts that showed me that whatever we talked about over text, was serious, I know I should’ve felt guilt having sent a video of me pleasuring myself to a married man with two kids and a baby that wasn’t even one yet, and I would’ve, had he not sent back a video of his release, moaning my name with it as his milky white orgasm coated his stomach and thighs

Careful touches that held their own conversations was now the norm between me and Hyunjin, touches as simple as our fingers accidentally touching after Hyori wanted to be passed between us sent signals through the both of us, it was wrong, but it was everything I wanted. We also started doing things for each other that would only make sense to us, I would walk around the house in his favorite colors, and he would do the same for me, even though my favorite was his least favorite, I also had a bath ready for him the moment he came home, no words had to be exchanged, we were on the same wavelength, even if that wavelength was a marriage ruining affair

“Something smells delicious” I looked up and gave the sweetest fake smile I could muster, Somi was finally home, and it was because Hyunjin’s mother requested her two grandsons for the weekend, Hyori would have went too had she not have started a new phase in which she began only wanting to be near me or her father when he came home from his job as a celebrity interior designer and a model

“Well I’m baking a cake, the boys asked for some and since I didn’t have time to while they were here so, i’m surprising them with one when they get back” I was making a chocolate cake, but the Hwang boys were vocal in their disdain for regular frosting, so I was in the middle of hand whipping chocolate whipped icing for the boys enjoyment

Somi’s face scrunched as she scoffed “Could you not have brought a cake? Why take on more work than you have to?” I shrugged, of course she wouldn’t get what it was like to see someone who you loved get excited over something you did for them, and since my love language was acts of service, I didn’t mind doing it, in fact I preferred it, but again, she wouldn’t understand anything that wasn’t her husbands pay check

“The boys don’t like store brought cake, and besides homemade is healthier” Somi began speaking about how she knew what was her sons liked since she was the one to give birth to them, so I bit my tongue, I was not about to start and argument with the woman who was married to the man I was a mistress to, that would make me a stereotypical mistress

“Well i’ll let you finish your unnecessary cake, I think you forgot that little boys eat anything and everything and they would most definitely not care if a cake was homemade, or if it was store brought, cake is cake” I rolled my eyes and physically bit my tongue, it didn’t matter if she was they boy’s biological mother or not, she put no effort into learning her children

“Well, i’m out, I just had to tell Hyunjin that I wouldn’t be back until next week, i’m going to Japan with one of my fellow mommy friends” I smiled and wished her farewell and being honest I wouldn’t care if she didn’t come back until next lifetime “Have fun and be safe, safe travels” She thanked me and the house fell silent for a little bit until the tell tale sign of Hyori crying rang throughout the house

Usually I would’ve rushed to her, but it was nearing her bed time and Hyunjin requested that whenever he was home that he’d be the one to put her to sleep, and who was I to deny a man who actually enjoyed spending his time with his daughter

The cake was almost finished, but I felt that it needed a touch of regular whipped cream, so I trekked over to the large stainless steel fridge, everytime I seen it, I was reminded at how rich Hyunjin was, he had enough money to spend on a refrigerator with a built in tablet that connected to his and my phone. I giggled and shook my head as a reminder that I needed to grab whipped cream not to fawn over a refrigerator

I grabbed my spatula, grabbing one last scoop of the chocolate cream “Whatcha’ making” I forgot that I was in fact not alone in the house and having not heard him walk into the kitchen, I squealed and dropped a little bit of the chocolate icing on my chest, thankfully not on my white tank top

Hyunjin’s eyes turned to slits as he stepped closer to me, eliminating any of the space that was previously between us “I was making a chocolate cake for the boys, but you scared me” I pretended to be upset and immediately broke my demeanor, giggling while trying not to stare directly into his eyes, but he had another idea entirely

His middle and index finger moved from their place hanging idle by hips and scooped up the fallen cream from my chest, my eyes widened while his locked onto my face, sticking the two fingers and sucking on them, moaning while his tongue swirled around the digits, my panties were damp at this point, his eyes never leaving my body

“Your cream is delicious baby, have you tried it?” My eyes widened at the innuendo, and I shook my head while my bottom lip slipped between my teeth, keeping me from spewing some desperate nonsense “Try it” His fingers swiped into the bowl directly at this point, his other hand cupped my jaw, gently prying it open so he could stick his long slender fingers between my lips

I opened my mouth for him and eagerly sucked on the digits, moaning at the way he pressed them against my tongue, I popped off for a brief moment onto to take the chocolate cream covered digits, my eyes never left his, not even when I finished with an audible pop “It really is good” Hyunjin chuckled and licked his lips, his eyes telling me that he wasn’t done

“You still have some on your chest baby” Hyunjin was quick, immediately dipping down and letting his mouth suckle at the area, whines of pleasure couldn’t help but ooze out of my body while his tongue lapped at the area like a starved man, his hands holding a death grip onto my hips, most definitely leaving bruises to match the hickies forming on my chest

“Let’s not let this go to waste no?” Before I could even question him, he picked my body up with ease placing it back down onto the counter, with efficiency, he took my tank top off, leaving me in nothing but my panties and shorts against his kitchen’s island countertop

He groaned while smearing the chocolate cream all the way from my collarbone down to the waistband of my sleep shorts. In seconds I was turned into a moaning mess when he latched his mouth onto my left breast, teasing the nipple with his teeth, while his other hand busied itself groping my right breast

“Stop teasing Hwang” instead of verbally replying he bit down on my nipple, causing me squeal out in shock and a teensy bit of pain “Oh baby don’t tell me what to do, that’s my job for you princess, got it?” With haste, I immediately shook my head in confirmation making the man stand up and chuckle making me tilt my head in confusion

He kept his eyes on mine while removing his wedding ring, which sent even more waves of pleasure to my cunt that was already sopping, begging for any kind of friction

“Oh baby, i’m not going to stick my fingers in you with another woman’s ring on”

୨୧ jisung

Jisung and I gotten really close over the span of a couple weeks, most of our conversations being over facetime since we were both too busy to meet up, him with producing, making music, and being a father, and me doing the same things except switch the parenting part with dancing

I was currently on facetime with the male because not only was I struggling on my concept for the next comeback I would have, but my fans loved the sexual nature of Sticky, making my company force me into writing a song of the same nature

"I don't know Jisung, I don't like how the chorus sounds and it's about to make me tweak out" A deep but very chuckle sounded from my speakers while Jisung tried his best to convince me not to do anything that would get me caught up in a scandal

“I’m not good at writing sex songs, I literally haven’t had sex in lord knows how long” I didn’t realize that I was just blabbing now, but Jisung went silent and then began making fun of me for my lack of sex to which I cursed him out

“Not all of us can be the J.One, we all can’t be sexy like you Jisung” I rolled my eyes making sure that my phone was propped up where it could see my notepad and crumbled papers of failure surrounding my work space “You’re right, not all of us can be me, but if you play your cards right, you can get a piece of me” He winked and I scoffed folding my arms over my chest

“Oh please, I didn’t forget about you texting me about how proud you are about being a munch Jisung” The male shrugged and then told me he wasn’t denying the truth “If you’re such a munch then why are most of your songs about receiving and not giving baby boy, plus when I sent you my location the other day, you didn’t eat me out, we literally made out and that was it” The males face turned red and he screamed about me being wrong

“Okay so first things first I literally had a plan on how I was gonna fuck you Y/n how was I supposed to know that my baby mama was gonna call me, besides just because I like giving head doesn’t mean that I give head to every girl I fuck, not everyone has been worthy of my talent” I scoffed and shook my head at the male who was now in his kitchen, cooking stir fried rice with his shirt off, showing off the planes of well sculpted abs “Oh so i’m worthy of your talent”

The other side of the phone went silent but I could hear the sizzling of spam in his pan “Of course, just wait till we’re less busy babe, i’ll make you feel so good that you can’t help but have enough material to write sex songs” I didn’t respond and I also wouldn’t admit to him that talking about him giving me head was actually motivating me, just not in the way I needed it right now

“And how would you eat me out Mr. J munch One” He chuckled and added an egg into the pan, immediately popping the yolk and spreading it around with his chop sticks “Well for starters, i’m kissing you, your thighs, your stomach, and your hips, i’ll bite down every now and then making sure that your skin is blossoming with my marks”

My eyes widened but he didn’t even look up from the stove and continued “Then, i’m finger fucking fucking you until I find your g spot, then i’ll make sure anytime that I finger you, i’d abuse that spot until you cum all over my fingers” He looked up at the camera and then back at his food “Then after you cum like the good girl that I know you are, i’m gonna put my fingers in you again, this time adding my tongue, i’ll make sure to lick up every drop of your essence baby”

“After sucking your cunt clean, i’m tongue fucking the shit out of you until you squirt all over my face, and I won’t stop until I have you squirting baby, If i’m not covered in you by time we’re done, then I failed” He wasn’t done speaking but I couldn’t just stay quiet, especially now that he was turning me on “Yeah? and how would you have me after that”

Jisung smirked, knowing that his words were getting to me “I’d make you sit on my face next, if my girl is squirting, it better be while i’m underneath her” My eyes widened and he smirked “My face is your chair babe, put all your weight on my face I can handle it, if i’m able to breath you’re not doing it right”

“What if i’m too heavy for you Jisung then what” The male stared at me as if I offended him and I almost felt like apologizing “I work out for a reason, i’m literally made to pleasure you baby, not to mention the fact I could bust your pretty little pussy open on my cock”

I gasped and immediately asked him how would he have me given the opportunity and he chuckled saying that he’d fuck me in missionary, not because he was boring since he was quite the opposite, but he wanted to leave hickies on my breast and see how good his cock made me feel

“I’d fuck you so good that I could literally fuck a baby in you” I rolled my eyes and jokingly told him that I doubt that anyone could make me want a baby by them and he shrugged “You see i’m a dad already, that’s literally the one thing I can prove” I shrugged and laughed “No, all that tells me is that you have a weak pull out game”

The male rolled his eyes and grabbed his phone, and put it down after a few seconds, and after a couple more, I realized he texted me his address and he remained nonchalant while shrugging “Seeing that you’re struggling with material and i’m struggling with a boner, you should come over”

“You wish” He smiled and said that he in fact did, and I rolled my eyes, grabbing my keys and locking down the studio, “Keep your word Han Jisung”

“Oh baby i’d do more than keep my words”

୨୧ felix

| 9:28 pm from Felix (flora)

Hey are you on your way? Bitna is asking if you forgot, don’t worry if you’re busy we can reschedule! I don’t want to impose on your time

I smiled at the notification from Felix, but immediately dropped it once I realize the text was a way for his wife to nag him about my presence. About two weeks ago, Felix informed me of his wife wanting to meet the woman who her daughter has been around lately because it was and I quote “A mothers duty to know the people she’s friends with” and had it not been for Felix’s eyes silently begging me to accept the dinner offer, I would’ve declined

I hated Bitna. I never met the woman but if she could leave her child in the rain because she was mad at her husband, multiple times, then it said a lot about her and I wouldn’t ever associate with someone of her caliber, but since she was married to the sweetest man on earth and the mother to the sweetest child i’ve ever met, I would mind putting up with her. She told Felix th

I knew this was a way for her to insert herself into a place where she had no business in, because based off how Flora described her and how apologetic Felix was after being her lapdog, I knew she was nothing less than a narcissistic bitch- not that I would ever voice that, yes I wanted her husband, but I wasn’t going to spew hateful things to him about the mother to his daughter, I wasn’t evil

I didn’t reply to the message since I was already at the door of the restaurant, asking the server to direct me towards a table reserved under “Felix Lee” With a few steps, we were already there, and I thanked the man who looked closer to my man than not for leading me to them

“You’re late” Before Felix could even greet me, his wife spoke and I already could tell that she wasn’t fond of me, if her scowl and crossed arms were anything to go by of course. Felix’s face turned red and he began to apologize causing me to shake my head, never letting my eyes wander from his witch of a wife “It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize, I wasn’t offended Felix” I sat down in the chair directly across from Felix since Bitna placed her feet in the chair in front of her

The joke was on her I wanted to sit in front of Felix any fucking way

“Well, how’s working at a cafe, how does that even pay the bills if you don’t mind me asking” I stared at the woman, fighting the urge to roll my eyes, picking up the menu instead “Well I wouldn’t know, I own the cafe I don’t work there” Without looking up from the menu I could tell that her face was even more scrunched up, showing her true personality right off the bat

“Oh well, luckily for me, I married a man who started his own makeup line from the ground up, if you’re ever lucky enough to get a man, get a man who can support you as a stay at home mom” Felix’s face was awkward and Bitna’s eyes were staring at him weirdly making me scoff

“Well not all of us want to be stay at home mothers, I have a business degree for a reason, I enjoy the cafe” Bitna rolled her eyes and waved her hand in physical dismissal of me “You’re saying that because you don’t have a kid yet, but when you do you’ll want to listen to my advice”

Sensing that the tension was only going to build until Bitna tipped me over the edge, Felix stepped in by clearing his throat and smiling at me with warm eyes “Thank you for coming out tonight Y/n, Flora’s a bit upset that we’re having this meeting without her to be honest” I chuckled and shook my head before answering

“We’ll be prepared to grovel-” “Which is stupid, when she does that shit, I tell her i’ll take her out of ballet and then she chills out, the fuck are you groveling to a little five year old girl for” My eyebrows furrowed and Felix awkwardly cleared his throat “Let’s just order, I know the owner, the food is to die for”

Bitna started to say something but she was cut off as a waitress came out our table, requesting to know what we wanted, and because she couldn’t live with not being the first for once in her life, Bitna gave her order

Having enough of Bitna’s attitude, I began slipping my foot out of confinement inside of my heel, I mentally thanked the lucky stars for being at a restaurant where the table covers covered the table, no one would be able to see nor know what I was doing, except for Felix. My foot began gently caressing his leg, causing him to look up at me with wide eyes in shock, but a quiet sign of encouragement as well

“Well i’ll have the chicken parmesan and your finest wine please” I finished ordering, ignoring Bitna’s tiny comment on my plate, causing another devious idea to cross my mind, I stopped my ministrations and trailed my foot until it was directly on his bulge, he pinched one of my toes as a warning, but I ignored that and pretended to be interested in the wall decor

“And for you sir?” The moment Felix began speaking, I applied pressure onto his cock, feeling it harden the moment he took a deep breath, accidentally raising his voice an octave higher “I’m sorry, i’ll have what she’s having” I smiled and began to let my other foot loose, I wasn’t satisfied with how easy he deflected me

“Good choice Felix” He chuckled, eyes still warning about what I was doing, to which I ignored again, this time pushing both feet down “You keep calling him us by our first names… do you not care to call us by the respectful terms? I do believe we are older than you” My eyes left his and I immediately began my fondling again, not paying attention to how he was squirming

“Well there’s not a big age gap between us and neither one of you are my bosses nor grandparents, so let me ask you this, do you call your friend’s wives by their surnames?” She went quiet and I happily accepted my silent victory “Hold on babe, i’m gonna ask the waiter about the hold up on our food” Had I not been rubbing her husband under the table I would’ve reminded her that it has only been five minutes and the moment she got up Felix scowled

“What if she saw us then what Y/n” I remained cool, knowing that he was trying to make me slow down on my little game but I shrugged “You could always pull your pants down and let me rub the actual thing for you babe” Felix’s eyes widened and he looked around, then finally down to where the tablecloth did in fact cover his groin “Fine” In a split second, he adjusted his dress pants and boxers, allowing for his cock to spring free

To everyone else, he simply adjusted himself but we both knew the truth. “Good boy” Felix rolled his eyes and punched my toe again “Oh no, i’m letting you do this so I can have a reason to fuck the shit out of you darling, don’t take my placidness for weakness” He moved my feet to where he wanted me and I looked at Bitna, who was on her way back, having realized what we already found out

I ignored her whining and immediately began using my feet to jerk him off, keeping a rhythm where I sped up occasionally only slowing down when his thighs began shaking “What’s wrong honey you don’t look so well” I immediately looked at the duo and asked were they okay to which Felix nodded “I’m just hungry”

A couple moments later, our waitress came back and gave us our plates, but I couldn’t focus on my food knowing that the man in front of me was about to cum, I felt droplets fall onto my feet and had I not looked at him, I would’ve thought he came, rather than it being his precum. The moment he began eating, I sped up, helping his chase his orgasm until he moaned, shoking both Bitna and me

“The food is just too good I can’t” Cum was covering my toes and my foot, but I couldn’t care less, Felix stared at me, motioning for me to check my phone to which I did with a poorly hidden smirk

| 10:45 pm from Felix (flora)

Just wait Y/n. I’m gonna breed your pussy until you’re begging for me to stop, and then when I feel like you learned enough of a lesson, you’re gonna walk around with my cum inside you until I fuck more into you

୨୧ seungmin

It was the summer so to no one’s surprise, many of the neighbors were throwing barbecues, this time it was a neighborhood cookout where we would all meet up at the Choi’s house, I sat in my room in front of my vanity debating on dressing up because Seungmin texted me earlier today to ask if he should bring food or deserts

I sighed at the dilemma I selfishly placed myself into, I was engaged for fucksake, but I was getting ready to look good for another man entirely, said man being a (not happily) married father of two kids both under the age of five. I rolled my eyes, pushing the thoughts of morals to the back of my mind, besides if wasn’t like Seungmin was completely innocent either

The other day, he knocked on my door at five in the morning, and having been woken up by my fiancé who made me check it, I forgot I was clad in a bra set with matching panties that were barely covered by the matching robe, only then did I remember what I was wearing when Seungmin failed to meet my eyes, holding eye contact with my breast that were spilling out of their confinements due to the fact I breast fed

“How may I help you Seungmin” I smiled sweetly making sure that anyone who might’ve driven by weren’t flashed by the sight of me in my robe talking to another’s woman husband so early in the morning “Oh I um- fuck, I was making breakfast for Minseok before I left for work and I realized I had no eggs, and I came to see if you had any to spare?”

Since I was the one who did the grocery shopping, I mentally had a checklist of everything I had in my refrigerator and since I would be going shopping later on today, I decided to let him have the five eggs I had left “Of course, let me go get those for you i’ll be back in a moment” I took longer than needed to walk to my kitchen, making sure to sway my hips since Seungmin seemed like an ass man, and if my hypothesis was correct, I was gonna make sure he enjoyed every last bit of it

"Well, aren't you lucky, here you go" My breast jiggled when I handed the man who looked more like a cherub than himself the over half empty carton "Thank you so much Y/n, you really are an angel" I shook my head chuckling "Maybe you'll get to see my bad girl side one day, goodnight Seungmin" I waved the man goodbye, and immediately yawned, too tired to even reflect on my actions

Which brought me to me to current situation, we were all gathered at the Choi’s enjoying the weather, but Seungmin came with his kids without his wife, making the neighbors gossip, believing that he and his wife we’re separating since they haven’t been seen together since they moved into the neighborhood, if only they knew that his wife was a grumpy hag who liked to slam the door in the faces of people trying to warn her about her four year old son wandering off

“Have you seen the new neighbor? He’s so sexy” The comment came from Hana, one of the older moms in the neighborhood, but not quite Seungmin’s age, I rolled my eyes and told the woman to behave because not only was Seungmin married, she was literally ten feet away from her husband, how hypocritical of me

“I don’t look at other men, I have a child to focus on miss ma’am” my comment held no malice behind it, but it was clear that I wasn’t going to join in on the thirsting behind Seungmin, that’s something I did in the middle of the night with my magic wand plus on the highest setting “Oh boo you’re no fun, you’re still so young and set on settling down, when I was your age, I was having threesomes”

Hana shrugged and took a sip from her red solo cup making me roll my eyes “I’m gonna see if Mrs. Choi needs help in the kitchen” I stood up, leaving the mother of four alone to her cup of ‘juice’. I walked inside the kitchen, closing the sliding door behind me, slightly thankful that hers had blinds that blocked the hot sun from coming in

“Oh hey Y/n you’re here” Instead of Mrs. Choi, I was met by a wide eyed Seungmin who slightly smiled, probably finally seeing the one familiar person besides Mrs. Choi at this event. I waved and gave a greeting back and it went back silent “You’re babyless today” I smiled and shrugged “I am, but so are you” He also shrugged saying that he had to see if the neighbors would even like him before exposing his child to them which was honestly fair

Me on the other hand, forced Heeseung to spend time with his daughter, because it felt like the only thing he did for her was make her. It was silent, I was silently scrolling on my phone while Seungmin was sitting on the other side of me, eating some of the food I made which caused flutters inside my heart at the mundane gesture

“Y/n”

I looked up from my phone and saw how we was staring at me, indescribable emotions swirling in his eyes “It’s too many people here, follow me” Even though I was confused, I followed him as we left the Choi’s house through the side door rather than the back where the sounds of laughter and sizzling grills began fading into the background as Seungmin and I slipped away from the bustling cookout.

I was severely confused as our steps began speeding up as my hearts began wildly pounding with a mix of excitement and guilt. I arched my eyebrow as he led to me a secluded spot he found behind a large oak tree in the woods behind our houses

Seungmin leaned against the rough bark, running a hand through his hair as he caught his breath. I stood close, but gave him rough distance where he wouldn’t feel overwhelmed, even though the proximity sent a thrill down my spine. I glanced around one last time before meeting Seungmin’s eyes, my resolve finally wavering

“This is crazy” I failed to meet his eyes finally realizing the moment he pulled me away from the cookout “I know” Seungmin replied, his gaze intense. “But I can’t stop thinking about you and I know it’s the same for you”

My heart ached at his words, the forbidden nature of our taboo attraction making it all the more irresistible. Without another word, I closed the distance between us, my lips capturing his in a heated kiss. The world seemed to blur as out lips moved in perfect sync, every touch and caress igniting a fire that neither of us could nor would control.

Seungmin’s hands found their way to my waist, pulling me closer as our kiss deepened. The urgency in his movements spoke of the inappropriate moments we cherished, the secret desires we wouldn’t ever voice. My fingers tangled in Seungmin’s hair, my mind racing a mile and minute with a whirlwind of emotions.

“I need to be inside you now Y/n, if you say no, i’ll stop right now” His pupils were blown, but I kept my lips sealed, figuratively and literally sealing the deal “Fuck me Seungmin”

୨୧ jeongin

It’s been too long since Jungwoo had seen me and he only grew more and more upset about it as the days passed. It wasn't that I didn't want to see the toddler again, but it wasn't that simple, my schedule as a professional volleyball never seemed to match up with his fathers profession as an international designer brand ambassador model. Literally, the one time I was available, Jeongin and Jungwoo flew out to Italy for some fancy photoshoot

Today Jeongin and I were determined, the facetimes were getting harder and harder to manage because of time differences and whenever it was nap time for the boy, it always seemed to be the only time that I had available. Luckily for me, it seemed that luck was on my side because when Jeongin and Jungwoo went to France, my coach told me that I had a game around the time his shoot was, meaning that I would finally get to see the foxlike boys

I told Jeongin’s manager the news, wanting to surprise the male since I haven’t seen him in four months, and everytime he called me, he whined about Jungwoo throwing a tantrum because his new favorite person wasn’t there for him. The moment my flight landed, I ignored my teammates recommended activity of a group exploration trip to the catacombs which was an automatic no, why waste my time with dead skeletons when I could hang out with a cute baby and his sexy ass father

His hotel staff having known of my arrival, gave me a keycard to his room and the moment I made it inside, I could tell that he barely had time to unpack, his and Jungwoo’s suitcases being tossed in font the bed, not even unzipped. I chuckled, imagining the dad and his son coming into the room only to be immediately taken to another photoshoot location

“Poor babies” I immediately looked around the hotel scanning the area for a hiding spot, settling in on the kitchen since I knew Jungwoo liked to have his snacks the moment he came in through the door or he would scream until he tired himself out, I got comfortable sitting on the countertop, knowing that I wasn’t visible to those who came in unless they walked into the kitchen

Thankfully I wasn’t waiting long before I heard the tell tale sign of a keycard being scanned, and my smile grew wider at the idea of finally being able to see my two favorite boys. Only to be greeted by Jeongin with no Jungwoo

“Oh my god?? Y/n?” I pouted, disappointed that one of the reasons I came to the hotel, but got up to hug the man nonetheless “Where the hell is Jungwoo” Jeongin chuckled and wrapped his muscled arms around my waist cooing at me “His mom lives in France, so I let him kick it with her one day” I awed in realization, he was in fact correct, I remember seeing it on celebrity news that the model moved to France to escape the “hardships” hardships being her toddler

“Well I guess I can forgive you” I rolled my eyes making him smile “What the hell are you doing here anyways” We pulled away and I shrugged “I have a game coming up, we’re playing against France” Jeongin nodded and told me he was going to take a shower since he felt hot having been out in the sun for a swimwear collection photoshoot “Well hurry up before I get bored Yang”

The male told me he would be out soon and I went into the bedroom, making myself comfortable on the bed scrolling through my social media to interact with fans, I giggled seeing an edit of me and and my teams setter practicing, the comments were filled with admiration for me and Aisha

“I can hear you giggling what’s so funny” Jeongin came out the shower, sweatpants hanging dangerously on his hips since he decided to forego the shirt, my comeback got caught in my throat, turning it into the sahara, while my panties were turning into the pacific, I realized that I was staring and locked in, showing him the edit making him arch his eyebrow

“That is the most tame edit I’ve seen of you” Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrow and question him as to what he meant, only for him to go onto tiktok and type in “Y/n edit” and tap the first one that appeared, it was an edit to candy by doja cat, it was clips from my most recent match against Spain, and since I was in the middle of the game, I wasn’t able to grab my sweat towel, so I lifted up my jersey, revealing my abs, the next clip was a video of me licking my lips in a live I did awhile back and then the edit closed with me footage of me cat walking into the met gala

“That was still pretty tame Jeongin, your edits are so much worse” He asked for proof and I immediately went to my camera roll forgetting that he was looking at my phone, the audio rolled in and his eyes began to widen and how the video started with saying “slut me out” of all things, it then switched onto clips of his abs, showing his armpit muscle, and his work outs, the edit stopped and his grin grew

“You want me so bad” I rolled my eyes and tossed my phone onto the bed “Fuck you mean by that?” Jeongin chuckled and brought up the fact I had that edit saved in my camera roll for awhile, I mentally began cursing apple for saving date and timestamps on the camera roll items “I want you too, baby, I can slut you out right now and make you my personal cock whore” He took hold of my wrists, eyes locked onto mine

“Get on your knees” I listened and followed through with what he said without a second thought, the way he looked down at me made me feel hornier than it would’ve with anyone else. I was living my dream come true, my teenage fantasy was finally happening with the man who invoked my wet dreams

“Don’t be shy” He bent down halfway, an iron grip on my jaw “open” my tongue lolled out against my chin and my eyes focused in on how he smiled, gripping my chin tighter “you’re always such a good listener, make me cum and i’ll fuck your cunt like I know you want me to” Jeongin smiled cockily once he finished speaking, he shocked me by spitting his warm saliva on my exposed tongue, a moan escaped as he refused to remove his grip, undoing his drawstring with one hand, sweats falling to the ground with a soft thump

“Spit” His cock sprang free from its entrapment inside of his boxers and I couldn’t help but gawk at the sheer size of him, he was big, whatever he lacked in girth, he made up for in length and it intimidated me “Dumb lil’ baby already doing stupid I said spit” I immediately followed his directions, spitting on his penis, smearing the mixture of my spit, his spit, and his precum all over his cock

“I’m about to ruin every other cock for youbaby, open your mouth for me real wide”

stayblr is dry? corrupt nct writers to stan skz and write for them. manipulate them. gaslight them.

25-28/∞ gifs of my north star ♡

༄ INTO IT B. CHAN !

PAIRING✰ — best friend!Chan x blackfem!reader

synopsis: having a crush on your best friend Chan couldn’t be hidden anymore.

genre: angst , smut

warning: foul language, reader uses she/her prns, reader is black coded, some fluff, unprotected sex (pls don’t do this), creampie, rough sex, praise kink, softdom!chan, pet names ( bunny & baby, but mainly bunny! ), pussy drunk Chan, Chan is HUGE (sorry not sorry), aftercare, let me know if there’s more !

a/n: requested by @penny44224 ! I finally finished thiss! this only took long because my computer was acting up and I got it fixed last week so sorry for the slow updates. I’m also trying a new style hope you guys like it 🙃🫶🏽

“Fuck, I’m nervous.” You smoothed out your outfit after you stepped out your car. Checking your reflection on your car windows, your hair looked fine and so does your makeup. Your heels clicking on the concrete floor as you made your way towards the house. The further you got to the door, the louder the music got. You could immediately recognize the song, tgif by glorilla playing.

Twisting the doorknob you was instantly greeted by the smell of weed and alcohol. People dancing and just vibing. You grabbed your phone out your purse to text your friend Mina again to see where she was at.

y/n: Mina, wya I’m here?

Mina: finally girl, I’m in the back outside with the rest.

y/n: okay!

Putting your phone away back in your purse, you started to move through people, saying excuse me along the way. “Damn, can’t say—” You were about to go off on the person that bumped into. When you turned around, you were met with Chan, your best friend looking down at you with a smile on his face. You almost lost your balance because damn, he looks good.

He could make a simple black outfit look so good. “Sorry about that bunny, didn’t see you.” Chan teased before giving you a hug. You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach from the cute pet name he calls you all the time.

He pulled away from the hug taking in your outfit with a raised eyebrow. “What? I look bad.?” Your voice coming out softly caused Chan to shake his head. “No no, you just— wow, you look beautiful.” He complimented still staring at your appearance. You smiled muttering a small thank you, feeling shy about his compliment.

Chan snapped out his trance before clearing his throat, he grabbed your hand before saying, “i was on my way to get another drink, wanna come?” You moved closer to his face due to the fact you couldn’t hear him since the music got even louder once the next song after party by Don Toliver played. “Say that again.” You said loudly over the music. He pulled you closer by the waist, moved his face closer to your ear and whispered lowly.

“You coming with me or not?” He said before pulling away to look down at you. What he didn’t know that you were going crazy on the inside from the way his voice deepened. He did that on purpose or are you trippin?

“U-uhm, yea I’ll go with you.” You didn’t know where he was going to take you, but you really didn’t care, “good.” He gave you that famous innocent smile like he didn’t just make you feel butterflies and took you further away from the people who were dancing and grinding.

Yall made your way to the kitchen, you could see two familiar faces chatting together while holding a red plastic cup in their hands. The beautiful man that had long blonde hair was the first to notice you two, his eyes slightly dazed, but they sparkled once seeing you and Chan coming towards them. “Omg you’re here!” You giggled as he made his way towards you, pushing Chan out the way and hugged you tightly.

“Hi Felix.” You smiled embracing him as well before he let go to look at you. “Damn, you look fine as fuck, who you trying to get dick down by tonight?” Your eyes immediately widen before laughing once Chan delivered a punch to Felix shoulder causing him to glare at him while Chan did the same.

“You look stunning y/n.” The voice coming behind Felix came in view as he smiled at you. “Thanks Minho.” You smiled causing him to wink at you. “Ok enough flirting you two.” Chan said playfully but firmly before pushing the two lightly out of your way so you could walk further into the kitchen.

You grabbed a red plastic cup and filled it a little bit of half and half. “Not in the mood to drink?” Chan watched your movements as he did the same, but filling the cup with more alcohol than fruit punch.

“Yea—” “y/n! There you are.” You peeked over Chan’s shoulder seeing your friend Mina walking towards you, smiling ear to ear. Her eyes soon averted towards Chan, eyes sparkling a little “Hii Chan.” Mina voice came out smoothly in a flirtatious manner, that you ignored, wanting to believe your mind was playing tricks on you.

“Hi Mina.” Chan didn’t even glance her way, more focused on his cup, voice coming out nonchalant before taking a sip of his mixture that he created. Mina finally acknowledged you again and looked you up and down. “You look..pretty.” She complimented.

“Thank you?” You said, not really feeling the compliment, it felt fake? “I thought you were coming out back with me?” She tilted her head, grabbing a cup as well to get a drink.

“I was, but I bumped into Chan on my way and—” Mina gasped as she interrupted your sentence, she looked at Chan once again grabbing on his bicep before speaking again. “That reminds me, Chan are you in the mood to play beer pong?”

“Damn, just going to interrupt her talking like that?” You could hear Minho voice laced with irritation in the back as he watched along with Felix leaning against the counter. Mina smacked her lips, giving Minho a dirty look, while Chan released her grip.

Minho never really liked Mina, but you told him before that she’s a really good person and has a kind heart. “I don’t know something iffy about her.” Minho once said a couple weeks ago when you and Jisung was out shopping for some things, Mina soon brought up into the conversation out of know where.

You honestly didn’t know where this attitude was coming from, but you sure as well didn’t have a good feeling about it. You being you still brushed it off, “It’s fine Minho.” You said calmly.

You didn’t notice the way Mina rolled her eyes before looking back at Chan, waiting patiently for his answer. “I’ll play if y/n plays.” Chan finally said looking at you with an unreadable expression. Mina gave a tight lip smile before giggling. “Of course she’s playing silly, right y/n.” “Uhmm, yea I’m down.” You smiled, glancing at the still left over drink in your cup, “you finish?” Chan asked softly.

You looked up at him nodding your head yes. Without a word he took your cup for you, “I can throw it away.” You said watching him switch the cup where your lip gloss stain wasn’t on the ridge. “Nah It’s fine, I added a shit ton of alcohol in my cup.” He joked.

“Ok enough smalll talk, let’s go!” Mina was quick to grab both yours and Chan hand dragging the both of you out the kitchen. You look back to see Minho and Felix trailing right behind.

You could hear laughter and shout as soon as you stepped outside. You could see the rest of your friends already playing beer pong. Changbin was the first to notice y’all, he instantly smiled, “look who’s finally here!” Changbin came up to you and and Chan, giving you a tight hug which you excepted with a warm smile gracing your face.

“You wanna play beer pong?” Changbin released his grip on you and dapped up Chan, waiting for your answer. “She already agreed bin.” Mina said for you, pulling you closer towards her after Chan moved away from her.

“I wasn’t asking you Mia.” “It’s Mina.” She replied glaring at him, “whatever.” You stifled your laughter at their bickering, Mina held up her hand dismissing Changbin before looking at you. “You and me are playing first.” She grinned linking her arm around yours, dragging you away from your friends.

You could see Seungmin and Hyunjin having an intense round while Han watches keeping score. Han eyes shift towards you and Mina, smiling that big smile he waved at you both. “Look who’s here!” Han shouted causing Hyunjin to lose his focus and miss one of Seungmin’s cup. Hyunjin groaned earning a cocky smirk from Seungmin and a sorry look from Han who received a glare in return.

“Drink up or spill a secret.” Seungmin teased waiting patiently for Hyunjin to make a decision. Hyunjin doesn’t back away from a challenge so he shrugged his shoulders answering without any fear. “I slept with your cousin two weeks ago.”

“OK! anyone next to play.” Han cut the tension short as Seungmin was ready to pounce on Hyunjin. “Is that why you have been texting me asking about her!- yah, come here.” Seungmin grumbled something in Korean before trying to get ahold of Hyunjin who only ran away laughing. He saw you and instantly hid behind you. “Y/n, get him! He’s trying to kill me.” You shook your head as Seungmin got closer.

“I would to if you slept with my cousin.” “But we like each other, it’s not like I hit and quit, that’s not like me.” Hyunjin retorted, letting out a yelp in the process as Seungmin finally reached him, putting Hyunjin in a headlock while he apologized profusely.

“He was so cocky while saying that, now look at him.” Chan said smiling while shaking his head, watching the scene unfold.

“Han me and y/n want next.” Mina pulled you over towards the table going to the opposite side. “Do you know how the rules work?” Han asked looking at you. You shook your head no, letting Han explain the rules “Ok so, we do beer pong our own way by shooting a ball in the other person’s cup, if you miss you drink or tell a secret. If you don’t miss, the other person has to drink or tell a secret.” You took in the information, understanding the rules before smiling.

“That sounds easy.” The game was going fairly smoothly, you were surprised by how many cups you got the ball in. Han, the rest of your friends and others watched intensely as Mina and you came down to a few more cups.

You felt pressured because even though music was playing loudly and people having fun, it felt like it got quiet. You focused on the cup you were aiming for and shot it lightly. “Fuck.” You mumbled, watching the ball bounce away from the cup, you glanced to see Mina smirking.

“Go ahead. Spill a secret.”

Her words were taunting you, she looked you in the eyes, communicating with you causing you to gulp down hard on your own saliva while feeling eyes watching you.

You were quick to pick up the cup ready to put your lips on it and down the drink that was inside, just to get over with it. “Oh come on y/n, I know you have a juicy secret to tell.” Mina was not looking at you anymore with playful eyes it felt like she started to get irritated.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You replied voice coming out in a small whisper.

“Oh but I think you do.” Mina watched as you hesitantly glanced over at Chan, embarrassment creeping up your skin as you felt like all attention was on you.

“Mina I think you—” Han reached out to Mina trying to get her to stop, but she wouldn’t budge, in fact she was determined for you to say it. The secret that you and Mina only know, the one thing that you trusted her with if anything. You felt your lips start to tremble as you stayed silent. Pleading with your eyes to Mina, but it only made her annoyed further.

“Since you’re being so scared I’ll say it,” Mina took one look at Chan, grinning proudly. “Y/n has a crush on you Chan.”

Instant heartbreak. It felt like your whole body froze and your stomach had dropped. You felt the tears welled up in your eyes feeling betrayed as Mina scoffed at you. “Can you believe that? Out of all people, you have a crush on Chan!” She clapped her hands meanwhile everyone around you stood in complete silence watching the scene unfold.

You could hear low whispered around you and small laughter being passed around, “Mina what the fuck is wrong with you.” Seungmin was the first to break the silence, eyes filled with anger.

“Omg, we were all thinking it,” she turned back to you making sure you understood everything she was saying. “You knew I like Chan, yet you still want him? Face it, he would never date you.” You let her words sink in and you immediately let the first tear slide down your cheek, that was enough before your feet could finally move and head straight to the door.

Not even glancing at anyone else especially Chan’s eyes, ignoring him calling your name as your main goal was to go home and never come back.

The sound of heavy rain tapped against your window and music playing in the background along with it to help you stop thinking about what happened twenty minutes ago at the party. You felt your tears never stop as you packed your clothes inside two different suitcases. You couldn’t stay, not after such embarrassment, you just couldn’t.

Knowing Chan witnessed everything, such a vulnerable moment had you crying even more. Zipping up your suitcase, you paused the song that was playing on your tv before carrying both suitcases by the door leaving them there. Before you could turn around and finish with your other stuff, a hard knock was coming from your door, startling you because you wasn’t expecting anyone. You didn’t even get a call or text that someone would be coming.

You looked through the peep whole to see who it was, “Chan?” You opened the door seeing Chan standing there all soaked, breathing hard, and eyes staring into your soul. You looked at him confused not finding any words to say.

“Are you not going to let me in?” He sounded out of breath, but his tone was in a teasing manner. Snapping out your trance you stepped aside letting him step inside your apartment. Chan took notice of your suitcases, letting out a sigh while placing his shoes to the side before turning towards you. All playfulness leaving his body as he stood there soaked and serious.

You hate to admit that he looks good right now. You felt shy in front of him, you couldn’t even look him in the eyes. Too nervous to do so.

“So that’s it, you’re going to leave because of what Mina said.” Was he angry? Of course he was angry, “look Chan I already have been embarrassed enough tonight, just— please don’t scold me.” Your voice trembled as you finally looked up at him, tears glossing your eyes. Chan face dropped moving closer towards you, gracing your face with his cold hands that somehow brung a sudden warm feeling to your body.

“I would never scold you I just…don’t want you to leave.” He whispered wiping the tear that managed to escape your pretty eyes. “I don’t want you to leave me.” You could’ve sworn Chan eyes flickered from your lips back to your eyes.

“B-But Mina was right.” Your voice died down as Chan shook his head no, looking at you with an unreadable look. “Fuck Mina and whatever she said to you at the party, she doesn’t know shit.” Chan let go of your face, but never once step away from you.

“She’s not the one I want.”

Your heart started to beat faster at Chan’s words. “She’s not?” “No and she’ll never be.” Chan smiled as he let you put two and two together. Chan laughed as pulled you even closer than before, his words finally dawned on you.

“I want you bunny.” There go that nickname again, the smirk that graced his face and his eyes shifting to something different. Love and lust. You felt like you were dreaming, this couldn’t be real. “I don’t know what to say-.” You gulped as Chan leaned his face in, whispering to you, “You don’t have to, just let me show you how much I need you.”

Chan was serious and he was definitely going to prove to you that he wants you. It took you a minute to nod your head yes, but only one second for Chan’s lips to be yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck while he wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing you with so much passion and love.

The kiss turned eager as you both went further and further to your bedroom. Along the way, Chan placed hot kisses along your neck, releasing pleasurable moans from your lips. You combed your hand in his wet hair as he picked you up and placed you on your bed softly. He stood there, lips red and eyes filled with lust, drinking in your appearance.

“You look beautiful baby.” You felt like he was undressing you with his eyes, without any shame he got on top of you, kissing your lips once again. “I’ve waited for this moment for so long.” He mumbled against your lips, hands roaming your body with need. “Me too.” You whispered causing Chan to smile before pulling away.

“Yeah? I’m sorry I took so long…” He looked at you with so much love and affection. “Don’t be sorry— just..please I need you Chan.” Your voice grew needy, not realizing that you started to grind on his leg in the process. “Shit. You’re driving me crazy bunny.” Chan leaned up disregarding his wet shirt that was sticking to his body. You gawked at the sight of his abs flexing and glistening.

You couldn’t believe you were finally seeing him up close like this—on top of you at that. You pulled him down by his belt to kiss you more, breaking the kiss from time to time to help you take off your clothes. “Eager huh?” Chan teased earning a whine from you as you laid bare underneath him, only leaving your panties on.

“Of course I am, I need you so bad.” You confessed watching as he played with the Lacey material of your underwear in a teasing manner, loving the reaction you give him from doing so. Chan placed a kiss on your thigh before dragging your panties down and off your body, spreading your legs for you, he hummed at the sight of your glistening cunt presented to him.

“Fuck, what a pretty pussy you have.” He whispered, moving his thumb down to tease your clit causing you to jump a little from the sudden contact, his hands felt cold making you shiver as your legs almost closed. With his free hand he held one of your leg open, looking up at you, “keep your legs open.” It was more of a demand than a request. You listened, watching in awe as he came closer, wasting no time replacing his thumb with his mouth. “Fuck! Chan.” Mouth gaping open as Chan held you closer to his mouth.

Lapping up every bit of your arousal with a satisfied groan. Chan eyes pierced up at you during the process, watching the way your back arched, eyes rolled back, and mouth wide open releasing those beautiful moans he loves to hear.

You placed your hand into his hair gripping tightly making him groan from the impact and sending vibrations to your pussy. The feeling felt so unreal to you, your brain felt blank. “S-Shit Chan.” You whined, finally looking down to see him now with his eyes closed as he fucked you on his tongue. “Feels so good.”

You felt the knot in your stomach causing you to whine more, Chan never faltering as he gripped your thighs tight, determined for you to cum on his tongue. “M’gonna cum!” You warned mouth going slack as Chan entered two of his fingers inside of you, bringing you closer to your release and lips attached to your sensitive bud.

You screamed his name while Chan watched your body washed over with pleasure, back arched off the bed and beautiful cries leaving your lips trying to calm down. He pulled away from you completely, lips and chin glistening with your arousal. He looked good.

Chan stood at the foot of your bed, teasingly taking off his belt. You watched with shaky deep breaths, waiting so patiently that he smiled. Tugging his pants down, you were met with the sight of his black boxers doing a poor job at hiding his bulge. Chan watched you crawl closer towards him, having a mind of your own you reached out for him. Helping him take off the last layer of clothing for him. Chan hissed at the feeling of his cock finally being released and met with the cold air from your room.

Your mouth was practically drooling and your eyes wide with fascination. You knew he was big, your dirty mind always reminded you every time you see this man, but you weren’t expecting him to be this big. It honestly scared you, but in a good way.

“You’re just going to stare bunny, or help me out.” Chan tilted his head staring down at you with so much desire in his eyes. You muttered a small yes before wrapping your small hand around his cock causing him to immediately moan.

You pumped him a few times, feeling how heavy he feels in your hand before wrapping your pretty lips around his pink tip. Chan watched you closely as you tried your best to take him at least half way, the way your eyes looked so innocent, but your actions clearly was the opposite of innocent, had Chan eager. “Fuck, look at you…need help hmm?” He smirked, already gripping the back of your neck while you laid flat on your stomach on the bed, for more comfort.

Mouth still full of him as he eased his way down your throat. Chan had to hold back from going too fast, afraid you’ll get hurt, but the small rub on his thighs and a quick communication with your eyes— all carefulness went out the window.

“You’re fucking irresistible you know that.” Not holding back his moans as his hips snapped with each thrust in your mouth, “mouth feels- fuck, s-so good.” You were getting turned on even more hearing the sounds he was making. The whimpers and moans that left his lips, the wet sound of his balls slapping on your chin with each thrust made you go insane.

Strings of cuss words left his mouth from intense pleasure. The whole scene was messy, something you both enjoyed. Drool and spit coating his cock, dripping down your chin, and tears welling in your eyes.

Chan felt his stomach cave in, abs flexing as he look back down at you. “You look so pretty like this bunny, your mouth was ah! made for me.” Chan felt so close that he had to pull away from you. Feeling oxygen come back, you coughed up spit trying to calm your breathing, pretty eyes looking up at him. He couldn’t help it but lean down and kiss you with so much passion, not caring about the drool coating your chin and lips.

“Need you to fuck me chan.” You said in between the kiss, growing more needy by the minute. Chan was quick to manhandle you in the position he wanted you in. Legs pushed all the way up, his hands resting on the back of your thighs to keep them there. Cock resting on your stomach, “look how deep I’m gonna be.” Chan would never admit out loud that he has a size kink, but the way you glanced down to see what he was talking about, pretty eyes going wide— had his mind spinning. “Fuck wait— it’s not going to fit.” You looked so scared that Chan had to clam you down with kisses. “I promise I’ll go slow, ok?”

You shake your head yes, eyes still looking down between the two of you. “Bunny,” finally looking up at him into his eyes, a silent communication letting you know he got you. Leaning his body in half way he distracted you with more kisses—honestly he couldn’t get enough of your lips.

“Chan!” You gasped as you parted away from his lips, feeling him slowly entering inside of you. Only the tip and you somehow felt full. Eyebrows knitted, a surprised yelp leaving your lips, staring deep into your eyes he shook his head, “I know bunny, I know.” Chan was trying to control himself, he was only half way in— the urge to snap his hips and fill you up in one go was tempting.

Chan hissed at the feeling of you sucking him in, your walls felt like heaven to him and it only made his desires fuel even more. He halt his movement to let you adjust, taking small breaths before signaling him to continue. Each painful push soon turned into pleasure, but what scared you was that he was only half way in. “F-Fuck you’re tight.” Chan groaned, eyes almost rolled to the back of his head, hips finally meeting your thighs as he was now fully inside of you.

Immediately kissing your cervix, you let out a shaky moan from feeling him deep inside you, “mhm faster Chan, please.” Your voice sounded so angelic to him that he gave you what you wanted without hesitation. “Sound so pretty,” Chan’s hips moving with such smoothness in a fast pace, skin slapping and y’all moans mixed together, “Making me feel- oh fuck! So good.” Chan let out the most pornographic moan as he gripped your thighs tighter, pushing them until your pussy was in perfect view.

Chan took one glance seeing how you wrapped around his cock with each thrust, the mixture of yours and his cum forming a ring at the base of his cock and abdomen made his body shiver. “your— fucking me so good.” You gasped, feeling Chan roll his hips feeding you deep strokes, glancing up at him, you can truly say he looked so fucking good.

His hair sticking to his forehead, eyes dazed, muscles flexing, and lips letting out the most toe curling words and moans to you. He was perfect. “Love it baby, love you so much.” He mumbled looking down at you, loving the feeling and wishing it never end.

You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him down for a kiss, his hips never faltering during the process. Missionary felt so intimate, eyes filled with lust but so much love, staring into one another had both of you feeling weak. It was like this moment was bound to happened and you and him were loving every moment of it.

He made you forget everything, the party, your now ex friend that you wish you could’ve at least slapped before you left— everything except for Chan. And he made sure you didn’t, with each thrust he was soon close to his breaking point, “Chan…I-im ffuckk— im close.” You warned, feeling him lock his hands with yours on the bed and his hips flattering slightly.

“Me too baby, me too.” He let out the loudest moans as he chased his high, the clapping sounds of skin and so much mixture of yours and his cum dripping from your cunt to your bed was such a unholy sight, but it felt so good. “Ffuckk baby, fuckfuckfuck, I need to fill you up, be a good bunny for me and let me fill you up.” He used his free hand to rub fast circles on your puffy clit causing you to yelp.

Gulping down on your saliva, you nod your head, “fill me up please.” How could you say no when he moaned and whimpered so beautifully, it honestly made the knot in your stomach snap as you finally reached your climax, along with Chan painting your walls with his white thick cum. You shivered at the feeling, chest puffing up and down.

Chan let go of your hand before leaning back, holding your hips to keep you still. “D-don’t move..still so much.” He said shyly, biting his lips while closing his eyes. Registering on what he just said you leaned up on your elbows to get a look only to be met with such a sticky mess. “Oh.” Was all you could say, he rubbed your tummy and finally pulled out slowly hissing along the way before watching a lot of his cum leave your pussy.

“God— let me go get a rag before I fuck you again.” Chan got up off the bed smiling from hearing your small laughter, trying to shy away by using a pillow to cover your face.

Only a minute passed and Chan was back with a rag in hand. “Open.” He softly command, you hummed softly doing so and relaxed at the feeling of the warm rag on your skin. Your eyes wanting to close, but you tried your best to keep them open.

“Chan..” he hummed softly, focusing on cleaning you up, but made sure you knew he was listening. “What does this make us— I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.” You asked softly, heart throbbing at the feeling of him taking care of you.

“I’m your boyfriend who loves you.” He said seriously, finally looking at you with loving eyes and a smile gracing his face. “And you’re my loving girlfriend that loves me.” He teased earning a smile from you.

You both fell into a comfortable silence afterwards. Once Chan finished cleaning you up he carried you into your guest bedroom so you could sleep, since the sheets on your bed would be too uncomfortable to sleep on for obvious reasons.

He got in the bed after you tugging your body closer, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

“Good night bunny.”

“Good night Chan.”

bonus! :

♫ Brandy and Monica • The Boy Is Mine

♡︎ 18.8k 💬 9.8k

Y/NTHEDOLL : The boy is mine 💕

COMMENTS:

MINIVERSE.___ : bout damn time

RANDOMUSER : y’all are soo cute

YONG.LIXX : I took the first pic

I.2.N.8 : not you third wheeling 😭

LEEKNOWW : @/theemina wish that was you..

Y/NTHEDOLL : OMG MINHO STOP

_DOOLSETNET : @/hynjinnnn I called it

HYNJINNNN : I did too

GNABNAHC : I love you

Y/NTHEDOLL : I love you more

JUTDWAE : get a room pls and thank you.

CNABNAHC : you hatin? 🤨

Y/NTHEDOLL : yall not finna start this in my comments

Hope y’all enjoyed :)

hear me out...chan trying to fit it in but he's too big and he's whispering all kinds of stuff trying to get you to take it and you're frustrated and needy and you're just so !! done !! because it feels empty and he's so close yet he's not in and finally finally, his thick tip catches and he inches in agonizingly slow simply to hear you whine for it

꒰୨୧◞ ⤷ ❛❛ TOO BIG ! ❜❜ .ᐟ bang chan.

[ ⟡ ] ── minors do not interact ! ⭑ fem!reader , soft dom!chan , est. relationship , monster cock chris lol , size kink , dirty talk , praise kink , daddy kink , missionary/mating press , unprotected sex , bulge kink

a/n ⸝⸝ happy (late) comeback day !! i’m not very proud of this drabble but it’s here and i’m posting it anyway lol <3 save me big dick chris.. save me..

♡ ⸝⸝ ꒰ m.list ꒱ ‧ ꒰ reblogs and feedback appreciated! ꒱

“it’s too big, channie,” you whimper, peering down between your legs— the big fat tip of chan’s cock throbs an angry red as he slides it up between your pussy lips, taps it against your fluttering hole. your ankles dangle in the air over his shoulders, thighs pushed up to your chest by his body pinning you against the mattress, so close you could feel his hot breath, ache for a kiss from the plump, spit-slick lips he bit in arousal. he grips the base of his shaft in one hand, guiding it to push at your rim; you’re frightened by the sheer size of it, thick as a can, veins fat and pulsing… the pressure of it was already overwhelming yet you roll your hips down eagerly, desperate for it to slide in and fill you up.

“shh, stay still, babygirl,” chan coos so sweet, his veiny hand splayed out across your tummy. “and take this fucking cock. daddy knows you can.”

your pussy is making it difficult, so wet chan’s cock misses your hole, slides up your folds to bump against your clit. you shake in pleasure and frustration, reaching your hand down to take ahold of chan’s cock yourself— chan lets you with a warm smile, his thick arms shaking with every slick twist of your hand.

“you need me that bad, baby?” he chuckles, breathless. “thought you said it was too big.”

“i’m so empty,” you whine in response, angling his flared head to spear your core. “need your big cock, daddy—“ finally, finally his tip catches and slides in, sudden yet so achingly slow, your eyes rolling back in tandem with chan’s deep, guttural groan; the stretch burns deliciously, clouds over your senses as your mouth drops open in a moan for more.

“there you go, baby, just like that,” chan continues to bully his cock in past your tight rim, slow and gentle— but there’s nothing gentle about the way he fills you up, inch by fat, throbbing inch stretching your wet gummy walls to their limits. you can feel every ridge, every vein drag hot and heavy… you let go of his shaft in favor for scratching deep red marks into his flexing bicep, scrambling for something to hold on to and ground you. “daddy’s good girl, taking his cock so well— feels so good, doesn’t it?”

“b-big—!” you croak in a daze, an echo of your earlier sentiments; it was all you could manage to make yourself say, rendered brainless in an instant as chan’s blunt cockhead kisses your cervix. “so— so fucking big! ‘n deep, daddy, fuck—“

“yeah?” chan huffs, hips stuttering flush against yours. “am i too big for your little cunt, baby? feel me all the way up here?”

he presses down on the bulge his cock makes in your belly, causing the both of you to keen, your little dripping pussy fluttering around his cock as he twitches inside of you; you desperately want him to move, start pounding your pussy like you’ve been wanting so, so badly… you eagerly nod at chan’s teasing words, buck your hips the best you can folded in half. “yes, yes!” you wail, voice slurred, “give it to me daddy, please!”

“you’re so pretty when you’re begging for me, angel,” chan grins crookedly, pulling his hips back to slide himself out of your hole. you hold your breath in wicked anticipation. “beg some more and i’ll give you what you need.”

Reckless Convictions

Copyright Ⓒ 2024 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.

💃🪩

NATIONAL ANTHEM.

Seungmin x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: At first, you knew Seungmin as the guy you made out with on a flight home but once the plane landed, you discovered that he's the son of your father's rival candidate for the upcoming election, causing you to be caught between love and loyalty. (13,6k words)

Author's note: Happy birthday to the agent of chaos, Seungmin ☆

Some people might call it fate, serendipity, or kismet, but you're not the type to believe in romantic clichés like that, so let's just call it a coincidence.

It's merely a coincidence that the car got a flat tire on the way to the airport, causing you to miss the flight you were supposed to be on. Otherwise, you would have been sitting in seat 4B on a completely different plane next to a completely different passenger in seat 4A.

As you make your way to your seat, you notice him immediately. A young man sitting in the window seat next to yours, he possesses a rare, gentlemanly beauty. With refined features, a charming smile, and tousled dark hair, he exudes a sophisticated appeal. In other words, he’s the kind of guy who instantly catches your eye.

He glances up as you stow your bag in the overhead compartment, offering a polite nod. You take your seat next to him, trying to keep your cool even though your heart skips a beat.

There’s something about him that draws you in, something magnetic—a quiet confidence that doesn’t need to be loud or showy to be felt.

After you settle in and the plane takes off, you feel the urge to talk to him. You're usually not the type to strike up conversations with strangers, but for some reason, with him, you can't help it. Also, you realize that if you want something to happen, you have to start somewhere.

“Is this your first time flying out of here?” you ask, turning to him with a smile.

He looks at you, his lips curving into a small smile. “No, I’ve been here before, but it’s been a while," he answers, his voice smooth and calm, making something flutter in your chest.

You introduce yourself to break the ice and make interacting easier.

"Seungmin," he says, taking your hand and holding it for a moment as he introduces himself. "Traveling alone?"

"Yes," you answer innocently.

"Business or pleasure?" he asks, a playful glint in his warm brown eyes.

You stare into his eyes and faintly bite your lower lip before answering, "Hopefully, pleasure."

From there, the conversation flows effortlessly. You talk about everything—from favorite travel destinations to the books you're reading. Something about Seungmin makes it feel so natural, and before you know it, two hours have passed in the blink of an eye.

“I can’t believe we’ve been talking for hours,” you say with a low laugh, glancing out the window at the darkened sky.

The Atlantic stretches endlessly below, and the flight attendants have dimmed the cabin lights, casting a soft, intimate glow over the rows of seats.

“Time flies when the company’s good,” he says, his eyes lingering on you in a way that makes your heart race.

The space between you feels charged now, the conversation slowing as the connection deepens into something more. You can feel the pull—the undeniable attraction that’s been simmering since you sat down. Then you catch him glancing at your lips, and you know he feels it too.

Daringly, you lean in slightly, testing the waters, and he responds by shifting closer. The air between you is electric, and when his hand brushes yours, a spark shoots through you.

Both of you hesitate for a moment, caught in that intoxicating space where everything hangs in the balance until neither of you can resist any longer.

Your lips meet in a soft, tentative kiss, and the world outside the window seems to fall away. His kiss is gentle at first, cautious, testing, but when you respond, he takes it as permission to deepen it. He rests his hand on your cheek, and warmth spreads through you as his lips move against yours in a slow, intoxicating rhythm, making you forget you’re on a plane surrounded by strangers.

For those few moments, it's just you and him, lost in each other, the quiet hum of the plane fading into the background.

When you finally pull apart, breathless and dazed, you exchange a look that says everything. This isn't just some fleeting attraction. There’s something real here, something undeniable.

However, once the plane touches down and the cabin lights flicker back to life, reality begins to creep in. It's the altitude, the change in air, and the fact that you now have both feet on the ground. The intimacy of your shared moments with Seungmin starts to fade as you both prepare to disembark.

Everyone stands from their seats to gather their things, and you can feel Seungmin watching as you reach for your bag in the overhead compartment.

"So…" Seungmin begins as you both shuffle out of the row and into the aisle. "Can I get your number? Or at least, a last name?"

Your heart is still fluttering from the kiss you shared just hours ago, but you hesitate. There’s an inexplicable tug in your gut telling you not to give in so easily, to be cautious. You like him—really like him—but you're not going to make it that easy.

You flash him a playful smile. “Hmm... I’m not sure I should make it that easy for you,” you tease, shifting your bag onto your shoulder.

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a half-smile. “You’re going to make me work for it?”

You nonchalantly shrug, trying to keep things light despite your racing heart. “Let’s just say I like a challenge.”

As you walk together through the terminal, the chemistry between you still crackling, you step outside and notice a car waiting at the curb. The driver, standing beside it, is holding a sign with Seungmin’s name. At first, nothing seems out of the ordinary, until you notice his jacket. The driver is wearing a dark blazer, but pinned to it is a familiar emblem—the logo of a political campaign.

Not just any campaign. It's your father’s rival’s campaign.

Your smile falters as you look more closely, and your heart drops when something clicks. You turn to Seungmin, your mind racing.

“Is that your driver?” your voice comes out sharper than you intended.

Seungmin follows your gaze, looking a bit confused. “Yeah. Why?”

Your throat suddenly feels dry. You clear it before asking the big question. “Are you from the Kim family? The same Kim family running for governor?”

"Yes," Seungmin answers, clearly puzzled.

The Kim family. The Kim family. Your father’s bitter rival in the upcoming election. This isn’t just some random guy you met on a plane—he's the son of the man your father has been railing against for weeks. You feel the blood drain from your face as the realization crashes down.

Seungmin’s expression shifts from confusion to concern. “What’s wrong?”

You unconsciously take a step back. "You’re... you’re a Kim," you say, still in disbelief.

Seungmin opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. "Your father and mine—they’re both running for governor."

For a moment, Seungmin seems to be processing what you’ve said. Then his face hardens slightly in understanding. You take another step back, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

“This changes everything,” you whisper.

He looks at you, his eyes searching. “No, it doesn’t have to," he says.

If only he knew how badly you wanted to believe him. But you can’t ignore the reality of the situation. Both of your families are in a brutal political war, and no matter how much you like him, getting involved with Seungmin could blow everything up—for both of you.

"How is it not? Your father accused mine of siphoning money from the city’s budget for his campaign."

"Because he did!" Seungmin says boldly.

"There’s no concrete proof!" you counter.

"Of course, because they know how to make things disappear. Your family is known for their generosity with hush money," he remarks bluntly.

You’ve never been one to argue about things that aren’t your business, but when it comes to your family, you naturally defend them.

"As opposed to your father’s blatant hypocrisy," you calmly reply. "He’s fighting the climate crisis, but his wife keeps taking private jets for her shopping trips."

You come up with a concrete data point. "According to the data, those trips contributed 58 metric tons of carbon—the same amount emitted by 4,625 cars in a day."

That seems to shut him up. His jaw clenches, and it's unfair how good he looks when he's mad.

The driver awkwardly clears his throat, glancing between you both. “Sir, we should get going. Your father’s waiting.”

"It was good to see you," Seungmin says before storming off, childishly bumping your shoulder as he passes.

"Goodbye, I guess," you mutter, scoffing in disbelief as you watch him walk away.

That concludes everything, officially making it an unpleasant coincidence.

-

It was just a coincidence!

That's what Seungmin has been telling himself after spending days wrestling with his feelings, convincing himself that it doesn’t matter, that you are just a fleeting moment, a passing fancy. But the truth is undeniable: no matter how much he tries to push you out of his mind, he just can’t stop thinking about you.

When his friend mentioned that you’re living separately from your family, something shifted inside him. The tension between your families has always been an obstacle, a reason to stay away, but now it seems more like an excuse. If anything, the fact that you aren’t on good terms with your family only deepens his curiosity—and somehow, his feelings.

Seungmin hadn’t planned to find your hotel room, but once he knew where you were staying, he couldn’t help himself. And now, as he stands there, waiting for you to open the door, his heart races in anticipation despite the cool facade he tries to maintain.

After a moment, the door creaks open, and there you are—your hair slightly tousled, your expression showing slight shock to see him there. His heart leaps at the sight of you, but instead of the warmth or excitement he hoped to see, your face remains cold, indifferent.

“Are you stalking me?” your voice is cool, a little too casual, as if you haven’t been thinking about him at all.

There's no going back now, so Seungmin pushes forward. "Well, you're not that hard to track."

You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms in front of you defensively. “You shouldn’t be here,” you say flatly.

Seungmin notices the flicker in your eyes, something you’re trying to hide. He takes a small step closer, his gaze softening, and playfully says, “Maybe."

You stare at him for a moment, your expression hard, but he sees the hesitation in the way your fingers grip the edge of the door. You’re fighting something, trying to keep a wall between the two of you. He understands why you keep your guard up so high—you’re trying to protect yourself, your heart, and maybe even protect him from the mess that is your life right now.

“You shouldn’t be... with me,” you make it even clearer, but even as you say the words, your voice wavers.

Seungmin takes another step forward, placing his hand near where yours rests. “Let me in, and we'll find out."

Your eyes soften for a brief moment before you quickly look away, the conflict clear in your expression. It’s obvious that you want to shut the door, to push him away, but something is holding you back. Maybe it's the same thing that brought him here in the first place—the connection, the spark between you that refuses to be ignored.

The conflict in your eyes only encourages Seungmin. He leans against the doorframe, his eyes never leaving yours. "Why are you staying in a hotel anyway?" he asks, his voice casual but tinged with curiosity.

You remain aloof, folding your arms across your chest as you raise an eyebrow. “Why should I let my enemy know?"

The coldness in your tone is deliberate, a shield to guard against him, against what you’re really feeling. But he doesn’t back down; his smirk only grows wider.

His hand inches closer to yours as he leans in just a bit closer, making his presence suddenly more overwhelming.

“See, that’s the thing..." his voice drops lower, with a teasing edge.

“What?” you ask, trying to keep your cool even though the proximity makes your heart race.

“We’re enemies,” he states the obvious, his gaze locking onto yours with such intensity that it sends a shiver down your spine.

You let out a sigh, already prepared for whatever line he’s about to throw at you. “And what’s your point?”

Seungmin’s smirk deepens as he leans in even closer, his face now mere inches away from yours. His voice is low and soft, almost a whisper, but filled with mischief.

“Sleeping with the enemy is hot.”

Your breath hitches slightly, but you keep your expression in check, refusing to let him see just how much his words affect you. You tilt your head a little to the side, raising an eyebrow, but the corner of your mouth betrays you with the slightest hint of a smile.

“Is that so?” you respond with a daring smirk.

Seungmin lets out a low chuckle, his eyes flickering with something dangerous and alluring, like he knows exactly how this game is going to end.

As you stand there weighing your options, the tension between you and him becomes unbearable. You can feel the electricity crackling in the air, and despite everything, you find yourself taking a step back, opening the door wider without saying a word.

Seungmin’s triumphant smile tells you that he understands your silent invitation. Without wasting another second, he steps inside, the door closing softly behind him as the world outside fades away.

Before you can even catch your breath, he’s on you—his lips crash against yours with a force that makes you dizzy. The kiss is urgent, an explosion of passion and frustration that has been building between you and him for so long.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer as if the mere touch of your skin isn’t enough to satisfy the hunger between you.

All the walls you’ve built, all the reasons you shouldn’t be doing this, crumble in an instant. It doesn’t matter that he’s your enemy. Right now, all that matters is the way his lips brush against yours, the way his breath mingles with yours, the way your hearts seem to beat in sync.

In that moment, nothing else exists but the two of you.

-

Doing it on the bed is overrated to Seungmin, so he grabs you by the waist and swiftly hoists you up, setting you on the nearest table. Fortunately, it's sturdy and at the perfect height for whatever he's planning next.

He plants his hands on the table behind you and aligns his body with yours, fitting just right—hardness to softness, curves to hollows. Oh, he has so many ideas of what to do with you. On second thought, he's fine with paying the fine for property damage if it comes to that.

He leans in slowly, teasing your lips for a kiss, but just a millimeter away from contact, he moves to the side and whispers softly into your ear, "Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this moment?"

You look up at him, eyes wide and seductive, a grin peeking at the corner of your mouth. "I don’t want to know. I want you to show me."

Something flickers in his eyes—something that both scares and thrills you. He places a hand on your waist and glides it up your side, stopping at your ribcage.

"What is it about you..." His words trail off as he places a deep, slow kiss on your lips.

As he keeps your mouth busy, his hand palms your breast through your nightdress. When he pinches your hardening nipple, you gasp at the jolt of sensation.

To return the favor, you slide your fingers beneath his shirt, feeling the hard ridges of his stomach. He's soft yet firm, and if it weren't for the warmth under your fingertips, you’d think he was carved from marble.

"I just can’t stop thinking about you and our kiss," he says, a mix of wonder and disbelief in his voice, before capturing your lips again in a hungry kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth.

Seungmin’s thumb rubs your nipple just right, making your insides melt.

"Look at you, getting weak in the knees for me," he says with a triumphant grin.

He pulls his hand from the table and gives it a new task, sliding under your dress to grip your inner thigh, pulling your hips against his arousal, letting you feel the heat of his desire.

"And what we could have done after that kiss..." he continues, your lips meeting again in a breathless kiss.

Seungmin breaks the kiss to move his lips elsewhere—your neck, your chest. His hand roughly pulls down the front of your nightdress, sending your breasts spilling out. He wastes no time, his lips closing over your skin.

Your hand flies to his hair, tugging as he sucks hard on your breast. You watch as his tongue swirls around your nipple before he fills his mouth with your flesh.

"Seungmin..." you call breathlessly, unsure whether you want him to stop or keep going.

Hearing his name roll off your lips soothes something deep inside him, and he wants to hear it again and again. He pushes the hem of your nightdress up around your waist, and in return, you rip open the fly of his jeans, freeing his swollen member.

"Mmh..." you hum with delight, wrapping your hand around his length, hot and pulsing with desire.

Seungmin mirrors your action, palming your clothed core, his thumb tracing your engorged bundle of nerves. Soon, your underwear is damp with arousal.

"What is it about you, mmh?" he asks, eyes locked on yours.

He pulls your panties aside and runs his long fingers down your folds, drenching them in your essence. As his fingers drag down, he pushes them inside you, earning a broken moan from your lips.

"What is it about you that makes me want more..." He keeps pumping his fingers in and out of you, savoring the way your face contorts in pleasure. "And more, and more..."

As he continues, you fist the front of his shirt, pulling him close, your legs opening wider, bringing his cock even closer to where you want him.

He withdraws his fingers, replacing them with his cock. Your legs are raised slightly higher than the table’s surface, aching for more than just the feeling of his tip rubbing between your folds.

"Stop teasing me," you mutter.

His lopsided grin returns, and before you can react, he thrusts into you hard and fast, burying himself completely inside you.

Your breath hitches, and you moan his name, which he finds incredibly hot. He strokes his tongue over every inch of your mouth, claiming it as he angles his hips to hit your clit.

The tight grip of your body, your sweet mouth, your legs wrapped around him—perfection. He indulges in every part of you. His heart races, his need grows desperate, but he holds back, determined to wait for your high to come first.

When you finally shatter and convulse around him uncontrollably, he allows himself to thrust harder. He grasps your hips, your thighs, pressing your foreheads together so he can look into your beautiful, dazed eyes as he thrusts one last time, losing himself completely as he pours everything into you. As his breath saws in and out, he holds you tight, with no intention of letting go.

The theory is proven: sleeping with the enemy is hot.

-

It’s Seungmin’s third time staying over in your hotel room this week alone, and no, you're not complaining at all. You've already grown accustomed to him—Seungmin is part of your routine now, part of your life, and his absence leaves you feeling restless.

When you're not with him, you recall what he’s done to you: the way he kissed you, caressed you, all the things he's said. Your hand unconsciously flies down to your thigh, wishing he was touching you right now.

But don’t get it wrong—the non-bedroom side of Seungmin appeals to you just as much as the lover side, if not more. He makes you laugh, and he listens to you, even when what you talk about isn’t particularly interesting. He’s comfortable around you, and that makes you comfortable around him. You like how he fills the empty space in the bed, and you also like just lying with him in a comfortable silence that doesn’t beg for questions.

However, tonight is an exception.

As you lie on the bed with Seungmin, still recovering from the passionate lovemaking you shared earlier, you feel the weight of reality slowly creeping back in. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it feels heavy, as if there are things that need to be said.

You roll over slightly to face him and place your hand on his arm, fingers gently tracing the veins coiling down his inner arm. “I need to tell you something,” you murmur.

Seungmin turns his head to look at you, his gaze soft but curious. “What is it?”

You inhale deeply as you gather your thoughts, looking into his eyes as you begin with the one thing you're sure of.

“I really like you, Seungmin.”

“I know,” he says confidently, one corner of his mouth curling into a half-smirk.

You bring your hand up to cup his chin, gently scratching his jaw with your fingertips as you flash him a soft smile and continue speaking.

“What you don’t know is that my family isn’t speaking to me right now, and that’s something I’d like to change.”

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” he says earnestly, softly caressing your cheek.

“My family used to control me—I’m sure you know what that’s like. I rebelled, took off, and a year into it, I found out my younger sister was going through something, and I wasn’t there for her because I was trying to prove some... stupid point,” you explain with a dry chuckle.

His gaze remains steady as he listens to you without interrupting.

“I’m just trying to find my way back in, and I happened to bump into you along the way.”

“And I’m glad you did,” he says, catching your other hand in his and resting it on his chest.

You hold his chin, wanting all of his attention focused on you, because what you're about to say is the most important part of this conversation.

“Being seen with you would send the wrong message, and I really can’t risk making my family more upset right now.”

Seungmin’s eyes soften, and without the slightest hesitation, he nods in agreement. “I understand,” he says calmly.

“Don’t worry, I’m pretty good at secret relationships,” he adds with a playful smirk. “And all the sneaking around... it’s kind of thrilling. I find it really hot.”

You let out a soft laugh, suddenly feeling at ease. “Of course you do.”

Seungmin pulls you closer, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face before placing a chaste kiss on your lips.

“We’ll keep it a secret, but I want you to know that it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

As Seungmin presses a tender kiss to your forehead, you feel the warmth and reassurance sinking in. For now, the secret doesn’t feel like a burden—it feels like a shared world that belongs only to the two of you.

-

In under a month, Seungmin has learned a lot about you.

In bed, you respond best when he goes slowly, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. But if he wants something more intense—or anything, for that matter—you’re game and eager to please. He couldn’t ask for a better partner.

Out of bed, you live by routine. You get up at the same time every day, then shower away the evidence of morning sex (because Seungmin loves starting the day off right). Your breakfast usually consists of a cup of black coffee and French toast. You share a kiss before parting ways; you get picked up at the hotel entrance while Seungmin makes his exit through the hotel kitchen.

During the day, you help your father with his campaign at the headquarters, returning to your hotel room around 8 or 9 when you have dinner with your family.

As for your evenings, they belong to Seungmin. When you’re not fooling around like hormonal teenagers, you spend time having late-night snacks, talking about random things, or just cuddling in bed—things Seungmin has never experienced with anyone before.

Day by day, he wants more of you, not less.

Tonight, you both decide to watch something on pay-per-view. You rest your head on his shoulder while your eyes are fixed on the large screen mounted on the wall. From time to time, Seungmin kisses you, and it feels so good having you near, as if he were made to be your lover.

Occasionally, you react to certain scenes in the film, your bare legs shifting beneath the hem of your nightdress.

“Are you wearing underwear?” he jokes into your ear.

You part your legs, giving him the opportunity to find out for himself. It’s funny that he only realizes now—you’ve never turned him down; you’re just as starved for him as he is for you.

Seungmin pouts when his fingers meet silky fabric instead of your tender flesh, but that doesn’t stop him from continuing to touch you. You gasp as he massages your clothed clit, and your head lolls on his shoulder.

It doesn’t take long before you’re wet, your essence coating his fingertips as he traces your folds. His cock aches inside the confines of his jeans, as if it’s been weeks since he last had sex, not just hours. He wants you again—craves that closeness, that connection, that unbelievable, mind-blowing pleasure. No amount of you is ever enough for him.

Before long, you give in and pull him down for a hungry kiss, which leads to another, and another, and another...

The next thing he knows, the credits are rolling on the TV screen—the whole film played while the two of you were busy with other things. At the end of the night, you climb into bed and nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, wrapping your warmth around his body.

Seungmin brushes a stray hair from your face, his fingertips trailing over the smooth curve of your lips before placing a gentle kiss, tender and possessive.

“Goodnight,” he mutters when he breaks the kiss.

The next morning, he finds you wearing his shirt—the one from the very first night you spent together. He doesn’t know how to describe how he feels seeing you in his clothes, knowing you kept his shirt and have been wearing it; all he knows is it’s a good feeling.

Truthfully, he’s been feeling like this a lot lately—whenever you smile, ask for a kiss, or cross the room just to be near him. But also when the two of you aren’t together. He has spent the past few weeks in a euphoric high, grinning for no other reason than thinking of you.

There’s no doubt about it—Seungmin is stupid in love.

-

The fundraiser party is in full swing, the lights casting a warm, polished glow over the room as it's buzzing with conversations and the clinking of glasses. You stand beside your father, perfectly poised, playing the part of the dutiful daughter.

This night isn’t about you—it’s about him. Every charming smile, every polite nod you give is an extension of the image he wants to project: a perfect family, a perfect father. But you know the truth.

As you watch your father work the room, shaking hands and making connections, you know your role is to boost his image—not because he cares about you, but because you are part of his political strategy. Still, this is your chance to prove yourself, to show him you can be the daughter he wants, even if the real connection is long gone.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin and his brother-in-law approaching. Your heart skips a beat, but you hurriedly calm yourself down, knowing this isn’t the time for emotions—it’s the time for control.

Seungmin and his brother-in-law stop in front of you and your father. Seungmin’s gaze briefly meets yours for a second, and despite the public setting, the intensity of that look sends a small thrill through you.

“Good evening,” Seungmin’s brother-in-law says politely and formally. “We’re here representing our father tonight, and he sends his regards.”

Your father, ever the politician, gives a thin, practiced smile. “Ah, yes, it’s unfortunate he couldn’t attend himself. I suppose running a campaign must keep him quite busy.”

There’s a subtle edge to his words, a slight sneer that isn’t lost on you or anyone, but fortunately, Seungmin and his brother-in-law remain composed, not rising to the bait.

“Of course,” Seungmin replies calmly. “He’s doing everything he can for the campaign.”

Your father’s gaze shifts to Seungmin, sizing him up before his eyes narrow in curiosity. "Seungmin, isn’t it? I’ve heard good things about you. You’ve been quite the asset to your father’s campaign, haven’t you?”

“Oh, please. I’m just doing the best I can to help,” Seungmin humbly replies, perfectly nailing the model son role.

“It’s refreshing to see someone so dedicated to their family’s success. We could all learn from that, couldn’t we?” your father says, glancing at you, making it clear that his praise for Seungmin is a thinly veiled comparison.

You keep your composure, your smile unwavering, even as a knot of discomfort forms in your stomach. You entertain yourself with the thought that your father has no idea what is really going on—that the very man he is praising is the one you are secretly seeing. The joke is on him.

“Have you met my daughter?" your father asks, gesturing toward you as if you haven’t been standing there the whole time.

Seungmin turns to you, his expression steady, but his eyes flicker with something only you can recognize. He holds out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you reply, keeping your smile polite. You have to continue acting as if nothing has ever happened between you and him.

Hours pass as you mingle with other guests, but the pressure of keeping up appearances starts to weigh on you. Toward the end of the party, when most of the guests are distracted, you slip away, catching Seungmin’s eye as you do. He follows discreetly, and soon you find yourselves in an isolated part of the building, the muffled sounds of the party still audible.

The moment he comes into sight, you let out a sigh of relief, allowing yourself to drop the mask you’ve worn all night.

"I missed you," he whispers as he steps closer. Before you can respond, he presses his lips to yours, the kiss filled with longing and the tension that has been building up since your last secret meeting.

"I missed you too," you murmur between kisses.

In the dimly lit, secluded hallway, you and Seungmin find a rare moment of peace. His hands cup your face, his lips moving urgently against yours, pouring all the longing and frustration of the past few days into every kiss.

It is reckless, but being with him feels too good to resist. In fact, it feels so good that you almost forget the dark shadow that has been hanging over your mind. Almost.

"My mom found out about us," you blurt out after breaking the kiss.

Seungmin freezes, his lips barely an inch from yours, his brows furrowing as he processes what you’ve just said. "Wait... what?"

“I guess we didn’t fool the doorman,” you say with a heavy sigh as the gravity of the situation sinks in.

For a moment, Seungmin just stands there, panic rising in his chest. If your mom knows, it won’t be long before both of your families find out, and he knows exactly what that would mean for both of you—and for his father’s campaign.

“So... you told her the truth?” he asks, focusing on the possibility that your mom might indirectly support this relationship.

“Obviously, I didn’t want to risk everything with my family for some fling that wasn’t going to last,” you reply meekly.

Seungmin blinks, then his lips curl into a teasing smile. "Oh, so it isn’t just some fling?”

“Seungmin, I’m serious!" you whine in frustration, giving him a playful slap on the chest.

"You can’t keep sneaking into the hotel anymore. It’s too risky, and if my father finds out...” You can’t even finish your sentence without feeling sick to your stomach.

Seungmin’s smile fades as he realizes the danger you are both in. It feels as if the walls are closing in on both sides, and it won’t be long before someone else notices the two of you together. His mind races, trying to think of a solution, somewhere you can be together without the prying eyes of your families.

Just as he opens his mouth to say something, a voice interrupts, and both of you stiffen.

“Seungmin?”

His brother-in-law is standing a few feet away, his eyes narrowing as he glances between the two of you, catching sight of Seungmin’s hand still holding yours.

None of you speak, and in that moment, it feels like the quiet before a storm about to break.

-

Seungmin’s brother-in-law has always been sharp, and tonight is no exception. As you and Seungmin slipped out of the party, thinking you were being discreet, he spotted the two of you. From the moment you met, he sensed something was already there. He observed further, noticing the sneaky glances, the looks that said more than words, and the way you interacted with each other. He must admit, both of you are poor actors.

When his brother-in-law corners the two of you in the hallway, Seungmin braces himself, expecting him to spill everything to his father immediately, knowing what he could gain from it.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Seungmin asks, suspicion creeping in. He knows his brother-in-law has always been loyal to the family, especially to his father, so this calm, nonchalant reaction doesn’t add up.

Instead, his brother-in-law glances between you both with a knowing smile and says, "You two are playing a dangerous game, but you know what? I won’t stand in your way."

That doesn't make Seungmin relax. If anything, the words make him more cautious. "And why’s that? Why are you suddenly on my side?”

“Seungmin, I already think of you like my own brother,” his brother-in-law replies simply, with enough sincerity to convince anyone who hears him. “I want you to be happy."

Seungmin remains quiet for a moment, still wary, but realizing he has little choice. Whatever his brother-in-law’s motives are, this is the only lifeline he has right now.

“So, what’s the plan?” Seungmin finally asks, keeping his voice steady.

“I have a boat. It’s docked not far from here. No one checks it, no one comes by." His brother-in-law reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small set of keys, handing them to Seungmin. "You two can stay there, alone, as long as you need."

Seungmin’s gaze flicks from the keys to his brother-in-law’s face, still unsure if he can fully trust him. But this is the best option you both have right now. He decides to take a leap of faith and takes the keys from him.

"It's docked on the west side, slip twenty-three," his brother-in-law informs him. Before Seungmin can say anything else, he adds, “Oh, you may want to check the first aid kit on the boat.”

Seungmin’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “What for?”

His brother-in-law puts on a mischievous grin. “Let’s just say you’ll find some essentials in there."

Seungmin’s suspicion deepens, but he doesn’t question it further. Maybe his brother-in-law is being sincere, so Seungmin stops overthinking it. On a more important note, you both need a place to hide, and this is as good as it’s going to get. He glances over at you, and with a silent agreement, you both know you have to take this opportunity, no matter the risks.

“Thanks,” Seungmin mutters, cautious but grateful. “I appreciate it.”

His brother-in-law pats him on the shoulder, giving him a reassuring nod. “Just be careful,” he says.

With that, you and Seungmin slip away into the night, heading toward the boat where, for at least one night, you can finally be alone.

-

The boat is bigger than you thought it would be, bobbing gently in the moonlit water. As you step onto the deck, you feel a sense of freedom, as if, for once, the outside world can’t reach you. You settle into the small but comfortable space, the tension between you fading into something softer, more tender.

When it’s just the two of you, you can finally let your guard down and be your authentic self. You walk up to him and slip into his arms for a warm embrace.

"It's just you and me now," you say, resting your forehead against him.

"Just you and me," he repeats, gently tilting your head with his hand on your chin, and places the gentlest kiss, treating you like a fragile piece of art.

Seungmin leads you through the cabin, the scent of saltwater and wood lingering in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of the sea breeze drifting in from the open hatch.

“This is nice,” you comment, running your fingers along the edge of a worn leather couch. “But do you think your brother-in-law keeps any food around? I’m starving.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and makes his way to the small kitchenette, opening the fridge with a creak. “Looks like frozen pizza is on the menu,” he says, pulling out the pack and showing it to you.

As Seungmin prepares the frozen pizza and tosses it into the microwave, you head to the bedroom to find something comfortable to wear. In the bathroom, you find a soft bathrobe neatly folded on the top shelf. Without a second thought, you change out of your dress and into the robe. As you tie the belt around your waist, you sigh in relief, feeling a great sense of comfort.

By the time you return, Seungmin is plating the pizza, the smell filling the small cabin. He has also found a bottle of champagne in the cabinet, the label a little worn and the drink lukewarm. Both of you eat in comfortable silence, exchanging small smiles between bites, enjoying this rare moment of normalcy.

When the food is all gone, you lean back in your seat with a contented sigh. The dinner is simple, yet it feels more special than any you’ve had before.

Being the neat person he is, Seungmin wastes no time cleaning up after dinner.

“You can clean up later,” you tell him, sipping your warm champagne.

“There’s not much to clean anyway,” he replies, taking the dirty plates back into the cabin.

Remembering what Seungmin’s brother-in-law said before you left, you decide to go on a little hunt for the first-aid kit he mentioned and see what’s inside. It doesn’t take long to find it tucked away in one of the cabinets in the control room. As you open it, you blink in surprise.

“Well, well…” you murmur, pulling out a small Ziploc bag among the usual bandages and ointments.

Seungmin raises an eyebrow when you bring it over and show him. He shakes his head, already deciding it’s a bad idea.

You shrug, holding the pack out to him with a playful smile. “Why not? Let’s live a little.”

“We shouldn’t even be touching his things,” he says, leaning back on the sun lounger.

“What are you talking about? We’ve just eaten his frozen pizza and drunk his champagne,” you remind him, settling onto his lap.

“I can buy those things back for him,” he replies, folding his hands behind his head.

“But he mentioned it, so that means he’s fine with it, right?”

He shakes his head, eyes closed, unwilling to hear more persuasion.

“Come on,” you urge, taking a rolled blunt out of the bag and rolling it between your fingers. “Just one. It’s a special night, isn’t it?”

He opens his eyes and finds himself unable to resist you when you smile so sweetly. He reaches for the blunt.

“Alright, fine," he gives in, "but just one.”

You light it and take a slow drag, letting the smoke curl lazily into the air before handing it over to him. His fingers brush against yours as he inhales, and you watch as his shoulders visibly relax.

The two of you take turns smoking, the night enveloping you in a peaceful cocoon. The quiet of the water, the gentle sway of the boat, and the faint glow of stars above make everything feel far away, as if the world and its complications couldn’t touch you here.

“I could get used to this,” you softly mutter, your voice barely louder than a whisper as you nuzzle into Seungmin’s side, sharing the sun lounger with him, the blunt hanging loosely between your fingers.

Seungmin exhales long and slow, his arm coming around your shoulders to pull you close. “Yeah, me too.”

The smoke, the sea, and the quiet lull you into a different kind of peace—an escape from everything, if only for tonight.

With one last drag, you finish the rest of the blunt yourself. You rest your head on Seungmin’s shoulder, your hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath. For once, you don’t feel like you’re running away from something.

“I wish it could always be like this,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “I feel happiest when it’s just us, alone like this.”

Seungmin shifts slightly, his arm tightening around you as if he wants to hold onto this moment forever. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, and your heart flutters in response. He doesn’t say anything at first, just holds you closer, and you wonder if he feels the same way—that the world outside seems so distant when it’s just the two of you.

“I feel it too,” he finally says. “When it’s just us… it feels like everything makes sense. Like we’re the only two people in the world that matter.”

His words make your heart ache with a bittersweet warmth. In a moment like this, it’s easy to forget about the chaos waiting for you back home.

Here, it’s just you and him.

You stare at him, your faces merely inches apart. The moonlight casts a soft glow across his features, and God, he’s just so beautiful. His eyes meet yours, and the longer you look into them, the more you see the depth of his feelings. There’s something tender, something vulnerable—you’ve never seen him look at you like this before.

Seungmin swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as if he’s gathering courage. Then, in a soft yet steady voice, he says, “I love you.”

The words hang in the air, suspended between you, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. He’s never said it before, and hearing those words now, spoken under the starry sky with the waves lapping gently against the boat, it feels… magical.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice more certain this time, his eyes steady on yours. “I don’t care about the rest of it—our families, the politics, all of it. I love you."

Tears well up in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming joy of hearing him say those words. You feel the sincerity in them, the weight of what it means for him to admit it, to declare it, despite everything.

You reach for him, cupping his face in your hands. Using your thumb, you softly rub his cheek. “I love you too, Seungmin, and I think I’ve loved you for longer than I can admit," your voice breaking as you try to hold back your emotions.

Seungmin leans in, closing the small distance between you, and kisses you softly, slowly, as if savoring the moment. His lips are warm against yours, and in that kiss, you feel everything: his love, his promise, his fear, and his hope.

-

It's the wine, the blunt, the sense of freedom you're feeling at the moment, and the way you keep replaying the moment Seungmin said those three words in the back of your mind—all of those things make you high, so high that you believe you're on the way to cloud nine.

As you sit straddling him, looking down at him, you feel more attracted to him than ever. It's his beautiful face, his short dark hair that complements his features well, how the white shirt he's wearing accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, and the rolled sleeves exposing the evident veins on his arms. Oh, he's just so fucking hot.

You prop your hands on each side of his head and look into the two orbs of his eyes. He remains unfazed by the intensity of your stare, but he would be stupid not to see the want in your eyes.

Unable to help yourself anymore, you lean in and kiss him, and it feels so good when he kisses you back, responding to your desires. But the kiss is just one of many; you want more, you need more.

As your lips are locked in a rapturous kiss, you take his hand and put it around your neck; his touch feels hot against your skin. To allow him more access, you untie your bathrobe and let it fall, pooling around your waist, exposing your bare chest to him.

Seungmin slowly rises from his seat, wrapping his arms around you without breaking the kiss. You whine when he finally detaches his lips and moan when he places them on your neck next.

"Seungmin," you seductively mewl his name as he nibbles on your ear, your head spinning when he sucks on the sensitive skin.

Your heart is pounding in anticipation of what he's going to do next. You look down and find him gazing at you through his lashes as he drags his lips down your chest. His hands are also making their way to the front when, all of a sudden, he does the unexpected.

Seungmin pulls your bathrobe back on you, tying the belt around your waist with his hand. You look at him in slight shock and disbelief; it's a moment later that you're finally able to speak again.

"Why not?" you ask, blinking at him.

"Not here," he simply says, endearingly tucking your hair behind your ear and then kissing your cheek.

What he does would usually make your heart flutter, but you feel bitter from his indirect rejection of your want. "Yeah but why not?"

"Because it's indecent," he innocently answers.

You scoff because back in the hotel room, Seungmin wasn’t shy about doing indecent things—some of which are far more than just indecent.

"Why? We're on a boat, we're alone, we're under a starry sky... it's romantic," you point out why doing it here would make for a special occasion.

He takes your hands and looks at you. "Then let's get inside."

"No," you flatly refuse with a pout.

"Come on," he says, shaking your hands to get your attention. Unsuccessful, he leans in and kisses your jaw before bringing his mouth close to your ear.

"I know another way to make you see stars," he whispers in a low, sultry voice.

Ugh! You hate how easily he cracks through your defenses. You smile at him and nod, allowing him to lead the way to the cabin, through the small living room, and finally into the cramped bedroom.

He grabs you by the waist and steers you to the bed, laying you down gently. He doesn’t hesitate to come on top of you, hovering above you as he captures your lips in a hard, deep kiss that consumes you whole.

Your hands refuse to remain idle; you pop every button on his shirt without looking, and when you’re done, you part it open, impatiently placing your hands on his body, trailing the outline of his abs with your fingertips.

Seungmin lets go of the kiss to take a breather, helping you with the shirt, shaking it off his shoulders, and tossing it aside. But the task is not done there; you loop your finger around the belt loop on his slacks and pull him close.

The head of his belt clinks as you take it off and hastily tear open the zipper. Without wasting a second, you pull his slacks down until they pool around his ankles.

"Oh, la la," you exclaim delightedly, biting your lips at the sight of him standing gloriously naked before you.

"Are you going to do something about it?" he asks, his voice heavy with assertiveness, hinting that he demands you to.

"Uhm... not sure," you coyly say, slowly wrapping your hand around his length and stroking it as it gradually hardens in your palm.

You land a few licks under the tip and around the length, and when you’re ready, you take him into your mouth, compensating the rest with your hand. He feels hot, hard, and veiny, slipping in and out of your mouth while you maintain eye contact with him.

Seungmin grips your shoulder, his nails faintly digging into your flesh, but he’s aware that it might hurt you, so he tangles his fingers in your hair, tugging at it when pleasure overwhelms him.

"Stop!" he gently says, though his voice remains assertive.

You slowly pull away with a string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock. He runs his thumb over your lips, separating them before shoving it into your mouth, and you gladly suck on it.

There's a loud pop when Seungmin takes his thumb out, and with his hand on your chest, he pushes you onto the bed, sending you lying back down. He parts your legs and kneels on the floor, wanting to return the favor to you.

All the times he has pleased you with his mouth, he’s done a wonderful job, so you lay on your back and close your eyes, knowing you’re in for a treat.

The kisses he places on your inner thighs are electrifying; his lips are soft as they land on your clit, and his tongue feels hot as he licks a long stripe down your folds. He uses two fingers on each side to pull your folds apart, diving in and drowning himself in you.

"Oh..." you moan as his tongue teases your entrance.

Every kiss, every lick, every place his tongue explores, and every gentle pressure he applies to your clit—Seungmin calculates everything to give you the utmost pleasure. But tonight, he isn’t being generous; he stops just when it starts to feel so good.

You almost groan in frustration, but before it can escape your mouth, he catches your lips in a hungry kiss, making you forget your complaints, your ability to speak, and your whereabouts, but not your wants.

You part your legs wider to welcome him, seeking that closeness, wanting his delicious cock as close as possible to where you want him the most.

"If you don’t put it in, I think I’ll die," you dramatically mutter against his lips.

Seungmin lets out a chuckle and kisses you again. "I want that embroidered on a pillow."

The feeling of your needs finally met—oh, there’s nothing like it. When it comes to Seungmin, though, you’re not sure you’ll ever be satisfied; you keep wanting more.

More of those hard kisses on your lips, more of those hands kneading your breasts and gripping your legs, more of those moans slipping from his mouth into yours, more of his cock slipping in and out of you, more of those hard, shallow thrusts making your eyes roll back—more and more and more...

He isn’t lying when he says he knows another way to make you see stars. As you hit your high and your eyes screw shut, you see nothing but stars.

Seungmin comes not long after, collapsing on top of you. His lips immediately search for yours, kissing you with such haste when they find you.

When you finally pull apart, you both lay there in the silence of the night, wrapped in each other and the warmth of this tender moment. The world outside feels far away, and for now, this is enough—just the two of you, tangled in each other, both of your heads full of stars.

-

Things are going well. Your relationship with Seungmin remains a secret, and the results of the pre-vote are out, revealing that your father is leading the race by an 8% margin. Everyone is happy, all is well—but you have this nagging feeling in your chest that things won’t stay like this for long. You hope it's for the better, and God, you hope that's true.

To celebrate your father leading in the pre-vote, your family holds a brunch this afternoon. Being invited to this is a significant step toward winning your way back into the family. Your little sister has taken your hand under the table, squeezing it as a sign of solidarity. She hasn’t said it out loud, but you can feel that she’s happy to have you here, part of the family again, even if only for a moment.

However, as the minutes tick by and your father doesn’t appear, a gnawing feeling settles in your chest. You try to brush it off, focusing on how far you’ve come. After all, you’re here, included, proving that you can still be the daughter your family wants you to be.

Then your mother calls you and asks you to follow her to your father’s study. She makes you sit on the leather sofa in anticipation. Her expression is soft, but there’s something behind her eyes that makes your stomach churn, and you know something is wrong before she even speaks.

“When was the last time you saw him?” she asks, her voice quiet but direct.

Your mind flashes back to that night with Seungmin on the boat. You haven’t told anyone, and as far as you know, no one has seen you. But your mother’s gaze is sharp, and she’ll know if you lie.

“I… I went on a boat with Seungmin,” you admit meekly, your voice small and low. “But we were discreet. I swear, no one saw us.”

Your mother lets out a heavy sigh, her hand going to the nape of her neck as she massages it lightly. She doesn’t say anything but takes out her phone from her tweed jacket, tapping the screen a few times before handing it to you. Your eyes widen as you look at the screen, the shock hitting you like a punch to the gut.

There on the screen are photos—compromising photos. Some show you smoking; others are more intimate, even naked. You feel the blood drain from your face. These are pictures from that night on Seungmin’s brother-in-law’s boat, now plastered across the internet.

“Mom…” you stammer, trying to make sense of it. “There was no one there except us. This can’t be happening. It wasn’t Seungmin… it couldn’t be.”

“I’m afraid you weren’t as discreet as you thought,” your mother says, her expression composed but with a grave undertone. “Your father found out about the relationship. He’s furious, and this… this could ruin everything for him.”

You feel faint and hurriedly lean against the table to steady yourself. “No… no, it can’t be. Seungmin would never—”

The idea of Seungmin betraying you is unthinkable, but the pictures don’t lie. Someone had been there, someone had taken them, and now your life is spiraling out of control.

“I don’t believe it’s him,” you insist, shaking your head in denial. “Seungmin wouldn’t do this to me. He cares about me.”

“Think about what’s best for you,” your mother says, her voice rising slightly as she struggles to keep her composure. “Whether it’s Seungmin or his family behind this, we can’t take any more risks. You need to stay away from him, at least until I can figure out what’s really going on.”

Your heart aches, torn between your love for Seungmin and the loyalty you’re still trying to prove to your family.

“I’m sending you back to your hotel,” she says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “And you’re not to leave until I say it’s safe. Your father is already angry enough, and we can’t afford any more mistakes.”

Before you can protest, she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving you standing in the middle of the room. You want to believe in Seungmin, but now doubts plague your mind. A question gnaws at you: Is your love for Seungmin worth risking everything you have left?

-

The car ride back to the hotel is a blur of tears and shattered trust. Your chest feels heavy, the weight of betrayal pressing down on you, suffocating you.

The man you trusted, the one who held you close, is part of the very family responsible for leaking those photos. Whether Seungmin is directly involved or not doesn’t matter anymore—his family is, and that’s enough for you to push him away.

The car pulls up to the curb, and the doorman is there instantly, opening the door and offering his hand to help you out. You feel faint, your legs trembling from the emotions raging inside, but you force yourself to stand, to walk, and to keep your head up if you can.

Just as you step onto the pavement, a familiar hand grabs your arm. You stop in your tracks, your heart aching in your chest.

Seungmin. He’s there, his eyes wide with worry, as if he hadn’t expected to see you like this. And oh, the sight of him, the man you thought you could trust, brings everything crashing down.

Without thinking, you rush at him, your fists pounding against his chest in a fit of anger and betrayal.

“How could you?!” you scream through your tears, each punch that lands fueled by the pain inside. “How could you let them do this to me?!”

Seungmin doesn’t fight back. He just stands there, letting you hit him, his face filled with shock and pain as he tries to reach for you, to explain.

“It wasn’t me,” he tries to say, but the words are lost in the chaos of your emotions. “You know I’d never—”

“Stop lying!” you shout, cutting him off.

Your emotions hit their boiling point, the pain overwhelming you. “You expect me to believe you didn’t know? That this wasn’t some way to tear me apart?”

His eyes widen in disbelief, his hands reaching for you, but you slap them away. “I don’t know who’s doing this, but I would never let anyone hurt you like this. You have to believe me!”

“Believe you? After everything that’s happened? I’ve been humiliated, and you come here pretending like you had nothing to do with it?” Your voice rises with every word, and you’re too far gone, too hurt.

He tries again, stepping closer, but you shove him hard enough that he staggers backward. “I can’t even look at you right now. Get out! Get the fuck out of my face!” you scream, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Seeing you like this is painful for him, but not as painful as knowing he caused this. His hands tremble as he tries one last time to reach for you. “Please, don’t do this—let’s talk—”

Drawn by the commotion, hotel security steps in between you and him, blocking him from approaching you.

“Sir, you need to leave,” one of them says, placing a firm hand on Seungmin’s shoulder.

“Wait! Just let me talk to her!” He tries to push past them, but they hold him back, stronger.

It’s too late. You’ve already turned away, not even sparing him a last glance. He can’t bear the thought of being the cause of all this.

As the door of your hotel room clicks shut behind you, the silence fills the room, and everything comes crashing down again. This time, you don’t have anything left to fight with, so you let the pain and heartbreak consume you, sinking to the floor as tears flood your eyes.

It hits you now—you’ve pushed away the one person you thought you could trust, but everything feels broken beyond repair. It feels like you’re losing everything: your family, your trust, and the man you thought was different.

Leaning against the closed door that seals you off from the outside world, you wonder if there’s anything left to hold on to.

-

The more Seungmin thinks about it, the more certain he becomes that there is only one person who could have leaked the photos—someone who knew about the boat, someone involved. His brother-in-law.

He doesn’t waste any more time. He grabs his car keys and drives straight to his brother-in-law’s place. A storm rages in his chest, anger mixed with dread, his head full of accusations and possible answers.

When he arrives, he skips the courtesies and storms inside. He finds his brother-in-law leaning against the kitchen counter, looking surprised but not startled to see him.

“Seungmin? What’s going on?” he casually asks.

Seungmin doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of him, glaring into his eyes, refusing to be fooled again.

“You know damn well what’s going on. You’re the only one who knew about the boat, the only one who could’ve tipped off the paparazzi. Tell me the truth!" He slams his hand on the counter, causing a spoon resting on the edge of a bowl to clatter. "Did you leak those photos?”

His brother-in-law’s face tenses, the calm façade slipping, replaced by panic. “Look, Seungmin, before you go off—”

“Just answer me!” Seungmin urges, his voice cracking with anger. He can’t bear the thought that someone so close to him—someone he thought of as a brother—has betrayed him like this.

After an intense silence, his brother-in-law sighs and rubs his forehead. “Fine. Yes, I hired the paparazzi.”

Deep down, Seungmin knew this would be the answer, but it doesn’t stop the anger and betrayal surging through him. His hands ball into fists at his sides, his body shaking from holding back violence.

“You set us up? Why?”

His brother-in-law looks at him and licks his lips before answering, “It wasn’t just me, alright? I had permission—permission from your father.”

Seungmin could understand his brother-in-law’s motive: he wants to get on his father’s good side, to be acknowledged and approved. But his father? His own father, whom Seungmin respects and admires, someone he has helped campaign for because he believes in him?

“My father? He knew? He approved this?” Seungmin stammers, struggling to comprehend it.

“Your father’s been watching you, Seungmin. He knows about your little affair with her, and he’s not happy. So yeah, he gave the go-ahead. The idea was to expose her, make her the problem,” his brother-in-law explains, and as if he couldn’t say anything more stupid, he adds, “It’s nothing personal, just politics.”

Seungmin knocks everything off the table—plates, glass, spoon—all clattering to the floor. “You ruined her life for politics!" he shouts, hoping it’ll knock some sense into his brother-in-law’s crooked mind.

“You know how this works, Seungmin,” his brother-in-law says calmly, still leaning against the counter. “Your father is just trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? By destroying her? By ruining her reputation?” Seungmin’s jaw clenches as he fists his hands so hard his knuckles turn white.

“She’s not innocent in all of this, and you know you shouldn’t have gotten involved with her in the first place,” his brother-in-law says, his gaze piercing.

It’s betrayal upon betrayal. Seungmin’s mind is still struggling to process the fact that his father orchestrated the entire thing, using his brother-in-law to tear them apart.

Without another word, Seungmin storms out, but his brother-in-law daringly runs his mouth once more, “You’ll thank me later, Seungmin. Trust me.”

But Seungmin isn’t listening. His mind is busy planning what to do next—how to fix this, how to make things right. His number one priority is not letting his family ruin your life any further.

-

Seungmin storms into his father’s office, despite his father clearly being in the middle of an interview. His father hurriedly signals his secretary to escort the interviewer out of the room, knowing Seungmin is barely containing his anger.

The man behind the desk doesn’t flinch, already knowing why his son is there. He’s always composed and in control, but today, Seungmin isn’t going to let him keep that control.

“You set me up,” Seungmin spits, his voice sharp with betrayal. His father looks up, surprised but not shaken. “You used your own son to destroy her, to ruin her life, just because of some political rivalry?”

His father leans back in his chair, calmly putting his hands together in front of him. “It’s not about you, Seungmin. It’s about our family’s legacy. You were distracted, involved with the wrong person. I had to make sure you stayed focused on what really matters.”

“What really matters?” Seungmin’s voice shakes with disbelief and anger. “What really matters is that you took someone I care about and humiliated her! For what? Your campaign?”

“That girl was trouble,” his father remarks coldly. “She’s from a family that stands against everything we’re trying to build. You should have known better.”

“I don’t care about the politics!” Seungmin shouts, stepping closer to his father’s desk, unafraid for the first time of going against his father’s principles. “I care about her, and you—you ruined her for your own gain.”

His father stands, towering over the desk and staring intensely into his eyes. “You think you can just walk away from this? From your family? We’ve sacrificed everything for you, Seungmin. You’re going to be a part of this, whether you like it or not.”

“No, I’m not. I’m done with all of this. I’ll never be a part of this family again,” Seungmin says, shaking his head, done being a pawn in his father’s political games.

His father’s eyes darken, and a cold smirk rises at the corner of his lips. “You think this is all about one girl?” he scoffs.

“You’re naïve, Seungmin. You haven’t been in this world long enough to understand how power works. Sacrifices have to be made. And if you walk away from this family, from me, there’s more where that came from.”

Seungmin’s chest tightens with disbelief. “What do you mean by that?”

His father leans forward, his voice low and dangerous. “You think those were the only photos? There’s more from her past. I have them, and if you walk away now—if you so much as think about turning your back on this family—I will release every last one. She won’t have a life left to salvage.”

His father pulls open a drawer and takes out a file, showing Seungmin the photos he’s been keeping as a weapon. “But if you stay—if you fall in line and keep your head down until the election is over—I’ll make sure they disappear.”

Seungmin is hit with another wave of betrayal. His father had planned this all along, dangling her reputation as leverage over him. He expected manipulation, but this? This was beyond anything he could have imagined.

“You’re willing to destroy everything just for power?”

His father doesn’t flinch. “It’s not about power, Seungmin. It’s about winning. And I have won.”

-

TEN DAYS LATER.

The election is over, and his father has indeed won, but to Seungmin, it means he has nothing left to lose.

The man in front of him has torn apart the one thing that means the most to him, and for what? A title? A seat in the governor’s office?

As everyone gathers around his father, congratulating him and celebrating his victory, Seungmin can't help but wonder: does his father feel the slightest bit of disgust for what he did to achieve this win? Seungmin certainly does. He can't look at his father the same way anymore and he refuses being related to him apart from sharing the same DNA.

Seungmin makes his way toward his father, and when he's close enough, he extends his hand. His father doesn't hesitate and grips it, shaking it with a triumphant smile plastered across his face.

"Are you happy now?" Seungmin asks calmly.

"Well, I've won," his father replies with a sickening smirk.

There’s not a hint of remorse on his face for what he did to his own son, which only convinces Seungmin further that he wants no part of this anymore.

"But you've lost your son," Seungmin boldly remarks, each word carrying a finality his father can’t ignore.

Without waiting for his father’s reply, Seungmin turns on his heel and walks away—from his father, his family, everything. He leaves the office behind, as if it’s already become a distant memory.

There's only one thing left to do now.

He drives straight to your father’s campaign headquarters because he doesn't know where else to start. Your family is the only one who knows where you are, and although he doubts any of them would tell him, he can’t—he mustn't—give up.

When he arrives, the place is busy with activity, but it offers a different kind of atmosphere compared to his father’s headquarters. He balls his hands into fists in determination and enters the building without hesitation.

"Apologies, sir, but the headquarters is strictly for staff only tonight," a security guard blocks him from stepping inside.

"I need to talk to someone in there," Seungmin says, hoping the guard will understand and let him through.

"Unless you’ve already made an appointment, we can't let you in, sir," the guard says firmly, crossing his arms and standing in front of the doorway.

Reluctantly, Seungmin steps back, trying to come up with a new plan. He considers waiting outside until one of your family members leaves. It’s a flawed idea, but it’s the best one he has.

Then, as if by divine intervention, your younger sister appears at the reception desk. Seungmin takes a step closer to the entrance, ignoring the guard, and does everything he can to catch her attention, even calling her by her full name.

She looks over her shoulder and, upon seeing him, her expression turns cold and defensive. She never trusted him, and Seungmin doesn’t blame her. Still, he’s desperate, and this might be his only chance to find you.

“I need to know where she is,” Seungmin says, his voice steady but pleading. “I need to see her before it’s too late.”

Your sister crosses her arms, scrutinizing him. "Why should I help you? After everything that’s happened, why should I trust you?"

His throat tightens, but he meets her gaze with unwavering sincerity. “Because I love her. I had no part in what my father did. I’d give up everything to be with her. I already have.”

There’s a long pause as your sister’s expression shifts, her defenses slowly lowering. Perhaps she sees the earnestness in his eyes, the depth of his regret, and his determination.

She turns to the receptionist, writes something down on a piece of paper, and hands it to him. “If you break her heart again, I swear to God...” she mutters, leaving the threat unfinished.

Seungmin’s heart leaps. He’s just met her, but she already feels more like family than his own ever has. “Thank you," he says, his voice full of gratitude.

“She’s leaving the country tomorrow, so you’d better hurry,” she adds, turning away before he can say anything more.

Every second becomes precious as his heart pounds with a new sense of urgency. This is it. He won’t lose you—not to his father, not to the mess his family has created. This time, nothing will stop him.

-

The country house is quiet, almost too quiet. The only sounds are the soft rustling of the trees outside and the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath your feet. The room is stifling, but it’s your thoughts that press down on you the most. You fold another shirt and tuck it into your suitcase, packing for tomorrow, planning to leave nothing behind.

It was a mistake to come back here, and you know it now. This city was once a refuge; now, it feels like a prison, a place to hide. You’ve become a liability to your family, and your father made that painfully clear when he sent you here. You were told to stay quiet, remain hidden, and leave without a trace in the morning.

There’s no future for you here anyway.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you zip up the suitcase. You can’t take any more of this—feeling like a pawn in a game that was never yours to play. Leaving is the only choice left. It’s for the best, even if it means abandoning everything you’ve ever known. It’s not an easy decision, but you force yourself to push through it.

Then, suddenly, there’s a knock on the door, breaking the stillness of the night.

Your heart leaps, and for a moment, you freeze. You remember your father’s warnings: Never open the door. No one is to know you’re here. Stay hidden. You take a step back, away from the door.

Another knock comes, this time more urgent.

You remain still, holding your breath, praying that whoever it is will go away. But then you hear a voice—his voice.

“Please... it’s me, Seungmin.”

Your heart races at the sound of his voice, familiar and full of emotion. You badly want to rush to the door, to throw it open and fall into his arms, but the alarm bells in your head ring louder. You can’t. You shouldn’t.

“I know you’re in there,” Seungmin says, his voice breaking between words. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Please... just let me in.”

You clench your fists, torn between what you know is right and the ache in your chest. You stay quiet, pressing your back against the door, fighting the overwhelming urge to respond.

"I had to find you," Seungmin continues, his voice softer now, almost desperate. “I couldn’t let you leave without seeing you. I can’t lose you—not after everything we’ve been through.”

Tears well in your eyes as you lean your forehead against the door, trying to keep your emotions in check. You *shouldn’t* let him in. This is a mistake—all of it—but hearing him on the other side, so close yet out of reach, is tearing you apart.

“I just want to be with you," Seungmin whispers. "I love you.”

The words break something inside you, and before you realize what you’re doing, your hand is on the doorknob. Torn between fear and love, you know you shouldn’t open the door, but your heart is aching for him. No matter how hard you try, you can’t ignore the pull you feel toward him.

“Please, don’t shut me out," he mutters, his voice thick with hopelessness.

Your walls crumble almost immediately and with shaking hands, you unlock the door and pull it open, revealing Seungmin standing there, his face full of worry and relief. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours. Without a word, he steps forward and takes you into his arms.

He holds you tightly, his warmth familiar and comforting. He feels like home. Finally, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Seungmin buries his face in your hair, whispering, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his. In that moment, without thinking, you lean in and press your lips to his—a kiss full of longing and everything you’ve been holding back for so long.

In the quiet of that night, with the stars shining through the open window and the future uncertain, you know that, despite everything, being with him is the only thing that makes sense.

-

The soft glow of moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a delicate sheen across the room. Your naked bodies are entwined beneath the sheets, the warmth of the moment lingering between you.

Seungmin hovers above you, his chest rising and falling as he gently caresses your face, his fingertips tracing the outline of your cheek like you are something sacred. His gaze is intense but tender, as if memorizing every part of you, still unable to believe you are really here in his arms.

His touch is soft, but the weight of the emotions between you is palpable. You can feel it in the way his fingers brush over your skin. He hasn’t said much, but his eyes tell everything—relief, love, fear of what could have been if he had lost you for good.

“I almost lost you,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing your lips. You lean into his touch, savoring the feeling of being so close, so connected. “I don’t ever want to feel that again.”

You gaze up at him, your heart aching with affection. Here, in this moment, it is just you and him, and nothing else matters.

Seungmin lowers his head to place a soft kiss on your forehead, then your lips, as if sealing some unspoken promise between the two of you.

“Let’s go somewhere,” his lips brush against yours with every word. “Let's start over, somewhere far away from all of this.”

The invitation comes so suddenly that you don’t know how to react. You blink up at him, feeling a mix of emotions—hope, love, but also fear. You love him deeply, more than you thought was possible, but you don’t want him to lose everything for you the way you have for him.

“Seungmin…” you whisper, your voice barely audible as your hand comes up to cup his face. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to lose your family, not like I did.”

“I’m sure,” he says firmly, his voice filled with conviction. “This, us, it’s what I want. I want to leave all of this behind and just be with you.”

A tear rolls down your cheek as you stare into his eyes, seeing the truth in his words, the earnestness of his intentions. While it makes you indescribably happy, it also breaks your heart a little. He is giving up everything—his family, his place in their world—just to be with you. You love him more for it, but it's also a heavy burden to bear.

“You really mean that?” you ask, your voice trembling with emotion.

Seungmin nods, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “Yes. This is what I want.”

It feels like the world has finally shifted, like things are starting to fall into place. Even though the future is still uncertain, you believe in him, in the two of you together, and that's enough.

“I love you,” you whisper, pulling him down into a soft, lingering kiss. “As long as we’re together, everything’s going to be okay.”

He kisses you back, holding you tightly against him, and in that moment, everything becomes clear. This is not just a mere coincidence. This is fate. You and Seungmin, together, is fate.

-

The hum of the plane's engines is comforting, familiar, as you both settle into your seats, side by side.

The memory of that first flight together—the stolen glances, the whispered conversations—comes rushing back, but this time it feels different. This is a new beginning, a chance to start over.

Seungmin glances over at you, a playful glint filling his warm brown eyes. He shifts in his seat, turning toward you just like he had the first time.

"Hi, I’m Seungmin,” he softly says, offering his hand in mock formality, his smile full of warmth. “Traveling alone?”

You can’t help but smile back, slipping your hand into his. “Nice to meet you. And I’m traveling with someone very special, actually.”

You both chuckle, the familiarity of the moment easing the tension of everything that came before. It's like stepping into a memory but with the promise of something better ahead.

Seungmin’s eyes soften as he looks at you, and he leans in closer, his voice lowering.

“Business or pleasure?” you ask playfully, replaying the conversation that had sparked your connection all those months ago.

“Neither,” he answers, his voice gentle but certain. “I’m traveling for a happy ending.”

His words send a flutter through your chest, and you feel the warmth spread all the way to your fingertips. You look at him, your heart overflowing with emotion, knowing that this isn’t just a flight—it is a leap into the unknown, into something new and full of possibility.

You squeeze his hand, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin against yours. “A happy ending,” you repeat with a smile.

As the plane begins to taxi down the runway, he intertwines his fingers with yours, holding on tightly, unwilling to let go. You both stare out the window, watching the world fall away beneath you, your hearts beating in sync.

And as the plane lifts off, climbing higher into the sky, you know that whatever the future holds, as long as you are together, everything will be okay.

The past is behind you now, and in this moment, with Seungmin by your side, the world feels wide open, full of hope and promise. Into a happy ending, you go.

-

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SUGAR HONEY ICE & TEA — [18+!]

"But you could have taken a hot guy to your room instead of being with a nerd like me.”

You scoff, “What do you mean? I’m literally on top of the hottest guy at this party right now.”

Jisung sighs again.

“Y/N… Don’t say that. You’ll make me believe that you actually mean it.”

⛓️ SYNOPSIS: Jisung’s initial plan for tonight’s party was to finally gather up enough courage to talk to his long time crush. But for some reason spending time with you instead feels so much more natural and when things get a little more serious, your friend starts wondering if you will notice his lack of experience…

💊 CONTENT INFO: jisung x afab reader, this is part of the completed series Levanter and takes place before its events but can be read as a standalone (there are no spoilers), smut with plot, roommate jisung, friends to lovers/fwb, college au, reader has adhd/is referred to as neurodivergent, some parts are inspired by the show How To Sell Drugs Online (Fast) and the documentary Shiny Flakes on Netflix, content warning and smut tags under the cut

💵 WORD COUNT: 12.7K

🔪 CONTENT WARNING: topics of heavy drug dealing and mention of using, mention of unrequited love (not jisung and reader), alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, insecurities, mental health topics such as anxiety, addiction and adhd

🔥 SMUT: (includes spoilers) slightly tipsy make out session but rest is in sober state, both sub/dom and dom/sub dynamics, handjob, fingering, oral (m + f receiving), semi-protected piv, praise kink, slight spit play, slight marking, loss of virginity (m), name calling (baby, good boy, princess)

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nsw content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.

“Look at this graph.”

You sigh. It’s the seventh time he’s trying to explain this exercise now. You’re giving up. Statistics is a bitch and you don’t wanna fuck with her anymore.

“Sungie… I don’t get it. If I hear the term expected value one more time I’m gonna start crying, I’m honest.”

Your friend chuckles a little, as he scoots closer, before reaching for the computer mouse. Jisung opens a different PDF file then, deciding to repeat the basic theory with you again.

“Y/N, look. You’ve still got enough time. I’m gonna help you, okay? But I fear we have to start with the general knowledge again to understand the exercises.”

You whine, as your head falls back, your eyes closing while a moan spills from your lips. Your roommate feels like a perv that those innocent sounds that come from a source of annoyance do something to him that he would never ever confess. The way you’re sitting there, incredibly exhausted and relying on his help—it makes him feel like the worst friend ever considering you’re here in his room to study statistics.

And Jisung is here to teach you. Definitions. Numbers. Formulas. Stupid values and God knows what because he’s a nerd that is fucking good at everything. He’s studying computer science but for some reason he’s good at everything that is somewhat a part of IT and mathematics.

“Let’s try this exercise one last time and if you still have troubles with it, we will go back to the basics, okay?”

You’re aware it’s nothing personal. It’s honest criticism and you value that so much. After all, it's no use handling you with kid gloves, if you fail your exam that way.

“Alright…”

“Here, look through the list of formulas and read the question carefully again. Maybe underlining the important values and numbers helps you sort all the chaos,” he says with a smile.

“I’ll try,” you answer, skimming through the list once more.

He hates seeing you like this. You absolutely enjoy studying pharmacology, you’re born to be a pharmacist but statistics is getting on your last existing nerve.

Jisung doesn’t know what kind of power washes over his soul but he scoots even closer, laying an arm on the back of your chair before he speaks again.

“You’re smart, Y/N. You’re so good at what you’re doing, you know that, right?”

It’s not meant that way but the praise instantly shoots straight up to your head and then back again down to your core.

You look back at Jisung this time and that’s when you get lost in those eyes again. Those beautiful brown eyes that manage to hypnotise you fully just with a quick glare.

It’s probably just your imagination but for a second it feels as if Jisung is looking back at you with the same energy, as if he’s getting lost in the moment as well.

When your gaze flickers down to his lips—those beautiful lips that you are dying to feel against your own—Jisung’s heart starts beating out of his chest.

Fuck. He’s doomed. He can’t misinterpret those signs, can he?

A knock from the other side of Jisung’s room startles you.

“Can I come in?” A male voice asks.

“Sure,” Jisung allows your other friend entrance. Just when he was so close to you none other than the guy he constantly compares himself to has to ruin the moment. Fucking typical.

He walks into the room then, updating you on the plans for the party later. “I’m gonna go to the store to get some more drinks. Do we have everything else for tonight?”

You turn around to the curly haired, shooting him a quick smile. You’re glad he’s taking care of all the things that still need to be done so Jisung and you are able to fully focus on studying.

Right. Studying. It’s definitely that and not you non-stop staring at him.

“Yes. I’m gonna prepare the remaining snacks. Most stuff is already finished,” you announce.

“Great. Thanks. See you later,” is all he says before disappearing again. You can hear his footsteps in the distance and Jisung is already about to bring you back to the current exercise but your mind is still somewhere else.

Bang Chan. Your other roommate whom you’ve had a crush on since walking into this apartment for the first time three and a half years ago. It’s nothing serious. You swear.

You don’t see Jisung looking your way and noticing you ogling his older friend’s figure and he once again gets reminded why he’s never made a move on you—apart from simply not knowing how.

You’re more experienced, so it’s understandable that you’d rather choose someone in your league that definitely does not include your nerdy stoner roommate Jisung.

But little does Jisung know that both of them absolutely have the capability to sweep you off your feet. Maybe the younger one is even closer to winning the race, practically on the finishing line.

Yes, your crush on Chan was the first one to develop but after such a long time of flirting and no other move happening you gave up. Your older friend brings women home on a regular basis, has had girlfriends over the past years so at one point you stopped wasting your time fantasising about what you could be.

Whereas with Jisung you’re a little more comfortable. It just feels more natural spending time with him and, ironically, you like him that much that all this is enough for you—studying statistics with him, watching some dumb Netflix shows, teaching him how to cook although it’s hopeless, sharing the mediocre weed he bought from God knows where or simply sharing deep thoughts about anything in this world.

You really feel so comfortable around him. As if he’s meant to be your friend. Maybe even more. But you regularly push those ideas aside for a simple reason which also counts for your feelings regarding Chan that are slowly subsiding anyway.

It’s the roommate situation. You don’t want anything serious right now with anyone but you also don’t want to destroy both your important friendships for a casual hookup and demolish your own little feelings with some romance-free sex.

So, that’s why you’ve stopped paying attention to anyone’s attempts a long time ago. Well. Rather Chan’s approaches since Jisung doesn’t really flirt with you except from a few glances that can be categorised as literally nothing as well. You wonder if he’s just not interested or if it’s blamed on his shyness.

He’s not like that with others but then again, you rarely see him interact with women anyway. Or with people in general. Jisung spends most of his time studying, programming some stuff you don’t understand anyway, smoking his joints and playing whatever new video game he found on Steam that week.

“Do you know which formula to use for these numbers?”

Jisung’s question drags you from your daydreams. You hope he just thinks you’ve been zoned out because your head has been working hard to focus on the current task when in reality your thoughts are running free, crushing about your roommates but mostly him.

“No…” you say and it’s not even a lie. You’re simply lost when it comes to statistics. It’s like a whole foreign language to you that doesn’t even include sounds you understand.

“Try this one,” he suggests, as his fingers gesture on one of the formulas on the list. Fuck. Those pretty fingers.

Why did you ask Jisung again to help you study?

Well, because he’s basically a calculator himself and pretty good at explaining even when it comes to helpless cases like you. But, unfortunately, it also plays with your heart and mind a little. Sitting here in his room. Being so close to him.

For fuck’s sake, Y/N. Focus.

You reach for your calculator and turn it on again, typing in the numbers and values for the formula until you realise that some mathematical constant and a certain advanced arithmetic operation is missing on your device.

“Mine doesn’t have that option,” you say, showing all the buttons your calculator has to Jisung. His eyes skim all the letters, numbers and symbols but don’t find it either.

“You can use mine—also for your exam, by the way,” he says then.

Of course, he won’t let you fail your exam because you only own this old version of a calculator. He’s annoyed that your professor didn’t properly explain what supplies and devices you need for your test. But judging from the fact that the old man didn’t really explain anything well, it doesn’t surprise him.

“Thank you so much.”

The words sound so cute spilling from your lips.

“Not for that.”

Jisung searches around, trying to think about where he put his calculator again but it’s hard focusing when you look at him like that. Also, the fact you thank him for such a small gesture does dangerous things to his head. He wonders if you’d thank him as well for other things—like him pressing you against his mattress after you’ve been begging him to shove his cock inside you.

God. Jisung really needs to get laid. It’s getting ridiculous and pathetic.

“I-It’s on the shelf… inside the red box,” he says with a slight cough added after his words. He definitely can’t pick up the calculator himself. You’d see his growing erection, his embarrassing tent, inside his sweatpants. It’ll go away once you get up. He will just scroll through his apps and forget about that look on your face.

You nod before you head towards the furniture, looking around before you find the desired object. The box is pretty big and once you lift it a little, it feels as if there’s a lot more inside than just a calculator and other useful study supplies.

You rummage around, finally finding it but your whole body comes to a halt when your fingertips collide with a plastic bag that is filled with something that feels like candies or pills against your skin. Turning around, you notice Jisung is still busy on his phone.

You really don’t want to spy on him. You don’t. But it’s still weird having a huge back of whatever pills these are and after all you’re studying pharmacology, right? So it’s basically for research purposes.

Laying the calculator aside, you open the box now completely, lid getting discarded somewhere on the shelf.

“Can you find it?” Jisung asks, still with his back looking towards you.

“Yeah. I’ve got it.”

Just one closer look.

No.

It can’t be.

One hundred thoughts are running through your mind when you look at the little tablets that come in every shape, colour and with different kinds of logos stamped into them.

Is Jisung an addict?

You know that he’s at higher risk considering his mental health background and you immediately see red for your friend.

It’s none of your business. But you have to ask. You just have to make sure this isn't what it is but then again, your eyes don’t lie to you. It’s very obvious that he is hiding ecstasy in the box where he puts his calculator and other stuff he needs for university.

So, you grab the plastic bag out of the box, turn around and look at your roommate.

“Jisung… what is this?”

He spins around on his chair. For a moment he feels fear wash all over his body and he contemplates if he should lie but there are two reasons he shouldn’t.

First of all, you’re about to become a pharmacist in a few weeks once you’ve finished your studies, so pretending those pills are Smarties or M&Ms or whatever is useless. Second, as one of your closest friends Jisung knows how much you value honesty—even if it might hurt—and he will forever respect those limits and principles.

Fuck. It’s gonna be okay. You don’t judge people. He can feel comfortable and safe around you without a doubt.

“O-Oh… This is one kilogram of MDMA.”

You look at him. You switch to the plastic bag in your hand. Your eyes find his again.

“Yeah, I can tell. But why?”

Maybe there’s another reason. This doesn’t automatically mean he’s an addict. Perhaps a friend has left it here or something.

“Please don’t be mad at me…”

Shit. Your heart breaks when you hear the fear in his voice. He sounds so small, you want to pull him into a hug and never let go. Just protect him. Be there for him. Because this sounds fucking serious.

But he can get help. It’s definitely not too late.

“I could never be mad at you, Sungie.”

You’re really getting afraid he’s back into some bad drug issue. Sure, ecstasy isn’t as addicting as the ketamine he used back in highschool but due to his mental health background it could be for him on an emotional matter.

“I bought it for the party to impress Molly.”

Oh? Well, that is a plot twist. So it’s not for his own use, which is a good thing. Although it’s pretty dumb to get a hold of one kilogram of ecstasy to impress some girl. But then again, you’ve never witnessed Jisung with a woman before and since you never talk about romance and sex with him, you know nothing about his skills at all. Maybe he’s not that experienced which would explain starting such a stupid idea.

And, yes. Your roommate’s crush’s name is Molly and she tends to consume ecstasy from time to time. It is fucking ironic but it’s also absolutely hilarious.

But you don’t like her. Well, you don’t know her that much. You know for sure that she’s no good influence for your roommate but he’s a little naïve when it comes to things like that.

You don’t want to scold him. You really don’t want to. However, you have to bring him back to reality.

And saying you're shocked would be an understatement.

How did he even come up with this?!

“That is the dumbest idea you have ever had and you have had many of them. What were you thinking?”

Jisungs shoulders sink and his gaze meets his lap, attentively watching his fingers that are playing with the rings around them. Your friend might be a nerd but his style is stunning. Unfortunately, you sometimes catch yourself zoning out while staring at those pretty, elegant fingers—including everything they could do to you—and you dearly hope he doesn’t notice.

But maybe the staring will help you forget about your other roommate.

Fuck. You’re so doomed. Who has a crush on both their roommates?

It’s when Jisungs speaks again, when you wake up from your daydreams about his fingers on your skin, around your neck, grabbing your tits, stretching your pussy all nicely–

“Molly likes that older guy… his name is Changkyun and he buys his drugs from that pizza place in the suburbs and I followed him to his supplier.”

Wow. This is the last thing you’ve expected Jisung to do and you must say, you admire his confidence.

“I accidentally bought the whole stock the dealer had… he spoke something in Albanian which I couldn’t understand so I panicked and paid for all of it.”

Ah, yeah. That’s the clumsy Jisung again. The real version of him.

God. That’s so much to process. He’s five feet sinking into a puddle of dirt and absolute shit. A whole fucking mess.

You have to bring him back to reality, remind him that he can’t just casually store such a huge amount of drugs inside some box along with his calculator.

“What the fuck will you do with the rest of it? Or are you planning to give a whole kilogramm of ecstasy to your crush as a gift?”

It is an honest and important question and something tells you he hasn’t quite thought this whole thing through…

“No, of course not. I was considering reselling it,” he says, leaning back in his seat. There he is again. The Jisung that pretends to be the coolest person in the room until you actually believe him.

But that’s too much. It’s unrealistic. You don’t judge acts like that at all. However, Jisung isn’t the first one who comes to your mind when you imagine a typical drug dealer. Of course, he’s resold his weed before to friends but that’s not close to the idea of a business he is imagining right now.

“Jisung. You can’t even talk to your crush, how will you meet people in a park or a dark alley for dealing purposes?”

You have to bring his feet back to the ground.

“Online. I am preparing a shop online,” he casually says as if he’s talking about selling the drugs on Etsy.

“What?”

“Yeah. Like Amazon but I’m the only seller,” he explains.

“How’s that supposed to work?”

You decide to sit down on your chair again, after you discarded the ecstasy pills back in the red box.

Jisung gulps when you come closer. It was easy talking to you with that space between you. But now that you’re so near again, actually listening to him and not judging you for anything—well maybe except for his naivety but that’s understandable—he fears he will just fall in love with you even more.

So, feeling so absolutely comfortable around you, knowing he can trust you with his life, he explains the plan he’s had in mind and how he even came up with the idea.

“I programmed a website, will take some aesthetically pleasing pictures and start offering what I’ve got. There are plenty of those on the world wide web but all of them lack something so I thought, hey, I can do this too but better. I’ll either call it Shiny Flakes or J.Drugs.”

Hopefully, he will choose the first option. The latter is hinting way too close to his own name.

And, yup. That’s the real Jisung again. It’s funny, almost ironic—while he’s suffering from insecurities and anxiety, sometimes a wave of confidence overcomes him and suddenly he’s the most nonchalant person in the whole room.

“And then you're just gonna deliver it by post?”

He looks at you again.

“Yup. That’s the plan.”

💊

After another thirty minutes of actual studying you feel a lot more confident about your skills. When Chan comes back from his shopping, you help him a little by storing away the alcohol in the fridge before you disappear in your room.

Whilst getting ready for tonight, the ongoing thoughts appear in your head again, running around and doing some parkour to your hopeless little heart.

Were you really about to kiss Jisung? Jisung, your long time friend and one of the guys you live with?

God, you have to get yourself together.

Sure, you’ve been having a crush on him for some time now but you’re convinced those desires are mostly driven by the fact that you crave intimacy in general and that you really, really need to get laid.

Maybe a few drinks and a nice chit chat with a guy attending the party will help you distract from those heart eyes you have when being around your nerdy roommate.

That's how you find yourself in the living room some hours later, beer in one hand and the other one grazing over the chest of the guy in front of you. He’s a friend of Chan’s but you forgot where they met. Your roommate has mentioned it before but it seems as if that information wasn’t important enough to be stored as a memory in your head.

Soobin is kind. Maybe a little too kind that it seems fake.

Sure, you can blame it on your neurodivergent brain that you don’t understand the point behind using useless little petnames with a person you don’t really know but this has always gotten on your last nerve.

You don’t refer to flirting here. It’s fun being called cute words—princess and angel being among your favourites you must admit—but there’s a difference between including them in steamy conversations as well as during sex or just adding them to make yourself seem friendlier.

At least that’s how you perceive Soobin. He’s not really flirting with you, all the approaches have been from your side and he’s just throwing in all those nicknames as if he’s talking to anyone. It won’t make any sense to an outside person and maybe it’s just your brain and the booze trying to find a reason to not like this guy since Jisung and that almost-kiss-situation is still in your head.

But Soobin and you don’t vibe. You’re on a completely opposite level and he just seems so pretentious that it hurts. You don’t like fake people. Honesty is something you value very highly.

“You know what I really hate about social interactions?”

He tilts his head when listening to your question.

“What is it, dear?”

There it is again. Ugh. It really makes no sense. If someone else said that to you it’ll excite you, someone like Jisung–

Y/N, stop.

God, you’re hopeless.

“When people are overall… friendly and sweet from the beginning. As if they’ve known me for years, as if I’ve been their friend forever,” you explain and you actually mean that.

You don’t want to categorise Soobin after fifteen minutes of talking but that’s just his vibe.

“Why is that? You don’t like kind people?” Soobin asks.

You can’t even follow your own track of thoughts anymore and it feels like you don’t make any sense. Although, in a sober state you’d think the same and you’d be better at explaining.

“I wasn’t saying kind. I was referring to useless words to fill some void in your desperate heart.”

Ouch. That was a bit mean. Maybe you’re just honest. A little too honest sometimes. You don’t mean to hurt him but when he speaks again the regret washes away completely.

“What do you have against it? Doesn’t it just make you feel a little more welcomed and appreciated, love?”

You cringe at the petname and down the rest of your drink.

“It’s pretentious. At least it seems so. If you call just any human being out there your darling I know that I am just as replaceable as your next victim. Cheers.”

💊

“I wasn’t aware that you drink whiskey.”

After a quick visit to the bathroom you find yourself in the kitchen, mixing yourself a drink and it seems as if your roommate had the same idea.

“I usually don’t. It was a Christmas gift from Gahyeon and it has a slight hint of cinnamon which makes it tastier.”

Jisung doesn’t know yet that he will grow to like whiskey after tonight and will from now on forever think of you, when he takes a sip from the poisonous beverage.

“Ah, okay,” he says as if he’s an expert in alcohol—which he definitely isn’t. There are other addictive substances in his life he’s been a victim of, such as weed, nicotine and the way you’re looking at him when you believe he doesn’t notice.

“But not good enough,” you add, after taking a sip from the drink you’re currently experimenting on. “I grew up in a small and boring village, I learnt to just mix strong liquor with sugary stuff until it drowns out the bitter or smoky taste. Plus, you get drunk quicker.”

He nods again. Jisung doesn’t know if anything you say is true but he’d believe anything you say at this point. He’s had a beer and was actually on his way to the kitchen to get some snacks after he saw you talking to some tall guy.

Jisung has gotten his hopes up way too high once again. What made him believe that you would actually seek his attention?

Your Y/N. His smart, funny and absolutely hot roommate. You will for sure not spend your time at this party with your shy friend when there are tons of attractive men around here.

“Do you want one, Sungie?”

Fuck. He wants to decline. Alcohol is not a good idea right now. But he’d do anything whenever you call him by that nickname, so he nods.

You grab all the needed ingredients and start with the mixing process, while explaining the steps to him.

“The recipe is simple, similar to boba if you will but instead of tapioca pearls you use alcohol which is also your base. Then you add sugar, honey, ice and tea in that order.”

Jisung looks at you confused.

“Why this order? Wouldn’t it make more sense to pour the ice first because of physics?”

That is correct. However, there’s a meaning behind it.

“Maybe, Newton, but in this order it’s basically the s-h-i-t,” you say, clicking your tongue as you do the finishing touches.

“Ah, Shakespeare, I get what you did there,” he says before taking the drink in his hand.

The glasses clink when they collide and a moment later both of you take a sip from the unusual beverage.

“Woah– that’s fucking delicious,” Jisung compliments you, his voice increasing its volume sharply.

“Thank you.”

You’re the one to become shy now but Jisung doesn’t mind. He likes that side of you, too.

“You wanna go outside? Smoke a cigarette?” he asks.

You’re aware it’s not the brightest idea to do that while drinking but you’re still completely sober just like Jisung and the size of the drinks in your hands isn’t enormous. You’ll get a little tipsy, at best.

Jisung reaches for the cigarette box and bright pink lighter you guys hide under the bench outside. Your roommate stopped smoking some time in highschool and you’ve only ever been a person that occasionally uses cigarettes when attending parties.

Chan—being a med student who is about to become a real doctor in less than a few months—always scolds Jisung and you for sometimes smoking weed or cigarettes. So, maybe that’s why you tend to stow away the tobacco on the balcony and pick it up whenever you feel like it.

When Jisung hands you the box, you take one of the cigarettes and place it between your lips. The lighter—laying in his hand—comes closer to you and a second later the flame meets the tip of the gasper. You take a deep drag, exhaling the smoke a little after and it feels as if time stays still.

Jisung’s eyes are fixated on your mouth, watching every move you make but he manages to come back to reality, as he lights a cigarette for himself.

Giving your own a small nudge, you observe the ashes fall into the little metallic box you guys store outside as well. After all, an ashtray would be too obvious.

“Any success with Molly?” you ask Jisung.

You saw her earlier, she’s definitely around here and at the sight of her pretty outfit, you felt jealousy sting in your heart. Gosh. You’re pathetic. He hasn’t even talked to her. Chan invited her—not knowing she uses drugs since this is a dealbreaker for the older one considering any type of relationship—because she’s a somewhat friend of his.

Yes. Chan apparently knows the whole world. You saw him earlier, too. His hand swung around some girl and it seems as if your stupid little feelings are very susceptible for getting demolished today.

“Nah. She’s talking to some other dude. I might just give up,” Jisung says, letting his head hang low before tilting it up again to take the last drag from his cigarette.

He thinks the guy was Changkyun. Which also means she probably has gotten the pills she desires and won’t need Jisung anyway. He realises now how stupid the idea was. Molly has talked to him once or twice. In a conversation with Chan and her, his brain just grabbed the idea of developing a crush on her and ran with it.

Does he really have feelings for her, though?

Well, feelings are a little much to say nonetheless, considering he barely knows her.

But that’s not the only reason he’s giving up so easily and deep down he knows that.

And to you, he looks so sad. As if he’s not fighting anymore. Of course you know they’re not that close. But he seemed to like her and for now it doesn’t matter that you don’t. You just want him to be happy.

Yes, you could want him just for yourself as well but all you want is for Jisung to actually feel happiness.

“Sungie…” you start but he interrupts you right away.

“What? I’m just speaking the truth. My love life is even more hopeless than your statistics skills.”

“Ouch,” you cry, placing your hand on your chest as you pretend to be hurt.

“Sorry,” Jisung immeditaly says as he doesn’t seem to catch your sarcasm.

“No worries. That was actually funny,” you reassure him, before putting out your cigarette. Jisung does the same, as he starts laughing along.

“Are you okay, Sungie? You can be honest with me, you know.”

You don’t have to add what it’s about since he already knows.

“Yeah. I am. I swear,” he says but you’re hesitant to believe him.

“You sure?”

“Hm,” he assures you. “I prefer spending time with you anyway.”

Fuck.

No.

He doesn’t mean it that way, does he?

Jisung is just being friendly to you. That’s all. That’s just how he is.

“R-Really?”

A pink curtain appears on his squishy cheeks, decorating his face so prettily.

“Y-Yeah… unless you have somewhere to be and someone else–“

“No,” you interrupt him. “I prefer spending time with you, too.”

Your eyes meet his and the atmosphere from earlier while studying spreads through the air, captures you right here right now and it feels as if the tension is exploding.

Scooting a little closer, your gaze shifts between his brown eyes and beautiful lips. God. You’re doomed. So fucking doomed. Jisung is copying your movements and you’re just about to get even nearer, ready to throw your arms around his neck and press your mouth against his, when the unexpected happens.

The balcony door swings open, revealing some other friends of Chan’s that are apparently just going outside for a cigarette here as well. They ask if they may have interrupted something but since the two of you aren’t smoking anymore, Jisung and you decide to head inside. He excuses himself to the bathroom, whilst you wait for him in the corridor.

Shit.

It was just a matter of a few seconds and you would have almost kissed your roommate.

What a bad idea. You can’t even blame it on the booze because you’re actually not drunk at all, maybe a little tipsy but that would already be an exaggeration.

However, Jisung and you are world champions of bad ideas.

But—this could destroy everything, right?

Definitely.

No.

You’re not gonna kiss him in case a similar opportunity strikes again.

Or will you?

The cold splash of water against Jisung’s face helps him sober up a bit. He’s not drunk on alcohol but drunk on the way your eyes were practically glued to his lips.

Fuck. He has to slow down a bit.

You did actually look at him that certain way again, right?

It was not just his imagination, was it?

Shit.

Just when he thought he was finally over you the feelings are creeping back into the darkest parts of his brain.

Molly is here. He bought that stupid MDMA for her, spent his whole last months’ income on those pills and now he doesn’t even talk to her.

But everyone has always become invisible when you’re with him. You’re the spotlight. The only piece of art he wants to view in a gallery full of incredible paintings.

It’ll be okay. He’s sure. That’s nothing serious. You flirt with everyone anyway. Just like your other roommate Chan. Over all these years Jisung has wondered if his older friend and you would maybe one day become a couple or something but it seems as if he’s the chosen one.

Okay. Slow down, Jisung. Y/N is just being kind. That’s all.

Why is he such a fucking simp?

Well, maybe it can mostly be blamed on the fact that he is not experienced—at all. But also—who wouldn’t admire you to the fullest? You’re literally the best. Funny. Smart. Creative. Beautiful. These are just a few of your attributes that describe your whole perfect existence.

God. He’s fucking doomed.

Jisung takes another deep breath before he heads towards the door and exits the bathroom. A few meters away, he spots you standing in the hallway, back leaning against the wall as you scroll through your phone.

He takes a few steps towards where you are until he stands right in front of you.

Placing your phone back into your dress’s pockets—yes, pockets, you bought that one not that long ago and it’s your favourite piece of clothing of all time—you look at Jisung.

“Long time no see,” you joke.

He’s nervous. You can see it clearly on his face and you wonder if you are the cause for that. Jisung keeps staying there, as if he’s rooted on the spot. His eyes find your own again and in a matter of seconds that atmosphere is back.

Maybe it’s the lack of space in the cramped corridor or perhaps it’s the way he’s looking at you again. Both so innocent and needy at the same time.

You wonder, if he wanted to kiss you and if so, if he would capture the chance if it was served to him on a silver plate.

So, not caring about anything anymore, you decide to just give it another shot.

You’ve waited long enough and nothing has happened yet so in case you have misinterpreted everything so far, you can still backpedal. Definitely. Probably. At least you hope so.

But you can’t keep living this way. The signs are obvious and you have to seize the opportunity now.

With the way Jisung is staring at you again, gaze flickering between your eyes and lips, which grants you enough confidence.

“Sungie?”

His eyes widen at the sudden use of his favourite nickname.

“Hm?”

They look at your own now, unsure what you’re about to ask.

Okay.

You can do it, Y/N.

Maybe you shouldn’t go all in right away. Testing the waters by flirting sounds like a better option.

“You look pretty tonight. Even prettier than usual,” you compliment him, playing a little with your hair.

“You t-think… I’m pretty?”

You nod, looking at him with big doe eyes, “Hm. The prettiest.”

He chuckles until his lips form into a smirk.

“But that’s already you.”

Fuck. Okay. Earth to Y/N.

He’s flirting back, isn’t he?

Of course he is. But you can’t think straight anymore.

Jisung hasn’t even kissed you, hasn’t even touched you but he’s already under your skin, connecting the synapses in your brain in a way that your only thought becomes him and the way he’s staring at you.

“Don’t make me shy, Ji,” is all you can reply.

“No, I don’t think you’re the shy type. Not at all,” Jisung says, clicking his tongue.

He looks so hot like that. You believe the tiny corridor shrinks even further but it doesn’t. It’s just the effect his presence has on you—making you believe he’s the only person with you here right now.

“I am,” you reply. Because you actually are. You don’t know where he’s getting the idea from that you’re not. “Especially around pretty people like you.”

He’s the one to get flustered now, looking away for a second before he tilts his head, catching your gaze with his own.

“Don’t make me blush.”

“What if I do?” you tease him.

“Big mistake, Y/N, big mistake,” he whispers, as his thumb softly grazes over your cheek, the rest of his hand keeping you in place so that you look at him.

“Why is that?”

Jisung takes a deep breath. What he’s about to say might ruin your friendship, might change your whole relationship forever but there’s no purpose in going back anyway.

You seem to like him too. At least enough to be shamelessly flirting with him inside your apartment, not caring if anyone sees you, two of the hosts, practically almost on top of each other, taking off the other’s clothes with their eyes.

He takes another deep breath, before he’s gathered enough courage to speak out loud what’s on his mind.

“It makes me wanna kiss you…”

You softly bite your lower lip, looking at him as if you’re giving a hint that he should come closer to you. Jisung must be reading your mind since he places his lower arm right next to you, as he cages you between the wall and his body.

Fuck.

You’ve never realised how athletic he looks. Occasionally leaving his bedroom and hitting the gym with Chan seems to pay off.

He can’t hold back. You can’t hold back.

And neither of you wants to.

“You know what I wanted to do earlier while studying and also on the balcony?” you ask him, confusing him a little with the sudden question.

“W-What?”

“I wanted you to kiss me,” you admit.

“R-Really?”

You wet your lips a little by brushing with your tongue over them, as you make sure to keep your eyes on his.

“Hmm. I still want to, if I’m honest,” you add.

Shit. Jisung’s heart is about to explode out of his chest, he fears. Besides the loud music inside the apartment and all the people chatting, he’s sure you can hear the speed of his pulse.

“Are you sure?”

You’re glad he’s so considerate to ask once more, although you don’t want to talk anymore.

There’s just one thought on your mind by now.

It’s Jisung.

Jisung, Jisung, Jisung.

So, you give him the final permission.

“Yes, Sungie. Kiss me, please.”

That’s when his lips practically crash into yours, a grunt leaving him when they align together. They stay pressed against each other, before you grab his face and start moving a little, setting a rhythm for the both of you.

Fuck. It’s actually happening.

Jisung is making out with you. His hot roommate.

Shit. It’s been some time that Jisung kissed someone and he prays you don’t notice.

But you don’t seem to. You’re completely occupied in the feeling of his mouth moving against yours and the way he welcomes your tongue in.

“You’re a great kisser, Sungie,” you praise him and you mean it. You’ve never kissed someone who is both so eager and passionate and at the same time makes you feel like the centre of attention just by the sensation of their tongue dancing with yours.

He wonders where all this will lead to. If you want more than just this. What you expect from him and if you will be disappointed once you find out how inexperienced he is.

Jisung knows that you’re very open when it comes to anything sexual—whether talking about it or bringing someone home with you.

At the same time, you’re worrying about something, too.

You have to make sure first that Jisung doesn’t regret this and anything that might follow.

Pulling away for a second, you can instantly notice the fear in his eyes. The scary look that you may have makes him believe that you have changed your mind, that he’s gone too far, that you regret what is happening right now.

But it’s something completely different.

“Wait– What about Molly?”

He scoffs.

“Don’t care about her– fuck,” he says before he goes in for another kiss but you stop him.

Jisung asked you for permission more than once and you want to make sure you’re really on the same page here.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Absolutely,” he repeats.

His mouth wanders over your jaw and neck, creating the prettiest route of flowers with his kisses and bites. God. This is even better than the making out session already was.

This all feels as if it’s meant to be. As if Jisung and you are meant for each other and it breaks your heart a little, knowing that at this time you’re not ready for something serious. But it doesn’t hold you back from letting destiny do its thing, when you allow your roommate to continue the assault on your skin, turning it into the prettiest artwork.

Very soon, you realise that you need more. Well, you’ve realised this a long time ago, if you’re honest. But it’s your body, your deepest animalistic desires, encouraging you now to make the next step.

You’re pretty sure Jisung won’t do it. He’s not as shy as half an hour ago or all those other times when there has been utmost sexual tension between the two of you but you highly doubt he’ll be confident enough to propose more.

Maybe he doesn’t even want more. Which would be fine, too.

But you’d rather regret something you did, than mourn over a lost chance, so you’ll just ask him.

You tilt your head, your glistening lips separated from his ear by a thin layer of air.

“Sungie…”

He stops for a second when he hears you speak, no, whimper his name and it sends a sensation right to his pants, as he feels them tighten around his slowly growing bulge.

“Yeah?”

And with the most innocent looking pout and the most sensual whine, you finally ask him what you’ve wanted to for so long.

“Can you fuck me, please?”

Is this really happening right now?

No. This can’t be. This is a dream. He’s sure.

But his doubts all vanish away, when you speak, no, cry out once more.

“Please, Sungie, I need you so bad…”

Jisung gulps. God. You look so needy. Just for him and him only. He could cum like a stupid teenager at the sole sight of your already fucked out face.

The way you’re literally begging him to touch you sends utmost arousal straight down to his cock and he prays that no one else at this party notices the tent that is forming inside his pants.

“A-Are you sure?”

Your eyes find his, as you nod.

“Hm, absolutely. But only if you want me, too,” you reassure him.

“I-I do, yeah. I want you,” he eagerly replies.

You catch your lower lip between your teeth, looking at him with dark eyes, utmost lust swirling around in them.

You need to be under him, on top of him, whatever. Now. Right now.

Never in your life before have you been so eager to be touched, to be kissed, to be fucked but that’s what he does just with that shy look on his face.

“Great,” you say. “You’ve got condoms or should I grab one from my room?”

Jisung doesn’t even realise that your question also indicates you want to go to his room. Not that he minds, though. He’d let you have your way with him everywhere.

“I– I’ve got condoms, yeah,” he answers with slightly broken words and you blame it on his shyness again.

God. He’s both so adorable and fucking hot.

How are you supposed to survive this?

And the consequences? Well, they aren’t present anymore. You can deal with whatever relationship this will evolve to tomorrow. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.

For now, you need his hands all over your body and his cock filling your pussy until the only thing you remember is his name.

“Cool. I’ll go to the bathroom real quick and meet you in your room, okay?”

Jisung nods before he heads to the meeting point, while you disappear behind the door of the bathroom.

Fuck.

A quick fresh up makes you somewhat come back to reality but also not really.

You wonder what Jisung is like in bed.

If he’s more submissive—similar to his shy personality—or dominant—perhaps doing a one hundred and eighty degree turn which makes sense as well.

What his favourite position is, if he likes to be on top of you or prefers you to be on top of him.

If he prefers soft or rough sex. If he likes to cum inside, on your body or all over your face, perhaps inside your mouth.

You’ll see.

God.

You won’t regret this. Jisung and you have an immense connection, wild chemistry, it’s insane.

A last check in the mirror will do and a minute later you leave the bathroom, heading straight to your friend’s room.

You knock, opening the door after he tells you to. After entering, you make sure to lock it.

Jisung is sitting on his bed. He looks so shy, it’s so freaking adorable.

Maybe you will take the lead, see if he likes to be in control too and after some teasing allow him to be the one in charge.

When you’re about to approach him, your phone vibrates. You’re gonna discard it, but make sure to skim through whatever message got sent to you in case it’s an emergency.

Gahyeon, your best friend, texted you who is also attending the party.

You quickly read the message.

[Gahyeon 👯‍♀️]: i’m in your room with the girl from my medieval literature class sorry babes will clean everything once we’re done <3

You would be annoyed about the situation but, then again, she is your best friend and would go to the stake for you, do anything and everything just to see you happy. You’ll forgive her.

In the meantime, Jisung is getting second guesses if you regret coming here and you observe it by the look in his eyes, so you know you need to reassure him immediately.

“It was Gahyeon. It seems as if she took her title as Y/N’s bestie a little for granted and decided to fuck her new fling in my room.”

“Oh,” is all he says.

“I sincerely hope that bitch changes the sheets,” you mumble under your breath.

Laying the device aside, you receive another message.

[Gahyeon 👯‍♀️]: have fun with Jisung 🤪

How does she know?!

It doesn’t even matter anyway.

You’re here with Jisung.

Your roommate. Who is currently waiting for you to join him on his bed which you immediately do. The mattress shifts, when you plop down next to him.

“What’s on your mind?” you straight up ask when you notice his thoughts running free.

“Can I kiss you again?”

Who are you to decline this offer?

A few seconds later, Jisung and you are back again at what you were doing in the corridor not that long ago.

His lips feel so soft against your own, completely opposite to how rough the movements have become. Not that you mind—at all.

Your tongues are practically experts at being entangled with each other and taking the lead for now, you climb on his lap, receiving a surprised reaction from him.

Jisung thinks, no, he knows you look like a fucking goddess like this. Literally perfect. And he’s the chosen one that you’re on top of.

Fuck.

Sooner or later you will find out, how inexperienced he is.

He doesn’t really talk about sex with you but mainly because there’s nothing to talk about. Sure, he’s had pretty girls kissing him before, even straddling his lap like you’re doing now—although none of them can compete with you in the slightest—but that’s it.

Maybe that’s why he’s a little startled when you suddenly start grinding against him, letting out a desperate whimper when you feel the friction—your panty covered pussy gliding over his growing bulge.

And the sound of your helplessness is even more perfect than all those whimpers of yours that he’s imagined in his head at night.

Your hand is slowly grazing over his thighs, before it wanders further and stops right at his crotch. You start palming him through the fabric of his pants, his erection already prominent and Jisung feels bigger than you would have imagined him to be.

Which you have done quite a few times. Especially whenever you have been alone at night and couldn’t sleep.

Fuck. You sincerely hope he’ll fit. But then again, he’s gonna stretch you out so nicely, you’re dying to try more.

Apart from all that, Jisung is your type. One hundred percent. Both looks and personality wise and the fact you already have a stable base because of your almost four year long friendship, makes you feel even more attracted to him.

You use a little more pressure now, squeezing his cock through his jeans and he lets out the prettiest moan your ears have ever witnessed.

God. There’s really nothing better than the whimpers of a man.

“Y/N– wait,” Jisung says all of a sudden, catching your hand with his own.

Shock washes over your face.

Shit.

Maybe he regrets it. Perhaps because of Molly. Or he simply doesn’t want you, either doesn’t want to destroy the friendship or generally isn’t attracted to you so he rather stops before it’s too late.

Your hand leaves its place then, as you look at him with scared eyes.

“Did I do something wrong? Was I too fast? I’m sorry I–“

“No. No. It’s– I– fuck, this is embarrassing,” he cuts you off.

Okay. So, maybe it’s not about Molly and neither about you but more a question of how he’s imagined the time with you.

Possibly, Jisung actually prefers to be the one in charge but is—ironically—too shy to propose it. Perhaps, he prefers to be the dominant one, make you crumble underneath him, show you what your body wants and needs.

“Do you want to take the lead instead? I can be submissive, too,” you offer.

No, I’d like quite the opposite of you being submissive.

“No, it’s–“

Okay. Then it’s not that.

But what is he so scared of?

You’ll have to remind him that you won’t judge him for what is plaguing his poor heart.

“Whatever is on your mind, Sungie, won’t change anything between us, okay?”

He sighs, “Promise?”

“Promise,” you say with the warmest smile.

He exhales, before taking a deep breath.

“I’m– I’m a virgin.”

You look at him with wide eyes, the surprise plastered all over your face.

“Oh…”

Jisung’s gaze sinks again. Fuck. He shouldn’t have confessed. But then again, you would have noticed sooner or later anyway.

Well. At least he got to make out with you. That’s a dream come true already. What a pity it wasn’t enough for more.

“Fuck– I knew this would be a problem– I am aware o-of the guys you bring home with you and your ex boyfriends and–“

“Hey, Sungie, slow down.” You stop him now. Shit. He’s definitely gotten insecure because of your reaction. You should have thought this more through. “I was just surprised. That’s all. This doesn’t make a difference to me. We can go at your pace or just stick to making out.”

You still want him?

“But… you could have… could have taken a hot guy to your room instead of being with a nerd like me.”

You scoff, “What do you mean? I’m literally on top of the hottest guy at this party right now.”

Jisung sighs again.

“Y/N… Don’t say that.”

“Why not? I’m just saying what I think,” you explain.

“You’ll make me believe that you actually mean it,” he says and the sadness in his voice, forced out of him by all the insecurities, breaks your heart into a thousand pieces.

“I do. I mean all of it. You’re incredibly attractive, Sungie. My type, if you will. If all, I was just surprised that you’re inexperienced, considering how funny and handsome you are. Who’d turn someone like you down?”

There are too many thoughts sprinting through his head.

He is your type. Your fucking type and you’re just telling him this now.

And in addition to that, he has to clearify something.

“I– there were possibilities but… I have waited for when it finally feels right…”

If Jisung is completely honest to himself, he knows exactly why he turned the other offers down.

Unfortunately, he’s had the biggest crush on his roommate for God knows how long and maybe that whole thing with Emma or what her name was has just been a trick of his brain to finally get over you.

“Does it feel right with me though?”

He nods, finding your hand with his own.

“One hundred percent. I don’t trust anyone as much as you.”

That’s pure honesty towards you. Otherwise he wouldn’t have told you about the one kilogram package of MDMA pills chilling in the box on his shelf. He hasn’t forgotten about them, whereas the other Molly has escaped his mind a long time ago.

“Do you want to continue, Sungie?”

He nods, “Yes. Always.”

A minute later you’re back at the previous scene—you’re grinding on top of him, getting a little friction as your mouth is attached to his. You start palming him through his pants again, feeling him grow bigger and bigger with every squeeze.

“Y/N…”

God. His voice sounds so desperate you fear you will cum untouched.

“Yeah?”

His next words are a little muffled but you still catch them.

“T-Touch me…”

You need to tease him. You can’t resist.

“What was that?” you ask with a smirk.

Suddenly, he grabs your face and it’s in this moment that you realise how drunk on desire he is.

“Touch me again, please.”

You chuckle, “Of course, baby.”

When he’s calmed down from the sudden use of the petname, Jisung is taking his shirt off, a smirk erupting on his face when he catches you staring at his firm chest, defined abs and those arms. God. And his waist. You’ve never known how hypnotising his waist is.

Once you stop gawking at him, your hand comes in contact with the belt, fumbling with it before it lands somewhere on the floor. His zipper gets pulled down next, before you help him out of his pants. Now only in his boxers, the separation of your hand and his length is thinner, making you get a better impression of how big he actually might be.

“Can I…?”

Jisung nods, “Please.”

In one swift motion, you slide his underwear down, discarding the fabric wherever the pants are. When his hardened cock springs free, you fear you might start drooling all over him. Fuck. He’s huge.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

You can’t hold your thoughts back. It’s impossible. Jisung gets nervous now, not quite able to define your reaction and you would notice, if you weren’t so busy staring at his pretty cock. He’s definitely way above average, probably the biggest you’ve had. Apart from that, he’s insanely pretty, too, as well as painfully hard and the tip is already glistening with precum.

Fuck. Despite the fact he’s very inexperienced, it makes you believe that he wants you just as much as you want him.

“Sungie– you’re so big, just know you’ll have to prepare me well so I’ll be able to take you.”

But Jisung gets nervous again when the words click in his head.

How the fuck is he supposed to prepare you when he’s never touched a pussy before?

“Y-Yeah– o-okay…” is all he’s able to let out in broken syllables.

“Don’t be shy, baby,” you reassure him, looking back at him. “It’s about you first, yeah? And if you want to continue after that, I’ll teach you.”

At least three pieces of information in one sentence that almost make Jisung faint.

You called him baby again.

You’re gonna take care of him first.

You’re gonna teach him how to pleasure your body.

Fuck.

He could cum at the spot but that’s the last thing he wants. Not before you’ve touched him. Maybe it’s a good thing that he’s jerking off—mostly too you—on a very regular basis, after all. Otherwise he would have risked premature ejaculation and that’s the last thing he wants to happen.

“Y-You would be okay– if… if I don’t make you–“

“Of course,” you say. “I would never pressure you. Besides that, I’m much more of a giver anyway.”

And apart from that, you just really want to suck him off. You’ll probably explode if you don’t.

There’s another detail he notices now.

You don’t seem to care about what you get from this.

How are you real?

Jisung is head over heels for you. Well, he has been before all this but you’re a dream come true, even better than that.

Where the hell have you been hiding this side from him?!

You wrap your hand around his shaft, making sure to keep eye contact throughout the movements. Until you realise how very much naked he is and how much clothing you’re still wearing. Deciding to correct that difference, you pull your dress up, throwing it somewhere on the carpet in front of Jisung’s bed.

“Wow…” he lets out when he sees you in your underwear. Not a second passes by, that you’re already unclasping your bra and getting rid of that fabric, too.

His eyes widen when he sees your breasts on full display for the first time.

“Touch them, if you like.”

Jisung doesn’t need to be told twice. His hands come up to cup them, pinching the sensitive buds between two fingers each. You sigh, letting your head fall back, as you allow the pleasure to take over you.

“You’re… pretty,” he says and he does want to say more but Jisung is already deep in trance by now. It leaves him breathless how much you react to him, already arching your back and he doesn’t even do much.

You’re not forgetting about him, though, by now stroking his length with a steady pace. He feels rock hard against your fingers and palm and you can’t wait to taste him.

“Sungie?”

He looks at you, big doe eyes telling you how captured he is by your sensual movements. “Yeah?”

“Can I suck you off? Please…”

“Yes, of course, please.”

It’s so cute how you’re begging so desperately for each other. You’ve never felt or been so confident with someone else before—it just feels so natural. As if you’ve been doing this for years with him.

You crawl off his lap then, before you gesture to him to get a little comfortable as you scoot down and place both your legs beside his. Leaning forward, you’re at eye level with his cock now, your hand still pumping him eagerly.

“You’re such a good boy, Sungie.”

His eyes close shut when the praise makes it to his ears and he wants to calm down for a second but he simply can’t.

Not when your mouth is already wrapping around his tip, giving it a few kitten licks. A sensual stripe along his shaft follows until you get back to your previous position and take him into your mouth—a few centimetres first, until your head goes down further, trying to fit as much as possible. Whatever doesn’t, gets a little more attention from your hand.

Your head is bobbing up and down and he feels so good inside you. Slurping sounds are echoing through the room, when you start drooling all over him. You hum in eagerness, sending vibrations through his length and whole body.

Fuck.

You seem to enjoy this a little too much.

And you do. You can tell by the way your pussy walls are clenching around nothing, the arousal by now practically trickling through your underwear but this doesn’t hold you back from continuing.

And Jisung is already close. Dangerously close.

“Fuck– princess–“

The name just slips out of his mouth with no warning. Jisung has always wanted to call you that. Princess. His princess. But it fits. You like it more than you should. After all, it’s one of your favourites.

One of his hands is placed on your head now, softly stroking your hair.

And Jisung can’t get enough of this view. He’s never imagined those dreams that have been filled with his darkest desires would ever come true. The way you’re looking up at him, mouth stuffed full with his cock, as you’re triggering your gag reflex when taking him in even deeper—you in fact look like a goddess like this and Jisung is by now convinced you actually are one.

He won’t be able to keep going that much longer but it doesn’t matter. Jisung truly hopes it won’t be over after this—he’s dying to find out what it would feel like to be buried inside your cunt but he knows he’s already the happiest man on this planet with what has happened so far.

With the way your eyes are on his own, you encourage him with a little nod but no words—since you’re not able to speak right now—as well as with the motions of softly massaging the sides of his stomach that he can let go whenever, it’s okay.

A few seconds later, you feel him twitch inside your mouth, his cock shooting thick ropes of cum down your throat. You continue with your movements, swallowing every last drop until he’s empty, as he calls out your name under broken moans.

Letting go of him, you get back in a seating position, looking at him.

“That was… wow…”

You chuckle, reaching for a strand of his hair to tug it behind his ears.

“You wanna continue, Sungie? Or do you need a break for a minute?”

He tells you that a short moment of rest will be alright and you get the bottle of water from his desk that has been there since your study date earlier. You let him drink first, before you do the same, thinking it’s not a bad idea to get hydrated after having alcohol earlier.

You discard the beverage again, crawling back into his lap.

Jisung’s hands come in contact with your breasts again and you soon realise that he seems to enjoy that a lot.

“Princess…”

God. That petname is practically dragging you to your knees of you weren’t already.

“Yeah?”

“Can I… uhm–“

You know what he means. But there’s a hidden emotion in his eyes. Of course, you’ll have to guide him through whatever is going to follow next. Jisung probably wants to return the pleasure you granted him but he’ll need a little help and, even more importantly, encouragement.

“Hey, baby, it’s fine. No need to be nervous, yeah?”

He shyly nods, but it’s not enough for him to gain confidence. Your expectations are probably insane. He knows how experienced you are by how openly you talk about your encounters so the bar is set very high.

“What if I… disappoint you?”

Your hand wanders to his cheek, softly stroking it.

“You could never. Besides that, it’s normal that you’re not perfect at it from the beginning, okay? Lower your expectations a little. I’m sure I will like it nonetheless,” you tell him.

“But… why?”

“Because I’m doing this with you and…” you pause for a second to sheeply chuckle, “everything you do is perfect. Because you are the one doing it.”

He smiles at you. Jisung is too shy to say anything else even though he wants to add more.

“You wanna keep going?”

He nods, “Yes.” And that's when the typical Jisung confidence washes over him. “Teach me how to touch and pleasure you, baby.”

A few minutes later—after another makeout session because it seems as if Jisung’s new favourite activity is kissing you and you feel the same about him—you find yourself on your back, legs sprawled for your roommate. Jisung is in a similar position to the one you were in prior.

You reach for his hand, guiding it towards your panties. Telling him to graze a little over them, he does exactly that. When he finds you drenched, arousal practically soaking through the lace material, his head starts spinning again.

“Take them off, if you want to,” you encourage him.

Jisung slips his fingers under the fabric, pulling them down. His eyes widen once again when he sees you bare naked, totally eager just for him. You spread your pussy lips with your own fingers now, showing him how ready you are, as you play a little with yourself. Your other hand is massaging one of your breasts and although it's not that long ago that he came undone, Jisung can already feel his cock stiffening again.

His hand gets closer to your own and you reach for it again, dragging two of his fingers over your wet folds, smearing your arousal all over them. With your help, he’s grazing over your sensitive nub next and that’s when your eyes meet his.

“You feel this here, Sungie?”

He nods.

“Y-Yeah…” You set a pace and movements for his fingers, teaching him how to touch you there.

He chuckles a little, before he speaks, “It was easier to find than expected. Why are all men complaining about it?!”

You giggle along. The duality of this man is unbelievable. One second he’s your shy, nerdy, stoner roommate and a moment later he becomes that bratty menace that wants to get a reaction out of you at all cost for the sole sake of satisfying you.

“Try starting with slow circles, that’s how I like it,” you advice him.

Jisung follows your command, touching you the way you enjoy but you soon realise he’s still a little too much in his head.

“Don’t concentrate on making me cum, concentrate on the moment, yeah?”

He nods, trying to do as he’s told. It takes him a few minutes but at some point he gets the hang of it, playing with your clit, while you’re clenching around thin air.

You need more. Now. Right now.

Besides that, Jisung will really have to stretch you well so that you’re able to have him inside you.

“You can…” you start but decide to show him instead, as you guide one of his fingers into your hole. Your walls immediately clench around it and Jisung lets out a few curse words under his breath.

“Add another one,” you encourage him and he instantly follows your command.

He doesn’t need to be told about the next step, Jisung starts thrusting his fingers into you on his own. You arch your back again, as you—under mumbled sentences—tell him to bring his thumb back to your clit.

“Like this, baby?”

You hastily nod, trying to not lose your mind completely when he calls you by that name.

The sensation is occupying your whole body by now and you want to ask him for more but you’re unsure if he’s ready for that yet.

But fuck it.

Just gonna give it a try.

“Sung–“

Your words get cut off.

“Yeah, baby?”

You sigh, letting a moan follow.

“Mouth– tongue– please.”

Despite his lack of experience, Jisung knows exactly what you need. He may not be educated in practice but he for sure knows how to pleasure you in theory.

His tongue takes the place of his thumb next, swirling over your clit the way you showed him. You taste amazing. Jisung will never get enough of you, you’ve ruined him for anyone else.

“You’re so wet… fuck…” he grunts.

You are. You believe you’ve never been this wet before, if you’re honest.

But you need even more. You just can’t get enough of him.

“Spit, Sungie.”

He chuckles, admiring your fragile figure, completely under his spell.

“Hm, you like it messy, don’t you?”

You nod.

A string of saliva hits your exposed cunt, running down over your clit and towards your entrance, where his fingers are still pumping in and out of you.

“I think I like it, too,” he whispers with a husky voice and the sound of it almost lets you tip over the edge.

Jisung is fast to bring his tongue back to its previous position, passionately making out with your sensitive nub.

“Hm, you’re so good for me, princess.”

Where the hell is this coming from?

Both the dominance and the sudden use of the nickname again?

“Sungie– I–“

His eyes find yours and you’re the one to admire the view now with your last remaining sanity, until you can’t hold back anymore. Your thighs start shaking, intuitively bringing your legs together but he doesn’t let you. Jisung is still vigorously scissoring you open with his digits, when you reach your sweet relief, making a mess all over his fingers.

His name spills from your lips like a mantra, as you hold his wrist, gesturing to him to stop once you’re coming down from your high. After pulling out of your throbbing hole, he guides his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean. Jisung lets out a satisfied moan, when he tastes your juices on his skin.

“You wanna continue, princess? Or do you need a break for a minute?”

You giggle when you realise he’s copying your words from earlier.

Faster than you’re able to reply, he’s already bringing the water towards your mouth, watching you gulp down the liquid.

“Are you sure this is the first time you’re doing this?”

Jisung chuckles and you witness a red layer appear on his squishy cheeks again.

“Yes…”

Once he puts the bottle away, still sitting between your legs, you look at him until your gaze shifts down to his cock—he’s painfully hard again, the tip leaking precum.

“Do you want to… keep going?”

He nods.

“Wait– I’ll get a condom–“

“Ji, wait,” you say, grabbing him by the wrist.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Jisung adds in a shy voice.

God. No. This is absolutely not what you meant.

“I was just about to suggest… to go raw. I recently got tested, I’m clean, and I’m also on birth control. Of course, only if you want to–“

“Yes. One hundred percent yes, baby.”

You smile before you pull him closer to attach your lips with his own. For some reason the kiss starts playing little, evil games with your heart but you decide to ignore it for now.

“Is there… a certain position you’d like to try?”

That infamous mischevious smirk erupts on his beautiful face again.

“Uhm… your favourite?”

You ignore the small butterflies gathering together in your stomach. Calm down, Y/N. It’s just Jisung. Your roommate.

But despite his lack of experience he knows exactly what he’s doing. You explain to him what you prefer and Jisung is afraid he’ll start drooling at the idea of it—an image he’s head in his head so many times before, his cock buried deep inside you, a stunning view of your tits just for him, as your legs are thrown over his shoulder.

Fuck.

He can’t believe yet another one of his dreams is actually coming true.

You correct your posture, spreading your legs as you start playing with your pussy again. A seductive look is on your face and that’s all the reassurance Jisung needs to scoot closer.

His fingers are at your entrance again, replacing your own, playing a little with you, as his other hand is giving his cock a few more strokes.

“Sungie… please…”

You can’t wait anymore. You just can’t.

“Keep begging for me, baby,” he says.

Where the hell did he learn this?

When has he gotten so fucking confident?

Jisung knows it’s the effect you have on him. You make him a little less shy solely because he feels so comfortable around you and knows for a fact that he can trust you entirely.

“Please, fuck me, please–“

He aligns the tip with your hole, before he pushes a few centimetres in. You immediately clench around him but tell him to keep going, you’ll soon get used to the feeling. Once you’re adjusted to his size and he’s pushed himself all the way in, you tell him to start moving.

“You feel so good inside me, you’re so big, Sungie.”

Just a minute in, the both of you come to the realisation that neither of you will last long but that’s okay. Jisung is pleasuring you so good that you’re sure this isn’t the last time you’ll let him fuck you.

“Right there– Sungie– hm–“

The steady pace from the beginning has evolved to a faster one by now, the clumsy movements he started with have gotten a little more coordinated.

“Fuck– how are you so fucking good at this, baby?” you ask him.

Your legs are already placed on his shoulders, changing the angle perfectly so that he’s able to hit that spot. Eyes rolling back, you let him take the lead when you realise he’s confident enough in his movements and Jisung is sure he’s never enjoyed anything as much as that.

The way you’re lying underneath him—caged between the mattress and his strong body, allowing him to be the one in charge, trusting him completely and probably forgetting this is the first time he’s doing this. But after all, you’ve taught him quite well and still do, when you praise him with your words that turn more and more into babbling.

“You like that, princess?”

You nod, by now a whimpering mess under him, as you let out a few words that don’t make any sense. You’re begging for more, telling him to never ever stop again, as the only two syllables you seem to remember are his name.

Jisung is bucking his hips into you, rutting in and out of your squelching cunt and you can’t withstand it anymore—after a high-pitched whine follows silence interrupted by giggles, when your legs start shaking and your second orgasm takes all over your body.

Fireworks are rushing through your veins, your whole system is driven by ecstasy, when you cum around his cock, squirting all over it but Jisung doesn’t stop. He slows down a little, when he sees your fucked out face and all the cute little pleas that spill from your lips. Some instructions make it out audible, guiding him and yourself through your climax.

Once you’ve come down from your high, you give him a sign to continue. You want your cunt to milk his cock empty, watch the pretty face again that he makes when he reaches that sweet relief. Rutting into you at a merciless speed again, Jisung feels himself twitch inside you.

With your last energy, you tell him to pull out, admitting you’d enjoy it the most if he came all over your body. He does exactly what he’s told—after all this has been one of his favourite fantasies about you for years—stroking his length a few last times, before he spills his seed all over your tits and stomach.

For a solid minute, you stare at each other, erupting in shy little giggles when the post-climax realisation hits you.

Jisung gets up from the bed, grabbing a towel from his wardrobe with which he cleans himself first before he approaches you and takes care of your limp body.

Fuck. The sheets are drenched. There’s a puddle underneath you but he’ll take care of it later.

Sitting a little afar from the mess you made, you look at him, trying to find the words for what you’re about to say.

“I am completely honest with you. This was the best sex I’ve had in my whole life,” you confess.

“Mine too,” Jisung says.

“Sungie…”

He just now realises how little sense his sentence made in comparison to what you were referring to.

“Oh– well– wait, I meant that you put the standards and expectations way too high, princess.”

You smile.

“Good thing you know where to find me, right?”

You want this to happen again. You really do. You’re unsure if Jisung is into something more casual since this is what your life situation fits the most right now. Despite those feelings for him…

Is there regret?

Not at all.

But you’re scared. Scared what this will evolve to.

Maybe you will just see what the future holds. You’ve always felt comfortable and safe around him. No need to rush things. You’re sure this can become something serious very soon, once the both of you are more aware of your feelings for each other.

❤️ AUTHOR’S NOTE: Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider reblogging it and sharing your thoughts with me—there are no limits, from keyboard smashes to long essays, every kind comment is dearly appreciated and the number one motivation for authors to keep going. Have a nice day!

© j-0ne25 2023 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

Kinktober Day 23: Breast Worship

[kinktober masterlist.]

🔞 warning: smut below! mdni.

pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x Han Jisung x reader

•

Hyunjin’s arms wrap firmly around your figure as you lean back against him in bed, his slender fingers toying with the buttons of your Henley tee. He traces them one by one, reaching lower and lower until he’s at the valley of your breasts, and then he dips a finger into the hem of your shirt, lightly caressing over the mound of your left breast.

You let out an amused chuckle, glancing down to observe his still-traveling fingers, and then you turn to meet the growing smirk on his face.

“Sorry,” he voices simply. “I’m a bit distracted.”

“I can tell,” you say to him, leaning further back into him. He takes the opportunity to cup both of his palms over your mounds, massaging them in circular motions as he tries to draw his attention back to the movie playing on the television across from you, yet failing miserably.

Before you can comment about his visibly failing attempt at distracting himself, he tugs your shirt down over your chest, exposing your chest and allowing his palms to sprawl out over your bare flesh. You let out a soft moan at the sensation of the air conditioned room grazing your skin, your nipples already erect at the gentle breeze that caresses them. And then you let out a little gasp when Jisung now turns to face you, beginning to say something about the movie, yet pausing his speech at the sight of you and Hyunjin.

His eyebrows furrow at first in a state of what you initially presume to be confusion, until he lets out an audible whine, gesturing to Hyunjin frustratedly.

“See, this is what I mean,” he begins. “Every time you get to sit next to her, you guys leave me out.”

“No one’s leaving you out,” Hyunjin responds with a light chuckle.

“Sure feels like it,” he retorts.

“Hey,” you chime in gently, reaching out to caress his toned arm. “Why don’t you join in on the fun?”

“And share with him?” Jisung whines, running a hand through his hair. “You know I don’t do threesomes.”

“Suit yourself,” Hyunjin replies plainly. And before Jisung can protest any further, Hyunjin is leaning down to take your breast in his mouth, sucking gently around your nipple and kneading your flesh with the palm of his calloused hand.

Jisung observes as your lips part in pure ecstasy, your body arching up into him almost instantly at the contact. He feels his heart quicken as he watches Hyunjin’s plump lips wrap around your nipple with such purpose, emitting a light sucking noise when he pulls away to litter your skin in kisses. And you don’t miss the way his eyebrows arch up in a desperate manner, as though he’s hoping Hyunjin will provide some form of invitation a second time.

You know not to embarrass Jisung, refraining from reiterating that he’s welcome to involve himself in the dirty little act. Instead, you coax him with a simple wave of your hand, gesturing to your vacant right breast while Hyunjin works on your left.

Jisung doesn’t protest it this time around, scooting toward you on the bed to assume a position in front of your seated figure. He leans down so that he’s face-level with your chest, positioning his right leg in front of him to shift his weight comfortably against the mattress. And then his glistening lips part over your right nipple, before taking you in his mouth, too.

An audible gasp escapes your lips at the feeling of both their mouths working you at once, sucking generously around your erect nipples as though they might coax fluids from you. Hyunjin litters your flesh in wet kisses before taking you in his mouth again, humming softly against your flesh as he kneads your skin in comfort motions.

Jisung’s pace is much quicker, his tongue swirling around your nipple in rapid flicking motions, trailing over your mound and tracing little patterns along the goosebumps that arise with their sensual touches. He moans against you, muttering something about how good you are to him, though his words are barely audible when his lips are suctioned firmly around you.

Your hand reaches down to cup around the back of his neck, tangling in his silky tresses and tugging lightly to break his contact with you. When he’s effectively parted from your chest, drunk on the feeling of your perfectly sculpted breasts in his mouth, he meets your lips this time, indulging you in a wet, needy kiss. His lips work against you much like they worked your chest- quick, desperate, with every intention to taste you and pleasure you. And he pulls away just as quickly as he’d captured you in a kiss, bending down to take your chest in his mouth once more. He feels entirely whole with your nipples gracing his tongue, as though he’s meant to be here feeding off your chest for his own pleasure. His eyelids flutter shut in a state of pure bliss, humming softly against your skin when he lets his teeth graze against you, emitting a soft moan from the back of your throat.

At the same time, Hyunjin now breaks the contact, pulling away to observe the way your nipple glistens with his saliva. A long thread of his own saliva connects his pink lips to your nipple still, dissipating against your chest when his lips pull into a satisfied grin. And then he gathers a wad of spit in between his lips, letting it trickle down over your breast and coat your flesh in a sheen layer of moisture.

You let out a fervent moan when he does, throwing your head back slightly as you relish in the sensation of your chest feeling even colder now. His fingers plunge toward your chest to gather a bead of saliva before it can find purchase on your Henley shirt, pressing firmly against your skin as he rubs it into you in soothing motions. Your shirt is already a mess of drool, both his and Jisung’s, as the pads of his fingers tweak your nipples and trace the convexes of your mound.

Then he’s taking you in his mouth again, his motions much gentler than Jisung’s, yet intentional, as he begins to suck you again.

The pleasure is overwhelming now, your legs squirming beneath you as their hot breaths swirl against your skin, their hands groping every inch of you while you arch up into them. They take turns uttering affirming words when they pull back to gasp for air, chuckling lightly when you massage their tresses in encouraging motions.

“So sexy,” Hyunjin remarks, tracing kisses along your mound as his hands work you eagerly.

“God, I fucking love your tits,” Jisung chimes in, rutting against the mattress with every slight motion of his mouth.

Your head throws back when they quicken their pace to suck at the same speed now, the entire room filling with lewd, wet noises and soft moans. Your legs cross over each other to calm the rhythmic ache between your legs, chasing the sweet friction of your pajama shorts against your aching clit.

And before you can ask them to touch you elsewhere, you feel it at last- a gush of fluid when you reach your orgasm, your entire body contracting as their tongues flicker over your sensitive nipples and suck little bruises along the flesh of your mounds.

Hyunjin is the first to pull away, embracing you for a drooly kiss, before uttering his thanks to you and glancing down at Jisung. When Jisung pulls away, he’s red in the face, his mouth glistening with saliva, heavy breaths escaping his parted lips. He mutters his own thanks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he turns his attention back toward the television and makes an effort to ignore the raging erection he now sports beneath his jeans.

Hyunjin’s hands dance along the hem of your shirt again, tugging it back up over your chest and adjusting the buttons once more. Your shirt is littered with dark spots of saliva, your nipples still protruding against the tight fabric, as Hyunjin leans down to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, keeping his lips pressed against the shell of your ear for a passing second.

“We’ll pick this up again in a little bit,” he remarks, wrapping his arms around you as he had before. And your breathless gasps are almost louder than the movie playing, languid bodies tangled with each other, as you anticipate a second round of pleasure.

*