𝐿𝓊𝓃𝒶

you killed the engine and just sat for a minute, watching the rain slide down the windshield. you could easily see a silhouette moving beyond the enormous front door, tall and broad-shouldered, and your throat went dry.

get a grip, you told yourself. you're not a kid anymore. you stopped calling him 'uncle' six years ago. you're just an old family friend visiting. nothing more.

the lie tasted bitter.

you grabbed your overnight bag (the flimsy excuse for this visit was that your dad had asked mingyu to pass on some old boxing souvenirs, and mingyu had said; "why doesn't he stay the night? it's a long drive back.") and made a dash for the covered portico.

the door swung open before you could even knock.

and, oh god, there he was.

kim mingyu, your dad’s bestfriend.

time, which had been so unkind to your peace of mind, had been nothing but generous to him. mingyu was, as always, so fucking unfair.

he must have just come from his home gym; he wore simple grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a thin white cotton t-shirt that did absolutely nothing to conceal the powerful planes of his chest and shoulders. his black hair — now threaded with more distinguished silver at the temples than you remembered — was damp and messy, as if he'd run a towel through it. his tan skin glowed in the warm light from the foyer, and his face… oh, those soft, almost boyish features, the full mouth, and those big, dark brown doe eyes that were currently wide with a warmth that made your stomach flip.

"you're here," mingyu said, his voice that same rich, warm baritone that had starred in approximately a million of your late-night fantasies.

"i'm here," you managed, suddenly aware you were dripping on his pristine limestone floor. "ah, sorry, i'm getting water everywhere."

"it's just water. come in, come in."

mingyu stepped back, ushering you inside with a wave of his hand. as you passed him, your shoulder barely brushed his chest, and a jolt, pure and electric, shot straight down your spine. he smelled like clean sweat, expensive vanilla soap, and something fundamentally, uniquely mingyu, something you couldn’t name.

he closed the door, shutting out the sound of the rain.

the house was comfortably quiet, cavernous, and impeccably decorated. it was mostly cool tones and modern art. it was beautiful, but it felt a little… sterile? more like a museum. or a very nice cage.

"let me take that," mingyu said, his fingers brushing yours as he took your bag.

the contact was brief, but his touch was searing. he looked you over, a small, fond smile playing on his lips.

"look at you. you've filled out. no more of that scrawny kid who used to steal my sunglasses."

you grinned, shoving your hands in your jeans pockets to hide their slight tremor.

"well, i was never scrawny. and i borrowed them. you have good taste."

"i do," mingyu said, his eyes crinkling. then he seemed to catch himself, the smile softening into something more careful. "how was the drive?"

"really long. glad it's over."

"your dad said you aced your finals."

"he tells you everything, huh?"

"he's my best friend," mingyu said it simply, but the words hung in the air between you, a reminder of the canyon you were trying to cross.

mingyu led you into the great room, a space with a two-story ceiling and a wall of glass overlooking a rain-soaked infinity pool and dark woods beyond. a fire crackled in a minimalist fireplace.

"drink? i was about to have a whiskey."

"sure. whatever you're having."

he moved to a crystal decanter on a sideboard, his back to you. you let yourself look, genuinely look.

the way the sweatpants clung to his strong thighs and the perfect curve of his ass. the way his t-shirt stretched across the formidable width of his shoulders. the corded strength in his forearms as he poured two generous glasses. mingyu was a man in his prime, all latent power and effortless grace. the silver in his hair wasn't an aging flaw; it was a goddamn accent, a mark of experience that made your knees weak.

mingyu turned, catching you staring.

you didn't look away, and a faint, almost imperceptible flush crept up his neck. mingyu handed you a glass, his fingers carefully avoiding yours this time.

"cheers," he said, clinking his glass against yours. "to being home for the summer."

"to seeing old friends," you replied, holding his gaze.

you took a long sip. the whiskey was smooth and smoky, burning a welcome path down your throat.

the conversation flowed easily at first — catching up, safe topics. mingyu’s recent business trip to japan. your classes. his new chef's kitchen that he never used. your mom's gardening obsession… but the undercurrent was always there, a low hum of tension just like the distant thunder outside.

mingyu was touchy by nature, he always had been — a clap on the shoulder, a ruffle of the hair, an arm slung over the back of the couch.

it used to be avuncular, comforting. but now… god, every point of contact was a brand.

mingyu sat next to you on the massive sectional, closer than necessary. when he laughed at a story you told about a disastrous date, his knee bumped against yours. he left it there, a solid, warm pressure. you could feel the heat of him through the denim of your jeans.

"so what happened?" he asked, his eyes twinkling. "was he boring?"

"well… he spent forty minutes talking about the nutritional benefits of different grass-fed beef brands," you deadpanned.

mingyu threw his head back and laughed, a full, unguarded sound that filled the quiet room.

"oh, no. that's tragic."

he shifted, turning his body toward you, his arm resting along the back of the couch behind your head. his fingers were inches from your hair.

"you deserve someone who talks about interesting things. or better yet, knows when to be quiet."

his voice had dropped, just a fraction, and the air between you thickened.

"what would they do? when they're being quiet?" you asked, your own voice quieter than you intended.

mingyu's smile faded.

his eyes searched yours, dark and unreadable. for a long moment, mingyu just looked at you, and you saw the conflict in him — the fondness, the desire, and a deep, churning wave of guilt. he cleared his throat and looked away, toward the fire.

"they'd… listen to the rain. and enjoy the peace."

mingyu took a large swallow of his whiskey. you saw his adam's apple bob in his strong throat, you saw the tight clench of his jaw.

"it's not very peaceful in here right now," you murmured.

his eyes snapped back to you. "no?"

you shook your head slowly, not breaking eye contact.

you leaned forward, just a little, under the pretense of setting your glass on the coffee table. the movement brought you deeper into mingyu’s space, his arm now fully surrounding you.

"it feels like there's a… charge in the air. don't you feel?"

"y/n..." it was a warning, a plea.

his breath hitched, and his gaze dropped to your mouth for a split second before he forcibly dragged it back up.

"don't."

"don't what?" you asked innocently, even as your blood pounded in your ears. "i'm just talking about the weather. static electricity. from the storm."

"you know what you're doing," mingyu said it softly, almost to himself.

mingyu started to pull his arm back, to create distance, but you reached up and placed your hand on his forearm, stopping him. the muscle under your palm was like steel wrapped in velvet. you felt him tense, then shudder.

"do i? maybe i don't. maybe you should tell me what i'm doing, mingyu."

the use of his name, stripped of any title, did something to him. a low sound, almost a groan, escaped him.

mingyu looked utterly tormented.

"this is so... oh my god, this is so wrong. you are his son. you are a kid."

"i'm twenty-four," you said, your thumb stroking a slow, deliberate path along his inner arm. "and you look at me, and you don't see a kid. you haven't for a long time."

mingyu closed his eyes, as if in pain.

"you have no idea what you're asking for."

"i think i do. i've wanted it; wanted you. for years," the confession hung in the air, raw and shameless. "and you want it, too. you're suffering right now because you want it so bad it's killing you to hold back."

his eyes flew open; they were blazing, dark with a hunger so intense it stole your breath. the careful, gentle friend was gone, replaced by something far more primal.

mingyu’s free hand came up and gripped your chin, his fingers firm but not hurting at all.

"you have no right to talk to me like that."

"why? because you're older? wiser?" you didn't pull away; instead you leaned into his touch. "or because you're scared you'll like it too much?"

mingyu stared at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

the internal battle was written across his face in stark relief — the decades of loyalty, the friendship with your father, the societal rules... all warring with the sheer, undeniable force of his want. you could also see the exact moment the dam began to crack.

"you're playing with fire," he breathed, his voice ragged.

"i'm not playing," you held his gaze, letting every ounce of your own longing show. "i've never been more serious about anything in my life."

for a long, suspended moment, he was perfectly still.

the only sounds were the rain, the crackle of the fire, and the frantic beating of two hearts. you watched the struggle finally leave his eyes, replaced by a resigned, desperate surrender.

a soft, broken curse fell from mingyu’s lips.

"damn it."

and then his mouth was on yours.

it wasn't gentle, and it wasn't a question; the kiss feel more like a collision, a release of pressure built over years, and it stole the breath from your lungs.

mingyu’s lips were softer than you'd imagined (and oh, you had imagined it a thousand times) but the kiss was anything but soft. it was hungry, devouring, a hot, wet slide of desperation that had a broken sound halt moan, half sob tearing from your throat. you answered with everything you had, your hands flying up to fist in the damp cotton of his t-shirt, pulling him closer, needing to erase the last sliver of space between you.

mingyu's hands were everywhere.

one large palm cradled the back of your head, fingers tangling brutally in your hair, tilting you to a better angle. the other swept down your spine, a rough, possessive stroke that made desperately you arch into him. mingyu tasted of expensive whiskey and the faint, clean mint of his toothpaste, and underneath it, that essential, masculine flavor that was just him.

his tongue swept against yours, and you met it eagerly, the slick, hot friction making your entire body tremble.

mingyu pulled back just enough to gasp for air, his forehead resting softly against yours, his breaths coming in ragged, hot puffs against your wet lips. his eyes were blown black, his pupils swallowing the warm brown almost completely.

"tell me," he growled, his voice ragged and thick. "look at me and tell me you really want this. that you know what this means."

you didn't hesitate a single second; you kept your gaze locked on his, letting him see every raw, unguarded ounce of your longing.

"i've wanted this. wanted you. for years, mingyu. i know exactly what it means."

a shudder wracked mingyu’s big frame.

he closed his eyes for a second, as if absorbing your words, letting them dismantle the last of his resistance. when he opened them again, the last vestige of 'uncle mingyu' was completely gone, burned away by a heat so intense it was frightening.

"then you're mine tonight," he breathed, the words a low, possessive vow. "right here. i can't... i can't make it to the bedroom. i need you now."

you simply nodded, words failing you, and surged forward to recapture his mouth. this kiss was deeper, slower, but no less desperate; it was a claiming kiss.

his hands moved from your hair and back to roam over your shoulders, down your arms, mapping your body through your shirt with a reverence that contradicted the urgency of his mouth. mingyu’s thumbs brushed over your nipples, and you jerked against him, a sharp, breathy moan escaping into his mouth.

mingyu smiled against your lips, a dark, pleased thing.

"sensitive," mingyu murmured softly, before dipping his head to trail his mouth along your jaw, down the column of your throat.

he sucked a patch of skin there, not hard enough to bruise, but with enough pressure to make you gasp and your hips buck upward, seeking friction.

"i want to hear every sound you make."

he worked his way back to your mouth, kissing you deeply as his hands went to the hem of your shirt. in one fluid, impatient movement, he broke the kiss just long enough to yank the fabric up and over your head, tossing it carelessly across the room. the cool air of the vast room hit your heated skin, raising goosebumps, but his gaze was way hotter.

mingyu leaned back, just looking, his eyes drinking you in with a hunger that made your skin flush.

"jesus christ," he whispered, his voice full of awe.

mingyu’s hands came up, but they didn't grab you; they hovered, then settled on your waist, his thumbs stroking the defined lines of your hips. his touch was calloused, slightly rough, and it set your nerves on fire.

"you're so... fuck. so beautiful."

he bent his head and kissed the center of your chest, right over your pounding heart. then his mouth began a slow, torturous descent. mingyu kissed every dip and plane, his lips and tongue tracing the lines of your muscles, paying special, lingering attention to each of your nipples, sucking and gently nipping until they were pebbled tight and aching, and you were writhing beneath him, fingers clawing at the soft fabric of the couch.

"mingyu... please..." you whined, the sound high and needy, echoing in the quiet room.

you'd never made a sound like that before. it was pure, unfiltered want.

"please what, baby?" mingyu murmured against your stomach, his breath hot on your skin.

his hands hooked into the waistband of your jeans, popping the button with an easy flick of his thumb. the sound of the zipper coming down was obscenely loud.

"tell me."

"touch me," you begged, your hips lifting off the couch in a silent plea. "god, just touch me."

mingyu made a low, approving sound and nuzzled against the trail of hair leading down from your navel, his nose brushing against the straining fabric of your briefs. your cock was painfully hard, a thick, obvious line of heat trapped against your stomach.

"look at you," he said, his voice husky with desire.

mingyu pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss right over the head of your cock through the cotton, and you cried out, your back bowing.

"aww, all worked up for me. been thinking about this, haven't you?"

"yes," you choked out. "always. every damn night."

that seemed to undo him completely.

with a gentleness that belied the tense set of his shoulders, mingyu peeled your jeans and briefs down your thighs, just enough to free you. the cool air was a shock, but then his big, warm hand wrapped around your length, and you saw stars.

"so perfect," he breathed, staring at you in his hand with a kind of rapt fascination.

mingyu gave you a slow, firm stroke, his thumb swiping over the bead of pre-cum at your tip, spreading the slickness. the sensation was so intense your vision blurred, and you threw your head back against the couch arm, a broken moan tearing from your throat.

"look at me," he commanded, his voice soft but insistent; so you forced your eyes open, meeting his dark, heated gaze. "i want to see you."

mingyu held your stare as he slowly, oh so slowly, lowered his head.

his breath ghosted over your sensitive cockhead, and you trembled violently. he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the tip, his lips impossibly soft against that most intimate part of you. a choked sob escaped you.

"is this okay?" he asked, his voice a rough whisper against your skin.

the question, the check-in amidst the frenzy, was almost more devastating than the act itself.

"yes—god, yes, please," you babbled, your hands finding their way back into his thick, silky hair.

mingyu didn’t need to hear anything else.

his mouth sank down on you, hot and wet and perfect, and your world exploded into pure, white-hot sensation. mingyu took you deep, his throat working around you, and the sight of him — kim mingyu, this powerful, beautiful man, on his knees between your legs, his eyes closed in concentration — was more than enough to make you feel dizzy.

mingyu began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that had your hips twitching off the couch. one of his big hands cupped and gently squeezed your balls, while the other rested possessively on your hip bone, his thumb slowly stroking your skin.

his technique was unhurried, meticulous.

he'd pull back until just your cockhead was nestled in the heat of his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge, before sliding down again, taking you to the hilt. the wet, slick sounds, combined with your ragged breathing and his low, contented hums, were the most erotic symphony you'd ever heard in your life.

"f-fuck—mingyu... i'm not gonna last..." you warned, your fingers tightening in his hair.

the coil in your gut was winding impossibly tight, such a sweet, agonizing pressure building with every skillful slide of his tongue, every gentle suck.

but mingyu pulled off with a soft, wet pop, leaving you throbbing and bereft in the cool air. he was breathing heavily, his lips swollen and glistening. mingyu kissed the inside of your thigh, sweetly, then the other, his stubble scratching deliciously against your sensitive skin.

"not yet, baby," he said, his voice wrecked. "we're just getting started."

mingyu leaned forward, softly pushing your legs further apart, and kissed a trail from the very base of your cock down, over your perineum, until his mouth was right there, at your entrance.

you tensed, a new wave of shocking, vulnerable heat flooding you.

"so pretty here too," he murmured, his breath so hot against you.

mingyu didn't do anything more for a long moment, just let you feel the warmth of his breath, the promise of his mouth so close. the anticipation was a sweet torture.

then, finally, mingyu pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss right against your hole.

you jolted, a sharp, surprised gasp leaving you. mingyu did it again, kissing and licking with a tender, exploring curiosity that made you feel exposed and worshipped all at once. your whines were constant now, a high, needy background noise to his quiet, focused attention.

after a minute of this maddening, gentle assault, he pulled back.

you heard the slick sound of him spitting into his own palm, and your breath hitched — mingyu’s eyes were on yours, watching your face as he brought his wet fingers back between your legs.

"just one," he whispered, the pad of his middle finger circling you, slick and insistent. "just to start. tell me if it's too much, okay?"

you could only nod, biting your lip.

the pressure was strange, intense, a slight burn as he pressed against the tight ring of muscle. you forced yourself to relax, to breathe out, and on your exhale, his finger pushed in, just past the first knuckle.

you gasped; it was a full, invasive sensation, a stretch you'd only ever imagined. mingyu went still, letting you adjust, his other hand stroking your flank soothingly.

"okay?" he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself back.

"yeah," you breathed out. "more... please, just... move."

mingyu obeyed immediately, sliding his finger deeper, until he couldn’t go any further.

the feeling of being filled, of having a part of him inside you, was utterly profound. he began to move it slowly, a gentle in-and-out, crooking it slightly on each inward stroke. on one particularly deep push, his fingertip brushed against a spot deep inside you that sent a jolt of pure, electric pleasure straight up your spine.

you cried out, your back arching off the couch.

"there! oh my—god, there!"

a dark, possessive smile touched mingyu’s lips.

"found it," he rumbled.

mingyu focused his efforts on that spot, rubbing over it with a relentless, gentle precision that had you seeing stars. he then added a second finger, stretching you more thoroughly now, the burn melting into a deep, throbbing ache of fullness.

all the while, mingyu watched your face, drinking in every hitch of your breath, every flutter of your eyelids, every broken syllable of his name that fell from your lips.

you were a writhing, moaning mess beneath him, completely at his mercy, floating on a sea of sensation he was meticulously building. the rain still lashed against the glass walls, the fire crackled, and in this isolated, gleaming cage of a house, the only thing that was real was mingyu’s touch, his heat, his dark eyes claiming you, piece by shattered piece.

mingyu leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a deep, messy kiss, his fingers still working inside you. you could taste yourself on his tongue; a salty, intimate flavor that drove you wild.

"you feel so good," he groaned against your lips. "so tight and hot around me. you're taking me so well, baby. my sweet, good boy."

oh, the praise, the pet name, spoken in that rough, worshipful baritone, crashed over you like a wave. you were so, so close again, teetering on the edge just from his fingers and his words.

but mingyu slowed his movements, drawing a very frustrated whimper from you.

"not yet, baby," he repeated, his own breath coming in harsh pants.

mingyu withdrew his fingers slowly, making you feel suddenly, acutely empty.

he sat back on his heels, looking down at you; sprawled, bare, wrecked, and completely his on his expensive sofa. mingyu’s own arousal was a blatant, impressive bulge straining against his grey sweatpants.

he reached out, his thumb wiping away a tear you didn't even know had escaped from the corner of your eye. his expression was a complex mix of raw hunger, tender awe, and simmering, dark possession.

"now," he said, his voice a low, delicious threat, a promise of everything still to come. "now, we get you ready for the rest of me."

the words hung between you, a vow that made your spent body thrum with new anticipation.

but the 'ready' mingyu spoke of wasn't about more preparation; this time, it was about the final surrender, the crossing of a line there was definitely no coming back from. you saw it in mingyu’s eyes — the last thread of his control, frayed and about to snap.

you didn't give it a chance to.

with a strength born of years of desperate longing, you surged up from the couch cushions, your body colliding with his. your mouth found his in a kiss that was nothing like the first one.

that very first kiss had been a shockwave, a detonation; but this one was a conflagration.

it was hot, so desperate, and so fucking messy. it was all teeth and clashing tongues and shared, ragged breaths that were more like sobs. you kissed him like you were trying to crawl inside him, to live under his skin. your hands framed his jaw, your thumbs digging into the hinges, holding him to you as if he might vanish.

mingyu met you with equal, devastating fervor.

one of his big hands cradled the back of your skull, his fingers tangling so tightly in your hair it bordered on pain, a sweet, anchoring ache. the other swept down your naked back, palming your ass, pulling you flush against the thick, hard ridge of his cock still trapped in his sweats. the rough cotton against your oversensitive skin was its own kind of torture.

mingyu broke the kiss with a wet, gasping sound, only to dive back in, nipping at your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth before plunging his tongue back inside.

"god, the way you kiss me," he groaned into your mouth, the words mangled and hot. "like you're starving for it."

"i am," you panted against his lips, your hips grinding down instinctively. "i've been starving for you."

a rough sound ripped from his chest.

in one fluid, powerful motion, mingyu sat back fully onto the sofa, his back against the cushions, and hauled you with him, pulling you completely into his lap. you straddled his thick thighs, the new position forcing a shocked gasp from you as it brought your bodies into even more intimate contact. his sweatpants were the only barrier left, and they felt like the worst insult.

mingyu’s hands were everywhere, claiming every single part of you as the kiss continued, sloppy and deep; they roamed over your shoulders, down your arms, mapping the dip of your spine, the swell of your ass. mingyu squeezed the flesh of your backside, his fingers digging in, massaging and kneading with a possessiveness that made you feel oh so dizzy.

one hand slid around to your front, splaying across your lower belly, holding you down against him as if to say; you're right here, you're mine. his other hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb stroking your fever-hot cheekbone even as his tongue delved deeper.

you were the one who broke the kiss this time, tearing your mouth from his with a ragged cry born of pure, unadulterated need.

you had to see. you had to have.

your eyes locked on mingyu’s, blown black with lust, and you didn't look away as your hands scrambled for the waistband of his grey sweatpants.

your fingers trembled so badly you fumbled with the simple knot of the drawstring. but mingyu didn't help, he just watched you struggle, his chest heaving, a faint, dark smile on his kiss-swollen lips. his gaze was heavy, heated, drinking in your frantic desperation.

finally, you got the tie loose. you hooked your fingers into the band, and with a forceful yank, you pulled both sweats and the boxer briefs beneath them down over his hips, just enough to free him.

the air left your lungs in a silent, stunned rush.

holy. fucking. shit.

you'd imagined, in all those late-night fantasies. hell, you'd felt him, hard and insistent against you.

but oh… imagination was a very pale, pathetic ghost compared to the reality now springing free, thick and heavy against mingyu’s stomach.

mingyu was... monstrous.

thick, velvety-looking, and so fucking long. a prominent, dark vein ran along the underside, pulsing visibly. mingyu was fully erect, the flushed, ruddy head glistening with a bead of pre-cum. he was beautiful in a way that was almost intimidating, a perfect, primal expression of his sheer masculine power.

your mind short-circuited; your own cock gave a painful, interested twitch.

"jesus, mingyu," you breathed, the words barely audible.

he saw the awe, the flicker of apprehension in your eyes, and mingyu’s smile softened instantly, turning unbearably sweet. he brought his hands up, cupping your face again, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones. his touch was a direct contrast to the fierce, demanding weapon of his body just beneath you.

"it's okay," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "we'll go slow. we have all night. just look at me, baby. keep looking at me."

mingyu’s calm was an anchor; you nodded, swallowing hard, your gaze slowly lifting from his cock to his eyes. the tenderness in them, mixed with the smoldering hunger, steadied you.

tentatively, you reached down between your bodies; your hand wrapped around him.

a low, punched-out groan vibrated deeply through mingyu’s chest. your fingers couldn't even come close to touching; the girth was staggering, the heat of him searing your palm. m

you began to stroke him, slowly, from root to tip, feeling the iron-hard shaft under the silken skin, tracing the prominent vein with your thumb. mingyu’s head fell back against the expensive sofa cushion, his brown eyes squeezing shut. a long, slow, filthy moan dragged itself from his throat, a raw sound of pleasure that went straight to your own cock.

"f-fuck... just like that," he gritted out, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary upward thrust into your fist. "your hand feels—god, it feels like heaven."

you worked him, spreading the slickness from his tip down his length, the wet, slick sounds obscene in the quiet room. you watched mingyu come apart — the corded tendons in his neck standing out, his full lips parted, his breath coming in harsh gusts. he was letting you see him, utterly vulnerable to your touch.

"need you," you whispered, your own voice frayed. "i need you in me. now."

mingyu’s eyes flew open, dark and intense.

"you're sure? you're ready?"

"more than ready. i've been ready for years."

mingyu nodded, his hands moving to your hips, his grip firm and guiding.

"okay. okay, baby. you control it. you take what you need. slowly. just... slowly."

you positioned yourself, lifting up on your knees. with one hand still gripping mingyu’s shoulder for balance, you used the other to guide him. the broad, slick head of his cock pressed against your entrance, and you both froze for a second, the reality of it crashing down.

you were stretched and slick from his fingers, but this was an entirely different league.

"breathe," mingyu whispered, his hands soothing on your hips. "just breathe out for me, sweetheart."

you exhaled shakily, and as you did, you sank down.

the initial pressure was immense, a blunt, burning stretch that stole all the air from your lungs. you cried out, a sharp, shocked sound. mingyu's hands tightened on you, holding you softly, his own breath held.

"shhh, i've got you," he cooed, his voice thick with strain.

mingyu leaned forward, peppering your face with soft, urgent kisses; he kissed your trembling eyelids, the damp corner of your mouth, your sweaty temple.

"that's it. just the tip, baby. just get used to me. god, you're so tight... you're taking me so perfectly."

you slowly pushed past the burn, sinking down another impossible inch. the stretch was really agonizing, overwhelming, but beneath it was a rightness, a fullness you'd craved without even knowing the shape of it. you moaned, long and low, your forehead falling against his.

mingyu was breathing hard, his nostrils flared, every muscle in his torso locked with the effort of staying still.

"f-feel you," you gasped. "oh my god—i… i can feel you everywhere."

"look at me," mingyu begged softly.

you opened your eyes, meeting his. they were glazed, swimming with an emotion way too deep to name.

"stay with me."

you nodded, biting your lip, and sank down further, and further, in tiny, incremental surrenders. each fraction deeper made you whimper, a high, pathetic sound. mingyu murmured a constant stream of praise and encouragement, his lips never leaving your skin.

"my beautiful boy… so good for me... wrapping around me so tight... never felt anything like this..."

when you finally, finally seated yourself fully, his hips flush against your ass, you both let out a simultaneous, shattered groan.

you were impaled, filled to the absolute limit. you could feel him in your throat; in your soul. the burn was subsiding, replaced by a deep, throbbing ache of completion. you were so full you couldn't move, couldn't even think. you just sat there, trembling, feeling him pulse inside you, feeling his own tremors of restraint.

"f-fuck," mingyu choked out, his head dropping back again, his adam's apple bobbing. "you're... you're really everywhere. i'm so deep, baby. are you okay? please, tell me you're okay."

you could only nod, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent.

"so full," you mumbled against his tan skin. "never... never felt this full."

mingyu held you like that for what felt like an eternity, his big hands running up and down your back, whispering sweet nothings into your hair, patiently letting your body adjust to the invasion. the rain was a distant melody now, the fire a warm witness.

slowly, the unbearable pressure began to transform; the ache became a sweet, heavy throb.

a need to move, to feel him move, began to coil deep in your gut. tentatively, you flexed your inner muscles around him — mingyu jolted as if electrocuted, a broken cry tearing from him.

"fuck—don't... don't do that unless you want this to be over before it starts."

a spark of power shot through you; and you did it again, a slow, deliberate squeeze.

"baby," mingyu warned, but it was a plea.

you lifted your head, looking down at him. you placed your hands on his broad, solid chest for leverage, and you took a deep, shuddering breath.

finally, you started to move.

you rose up, slowly, agonizingly, feeling every single inch of him drag against your oversensitive walls. and oh, the sensation was so intense your vision spotted; you heard mingyu's breath hitch, you saw his hands fist at his sides, knuckles completely white.

when just mingyu’s cockhead remained inside, you paused a little, hovering, before sinking back down in one slow, smooth slide.

the moan that ripped from both of you was guttural, unison. it was too much; god, it was everything.

"that's it," mingyu rasped, his hands flying back to your hips, not really to guide, but simply to feel you. "ride me, baby. take what you want. use me."

you found a rhythm, slow and deep at first, a rolling grind of your hips that rubbed him against that sweet, devastating spot inside you with every downward stroke.

your movements were unsteady, clumsy, fueled by pure sensation. your thighs burned, but hell — you didn't care. the only thing that mattered right now was the drag and fill, the hot slap of skin, the way his eyes never left yours, dark and worshipping.

"look at you," mingyu breathed, his voice wrecked with awe. "look at you moving on my cock. you were made for this. made only for me."

his words lit a fire in you.

you moved faster, your rises and falls becoming more desperate, losing the smoothness for a more frantic, hungry pace. the sofa cushions squeaked beneath you, the room filled with the symphony of your union; wet, slick sounds, the slap of flesh, your ragged sobs, his deep, guttural groans.

"mingyu... oh my—mingyu, please..." you chanted, a broken mantra.

you didn't even know what you were begging for. more? harder? to never stop?

"i know, baby, i know," he groaned, his hands sliding from your hips to grip your ass, spreading you wider, helping you take him even deeper.

his control was fraying fast. his hips began to meet your downward thrusts with small, upward snaps of his own.

"you feel so fucking good. so perfect. my perfect boy."

one of mingyu’s hands snaked up your torso, his thumb brushing roughly over your nipple. you cried out, arching your back, which drove him even deeper. he pinched the nub, rolling it between his fingers, sending jolts of sharp pleasure-pain straight to your cock, which leaked steadily onto his stomach.

"touch yourself," he commanded, his voice ragged. "i want to see you come while you ride me."

you obeyed without thought, your hand wrapping around your own length, stroking in time with your frantic bouncing. the dual sensation — the internal fullness, the external friction — was too much, too good. you were babbling, a stream of incoherent praise and filth;

"yes—yes, just like that... you're so big... filling me up... i'm yours, all yours..."

mingyu’s name became the only word you knew.

the tension coiled tighter, a spring ready to snap. your movements became erratic, your rhythm falling apart into desperate, jerking motions.

mingyu saw it; he sat up suddenly, wrapping his arms around you, crushing you to his chest. he took over, his own powerful hips pistoning up into you from below, his pace brutal and perfect. he was everywhere — his mouth on your neck, sucking a bruise into your skin, his hands clutching you to him, his cock nailing that sweet little spot inside you with unerring accuracy.

"i'm gonna... i'm gonna cum—" you sobbed.

your orgasm tearing through you without warning, a white-hot detonation that seized every muscle in your body; you clenched around mingyu violently, your release striping his chest and stomach in hot pulses.

the feel of you milking him, the raw, shattered sound of your cry, was mingyu’s undoing.

with a roar that was half your name, half a prayer, mingyu desperately buried himself in the deepest part of you and stilled. you felt the hot, deep pulse of his release flooding you, wave after endless wave, marking you, claiming you from the inside out. he held you there, locked together, as he emptied himself, his whole body shuddering with the force of it.

the collapse was gradual; the frantic energy seeped away, leaving behind a boneless, trembling exhaustion.

mingyu slumped back against the cushions, taking you with him, still joined. you lay sprawled on top of him, a mess of sweat and cum and spent desire, your ear pressed to his sweaty chest, listening to the frantic, slowing gallop of his heart.

his arms came around you, not in passion now, but in a sheltering embrace. one of mingyu’s hand stroked your damp hair, the other drew lazy, soothing circles on your back; you were both breathing hard, the air thick with the scent of sex and sandalwood and rain.

for a long time, there were no words.

none were needed.

the silence was full, a living thing woven from the crackle of the dying fire, the distant patter of rain outside, and the slow syncing of your breaths.

you felt mingyu soften inside you, a gradual, intimate withdrawal that made you clench involuntarily, drawing a soft, spent groan from deep in his chest.

"shhh, baby," he murmured, his voice a rough, warm rumble beneath your ear. his hand moved from your hair to cradle the back of your head. "just rest. i've got you."

you nuzzled into mingyu’s neck, breathing him in. his skin was salty, his familiar scent now layered with something new, something that was you and him mixed together. god, you'd never smelled anything better.

you felt his lips press against your temple, not a kiss of hunger, but one of... reverence.

it made your throat tighten.

mingyu’s hand continued its slow journey up and down your spine, over the curve of your ass, as if he couldn't stop touching you, even now. his touch was different; before, it had been about claiming, about desperation. but now, it was about savoring, about memorizing.

"you feel that?" he whispered after a while, his voice low and awed. his palm flattened against the small of your back, holding you firmly to him. "how perfectly you fit? like you were carved to slot right here."

you made a soft, affirmative little noise, way too wrung out to form words.

"the way you moved," mingyu continued, his voice taking on a husky, wondering quality.

he was talking more to himself than to you.

"taking all of me. fucking yourself on my cock like you were born for it. so greedy. so perfect," his fingers traced the knobs of your spine. "i've never seen anything more beautiful in my life."

a warm, syrupy tlush spread through your chest at his words. you turned your head just enough to press an open-mouthed kiss to the base of his throat, tasting salt and skin. he hummed, the sound vibrating through you.

slowly, with a tenderness that made your heart ache, he shifted beneath you. mingyu guided you to slide off him, the loss of connection making you whimper softly.

"shh, i'm right here," he soothed, arranging your limp body beside him on the wide sofa.

you were laying on your back, and mingyu hovered over you, propped up on one elbow, his big body caging you in completely, blocking out the rest of the vast, dark room. his free hand came up to brush the sweat-damp hair from your forehead.

mingyu’s eyes were soft, impossibly dark, and they roamed over your face like a man seeing a miracle.

"look at you," he breathed. "all wrecked because of me."

he bent his head and kissed you.

it was nothing like the kisses before; there was no clash, no frantic battle for dominance. no, this time, the kiss was slow — a slow and sweet exploration.

mingyu’s lips were soft, plush, moving over yours with a devastating tenderness. he licked gently at your lower lip, asking, and you opened for him with a soft sigh. his hot tongue met yours in a lazy, wet slide that tasted of whiskey and shared pleasure. mingyu kissed you like he had absolutely all the time in the world; like discovering the shape of your mouth was the most important task he'd ever undertaken.

he pulled back just an inch, his breath mingling with yours. a small, dazed smile touched his swollen lips.

"can't get enough of that," he admitted, his voice a gravelly whisper. "your mouth. it's fucking addictive."

you managed a shaky smile of your own, lifting a heavy hand to trace the silver strands at his temple.

"old man's got stamina," you teased, your voice hoarse.

the smile on his face widened, turning boyish and bright, crinkling the corners of those big, doe eyes. he caught your finger and brought it to his lips, kissing the tip.

"who you calling old?" mingyu rumbled playfully, nipping at your finger. "i seem to recall a certain someone being the one who tapped out first."

"you overwhelmed me," you protested weakly, but you were smiling brightly, a giddy, post-coital lightness bubbling up inside you.

this — this easy, affectionate teasing. yeah, this was something you'd dreamed of, too.

"i'll overwhelm you anytime you want, baby," he said, his tone dropping back into that low, possessive register that made your spent nerves twitch.

mingyu’s gaze grew heated again as it traveled down your body. you were a complete mess — his release was already leaking from you, sticky on your thighs, your own cum drying on your stomach.

you should have felt embarrassed, exposed. but under his gaze… you felt nothing but worshipped.

mingyu’s hand, which had been resting on your hip, began to drift. it slid over your abdomen, his fingers splaying wide; the touch was so warm, so possessive. he pressed down, gently, massaging the muscle there.

"feel that?" he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. "so soft here. so warm."

you did feel it. and you felt something else, too.

beneath your ass, where his thigh was pressed against you, you felt the unmistakable, thickening heat of him beginning to harden once more. a jolt of pure, electric shock went through you, and your eyes widened.

mingyu saw your expression; a faint, self-deprecating blush crept up his neck, but his eyes were dark with unabashed want. he gave a small, helpless shrug, his thumb stroking your belly.

"i can't help it," he said, his voice thick with a kind of bewildered desire. "the way you're looking at me... the way you feel... god—you're all over me. inside and out. it's... it's making me crazy."

mingyu was already half-hard, and the proof of it was pressing insistently against your thigh.

after everything, the man was starving. damn it, he was desperate. and the look in his eyes — a mix of awe, obsession, and sheer, unadulterated lust — shattered any last shred of resistance you might have had.

who were you to say no to this man? to kim mingyu, who you'd wanted with a singleminded ache for what felt like your entire adult life? this beautiful of a man was here, real and warm and hard for you again, looking at you like you'd hung the moon.

"you're really insatiable," you breathed softly, but you were already shifting, spreading your legs a fraction in blatant invitation.

a ragged breath left him. mingyu leaned down, capturing your mouth in another deep, languid kiss.

"only for you," he growled against your lips. "only ever for you. tell me yes. tell me you want me again."

you pulled back from the kiss, holding his desperate, beautiful face in your hands. you looked right into those big, dark, pleading eyes.

"yes," you said, simple and sure. "i want you. i always want you. please, mingyu."

the sound mingyu made was pure relief and hunger. he kissed you hard and quick, then began to move.

"my turn," he whispered, his voice a promise. "let me take care of you this time. let me love you properly."

mingyu nudged you, and you understood, rolling onto your stomach; but he made a soft, disapproving sound.

"no. look at me. i want to see you."

mingyu guided you onto your back again.

then, with surprising strength and gentleness, he hooked his hands under your knees, spreading you wide and lifting your legs. he arranged you so your calves were resting over his shoulders, your body open and utterly exposed to him. the position was vulnerable, intimate, and so deep you gasped just thinking about it.

"mingyu..." you whispered.

"shhh. just feel."

and then he began.

mingyu started at your ankles, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to the bone. he worked his way up your calves, his lips and the rough scrape of his stubble a delicious contrast on your sensitive skin. he took his time, worshipping every inch. he'd murmur against your skin, his voice a low, continuous hum of praise.

"such strong legs... carried you right to me... my baby is so beautiful..."

he reached your inner thighs, and he lingered there, kissing and sucking gently at the tender skin, nipping playfully, making you jump and giggle breathlessly.

"ticklish here?" mingyu asked sweetly, a smile in his voice before he soothed the spot with his tongue. "good. i'll remember that."

his journey was agonizingly slow, deliberately torturous. mingyu bypassed your aching cock entirely, which was already filling again, lying heavy and interested against your stomach. he kissed your hip bones, licked a stripe along the crease of your thigh and torso, his big hands holding you steady.

"mingyu—please," you begged, arching up, seeking any kind of friction.

"wait a little more," he chided softly, blowing a cool breath over your wet skin. "i'm not done admiring."

he moved to your chest, his mouth finding your nipples again; mingyu gave them the same devoted attention, sucking one into the wet heat of his mouth while his fingers rolled and pinched the other. the dual sensation, now in the oversensitive aftermath of your first orgasm, was almost painfully good.

you cried out, your hands flying to his head, not to push him away, but to hold him there.

"so responsive," mingyu moaned, switching sides. "every little touch. you're a dream."

finally, after what felt like an eternity of sweet torment, mingyu lowered you gently from his shoulders, your legs falling to bracket his hips.

he leaned over you, bracing himself on his massive arms, caging you completely. his body was a furnace of taut muscle and tan skin above you. he looked down at you, his face serious, his eyes blazing with intent.

"you're sure?" mingyu asked one last time, even though the thick, hot length of him was pressed against your slick, used entrance.

you reached up, cupping his jaw.

"i've never been more sure of anything. please, mingyu. i need you."

he nodded, his expression softening into something unbearably tender. mingyu leaned down and kissed you, deep and slow, as he began to push forward.

this entrance was different; there was no frantic, sharp burn of first penetration. this was a slow, inexorable, aching stretch. your body knew him now, welcomed him happily, but the sheer size of his cock was still a breathtaking challenge.

mingyu fed himself into you inch by inch, his breath huffing in soft, controlled pants against your mouth.

"oh... god... mingyu—" you chanted into the kiss, your head falling back against the cushion.

he broke the kiss to watch where you were joining, his eyes hooded with fierce concentration.

"look at that," he breathed, his voice thick with wonder. "taking me so easy now. opened up so pretty for me."

mingyu sank another inch, and a full-body shudder wracked him.

"oh—fuck... you're still so tight, baby. like a hot, perfect fist around me."

mingyu paused when he was entirely in, buried to the hilt in a different, deeper way. he wasn't rushing; no, hes was taking all the time to savoring. he dropped his forehead to yours, his eyes squeezing shut.

"you feel that?" he gritted out. "feel how deep i am? you are hugging me everywhere"

you could only nod, overwhelmed by the profound fullness. mingyu was everywhere, just as you'd felt before, but this time it was a slow, thorough possession.

he began to move, and the world narrowed to the glide of his body into yours.

mingyu set a pace that was pure, unadulterated torture; slow — oh, so, so slow. he would draw almost all the way out, until just the flared head of his cock stretched your rim, then push back in with a deep, rolling thrust that entirely punched the air from your lungs. each stroke was deliberate, measured, and hit so deep it felt like he was rearranging your soul.

"o-oh my—god... oh, f-fuck..." you babbled, your hands scrambling for purchase on his sweat-slick back, your nails digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders.

your back arched off the couch, seeking more, deeper, but mingyu controlled the rhythm completely.

"that's it," he praised, his voice a low, rough rumble.

mingyu shifted his angle just slightly, and on the next deep, slow drive, his cockhead brushed directly over that devastating little spot inside you.

a sharp, broken cry tore from your throat. your eyes flew open, wide and unseeing.

"there?" he asked, a dark, knowing smile gracing his lips.

mingyu did it again, and again, that same slow, deep thrust aimed with deadly accuracy.

"hmm? yeah, that's my sweet spot—right there. making my baby see stars."

you were completely unraveling.

the slow pace wasn't giving you a frantic, sprinting climb to the edge; it was building a deep, tidal wave of pleasure from the ocean floor up. it was everywhere; in every single cell. you couldn't stop the sounds pouring out of you — high, keening whines, sobbing moans, his name repeated like a desperate prayer.

mingyu was murmuring constantly, a stream of filthy, beautiful praise.

"you're doing so good, baby... taking me so deep... you feel like heaven... my good boy, my perfect boy... all mine... fucking made for me..."

one of his big hands slid between your bodies, his fingers wrapping around your leaking cock. his grip was firm, his strokes perfectly timed to his languid thrusts. the double stimulation was too much. way too much. you were being pleasured from the inside and the outside, surrounded by him, drowned in him.

"m-mingyu... i can't—it's too much.." you sobbed, tears welling in your eyes from the sheer, overwhelming intensity of it.

you weren't crying from pain or sadness, but from the absolute, soul-crushing goodness of it. in your entire life, you'd never felt so connected, so claimed, so utterly loved in a physical sense.

mingyu saw your tears and his face softened with a tenderness that broke you further. he bent down, kissing the tears from your cheeks.

"shhh, it's okay," he whispered against your skin, never ceasing the slow, deep rhythm of his hips or the steady stroke of his hand. "let it be too much. i've got you. i'II always catch you. come for me, baby. let me feel you come around my cock."

his words, his touch, the deep, relentless pleasure — it coalesced into a tight, screaming knot at the base of your spine. you were babbling, completely incoherent, a mess of yes and please and his name.

"i'm... i'm gonna—"

"come with me," he demanded, his own control fraying.

mingyu’s thrusts lost a fraction of their measured pace, becoming deeper, more urgent.

"look at me. come with me."

you forced your tear-blurred eyes to meet his. mingyu’s expression was one of fierce, beautiful strain, his lips parted, his brow furrowed in ecstasy.

the sight of him, of kim mingyu coming apart above you, was the final trigger.

your orgasm detonated, a silent, white-hot supernova that ripped through you with a violence that stole your voice. you arched off the couch, your mouth open in a soundless scream as your release shot over your stomach and mingyu’s hand in hot, pulsing stripes.

your inner muscles clamped around him in frantic, rhythmic spasms, milking him desperately.

the teel of your climax tearing through you, the vise-like grip of your body, shattered mingyu’s last vestige of control — with a guttural roar that was pure release, he completely drove into you one last, final, punishingly deep time and held. you felt the hot, deep pulse of his release flooding you, one crushing wave after another, marking you, filling you, sealing what you'd done.

mingyu collapsed on top of you, his full weight a warm, heavy blanket, his face buried in your neck as he shuddered through the last aftershocks.

you lay there, wrecked and pinned, floating in a haze of endorphins and profound satisfaction. mingyu’s weight was crushing, and you never wanted him to move; his breath was hot and ragged against your neck.

slowly, gently, mingyu softened and slipped from your body; a soft, oversensitive whimper escaped your lips at the loss, followed by the hot, intimate trickle of his release down your thigh.

mingyu made a soft, soothing noise and slowly rolled in the sofa, taking you with him so you were once again sprawled on his chest.

you were both silent for a long time, utterly spent. your limbs felt like lead, and your mind was blissfully empty. you tilted your head up, finding mingyu’s lips in a very slow, very exhausted, salty kiss.

it was a kiss of completion — of gratitude.

"sleepy," you mumbled against his mouth.

"sleep, baby," mingyu murmured, his arms tightening around you. "i've got you."

you didn't fight it; your eyelids were too heavy.

the last thing you were aware of was the steady, strong beat of mingyu’s heart under your cheek, and the feeling of his lips, pressed softly to the crown of your head.

and just like that, you drifted off.

you didn't know how long you slept — maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour. all you know is that it was a deep, heavy, satiated sleep.

you were roused gently by soft, warm movements beneath you.

you blinked open gritty eyes. the fire was embers now, casting the room in deep, dancing shadows. mingyu was carefully, oh so carefully, extricating himself from under you — of course, you made a sound of protest, trying to cling to his warmth.

"shhh, go back to sleep, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice like velvet in the dark. "just let me clean you up."

you were way too tired to argue, so you simply let your body go limp, watching him through slitted eyes.

mingyu moved with a quiet, efficient tenderness; he fetched a soft, warm cloth from the adjoining bathroom, wet with warm water. he knelt by the sofa, and with a touch so gentle it physically made your chest hurt, he began to clean you — he wiped the drying spend from your stomach, his strokes slow and careful, he cleaned between your legs, dabbing softly at the sensitive, used flesh, cleaning away the evidence of his possession.

there was absolutely no disgust, no hesitation — only a focused, loving care.

once you were clean, he fetched a throw blanket from a nearby armchair and draped it over you, tucking it around your shoulders. he stoked the fire quietly, adding a log, bringing it back to a gentle, warm glow.

then, he simply stood there, looking down at you.

the firelight played over the incredible planes of mingyu’s body — the broad shoulders, the tapered waist, the powerful legs. he was still naked, utterly unselfconscious, and he looked like a god. but his expression... his expression was utterly, devastatingly human.

mingyu’s big, dark doe eyes were so soft, full of a wonder so profound it took your breath away even in your half-asleep state. yeah, he was looking at you like you were the most precious thing he'd ever seen — a small, private smile touched his lips.

mingyu reached down and brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his fingers lingering on your skin.

you saw it then, in the quiet of the firelit room.

the conflict, the guilt — it wasn't gone. you could still see the shadows of it in the lines of his face. but they were being drowned out, overwhelmed, by something brighter, stronger, and infinitely more terrifying;

love.

mingyu wasn't just looking at a lover, or his best friend's son — no, mingyu was looking at the man he loved. the realization was quiet and absolute in his gaze.

he leaned down, his lips brushing your forehead in a kiss so soft it was almost a breath.

"mine," he whispered to the sleeping air, the word a vow.

mingyu didn't say the rest; he didn't say he didn't care about the age, his friendship with your dad, the potential fallout, the scandal.

he didn't have to.

you could see it in the set of his jaw, in the possessive yet protective gleam in his eye as he finally sat down on the floor beside the sofa, his back against it, close enough to touch you. he was going to stay there, watching over you.

mingyu had crossed his line, and he had no intention of looking back.

🫐 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 <𝟯 !!

The email stared back at you, and you swallowed dryly. Like a wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing, mocking your fragility and leading you to an inevitable trap, one that you might not mind falling into.

You can admit, your attention was somewhat elsewhere that day, but you can’t say you weren’t laser focused in on your professor. It was impossible to not pay attention to him.

His plushy pink lips wrapped softly around every syllable he spoke. That low, gravelly, sonorous voice that could soak panties from miles away. The sheer size of him when he walked past the desks to check on students while they worked, the sensual trail of cologne that followed him at every step.

His big, veiny hands pointed to diagrams on the board, and his thick arms crossed across his chest when he listened to a student answer a question, the sleeves of his tight-fitting black top rolled up to expose his forearms, his head slightly tilted as he listened as if his life depended on it.

He was always particularly attentive whenever you added your 2 cents to the seminars, his index finger pressing on his bottom lip like a button, his eyes locked onto yours so intensely it felt invasive.

Professor Song Mingi was an amazing teacher, and just so happened to be the sexiest man you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

You were a great student and an outstanding listener. Above average grades, beautiful ways with words. Mingi could always count on you to say something that really made the rest of the class and him think.

However, today, your mind might have been elsewhere. And by elsewhere you mean the dream you had of him last night.

Hot breath against your skin and large hands wound in your hair. His pretty, melodic voice whispers in your ear just for you to hear. Sugar dripped praises about how you were "such a smart girl," and filthy talk of how you were "so small beneath him."

Mingi had noticed your mind wandering throughout the class period, but chose to ignore it, assuming maybe you had a long night.

He really had no idea.

When your attention was still never diverted from your own thoughts, he decided to drag you back to reality.

“Ms. (Name), are you with us still?” You didn’t respond at first, and then you blinked, pulling your eyes from his thick thighs that were nearly busting from his jeans, back up to his scrutinizing gaze.

Mingi’s eyebrows raised in question, then relaxed, like he had just solved a puzzle in his head. A hint of a smirk ghosted across his lips before he licked his finger and flipped through the stack of papers on his desk.

He didn't need to do that. But he knew what you might think about it.

He knew that look. All too well. He leaned on his arm against his desk, waiting for a response as he watched you gather your bearings.

“Yes! Sorry.” You pick at the stickers peeling on your laptop, trying your best to look like you weren’t just daydreaming about him fucking you absolutely stupid and whispering to you about how good you felt.

You weren’t very good at pretending.

Mingi said nothing, and you could almost see the gears turning behind his eyes. You watched with earnest as his tongue swiped over his bottom lip, grinning slowly as he bent a paperclip out of shape in his hand.

“Need you to pay attention, okay? Don’t want that precious tuition money to go to waste, right?” Mingi looks down at the paperclip in his hand, his eyes lifting with his head down, the look in his eyes unplaceable.

You shake your head, trying to push those thoughts about your professor deep down. Save them for later.

“Of course, Professor Song. Sorry, I’m kinda out of it.” You smiled nervously, and Mingi stood up straight, dropping the paper clip and taking a few steps closer to your seat.

“Well, snap out of it, sweetheart. You don’t wanna miss this invigorating lecture on romantic literature, do you?” He smiled teasingly, those charming crooked teeth making your stomach flutter.

The rest of the class giggles at his sarcasm, and you do as well. He gently taps your desk, leaning his head down just so he was inches away from your ear. His smell envelops you now, and you begin to feel dizzy. He never got this close to you.

“Keep up now.” He whispers, his low, purring voice that you could nearly feel rumbling in your chest, flowed past your warming ears.

“Make me proud like you always do.”

And just like that, he walked right back up front and began teaching again.

So much for paying attention, Mingi only added more fuel to the fire. Your heart was racing, your senses raging to memorize his smell, your ears straining to find that intimate coo in his voice when he whispered in your ear as he taught.

Mingi's eyes would periodically drift to you, and just as he expected, you surely weren't paying attention. You tried your hardest to retain his words and take notes like normal, but your brain was betraying you today.

By the time class had ended, you felt like you had blacked out the entire period. You blinked, and everyone was gathering their things, talking to the professor, and asking some last-minute questions.

You sped out of there as fast as you could, but not before catching Mingi's gaze on you, his fevered eyes meeting yours just as you turned to walk out the door. Something in the air snapped in that second, and you were scared to find out what changed.

Then the email.

It sat in your inbox, mocking you in teasing whispers. "Come see me."

Flashes of the syllabus from earlier in the year played in your mind, specifically the office hours at the bottom of the last page. 7pm- 9pm. Monday thru Friday, Professor Song’s office door would be open for anyone to stop by and seek help in regards to grades, assignments and whatnot.

You had considered stopping in countless time, for your own selfish reasons, but ultimately of course decided it would be a stupid thing to do, especially when you fully understood the course material.

You wouldn't. You had no reason to. Your grades were outstanding; it was just an off day. But your body knew you better. Your brain tried to talk you out of it, but it was like your feet moved on their own.

At 6:59 pm on the dot, you stood in front of his classroom door, clutching your purse as if it were anchoring your body to the earth. You stared at the doorknob like it might burn you if you dared to touch it.

When you opened the door, he was the first thing you saw. Lazily sat behind his desk, scribbling something down among the strew of papers that littered it. He didn't look up when the creak of the door echoed in the stagnant silence. He didn't look up when your boots clicked against the glassy floors, didn't look up when the sound stopped when you paused in front of his desk.

His hair was messier, his sleeves still rolled up. His foot tapped rhythmically beneath the desk; it rang in your ears like a time bomb.

It was only when you awkwardly cleared your throat that Mingi finally looked up to meet your eyes, and you sincerely wished in that moment that the email had just gotten lost in your junk.

Mingi paused his writing, lifting the end of his pen to his lips, leaning back in the chair, spreading his legs nice and wide.

"So," he began, rolling the end of his pen back and forth against his lower lip. He shifted his hips up slightly, and it made your nerves tingle. "Talk to me. What's going on with you?"

You shrug as nonchalantly as you can, desperate to keep your ever-thinning composure. His legs spread wider, and he slipped the pen between his teeth, nibbling on the tip.

"It's nothing, I promise." You say a little too quietly, fiddling with the leather strap of your purse. "I just-"

He laughs softly and shakes his head. "Clearly it's not 'nothing'." He points to the paper on his desk, watching his slender finger trace the black print slowly.

"I don't think I even saw you pay attention to the reading, not one time." He clicked his tongue as if disappointed but not surprised. He picked up the paper and handed it to you, your fingers brushing his when you took it.

"I'm sorry, Professor Song." You were so weak for him, it was embarrassing. You did read the poem, you analyzed it and took notes the night before, in fact, but you couldn't force the words from your throat to tell him that.

Mingi only smiled and stood slowly, and you craned your neck up to follow his movements. He walked to stand next to you, lowering his head to speak lowly into your ear. "It's okay, sweetheart," he murmured, and you felt the warmth of his breath ghost across the side of your throat.

"Let's go over it now."

You realized two things that night.

One. This was not the same poem you read the night before.

And two. You and the professor had two very different methods when it came to "going over" things.

You would lay the piece in front of you, pen in hand, as you annotated with vibrant colored highlighters and organized tabs, silently as you read to yourself, sitting at your desk.

Professor Song preferred to have you bent over said desk.

His thick cock is snug inside of you, so deep, hitting every spot imaginable. One hand held your hip tightly, the slow, torturous roll of his hips making your legs shake pathetically.

Slick dripped down your parted thighs, your warm walls fluttering around him so tightly it made his head swim. Mingi's large, rough hands held your body down against the desk, pinning you so you couldn't squirm even if you tried,

The paper sat on the desk below you, the edge of the wood digging into your stomach as you felt his hand caressing your lower back, over your arched spine, up to gently squeeze your neck like he wanted to melt into your flesh.

"Start here," Mingi drawls, leaning down and pressing his lips into your scalp as he points to a line on the paper. "Word for word. Nice and clear."

You sighed shakily, trying your very hardest to ignore the languid massaging movement of his hands all over your soft body, his slow, gravelly breaths by your ear that sent literal shocks to your soaked cunt. The way his cock would jump deep in your guts and his fat tip would press against your G-spot so deliciously, your eyes would roll into your skull.

This was a very impractical way of studying.

You felt the heat radiating off his body even through his clothes, the hand on your hips kneading the flesh and trailing down to massage your inner thigh softly, before making its way back up to pull your hips further against him, your ass pressed flush against him.

"Go ahead, baby." Mingi cooed, subtly gyrating his hips ever so slightly, smiling when your muscles jerked at the stimulation. "Let's hear that pretty voice. We don't have all night."

You swallowed and forced your focus to the words on the paper.

"Body, remember not only how much you were loved, not only the beds on which you lay-"

You heard his low chuckle into your hair, and the intimate caresses of his hand never ceased, moving up to gently press against your lower belly.

"B-but also those desires which for you plainly glowed in the eyes- shit-!"

He dragged his cock back, just enough for the length of him to stroke against that sweet spot, your breath trembling as your hand shot out to grip the desk as the pleasure rocked your body. Mingi stayed there, not moving once again, nearly half slipped out of your quivering pussy.

"You're stuttering, sweet girl." Mingi chastised, and his hand pressed harder against your stomach, the pressure of his palm making your head spin. "Enunciate for me, please. I have to know you understand,"

Your moan slipped from your bitten lips softly, as you mustered all the power you could to regain your focus.

"-and trembled in the voice -- and some chance obstacle made them futile."

You were promptly rewarded with Mingi sliding the rest of himself back into your sticky pussy, the slick sound echoing in your ears. He groaned lowly, pressing a wet kiss against the back of your neck, opening his mouth against your nape, and breathing slowly, as if your voice was unraveling him as you read.

"Good girl," he praised breathlessly, and you could feel the buttons of his shirt digging into your back from how hard he pressed his body against yours, like your warmth and the shiver of your skin was an addiction he couldn't get enough of.

"Keep reading, you're doing amazing." His hands slid down and squeezed either side of your waist, his thumbs massaging slow circles against the dimples on your lower back, his mouth pressed against the back of your neck. "C'mon, nice and loud, pretty."

You moaned unabashedly this time, and your cunt clenched around him so hard you felt him wince against your flaring skin.

"Now that all belongs to the past, it is almost as if you had yielded to those desires too -- oh god..."

He grinds his hips into you, almost like he couldn't help himself, his warm tongue laving over the nape of your neck like you tasted like heaven. This time, his hips didn't stop moving. He began thrusting, slow and deep strokes that you could feel in your lungs.

"Keep going..." Mingi moaned against your neck, his hands squeezing your body so hard you were sure it'd leave bruises. "Fuck.. keep reading baby... let me hear you."

The sloppy wet sounds of his thick cock filling you and splitting you open over and over again, so slow and so gradual, were making it hard for you to focus on reading steadily. The words blurred in front of your eyes, and your eyes crossed involuntarily each time his tip dragged against that spot.

"I c-cant..!" you whined, watching as a drop of your drool splatters onto the paper, a stamp of how the pleasure was switching off your brain.

"You can..." Mingi growls, digging his blunt nails into your skin. "Make me proud, finish reading, sweetheart, you're so close."

His praise spurred you on, gripping the edge of the desk until your fingers began to throb. So you mustered every bit of your sanity left to finish it.

"R-remember, how they glowed, in the eyes, ngh... looking at y-you; how they t-trembled in the voice... Min--gi..!"

He pushed his cock deeper, harder, plunging into your cunt without regard for your struggle. "I'm right here, you got it. You're almost done, pretty girl." he kisses your ear, keeping his open mouth against it as he blessed you with his lust-drunk moans. Throaty, hollow, and rich, and you clenched around him like a vice, which only made him louder.

"One more line," Mingi breathes. "Let's read it together." You felt his hand trail up and grab your own, lacing his fingers with your own and pressing your interlocked hands down against the desk, right next to the last line of the poem.

He pressed his lips flush against your ear so you could feel his mouth move as he spoke, and you followed in a shaky voice, reading the last line with him.

"For you, remember, body." Your voices laced over one another, his resonant, purring groan mingling with your whiny, vibrating whimpers. Like a hormonal, sinful harmony, his hand squeezed yours harder as he no longer bothered to fuck you sweet and slow.

His other hand swept the papers off the desk in a disgruntled hurry as he grabbed your other hand, pinning your wrist in his hold against the wood, opting for shallow, agile strokes against your walls as a deep, throaty groan hit your ears.

"Good job... good fucking girl, you read so pretty for me..." He moans breathlessly against your ear, his hands keeping your own pinned against the desk as he ravages your poor slutty pussy, the legs of the desk creaking beneath your frenzied bodies.

"M-Mingi-!" you cried helplessly, your limbs twitching as he bullied his cock into you mercilessly, hands pinned as you could do nothing but stay bent over and take it.

His smell clouded your senses, his voice blaring in your mind, his cock branding its shape into your body. Your body was no longer your own in that moment; it was Professor Song's. He was reading you, analyzing between your lines, and finding the spots that made you cry and made you shake. You were so exposed, so wet, and so flustered. And it felt so fucking good.

"I want you to cum for me, gorgeous," Mingi begged lowly against your neck, dragging your hand down and pressing your fingertips against your swollen clit. He kept his hand there, guiding your fingers in slow, pressured circles against the sensitive nub.

"For listening so well, for being such a smart girl." You gasped, thighs clenching as the pleasure curled around your lower belly in a flurried heat.

His hand only squeezed yours harder, like he was trying to keep his own body at bay, prevent himself from completely snapping your poor soft body in half underneath him.

"Nice and loud," Mingi repeated one last time, sinking his teeth into your throat as he pushed his hips deep into you and rolled like he was trying to become one with you, with your soul.

"Cum for me nice and loud, baby. Let me hear you scream."

Sunghoon is not a jealous man. But why does he feel something ugly crawling inside him as he watches from where he stood. He crossed his arms, watching with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows at the sight of you engaged in a conversation with some…peasant. Someone who thought they had the chance to be with you. The thought itself was laughable, enough to make him roll his eyes. 

He had accompanied you to the party after you had pleaded with him for fifteen minutes straight. Sunghoon didn’t want to go in the first place, as he’d rather be at home, like the introvert he is. But he’s nothing more than just a man whose head over heels for you, which led him to his current situation. 

His jaw tightened as they had the audacity to lay their hand on your shoulder. You tried to politely tell them to remove their hand but they paid your words no mind. To add fuel to the fire, they even invaded your personal space, acting like he knows you when he doesn’t. Unable to take it anymore, Sunghoon pushes himself off the wall and approaches you, silently seething with rage as he gets closer. 

“Come on, we can get out of here. I don’t see that boyfriend of yours anywhere and he’s stupid to leave a pretty—” 

“Get your fucking hands off her.” 

You turned, shoulders sagging in relief to see your knight in shining armor coming to save you. Sunghoon was immediately by your side, one arm possessively wrapped around your waist, pulling you close until you’re pressed against his side. Shivers ran down your spine and heat pooled in the depth of your stomach at the fleeting sensation of him drawing circles on your skin, through the fabric of your skirt. 

Thankfully, the guy didn’t put up a fight and was quick to scurry away, with his invisible tail between his legs. Sunghoon rolled his eyes at the stranger’s cowardice and dragged you out of the venue, not giving you any chance to speak. 

“Sunghoon—”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off, and you go silent at the coldness in his voice. 

He didn’t say another word the entire ride home but you could tell he was barely holding onto himself. The silence was filled with so much tension that one could practically slice it apart with a mere butter knife. Eventually, you arrived home and the moment you stepped foot into your apartment, Sunghoon was quick to pin you against the nearest wall surface. You let out a gasp, which was cut short when he crashed his lips against yours. 

Unlike the usual ways he kissed you, which was filled with nothing but pure love and adoration, this was him taking control of you. Dominating you. You couldn’t keep up with him, your lungs screaming from the lack of oxygen but there wasn’t room for you to make your escape. You whined into his mouth when he tugged your skirt and panties down, leaving them pooling around your ankles. You cried out his name as Sunghoon pushed two fingers into your soaked pussy without warning. 

“Fuck, you’re already dripping wet. Was it because of him?” He snarled, jealousy evident in his voice. “Was he the one who made you like this?” 

You had to break the kiss, tilting your head up, hands scrambling to find something to grip onto but the only nearest thing was a wall behind you. “N-No!” You managed to squeak out, eyes rolling up as your boyfriend easily found your sensitive spot with just his long, slender fingers alone. 

You attempted to tilt your hips forward so you could feel more of his fingers but you were stopped by Sunghoon tightening his grip on your waist. It was a silent warning. A warning where you knew too well. Your boyfriend chuckled at the needy look you gave him, hoping there was some part in him where he’s still kind enough to give you what you want. Instead, he pressed his thumb down on your pussy lips, savoring the way your legs spasmed. You would’ve fallen to the ground if he didn’t catch you in the nick of time. 

“Look at you, you’re dripping all over me. Don’t even need lube with how wet you are,” he sneered, words dripping with disdain. 

True enough, you tightened around his fingers as you shakily exhaled, shoulders trembling. “H-Hoonie.. please…wan’ you.” 

“How do you want me, sweetheart? Use your words and tell me,” he coos, moving his fingers in a scissor like motion, opening and preparing you for what’s to come. 

You couldn’t speak, not when you were this close to cumming. In a desperate attempt, you tried to push forward. Keyword: tried. Only for Sunghoon to rip his fingers out from your pussy. It didn’t matter how hard you clenched down on him, trying to prevent him from slipping out. You let out a disappointed whine, pawing at the front of his shirt but he wasn’t fazed. He’s not falling for your pitiful act. Not this time. 

Sunghoon used his clean hand to grab your face, forcing you to look at him. A twinge of satisfaction curled around him at the sight of your current state. To him, you looked divine despite your teary, dazed eyes and swollen, bruised lips. 

“Already a mess when I barely did anything,” he chuckled, leaning in to brush his lips against your neck, savoring the way you whimpered. 

You blindly reached out, hands gripping onto his shirt. “Sunghoon, p-please…touch me.” 

You heard him sharply inhaled with how delicious his name sounds from you. Just when you thought you had him, your boyfriend pulled back, ignoring your poor attempts of holding him in place. One moment you were standing on your two feet. And the next, you were being carried by him. You squeaked, hands gripping onto his upperarms out of pure instinct. Reaching the bedroom, Sunghoon tossed you onto the bed, instantly hovering over you as he kissed you for the second time, dragging his tongue painfully and teasingly slow along the seam of your bruised, swollen lips. This time, you eagerly reciprocated it as your hands greedily trace his body, feeling the way he stiffened underneath your palms.

"Hoon, don't tease," you whined against his lips, flinching when he grabbed your legs with his large hands, only for him to spread you apart as he situated himself between your legs.

Your ears register the faint sounds of a belt unbuckling followed by the rustle of clothes, making your breath hitched with your heart beating in anticipation for what's to come. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the sight before you—his poor, hardened and neglected cock that proudly stood upright against his stomach. The tip had turned an angry and concerningly shade of red, due to the lack of attention. Your mouth waters as you pushed yourself up, wanting to feel and taste him in your mouth but Sunghoon stopped you with a hand on your shoulder as he gently pushed you back down.

"Wha-?" You blinked, bemused.

"As much as I'd like to fuck your throat, I need to be inside you now before I lose my mind," he confessed, voice raw with desire.

His words made you clenched down on nothing but thin air. Biting down on your bottom lip, you watched with your fullest attention as he aligns himself against your entrance. You tilted your head back at the fleeting sensation of his cockhead moving along your puffy, loose folds.

"Sunghoon!" You whined, hating how he was teasing you now, of all times.

"What? Do you need something?" He asks with faux innocence, although there was nothing innocent with what you are doing now.

You huffed, fingers digging into the sheets beneath you. "Please fuck me already."

Your boyfriend huffs out a laugh, obviously having too much fun, "I don't think that's how you should be asking."

Your left eye twitched and the words slipped out before your mind could processed it. "Fine, then maybe I should go and find the guy from earlier. I'm sure he'll know how to treat me well."

Silence.

"Wai—fuck!" You cried out as he slammed his thick and heavy cock inside your creamy walls with just a singular thrust, drawing a startled and high-pitched gasp from your lips at the abrupt intrusion.

Sunghoon didn't give you time to adjust, pistoning his hips against yours without any form of mercy. You were already reduced to a flushed, whimpering and moaning mess underneath him as you squirmed about on the sheets, getting drunk on the feeling of his cock ruthlessly abusing that one spongy spot, over and over again.

"What happened to you acting all smart and cocky a few seconds ago, hm? Think you can say that kinds of things and not face the consequences?" He sneered, reaching out to grab a fistful of your hair to give it a rough tug, forcing you to raise your head to look at him. Satisfaction rippled through his veins at the your teary and dazed eyes, his thrusts neither slowing down or stopping.

"What? Cat got your tongue? All you need is a cock shoved inside you and you're already fucked dumb and stupid," he continued, the hand previously grabbing onto your hair now trailed down to cup your chin with one hand.

"F-Fuck, p-please, ngh," you shamelessly moaned, shooting your arms out to wrap them around his sturdy shoulders, digging your nails into his skin—drawing a hiss from him.

Luckily for you, Sunghoon was reaching his limit and seeing his precious, beloved girlfriend in such a lewd state is not helping him either. Groaning, he grabbed your right leg and slung it over his shoulder. The slight change of position allows him to hit deeper places where you thought it was impossible. Heck, you swore he might be able to hit your womb with how deep he is. His eyes trailed down and that's when he saw it.

A bulge in your stomach—right over where his cock is.

Your boyfriend watched, mesmerized by the sight of the movement of his cock moving in and out of your gaping, stretched-out pussy, creating a series of loud and obscene squelching sounds that was music to his ears. He reached out, gently pressing down on it and your reaction was immediate. You instinctively clenched even harder, making Sunghoon groaned at the feeling of you tightening around him.

"Shit, squeezing me so tight. Like you don't want me to move," he swore under his breath, his thrusts gradually growing sloppy and frantic as he feels his climax reaching.

"H-Hoon, gonna c-cum.. fuck, pleasepleaseplease," you babbled, eyes rolling up to the back of your head as your back arched off the bed.

"Yeah? Then cum for me, princess."

You reached your high while chanting his name like a sacred prayer, thighs trembling like fallen leaves. Your boyfriend was quick to follow suit—spilling thick and hot semen and painting your gummy, velvety walls white. You felt unusually bloated when he was done, grimacing at the uncomfortable feeling. Your right leg slid off his shoulder, landing on the now dirtied and soaked sheets with a soft thud. Sunghoon, on the other hand, made no move to pull out.

Instead, he collapsed on top of you, suffocating you with his much heavier and larger frame.

"Ow, you're heavy!" You exclaimed, delivering a whack to his shoulder but he remained unfazed.

Sunghoon merely hummed, wrapping his arms around you as he buried his head in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin.

"..By the way, were you jealous?" You asked, feeling him going still at your question.

"No, I wasn't," he answered immediately and that only confirms your doubt.

"You should've seen the way you looked when you jumped in. You looked like you're going to kill him," you joked.

Your boyfriend sighed, "It's not my fault he doesn't know how to not touch what belongs to someone else."

You paused and when you realized the meaning behind his words, your face turned red and out of pure instinct, you whacked his shoulder again. This time, he lets out a pained yelp, moving away so he can face you with an offended look.

"What's that for?"

"That's for being cringy and cheesy."

"God forbid a man from wanting to say cheesy things to his girlfriend."

Yunho pulled off the main road, into a driveway. The road was behind you, tall corn in front of you and to one side, and Yunho’s friend’s farmhouse to the other side. There were a couple of small lights on in the front of the house, but otherwise it was dark.

Yunho put the car into park, but he didn’t kill the engine. “Come give me a kiss, baby.”

You put your hands on the center console, leaning over it to give him a long, sweet kiss. 

Yunho deepened it. One hand moved under your shirt and up the side of your body, finding your breast and squeezing it, his thumb brushing over your nipple. You gasped, but didn’t pull away.

“Yunho…” You murmured against his mouth. “Yunho, we’re here.”

“I know.” He said, his other hand moving into your hair and pushing your mouth to his again. You kissed again, moaning as he bit down on your bottom lip. The hand playing with your nipple trailed down to your thigh, his palm resting there as his fingers made small circles. 

“We should go inside.” You tried again. “We don’t want to keep the guys waiting.”

“The guys can wait.” He said. “I want to watch you fall apart before we go in.”

You moaned again. “Fuck, Yunho.”

He gave a low laugh. “You’re so pretty, baby, don’t you want to feel good?”

“Yes… they’ll see we’re here, though.”

“They can put two and two together.” Yunho’s smirk was visible even in the low lighting. “We’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” You breathed. “Okay.”

“That’s a good girl.” Yunho said, cupping your cheek. “It’s not so hard to be good for me, now is it? God, I wanna see you wrecked.”

“Wrecked?” You whimpered. “Yun, we still have to go in in a few minutes, you can’t wreck me that bad.”

“Watch me.” Yunho’s fingers grazed the top of your underwear, and you took a sharp breath.

“My god.”

“Feel good?” He smirked again. “Want more?”

“Yes.” You said shakily. 

“Good girl.” His fingers dipped under your waistband, and your hips pushed up into his hand. “Someone’s needy.”

You whined. “A little bit.”

“Very needy for someone who said we should just go inside.” Yunho’s hand began to rub over the outside of your underwear. “So pretty.”

“Well, I changed my mind.” You closed your eyes. “Fuck, Yun.”

“Sir.” He corrected.

“Sir.”

“Good girl.”

You moaned. His praise always got to you. 

Yunho’s hand stilled. You opened your eyes to whine at him, but his eyes were wide as they looked past you, and you twisted around. 

Yunho’s best friend Jongho was looking through the window. It was impossible to read his expression in the low light. 

You froze. Yunho began to move his fingers again, and you suppressed a moan. No way he was continuing to touch you when— when someone else was looking.

Jongho leaned down and opened your door. “Are you two busy? We saw you pull in.”

“Uh, yeah, busy.” You could hear Yunho’s grin. 

“Mind if I hop in?”

Yunho glanced at you before looking back at Jongho. “Yeah, man. Y/n, why don’t you get up and let him sit in the front.”

You shot him a look, but stood up. What was he doing?

Jongho slid into your seat, then grabbed your waist and tugged you on top of his lap. He shut the door, and you could hear the click of Yunho locking the car. 

You were trapped in a car with your boyfriend, sitting on his best friend’s lap, moments after Yunho had been playing with you. You didn’t know what to do.

Jongho ran his fingers along your waistband, and you gasped. “Oh, Yun, she’s so pretty, always has been. Does she moan pretty, too?”

“Yeah.” Yunho’s voice was low. “Yeah. Baby, you don’t mind if I share you, do you?”

“Sha— share me?” Your voice caught as Jongho’s fingers dipped beneath your underwear. “Did you guys plan this?”

“We didn’t plan it, exactly.” Jongho said. “We’ve talked about it before, but I think we were going to mention it to you this trip.”

“Yeah.” Yunho nodded. “I’ve been hearing all about how Jongho wants you for a long time. The others, too. But I told Jongho he could have the first go.”

Your body burned at hearing them talk about you like you were just a sex object, Yunho’s little toy, one the others could take turns playing with. 

And, honestly, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about Yunho’s friends, too. His friend group was absurdly attractive. To hear that Jongho and the others wanted you was… overwhelming. But you loved it.

Jongho’s fingers pushed down further, and he cursed. “Fuck, y/n, you’re so wet.”

“Please.” You said, your voice breaking. “Please, do— do whatever you want, just— just touch me.”

Jongho’s finger found your clit, and he began to rub it in tight circles. You moaned, melting into him. 

Yunho grabbed your chin, pulling you towards him and capturing your lips in a harsh kiss, much harder than he usually kissed you, all tongue and teeth. You wondered if he was showing off for Jongho, or if he was just so aroused he couldn’t keep himself together.

“How much can she take?” Jongho asked Yunho.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… I want to see her at her limit.”Jongho’s hand came up to absently twist one of your nipples. You felt like you could barely catch your breath.

“Her limit…” Yunho mused. “She’s good at taking my cock, but I think she can take more. Can’t you, baby?”

You looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “More?”

You followed Yunho’s gaze.

Your eyes went wide. “The— the gear shift?”

“Yeah, I bet she’d look great taking that.” Jongho remarked, his hand moving faster on your sensitive clit.

You made a strangled moan. “I— I don’t know—”

“Come on, baby.” Yunho’s voice was low, soothing. “You can do it, can’t you? For me?”

Yunho’s voice could get you to do whatever he wanted you to do, and he knew it.

You swallowed. “I can do it.”

“That’s a good girl!” He beamed. 

Jongho’s hand retreated, and you whined. He wiped his fingers on your arm before running his hands up and down your sides. “Okay, pretty girl, show me what you can take.”

You slipped off your skirt and underwear. You positioned yourself awkwardly over the center console of the car, your dripping hole just over the gear shift. 

Jongho’s eyes were downright predatory. His eyes flicked from where you were over the gear shift up to your face. “C’mon, baby, give us a show.”

You looked at Yunho. Your boyfriend raised an eyebrow, silently daring you to impress him.

You were going to impress him. You were going to impress both of them. You braced yourself on the seats, your legs trembling as you lowered towards the gear shift. 

You could feel it at your entrance. It stuck there, your wetness not quite enough to let it slip inside. 

Jongho spit on his hand, and you were expecting him to unzip his jeans and begin touching himself, but he touched the gear shift instead, getting it all wet. 

“Jongho, why don’t you lick it?” Yunho’s voice was mischievous. 

Jongho looked at him through thick lashes, nodding.

He lowered his head to the gear shift. His nose pushed against your pussy as he kissed all over it, licking long stripes onto the leather. It was fucking pornographic, the way he made out with it, the way he leaned up to lick at you every so often. You moaned at the sight and the sensation and before long all you wanted was to sink onto it, feel it deep inside you.

You pushed Jongho’s head away and began to work yourself onto the gear shift. It was thick at the top, and you were worried you wouldn’t be able to get it in, but as you pushed down on it, Jongho’s spit and your own wetness made your hole give a bit— and a bit more— and it breached your entrance and fuck, fuck, fuck, it’s so much, it’s so big—

You realized you were saying that aloud, not so much saying the words as babbling them, but you couldn’t stop. 

“Beautiful.” Jongho whispered, wiping his mouth. “Pretty girl, taking it for us.”

Yunho had a different approach. He grabbed your waist and began to help you onto the gear shift, tugging you down. You whined, twisting in his grip, the sensations overwhelming. “Take it, baby, take it so good for us.” 

“I’m— ah!” The biggest part of the gear shift got inside you, and your eyes rolled back. “I can take it, sir!” 

“I know you can.” Yunho murmured. “Doing so good.”

You closed your eyes and took a few breaths, adjusting to the size of the gear shift inside you. It was big, and weirdly shaped, and it felt so fucking good. 

“Ride it.” Jongho said.

“Ride it?” You opened your eyes. 

“You heard him.” Yunho smiled. 

You took a deep breath and gave an experimental bounce.

You moaned, loud and filthy, as you moved but the gear shift didn’t budge. It was so big, and it didn’t yield at all as you began to ride it in earnest. The car creaked with your motions. It dimly registered in your brain that both Yunho and Jongho had taken out their cocks and begun to stroke themselves, getting off to the sight of you getting off on the gear shift.

Your orgasm came quickly, and you moaned and writhed through it, the sensation of the gear shift so much, so overwhelming inside you.

“Good girl, good girl, good girl.” Yunho whispered, his hands roaming across your body as you came. 

Eventually, the last waves washed over you, and you went limp, still sitting on the gearstick.

“Good girl.” Yunho panted, and you realized he’d come in his own hands. 

You tilted your head over to Jongho, who was still getting himself off. You weakly leaned over to get your lips around the head of his cock, sucking gently on it. He made a broken moan, his hand working faster over his length. It wasn’t long until he was coming, ropes of cum across your face, some of it in your mouth. You swallowed it, sighing. 

Yunho helped you sit up, and you moaned as you got off the gear shift. It was slick, and you pulled off of it with a dull pop. 

You fell into Yunho’s lap, and he brushed a few sweaty tendrils of hair off your face. “Hey, pretty girl, you with me?”

“Yeah.” You panted. “Yeah, I’m with you.”

He kissed your temple. “You’re so good, I’m so proud of you.”

You leaned over to take Jongho’s hand, too, before nuzzling into Yunho’s neck. 

"don't even worry about him, okay? im here." he would always be there for you, you just needed a push to realize that. "you didn't deserve that, not at all. much too sweet for fuckers like him, no?" his hand slid down, fingers lightly gripping at your waist as a form of possessive action. "ay, look at me okay?" when you did, he was so close to you, nose lightly brushing yours. he was leaning closer though and fuck you were going to push him away. going to tell him the two of you were just friends and only that. mouth opening to tell him to back up but you couldn't. you just needed someone to fill the hole.

literally.

he fucked you like he was proving himself to you. proving ain't nobody else could have you as he did in only five minutes. his hand kept you grounded down, his palm hard against your ass as he thrusted like he was going to war. he winced through his teeth, adams apple bobbing in his throat when he groaned from your tightness. "fuck– fuck, fuck, see how you got me?" wasn't much of a question, he just wanted you to know what you did to him. he stopped moving only for a second, his knee kicking between your thighs just so you can arch deeper.

he started up again, your ass bouncing each time his hips came in contact and clapped at your wet skin. you couldn't speak, only having incoherent words when you tried and slobbered moans. he snickered, lip curling upwards from his ego. "mmm.. coño muy apretado. might snap my dick off." his eyes darted all over your body, watching how your body tried to roll and grind backwards to get him deeper inside.

"yeah, knew you wanted me from the beginning." he huffed through his nose, teeth grinding together. his hand gripped at your hair, pulling you up so you could look back at him. "say it. don't fuckin' deny it, hear me?" you nodded to your best abilities, swallowing your saliva down harshly. he clicked his teeth against the top of his mouth, shaking his head. "you don't listen bebé. say. it." wanted to hear it. you gasped wetly, blinking away any tears only for them to spill out anyway. "wanted— wanted you from the beginning! needed you so bad..'m losin' my mind, don't stop.."

he let go of your hair, your cheek hitting the soft mattress. "there we go. wasn't that hard, now was it?" he tilted his head, like he was curious. "but how would i know that," his palm smacked down at your ass, the cheek already bruised up. "maybe i should get this tight ass filled with my nut– you gon' take it real good and well ain't you." he demanded and you nodded, nodded like you even knew what the fuck he was saying.

—

he knew he was petty, wouldn't admit it. he got what he wanted and had you all cuddled up to him and comfy. his marks were all over you, from neck down to between your thighs. bite marks, bruises, hickeys, even a few scratches. his phone was in his hand, thumb swiping at the photos he took of you sleeping. he scent it on your phone, right to your boyfriend making sure most of those marks were visible.

he fucking giggled when he saw the three frantic bubbles pop up as your boyfriend(ex) typed. he fingers were already quick across the screen.

It's been days since that night with San, and you were sure he was doing everything in his power to make your life a living hell. You were here for one more day before it was time to drive back to the city. Arin had done her very best to make this a relaxing and fun trip for you. Swimming at the lake, picnics at the edge of the forest, bird watching, and cookouts by the fire. You genuinely had a great time, as long as San was somewhere else.

You couldn’t handle it when he was in the same room as you, and he could see it all over your body. He was always watching you, smiling at you. You were bewildered that Arin hadn’t noticed her dad’s strange behavior, and at the same time, plenty grateful. You had no idea how you would explain the situation between you two. But it seemed like San didn’t care if she knew, because he was ultimately less than subtle.

The other day, you were all having dinner in the dining room, some amazing southern cooking San had whipped up. You were sitting at the end of the table, Arin sat to your left, and San sat to your right.

“Oh my god, Dad, if I didn’t miss you, I surely did miss your cooking,” Arin exclaimed around a mouthful of food. San raised an eyebrow and tossed a napkin at her.

“Didn’t I teach you manners, Arin?” he glowered, ripping a piece of bread in half to slather it in butter.

“No, Mom did, and you always told me in that grump voice you have,” Arin furrowed her brow and twisted her face into a disgusted expression to mock her father. “Don’t listen to your mother, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

San laughed, loud, smacking a hand on the table, causing the whole thing to shake. “That's because she didn’t know what she was talkin’ about! She insisted on silverware havin’ designated spots on the damn table. And don’t even get me started, ‘Elbows off the table, San.” Woman, if these ribs are gonna get eaten, I’m gonna have to use my elbows to dig in there.”

Arin looked over at you, “See, and he tried to take credit for teaching me manners, he didn’t teach me shit.”

“I taught you how to change a tire and not to take no shit from boys. And look at you now, my girl's got herself covered, don’t you?” Arin rolled her eyes and smiled softly.

“Yeah, yeah, I guess.” The fondness in her voice was impossible to mask. You could tell they truly did care for each other in a gut-wrenching way. It was so sweet to see them interact, like best friends almost. The way San looked at her so fondly, and Arin at him in turn. You felt a smile creeping on your face as you watched them continue to bicker and reminisce at the table. 

“So how’s the food, peaches? Good, right?” You blinked and turned to look at San, whose gaze was now focused on you.

You smiled, tearing off a piece of your bread to nibble on it. “It's pretty damn good, I didn’t realize how much I was missing out.” Arin grinned and smacked your shoulder.

“See, what’d I tell you? I always told her back at campus how she would love the food you make, and look at her now.” Arin stuffed her mouth full of collard greens. She started to go on about her childhood, her favorite snacks, and whatnot, when you felt a warm, calloused hand brush over your upper thigh underneath the dining room table.

Your body tensed as you remained calm, keeping your eyes on Arin as she spoke, a strained smile on your face. You turned to quickly glance at San, and he was the picture of ease. Soft smile, nodding along as his daughter spoke, as he gently caressed your thigh like you all weren't having dinner together.

His hand slipped up underneath your shirt, massaging your lower stomach. Warmth bloomed in your belly as his hand rubbed your abdomen before falling from under your shirt and back on your thigh.

“Are you good?” Arin asked. You must have dropped your smile because Arin looked at you, confused.

You shook your head and smiled, “Yeah! Sorry, I’m fine. I think I’m just getting full.” San’s hand squeezed your thigh one last time before slipping away. You let out a small breath, grateful that he had at least realized that maybe right now wasn’t the best time.

“Oh, alright, anyway. If you’re done eating, you can go ahead and shower if you want. Tomorrow morning, Dad and I are gonna go run the hounds if you wanna come with us?”

Arin had explained to you not too long ago that her dad had hunting dogs, and when they didn't want to do a fleshed-out hunt, they’d simply just let the hounds turn loose in the woods to see if they could sniff out any deer. It sounded nice because you could just hang back and enjoy a quiet walk in the woods while Arin and San took care of the dogs; it's not like you knew anything about that kind of thing.

“Yeah, sure, sounds fun. I’m gonna go take a shower then, goodnight. Thank you for dinner, Mr. Choi.” You pushed your chair back and stood up, gathering your plate and setting it in the sink. San watched as you walked, eyes lingering on the curves of your body and the slope of your neck, admiring you and the way you moved.

“Of course, sweetheart, any time.” His stupid, honey-dripped voice, that made your belly do flips and your head fog.

“Alright, night, see you in bed,” Arin responded, taking a sip from her can of beer.

“Night, Peaches, see you in the mornin’.” San’s voice rang in your head as you turned to walk down the hallway up to your room. You paused for only a second before replying curtly.

“Goodnight, Mr. Choi.” You walked away, the wooden floorboards creaking underneath your soft footsteps.

“She’s a hard one to crack, ain’t she?” San said to Arin, once you were out of earshot. Arin shrugged.

“She’s always been a bit shy, I guess. Always keeps to herself, never really goes out of her way when it comes to new people. I try to get her to come out with me to parties and stuff, but she always insists on staying in the dorm. I kinda feel bad for her, I’m pretty sure she hasn’t even had a boyfriend yet, I mean she’s never brought one up to me before…”

Oh? The gears in San’s brain were turning. “Sounds like she’s a homebody, huh?”

“A little.. But I don’t mean it in like a bad way! She's a wonderful girl, always been so sweet and so supportive, I could never ask for a better friend. I just wish she’d branch out a little more. For her sake, y’know?” Arin took another sip of her beer before narrowing her eyes at San.

“You better not scare her off, Dad, she’s the best I got. Do NOT make her go fishing for crawfish while she’s down here. She’ll start hating us both when she repeatedly gets pinched.”

San laughed and took his daughter’s hands in his, gently rubbing his thumbs over Arin’s knuckles.

“I’m not gonna scare her off, honey, okay? I know how much she means to you. It warms my heart to see that you have somebody that you can rely on so much when you’re not home with me. I’m glad she’s taking care of you. Consider that my stamp of approval.” San hadn’t said it to you yet, but he was quite fond of you. His daughter was right, you were soft and sweet, helpful and loving. He was so glad you had swooped up his little girl and helped her through her way in the city.

Arin pulled her dad into a warm hug. “Ugh, I hate when you’re sappy.” San kissed the crown of her head, rubbing her back gently.

“You love it.” He chuckled before pulling back and standing up to gather the plates. “You helpin’ me clean up or what?”

Arin gaped and crossed her arms. “Was that just a ploy to butter me up so I help you with chores?”

San smirked, shrugging his shoulders. “I guess we’ll never know,” he turned to the sink.

“Oh, another thing, (Name) asked me why you call her Peaches the other day. I apparently forgot to tell her that you give people nicknames like that. But I was wondering, why specifically peaches?” Arin gathered up the leftovers and started to store them away, and San ran some warm, soapy water in the sink, grinning to himself at the thought of you, a blushing mess over a silly little nickname he had for you.

“Nothing in particular, it just comes naturally, you know how nicknames are.” This seemed good enough for Arin, so she dropped the subject, opting to tell San some more stories from college, your name being mentioned more times than he could count.

He loved hearing about you, your name, your hobbies, what you liked, and what you didn’t like. Your silly habits and your pet peeves. His daughter seemed to know you like the back of her hand. So he cleaned and listened to Arin drone on, asking questions here and there, intent and learning everything and anything he could about you.

After a well-rested night, Arin shook you awake in the early morning, urging you to wake up.

“C’mon, sleepyhead, we gotta be out of here by 4.” You groggily forced your eyes open and glared at her like she had 3 heads.

“4..? AM?” you groaned.

Arin nodded, “We gotta be outta here before the sunrises, silly. It's just how Dad likes to do it.” You groaned and ripped the comforter off your body, planting your feet on the ground to get ready.

The air was comfortably chill, and the sun wasn’t quite out yet. A few lamp poles littered around the property provided little light to illuminate the land, but beyond the tree line, it was nothing but pitch black darkness.

San was standing outside by the fire pit, 4 decent-sized foxhounds leaped and bounded around his feet, sniffing the ground and panting excitedly. He waved both of you over, smiling brightly.

“C’mon, ladies, look alive. The coyotes will eat you alive if they smell that exhaustion on you.” You perked up at that, the tiredness seeming to drain from your body as you were now on high alert.

Arin groaned and glared at her dad. “Dad, stop that. You’re gonna scare her. (Name) He's just being mean, pay him no mind.”

San laughed at turns and began walking to the edge of the yard, whistling loudly to encourage the dogs to follow him. “Hey, it woke her up, though. I was doing her a favor.”

You narrowed your eyes at the back of San’s neck. You turned to whisper to Arin. “I’ll kill him if he scares me like that again.”

“Be my guest,” she drawled, and you both laughed.

“I hope you girls aren't making fun of me again. It's not very nice to tease your elders.” San stopped at the edge of the dark wood, 

“It's not very nice to scare my friend's Dad.” Arin shot back, picking up a small rock and tossing it at San’s back. At the edge of the woods, a small box sat on the ground right before a dirt path that led further into the trees.

He leaned down and creaked it open, grabbing 3 flashlights. “Here you are, the sun’ll rise soon enough, but until then you’ll wanna use these.” He handed you both a flashlight.

“We’re not actually lookin’ for any deer today, I just wanna turn the dogs loose for a little so they can stretch their legs. It's also nice to just go on walks in the woods before it gets too hot.” The crisp morning air did feel rather nice, and the birds sang softly within the treeline.

You clicked your flashlights on. “Now, be sure to follow me,” San stated, his tone all serious. “Stay on the trail, and try not to step on any snakes.” You swallowed.

“Dad,” Arin deadpanned.

“What? I’m being serious, Arin. You know there are snakes around here.” San’s face had no hint of amusement on it, arms crossed as he looked you both over.

Arin winced and turned to look at you. “I mean, he’s not wrong there, but I promise it's nothing to worry about.”

Your face twisted into a mocking look, sarcasm dripping from your words. “Oh, I’m sure.”

When you began the journey into the woods, you couldn’t deny that you were tensed up and a little paranoid. The forest was by no means quiet; bugs sang, and the birds screeched, the loud sound of underbrush crunching beneath your feet as you all walked down the path echoed off tree trunks. Occasionally, San whistled when the dogs ran off too far, to which they quickly returned to his side before he turned them loose again.

Your eyes were glued to San’s back as Arin talked your ear off, walking beside you, with San chiming in with his own thoughts here and there. Once the sun started to rise and peek through the canopy of leaves, your worries eased slightly, and the more you could see as you walked.

Eventually, you all abandoned the flashlights and listened to the birds sing softly, admiring the way the sunrise bled through the tree line and decorated the green forest floor in stunning murals of yellow.

You were relaxed now, breathing in the fresh air and embracing the sound of nature and the wildlife, the gentle breeze rustling the leaves, making it almost sound like you were walking along the beach.

By this time, everyone had fallen silent, too busy basking in the relaxing sound of the forest as they walked. No sounds of rushing cars, no loud horns, and angry pedestrians. No loud college students partying in nearby dorms.

Just pure, tranquil peace.

You had been walking for about an hour when San craned his head back, smiling when his gaze fell on you both, faces calm and content, relaxed within the green of the forest.

“Doin' alright back there, girls?” San’s soft voice cut through the silence, checking on you both.

“Better than alright,” you responded without really thinking. “It's so pretty out here.” San smiled to himself, happy that you were enjoying yourself so much.

“Well, this trail loops around, so soon we’ll be making our way back to the house. Arin, wanna help me round up the dogs?”

Arin nodded, walking faster to stride past her dad. 

“Here!” she called into the woods, venturing off the trail in search of the dogs, whistling the further she walked.

“Won’t she get lost?” You asked, worried, walking faster to fall in step next to San.

“Nah, she knows these woods almost as well as I do. She’ll be alright.” He smiled reassuringly. He looked down at you, his gaze locking with yours. The sun casts beautiful patterns on your skin, the gentle breeze tousles your hair, frizzing it up slightly. Your plush lips formed into a soft pout as you tried to read San’s eyes, trying to pinpoint what he was thinking. Your eyes were glassy, lashes fluttering every time you blinked. Like a doe. You looked so calm, so pretty.

San cleared his throat, turning to look forward and continue walking, whistling a couple more times and calling for the dogs once again. Arin was nowhere to be seen, and it was just you and San.

“So, peaches, tell me.” You ripped your gaze away when you realized you had been staring at his neck, admiring how strong it looked, and the vein that ran up the side like a river.

“Are you avoiding me?” He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from you. You sighed, fiddling with your fingers behind your back, keeping your eyes glued to the forest floor as you walked.

“Mr. Choi, I’m sure you know the answer,” you replied softly, your voice small.

San’s jaw ticked, and he huffed out of his nose like a frustrated bull.

“Well, sweetheart, why don’t you tell me why, huh? Ya scared of me or something?” San continued walking, keeping his eyes glued to the trail ahead, refusing to look at you.

You were suddenly too aware of your racing heartbeat, and the embarrassment of how your voice shook, only slightly, and the stupid way you felt your stomach clench in what could only be anticipation.

“I told you already, I’m not afraid of you. You’re just… my best friend’s… dad….” You trailed off like you were piecing something together that you already knew. Like your moral compass was readjusting to the right direction.

“And?” San asked simply, like it wasn’t an incredulous thought. Your eyes widened at his nonchalance. He spoke fleetingly of what you both did, like it was nothing but another passing day, another silly encounter, like it couldn’t rip families apart. “What does it matter to you?”

Your eye twitched slightly, a bit annoyed by the carelessness of his words.

“Do I really have to spell it out?” You grumbled, kicking a rock and watching it fly down the path and off into the plush green forest floor.

“I’m listenin’, honey.” He replied simply, a smile in his voice as he teased, clearly enjoying ticking you off. “Love hearin’ you talk, y’know.” Your heart leaped, and you wanted to kick yourself for feeling this way.

“What would Arin do if she found out? She’d hate us both.” You were doing everything in your power to be the driving voice of reason here, but San wasn’t having it. 

“You liked it, though,” San replied, missing the point entirely. “What’s wrong with a little indulgence?”

 You huffed, frustration seeping into your bones and tensing your muscles. You were getting a headache. It doesn’t matter that it was… phenomenal in all honesty. You wouldn’t tell him that, though; it’d only help his case.

You needed to put a foot down.

Continuing to walk, keeping your eyes forward and your tone somewhat harsh, picking up another rock and throwing it down the path. “I hope you know what happened… Between us… It can’t happen again. It wasn’t right, Mr-”

Quick, before you could even utter one more word, San had whipped his body around, snatching you up. Large hands enveloped either side of your waist and lifted your back against the closest tree. You gasped, breath knocked from your lungs as he pressed his firm body against yours, holding you against the rough bark. Your legs instinctively wrapped around him, and his lips crashed into yours just as you were able to catch your breath, stealing the oxygen from your lungs in a deep, cannibalistic kiss.

He groaned against your lips, slowly grinding his hips between your spread legs, his hands sliding to hook underneath your thighs and haul you further up the tree, devouring your mouth like an animal.

“God fucking dammit (Name), when are you gonna drop the honorifics, huh?” He growled against your lips, nipping at the soft skin, hands wandering up and down your meaty thighs. He was pressed impossibly close to your body, like he was trying to melt into you.

“I’ve been inside you, baby. Do you need a reminder?” he groaned against your lips, feeling as your hands cupped the back of his neck to hold yourself upright against the tree, the rough bark digging into the thin skin of your shoulder blades. “How the other night I had you under me, writhing and moaning my name like a needy slut, huh? I’d be more than happy to jog your memory.”

Your back arched against the tree as he dipped his head to press wet kisses against your collarbone and all over your chest, where your tank top exposed your smooth skin. “S-San…!” you mewled, gasping when he rolled his hips at just the right angle, the fabric of his jeans just barely catching your clothed clit.

“Yeah, there we go,” relishing in how melodic his name sounded when you said it with your pretty voice. “Atta girl.” 

He trailed kisses up your neck, along your jaw until he was back on your mouth, swallowing your soft noises up with hungry, open-mouthed kisses, wet, sloppy, lustful. 

“Who gives a fuck if it's wrong. That's why it felt so good. Why it feels so fucking good.” He moaned into your mouth, and your head felt dizzy. The forest melted away, and all you could hear was San’s heavy breaths and needy groans. All you could feel was his soft lips and his warm body pressed against yours. His huge hands squeezing your thighs and claiming you as his.

He pulled away from your kiss swollen lips, eyes hazy and half lidded as he gazed at you, his thumbs caressing your trembling thighs as he kept you against the tree.

“So beautiful…” he muttered, biting his bottom lip and swiping his tongue against it like he was trying to catch the taste of you lingering on his lips.

San was in deep, deeper than he’d like to admit. Since that night, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, and every time you were in the room, he had to physically restrain himself from touching you. He loved the musical ring of your cute laugh and your tender eyes when you smiled at his jokes, the way you argued with him through giggles and playful fights whenever he gave you a hard time. You were everything his ex-wife wasn’t. Fun, easy-going, full of life. 

He was still a bit at war with himself when it came to your dynamic. You were right. This was wrong. This couldn’t be something that happened. But that couldn’t stop that feeling in his chest that made him want to give you the world.

He assumed that after all this time, hearing these stories about you from his beloved daughter painted this perfect picture of you in his head, and finally meeting you only rectified that image. He wanted to take you out on the water, he wanted to wake up next to you on a weekend, well late into the morning, make you coffee, and live a calm domestic life with you. Take care of yourself like you deserve.

That also meant he wanted to lie you down every night and mold his shape into your pliant body, and show you that these boys who slept around your college campus like it was a competition were nothing compared to what he could give you. It broke his heart when you avoided him, but when he finally did get some time with you, it was always worth it to hear you laugh and see your smile.

He gently set you down, only to keep one hand on your left thigh, hiking your leg up, spreading you open as he kept you pressed against the tree trunk.

“Wait, San!” you gasped, but his other hand ghosted down the front of your body until his fingers dipped past the waistband of your shorts, past the soft barrier of your underwear. His thick fingers softly pressed against your clit, dragging down the slip between your pussy lips.

“Fucking soaked,” he groaned, like it hurt. He swallowed your lips in another kiss as he gathered your slick on his thick fingers, teasing your entrance. Parting his lips against yours and gasping at the same time as you, he slipped his fingers into you, grinning into an open-mouthed kiss at the way your brows knit in pleasure, and your head fell back against the tree, as you felt his fingers curl inside of you, the pressure mind-numbingly delicious.

“All that talk about wanting to be good, wanting to do the right thing, and here you are, soaking my fingers, moaning like a bad girl.” He pulled away from your lips to lean into your ear.

“Can’t fool me, peaches,” he whispered, kissing below your ear.  “I know how much you love this.” Your back arched at his soft voice, his fingers massaging your G-spot so roughly that your eyes were watering and your legs were shaking.

“Please, fuck, San-!”

“Please what, baby?” He mocked your whining, only pressing his fingers deeper into you, smiling when your breath caught in your throat and your fingers gripped the hair at the nape of his neck to ground yourself.

“I bet you wanna cum don’t you, is that it?” You gnawed your bottom lip, nodding frantically as your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

“God, you give in so easily, it's adorable.” You were so close, your cunt clenched around his fingers, and you breathed heavily against his neck.

“San… m close..” you whimpered. San kissed up the side of your neck, slipping his thumb up to rub tight circles on your aching clit.

“Yeah, already?” he whispered, absolutely enamoured with your beautiful, breathy moans and the softness of your skin. “Fuck you’re incredible.”

Footsteps. The familiar sound of leaves crunching under shoes hit your ears, and your body went rigid.

“San!” you whispered, and he had heard it too. Quickly, he slipped his fingers out of you and pushed his body off of you, putting ample distance between you two. Quickly, you tried to fix your hair and make yourself look like you weren't getting the shit fingered out of you in broad daylight.

Arin emerged from the forest, walking onto the path, all 4 dogs in tow behind her.

“Hey ya’ll. Sorry that it took so long. Ranger here wanted to wander off farther than he should have,” she gestured to the smaller hound in the back, who was too busy licking his paw to pay her any mind. “No coyotes got you?”

San laughed and shook his head. “All good here.” Arin looked at you, waiting for your response.

“Nope!” you said a little too excitedly. “Didn’t see any.”

Arin smiled,  oblivious to the tension in the air.  She turned to start walking the trail again. “See told you Dad was just being an ass. Alright, let's hightail it outta here, I’m hungry.” The dogs followed behind her as she walked, and San followed suit. It took you a second to unglue your feet from the ground, but you started to follow.

“Dad, are you making us breakfast or what?” 

San chuckled, turning his body so he was walking backwards, now facing you as you trudged behind them. “Of course, I can't leave my girls hungry.” Without breaking eye contact, San slipped the fingers he fucked you with into his mouth, sucking your wetness off of them, lidded eyes staring into your soul until they were clean. He stuck out his tongue and slid his fingers down the length of it, making a show as he licked them clean before turning back around to walk forward on the trail again.

“Got fucking tree sap on my fingers.” He grumbled, leaving you to think about what he just did, thoughts clouded, and his heart racing 1000 miles a minute.

“Maybe if you didn’t wander off the trail, you wouldn’t get so dirty.” Arin scolded.

“I know, no need to scold me, that’s my job,” San responded, craning his head back at you, sending a sly wink your way.

Fuck.

You were leaving tomorrow morning. A week of relaxation, fun, and pure fucking stress. You were ready to leave. Were you?

You lay on Arin’s bed, phone resting on your chest as you stared at the ceiling, a million thoughts clouding your head. Back home to work, school, and mundane everyday life. Surrounded by boring grey buildings and miles and miles of endless pavement, the concrete jungle.

It was beautiful out here, a wonderful change of scenery that you desperately needed. But Arin’s dad had nearly spiraled you into multiple heart attacks, and you weren’t sure how much more you could handle his antics.

The pair was outside playing a few games of horseshoe in the backyard. The sun was getting close to beginning to set. They invited you to come with them, but you insisted you’d join them later, saying you had a headache.

Which wasn’t exactly a lie. You didn’t know if you could act normally with San around, especially after what happened in the woods the other day. Arin almost caught you two.

It's been a few days since, and San seems to be avoiding you now, too. He wasn’t putting in as much effort as you were, but it definitely felt like you were seeing less of him. He’d walk through the living room on occasion, wave a curt hello before disappearing for the rest of the day.

“What's your Dad do up here by himself all the time anyway?” You had asked, huddled next to Erin as you watched a movie on her phone, propped against some book on the living room coffee table. You hadn’t seen San once that day, which was surprising since you had been hanging out in the house all day.

Arin shrugs, sipping her coffee that she guiltily poured a whiskey shot into. “It's not like he's lonely; he's got friends at the hunting club down the mountain and stuff. He told me that while we were down here, though he wouldn't leave the property, so I guess he’s around here somewhere. Probably collecting wood or taking care of the dogs.”

You felt somewhat better knowing that he was actually spending his time doing something productive instead of wasting it by possibly avoiding you. Selfishly, it made you feel like he was beating you at this “game” you two were playing. Keep your hands off each other, but who’s gonna give in first?

Maybe you were just playing it by yourself, but every time he walked past, said his hello, and left once again, his eyes locked with yours, and you swore each time it was like a string connected to you two was being thinned every time you made eye contact.

That string of self-control, of dignity, that every time you looked at each other, a sharp blade nicked it, cutting it down further and further, until eventually it snaps.

You were probably just crazy, though.

You rubbed your eyes, groaning exasperatedly before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, ready to join them outside. The sun had begun to set, and the sky was painted a stunning orange through the canopy of leaves. You walked downstairs and stepped outside, immediately breathing in the cool evening air. The birds chirped, quieter now that the day was coming to an end. You heard the clink of metal and a few groans and cheers in the distance.

You followed the sounds to the back of the house, where the two were standing off near the raging bonfire. A couple of stakes were lodged into the ground, horseshoes littered about and around, a few perfectly hooked around the stakes, but most looked like they had missed.

“What happened to you, old man? You used to be so good at this,” Arin teased, readying herself to toss another horseshoe.

San scoffed, standing off to the side, arms crossed as he watched her get ready to toss again. “I don’t know why you think you can talk, you’re no better than me, honey.” Arin only proved him right when her horseshoe landed next to the closer stake, nowhere ever close to hooking it.

“See-”

“A buh buh! Not a word.” Arin turned, a bright smile creeping onto her face when she saw you round the corner.

“Hey! Finally joining us? You can see how badly my dad sucks at horseshoes." You smiled and walked to sit on the bench by the bonfire, the orange glow of the flames illuminating the sides of your face.

“Hey, peaches,” San greeted, with a warm smile shot your way. “Why don’t you join in on the next round? We can teach ya if you don’t know how to play.” There was no harm in trying.

You stood and walked over while San ran down the way and picked up the horseshoes littered all over the ground. 

“Alright, rules.” Arin clapped her hands, pointing at the stakes in the ground. “There are two stakes, placed 40 feet apart. We each get a turn tossing the horseshoe at the stake, and the ultimate goal is to hook the horseshoe around the stake; those are called ringers. If your shoe lands within one horseshoe away from the stake, that can be considered one point. But ringers are worth three, which is why those are important.”

San nodded as he walked over, setting down his supply of horseshoes and handing you both one. His finger tips brushed your knuckles when he gave you yours, and you had to pretend it didn’t make your heart leap.

“Another thing, if someone’s shoe lands directly on top of a ringer that you threw, that cancels out your point. No sabotage, no playing dirty. Got that?” 

You nodded. “Sounds fun.”

“It's not fun.” Arin grinned, sticking a tongue out at her dad. “Asshole here will try to cheat no matter what he says.”

San placed a hand on his chest in mock offense, mouth dropping open in a dramatic gasp. “How dare you sully my good name. I’ve been nothing but fair to you!”

Arin rolled her eyes and took her position to throw the horseshoe. “Bullshit.” She muttered, tossing the shoe, landing pretty close to the 20-foot stake.

“Take that, gramps.” She threw her hands up in the air, and you high-fived her as she walked back to the red cooler near the fire to grab herself a beer.

“Why do you always dig at my age, hun? So rude to the man who raised you.”

“It's your biggest flaw,” Arin replied, cracking the beer open, the can hissing as the pressure released.

San laughed aloud, picking up a horseshoe and positioning himself to throw. “That’s funny, you know I don’t have any flaws.” Lining up his arm, he tossed the horseshoe, landing a ringer around the 40-foot stake. “That's what I'm talkin’ about!” He grinned, biting his bottom lip triumphantly as he turned to look at you, hands crossed against his chest, the look on his face nothing but smug.

“Ever humble much,” Arin muttered around a sip of her can, turning to have a seat on the bench to wait for her next turn.

San turned towards you. “Wanna let me teach you how to throw?”

You smiled nervously, peeling the flaking rust off the shoe. “I’m sure it's pretty self-explanatory.” San rolled his eyes and walked behind you, positioning his body behind yours. Broad and tall against your back, his arms came forward and gently gripped your forearms, positioning your arms into a pitching position.

“There's a method.” He whispered, leaning his head down so he was by your ear. The back of your neck tingled, and your skin felt warm where he held your arms.

“You’re gonna wanna pull this arm back, and most people think you pitch like a frisbee.” He gently urged your arm back, his hand sliding up to adjust the angle of your wrist. “Not quite, though. Keep your arm in line with your body, and limbs straight, then just toss.”

His presence was gone, and you felt cold in the absence of his touch. You swallowed and tossed the shoe. It landed just by the 20-foot stake, not too bad for your first pitch.

“There ya go!” San shouted, and you could practically hear the grin on his face. “Good job, peaches, you’re almost as good as me.” A warmth in your chest bloomed, and you tried everything in your power to ignore it.

Arin coughed. “I’d say she’s better than you.” You turned, unable to stop the wide smile on your face, watching as the two of them started bickering again. You were having fun.

After another hour or so of playing, you all were gathered around the fire, drinks in hand, laughing and chatting idly, listening as the crickets sang, the entire yard enveloped in darkness now that the sun had set.

Arin had ultimately taken the game, to which she spent 30 minutes alone rubbing it in San’s face. San sat and took the heat, nursing his beer and frankly ignoring her for most of her bragging.

“Done?” he deadpanned when she finally finished.

“Yeah, I guess,” Arin replied, smiling proudly. “I’ll probably tell you all about it tomorrow, too.”

Your beer was half finished, and you were starting to feel a bit sleepy.

“Well, I… unlike my passenger princess here.” Arin pointed at you, and you threw your hands up in a “what?” fashion. 

“I should probably head to bed since I’ll be driving all day tomorrow morning. See you in bed (Name)?” Arin looked over at you, and you nodded in response.

“I'll be there soon, g’night Arin.” Arin walked over and wrapped you in a sideways hug, kissing the top of your head. She walked over to San next, to whom he stood and bear hugged the oxygen out of her.

“Love you, honey,” San mumbled. “Good night, sleep well.” 

Arin waved to you both, took her beer, and walked into the darkness back around to the front of the house. Fireflies danced all around the yard, flashing bright sparkles of yellow in stark contrast against the black forest.

San glanced over at you, watching as you took in the scenery, the bonfire dancing on your skin. The moon glares brightly in the sky, and just as your eyes were skimming the edge of the woods, you saw something.

“San!” you whispered, staying very still and staring off into the dark. “A deer!”

“Huh?’’ San questioned, turning round to follow your line of sight, and lo and behold, at the edge of the forest, a deer poked its head from the darkness, one foot on the lawn.

“Oh yeah, they come out all the time, especially when it's dark.” San watched as you stood from your seat, softly beginning to creep towards the edge of the yard towards the forest.

“Peaches, what are you doing?” San mumbles, standing as he follows your figure.

“I’m gonna pet it.” You whispered. San laughed softly at your ridiculousness. 

“She’s not gonna let you pet her, they’re too skittish.” But you were already at the edge of the yard, just a few yards away from the nimble creature. Its wide dark eyes scanned your body, lifting its snout to sniff the air cautiously.

To San’s surprise, the doe didn’t move, staying in place the closer you got. You pause right where the trees began to take over the land, and the deer took a couple of steps closer to you.

San’s eyes widened as he watched, a few paces behind you, as the deer went out of its way to step closer to you. “Hey sweet thing…” You whispered gently, falling slowly to your knees to make yourself appear smaller and less threatening.

The doe sniffed the air a little more, gently lowering its head to press its snout into your outstretched hand.

“Well, I’ll be…” San muttered incredulously. You were beautiful. The doe allowed you to stroke its coarse fur, the moon shone off your hair, and cast a soft glow on your skin. San took one step closer, but it startled the doe. Her head ripped from your gentle pets and quickly turned to retreat into the woods.

“San! You scared her!” you whined, and stood, leaves crunching under your feet as you walked past the tree line, into the dark of the woods.

“Sorry! Hey, not so fast now! Where are you going?”  You walked a little further into the woods, the moon providing a little light through the canopy, illuminating the ground. After a few paces, you narrowed your eyes to peer further into the dark wood, catching one final glance of the doe.

It had stopped and turned as if to meet your gaze one last time, before bounding off into the branches. You sighed, listening as San walked up behind you.

“You can’t just wander off like that, sweetheart, especially at night,” he scolded. You weren’t really listening.

“She let me get so close; she was so pretty.” You muttered. You turned to look at San, his large form blocking the entrance to the woods, the moonlight bouncing off his skin. The faint yellow light from the house backlit his figure, and the look he was giving you.

His eyebrows furrowed, his plump bottom lip tucked between his teeth, arms crossed. You suddenly felt small next to him, and he smiled.

“Never seen a doe let someone pet them like that. Guess she really liked ya, huh?” You couldn’t help but smile.

“I guess I can say it's an honor.” Silence stretched, the crickets chirped, and a far-off owl hooted in the distance. San eye’s eyes never left yours, and suddenly, you were very aware that you were, in fact, incredibly isolated with him right now. Surrounded by nothing but trees and darkness.

“You gonna miss me when you leave?” San’s voice cut through the thick silence. He took one step closer, and you didn’t move back.

“Do you want me to say yes?” you asked, craning your neck to look up at him. His eyes softened, and his eyebrows raised.

“Do you want me to miss you?” San questioned. You were dancing around each other, not giving the other the answers they wanted. You didn’t reply for a second, and San took that moment to step even closer. This time, you stepped backward, and San only followed the further you walked back. 

“I don’t know if I should tell you that.” You replied, whimpering quietly when you felt your back hit a tree. San stood before you, looking tall and dangerous, surrounded by the darkness, and you felt your heart stop for a moment.

“What, afraid I’ll like your answer too much?” San grinned, leaning his head down, one hand lifting to tilt your chin up to lock eyes with him. “Look at me, and tell me you won’t miss this.” He leaned his head further down, his nose barely brushing yours. His hand ghosted up the side of your neck, sliding his fingers through your hair and cradling the back of your head. “Miss us. Miss me.”

You swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of how he had you backed against the tree, in the secluded night of the forest, alone. Remote. It was… exciting.

San’s free hand slipped under your shirt, gently caressing up the side of your waist, the warmth of your skin seeping into his touch. You shivered against him, your lips just brushing his so slightly as you unconsciously arched into his touch. Your eyelids fluttered, and San didn’t miss one second of your reactions.

He exhaled deeply, his hand trailing further up your torso, sliding to massage your lower back.

“What if I told you that I’d miss you so fucking much, baby.” He mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “I’d miss that laugh, your little attitude you love giving me.” Another kiss along your jaw, then one on the side of your throat. “I’d miss your sweet voice, and how it sounds when you say my name…”

Your mouth opened in a quiet whine. “San..”

The hand on the back of your head gripped your hair, tight, craning your neck upward. “Yeah, just like that.” He brushed his lips against yours, smiling when you leaned forward in an attempt to chase him. “One last time, baby.” He mumbled against you, pressing his body closer to yours, caging you against the tree.

“Give me one more night before you leave,” he nearly whined, voice so low you could feel it travel through your body. “Please.”

Your breath caught, and you nodded slowly. “Yes…”

It was all he needed. Slowly, he opened his mouth and swallowed your lips, groaning into the kiss as you melted into him. The hand in your hair slipped away to hold your hips, pressing your lower body against his as he kissed you so heavily your head pressed against the back of the tree, the bark digging into your scalp.

He tried to be slow, be gentle, and take his time with you, really savor you. But the more you moaned into his mouth and the more he tasted, the more frenzied he became. He growled against your lips, kissing you like you were the oxygen he breathed, hands tight on your hips as he held you in place.

“Fucking perfect…” he sighed into your mouth. He pulled his lips from yours, keeping his hands on your hips as he lifted your body off the ground. He crouched, laying your body down on the ground, the cold grass soft in contrast to the tough tree bark. His lips were on you again in seconds, hands roaming up and down your body, underneath your shirt and around your neck, up your arms and along your thighs.

Your back arched against the forest floor, San kissed down your neck, lifting your shirt and pulling it over your head, peppering kisses down your chest, between the valley of your breasts, over your stomach, stopping where your shorts began.

His fingers unclipped the button of your shorts, sliding them down and off your legs. He kisses along the valleys of your thighs, sucking and licking marks into the sensitive flesh.

You sighed, your hands coming down to bury your fingers in his hair.

“Want me to eat you out right here, pretty girl?” He groaned into another kiss on your thigh.

“Fuck… yes please…!” You mewled, gripping his hair harder and tugging him closer to your aching cunt. He pressed a wet, open-mouthed kiss against your clothed clit, moaning at how your wetness seemed through the thin layer of cloth. He nipped at your clit through your panties, tearing a sharp gasp from your lips.

You bit your bottom lip, stifling your pretty moans. San did not like that.

“Uh uh. Stop that.” He ripped your panties off your legs, tossing them into the consuming darkness. His hands hooked under your thighs, holding your legs up as he lay flat on his stomach, hovering his drooling mouth over your fluttering pussy.

“We’re in the middle of the woods, peaches, no need to keep your voice down. I want you to be loud for me.” Giving you no time to argue, he buried his face between your legs, eagerly slurping up your wetness sloppily, kissing your lips, and wrapping his lips around your sensitive clit, sucking and licking like crazy.

You yelped, and your hands tugged his hair hard, his groans traveling through your body, causing you to shiver against his touch. Your moans fell from your lips, loud and broken as they echoed off the trees.

“That's more like it,” San growled into your cunt, smiling every time you tugged his hair harder. “Get loud for me, baby. Nobody can hear you but me.”

San ate you like a man starved, the wet noises obscene as they echoed around the forest. He was relentless, giving you no time to breathe as he ate you out like you were the best thing he's ever tasted.

He slipped one hand from under your thigh, trailing it down to slip two fingers into your soaked pussy. You cried out, and San only continued to abuse your clit with his tongue as his fingers curled inside of you, desperate to drive you towards your orgasm.

“Feel me, baby,” San lifted his lips from your clit to press a few kisses along your inner thighs. Pressing his fingers up inside of you, giving you no mercy. He was doing everything to drag those desperate noises out of you, find those spots that made your brain go numb.

“Fuck, San… let up! Slow d-down!” you cried, hands flying down to push him away as you felt your orgasm rushing toward you at record speeds. His fingers were unabating inside you, giving you no time to even think.

“You’ll be alright, sweetheart, just take what I give you.” He growled before latching his lips back onto you, smiling when your body jerked again. “Not gonna stop until I’m done.”

You threw your head back against the forest floor, mouth hung open in pure pleasure. All you could see was the canopy leaves above you, the moon’s silver rays peaking through the blanket above the forest. All you could feel was San’s fingers inside of you, playing your body like an instrument, like he’s known you forever.

You were shameless with your moans, and you were almost worried Arin might be able to hear and think you were being mauled by a wild animal. But you didn’t care, San was making you feel so good, worrying somebody could hear you two was the last thing you could think about. All you could think about was him, his big rough hands, his thick arms, and his sinful tongue.

Your breathing stuttered when San’s fingertips repeatedly massaged against that spongy spot deep inside of you, digging your fingernails into the earth to try and prevent your soul from flying off. Dirt caked under your nails and your eyes squeezed shut, that familiar knot in your lower belly tightening by the second.

“I feel you, you’re almost there.” San keened into your pussy, growling, sending sharp vibrations through your body. “Focus, pretty baby, I’m gonna get you there, don’t worry.”

His words floated in the brisk air of the woodland, and San thought he had to be in heaven. He rolled his hips against the ground to try and ease the tight pain his hard-on was straining through his pants. He could probably just cum from hearing you cry for him.

“C-Cumming, oh my god…” You gasped, your voice already hoarse as you fought the urge to kick your legs.

San lifted his hand, pulling his lips off your swollen clit, and landed a harsh slap against your pussy, fingers still curling and coiling inside of you. You yelped, and your thighs vibrated against him as the stinging pain subsided into a buzzing pleasure.

“Not, “oh my god.” He bit out, pressing another wet kiss to your thigh. “What’s my name, peaches?”

“San..” you whined, bucking your hips as you neared closer to your climax.

“Again.” He demanded, slapping your poor cunt again, your shoulders tensing at the pain.

“San!” you moaned loudly, and he smiled.

“My good fucking girl.” He slid his fingers out of you, and just as you were about to whine in protest, he slid his arms under your thighs, hooking his arms around them and keeping a strong hold on your lower body.

Then he lifted you off the ground and flipped you over. He lay on his back, arms hooked around your thighs as you now straddled his face, nose pressed against your clit as he held your lower body down on his face so you couldn’t run away.

“Now cum on my face, baby, make a mess of me.” His voice was breathless as he slid his tongue inside of you in place of his fingers, shaking his head from side to side underneath you so his nose repeatedly nudged against your clit. Your hands flew down to plant on the ground above his head, holding your upper body up so you couldn’t fall over. 

He flipped you over so you were riding his fucking face. He was so strong, and it made your chest ache with need.

Your voice was raw, and you saw flashes of white as your orgasm crashed into you so strongly that you stopped breathing.

San tongue fucked you through, hands gently guiding your hips back and forth on his face so you could ride it out.

“H-holy shit,” you croaked, eyes rolling as you came so hard your legs immediately gave out, letting your full body weight rest on his face.

San slurped your juices up greedily, grumbling and moaning into your cunt until you were an overstimulated crying mess on top of him.

When he was finally done, your pleas for mercy caused his dick to jump in his pants. He pressed one final kiss to your clit and gently slid his hands up your body to encircle your waist, to lift you off of him. “Need to be inside you,” breathless and desperate. “Now.”

He laid your spent body back on the forest floor, lifting your left leg to rest your ankle over his shoulder. He ripped his shirt over his head, tossing it. His belt was next, unbuckling it, the loud metal clanking in your ears.

When he had it off, he wrapped it around his knuckles; his chest was gleaming with sweat, rising and falling with his heavy breaths. He looked down at you in the darkness, flushed and eyes hazy. His hair brushed over his lust-crazed eyes; he was crazy for you.

“Hands.” He commanded, and you lifted your arms, presenting your wrists to him. He wrapped the belt around your wrists, securing them together and tying it tightly so you couldn’t break free. 

“You don’t get to run from this, gorgeous,” he spoke breathlessly, slipping his pants just far enough down to free his aching cock. He was unbelievably hard, tip flushed pink and leaking an insane amount of pre as it sprang out, slapping against his stomach. You swallowed, struggling against the restraints, only then realizing he had bound you well. You really weren’t going anywhere.

He leaned over your body, pressing his lips against your neck as he lined his cock up with your cunt, his tip just barely kissing your entrance. He locked his eyes with yours, one hand secured around your calf to keep your leg over his broad shoulder,  while the other held your waist down and in place against the ground.

“Eyes on me, pretty.” He whispered against your lips. You nodded in his hold, and San pressed his lips against yours in a starved kiss. His tongue delved into your mouth, ravenous.

He slid inside of you in one rough thrust. His hips connected with yours, and you gasped into his kiss, not expecting him to push into you in one go. He chuckled against you, immediately setting a slow, deep rhythm inside of you, in stark contrast with how he entered you.

“Aww, baby, sorry. It just slipped in.” He sighed, your warm cunt hugging his cock so tight he twitched inside of you. “I’ll try to be gentler.” His tone was mocking as he rocked his hips into you, the languid drag of his cock inside of you pulling stuttering breaths from your lungs as he fucked you against the earth.

The leg he kept on his shoulder twitched in his hold every time he pushed deep into you, damn near kissing your cervix. Your eyes rolled, and the moans you were letting out were downright sinful. 

Every roll of his abdomen dragged the tip of him against your G-spot, making your back arch and your limbs shake. San’s eyes stayed glued to your body, loving how his fingers sank into your plush flesh like you were made of velvet. The moonlight cast shadows of the tree leaves against your glowing skin, branches and leaves stuck to your hair, but you had never looked so appetizing to him.

“Ahh…fuck.” He exhaled, unable to keep up the slow strokes as he pulled his hips back again and thrusted back into you harder and vigorously, buried so deep inside of you, your brain fuzzed.

Agile and precise, he fucked into you using your spent body like a toy.

“Gonna miss this pussy so bad, baby.” He grunted through clenched teeth, eyes glued to where your body sucked him in so eagerly. “Gonna miss that pretty voice, your soft skin.”

His hip stuttered when you clenched around him, his lustful praises getting to your head. “Lemme stretch you out a bit..” he gently pushed your leg closer to your body, leaning his torso further down so he could press his chest against yours, covering your body like a blanket.

The muscles in your leg burned only for a second before the piston of his cock driving inside of you was too much of a distraction to notice it. Your high-pitched whines and whimpers only spurred him on further, angling his hips, searching for the perfect angle.

“Not there?” he whined, trying another angle, his deep, targeted thrusts making your voice shake.

“San..!” you cried out, your cunt feeling bullied. He ignored you.

“Mm, fuck not here either?” One last try, angling his hips upward into you, and when your body went stiff and you threw your head back, banging it against the cold ground, San knew he had found it.

“There it is…” he sighed, pounding relentlessly inside you, eager to make you feel so good you pass out. “You’d think I remembered by now, huh?” Of course, he had to tease, even when he’s balls deep inside of you. Always so playful.

Your hands writhed in your constraints; you wanted to touch him. Grab his hair, run your hands down his abs, hold onto his meaty arm. San knew this; he loved to watch you battle with your lack of control under him.

“You wanna touch me, baby?” San teased, leaning to press a kiss to the top of your head, gentle and soft, while he drove his thick cock in and out of you like an animal.

You nodded, tears in your eyes. “Please..” you begged. “I wanna touch you, Sannie, please..!” San’s eyes rolled, fuckng you even harder at the sweet sound of your pleas.

“You can touch me when you cum again, sweetheart.” The hand holding your waist slides to press his fingers against your sore clit, petting it in quick circles.

“Cum and you can touch me. You can do it, baby.” You squeezed your eyes shut and focused on him inside of you, and the stimulation on your clit. His mouth pressed against the shell of your ear, peppering it with wet kisses, his groans and whines directly hitting your ear, making your stomach clench.

“C’mon, baby, you’re so close, put your back into it.” San clicked his tongue, pressing up against your clit. You rolled your hips against him to match his thrusts, and then you felt that coil in your stomach again.

“Close, close, close…” You muttered, chanting as you focused on your climax. San only fucked into you harder because, in all honesty, he wanted to reward you for working so hard for him. He wants your hands all over him while he chases his own high with your body.

Unrelenting and unending, you toppled over the edge, cumming on his cock, cunt clenching, and body vibrating. San’s hips never stopped, dragging you through your orgasm every time his hips connected with yours, wet slaps of skin echoing off the trees.

“Fuck yes… that's it!” San’s hands grabbed your bound wrists and quickly ripped the belt off of you, setting your hands free. Immediately, your hands flew to grab his biceps, moaning shamelessly as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“Yeah, yeah, gonna fuck you full of my cum, baby. You want it? You want me to fill you up?” San babbled on, swallowing your lips in a deep kiss. Overstimulation began to ache in your stomach, and you nodded against him, a whimpering, whiny mess underneath him, drooling and dripping wet as he smoothly slipped in and out of your slippery pussy.

“Y-yes…” you cried, voice nearly gone and eyes brimming with tears. “Please fill me up, oh god… Sannie, need it…!”

San’s voice broke, his hips sloppy and losing the rhythm as he lost himself inside of you.

“O-okay, baby, ‘m gonna fill you up. Gonna fuck my cum into you, you gonna take it for me?” San's hands grabbed either side of your waist, grounding himself inside of you.

You muttered out broken ‘yes’s and hushed ‘please’s, begging him to cum inside of you. Letting out a guttural, drawn-out groan, his hips paused only for a second before spilling himself inside you. He picked up the pace again, staying true to his word and fucking his cum deep inside of you, the hands on your waist gripping so tight you were sure it would leave bruises.

“Fuck, baby, look at you take it.” San’s hips slowed, gently rocking his hips into yours, pushing his cum further into you.

Catching his breath, his thrusts came to a slow stop, leaning down to kiss you softly, sighing into his mouth, satisfied.

When you both had a second to calm down, you frowned. “I have dirt all over me.”

San laughed, kissing your temple and gently massaging your stomach, setting your leg down to let it rest. “Welcome to the country, peaches, can’t go nowhere without gettin’ a little dirt on you.”

You both snuck back into the house and got each other cleaned up, trying your very best not to wake Arin up, but San’s loud footsteps nearly gave you a heart attack.

“Sorry,” he whispered, leading you to the shower. “I can’t help it.” After a warm, soothing bath and tending to the marks on your wrists from San’s belt. He sent you off to bed with a soft hug and a kiss on the forehead.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow morning when you leave.” You smiled and walked back into Arin’s room, slowly creaking the door shut, grateful to see that she was still sound asleep in the bed.

You crawled into bed next to her and sighed, checking your phone to see the time. 12 am.

You left early in the morning to head back home, and you needed at least a little sleep, so you drifted off. The last thought on your mind was, of course. San.

“Alright, ladies, the truck’s all packed up. I’m sending you home with a cooler of snacks. I expect you to bring it back when you visit again next year.”

Arin rolled her eyes, leaning against the truck bed. “Is this your way of forcing us to come back? So we have to return the cooler?”

San frowned, “I never said that. Maybe I won’t miss you as much as I thought.” You laughed, and San’s heart warmed at the sound. He’s gonna miss that.

“Alright, well I won’t keep ya’ll too long. I know traffic’ll start to get bad soon. Arin, come give your old man a hug.” Arin frowned, walking towards her dad with outstretched arms. They embraced, for a long time, San grunting as he squeezed. “I love you, honey.” He mumbled, rubbing her back softly.

“I love you too, Dad,” Arin responded. You swear you hear her voice wobble only slightly.

Eventually, they let go, then San looked over at you next. “C’mon, you too, peaches, bring it in.” You sighed, a soft smile on your face as you walked over to him. He hugged you just like he had when you first met, but it lasted a little longer, his arms locked over your hips, your arms secure around his neck, like neither one of you wanted to let go this time.

“I’ll miss ya,” he whispered in your ear, only to you. Your heart swelled.

You both pulled away, and you walked back over to Arin. “Thanks for having us, Dad. Don’t worry, we’ll be back soon enough. Try not to double over from a heart attack before then.”

San playfully winced, holding a hand over his heart and furrowing his brows in mock pain. “Ohhh, my grey hairs and my frail bones… I won’t make it.”

Arin waved him off dismissively, laughing to herself as she got into the truck. You climbed into the bed, wanting to lie in the back on the ride down the mountain to relish in nature one last time before you rejoined civilization.

She started the truck and began driving down the path, and you watched from the bed, eyes locked with San’s as you slowly pulled away from the house. He waved to you, smiling. You waved back, and in response, he blew you a kiss.

Your mouth dropped, and you couldn’t hear the laugh, but you could see the crinkle in his eyes and the wide smile that graced his face. You watched him the entire time the truck drove, his eyes never pulling away from you, until the house was just a speck amongst the trees, eventually disappearing among the vast expanse of looming timber.

You lay down in the truck bed, sighing as you stared up into the sky as the sun rose above the treeline. You still felt a twinge of guilt about what you had done, but you reassured yourself, Arin never had to know. Just keep your mouth shut, and don’t think about him too much.

You just hoped that next time you visited, he’d be a little more gentle with you, because these hickeys all over your body are not gonna have mercy when it comes to covering them up.

You couldn’t wait to visit again.

“Chan… this is a bad idea, I’m kind of scared.” Felix spoke quietly as he leaned against a light pole on the street. When he had originally agreed to ride with Chan on his motorcycle, he didn’t think about, you know, actually doing it. The consequences were clear now, however. He was 100% afraid of falling off.

“You’ll be fine, Lix. I’m not going to let you get hurt. This is supposed to be fun, not traumatizing.” Chan tried to reassure. He would never actually make Felix do anything he didn’t want to, but it was always good to push Felix out of his comfort zone when necessary. Felix bit his lip, his eyes moving between Chan and the bike. “Here, at least put the helmet on? Maybe it’ll make you feel safer?” Chan waved Felix towards him.

As Felix stepped closer, his breath picked up slightly. Chan picked up the helmet, which was resting on the seat of the bike. He brought it up and gently shoved it onto Felix’s head. The helmet covered his entire face except for his eyes. Chan looked into Felix’s brown eyes, a small smile forming on his face. He watched as Felix moved the helmet to sit comfortably on his head. “Look up, love.” Felix did. Chan grabbed the strap and fastened it tightly so that it wouldn’t fall off. “Does it feel okay?”

Felix nodded gently. “It’s okay, I think… What if it falls off?” Chan laughed gently shaking his head.

“It’s not going to fall off, Lix.” Chan gently shook Felix’s head back and forth, his hands on either side of the helmet, proving that it would be very unlikely for it to fall off. “I promise you’ll be fine, baby.” Felix nodded, reluctant.

Felix gently stepped back so that Chan had space to put on his own helmet. Once it was on, he smiled toward Felix. Felix wasn’t able to see his smile, but he could see the way that Chan’s eyes wrinkled gently, and the way his cheeks moved up.

Felix always thought that Chan was handsome, even before they really got to know each other. He remembered back to when they first met. How beautiful Chan was then, and how beautiful he still was. When they had first locked eyes with one another, Felix knew that he was the one, as cringy and cliche as that sounds.

Felix blinked out of his memory, continuing to look towards Chan. “Okay… I guess I’m ready.” Felix mumbled, bringing his hand up to rub at his arm. Chan noticed the small act of nervousness and stepped forward to take both of Felix’s hands in his.

“I promise you’ll be fine and that this will be fun.” Chan reassured again, gently bumping his helmet covered forehead against Felix’s. “If you hate it, we can stop and walk back to the apartment.”

“Yeah.. okay, okay… I’m good.. I’m perfectly fine.” Felix said to himself, very obviously working up the courage to ride the bike. “Chan, I feel like I need like, knee pads and elbow pads. You know, like when you’re riding a normal bike?” Felix rambled a bit.

“Love..” Chan laughed. “You will be fine, come here.” Chan hiked his leg over the motorcycle, sitting comfortably.

“How do I get on?” Felix asked, staring at Chan. Chan laughed at him again.

“Just swing your leg over, baby.” Chan held out his hand, pulling Felix closer. “You’ll be fine.” Chan reassured once again. Felix finally got onto the bike, sitting behind Chan.

“Okay…” Felix whispered to himself.

“So, you can hold me around the waist.” Chan grabbed Felix’s hands and helped him loop them around his hips. Felix rested his hands on Chan’s stomach. “Good.” Chan held Felix’s hands for a moment longer, just to feel the warmth from them and to comfort Felix more. “We’ll start slow.” Chan repeats. Felix didn’t respond. “Lix.” Chan felt Felix rest his helmet covered head against his shoulder, squeezing tighter.

“I’m okay… just nervous.” Chan smiled to himself under his helmet.

“Ready then?” Chan asked, moving his hands from Felix’s to the handlebars.

“Not really.” Felix said, very unenthusiastically. Chan laughed and finally turned the bike on, the soft sound of the engine coming to life. Chan moved his hands back on the handlebars causing the engine to rev. He could feel Felix’s hands tightening in preparation for the bike to actually move.

Chan did start slow, just like he promised. He drove forward slowly, letting Felix get a feel for how it moved. “Okay?” Chan asked as he drove down the road. It was getting dark out at this point, the sun setting to their West. Chan was hoping to be able to see the stars soon.

“Uhm.. fine, I’m okay.” Felix shouted slightly so that Chan could hear over the noise of the bike. “We can go faster I think.” Felix held onto Chan tighter in preparation.

Chan drove a bit quicker. “Okay love, we’re going to go around this corner, lean with the bike.” Chan commanded.

The turn went smoothly, both of them leaning as the bike leaned. Chan continued to drive and Felix seemed to get more and more relaxed the farther they drove. Chan didn’t really have a destination in mind, he just continued to drive aimlessly through the city streets. There weren’t many people out since it was so late. A few people here and there, but not like it was during the day. Chan was sure to find a spot that he knew wouldn’t have many people, knowing that Felix would be able to face his fears better without strangers watching him.

Felix began to relax even more, his death grip on Chan’s waist becoming soft and gentle. “Feeling better?” Chan asked as gently as he could, shouting over the wind since they had picked up speed. Chan could feel Felix nod his head behind him. Chan brought his hand down to squeeze at Felix’s quickly before bringing it back up to the handlebars.

“Babe? Can we go to our spot?” Felix asked.

“‘Course, love.” Chan responded, taking a right.

Felix and Chan’s spot was a secluded area of a public park. There was a spot in this park along a dirt trail, where the two liked to hang out when they needed to get out of the house but didn’t really feel like seeing any people. Felix often went alone when he had anxiety and just needed to be alone. Chan hoped that he wasn’t feeling too anxious right now.

Chan drove down the reddish dirt road, the edges where the bike hit coming up as dust. He pulled over, completely turning off the bike. Felix slid off the seat quickly and stood idly waiting for Chan. Chan followed in suite and unfastened his helmet taking it off. He set it on one of the handlebars, hoping it didn’t fall off. (subtle foreshadowing :3) Felix took off his own helmet, handing it over to Chan who rested it on the seat of the bike.

“You okay, Lix?” Chan asked, stepping forward and grabbing his hands. Felix nodded.

“Yeah, I was okay after a few minutes. I just wanted to look at the stars with you.” Felix blushed, looking down and realizing how cringe he probably sounded. Chan didn’t care though, Felix would always be perfect regardless of his cliche wants. Chan grabbed at Felix’s chin gently, pulling Felix’s eyes to look at his.

“I’d love to look at the stars with you.” Chan murmured, moving wisps of hair away from Felix’s face. “I look at them everyday when I look at you, though.” Chan said, matching Felix’s cringe (but cute) energy. Felix’s blush grew deeper, his freckles becoming more prominent as his face grew to a darker pink. His ears turned a similar shade.

“You know, I used to hate my freckles before I met you.” Felix admitted, gently frowning at the memory of his childhood. “You make me like them, I think.” Chan smiled to himself and moved his thumb to gently swipe across Felix’s lips.

“You’re not allowed to frown.” Chan said, gently pushing up on the right hand corner of Felix’s mouth. “Smile.” Chan gently persuaded. Felix did smile, a soft sort of grin. He stuck his tongue out and licked at Chan’s fingers just to mess with him. Chan laughed. “You little-“ Felix pulled away giggling.

“C’mon, star gazing time?” Felix asked, giving Chan his sweetest puppy dog eyes. Felix walked around Chan to lay in the grass. Chan laughed to himself and followed behind Felix, sitting down next to him.

The stars in the sky were visible now, Chan’s hope from earlier coming true. The two looked up together. They watched for a long while, not making any sound. Eventually, Felix broke the silence. “Thank you for convincing me to ride with you.” Felix turned to face Chan. “It wasn’t as scary as I thought it was going to be.” Chan’s cheeks lifted in a grin.

“I’m happy to hear that, love. I told you it was going to be fun.” Chan teased gently which resulted in Felix giving him a gentle push.

“Hey, you don’t have to be a dick about it.” Felix said with pretend annoyance. Felix pushed at Chan again making him laugh.

“I thought my dick was your favorite part about me?”

“Okay, fuck you.” Felix rolled his eyes lying back onto the grass. Chan continued sitting.

“I’m down.” Those two words from Chan made Felix blush about as much as he had when Chan complimented his freckles.

“We’re in a public park.” Felix pointed out.

“And it’s almost ten and there’s nobody here.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Does it look like I’m joking?” At Chan’s words, Felix sat up, analyzing Chan’s face. He was trying to figure out if Chan was actually joking or not and by the looks of it, he definitely wasn’t. Felix was going to be ruined.

“Okay, well, we don’t even have lube, so how is that supposed to work?”

“There’s some in the saddle bag.”

“Christopher.”

“Yes?” Chan’s lips formed into a smirk at the use of his English name. Felix covered his face with his hands.

“Why the fuck do you have lube in your motorcycle?” Felix slid his hands down his face, looking up towards Chan.

“For emergencies…?” Felix laughed, wholeheartedly. “So is that a yes to being fucked?”

“I actually take everything I’ve ever said about you back. I hate you.” Felix said, fully prepared for Chan to get his way.

“So a yes?” Chan asked again.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You better not say I never do anything nice for-“ Felix’s sentence got caught in his throat as Chan practically divided for him, enveloping him in a rough kiss. Felix kissed back easily, waves a pleasure already coursing through his body. Chan was already becoming hard at the thought of Felix taking him in a public space. Risky… Kinky…

Felix pulled away to breathe, his stomach rising and falling quickly. “You couldn’t have at least let me finish my sentence?” Felix didn’t get a response and instead was met with Chan getting up and grabbing his hands to pull Felix up with him. “You have no patience.” Felix scoffed.

Chan didn’t really care at this point and dragged Felix back over to the bike. He haphazardly shoved Felix’s helmet off of the seat of the motorcycle and pulled Felix close to him. “Hi, love.” Chan wrapped his hands around Felix’s waist.

“Hi.” Felix spoke gently, his fake annoyance gone and replaced with lust. Chan pulled him in for another kiss and didn’t pull away as he grabbed under Felix’s thighs and helped him to sit on the bike. Felix moaned into the kiss, sending gentle vibrations through Chan. When the two finally pulled away from each other, both of them were panting and trying to catch their breaths.

Chan moved to kiss at Felix’s neck. He didn’t leave bruises, as Felix never liked them where they were annoying to cover up. He moved down, kissing along Felix’s clothed chest. Chan thought it would be risky to completely take off Felix’s clothes, they were still in public after all.

Chan eventually fell to his knees, looking up at Felix with eyes full of desire. “You’re so pretty, baby.” Chan spoke, causing Felix to squirm slightly. Chan grabbed for the button on Felix’s jeans. “This okay?” Felix originally just nodded, his breath still taken away, but Chan waited.

“Yes.. yes, so okay.” Felix huffed out in between shaky breaths. Chan unbuttoned Felix’s pants, not wasting any time at all before pulling down his boxers and grabbing for Felix’s dick. He grasped it gently, pumping it a few times and staring up towards Felix. Felix stared back, his eyes glossing over with serotonin.

Chan smiled to himself before opening his mouth and licking at the head of Felix’s cock. Felix shook ever so slightly, clearly trying to remain still. He was still panting gently. Felix moved to rest his hand in Chan’s hair. Chan continued his current movements for a few moments longer before moving his head farther down and bobbing gently. Felix moaned, precome falling into Chan’s mouth. He grasped onto Chan’s hair with slightly more force without realizing. Chan didn’t mind. In fact, he liked it.

Chan popped off for a second to breathe, pumping him while he took a short break. “You taste so good, Lix.” Chan praised gently, causing Felix to squirm again.

“You feel good.” Felix said through small pants.

“Yeah?” Chan asked. Chan continued to suck Felix off, not letting him respond to Chan’s question. Chan was met with more moans from Felix which were now mixed with slight whimpers. Chan knew he’d have to stop in a second before Felix came too early, but he continued until Felix was on the verge.

“Babe, fuck… I’m gonna come.” Felix puffed. At that, Chan slid away again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to get the precome off his lips. Felix whined loudly at the loss of contact. “Chan…”

“Sorry, baby, you can’t come yet.” Chan stood up, dusting off his jeans. He grabbed into Felix and gently helped him to stand up. Felix was definitely wobbly. “Lean over the bike, love.” Felix didn’t move for a second, his brain jumbled a bit too much. Eventually though, with Chan’s help, he turned around and leaned over the bike, his stomach resting on the comfortable seat.

Chan tugged Felix’s jeans and boxers the rest of the way down. “You okay, baby?” Chan asked. Felix nodded.

“Yeah.. yeah, good. I’m good.” Chan laughed at Felix’s response, clearly amused by Felix’s ruined state. They hadn’t even gotten to the actual fucking yet and Felix was already losing his mind.

Chan finally dug through the saddlebag finding the small bottle of lube that he had placed in there that morning. (He was kind of hoping they’d fuck on the bike at some point, but he didn’t think it would be the first time Felix rode. Not that he was complaining or anything.) He opened the tube and squirted some of it onto his fingers, moving it around to warm it up slightly.

Chan leaned down and left soft kisses on Felix’s shoulders through his shirt. “Gonna prep you now.” He warned and then inserted his first finger into Felix. Soft mumbles fell from Felix’s lips. Chan couldn’t exactly decipher what he was saying, but it was clear enough that Felix was definitely feeling good. “Love the sounds you make, Felix. So pretty.”

Chan continued prepping him, adding another finger, and watched as Felix wriggled with pleasure. Chan looked down at Felix’s face, the soft wind blowing his bleached hair back. Felix’s face was scrunched up in satisfaction, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Chan inserted a third finger, noticing how Felix’s eyelids twitched gently. As much as Chan loved the feeling of fucking Felix, he loved watching his reactions to his movements even more. Felix reacted to every tiny little maneuver and gesture whether he realized it or not. Chan would never bring it up out of fear that Felix would try to stop doing those little reactions.

“Chan, please…” Oh, Felix was at the point of begging, Chan didn’t realize. “I’m… I’m ready, Chan… Chan.” He murmured more pleas that Chan couldn’t understand. Chan finally removed his fingers.

“I’m going, love.” Chan reassured. He quickly unbuttoned his own pants, letting his cock spring free. He took the lube that he had discarded to the ground at some point and lubed his dick up. It took him all of thirty seconds before he was lining up to fulfill Felix’s request.

Chan began slow, like he always did, so conscious of Felix’s wellbeing. He slid in gently, continuing to look at Felix’s reactions. God, they turned him on so much, it was insane. Felix’s eyes were rolled back, and his eyelids were still scrunched. He had let go of his lip at some point, his mouth hung open. Loud whines escaped him, causing Chan to pick up the pace slightly.

Chan slid out and slid back in, in one quick motion, causing the bike and Felix to shake. Chan didn’t think about the bikes stability when he put lube into the saddlebag. He hoped that it wouldn’t fall over. He also was definitely not stopping at this point though. The bike seemed fine.

Chan slammed into Felix again, grunts leaving his mouth. They weren’t as loud as Felix’s moans and whines, but they were still there nonetheless. These small noises from Chan were making it very hard for Felix to hold back. He wanted to express that he was already close again, but he couldn’t really form words.

Felix mumbled in between pants, incoherent little noises that Chan couldn’t understand. “Felix, baby, I don’t know what you’re saying… fuck.” Chan slowed his movements, hoping to be able to hear Felix.

“No-“ Felix whimpered. “Don’t stop… gonna come.” Felix tried to explain, hoping that Chan would get the hint.

He did.

Chan picked up the pace, slamming into Felix over and over and over again. The bike was shaking and Chan’s helmet fell to the soft ground with a small thud. Neither man realized this though, too focused on the feelings flowing through their bodies.

Chan grabbed at Felix’s ass, just to feel it to be honest. Felix’s body was almost completely limp at this point, relying on the bike for full support. Chan kept going until eventually Felix was coming.

Felix whined loudly, his body freezing up as he was worked through his orgasm. Chan slowed, just a bit, but continued to fuck into Felix, chasing his own pleasure. Felix completely relaxed and continued to feel Chan in him.

It didn’t take very long before Chan was moaning and filling Felix up. He moved in and out of Felix as he completely worked through his orgasm too.

Afterwards, neither of them were able to really think straight. Chan pulled out, putting his cock back into his pants with a cringe. He, unfortunately, did not think about packing wipes or anything to clean up with. Good thing it was a short ride back to the apartment.

Chan breathed a couple deep breaths before he was finally able to talk. Felix was still leaned over the bike, resting quietly. “Love? You okay? That was so good.” Felix nodded slightly, finally moving to wipe his hair from his eyes.

“Mhmmm…” Felix hummed gently. “Help?” Felix breathed out. Chan chuckled slightly and pulled Felix up to sit on the bike normally. Chan kept his hands wrapped around his waist.

“You got come all over my bike.” Chan said, with a grin. Felix stared up, daggers in his eyes.

“This was your idea not mine.” Felix said, his faux annoyance back. “Now help me with my pants.”

Chan giggled and pulled Felix up onto shaky legs. He helped Felix pull his boxers and jeans back up, buttoned them for him. “You put lube in the saddlebag but not wipes?”

“Okay well, in my defense, I didn’t think the first time you rode would be the first time we fucked on my bike.”

“You were planning this???” Felix sat back down on the bike. “Are you fucking serious.” Chan shrugged.

“You can’t be that angry.” Chan kissed Felix’s nose. “I know you liked that.”

“Fuck you.”

The ticking of the clock is deafening in the silence of your empty dining room. You’ve been sitting across from a vacant seat at your dining table for hours now, your husband’s untouched plate of food only growing colder as time continues to pass. Your empty wine glass, and bottle, sit next to your own cold dinner, plated on your best china, the set San’s boss gifted you as a wedding present. The candles you’d lit hours ago are nearly burned all the way down, wax dribbling over the edges of the gold candelabra. Despite your withering hope and growing rage, your stubbornness has you glued to your seat, staying put until San gets home. 

It’s nearly midnight when you finally hear the lock to the front door of your penthouse click, followed by the familiar sounds of him setting down his briefcase and toeing off his shoes. Your chest tightens in anticipation for the interaction you now have to have, every moment you’ve spent alone this evening, and all the ones prior, filling you with more anger and disappointment. The speech you rehearsed in your head flutters out the window, like it doesn’t even want to be here either. 

“Jagiya, I’m home,” he calls out quietly down the hallway. How he knew you’d be up waiting for him, you didn’t quite know. Maybe he didn’t either.

“In here,” you reply, tapping a freshly manicured fingernail on the tabletop. You’d gotten them painted San’s favorite shade of purple this morning, although your hopes for this evening were already dwindling after he left for work before you’d even woken up. You should’ve known, given his track record with quality time as of late. 

He rounds the corner into your opulent dining room and stops dead in his tracks, his eyes landing on you before registering the state of your dining table. Your styled hair, your floor length satin dress with a devastating slit up one thigh, the first pair of Louboutin stilettos he ever bought you discarded next to your chair. The corner of his mouth quirks up, his cheek dimpling.

“You look beautiful, gongjunim,” his attention turns to the table, and you watch his face fall as he registers each item before him: a beautiful meal on your best china, the empty wine bottle, the candles that go out almost on cue, having burned all the way down. “You made hangjeongsal?” His tired brown eyes find yours again, his expression somewhat unreadable. “What’s the occasion? I didn’t have anything in my calendar today,” 

“Your calendar,” you scoff, your anger already getting the best of you, “I didn’t realize I needed to ask to be penciled in for dinner with my own husband,” you pick up your empty glass, getting up from your seat at the table to head toward the kitchen, suddenly feeling stone-cold sober and desperate for another drink. “It’s midnight, San, you didn’t think to call? Text?” You hear him following behind you, his socked feet quietly padding across your tiled floor. 

“I forgot to call, jagi, I’m sorry,” he gives you the same excuse you’ve heard a hundred times over, and your blood starts to simmer beneath your skin. “I was pulled into a last minute meeting that ran over, and–” 

“You’ve been doing a lot of that lately,” you cut him off, “forgetting.” You round your kitchen island and turn around to face him, setting your wine glass down a little too hard on the marble, it’s a miracle it doesn’t shatter. You plant your hands on the cold surface and glare at him, but he suddenly looks so small. Despite his perfectly pressed suit and carefully styled hair, the light in his eyes is completely gone, the boy you fell in love with nowhere to be seen. This job of his is taking so much of him, so much from him, and he doesn’t even realize it. He looks at you in silence, already seeming defeated. Despite his current state, you can’t stop the anger from bubbling up inside of you.

“You don’t even know what today is, do you?” Your throat tightens, your voice raising with each word. Panic floods San’s eyes as he flips through his mental calendar, which you’re sure has no trace of you in it. He approaches the island, reaching for you across it, but you step back. 

“Today? I–” 

Your humorless laugh interjects before he can finish his thought, as you already know he has no clue. You know he has no clue, because every single anniversary before this one, he’d send flowers. Even when you were two broke college students, celebrating monthly dating anniversaries, he would pick dandelions from the courtyard by the library, wrapping them into a bouquet with a piece of notebook paper.

“You’ve been so deep in your precious job that you left me all alone on our goddamn anniversary,” your voice breaks on your last word, all the loneliness and disappointment you’ve been feeling recently starting to overshadow your anger. Your fingernails press crescents into your palms, and you ball your fists as tight as you can.

The color drains from his face, dread filling his eyes as he looks at his precious Rolex to confirm the date. 

“Jagiya, I–” 

“Save it.” 

He freezes, letting you have the floor, preparing for the reprimanding he knows he absolutely deserves. “You left me alone, from sunrise to sunset, on our wedding anniversary, with not even so much as a text message. All. Day. Long.” You square your shoulders as you come back around the kitchen island, fighting the tightness in your throat as you reach for the dazzling ring on your left hand. You slip it from your finger, placing it on the island between you and your husband. He looks down at it, eyes widening like you just placed a lit stick of dynamite before him.

“This,” you gesture toward the shining diamond, “was a promise. To love each other, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer.” His lower lip quivers, waiting for you to continue. “But the richer version of you is making me miss when we had nothing, San. We didn’t have any money, we lived in a studio apartment, and we lived paycheck to paycheck. But at least you looked at me. At least you spent time with me, at least you never forgot a single important day.” 

He looks past you, something unidentifiable dawning over his handsome features. His face is void of any emotion, his gaze goes glassy, he looks… numb.

“I didn’t mean to let you slip away,” he almost whispers, “I just wanted–” he chokes on his words. “I just wanted to give you everything after having nothing for so long.” He focuses on your face once again, and you soften slightly at just how broken he looks. You know from his perspective he has good intentions. You know he came from nothing and swore to himself he’d never be in that place again. But you can’t back down yet, you promised yourself you’d say everything you need to. 

“We’ve had everything, San,” you gesture around the two of you to the beautiful penthouse he bought after his first big promotion. “We have cleaners for fuck’s sake.”

He lets out a watery laugh, looking to the floor, his smile not reaching his eyes. “I know, not entirely necessary, huh?” He tries to lighten the mood, but when his eyes meet yours again, the whisper of his beautiful smile disappears. 

“I can’t do it anymore, Sannie.” You take a slight step back, needing to put space between the two of you. Suddenly his presence feels so suffocating. You didn’t want to give him an ultimatum, you swore to never be that level of crazy, but this isn’t crazy. You just want your husband back.  

“Do… do what?” He’s scared. Scared to ask you that. More scared to hear your answer.

“Sit here in my trophy case all day and wish that you were here, when you very well could be, and still keep your status with the company,” you shake your head, pushing through every voice in your head telling you to stop, that this isn’t necessary. “You work too hard when you don’t need to, and I can’t just wait here every evening and hope you decide to come home before the sun goes down.” You realize you’ve been avoiding eye contact since beginning to respond to his question, and finally bring your eyes to meet his again. 

“I can’t keep feeling completely alone, just waiting for you to be here. Something has to change, or I have to leave, San.” 

The silence in the air is thick. Dense. Clawing down your throat, nestling deep into your belly. Despite your better judgment and the aching in your heart, you hold his gaze. Physically, he’s looking into your eyes, but he’s looking right through you, as if he’s hoping that you’re a mirage, and the real you will come bounding into the kitchen at any given moment, bursting through the words you just spoke. 

Something is his eyes changes, and his breath turns shallow, his fists clenched at his sides, as if he’s stopping himself from reaching for you. 

“Jagi, please, I can’t do this without you,” his voice breaks, like the dam that’s been holding in your tears all evening. They burn trails down your cheeks. “I love you,” 

“You’ve been doing just fine without me for months, San, you hardly seem like you need me anymore,” 

“Fuck, y/n, I do,” he runs his hands through his hair, mussing its perfect style, “life didn’t have meaning before I met you.” He motions like he wants to reach for you, but he stops himself. “I wanted to do this to give you the life you deserve, the life we deserve. To pay you back for all the support you’ve given me for years, I just–” tears well in his eyes, his voice catching in his throat. “I went about it the complete wrong way. I was trying to work harder, climb higher, bring more home to you, for you, but–” a tear escapes, gliding down his cheek, dripping from his chin, soaking into his shirt. “I lost sight of the present, and I take full blame for that.” He sniffles, closing the distance between you and dropping to his knees in front of you. 

“Please, jagiya, I’ll do better, fuck,” he wraps his hands around the backs of your thighs, fingers gripping the satin, pulling you closer to him, and you let him. He rests his chin against your thigh, looking up to you, letting his tears freely fall down his cheeks. Yours mirror his.

It’s a reflex, when you cup his cheek with your hand. It’s a reflex, when he leans into your palm and closes his eyes. 

“Please,” he whispers. “There’s no me without you. I’m so fucking sorry,” 

A shaky exhale flutters out of you. 

“You can say that you’ll do better as much as you want, but you have to actually keep to your word,” you wipe a tear with your thumb just before it dips into his dimple. He looks up at you, his deep eyes full of regret, longing, desire. Your heart aches in your chest, begging to be held. You sniffle. 

“I will do anything for you.” His grip on your thighs tightens, and he ghosts a gentle kiss over the sliver of skin peeking out through the slit in your dress. “I’ll work 9 to 5, I’ll work from home when I can, I’ll make sure my assistant schedules everything during work hours,” he kisses you a little higher, his nose pushing up under your dress slightly. 

“San…” You know how much he loves you. That isn’t the question, the question is: will he put you first? Will he dial it back at the office and be happy with the life you’ve already built together? Your head is spinning at the feeling of his mouth on you. You want to forgive him and trust him, but how do you know he’ll follow through? 

“Please,” he nuzzles into your soft skin, “I know you have no reason to believe me after what I’ve been putting you through.” He presses another kiss to your exposed skin, softer this time. You struggle to keep your breathing in check. He sniffles, clearing his throat. You feel his tears seeping into the fabric of your dress. “But there is nothing in this universe that can keep me from loving you. And I will do anything to remind you of that.” You let him kiss you higher, a thumb hiking your dress up further. 

“Please,” he whispers. The sound of his begging makes your skin prickle. 

His lips have a way of lighting your body on fire. The first time he kissed you, after walking you home from the houseparty that brought him into your world. The first time he went down on you, on his knees under the table in a private study room late at night in the library, head nestled between your legs with one hand covering your mouth. You knew you were doomed from the start – the hold he has on your body, mind, and soul – there’s no escaping it. 

Even now, with the threat of separation swirling around you, all you know is his lips on your skin. Soft, sweet, tender, desperate. He lets his teeth drag across the supple skin of your thigh, his tears sticking to you, your own starting to dry on your cheeks, leaving tracks through your makeup. You stifle the moan that threatens to rip from your throat.

“Jagi…” He peeks up at you through his lashes. Lashes you’d always hoped your children would inherit.

“You have a lot to prove, and even more to make up for,” you smooth the furrow between his brows with the pad of your thumb, and he grins at you. 

“Why don’t I start now?” He drops another kiss to your leg before rising to his feet, instinctively wrapping his hands around your waist. “Have I told you how beautiful you look?” 

“Yes,” you whisper. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’re right back on the front porch of your college apartment on the night you met. You barely knew anything about him other than his name, but he looked at you like he knew every inch of your soul from the moment he laid eyes on you.  

“Well, I’d like to tell you again,” he hesitantly leans in, softly kissing your cheek. You lean right back into him, your heart melting for him, and he kisses you again, the corner of your mouth this time. “You look so beautiful, jagiya.”

He raises a hand to your chin, gently turning your head to the side, kissing the hinge of your jaw. “Although…” He kisses the pulse point of your neck, “I’m really kicking myself for not getting home before you took off those heels.” His lips ghost over your ear. “You know how much I enjoy you in heels,” 

Going from angry and disappointed to crumbling in your husband's hands was not your plan for the evening, but you should’ve known yourself better than that. Maybe you both need this. 

“Go get them,” you whisper. 

He shoots you a knowing grin before turning to walk back toward your dining room. He returns a moment later, your Louboutins dangling from his grasp. Before you can speak, he drops to his knees in front of you once again and holds out a hand. You pick up one of your feet and he tenderly cups your heel in his palm, sliding one shoe onto your foot. You give him your other foot, bracing yourself on the kitchen island to help you balance. Once both heels are securely on your feet, he stands to his full height in front of you, drinking you in.

“I know I missed dinner, but I’m so hungry.” He takes a step closer to you, his hands gliding over the soft satin of your dress, finding purchase on your hips.

“You can heat up your food,” you choke out as he dips his head into the crook of your neck, kissing your collarbone. 

“That’s not what I want,” he whispers. 

You try to step back to give him a dirty look over not wanting the dinner you painstakingly prepared for him, but before you can, he’s hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“San!” You yelp, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling the tensed muscles of his broad shoulders. He looks up at you with determination in his eyes, turning the two of you around to walk back toward the dining table. He approaches an empty place at the massive table, and sets you right down on it. 

“What on earth do you think you’re doing, Choi San?” You look into his deep eyes, any tears he cried have dried, the spark of the boy you love filling his dark irises. 

“I told you I was hungry, my love,” he spreads your knees, standing between them and hiking your dress up in one fluid motion. Before you can formulate a response, he drops back to his knees in front of you.

”And I made your favorite meal for you.” You try to argue, but know it’s no use. Your breathing quickens with every glide of his hands across your skin. He slips his fingers under the hips of your delicate lace panties and slides them down your thighs. You lean back, propping yourself up on your hands, looking at him expectantly. 

“You’re my favorite meal.” He grins, dimples mocking you as he slips your panties into his pocket. With that, he dives between your legs.

”Oh, Sannie,” you throw your head back as he licks into you, hands spread wide across your thighs, holding you open for him. Unfamiliar is the wrong word, because going down on you has always been one of San’s favorite pastimes, but it feels… Fresh. San has been too busy or exhausted for sex these days, and it’s been so long that this time thrums with the same energy and excitement as the first. 

His tongue slides through your heat with practiced precision, the firm tip of it swirling around your clit. He groans as it swells under the heat of his mouth, sucking the sensitive bundle between his lips. Your nipples harden, peaking through your dress, the material of it making you feel all the more sensitive.

You feel a hand leave your thigh, followed by two fingers prodding at your entrance, He dips the tips in softly, just to the first knuckle before withdrawing to bring them to his lips. His eyes bore into yours as he licks your arousal from his fingers, wetting them with his tongue before bringing them back to your throbbing entrance. 

“I will never,” he starts, thrusting his fingers deep inside you, “ever make you feel unwanted or forgotten ever again.” His voice breaks on his last word, and he peppers your inner thighs with kisses, setting a steady pace, easily finding that spot that makes your back arch. “I am so fucking sorry,” he whispers. Fresh tears make their way down his cheeks, spreading onto your skin as he works his mouth closer to your core.

Your heart twists, full of both love and longing, begging for his words to be true. You feel a stinging on the bridge of your nose, and a tear slips down your cheek as your husband sucks your clit into his mouth again. He weaves your thighs over his shoulders as he licks at you, and you press your heels into his back.  

“Ah, Sannie,” you sob, grinding your hips against his mouth, melting into the searing heat building low in your belly. He finds a rhythm that ruins you, pumping his fingers and lapping at you like you’re going to disappear at any moment, burying his face into your heat. You run your fingers through his hair, holding his head firmly in place. 

“C-close,” is all you can manage to mutter, your climax building quicker than you can process, the two of you falling into this familiar dance so easily. It’s been so long since you’ve been intimate with him like this, your body feels like embers crackling back to life into a roaring bonfire. You dig your stilettos into his back, drawing a rumbling satisfied groan from your husband’s throat.

“Come for me, jagi,” he growls, “let me hear you.” He replaces his tongue with the rough pad of his thumb, not letting the transition alter his rhythm in the slightest. 

You bring your hand from his hair to his cheek, soaking in the way he’s looking at you with so much love in his eyes. It’s filthy, the way his puffy lips and glistening chin compliment the sheer obsession in his gaze. The way he’s looking at you so surely while doing unspeakable things to you. 

He curls his fingers inside of you and you’re done for, your body seizing and trembling as your orgasm rips through you. 

“O-Oh my—“ your brain goes numb, handing all control over to your husband. He jumps onto his feet, slowing his pace ever so slightly as he throws his free hand behind your neck to ease you down onto the table. You let it pulse through you, each wave melting you into the table beneath you. He softly rubs his thumb over your clit, drawing it out just enough. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, running his hand down your sternum, over your belly. “Do you think you can give me another?” He pushes the heel of his hand firmly on your pubic bone, pumping his fingers slowly, teasing your clit. 

“I think so,” you giggle breathlessly, your limbs feeling like jelly. He knows your body so well, you know he could have you coming all night long if you’d let him. 

He continues his leisurely pace, watching your chest rise and fall as you catch your breath. You give him a nod, and that’s all he needs to bury his fingers deep inside you and bring his mouth to your cunt again. 

“Ah!” You cry out, back arching off the table at the sudden change. He nods, grazing his teeth over your clit and growling into your core. Your hands fly into his hair again, holding him tight as you roll your hips over his mouth. He bumps your sensitive spot with the pads of his fingers with each thrust of them deep into you, using his thorough intimate knowledge of your body to his advantage as usual. He uses his free hand to gently push your thigh, spreading you open wider for him. 

“So beautiful, spread out for me on our table,” he brushes his thumb over your clit while he watches you. “Let me see you touch yourself, jagi.” 

He trails a hand up your soft body, fingers slipping beneath a strap of your dress, slowly sliding it down your shoulder, all while pumping his fingers in and out of you. He pulls your dress down just enough to free one of your breasts, giving your hard nipple a soft lick before kissing back down to your core. 

Your hand slides up your belly, palming the soft swell of your breast before rounding your thumb and forefinger around your nipple, the wetness from your husband’s tongue making the sensation all the more delicious.

“That’s it,” he nearly whispers, his voice low and breathless. “My beautiful wife.”

He finally reconnects with your clit, setting back into a steady rhythm that he knows will have you crumbling in minutes. You writhe underneath him, rolling your nipple between your fingers in time with his persistent and practiced ministrations at your core. 

You flutter around his fingers, and you feel him chuckle deeply against you. He nods again, egging you on, delivering a particularly firm suck to your clit. 

“God, Sannie, I–” You feel your climax settling deep within you moments before it crashes over you, your body turning pliant, and your hearing muffles. You feel alive, in love, on fire. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers, “so fucking beautiful.” He stands, letting any and all restraint fly out the window, bending over your spent form and crashing his lips to yours. The taste of you spreads across your tongue as he slides his own into your mouth, slipping his fingers out of you. You whine, feeling empty. While you feel more connected to him than you have in weeks, perhaps even months, it isn’t enough.

“Take me to bed, San,” you mumble between kisses. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, hoping he’ll get the hint. He chuckles warmly into your mouth as you lock your ankles behind his back, and threads an arm beneath your waist. Without breaking the kiss, he scoops you up, keeping one hand firmly gripping your waist and the other splays wide under your ass. He squeezes your cheek before giving you a playful smack, making your cunt squeeze around nothing. Your dress is still hiked up around your waist, and your sensitive center rests firmly on his stomach, each step he takes giving you a pulse of pressure. 

He carries you through your penthouse, blindly walking you to your shared bedroom. You feel a hand leave your waist and hear the doorknob turn, and he kicks the door open as he brings his lips to your neck. 

“Do you remember our wedding night?” He whispers as he softly nibbles on the column of your throat, walking you across the room, toward your bed.

“Of course I do,” your voice comes out breathless. He nods, licking up your neck and pressing a kiss behind your ear. 

“Do you remember how I fucked you on our wedding night?” The closeness of his mouth and the way he breathes his words straight into your ear has your skin prickling with goosebumps.

“Yes,” you gasp softly, thinking about San, who wanted you so desperately on your wedding night that he made love to you nearly fully dressed. Pounding into you deeper and harder than he ever had, tuxedo shirt open wide and pants pulled down just enough to give him access to you. He barely gave you enough time to take off your wedding dress. 

“I’m feeling just as desperate for you right now as I did that night, if not more,” he taps your ass gently, and you loosen your legs around him. He gently eases you onto the floor, holding you tightly to his body until he knows you’re steady on your feet. 

“But,” he loosens your dress around your waist, allowing it to cascade down your legs. “I need you to know that I love you more now than I did that night,” he kisses your forehead ever so softly. “And I will love you more tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that,” he emphasizes each string of words with kiss after kiss to your forehead, threading his fingers through your hair, holding you close to him. You rest your hands on his waist, leaning into his touch. 

“We’re gonna be okay,” you whisper, a silent tear falling down your cheek. You didn’t realize how badly you needed to hear him say that. 

“We are.” He tilts your head back, bringing your eyes up to his.

“I love you,” you remind him, as you bring your hands to the thin satin straps of your dress, easing them down your shoulders. 

“I love you,” he replies, watching as the top of your dress inches down your chest, as you push it further and further down until it’s bunched around your hips and your breasts are exposed, nipples peaking as your husband’s gaze on you intensifies. With a final push, your dress eases over the swell of your hips and drops to the floor, pooling around your feet, leaving you fully bare. 

Without his eyes leaving yours, he shrugs out of his suit jacket, dropping it to the floor behind him. He hooks a finger under the knot of his tie, loosening it to the point that he can pull it over his head. Your skin warms under his gaze, your mouth going dry as his fingers work at the buttons of his shirt, popping them open one by one, his tan chest peeking out from his crisp white shirt.

He untucks his shirt from his pants and opens it fully, and you run your hands over his warm skin, feeling each muscle beneath your fingertips. Your hands travel up over his chest, dipping beneath his shirt to wrap around his strong shoulders. He rolls his shoulders, and you help pull his shirt down his arms until it joins his jacket on the floor. 

You stand there, chests heaving, silence deafening, hearts pounding. 

“Make love to me, San,” you whisper. 

He’s on you in a heartbeat, one hand in your hair and the other on his belt buckle, tongue tangling with yours as he works himself out of his pants, shimmying out of them and kicking them to the side. 

You can’t stop yourself from trailing a hand down his body to palm his solid cock through the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. He hisses at the contact, his hand in your hair tightening. You nip and lick at each other’s lips, hands wandering and skin heating. 

You squeal as he lifts you again, wrapping your legs around his waist for a brief moment before tossing you onto the bed. You giggle as you land, bouncing on the mattress and wiggling backwards until you meet the soft pillows at the headboard. 

He stands at the foot of your bed, eyes dancing over your bare body as he rubs himself through his underwear, a smirk playing across his lips. 

“Open your legs, jagiya.” His voice comes out low and gravely, and you obey his command. He shudders an exhale, the dark spot on his boxer briefs growing as he drinks you in. “Look at you,” he growls. 

“Come here,” you beckon him. 

Your mouth dries as he pushes his underwear down in one swift motion, his cock bobbing in front of him as he kicks the fabric out of his way. He strokes himself slowly, tugging his cock to the side as he stares at your center. You flutter around nothing, and his eyes darken. 

He crawls up the mattress, hovering over you, arms resting on either side of your body. You let your eyes travel down his body, over his strong chest, his narrow waist, his velvety, solid cock, hanging so close to your aching cunt. Your breath catches in your throat, your core throbbing with need. 

He brings his mouth down over yours, softly at first. Sweet, tender kisses, until he slips his tongue between your lips and desperation takes over. He groans into your mouth, kissing you hard, drawing your bottom lip between his teeth as he parts your legs wider with his knees. 

“I need you,” he breathes. 

“Take me.” 

He sits back on his heels, pumping his cock as he admires you. Your hair fanned across your pillow, your puffy lips, your soft breasts. He bends over you to press one more kiss to your lips, then sits back on his heels, lining himself up with your entrance.

He notches the head inside, pumping into you little by little, inching further inside with each thrust. The feeling of him dragging in and out of you has every inch of your skin burning, a light sheen of sweat blooming across your skin. You roll your head back, eyes fluttering closed as he pushes deeper. 

“Look at me,” he demands. 

You peel your eyes open to meet his, his pupils blown wide as he bottoms out, every solid inch throbbing inside of you. Your mouth hangs open, letting out a whimper. 

He fills you so perfectly, like you were made for each other. You were made for each other.

He draws out of you to the tip, pushing back inside even deeper than before. He holds your gaze, fucking into you slow and deep, your soft grunts and whines the only sounds in your quiet bedroom. 

“Harder, please,” you meet each thrust the best you can, pushing yourself down the mattress onto him. 

“Mm,” he nods, picking up his pace, fucking you faster and harder with each thrust. His brow furrows, and he bites down on his bottom lip. “Fuck, you feel so good jagiya.”

All you can do is moan, your mind going blank, the only thing running through it is how delicious your body feels under your husband. San brings his thumb to his lips, swirling his tongue around it before lowering his hand over your core. He swipes his thumb over your clit, and you melt even further into the mattress under him. 

Your belly warms, and San inches further up the mattress, the new angle making his thrusts hit deep inside you, and you gasp, your back arching. 

“That’s it,” he coos, “take it,” 

“Fuck, Sannie,” you tighten around him and he groans, thrusting into you even harder, his thumb circling your swollen clit. 

“Keep squeezing around me like that and I’ll fill you up.” You always fall apart when he starts to talk to you like this, his dirty words that he saves for the bedroom. You feel the fire pooling deep in your belly, each swirl of his thumb around your clit drawing you closer and closer to the edge. 

“I need it, please,” you whine, taking everything he’ll give you. He bends over you, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. His sweat-slicked body gliding over yours makes your head spin, and the extra stimulation of your nipples has you dancing on the edge. 

“I’m gonna fuck you so full of my cum, you’ll be dripping for days,” 

“Yes, please,” 

“God,” his hips stutter, “come with me,” 

He buries his face in your neck, biting down hard, pushing you both over the edge. A moan rips from your throat, and your body trembles as he stills inside of you, filling you to the brim with his release. 

You stay in the moment for several beats, both of you trying to catch your breath and settle your heartrate.

“I love you so much,” he rolls his hips slowly as he starts to soften inside of you, peppering your forehead and cheeks with soft kisses. 

“I love you,” you murmur, feeling sated and light. He carefully slips out of you, falling onto his side next to you. You stay on your back, threading your fingers between his when he rests a hand on your belly. He kisses every inch of you that he can reach– your temple, your cheek, your neck, your shoulder. You soak in the feeling of being in your bed awake together for the first time in days. 

“So, now that I know what day it is and will never live it down, how are we celebrating our anniversary, jagi?” He breaks the silence, kissing your temple once more, brushing the sweat soaked hair from your forehead. 

His question stills you for a moment, your nerves automatically causing you to worry what the following days will bring. How he’ll adjust his work schedule, how it’ll affect his mental health, if he’ll actually stick to his word. 

“I don’t know, Sannie, it’s so late already. And you have to work early tomorrow, don’t you?” You don’t intend for your voice to come out so nervous. He strokes your hair for a few silent moments, then freezes. 

He jumps out of bed, padding over to his discarded clothes. He kneels on the floor of your bedroom, digging through his suit jacket, searching each pocket until he finds what he’s looking for. The screen of his phone lights up, soft light dancing across his face. 

“Are you seriously checking your phone right now? Choi San I swear, you are not out of the woods yet–”

You cut yourself off when he brings the phone to his ear, used to moving in silence when he’s taking important calls. You curse yourself for the gut reaction, but stay silent, watching him with a furrowed brow and bated breath. 

“Hongjoong-ssi, it’s San.” 

Why on earth is he calling his boss right now? 

“I know it’s late, I apologize, but I need to let you know I’ll be taking the next two weeks off.” 

You cock your head at him, trying to make out the muffled voice on the other end of the line. Hongjoong doesn’t sound upset by any means, he actually sounds quite calm. Encouraging, even. 

“I will, thank you, hyung. I’m taking my wife on vacation.” He glances up at you, “I don’t know yet. Wherever she wants to go.” A shy smile, dimples peeking through. “It’s our anniversary.”

He hangs up the phone as you beam at him, your heart so full you can hardly stand it.

“Sannie?”

“Hm?”

“Go get my ring.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

hope you enjoyed ♡︎

“Baby, did’ya eat today?” San reaches across the table, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. You shake your head, hair swaying, and take a sip of your iced tea. The condensation seeps into your fingers, and without thinking, you wipe your hand on your lap. Bunny’s diner—a diner owned by San’s childhood friend Seonghwa—was bustling under the brunch traffic. You don’t notice San’s gaze drifting upward—nor the way he taps his finger against the salt shaker, nudging it just enough to send it tumbling off the edge.

“Fuck—sorry.” Face chagrin and flushed as he tries to reach under the table, purposely bumping his head against the edge. San gets on his knees, scraping at the excess salt on the floor slowly—eyes darkening as he makes contact with your skin tight panties that practically restrict the blood flow around your cunt.

You’re wearing white today.

Cute.

He makes sure his phone’s on silent before he snaps a photo, pocketing it before sliding back into the booth, and sighing exasperatingly. “Why am I so fucking clumsy?” He groans and threads his fingers into his head to curl into himself. “—I feel like everyone heard that.”

They didn’t. He knew they didn’t. Not under all that clanging going on in the Diner’s kitchen.

You reach forward, grabbing his hand with doe eyes. “No one heard it! It’s okay, baby. I drop things all the time.”

It takes everything in San to not moan.

You were perfect.

He couldn’t stop talking about you when he live-streamed last night: everything he wanted and planned to do to you, your name falling out of his lips as he touched himself slightly out of frame—gripping tightly, grinding—stifling his moans with gritted teeth against a belt so you wouldn’t hear him during your call.

You called for no reason. All you said was “I called because I missed you. I love you.”

Sugary. Honey. Cotton candy and the color pink. You were the sweetest fucking thing.

And he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to ruin something so badly. None of the other girls before you wore innocence as well as you did.

To them? It was an aesthetic—something subject to change. They wanted him to ruin them. But you?

You were his idle angel and sweetness incarnate—doll like lashes without a hint of suspicion or mal-intentions. Shy. The type to naturally hold a hand out when you needed help getting down from somewhere and not flinching when a big arm wrapped around your waist to pick you up.

The type to kiss San and plan on a wedding—not him stuffing you full of cock and fucking you dumb into a stale pillow in his dorm room. To flinch and pull away in embarrassment when his hand crept under the cup of your bra, begging him kindly to take it slow.

Which he did.

He has been.

He savors the push and pull—it’s how he knows you’re the real deal.

San watches you slice into the Canadian ham, a content smile tugging at his lips as you happily dig into your eggs Benedict. You’d need all the energy you could get.

He slides his pancakes over to you, smearing honey butter and packing on the cinnamon just the way liked them and tells you he’s too full to eat anymore.

“You’re missing out, Sannie.” You jest, tapping the tip of your fork against your teeth playfully. “You barely ate—“ you pause to take a bite, smiling at him mid-chew. “Something on your mind?”

He bites back a smile, eyes folding into half moons as he stared at you for a couple of beats “It’s just cute—the way you look when you eat.”

“The way I eat?” You tilt your head.

“Yeah—you just…stuff your mouth until it’s super cramped. Careful” he wipes cream from the side of your mouth ”— you might choke if you take too much all at once.”

A sudden tension threads through his voice, pulling your eyes up from the plate, curious. You nod, offering him a sweet smile.

“Aye, captain!”

San always worries about the smallest things.

He scrolls through his phone as you finish your meal, the clink of your fork masking the soft swipes of his finger. You don’t see the images flashing by—candid frames of you lost in thought, others taken while you slept, your shirt slipped just high enough to expose the delicate curve of lace against skin. Some are closer, hungrier: your legs parted in sleep, revealing only the faintest swell of softness. He lingers on that one a moment longer, gaze unreadable, mouth still curled in that contented smile.

When you finish eating, San calls for the waiter with a patient smile—sliding a stack of bills down before rearranging the dishes politely and leaving.

San’s thick, calloused fingers grab hold of your hand —threading meticulously before leading you out of the Diner, exhaust fumes of humid street stalls and early autumn conundrum waft into your nose. You feel content. Full. Happy and in love.

You watch his side profile, the breeze tugging gently at his cropped hair. He glances both ways, unfazed by your gaze, then crosses the road with you—heading toward his daddy’s old ’70, the metal sun-warmed and waiting.

You trail your fingers along the muted, rust-red paint while waiting for San to unlock the door—then slip inside as he murmurs a small joke under his breath. He rolls the windows down, knowing you like to rest your head on his arm while he drives, your feet dangling out the window—just far enough to feel free, but never close enough to tempt danger.

At a red light, San reaches a hand towards the glove compartment—digging around before pulling out an old camcorder. A small jingle plays as it turns on, the chime beckoning a giggle from you. “What’s that?”

He doesn’t answer—just presses play.

“Smile for the camera, pretty.”

Then he gives your thigh a light smack when you laugh, face buried in your hands as you shrink back into your seat, grinning behind your fingers. Playfully, you peek an eye out—laughing with your heart, wind in your hair, and girls just want to have fun by Cyndi Lauper playing in the background.

He gets you home safe and sound, kissing you a little bit rougher than usual. The red light of his camcorder still flickers on his dash—camera becoming a voyeur on top of his dashboard when his hands rest on your thigh, fingers idling just beneath the hem of your dress and pulling lightly to squeeze the flesh it’s sandwiching.

You skip to your porch, all girlish giggles and swaying skirts as you wave goodbye and close your screen door. And San watches.

Intent.

Indulging.

Ravenous.

“She was wearing white today.” San tinkers with a rubix cube, webcam pointed low enough to capture the sharp of his jaw—a canine-like half grin, as he licked his teeth and sucked in a frustrated breath. He unbuttons his dress shirt just enough for a golden sliver of skin to peak out and spreads his legs purposely so that his pants are taut on his form.

Little pings sound from his desktop and he doesn’t bother reading any of the incoming chats from his stream. “It was practically choking her pussy—you think that’s why she chose to wear it? Friction or what not?” He scoffs playfully, rubbing a thumb over the flat of his stomach as he leans back on his computer chair, recalling.

The way you tasted like honey butter and cinnamon and the way your underwear was tight enough to make your flesh swell red.

A celebratory chime rings from his computers speakers, an automated girl singing “points, points!”

[• ch0i’s_fav-kitty_ gifted 200 points and left a note! “Ruin her for the rest of us.” ]

San smirks cunningly.

“Well, since you asked so nicely—I’ll plan a gift just for you, kitty.” He unbuttons the last few notches on his dress shirt, sliding his palm down the flat of his golden tummy and under his slacks. “But until then, I’ll dedicate this show to you.”

Biting at the cuff of his wrist, stifling his moans and keening his neck just enough to keep the crowd satisfied since they weren’t allowed to see his face. San was in his element and this was his arena.

He’ll use the money from this livestream to pay for something sweet, vanilla, and totally boyfriend coded before melting you down into something wrecked. Unrecognizable. Fucked up and pretty just for him.

The best part? He’s waited this long so you’d let him do it willingly.

Choi San knew he had all the makings of the perfect boyfriend—the kind others envied, whispered about, and admired from afar. Charismatic, intelligent, and from a well-to-do family—and upon arriving as a legacy to his university, he was immediately ushered into the most prolific brotherhood of the institution. You’d hear his name uttered in locker rooms, the corners of lecture halls, and in offices as Professors discussed recommendation letters.

He sold the best parts of himself when it came to finding love, but profited the most off the filth he worked hard to keep separated from his offline life.

There’s just one tiny pothole in San’s initially seamless perfection: he liked ruining things. Good things. Especially good girls. On camera.

Everyone believed San had immaculate taste in women. The few he entertained publicly all shared the same quiet allure—graceful, composed, the kind of girls who seemed untouched by anything cruel. Poised. Innocent. Almost too good to be real and too hard to dislike.

What they didn’t know was that San preferred them pure for a reason—because he had a fucked up way of getting off. If he got them to love him enough, then he’d be able to do anything—including filming every moment he got to break them down on camera. The slow sip of corruption dousing a white dress in a way that bested murder. To be caught on tape and immortalized—proof that he had the makings. The power to ruin without apology.

It started as scratching a place he knew he shouldn’t have scratched in the first place— a shaky livestream, stuttered words that left him like he sat in either a confessional or investigation room until he finally settled comfortably into the skin of his darkest desires. The small online community quickly grew once he released his special series, sugarcoat: a long term documentation of girls he dated and taped for his loyal followers—all perfect subjects for their fixation on the act of corrupting.

But with the others before you, it all felt like roleplay. What Choi San wants is what Choi San gets—and this is to his detriment. It was too easy. If he’d asked any of them on the first date to film, he would’ve gotten the green light.

Performative innocence, not even played to the T. C-rate actresses in frills and lace—itching to tear off the costume once shooting ends.

San didn’t camboy for money. He did it as reprieve from the kind of perfection that stifled him with its ideals on a daily basis. Here, he could be horrible.

Desired for his ugliness, for his muck.

And you were the closest thing to a natural high he’d ever felt in his entire life—the sweetest layer of his series. His beloved cherry on top.

“Did you like it?” San chuckles, dimples carving into his grin, softening the sharpness of his features. The flashing LED lights of the carnival dance in his eyes, tiny sparks catching like stars—like every bit of the boy you used to dream about. You’re breathless, and not just from how he looks in that black compression shirt, clinging to him in all the right ways, but from the rollercoaster he’d talked you into riding.

“…Like’s an understatement. Can we go again?” You bounce on your toes, ponytail swinging excitedly. San sighs playfully, and then shakes his head. “Baby, I’ve got a surprise waiting for you at my place—remember?”

Eyes brightening, you hold on tight to his left arm while making your way out the exit. The distance screams of ride-goers and arcade game music muffle your conversations—almost domesticating them. “Come on, can’t you give me a clue? What’s the surprise?”

“No. Can. Do.” He furrows his brows, punctuating, and then slings his arm over your shoulder—pulling you into his arms to lay a kiss on your temple. “Be a good girl. Patience is a virtue.”

Roses.

Take out dinner that arrived just on time and tapestries hung around his dorm room to make it look more cozy and less clinical under the usually bright fluorescent overhead light. He bought an extra toothbrush and filled one of the drawers of his bathroom with a variety of skincare products, essential oils, and menstrual products.

Your favorite ice cream was frozen to perfection in his freezer and the T-shirt you liked stealing from him already waited at the edge of his bed for you, folded kindly.

San shut the door behind him, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watched you flit around the room, gently tapping the new fairy lights with the tip of your nail.

“I thought we could have a sleepover now that the term’s over,” he said. “With the internship starting soon, I won’t get to see you as much.”

“San…I love it. Your room finally looks lived in” you jest, elbow bumping his waist, and turn towards him to wrap your arms around the slim of his waist. He flinches slightly, body tensing—sensitive. Internally groaning because you probably don’t realize how close he’s been to snapping.

The air feels…different. Charged. Laced with an unspoken expectation—San sees it in the way you seem to curl shyly when he digs his face into the crook of your neck, your usual behavior and touchiness diluted into something moderately restrained.

You typically fed on physical affection the way someone would drink water, a domesticated sense of skin to skin contact: a pinky locked with his as you studied, legs draped onto his lap while scrolling through your phone or leaning over his shoulder to watch reels with him.

You’re seated between his legs, facing the TV. Some vintage horror movie drones on in the background, as a girl screams in horror when an undead fist pushes straight through cemetery dirt—reaching towards heaven.

She fails to run away in time and you laugh.

He didn’t expect you to find it funny, a quirk to his brow when he swears he hears you mumble “Survival instincts of a peanut” under your breath.

When you adjust, San stills. Breath hitching when he feels the lace of your skirt rub against his jeans and he knows you feel it too.

He tries his luck and slides a palm under your shirt before rubbing the skin of your stomach casually. You lean into it, hips unconsciously rolling towards his hands.

It’s the flush on your face that undoes him, eyes unfocused, looking almost confused by the wetness he knew made your panties cling to your skin.

“—baby. Can I touch you more?” He coats his words in sugar, breathing into your ear sweetly. The edges of his voice beg.

“…mhm.” You nod slowly, hair falling over your cheekbones as you peer up at him. San pulls you closer, your back pressed against his chest as he peppers wet kisses up your neck.

He groans when you shiver and your back to press your breasts into his hands instinctively.

But you flinch away, a quiet embarrassment settling into your bones. You look confused, thighs closing and pressing against each other looking for relief in the pressure. “San, wait—I’ve…never done this before. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his gaze steady as he tilts your chin up, capturing your lips in an upside-down kiss. His jaw moves slowly, deliberately, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that’s both soothing and seductive. You hum, eager, reaching up for more—until he pulls back, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes.

“I… like filming things,” he continues, voice low, almost coaxing. “I want to remember it. Forever. Can I?”

Your eyebrows scrunch together—conflicted. “Sannie—what if I don’t look good on camera and you have that on you forever?” He shakes his head. “Baby—“ running his hands down your body and under your bra, cupping your breasts and twisting the tips of your nipples. A sharp yelp leaving your lips as he licks up the side of your throat. “I promise, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

His serpentine eyes lock onto yours without hesitation, unflinching. His presence wraps around you like a tightening coil, arms holding you in place as you suddenly feel small, almost like prey caught in his grasp.

San guides your hand to lock behind your back. Sandwiching your arm and gripping it above his aching cock. “See what you did to me?”

He grinds into your hand with a deliberate whimper into your ear.

His grip on you tightens, absolutely fucked out. For the love of god he’s waited months. It’s the longest he’s ever held out for. After a couple of beats—hesitation crumpling under the weight of profound lust, you agree. “Whatever makes you happy.”

Fuck.

He’s obsessed—you’re perfect for the gig. For him.

San doesn’t think he wants to share the footage for once, second thoughts running rampant.

“Whatever makes you happy?” he repeats, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are you sure? Can I do whatever I want to you?” Wide eyes gaze at him. Pure. Unadulterated with the right amount of curiosity.

“If it’s for you—yes. I trust you.” His mouth clashes with yours instantly before sliding his tongue in when you gasp in surprise. A string of saliva connects your mouth when he lets you go.

“Lay down.” There’s a sudden chill in his tone. An unraveling—strict, direct, impatient and leaving little to no room for hesitance.

Reaching over to his dresser, he pulls the same camcorder and adjusts it so it’s pointing directly at you. San turns the zoom dial, diluting the environment of the room and focusing entirely on you.

Without delay, he casually reaches over to unzip your skirt and pull off your panties like he’s done it plenty of times before.

He lays one of your legs over his lap and spreads you open. Your hands immediately jolt to cover your face, thighs slamming closed in attempts to hide from him.

“Let me see you. You were being such a good girl. I want to look at your pretty little pussy.” Peaking one eye at him through a gap in your fingers, you slowly part your legs. He spits on his fingers, still seated next to you as he leans from the side to gaze down at your cunt.

Making sure that the camera is framing you properly, he pulls at your folds with two hands—one on each side so that the camera catches the fluttering of your fleshy insides. Your body jolts, a small moan of surprises tumbling out when he massages your clit in circles and holds your leg down with a firm hand.

“Does it feel good?” He giggles when you nod in surprise. Doe eyed as you finally put down your hands and stare at his movement.

“It’s such… a pretty color. I wanna see it more.” A smack lands directly above your clit— a silent scream choking in your throat at the intense stimulation and sting. San mentally counts to ten, each slap descending faster, harder, and landing more precisely. Rubbing side to side, your body jolts when you feel your cunt clench around nothing—raising your hips to dig his hand against you with more pressure. Rhythmic moans leave you when your orgasm hits you, but he doesn’t stop after the waves leave you.

You body flinches from the sensitivity, small jerks as you push and pull away from his touch “San—I can’t.”

“Yes you can. And you’ll take it until I want to stop. Understood?” You only cry out, tears welling in your eyes at the intense stimulation. He smacks your cunt again. “Understood?”

“Understood!” You bite out, relenting, and he slides a finger into you—curling and feeling the gummy texture.

He commits it to memory and wishes he had the sort of camera that could film from the inside. He’ll buy that later.

You don’t know how long he fingers you for.

You’re restless—finally growing accustomed to the continuous ministrations of his hand. There’s nothing gentle in the way San drives you flat onto your stomach—his body looming over you like a dark shadow, muscles tense beneath the fabric of his compression shirt. A quick unbuckling and shuffling of him sliding off his jeans later—and your vision goes white when he pushes himself into you in one go.

He’s huge.

San grins darkly when he hears your choked whimper, slamming down into you and pressing his full weight against your back.

The bed creaks repetitively with his brutal pace, muffled screams leaving you as he fucks into you—definitely bruising your cervix in the process. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, drool slipping out of the sides of your mouth—totally icing out the fact that you’re fucking obscenely loud at a dormitory. Someone bangs on the wall but San only fucks you harder, pulling your hair and pressing into you until your body goes limp and lays completely flat on the bed.

Everything is blanking out. Your name, what you’re doing, where you are and with who “S-san I can’t take it.”

He tugs you up by the hair, vulgar slaps against the reddening flesh of your ass continuing their onslaught. “You can take it baby. Just be a good girl and shut up for me.” Slapping your breasts, he flips you over and slides himself snug against you—pelvis pressing yours directly and stuffing himself back in.

Both of his hands wrap around your throat, unrelenting—brutal. The veins on your face rise to the surface, mouth falling open to try and scream but immediately failing. All of his weight is being held on your throat as he uses the force to propel himself forward—digging into you.

You think you pissed yourself mid orgasm, but San keeps going—eyes obsidian and dilated, bordering on animalistic frenzy. Slapping desperately at his arms because of the overstimulation again—you claw at the skin, gasping and seeking breath. He sends three more hard thrusts down before cumming thick ropes into you with a pornographic moan. “F-fuck.”

San swears he’s never seen anything more pretty than you lying under him—bruised, drying tears and smeared mascara—body completely red like it’s fighting a fever. He slaps his cock onto the fat of your pussy before leaning down and breathing in the smell of your sweat gathering in the crook of your neck. He massages your hip, coaxing—and pulls you in to cuddle.

Just as he’s about to slip back into the role of the perfect boyfriend, you murmur sweetly.

“Did that make you happy?”

He stills. Clock ticking in the back of his head up until it hit five seconds

and flips himself onto his back, tugging you along with him—fumbling to push his already fully hardened cock inside. His arms slide under your armpits and lock behind your neck before he jack hammers upwards—pushing past his own sensitivity, fully intent on fucking you until you felt like raw meat. You don’t count how many orgasms you had or how many people knocked on San’s door groggy and pissed only to be ignored.

He groans, pulling out to slap your cunt before quickly sliding back in. “ Do ya like that? Feels good princess? You’re doing so good.”

Your legs grow tired from having to hold your weight up from his chest, feet flat against the bed before going limp—back sandwiched against his damp skin. San doesn’t stop, only slithering a hand down to rub your clit in circles. “Are you happy? Am I being good enough? Sannie, I’m tired.” You whine lightly, eyebrows scrunching as tears threatened to fall.

He whimpers “So fucking good. I’m almost done, sweetheart. Just one more and we can go to bed, yeah?” You almost black out when he fastens his pace, spraying while orgasming and arching your back with vulgar moans.

He pulls out this time, cumming on the fat flesh of your thighs before petting your pussy lightly—appeasingly in performative apology. San holds your body tightly against him, clamping his arms around you while peppering kisses on your shoulder.

“You made me so happy today—seriously, you’re my favorite girl ever.” He rocks you lightly as you giggle.

God, he’s obsessed.

You were the perfect balance between submission and maintained innocence. He’s too tired to look over the footage, but his brain still maps more content ideas.

There’s no way he’s sharing this one but…he’ll still talk about it once he livestreams.

San thinks he might actually love you—and it’s that thought that carries him into deep sleep.

When San’s breathing lulls softly, your eyes blink open in the dark. Slowly, carefully, you reach for his phone, unlocking it with practiced ease. Your thumb drifts across the screen, skimming through his apps—until you find it. A hidden folder buried deep in his files.

Photos, videos, pixelated and zoomed in screenshots of your legs spread open. It’s casual almost—the way your eyes drift around his screen, observing.

Silently, you close out the apps one by one, then inch closer to his sleeping form. Unreadable eyes watching him sleep without blinking. You trace his nose bridge and jaw, kissing him lightly as he slept

slightly unsatisfied by the extent of his hidden perversion.

You thought it’d be worse.

You shut your apartment door—pulling your hair tie away and shake the hairs threatening to fall in your eyes before tugging off the cashmere sweater off like it burned you. The rest of your clothes fall like feathers to the floor, leaving a trail to your bedroom.

You fucking hated cashmere. Fingernail tapping against a custom Zippo—cherry etched into the steel—you flick it open and light a cigarette. Smoke curls around you as you sink into your computer chair, wearing nothing but your underwear. You type in the password: ch0i’s_fav-kitty_.

The page immediately opens to a pending livestream

[ch0i-kitty is online • ]

“—she was such a good girl. Nothing like the others. Pure. Willing to take it and learn—“ You grin, taking a fat drag of your cigarette before leaning back—amused.

Are all boys this dumb? This easy?

All you had to do was play good girl at a surface level for a hotshot like him to come crawling. You watched San for months—committing to the trails of information you could find: a small business card in the backdrop of his stream, the edge of a university hoodie, a fraternity ring—never missing a single livestream to know the exact kind of girl he wanted most but could never find. Not in full at least.

Either too good and too willing to be bad for him. Too slutty from the get go and unable to convince him that they’d never had sex before—rookie stuff.

No one was committed to the bit. Not as much as you were.

Lifting a hand to grab your phone, you call just as San eased a hand down his dress pants—mirroring his actions by peeling your underwear to the side.

You see him grit his teeth and try to control his heaving breaths before answering the phone on live, voice resonating directly into your ear. “Hi baby, you okay?”

Slinking a finger inside, face flushed red with maniacal victory “—nothing. I just called because I missed you.” You grin devilishly when he tilts his head back, stifling a groan as his fist picks up in speed.

“—I miss you too, baby. Already.”

You hum softly, a smile in your voice as you lie—just for a second—saying you had to head back to work. Then you hang up.

You flick the ash off your cigarette, not blinking as you watched him get off. Fingers clicking against your keyboard—positively transfixed by the camboy you’ve obsessed over for a year. He deserves a little treat.

[• ch0i’s_fav-kitty_ gifted 100 points! ]

“Thank you for your donation, kitty. You’re the best.”

Choi San was yours.

And you were his.

because no one could play the good girl better than you.

fin.

You weren’t sure what the mission was, but Jake clearly was.

He was, talking.

Still.

“You know the Republic Gunship set?” he pants, rocking into you a little too slow for how breathless he sounds. “I’ve been saving up for it. It’s so cool. It has, like—twenty clone troopers. Twenty. And they all have these little helmets that come off. I didn’t even know they did that until—until I watched this review last week—shit, you feel so good—wait, so anyway—”

You cut him off with a groan, fisting the sheets. “Jake.”

“Huh?” He looks down at you, blinking like a golden retriever who just got caught chewing drywall. “What?”

“You’re talking about Legos again.”

“Oh.” He pushes his hips forward with a little whine. “Sorry. You’re just so warm and I was thinking about that set and how cool it’d be to build it with you while we watch Clone Wars and—and—fuck, you’re squeezing me again.”

You squeeze him on purpose this time. “That’s because you’re babbling about minifigs while you’re raw inside me, Jake.”

His eyes go big. “You like when I’m raw inside you.”

“I did. Before you compared it to building a Lego set.”

“Okay, okay, fair.” He nuzzles your neck like he’s not splitting you in half. “But also? You’re kinda like a Lego set.”

You stare at him. “Jake.”

“I mean that lovingly.”

You drop your head back against the pillow. “I swear to God, if this is going where I think it’s going—”

“Because like. You’ve got all these beautiful little pieces. And I wanna learn how they all fit together. Every time I touch you it’s like I’m figuring out where the next part goes—”

“Jake.”

“—like, do I kiss here?” He sucks a hickey under your jaw. “Touch here?” Trails his hand between your legs. “Or maybe—fuck—maybe I just fuck you and see what happens.”

You’re clenching again. Hard. And you hate that it works.

He beams. “See? You do like my metaphors.”

“I like your dick,” you hiss, arching as he thrusts up and hits that spot. “I tolerate your metaphors.”

“You love my metaphors,” he says smugly, fucking deeper like he’s trying to prove it.

You moan into the heel of your palm. “You’re insufferable.”

Jake whimpers, forehead tipping to yours. “You’re so hot when you’re mean to me.”

“You’re hot when you shut up.”

He slows, just a little, and looks genuinely wounded. “You don’t like when I talk?”

“I love when you talk,” you gasp. “Just not when I’m trying to come and you’re talking about fucking battle packs.”

“Oh.” He slips out almost entirely, just to push in again, hard. You cry out. His ears go pink. “Noted.”

You try to glare. You really do. But he leans down to kiss you and his stupid soft lips and stupid tongue make you forget how to breathe, let alone stay mad.

And the way he’s throbbing inside you doesn’t help.

Jake pulls away with a dumb little grin. “I think I’m gonna come. Can I stay in? I know I asked earlier but I wanna make sure it’s still okay—”

“Jake, yes, God, yes—”

He sinks into you one last time and shudders, full-body, like he’s short-circuiting. You feel him twitch, warm and heavy, and moan his name as his hand clutches at your waist like he’s scared you’ll float away.

He comes like he’s overwhelmed. Pretty and flushed, forehead pressed to your collarbone, one hand gripping your thigh like a lifeline.

You’re both panting. Slick. Shaking a little.

And then.

“Did you know the Lego Titanic set is almost four feet long—”

“Jake.”

“Sorry! I’m just—still inside you and happy and thinking about boats and I love you and—”

You grab his face and kiss him hard. He whimpers against your mouth, cock twitching again, not soft at all.

You pull back. “You’re gonna shut up now, right?”

“Totally,” he breathes, blinking fast. “Except—can I keep talking if it’s just about you?”

You blink. “Maybe.”

Jake buries his face in your neck. “Cool. ‘Cause I was gonna say, you’re prettier than every minifig I’ve ever owned. Like, if you were a collectible, I’d never take you out of the box.”

You groan. “That’s not romantic, Jake.”

He laughs. “I thought it was.”

You wrap your legs tighter around him and sigh. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“I’m lucky you let me fuck you.”

He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then, very slowly, starts moving again. Just a little. Deep and slow, the kind of rhythm that makes your eyes roll back.

“Can I stay in?” he murmurs. “Just for a bit?”

You nod.

He smiles. “Cool. You feel better than any Lego set.”

You cover his mouth. “Just fuck me.”

You don’t know why you let him stay inside. You really don’t.

Maybe it’s the way he’s so big, the way he fills you up like you were made for it. Maybe it’s the post-orgasm brain melt. Maybe it’s the genuinely tragic puppy-dog look he gave you when he asked if he could just stay for a little while longer.

You said yes. Like a fool.

And now he’s talking again.

“Okay, but hear me out,” he mumbles against your collarbone. “If you were a Lego piece, I feel like you’d be one of those rare ones that only come in, like, three sets. And I’d trade my whole collection just to have two of you.”

“Jake.”

“Or like, like if I was building a Millennium Falcon and your piece wasn’t in the box? I’d cry. Like actual tears. I’d email Lego Customer Support and tell them it was a tragedy. I’d say my girlfriend is missing. That I can’t build without her. That it’s ruining my life—”

“You’re still inside me.”

“I know. That’s why I’m being romantic.”

You groan and throw an arm over your face. “Your idea of romance is comparing my vagina to missing plastic.”

“It’s not just plastic, it’s—hey, wait—” He props himself up on an elbow, wide-eyed. “Are you getting mad again?”

“I’m not mad,” you sigh. “I’m just. So full. And so tired. And you’re talking about spaceships and crying and clone troopers while your dick is still hitting my goddamn cervix.”

Jake flushes. Hard. “Oh. Sorry. I’m just…this is like, peak life for me. Like, I don’t know what I did to deserve you but I think about it a lot and it makes me feel like I should be doing more. Like, you’re smart, and you wear those little skirts that make my brain short-circuit, and you never make fun of me for how much I love Star Wars even when I definitely deserve it—”

“Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you getting hard again?”

He pauses. You feel him twitch inside you.

“…Maybe.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I can’t help it!” he whines, and somehow he sounds genuinely upset about it. “You’re so warm and soft and I like how you clench when I say dumb stuff, and I know I’m not supposed to keep talking, but I love you and I’m having a feelings crisis and also your tits are out and I didn’t even mention them yet.”

You uncover your eyes and glare. “Don’t.”

Jake glances down at your chest. Immediately goes pink. “Too late.”

You shift under him and he moans, a soft, helpless sound like he’s ashamed to have made it. You can feel him starting to get hard again, slow and steady like a threat.

And the worst part is? You like it. Your body’s already reacting. He’s still so thick, so deep, and now he’s whining like he can’t help but want more of you.

“God, you’re pretty,” he whispers, like he’s confessing something serious. “And I’m, ugh, I’m such a loser, I know. Everyone always asks how I got you and I never have an answer. They’re like, ‘is she into Legos too?’ and I have to lie and say yes, just so they don’t try to hit on you.”

You laugh. You shouldn’t, but you do. “So you lie about me being into Legos to keep me safe?”

He nods solemnly. “It’s the only way.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Jake beams. “Your idiot.”

He leans down and kisses you again, sloppy, soft, so sweet it makes your stomach flip, and you groan against his mouth when he accidentally rocks his hips.

And just like that, you’re clenching again. Wanting him. Wanting it all over again.

He breaks the kiss with a gasp. “Oh. That was—yeah. We’re doing it again, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Not if you keep talking.”

“I can be quiet!”

“You can’t.”

“I can. Watch—” He places a hand over his own mouth.

You raise a brow. “You look ridiculous.”

He wiggles his brows, nods, then thrusts.

You gasp. His hand flies off his mouth. “Oh fuck, that was hot—”

“Jake.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” He puts it back. Mutters behind his palm, “I just love you so much.”

You stare at him, flushed, wrecked, still hard and inside you, his hand awkwardly slapped over his own mouth, and you realize something terrible.

You’re gonna marry this dumbass.

You sigh, toss your head back, and say, “Fine. Just shut up and fuck me again.”

Jake nods furiously. Slips his hand from his face and whispers, “Yes, Captain.”

You sigh into the pillow.

The first time you meet Sunghoon, he doesn’t even look up. He’s already on the treatment table, hoodie draped over his shoulders, earbuds in, arms crossed over his chest.

You recognize the posture before you recognize him: defensive, closed-off, and more than a little exhausted. His foot taps the edge of the table in a relentless rhythm.

You take in the sheet on your clipboard: Park Sunghoon, 23, elite figure skater, multiple national titles, Olympic-level potential. He’s been off the championship ice for nearly three months following a partial tear in his Achilles tendon.

The previous physiotherapist left the team citing personal reasons. Burnout, if you had to guess. Now, he’s yours. Your responsability.

You set the clipboard down and step into his line of sight. "Park Sunghoon ?" you say.

He glances at you but doesn’t respond. He keeps one earbud.

"I’m your new physio."

Another glance. This time, his gaze lingers. It’s unreadable, cool, wary, the way animals watch before they run. There are no personal details, no offhand remarks, no accidental warmth. Just business. And even then, just barely. He answers your questions with as few words as possible, and often avoids eye contact altogether. You try not to take it personally. You’ve worked with plenty of athletes who mask vulnerability with aloofness. But Sunghoon is different. It’s not arrogance. It’s armor. He doesn’t trust you. Or maybe, he doesn’t trust anyone.

You motion to the table. "Can I take a look at your ankle?"

There’s a pause. He doesn’t move. Then, without a word, he pulls up his pant leg and shifts, extending his left foot. The swelling is minimal now, but you can see the residual stiffness. You move his foot gently, testing the range of motion. He doesn’t react to the manipulation, but his jaw clenches when you touch a tender spot.

"Still some inflammation" you note. "Do you feel it more during spins or landings?"

"Landings" he replies shortly. One word. Flat tone. He pulls the earbud out but still doesn’t meet your eyes.

"How often are you training?"

"Six days a week."

Your brows lift. "That’s... aggressive."

He shrugs. "Olympics don’t wait."

You log the information but don’t push, not yet. He’s not ready for that. Instead, you start him on light mobilization exercises, gentle pressure on the joint to test flexibility. He’s hyper-aware of your touch, and you can feel it, every muscle in his body resisting, ready to pull away at any second.

You work quietly, methodically, letting your hands do the talking. No small talk. No fake smiles. Just competence. You’ve worked with athletes like him before. Ones who only understand performance, not healing. Who treat their bodies like tools until those tools betray them. He doesn’t want comfort. He wants results. But more than that, he wants control over his own life. You wonder who taught him that vulnerability was dangerous.

When the session ends, he pulls his hoodie back over his head, not quite meeting your eyes. You hand him a list of stretches and exercises to do before his next training.

"Stick to these. No jumping drills this week" you say.

"Coach won’t like that." You meet his gaze now, steady.

"And your ankle won’t like another tear."

For a second, it seems like he might argue. Then he nods once, the barest concession.

"Same time tomorrow" you remind him.

He leaves without saying goodbye.

Over the next week, you fall into a rhythm, if you can call it that. Sunghoon shows up to every session on time. Doesn’t speak unless spoken to. Gives short, functional answers to your questions. He does the exercises you assign without complaint but also without much expression. His pain threshold is high, maybe too high, and he’s careful never to show discomfort unless he can’t help it. You learn to watch his body instead, the stiffness in his shoulders, the way he favors the right side even when he insists he’s fine.

Every session is a battle between what he says and what his body tells you.

By Friday, you’ve had enough.

"Pain level on one to ten" you say, palpating the tendon. You know it hurts. You feel the tension ripple through him.

"Four" he says.

You stop. "Try again. This time with the truth."

He blinks at you, confused.

"If you’re going to lie about your pain level, don’t waste my time."

There’s a beat of silence. Then he finally looks at you, really looks. Something shifts. It’s subtle, but unmistakable. A flicker of surprise, then something like... respect. Not warmth. Not trust. Not yet. But the first crack in a wall that’s been standing too long.

He exhales. "Six. Maybe seven on landings."

You nod. "Thank you."

That weekend, you review his training footage. You watch him attempt triple axels on a fatigued ankle, pushing through the pain like he can defeat it. You see the perfectionism in every movement, the anger when a blade lands slightly off-angle. He doesn’t just want to win, he needs to. And it’s eating him alive to be injured.

You ask his coach to scale back his jumps. The coach shrugs. "You’ll have a hard time convincing him. He doesn’t listen to anyone."

You smile faintly. "We’ll see."

The next week, Sunghoon shows up at the appointement with a bandage on his wrist. Minor strain from a bad fall. He downplays it, of course. You treat it, of course. He tries to deflect, saying he slipped, that he’s fine.

You meet him with the same quiet resistance. "You’re not invincible. Stop pretending you are."

His jaw ticks. Then he speaks "Why do you care?"

You pause. "First of all, because it's my job. Because you’re mine to take care of now. That’s the point."

That throws him. You don’t elaborate. You just adjust his wrist brace and say "Come back tomorrow."

And this time, when he leaves, he says, "Okay." No hoodie pulled over his face. No earbuds. Just that one word, soft and low. It’s a beginning.

By the end of the month, the tension between you has shifted. It’s still there, taut and crackling, but it’s no longer hostile. Sunghoon doesn’t flinch when you touch him now. He follows your instructions without resistance. He watches you sometimes, when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

You don’t acknowledge it. Not yet. But you feel it too. Something is changing. And the question isn’t if he’ll let you in. It’s only when.

The more time you spend with him, the more you begin to notice the pattern. He never volunteers information, but he listens carefully to everything you say. If you mention a stretch offhandedly, he’ll do it the next day without arguing. If you correct his posture during therapy, he remembers it perfectly the session after. He pays attention, even if he pretends not to.

Still, there are moments where the walls feel impossibly thick. One afternoon, he comes in with a pronounced limp.

"What happened?" you ask.

"Nothing."

You arch a brow. "You call that nothing?"

He shrugs, avoiding your gaze. "I landed wrong. I walked it off."

You gesture to the table. "Sit."

When you pull his shoe off, you see the swelling already setting in. You start treating it in silence until he hisses, just barely. That’s when you speak: “If you’re going to lie about your pain level, don’t waste my time.”

His head snaps up. For the first time, his eyes lock with yours.He doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t look away either. That silence stretches. Heavy. Charged. Then, he answers. "It’s an eight" he admits, barely above a whisper.

You nod. "Thank you." You continue your work without another word, and he doesn’t flinch again.

Days pass, and his behavior starts to shift in increments. He arrives earlier. He watches your hands as you work. When you adjust his alignment, he doesn’t tense anymore. There’s still a barrier, but now it’s thinner. Transparent. Like he’s starting to believe you won’t hurt him. Or worse, leave.

During one session, he catches you adjusting the elevation of the table before he climbs on. "You remember my height" he says, quietly.

You glance at him. "Of course I do."

His expression softens. Not a smile. Not quite. But it’s the first time his voice doesn’t sound cold.

You still wouldn’t call him open. He keeps his cards close. But the way he starts to trust you is almost reverent. You see it in the way he relaxes under your touch. How he listens when you speak. How he corrects a movement instantly, without ego. You catch him studying you sometimes, expression unreadable. Like he’s trying to solve a puzzle that doesn’t make sense. Why do you care? Why haven’t you left?Why do your hands never hurt him?

It happens on a Thursday afternoon. The rink is quieter than usual, just the sound of blades on ice and the occasional shouted instruction from Sunghoon’s coach. You’re nearby, checking over files and prepping for post-practice session, but your eyes are on him.

Sunghoon has been pushing hard this week. You warned him, more than once, not to overdo the jump drills. He nodded at the time, made the right sounds. But you know him by now. He hears advice like it’s a challenge.

He attempts a triple loop into a tight combination. Lands it, barely. His ankle wobbles. You hold your breath. And then he goes for it again. This time, he doesn’t land. There’s a crack of impact against the ice and a sharp, short yell. You drop everything.

By the time you reach the rink, he’s sitting on the ice, grimacing, one hand braced against the boards. His coach is pacing nearby, muttering under his breath. You kneel beside him.

"Where?"

"Left ankle" he mutters.

Your heart climbs into your throat. "Same one?"

He nods, jaw tight. "It popped. But not bad. I think."

You inspect it carefully. His laces are loose but not undone. You press gently against the tissue, and he flinches.

"Off the ice" you order, voice calm but firm. He doesn’t argue.

You ice his leg in the med room. It’s quiet, just the two of you. The coach had left you both alone, saying something about finishing the session notes. Or maybe he just didn’t want to be in the room.

Sunghoon’s usual wall of silence has returned, but this time, it feels different. Not icy. Not angry. Just... rattled. You watch his face as you work. He’s staring at the ceiling like it’s supposed to give him answers. His fingers twitch against his thighs. You can tell he’s replaying the fall in his head, over and over.

You place a towel over the ice pack, pressing it gently into place. His eyes finally flick toward you. "Is it bad?"

You shake your head. "No structural damage. Just strained. But you need to rest it for a few days. No jumps. No pushing through it."

He nods. Then, quietly, he asks "Why do you care so much?"

He has already asked it, he knows that. But he asks again. And this time you give a different answer. "Because someone has to. You don’t."

That silence returns, but this time it pulses with something else. A crack in the shell that hasn’t quite healed. He doesn’t look away. You don’t either.

After that day, something shifts. You notice it in the small things first. He starts being happy to have sessions. When you speak, he listens like he’s memorizing every word. He still doesn’t talk much about himself, but he asks you things now. About your day. About your job. About why you chose this job.

One afternoon, as you prep the table, he says "You ever work with dancers?"

You glance at him. "A few. Why?"

He shrugs, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. "They remind me of skaters. The pain, the pressure. The way they disappear into the work."

It’s the most he’s ever said without being asked first. You file it away like treasure.

Later that session, you catch him watching you. Not just casually, really watching. As if he’s trying to figure out how you work. Or maybe why you haven’t walked away like so many others physiotherapists before. You don’t call him out on it. But your hands slow just a fraction, your touch more deliberate. And when your eyes meet his, he doesn’t look away this time.

The next few sessions are filled with the kind of tension you can feel in your bones. It’s not anger. It’s something quieter, heavier. Like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

During one session, he grimaces as you work deeper into the tissue. You pause. "Too much?"

He shakes his head. "No. Keep going."

You nod and resume. But then he speaks again. "You were the only one who didn’t tell me to tough it out."

You glance at him, surprised.

He adds "Everyone else did. My last physio. My coach. Even my mom. They all thought it was just in my head."

You sit back slightly, giving him space. "It wasn’t in your head" you say. "Pain is real. And you deserve care, not dismissal."

For a moment, he looks like he might say something more. Instead, he just whispers, "Thanks."

You nod. "Always."

One evening, as you’re packing up, you find him lingering outside the treatment room. Hoodie zipped to the chin, hands in pockets. He doesn’t say anything, just leans against the wall.

"Need something?" you ask. "You forgot something ?"

"No, I was just...passing by, you know?"

You smile. It’s small, but sincere. "Really? Just passing by?"

There’s that look again. Like he doesn’t know what to do with how he feels. He clears his throat. "You, uh...you're going to the national qualifiers?"

"Planning to."

His eyes brighten. "Good. I skate better when you’re there."

The honesty of it nearly knocks the wind out of you. Before you can respond, he’s already turning down the hallway. But this time, he looks back. Just once.

It’s not love. Not yet. But it’s something. Something tender, quiet, and building slowly between the lines. In the way he softens when you’re near. In how your hands are the only ones he lets touch the parts of him that hurt.

You’re no longer just his physiotherapist. You’re the one who stayed. The one who saw him beneath the ice walls he protects himself wogh. And maybe, just maybe, the one who can help him heal more than just muscle and bone.

Few days later, you’re still at the facility, long after most of the staff have gone home. The lights hum above you, the air smells faintly of antiseptic and sweat, and you’re alone with paperwork. You’ve been logging Sunghoon’s progress for the last hour. Notes on reduced inflammation, improved range of motion, control under fatigue.

But the truth of it, the part you can’t put into his file, is how much he’s changed mentally.

The Sunghoon from the first week would never have lingered after treatment. He wouldn’t have said your name quietly, almost thoughtfully, at the end of a session. He wouldn’t have asked if you were coming to his next competition. He wouldn’t have told you that he landed cleaner when he knew you were watching.

You reach for your water bottle just as the door creaks open. Sunghoon is standing there, still in training clothes. His hair is damp, curling slightly at the edges. His expression is unreadable, but the energy coming off him is unmistakable, tense, volatile, like something barely holding itself together.

You straighten. "Did you forget something?"

"No" he says. A pause. Then, like it hurts to say it: "I needed to see you."

You blink.

He steps fully into the room and closes the door behind him. His shoulders are tight. You can tell from the way he holds his body that something happened. You’ve seen this version of him before: after rough training sessions, after fights with his coach, after he pushes too hard and crashes.

"Tell me what happened." you say gently.

His voice is tight. "He said I don’t want it bad enough."

You exhale slowly. "Because you didn’t force a landing on a sore ankle?"

Sunghoon doesn’t answer right away. He starts pacing instead, the way he does when his head gets too loud. You don’t interrupt him. You just wait. Give him space.

Then he turns and looks at you, and there’s something raw in his eyes. "I was trying to hold back. To do what you said. And he looked at me like I was weak."

Your chest aches at the confession. "You’re not weak. You’re careful. And brave enough to stop when it matters."

He scoffs. "Brave doesn’t win gold."

You stand slowly and move toward him. "Brave keeps you skating long enough to even have a shot."

He stops. His breath is shaky. He came here like this, sweaty, furious. But not at you. He lets you reach for his leg without protest. You kneel and begin touching the swell. Neither of you speaks for a while.

The silence between you stretches, but it doesn’t feel empty. It’s charged. Thick with something unsaid. When you finish bandaging him, you look up. He’s already staring. Eyes dark, jaw clenched. He doesn’t move, but you can feel the storm in him, the tension under his skin.

You rise slowly and you’re standing too close, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. "You’re always here when I’m falling apart" he says softly.

You nod. "Because you let me be."

His breath catches. And then, the last thread snaps. He presses his lips to yours. The kiss isn’t soft. It doesn’t ask for permission. It collides. His hands are in your hair, yours gripping the hem of his shirt. Weeks, months of tension explode between you.

He kisses like he trains: with intensity, with purpose, with everything he has. You stumble back until you hit the edge of the therapy table. He follows, never breaking contact, one hand cupping your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You’re the one who deepens it, your tongue sliding against his, pulling him closer, anchoring him. Because you understand this now: he isn’t looking for a distraction. He’s looking for something to hold onto.

When you part for breath, he rests his forehead against yours. He’s shaking slightly from restraint. "I can’t think when you look at me like that" he whispers.

You smile against his mouth. "Then don’t think."

He kisses you again, slower this time. Like he’s learning the feel of you. Like he’s finally letting himself want something just for him. And you let him. You hold him like he’s something precious. Because he is.

He doesn’t pull away. He stays. He sits on the edge of the therapy table, legs parted slightly, letting you stand between them. His hands rest lightly on your hips, your fingers curled into his shirt. His breathing has evened out, but there’s still something fragile in his expression.

You brush his hair from his forehead. "Better?"

He nods slowly. "I didn’t know where else to go."

"You came here."

"I always do" he says.

It feels like the truth of him.

You kiss the corner of his mouth. "And I’ll always be here."

He leans into you, rests his head on your shoulder. Lets out a slow, exhausted sigh.

Few minutes later, Sunghoon leans back against the table, his breath unsteady as you straddle his lap. Your clothes are already half off, discarded on the floor. The room smells like antiseptic and sweat and something newer, warmer. Him.

His hands roam your waist, tentative but hungry. When your mouths meet again, it’s no longer a hesitant kiss. It’s need. Pent-up tension, months of close proximity, longing, restraint, all unraveling at once.

You grind down against him slowly, and his hands tighten on your hips. His breath hitches. "You feel..." he starts, but can’t finish. He lets out a shaky exhale instead, forehead pressing against yours. "God."

Your fingers trace the curve of his jaw, your voice low. "Let go, Sunghoon. You don’t have to hold back with me."

He kisses you again, deeper, needier. And you can feel the tension building in his thighs, in the way he holds you like he’s afraid this will vanish if he blinks.

When your hands slip beneath his waistband, freeing him, he groans into your mouth. His hands fumble with your underwear, pulling it down your thighs until you kick it away.

You guide him to lie back, your hands splayed across his chest, feeling his heart race under your palms. His eyes are locked on yours, full of reverence and need.

You sink onto him slowly, and his head tilts back with a broken gasp. "Fuck" he breathes. "You feel unreal."

You let out a loud gasp at the feeling of his cock filling you up, his cockhead rubbing deliciously against your walls. You roll your hips gently, adjusting, both of you stilling for a moment just to feel. To let it settle in that this is happening. That it’s real.

He grabs your hips, grounding himself, eyes wide and dazed. "Wait" he whispers suddenly. "Where should I..."

You lean down, pressing your lips to his ear. "I’m on the pill" you murmur. "You can stay inside."

The shudder that runs through him is instant and visceral.

"Fuck" he says again, and this time it sounds like a prayer.

You start to move. Slow at first. Measured. You ride him with deliberate rhythm, hips rolling, hands braced against his chest for support. His eyes never leave you. He watches every twitch of your body, every flicker of pleasure across your face, like he’s trying to memorize it all.

He thrusts up to meet you, a perfect counterpoint to your rhythm. You fall into sync naturally, the rythm adjusted to bring the more pleasure to you both.

Your name tumbles from his lips again and again, each time more breathless, more reverent. He pulls you down to him, arms wrapped tightly around your back, lips brushing your shoulder, your throat, your collarbone. "I’ve wanted this for so long" he admits, voice cracked. "You have no idea."

"I do" you whisper, forehead pressed to his.

The table creaks beneath you, rocking slightly with each thrust, but neither of you care. You’re too far gone in it now, in him. In the way he gasps your name when your hips slam down just right. In the way his fingers grip your thighs like he needs to anchor himself.

It builds slowly but with no hesitation. A tightening, burning knot in your stomachs. The sounds in the room are obscene now, skin on skin, breathless curses, whispered confessions, moans and gasps. He’s close, and you know it in the way he twitches.

His pace falters. His voice catches. "I’m gonna..."

You press your mouth to his. "Inside me" you whisper against his lips. "I want to feel you."

He moans, full and deep, and thrusts up hard as he spills into you, hips stuttering, breath gone. He holds you like a lifeline, fingers splayed across your back, cock buried deep inside, panting your name.

You ride out your own release seconds later, clenching around him, shivering, his name a soft cry as your body tremble with pleasure.

The afterglow is immediate and quiet. He doesn’t let you go. You lie against him, still joined, his arms wrapped protectively around your waist. His breath is warm against your temple. He presses lazy kisses to your hair, your shoulder, your cheek.

"You okay?" you ask gently.

He laughs softly. "I’ve never been better. You’re the first person I’ve ever trusted like this."

You kiss his neck. "Then let this be the start of something. Not just a moment."

His grip tightens. "Yeah" he says. "The start of everything."