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moonjxsung · 2 months

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Reckless Convictions

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.

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chaconnehoon · 2 months

Text

Obsession- L. HS

✶ Heeseung x Fem! Reader

Synopsis- Who knew the shy, sweet boy from high school would change so much over a couple years? When you realized what you had been missing out on, you didn’t hesitate to show interest in him. Who knew what he really felt after finally having you to himself?

Word Count: 20k

Warnings: SMUT!! Lots of smut and mature themes in general, controlling parents, toxic relationship, stalker-ish themes, Heeseung and reader are both crazy and obsessive

Smut warnings: Kissing, oral(f&m), dry humping, unprotected sex, public sex, masochism, voyeurism, hair pulling, sadism, squirting, etc. that I forgot, I apologize

A/N: Lots of very dark themes, please don’t read if you’re looking for pure vanilla smut bcs this is not the place!! I had many, many ideas for this but decided to take it easy as it’s my first full writing, so look forward to more of my ideas in the future! This was also proofread so many times but I’m sure there are still a few mistakes I missed, pls ignore them :)

Taglist:

@haelahoops @rayofsunshineeee @wannieepisod @ke4s @jungwonloveer @cyberinnie @tasnim10 @hee-yunie @iamliacamila @bluesoobinnie @sumzysworld @blckvper @capri-cuntz @parksunghoonsgf @ladyartemesia @seokseokjinkim

This is fiction and the scenarios are completely fake and from my brain, none of the characters are like this in real life, MDNI!

For once in your life, you felt free.

The moment you came out of your mother’s womb, grumpy and crying, were thrown under constant observation. Every friend you made and every building you stepped foot into was to be researched and evaluated by your parents before you were given their permission to have a social life.

When you were in kindergarten you were accidentally pushed off of the play structure by another student, but stood back up with no serious injuries. However, when your mother picked you up and seen the cuts from the bark on your arm, she demanded you tell her who had hurt you and later requested that the teacher kept you and the boy separated for the rest of the year.

The next day, the same boy introduced himself as Jake and handed you a heart lollipop, asking you to be his valentine. And so you agreed, and you agreed every year after that, until he eventually stopped asking when you both knew the answer would stay the same.

Your mother disapproved of Jake, claiming he’s too mischievous and a bad influence on you. He was both of those things, but he never showed it, which is why you came to the conclusion that your mother just didn’t like him simply because he’s a boy. She had to put up with him though, because of your fathers undying love for your friend, claiming him as his “son he never had”.

Your friendship with Jake had blossomed since day one, and he was your one and only best friend from that point on, until you both started your freshman year of high school. High school was different; there were different subjects, different sports, different people.

So, when Jake showed up at your front door one day after school with two boys, one on either side of him, your mother slammed the door in their faces and called for you to come downstairs. She dragged you to the window and cracked the blinds open enough for both of you to see through, and then shut them before looking at you with her arms crossed. “Explain” she spat out and your eyes widened as you shook your head. “I don’t know them ma, I swear!” You put your hands up defensively and then she rolled her eyes before peeking through the blinds again.

She let out an unbelieving ‘mhm’ and you threw your arms in the air. “I promise! They’re probably just Jake’s friends, he’s a guy and he needs to have other guy friends too, you would know.” You hissed the last phrase at her and you could see her jaw clench before she turned to you again. “Don’t use that tone with me.” She remained calm while she spoke but you’re sure if you looked hard enough you could see the steam coming from her ears.

“I’m just saying” you started speaking before plopping yourself on the couch just below the window, “You always say I shouldn’t be friends with boys, especially the ones like Jake. So maybe he made new friends that are like him.” You looked at your mother as if waiting for her validation, but she just kept her eyes on the boys. You joined her again and appreciated the fact that they didn’t give up and leave, which was probably Jake’s idea considering he was standing with his arms crossed and staring straight into the door.

Before you could try to convince her more, your father was pulling up in the drive way, honking when he noticed the kids at his front door and you tried not to giggle when the three boys jumped and whipped their heads around. You seen Jake slightly relax at the sight of your dad walking up to them with his keys in his hand, and he was eventually unlocking the front door and letting them inside.

Your mother huffed before your father was pulling her into a nearby room and you heard him harshly scold her for being so immature. Outside of the room, Jake was squeezing you half to death in a tight hug, before letting go and whispering an apology for bringing two strangers along with him. “This is Jay” he turned to the boy on his left and put an arm around his shoulder, “and this is Sunghoon” he swung his other arm over the other boy’s shoulder, but had tilted slightly upwards due to the height difference.

You held your hand out and greeted both boys, looking them in the eyes and noting how Sunghoon was quick to avoid eye contact, instead looking at the floor. Jay on the other hand, was confident in himself and gave you a little smirk as you smiled at him. He had low, lazy looking eyes, but his smirk was sharp and showed off his dimple nicely. Sunghoon was shy, but he was nonetheless gorgeous and had the most beautiful eyebrows you’d ever seen. You were also quite fond of his dimpled smile, which shows his sharp canine teeth that resemble vampire fangs.

From that day on, Jay and Sunghoon were added to your friend group and were soon considered your best friends, along with Jake of course. Jake was your number one from the start and you will always see him as that, trusting him the most with your life.

So, when you were both 16 and upset that you hadn’t had your first kiss yet, you let Jake take that title as he kissed you behind the school after you had asked. He was pretty inexperienced himself, but being handsome from an early age allowed him to kiss a few girls in his life before having the pleasure of kissing you. This didn’t change anything in your relationship, staying as friends and promising to never cross that line.

Even if there were no strings attached, the kiss ignited something inside of you, having you crave more and more until you were satisfied. For the rest of your high school experienced, you had experimented relationships with a few people, even going as far as kissing other girls, but realizing you liked the spark you got from being with a man.

✶.

Your best friends were by your side throughout everything, giggling along with you while you talked about a new boyfriend, or supporting you when you wanted to egg the same guy’s car after he cheated on you. The boys were by your side when you fought with your mom about moving away for college, even helping you move into your apartment when you did. They were even by your side the day you started your third year of college and you had gotten accused of sleeping with another girl’s boyfriend at a party. But instead of encouraging you to fight her when she started putting her hair up, Jay had thrown a cockroach at her, resulting in the four of you running into a random classroom to hide.

“Seriously though, who even tries to start a physical fight anymore, we’re too old for that.” Jay was shaking his head and laughing through his sentence like it was the funniest thing he ever experienced. “Who throws bugs at other people!?” Sunghoon smacks Jay in the back of the head before speaking again, “We’re too old for that too!” Sunghoon’s voice sounds horse like he’s really stressing the situation as if he’s so mature himself.

“Oh come on!” Jake is speaking now, adding a whine to his voice, “Don’t act like you didn’t put that snake in a can prank in Heeseung’s backpack last year!” His recollection causes everyone to burst out laughing, and you try your best to laugh along despite your lack of knowledge of the situation.

“Right! Who could forget!” A fifth voice pulls you out of your thoughts as the five of you go quiet, slowly turning around to find where the voice was coming from. Your eyes widen as you mentally facepalm for not looking around the room before entering.

“Oh! What’s up Heeseung?” Jake is greeting him before you can even register who the boy a few feet away from you is. Heeseung sighs before walking up a few steps, “Hi Jake” he shifts his focus, “Jay…Sunghoon” he gives a glance towards the other two before locking eyes with you. “Y/N” he says lowly as if he held anger behind his voice.

You don’t understand why he would be angry at you. Perhaps it’s the fact that you stumbled into a random classroom, and maybe he’s busy with something that you interrupted. But with the way he’s looking at you, it feels deeper than your understanding.

“Heeseung! Hi!” You smiled softly at him, trying your best to not sound intimidated despite your breathy voice. “It’s been a while, huh?” You try making small talk and you hear Jay snicker next to you.

“It’s been three years.” Heeseung sounds snarky as he walks up the last few steps with his hands in his hoodie pocket and finally stands across from all four of you. “Right…three years.“ you nod your head and you hear Sunghoon clear his throat, “Look Heeseung, we’re not trying to start anything, and I apologize for what I pulled last year.” Sunghoon defends himself, standing up straighter as if he’s sizing up towards Heeseung.

A few silent seconds pass before Heeseung is throwing his head back and bursting out in laughter. The three boys around you all exchange quick glances before Heeseung is running a hand through his hair and speaking again, “You guys are too funny.” He takes one long step over, sticking out his hand like he’s offering it to Jake.

You look at Jake from next to him, watching as he swallows dryly while looking at Heeseung’s extended hand. You nudge his opposite arm slightly and he breaks his gaze, looking at you before looking at Heeseung’s face, which is now settled with a small smirk. You nudge him harder in hopes that he’ll take the hint, and he eventually does considering he’s quick to pull his hand out from his own pocket and dabs Heeseung up, a loud clapping sound following.

“Relax, Sim” Heeseung says lowly this time and you hear the rasp in his voice. Jake lets out an awkward giggle and retracts his hand, wiping the sweat off onto his thigh, “What are you doing in here anyways?” Heeseung looks around the room before turning back to your friend group, “Well, I wanted to get to know the location of my class before it started.” He raises a questioning eyebrow, “I’d assume you all were too if I hadn’t overheard your conversation.” Heeseung laughs to himself and you suddenly remember that you hadn’t found your class yet. “Oh! That’s right! Well I guess we should probably get going then.” You sweetly smile at Heeseung and the boys next to you all let out sounds of realization when they remember they still need to find their classes also.

“What classes do you guys have?” Heeseung sits atop one of the desks and you wait for the boys to speak up, but instead they’re all searching for their schedule on their phones. “Um…I have intro to music prouction.” You sound confident this time, but slowly loose the confidence once you see how deeply Heeseung is staring at you. “Oh! Me too!” Sunghoon smiles brightly and wraps an arm around your waist, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Heeseung. “Hey! Me three! Let’s go!” Jake flexes an arm proudly while patting Sunghoon on the back. “Well, looks like we all have it together!” Jay suddenly says and joins your circle of cheers.

Heeseung watches from the table he’s sitting on, noting how close you and the boys seem. Of course you’re close, you have been since you’ve met, but Heeseung still can’t help the feeling of jealousy he senses deep in his stomach.

“I guess we should go look for the room then.” Jake releases from the group and heads for the classroom door until Heeseung is speaking up again. “No need” he states simply and you all turn to look at him for the nth time. “This is the intro to music production room.” He says with a shrug, looking around the room. You again feel the need to mentally face palm as you failed to notice the set up of the classroom, but also feel thankful that you hadn’t knocked over any important and expensive equipment.

You all stand awkwardly for a few seconds until the bell suddenly rings and Jake lets out a small yelp. You giggle at him and you can see Heeseung’s jaw clench as he quickly stands up and then sits down at the same table’s seat. You glance around the classroom, too uncomfortable to sit anywhere but not sure if it would make Heeseung uncomfortable to sit next to him. Before you could make a decision Jake is pulling you into the seat next to Heeseung, and then sitting next to you with Sunghoon and Jay following.

You glare at Jake and he gives you big puppy eyes and juts out his bottom lip, pouting as an apology. You roll your eyes and stare back towards the front of the class, trying your best to focus on the people filling up the seats while Heeseung is looking at you through his peripheral vision. “So,” Jay’s voice startles you and you feel your knee bump Heeseung’s, but he’s quick to place a hand on it to keep you from moving further. You look down at his hand before looking up at him through your eyelashes, then quickly turn your attention towards Jay when he’s talking again.

“Heeseung, um, I didn’t know you take music production classes.” Jake and Sunghoon hum in agreement and you’re wondering how long it’s been since they had last seen him. “You did” Heeseung is quick to spit out, almost annoyed. “When you put the snake can in my backpack? That was in our ethnomusicology class.” He pauses and you can almost see a hurt look in his eye as he looks past you and towards your friends. “And the year before that was when we all had music theory together.” You widen your eyes at the realization that your friends are either very dumb, or very self absorbed to not notice him before. Possibly both.

“Oh right!” Jake snaps his fingers and points at Heeseung with a big smile on his face. “I remember now! Such fun classes.” He hums the last part as if he’s missing them while Heeseung seems to be feeling the quite opposite. He squeezes your knee with his hand that you forgot was touching you, and you look up at him with big eyes. This seems to calm him as he rubs light circles with his thumb before pulling his hand away and into his lap.

As if on que, the professor walks in and greets the class, introducing himself and starting a long synopsis of the course, and you soon find yourself forgetting all about the new yet old peer next to you.

✶.

You wouldn’t consider Heeseung as an old friend. In fact, you’re not sure he even has any real friends. Of course he has the occasional book worms that you would see him studying with in high school. However, that was years ago, and you just seeing him again now.

Which is why you’re now pushing the back of Jake’s head when you walk behind him as he’s relaxing on your couch, questioning why he never told you how much Heeseung had changed.

“Because? I didn’t think you’d care?” He looks at you in confusion as you lay on the couch next to him, throwing your legs across his lap and he places his arms behind his head. “You don’t think I’d care about how hot he is?” You scoff and Jake just shrugs while looking up at your ceiling.

You look towards Sunghoon and Jay who were raiding your fridge, then pausing like they were caught committing a crime. “Hey don’t look at us!” Sunghoon hissed before he turns and opens up your microwave, putting what you can assume is a bowl of ramen inside. “Yeah don’t look at us” Jay speaks in between taking sips of your two liter of coke, “We’re not your new eye candy” he teases and you roll your eyes, looking away and back towards Jake.

“I’m just saying guys,” you throw your arms in the air like you’re trying to make a point. “Last I seen he was a nerd with big round glasses and ears too big for his head,” you almost catch yourself smiling before you’re talking again, “and now? He has nice hair and the height of the green giant?” You hear Jake laugh and you watch as he picks his head back up and places his hands on your legs. “Trust me Y/N,” Jake shakes his head, “He’s still as much of a pathetic nerd as he always has been, he was just trying to act tough in front of you.” He lightly pokes your legs and you wiggle them away until you’re sitting up next to him.

“Well you know I do like pathetic men.” You smile to yourself, not even the slightest ashamed of your enjoyment of corrupting cute boys. “But why would he try to act tough for me?” You furrow your brows at Jake and he pressed his lips into a line like he’s disappointed in your question. “Are you serious?” Sunghoon is yelling from the kitchen this time, “He has like the biggest crush on you!” He’s crossing his arm and tapping his foot like a disappointed father, much like Jake.

You shake your head and laugh loudly, “That was in high school! I doubt he still does.” You try your best to sound sure of yourself, but the last sentence comes out quiet. “Bullshit” Jake slaps your thigh and you glare at him as he pokes your head. “You didn’t see the way he was looking at you earlier?” You shake your head and slap his arm away and he scoffs. “So oblivious” you frown at him while he’s talking about you as if he’s not talking to you. “Plus” he starts again and raises his eyebrows in a flirty way, “He’s been asking about you for the past two years, trying to figure out if he’d have a class with you n’ shit.” Jake shrugs and you scold him for not telling you before.

“What? So you like him all of a sudden?” Jay sinks into the couch next to you and extends an arm across the back, encasing you next to him. “Just because he’s cute now?” He kissed his teeth and shakes his head as if he’s disapproving. “He’s always been cute, just in a different way.” you start off but you’re quickly interrupted by shocked gasps from the three boys and a loud crash from the kitchen.

The three of you turn on the couch to see Sunghoon standing in the kitchen entrance with a bowl of ramen in one hand and the other hand clutching his chest, mouth agape in shock. “You did not just say that.” He whispers breathily like he��s just been told life changing news. “And you did not just break one of my favorite glasses.” You give him an offended look and point a finger at him, then towards your now shattered glass cup on the floor. “You’re cleaning that up and buying me a new one.” You quirk an eyebrow at him and he rolls his eyes, setting down his ramen before bending down to pick up the fallen glass. You tried your best to ignore the fake groans he lets out as if he’s too old and fragile to bend.

“Anyways” Jake claps his hands, “I’m taking a nap! You guys can either join me or stay awake and not break anything so she doesn’t kick us out.” You turn back towards Sunghoon to see him at the trashcan now, flipping Jake off without looking in your direction. Jake only makes it to standing for a second before you’re pulling him back down by his belt loops, resulting in him landing back onto the couch with a huff.

“No.” You simply state and poke his chest, “You’re gonna sit here and explain to me what prank on Heeseung you guys were talking about.” You cross your arms and Jake just whines and sinks himself into the couch more. “It’s nothing really.” Sunghoon sits on the floor in front of the three of you, now slurping his bowl of ramen. “You don’t get a say in if it’s ‘nothing’ or not.” You narrow your eyes at the boy and he breaks eye contact with you to stir his ramen.

“Seriously Y/N” Jay puts a hand on your shoulder, turning you to look at him, “We had bought one of those fake cans that have snakes that pop out, and Hoon was showing it to us. When he went to put it back, Heeseung’s backpack just happened to be the closest to Hoon at the time so he mistook it as his.” Jay tries to reassure you but you just sink yourself into the couch, the same as Jake. “Was funny as fuck though.” Sunghoon was adding on, almost choking on his ramen as he laughed.

You know they’re not lying to you, you’ve grown up with these boys basically your whole life and you know they’d never intentionally bully someone. You’re not sure why you care so much about Heeseung all of a sudden, and as if he could read your mind, Sunghoon is speaking up. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about him like that.” He stands up and walks to the kitchen, making an audible tsk noise.

You sigh and tap your fingers against the couch, deep in thought. The last time you had really spoken to Heeseung he had fluffy, unstyled hair, and wore cute sweaters that he always looked so cozy in. His eyes were big and round, and sparkled no matter how dark it was. He also had cute pink lips with a pretty Cupid’s bow that pulled into a pretty smile. “I guess I am.” You sat up from the couch and Jake made a noise like you had woken him up suddenly. You turn to look at him and he widens his eyes, “I heard everything I promise! You were talking about how much you wanted to kiss Heeseung~.” He teases the last sentence like a middle school girl teasing you for having a crush.

You pushed his shoulder slightly and stood up from the couch, stretching your arms above your head. “Whatever, I’m also going to take a nap so don’t break anything!” You called out while walking up the stairs, hearing an offended scoff come from Sunghoon.

✶

You expected to show up to a frat party on the first Friday night of the semester and get black out drunk for the first time in a while. You didn’t expect to see Heeseung there as well. He was there though, surprisingly not standing out, but not quite fitting in either.

He was making his way towards the corner of the room, and that’s when you realized maybe he hadn’t changed too much. Since the first day you met him, he was always backed up into a random corner of any room, eyes wide and shoulders tense. However, now he looks slightly more comfortable, but not at ease.

Jay throws an arm around your shoulder, annoyingly pulling you close and you can already smell the alcohol on his breath despite just walking into the house 30 seconds ago. “What a surprise.” He says with raised eyebrows that quickly fall when he takes another sip out of the questionable cup he grabbed.

You face him and grab the cup out of his hands, setting it down on a shelf close to you. “You sicko! Where did you get this? You don’t even know what’s in it.” Jay shrugs at your words and respectably burps away from your face before replying, “Something with Rum. I know my baby when I taste it.” He giggles to himself and you scrunch your nose and try to push him off of you, giving up after realizing he’s somehow stronger when he’s intoxicated.

“Check it out.” You hear Jay lowly mumble into your ear, causing you to follow his gaze back towards Heeseung. This time, he’s talking to a girl with a bored expression on his face. You can hear the girl scoff offendedly before throwing her drink all over Heeseung’s shirt, walking away with a disgusted look on her face. “Oh…shit.” Jay’s voice drops and he seems to sober up slightly. “What the fuck?” You turn to look at Jay and he just shrugs at you, going back to grab his mixture of rum and mystery juice.

Before he can stop you, you’re breaking away from him and mumbling, “Go back with the boys, I’ll make sure he’s okay.” and then following Heeseung who is now making his way out of the kitchen and upstairs.

You find him in a bathroom attempting to soak up the alcohol with a bath towel, groaning when he realizes it’s not working. You knock softly on the open door and he looks up to make eye contact with you in the mirror, eyes wide and you catch a glimpse of the old Heeseung you use to know. “Hey” you greet him with a soft smile, like you’re trying to prove you’re not a threat, “I seen what happened and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” He nods slowly and moves slightly to let you inside of the bathroom with him.

“M’ fine. She’s just mad I rejected her” His words are mumbled as he keeps dabbing the towel on his shirt, “I’ll just change.” You furrow your eyebrows and he looks up to see your confused face, smiling at what he thinks is a cute reaction. “This is my house.” He reassures you and your eyes widen as you sit on top of the closed toilet, leaning your arm on the sink and placing your chin in your palm. The new angle has Heeseung avoiding eye contact and you smile to yourself at the realization that maybe your friends were right about his never ending crush on you.

“It’s a pretty house.” You say softly and he nods his head. “You live alone?” You think that this might be the most words you’ve ever directly spoken to Heeseung. He shakes his head, seemingly more shy and less verbal than he was the other day. “You don’t have to act tough in front of me you know.” You quirk an eyebrow and he pauses his movements, mentally cursing at himself when he realizes that you had caught on. “You don’t have to act cool.” You’re tapping your nails on the sink and before he can respond you’re speaking again. “I think you’re already cool.” You smile seeing his eyes widen before he clears his throat.

“Um, thank you? Or…I don’t know how to respond to that.” You giggle at his reaction, standing up and now staring at yourself in the mirror. You try not to move your gaze from where you’re fixing your hair, but seeing Heeseung’s doe eyes also watching you through the mirror makes your stomach flip. You see his mouth open before he closes it again, then open a second time as he starts speaking, “Do you wanna help me pick out a new shirt to wear? Not that I care what you think but- well I do care but I don’t-“ “Sure, Hee” you cut him off and he relaxes at your answer, nodding before he leads you out of the bathroom and down the hall to his own room.

As you pass the stairs, you see your three friends pause on the middle step and their jaws drop at the sight of you following Heeseung to his room. You bite your bottom lip to hold back your smile and you widen your eyes in a way to acknowledge that you know what they’re thinking.

The first step into Heeseung’s room is surprisingly refreshing, and not filled with the scent of a man in his early 20s. Instead, it smells almost warm yet fruity and sets you into a comfortable mood. You sit on the edge of his bed and watch as he opens his closet, shuffling through an array of different colored shirts. He grabs a light blue short sleeve and holds it up against himself, turning to see your reaction. You scrunch your nose and shake your head, telling him it doesn’t match the color of his cargo pants.

He models a few more shirts before landing on a black long sleeve, tilting his head to the side as he watches your reaction. You smile softly and nod your head, imaging how handsome he’d look in such a simple yet fitting shirt. He walks towards the bed before looking at you and then quickly looking away.

“Can you like, turn around or something?” He speaks softly, not wanting to hurt your feelings. You flash a pretty smile at him before poking his side. “Why? You shy?” You tease and he’s quick to shake his head and before you can tell him you’re kidding, he’s pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it on the bed next to you.

Your jaw goes slack and you analyze every part of Heeseung’s torso, too shocked to care if he catches you staring. He’s slim but well defined, with a broad chest and wide shoulders. His body is definitely more mature, but his face as he watches you check him out is the same as it always has been. His big doe eyes watch shyly and his pretty lips softly frown when you stare for too long, quickly getting insecure when he thinks maybe you’re judging him.

He’s quick to throw the new shirt on and you don’t miss how he suddenly caves in on himself, apologizing for being too comfortable. “No, Heeseung don’t apologize.” You swollow dryly, still in shock. “You’re beautiful.” You watch as his ears slightly turn pink and he fights to keep a shy smile off of his lips. You grab his hand so he looks at you and you pat the bed next to you, giggling as he stumbles onto the bed.

“You should be more confident in yourself.” You speak quietly as you play with his fingers of the hand that you’re still holding. “I mean it. You’re beautiful and you don’t need to try hard to show it.” Your words make him slightly perk up, feeling his ego inflate a bit. “Wish you could’ve told me that sooner.” This time he’s the one speaking quietly while he’s looking at your intertwined fingers. “What?” You ask but he’s quick to shake his head like he regrets what he said.

You bring your free hand up to his face, softly cupping his cheek as he looks at you with almost guilt filled eyes. Just as you’re about to ask him to elaborate, a loud pounding shakes his bedroom door that you didn’t even realize he had closed and locked, and he’s quick to stand up and open it. Sunghoon almost falls into the room as the door opens, being forcefully pushed by Jay who is holding a very drunk Jake.

“My apologies lovebirds.” Sunghoon sounds out of breath, seeming as if he maybe had to help Jay carry the body of your other limp friend upstairs. “Jake is already fucked and throwing up everywhere. We got him to the bathroom but he threw up in one of the plant pots in the living room before we could.”

Heeseung sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “I’ll have one of my roommates clean that. Thanks for letting me know though.” Sunghoon gives him a quick nod before turning to you and motioning his head towards the door this time. You try not to look disappointed as you get up from the bed and make your way to the doorway. Before you step out, you turn around and plant a quick kiss on Heeseung’s cheek, watching as he stands there stunned before you turn to help carry your friend down the stairs.

✶

You sat with your chin in your palm, staring at the side of Heeseung’s face similarly to the way you did at the party. You could tell he was trying hard to pretend like he’s focusing on what the professor was saying, but you knew his mind was running a mile a minute.

After the party, you couldn’t help but feel excited for the next time you’d see Heeseung, giggling to yourself at night over how cute he looked when he was flustered. Your friends begged you to tell them what had happened when you were alone, and begged harder to know how good he was in bed. You swore on Sunghoon’s life that nothing had happened, which resulted in Sunghoon playing dead after “having a heart attack”.

You somewhat wished that you could answer them, imagining what would’ve happened if they hadn’t interrupted your almost intimate moment with Heeseung. Your eyes grazed over his face, stopping at his lips. Your stomach tingled as you thought of how close you were to kissing him, how innocently he looked at you while you held his face. The urge to be close to him again took over, and you almost subconsciously shifted your foot to rub against his own.

You watched as he stopped breathing for a second, then swallowed harshly which dropped your attention down to his Adam’s apple. The way it bobbed every time he spoke or swallowed made your mouth water, wanting to lean over and take a bite out of his neck. You’re so lost in thought you almost didn’t hear him whisper out to you.

“S-stop staring at me.” He tries to sound stern but stutters and gives up, shaking his head in disappointment in himself. His reaction is cute to you, and you can’t help but reach out and poke his round cheek. ”Can’t help it, you’re too cute.” He blushes lightly and before you can retract your hand fully, he’s grabbing it and intertwining his fingers with yours, then dropping both of your hands into his lap.

Even if it’s not an intimate gesture, the idea of being so close to Heeseung in a public setting has you craving more. You’ve barely gotten to know him but he’s already addicting, and you wonder if he feels the same way towards you. You move your pinky that’s trapped between your hands and his thigh, and you notice how his body stiffens at the most innocent touch. You love the feeling of control you have over him, wanting-needing more.

You rub your pinky against his leg a few more times before letting go of his hand, and instead grabbing his thigh. He lets out a squeak-like noise, eyes widening as he sees Jake peek around from the other side of you, raising an eyebrow before smirking and nudging your side. You nudge him back and tell him to focus, all while rubbing your hand up and down Heeseung’s thigh, occasionally squeezing it lightly. The sight of him breathing heavily makes you squeeze your own thighs together, suddenly feeling very aroused by the shy boy next to you.

You struggle to pay attention for the rest of the class, tuning in when the professor brings up the first major assignment and then tuning back out when he starts talking about his failed marriage. Most of your brain capacity is taken over by the thought of Heeseung, getting giddy over the idea of him simply existing as if he’s not sitting next to you.

You hear Jake audibly groan when class is dismissed, muttering about how sore his neck ended up after Jay fell asleep on his shoulder. As your group walks down the stone pathway Sunghoon takes this opportunity to “massage” Jake’s neck, when in reality, a massage from Sunghoon means he tries to painfully poke his slim fingers into your pressure points.

Jake thrashes around as an attempt to get away from Sunghoon’s fingers, bumping into Jay who then bumps into you, causing you to fall backwards and into Heeseung. You collapse on top of him, pushing the both of you over and landing on his lap like a scene you from a cliché romance movie. “Woah guys!” Jay yells out, covering his eyes as if he’s so bothered by a position he’s in every other night. “Get a room horn dogs.” You just roll your eyes and stand up, reaching your hand out for Heeseung to grab.

As soon as he’s up, he’s quickly turning away and avoiding eye contact. You go to tease his shy behavior until you spot the bulge below his belt which he does a terrible job at hiding. “Oh dude.” Jay is trying not to sound amused, but the way Heeseung bites his lip looks all too much like he’s about to cry. You lean over to Jay and tell him and the boys to keep walking back to your apartment while you attempt to talk to Heeseung.

You softly grab the loose fabric of his hoodie sleeve and turn him to face you, stopping him from walking further but frown when he ends up staring straight at the ground. “Hey, Hee.” You cup his cheek softly like you did the other night and he leans his head into your palm.

You take this as a sign of comfort and slide your hand to his chin, grabbing it lightly and forcing him to look at you. “It’s fine baby, don’t worry about that.” His eyes widen at the nickname and he suddenly feels hot under your touch. “We’re just gonna go back to my apartment. Then maybe I can help you out there, is that okay?” He nods in response and that’s all the reassurance you need to grab his hand and speed walk home.

✶

The second you stepped foot into your house, you yelled for the guys to make themselves comfortable as if they didn’t practically live there with how often they were over, and dragged Heeseung to the kitchen. “You need water? Hungry?” You rummage through your fridge, wanting to take care of Heeseung first and foremost. He just shakes his head, nervous eyes darting around your house as he takes in the new unfamiliar area.

“Don’t need anything?” You ask now sipping out of a water bottle and placing it on the counter next to you. “No” Heeseung’s voice shakes, “Just need you.” He drops his head and you do the same, eyes landing right on his still painful hard-on. You look back up and he quickly looks away, and you realize you may never be able to make eye contact with him but making him flustered will always make you smile.

Taking his hand you lead Heeseung up to your bedroom, not even sparing a glance towards your friends as you hear them cheering and hollering behind your back. The way Heeseung’s hand feels hot and sweaty tells you that he definitely doesn’t have much experience, and it seems to arouse you more knowing he probably doesn’t have much to compare you to.

You open your bedroom door, pulling Heeseung inside before closing it and twisting the lock. You turn around to see Heeseung standing awkwardly, hands playing with each other as he looks at you shyly. Walking up to him, you grab both of his hands and look directly into his eyes and this time he doesn’t try to look away. “If anything makes you uncomfortable you can tell me, mkay?” You speak softly and he takes a deep breath hearing how gentle you’re being with him.

You bring him to sit on the side of your bed and sit next to him as you cup his cheek, a familiar position but in a different setting this time. “Have you ever kissed anyone?” You ask and you see the way his eyes flicker down to your lips before they find their way back to your eyes. “No…but I know you have.” His words make you feel a slight pang of guilt in your heart like you should’ve known you’d eventually end up with him.

“The boys told me about your little crush on me.” His eyes widen but he doesn’t deny it and you smile before shifting your touch on his face and using your thumb to gently play with his bottom lip. “Don’t worry” you move your hand to play with the hair on the nape of his neck and lean in close enough for your noses to touch. You can feel his lips brush yours when you speak again. “I think it’s cute.” You purr and gently close the gap between the two of you.

The first kiss lasts a few seconds before you pull away to check on him, but to your surprise he was pouncing back into you and kissing you harshly before you could say anything. You giggle against his lips and grab his shoulders forcing him off of you and he whines at the loss of contact. “Gentle, we don’t have to rush.” He immediately slumps into himself and you take this as an opportunity to push him down onto your bed.

You straddle his hips and smile down at him while he looks up at you with eyes already glossed over and hazy. You lean down, slotting his bottom lip between yours and gently sucking on it. He whines and both of his hands tightly grip your hips while yours land on his chest. He seems to pick up the idea of kissing easily, slightly speeding up excitedly when you quietly moan into the kiss.

You swipe your tongue across his lip and he parts his lips slightly, which allows your tongue to snake in while his does the same and you finally taste him. He lets out a loud moan and quickly pulls back like he didn’t mean to let it slip but you just pull him back in with a harsh grab of his hair. He moans into your mouth again but this time you feel his hands rocking your hips against his and that’s when you remember how hard he was and how badly he must be waiting for release.

“Let me take care of you, Hee.” You pull away from the kiss and he nods rapidly as if he’s been waiting for you to offer. You dip your head into his neck and gently suck and nip at the warm skin, trailing your lips down towards his collarbone as you hear another soft moan escape. You slide off of him and down onto your knees between his legs, tapping one so he gets the hint to let you between them.

He slowly opens his legs just enough for you to fit between and sits up to watch when you start unbuckling his belt. He sighs when you finally take it off and rub your hands on his thighs comfortingly before making your way towards the button on his jeans. You look up at him before unzipping them, looking for any signs of discomfort but all you’re met with is the sight of his bright pink cheeks and dilated pupils.

As soon as you get his jeans off of him you attach your lips to his bare thighs, peppering light kisses trailing from his knees to the hem of his boxers. You reach up to palm his hard-on and when your hand makes contact with him through his underwear, he lets out a whimper that shoots right to your core.

His hips buck into your hand impatiently and he goes to apologize when you’re suddenly grabbing his waistband and pulling his boxers down. He lifts his hips to help you get them down his legs, his cock springing up and catching your attention. He’s big and you don’t know why you’re so surprised considering how big the rest of him is.

He catches you staring for too long and suddenly covers himself up with his hands. “Is it okay?” He’s asking hesitantly and you instantly coo at how cute he is. “So pretty.” You hum and pull his hands away, placing them on the back of your head instead. He takes the hint and threads his fingers through your hair and tugs softly.

You place one hand on his thigh to steady yourself and softly grab his cock with the other, stroking him slightly before using your thumb to smear his precum across his tip. His hips buck into your hand again and you kiss your teeth and smile up at him. “Look at you.” You kiss the base of his cock before trailing kisses up until you reach his tip, kissing it even softer and licking the precum off of your lips. “Taste so good.” Your words seem to affect him strongly as he throws his head back and lets out a breathy whine.

“Please, Y/N, Please.” You’re not exactly sure what he’s begging for but you take it as encouragement to finally press your tongue flat against his tip, then guide yourself down to take more of him into your mouth. “Oh God .” He’s moaning louder this time and you know for sure that your friends can hear him from downstairs.

You pull off of him before immediately sinking back down, taking all of him in your mouth this time. The feeling of him sliding down your throat makes you moan around him and you feel his body jerk at the new sense of stimulation. You bob your head and feel the way his fingers tighten the grip he has on your hair, more moans and whimpers slipping from his lips.

Each sound he makes arouses you more and you don’t even realize that you’ve positioned yourself over his foot before you’re grinding down, moaning at the contact between his foot and your core. He opens his eyes and looks down at you in shock, not realizing how arousing the view from above was. The angle gives him access from the top of your head to your butt, watching how your seducing eyes flutter closed when you take him down your throat and the way your hips move fluidly while you grind down onto his foot.

You open your eyes and pull off of him, jerking him in your hand, eyes wide as you watch his brows furrow with flushed cheeks and his breathing turns uneven. “D-don’t look at me like that.” He sounds so close and you know he’s trying to hold back and impress you by not cumming too fast. “You sound so sexy.” You swirl your tongue around his tip while keeping eye contact with him. “Fuck.” He’s breathing harder and you know he’s seconds away from finishing.

“You going to cum for me baby?” The nickname pushes him right over the edge as he takes one last deep breath before letting out the sweetest whine, and you take the opportunity to take him back into your mouth, just in time to feel his cum spurting down your throat. You continue to suck until he’s lifting you off of him by your hair, and your mouth leaves his cock with an audible pop.

You lick any remaining release from your lips and make your way to stand up as he tucks himself back into his boxers and slide his jeans back up his legs. When he finishes buttoning them you’re climbing back onto his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck.

You kiss him softly, half surprised by the fact that he let you as if he didn’t care that you just had him finish in your mouth, and half aroused at the same time. “You did so good, Hee.” You praise him as you pull away and you don’t miss the way he still blushes at your compliments. “What about you?” He whispers against your lips and you give him a quick peck before pulling away to cup his face. “What about me?” You ask and he looks down at his lap and mumbles almost too quietly for you to hear. “Wanna make you feel good too.” Your heart warms at his words and you shake your head in response before kissing him again. “Taking care of you is enough for me, don’t worry about that.” Your voice is stern but caring and he nods before tucking his face in your your neck.

“I could go for a nap, you wanna join me?” You pick his face up and kiss the tip of his nose and he nods, letting you climb off of his lap and into your bed, then lays next to you as you tuck yourself into the sheets.

You turn to your side and he lays behind you, pulling you close with his arms wrapped around you, inhaling the scent of your perfume. Your breathing syncs with each other’s and you soon hear his soft snores coming from behind you, and you smile to yourself, wishing you could stay like this forever.

✶

The first thing you notice when you wake up is that it’s cold. Your bed is no longer kept warm from the heat of Heeseung’s body against yours, and your heart breaks a little at the idea of him leaving you already.

You’re not usually the type of person to keep contact after a hookup, but something about your relationship with Heeseung feels different. Even through the little time you’ve gotten to know each other, you feel like it’s been years- like the years you could’ve gotten to know Heeseung in if it weren’t for conflicting schedules.

Making your way downstairs you can hear your friends’ voices chatting away until they hear your heavy, sleepy footsteps. Rounding the corner, you find all three boys in the kitchen with Jay cooking ramen while Sunghoon and Jake sit at the table sipping on bottles of beer.

“Well good morning sleeping beauty.” Jay pats your shoulder as you grunt in response, opening the fridge and taking a long sip of cold water. “It’s like 5pm.” You rasp out as you take a seat sitting next to your friends. “It’s 8pm.” Sunghoon chuckles before taking a swig of his beer and turning to you, smoothing out your bedhead.

“What!?” Your eyes widen and you look around frantically before Sunghoon places his hand atop yours, pulling your attention back to him. “Relax, Heeseung left not too long ago- said he had something to get back to at home.” The three boys could see your frown forming and noticed the your eyes stayed glued to the table.

“Don’t worry, he left this.” Jake slaps a sticky note on the table in front of you, winking before getting up and grabbing another beer. You examine the sticky note and your jaw drops into a long ‘O’ shape. “He gave me his number!?” You squeal and almost jump from your seat, knocking your knees against Sunghoon’s.

“God, how are you so hyper after waking up.” He says it more as a statement than a question and you just give him a sarcastic smile before turning towards Jake instead. “Where did he leave it? Because I know he wouldn’t just leave it on the table for anyone to see.” You narrow your eyes at Jake in suspicion and he quickly darts his eyes away nervously.

“Jake.” You say his name sternly and you notice how he tenses and takes another sip of beer. “Jake were you snooping again?” You barely get your sentence out as he’s already defending himself. “I wasn’t I swear! When he left I went in your room to check on you and make sure you were okay and…clothed.”

Your face morphs into a confused disgust, “Pervert! Why would you care if I had clothes on or not!?” His mouth opens in shock as he shakes his head rapidly. “God, Y/N don’t make me say it!” He’s suddenly covering his face to hide his embarrassment while you’re sent into deeper confusion. “Say what!?” You’re standing up and hovering over the table, irritated at how difficult Jake is being.

“I wanted to make sure he didn’t just up and leave after fucking you! I wanted to make sure you actually had proper aftercare and he didn’t just cum and go!” Jake is slamming his hands on the table and you hear Sunghoon snicker beside you at the pun Jake may or may not have realized he used.

“What? Why would he do that?” You’re lowering your voice this time and it cracks softly while you speak. Jake sighs and taps his fingertips against the glass of his beer bottle. “Because every time you’re actually interested in a guy-more than just hookup, you’re left hurt when they leave not wanting more.” He’s making eye contact with you now and you slowly sit back down.

“Well” you start speaking but your voice comes out soft and weary. “How do you know that I want more than a hookup with him?” You immediately regret asking, knowing well that the boys can see right through you. “You wouldn’t just give a random hookup a blowjob and not expect anything in return.” Jake is giving you a “duh” face and you just gasp in shock.

“He told you!?” You’re perking up in your seat and you see Sunghoon cover his ears when you yell. “Are you never not yelling?” Sunghoon is wincing at his now ringing ears and you just mumble an apology before turning your attention back to Jake. “More like he forced the poor guy to confess.” Jay is setting the fresh ramen on the table and you roll your eyes at his response.

“Don’t tell me you threatened him.” Jake shakes his head with an offended look on his face. “Of course not! I was going to but I could see how shy he looked. He just told me you sucked him off and took a nap after.” Jake stuffs his mouth with food like a caveman after speaking, giving you time to reflect on their interaction.

“Why did you come check on me if he told you we didn’t have sex?” It’s your turn to stuff your face and Jake wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like a toddler. “You know I don’t quite trust him yet. Just had to make sure he wasn’t lying.” He gives you soft, caring eyes and you feel your heart warm at the sense of comfort. “Thank you, Jake.” You smile at him but it drops he shakes his head.

“Wasn’t just me.” He nods his head towards Sunghoon and Jay who pause suddenly. “They kept him from leaving while I checked on you.” The other two boys nod and first bump over the bowls of ramen. “I know you guys are caring and brotherly like, but he probably thought he was going to die.” You’re giggling at the thought of a wide-eyed Heeseung standing stiff against your wall with your two scariest looking friends staring him down.

Sunghoon laughs, almost choking on his ramen while Jay slides him a bottle of water to help soothe his throat. “He did! It was hilarious but I gave him a nice pat on the shoulder and he eased up a bit.” Sunghoon was speaking in between coughs and you rub his back, encouraging him to not irritate his burning throat more.

“Don’t worry about his phone number, I already called it while Jake was checking on you and his phone buzzed in his pocket so we know it’s not a fake pitty number.” Jay watches for your reaction and when speaks again. “So now I have his number in case of an emergency.” He teases and you slump in your seat with a heavy sigh.

“Geez, okay dad.” You tease him back and he grabs the sticky note, sliding it over and sticking it onto the table in front of you. “Now text him.”

✶

When you texted Heeseung and he responded right away, you weren’t quite expecting to stay up all night talking to him. You had asked him to call you around 1am and you giggled at how the read symbol stayed under your message for a solid minute until he was calling you. Even over the phone he would stutter when you ask him a slightly suggestive question or subtly flirt with him.

You had spent hours sending each other old photos from when you were younger, some even from the yearbook as you pointed out the different clubs and sports teams you were in. You laughed together when you pointed out how different you had both become, realize how long it has been since you had first met Heeseung. You had sent him pictures from your social media, bragging about the fun trips you took or the friends you had made.

You sat with a soft smile on your face when you sent him a picture of your three friends posing with bright smiles and bright silver hair. You had explained to him that during the past summer, you and your friends weren’t able to leave the city like usual so you all decided to dye your hair silver for fun.

Despite not seeing anyone over the summer, Heeseung can recall seeing your friend group return back to school with faded dirty blonde hair. You brag about how well you did for box dye, going on about how all four of you looked so sexy and that you think Jake’s looked the coolest because he kept the tips of his hair black. Heeseung gets quiet on the other line and you’d think he had fallen asleep if it weren’t for him suddenly clearing his throat and changing the topic, something about his older brother graduating a high ranking university soon.

When you both got quiet after a while and heard the soft snores coming from his side of the call, you whispered a goodnight to him and had a mental debate with yourself to decide whether or not you should hang up. You decided against the idea and fell asleep to the sound of Heeseung’s breathing.

You woke up to find that Heeseung ended the call not long after you fell asleep, but when you read his good morning text your heart warmed.

“‘Good morning beautiful, I’m sorry I hung up early last night, my phone died haha -sweating emoji- can’t wait to see you in class’.” A blinding smile was plastered on your face while you read the text out loud. You met up with your three friends to walk to class, texting the groupchat in all capital letters that you had something important to show them.

“Cringe.” Sunghoon scrunched his face in disgust, soon dropping it into a pout after you pinch him harshly. “It’s okay Hoonie I know you’re just jealous.” You tease, wrapping your hands around his arm and pulling him against you. “Stop it Y/N! You’re scaring the hoes.” Sunghoon pushed you off of him and into Jay who catches you with an arm around your waist.

“What hoes, Hoon? You lost your virginity last year and haven’t been with a girl since.” Jake is the one to tease this time, bringing up a funny memory for your friend group. “Oh my God that’s right! Were you that bad in bed that not one girl in this school wants to fuck you?” You giggle at your continuous attacks on your friend as he just gives an offended glare, opening up his mouth to speak before he’s interrupted.

“I think it’s because he has some slut clinging onto him and two other guys 24/7.” The four of you stop walking and turn to the closest bench, finding a group of girls with evil smirks resting on their too-perfect faces.

“What did you just say?” You harshly rip Jay’s arm off of your waist and make your way up to the friend group, your own following behind you. “Oh, did I hit a nerve?” The same girl fake pouts at you while her minions giggle to themselves and you clench your fists at the sneakiness lingering in her voice. “No but I’m about to hit you in the fucking face-“ You’re cut off by Jay who is covering you mouth with his hand and pulling you backwards towards your friends.

“Okayyy! I’m going to stop you right there, thank you.” Jay announces loudly, anyone who wasn’t aware of the situation before was definitely aware now with the amount of heads that turned in your direction. With a quick turn and an arm over your shoulder, you’re guided away from the group of girls who watch you leave with the same smirks that haven’t left their lips.

“Jay you’re embarrassing me.” You’re trying to shove Jay’s heavy arm off of you, which only results in you being tugged closer towards his body. “Oh, I’m the one embarrassing you?” He shoots you a disbelieving expression and then shakes his head. “You were about to rip her eyelashes off!” Jay pokes you in the temple as a sign of playfulnesses, showing you that he’s not actually that mad at you.

“Yeah I would’ve ripped out her falsies and then her real ones.” You finally wiggle out of Jay’s reach and stand on the opposite side of Jake, using his body as a barrier. Jake now looks at you and covers one of his eyes with his hand, muttering an ‘ouch’ and you just nod as if you were telling him that’s exactly why that was your chosen threat.

“Alright relax, I don’t think Heeseung would want his girl getting into fights over some rumors.” Sunghoon shoots you a somewhat reassuring glance along with his words. You just sigh and can’t help but wonder if they’re actually more than just rumors. “Speak of the devil.” Jake mumbles just loud enough for your group to hear as you open the door to your music lecture.

All four of you stop in your tracks at the sight of a bright sliver head of hair sitting at the seat next to your own. “Is that…” Sunghoon trails off in awe as Jake’s jaw goes slack “No way.” His thick accented voice dropping to an almost inaudible whisper. “Heeseung?” You walk ahead of the group, laying a hand on Heeseung’s shoulder to catch his attention.

The boy turns and his eyes light up immediately at the sight of you. “Your hair…” you trail off as you reach up to run a hand through his hair. “Do you…do you like it?” You can hear the neediness for reassurance in his voice, like he only cared about what you think. “Yeah” you breathe out as if you were scared to express your true feelings, “You look sexy.”

His ears visibly darken to a deep red color, taken aback at your forwardness. “Damn right he does!” You hear Jake hype up Heeseung as he offers a fist bump before sitting in his seat next to you.

Throughout the lecture, everything your professor said went in one ear and out the other while your main focus was Heeseung. The way his new hair complimented his complexion perfectly was almost inhumane, and you felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him. Of course, you can’t just climb onto his lap and hold him down while you eat his face in the middle of class, so you opt to do what you do best with Heeseung; make him nervous.

After befriending and become more than just friends with the boy, you’ve learned just how sensitive he is everywhere. Any time you rest a hand even on his knee or slightly brush an arm against his, he stiffens and looks down expectantly. So, with the desire to feel something, anything, you softly place your hand on his thigh and lightly tap your fingers. Through your peripheral vision can see Heeseung peering down at you through his own, and you grow impatient with his lack of common response.

As you decide to trail your hand up his thigh, he suddenly grips your wrist almost painfully tight just before you reach the crotch of his pants. You look up annoyed at your failed attempt of teasing him and lock eyes as he shakes his head, as if he’s warning you, even daring you to try again. Placing your hand back in your own lap, he focuses back on the lecture and tries not to react to the way you’re suddenly shifting in your chair.

“Is it just me or is it a bit hot in here guys?” You whisper to your surrounding friends as you fan yourself as an attempt to make your question sound genuine. Sunghoon leans over the table and gives you a stern look before kissing his teeth and scolding you, “I told you that sweater was too thick for this heat! But no! You never listen to me!”. He’s whining in an aggressive whisper but you ignore him and grab the hem of your knitted sweater and bring it over your head.

As your thin black, very cropped tank top is now visible, you can’t help but smirk at Heeseung’s wandering eyes. You notice the way his prominent Adam’s Apple bobs when he swallows harshly, and the way he quickly directs his eyes away when you catch him staring down the area of your back.

“What’s wrong, Hee? You getting hot too?” You lean toward him on your desk, crossing your arms under your chest as the pressure enhances your cleavage. “Just a bit.” He states blankly, keeping his eyes staring straight towards the front of the room. You watch as his eyes flick down towards the watch on his wrist but before you can also check the time, he’s grabbing his backpack.

Just as you’re about to ask where he’s going, the bell rings and he shoots up from his seat. He collects his laptop and notebook quickly, and you wonder if you maybe pushed him too far if he’s that eager to get away from you. He catches you off guard as he suddenly grabs your backpack, also putting your things away before grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the class before your friends could follow.

✶

After becoming closer to Heeseung both emotionally and sexually, you were 99% sure that you could predict his every move. From the way he stiffens to your small touches or trails his eyes from your own down to your lips every time you speak, nothing he does ever surprises you anymore.

However, now that he finally snapped and pulled you into a room not far from your lecture, you’re suddenly questioning the soft, shy, submissive nature that you may have mistaken him for.

Pulling you into the indoor hallway behind him, you have no time to adjust as he’s pulling you into another room and you’re suddenly pressed against the closed door. Everything happens so fast, you’re almost unable to register the feeling of his lips attacking your neck, licking and sucking everywhere so that no area is left dry.

In fear of his sudden change in demeanor, you place your palms on his chest and push him off of you, just enough to look him in the eyes. “Heeseung, what are you doing?” You’re whispering harshly, afraid that anyone passing by in the hallway may hear.

“What am I doing?” He takes a small step closer but it’s still enough to have the tips of your shoes now touching his. “What are you doing? Touching me in class like that? Undressing yourself like that?” Your lip quirks up, realizing that your earlier teasing was working. “I told you, it was getting hot in there.” You look up at him innocently, softly running a hand through his freshly dyed hair.

“And I couldn’t help myself. Couldn’t keep my hands off of you after seeing this.” You harshly tug on his hair on the last word and he lets out a whimper, but he’s quick to keep himself from falling back into the same headspace. Unsatisfied with his reaction, you pull his hair harder and this time he bends down to crash his lips against yours.

He spins you around, walking you across the room until the back of your knees hit something and he pushes you down onto what you realize is a couch. He takes his backpack off of his back and sets it on the chair in front of the sound-mixing board, while you lay comfortable on the couch. Laying sideways on the furniture puts you in the perfect position to grab onto Heeseung’s belt, pulling him on top of you to quickly reconnect your lips.

Heeseung wastes no time, putting one hand on your waist and the other by your head to hold himself up as he pins you into the sofa. Using his advantage of being on top, he keeps you pinned onto the cushions as he rolls his hips into yours, groaning at the feeling of his hard-on making contact with your core. You struggle to kiss him back as your mouth parts at the new feeling, and he takes this opportunity to easily slide his tongue into your mouth, explore everywhere with his wet muscle.

You moan loudly as he keeps rolling his hips into you, and he seems to realize that you had both forgotten you’re in a public area. Without pulling away, he grabs onto your thighs and lifts you up, walking further into the room and up to another door next to the mixing board. One of his hands leaves your thighs and you hear a few clicking noises but before you can open your eyes to check what he’s doing, he’s opening opening the door and walking you inside of the small booth.

Pulling the chair by the microphone closer to you, he sets you down onto it and goes back to close the door. “This room is soundproof.” He walks back to you and drops to his knees, gripping your thighs and forcing them open before he settles between them. “Means you can be as loud as you want.” He’s rubbing his palms on your thighs the same way you did to him, then moves his hands to the button of your jeans.

“Can I?” He only speaks two words but you nod your head almost embarrassingly fast, lifting your hips so he can pull your pants down with ease. You recently started wondering how Heeseung would react to seeing you in your underwear, but nothing could prepare you for the way he grips your hips, pulling you almost all the way out of your seat. He grabs both of your ankles, pulling your legs to rest over his shoulders and you have to contain the squeal you want to let out as he bites down onto one of your thighs.

Licking over the bite mark, his hand comes up to slap the side of your ass as punishment. “I told you already, pretty.” He switches to the other thigh, biting down again and leaving a matching bite mark before soothing the pain with his tongue for the second time today. “You can be loud.” With his repeated permission, you whine at the feeling of him pressing a soft kiss to your clit through your underwear.

“Please Hee, I need it.” You grind your hips forward into nothing but air and grip the sides of the chair tight. “Yeah? Want me to eat this pretty pussy?” His hot breath fans over your covered cunt as he speaks, and you gasp when he’s shoving his face further, inhaling your sweet scent.

You watch as he licks a long stripe up your slit, still covered by your panties before he pulls them to the side frustratingly slow. Your whines turn into moans as he licks under stripe, the time without the thin panties in the way. He wastes no time, diving into your core and licking, sucking, slurping everywhere and everything.

Your thighs shake and clench around his head and he moans into your core as you reach with one hand to grab his hair. The same hair that caused this mess, the same hair that you coincidentally showed him an inspiring picture of the night before. You couldn’t think too deeply about it as one of his hands is reaching up to your tank top, pulling the front down along with the cups of your bra.

You throw your head back as the cold air hits your nipples, but is soon replaced by Heeseung’s warm and wet mouth. You look back down to see his lips attached to one of your sensitive buds while his eyes are wide and expecting as he looks up at you. Just the image of the doe-eyed boy you always knew makes another whine escape from your throat.

Heeseung is doing great as his tongue plays with your nipple and his fingers rub circles on your clit, but you need more. “Hee” you whimper and he blinks in response. “Use your fingers, baby. Inside me—please.” You roll your hips forward while Heeseung’s hand stops the previous movements and you come to the realization that he hasn’t actually done this before.

Lifting your hand that isn’t in his hair, you grab his wrist and guide him, rubbing his fingers over your slick before letting him push one into you. Even just one finger was enough to make your back arch, his large hands reaching places your own couldn’t. He experimentally curls his finger, grinning at the way your eyebrows furrow and your mouth goes slack. He continues his movements for a few seconds, then adds a second finger and you loose all ability to think.

With your back arching off the chair and your head falling back, Heeseung takes this as a sign to thrust and curl his fingers faster, attaching his lips back to your hard nipple while your own hand releases his wrist to play with the other sensitive bud. Heeseung’s lips leave your nipple to kiss down your body, making his way back to your cunt, licking and sucking almost painfully on your clit, all while speeding up the pace of his fingers inside of you.

His new rough touches send you over the edge, gripping the back of his head tightly, keeping it pressed against you while you grind yourself on his wet tongue. The sight of him sitting between your legs is so overwhelming, causing a knot to form in your lower belly. With his fingers pumping inside of you, mouth open with his pretty pink tongue sticking out for you to use for your own pleasure, and his somehow still innocent looking eyes watching your face as you lose yourself, you feel yourself becoming lightheaded as you come undone.

As soon as you think you’re having a regular orgasm, Heeseung wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking harshly. That’s all it took for you to squeeze your eyes shut, a loud moan of Heeseung’s name escaping your throat as you feel your lower half become warm and wet while Heeseung continues sucking and plunging his fingers in and out of you.

The overwhelming feeling doesn’t stop or even weaken and you open your eyes and look down, now realizing you’re squirting for the first time in your life. Watching as your juices seem to gush out of you, you can’t take your eyes off of Heeseung’s now soaking wet face. His eyes are glossy and shining, while his nose, cheeks, and chin are glistening from your squirt as he finally pulls away once you’ve come down from your high.

“Wow…” Heeseung seems dazed as he can’t take his eyes off of your leaking hole. You grab his chin with your fingers, leading him up to your face to capture his wet lips into a sloppy kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. “I’ve never squirted before, Hee.” You pull back to wipe his sticky wet cheeks and you swear you feel them heat up from your words.

“Guess we both had firsts today.” He pecks your lips and smiles at you and your heart aches at the proud look on his face. Feeling the urge to reassure him, you pull him into a hug and hover your lips by his ear. “M’ so proud of you, baby. Did so good for me.” He whines at your compliment, pulling away from the hug to bring you back into a bruising kiss.

✶

“So you’re telling me” Jake pokes a finger into your arm before before pointing it back towards himself, “That when Heeseung took you to the studio room, you just talked?” Jake shoves a fry into his mouth and sends you a disbelieving look when you simply nod your head. “Bullshit.” Jay is speaking from across from you after taking a giant bite out of his burger.

You roll your eyes when you catch a glimpse of his chewed up food and kick his leg under the table, “You’re disgusting.” Jay returns your kick causing a sharp pain in your shin and you mumble curses at him while rubbing the sore spot. Jay then sends a few verbal hits towards you after he finishes chewing his bite, “You’re one to talk! I’m starting to think you have a exhibitionism kink with how often you and your boyfriend get it on in public.”

You grab your cup and bite your straw in annoyance, avoiding eye contact as you’re ashamed your friend might be right. “First of all, he’s not my boyfriend, and second of all, we’re not ‘getting it on’ in public, I just sucked him off that one time at home and he only returned the favor in the studio room.” You quickly realize your mistake when Jake is slamming a heavy palm on the table next to you and practically screeching in your ear.

“Ha! I knew it! There’s no way your corruptive ass is able to hold a private conversation with a shy guy like Heeseung without pouncing on him!” On the other side of the table, Jay fist bumps Jake while Sunghoon is choking on his milkshake, eyes tearing up as it comes out of his nose. You scrunch your face up in disgust while handing a few napkins over to your poor friend.

“Whatever guys, so what if I’m sexually active with him? It’s not like he’s the first guy I’ve been with.” You once again bite down on the flimsy plastic of your straw, staring down at your fingers that are tapping on the bright red coloring of the old burger joint’s table.

Jay points a finger up in a “matter of fact” manner as he tilts his head in a playful way. “You know he’s the first guy you’ve been with that actually has a massive crush on you though. Just saying, obsession is not a joke and you know how dangerous some guys could be when they’re crazy about a girl.”

Jay’s word make you rethink your whole relationship with Heeseung, realizing that most of the guys you’ve been with were just casual hookups or friends with benefits situations. The types of relationships that took mutual agreements and setting boundaries in order to keep until eventually one of you got bored with the other. With Heeseung, you hadn’t discussed those boundaries and just assumed that’s what he had wanted. Now, with Jay shooting you a knowing look, you realize you may have fucked up.

“Well…what if he doesn’t want a relationship? I could just be a booty call to him.” You shrug and try to ignore the way Sunghoon and Jake both start rambling about how naive and oblivious you seem to be. “Y/N, I love you and all, but I genuinely can’t tell if you’re being a dumb bitch or being in denial.” Sunghoon pats your hand in a comforting way while the other two boys nod their heads in agreement. “Yeah you’ve seen how he looks at you! No man looks at his booty call with heart eyes.” Jake pokes your temple and you swat his hand away.

“He could also just be looking at me with ‘fuck me’ eyes.” You retort what you think is a reasonable answer, until Jay is speaking from across from you again. “But it’s Heeseung, I don’t think he’s even held a girl’s hand before. ‘Fuck me’ eyes could be a big deal to him if he finds sex more than just casual. He’s not like you and you know that.” Sunghoon wipes his fake tears and pats Jay on the back like a proud father, “I think that’s the smartest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”

Jay rolls his eyes and takes the last bite of his burger, uncomfortable with his friend who is now pinching his cheeks. Next to you, Jake places his now empty cup down and turns to you. His eyes are burning holes into your face as you avoid eye contact, not wanting to continue the discussion any longer. “I know you’re internally freaking out right now.” Jake nudges your shoulder with his own, “How about you sleep on it and maybe talk to Heeseung about it tomorrow?”

He gives you his best supportive look and you feel grateful that at least one of your friends is actually trying to be helpful. You slowly nod your head, lost in your thoughts of Heeseung and you can’t help but feel nervous about having such a serious conversation with him.

“Alright!” Jay claps his hands and scares you out of your thoughts. “Let’s hit the road!” He quickly stands up from the table and Sunghoon squeezes out of the booth following him with a snort, “Okay what are you, a dad?” Your smile at Sunghoon’s comment quickly turns into a frown of disgust as Jay corrects, “Actually, it’s dad-dy, thank you very much.”

As Sunghoon pushes the doors of the restaurant wide open mimicking a grand exit, all four of you stop in your tracks as a very tall, silver headed and doe eyed boy is also stopping. “Heeseung? What are you doing here?” You curse yourself for asking such a stupid question, but you’re caught off guard by the boy’s perky answer. “Oh! I um- I was just here to pick up my cousin. He needed a ride home.” He’s looking at the floor and kicking the small pebbles, rolling them under his shoe.

Your mouth makes an ‘o’ shape and you nod, suddenly uncomfortable with the awkward atmosphere. “What about you guys?” Heeseung also asks a stupid question and you notice the way he disappointedly shakes his head at himself. “We stayed at school a little later to work on our projects so we just decided to get dinner here before they drop me off at home.” You glance shyly at the taller boy, still in awe of how angelic he looks with his new hair.

“Oh you must be tired then! I’ll let you get home, uh, see you tomorrow?” He stutters out and you smile to yourself. “Yeah, Hee, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You walk by him and pat his arm as your friends follow behind you. “That was so painful to watch.” Sunghoon shivers, which in return gets him demoted to the back seat of the car while you steal the front.

✶

“You’re not gonna kill me are you?”

Heeseung wishes he was joking but after you sent him the infamous ‘can we talk?’ text, he couldn’t stop sweating and overthinking what you could’ve possibly wanted to talk about. “If I wanted to kill you I wouldn’t be meeting up with you under a giant tree in the middle of campus.” You giggle as you sit down on the old bench, patting the spot next to you.

As Heeseung sits down, you can’t help the small blush that heats up your cheeks at how close he decided to sit. Close enough that he’s suddenly wrapping an arm around your shoulder and tugging you to sit with your thigh pressing against his. You turn to him with wide eyes and he immediately caves into himself, snaking his arm back towards his own body.

“Sorry- I just thought maybe you’d like that but I guess I should’ve known not to…considering I can guess the reason we’re here.” He mumbles while watching his hands fidget with each other in his lap, and you feel a pang in your heart at his sudden drop in confidence. “No, Hee.” You grab his anxious hands, holding both of them in between yours, “I did want to talk to you about that, but not for the reason you think.”

He visibly perks up, eyes bright and hopeful but his teeth are still nibbling nervously on his bottom lip. “I know we kind of started off fast- with this whole thing between us…” He nods attentively as you speak, “and I know I never really asked you what we are.” Heeseung’s heart beats faster with every word you speak.

“That’s just something I’m used to- having no solid labels on relationships but I understand if that’s not what you want.” Heeseung gulps harshly as he lets you ramble, already knowing his answer to your upcoming question. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I genuinely really like you, and if you wanna-“ Your confession is cut short by the annoying ringing of a phone, and you break eye contact with Heeseung to check who is interrupting your rant.

Of course, it’s Sunghoon screeching on the other line. “Y/N! The boys and I need help with our projects so we’re coming to you! Where are you? Under the tree? We’ll check there for you.” Before you can speak a word, Sunghoon is cutting off your argument, “But-“ “No buts! We’re on our way.”

You give Heeseung an apologetic smile that quickly falls when your friends are already walking up to you. “Do you seriously need my help? You guys have taken more music classes than me!” You stand up and dust off any dirt left on your clothes. “Well…we just missed you and wanted to work on our projects together.” Jay is wrapping an arm around Sunghoon’s shoulder and the younger groans. “I don’t know why this guy lied, we know you would’ve agreed either way.”

You roll your eyes and sling your backpack onto your shoulder, obviously annoyed at your friends who interrupted your moment with Heeseung, once again. “You’re lucky I love you guys, and I haven’t even started my project yet.” You walk away as your four friends follow behind, tripping over each others feet.

The five of you make it into the music building, making your way through the indoor hallway and decide to work in one of the recording studios. You shyly glance at Heeseung to see him already looking at you. “What?” He leans over towards you once you sit on the studio couch and pull out your laptops. “Flashbacks?” His hand finds your thigh and you’re quick to pull it off, just in time for your other three friends to turn around and start a conversation.

“So what is the project about anyways?” Jake had obviously not been listening during the past few lectures. Jay sets his laptop down next to Jake’s, opening up his notebook which was filled with different information on music theory and genres. “Just experiment with the tools and see what comes easiest to you. Personally, I find alternative rock a fitting style for myself.”

You look over at Heeseung and find him already staring at you, something unrecognizable lingering in his eyes. “Hee?” You nudge him and brush a strand of hair off of his face. “You okay?” Your voice seems to snap him out, and he blinks rapidly before apologizing. “Was just zoning out I guess.” He starts taping away on his own laptop and you giggle at the Toy Story picture he has saved as his background.

“What about you Heeseung? Did you start yet?” Jay asks while reclining in his chair, arms stretching above his head as his shirt lifts up to show a sliver of honey skin. “Uhh, yeah I did start actually. I only have a few bars done though.” Heeseung doesn’t move his gaze from his computer screen as he chews on his bottom lip, a nervous habit you’ve picked up on.

“Play it.” Jay motions towards Heeseung, giving him an expecting look. “Alright…” Heeseung still hasn’t taken his eyes off of his screen, adjusting the volume before pressing play. A deep bass is heard with a few vocal effects added in, and you’re all nodding your heads to the rhythm when your heart drops at a sudden beat change.

Within the first ten seconds of the song, a moan of Heeseung’s name is heard loud and clear, followed by a beat signaling to lead the song into a more R&B feel. You pause, a chill crawling up your spine as you look over at Heeseung who has a proud smirk relaxed onto his face.

The song ends and he presses the space bar to pause it, quickly glancing over to the four of you to find your reactions. “So?” He relaxes back on the couch that suddenly feels too small for the two of you. “What do you guys think?” He’s overly cocky, something you have yet to get used to. “It’s really good…” Jake is speaking hesitantly while looking next to him at Sunghoon, who just nods his head in agreement. “But…what was that at the beginning?” His question makes your heart pound, knowing exactly what he’s referring to.

“What? My producer tag?” Heeseung has a causal smile on his lips. “It’s sexy isn’t it? Of course I had some help.” He places an arm around your shoulder and winks at you, but you’re quick to shove him off of you and run out of the room.

You don’t get far when you hear the studio door opening, and then the loud shut of the door echoing through the music building hallway. “What’s wrong, pretty?” Heeseung lands a hand on your shoulder, spinning you around shoving you against the wall. He places his forearm above your head, leaning in uncomfortably close. You have tears pouring down your cheeks but your face is stone cold.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He leans in and his nose brushes against yours. One of his hands is suddenly grabbing your chin, turning your face so his nose is nudging your cheek bone instead. You squeeze your eyes shut and feel his lips gently kiss your jaw. Heeseung then sticks his tongue out, licking a long stripe from your jaw to your eye, collecting the freshly fallen tear that had collected on your cheek.

The sensation of his warm, wet muscle dragging along your face makes your stomach turn in both disgust and something you’d be too ashamed to admit. “You wanted to be mine, no?” He brings your face back to look at him and presses a soft kiss to your quivering bottom lip. “Wanted everyone to know you’re mine?” His words make heat pool in your lower stomach and you subconsciously close your legs tight, rubbing your thighs together softly.

“Look at you.” He coos, running a hand through your hair. “You like this, hm? So dirty.” His words make you nod instinctively and he smiles at how easily you fold for him. “Why don’t we get back in there, don’t want to worry your boys.” You nod instinctively again, bringing a hand up to wipe your face and walk away as Heeseung follows behind.

You enter the room hesitantly, cheeks burning from embarrassment as your friends’ eyes are filled with worry. You avoid eye contact when sitting back down, immediately burning holes into the screen of your laptop so you didn’t have to face the awkward atmosphere. Heeseung sits next to you and places a hand on your thigh, fingers gently tapping to a random rhythm.

You let out a shaky breath and try to change the subject, hoping to get everyone’s eyes off of you. “Who wants to play theirs next?”

✶

Resentment

Anger

Shame

You couldn’t shake the embarrassment you felt for the rest of the day. Hanging out with your friends never felt so humiliating, even after you had gotten home and relaxed in bed, you couldn’t help the tears from falling. Yet, you weren’t finding yourself angry at Heeseung. Just angry at how embarrassed you had felt afterwards.

Of course, with such a close friend group there wasn’t such thing of hiding secretes or being “too extreme”. Your friends were your everything and had been there with you throughout all of your relationships, hearing every single detail from your side.

However, having your sexuality exposed by someone else felt humiliating and destructive. You knew Heeseung hadn’t necessarily meant to humiliate you in front of your friends, despite not knowing the actual reason for him using such a private moment in such a light manner.

No matter how embarrassed you felt, you couldn’t bring yourself to be upset at him. Even after you cried yourself to sleep that night, and even after you had spent the whole next day sulking in bed. Eventually your friends were sick of pitying you and decided to plan a movie night at your apartment; showing up with snacks and stacks of movies, grabbing you by the ankles and dragging you out of bed.

As you sat on the couch while your friends argued over which movie to watch first, you couldn’t help but zone out with your head flooding with thoughts of Heeseung. As if your brains Bluetooth connected, Jake leaned over to comfort you, something you’d never get tired of.

“I know you’re thinking about him.” He sends you a firm glance, communicating that you have no reason in lying. “Do you miss him?” You nod insecurely at his question, ashamed to admit it. “Why don’t you invite him? I know we’re doing this to get your mind off of him but maybe it’ll help if you just talk to him.” Jake rubs your back gently and you take a deep breath, releasing it as you whisper in agreement.

Now, you’re sat with Heeseung on your bed while your friends watch horror movies and eat the snacks they brought for you. “I don’t want them to interrupt us again so I’m just gonna get straight to the point.” You glance at Heeseung before looking away towards a poster on your wall. “I like you a lot, Hee. And I know you feel the same, and I know you want us to be exclusive. So, I think we have to set some boundaries and know exactly what we want in a relationship if you really want to be with me.” Heeseung nods along to everything you say, and you start listing off the expectations you have for him as he does the same.

You haven’t realized how much time had passed while talking to Heeseung until you notice the silence coming from downstairs, and you peek your head out of your door to hear three different sets of snores coming from your friends. You sit back on your bed and take note of how comfortable Heeseung looks next to you.

Of course, this isn’t the first time you had Heeseung in your room sitting on your bed. However, it was the first time you had gone this long with him on your bed without lunging at him. That didn’t last long though as you’re suddenly climbing onto his lap, pressing your lips harshly against his.

“Missed you so much.” You’re mumbling against his lips and he’s pulling back to laugh at you. “It’s only been like two days, you’re that obsessed with me?” His teasing makes you blush and duck your head into his neck. “You’ve literally liked me since high school and I’m the one obsessed with you?” You’re arguing back and now Heeseung is the one blushing.

Instead of responding, he connects your lips and flips over, laying you softly against the bed. Your tongue invades his mouth and he welcomes it eagerly, whining into the kiss as he sucks on your bottom lip. “For not having much experience you’re so good at kissing, Hee.” You compliment him and notice the way his eyes glimmer with confidence.

“Better than Jake?” His question catches you off guard and you’re confused until you realize what he’s referencing. “What- how do you know about that?” You’re sitting up now, slowly scooting away from Heeseung. “Well, it wasn’t exactly like you guys were hiding in a private area.” His hand finds your cheek and caresses it, thumb playing with your bottom lip.

You sit still in shock, not realizing that Heeseung had known one of your most private secrets for so long. “I mean, behind the school? You know so many kids go back there to do God knows what, I just happened to be back there and seen you guys.” As he speaks, your fingers are playing with your bed sheet nervously, twisting the fabric until your fingertips turn white.

“Do you know how upset I was?” He was puling you back under him by your waist, kissing you harshly with no time to react. “To see him get what I wanted? To see him touch what’s mine.” You’re looking up at him in pure shock, not realizing how badly he had wanted you for so long.

“That was just a one time thing- you know that!” You’re quick to defend yourself but Heeseung just caresses your cheek and smiles. “I know baby, I know you only want me now.” You nod against his lips as he kisses you again, before he pulls away for the nth time. “Wont let anyone else have you. You’re mine now.” One hand finds your throat and gently squeezes as the other still cups your cheek, feeling the way your jaw moves while your tongue laps against his.

Releasing your lips from his own, he kisses your from your chin down to your jaw and neck, gently sucking the warm skin before making his way to your collarbone. His hands travel up your sides, squeezing the flesh of your waist comfortingly and you ease into his touch.

“Heeseung…” you whine as he nips at the skin covering your collarbone, leaving small barely-visible teeth marks. “Heeseung, I need you.” He smiles against your neck, inhaling your addicting natural scent. Your hands grab his hips, pulling him closer as you shift your own upwards, chasing the friction of your bodies together.

He takes this opportunity to grind his hips down, immediately groaning at the feeling of your core against him. Your hands slide up his back and into his hair, pulling him down to kiss you again. As your lips connect, you’re caught in a mess of tongue sucking and teeth clashing while you amateurishly grind your lower halves together.

You pull away and feel yourself grow more aroused at the sight of Heeseung’s chin shining from the mix of your saliva, assuming yours also looks the same. “Need you now.” He nods and lifts your shirt up your chest and over your head, eyes widening at your lack of bra. “Not the first time you’ve seen them, Hee.” You remind him but you still feel slightly prideful that your body hasn’t become any less admirable to him.

He sucks and bites at the skin of your chest, one hand softly rolling your nipple in his fingers while his warm mouth finds the other. Your back arches off of the bed, pushing your body impossibly closer to Heeseung’s and he groans when you pull his hair harshly. “You like that?” You pull his hair again and he huffs a shaky breath onto your skin. “You like when it hurts?” He grinds his hips down in response, laying his cheek flat on your chest.

“No matter how cute you think it is, I jdon’t want to cum in my pants like a virgin.” Despite his words, he’s still grinding into you almost painfully rough. “But you are a virgin.” You cup his face and bring his face to look you in the eyes. “Not for much longer…I hope.” His eyes are sparkling and hopeful and you can’t help but place a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’ll be much longer if you don’t undress me right now.”

His hands move quickly as he rushes to tug your pajama pants down, only stopping for a moment to admire your cute panties before he’s pulling them down too. He notices the way you’re shyly grabbing a small blanket to cover yourself and sends you a worried look, only for you to point back at him. “You’re still fully clothed.” You giggle and push him away. “You haven’t even taken your socks off!” You tease him and he shakes his head before swiftly pulling his shirt over his head.

You watch in awe as he undresses, admiring his naked body for the first time. As you pull the blanket away from your own body, you assume he’s doing the same when you catch him almost drooling over you. With a beckoning of your hand, he’s quickly hovering over you again, this time with two fingers between your legs.

“Have to prep you, baby. Don’t want to hurt you too bad.” You can’t even respond as he slides a thick finger into you, curling it upwards while his thumb rubs circles in your clit. “More.” You’re quiet but Heeseung has always been good at listening to you, and he pulls his finger out slowly just to push it back in with a second one. You can’t help your hips from grinding against his palm as he has two fingers knuckle deep inside of you.

You grab his wrist and he looks at you in worry, just to be met with low, lust-filled eyes. “Cant wait any longer.” Your voice is seductive and Heeseung feels his heart hammering against his chest. “Fuck, okay.” He adjusts himself, ready to push into you until he’s stopping abruptly. “Condom. I don’t have a condom.” He sounds panicked, secretly worried that finally getting to have you will have to be postponed.

To his luck, you just shake your head and reach for his neck, pulling his lips down to yours. “Don’t need one. I’m taking one of your firsts today so I want you to take one of mine.” Heeseung’s feels his heart grow as he’s honored to be the first guy you take raw, and he will make sure that he’s also the last.

Lining up to your entrance again, he slides his tip against your folds a few times, coating his length in your slick that is now pooling onto your bed. He slowly pushes in, head falling forward to rest in your neck as the overwhelming squeeze of your walls sucks him in. “F-fuck.” He curse breathily and you can’t help but moan at how arousing just hearing his voice is.

He’s bottoms out fully and your back arches up, feeling him deep enough to know your cervix could end up bruised. He wraps an arm around your waist to keep your back lifted off of the bed as he slowly pulls out and then slides back in. Your eyes roll back, unable to form a single thought when he starts finding a solid pace, fucking into you gently.

“Harder.” You moan through the word and watch the way he lifts off of you, grabbing your hips and pinning you to the bed. As if something in him switched, he’s keeping you pinned as his hips snap almost painfully fast, hitting the most sensitive spots inside of you with each thrust.

“Oh-fuck, Heeseung!” You’re sure the three boys downstairs have been woken from their deep slumber by now with how loud you’re moaning and the sounds of skin slapping. “Fuck I’m so close already, I’m sorry.” Heeseung sounds pathetic as he whines into your neck.

One hand is digging your fingernails into his broad back as the other guides his face towards yours. You kiss him once before sticking your tongue out and looking him deep in the eyes. He’s unsure of what you’re doing before a lightbulb goes off in his brain. Wrapping a hand around your neck, he squeezes harshly as he lets his spit glide from his lips into your mouth, then connects your lips to his before you could swallow.

The disgusting amount of saliva in your mouth allows your tongues to glide together easily and Heeseung moans loudly at the feeling. “God-I think I’m gonna cum.” Just as the shaky words leave his mouth, you feel a tight knot form inside of you and hearing him sound so fucked out only made you crash over the edge. His thrusts are messy and his eyes are squeezing shut, hoping to last a little longer for you.

“Come on baby, cum with me, need it so bad please-.” You’re barely able to get the words out before you’re wrapping your arms around Heeseung’s neck and rocking your hips, cumming around him with a scream-like whine as your juices are squirting out of you. “Oh fuck-fuck!” Heeseung is groaning between clenched teeth, jaw tight as he struggles to hold back whimpers and moans but doesn’t last long when you’re trapping his bottom lip between your teeth.

He lets out the most pathetic, high pitched moan from his throat as he feels you suck on his lip while your cunt does the same to his cock still burried inside of you. He feels like he can’t stop cumming, spurts after spurts of warm liquid filling you up to the point where he’s forced to pull out of you.

As he does that, he watches the way your mixed liquids seep out of you, staining your bedsheets and thighs. You notice the way his whole abdomen up to his chest is glistening, feeling proud that he was able to make you squirt again but this time without his mouth.

He plops down next you and pulls you to lay your head on his chest. “I’ll clean you up right now, pretty. Just lay here for a bit.” You have never felt this happy after such an intimate moment, grateful that life had lead you to such a sweet and caring boy. You lay there for a few minutes until Heeseung throws his sweats on and finds a towel to clean you with, wetting it with warm water before wiping you up gently.

“Why are you the one doing this? I just took your virginity, you should be the one getting princess treatment.” You’re only half joking but Heeseung doesn’t care, kissing your forehead and removing the dirty sheets off of your bed and instead throwing together some random extra blankets he found. He cuddles up next to you, pulling your body so close to his that you think you can hear his heartbeats. “Doesn’t matter the situation, I’ll always take care of my girl.”

✶

Heeseung is a great boyfriend, even if sometimes he can be overly confident and grope you in public or wouldn’t stop bragging to your friends about how perfect you are, resulting in your cheeks burning red and hot to the touch. You’ve noticed the way he get protective over you even with your own friends; sitting between you and Jake or even eating all of the ramen before Sunghoon comes over just out of spite.

Even after two weeks of being official, having Heeseung still doesn’t feel real. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve never been treated this well in a relationship, or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve never had someone be this in love with you. So in love that he threatens to bite the hand of many who even looks your way.

So, when Heeseung finds himself back at another party, mixing up a concoction of random liquids, he barely notices the way his red solo cup is reaching it’s limit. Too focused on the way a way-too-friendly guy has been hitting on you all night, he doesn’t even care about the amount of alcoholic beverages he’s filling his cup with.

Sometimes he feels embarrassed by how badly he wants you, and now that he has you, he doesn’t know how to handle his jealousy. That’s why when the guy brushes a strand of hair out of your face, Heeseung takes the wrong road and decides he’s done being the pathetic and needy boyfriend you’re used to.

While you’re sitting on the disgusting frat couch with suspicious stains on the cushions, you can’t help but worry that Heeseung is taking too long to get another drink. Your other three friends are somewhere else, off getting shit faced drunk while you’re left alone to protect yourself from this man who has been following you around all night.

You noticed the way he would back off when you’re with Heeseung, but as soon as your boyfriend is a few feet away, you’re being flirted with and touched in uncomfortable ways. Now that Heeseung has been gone for a few long minutes, your struggling to fight off the man’s wandering hands that trail from your shoulder to your lower back, wincing when his hand doesn’t move even after you tug on his wrist.

He just laughs, pointing to the corner of a room and whispers uncomfortably close to your ear. “That’s your man?” You follow his finger, heart dropping when you watch the way Heeseung is towering over a small, almost too-perfect girl. The same girl who had the nerve to call you a slut in the middle of campus.

You don’t miss the way she looks over her shoulder, smirking when she catches you staring. She turns back to Heeseung with a pretty smile, reaching up to trail her fingertips across his arm and you feel your heart crumble.

You reach your breaking point, shoving the clingy man off of you so hard he stumbles against the stairs, landing hard on his ass. You don’t even glance back at him as you make your way around the house, eventually finding all three of your friends swimming in the backyard pool with their jeans and white shirts now soaking.

You hurry to them, explaining that you don’t feel well and that you need to go home. “Are you okay? Where’s Heeseung?” Your boyfriend’s name coming out of Sunghoon’s mouth was enough for you to break down, covering your face with your hand as tears spill from your eyes. “What the fuck happened, Y/N? What did he do?” Jay’s voice is stern and demanding but you know he’s not frustrated with you. “I’ll go find him-“ Jake is cut off when you grab his wrist, pulling him back towards your circle.

“I don’t want to see him right now, just take me home.” As if the universe is testing you, said boyfriend is walking up to your friend group with an unreadable expression before you can plan your escape. “Hey, pretty. What’s wrong?” His question infuriates you more and you find yourself rushing forward and harshly pushing his chest.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you!?” Your voice is horse as you cry, a few strangers now looking in your direction. Heeseung take’s note of this, suddenly grabbing you by the arm and rushing inside of the house. The lights and music blur your senses, and you’re unable to tell what’s going on until your back is being pressed up against a bathroom sink.

Heeseung’s lips quickly find their way to yours, biting and sucking harshly as you continue to cry. “Stop, Heeseung. I’m not in the mood.” You shove his shoulder and he pulls away with an irritated look. “Why not? Did that guy not agree to fuck you?” His words are sharp and mean.

You gasp offendedly, a hurt expression making its way onto your face. “What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t want to fuck him!” You’re yelling again and Heeseung presses his index finger to your lips. “That’s not what it looked like when you were letting him feel you up.” Heeseung is calm and it irritates you more at how confident he’s being despite being wrong.

You feel your eyes start tearing up again, looking away from your boyfriend’s angelic face. “I wasn’t letting him.” Your voice is quiet and weak. “I couldn’t stop him and you-you weren’t there to help me. You knew he was preying on me but you still left me alone.” You can’t stop the warm tears from sliding down your cheeks.

Heeseung takes a step back, eyes now softer and habitually nibbling on his bottom lip. “Fuck, baby, I’m sorry.” He cups your face with both hands, eyes locking with yours before he brings you into a tight hug. “I was just so mad that he was trying to get at you, I wanted to make you feel the same way. Didn’t even realize how uncomfortable you were, I’m sorry.” You swear you hear him sniffle as he apologizes, squeezing your body tighter.

“It’s…it’s fine, Hee. You’re new to this relationship stuff so I’ll just have to teach you, I guess.” You sigh and run your fingers through his hair, calming the both of you down. He takes a few shaky breaths before pulling back from the hug and kissing you again, soft and sweet like he’s thanking you for being so patient.

Maybe you’ll just have to get used to him having these ups and downs. Sure, he isn’t the most confident and might be immature and reckless sometimes, but that’s all a part of learning. You want to allow him to experience these harsh moments and teach him how to overcome them. Even if it hurts you in the process, you’ll do anything to be with Heeseung and he’d do anything to be with you, because after so long, you’re finally his.

#enhypen smut #enhypen x female reader #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #heeseung x female reader

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sideeve · 6 months

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⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀( living with Mike Schmidt )

— ★ Abby is his heart and soul. he knows if you’re a winner if she feels comfortable showing you her drawings.

— ★ i feel like American Idiot by Green Day is him and Abby getting ready for work/school. it’s a routine they built and can’t break out of it. so when you stay the night, you were shocked to see how quick they get out the house since Mike is always late to work.

— ★ if you can cook, you brought more meals on the menu and Mike can’t thank you enough. now, he doesn’t have to cook up some Chef Boyardee or order pizza. you were the only one they trusted in the kitchen.

— ★ weekly movie night was implemented on friday nights. you saw how much Abby and Mike were drifting away from each other so you took it upon yourself to make a movie night on fridays. the only problem is their choices. Abby would want to watch Coraline and Mike wanted to watch Megamind.

— ★ your first date was…something. Mike couldn’t really afford to go somewhere special so he found a recipe in one of the local libraries (the movie was set in like the 80s…) and cooked it up decent enough for it to be considered edible. (i’m joking, it was delicious) everything was good until—

“mike!” Abby yells from her bedroom. he was just in the middle of explaining something important to you, something he was passionate about. you could tell by the way he tried to hide his smile. but his sister comes first before anything. “Abby,” he whispers loud enough for only her to hear. “i thought i told you to keep quiet a bit. i have a date, remember?” she crosses her arms, “my tooth fell out.” “so? put it under your pillow and the tooth fairy will get it.” “that’s the thing! you told me that last time and i haven’t gotten five bucks! the tooth is still here!” shittttt. Mike sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “i’ll give you five plus more if you just keep quiet, okay?” Abby nods. “okay, good.” Mike starts to walk off before coming back. “how do i look?” he adjusts his collars. “like a million bucks.” Abby giggles, smiling, showing off her missing tooth. “sorry about that.” Mike clears his throat, sitting back at the dinner table. “no, no. that was actually cute.” you smile, you heart warmed by the brothers-sister relationship they had.

— ★ you help him sleep. now, he doesn’t need that bland nebraska poster, or that tape with nature sounds, or sleeping pills. he has you. and even the nights that you aren’t there, he would spray your favorite perfume on your pillow, hugging it close to you as if he were hugging you.

NSFW headcanons

— ★ he’s a switch. 50/50. i think his sex drive is normal if not low. he values romantic gestures than sexual gestures. but in the sex field, he’s both a giver and receiver.

— ★ let’s start with dom!mike. you’d mainly see dom!mike if it was a bad day at work or a long one. scenario; abby had been knocked out in her bed around bedtime. you technically had the house to yourself as you waited for mike to get home. finally, you hear a car pull in and the engine turn off. you could sense that it was him. you were expected a cuddle session until you both fell asleep. not you being bent over the couch, his fingers in your mouth to hush the moans escaping from your lips, fucking you like a rabid dog.

— ★ on the sub aspect, you have a whiny baby on your hands. begging and whining for you to let him cum. he pinky swears he’ll be a good boy. he whines, groans, begs. all of that. he begs so much that you have to put a hand on his mouth so he won’t wake up abby sometimes. if he’s pissed you off, you’d punish him by riding him but not letting him touch you and edging him so much that tears form at the waterline.

— ★ munch. munch! MUNCH!!! when he’s stuffed in between your thighs, he humps the edge of the bed, cumming in his pants. he’s too ashamed to let you know. he thinks it’s sick. he’s getting off by the taste of you, your sounds, and your juices dripping down his chin.

taglist ;; @worldsgreatestsinner

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader

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vminizzle · 4 months

Text

Relief

꒰ genre ⤑ suggestive, FLUFF

꒰ warnings ⤑ dry humping, (cum in pants), that’s all 🚶🏽‍♀️

꒰ words count ⤑ 0.6k

꒰ A/N ⤑ hi hi hi everyone, well I'm back again I guess. I really wanna apologize for my inactivity. Here's a very little drabble like promised. It's really nothing but, perhaps a proof of me still being alive here? lmao. So, thank you for waiting for me. I'm still working on SL pt.3., I know I'm taking so much time. sorry sorry, I guess I'm more lazy than I thought ahah. Unfortunately for the people waiting, I'll release the third part next year only. Please stay patient. Reminder : English is not my first language. And... I'm a feedback craver, please don't be shy and leave a lil comment please, you know I love it! xoxo - sunny

M RATED?

Jungkook came home exhausted from work as he found you in bed, wearing just one of his oversized shirt and a pair of panties.

“hey! you’re home.” you said sweetly as you started to sit up a smile plastered on your lips, but he shook his head gesturing you to stay still before crawling into bed hovering on top of you.

Laying down on your chest, his face pressed into the crook of your warm neck, he just sighed as he shifted against your panties.

You curled one of your legs over his thin waist, closing your eyes enjoying the friction of the rough material of his pants against your thin panties.

Jungkook ruted forward against you with a low moan passing by his lips. His cold hands sliding up under your shirt, feeling your warm skin, making you shivered as his long digits caressed your sides.

He didn’t pull his face from your throat as he continued humping against you, going faster and faster until he finally still his hips, pressed tightly to yours, a soft moan escaping his mouth.

You stroked over the back of his head, sliding your fingers into his soft black locks.

“was it good, babe?” Jungkook slid off to his side, a tired smile decorating his pretty lips.

“thank you my love.” he said softly.

You threw your right leg over on his waist, and kissed his cheek.

“bad day?” you asked turning on your side to stare at him.

“I had too much work. So many things to deal with today.” he sighed heavily closing his eyes.

“Wanna talk about it? I’m all ears.” you said softly playing with the buttons of his shirt.

“Tomorrow.” he replied grabbing your hand gently in his.

“don’t wanna shower before sleeping?”

You sat a little looking down at him waiting for an answer.

“’m too tired to move.” he chuckled eyes still closed.

You stared at him and sat cross-legged this time.

“You want me to help you?”

He opened his eyes, standing himself up on his elbows.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he smiled, his dimples on full display making your heart melt at how cute he was.

“It’s okay darling, I’m fine don’t worry.” he reassured you.

“But you just c-“

“want to help me, huh?”

“Yes of course.” you replied immediately.

“ok then.” he laid down on his back again.

“Cuddle with me.” he said grabbing your arm pulling you so you’re on top of him.

“You’re so-“ you started before he cut you off.

“in love with you?” he said smirking making you close your eyes hiding your face into the crook of his neck, smiling at his words.

He laughed softly at your reaction.

“I love you.” he said one hand stroking your lower back, the other hand, fingers tangled in your hair.

“I love you ‘koo.” you whispered against his neck, peppering soft little kisses on the smooth skin.

He took your face in his hands and kissed your lips, taking his sweet time to enjoy the softness of them. It was a lazy kiss but it was full of love. He smiled at you lovingly as he parted away.

“I promise to make it up to you tomorrow.” he muttered feeling guilty about not making you come earlier.

“it’s fine.” you chucked shaking your head.

“Good night.” you kissed him one last time, before laying your head down on his muscular chest again, his strong cologne invading your nose.

“Good night my love.” He laid a gently peck on your forehead, holding you tightly in his strong arms.

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cherrywrecked · 4 months

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bite me — yu jimin.

summary: reader's favorite time of the year is halloween, her favorite mythical creatures are vampires and her fuck buddy, karina, has a developing biting kink.

cw: g!p idol!karina. vampires. aphrodisiac. rough sex with rina. pussy slapping. dirty talking. no condoms. dom!karina.

halloween was long far done, but to you, every day was halloween. i mean, it is your favorite time of the year; anybody could be anyone. you can be a sexy doctor or nurse, a slutty firefighter, a cheerleader, hell, you can even be a fucking vampire. everybody could wear whatever we want with zero judgement and that's what you liked about halloween best. but i honestly you won halloween 2023. you were so committed to it, you even got vampire fangs. crazy? maybe, but your sexual partner loved it best. she only saw it online, but still, who's crazier between the two of you?

karina had been away for a few months for their tour and unfortunately, you weren't together last halloween, but she's now home for the holidays, and it wouldn't be karina if she didn't have anything prepared for me when you got to her apartment. the moment you walked inside the pad, all you could smell was the enticing scent of a dark, elegant and sexy perfume—it was scented candles. it was all over the hallway, as if forming a path for you to walk through. just a few steps away from me was her table and there was a glass of wine atop of it with a note which read, “come straight to my room after you're done with this.” you took your time with the wine, but as soon as you were done with it, you went straight to her room which you didn't have a hard time looking for.

there, karina was sitting on a single couch, a leg crossed over the other. she looked stunning with her black jeans and tight crop top that hugged her beautiful frame. “took you a while since i heard you enter.” she said as she got up from the couch and slowly walked towards you. “it's been a while.” she whispered, face close to yours. she looked so pretty but you started feeling lightheaded and moreover, hot. “karina, why the fuck do you have your ac off?” you asked to which karina only laughed at. she took another step closer, and another, until she pushed you in her bed.

“oh, sweetheart. still as gullible as the first time, aren't you?” she smirked as her index finger traced your chest down to your cleavage through your black lace top. her touch brought shivers down your spine, moreso when she ripped your top open. she was scaring you as you've never seen her like this. “the wine... did you put something in it?” you muttered, biting on your lower lip to bite back the whimpers itching to escape as her fingers played with my nipples. karina smirked, humming. “smart girl, why, is it taking effect already?” you blushed and sure enough, it was. your body was aching for her. instead of replying, you pulled her into a hungry kiss, one arm snaking around her neck as if locking her body close to yours, whilst the other roamed around her body, eventually taking her top off, leaving the both of you now topless.

you felt karina run her tongue along your lips which you then parted and let her in—your tongues danced, fighting for dominance, but you both know she'd win. you can feel yourself get so turned on and wet through your panties just by the kiss. “rina, i need you.” you whispered when she brought her lips to your jaw, tracing the kisses down your neck. she didn't reply, she instead used her hand to cup your womanhood through your panties under your skirt, eliciting a long moan from you. her hands feel so soft against you, you needed more.

moving your hips, you started to hump her palm, palming myself as she kissed your neck, nibbling on patches of your skin to mark her territory. “you enjoy this, don't you? look at your slutty waist, moving on its own.” she chuckled lowly against your ear before pulling away only to take the remaining pieces of clothing off your body. your nipples are so hard and you could already feel your wetness dripping down your cheeks. it's the first time you felt so horny, so needy and all you could think of is her— you wanted her.

“karina, please. i need you. fuck me, mhm? i'll be good. please.” you said as you reached out to hold her. karina only slapped your hands away and roughly spread your legs. she got in between them, her knee pressed against your cunt. you mumbled another profanity and karina's face got closer to you. she only stared at you; “move.” she commanded and you instantly knew what she meant— your hips automatically moved on its own. as if rubbing your clit against her thigh wasn't enough, karina started to slap your mounds alternately. it was too much, your moans started to get higher with every slap. as your skin gets redder with every slap, karina's smirk grew wider—even more when she took notice of the fangs you've had done.

knowing your mounds are already sensitive, karina pulled you in and put one of your nipples into her mouth, licking, sucking and lightly nibbling on it as she played with the other with her hand. karina felt your body shiver, and with one hard suck, your body collapsed on top of her. “you love being a slut for me, mhm?” karina whispered against your skin, earning a loud, whining from you as a response. karina, she thinks—no, she knows she owns your body. she knows it even more than you do, so it wasn't hard for her to know when you're already close to cumming. not saying another word, she used her free hand to palm your clit, making you bury your face against her neck, but the moment she slipped two fingers inside of your hole swiftly which pushed you over the edge, cumming, biting karina's shoulder. she winced it pain, yet groaned from the painful yet pleasurable feeling of your sharp teeth against her soft skin. “rina, rina—!” not even letting you compose yourself, karina started to thrust her fingers in and out roughly of your entrance. collapsing on top of her, pushing her over the bed, your body wiggles, pushing your bottom more against her fingers, grinding against her palm.

“t-that feels s-so good—fuck. more, please! mommy, please, more.” it was the nickname that sparked something in karina. she pulled her fingers out, rolling your bodies over. now with her on top of you, she kisses you on the lips, letting her tongue graze over the sharpness of your fangs. “wait here.” she says as she pulled away, leaving you breathing heavily and still, needy. you started to play with your nipples, tears forming your eyes as you grind your hips against the empty space karina was once were. rubbing your clit, you moaned out her name, and as if on queue, karina was back, naked and a lubricant on her hand. “naughty girl, who told your to touch yourself?” she clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth, as she opened the bottle of lubricant, smearing some over your sensitive clit, the coldness of the gel making you shiver. hovering over your torso, her dick sticking out, poking against your mouth. “suck.” with sparkly eyes, you looked up at her as you opened your mouth and took her in. you sucked, licking along the tip of her cock, earning a low grown from karina. “mhm, you take me in so good.” she said before thrusting her hips, forcing her full length inside your mouth, deep throating, suffocating you. she pulls herself back, a string of your saliva and her precum trailing from your lips and her tip.

“karina, i need you to fuck me, please.” your voice was weak and shaky, almost sounding like you're about to cry, but it was just from karina teasing her tip against your clit and your entrance. “yeah? beg for it.” karina laughed menacingly while you could only while as you reached your hand out for her, the other pressing her length against your cunt. “rina, baby... mommy, please. please, please! i'm your good girl, please, fuck me.” karina loved it. she loved hearing your voice so needy, she loved looking at your desperate eyes, she loved that you were so desperate for her and only her.

karina didn't waste any more time and slid her length inside of you, making you arch your back while letting out a long, loud moan in pleasure. karina didn't move, letting you adjust to her length, but she let out a chuckle of amusement as you desperately reached your hand for her, eager to hold her—touch her, as if her body's not against yours just yet. karina started to roll her hips, making you wince yet moan out in both pain and pleasure. god, you were so wet for her and karina loved that atop of it all. with or without the fucking drugs, the both of you knew that only she can make you this fucking turned on. karina started to thrust in you, moaning your name every time her length completely disappears inside your cunt. her dick is so big that with every thrust, she hits every fucking spot possible and it's making you insane. you feel so lightheaded and nothing but senseless begging and chants of her name spilled out of your mouth.

“fuck, baby, you're so wet.” she groaned, slapping your cunt in between every word, each slap making you squeal louder and louder, eyes rolling back. “c-close... i'm soso close, rina!” you announced so fucking loud, karina had to cover your mouth with her palm. “cum with me.” she only replied, putting more force into her thrust, each thrust feeling slower yet so much deeper as your walls clenched around her length. karina used her free hand to rub your clit, heightening your pleasure. forcing yourself to open your eyes, you looked up at her through your lust filled eyes as you brought her hand to your neck, choking yourself with it as you get closer to your high. karina took the initiative to do so, making you smile, biting your lower lip and holy fuck. in karina's eyes, you looked the hottest lile that. god, that stupid vampire fang of yours.

feeling a familiar knot forming, karina drops and pushes her mounds against yours, letting your nipples rub against each other. “cum inside—inside! please, i want to feel you, rina! breed me. fucking breed me, please, please—!” through your moans, you managed to beg for her. at this point, karina could only think so little, she wanted you. she wanted you to have her and nobody else. “i'm cumming, baby—fuck. cum with me...! fuck, i'm cumming!” with your face buried onthe crook of her neck, you wrapped your legs around her waist, not wanting her to pull away, chanting her name along with strings of profanities in between your moans. soon enough, the both of you are cumming—karina shooting her load inside of you at the same time you clenched your walls around her length, making her groan out loud. with your teeth dug on her neck, leaving a mark, karina threw her head back, moaning your name in pleasure, whilst your body squirms and trembles under her.

heavy breathing and whispered profanities were shared as you both laid next to each other. "you're mine, understand? you're all mine." karina muttered as she kissed your lips, hands once again roaming your body. "one more."

hehe, this took a while. i got so sick during the holidays, so i couldn't really post it. anyways, happy holidays, my kitties!

#kyna writes #aespa #aespa karina #karina #aespa smut #aespa karina smut #karina smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #gg smut #gxg smut #girl group x reader #aespa x reader #aespa gp #g!p aespa #karina g!p

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candiid-caniine · 1 year

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what's your edgeslut level?

✨ Level 1: drippy baby - you edge for awhile each time you want to cum~ you watch your usual porn. it feels so good! maybe it's getting a little longer each time? there's just no way you could go overnight! unless...

✨ Level 2: perverted prince/ss - you like how needy you're starting to get 💕 your taste in porn is getting a little more degrading...anytime you think about it during the day, your clit/dick starts throbbing. just one more day, and then you'll cum. probably...

✨ Level 3: depraved darling - you're starting to crave...permission 💗 you're edging to edging porn now, scrolling through denial tumblr. you've found yourself trying to look dumb and sexy when you edge, spreading your legs more, maybe sticking your tongue out. you've even submitted a few anon asks or texted your partner begging permission to cum. sometimes you cum anyway, other times you wait. it feels good to get permission, but it's scary: sometimes it feels better to be told no...

✨ Level 4: gooning goner - you don't know if you want permission anymore 💋 it's been weeks now. are you even still keeping count? you're edging to porn of other people cumming. your holes/dick are constantly leaking, and it's getting too easy to start with "just one edge" and wake up to find hours have gone by. when you cum or ruin without permission, you start begging to be punished. mantras are constantly running through your head, even when you're not edging: good toys don't cum. wetter is better.

✨ Level 5: needy numbskull - you've lost the ability to cum without permission~ you're edging to recordings of people being degraded and punished. you feel so vulnerable and impressionable all the time; it makes you scared even as it makes you feel aroused. it's hard to think even when you're not edging. the mantras in your head are starting to change: my orgasms don't belong to me. i'm more useful when i'm denied.

✨ Level 6: addicted doll - you stop thinking about cumming at all; you stop thinking about whether you should worry about how dumb you're starting to get. you strip naked and kneel every time you edge, tongue out and drooling, feeling only vague embarrassment. you edge to porn of yourself being punished for ruining without permission, or being forced to ruin. there are still certain things you won't do, even for the chance to cum, but you debase yourself almost voluntarily for your betters now🧡

✨ Level 7: useful idiot - you sneak away to edge at work/school 💖 you don't even need porn to edge now. you don't even need to think about it, or to be told to do it - you just do. you only beg to cum in order to humiliate yourself further for your betters, to give them pleasure in saying "no." you don't want it anymore, hell, you don't want to do anything but please them. you'll hump the air for their amusement, you'll lick their cum off the floor, you'll let them punish your cunt/dick for even thinking it deserves to cum. the mantra's changed again, your final form: pathetic sluts don't deserve to cum. pets like me are made to be needy. if the thought of cumming even crosses your mind, you run to your betters and beg to be punished until it goes away. who needs a chastity belt? you've broken yourself all on your own 💋💕💗💖💓💘

[captioning or tagging this post with my DNI/hard limits will get you blocked. i need to keep my notes safe for me 💕]

#t4t nsft #denial kink #nsftext #h/d #denial #dizzy #only barks

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bunniehrtz · 7 days

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sitting on abby’s lap, over one of her thighs and sucking her titties pls 🙏 maybe some calling her mommy and dry humping idk you know best

killing 2 birds with 1 stone with this fic

cw: mommy kink, thigh grinding, making out, nipple sucking

you’re hunched over as you walk into yours and abby’s apartment. you throw your bag on the floor, hang your coat up, take your shoes off and make your way up into abby��s home office. you’ve been taking a couple classes at a college in your town, just to pass the time, and abby works from home.

abby’s working, so you knock on her door. “is that you, baby?” she says from inside. you furrow your eyebrows, walking in. “who else would it be?” you ask, your arms crossed in front of the closed door. “oh, so cranky. what’s up? come sit,” abby beckons you over with a slight nod. you walk over, sitting on abby’s right thigh. “tough day?” she asks, you nod and lean in to her shoulder. “are you finished working?” you whisper, looking up at abby. “i can be,” she replies, kicking back her wheelie chair. she cups your cheek gently, lifting your head up to look at her properly. “what’s wrong? talk to me, baby,” abby encourages, placing a kiss on your forehead. “it’s nothing, just a long day. promise i’m okay,” you sigh, leaning in to peck abby’s lips. “good.”

abby leans in to deepen the kiss, and you pull away teasingly. she tuts, smiling and leans in more, making it impossible to get away from her. she engulfs your lips in hers, her hands on your hips, your hands on her chest. “missed you,” she whispers into the kiss, making you smile into it. “missed you more. been thinking about you all day. couldn’t stop,” you whisper back, your hands clutching onto the bottom hem of abby’s muscle tee, tugging on it slightly. abby pulls away, lifting it up, revealing her bare chest. she smirks at the whimper you let out, and you immediately attach your lips around her nipple, suckling softly. abby sighs contently, leaning back as she holds your hips, starting to grind them against her thigh. you gasp around her, not expecting the friction between your legs. you blink up at abby, your hands clawing down her stomach. “feel good, baby?” abby asks, pushing your hips down more. you nod, your eyes fluttering shut as you kitten lick her perky bud in your mouth. she takes your moan as a yes. she taps your ass lightly. “up, baby.” she says, picking your hips up to take off your clothes, sitting you back down on her clothed thigh. your naked body flush against her naked chest. “gonna make you feel good, yeah? gonna make you forget about this horrible day,” abby whispers.

she sits you back down, your cunt moving against her thigh slowly, the friction making you hiss, the noise of your wetness moving against her giving you butterflies. “please, mommy,” you beg softly, attaching your lips around her other nipple. abby coos down at you, stroking your cheek. “so cute. keep moving those hips. cum on my thigh and i’ll fuck you silly, okay? gonna be good for me? gonna be good for mommy?” you move your head back to nod up at her. “yes, mommy.” “good girl. keep going.”

your hands on abby’s shoulders, deep into a sloppy, messy kiss. moaning into each other’s mouths. your breathing gets heavy and you’re borderline bouncing on abby’s thigh. your eyebrows furrowed as you look up at her, your nails digging into her shoulders. “gonna cum, mommy,” you whine, abby pushing you down hard into her thigh, moving you against her harshly. “yeah? cum for mommy, baby. that’s it, come on. cum on mommy’s thigh,” abby says breathily into your ear as you let go on her clothed thigh. you feel abby press a kiss on your cheek, your forehead, your neck, your chest, until you collapse into her own chest, with a giggle.

your eyes open back up quickly as you realise you’re being picked up, thrown over abby’s shoulder. “abby! what’re you doing?” you laugh. “taking you to our room, baby. gonna fuck you so good, you’ll forget all about today.”

#the last of us #abby anderson #tlou #abby tlou #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x reader smut #abby anderson smut #abby anderson tlou #abby the last of us #abby anderson the last of us #abby x reader smut #the last of us abby #abby x you #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #tlou abby #tlou fanfictions #tlou smut

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msgexymunson · 9 months

Text

Life Hack

Description: Maybe Eddie will finally get the message that you do like him when you show him a little bra life hack.

A/N: what can I say, this was rattling in my head when I showed my partner how to undo a bra one handed and I couldn't help but think of Eddie (because he lives in my brain now and refuses to leave.) If you enjoy it please comment and reblog my sweethearts!

Warnings: NSFW, minor DNI (here there be nipples) fem slightly dom reader, Eddie is an idiot, boob play, dry humping

Masterlist

1.5k words

You walk into Eddie's room with freshly brushed teeth, wearing a stolen t-shirt of his, the Iron Maiden one with the bleach stains that has become your favourite, and some tiny sleep shorts. Eddie's already sprawled on the bed in a pair of pyjama pants, one arm slung under his head, the other holding half a joint over the full ashtray.

Fuck, he isn't making this easy.

His slim toned physique, his tattoos, his happy trail. It's all making your mouth water with anticipation for something that doesn't seem possible. Try as you might to entice him, Eddie's not getting the message. You've been dying for Eddie to take the leap, to move your relationship out of the friendship zone but either he doesn't like you that way or he really is an idiot.

One minute he's flirting, the next he's punching you on the arm and play fighting with you like you're his kid sister or something. It really makes you wonder how he lost his virginity in the first place.

"You want some of this?"

"Huh?" You ask just a little too loudly.

"This," he says, waving the joint at you and smirking.

"Oh, sure, gimme- oh goddamn!" As you reach out you feel a twang and a pain digging into your side.

"What the hell just happened?" Eddie asks, looking confused.

"It's nothing Eds, just my bra rebelling" you laugh, wriggling uncomfortably.

"You can, erm, take it off… you know, if it makes you more comfortable." He's blushing, you swear you see his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Maybe he does like you? The thought places your heart firmly in your throat.

Reaching behind you, you expertly flick your bra open and start manoeuvring the shirt sleeves so you can take it off. Eddie's jaw may as well be on the floor, eyes bugging out like a cartoon.

"It's undone? Just like that?"

You laugh at the face he's pulling, until you have a light bulb moment.

"Do you want me to teach you?"

"What?" If Eddie's eyes could get wider, they somehow do, taking over his face like an anime character.

"I could teach you how to do it, if you want. It's like a life hack, you know? I really don't mind."

Eddie looks in turmoil for a minute. Maybe you crossed a line. Until you hear his response.

"Oh, erm… OK?"

Reaching around to clip your bra back in place, you wriggle everything in position.

"Give me some of that first" you say, wiggling your fingers at him. He wordlessly passes the joint to you and you take a deep drag, blowing smoke upwards. It helps to calm your nerves a little. Taking another, blowing smoke, and passing it back to him, he takes it to finish it off, stubbing it out in the ashtray. He looks panicked, moving the ashtray off of the bed, clearing the bed of debris, like this was going to be some complicated mission.

Right, it's now or never. Maybe he'll finally get the fucking hint.

Taking a deep breath, you grab the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head. The bra is nothing special really, just a black cotton one, tiny bow situated between your breasts.

Eddie's mouth opens and closes at the sight, gaping like a moron at your exposed cleavage. Moving over to the bed, you straddle him, backwards.

"Right, so if you look, it's real easy." You move one hand behind your back, pushing your thumb into the hook part, and flick the bra undone with your index finger. You're not sure if you hear a gasp or if you're just imagining it.

"See? Easy." You clip it back into position and risk a glance over your shoulder. Eddie's face is glowing scarlet. It's the only sign he's giving you, so you're willing to take it as a good one.

"Wanna try?"

"Yeah-" his voice starts, impossibly high pitched, until he coughs and continues, much lower, "-Sure thing."

You feel one hand at your hip, on your exposed skin. The touch you've been craving. It shoots to your core unexpectedly, making you so grateful Eddie can't see your face right now. The other hand starts shakily fumbling with the catch until he gets it.

"See? Simple. OK," you do it back up, and swivel around, your heat pressed against him. The feel of him underneath you has your head reeling, imagining all sorts of depraved situations, but you reign it in.

"You wanna try from this way?"

"Uh huh." He's responding, but his eyes are glued to your chest.

"Eddie…?"

Snapping his head up, he almost looks guilty.

"Yeah, sure."

"So, sit up a bit, reach around." You beckon him with your fingers so he pulls himself upright, face suddenly so close to yours you feel his breath on your cheek.

"So… thumb and forefinger, yeah?"

Eddie's eyes dart to your lips and back up.

"Yeah." He reaches, pulling you close for a minute, forcing air out of your lungs. Maybe this was a bad idea. It's getting difficult to breathe. Trying to calm yourself, you settle for staring at Eddie's ear.

He's fumbling, but after a while he gets it. You feel the sudden free feeling. He looks up at you with his eyes all lit up like a dog that just learned a new trick.

"I did it!"

"Sure did. You wanna practise again?"

"Yeah sure."

Once again, you put it back in position. This time, Eddie barely fumbles and flicks it off in one fluid motion.

"See? Easy! Well done!" Genuinely pleased that you actually taught the boy something, you look him in the eyes for the first time since you decided to make this risky move.

His usually beautiful amber brown eyes are dark, dipped in desire. He's breathing heavy, large palms coming to rest on your waist. But he's still not making a move.

Fuck it.

"You wanna see them?" You ask, praying you're reading him right.

"...did you just say… what I think you just did?"

You slowly slip the straps down your arms and peel the bra off, dropping it to the side. Your nipples, happy to be finally free, perk up at the air around them. Goosebumps run over your exposed flesh.

"Holyfuckingshit!"

It comes out in one breath. Eddie's gawking gaze darts between your naked breasts; awe, shock and panic are fighting for dominance in his eyes.

"Eddie."

No response.

"Eddie!"

"Huh?"

You cradle his jaw with one hand and his eyes finally look at you. Unable to wait for a second longer, you press your lips against his.

It's like a switch is finally flipped in Eddie's brain. He pushes his tongue in your mouth immediately, swiping at yours with such urgency it shocks you. His hand is pushing into the small of your back, guiding you to grind over the hard bulge in his pants.

The other hand finds your breast, squeezing at it. His thumb runs over your nibble, flicking at the hardened nub, sending tingles through your nerves and up your spine.

When he breaks from your kiss and starts mouthing at your neck, you tell him finally, words spilling from slick, kiss bitten lips.

"I was wondering when you'd get the fucking message Eddie."

You run your fingernails through his hair making him groan into your neck.

"The hell," he breathes, mouth dragging down to your chest, "didn't think you, you liked me like that."

"You're a fucking idiot Eds, been trying to flirt with you for weeks- oh God!"

His tongue starts running around your nipple, shocking you out of your reprimand. Moans replace words as he sucks at your nipple, making you rub against him faster. Your clit is begging for more attention and Eddie's happy to oblige, forcing you against him, hard.

The friction is building up; body buzzing with desire all the way to the tips of your toes. Eddie's desperately tonguing at your nipple, breath whistling through his nose hotly as he's whining in his throat.

"Eddie, fuck, I'm gonna come!" You're gripping his biceps urgently, rocking against him with all the power you have. Your warning just pushes him further, sucking at your skin and moaning with you.

Your release flows from you in an intense flash of white light as your fingernails dig into Eddie, holding on for all your worth, chest heaving with heavy pants.

Eddie groans just as loudly as you as your hips finally stutter to a halt. He looks like he's had a religious experience, staring at you with hearts in his eyes.

"Eds, did you just cum-"

"Yup," he says, popping the P loudly, looking almost proud. His grin is reaching almost from ear to ear. This version of Eddie, the idiot, the one you fell for, is in front of you again.

"So, you do like me then?"

"Sweetheart, I think you're incredible, I just didn't think you saw me like that." He says, hands rubbing up and down your sides.

"You're really stupid Eddie."

"You're probably right" He smiles, eyes glancing back down to your chest.

"So, do I get to see the rest?"

No real tag list, just adding some likely people ;)

@lunatictardis @lightvixxen @roanniom @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @eddiesprincess86 @munson-blurbs @wroteclassicaly @loveshotzz

#ms gexy writes #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #idiot!eddie #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x female reader #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanart #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson imagine

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heeliopheelia · 6 months

Text

BAD IDEA RIGHT? (p. sunghoon)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

includes: toxic relationship, implied cheating, dry humping, degrading, spanking, swearing, spitting in mouth, pet names, choking, manhandling, unprotected sex, hair pulling, bratty reader, dumbification, fingers sucking, oral (m receiving)

word count: 2.6k

synopsis: 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘺

guts event masterlist ⋆♱✮♱⋆ main masterlist

u up?

from: why isn't he blocked yet?

- read 2:31 am

Sighing for the fourth time this past minute, you click your phone screen off and toss the device to the other side of your bed. The contemplating is pointless – the both of you know that you'll be at his door within the next twenty minutes.

Was breaking up with Sunghoon a smart decision? Yes. Just one look back at your relationship makes you feel sick right now. The constant partying, the never subsiding jealousy, the permanent uncertainty whether you're gonna find a girl in his bed sheets each time he didn't answer his phone for more than two hours. If Park Sunghoon's toxicity could be graded – it would be 3. Severe significant but not immediately life-threatening.

So, including all of these facts, was becoming his fuck buddy a logical step? Well, sex is never about logicality anyways, right? It's his personality and cockiness that you dropped without any hesitation – his bedroom skills on the other hand... Yeah, it was not so easy to give up. There isn't a bone in your body that's able to resist this temptation.

see u in 10

As your fingers quickly type the reply to his text, you blindly snatch your car keys from the cupboard and head out the front door, exposing your half-naked skin to the cool autumn air. You didn't bother dressing in anything else besides this ridiculously oversized t-shirt you always sleep in, knowing well that the second your foot meets the threshold of his messy dorm, all of your clothes will be gone before you even get the chance to say hi.

And that's exactly what happens. You text him a quick i'm here. He opens the door and with a lopsided smile pulls you into a rough kiss. You shut the door behind you two with your foot. He pushes you against them and tugs the hem of your shirt up, only to toss it somewhere on the floor.

"Wow, you came here quick. Must be a new record or somethin'," he teases breathily into your lips, working his teeth down your jawline to your neck. "Someone must've missed me a lot, huh?"

"Shut up and just get to it," you mutter with a roll of your eyes as your hands greedily roam over his bare chest. "You always talk too much."

Sunghoon only chuckles, the sound vibrates through his chest as he closes the gap between you two and kisses you hard on the lips again. It's almost automatic, how he taps the back of your thighs, the way you jump, the way he catches you before smacking a stinging slap on your ass, he carries you and sits the both of you on his well worn couch.

"Well, you know what to do now, don't you, baby girl?" He grins widely, legs fixing into a man spread as he looks at you pointedly.

With a roll of your eyes, you place your hands on his toned shoulders and push your body forward until your chest is pressed to his.

"Stop. Talking."

Before his big mouth gets the chance to yap again, you roll your hips against his growing bulge, effectively shutting him up. He leans his head backwards, resting it on the headrest as he watches you with a cocky smile. He crosses his arms behind his head, making his muscles flex prominently. You scoff at his obnoxiousness although the throbbing between your thighs increases annoyingly.

You move your hips steadily, quickly finding the right rhythm. Sunghoon groans and lowers one of his hands to your hip, spreading his big palm on your hot skin. The rough feeling of your lacy panties rubbing onto your clit makes you bite your lip to stifle a moan.

You lean forward and pull his face to yours with a firm grip on the hair at the back of his head. The kiss is all spit and teeth – just as messy as your relationship, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

Lips swollen and flushed faced, you circle your hips faster, rubbing yourself against him. It doesn't take much longer until his gray sweatpants are messed up with the dark stain of precum and you smirk at the sight of the prominent tent in his pants.

"Are you gonna cum? So soon? Looks like you must've missed me even more," you tease while nibbling on his bottom lip.

You watch him raise his eyebrow at your cheeky behavior and then he clicks his tongue. "Nah, that's enough. Don't know where'd you get this idea that you can speak to me like that. Thought you'd know better by now."

With one firm movement, he grabs your face in between his fingers and squishes your cheeks together, not even a bit of tenderness in his touch. You fail to keep your moan inside this time.

"Open up," he orders and taps at your puckered lips with his thumb. You obey without a second thought in your mind and part your smushed mouth as wide as you can. Sunghoon pulls your chin down roughly and spits right on your tongue. The act is so lewd, so fucking hot, it makes you subconsciously roll your hips over his clothed bulge and whimper at the commotion. Sunghoon scoffs at your drastically changed demeanor. "Filthy fucking whore. Couldn't ever dominate me properly for the life of you."

And then he flips you around. His strong hand pushes your chest flush to the couch, pressing on the arch of your back as your face gets shoved in the same cushions that you bought him once you had first started dating. To make this rusty place look actually inhabited, you told him then. Now, you drown in their scent as they nearly cut off your breathing supplies.

You can hear some ruffles coming from behind you which you can only assume is the sound of Sunghoon's sweats hitting the floor before his tall frame hovers over your back. A yelp leaves your lips as his hand suddenly comes forward and slaps your ass with a loud smack. His fingers skid over the black lace of your panties before pushing them to the side and dipping two of his digits between your weeping folds.

"Would you look at that? You're fucking dripping for me, baby. Some things never change, huh?" He teases ruthlessly but before you can bite back, your breath gets stolen away as you feel his hot, hard tip brushing past your entrance. You moan loudly, fingers clenching on the cushion tightly as he wraps an arm under your stomach and props your ass higher, only to bully his cock into you until he bottoms out. "Now, let the show begin."

A shiver runs down your spine when he pulls out of you completely before plummeting his length back into you again. It burns slightly and Sunghoon knows that, but with the lewd moans you're letting out he thinks that, surely, you must be a little bit masochistic.

He pushes you even deeper into the couch and relishes in the wheezed gasps of breath you're huffing out as he fucks into you. His hips work quick and sharp, snapping into you from behind and making your clammy skin clap with each contact. He fits just so damn perfectly in between your folds as they clamp around him so deliciously, making him let out grunt after grunt.

"H-harder, Sunghoon."

Your whine comes out muffled and even though your ex could hear you loud and clear, he purposefully slows his movements down and leans over to you closer, making his dick bury itself even deeper inside you and causing your eyes to roll back momentarily.

"What was that, princess? Didn't quite catch that."

You can practically hear the smirk that's surely plastered on his lips but you're too swallowed up in the pleasure to let it rub on your dignity anyhow. You only throw your hips backwards and whine louder for him, fueling up his already too big ego. "Fuck me harder. Please."

"Ah," Sunghoon lets out a short chuckle, then pulls away from you again. "Well, because you asked so nicely..."

Your eyes roll back again from how well he's fucking you, your words now meddled all together as he pounds you into the mattress. Without the slightest effort, he hits that gushy spot inside of you over and over again, just like he's done dozens times before, and still making you writhe in his grip like a prude. One that you, most definitely, are not.

Your teeth sink into the cushion as you try and muffle your borderline pornographic moans, in attempt to spare his neighbours the same shit show that have to endure every week. With the feeling of his large frame hovering above you, bare bodies hitting each other with every of his thrusts, you find yourself coming even sooner than you expected.

You moan and whine and jolt in his arms from where he still has you pressed down.

"That's it, baby. Fuck, just like that," he pants, hands sprawled on your ass and caressing the soft flesh before he spreads your cheeks a little further apart, watching his cock disappear in between your throbbing walls. Sunghoon groans. "Fuuuuck, look at you. Such perfect pussy. My perfect girl. No one will ever fuck you as well as I do."

Clenching your fists on the cushions, you pant as well. "Shut the fuck up. I'm not yours. We broke up for a reason, asshole," you scoff. "Thought you'd remember such unforgettable afternoon."

Sunghoon barks a laugh from above you before twisting your hair around his palm and tugging your head up until your back is pressed flat to his chest.

"Still so snarky even after I just blew your brains out. Guess I'll just have to fuck this attitude outta you once again. Gonna make sure you can't walk tomorrow, yeah?"

You don't even have it in you to bite back as he instantly starts pistoning into you, deep and rough, without waiting for your first high to cool off even slightly.

"A-ah, Hoon, w-wait," you mewl, growing on your pitch, clawing at his arm that's wrapped around your waist and prevents you from moving away. You clench your eyes tightly. "Too fast! Slow down."

He huffs, tugging your hair even harder to bite at your jawline as you arch your neck. "Nah, I don't think so. You're gonna stay still and take what I give you."

His hips are unforgiving. Your brain turns off as he plummets into you, only thing you're capable of doing is letting out a small ah, yes or please every couple seconds.

Nothing but white noise is surrounding you now. His heavy and so fucking full cock splits you in half and makes you, quite literally, see stars. You let him manhandle you like some rag doll, taking every inch of his dripping length.

"Cat's got your tongue now, little girl?" Sunghoon teases, leaving a slap on your ass again. He chuckles. "You're squeezing me like some fucking virgin."

Your thighs are a mess of his precum and your slick release. You know you're about to cum again, it's inevitable with the way he's fucking into you. Absentmindedly, one of your hands loosen its grip on his arm and slides down to your aching pussy to try and relieve the pent up tension a little quicker. But before your fingers ever make contact with your swollen clit, you feel a sharp sting on your palm as Sunghoon slaps it away.

"We ain't playing like that, sweets," he scowls as he untangles his hand from your hair and lets you drop limp on the couch again.

It's insane how his body still reacts to you, even after seeing you in the exact same position so many times before. He can barely keep himself from cumming inside you here and there as he watches you squirm beneath him, fingers curling and gripping on first better object as you moan and cry out his name like a mantra.

He doesn't let you rest for much longer though. He leans forward, strong, veiny arms gripping your wrists before pulling them back towards him and lifting you up again. That position only enables you to feel him even better, closer and deeper, and with one, two, three more thrusts of his hips you're coming again with a moan that sounds very much like a sob on your lips.

Sunghoon grunts in your ear and bites his lip harshly. He's always been weak for you. Never was able to keep his hands away from you. So as all of his senses are overwhelmed, overstimulated with you and you only, he grabs you by your waist and flips you on your back quickly.

He finally gets to look at your fucked out face. Your teary eyes and flushed cheeks make him curse under his breath as his dick throbs even harder. With a strangled groan he pulls on your chin and opens your mouth widely. He watches with amazement as you eagerly capture his long fingers with your lips and suck them without giving it much thought.

"Fuck, wait–," he lets out a long moan, quickly pulling his digits out of your swollen mouth. "Open up a little wider, baby."

And you do so, mind hazy as he hovers above you and slowly pushes his thick cock between your parted lips. Your eyes roll into your skull as he throat fucks you without giving you as much as a warning, hand pressing on the front of your neck and making you gag around him instantly.

"Shh, just a little more," he coos breathlessly and bottoms out in your mouth, pelvis touching your wet lips. "You can take it for me, can't you?"

You choke and moan at the same time. Tears stream down your cheeks and mix with your saliva as they drip down your chin. It's so messy, so filthy, yet you genuinely don't recall when was the last time you felt this heavenly. His cock suffocates you as he fucks into your mouth roughly, moaning and grunting in the process.

Both of your heads are spinning, Sunghoon finally cums, hips stuttering, and releases thick ropes of cum down your throat. You swallow and slurp around him, trying to gather as much of it as you can without letting it go to waste. The familiar salty, slightly bitter taste hits your palate just right and you suck him clean from every single drop.

With a heavy sigh, Sunghoon slumps down on the couch right next to you, hand traveling to your bare thigh and caressing it with his fingertips. You lay in your place for a while, catching your breath and collecting your thoughts as you subconsciously lean into his touch.

This scene is nothing new – the both of you being way too touchy, way too soft after fucking each other's minds away. It's not new, the way you stand up and push him back on the couch as he tries to follow you to the bathroom to shower with you. You wash yourself quickly, then steal another one of his shirts per usual.

You walk back to the living room where Sunghoon stayed and the question he asks is as old as time.

"Stay the night?"

And, like you always do, you send him a mocking smile and grab the keys from the cupboard where you left them an hour ago.

"Bye, Hoon," you say and twist the door handle.

And he calls after you, not a week where he's been wrong, "See you next Friday, baby."

𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯' 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢, 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵?

𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯' 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘵, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦

𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘹, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵?

taglist: @luvkpopp @yannew @hoonxclsvly @jongseongslvr @beomgyusonlywife @starggukies @koizekomi @ineedsomezzz @starl1ghtsinthedark @enhastolemyheart

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @satoruskitchenrag @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @yoongspi @nichoswag @s00buwu @dazzlingligth @seungiesluv

note: let's goooooo 🫶 first chapter posted 🥳 i have no idea when will i publish the other ones but i'll try my best to do it as soon as possible!! this was actually so fun to write, so i hope you guys liked it as well 🤸 all the feedback is greatly appreciated babes!! 🩷

#carly's 2k event ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #park sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon smut #sunghoon hard hours #park sunghoon hard hours #sunghoon x reader #enhypen hyung line

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smileysuh · 9 months

Text

racer

🌙 staring. Jaehyun x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You feel like a chew toy caught between two rottweilers, and it kills you to give Jaehyun one last look before turning your back on him, following your brother to his car. Jaehyun is watching you as you get in, and when you close the door, you let out a deep breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I know, what a killer race,” Johnny grins, starting his engine. “Could have been better though, he could have actually died.”

tw/cw. car crash/injury, Johnny maybe slightly tried to kill Jaehyun, illegal street racing, protected sex, dry humping, blowjob, hand job, pining, praise, slow sex, slight wrist restraint, admitting you love someone while balls deep, sweet dirty talk, hair pulling, etc… I pet names: (hers) Lil Suh, baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.7k

🍭 aus. street racer!Jaehyun, star-crossed lovers, secret relationship, step-brother!Johnny, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I watched the new Fast and Furious movie a few months ago and this is the outcome

For something that’s supposed to be illegal, street races are big events. Under the cover of darkness, with the moon high in the sky, it almost feels like you’re at an outdoor party. The pavement is covered in people, and they part like the red sea as your cars slowly dive through, coming to a stop just near the starting line.

“Chin up, Lil Suh,” you step brother’s best friend says, nudging you while people begin to swarm Johnny’s racing car in front of you. “Nothings going to happen to him.”

No one is as confident in Johnny as Donghyuck is, although, it’s not Johnny you’re worried about.

Things have been coming to a head lately between your stepbrother and his supposed ‘arch nemesis,’ a new racer on the scene by the name of Jeong Jaehyun. The past three street races have been inceasingly dangerous, with the two often battling for first even as they rushed over the finish line. Jaehyun had even beaten your stepbrother two weeks ago, and Johnny hasn’t been able to get over the loss, his first in over a year and a half.

You have knots in your stomach, and a sneaking suspicion that something bad is about to happen. To make matters worse, you have a vested interest in both of the street racers. Johnny is family - even if he’s not blood - but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t care about Jaehyun too.

You hadn’t meant to find yourself in a secret fuck buddy style relationship with a racer, let alone your brother’s nemesis… it had just sort of happened, and now, you’re realizing the true depths of the consequences.

Getting out of Donghyuck’s car, you watch Johnny move to sit on the hood of his own racer, girls swarming him and running their hands over his fresh paint job. The purple underlights always gained Johnny attention, and they’d been his signature colour… until Jaehyun had arrived onto the scene with a similar aesthetic.

“How many other racers are here?” you ask, tucking close to Donghyuck while he guides you to your brother.

“I think I saw Taeyong’s car when we drove up,” your brother’s best friend notes, although, with so many people swarming, it’s hard to get a real count just yet.

Besides, Taeyong’s not who you care about.

Jaehyun’s always had impeccable timing, too impeccable for your brother’s liking, and a familiar rumble in the periphery draws your attention. The swarm begins to part, and Jaehyun’s car slowly rolls up, coming to a stop right next to Johnny’s.

Your brother’s expression had gone from a smile to a scowl, and he watches his nemesis exit the drivers seat. To Jaehyun’s credit, he always nods at your brother. You’ve never been able to ascertain if it’s out of respect for Johnny’s reputation, or due to Jaehyun being a genuinely nice guy, and the time you spend with Jaehyun is always filled with more pleasurable things than questions of intention.

The car that pulls up behind Jaehyun’s belongs to his own right hand man, a mechanic by the name of Kim Jungwoo. With shiny bleached white hair, and a smile big enough to light up his entire face, the street puppy always draws attention to himself, even though he’s not a racer.

Jaehyun might not have the liberty to lock eyes with you, but Jungwoo does, and it’s been clear to you for a while now that he knows about what you and Jaehyun get up to behind closed doors. Jungwoo even has the nerve to flash you a wink before going to join Jaehyun on the hood of his car, and the motion isn’t lost on Donghyuck.

“Hate that dude,” your brother’s best friend says under his breath.

“He seems okay,” you sigh, and it’s the most you can defend the street puppy.

You notice a small man running around, and he leans close to whisper something in Johnny’s ear. Taeil is one of the organizers, whatever that entails, and you’ve always thought it odd that the quiet, well mannered man would even be a part in any of this, let alone one of the people calling the shots.

“Yo, yo, yo! How we doin tonight?!” A loud voice booms through a few speakers placed along the street, and Mark Lee’s familiar way of speaking draws all eyes as the Canadian moves to stand in the bed of his own flashy green truck while everyone cheers.

He doesn’t race anymore, one bad accident had turned him off of the streets for good, but he’s one of the best announcers you’ve ever witnessed, with a talent for rallying the crowd and getting energy flowing.

“I’m gonna need all the racers to move to the finish line, that means you, Doyoung,” Mark grins, and you’ll never cease to enjoy the beef Mark has with the man with red underlights.

Taeyong, who had also not been in proper place, begins to roll up to stop next to Johnny, although, he never gets an earful like his friend Doyoung.

“We’re in for a big race tonight, everyone,” Mark announces. “In pink, we have our very own Mister Lee Taeyong!” The crowd cheers. “And in red, as always, Doyoung Kim- boo!” Mark’s the only one booing, and he’s also butchered Doyoung’s name, which always make the racer’s skin flash the colour of his car. “In purple, we’ve got the man of the evening, the winner of our last race, Jeong Jaehyun!” The crowd roars, and you feel the vibration in your very bones. “And last, but certainly not least, also in purple - you should really trademark that, dude - we have the previously undefeated, the one, the only, Mister John J Suh!”

If Jaehyun’s cheers had been a roar, Johnny’s are like rolling thunder, and he stands proudly next to his car, waving to his adoring fans before leaning down to enter his vehicle.

“Looks like our guys are eager to get this race started, and they can’t be the only ones, lets hear it for our drivers!”

The good thing about being in a run down industrial section of the city, is that there are no neighbours to bother with the deafening sounds. You can be as loud as you want, and you cheer along with the crowd, which begins to move away from the cars as their drivers start their engines.

“We’ve all been here before,” Mark says. “We know this track. But for those of you who are new… ask a friend because I will not be explaining the route.” No one has ever called Mark particularly thorough in his announcements, but he’s comical at least, and many people chuckle.

“So what do you say everyone, should we get this show started?!”

As the crowd erupts, you notice a familiar shorty rushing up to you.

“Our usual starting girl is out with a cold, but I know just the substitute,” Mark says in the periphery of your mind, and Taeil shoves a flag into your hand, grabbing your arm to drag you forward. “Lets all give a big round of applause for Johnny’s sister, Lil motherfucking Suh!”

You hate this. You hate it so much.

This isn’t the first time they’ve made you start the race on short notice, and you’d told them never to make you do it again- but somehow, you find yourself being lifted into the bed of Mark’s truck, Hyuck following close behind you. The vehicle is positioned about fifteen meters in front of the starting line, and once you throw the flag, it will lurch into motion, speeding ahead of the cars and giving those of you in the bed the perfect view of the race.

It can be a dodgy position to be in, as one bump can throw you, Mark, or his posse out of the truck- you’d heard about it happening once.

“What do you say, Lil Suh?” Mark pulls you back to his chest, securing an arm around your waist, the only true anchor you’ll have once this begins. “Are you ready to see some real action?”

He holds the mic in front of you, and you find your gaze shifting to Jaehyun’s car as you take a deep breath. There are certain expectations of a flag girl, and you’re a legacy here. You’ll be damned if you don’t make it a show, even if this was unexpected.

“Tonight, our city's best racers are here to fight for number one,” you announce, before focusing in on the drivers revving their engines, as is custom. “It’s up to you four to prove yourselves. Be fast. Be safe. And no matter what happens, don’t fucking lose! Get ready, racers!” You hold the flag above your head, throwing it into the air as you scream “Go!”

The truck lurches into action, and Mark pulls you tight against his chest, laughing loudly in your ear as you all speed off down the street track. The wind whips through your hair, and Hyuck’s screaming loudly next to you, one hand in the air while he holds on with the other.

It is exhilarating to be in the truck, to be ahead of the cars struggling for first position. It’s the clearest view of the race- but it’s also not where you wanted to be tonight. Johnny’s already being aggressive in his driving, giving Jaehyun little space, and your stomach turns again.

The cars are quickly gaining on you, and you feel Mark reach back, smacking his hand on the top of the truck to tell the driver to go faster. You let out a squeal of delight, grabbing onto Hyuck when your vehicle lurches forward again, the driver flooring it while pulling slightly off to the side in preparation for the cars to pass.

Maybe you’re overreacting about this, maybe this race will be okay-

Johnny makes a sudden swerve, clipping Jaehyun’s car despite your secret fuck buddy’s attempt to avoid it. Just like that, Jaehyun is skidding, and your heart stops in your chest. At speeds like this, even a touch can send you spiraling, and that’s exactly what happens to Jaehyun.

“Fuck!” Mark says loudly beside you, immediately pulling a red flag out of his pocket, and you all wait to see what will happen next-

Doyoung had been right on Jaehyun’s tail, and the sudden speed change has him barreling into Jaehyun’s back, lifting the car and causing it to flip upside down- miraculously, Jaehyun lands back on his tires, but both he and Doyoung clip a shopping cart that had been just to the side of the makeshift track.

Wheels skid loudly, a screeching sound that sets your teeth on edge, and both cars come to a skittering halt on the side of the road, with Jaehyun half up on the sidewalk.

The truck slows down, but both Johnny and Taeyong go speeding past, obviously intent on finishing the race despite the collision.

You don’t care about winners, you only care about Jaehyun, and you’re hopping out of the bed of the truck before it’s even at a full stop.

You stumble on the pavement, but as soon as you’re steady, you take off running.

The sound of your heart is practically deafening as you run the fifty meters to the crash, and you go right past Doyoung, jumping up onto the curb next to Jaehyun’s car to look inside. “Jae!” you scream.

“Shh, Lil Suh,” he groans, reaching for the door handle. He looks a little roughed up, and his lip is bleeding- “I’m okay,” he tries to assure you, but he’s obviously winded as he stands from the car, leaning on the door while you rush to support him under his other arm.

“Jae,” you say his name again, hand on his abdomen as you hold him up.

“That fucking brother of yours!” comes Doyoung’s familiar screaming, as he also exits his car, coming around the front to assess the damages.

“Don’t yell at her,” Jaehyun states, straightening a little even as he leans back against his vehicle.

“Since when were you two so fucking chummy?” Doyoung rages, skin a classic tint of red.

“Woah, woah, woah-” Mark has finally arrived on the scene, and he also side steps Doyoung, coming straight for you and Jaehyun. “Dude, are you okay?!”

Hyuck’s behind Mark, and he’s watching you with narrowed eyes as he moves to stand by the red racer, not saying a word.

You swallow thickly, knowing you should let go of Jaehyun- that if you continue to support him like this, Hyuck will most definitely mention it to Johnny- but you can’t bring yourself to pull away from the street racer, so you force your gaze from Hyuck.

“He clipped me,” Jaehyun says. “John clipped me.”

“Yeah, he fucked you big time, dude,” Mark agrees, and you hear the approach of cars.

Within eyeshot of the starting line, the mechanics there must have seen the crash, and you recougnize Yuta and Jungwoo’s cars as they pull to a stop a few feet away.

“Jae!” Jungwoo bellows, running over to replace Mark on Jaehyun’s other side. “Are you alright?!”

“I’m fine,” Jaehyun tries to brush it off, but he winces a little under Jungwoo’s grip.

“Your car is fucked, man,” Yuta muses, walking around Jaehyun’s vehicle and eying the damages.

“That’s really not what he needs to hear right now,” you shoot at the Japanese mechanic who has no bedside manner whatsoever. He holds his hands up in defeat, stepping back.

“The race didn’t even stop-” Jungwoo breathes.

“Johnny wanted to win,” Doyoung states, crossing his arms over his chest and eying Hyuck. “Your boyfriend did this on purpose.”

“Woah, now,” Hyuck laughs. “I get all the pussy dude- how many times do I have to tell you I’m not dating Johnny-”

The two begin to fight, and you ignore it, helping Jaehyun to Jungwoo’s car. The mechanic does most of the heavy lifting as he supports Jaehyun get into the front seat. Then you turn to walk back to Yuta, lowering your voice. “Can you fix his car?”

“I mean…” Yuta sighs, cocking his head to the side. “Sure, I can fix it.”

“Then fix it,” you state, motioning to the tow truck he’d driven up in. “Take it back to your shop, I don’t want to look at it anymore.”

“Shouldn’t I be dealing with Jae on this?” Yuta eyes you suspiciously. “Since when were you two so close, Lil Suh?”

“Just do it, Yuta.” You reach out to touch his arm gently. “Please.”

Jungwoo arrives behind you. “Tow it to my garage,” he instructs. “If we both work on this, we can have it fixed in no time.”

“We gotta get to the finish line,” Mark announces, already on the way to his truck.

“Yes, we do,” Doyoung agrees, and you can see his hand balled into a fist.

When you look to Jungwoo’s car, Jaehyun returns your longing gaze, but you know that if you drive with him and his friend, it will be as good as announcing to your brother that your allegiance has changed.

With a deep sigh, you follow Hyuck and Doyoung to Mark’s truck, taking your spot in the bed.

The finish line is only a short drive away, especially with all your drivers flooring it, and it’s hard not to look at Jaehyun and Jungwoo as they drive behind you.

“What happened back there?” Hyuck asks, pulling you to his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he says firmly. “You and Jae.”

The words that come out of your mouth next are painful, and they’re only half a lie, “There is no me and Jae.”

Hyuck studies your face. “There better not be.”

Despite the crash that had occured, most of the crowd seems to be in happy spirits as they gather around the finish line. They move out of the way as Mark’s truck pulls up, and he takes out a green flag, ready to declare the winner.

Two cars come barelling around a turn, moving into another long stretch just before the finish. It’s a flash of pink and purple, but there’s a clear victor, and it’s not even much of a battle as Johnny comes racing over the finish line.

Everybody erupts into cheers, everybody except you. You can’t find your voice, you can only clap while Johnny does a victory donut or two before returning to the finish line where the racers are.

He gets out of his car with a massive grin, and Doyoung hops out of the truck-

Hyuck stops him, holding Doyoung tight while he rages in his arms. “Let me at him!” Doyoung bellows, but your brother’s right hand man knows better than to allow Doyoung to rain on Johnny’s winner parade.

Jaehyun’s right hand man, however, knows no such restraint, and you watch Jaehyun approach your brother, the crowd parting to let him through.

“Fuck, shit, fuck-” Mark cusses next to you, leaping out of the truck while you follow.

“You clipped me,” Jaehyun states, hands balled into a fists at his side.

“That’s part of racing,” Johnny brushes it off.

“Maybe part of your racing,” Jaehyun growls, “But not all of us are suicidal maniacs like you!”

“Every driver is a suicidal maniac, it’s part of the fucking job.” Your brother rolls his eyes.

Then Jaehyun is grabbing the front of Johnny’s shirt, and the taller of the two is looking down at him with a grin.

Jaehyun is seething. “If I’d had known we could play dirty like that, I would have knocked you on your ass during our last race!”

Johnny leans closer to the angry racer. “I’d like to see you try.”

Jaehyun pulls his fist back, and you know exactly what he’s about to do. You find yourself jumping between them before you can even think about it, pushing Johnny back. “Jae, don’t.”

His motion stops, and he looks from you to your brother, swallowing thickly. His hand drops to his side, and Johnny lets out a loud laugh. You see the effect it has on Jaehyun, can see his skin reddening with anger.

You feel horrible about this. About all of it.

“I’d like to stay and chat,” Johnny says, “but I’ve got an after party to go to. Winners only. Come on, Lil Suh, I’ll take you on a victory lap.”

You feel like a chew toy caught between two rottweilers, and it kills you to give Jaehyun one last look before turning your back on him, following your brother to his car.

Jaehyun is watching you as you get in, and when you close the door, you let out a deep breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“I know, what a killer race,” Johnny grins, starting his engine. “Could have been better though, he could have actually died.”

“Is that what you were aiming for, John?” You grab onto the door handle, digging your nails against it to stop yourself from acting out.

“Not particularly. I saw the opportunity to take two birds out with one stone, so I did.” He assesses you out of the corner of his eye. “That doesn’t bother you, does it, Lil Suh?”

“No,” you lie through gritted teeth as the car speeds off to do a victory lap. “I’m not bothered at all.”

“Good, now sit back, and let me show you why us Suh’s are winners in this city.”

You usually like speeding with your brother, he’s a daring driver, and the way he drifts on sharp turns has always been something that brought you delight. But tonight, you can’t find it in yourself to laugh, even while he rolls down his window to let out a howl of victory into the night air.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you pull it out, skimming the pseudonym contact name you use for Jaehyun. ‘Slip away from the party. Same place as usual. Be there. Please.’

It had been a little difficult to escape both Johnny and Hyuck from the afterparty, with the latter of the two even catching you just as you slipped outside. Hyuck had been smoking, leaning against the wall, and he’d stopped you as you’d rushed past.

“Where are you off to?” He’d asked.

You’d used the only lie you could think of, telling him, “My friend just got dumped, she needs me.”

Hyuck hadn’t asked anymore questions, and now, you’re arriving at the motel you and Jae use as a meeting point. The lobby boy nods at you as you walk past. “He’s in room thirteen.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, tossing him a five dollar bill from your pocket and taking the staircase two at a time to reach the second level. You don’t even bother to knock on Jaehyun’s door, you never do, you simply slip inside, locking it behind you.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and with his shirt off, you can see the full extent of the crash. His ribcage has a nasty bruise, which is visible under the ice pack he’s holding to his skin, and your heart breaks for him.

“Jae,” you whisper, sinking to your knees in front of him to assess the damage. “You need to go to the hospital-”

“And tell them what?” he sighs. “That I got in a car crash? Come on, we both know that could never work. I’m fine.”

You reach for the ice pack. “There could be internal bleeding-”

“Baby,” he catches your wrist, “I said I’m fine.”

You look up into his dark eyes, and you take a shuddery breath. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Jaehyun cocks his head to the side, brows furrowing.

“Everything-” you swallow thickly. “I’m sorry for the crash, and for getting between you and Johnny, and for going to that stupid after party with him-”

“He knows.”

“What?”

“Johnny,” Jaehyun says. “He knows about us.”

“He doesn’t know-” you shake your head.

“He does,” the racer insists. “Everyone knows, especially now. Hyuck will tell him about the way you ran to me after the crash. He’s not stupid. He’s gonna know, baby.”

“No one knows,” you say again, but your voice is a whisper now.

“They all do,” Jaehyun tells you. “They see it in the way we look at each other.”

You stand up, gazing down at the beautiful street racer who you never should have even entertained, let alone slept with- “How do we look at eachother?”

Jaehyun licks his lips, tugging at your shirt. “Like two people who want to rip eachothers clothes off.”

“Is that all?” you tease, lifting your shirt up and over your head so his hands can make full contact with your waist, pulling you closer.

“Like two people who care about each other,” he clarifies, voice near a whisper. “I told you, everyone saw the way you ran to my car when it flipped-”

“I was worried about you,” you insist.

The beautiful racer smiles. “Are you finally going to admit you’re hopelessly in love with me, Lil Suh?”

You scoff. “You wish, Jeong Jaehyun.”

Before he can give you a snappy comeback, you grab his face, pressing your mouth to his gently. He has a busted lip, and he groans, fingers tightening on your waist to tug you closer.

Your knees find the bed on either side of his hips, and Jaehyun lets out another moan of pain as you lay him down against the mattress.

“Are you sure we should be fucking while you’re in this condition?” you ask, pressing kisses to his throat.

“We’re not fucking,” he says, applying pressure to your waist that prompts you to grind down against him, feeling the erection in his pants.

“We’re not?” you laugh. “Then what are we doing?”

“Tonight, as cheesy as this sounds,” Jaehyun sighs, “we’re not fucking, we’re making love. And don’t-” he cuts you off before you can speak. “Don’t try to deny it. We both know there’s something here. Something between us. You might still be too afraid to admit it, but I’m not. Not after that crash.”

Who knew a near death experience would make a street racer so sentimental… but you’re not complaining.

You look down at Jaehyun, and he stares back. You’re not sure what to say, so you say nothing, instead, you kiss him again, hoping that the motion speaks louder than words.

You’re doing your best to be gentle with him, but Jaehyun has always brought a side out of you that’s anything but gentle. These soft kisses are nice though, and he takes your breath away as easily as ever.

Your hands are on either side of the bed next to his head, and you’re trying not to lean on his bruised chest. The ice pack is pressed between your bodies, and the cold sensation is interesting in contrast to his hot lips and the hands that prompt your hips to continue your grinding against him.

Even while your lower halves are both clothed, it feels good to be rubbing against him, to feel how hard he gets from just a bit of kissing. He’s right that there’s something going on between the two of you, something undeniable.

You care about him, more than you ever thought you would.

Your hand slips between your bodies and you cup his cock, making him moan. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he whispers, tangling a hand through your hair so he can pull your head slightly to the side, gaining access to your throat.

“I want to take your pants off,” you tell him, already beginning to get frustrated by his jeans.

“Then take them off,” he says simply. “I’m all yours.”

You sit up, gazing down at your brother’s bruised mortal enemy… and then, you begin to work on his belt.

He watches you silently, and when you slip to the floor, tugging his clothes off, he lifts his hips to make it easier.

Usually, things with Jaehyun are somewhat rushed, but tonight, you want to give him all your time and attention. He deserves it - after your brother ran him off the road - and his cock looks so pretty in the shitty motel light.

“You don’t have to-” he begins to tell you, but you cut him off.

“I want to,” your hand finds the base of his cock, and you trace your thumb up the vein that runs along the underside of it. “Just relax for me, Jae. I want this.”

He lets out a shaky breath, but does as you ask, leaning back against the mattress while you bring your mouth to his cock. You start by licking the tip, and your featherlight touch is enough to have him groaning, grabbing at the bed sheets.

He’s so sensitive with you, and you love it.

It makes teasing him all the more fun, and you continue your small motions, wrapping your mouth around the head while you stroke his length. You swirl your tongue, suckling and earning more reactions from the pretty, bruised man, who’s completely at your mercy.

“Please,” he groans, and that’s all you need to sink your mouth further onto his cock, bobbing your head gently.

One of his hands comes down to stroke your hair, and his touch makes you want to please him even more. He’s being as gentle with you as you are with him, and you’re not the one all banged up from a crash.

Your drool is dripping on his length, making it easier to stroke him, and you apply a bit more pressure. Jaehyun gasps, hips twitching, and you close your eyes to enjoy the feeling of pleasuring him.

Your pussy is throbbing between your legs, and after you’re done working him up like this, you can’t wait to ride him. It’s not often that you’re on top with Jae, but if there’s ever a night for it, it’s tonight.

“So good, baby,” Jaehyun moans. “So good for me.”

His praise has you sucking harder on his cock, and he lets out more sounds of pleasure that go straight to your core.

You continue to work him up with your hand, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can while he struggles below you. He’s gripping the sheets, hard, and you can tell it’s taking a lot of willpower for him not to thrust up and meet you- but Jaehyun’s never been the type for making you choke on his cock, and you realize now that maybe he has cared about you all this time.

As rough as he’s been with you in the past, it’s always been because you were begging for it, and even then, he’s kept a gentleness in his actions-

You do love Jeong Jaehyun, and it’s almost comical that you realize it while your mouth is stuffed full of his cock.

You pull off of him, your hand stroking his shaft while you take a breath. “I need you inside of me,” you tell him.

“No more waiting,” he agrees.

You let go of him, standing up and reaching into your back pocket for a condom before taking off your pants and underwear. “Can you move up the bed a little for me, Jae?”

“Yeah,” he shuffles up the mattress, watching you discard your bra. You’re fully naked for him now, and you straddle his legs, tearing open the condom package and rolling the rubber onto his cock.

Then you lean over Jaehyun, kissing him gently, grabbing him with one hand and guiding him to your core. You sink down slowly, and you moan into each others mouths while he tangles his fingers in your hair, keeping your lips on his.

Actions most definitely speak louder than words, and the kiss is one that has you even more breathless than before. It’s not like any other kisses you’ve shared with the street racer. This one truly means something, and your pussy flutters just thinking about it.

Jaehyun groans, one hand moving to your hip, and you take it as a sign to move. You begin to bounce on him slowly, revelling in the feeling of his cock filling you up just right.

It’s interesting to be on top, to be the one in control, and Jaehyun lets you have free range in your motions. The hand on your hip isn’t insistent, he doesn’t prompt you to go harder or faster-

Maybe the slowness of it, the deliberate movements, are part of what makes this an act of love, not just fucking.

It’s not hard, or fast, or rough, but it’s still making your toes curl as you ride him, your lips locked in a passionate kiss. “Jae,” you groan, thighs beginning to burn-

He reads you like the back of his hand, and in one motion, he’s rolling you onto your back. Jaehyun lets out a small wince, and you immediately double check him, cupping his face while he slides the ice pack onto the bed next to you. “Maybe I should stay on top-”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I’m okay. It’s my turn to want something.”

“Yeah?” you smile up at him. “And what is it that you want?”

“I want to make you feel good,” he says, leaning down to kiss your throat, his noze nuzzling your skin. “Want to take care of you. Want to make you cum.”

You whimper at his words, gently wrapping your legs around his hips while he begins to thrust into you.

“Put your hands above your head for me, baby,” he instructs.

You follow through, and he captures your wrists against his palm, pinning them to the bed.

For someone who’s just been in a crash, his motions are still quite fluid and rhythmic. His lips continue against your neck, and you gasp when he suckles on your sweet spot.

“If-” you swallow thickly, “If it hurts, let me know.”

“Oh, baby,” Jaehyun smiles against your skin, “Love always hurts. I’m not going to start complaining about it now.”

The word ‘love’ makes you tingle with emotion, and you gasp as he begins to fuck you harder, pressing you against the bed.

“Can you rub your clit for me, baby? Your mouth felt so good, and I don’t think I can last that much longer,” he admits.

He lets go of your wrists and without a word of protest, you slip your hand between your bodies, seeking out your most sensitive spot. You release a loud groan at the contact, pussy clenching around his cock, which earns a moan from the man above you.

“Jae,” you whisper, loving the taste of his name on your lips. “You’re so good to me-”

“You deserve it,” he assures you, a hand coming down to your hip, pinning you exactly where he wants you while you work yourselves closer and closer to the edge.

He’s fucking you harder now, but it still feels like making love, and your free hand reaches to tangle in his hair, pulling him from your throat so you can feel his lips on yours again.

You love the way you’re both moaning freely now, and his sounds only add to your pleasure.

“I’m close,” you tell him, dragging your tongue across his lip and earning a loud groan.

“Me too,” he breathes heavily. “You feel so good-”

“Just what the doctor ordered,” you joke, and Jaehyun lets out a small laugh.

“Exactly,” he agrees. “Sex with the love of your life daily, for a week, think you can handle that?”

“Jae,” you whisper. “I’m the love of your life?”

“I’d like to think so.”

He’s being so soft, so vulnerable, and you wonder how long he’s been thinking about this.

In your relationships, you’ve always been the first one to say ‘I love you,’ the first one to be in your feels- and now you know what it’s like to be on the other side of that. He’s confident in you, confident in your connection, and it makes your heart swell in your chest.

“I love you too,” you confess, and it feels so right- none of your other love confessions in life have ever felt like this, and you know it must be true.

Jaehyun groans loudly. “I’m gonna cum, baby, you really know how to sweet talk a guy-”

“I’m gonna cum too,” you tell him, gasping against his lips while you rub your clit harder.

“Cum with me, baby,” Jaehyun says softly, kissing you while you both reach your highs.

Your pussy clenches tightly around his cock, and you moan loudly together, tongues dancing while your bodies move fluidly, like they were made to move.

Nothing has ever felt this natural, and your orgasm is all consuming because of it.

Your entire body is tingling with emotion and pleasure, and you can feel that the racer has goosebumps, letting out a small shiver while he fucks you through it.

It’s as if he’s the very air you need to breathe, and you’ve been deprived for so long- there’s a clarity with him, and everything is all the more intense because of it.

Jaehyun groans as you both come down from your highs, and his motions slowly come to a stop, until he’s simply laying on top of you, lips still pressed to your own.

You kiss for a while more, fingers moving away from your clit so you can tangle both hands in his soft hair, keeping him where he is.

“Stay here tonight,” Jaehyun whispers, pulling away from you to look down at your face.

“Stay here?” you repeat.

“Yeah, stay with me. Please.”

You’ve never slept over with him, never passed out after sex in his arms-

“Okay,” you nod.

“I’m just going to get rid of this condom, and then we can cuddle or something,” he says, in a way that’s almost shy.

You watch him, endeared as he disposes the condom and returns to join you, slipping under the covers and holding out his arms expectantly. You move closer, careful about his injured ribs, and you rest your head against his shoulder while he pets your hair.

“I’m going to tell Johnny,” you say.

“Really?”

“Uh huh,” you nod, feeling very confident with your decision. “You just told me you think I’m the love of your life, Jae. We’ve already been hiding this for months, and I don’t want to hide anymore.”

“I don’t want to hide either,” he agrees.

“So it’s settled,” you smile. “I’ll tell Johnny, and he’ll just have to deal with it.”

“I can’t believe we’re finally doing this,” Jaehyun admits. “I thought about it so many times, but I always figured you’d want to keep it a secret from your brother. That guy has some anger issues.”

“Says the dude that tried to punch him today.”

“After he hit me with his car,” Jaehyun points out.

“You have me there,” you concede with a laugh.

“I love you, Lil Suh,” he says suddenly, and it makes you hold him tighter, tucking your face against his shoulder.

“I love you too…” you put on your Mark’s announcer voice, “the man of the evening, the winner of the last race-”

“I lost the last race,” Jaehyun points out.

“Not to me,” you tell him. “Tonight, I think we’re both winners.”

Jaehyun laughs. “You have me there.”

Johnny stares at you in shock. “Sorry, I must have heard you wrong,” he laughs finally, “it just sounded like you told me you’re dating my arch nemesis.”

“Do I have to say it again?” you sigh.

Your brother’s smile drops. “You can’t be serious, Lil Suh.”

“I am though,” you say firmly. “I’m dating Jeong Jaehyun.”

“Don’t you know how dangerous it is to date street racers?” Johnny stands up abruptly. “They die all the time!”

“Not if you stop trying to kill him!” you shoot back. “Jeez, John, you act as if you’ve never had a girlfriend yourself.”

“I don’t date street racers,” Johnny says, refusing to see the parallel.

“You know, all things considered,” you sigh, “you’re taking this much better than I thought you would.”

“Hyuck warned me this was going on,” Johnny cocks his head to the side. “Said you were the first person rushing to help Jae after the crash. I guess I’ve been processing it all weekend.”

“So you’re okay with me dating your supposed mortal enemy?”

“I never said I’m okay with it,” Johnny points out. “Look, do I hate the guy? Yes. Is that hate founded on jealousy that he might one day be better than me in a car? Also yes. I just figure, if you’re dating him, you can convince him to get Yuta to change his underlights so they’re not purple anymore.”

“So that’s it?” you ask in shock. “That’s your condition in him dating me? That he changes his light colour?!”

“We all know purple is my aesthetic.”

“Done, I’ll let him know right away.”

“You think he’s actually gonna change the colour?”

“Of course he’s going to change the colour, this guy loves me, Johnny-”

Your brother blinks at you. “He does?”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing thickly.

“And you love him?”

You nod again, looking down.

“Then I’m happy for you, Lil Suh.” Johnny reaches out, setting a hand on your shoulder. “Just promise not to bring any Lil Jeong’s into the world anytime soon, yeah?”

You find yourself laughing, shaking your head at your stupid older brother. “I promise.”

“Good, because if he knocked you up, I’d really start to have problems, even if he does change his car colours.” Johnny assesses you. “You remember what mom always said about condoms-”

“Oh my god!” you scream. “Yes, Johnny! We’re being safe! Holy shit- this conversation is so over-”

“I wouldn’t be doing my brotherly duties if I didn’t make you grossed out. Think of me making that condom comment every time you sleep with him.”

You’re quick to rush from the room, yelling back, “That doesn’t make things any better!” But you can’t help the smile on your face- you can’t believe that he’s okay with this, that he didn’t punch a hole through a wall-

You think about what Johnny had said, about the jealousy of another driver who could take him on.

Maybe after all of this, they might even be friends. Or, maybe more likely, you’ve simply watched too many Fast and Furious movies.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! There's just something about this Jae- I had so much fun writing this fic

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🔮 preview. Jaehyun presses one last kiss to your lips, grinning all the while. Then, when he pulls back, he flattens his hand over your mouth. “If you need me to let up,” he says, leaning forward so he can drag his tongue over the shell of your ear, “just lick my hand. Got it baby?” You nod, already enjoying the feeling of being held down with a hand over your mouth. You really can’t believe you’re doing this in your childhood bedroom with your stepmom sleeping just down the hall- But at the same time, if there was ever a man who would convince you to fuck inhibition and do this, it would be Jaehyun. He just has a hold over you, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it.

cw/ tw. Unprotected/raw sex, sex while her mom sleeps down the hall, inklings of impreg/cum/being full kink, hand over her mouth, pussy/cock touching, praise, orgasm countdown, mutual orgasm, dry humping, aftercare, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby, angel.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.3k I teaser wc. 270

🌙 staring. Jaehyun x afab!reader

bonus

It’s the first time Jaehyun is meeting your extended family, at a summer barbecue, and so far, the conversation has stuck to general things like steak preferences and beef versus chicken. However, as you all take your seats at the long outdoor food table, your stepmom finally addresses your boyfriend.

“So I hear you street race like Johnny,” she muses.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jaehyun nods respectfully. “It’s actually how I met your daughter.”

“I guess good things do come out of it then,” your mom sighs, leaning back in her chair, “and please, call me Myoryon or Mama Suh.” She assesses the way Jaehyun sits close to you, his hand holding yours on top of the table. “You two look good together.”

“Thank you, Mama Suh.” Jaehyun smiles softly.

“She looks happy,” your stepmother continues. “I’ve never seen her happy like this.”

“Then I guess I’m doing my job right,” Jaehyun gives your hand a small squeeze and Johnny lets out a puking sound.

“I’m going to lose my appetite,” your stepbrother warns.

“I already have,” Hyuck nods, pushing his food away. “Not that your cooking isn’t amazing, Mama Suh.”

“It’s alright,” your mom assures him. “I understand jealousy can upset anyone’s stomach.”

“Jealousy?!” Hyuck bellows, and Johnny lets out a loud laugh.

“When was the last time you brought a girl over?” Mama Suh questions, smiling softly even while digging into your brother’s best friend.

Hyuck sputters, tongue tied.

“And how about you, Johnny?” She turns her gaze to him. “If I remember correctly, you’ve called a few times about some arch nemesis being a better driver than you- I assume this arch nemesis is Jaehyun.”

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