#cherrylixi

✧( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ )✧

The fire escape groaned under Bangchan's boots, the rusted metal creaking every step as he hauled himself up the last few steps. His black nail polish was chipped more than usual. He exhaled sharply, shaking his damp bangs out of his eyes before hoisting himself onto the rooftop with a grunt.

Hyunjin was already there, lounging against an old AC unit like it was a throne, one leg bent, the other stretched out lazily.

His silver rings glinted as he tapped ash from his blunt onto the cracked concrete.

"Took you long enough," he said without looking up, though the corner of his mouth twitched. The city hummed below them, neon bleeding into the wet pavement, distant car horns weaving through the bassline of some half-remembered song drifting from Hyunjin's phone.

Bangchan snorted, kicking Hyunjin’s outstretched leg lightly as he dropped onto the sun-warmed concrete beside him. The rooftop still smelled like wet asphalt and cigarettes, the storm having left everything slick and glinting under the flickering streetlights below.

He stretched his legs out, the holes in his jeans gaping wider at the knees, and leaned back on his palms

"You try climbing that death trap with a bag of snacks," he muttered, pulling a crumpled paper bag from his hoodie pocket and tossed it on the floor. The scent of sweets spilled into the air, mixing with the earthy tang of weed.

Hyunjin’s eyes lit up, literally, the reflection of some neon sign catching in his pupils as he lunged for the bag.

"You beautiful dickhead," he said around a mouthful of gummies. He held the blunt out to Bangchan between his long fingers. The music shifted then, something with a heavier bassline, and Hyunjin’s free hand started tapping arrhythmically against his thigh, his rings clicking against the chains on his jeans.

You walked over quietly and sat in between the two boys comfortably.

Hyunjin’s shoulder bumped against yours as he leaned in, the weight of his head settling against your temple with the casual intimacy of someone who’d done it a thousand times before.

His hair smelled like vanilla shampoo and the lingering ghost of rain, strands of it tickling your cheek as he held up a gummy between his fingers.

“Open up,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, the kind of tone that made your stomach do something stupid. You rolled your eyes but obeyed, letting him drop the sweet onto your tongue, his fingertips brushing your lower lip for a fraction of a second too long.

The gummy was sticky, sweet, artificial strawberry bursting across your taste buds as you chewed. Hyunjin watched you with half-lidded eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking up when you made a face at the intensity of the flavor. “Too much?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. You grunted in response, and he laughed, the sound warm and familiar, vibrating through where his body pressed against yours.

"You're quieter today y/n," Bangchan mumbled around the blunt, smoke curling from his lips as he stared out at the city skyline. He didn’t turn to look at you, just exhaled slowly, watching the smoke disappear into the humid air.

Hyunjin shifted beside you, His knee bumped yours, deliberate. "Yeah," he drawled, popping another gummy into his mouth. "Usually you're the one yapping about some deep shit by now." His tone was light, but his fingers lingered near your wrist, tracing idle circles on the inside of your forearm like he was trying to coax the words out of you.

You laugh out shaking your head. “I’m fine you dorks.”

You couldn’t stop thinking about what a threesome would be like with them as embarrassing as it was. The gummy suddenly felt too thick in your throat. You swallowed hard, fingers tapping restlessly against your own thigh, mimicking Hyunjin’s earlier rhythm but without the confidence, without the ease. The memory of last night kept replaying in your head, Hyunjin’s elbow nudging yours as he grinned, all sharp canines and glittering eyes,

“What if we just—y’know. Had a threesome.” And Bangchan had smirked, actually smirked, like the idea was a shared secret instead of a joke, like he’d imagined it before.

Hyunjin’s fingers were still tracing circles on your wrist, his touch feather-light but burning. You wondered if he could feel your pulse jumping under your skin.

“Bullshit," Bangchan chuckled, finishing the blunt with one last drag before flicking the stub over the rooftop’s edge. He turned to face you fully, his knee bumping against yours as he shifted, the worn fabric of his jeans catching on the concrete. The neon from the various sign across the street painted his face in shifting hues of violet, making his piercings even prettier when he tilted his head.

"You’ve been zoning out since you got up here. And don’t give me that ‘I’m fine’ shit—you only chew your lip like that when you’re thinking too hard."

Hyunjin snorted, stretching his legs out further until his scuffed boots nudged your ankle. "Yeah, and you’ve been staring at Chan’s lips for the last five minutes like you’re trying to solve an equation."

The teasing lilt in his voice should’ve been annoying, but the way his fingers were still tracing absent, burning circles on your wrist betrayed his casual act.

The silence stretched between you layered with something unspoken. Bangchan’s knee stayed pressed against yours, warm even through the fabric of his jeans, and Hyunjin’s fingers had stilled on your wrist, his thumb resting right over your pulse point. You could feel it hammering beneath your skin, a traitorous, fluttering thing.

“Okay,” Bangchan said finally, voice low and measured, like he was carefully choosing each word. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the silver chain around his neck swinging slightly. The city lights caught the angles of his face, throwing shadows under his eyes.

“Let’s say—hypothetically..Hyunjin wasn’t joking last night.” He paused, and you could see his throat work as he swallowed. “What then?”

"Why do you two keep bringing it up?" you say, swallowing hard. Your voice came out quieter than you intended, nearly lost under the hum of the city and the muffled bass still pulsing from Hyunjin’s phone.

Hyunjin smirked, leaning closer until his breath ghosted over your cheek

"Because it could be interestinggg," he murmured, dragging the last word out like he was savoring it. His fingers stopped tracing circles on your wrist, instead sliding down to intertwine with yours, his rings cold against your skin.

The space between you evaporated like smoke too fast. Hyunjin’s knee slotted against yours as he leaned in, his grip on your hand tightening just enough to make your pulse stutter. His breath hitched when Bangchan mirrored him on your other side, the heat of his thigh pressing flush against yours.

Hyunjin’s smirk faltered for a half-second, his eyes darting to Bangchan over your shoulder, some silent question passing between them.

Bangchan exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching where they rested on his knee, before he reached out slowly, deliberately, and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

Hyunjin's smirk was all teeth, the neon glow catching the silver of his tongue piercing as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

"Which one of us do you like more, my love?" he hummed, voice dripping with playful arrogance, but his fingers trembled slightly where they intertwined with yours. The question hung in the air like the last of smoke from Bangchan's discarded blunt, thick with implication.

Bangchan didn’t move from your other side, but you felt the shift in his posture, the way his shoulders tensed under his shirt, the way his knee pressed harder against yours.

He didn’t speak, just watched you with those dark, liquid eyes. His silence was louder than Hyunjin’s teasing, heavier.

Hyunjin continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I'm not as rough as Chan," he murmured into your ear,

"But I can be... thorough." The last word curled around you as you felt the weight of Bangchan's gaze on the side of your face, heavy and unreadable.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. Hyunjin’s lips brushed the shell of your ear as he spoke again, softer this time. "Unless you want rough." His teeth grazed your earlobe, just a hint of pressure, enough to make your breath hitch, before he pulled back slightly, his smirk returning full force. His eyes flicked to Bangchan again, something unspoken passing between them, a challenge or a plea, you couldn’t tell.

The moment Hyunjin’s lips met yours, the city noise faded into static, nothing but the wet sound of his mouth moving against yours, the faint click of his tongue piercing against your teeth.

His grip on your hand tightened, his rings digging into your skin just enough to leave light indents. You gasped when Bangchan’s fingers slid up your thigh, his touch slow and calculated like he was mapping you out.

Hyunjin smirked into the kiss, pulling back just enough to murmur, "Told you it'd be interesting," before diving back in with more urgency.

His free hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, exposing your throat to the cool air.

Bangchan’s fingers reached the edge of your shorts, his thumb tracing circles on the sensitive skin there. You shuddered, biting down on Hyunjin’s lower lip in retaliation, and he groaned, a low, broken sound that vibrated through your chest.

The fabric caught for a heartbeat on your hips before leaving, sliding down your thighs in a slow drag that left your skin prickling in the humid air.

"Fuckin' finally," Hyunjin muttered, pulling back just enough to watch Bangchan’s hands work, his smirk widening when your breath hitched. His thumb swiped over your lower lip, smearing the wetness there.

Bangchan didn’t rush. He never did. His movements were measured, almost lazy, as he eased the fabric down past your knees, his calloused palms skimming the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He traced the arch of you with his fingertips, his breath warm against the back of your neck. "Pretty," he murmured, the word rough around the edges, like it had been waiting too long in his throat.

"Ah—fuck, this can't be happening," you mumbled, the words dissolving into a gasp as Hyunjin’s teeth scraped the tender skin below your ear. His lips were hot, relentless, mapping a trail of bruises down your neck like he was claiming territory.

You arched into him without meaning to, your back pressing against Bangchan’s chest, the hard lines of his body bracketing you from behind. His breath hitched when your head laid back against his shoulder, his fingers tightening on your hips.

Hyunjin chuckled against your throat, the vibration humming through your skin. "Too late," he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something darker. His hands slid up your thighs, pushing the last of your shorts down past your knees, the fabric pooling around your ankles like a discarded thought. His rings were cold where they brushed your inner thighs, a stark contrast to the heat of his palms as they spread you wider, his thumbs tracing lazy circles just shy of where you needed him. "You’re already fucked, sweetheart."

Bangchan’s fingers traced the damp lace of your thong through your tights, the chill of his same rings pressing into your hot skin.

You moaned quietly, the sound barely escaping your lips before Hyunjin swallowed it with another searing kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with possessive intent. The rough pads of Bangchan’s fingertips dragged higher, hooking into the waistband of your tights, and the elastic snapped against your hip with a quiet thwip that made you jerk.

“Fuck—Chan,” you gasped, breaking away from Hyunjin’s mouth, your head falling back against Bangchan’s shoulder. His breath hit your throat, uneven and hot, as he peeled the fabric down inch by torturous inch, the cool night air kissing the newly exposed skin. Hyunjin watched with heavy-lidded eyes, his teeth biting down on his lower lip.

Hyunjin’s smirk was wicked as he glanced over your shoulder at Bangchan, some silent communication passing between them in the half second before Hyunjin ducked his head to your collarbone, his teeth scraping the thin skin there. You gasped, arching into the sensation just as Bangchan’s fingers finally slipped beneath your soaked underwear, his calloused fingertips dragging through your folds with agonizing slowness.

"Fuck," Hyunjin muttered against your throat, his breath hot as he palmed your breast over your shirt, his thumb circling your nipple through the fabric. The rough pad of his thumb pressed just hard enough to make you whimper.

"Look at you, so fucking responsive." His other hand tugged at the hem of your shirt, shoving it up until the cool air hit your stomach, his mouth following the exposed skin with hungry kisses.

Bangchan’s fingers curled inside you without warning, his palm pressing firmly against your clit as he worked you open with slow, deliberate strokes. The stretch burned just enough to make your thighs tremble, your hips jerking involuntarily against his hand. He exhaled sharply against the back of your neck, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he added a second finger, the drag of his knuckles against your inner walls making your vision blur at the edges.

Hyunjin’s mouth closed over your nipple, the wet heat of his tongue licking as his free hand fumbled with the other breast. His groan vibrated against your skin when he finally got his mouth on the bare flesh, his teeth scraping lightly before he sucked hard enough to make your back bow.

"God, you taste good," he mumbled against your breast, his fingers pinching your other nipple just shy of too hard.

The moment Hyunjin pulled back from your chest, his lips glistening and swollen, Bangchan’s fingers stilled inside you, a silent, mutual understanding passing between them in the space of a heartbeat.

Hyunjin’s smirk was sly as he flicked his perfect hair back and turned to face Bangchan fully, their knees bumping awkwardly around your sprawled legs.

“Who’s better? his fingers or my mouth?” Hyunjin taunted, voice rough with want, his fingers still toying lazily with your nipple as he leaned in.

Bangchan didn’t reply, just curled his fingers deeper inside you, wrenching a broken gasp from your throat, before withdrawing completely. His wet fingers glistened under the neon lights as he reached out, tangling them in Hyunjin’s hair and yanking him forward with a force that made your stomach flip. Their mouths crashed together, messy and uncoordinated at first, Hyunjin’s teeth catching Bangchan’s lower lip, Bangchan’s growl vibrating through the kiss as he bit down in retaliation.

You couldn't help the moan that escaped your lips, watching Bangchan yank Hyunjin closer by the hair, the wet sound of their kiss was brutal with their tongues sliding, teeth clashing and Hyunjin's silver piercing clicking against Bangchan's canines. A bead of spit trailed down Hyunjin's chin when they broke apart, his chest heaving as Bangchan licked into his mouth again, deeper this time, his free hand gripping Hyunjin's jaw hard enough to leave fingerprints.

Hyunjin gasped into the kiss, his fingers scrabbling at Bangchan's shirt, nails catching on the fabric as he pulled him closer. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, the hard line of his erection pressing against Bangchan's thigh through his jeans, and Bangchan groaned low in his throat, a sound that vibrated through you where you sat trapped between them.

"What a pretty day to spend fucking my two favorite people," Bangchan murmured, his voice rough with want as he yanked his band tee over his head in one fluid motion. The fabric caught briefly on his silver eyebrow ring before it joined the growing pile of clothes beside the AC unit. His abs were painted in dim neon lights, the shadows between his abs deepening as he reached for his belt buckle with trembling fingers.

Hyunjin didn't hesitate, just kicked off his scuffed boots and peeled his thin shirt off with a practiced twist of his shoulders. His collarbones glistened under the city's glow, the silver chains around his neck swinging as he leaned in to bite at Bangchan's shoulder.

"Took you long enough to admit it," he teased, his breath hot against Bangchan's skin as his fingers worked the button of Bangchan's jeans.

The buckle of Bangchan’s belt clattered against the concrete as Hyunjin yanked it free. Bangchan exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers tightening in Hyunjin’s hair as the other boy dropped to his knees in front of him, his smirk never wavering even as his knees hit the rough rooftop.

You watched, transfixed, as Hyunjin nuzzled the bulge in Bangchan’s boxers, his lips brushing the fabric with deliberate slowness. His tongue darted out, tracing the outline of him through the thin cotton, and Bangchan’s hips jerked forward with a choked-off groan. Hyunjin chuckled, low and throaty, before hooking his fingers into the waistband and dragging everything down in one smooth motion.

Hyunjin leaned back on his palms, the jagged concrete scraping his wrists as he arched his spine slightly, just enough to give you room to crawl between his spread legs.

His breath hitched when your fingers brushed the inside of his thigh, his hips jerking involuntarily as you moved closer. The worn fabric of his boxers strained against his erection, the damp spot at the tip already visible.

"You're so fucking pretty," he muttered, his voice rough as you nuzzled the length of him through the thin cotton. His thighs trembled when you exhaled against the heat of him, your breath seeping through the fabric. One of his hands left the rooftop to tangle in your hair, not guiding, just holding, like he needed the anchor.

Your fingers trembled against the elastic waistband of Hyunjin’s boxers, just a fraction, just enough to make him notice.

His breath caught when you hooked your thumbs into the fabric, his hips lifting instinctively to help you slide them down. The air between you crackled with anticipation as you leaned forward, pushing your ass up and arching your back in one fluid motion, the movement deliberate and slow.

The rough concrete scraped your knees through the ripped fabric of your tights, but the sting barely registered, not when Hyunjin’s cock sprang free, flushed and leaking against his stomach, the tip glistening.

Hyunjin’s groan was ragged, his fingers tightening in your hair as you nuzzled the length of him, your lips brushing the sensitive skin just below the head. His thighs tensed under your palms, muscles quivering as you exhaled against him, the warmth of your breath making his hips jerk.

“Fuck—fuck,” he hissed, his free hand scrabbling at the rooftop for guidance, nails scraping against the cracked concrete.

Bangchan’s breath hit the nape of your neck first, warm and uneven, sending goosebumps cascading down your spine before his lips even touched you.

His nose brushed the damp strands of your hair, inhaling deeply like he was memorizing the scent of your shampoo and rooftop rain.

“God, you smell good,” he murmured, the words vibrating against your skin as his hands slid around your waist, pulling you back against the solid heat of his chest. His calloused fingers traced your tits, teasing the bare skin his touch featherlight but deliberate.

The moment your lips closed around Hyunjin, the city noises faded into a distant hum, nothing but the wet slide of your mouth working him, the sharp intake of his breath through clenched teeth. His fingers tightened in your hair, not forcing, just holding, like he needed to remind himself it was really happening as you took him deeper.

The taste of salt and skin bloomed across your tongue, the weight of him heavy against it, and you moaned around him, the vibration drawing a ragged groan from Hyunjin's throat.

Bangchan’s teeth scraped your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin as you arched into him, your back pressing flush against him and his cock.

The moment Bangchan’s hips pressed flush against yours, the blunt head of him nudging your entrance, Hyunjin’s fingers tightened in your hair so he could admire you.

“Fuck, look at you,” Hyunjin breathed, his voice ragged as he watched Bangchan’s hands grip your hips, his knuckles whitening with the effort of holding back. “Taking him so pretty.”

Bangchan didn’t ease in. With a sharp exhale, he rocked forward in one fluid motion, the stretch burning just enough to make your back arch, your nails scraping against Hyunjin’s thighs. The sound that tore from Bangchan’s throat was raw, guttural, half groan, half curse as he bottomed out, his hips flush against your ass. “God, fuckkk,” he choked out, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against your skin.

You rolled your eyes back, hollowing your cheeks as you took Hyunjin deeper, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat with a wet click. His fingers spasmed in your hair, his thighs trembling under your palms as you sucked harder, faster the rhythm deliberate, relentless. The salt-bitter taste of him flooded your mouth, his precome smearing across your tongue as you pulled back just enough to swirl your tongue around the sensitive ridge beneath his head.

Hyunjin’s breath came in sharp, ragged bursts above you, his free hand scrabbling at the rooftop like he was trying to claw through the concrete.

"Fuck—y/n , just like that," he choked out, his voice cracking on the last syllable as you dragged your lips back down his length, taking him all the way until your nose brushed the curls at his base. The vibrations of his moans traveled through your skull.

"Shit—look at this view," Bangchan groaned, his voice ragged as he fisted his hand in your hair and tugged your head back just enough. His other hand tangled with Hyunjin’s, their fingers interlacing roughly over your shoulder, silver rings clinking together, knuckles whitening from the grip. The city sprawled beneath you in a dizzying kaleidoscope of neon and shadow, the distant hum of traffic drowned out by the wet sounds of Hyunjin’s cock sliding between your lips and Bangchan’s cock relentlessly moving in and out.

Hyunjin’s laugh was breathless, strained, his free hand scrabbling at your thigh as he watched Bangchan’s hips snap forward again, the sharp slap of skin on skin echoed.

"Fucking—perfect," he managed, his voice cracking as you hollowed your cheeks around him, your tongue pressing even harder. His fingers spasmed in Bangchan’s grip, their joined hands trembling where they hovered above you, in some unspoken pact.

The rhythm between you three became a brutal and synchronized, every sharp snap of Bangchan’s hips forward drove Hyunjin deeper down your throat, the head of his cock hitting the back of your mouth with each thrust. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder just as Bangchan pistoned into you with a rough groan, his grip bruising on your hips. The dual sensations blurred into one overwhelming tide, the stretch of Bangchan inside you, the weight of Hyunjin on your tongue, the wet, filthy sounds of skin slapping skin merging with loud moans. It felt embarrassingly like out of a badly shot porno.

Hyunjin’s fingers didn’t stop fidgeting in your hair, “Urghh—shit, she’s taking us both so good,” he rasped, voice shattered.

His head tipped back, exposing the sharp line of his throat as Bangchan’s pace turned erratic, his thrusts losing their measured control.

You felt your walls clenching, tight and sudden and suddenly the city lights broke into stars behind your eyelids. A ragged gasp tore from your throat, muffled around Hyunjin’s cock as your body trembled between them, every muscle locking in place. Bangchan’s fingers dug into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, his rhythm stuttering as your inner muscles pulsed around him in erratic waves.

“Ah fuck—fuck, she’s coming,” Bangchan growled, his voice shredded as he ground his hips flush against yours, his cock twitching deep inside you. The stretch burned deliciously, his pelvis pressing against your clit with each shallow thrust, dragging the orgasm out until tears pricked at your lashes.

Hyunjin’s fingers stayed in your hair, his other hand gripping Bangchan’s wrist where it was braced against your shoulder both of them holding you steady as you trembled between them, your thighs slick with sweat and spend.

Precome spilled hot and bitter across your tongue as Hyunjin’s control shattered.

“I’m—gonna—” His warning was raw, fractured, cut off by the first thick pulse against the back of your throat. You swallowed reflexively, the salt-burst flooding your senses as Bangchan’s hips stuttered against yours, his cock twitching deep inside you with each ragged thrust. His groan was guttural, his forehead pressing hard between your shoulder blades as he came, his fingers leaving crescent-shaped indents in your hips.

Bangchan’s hands trembled as he lifted you upright, his fingers unsteady where they pressed against your sweat-slick back. The neon lit skyline spun briefly in your vision before Hyunjin’s arms slid around you from behind, his chest pressing flush against your shoulder blades, warm and solid, grounding you as your head layed back against him. His chin hooked over your shoulder, his breath still ragged against your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it when he murmured, “Fuck, you’re wrecked.”

Bangchan’s gaze flickered between your glazed eyes and Hyunjin’s smirk, his thumb swiping gently at the corner of your mouth where spit, and cum still glistened. He didn’t speak, just exhaled sharply through his nose and leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours as his fingers traced the curve of your jaw. His skin was fever hot against yours, his pulse thundering where his wrist brushed your collarbone.

You blinked up at them through your lashes, vision still swimming with the aftershocks, your lips parted and swollen. Hyunjin’s pupils blown wide, Bangchan’s lower lip caught between his teeth. For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Hyunjin’s smirk returned, slow and deliberate, as he tilted your chin up with two fingers. “Look at you,” he murmured, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “All fucked-out and pretty.”

Bangchan exhaled sharply, his breath warm against your temple as he leaned in, his nose bumping yours. There was no hesitation just the sudden press of his lips against yours, rough and claiming, his tongue sliding against yours before you could catch your breath. The taste of him, smoke and something distinctly Chan flooded your senses, his fingers tangling in your hair to angle your head just so.

Hyunjin’s fingers carded through your sweat-damp hair, his rings catching on tangles as he laughed low and breathless,

“We’re definitely coming back up here,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, his breath warm and still uneven.

☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆...

🏷️ Taglist: @11racha

✧( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ )✧

The keyboard clicked under Bangchan’s fingers. His setup was simple but effective, a decent microphone, soft ring lighting, and a webcam. He leaned back slightly in his chair, stretching his arms overhead with a lazy grin.

"Alright, alright. I see you, user... uh—" He squinted at the screen, then snorted. "'BigDaddyBitch69'? Really?“

The chat exploded with laughter emojis and rapid fire messages. Chan scrolled through them, fingers occasionally pausing to tap out quick responses between bites of cold pizza. His apartment smelled vaguely of reheated leftovers and that lemon-scented cleaner he'd use constantly.

The username ‘BigDaddyBitch69’ had been a joke, a stupid, sleep-deprived decision made at 3 AM after your friends shoved their phones in your face, giggling about this "ridiculous cam site." You searched it later alone, purely to mock it, to screenshot the absurd usernames and over the top thumbnails to send back to the group chat. But then the algorithm served you him, Bangchan, smirking at the camera with a half-empty energy drink, and the sharp cut of his jawline under shitty LED strips.

The pizza crust cracked audibly between Chan's teeth as he tugged absently at the hem of his shirt, still chewing. "Y'know what," he announced to the camera, swallowing hard, "This shirt is a bit restricting.." He peeled the fabric up over his head, revealing a torso that was unfairly toned for someone who'd just inhaled three slices of pizza. The shirt landed somewhere off-camera with a soft thwap.

Chat lost its collective mind. Emojis and donation alerts flooded the screen, he had to squint against the sudden barrage of rainbow colored notifications. Chan smirked, licking a smear of grease from his thumb. "Relax, relax," he drawled, leaning forward just enough to make the shadows dance along his collarbones. "It's not like you guys haven't seen me shirtless before. Unless—" He feigned shock, clutching his chest. "Wait. Are there newbies here? Should I be scandalized?"

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, too aware of how rough the keys felt under your fingertips, before finally tapping out a donation message. The screen flashed pink as Bangchan's eyebrows shot up at the amount, his lips parting slightly before curling into that infuriatingly perfect smirk. "Oh? Someone's feeling generous tonight," he purred, dragging a fingertip lazily along the waistband of his sweatpants. The fabric dipped dangerously low, revealing the faint shadow of his hipbones.

You shifted against the pillows, thighs pressing together as warmth pooled low in your stomach. It was ridiculous, really, how the simple flex of his forearm when he reached for his water bottle could make your breath hitch.

The cursor blinked mockingly in the donation message box as Chan’s voice dripped through your headphones like honey. "What do you want from me, my darling?"

The chat was a frenzy of suggestions, some filthy, some absurd, but your fingers twitched, hesitating. Because the truth was, you knew what you wanted. You’d imagined it a hundred times, his hands, his mouth, the way his sweatpants would feel under your palms if you could just—

The screen flashed pink again. Your donation. Your demand.

Chan’s smirk deepened as he read your donation message aloud, his voice dropping into that low, teasing register that always made your pulse stutter. "’Please give us a view of everything…’” He repeated the words slowly, as if savoring them, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair.

"Everything, huh?" He arched a brow, tilting his head just enough to let the light catch the curve of his throat. "That’s a tall order, doll. You sure you can handle it?"

You didn’t breathe. The screen blurred for a second, your fingers gripping the edge of your laptop as Chan pushed back from the desk with deliberate slowness. The chair creaked, and then he was standing, one hand hooking into the waistband of his sweatpants while the other braced against the back of the chair. The fabric dipped lower, revealing the sharp V of his hips, the faint trail of dark hair leading downward and teasing, always teasing. "You’re the highest bidder," he murmured, "Guess I owe you a proper show."

You couldn’t help yourself, donating again, message hornier than the last. “I would love to fuck you 7 days a week.”

The words glowed on the screen for half a second before Chan's laughter, warm and startled filled your headphones. "Seven days a week?" He dragged a hand through his hair, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Bold. You'd get sick of me by Wednesday."

"Though.." he added, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, "I wouldn't get sick of you."

Your next donation notification chimed before he could finish the thought. Chan's eyes flicked to the amount, then back up, his smirk turning predatory. "Oh? Now you're just showing off." He stood in one fluid motion, the sweatpants hanging precariously low as he stepped closer to the camera. The lens caught the sweat gleaming at the hollow of his throat, the way his breath hitched, just slightly when he glanced at your username again. "Tell you what," he murmured, fingers toying with the drawstring of his pants. "Since you're feeling invested—"

Chan’s fingers lingered on the drawstring, tugging it loose with agonizing slowness. The fabric slackened further, dipping low enough to reveal the faintest shadow of skin beneath. The chat was a wildfire now, emojis and demands scrolling too fast to read, but Chan’s gaze never wavered from the camera from you.

"Why don't we make this interesting?" He tilted his head,

"Double the donation, and I'll—" His grin sharpened. "—lose the pants."

Your fingers moved before your brain caught up, the donation notification flashing red this time, twice the amount he'd asked for. The chat erupted into chaos, but Chan's laugh cut through, rich and delighted. "Fuck, you're eager." He hooked both thumbs into the waistband, the fabric clinging stubbornly for a heartbeat before finally sliding down his hips. The tease of it was unbearable, the way he paused just to watch the chat lose its collective mind, the way his abs flexed as he arched his back slightly, dragging the sweatpants down inch by torturous inch.

The sweatpants hit the floor with a soft whisper and Chan bit his lip. His grin was all teeth, all victory, as he kicked the discarded pants aside with one bare foot. "Happy?" he purred, spreading his arms slightly, letting the stream drink in the sight of him. The waistband of his boxers clung low, the fabric straining just enough to outline the shape of him, and you could see the faint tremor in his thighs as he shifted his weight, like even he wasn't entirely immune to the tension crackling through the screen.

The chat was a blur of emojis and screaming capitals, but Chan's eyes flickered to your username again, his smirk softening into something dangerously close to genuine warmth. "Someone's quiet," he murmured, tapping the side of his headset as if he could hear the way your breath had gone shallow. "Cat got your tongue, or are you too busy appreciating the view?" He rolled his hips just slightly, the motion lazy and calculated, and you could see the way his boxers strained tighter, could see the damp spot already forming at the front.

The donation notification flashed gold this time, triple the usual amount and Chan's breath audibly hitched. His fingers, which had been idly tracing the waistband of his boxers, froze mid-motion. The chat went eerily silent for half a second before exploding into a frenzy, but Chan barely glanced at it. His gaze locked onto the screen like he could see through the pixels straight to you, his lips parting around a slow exhale. "I need you," your message read, simple and raw, and something in his posture shifted the playful arrogance melting into something hotter, heavier.

Your fingers twitched against the keyboard, then slid away, down, lower, almost without your permission as Chan’s breath hitched audibly through the headphones. The sound was rough, ragged, like he’d been running, and your palm pressed flat against your stomach before dipping beneath the waistband of your own shorts. Fuck. The fabric was already damp, your skin overheated, and you bit your lip hard as Chan’s voice curled through the speakers: "That’s what you want?" His fingers traced the outline of himself through the thin fabric of his boxers, slow and deliberate, and your own fingers mirrored the motion without thought, your body moving on autopilot, chasing the same rhythm.

The chat was a blur of motion, but Chan wasn’t looking at it anymore. His gaze was fixed on the camera, his pupils blown wide, dark enough to drown in.

The chair creaked under Chan’s weight as he lowered himself back into it, his fingers hovered at the waistband of his boxers for a heartbeat, before he hooked his thumbs into the fabric and tugged. The elastic snapped against his hips, then gave way, and the boxers slid down just enough to free his cock, already hard and flushed against his stomach. Chan exhaled sharply through his nose, his smirk faltering for half a second before settling into something darker, more intimate. "There," he murmured, dragging a hand lazily along his length, his fingers gliding over the slickness already beading at the tip. "Happy now?"

The chat was a mess of emojis and down bad people, but Chan’s gaze flicked to your username, his lips curving into a smirk that was equal parts challenge and invitation. His fingers tightened around himself, stroking once, twice, the motion slow enough to make your own breath stutter.

The screen flashed pink again then again, then red, gold, a rapid-fire of notifications as the chat erupted into a bidding war. Chan's smirk wavered for a fraction of a second, his fingers pausing mid-stroke as the numbers ticked higher, the amounts scrolling too fast to read. Someone had just tripled your donation. Then quadrupled. Then—

"Fuck," Chan breathed, his laugh strained at the edges as he dragged his free hand through his hair, disheveling it further. "You guys are determined tonight." His hips arched slightly off the chair, his cock twitching against his palm as another gold notification popped up, five times your last donation, his breath hitched audibly. The chat was a blur of usernames and money signs, but Chan’s gaze flicked back to the camera, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted around a shaky exhale. "Someone’s feeling competitive," he purred, though his voice cracked halfway through, betraying the effect it was having on him.

Your fingers fumbled for your phone while your other hand stayed buried beneath the waistband of your sweatpants, knuckles brushing damp fabric. The screen lit up with a fresh notification as you tapped in the amount, your thumb hovering over the send button for half a second before committing. The payment went through with a soft chime, and Chan’s head snapped up like he’d been electrocuted, his fingers tightening reflexively around himself. "Don’t stop what you’re doing," your message read, his laugh came out breathless, ragged at the edges.

"Bossy," Chan murmured, but his hand moved again, slow and deliberate, his thumb swiping over the head of his cock in. The camera caught the way his abs flexed, the sweat-slick dip of his collarbones, and you imagined the heat of his skin under your palms, the way his pulse would hammer against your lips if you dragged your tongue along his throat right now.

“You like watching me like this?" he asked, his voice dropping into a deep rasp.

Chan’s throat worked as he swallowed, his gaze flicking between the chat and the camera with lazy amusement. His fingers never stopped moving, but his smirk softened into something almost tender as he read the latest flood of donations aloud. “BigDaddyBitch69—still holding strong, huh?” He chuckled, shaking his head before his eyes locked onto your username, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

The chat exploded with heart emojis and exaggerated horny messages, but Chan ignored them, his focus narrowing in on you like you were the only one in the room. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his skin glistening under the soft glow of the ring light. “Seriously, though,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that private, husky register that made your stomach flip. “Thank you. All of you.” His fingers slowed, his touch slowing as he stroked himself.

The donation notification chimed softly, the words, “Thank you Chan.." flashing pink across the screen. Chan’s fingers stilled mid-stroke, his smirk faltering for a heartbeat before softening into something dangerously genuine. He exhaled through his nose, his chest rising slowly as he leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. "You’re thanking me?" he murmured. His thumb brushed absently over the head of his cock, smearing precum in a slow circle. "Darling, you’re the one who just funded my next holiday."

The chat erupted into a chorus of “AWWWW" and heart emojis, but Chan barely glanced at them. His gaze stayed fixed on your profile, his free hand lifting to tap the side of his headset like he could pull you closer through the screen. "Seriously," he added, quieter now.

“You don’t have to—" He broke off with a shaky laugh as another donation notification popped up "For the holidays then.” His hips jerked involuntarily, his cock twitching against his palm. "Fuck," he breathed, his smirk returning, sharper now. "You’re gonna ruin me."

Chan's breathing hitched as his strokes quickened, the rhythm turning erratic, sharp snaps of his wrist that made his abs tense. The ring light caught every twitch of muscle. You could see the moment his control slipped, his fingers tightening just shy of rough, his hips lifting off the chair with each upward drag. The chat was a blur of motion, but you barely registered it, your own fingers mirroring his pace beneath your waistband, sticky and desperate.

"Fuck—" Chan's voice cracked, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk like an anchor. His bicep flexed as he braced himself, his gaze locked onto the camera like he could feel the weight of your attention like a physical touch. “You’re watching me," he rasped, not a question but a statement.

Chan's moans punched through the headphones low, ragged, barely held together and your fingers twitched in response, pressing harder against yourself as if you could chase the sound deeper. He arched off the chair, his throat working around another broken noise, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "Fuck, fuck—" His voice shattered into a gasp, his hips stuttering forward into his fist, the motion desperate now. The camera caught the way his eyelashes fluttered, the sweat-damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead as he tipped his head back. You imagined biting there, marking him, and your own breath caught sharply, your thighs pressing together involuntarily.

"You sound so good," you typed, the words blurring slightly as your fingers trembled over the keys. Chan's eyes snapped open at the notification, his gaze locking onto the screen like he could see straight through the pixels to where you were sprawled across your bed.

"Thank you.." Chan moans out, voice cracking around the edges as his fingers tightened around himself. The camera caught the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks. "Can I cum yet, BigDaddyBitch69?"

You couldn’t help but giggle at your ridiculous username flashing across the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard with a hastily typed “Yes i want to see you.”

Chan’s laugh punched through the headphones, low, breathless, already way too wrecked as he read your message aloud. "Yes I want to see you," he echoed, his voice curling around the words like he was tasting them. His fingers twisted lazily around his cock, thumb swiping over the head just to watch the way his hips jerked involuntarily. "Fuck, you’re so demanding tonight," he murmured, but there was no bite to it.

His hips jerked forward, the motion uncontrolled, desperate, and the camera caught every twitch of muscle as his control unraveled. "Urghh—" His voice cracked, breaking into a groan as his thumb swiped roughly over the head of his cock, spreading the slickness there. "You like that?" he gasped, his gaze locked onto the camera like he could see the way your own fingers were moving beneath your waistband. "You like watching me fall apart?"

"God—fuck—" His voice shattered as the groans echoed off his walls.

The first spurt caught Chan by surprise a hot, messy stripe across his stomach that made his breath punch out in a ragged groan. His fingers tightened reflexively, milking himself through it as another thick pulse followed, splattering over his knuckles and dripping down onto his thighs. The camera caught every twitch of his abs, every shuddering gasp as he rode it out, his hips jerking weakly into his own grip. The way he came was so dirty, squirting everywhere almost too perfectly.

"Mhmm—" His voice cracked, the word dissolving into a moan as his head tipped back against the chair, throat working uselessly around the aftershocks. Cum glistened on his skin, his fingers trembled where they still loosely circled his cock, squeezing out the last few drops.

Chan groaned, his fingers slipping off the keyboard as another shudder ran through him. "Shit—got it on the keyboard," he muttered, breathless, reaching blindly for the towel draped over the back of his chair. The fabric landed with a damp thwump over his stomach, and he exhaled sharply through his nose as he wiped himself clean, the motions lazy but efficient. The camera caught the way his abs twitched under the rough drag of the towel, the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin.

He scrubbed half heartedly at the keyboard sticky with more than just energy drink spills now, before tossing the towel somewhere off-screen with a tired chuckle. "Fuckin' mess," he murmured.

You'd been clenching your thighs together, fingers circling just there with torturous slowness, trying to drag it out, trying to match the rhythm of Chan’s lazy strokes on-screen. But then his breath hitched, ragged and broken, and his name tumbled from your lips like a plea, your hips jerked involuntarily, your fingers pressing too hard, too fast.

The orgasm ripped through you suddenly, your back arching off the mattress as your thighs trembled. You hadn’t meant to, hadn’t wanted to yet, but the sound of Chan moaning for you, the way his voice cracked around the edges, undid you completely. The laptop screen blurred as your vision whited out, your free hand clutching at the sheets like an anchor while warmth flooded your stomach, your fingers, the sticky mess between your thighs.

You breathe out, slow and shaky, fingers still curled into the damp fabric of your sweatpants as the aftershocks hum through your veins. The laptop screen flickers, Chan wiping his stomach with the towel, his smirk lazy but satisfied, but your focus wavers, heartbeat thudding in your ears louder than his post-orgasm chuckle.

Chan leaned back in his chair with a groan, the leather creaking under his weight as he stretched his arms overhead. The muscles in his abdomen flexed under the soft glow of the ring light, still glistening faintly from the towel he'd used moments earlier. There was a glint in his eyes, something mischievous, as he tapped the keyboard to bring up the stream schedule overlay. "Alright, degenerates," he announced, voice still rough around the edges, "Tomorrow’s Genshin stream. Got some... new toys." His grin widened, sharp enough to cut glass. "You guys should tune in."

The chat exploded into a frenzy of questions, but Chan just winked, dragging a hand through his hair.

The thought of Chan teasing his audience tomorrow, those knowing smirks, the way his fingers would linger just a little too long on the controller, made your thighs press together involuntarily. Your sweatpants were still damp, the fabric clinging uncomfortably, but the heat pooled low in your stomach. You imagined him leaning into the camera, that half-smile playing at his lips as he pretended to focus on the game, all while his free hand dipped below the desk just far enough to make the chat lose its collective mind.

"Thank you for tonight guys.. i’ll see you whores tomorrow.." Chan grinned, winking into the camera as his fingers hovered over the stream's end button. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. "Don’t miss me too much.”

The chat spammed crying emojis and demands for "five more minutes," but Chan just laughed, warm and breathless, as he reached for his water bottle. His gaze flicked to your username one last time before the screen went black.

You sighed, pressing your forehead against the cool edge of your headboard. The glow of Chan’s offline stream banner cast a faint blue haze over your tangled sheets. Embarrassment prickled at the back of your neck, not just for the username, not just for the donations, but for the way your fingers still twitched against your thigh like they hadn’t gotten the memo that the show was over. Again. For the third night this week.

Downstairs, your roommate’s muffled laughter seeped through the floorboards. Normal people had post-dinner conversations. You had post-cum shame with a side of PayPal receipts.

Your phone buzzed against the mattress, the screen lighting up with a notification that wasn’t from PayPal this time. You blinked at it, still half-dazed, Unknown Number and swiped it open before your brain could catch up.

Unknown: Enjoy the show?

Your thumb hovered over the notification for seconds before your brain caught up. Chan? The thought flickered and died, obviously a scam.

Some bot probably scraping donation receipts. You snorted, tossing the phone onto the rumpled comforter. As if Bangchan would actually—

Your phone buzzed again, sharp, insistent and this time, the screen lit up with a photo attachment. The thumbnail was too small to make out details, but the shape was unmistakably human.

Fingers shaking, you tapped the image.

The photo loaded in agonizing increments, first the blurred curve of a shoulder, then the sharp shape of a collarbone still glistening with sweat. Your breath caught when you took in the picture fully, Chan’s torso, lit by the familiar blue glow of his ring light, a fresh bruise blooming just above his hipbone where his thumb had dug in too hard. The caption beneath it read, 'Forgot to show you this.'

Your phone clattered onto the mattress as you scrambled upright, heart hammering against your ribs. This wasn’t possible. Streamers didn’t text donors. Especially not with that photo, still damp at the edges like he’d snapped it right after wiping himself down. You stared at the screen until the pixels burned into your vision, half expecting the message to vanish like some sleep-deprived hallucination.

Your fingers trembled as you typed,

Y/N: Who is this?

and sent it before you could second guess yourself. The reply came instantly, as if he'd been waiting with his thumbs hovering over the screen.

Unknown: Guess.

You snorted, thumb jabbing at the screen with exaggerated disbelief.

Y/N: This isn’t real. 🙄

The mattress creaked as you shifted, knees pressing together under the tangled sheets. "Nice try, scammer," you muttered to the empty room, tossing your phone onto the pillow like it had personally offended you.

Your phone buzzed again before it even hit the pillow, two rapid-fire vibrations that mumbled against the fabric. You snatched it up.

First, the familiar white fabric of Chan’s tank top clenched between his teeth. Chan’s head tilted back, his shirt pulled up just enough to expose the flexed abs, still gleaming faintly from the stream. The message beneath was a single, devastating word.

Unknown: Proof.

Y/N: Proof my ass.

you muttered out loud again, thumb jamming into the screen with enough force to crack the glass protector. The words felt clumsy, too loud in the silence of your bedroom but you sent them anyway.

Y/N: Literally anyone could’ve screenshot the stream and cropped it.

The notification popped up with a soft ping. A video attachment this time, the thumbnail a blur of motion that made your pulse stutter. You hesitated before tapping it.

The video loaded, Chan leaned back in his chair, his tank top riding up just enough to tease again. He grinned at the camera, cocky and triumphant, his fingers tapping idly against his bare thigh. "My god, princess," he murmured, voice rough with post-orgasm smugness. "You are impossible to convince."

His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, the motion deliberately slow. "Hello, BigDaddyBitch69," he added.

You buried your head instantly into your pillow, the fabric muffling your scream as Chan’s voice, real, alive, impossibly his, through your phone speakers.

The phone vibrated violently in your hand, not a text, not a photo, but an actual call, Unknown number flashing across the screen. Your thumb hovered over the accept button, your pulse hammering loud enough to drown out the ringing. ‘Answer it.’ your brain screamed. ‘Throw it out the window’, your dignity countered.

You answered on the fifth ring, too late to be cool, too soon to pretend you hadn’t been staring at the screen like a deer in headlights. The video loaded slowly, damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, finally the full picture, him sprawled in his gaming chair, shirtless, the neon lights casting long shadows across his collarbones. "Took you long enough," he drawled, his grin sharp enough to cut glass.

"Hi- Chan..." you breathed, the words barely louder than the rustle of sheets as you adjusted your grip on the phone. The screen showed him leaning closer, close enough that you could see the faint pink flush still lingering at the tips of his ears, the way his throat worked when he swallowed.

"Hi yourself," he murmured, voice rougher than it had been on stream, like he'd been shouting. Maybe he had. The thought made your thighs press together under the tangled comforter. "Enjoy the show?"

Your fingers twitched against the phone screen, hesitating before you exhaled sharply and turned on the camera. The screen blinked, adjusting focus, and suddenly there you were, flushed cheeks and tangled hair framing your face like a halo. You nod replying to him.

Chan’s breath hitched audibly through the speakers. “There you are,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something warmer, rougher. His thumb swiped absently across his lower lip, like he was savoring the sight. “Fuck, you’re pretty.”

"Shut up," you laughed nervously, the sound catching in your throat as Chan's gaze burned through the screen. Your fingers twitched against the phone, the warmth of your palm making the glass slick. "Thank you," you added, softer now, the words barely audible over the hum of your laptop fan.

Chan’s grin widened. "Thank you," he echoed, his voice dipping into that rasp.

"BigDaddyBitch69." The username rolled off his tongue like a private joke.

You rolled your eyes, smirking as Chan’s voice curled through the phone speakers, that fucking stupid username again, dripping off his tongue like honey. "Seriously?" you muttered, "You’re really gonna keep calling me that?"

Chan’s grin widened, his teeth catching the low light of his ring light. "What, you don’t like it?" He leaned closer, the camera tilting as his fingers adjusted the angle, catching the sweat-damp hollow of his throat. "I think it’s cute."

“What’s your name doll?”

"Y/n," you replied, smiling as Chan's brow arched in amusement.

"That suits you better," he murmured, shifting in his chair. The leather creaked under his weight as he reached for something off-screen. "So," he continued, setting the phone down.

"Y/n who watches my horny streams and donates enough to feed me for a month. You got a last name to go with that?"

"Now why would I tell you that?" you smiled, fingers teasing the frayed edge of your waistband where it clung to skin. His gaze flickered down, just for a heartbeat, to where your pj shorts clung to you for dear life.

Chan's exhale crackled through the speakers, his gaze dropping to follow the motion like a predator tracking prey. "You’re not curious why i called?”

Your phone screen blurred momentarily, your vision still catching up with the fact that Bang Chan was calling you, that his shit smirk was currently taking up 80% of your screen. "I—" Your voice caught, the syllable cracking under the weight of too many competing thoughts.

How did he get this number? Why is he so sexy? Did I actually pass out during the stream and hallucinate this entire conversation?

Chan's smile deepened as your silence stretched, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "What, cat got your tongue?" He leaned back slightly, the camera catching the way his fingers drummed against his bare thigh, lazy and rhythmic. "Relax, princess. I didn't hack you."

“Just... asked my manager to do a little digging after your 30th donation this week."

Your pulse spiked so violently you could feel it in your fingertips. "What?" The word came out sharper than intended, your grip tightening around the phone. "You—you stalked me?"

Chan’s laughter crackled through the speakers, warm, unguarded, the kind of sound that made your ribs ache with how real it was.

"Relax," he murmured, his fingers tapping idly against the desk.

"Sent it all back. Every cent." His thumb swiped across his phone screen, the motion lazy. "Check your PayPal."

Your phone buzzed against your palm, a notification.

BangChan has refunded your payment of $5000.

The breath punched out of your lungs. "You—" The words tangled in your throat. "Why?"

"Well..." He dragged the word out, his smirk turning dangerously soft at the edges. "I was curious about you. After I saw how much you were sending me—" His thumb swiped absently over his lower lip. "It intrigued me even more."

The admission curled warm in your chest, your fingers tightening reflexively around the phone.

"Most people donate fifty bucks and expect me to propose," he continued, his grin sharpening. "You threw a grand at me just to watch me squirm."

Chan’s laughed warmly.

"What can I say?" His grin widened. "I like my girls rich." The words hung between you for a heartbeat before his smirk softened, his thumb wiping absently over his lower lip. "I’m kidding—I truly don’t need your money though."

You can't help but smile as he watches you through the phone, really stares at you, the way his gaze lingers on the curve of your bottom lip where you've been worrying it between your teeth. Chan's expression shifts subtly, his smirk softening into something dangerously close to tenderness as he exhales through his nose.

Chan's fingers stilled against the desk, his smirk stopping for a second, just long enough for you to notice the way his throat worked before he spoke. "I came to ask you something else too, y/n." The words came out softer than expected, his usual rasp sanded down at the edges. The ring light caught the nervous tap of his index finger against his phone screen, the motion too quick to be casual.

You arched a brow, thumb hovering over the mute button like a coward's escape route. "Ask away, streamer boy."

Chan’s gaze darkened, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something heavier, something that made the air in your bedroom feel suddenly too thick. His voice dropping into a whisper that crackled through the phone speakers like static. “Do you want a private show, y/n?”

The question hung between you. Your pulse thudded against your ribs, loud enough that you wondered if the microphone could pick it up. You watched, transfixed as Chan leaned forward, the camera tilting to catch the flex of his bicep when he braced one hand against the desk. His other hand dipped below the frame, the motion deliberately slow.

Your breath caught, sharp and sudden as your head bobbed in a nod before your brain could catch up with the embarrassment coiled in your gut.

Chan's exhaled low and satisfied, his fingers already moving below the frame with practiced ease. The desk creaked again, louder this time, and you imagined the way his thighs would tense under the strain, the way his knuckles would whiten around the base of his—

"Good girl," he murmured, the words rough with approval, and your thighs pressed together involuntarily at the praise. The phone screen blurred slightly as your grip tightened. Chan's smirk deepened, his free hand adjusting the camera angle with deliberate slowness until the lens caught all your favourite parts of him.

"These past weeks I've imagined what you've been doing behind the other side of the screen..." Chan's voice dipped into a husky whisper, the confession curling through the speakers like smoke.

The camera caught the way his fingers paused mid-stroke, just long enough to make your breath hitch before resuming with agonizing slowness. "How your fingers look when you touch yourself." His thumb swiped over the head of his cock, the motion deliberately messy, spreading slickness that glistened under the ring light. "If you bite your lip like you're doing right now."

Your teeth immediately released your lower lip, warmth flooding your cheeks. He knew, knew exactly how his words coiled around your ribs and squeezed, how your thighs pressed together.

"First," he rasped, "I thought about you during last Tuesday’s stream." The confession punched out of him between ragged breaths, his hips stuttering forward into his fist. "When I was playing Valorant and pretending to focus on headshots." His laugh was more air than sound, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk hard. "Kept imagining you riding me while I fumbled the controller."

The camera wobbled slightly as you adjusted your phone against the laptop screen, the angle catching the way your fingers trembled against your waistband. On screen, Chan’s grin turned wolfish as he mirrored your movements.

"There we go," he murmured. His free hand trailed down his abdomen, fingertips wrapping around his cock with deliberate slowness. The camera caught every inch of him thick and flushed, his grip tight enough to make the veins stand out under the strain.

Your breath quickened as you finally tugged your shorts down. The cool air against your damp skin made you shiver, but Chan’s gaze, heavy and unblinking through the screen burned hotter than any touch. "Fuck," he breathed, his thumb swiping over the head of his cock in slow circles. “Look at you."

"You're even prettier than your profile picture, doll."

The words hit you like a physical touch. Chan's voice had dipped into something raw and unhurried, his accent thickening around the edges as his thumb stroked lazily along his cock, smearing precum down the shaft.

Your fingers dipped under the damp fabric of your underwear, the tips catching on the sticky mess you’d made earlier. His grip tightened around his cock.

The words tumbled out between panting breaths—"Chan... what if I didn’t look like my profile picture?" you laughed dryly as you watched his fingers freeze mid-stroke, his brow furrowing for a fraction of a second before his smirk returned, sharper now.

Chan’s smirk deepened. "Trust me," he rasped, his voice rough with amusement and something darker, "I got my manager to check about you after I spent weeks wanking over your picture."

Your fingers froze against your opening, the sudden stillness betraying your shock. "You—" The word caught in your throat, your pulse thudding wildly in between your legs.

The heat of Chan’s gaze through the screen was almost tangible, like a physical weight pressing against your skin. You could feel it tracing the curve of your bottom lip where your teeth had worried it raw, following the trembling path of your fingers as they dipped beneath your waistband again. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the warm brown of his irises.

"You like that?" you murmured, curling your fingers just enough to make your back arch off the mattress. The movement dragged your shirt higher, exposing the flushed skin of your stomach, nipples hard and peaking through the shirt. Chan’s grip on his cock visibly tightened as he sped up.

The screen blurred momentarily as Chan shifted his phone, the camera tilting to catch the sly curve of his smirk. "Hold on," he murmured, his voice rougher than before like he'd been swallowing gravel. The desk creaked as he leaned away, his free hand disappearing off-screen. You heard a drawer slide open, the rustle of plastic, then the unmistakable click of a button powering on.

When he came back into frame his hair was ruffled perfectly as he bit his lip. The toy in his hand was sleek and black, the silicone glistening under the ring light. "Got this yesterday," he admitted, thumb stroking lazily along his cock. The vibration setting hummed audibly through the phone speakers. "Was gonna debut it tomorrow for the degenerates." His grin turned wolfish as he adjusted the angle, catching the way the toy twitched in his grip. "But I think... I'd rather you see it first."

Chan's breath hitched as the fleshlight kissed the head of his cock, just barely, just enough to make his hips jerk forward instinctively. The dimmer lighting now caught the slickness already gathering there, the way his fingers trembled around the toy's base as he held it up. His gaze never left yours through the screen, dark and hungry, pupils swallowing the warm brown of his irises. "Fuck," he breathed, the word cracking halfway through as he rolled his hips again, dragging the tip through the tight entrance without pressing in. "Look at you—fucking yourself on your fingers like you wish it was me."

Your breath stuttered at the accusation, true, painfully so, as your fingers curled deeper inside yourself, the wet sound obscenely loud in the quiet of your bedroom. On screen, Chan's throat worked around a swallow. The toy remained at his tip, teasing,the black silicone glistening.

"Tell me," Chan rasped, his voice cracking under the strain as he finally, finally pushed the toy down in one torturously slow motion. The silicone stretched obscenely around his girth, the vibration setting making the entire shaft twitch visibly in his grip. "Tell me you imagined this." His hips rolled forward with deliberate slowness, the desk creaking under his shifting weight. "My cock fucking into you just like this—"

The moan tore from your throat before you could bite it back loud and needy. His hips stuttered forward into the toy’s tight grip, the vibration making his thighs tremble harder under the desk. "Fuck," he gritted out, his free hand scrambling to adjust the camera angle until it caught the obscene stretch of silicone around his cock, the way his knuckles whitened around the base. "That’s it, princess. Let me hear you."

Your fingers curled deeper, the heel of your palm grinding against your clit in rough, uneven circles that made your back arch off the mattress. The sheets tangled around you, damp with the evidence of your earlier climax, but the ache between your thighs was already building again, hotter this time.

Your fingers twitched against the phone screen hesitating before you exhaled sharply and reached for the nightstand drawer. The wood scraped open with a dry rasp, your fingers closing around the familiar silicone before your brain could second-guess the impulse. The toy was heavy in your palm, still faintly sticky with lube from last night’s escapades, and you watched Chan’s pupils dilate in real time as you brought it into frame.

"Oh?" His voice cracked mid-syllable, the toy in his own hand stuttering to a halt around his cock. The vibration setting buzzed faintly through the speakers.

"What’s that, princess?"

“You.” you replied mumbling as you adjusted your phone again, angling it just right. The screen wobbled momentarily before settling, the camera catching Chan’s sharp intake of breath as the silicone head pressed against your clit with a quiet buzz.

"Fuck," he hissed, his grip tightening around the toy buried in his lap. The vibration setting cranked up with a sharp twist of his wrist, making his thighs twitch harder.

The toy slid in with a slow, slick resistance that made you moan, half gasp, half whimper as your fingers tightened around the base. Chan's answering groan echoed through the phone speakers, rough and unfiltered, his hips stuttering forward into his own toy with ragged urgency. The camera wobbled as he adjusted his grip, catching the obscene stretch of silicone around his cock, the way his abs tensed with each shallow thrust.

"Look at you," he rasped, his voice sandpaper-raw. The ring light glinted off the sweat beading along his collarbones, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk hard enough to make the tendons stand out in sharp relief. "Taking it so fucking good—just like I knew you would." His thumb swiped over the head of his cock where it protruded from the toy's entrance, smearing precum in a slow circle that made you clench around the dildo.

The confession tumbled from your lips before you could bite it back raw, the kind of honesty that made your phone slip in your sweaty palm. "I wish this was you, Chan," you gasped, the toy bottoming out inside you with a slick sound that echoed through the speakers. "I wish you were in me every time."

Chan's breath hitched audibly, his grip on the toy tightening until his knuckles turned white. The camera wobbled as he leaned forward, catching the way his lips parted around a silent curse, the sweat-slicked hollow of his throat working as he swallowed harder. "Fuck," he rasped, his hips stuttering forward into the toy’s tight grip. The vibration setting buzzed louder, his thighs trembling under the desk.

"Seven days a week huh?" Chan teased, his smirk widening as he watched your pupils dilate through the screen. The camera caught the way his fingers slowed around the toy's base, his thumb tracing lazy circles where silicone met him, like he could physically feel the rhythm of your pulse into his skin. “You’re so cute..”

The words curled warm against your ear through the phone speakers, his accent thickening around the edges in a way that made your grip tighten around the toy buried inside you. Your hips jerked involuntarily at the sensation, the movement dragging a ragged gasp from your throat that Chan mirrored instantly, his own hips stuttering forward into the toy's tight grip with wet sounds.

The toy slipped deeper with a wet drag that made your back arch off the mattress, the vibrations turning up another notch as your thumb fumbled against the controls. Chan’s groan crackled through the speakers as his hips jerked forward into his own toy, the desk creaking under his shifting weight. "Fuck," he gritted out, "That’s it, princess. Faster."

Your fingers obeyed before your brain could catch up, twisting the dial until the toy buzzed violently against your clit, the sensation sharp enough to make everything in you tremble. On screen, Chan mirrored your movements with ragged urgency, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased the same high.

"Chan—I'm about to—" The words dissolved into a ragged moan as your fingers pumped harder, the vibrations swimming through you. Your thighs clenched around the silicone, the muscles trembling under the strain as your back arched off the mattress.

Chan didn’t stop moaning, his hips stuttering forward into his own toy with a wet slap that echoed in the quiet of your bedroom. The camera wobbled violently as he braced one hand against the desk, his other gripping the toy's base like a lifeline. "Do it," he gritted out, his voice shredded at the edges. "Come for me, princess. Let me see you."

The orgasm hit you as you listened to Chan’s words, your hips jerking off the mattress as the toy's vibrations sent shocks up your spine. Your thighs clamped around the silicone with a force that would've bruised flesh, your back arching as the first wave crashed over you. And then, unstoppable..

Squirt arched through the air, catching the dim bedroom light before splattering across your phone screen with a wet smack. The camera lens blurred instantly, droplets clinging to the glass in trembling constellations as your climax ripped through you with shuddering force.

Your fingers scrabbled against the sheets, the toy still buzzing violently against your clit as aftershocks wrecked your body, each pulse sending another spurt against the fogged-up phone.

Chan's entire body locked up, thighs trembling, the veins in his forearms standing out as his orgasm ripped through him with violent intensity. The toy made a wet, squelching sound as he slammed home one last time, his hips stuttering erratically while his cum painted the inside of the silicone in thick pulses. His groan cracked halfway through, transforming into something guttural and raw, the kind of sound that would've made you clench around nothing if you weren't already spent and twitching against the soaked sheets.

"Fuck—fuck—" Chan panted, his free hand scrambling to catch the edge of his desk as his vision whited out momentarily. The camera tilted, catching glimpses of his sweat-slicked torso heaving for air, the toy still clamped around his softening cock with an obscene grip. His fingers trembled visibly as he finally pulled out with a slick pop.

Chan blinked slowly at the mess on his screen, your phone screen still streaked with evidence. His lips parted around a shaky exhale before his smirk returned, lazy and sated. "Holy shit," he rasped, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. He dragged a hand down his face. "That was so fucking hot."

You laughed breathlessly, your fingers twitching against the damp sheets as you watched him through the phone, his chest still rising and falling rapidly, his abs flexing with each unsteady breath. "You're one to talk," you murmured, gesturing vaguely at the toy he'd abandoned on his desk. The silicone glistened under the ring light, strands of cum clinging to the entrance in sticky threads.

The phone slipped from your sweat-slicked fingers, landing face-up on the damp sheets. Chan's laughter echoed through the speakers

"Careful, princess," he murmured, his thumb swiping lazily along his lower lip. "Wouldn't want you breaking your phone before our next show."

"You're insufferable, never happening," you breathed.

The phone screen glistened under your trembling fingers soaked with evidence of your climax. You exhaled sharply through your nose, dragging the hem of your shirt over the smeared surface with embarrassment.

On screen, he was propped lazily against his desk, one hand stroking through his damp curls while the other toyed absently with the abandoned fleshlight.

"So," he grinned, tilting his phone until you could see his cocky expression. "I'll pick you up in an hour?"

The words hung between you like a lit match. Your breath caught, fingers tightening around the damp sheets as reality crashed over you, this wasn’t pixels and paid fantasies anymore.

"I just met you," you huffed, rolling your eyes hard. The phone screen flickered as you adjusted your grip, still shaky from earlier and caught the way Chan's smirk deepened in response. He leaned forward until his face filled the frame.

"Incorrect," he drawled, stretching the word out with deliberate slowness. His tongue escaping along his lower lip.

"We met weeks ago when you watched me cum every day up until now." The smirk playing at the corners of his mouth deepened as your flush crept down your neck. "Seems pretty intimate to me, doll."

"That's not—" You huffed, dragging a hand through your tangled hair.

"Let me rephrase," he murmured.

"You just squirted all over fucking Facetime for me." His teeth caught the edge of his grin. "I think we're past the 'we just met' bullshit, don't you?"

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sharp tap-tap-tap of Chan’s fingers drumming against his desk.

You opened your mouth to argue, to deflect, to say something, but the words died in your throat when Chan leaned forward abruptly, his face filling the frame again until all you could see was his pretty eyes and smirk that pulled you in, in the first place. "One date," he hummed, the words curling warm against your ear through the speakers. "If you hate me, I’ll refund your next month’s donations in advance."

"I hate you," you muttered, biting down on your lower lip to suppress the grin threatening to show on your face. "I'll send you my location now."

Chan's smile widened, infuriatingly, as he leaned forward.

"See you in an hour, pretty girl.”

☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆...

🏷️ Taglist: @11racha

✧( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ )✧

The moment the call ended, you threw your phone onto the bed like it had burned you, then immediately lunged for it again when Chan's last text buzzed through, a single winking emoji followed by

'Don't overthink it.'

You groaned, pressing your hands into your eyes. Sixty minutes. Sixty minutes to decide if you were actually doing this, or if you were going to ghost the guy whose rent you'd basically been paying for the last three months.

Your reflection in the bathroom mirror looked embarrassing. Cheeks flushed, hair a mess. You turned the shower on too hot, letting the steam fog the glass. The water stung where it hit your oversensitive skin, but you barely noticed, too busy replaying everything.

The blow dryer roared in your ears, drowning out the frantic pulse of your heartbeat as you sectioned your hair with trembling fingers. Every sweep of the brush felt so deliberate, like you were preparing for a battle instead of a date with a guy whose dick you'd seen more times than your own reflection this month.

When you finally stepped back from the mirror, the woman staring back at you looked like you again. Smoky liner, glossy lips, hair falling in soft waves that screamed “ I definitely didn’t do this for you.”

The outfit had seemed perfect when you pulled it from the closet, dark jean shorts that hugged just right, a silky top that dipped low enough to tease, at least, that’s what you’d told yourself before the third wardrobe change. Now, standing in front of the mirror with one shoe already tied, you hesitated. Your phone buzzed on the dresser, breaking your thoughts.

The notification lit up your screen. Chan’s name followed by a single sentence that shouldn’t have made your stomach flip.

Chan: Boba in the park near Namsan Tower?

You stared at it for three full breaths before typing back,

Y/N: You’re joking.

The response came instantly.

Chan: Nope. Meet me at the fountain in 30 pretty girl.

The smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it.

The Uber smelled like old takeout and cheap pine air freshener, the kind that did nothing but announce how hard it was trying. You slid into the backseat, suddenly hyperaware of everything.

The city sped by in streaks of neon and shadow. You pressed your forehead against the cool glass, watching strangers flicker past, a woman adjusting her scarf, a man laughing into his phone, a group of teenagers sharing a single cigarette under a flickering streetlamp. Normal people doing normal things, unaware that you were hurtling toward something that felt anything but normal.

The driver took a sharp turn, and your knee bumped against the door. You exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around your phone. Chan’s last message glowed on the screen, taunting you. You could still cancel. You could tell him you’d gotten sick, or that your dog had—you didn’t have a dog. The lie fizzled before it even formed.

The Uber rolled to a stop at the park entrance, tires crunching over loose gravel. You fumbled with your phone, fingertips slipping before managing to tap the payment confirmation. The driver smiled and drove off.

The bag strap dug into your shoulder as you adjusted it for the third time in as many minutes, fingers catching on the buckle like it had a personal vendetta against you. Above, the sky stretched dark and endless between the branches of ginkgo trees, their fan-shaped leaves whispering secrets you couldn’t quite hear.

The park was nearly empty, just a few stray people lingering under the dim glow of the lampposts. Most of the crowd had migrated toward the food stalls lining the perimeter, drawn by the sizzle of meat. You slowed your steps, suddenly self-conscious of the way your shoes echoed against the cobblestones. The fountain loomed ahead, its water shimmering under the colored lights.

The first thing you noticed wasn’t the way Chan leaned against the fountain’s edge, though that was distracting enough, but how the neon lights from the street stalls caught the silver jewelry, making him more visible in the darkness. He’d swapped the tank top from his stream for a black button-down rolled at the sleeves, the top two buttons undone just enough to show the edge of his collarbone. Dark jeans hugged his thighs, ripped at the knees in a way that screamed I didn’t try. He was annoyingly so put together.

Chan's thumb froze mid-scroll when the steps of your shoes echoed across the empty plaza. His head snapped up so fast the silver hoop in his ear swayed and then his whole body stilled. You watched, pinned under his gaze, as his pupils dilated in real time, darkening until they swallowed the warm brown of his irises. His lips parted slightly, breath catching just audibly enough for you to hear it over the fountain's murmur.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he breathed, voice rougher than it had been through the phone. His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but thought better of it. The neon signs from the food stalls painted shifting colors across his throat as he swallowed hard. "You—" He cut himself off with a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. "You look like you walked out of my fucking dreams."

You couldn’t help but giggle, the sound bubbling up despite the way your pulse hammered against your ribs. "Nice to meet you, Chan," you said, tilting your chin up just enough to watch his reaction, the way his smirk flickered into something softer, almost surprised, before he caught himself and leaned back against the fountain’s edge with deliberate casualness.

"Nice to meet you too, y/n..." Chan's smirk returned full force as he pushed off the fountain's edge. "Or should I say... BigDaddyBitch69?"

"That was cringe," you said, laughing as you kicked a stray pebble with the toe of your shoe.

"It was your username," he shot back, stepping closer until the scent of his cologne tangled with the sweet syrup smell of boba drifting from the vendor stalls. "You picked it." His fingers brushed against yours as he reached for the bag strap digging into your shoulder, nudging it back into place with a casualness that betrayed the way his pulse jumped under his thumb when you didn't pull away.

"You look..." Chan's voice trailed off, fingers still lingering near your shoulder strap. His gaze flickered from your lips to the way the park lights caught in your hair like scattered stars. "Really fucking pretty," he finished quietly, as if the words had surprised him too.

You felt the flush crawl up your neck, hotter than when he'd teased you through the screen earlier. "That's your opener?" you snorted, nudging his hand away with your elbow. "After everything?"

Chan smirked again, fingers flexing slightly where they hovered between you. "At least the screen isn't separating us anymore," he murmured, the words curling warm against your ear, closer now than they'd ever been through phone speakers. You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress the shiver that skittered down your spine when his pinky brushed yours, deliberate and testing.

His palm was warmer than you expected when you finally slid your fingers against his, calluses catching on your skin in a way the digital version of him never could. Chan's breath hitched, his grip tightening just enough to make your pulse stutter.

Chan's fingers tightened around yours as he tugged you gently off the cobblestone path, his boots crunching softly on the grass. The distant hum of the food stalls faded behind you, replaced by the whisper of leaves overhead and the occasional chirp of crickets hiding in the shadows. The tree he led you under was old, its gnarled roots pushing up through the earth like fingers. The canopy was thick enough to blot out most of the artificial light, leaving only the occasional flicker from a distant lamppost and the glimpses of stars between the branches.

"Here," he murmured, voice lowered like the darkness demanded it. His thumb traced idle circles against your palm.

The grass was cool beneath your thighs as you sank down under the gnarled old tree, the bark rough against your shoulder blades when you leaned back. Chan’s knee brushed yours as he settled beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him even through the crisp fabric of his shirt.

You tipped your head back against the tree trunk, letting the stars blur above you. Somewhere between the humidity and the distant city lights, the constellations shined brighter, closer tonight than they'd ever been through your apartment window. Chan shifted beside you, his shoulder pressing warm against yours as he stretched his legs out in the grass.

"Beautiful view tonight," you mumbled, staring up at the light between the ginkgo leaves. Chan made a soft noise of agreement, but when you glanced sideways, his gaze wasn't fixed on the sky at all. His eyes traced the curve of your throat instead, lingering where your pulse fluttered.

Chan's fingers traced idle patterns against your wrist, his touch featherlight where his fingertips brushed your pulse point. "Tonight's special," he murmured, tilting his chin toward the sky where the branches thinned enough to reveal a gathering of stars usually drowned out by city lights. "There's supposed to be a meteor shower—Gemini or something. Figured it'd be better than some stuffy café or restaurant.."

You snorted, shoving at his shoulder, but his grip tightened, pulling you flush against his side. The warmth of him seeped through your thin shirt. "You're ridiculous," you muttered, but you couldn't hide your smile.

Chan was prettier up close than any screen could capture, not just the sharpness of his jaw or the way his lashes caught the scattered park lights, but the tiny imperfections that cameras smoothed over. The faint scar bisecting his left eyebrow, the way his lower lip caught slightly when he smirked, the barely-there freckles along his nose bridge that only showed up under dim lights.

The realization hit you like a delayed reaction, the way your pulse jumped when Chan tilted his head to catch the light, the reflexive clench of your thighs when his fingers flexed against yours. It wasn't just deep attraction, it was conditioning. Pavlov would've had a field day with you. Weeks of watching that same smirk through a screen, hearing that voice coil low in your ears right before you came, your brain had rewired itself without permission. His face wasn't just handsome now, it was a complete trigger.

Chan smirked like he knew, because of course he fucking knew, as you clenched your thighs together reflexively. The bastard didn’t even try to hide his grin when your breath hitched, his thumb stroking slow circles against your pulse point like he was counting each erratic beat. "Actually wanted to ask you something, y/n," he murmured, leaning in until his breath ghosted over your cheekbone. The scent of his cologne, something expensive and woodsy wrapped around you.

You swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of the way his knee pressed against yours, the heat of him seeping through you.

"Ask me what?" you managed, proud of how steady your voice sounded despite the way your heart hammered against your ribs. Chan's grin widened, slow and knowing, as he tilted his head.

Chan's fingers tightened around yours as he reached into his bag with his free hand, pulling out a sleek black camera with shaking fingers. The park lights glinted off the lens as he bit his lip, suddenly avoiding your gaze. "I was wondering," he started, voice rougher than usual, "if we could stream together tonight." His thumb brushed over the record button.

You stared at the camera, pulse stuttering in your throat. This wasn't pixels on a screen anymore. "Here?" you whispered, still in disbelief.

"Your face won't be in it," Chan said quickly, his fingers tightening around the camera as he angled it away from your face with deliberate care. The red light blinked mockingly at you from the side. "But don't feel pressured—"

You cut him off by grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him forward, your lips crashing against his before he could finish the sentence. The camera tumbled from his grip, landing with a soft thud in the grass as his hands flew to your waist, fingers digging into the silk of your shirt like he was afraid you'd vanish. His mouth was warmer than you'd imagined, his surprised gasp tasting faintly of the spearmint gum.

Chan moaned low in his throat when you pulled away, a sound you'd heard a thousand times through headphones but never felt vibrate against your lips until now. His fingers twitched against your waist like he wanted to drag you back, but instead he exhaled sharply through his nose and reached for the fallen camera. "Fuck," he muttered quietly.

The tripod unfolded with practiced clicks, its spindly legs sinking slightly into the soft ground beneath the tree. You watched, transfixed, as Chan's fingers moved across his phone screen. His tongue poked out between his teeth in concentration, the silver hoop in his ear swaying as he tilted his head to check the camera angle.

Chan's thumb hovered over the 'Go Live' button, the neon glow from his phone screen casting light across his face. He turned to you suddenly, closer than you expected and exhaled sharply through his nose. "You sure?" His voice was lower than usual, rougher at the edges like he'd been swallowing smoke. "Last chance to back out."

You glanced around at the empty park, the distant hum of food stalls barely audible through the thick canopy of leaves. The darkness felt heavier here, pressing in from all sides like velvet curtains drawn tight around you both. Your pulse hammered against your ribs as you nodded, biting down on your lower lip to stifle the nervous laugh bubbling up your throat.

Chan's fingers brushed against your cheekbone, featherlight, before his thumb pressed gently against your lower lip still swollen from kissing him.

"Relax," he murmured, his breath warm against your temple as he nudged your face away from the camera's line of sight. His other hand adjusted the tripod with practiced ease, tilting it downward until all it could capture was the way your fingers twisted in the grass beside his thigh. "Just follow my lead."

You exhaled sharply through your nose, the scent of greenery and Chan's stupidly expensive cologne filling your lungs. His knee pressed harder against yours beneath the camera's blind spot, a silent reassurance that made your pulse stutter in a way that had nothing to do with nerves. He turned on his dim ring light and pressed the button.

The camera's red recording light blinked to life like a predator's eye in the dark. Chan exhaled sharply through his nose and suddenly his fingers were under your chin, tilting your face away from the lens with deliberate care. His thumb brushed your lower lip once, twice, before his hand slid down to grip your hip.

"Hello, darlings," Chan purred, flashing that practiced smirk at the camera lens as notifications flooded the screen of his phone. The chat exploded instantly, hearts, fire emojis, a cascade of donations with increasingly unhinged usernames scrolling too fast to read. His thumb stroked idle circles against your hipbone beneath the frame, a silent counterpoint to the filthy promises dripping from his lips for the audience. "Miss me?"

You bit down on a laugh as the chat went feral.

Bagelkiwi: WHO'S THE GIRL??

Ricepenis: THIS LOOKS HOT

Hornee4Chan: Chan you look way too good.

scrolling past in rapid succession.

Chan's fingers curled possessively around your thigh beneath the camera's blind spot, his thumb tracing slow circles against the sensitive skin just below the hem of your shorts. His smirk widened as he felt you stiffen, his grip tightening just enough to make your breath hitch audibly.

"Tonight's a special stream.." Chan murmured, leaning closer to the camera until his lips filled the frame.

"Got a very... special guest tonight."

The words curled through the humid summer night air thick with intent.

"And I'm going to fuck the shit out of her as you guys watch," he smiled innocently, the words pitched just loud enough for the mic to catch while his lips started to brush the shell of your ear.

The chat exploded.

Chan's fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts before you could catch your breath, peeling them down with agonizing slowness that had nothing to do with the fabric clinging to your damp thighs. The summer air kissed newly exposed skin as he worked the denim over your hips. You arched off the grass instinctively when his thumb found the lace edge of your panties, already soaked through and his chuckle vibrated through your ribs where his chest pressed against yours.

"Stay still," he murmured against your collarbone, nipping at the skin there just hard enough to make you gasp. The camera caught none of it, angled perfectly to frame the slow reveal of your thighs while keeping your face mercifully out of shot. His teeth grazed your pulse point as your shorts finally cleared your knees, the denim catching momentarily on your ankle bracelet before he tossed them somewhere into the dark. The chat scrolled wildly on his abandoned phone, but neither of you glanced at it, too focused on the way Chan's palm touched your bare thighs, his fingers flexing against your skin like he was memorizing the shape of you.

Chan’s palm pressed hard against your soaked panties before you could bite back the moan bubbling up your throat, but his mouth covered yours before the sound could escape, swallowing your gasp whole. His lips were hotter than you remembered from minutes ago, his tongue sweeping past your teeth with a familiarity that shouldn’t have existed yet. You arched into his touch instinctively, your hips lifting off the grass as his fingers curled against the damp lace, the rough pad of his thumb finding your clit through the fabric with terrifying precision.

The chat scrolled wildly on Chan’s phone screen beside you, a frenzy of emojis and usernames you’d recognize from his donation alerts. His free hand tangled in your hair, tilting your face away from the lens as he broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, "shh," against your swollen lips. His thumb circled your clit faster, the lace dragging teasingly against oversensitive flesh, and you sobbed into his mouth as your thighs trembled around his wrist.

Chan grinned and leaned into the camera's frame,

"You guys like this view?" He winked a deliberate flutter of of lashes that sent the chat into screams, before angling the tripod downward with one hand. The lens caught the way your thighs trembled beneath his palm, the damp lace of your panties glistening under the park lights. "Pretty, right?" he whispered.

His free hand slid higher up your thigh, fingertips tracing the crease where your hip met your stomach with teasing lightness. The camera jostled slightly as he adjusted the tripod again, the red recording light blinking mockingly at you from the side. Chan's thumb hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging just enough to make you gasp, but he didn't pull them down. Not yet. Instead, he dragged the lace aside with agonizing slowness, exposing you to the humid night air while the camera captured every twitch of you beneath his touch.

The heat that crawled up your neck had nothing to do with the summer humidity. You were painfully aware of every inch of exposed skin—the way the damp grass tickled the backs of your thighs, how Chan's fingertips burned brands into your hip, the night air brushing against parts of you that had no business being outside.

Yet your pulse throbbed between your legs in time with the chat notifications pinging on Chan's phone, each vibration sending waves of humiliation and arousal crashing through you.

"Look at you," Chan murmured, tilting the camera downward just enough to capture the way your inner thighs glistened under the park lights. His thumb circled your clit through the bunched lace, the rough pad catching on your oversensitive flesh in a way that made your toes curl in the grass. "So fucking pretty like this." The praise shouldn't have made your stomach flip, not when it was clearly for the audience but your hips jerked upward anyway, seeking more of his touch.

Chan's fingers curled around the hem of your silk top with practiced ease, tugging it upward until the night air licked at your bare stomach. You stiffened instinctively, but his palm pressed flat against your ribs, pinning you to the grass as his other hand adjusted the tripod to capture the slow reveal. The fabric pooled beneath your shoulder blades, exposing the delicate lace of your bralette—the same sheer black one you'd worn during last week's stream, the one that made his eyes darken when the donations hit $5000.

"Fuck," Chan breathed, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple through the lace. The camera caught the way your chest rose sharply with each breath, the way the park lights caught the damp patches where your arousal had seeped through. His fingers flexed against your ribs as he leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "You wore this for me?"

Chan's fingers traced lazy circles along your inner thigh, so close to where you wanted them, yet maddeningly distant, while his lips hovered just above the shell of your ear. "Relax," he murmured, the word curling warm against your skin as his thumb brushed the lace edge of your bralette. The camera caught none of this intimacy, angled perfectly to frame only your bare thighs and the way his fingers dipped teasingly between them without ever quite touching yet where you ached.

His first finger slid into you with terrifying ease, the stretch barely registering through the slick heat already coating his knuckles. You gasped, a sharp, punched-out sound and Chan's free hand clamped over your mouth before the noise could escape. His palm tasted like summer grass as he pressed down harder, muffling your whimpers while his finger curled inside you with deliberate precision.

You already felt like cumming, the pressure coiling low in your stomach tightening with every slow curl of Chan's fingers. Above you, he bit his lower lip, grinning down at your trembling thighs with a confidence that shouldn't have been possible when his own breath came in ragged bursts. The silver hoop in his ear swayed as he tilted his head, watching your hips jerk helplessly against his palm like he was memorizing every twitch for later.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice rougher than it had been for the camera, lower, intimate, just for you. His thumb brushed your clit in a slow circle that made your vision whiten at the edges. "Gonna cum already? After all that teasing?"

The whine tore from your throat before you could stop it, high, desperate, embarrassingly loud in the quiet park air. Chan's smirk curled against your temple as he angled the camera downward more, capturing the obscene squelch of his fingers moving inside you. The mic picked up every filthy sound, the slick slide of his knuckles, the shuddering gasp you couldn't swallow, the way your thighs trembled when his thumb pressed harder against your clit. You scratched at his back holding tightly as he moaned back quietly.

"Jesus," Chan breathed, his free hand tightening in your hair as he adjusted the tripod with his other wrist. The camera lens glinted, focusing sharply on where his fingers disappeared between your legs, the ring light catching every strand of slick stretched between his skin and yours. "Listen to that." His voice dropped lower, rougher, pitched just for the mic as his thumb circled faster. "Hear how wet she is for me?"

"How wet are you guys at home?"

The orgasm hit like a train, sudden, violent, tearing through you with enough force to arch your spine clear off the grass. Chan's fingers curled deeper inside you right as your thighs clamped around his wrist, and the choked noise you made against his palm barely resembled human speech. The first spasm ripped through your abdomen so hard your vision whited out, the park lights blurring into streaks of neon above Chan's shoulder.

Then you squirted, hard, a hot rush soaking Chan's fingers and the grass beneath you with embarrassing force.

The first splash hit the tripod leg with an audible ping, sharp enough that Chan jerked back in surprise, his fingers still buried inside you moving as another hot gush soaked his wrist and the grass beneath again. The camera wobbled precariously before tipping sideways, the lens smeared with droplets as it landed in the damp grass with a muted thud. Chan stared at the mess for a stunned heartbeat before barking out a laugh, rough and startled and so fucking delighted it made your thighs clench around his hand again.

"Holy shit," he wheezed, his free hand swiping through the puddle on the tripod like he couldn't believe it was real. The lights caught the slick shine on his fingers when he held them up, turning the droplets into liquid gold as they dripped onto his jeans.

Chan’s fingers hovered for a heartbeat, glistening under the park lights, dripping onto his ruined jeans, before he slowly brought them to his lips. The camera, still wet on it's lens , caught the deliberate flick of his tongue against his knuckles, the way his eyes fluttered shut for half a second as he tasted you. When he reopened them, his pupils were blown wide, the warm brown of his irises nearly swallowed by black.

"Fuck," he rasped, throat working around the word. His thumb brushed his lower lip, smearing what was left, and the camera's red recording light blinked steadily, still live, still capturing every second.

The chat exploded. Donation alerts pinged rapid-fire on his phone screen, usernames and dollar amounts scrolling too fast to read. Chan barely glanced at them. His gaze stayed locked on you, on the way your chest heaved against your bralette, the tremble in your thighs where they’d fallen open, as he leaned closer, angling the camera upward with one hand. "You see that?" he murmured, voice rough as gravel. His thumb pressed against your parted lips, still wet from his mouth.

Chan's thumb smeared wetness across your lower lip—his own saliva mixed with yours—before he pressed down hard enough to make your jaw slacken. The camera, still angled upward from the grass, caught the obscene shine of it under the park lights. "Look at them," he murmured, nodding toward his phone screen where the chat scrolled wildly. "They fucking adore you."

You turned your head just enough to see the donations and messages on his phone.

creampieinsideout: HOLY SHITTTT🔥🔥 makemetouchme: I keep cumming omg stickywebs donated $500 noodlescityofgod donated $20 highonlove donated $60

Your cheeks burned, but something hotter coiled low in your stomach.

Chan’s thumb hovered over the mute button for half a second, just long enough for you to see the faint tremor in his fingers, before he tapped it with decisive force. The chat froze mid-scroll, the sudden silence between you both almost louder than the rustling leaves overhead. His palm cradled your jaw, tilting your face toward him with uncharacteristic gentleness. "Hey," he murmured, voice stripped of its usual teasing lilt, "your face got flashed for like two seconds when the camera fell. You okay with that?"

You blinked up at him, still dazed from the aftershocks rolling through your thighs. A laugh bubbled up your throat, as you reached up to swipe your thumb over the smudge of your lipstick at the corner of his mouth. "After that?" you snorted, gesturing vaguely toward the damp grass and the still-recording camera. "Pretty sure my dignity’s in tatters anyway."

Chan's laughter curled through the humid air just a little bit disbelieving. His fingers traced idle patterns against your inner thigh, he shook his head slowly. "You look so fucking beautiful like this," he murmured, his thumb brushing the smear of wetness still glistening on your lower lip. The park lights his face as he tilted his head, studying your flushed face with something dangerously close to wonder. "Ruined and perfect."

You swatted at his wrist halfheartedly, your muscles still twitching with aftershocks. "Shut up," you muttered, but the words lacked bite, especially when Chan's fingers flexed against your thigh.

The camera clicked back to life with an audible hum, its lens refocusing with precision. Chan's fingers, still glistening under the park lights, adjusted the tripod with deliberate care, angling it upward until both of you filled the frame.

The camera's red light blinked mockingly as you lifted a shaking hand in a hesitant wave, your fingers still damp with sweat where they curled in the humid air. The chat exploded

Kevin(justkevin): HOLYFUCKINGSHIT Sexylemonade: WHO IS THIS?!!

scrolling past in a frenzy, but your focus stayed locked on Chan's grin, the way his teeth caught when he bit down on his lower lip.

"Say hi properly," Chan murmured, his palm pressing flat against your stomach to push you more fully into frame.

Your fingers twitched against the damp grass as Chan angled the camera higher, the lens capturing the way your thighs trembled where they splayed open. "Hi," you breathed, the word cracking halfway through as Chan's thumb brushed your inner thigh, not quite touching where you throbbed, just close enough to make your hips jerk.

The chat erupted in a frenzy of pink hearts and dollar signs, donations flooding in so fast the screen blurred

Spicydaddy?: $800 TO SEE HER FACE AGAIN Bisexualtrevor: idk who i’d rather be more 😭😭 Meltingonmytongue: FUCK SHE'S PRETTIER THAN I IMAGINED

A particularly large donation banner exploded across the screen

Bigdickbighouse: $2000 TO HEAR HER MOAN CHAN'S NAME

and Chan's grin turned wolfish. His free hand slid from your thigh to the lace of your bralette, fingers skimming the sheer fabric just hard enough to make you arch off the grass. "You hear that, princess?" he purred, pitching his voice just loud enough for the mic.

Chan's grin widened as he leaned back slightly, the camera catching the deliberate shift of his hips, the way his erection strained visibly against the thin fabric of his jeans, the outline unmistakable even in the dim park light. His fingers ghosted over the bulge with practiced nonchalance, pausing just long enough for the lens to focus before pressing down hard enough to draw a sharp breath through his nose. The chat erupted into a frenzy of dollar signs and donations pinging rapid-fire.

"See what you do to me?" he murmured, tilting the camera lower to capture the way his knuckles whitened where he gripped himself through the denim. His thumb brushed the fly of his jeans—slow, teasing—before popping the button with a flick that made your stomach flip. The metallic echoed louder than it should have in the humid air, and you swore you could hear someone in the chat scream through their keyboard.

Chan’s tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, his gaze locked on the camera’s screen where your thighs trembled in the frame. The red recording light reflected in his pupils as he adjusted the tripod with one hand, the other still splayed possessively across your stomach. "Let’s continue," he murmured, voice roughened at the edges, and the camera caught the way his fingers flexed against your skin when you shivered.

The lens refocused sharpening on the sweat-slick hollow of your throat. He angled the shot perfectly, framing the two of you, his jeans unbuttoned just enough to reveal the sharp line of his abdomen, your legs splayed open, grass stains blooming across your soft thighs.

Chan's fingers cradled your jaw with unexpected tenderness, his calloused thumb brushing your cheekbone as he tilted your face toward his. The camera caught everything. His lips were softer than you expected when they met yours again, moving with a sweetness that contradicted the filthy promises still dripping from his mouth seconds ago. You could taste the sharp tang of desperation, and the taste of your own arousal still smeared across his lower lip.

The kiss deepened slowly, Chan's tongue tracing the seam of your lips with deliberate patience until you gasped against him. His free hand slid from your thigh to tangle in your hair, angling your head.

Chan moaned into your mouth, loud, unguarded, a sound so sexual it vibrated through your ribs where his chest pressed against yours. The camera caught all of the intimacy, angled perfectly to frame the obscene slide of his tongue between your lips and the way his fingers twisted in your hair.

You arched against him instinctively, your hips lifting off the grass only for Chan's knee to press down between your thighs, a silent warning that made you whimper against his tongue. His fingers tightened in your hair, tilting your head back further as he deepened the kiss with bruising intensity. The camera caught the way your throat worked when he swallowed your gasp, the mic picking up every slick sound of lips and teeth and desperation.

Chan's thumb grazed your nipple and the moan tore from your throat before you could stop it. "Ch-Chan," you gasped, his name fracturing into syllables as his fingers pinched the stiffened peak through the fabric. The camera caught every tremor of your lips, every flutter of your lashes as his touch wrenched another helpless sound from you.

"Louder," he murmured against your temple, his teeth grazing the delicate skin there just hard enough to make you jerk. "Let them hear who's making you feel this good."

The slap came unexpectedly, soft but stinging, just enough to make your breath hitch against his palm before dissolving into a moan that cracked halfway through. "Chan—" His name spilled from your lips like a prayer, louder than you intended, as his fingers flexed against your cheekbone. The camera caught the way your lashes fluttered, caught the exact moment your thighs clenched around nothing, a fresh rush of wetness soaking the grass beneath you as if your body couldn't decide whether to arch into the sting or away from it. You pulled his hair gently as he groaned harder.

Chan's thumb swiped over the heat on your cheek, his grin all sharp edges under the park lights. "That's it," he murmured, voice pitched low.

Chan's fingers curled into your hair with sudden purpose, not rough, but firm enough to make your scalp tingle, as he dragged your lips from his with an obscene pop. The camera caught the string of saliva that stretched between you for half a second before snapping, his breath hot against your swollen mouth as he murmured, "Ass up, princess." Not a request.

Your spine arched immediately when Chan's hips rolled forward, the heat of him searing through your skin where his erection pressed against your ass.

Chan groaned, a rough, punched-out sound before pulling out his throbbing cock with deliberate slowness. The camera caught everything, the way his fingers trembled slightly as they worked his zipper down, the obscene glisten of precome beading at his tip, the way his abs flexed when he finally freed himself with a relieved exhale. His grip looked almost painful where he squeezed the base, veins standing stark against flushed skin as he angled his hips toward the lens.

The chat exploded. Donation alerts pinged rapid-fire on his abandoned phone, but Chan barely glanced at them. His gaze stayed locked on you, on the way your breath hitched when he dragged the blunt head of his cock through your soaked folds without entering you. The mic picked up every filthy sound.

Chan's cock was obscenely large, thick enough that your fingers wouldn't meet if you tried to circle them around the base. You'd seen it countless times through pixelated streams, but nothing prepared you for the visceral reality of its weight against your inner thigh, the way the veins pulsed visibly when he stroked himself slowly for the camera.

"Like what you see?" Chan murmured, angling his hips so the lens caught the way your breath hitched when the blunt head nudged against your entrance without pressing in. His thumb swiped through the wetness smeared across your thighs, gathering it on his fingertips before dragging the slickness up his length with agonizing slowness. The mic picked up every filthy sound, the sticky drag of skin on skin, your shaky exhale, the way his breath roughened when your hips jerked involuntarily toward his hand.

The slap landed on your ass, not hard enough to sting, but enough to make your breath hitch again. Your spine arched instinctively, pushing your ass higher against Chan's hips just as his teeth caught the hem of his shirt. The camera caught the slow reveal of his toned abs, each ridge of muscle flexing as he tugged the fabric upward with his teeth, the silver hoop in his ear glinting under the park lights when he tilted his head for the lens.

"Fuck," Chan groaned around the cotton, the vibration humming against your lower back where his free hand splayed possessively. The shirt finally cleared his head with a rough jerk, exposing the sweat-slick dip of his collarbones and the taut lines of his stomach you'd traced so many times through pixelated streams. His cock twitched against your thigh where he'd freed it earlier, the flushed head leaving a sticky trail on your skin.

"Ready?" Chan's breath brushed against the nape of your neck, the words muffled by the way his teeth grazed your shoulder blade. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your entrance with tantalizing pressure, not enough to breach, just enough to make your thighs shake where they bracketed his hips. You nodded frantically, but he didn't move. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, holding you suspended in that agonizing limbo between anticipation and fulfillment.

"Yes," you gasped when he still didn't thrust, the syllable fracturing into a whine as you arched back against him. The camera caught the way your spine bowed, the lens focusing sharply on the your entrance pulsating. "Please—Chan—"

He went in slow, so slow you could feel every inch of him stretching you open, the burn of it radiating up your spine in delicious waves. Your teeth sank into your palm to stifle the moan, but it escaped anyway, muffled and broken against your skin. Above you, Chan groaned loudly. The camera caught none of his expression, only the obscene glide of his hips as he bottomed out, his thighs flush against the backs of yours, his entire length swallowed inside you.

"Fuck fuck fuck" he gasped against your shoulder blade, his breath warm. His fingers flexed on your hips, blunt nails digging into flesh as he paused, letting you feel the full, impossible stretch of him. Chan’s breath hitched when you clenched around him involuntarily.

The stretch burned in the best possible way, that delicious ache of being filled beyond what you thought you could take, your body yielding to him inch by relentless inch. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, blurring everything overhead. The sensation was overwhelming, electric, every nerve ending awake with the realization that this was real, that Chan was really here, inside you.

His hips pulled back slow and deliberate, the drag of him drew a choked noise from your throat before he snapped forward again, harder this time. The slap of skin against skin echoed obscenely in the humid air, louder than the rustling leaves overhead, louder than the distant hum of the city beyond the park. Chan moaned low and guttural, his fingers tightening on your hips hard enough to leave marks as he set a punishing rhythm. The camera caught everything now, his expression, the obscene way your thighs trembled with every thrust, the view of him entering in and out.

"Shit—" Chan's voice cracked mid-thrust, his hips stuttering against yours as his fingers dug bruises into your waist. "I'm already close." The admission came out ragged, almost disbelieving, his breath hot against your shoulder where his teeth had been seconds earlier. His rhythm faltered, one deep, grinding stroke that pressed him impossibly deeper before he stilled completely, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he fought for control.

You clenched around him instinctively, just to hear the way his breath punched out in response, a sharp, startled sound that dissolved into a groan when you did it again. "Fuck, don't—" His hips jerked forward involuntarily, his cock twitching inside you as his control unraveled. The mic picked up every filthy detail, the wet slap of skin when he bottomed out, the hitch in your breathing when his thumb found your clit, the way his voice broke on your name when you arched back against him.

Chan’s fingers curled around the tripod leg, lifting the camera with one fluid motion as he angled it downward. The lens captured the obscene stretch of your pussy around him, the way your thighs trembled with each thrust, the glisten of sweat and slick between them, the flushed pink of your entrance where he pistoned in and out. His free hand slid between your legs without hesitation, fingers finding your clit with practiced precision as he adjusted the focus ring with his thumb. "Look at you," he murmured, voice roughened by exertion, the camera wobbling slightly with each snap of his hips. "Taking me so fucking well."

The stream was filthy sounding, the wet slap of skin echoed, your choked whimpers, the slick squelch of his fingers working your clit in tight circles. Chan tilted the camera lower, the camera shook with each punishing thrust until the image blurred into streaks of gold and skin.

Chan’s grip on the tripod slipped when your hips bucked backward against his next thrust, a sharp, involuntary movement that made the camera wobble dangerously. His free hand flew to your hipbone, fingers digging in hard enough to steady both you and the shot as he groaned through clenched teeth.

"Fuck, stay still," he gritted out, but the command lost all bite when his next snap forward punched a moan from both of you simultaneously.

The chat scrolled wildly on his abandoned phone, but neither of you cared, not when Chan’s fingers flexed against your ass cheek, spreading you wider for the camera as his thrusts turned erratic.

Chan's fingers flexed around the tripod as he lowered the camera back into position, adjusting the lens with one hand while his other slid up the sweat-slick curve of your spine. "Cum on my big fat cock," he murmured, voice roughened by exertion, half command, half plea, before his palms found your hips and flipped you effortlessly onto his lap. The sudden shift knocked the breath from your lungs, your thighs straddling his waist as the camera caught the way his cock glistened under the park lights, thick and flushed between your bodies.

His hands guided your movements with possessive certainty, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he lifted you just enough to tease, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your entrance without pressing in.

"Look at the camera," he ordered, voice dropping to a growl when your lashes fluttered shut involuntarily. His thumb swiped through the mess between your thighs, gathering slickness on his fingertips before smearing it across your lower lip. The lens zoomed in mercilessly, capturing the way your tongue darted out instinctively to taste yourself, the way Chan's pupils dilated at the sight.

Chan's fingers tightened around your jaw, tilting your face toward the camera with bruising force. The neon lights caught the smear of saliva at the corner of your mouth, the lens focusing sharply on the way your lips parted around a whine as he growled, "Bounce, whore." The command sent electric heat straight to your core, your hips jerking forward instinctively before you'd even processed the words.

You moaned, high and broken as your thighs strained to lift yourself higher on his cock, the stretch burning deliciously when you dropped back down too fast. The camera caught every obscene detail, the way your breasts bounced with each desperate movement, the sweat dripping between the two of you, the flush spreading down your chest as Chan's grip kept your face angled toward the lens. His free hand splayed across your lower back helping you move faster.

"Holy fucking shit—" Chan groaned, the words cracking into a shuddering exhale as his head tipped back, exposing the slick column of his throat to the camera's unblinking gaze. His fingers spasmed against your hips where he held you in place, his cock twitching inside you with such violent intensity that you could feel the thick vein along the length pulse against your walls.

"Thank god I'm recording this," he rasped, voice deep as he chuckled. His thumbs dug into the crease of your thighs, spreading you wider for the lens. The tripod wobbled precariously when his hips jerked upward without warning, the sudden thrust punching a sound from you that didn't even resemble language.

Your mouth fell open in silent pleasure, the tremor in Chan's biceps as he fought to keep the shot steady, the obscene glisten of sweat and slick where your bodies joined. His phone screen lit up with a frenzy of donations, the chat scrolling too fast to read except for

'$8000 TO SEE HER FACE WHEN SHE CUMS' flashing in neon pink. Chan's breath hitched when he saw it, his grip tightening possessively "You hear that, princess?" he murmured, the words vibrating through your ribs where his chest pressed against your back. His free hand slid around your hipbone, fingers finding your clit with unnerving accuracy. "They wanna see you cum on my cock."

Your hips rolled forward instinctively, too fast, too hard, and Chan's groan vibrated through your ribcage when his cock hit that sweet spot deep inside you. The camera caught the way your eyelids fluttered uncontrollably, rolling back as your thighs strained to maintain the rhythm. Chan's thumb circled your clit with agonizing precision while his other hand palmed your breast roughly, twisting your nipple until your entire body jerked with oversensitivity.

"There it is," Chan murmured, his voice roughened with pleasure as your movements turned jerky and uncoordinated. His fingers pinched your nipple just hard enough to make you whimper, the sharp sting blending deliciously with the relentless pressure on your clit.

The slap landed sharp and sudden, right where thigh met ass a stinging help getting you even closer.

“Cum.” The camera caught the exact moment your orgasm ripped through you, the way your fingers clawed at his forearms, the obscene flutter of your thighs around his waist, the wet shine of tears at your lash line when your back arched like a drawn bow. Chan’s grip on your hips turned bruising as he held you down through the convulsions, his cock pulsing inside you with each ragged thrust—harder, deeper—until the everything blurred behind your clenched eyelids.

Chan’s groan vibrated through your ribcage when your walls clenched around him, his rhythm stuttering into something desperate and uneven.

Chan's hips stuttered against yours with violent precision, three sharp, ragged thrusts that punched the breath from your lungs before he buried himself to the hilt with a groan so guttural it vibrated through you. The camera caught everything as Chan moved it closer to see you squirting on him and twitching as his cum filled you. The obscene flex of his abs as his cock twitched inside you and the wet slap of skin when his hips jerked forward one final time was definitely a sight to remember.

You felt it before you saw it, the sudden, scalding rush of him flooding your insides in thick pulses that made your oversensitive walls flutter instinctively. Chan's breath hitched against your shoulder blade, his teeth sinking into the sweat-slick skin there as his release came in waves.

Chan lifted you slowly like you weighed nothing, one hand splayed between your shoulder blades, the other hooked beneath your trembling thighs, his biceps flexing under the neon lights as he peeled your sweat-slick body off his.

"You okay?" Chan murmured, his thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheekbone, so unexpectedly tender it startled you. His breath fanned warm across your temple where he’d tucked your face against his neck, hiding you from the lens as his fingers traced idle patterns down your spine. The contrast between this gentleness and his earlier dominance sent your pulse insane again, his palm cradled the back of your head like something precious even as his other hand adjusted the tripod to frame only him.

"That was so good," you murmured. His answering kiss landed on your temple soft and lingering.

His phone screen lit up with other large amounts of donations, but Chan ignored them entirely, his focus narrowed to the way your pulse fluttered under his lips when he kissed your throat next.

Chan’s fingers dug into the crease of your thighs with deliberate pressure, spreading you wide as he tilted the camera downward with his free hand. The lens caught the first glistening drop before it even fell, a slow, viscous string of his release stretching between your swollen lips before snapping onto the grass beneath you. His exhale came out ragged, pupils blown wide under the light as he watched another white bead gather at your entrance. "Look at that," he murmured, voice roughened beyond recognition. The camera wobbled slightly when his thumb swiped through the mess, gathering it on his fingertip before pressing back inside you with two knuckles. Your gasp echoed through the mic, sharp and involuntary, as he crooked his fingers just enough to make your thighs jerk.

The chat exploded. Donation banners flooded Chan’s phone screen

$7K TO SEE HER GETTING FUCKED AGAIN!!

FUCKKK THAT’S HOT 🔥

I WANT TO TASTE HER TOO :((

but his attention never wavered from where his fingers worked you open for the lens. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip when another thick bit of cum dripped free, the mic picking up the wetness as it hit the grass. "Still so tight," he groaned, twisting his wrist to expose your flushed inner walls to the camera.

Chan's fingers curled inside you with unexpected gentleness, his knuckles pressing deep where you still pulsed around him in aftershocks. The sudden stretch made your breath hitch, not from pain, but from the obscene fullness of him working his own release back into your trembling body. "Fuck," he groaned against your shoulder blade, the vibration traveling down your spine as his thumb circled your oversensitive clit in slow, teasing strokes. The camera caught every twitch of your thighs, every flutter of your lashes when his fingers twisted just enough to make you clench around him again.

"Look at you," he murmured, angling the lens downward to capture the way his cum glistened at your stretched entrance with each lazy thrust of his hand. His free arm hooked beneath your trembling thighs, spreading you wider for the camera as his thumb smeared a pearly streak across your inner thigh. The mic picked up the wet sound of his fingers moving inside you quickly, the choked whimper you couldn't swallow when his palm pressed flat against you.

Chan’s fingers tightened around the tripod, tilting the lens upward until it caught the flush high on your cheeks, the swollen curve of your lips where his teeth had just been. The lights overhead painted your skin in streaks of gold and violet as he leaned in again. His kiss landed unexpectedly soft, just a brush of lips against yours, a tease of tongue that made you chase him when he pulled back too soon. The camera caught the way your brows knit together, the frustrated little noise you made when his thumb pressed against your lower lip to keep you from following.

"Patience," he murmured before his teeth grazed your bottom lip in retaliation.

You pulled back first, just enough to catch the way Chan’s pupils dilated under the park lights, his lips parted around a breath you could still taste.

Chan's fingers curled around the tripod with practiced ease, lifting the camera just as your forehead dropped against his shoulder, heavy with exhaustion, slick with sweat. The lens caught the exact moment your breath hitched when his thumb traced your lower lip, smearing leftover wetness in a slow arc that made your lashes flutter.

"Say bye to everyone," he murmured, voice roughened but warm, tilting the camera to frame your dazed expression as you blinked up at the lens. Your lips parted around a soundless gasp when his palm slid possessively up your spine, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades to press you closer.

"Isn't she so sexy, chat?" Chan murmured, his smirk audible as his thumb swiped through the wet mess between your thighs for the thousandth time, holding his glistening fingers up to the camera lens. A beautiful display that sent the donation alerts pinging wildly again. His free hand palmed the back of your neck possessively, fingers tangling in sweat-damp hair as he tilted your face toward the tripod. "Look at that face," he coaxed, voice dropping to a growl when your lashes fluttered weakly. "All fucked-out and still begging for it."

The mic picked up your whimper perfectly, embarrassingly honest, as Chan's slick fingers traced your swollen lower lip. You tasted yourself sharply when his thumb pressed inward, the tang flooding your mouth as the camera watched mercilessly, your tongue darting out to clean him. Chan's breath hitched audibly, his hips jerking against your ass where he'd pulled you halfway into his lap, his semi-hard cock already twitching back to life against your thigh.

Chan’s lips brushed your cheek as his free hand reached for the tripod, tilting the camera to frame both your flushed faces. “Big thanks to everyone who tipped tonight,” he smirked, voice roughened but sincere.

“Especially VIPs, you know who you are.” His thumb swiped across your lower lip absentmindedly, smearing leftover wetness as the chat exploded with heart emojis and dollar signs.

You barely registered the donation alerts still pinging, not when Chan’s other hand slid down to cradle the back of your thigh, fingers tracing idle circles on your oversensitive skin. The contrast between his public persona and these private touches sent a shiver down your spine.

Chan's fingers lingered at the nape of your neck, his thumb tracing idle circles against your pulse point as the camera's red light blinked steadily. "Obviously," he drawled, voice still rough around the edges but sliding effortlessly back into performer mode, "massive thank you to this pretty girl for being my special guest tonight." His grin sharpened when your cheeks flushed darker, the mic picking up your shaky exhale as his palm slid possessively down your spine.

The stream ended with Chan's customary wink and a promise.

"Same time next week, yeah?" before the screen blinked black. He minimized the donation tab, but his phone screen stayed lit with relentless notifications. Blog comments flooded in before his fingers even left the end stream button, the preview pane overflowing with horny demands: 'WHEN'S SHE COMING BACK??' and 'MORE PARK STREAMS PLS' stacked atop each other in urgency.

Chan stretched his arms overhead, the hem of his shirt riding up to expose the faint scratches you'd left across his back hours earlier. "Fuck, they're obsessed with you," he chuckled before swiping open the blog with deliberate nonchalance. The first top comment loaded instantly:

$10,000 IF SHE SITS ON HIS FACE NEXT TIME. ❤️ 248 LIKES 🔁 86 REPOSTS

He turns off his phone and turns back to you.

"You might have to take over," Chan joked, thumb brushing your temple as you both dissolved into breathless laughter against each other's shoulders. His phone buzzed facedown on the grass, another avalanche of notifications, but neither of you moved to check it. The park lights cast long shadows across his smirk, catching the silver in his ear when he tilted his head to nuzzle your hair.

The first thing you noticed was how carefully Chan wiped the lens, his fingers slow and methodical around the smudged glass, like he was handling something sacred. As if the camera hadn't just captured him buried inside you twenty minutes ago with its focus ring fogged from your panting breaths.

"You okay?" Chan murmured, his knuckles brushing your bare knee when he crouched to retrieve your discarded underwear from the tripod leg. The lace was shredded beyond repair—he held it up with a smirk before tucking it into his back pocket like a trophy shrugging and smirking. You rolled your eyes but didn't protest, too busy watching the way his forearms flexed as he dismantled the equipment with practiced ease.

Chan's fingers lingered at the small of your back just a second longer than necessary as he helped you up. The grass stains on your knees were the only evidence left, already fading into the dark like secrets. You put everything back on swiftly like nothing had ever happened.

The moon was bright, too bright, really, for the kind of privacy you suddenly craved. You looked up at him, and for a heartbeat, the chaos of the last hour dissolved into silence. His thumb brushed your lower lip, not teasing this time, before he leaned in and kissed you like you were something precious.

No teeth. No camera. Just his mouth moving against yours with a tenderness that made your ribs ache.

Chan’s smirk curled at the edges like he knew exactly how wrecked you still felt, how your thighs trembled when he tugged you upright by the hand.

"Still want boba tea, darling?" The question was dripping with the same teasing lilt he’d used when whispering filth into the mic but his fingers laced through yours.

You laughed and nodded, embarrassed now. “I can’t believe I just hooked up with some sexy cam boy I don’t even know and had sex in front of like 1m viewers.” The words tumbled out half-hysterical, your voice still rough from moaning. The neon lights overhead made Chan’s grin look predatory as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

His laughter vibrated against your temple, warm and unexpectedly unguarded. "You know my name, my favorite boba order, and exactly how I sound when I cum." His teeth grazed your earlobe, playfully before he pulled back just enough to watch your reaction.

"That’s more than most of my exes got in three months."

You swatted at his chest.

"Taro milk tea with coconut jelly," you recited, chin tilting up with misplaced pride as you rattled off Chan's usual order from memory.

The words tasted sweetly absurd after what you'd just done together. Your knees still trembled against the plastic park bench you had now moved to, the cheap material squeaking under your shifting weight.

Chan's eyebrow arched, "You memorized my drink order from last month's mukbang sex stream." His voice dripped with delight and disbelief, fingers brushing yours. "Fuck, you're adorable, my dream girl."

Chan's fingers laced through yours with still tender, his thumb brushing the back of your knuckles. Neon signs blurred in your periphery as you both walked toward the sidewalk, his pace deliberately slow despite the late hour.

"You're walking funny," he murmured against your temple, lips quirking when your thighs visibly stiffened. The boba trucks pink sign reflected in his pupils as he glanced down at you, transforming his smirk into something softer. His fingers squeezed yours, once, twice—like he was reassuring himself you were real.

The chat would've lost their collective minds if they saw this version of him. Tousled hair, sweet smiles and his big hands, sweat-damp shirt clinging to his shoulders where you'd clawed at him earlier. Only you now get to see this version.

☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆...

🏷️ Taglist: @11racha

✧( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ )✧

The old vending machine in the hallways has been refusing to work for three years. Nobody ever called the technician because the machine didn't actually dispense anything but disappointment.

"I'm just saying, if you time the tilt right, the bag of sweets sometimes slides down without the payment," Hyunjin said, leaning against the beige wallpaper of the corridor. He was wearing a sweater that looked two sizes too big, making him look softer and more approachable than he actually was.

"I'm not a criminal, Hyunjin," you sighed. You leaned back against the wall beside him, your shoulders brushing, and gave the vending machine a sharp, impatient kick.

The machine rattled, a hollow sound that echoed through the empty hallway. You looked up at him, catching the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, and realized that even in the flickering fluorescent light of a school corridor, he looked unfairly attractive.

The oversized sweater slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing a glimpse of a collarbone that made your heart do a clumsy jump.

Hyunjin let out a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating in the small space between you. "Your technique is all wrong," he murmured, glancing around to ensure the coast was clear. He didn't move away, instead, he stepped closer. The casual confidence in his posture was effortless, a quiet magnetism that always seemed to pull you into him regardless of where you were or what you were doing.

"Look, just a little more to the left," Hyunjin whispered, reaching out to guide your foot toward a specific seam in the machine's rusted base. He was so focused on the machine that he didn't notice the sudden shift in the hallway's atmosphere.

The silence was shattered by a burst of high-pitched laughter and the rhythmic click of several pairs of shoes. A group of girls rounded the corner, their conversation dying instantly as they spotted him. They slowed their pace, their eyes widening as they took in the sight of him leaning over you, his expression soft and distracted.

"Oh my god, is that Hyunjin?" one of them whispered, not nearly quietly enough. She nudged her friend, and suddenly the three of them were practically hovering, giggling behind their hands.

"He's actually so hot," another murmured. They didn't stop to talk, but they lingered just long enough to cast a long, appreciative glance at his him before they finally drifted toward the gym, their hushed excitement echoing back down the hall.

"The nerve," you muttered, your gaze fixed on the retreating backs of the girls. The frustration from the stubborn vending machine and the girls had successfully pissed you off, leaving you feeling prickly and exposed. You crossed your arms over your chest, your brows forming into a deep scowl.

It wasn't that you minded the attention, you were used to the general buzz that followed Hyunjin constantly, but the way they looked at him, and then looked at you as if you were merely a backdrop to his aesthetic, made the air feel tight.

Hyunjin didn’t seem bothered by the interruption. In fact, he looked amused. He shifted his weight, his shoulder bumping yours as he leaned in, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.

"You're so cute when you're angry," he murmured, his voice dropping. He wasn't mocking you, there was a genuine warmth in his eyes.

"Cute is not the word I'm going for," you countered, though the edge in your voice had already begun to soften. You tried to maintain the scowl, but it was a losing battle against the way he was looking at you, like you were the only person in the building who actually mattered.

Hyunjin didn't argue. Instead, he let out a short, breathy laugh and leaned down, closing the remaining distance between you. The kiss was brief, a soft press of lips that tasted like the peppermint candies he always kept in his pockets, but it was enough to send a jolt of electricity straight down your spine.

He lingered for a second longer than necessary, his nose brushing yours, before he pulled back just enough to catch your gaze. He had this specific kind of smirk, the one that suggested he knew exactly how much power he held over your mood.

The resistance you had been trying to maintain vanished the moment he leaned back in, the scowl on your face dissolving into a reluctant, breathless smile. You sighed into the kiss, the sound muffled and soft, as you reached up to grip the his neck. He responded by pulling you flush against him, his arms winding around your waist to remove every millimeter of space between you.

He broke the kiss just enough to murmur against your lips, his voice a low, honeyed vibration. "You look so pretty today," he whispered, his eyes scanning the corridor with a sudden, focused intensity. The hallway was empty again, the distant echoes of the people now nothing more than a memory, but the silence felt heavy.

Hyunjin’s gaze dropped to your mouth, his focus sharpening as the fluorescent lights caught the shimmer of your lip gloss. The glow of the gloss made your lips look plush, and enticing as you watched his pupils dilate. For a moment, he seemed hypnotized.

"Come here, baby," he whispered, the words barely a breath against your cheek.

"Wait, right here," he murmured, his voice barely a vibration against your ear. Before you could ask what he was planning, Hyunjin’s hand slid from your waist to your wrist, his fingers locking firmly but gently around yours.

He didn't lead you back toward the safety of the lockers or the exit to the gym, instead, he steered you a few paces down the hall to a heavy, grey metal door. With a swift, practiced motion, he pulled the door open and guided you inside, the hinge letting out a groan.

The janitor’s closet was cramped filled with industrial shelving and the sharp, clean scent of bleach. As the door clicked shut behind you, the harsh glare of the fluorescent hallway was replaced by a dim, amber glow. The space was so narrow that you were forced against a stack of folded canvas tarps, the rough fabric pressing into your spine. Hyunjin didn't step back to give you room, he stepped into your space, his frame blocking out the rest of the room.

“Babe, what are we—”

The question didn't even finish forming before Hyunjin leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that effectively silenced you. It wasn't the playful, brief press of lips from the hallway, this was a deliberate and deep kiss.

His hand traveled from your wrist to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head back, deepening the angle of the kiss. You let out a soft, muffled sound of surprise that was quickly swallowed by him, your hands instinctively finding him around his waist, pulling him closer.

A low, guttural sound escaped Hyunjin’s throat. It was a soft, needy moan that broke through the silence of the closet, mirroring the sound that escaped you as he shifted his weight. He pressed forward, pinning you more firmly against the canvas tarps, his body molding to yours with a sudden, hungry urgency. The friction of his denim jeans against your legs created a suffocating, wonderful heat that made your head swim.

The air in the small room grew thick, heavy with the shared rhythm of breathing. Hyunjin broke the kiss for a fleeting second, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your skin in a way that sent a fresh wave of wetness. You tilted your head to the side, giving him better access, your fingers tightening in the wool of his sweater.

"I need you," he whispered, the words barely audible over the frantic rhythm of your shared breathing. The words were stripped of its usual playfulness, sounding instead like a raw, honest craving.

He didn't wait for a verbal answer, he let his lips do the talking, trailing a path of burning heat down the column of your neck.

As he continued his descent, his hand drifted from the small of your back, sliding with a slow, purposeful friction down the length of your thigh. The sudden contact of his palm against your skin sent a jolt of electricity through you, making you gasp and arch your back. He didn't hesitate, his fingers hooking under the hem of your skirt, lifting the fabric just enough to clear the way. The sensation of his cool fingertips grazing the edge of your underwear caused you to gasp, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

"Shit, Hyunjin," you whined as your head hit the tarps. The sensation of his hand moving with such focused intent was overwhelming.

Hyunjin paused for a heartbeat, his gaze lifting to meet yours. A slow smirk curled his lips. He leaned in, his breath warm against the shell of your ear.

"You're the only girl I like, baby," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, resonant hum that vibrated through you. The sincerity in his tone, wrapped in that smug confidence, made your heart hammer.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, the tension in your shoulders melting as you looked up at him. The smugness in his expression softened, his features smoothing out into something tender. He leaned in again, but this time there was no urgency, no hunger. He pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate. You found yourself smiling into the kiss, your eyes fluttering shut as the sheer sweetness of the moment washed over you.

"Prettiest girl," he murmured against your lips, the words barely a whisper, yet they carried a weight that made your chest ache. He said it with a conviction that made you feel like the only person in the world. He pulled back just an inch, his eyes searching yours, reflecting the amber light of the room.

Hyunjin’s hand didn’t hesitate. With a slow, purposeful motion, he hooked two fingers beneath the lace of your underwear, sliding the fabric to the side with a precision that made your breath hitch. The sudden exposure to the cool air of the closet was a sharp contrast to the searing heat of his palm, but that coolness lasted only a second.

As he shifted closer, pressing his thigh between yours, you felt the heavy, slick sensation of your own arousal, a warm, undeniable dampness that clung to your skin.

He saw the way your chest heaved, the way your pupils were blown wide with want, and the way you were physically reacting to him. He looked at you not as a prize to be won, but as something precious, his expression mirroring the quiet awe of someone witnessing something special.

The silence of the closet seemed to amplify the sound of your own pulse. Hyunjin’s gaze remained locked on yours, his eyes searching.

"Can I... please, can I fuck you?" he whispered, the words barely leaving his lips, raspy. As he spoke, his thumb continued to stroke your hair in a slow, rhythmic motion, a tender contrast to the raw hunger in his voice.

The answer didn't come as a word, but as a desperate, frantic pull of his oversized sweater, dragging him back down to you. You didn't need to speak, the way you arched your hips into his, searching for that friction, was an answer loud enough to fill the cramped space.

Hyunjin let out a sharp exhale, his restraint snapping. He shifted his weight, his movements focused and urgent as he navigated the narrow closet, the metal shelving rattling behind you as he pressed you deeper into the tarps.

When he finally slid inside you, the sensation was a sudden, overwhelming rush of heat that seemed to ignite every nerve in your body. You gasped, your head snapping back against the rough fabric, your eyes fluttering shut as you focused entirely on the feeling of him filling you. The friction was intense, a slow, sliding pressure that made your breath hitch and your fingers dig into his shoulders. As he began to move, finding a rhythm that was both steady and punishingly deep, the silence of the room was completely shattered.

The rhythmic thud of your bodies against the grey metal door began to echo through the small room, a dull, metallic drumming that timed itself to the frantic beat of your hearts. The risk of someone walking in on them added an electric edge to the pleasure. He gripped your thighs, his long fingers digging into your skin, and hoisted you upward. With a sudden, powerful surge, he pinned you against the cold surface of the door, your back flat against the metal and your legs wrapped tightly around his waist to keep you anchored.

From this new position, the depth of him felt insane. His cock was long, veins being felt as you slid up and down on him, it seemed to reach places you didn't know existed. Hyunjin pushed you up and down along the length of him in a way that made your vision blur.

Every thrust sent a jolt of electricity from the base of your spine to the crown of your head. The sound that ripped from your throat was raw, a loud, shuddering moan that bounced off the walls of the closet and collided with the low, guttural sound Hyunjin made in response.

He was losing his rhythm, his movements becoming frantic and disjointed as the friction peaked. In a sudden move, he shifted his grip on your thighs and brought one hand up, his thumb catching the curve of your lower lip with a heavy, deliberate swipe. He pressed, smearing the iridescent gloss across your cheek and jawline, his eyes darkening as he watched the shimmer distort under the pressure of his touch.

"Fuck, I love these shiny things," he rasped.

Hyunjin leaned in, licking the smudge of gloss from his own thumb with a, predatory focus that made your stomach flip, before capturing your mouth in a kiss.

The door was no longer enough. With a focused grunt, Hyunjin shifted his grip as he pivoted your body. In one fluid, sweeping motion, he brought you upward and placed you onto the small metal utility table that sat amidst the cleaning supplies. The surface was cold and clinical, the sudden change in elevation left you breathless, your legs instinctively locking around his hips to pull him back.

He didn't give you a moment to adjust to the chill of the table. He stepped back into you with a force that rattled everything. He drove into you, his hips snapping forward with a punishing intensity.

The echoes of the movement narrowed down to the sound of skin slapping against skin. As the first wave of your orgasm began to crash over you, your fingers curled tightly into the nape of his neck, pulling him down until there was no space left between your souls. In the sudden, blinding rush of sensation, the words you had been holding back surged to the surface, escaping as a breathless, broken gasp against his jaw.

"I love you, baby," you whimpered, the words barely audible over the sound of your moans.

Hyunjin froze for a fraction of a second, his entire body stiffening as the words hit him. Then, he let out a low, shuddering sound, half-sob, half-groan and buried his face in the crook of your neck. His movements becoming frantic and desperate, as if he were trying to fuse himself to you. He began to kiss you messily, his lips grazing your cheek, your jaw in a rush of uncoordinated, deep, hunger.

"Love you... love you too," he whined, the words muffled against your skin and thick with a sudden, overwhelming emotion. He sounded wrecked, his voice stripped of all its usual poise. His fingers hooked into the fabric of your skirt, scrunching it upward messily. He held it there, clutching the fabric like a lifeline, his knuckles white as he drove himself into you with a final, focused intensity. He shifted his weight, driving deeper one last time, and you felt the sudden, hot surge of him filling you completely. The release was explosive, a white light that seemed to erase everything around you both, trembling and clinging to one another as the world slowly slid back into focus.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful," Hyunjin whimpered, the sound vibrating in the quiet room. He didn't pull away immediately, instead, he stayed anchored between your thighs, his breathing still ragged and shallow. His gaze drifted downward, focused and intense, as he looked at the glistening evidence of the last few minutes. With a slow, deliberate motion, he slid a finger across the damp heat of your center, then brought that finger to his lips. He licked the moisture from his skin with a slow, focused hunger, his eyes never leaving yours, before he reached back down to guide his thumb against your clit. He rubbed in a small, teasing circle, the pressure light and precise, causing a fresh spike of pleasure to shoot through you.

"Hyunnn," you whined, the sound a broken, needy sound in the back of your throat. You bit your lower lip hard, trying to stifle the sound of your own voice, but the sensation was too much. He was timing the flick of his finger perfectly with the rhythm of his slick cock driving back into you.

"I'm so close," you gasped, the words barely escaping your lips as a cohesive sentence. Your voice was a fragile thing. You clung to the oversized wool of his sweater only focusing on how his fingers moved perfectly.

Hyunjin let out a low, affirmative sound, agreement that vibrated against your chest. "I know, baby," he murmured, his voice a rough, honeyed rasp. "I've got you. Just let go." His touch became more insistent, his finger tracing a faster, more demanding circle. He watched you with an intensity that was almost predatory, his eyes wide and dark, tracking every flicker of your eyelids and every shuddering breath.

The tension in the room snapped as the pressure peaked, your pussy clamped around him in a series of rhythmic spasms, squeezing him with a desperate, crushing intensity.

The sensation triggered a visceral reaction in Hyunjin, he let out a broken, guttural sound, his entire frame shuddering violently against you. He didn't pull away, instead driving deeper into the center of the storm, his voice becoming a guiding rasp in your ear.

"That's it, baby... just like that... squeeze me... take it all," he whispered, his words so intimate.

The release hit you a wave of pleasure that radiated from your core and surged outward until every nerve ending was screaming. As you came, your body tightened around him one last time, the intense friction triggering a secondary, delayed pulse of release from him. You felt the sudden, hot surge of him filling you again, the two of you colliding in a moment of synchronization.

The air in the closet was thick and humming, the silence that followed felt heavier. For a few seconds, neither of you moved, the only sound the ragged, synchronized gasps of your breathing. Hyunjin’s forehead remained pressed against yours, his eyes closed, his muscles slowly beginning to uncoil.

"You're incredible," he murmured, his voice still ruined. He lingered there for a moment, his lips warm against your skin, before he began the slow process of putting the pieces of your composure back together. With a focused, gentle care, he reached down to smooth the bunched-up fabric of your skirt, his fingers brushing against your thighs in a way that was now purely comforting. He didn't rush you, he waited until your breathing leveled out, his gaze scanning your face with a soft, shimmering pride that made you feel like you were glowing.

As the adrenaline began to leave, the reality of your surroundings crept back in. The dim amber light of the closet seemed a bit harsher, and the distant sound of a locker slamming somewhere in the hallway echoed like a gunshot. You blinked, glancing toward the grey metal door, and realized you were still draped precariously over the edge of a utility table, your lip gloss smeared across your jaw and your hair a mess of tangles from his fingers. A small, breathless laugh escaped you, the sound bubbling up from a place of pure, exhausted contentment.

He pulls you into a final, crushing hug. He tucks your head under his chin, rocking you slightly from side to side in the narrow space. "We might make it to the last 10 minutes of science" he whispered, though he made no immediate move to let you go. He squeezed you tighter, his heart still drumming a frantic, happy rhythm against your own.

"If we get caught, I'm telling the teacher you kidnapped me," you whispered, the words muffled by the soft wool of his shoulder. You finally detangled yourself from his embrace, though you kept your fingers threaded tightly through his. You reached up to swipe at your jawline, trying to smudge away the iridescent remnants of your lip gloss, but the shimmering streaks only seemed to highlight the flushed, chaotic glow of your cheeks.

Hyunjin let out a soft chuckle. With a slow nudge, he pushed the door open. The sudden influx of harsh, white fluorescent light from the hallway felt like a physical shock, blinding you for a heartbeat.

☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆...

🏷️ Taglist: @11racha @janaethedreamer @sparklingyoongi @tinys0ftie @lvebyheehoon

The red digits of the alarm clock blinked 3:17 AM when the mattress first shifted. You'd been drifting in that pleasant nowhere between dreams and wakefulness, limbs tangled in the comforter Jeongin had stolen twice already tonight. His warmth had been pressed along your back just minutes ago.

"Mmh...Innie?" you mumbled, patting the empty space beside you. The sleepover had been his idea, popcorn bags scattered everywhere, horror movies paused halfway when he'd yelped and buried his face against your shoulder. Now the room was too quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and you froze, a wet, rhythmic sound from behind the bathroom door. The crack of light beneath it painted a gold stripe across the carpet.

The sound wasn't quite crying, something stickier, more strained and your socked feet hit the floor before your brain caught up. Cold floorboards bit through the thin fabric as you shuffled toward the bathroom door, knuckles hovering over the door. "Innie?" The nickname came out thick with sleep.

Your knuckles barely grazed the bathroom door when it swung inward with a creak.The humidity hit first, thick with the scent of mint toothpaste and something muskier underneath. Then the sight,Jeongin braced against the sink counter, school hoodie rucked up to his collarbones, fist moving in his sweatpants with a desperation that made your throat click. His head snapped up, eyes blown black in the fluorescent light, lips parted around a gasp.

The moan that followed wasn't the scared kind from earlier when the movie ghost appeared, this one curled low in his belly and spilled out ragged. His hips stuttered. "Fuck—" His free hand scrambled for the hem of his hoodie, yanking it down too late, but his fingers kept moving under the fabric. "Didn't...mean to wake you," he panted, voice wrecked.

You stand there slightly shocked, not sure what to say before replying, "I—" The word hung in the humid air between you, unfinished. Jeongin's fingers stilled under his hoodie, his chest heaving like he'd sprinted up a flight of stairs. The faucet dripped behind him, the sound impossibly loud in the silence. His eyes darted to the towel rack, the shower curtain, anywhere but your face like if he looked away long enough, you might disappear and let him pretend this wasn't happening.

Your brain finally caught up with your mouth. "I didn't—" You swallowed, your own pulse loud in your ears. "I didn't know you were..." Awake? Horny? Desperate enough to jerk off in your bathroom at 3 AM after clinging to you through two horror movies? The sentence died in your throat.

You cleared your throat, the sound embarrassingly loud and took a half step closer before your brain could catch up with your body. The tile floor was cold under your socks, but everywhere else felt feverish, your cheeks, your throat, the space between your ribs where your pulse hammered against bone. Jeongin’s hoodie was still bunched awkwardly around his waist, his fingers twitching beneath the fabric like he couldn’t decide whether to stop or keep going.

“I didn’t mean to—” you started again, but Jeongin cut you off with a shaky exhale, his free hand gripping the edge of the sink so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Do you—” Your voice cracked on the first attempt, forcing you to wet your lips. The second time, it came out softer than you intended, almost a whisper against the hum of the bathroom fan. “Do you want any help with that?”

Jeongin’s breath hitched audibly, his fingers freezing under his hoodie. His gaze snapped to yours dark, startled, pupils blown so wide the brown of his irises was nearly swallowed. The flush creeping down his neck deepened.

Jeongin's throat worked as he swallowed hard, his lips parting like he wanted to speak but couldn't find the words. His fingers twitched again beneath the fabric, a small, aborted movement that sent heat licking up your spine. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting sharp shadows under his lashes as his eyes flicked between yours searching, uncertain.

"You don't have to," he finally rasped, voice raw in a way that made your stomach tighten. His hips shifted almost imperceptibly, the fabric of his sweatpants tenting where his hand was still hidden. "I can—I should just—"

Your fingers brushed against Jeongin's wrist before either of you could overthink it, light at first, just enough to feel the damp heat radiating through his hoodie sleeve. His pulse jumped under your touch. "I know I don't have to," you murmured, sliding your palm down until you met the feverish skin of his stomach. The fabric between you was damp with sweat, sticking to his skin as you pressed closer. "But I want to."

Jeongin made a sound like he'd been punched, a sharp exhale that dissolved into a whimper when your fingertips dipped beneath his waistband. His hips jerked forward instinctively, chasing the contact, and you felt the moment his control snapped. His hand fell away from under his hoodie with a shaky sigh, letting you take over, his fingers instead gripping the sink counter behind him like he might float away otherwise.

Your fingers closed around him properly now, skin hot and slick against your palm, and Jeongin's knees buckled just slightly before he caught himself against the sink. His breath came in shallow gasps as you stroked him slowly, experimentally, learning the weight and shape of him through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. The sound he made when your thumb brushed over the head was muffled against his own sleeve, bitten into the fabric as his shoulders hunched forward.

"Don't—" he started, then choked when you twisted your wrist just so on the upstroke. His hips stuttered forward into your grip, chasing the friction. "Don't tease," he managed, voice wrecked.

"You look cute like this though," you murmured, watching the way Jeongin's breath hitched at your words his entire body tensing. You tightened your grip just slightly, enough to make his hips jerk forward with a punched out moan.

The sound of Jeongin's palm sliding against the mirror as he braced himself was obscenely loud,his fingers leaving streaks in the condensation as they trembled. "That's—" he started, then choked when your thumb circled the head of his cock, smearing the wetness already gathered there. His voice cracked. "That's not fair."

The tile was cold against your knees as you lowered yourself down. Jeongin’s breath stuttered above you, his fingers twitching against the mirror like he couldn’t decide whether to reach for you or brace himself further. You didn’t give him time to overthink it, your free hand slid up his thigh, feeling the muscle tense beneath your palm, before hooking your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants.

Jeongin made a noise halfway between a gasp and a whine when you tugged them down just enough, the fabric pooling around his knees. His cock sprang free, flushed and leaking, the tip glistening under the harsh bathroom light. For a heartbeat, you just looked, memorizing the way his stomach clenched when you exhaled against him, the way his thighs trembled when you traced a fingertip along the vein running the length of him.

Jeongin’s cock stood at attention, thick and flushed, the shaft curving slightly upward like it had a mind of its own. It was almost comically large compared to the rest of him, lean hips, narrow waist, the kind of frame that made his hoodies hang loose. The contrast was dizzying, the way his fingers had looked small around it earlier, straining to fit, like he couldn’t quite get enough friction no matter how fast he moved. Now it twitched against your palm, hot and heavy, as if protesting the sudden lack of attention.

"You—" Jeongin's voice cracked as you leaned in, your breath ghosting over the swollen head. His thighs trembled when you licked a slow stripe from base to tip, tasting salt and musk and something uniquely him. "Fuck, you don't have to—" The rest of his sentence dissolved into a gasp when you took him into your mouth, the weight of him pressing against your tongue almost overwhelming.

The stretch of your lips around him burned pleasantly, too much at first, the blunt head nudging roughly against the back of your throat until your eyes watered. You gagged reflexively, pulling back with a wet sound that made Jeongin whimper above you, his fingers tangling in your hair like he wasn't sure whether to push you away or drag you closer. His thighs trembled when you tried again, slower this time, letting your tongue flatten against the thick vein running along his shaft as you took him deeper.

"Shit—" Jeongin's voice fractured into a moan when your lips finally met the base of his cock, your nose pressed flush against his stomach. His hips jerked forward instinctively before he caught himself, one hand slapping against the mirror to steady himself. "Sorry, sorry—" he gasped, but you hummed around him in reassurance, the vibration making his knees buckle. His fingers tightened in your hair, not pushing, just holding on like you were the only thing keeping him upright.

Jeongin's confession punched through the humid air between you, raw and ragged like he'd torn it from somewhere deep in his chest. His hips stuttered against your lips, the movement uncoordinated now half-thrust, half-retreat, as if his body couldn't decide whether to chase pleasure or hide from the truth spilling out of him.

"I kept—" His breath hitched when you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, his fingers flexing in your hair. "Kept thinking about you, your hands, your mouth—" The words dissolved into a moan as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard enough to make his thighs shake.

The taste of him flooded your senses salty and bitter and perfect, as you pulled off just enough to murmur against his slick skin, "Should've woken me up earlier." Your thumb circled the swollen head, smearing the wetness pooling there. "Could've had the real thing instead of your hand."

Jeongin made a sound like you'd punched him. The mirror behind him was completely fogged now, his reflection blurred except for the white-knuckled grip he had on the sink counter. "You don't—" His voice cracked when you licked a slow stripe up his shaft, your fingers tightening at the base. "You don't know how many times I almost did."

Jeongin's hips jerked forward when your teeth grazed the sensitive skin just beneath the head. "Fuck—those—" His voice cracked, his fingers scrambling against the fogged mirror for help as you swallowed him down again. "Those fucking shorts you wear—"

The confession tumbled out between gasps, his thighs trembling under your palms. You pulled off with a wet pop, looking up through your lashes to find Jeongin's face flushed red, his lips bitten raw. His hoodie had ridden up completely now, revealing his lean abs clenching with every shallow breath.

Jeongin’s fingers flexed against the mirror, his knuckles white as he stared down at you, eyes dark with something that wasn’t just hunger, but disbelief, like he couldn’t quite imagine the sight of you on your knees with the reality of it.

You sucked harder, taking him deeper until your lips pressed flush against the damp patch of curls at the base, feeling a stupid, giddy rush of pride at the sheer size of him stretching your mouth. Jeongin made a sound like glass shattering, his thighs trembling against your shoulders as you swallowed reflexively around him, your throat working to accommodate the thick intrusion. The stretch burned in the best way, your jaw aching pleasantly as you pulled back just enough to swirl your tongue around the swollen head before diving down again.

He gasped your name, half-plea, half-prayer, his voice cracking on the last syllable. The muscles in his stomach jumped under your free hand, his hips twitching forward in shallow, aborted thrusts like he was fighting not to fuck your mouth properly.

"Fuck—fuck—" Jeongin’s voice was wrecked, barely audible over the wet sounds filling the humid bathroom.

Jeongin's knees buckled first, a sudden collapse that would've sent him crashing to the tile if your hands hadn't shot out to brace his hips. The warning came too late, his voice cracking around your name as his cock pulsed against your tongue, hot and thick, flooding your mouth with the taste of him. His body arched into the sensation.

You swallowed instinctively, the muscles of your throat working around him as he twitched against your tongue.

Tears streamed down your face as Jeongin wiped your drool away with his veiny hands, those same fingers that had been buried in your hair moments ago now trembling against your cheek. His touch was unexpectedly gentle, considering how rough he'd been with himself earlier, thumb brushing over your damp skin like he was memorizing the texture. "Shit," he breathed, voice still wrecked, pupils blown so wide his irises were nearly invisible. "Did I—did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, swallowing the last traces of him with a wet click of your throat that made Jeongin's breath hitch. His fingers lingered at the corner of your mouth, catching a stray droplet you'd missed. The bathroom light hummed overhead, casting sharp shadows under his lashes as he stared at his own fingertips, glistening with your spit and his cum, before slowly dragging them across your bottom lip. His throat worked as he watched the way your tongue darted out instinctively to clean the digit, his hips jerking forward weakly like his body hadn't quite gotten the memo that he was spent.

The first brush of Jeongin's lips against yours was hesitant, still tasting himself on your tongue, his fingers trembling where they cradled your jaw. The contrast of his earlier desperation against this sudden gentleness made your stomach flip, the ache between your thighs sharpening as his hoodie brushed against your bare arms. His exhale hitched when you nipped at his bottom lip.

"You're—" Jeongin started, then gasped when your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer until his hips slotted against yours. The damp heat between your legs pressed against his thigh through your pajama shorts, and his pupils blew even wider. "Fuck, you're really—"

"You're so beautiful," Jeongin breathed against your lips, the words sticky with leftover desire, his thumbs tracing the curve of your jaw. His hoodie sleeves were still pushed up to his elbows from earlier, exposing the delicate veins along his forearms.

The bathroom light buzzed above you, He pulled back just enough to look at you, really look at you, his gaze darting between your swollen lips, the tear tracks drying on your skin, the way your chest still rose and fell too quickly. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his voice cracking when he murmured, "Like this—fuck, especially like this." His fingers strayed to your lower lip, pressing gently until it gave under his touch. "All messy because of me."

Jeongin's fingers hesitated at the hem of your shorts, hovering there like he was waiting for permission, for a sign this was real before his knuckles grazed the damp fabric carefully. His breath hitched when he found the heat of you through the thin material, his touch impossibly gentle compared to the frantic way he'd touched himself earlier."You're—"

The rest of the sentence died when his fingertips brushed over the soaked-through cotton, tracing the shape of you. His thumb pressed against your clit through the fabric in an experimental circle, and your hips jerked forward involuntarily, a gasp tearing from your throat. Jeongin made a wounded noise in response, his free hand gripping the sink counter like he needed to anchor himself, his knuckles whitening with the effort not to push you against the tiles right then.

You couldn't help the moan that escaped when your walls clenched around nothing, a hot, empty ache that made your thighs press together instinctively. Jeongin's breath hitched at the sound, his thumb stilling against your clit through your pajama shorts. His eyes darted up to yours, wide and dark with something like wonder, like he couldn't believe he'd put that sound in your throat.

"Fuck," he breathed, his fingers flexing against the damp fabric. His other hand left the sink to hover near your hip, trembling slightly before finally settling on your waistband. "Can I—?" The question came out ragged, his teeth digging into his already swollen bottom lip.

You bit your lip and nodded, looking up at him innocently through your lashes. His fingers hovered at your waistband like he was afraid the fabric might dissolve under his touch, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he waited for confirmation.

The memory hit you as Jeongin’s fingers fumbled with the drawstring of your pajama shorts. That rainy afternoon three weeks ago when your bedroom walls had felt paper-thin, the rhythmic creak of his bedframe just audible through the wall. You’d pressed your face into your pillow to muffle the sounds, but your hips had arched into your own touch anyway, imagining his wide-eyed stare if he ever caught you like this. Now here he was, knuckles brushing your bare stomach as he peeled the fabric down your thighs, his breath stuttering like he’d forgotten how to exhale.

"Shit," Jeongin breathed against your lips, laughter trembling in his voice as his fingers traced the damp hem of your shorts. "We really can't go back to being just friends after this." His thumb pressed into the soft skin of your inner thigh, the touch feather-light compared to the wrecked way he'd gasped your name minutes ago.

The admission hovered between you. You remembered how he'd poke and prod you randomly to annoy you. Now those same fingers were sliding under your waistband with a confidence that made your breath stop, his touch scorching against your overheated skin.

Jeongin's fingers tightened around your waist a second before your feet left the tile floor, his grip unexpectedly sure for someone who'd trembled so violently against the sink minutes ago. The sudden elevation made your stomach swoop, your arms looping instinctively around his neck as he carried you through the bathroom doorway.

The bedroom air hit your bare legs first, cooler than the bathroom's humidity, raising goosebumps along your thighs where your shorts had ridden up during the ride. Jeongin didn't stumble so much as sway, his knees dipping slightly when your teeth grazed the pulse point beneath his jaw. His exhale hitched against your hair, warm and uneven, as he adjusted his grip beneath your thighs—one hand sliding higher up your leg than strictly necessary for support.

Jeongin placed you on the bed. Halfway through tugging his hoodie over his head, the fabric caught on his elbows, sleeves inside-out and tangled, exposing the sharp lines of his ribs where they curved into his waist. The fluorescent bathroom light spilled across his collarbones, still damp with sweat, making him glow like something otherworldly. “Jeongin i need you..” you whine.

His breath hitched at your whine, fingers twitching against the shorts. "You—" His voice cracked, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "You have me."

The hoodie hit the floor as Jeongin surged forward to catch your lips again. His hands found your hips automatically, thumbs pressing into the divots above your pelvis like he'd mapped them in his dreams. The kiss was messy, off-center, his teeth clipping your lower lip in his haste, but you moaned into it anyway, arching into the heat of his bare chest against yours.

Jeongin's lips crashed into yours with none of the earlier hesitation, hot and insistent. The bedsprings groaned beneath you as he crowded you backward, his knee slotting between your thighs with practiced ease that made you wonder how long he'd imagined this exact angle. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that matched the frantic pace of his earlier thrusts into your mouth.

The comforter bunched under your elbows as Jeongin leaned over you, his free hand skating down your side to grip your hip, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth. His hips jerked forward instinctively at the sound. The friction of his bare thigh against yours was dizzying, the damp heat between your legs aching with each ragged breath Jeongin exhaled against your collarbone.

Jeongin's teeth sank into the foil packet before you'd even fully registered reaching for it, his canines flashing in the dim light as he tore through the plastic with a sharp twist of his head. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet bedroom, punctuated by the wet click of him spitting the torn edge onto the floor beside the bed. His pupils were blown so wide that you could almost see your own reflection.

You barely had time to blink before Jeongin was surging forward again, the condom still clutched in one hand while the other cradled your jaw, his grip firm enough to tilt your head back but gentle enough that his thumb could trace the curve of your bottom lip. His kiss was messy, off-center.

The condom unfurled between his fingers translucent and slick under the dim bedroom light. You watched, mesmerized, as he pinched the tip between his thumb and forefinger, his other hand guiding himself, thick and flushed, the head already glistening, into the latex with a shaky exhale.

The sight punched the air from your lungs, Jeongin's long fingers struggling to roll the condom down his length, his hips jerking forward involuntarily when the material caught midway. His breath hitched, forehead pressing against your shoulder as he worked the latex lower, the veins in his arms standing out with the effort it took not to thrust into his own grip. When it finally settled at the base, the tight ring of it made his cock twitch visibly against his stomach.

Jeongin's cock almost looked too big for the condom, the latex stretched tight over the thickest part of his shaft, the veins standing out. A bead of precum pearled at the tip, smearing against the inside of the condom when he gave himself an experimental stroke, his breath catching audibly. The sight was obscene, his length flushed dark against the pale rubber, the tight ring at the base making his balls draw up slightly as he shuddered.

"Fuck," Jeongin breathed, his voice cracking as he adjusted the condom with trembling fingers. The latex made a wet sound when he tugged it down further, revealing how much thicker he was at the base, the material straining dangerously where it met his pelvis. "It's—" His hips jerked forward involuntarily when your fingertips brushed against the underside of his cock, tracing the prominent vein through the thin barrier. "It's too tight."

Jeongin smirked, a quick, lopsided thing that flashed across his face before disappearing into the blush creeping up his neck. The contrast was dizzying, the same boy who'd whimpered into your mouth moments ago now looking down at you with something dangerously close to confidence, even as his fingers trembled against your hip. "Too tight," he repeated, voice lower than you'd ever heard it, his thumb rubbing absent circles against your skin. "Guess you'll have to help me with that."

The condom stretched obscenely over him, the translucent material clinging to every vein and ridge as he gave himself another experimental stroke. His breath hitched when your fingers joined his, tracing the tight ring of latex at the base, watching the way his stomach muscles jumped at the contact. "Like this?" you murmured, tugging gently until the material slid lower, revealing more of that flushed, leaking tip. Jeongin's knees buckled slightly, his free hand shooting out to brace against the headboard with a thud that rattled the bedframe.

You giggled, a breathless, disbelieving sound, as Jeongin lined himself up, his hands trembling against your thighs where they bracketed his hips. The tip of him caught at your entrance, slick with both your arousal and the lube from the condom.

"Fuck," Jeongin gasped, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks as he hesitated, his cock twitching against you. His forehead was damp with sweat, his bangs sticking to his skin in messy strands as he looked down at you. "You're—" His voice cracked, his hips jerking forward involuntarily when your nails scraped lightly down his back. "You're sure?"

"Yes," you breathed, your thumb tracing the flushed curve of Jeongin's cheekbone, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingertips. His eyelashes fluttered at the contact, long and unfairly pretty for a guy. The corner of his mouth twitched when your fingers drifted lower, catching on his bitten, red lip.

Jeongin entered you slowly, so slowly it made your toes curl into the sheets, every millimeter of him stretching you wider than you'd anticipated. His breath fanned across your collarbone in uneven bursts, his fingers flexing against your hips like he was fighting not to thrust forward all at once. You could feel the tremble in his thighs where they bracketed yours, the tension in his shoulders as he held himself still, his forehead pressed against yours like an anchor.

"Okay?" he whispered, the word cracking halfway through. His eyelashes fluttered against your cheekbone when you nodded, his exhale shuddering against your lips as he sank deeper. The stretch burned, not painfully, but overwhelmingly, your body struggling to accommodate the thick length of him as he pressed forward with agonizing patience. Jeongin made a wounded noise against your neck when your walls clenched reflexively around him.

"Tell me if I'm hurting you, okay, pretty girl?" Jeongin's voice was raw, frayed at the edges so unlike his usual bright teasing that it made your chest ache. His fingers traced trembling patterns along your ribcage, mapping the rapid flutter of your heartbeat beneath sweat-slick skin. The bedsprings creaked as he shifted his weight, his hips stuttering forward another fraction of an inch, the stretch burning deliciously where your bodies joined.

You could see the exact moment your sharp inhale registered in his hazy eyes, his pupils contracting slightly before dilating again, dark as spilled ink. His Adam's apple bobbed violently when you arched beneath him, your nails scoring half-moons into his shoulders. "Say it," he breathed, pressing a damp kiss to your collarbone. His lips trembled against your skin. "Say the word and I'll stop. I'll—fuck—I'll pull out right now."

"Jeongin, I love it—please don't stop," you moan, the words fracturing into a gasp as his hips jerk forward involuntarily at the sound. His entire body tenses above you, muscles locking like he's been electrocuted, his cock twitching deep inside you where you're stretched impossibly tight around him.

Jeongin started pumping slow at first, just shallow rolls of his hips that made your breath hitch each time his cock dragged against that sweet spot inside you. His movements were hesitant, almost experimental, like he was testing how far he could push before you'd break. Every thrust drew a soft gasp from your lips, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours.

"Fuck," Jeongin breathed against your collarbone, his voice cracking mid-syllable as he pulled back slightly only to sink in again, deeper this time. His thighs trembled against yours, the muscles taut with the effort to keep his rhythm steady. "You feel—" He cut himself off with a broken groan when your walls fluttered around him, his hips stuttering forward instinctively.

Jeongin's thumb found your clit by accident at first, brushing against it clumsily when he shifted his grip on your hip, his fingers flexing against your skin like he was afraid you'd dissolve beneath him. The contact sent a jolt through you so sharp your back arched off the mattress, your thighs clamping around his waist involuntarily. His breath hitched at the reaction, his pupils blowing wider as he dragged his thumb back deliberately this time, applying just enough pressure to make your toes curl into the sheets.

His touch was feather-light at first until your hips jerked against his hand with a broken whine. The sound seemed to unravel something in him, his fingers turned bolder, firmer, rubbing tight little circles that had your vision blurring at the edges.

"Jeongin-ah—" The name fractured into a gasp as his hips snapped forward harder, the sudden shift in angle punching the air from your lungs. His fingers dug into your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he chased his own pleasure with a desperation that made your thighs tremble. The rhythmic creak of the bedsprings filled the room, each thrust punctuated by the wet sound of skin against skin, the condom stretching tight with every movement.

He rutted into you with want, his earlier hesitation dissolving beneath the weight of his need. His lips found yours again in a messy, open-mouthed kiss that tasted of salt and mint, his tongue sliding against yours in time with his thrusts. You could feel the tremble in his arms where they bracketed your head, the way his entire body shuddered when your nails raked down his back.

His fingers didn’t stop moving, not when you dug your nails into his shoulders. Jeongin's thumb kept circling your clit with relentless precision, the pad of his finger slick with your arousal as he matched the rhythm of his thrusts to the tight, shuddering pulses of your body. The contrast was dizzying, the rough drag of his cock inside you versus the featherlight tease of his fingertips, until you couldn’t tell where one sensation ended and the other began.

"Look at you," Jeongin breathed, his voice wrecked, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his hips snapped forward again. His bangs stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat. "Taking me so fucking good—" The words dissolved into a groan when your walls fluttered around him, his fingers stuttering momentarily before doubling their efforts.

"Innie—I can't hold it anymore," you cried out, the words fracturing into a gasp as Jeongin's thumb pressed harder against your clit, his hips stuttering against yours in response. Your thighs trembled violently around his waist, toes curling into the sheets as pleasure coiled tight in your belly.

Jeongin made a wounded noise against your collarbone, his lips dragging wetly across your sweat-slick skin. "Then don't," he panted, his voice raw and ragged like he'd been screaming for hours."Fuck—please don't hold back."

Jeongin's hips snapped forward roughly, just the raw, unbridled need to feel you cum apart around him. The bedframe groaned in protest as he drove into you harder, his rhythm turning erratic when your walls first fluttered around him. "Ah—" His voice cracked, forehead dropping against yours as he panted, sweat dripping from his temples onto your collarbones. "You're—fuck—you're squeezing me so tight—"

The words unraveled into a moan when your body clenched around him properly, a shuddering wave of pleasure that had your back arching off the mattress. His thumb still working frantic circles against your clit even as his thrusts turned sloppy with desperation.

Jeongin's hips stuttered against yours, once, twice, before his entire body locked up with a choked-off gasp, his fingers digging into your thighs hard. You could feel the exact moment he came apart, the way his cock twitched deep inside you, the muffled groan against your neck that sounded more like a sob than anything else. His thrusts turned shallow and uneven, his rhythm fracturing completely as his orgasm tore through him with violent intensity.

Jeongin's lips found yours before either of you remembered he was still inside you a clumsy, breathless kiss. His mouth moved sluggishly against yours, his brain still fogged with pleasure as his hips gave one last, half-hearted twitch against yours. The condom stretched tight between your bodies made a wet sound when he shifted slightly, his cock still twitching inside you with aftershocks.

"Wait—" Jeongin gasped when you nipped at his lower lip, his hands scrambling to brace against the mattress as his softening length slipped free unexpectedly. The sensation punched a soft moan from both of you, Jeongin's shuddering against your mouth while yours dissolved into the humid space between your lips. His forehead dropped against yours with a weak thud, his eyelashes fluttering against your cheekbones as he struggled to catch his breath. "Fuck. That was..."

"So good," you breathed, fingers intertwined through Jeongin's with a sticky intimacy.

Jeongin's fingers trembled against the stretched latex where it clung tightly to the base of his cock, still half-hard and twitching with oversensitivity. The condom bulged with his release, the translucent material straining against the weight of his cum inside. His breath hitched when your fingertip traced the swollen tip experimentally, smearing the moisture beading along the stretched surface.

The sight punched the air from Jeongin's lungs, his own cum dripping thickly from the torn edge of the condom, dangling over his clenched stomach before splattering onto the sheets between your tangled legs. His throat worked as he stared, transfixed, at the mess he'd made. The latex made a sickeningly erotic sound when it finally slipped from his fingers to land on the floor beside the bed, forgotten instantly when your thigh brushed against his oversensitive skin.

Jeongin's breath caught when your fingertips traced the sharp lines of his abdomen, still glistening with sweat where they flexed beneath your touch. His stomach muscles jumped under your exploration, his hips twitching weakly against the mattress like his body couldn't decide whether to arch into the contact or shy away from oversensitivity.

You giggled at the reaction, your nail scraping lightly over one particularly defined ridge just to watch him shudder. "I think I need to buy bigger condoms now," you murmured, lips brushing the shell of his ear as your hand drifted lower.

The sound Jeongin made was halfway between a groan and a whimper, his fingers scrambling to catch yours before you reached the still-sensitive head of his cock. "You—" His voice cracked.

Jeongin's fingers froze around yours, midway through intertwining them, when his hips jerked forward weakly against your thigh. A startled noise caught in his throat, his breath hitching audibly when his still sensitive cock twitched against your bare skin. "Baby, I'm—" His voice cracked, the flush creeping down his neck deepening as his body betrayed him spectacularly. "Fuck, I'm hard again already."

The confession punched the air from your lungs, your gaze darting down between your tangled bodies where his length pressed thick and undeniable against your thigh. The sight shouldn't have been possible not with how thoroughly wrecked he'd looked minutes ago, not with the condom still lying discarded on the floor beside the bed but there he was, flushed and twitching against your skin like this was his first time rather than his third orgasm in an hour.

☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆...

🏷️ Taglist: @11racha

Bangchan:

Leeknow:

Changbin:

Hyunjin:

Jisung:

Felix:

Seungmin:

Jeongin:

✧( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ )✧

"You dropped this."

The voice came from behind you, warm, slightly amused, just as you were shoving your notebook into your bag. You turned to find Professor Han holding out a stray pen between his fingers.

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Han." You bowed your head slightly, catching the faint scent of his cologne, clean and woody as he leaned forward to hand you the pen.

When you straightened up, his mouth was quirked at the corner. His fingers lingered for half a second longer than necessary before he withdrew them, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slightly rumpled blazer.

"You’re always in such a hurry after class," he remarked, tilting his head toward the empty hallway behind him. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting sharp shadows under his cheekbones. "Do I bore you that much?"

"Oh no, sir," you said, your smile flashing quick and bright despite the flutter in your chest. "Just on my way to the café."

Professor Han hummed, low and considering, his gaze lingering on you a second too long. "The one by the library?" he asked, nodding toward the east wing. "Their espresso machine sounds like a dying animal." He laughed.

"Actually," you said, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder, "I was thinking of trying the one across the road. I heard they do a nicer coffee." The words tumbled out before you could second-guess them, and you caught yourself biting the inside of your cheek. Professor Han blinked, his smirk softening into something more genuine almost pleased.

"Is that an invitation?" he asked, voice dipping into that teasing tone you'd come to recognize during after office hours, when he'd lean back in his chair and dissect your arguments with a precision that left you equal parts frustrated and electrified. You shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but your pulse betrayed you, thrumming loud enough that you wondered if he could hear it.

Professor Han chuckled, the sound warm and low, as he stepped back to gesture toward the exit. "Lead the way," he said, and just like that, you were walking side by side through the university corridors. His stride was relaxed, hand holding his bag, whilst the other stayed in his pocket.

Outside, the afternoon sun was sharp, casting long shadows across the grass. You squinted against the light, adjusting your bag strap. “Professor Han—“ you said as he shifted slightly to block the sun from your eyes with his shoulder.

"It’s okay," he said, hands still tucked into his pockets as he nudged a stray pebble with the toe of his shoe. "Call me Jisung." The way he said it, like he’d been waiting for the right moment made your breath catch. He glanced up then, sunlight catching the gold flecks in his eyes, and smiled. Not the polished, professional one he wore during lectures, but something looser, warmer. The kind of smile that made you forget, just for a second, that he was your professor at all.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your bag.

The café across the road was small, the kind of place with mismatched chairs and handwritten chalkboard menus. The bell above the door jingled as you stepped inside, and the rich, bitter scent of freshly ground coffee wrapped around you like a familiar embrace. Jisung hovered just behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

"You weren’t kidding about the coffee," he murmured, nodding toward the gleaming espresso machine behind the counter. It was sleek and modern, a far cry from the rattling beast in the library café. His shoulder brushed yours as he leaned in slightly to inspect the menu, and you fought the urge to stiffen, forcing yourself to breathe normally despite the sudden tightness in your chest.

The barista greeted you both with a tired smile, her fingers tapping against the register. You hesitated for a second, acutely aware of Jisung hovering just behind you close enough that you could feel the faint shift of fabric when he adjusted his stance.

"Matcha latte, please," you said. The barista nodded, her fingers flying across the screen before she glanced expectantly at Jisung.

"Black coffee," he said, then paused, considering the pastry case. "And—" He pointed at a croissant dusted with powdered sugar. "That. For her."

"Oh no, it’s okay sir—Jisung," you corrected yourself, the name foreign on your tongue.

The croissant sat between you on the small café table. You poked at the edge of the plate, “You didn’t have to—"

"I wanted to," he interrupted, leaning back in his chair. "Consider it an apology."

"Well, thank you," you said, smiling as you carefully split the croissant in half. You nudged the larger piece toward him. "Here—consider it a peace offering for all the times I argued with you in class."

Jisung laughed, his fingers brushing yours as he accepted the pastry. The contact lingered, just a fraction too long before he pulled back, leaving your skin tingling. "You mean all the times you were right?" he teased, taking a bite.

His eyes never left yours. The café hummed around you, the hiss of steam, the murmur of other customers but it all faded into background noise. You took a sip of your matcha latte to steady yourself.

"You know," Jisung said, setting his cup down with deliberate care, "I’ve been meaning to ask you something." He traced the rim of his mug with his thumb, and you found yourself tracking the movement, the way his fingers curled just slightly. "Why did you pick my class?"

Jisung’s question hung between you, casual yet weighted like he’d been waiting to ask it all semester. "Well," you started, smoothing your thumb over the damp edge of your cup, "I always excelled at English literature and wanted to continue it." The answer was textbook, rehearsed, the kind you’d given advisors and relatives. But under Jisung’s gaze sharp and amused, as if he could see right through it, the words felt flimsy.

Jisung took a slow sip of his black coffee, his eyes never leaving yours. "That’s what your transcript says," he acknowledged, setting his cup down with a quiet clink. "But transcripts don’t explain why you argued with me for fifteen minutes about postmodernism in the middle of a lecture on Romantic poetry." His mouth quirked, and you caught the glint of challenge in his expression. "Or why you’re the only one who stays after class to debate the footnotes."

"Yeah... I write a lot in my spare time." The admission slipped out like a secret, too quiet for the café’s clatter. You watched his eyebrows lift, just a fraction and hurried to clarify. "Not just essays. Fiction.”

Jisung leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, fingers loosely clasped. "Fiction," he repeated under his breath. "What kind?"

You shrugged, suddenly self-conscious under his attention. "Short stories, mostly. Some poetry." You hesitated, then added, "A novel, once. Half-finished."

Jisung’s eyes lit up, not the polite, professorial interest he gave during office hours, but something sharper, more genuine. He straightened in his chair, the table creaking under his sudden movement. "You’re kidding," he said, voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. "I’ve been working on one for years. Never got past chapter twelve."

The admission caught you off guard. Professor Han Jisung writing fiction? The man who dissected your essays with surgical precision and graded your papers in red ink so meticulous it looked typeset? You blinked, stirring your matcha absently.

"That’s unexpected," you said, leaning your chin onto your hand, smiling as you watched him across the table. "I thought you’d be more of a non-fiction kinda guy." The sunlight caught the edge of his cheekbone, highlighting the faintest dusting of pink as he huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck like you’d caught him in something embarrassing.

Jisung tilted his head, the corner of his mouth tugging up. "What, because I spend my days grading dry academic essays?" he grinned as you snorted into your latte. "Turns out even stuffy professors need an outlet.“

You giggle. “I’d love to read your work sometime." The words slipped out before you could second guess them, half-teasing, half-sincere. Jisung's fingers froze around his coffee cup, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second, long enough for you to notice the way his throat worked when he swallowed.

"Careful," he murmured. "That almost sounded like you’re asking for extracurricular reading." His voice dipped low, threading through the café’s ambient noise. You watched, mesmerized.

"Would you like to come by my place?" Jisung asked suddenly, his fingers drumming against the side of his coffee cup before stilling. The question hung between you casual, but weighted with something unspoken. "I've been working on some stuff that I think you'd like."

Across the table, Jisung's expression remained carefully neutral, but his knuckles were pale where they gripped his cup.

"Sure," you replied, smiling as you both finished the last of your drinks standing up from the café table.

You pretended not to notice how Jisung's fingers brushed the small of your back as he held the door open.

Outside, the afternoon had softened into golden hour.

"You okay with taking the train to mine?" Jisung asked, smiling as he brushed a stray hair back. The question was casual, but there was something in the way his fingers flexed at his sides, like he was physically restraining himself from reaching out.

You hesitated, watching a group of undergraduates spill past you both laughing and chatting. The station was just two blocks down, the familiar rumble of the approaching train already vibrating underfoot. "Won't people—" you started, then bit your tongue. Jisung tilted his head, waiting. Won't people talk? Won't they recognize us? The unspoken questions hung between you like static.

"I mean, I know you’re a young teacher, but still—" you blurted out, then immediately regretted it when Jisung’s footsteps faltered mid-stride. He turned toward you, eyebrows lifting in silent question. The train doors hissed open behind him, and a rush of commuters surged past, forcing you both to step closer together on the platform.

Jisung leaned in slightly, his shoulder brushing yours as he ducked his head to hear you over the station’s chimes. "But still... what?" he prompted, voice low. His breath ghosted warm against your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. You swallowed hard, gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. You hopped on the train as Jisung followed behind.

"But still... what?" Jisung repeated, his voice dropping to a murmur as the train doors hissed shut behind you both. The carriage was half-empty, the late afternoon crowd thinning out. You hesitated, fingers tightening around the overhead rail as the train lurched forward.

"Isn’t this—" You bit your lip, glancing around at the scattered commuters. A student in the far corner was scrolling through their phone, oblivious. An elderly man dozed against the window. "I don’t know... this isn’t intruding, is it?" The words came out softer than you intended, almost lost in the rumble of the tracks beneath you.

Jisung’s expression softened, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out but thought better of it. The train swayed, pressing your shoulder against his.

"Intruding?" he repeated, voice barely above the rattle of the carriage. His mouth curved into a smile. "You’re the one who invited me for coffee, remember?"

"Yeah, but—" You faltered, watching the city blur past the window. "Coffee’s one thing. Your place is..." You trailed off, heat creeping up your neck. Jisung exhaled a quiet laugh, his elbow nudging yours.

You got off at the next station as the train sped away. The next train hissed into view seconds later.

"Come on—before we miss this train," Jisung grinned, his fingers suddenly closing around yours as he tugged you forward. His palm was warm and slightly rough against your skin. The train doors chimed in warning, the sound barely audible over your own heartbeat.

You stumbled into him, your free hand flying up to brace against his chest as the momentum carried you both deeper into the carriage. His blazer was soft, the fabric warm from his body heat. Jisung steadied you with a laugh, his other hand coming up to hover near your elbow. "Careful," he murmured, though he didn't let go of your hand. His thumb brushed absently over your pulse point, as if he could feel the way your heartbeat hurried beneath your skin.

The train was one of those beautifully refurbished vintage models, the kind with wide windows that slid open and polished wooden benches that creaked under your weight. You settled onto the seat beside Jisung, close enough that your thighs brushed whenever the carriage swayed. The late afternoon sun streamed through the glass, painting everything in gold, and a light breeze slipped through the open window, carrying with it the distant scent of the city’s bakeries and the faintest hint of Jisung’s cologne.

Jisung stretched his arm along the back of the seat, his fingers drumming an absent rhythm against the wood. "These trains always remind me of being a kid," he mused, tilting his head toward the passing skyline. The wind tousled his hair, softening the sharp lines of his profile. "My dad used to take me on the old line every Sunday. Said it was the best way to see the city without any distractions."

You nodded, leaning into the sway of the train. "I used to ride this line all the time when I lived on the other side of the city." The admission slipped out easily, loosened by the golden-hour glow and the way Jisung's fingers still brushed yours where they rested on the seat between you. "Back when I was applying to the university, actually. I'd take the early train just to sit in the library courtyard and pretend I already went here."

Jisung chuckled, his thumb tracing a slow arc over your knuckles. The motion was absent, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it but it sent a current of warmth up your arm anyway. "Smuggling yourself onto campus," he mused, tilting his head to catch your eye. "Should I be concerned about a pattern of academic trespassing?"

You laughed as Jisung pushed up his glasses, smirking. The lenses caught the afternoon sun, momentarily obscuring his eyes. "Academic trespassing?" you echoed, nudging his knee with yours as the train swayed around a bend. "I prefer to think of it as... early enrollment."

Jisung's smirk deepened, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the seat back behind you. "Early enrollment," he repeated. His thumb brushed the nape of your neck, barely there, just the faintest graze, before he withdrew his hand to adjust his glasses again. The frames left a faint indentation on the bridge of his nose, and you had to curl your fingers into your palms to stop yourself from reaching out to smooth it away.

You couldn’t help the way your little crush on Professor Han deepened with every passing moment. It wasn’t just the way his fingers lingered on you, or how his thigh pressed against yours whenever the carriage swayed. It was the way he tilted his head when listening, like your words were worth dissecting. The way sunlight caught in his lashes when he laughed, turning them gold. The way he said stupid shit with that teasing smile, as if he’d been waiting all semester to find someone who matched his wit.

The train slowed as it approached his stop, brakes groaning against the tracks. Jisung stood, offering his hand, not to help you up, but just because. You didn’t let go immediately, and neither did he, his fingers tightening just enough to make your pulse skip. "Careful," he murmured as you stepped onto the platform, though the train had long since stilled. His thumb brushed your knuckles once before he released you, leaving your skin tingling.

"Thank you," you replied with a smile, still distracted by the way the evening sunlight caught in Jisung's face. It wasn't until you both stepped clear of the platform that you realized your fingers were still tangled together, his thumb resting lightly against your pulse point. Neither of you had let go.

His fingers twitched slightly against yours, not retreating, just adjusting as if this casual intimacy was something he'd been thinking about longer than the duration of a train ride. The silence stretched between you, filled only by the distant echo of departing trains and the shuffle of commuters. Then, with deliberate casualness, he laced his fingers more securely through yours and tugged you gently toward the exit.

"My place isn’t far from the station" Jisung murmured, pulling his keys from his pocket as you both rounded the corner onto a quiet residential street. The metal jingled faintly in his palm, as he tilted his chin toward a brick fronted walkway with ivy crawling up one side. The building looked older than the surrounding apartments, its worn iron railings slightly crooked with age, but there was something charming about it.

His fingers tightened briefly around yours as you climbed the steps, his thumb brushing your knuckle when he paused to unlock the door. The lock clicked open as Jisung shouldered the door open with a quiet, "After you." The hallway beyond was dimly lit, the hardwood floors creaking underfoot as you stepped inside, the scent of old books and faint whiskey wrapping around you like a second embrace.

The first thing that struck you was how much light there was. Floor to ceiling windows lined one entire wall of Jisung's apartment, bathing the space in golden afternoon glow. Bookshelves sturdy and modern, built into the walls stretched from floor to ceiling, packed tight with volumes in neat rows. But unlike the haphazard stacks in his office, these were organized with almost obsessive precision, arranged by genre and then alphabetically within each section. You could spot the occasional gap where a book had been pulled and not yet returned, little absences in the otherwise perfect order.

"I know," Jisung said, catching your gaze as he toed off his shoes by the door. He smirked, rubbing the back of his neck where his hair curled slightly at the nape. "It's a sickness." His feet made no sound as he crossed the hardwood floors, unscuffed as if freshly polished, to flick on a minimalist lamp. The warm light pooled across the low coffee table, illuminating hundreds of well-worn paperbacks stacked messily.

Jisung nudged a stray hardcover back into alignment with his foot as he passed the shelf, the motion so automatic you wondered how many times he'd done it without thinking. "Don't mind the mess," he deadpanned, gesturing to the shit ton of books and notes left everywhere. His smirk softened when you laughed, fingers trailing along a shelf as you examined titles. Your fingertip bumped a slightly crooked volume Nabokov’s Pale Fire and Jisung’s hand twitched at his side like he was physically restraining himself.

"Your place is lovely, Jisung," you said, fingertips grazing the spine of a well-loved copy of The Great Gatsby. The leather binding was soft under your touch, the gold lettering slightly faded from handling. Behind you, Jisung exhaled a quiet laugh not quite self-conscious, but something close.

"It’s a little obsessive," he admitted, nudging a stray paperback back into alignment on the coffee table. The motion was absent, automatic, like he couldn’t help himself.

"My brother says it looks like a museum. 'Who alphabetizes their spices, Jisung?'" He mimicked a high-pitched voice, rolling his eyes, but you caught the way his fingers lingered on the shelf as he smiled.

You giggle as you look around, fingertips grazing the spine of a well-worn poetry collection. "Obsessive? Maybe. But it’s kind of..." You trail off, searching for the right word as sunlight pools across the hardwood between you. "Endearing." The admission slips out before you can second-guess it, and Jisung’s fingers pause mid-adjustment on a book.

You perched on the edge of Jisung's sofa, too stiff, too aware of the way the cushions barely dented under your weight as he moved toward the kitchen. His blazer was draped over the armchair now, sleeves rolled to reveal forearms his tendons shifting as he reached for glasses in the overhead cabinet. The ice clinked sharply when he dropped cubes into them, the sound startling in the quiet apartment.

He glanced over his shoulder, catching your startled expression, and smirked. "Nervous?" he asked, tilting his head toward the untouched sofa cushions behind you. "You look like you're sitting on a museum piece." His fingers curled around the refrigerator handle, the tendons in his forearm flexing as he pulled the door open. "Would you like something to drink?"

You swallowed, fingers fidgeting. "Water’s fine," you said. Jisung’s smirk deepened as he pulled a pitcher from the fridge and poured with care.

"Thank you, Jisung," you murmured as he handed you the glass, your fingers brushing against his just long enough to feel the warmth lingering beneath his skin. The water was crisp and cold, condensation already beading along your fingertips, but you barely registered the chill. All you could focus on was the way Jisung’s eyes tracked the path of your thumb along the rim of the glass, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something then thought better of it.

He cleared his throat and turned back toward the kitchen, but not before you caught the way his knuckles whitened around his own glass. “I’ll be back in a sec” Jisung smiled as he headed up stairs.

Your fingers traced the condensation on your glass absentmindedly as your gaze drifted across the living room. The late afternoon light had shifted and that’s when you noticed it a stack of handwritten notes piled haphazardly beside the sleek laptop on Jisung’s desk, so out of place amidst the meticulous order of the apartment. A single leather-bound notebook lay open on top, its pages filled with dense, looping script that slanted aggressively across the lines, as if the words had been chased onto the paper.

You shouldn’t look. You knew you shouldn’t look. But your feet carried you forward anyway, the hardwood cool under your socks as you drifted toward the desk. The top page was covered in revisions, entire paragraphs crossed out with such anger the pen had nearly torn through the paper and in the margins, tiny arrows pointed to frantic notes crammed between lines. One phrase stood out, circled three times with an intensity that made your pulse stutter, "Her laugh was the first thing he noticed not the pitch, but the way it crinkled her eyes, like she’d been saving it just for him."

The sentence stared back at you, ink slightly smudged where Jisung’s pen had lingered too long. Your fingers hovered above the page close enough to feel the indentations of his handwriting, but not touching. Not yet. Because beneath that line, crammed into the narrow margin like a secret, was another, "She argues like she’s fencing, all quick parries and calculated retreats, and Christ, I want to lose to her."

Your breath caught. The notebook’s spine creaked as you turned the page without meaning to, revealing a half-finished scene where two characters a professor and his student, though the names were scratched out and rewritten three times. The dialogue was verbatim. That was your argument from last Tuesday’s seminar, down to your habit of twisting your pen between sentences.

The next page turned with a whisper, revealing fragments, jotted observations. “Her hair catches sunlight like that brown until it isn’t, then gold at the edges when she turns her head too fast." Your fingers trembled against the paper.

A coffee ring stained the corner of the next page, warping the words slightly, “Bites her lower lip when concentrating. Left side only. Would she notice if I—" The sentence ended abruptly, ink blotted as if Jisung had slammed the pen down mid-thought.

Your fingers closed around the notebook's leather cover before you could stop yourself. The spine cracked open with a whisper, revealing pages upon pages.

The next page turned with a whisper, and your fingers froze against the paper. The handwriting here was different less precise, ink smudged as if written in haste. “She leans forward when she argues, and fuck, the way her collarbones catch the light—like she’s daring me to trace them." The words burned against your retinas. Your pulse roared in your ears, drowning out the distant sound of Jisung’s footsteps upstairs.

Another page. Another confession. "Today she wore that sweater with the loose neckline. Every time she bent over her notes, I had to bite my tongue raw." The ink blurred slightly, as if dampened by sweat or-

Your throat tightened by something else entirely. The margin here was crowded with frantic sketches quick, rough strokes of a hand pushing fabric aside, of teeth grazing a shoulder you recognized with sickening certainty.

The next page was dog-eared, the paper soft from repeated handling. Your breath hitched as your eyes caught the words scrawled in Jisung’s tight, urgent script, “I wonder if she makes noise when she touches herself. Small sounds, barely there—the catch of her breath when she’s trying to be quiet. Or maybe she doesn’t try at all. Maybe she moans loud enough to shake the walls, and Christ, I want to hear it." The ink bled at the edges where his pen had pressed too hard, leaving the paper slightly warped, as if he’d written this in a fever.

Your fingers trembled against the page. A hot flush crawled up your neck as you read on, “Does she bite her lip like she does in class? Or does her mouth fall open, pretty and ruined? Does she think about me when her fingers slip lower—" The sentence ended abruptly, the pen stroke jagged where he’d clearly crossed it out. But not thoroughly enough. You could still make out the words "y/n" beneath the furious slashes.

The notebook's pages stuck together slightly as you turned them, they seemed never ending. Then you saw it, an entry dated just last Wednesday, penned in handwriting messier than the rest, ink smeared like he'd been in a hurry.

“Fuck. Fuck. She wore that perfume today—the one that clings to the air when she walks past my desk. Vanilla and something darker underneath, like she wants to be tasted. Three hours of lecture and all I could think about was pressing my face to her neck and inhaling until my lungs burned. Had to dismiss class early. Locked myself in the storage closet behind the supply shelves. Came so hard I saw stars thinking about her thighs pressed against my ears while she rides my tongue. Her scent was still on my hands when I graded papers afterward. Didn’t wash them until midnight."

The notebook slipped from your fingers, not quite falling, but enough that the spine hit the desk with a soft thump. The sound echoed in the quiet apartment, suddenly deafening. You remembered the pen. The damn pen. Last Thursday, Jisung had paused mid-lecture, patting his pockets with a theatrical sigh before turning to the class. "Anyone got a spare?" he'd asked, and of course you'd been the first to raise your hand, sliding your favorite black gel pen across the desk. He'd taken it with a murmured thanks, his fingers lingering just a second too long on yours. You'd watched, transfixed, as he uncapped it with his teeth (a habit you'd teased him about later) and scratched notes in the margins of his lecture draft. The same pen that had disappeared into his breast pocket afterward, tucked away like a secret.

Now you knew why.

You barely had time to register the sound before the creak of footsteps on the stairs froze the breath in your lungs. Jisung was coming back.

You scrambled to flip the notebook closed. The pages crumpled slightly under your panicked touch as you shoved it back into place, knocking over a stack of papers in the process. A single sheet fluttered to the floor, landing face up, a half-finished poem with your name circled three times at the top, the letters dark and desperate like he’d traced them over and over.

The footsteps halted mid-stair.

You didn’t need to turn around to know Jisung had seen you, the sharp intake of breath behind you was enough. The air in the apartment thickened, charged with the weight of a thousand unspoken words caught between his ribs and yours. Slowly, deliberately, you turned.

The notebook lay open between you like a crime scene. Jisung stood frozen halfway down the stairs, one hand gripping the banister so tight his knuckles had gone bone-white. His throat worked silently, once, twice before he managed a strangled, "You—" and then nothing. The word hung in the air, incomplete, as his gaze darted from your face to the incriminating page and back again. His Adam’s apple bobbed violently.

You’d never seen him speechless before. Not in lectures, not during office hours, not even that time Jeongin from the debate team tried to argue that postmodernism was just "emo for philosophers." But now Jisung looked utterly gutted, his lips parted around unformed words, his free hand flexing at his side like he wanted to reach for the notebook but couldn’t bring himself to move.

"Shit, I'm—" Jisung's voice cracked mid-sentence, the sound raw and unguarded. The air between you thrummed with the weight of everything unsaid.

You took a shaky step backward, your heel bumping the desk leg. The silence stretched for a bit, punctuated only by the distant hum of the refrigerator and the too-loud hitch of Jisung's breathing. His throat worked visibly as he descended the remaining stairs with deliberate slowness, each step measured like he was afraid any sudden movement might send you bolting for the door.

"Jisung." You barely recognized your own voice low, steadier than you felt, as he took another cautious step forward. His glasses caught the light when he adjusted them.

He stopped just out of arm's reach, fingers twitching toward the fallen poem before shoving both hands into his pockets instead. His throat moved as he swallowed. "I can explain," he started, but the words died under your gaze. You'd never seen him like this, chest rising too fast, the usual sharp angles of his posture gone soft with surrender.

"Did you write this about me?" The words left your lips before you could stop them. The air in the apartment seemed to still.

Jisung's fingers flexed at his sides, then curled inward. A muscle jumped in his jaw. For the first time since you'd met him, through countless lectures, heated debates, stolen glances in office hours, Professor Han Jisung looked genuinely speechless. His throat worked silently.

Jisung exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound halfway between a laugh and a surrender. "Yes." His gaze didn't waver. "Every word."

The silence stretched between you. Jisung’s gaze flickered to the notebook then back to your face, searching for something you weren’t sure you could name. His throat moved as he swallowed, the sound audible in the stillness.

"I didn’t expect..." you mumbled, your fingers brushing the frame of his glasses to push them back up his nose. The gesture was intimate, your thumb skimming the arch of his cheekbone before withdrawing. Jisung's pupils dilated behind the lenses as you stepped closer.

"You are such a perv, Han Jisung." The accusation came out breathless, half-laughing, as you tapped the open notebook with one fingertip.

Jisung didn’t flinch. Instead, his lips curved into something dangerously close to a smirk, though his voice was rough when he countered, "You read it." His hand rose to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"Did you like what you read..?" Jisung's voice was low. His fingers still hovered near your ear, his thumb brushing the shell of it in slow circles that sent shivers down your spine. The question hung between you.

You swallowed, your pulse rabbiting beneath your skin. The notebook lay open between you, its pages filled with Jisung's desperate, ink-stained confessions. "I—" You hesitated, your gaze darting from his lips back to the notebook. "It was... detailed."

“Y/n..." Jisung breathed your name like it was something sacred, his fingers trailing from your ear to the hinge of your jaw. The pad of his thumb pressed lightly against your pulse point, and you could feel the tremor in his hand mirroring your own. "You're shaking."

The observation was soft. You hadn't realized it until he said it, how your knees had gone weak beneath you and how your fingers clutched the edge of the desk for balance. The leather-bound notebook lay between you like a third presence, its pages still parted to that damning passage about the storage closet, about his hands, about the way he'd—

Jisung took a step forward.

"You read it," he murmured again, voice roughened at the edges. His thumb brushed your wrist where it rested against the desk. "Every word. Every fucking confession." His lips curved into a smile,too sharp. "And you're still here."

The slap landed with a sharp crack, not hard enough to sting, but enough to make Jisung’s head snap sideways, his glasses ascew across his face. His cheek burned where your palm had connected, the ghost of your fingers lingering on his skin like a branding. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

Then Jisung laughed, the sound scraping against his throat as he turned back to face you. His cheek bloomed pink where you’d struck him, his pupils blown wide behind his disheveled bangs. "That’s it?" he rasped, tongue darting out to swipe at the corner of his mouth. "After everything you just read? That’s all I get?"

You couldn't help but roll your eyes as Jisung inched closer, biting his lip.

"You are such a creep, Jisung," you said, but your voice cracked halfway through, the words landing somewhere between accusation and surrender. Your palm still tingled from the slap, the heat of his skin lingering on yours like an echo.

Jisung exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh, more a release of tension, and adjusted his glasses with deliberate slowness. The left lens was smudged where your fingers had grazed it, distorting his eye behind the glass. "Yeah," he admitted, voice rough. His thumb brushed the reddening mark on his cheekbone, pressing lightly as if testing the sting. "But you knew that." His gaze flicked to the notebook still open on the desk, then back to you. "You read that."

"On the outside you just look like a nice, attractive English teacher..." You tapped Jisung's shoulder with one fingertip, watching the way his throat worked when he swallowed. His glasses were still crooked from your slap, one lens catching the fading light in a way that made his left eye appear darker than the right. "But little does everyone know.."

Jisung's mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but something dangerously close. He caught your wrist before you could withdraw your hand, his thumb pressing into your pulse point with deliberate pressure. "Know what?" he challenged, voice dropping into that register that always made your knees weak during lectures, low and rough, like he'd been grading papers all night.

Your fingers reached up to adjust his glasses, the frames warm from his skin. "You're a fucking horny creep," you whispered, your breath hitching halfway through as laughter bubbled up, nervous, giddy.

Jisung didn't flinch. His exhale hit your lips, warm, as his hands slid up to cage your wrists against his chest. "Tell me something I don't know," he murmured, his voice roughened at the edges. His pulse thrummed violently beneath your fingertips, betraying the calm of his words.

Jisung's hands slid from your wrists to your hips in one fluid motion, fingers pressing into the dip of your waist hard enough to bruise. His grip was possessive, not tentative like the fleeting touches in the café or the careful brush of his fingers on the train. This was deliberate, his thumbs tracing the edge of your hipbones through your clothes like he'd mapped them a hundred times in his head and was finally verifying.

The desk hit the back of your thighs with a dull thud before you registered Jisung moving, his hands sliding under your hips in one fluid motion, lifting you as easily as if you were weightless. Your breath caught as your back met the wall behind the desk, the impact jostling a stack of graded papers that cascaded to the floor in a flutter. Jisung didn’t even glance at them. His gaze never wavered from yours, dark and hungry and utterly focused.

"You’ve been driving me insane," he murmured, the words rough against your lips as he crowded between your knees. His palms slid up your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. The wood beneath you was cool through your clothes, but everywhere Jisung touched burned. "Every damn lecture. Every time you bite your lip thinking too hard. Every—" His voice cracked as your knees tightened around his hips, pulling him closer. "Christ, the way you argue with me like you know I’ll let you win."

Jisung's lips brushed the column of your throat, a featherlight graze that shouldn't have burned, but did. His teeth followed, scraping the delicate skin beneath your ear in a way that made your hips jerk against his. The sound that escaped you was embarrassingly loud in the quiet apartment, half-moan, half-laugh, muffled against his shoulder when you buried your face there.

"You wrote about this," you gasped as his tongue licked the spot he'd just bitten, your fingers twisting in his hair, longer than professors' hair should be, soft between your knuckles. The realization hit you between breaths, every flick of his tongue against your pulse, every nip of teeth was rehearsed. He'd scripted this in smudged ink, weeks or months before your fingers ever touched that notebook.

Jisung's breath hitched when your nails scraped the nape of his neck, just like he'd written in Chapter Twelve, in that messy margin note you'd almost missed. His hips jerked forward instinctively, pinning you harder against the wall as if he could fuse the scene from his notebook directly into reality. The desk creaked ominously beneath you, but neither of you cared.

"I've thought about this..alot," he murmured against your collarbone, teeth grazing the hollow where your pulse jumped. His hands slid higher under your thighs, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there with a familiarity that shouldn't have existed yet. "Every fucking variation. The supply closet after office hours—". "The empty lecture hall when you stay late to argue about Faulkner—".

"Spread them now," Jisung murmured, the words rough against the damp skin of your throat. His hands slid down your thighs with deliberate slowness, fingers pressing into the soft flesh just above your knees, not pushing, just guiding. The desk creaked beneath you as you instinctively obeyed, letting your legs fall open around his hips. The wood was cool against the backs of your thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from Jisung's body as he knelt between them.

The position should have felt obscene, should have made you scramble to cover yourself, but the way Jisung looked up at you through his glasses, turned it into something dangerously intimate. His breath hitched when your knees brushed his shoulders, the warmth of his exhale ghosting over your inner thighs as he leaned in closer. "Christ," he whispered, fingers flexing against your skin. "You're even prettier than I imagined."

"This skirt is so pretty," Jisung murmured against your inner thigh, his breath hot through the thin fabric. His fingers traced the hem with slowness, following the delicate scalloped edge where it brushed mid-thigh. "The way it fans out when you turn—god, I've watched it all semester." The confession came out rough, punctuated by his soft cheek leaning against the sensitive skin above your knee.

You gasped when his hands slid beneath the skirt. The material pooled around his wrists like spilled ink, the checkered print crumpling under his grip. "You—" The words dissolved into a moan as his thumb found the lace edge of your underwear, tracing the border with agonizing precision. "You stared at my skirt during lectures?"

Jisung’s fingers curled into the lace, his knuckles brushing against the damp heat between your thighs as he exhaled a laugh. "You have no idea," he murmured, dragging the pad of his thumb along the soaked fabric. "The way this one rides up when you cross your legs in the front row. How the hem flutters when you rush out after class." His teeth grazed your inner thigh, blunt and deliberate. "You look so pretty in everything—how could I resist?"

The confession unraveled you more than his touch. His voice was wrecked, syllables crumbling at the edges like the pages of his overhandled notebook. You could feel the proof of his words in the way his fingers trembled, not from hesitation, but from the effort of holding back. The desk creaked as you arched into his touch, your hips lifting instinctively. Jisung groaned, low and ragged, his grip tightening to keep you still.

"This is the type of underwear you wear?" Jisung's voice was pure gravel, his grin wicked as his fingers traced the damp lace stretched taut over your skin. The pad of his thumb pressed down right where you ached most, drawing a choked noise from your throat.

"So fucking slutty," he murmured, dragging the lace aside just enough to expose you to the cool air of the apartment. His exhale hit your bare skin, hot and uneven. "You wore these to my lecture last Tuesday. I know because I saw the strap when you bent to pick up your pen."

Your hips jerked involuntarily, the lace scraping sensitive flesh as he huffed a laugh against your inner thigh. His teeth grazed the same spot he'd written about and you realized with dizzying clarity that he'd cataloged every detail.

"You—" The accusation died in your throat when his tongue replaced his thumb, licking a slow stripe through the fabric. The lace darkened instantly, clinging to your skin as he groaned. "Christ, you're soaked. Just from me looking?"

You bit your lip, embarrassed, looking down, only to realize with dawning horror where your gaze had landed. Jisung's glasses were fogged at the edges, his pupils blown wide behind the smudged lenses as he stared up at you from between your thighs. The flush creeping up his neck matched the heat burning your own cheeks, his parted lips inches from where your skirt bunched around his wrists.

His fingers tightened on your hips just holding you there, suspended in the moment like a sentence trailing off mid-confession. The air between you smelled like charged with something darker, something unmistakable. His exhale hit damp fabric, making you twitch violently against his grip.

"Jisung-ah—" you moaned, the syllables fracturing into a gasp as his tongue finally replaced fingers on lace. The sound startled both of you, too loud, too desperate in the quiet apartment and Jisung's grip on your thighs tightened reflexively. His glasses fogged more at the bridge from your heat, lenses obscuring his eyes but not the way his throat worked when you arched against his mouth.

"You say my name like that," he murmured against damp fabric, teeth scraping the soaked lace just hard enough to make you jerk, "and I'll fail you." The threat would've landed if not for how wrecked his voice sounded, like he'd been the one reduced to panting against someone's thigh. His fingers trembled where they gripped your hips, nails biting crescents through your skirt.

The first lick was slow, flat-tongued and devastatingly thorough as if Jisung intended to memorize the taste of you through lace. His glasses dug into your inner thigh when he tilted his head, the metal frames leaving indentations that would linger like fingerprints. You gasped, fingers scrabbling against the desk's edge as his tongue circled the exact spot you were craving.

"Fuck—" The syllable shattered when his teeth caught the soaked fabric, tugging just enough to expose bare skin to the apartment's cool air. Jisung exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound ragged, before replacing lace with his mouth, hot, open-mouthed and ravenous. His thumbs pressed into your hipbones, holding you in place as he licked into you with the same focused intensity he reserved for dissecting sonnets in class.

"So fucking cute," Jisung mumbled against your inner thigh, his breath hitching as he peeled the soaked lace aside with trembling fingers. The fabric clung stubbornly for a heartbeat before yielding, revealing skin flushed pink with want. His glasses slid down his nose with the motion, one lens pressing cold against your knee as he exhaled sharply, half disbelief at the sight.

"Shit, you're dripping—" The sentence fractured when his thumb brushed your slick heat, his groan vibrating against your skin.

The desk groaned beneath you as you arched into Jisung's touch, your fingers fumbling with the top button of your blouse. The crisp paper of his graded essays pressed against your back, each rustling sheet a stark reminder of how many student assignments were being irrevocably creased beneath your weight. Jisung didn't seem to care, he kissed your thighs gently as your blouse gaped open, revealing the lace edge of your bra to the golden afternoon light filtering through his apartment windows.

"These too?" Jisung's voice was wrecked as he hooked a finger under your bra strap, the elastic snapping back against your skin with a quiet twang. His glasses were completely fogged now, abandoned somewhere in the tangle of discarded papers near your hip. Without them, his gaze was startlingly direct, dark and hungry as it tracked the way your chest rose with each uneven breath. "You wore this to my office hours last month," he murmured, thumb brushing the scalloped lace. "Spent forty minutes arguing about Brontë while I counted every fucking time this strap slipped off your shoulder."

Your fingers trembled against the next button of your blouse from the way Jisung's gaze burned against your exposed chest. The fabric parted with a quiet snick, revealing another inch of skin that Jisung tracked with a hunger that made your pulse stutter. His thumb stilled against your inner thigh, pressing hard enough to leave a mark as you undid the third button with deliberate slowness.

"You're watching me like I'm—" The words dissolved into a gasp when Jisung's mouth found your entrance.

Jisung's tongue was hotter than you expected, flat and deliberate as it dragged through your folds with the same slow precision he used to underline passages in textbooks. His nose bumped your clit when he tilted his head, and you gasped at the sensation, too much and not enough all at once. His glasses were gone, abandoned somewhere in the mess of papers on the floor, you could see clearer the way his eyelashes fluttered when you jerked against his mouth. Without the glasses, his face looked startlingly bare, younger somehow, the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the faint scar above his eyebrow more pronounced.

"You taste like heaven..” Jisung's voice fractured against your skin, his breath hitching when your fingers twisted in his hair. His lips were slick with you, chin glistening where he'd pressed his face deeper between your thighs. The words dissolved into a groan as he licked into you again, his tongue circling your entrance with agonizing patience before flicking upward in a sharp, practiced motion that made your back arch off the desk.

The first finger slid in with ease, his knuckles brushing against you in a way that made your thighs clamp reflexively around his wrist. Jisung let out a muffled laugh against your skin, the vibration sending shocks up your spine, before nipping at your inner thigh in warning. "Easy," he murmured, the word warm and damp where his lips pressed. His free hand smoothed up your trembling stomach, fingers splaying across your ribs as if to steady you. "I'm not going anywhere."

You choked on a moan when he hooked that finger just so, the pad of it rubbing against a spot that made your vision blur at the edges. The desk creaked violently as your hips jerked off its surface, papers cascading to the floor. Jisung didn't even flinch.

The moan that ripped from your throat was embarrassingly loud, sharp enough that Jisung's fingers stuttered inside you, his eyes blown wide as he watched. His lips curled into a smirk you felt more than saw, the vibrations of his chuckle sending fresh tremors through your oversensitive nerves. "That's it," he murmured against damp skin, his tongue lapping at the mess he'd made between your thighs. "Let me hear you."

His free hand slid up your stomach, fingers splaying across your ribs, just possessive, as he added a second finger with torturous slowness. The stretch burned deliciously, your body yielding to him like well-worn pages under his touch. Papers rustled beneath your arched back as you gasped his name again, louder this time, the syllables breaking when his thumb found your clit in relentless circles.

Your fingers tightened in Jisung's hair, just enough pressure to make him groan into you. His scalp was warm beneath your fingertips, strands soft as ink between your knuckles. The motion pulled his head back slightly, forcing him to meet your gaze through the haze of pleasure clouding your vision. His lips were slick, chin glistening where he'd pressed his face into you moments before, and the sight alone sent another pulse of heat between your legs.

The change was instantaneous, Jisung's fingers curled sharply inside you, his wrist twisting at an angle that shouldn't feel possible until you're gasping against the desk's edge. His pace accelerates with the precision of someone who's imagined this exact motion a hundred times, each thrust measured yet frantic, as if he's racing against some invisible clock. His thumb finds your clit again, the pressure brutal in its consistency, rubbing tight little circles that make your vision pulse white at the edges.

"You take me so well," Jisung murmurs, the words vibrating through your skin. His free hand slides up to palm your ribs, fingers splaying possessively as he presses you harder into the desk, ensuring you feel every deliberate stroke. The wood creaks violently beneath you, his graded papers now irrevocably crumpled under your shifting weight. His focus is just on you, lapping like a desperate dog.

"Fuck—Ji, I'm gonna cum—" The words tore from your throat raw and ragged, your fingers twisting in Jisung's hair hard enough to make him groan against your clit.

Jisung's laugh vibrated against your skin, dark and uneven. "Yeah?" His tongue pressed harder against your clit, circling in tight, relentless motions that matched the pace of his fingers. The wet sound of his hand moving between your thighs was lewdly loud in the quiet apartment.

"Cum all over this book." Jisung groaned, his fingers twisting inside you with deliberate cruelty. The pages of his notebook, the one filled with his desperate confessions, lay spread beneath your hips, pristine paper crinkling under your shifting weight. His lips curled into something feral when you whimpered, his thumb pressing down harder on your clit. "You read it," he rasped, breath hot against your skin. "Now ruin it."

The command sent a fresh pulse of heat through your veins, your fingers scrabbling against the desk's edge as his fingers curled. The notebook's pages were cool beneath your bare thighs. You could still see the way his pupils dilated when your hips jerked involuntarily, smearing dampness across his handwritten words.

The moment stretched like taffy, your moans echoed, Jisung's fingers and tongue didn't stop, before everything snapped.

A sound tore from your throat, half-sob, half-laugh, as your hips jerked violently against his hand. Wetness gushed across the notebook beneath you, ink bleeding instantly under the sudden flood, his frantic handwriting dissolving of desire and shame.

Jisung made a noise like he'd been punched, his free hand clutching your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints as he watched his words drown under you. His fingers never stopped moving, drawing out the aftershocks with cruel precision until you were squirming, oversensitive and shaking, his name a broken syllable on your lips.

The notebook pages stuck to your thighs as you gasped for air, Jisung's fingers still lazily tracing circles inside you, gentler now, almost apologetic. His breath came in ragged bursts against your knee, lips parted and glistening. When you finally managed to focus, his gaze was locked on the wreckage beneath you, the ink-blurred pages plastered to your skin like a second confession.

"You..." Your voice cracked. Jisung's thumb pressed against your hipbone in silent question as you swallowed. "You're insane." you breathed out barely.

Jisung exhaled like he'd been holding his breath underwater for too long. His fingers slid from you slowly, sticky with slickness, and he examined them with rapt attention. "Insane?" His voice was sharp like gravel, lips curving into that smirk that always made your stomach flip during lectures. "You're the one who came on my manuscript."

He lifted his hand to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick a stripe across his fingers without breaking eye contact. The groan that escaped him was so genuine, eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat before reopening with renewed hunger. "Christ. Even better than I imagined."

The sight of Jisung's tongue swiping over his ink-stained fingers, your wetness mingling with the blurred remains of his confession, sent a fresh pulse of heat between your legs. You almost came again just watching him, thighs trembling against the ruined notebook pages still stuck to your skin. When he finally met your gaze again, his pupils were blown so wide they swallowed everything, his lips slick and parted around a shaky exhale.

"You taste like fucking sin," Jisung rasped, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing ink and spit along his jawline in a way that shouldn't have been erotic but made your hips jerk involuntarily against the desk. The motion dislodged another crumpled page from beneath you, some poor student's midterm, now irrevocably creased and damp, but Jisung didn't even glance at it. His attention was fixed on the way your chest rose and fell with each uneven breath, your blouse still hanging open where you'd abandoned the buttons midway.

"Jisung, I want more—" The whine slipped out before you could swallow it, your fingers curling into the wrinkled fabric of his button-up shirt. The cotton was soft under your grip, still warm from his skin and faintly damp where you'd clutched it during your climax. You yanked him forward with his tie more force than intended, sending his chest crashing into yours with a muffled thump that rattled the desk. His belt buckle scraped your inner thigh, cold metal against overheated skin, as he caught himself on trembling forearms, his breath stuttering against your collarbone.

Jisung exhaled sharply through his nose, his hips jerking involuntarily at the contact. You could feel the hard line of him through his slacks, pressed flush against your still-trembling thigh. His lips parted around a silent curse when you rocked up instinctively, the friction drawing a ragged groan from his throat. "Fuck—" His hands flew to your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises as he pinned you back against the ruined notebook.

You whined again, pouting, the sound embarrassing to your own ears, as Jisung pulled back just far enough to study your face.

"More?" His voice was wrecked, syllables cracking at the edges like overhandled paper. "You just came hard enough to ruin six weeks of my writing." he teased.

The reminder sent heat crawling up your neck, part shame, part perverse pride, as your thighs clenched reflexively around his waist. The ruined notebook pages clung stubbornly to your skin. Jisung tracked the motion with a darkening gaze, his thumb brushing the damp lace still tangled around your thigh. "You're greedy," he murmured, lips curling around the accusation like it was a compliment.

You arched an eyebrow and swung your legs off the desk with deliberate slowness, his ruined notebook pages peeling away from your thighs with wet, obscene sounds. "I take that as a no then," you said, smoothing your crumpled skirt down with exaggerated primness even as the damp lace of your underwear clung to your skin. The movement made Jisung's breath hitch, his fingers twitched toward your hips like he wanted to pin you back down, but you'd already slipped just out of reach, your feet hitting the floor.

Jisung's laugh was dark, uneven. He stood between your discarded legs, ink-stained fingers flexing against his thighs as he watched you adjust your blouse with faux innocence. The top three buttons were still undone, exposing the lace edge of your bra. You made a show of refastening just one button, leaving the other two gaping, before turning toward the door with an exaggerated sigh.

"See you later, Professor Han," you murmured, flashing him a smile that was equal parts teasing and breathless.

You didn't make it three steps down the hallway before Jisung's fingers wrapping around your wrist with enough force to spin you back toward him. His breath came in ragged bursts, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal ink-stained forearms. He was on the brink of looking scary but the sexiness overpowered.

"Fuck this," he growled, tugging you back inside so forcefully your shoulder slammed against the doorframe. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, but before you could protest, Jisung's mouth crashed into yours, all teeth and desperation, his fingers tangling in your hair to angle your head.

The kiss was nothing like the measured, precise way Jisung presented himself, this was messy and so desperate, his teeth catching your lower lip hard enough to sting. You gasped into his mouth, fingers scrabbling at his collar as he backed you against the apartment door. His glasses pressed uncomfortably between your faces, he must've grabbed them from the desk.

Jisung's hands were everywhere at once, cupping your jaw, sliding into your hair, mapping the exposed skin of your collarbones where your blouse still gaped open. Everywhere he touched burned like lit matches, his fingertips leaving trails of ink and want across your skin. When you arched into him, he groaned low in his throat, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh and hike it around his hip with a roughness that made your breath hitch.

"You are such a brat," Jisung gasped against your mouth, his fingers tightening in your hair as you bit down on his lower lip hard enough to draw a sharp hiss from him. The taste of copper bloomed between your tongues and you grinned against his lips, rolling your hips up to feel the rigid line of him through his slacks.

The muffled groan that escaped him vibrated through your chest as he pinned you harder against the door, his knee sliding between your thighs with rough precision.

Jisung's fingers dug into your hips with bruising force as he lifted you effortlessly, one hand sliding under your thigh while the other braced against the small of your back. Your gasp was swallowed by his mouth as he carried you the few stumbling steps to the nearest couch, the world tilting dizzyingly until your shoulders hit the cushions. He followed you down without breaking the kiss, his knee nudging your thighs apart to settle between them with a groan that vibrated through your chest.

The couch was older than it looked, the leather creaking ominously under his weight as Jisung braced himself above you, one forearm planted beside your head while his other hand yanked at his belt buckle with impatient tugs. You arched up to nip at his jawline, laughing breathlessly when the motion made him fumble the clasp. "Someone's eager," you murmured against his pulse point, relishing the way his throat jumped under your lips.

"Spread your legs." Jisung commanded as he loomed over you, the words rasped against your ear with a roughness that sent electricity skittering down your spine. His knee pressed insistently between your thighs, the leather of the couch creaking beneath his shifting weight. When you hesitated, just to watch his jaw tighten, his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your inner thigh, dragging a gasp from your lips as he forced them apart himself.

The couch cushions were cool against your bare skin where your skirt had ridden up, but Jisung's hands were fever-hot as they mapped your body with familiarity. His thumb brushed the damp lace still clinging to you, the fabric soaked through from earlier, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, like the evidence of your arousal was personally offensive to him. "Still wet," he muttered, dragging the underwear down swiftly.

Jisung's glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, just far enough that the frames caught the late afternoon sunlight slanting through his apartment windows, glinting gold against his skin. He didn't push them back up. Instead, he let them perch there precariously, the lenses magnifying the dark hunger in his eyes as they raked over your sprawled form.

Jisung's fingers made quick work of his shirt buttons, popping them open one-handed. The fabric parted to reveal a strip of sharp abs dusted with a trail of dark hair leading to his cock. It landed somewhere near the messy coffee table.

"You're overdressed," he murmured against your collarbone, fingers already sliding beneath the hem of your skirt. The backs of his knuckles grazed your thighs, still sensitive from earlier, as he bunched the fabric upward with deliberate slowness. The leather couch sighed beneath you when you arched into his touch, the cool air hitting your exposed skin as he dragged the skirt down your legs and tossed it aside without breaking eye contact.

The first button of your blouse popped free. Jisung's fingers froze on his belt buckle, mid-tug, his gaze locking onto your hands as you worked the second button loose with deliberate slowness. The fabric parted to reveal the lace edge of your bra, the same one he'd confessed to staring at during office hours, and you watched his throat work as he swallowed hard.

"You're—" Jisung started, then bit off the words when you shrugged the blouse from your shoulders in one smooth motion. The fabric pooled around your elbows before you shook it off entirely, letting it flutter to the floor somewhere near his shirt. His gaze tracked the movement hungrily, pupils dilating further as he took in the expanse of bare skin now available to him. "So pretty.."

Your fingers traced the strained outline of his cock through the expensive fabric of his slacks first, just a teasing brush that made Jisung's breath hitch against your neck. He slid them off faster than you could count, then, charged by the way his hips jerked forward, you slid your hand lower, cupping him fully through the dampening cotton of his briefs. The wet patch was already sizable, the fabric clinging hotly to his skin where precum had soaked through.

"Fuck—" Jisung's voice fractured when your thumb pressed deliberately over the slick spot, his forehead dropping to your shoulder with a muffled groan. His hips stuttered forward into your touch.

"Christ, you're going to kill me," he rasped, teeth scraping against your collarbone as you rubbed slow circles through the damp fabric.

The air left Jisung's lungs in a punched-out groan as he finally, finally shoved his underwear down past his hips. The elastic caught briefly before he kicked the fabric away entirely, his cock springing free with an obscene wet sound where it slapped against his abdomen. The flushed head glistened under the golden afternoon light, precum beading at the slit in a way that made your mouth water instinctively.

"Shit," Jisung hissed through clenched teeth when your fingers wrapped around him without wasting time, his hips jerking forward into your grip like he couldn't help it. His cock was warmer than you expected. He was thick enough that your fingers didn't quite meet around him, the veins along his shaft twitching under your tentative strokes.

Jisung's fingers trembled slightly as he slid through your entrance testing. The contrast of cold air against overheated skin made you squirm, but he pinned you in place with his hips, the blunt head of his cock dragging through your slick folds with deliberate, agonizing slowness. His breath hitched against your throat as he pressed forward just enough to tease, then retreated again with a groan that vibrated through his chest.

"You feel—" His voice fractured when you arched up impatiently, catching just the tip of him inside you. The stretch burned deliciously, your thighs quivering where they bracketed his hips. Ink smeared across your stomach where his fingers gripped you, dark streaks of his horny notes blending with the sweat-slicked flush of skin.

Your fingers tangled in the damp hair at Jisung's nape as he pressed forward with agonizing slowness, the stretch burning in a way that made your thighs tremble against his hips. The angle was different like this, more intimate than anything you'd imagined during stolen glances in his lecture hall, with his forehead pressed to yours and his breath shuddering against your lips. His glasses were perched still on his face, you couldn't decide whether he looked cute or hot biting back his moans.

"Look at me," Jisung murmured when your lashes fluttered shut, his voice rough but impossibly soft, thumb brushing your cheekbone. His hips moved with deliberate precision, each slow advance drawing ragged breaths from both of you until he was fully seated inside you, the sensation so overwhelming your fingers clenched involuntarily in his hair.

"You're too tight," Jisung groaned as he bottomed out, his forehead dropping to yours with a sharp exhale that smelled faintly of whiskey and desperation. The words vibrated against your lips, barely audible over the ragged hitch of his breathing. His cock twitched inside you hot and thick, as your pussy fluttered around him in instinctive response, drawing a ragged curse from his throat.

The veins in his neck stood out in sharp relief, his pulse hammering visibly beneath his jaw as he swallowed hard. "Christ," he rasped, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. "I can't—you feel—"

The first thrust punched a sound from both of you that should've shattered the windows. Jisung's groan harmonizing with your moan as he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in. The force knocked the breath from your lungs, your nails scoring down his bare shoulders as your back arched off the couch.

Jisung's rhythm was merciless from the start, no tentative exploration, just deep, desperate, rolling thrusts that had your thighs trembling within seconds. The leather couch squeaked beneath you, the sound barely audible over the wet slap of skin meeting skin. One of his hands anchored your hip hard enough to bruise while the other tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to expose your throat to his teeth.

"Ah—Mr. Han—" The moan tore from your throat, syllables fracturing as Jisung's lips sucked at your pulse point with just enough pressure to blur your vision. His answering groan vibrated against your skin, the hand in your hair tightening reflexively when you arched against him. The honorific, so clinical in lecture halls, felt filthy now, dripping from your lips.

Jisung's hips stuttered at the title, his cock twitching inside you with a wet sound that made your thighs clamp around him instinctively.

"So you're into that teacher-student shit, are you?" Jisung smirked against the shell of your ear, the words rough and uneven as he snapped his hips forward with deliberate force. The pace he set was punishing.

“Say it again," he rasped against your throat. His rhythm faltered, just for a second, as he dragged his lips up the column of your neck, breath hot and uneven against your ear. "Say it like you're failing my class and begging for extra credit."

The title tumbled from your lips before you could stop it—"Professor Han"—the syllables cracking mid-moan as Jisung angled his hips just so. His answering groan vibrated through your chest, his fingers tightening in your hair hard enough to sting. Against your throat, his lips dragged wetly across your pulse point.

"Fuck, the way you say it, like you haven't been imagining this since midterms."

The sound punched out of you before you could swallow it, high and mortifyingly desperate, your face flushing red as Jisung’s smirk widened against your throat. His fingers tightened in your hair, angling your head back further to expose the blush crawling down your neck. “That’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his hips snapped forward with renewed purpose. “Let me hear how much you hate this.”

You hated the way your thighs trembled around his waist, the way your nails dug into his shoulders like you were afraid he’d vanish if you let go. Most of all, you hated how your body betrayed you, arching into each thrust with a hunger that made your stomach clench. Jisung’s laugh was dark and uneven against your collarbone as he murmured,

“You’re fucking dripping, sweetheart. Tell me you didn’t imagine this when you handed in your last essay.”

The whimper escaped you before you could bite it back as Jisung’s hips snapped forward with enough force to slide you up the leather cushions. His grip on your thighs tightened, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks that would linger for days. Your nails scraped down him in retaliation, but he only moaned at the sting, his cock twitching inside you in response.

"Look at you," Jisung rasped, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. His thumb brushed your lower lip, swollen before pressing down.

"Taking me so fucking well." The words vibrated against your temple where his forehead rested, his lashes fluttering against your skin with each ragged exhale. His rhythm was relentless now, each thrust punctuated by the squelches and the creak of overburdened leather beneath you.

Jisung's fingers found your clit with terrifying precision, rough at first, then settling into an insistent rhythm that matched the snap of his hips. The double stimulation had your pussy trembling within seconds. His thumb circled just shy of where you needed it most, the teasing strokes drawing ragged curses from your lips as your hips jerked helplessly against his hand.

"Is this what you imagined during lectures?" Jisung's voice was wrecked as his fingers sped up, the pad of his thumb pressing harder against your clit with each desperate roll of your hips. His smirk was palpable even without seeing it, the smug dick.

"When you'd bite your pen like that and stare out the window?" His teeth grazed your jaw, blunt and punishing. "Were you thinking about my fingers, sweetheart? Or just my cock?"

"All of you," you gasped, fingers twisting in Jisung's hair as his hips snapped forward.

His fingers traced lazy circles over your nipples through the lace of your bra.

"You're my favorite student," he confessed, voice rough with something darker than pride, thumbs flicking over the hardened peaks until your back arched off the couch. "My smart girl." The words dripped slow.

You gasped when his teeth replaced his fingers, biting down just hard enough to make your thighs clench around his waist, the lace tearing slightly under the sharp pressure. His laugh vibrated against you low and pleased, as he peeled the ruined fabric aside to replace it with his mouth. The wet heat of his mouth made you aware of every cell in your body, the suction on your nipple deliberate as he dragged his teeth over the flesh.

"I would hope I'm your favorite," you gasped, nails raking down Jisung's back as he savored the pain, "you're fucking the shit out of me right now." The laugh that escaped you was breathless. Jisung's hips stuttered mid-thrust, his cock twitching deep inside you in response.

"Shit," he rasped, his rhythm turning uneven, slower now, but deeper, each drag of his cock along your walls calculated to wring another broken sound from your lips.

"Trust me," you whispered, "any girl from the class would be happy to be in my place right now." The words tumbled out between ragged breaths.

Jisung froze mid-thrust, his cock twitching deep inside you as his head lifted sharply. The sudden stillness was jarring, his breath hitching audibly against your throat where his lips had been trailing wet kisses. When he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them.

"You're kidding, right?" Jisung's laugh came out strangled, his hips stuttering mid-thrust as his fingers dug into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. The sudden halt made you whine, your hips jerking up to chase the friction he'd denied you. His grip tightened, pinning you in place.

"I'm so fucking lucky I get to fuck you," he rasped, the words raw with something that sounded dangerously close to romantic.

"You've got every guy on campus wrapped around your finger."

His next thrust knocked the air from your lungs, rougher than before, almost punishing, as if he needed to prove his point through sheer physicality.

Jisung's left hickeys on your collarbone, blunt and possessive, before he dragged his mouth up the column of your throat.

"That TA who 'accidentally' bumps into you after class?" His hips snapped forward on the word, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made your vision whiten at the edges. "The rugby captain who carries your books to the library?" Another brutal thrust, this one deep enough to make your toes curl. "They'd fucking kill to be where I am right now."

The moan tore from your throat before you could swallow it, low and whiny, muffled against Jisung's lips as his fingers circled your clit with relentless precision. His thumb pressed down just shy of where you needed it most, the teasing pressure drawing a broken whimper from your lips that he swallowed greedily. His kisses were messy, all teeth and tongue and barely-contained desperation, his breath hot against your cheek as he murmured filth against your lips between gasps.

"You sound so fucking pretty," Jisung rasped, the words rough with arousal as his fingers sped up, the pad of his thumb pressing harder against your clit with each desperate roll of your hips. His rhythm was merciless, just this side of too much, the stimulation toeing the line between pleasure and overstimulation in a way that had your thighs trembling around his waist.

"Ji—I'm gonna cum," you moaned, Jisung's thumb pressed down hard on your clit in tight, insistent circles. Your thighs trembled violently around his waist, your toes curling against the small of his back where sweat made your heels slip against his skin.

Jisung's hips stuttered at the sound, his cock twitching deep inside you as he bit down on your collarbone hard enough to leave more marks.

"Yeah?" he rasped voice wrecked beyond recognition. His free hand slid up your ribs to palm your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in rough, distracted circles. "Let me see."

The orgasm hit instantly, one second Jisung's fingers were circling your clit with lazy precision, the next your vision whited out completely as your back arched off the couch. Your thighs clamped around his waist with too much force for a guy about to pull out, your entire body locking around him.

Jisung swore loudly as your walls fluttered around his cock in rhythmic pulses, his hips stuttering mid-thrust.

"Fuck, fuck—" His voice deepend as you clenched around him again, his cock twitching deep inside you.

Jisung's hips jerked once, twice, before he buried himself to the hilt with a groan that sounded like it had been ripped from his chest. His entire body trembling as he spilled inside you with pulses so violent they made your own oversensitive nerves twitch in sympathy. His forehead dropped to yours, noses brushing as you lazily made out.

"Y/n.." Jisung's whispered, his lashes fluttering against your cheekbones as his cock twitched weakly inside you, still riding out the aftershocks. His fingers traced your jaw with uncharacteristic gentleness.

"Fuck, you're perfect."

Jisung's withdrawal was slow, his cock dragging against your oversensitive walls until you whimpered. He collapsed atop you with a groan, his sweat-slick chest pressing flush against your tits, still trembling slightly with aftershocks. His glasses, managed to stay on the bridge of his nose and you couldn't help but giggle as you pushed them back up.

"Sweetheart," he muttered into your skin. His fingers traced idle patterns down your side, not possessive now, just absentminded, like he couldn't stop touching you.

"You wrecked me." His breath hitched when your nails scraped lightly up his spine, the motion drawing a shiver from him despite the heat still radiating off both of you.

Your lips brushed Jisung's forehead in a soft kiss. The contact made him freeze up. You could feel his eyelashes flutter against your collarbone in response, his breath hitching mid-exhale.

Jisung's lips curved into a smile against your pulse point. "That's new," he murmured, the words vibrating against your damp skin. "Not in the notebook."

"Did I meet your expectations in your notes?" You smirked, dragging your fingers through the soft mess of Jisung's hair.

Jisung laughed as he rolled his weight onto one elbow, the motion making his biceps flex where they bracketed your hips. "You exceeded them," he admitted, voice rough. "Though I may need to revise my methodology."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress the laugh that bubbled up when Jisung kissed you again, soft this time.

Jisung pulled you into him as if trying to merge your two bodies into one single entity. His arms wrapped around you with a sudden, fierce intensity, squeezing the remaining breath from your lungs in a way that felt less like a hug and more like a claim. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his skin still damp and hot, and you felt the low rumble of his chest against yours.

"Mine," he murmured, the word muffled against your skin. He shifted, tightening his grip until you were practically crushed against his chest. "Mine, mine, mine."

"You are such a freak, Jisung," you giggled as you looked up to see him grinning.

☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆...

🏷️ Taglist: @11racha @janaethedreamer @sparklingyoongi @tinys0ftie @lvebyheehoon

On yet another rainy autumn day, you found yourself once again without your umbrella. The streets were slick and dirty, and the thin old converses u had on, didn’t help anything.

You walked home, tired from the soulless job you convinced yourself was helping you.

You felt lost in your own thoughts.

That was until the loud laughter of a young couple nearby caught your attention. You gazed at them playing happily in the rain, dashing together like nothing else mattered in this world.

Memories of you and bangchan flooded back. Once upon a time, you were just like them, young, dumb and madly in love. High school days when he would do anything to win your heart, absolutely anything. Those carefree moments when you were both head over hills, stubbornly infatuated. Back when he was sweet and kind, genuinely loving you and deeply cared for you. It was different now. That’s what you told yourself.

You couldn’t understand how everything had changed. The boy you once adored was no longer the same. He was cold, he was rude and so stubborn and careless toward you. Nothing like the person he used to be.

You still loved him deeply. This wasn’t just your husband. This was your best friend. You knew somewhere deep down he still loved you. You hoped.

Before you knew it, you found yourself staring wistfully at the young lovers as they gradually faded from view, a bittersweet ache settling in your heart.

It's cold. You should go home. Bangchan will be back from work soon.

The familiar scent of the home enveloped you. The lights were dim, casting a warm, comforting glow across the familiar surroundings. Even the shadows seemed to hold memories of the past. As your eyes roamed through the living room, you notice the small traces of your husband. His coat discarded carelessly on the couch, and his work bag left open on the table.

“Chan..?” You manage to mumble out as you take off your soaked converse.

A moment of silence followed your call, leaving you with the sound of the rain tapping against the window panes. Finally, a muffled response resonates from the bedroom.

“In here.”

With cautious steps, you navigate through the hallway and pushed the door to the bedroom open.

“Hey.. you okay?” You ask in a whispering tone.

Chan was already in his grey sweatshirt, his hair still wet from a recent shower. He didn't even raise his gaze from his phone, the light from the screen casting a faint glow over his face.

"Yeah, just tired."

His response was short, lacking the warmth. He didn't even bother to put his phone down to give you his attention.

You nod even though you know he’s not looking at you. You walk past him to grab a nearby towel to dry your rain soaked hair.

Chan didn't move from his spot on the bed, still occupied with scrolling through his phone.

As you grabbed the towel to wipe your wet hair, his eyes briefly flicked up, finally taking in your drenched appearance. He raised an eyebrow slightly, a hint of irritation in his voice.

"You're drenched. You couldn't find an umbrella?"

“No” you mumble back.

You hear Chan let out a heavy sigh, as if your forgetfulness and drenched state were just another annoyance to him.

"Why don't you ever check the weather before leaving, huh? You're a grown ass adult, act like it."

His words were sharp, lacking any concern or sympathy for your situation. You can’t help but roll your eyes taking off your jacket. You were used to his mean words but that didn’t mean you were getting anymore used to them.

Chan's irritation seemed to grow at your eye roll as he tossed his phone aside, now giving you his full attention.

"What? You annoyed now? You're acting like a child."

He got up from the bed, his steps heavy as he closed the distance between you. He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression stern and cold.

"You know, I shouldn't have to babysit you like this all the damn time. Grow up and take some responsibility."

“Babysit..? You haven’t done anything you’re just sat there watching me dry my hair.” you say scowling at him.

Bangchan's jaw tightened, his dark eyes narrowing. He takes a slow step closer towering, imposing, his voice low and edged.

"Babysit? I pay the bills. I work 12-hour shifts so you don’t have to stress. You think I wanted to come home to this? To you standing there like a wet, pouting kid?"

He reached out abruptly, grabbing the towel from your hands and roughly started rubbing your hair himself, less care, more force.

"...But still," he muttered under his breath in Korean,"네가 안 챙기면 내가 해야지... 바보."

(“If you won’t take care of yourself… then I have to. Idiot.”)

His touch was rough but not unfeeling.

You sigh grabbing his hand to stop him.

"Then stop acting like you don't care..."

Your voice came out softer than you expected. You held his hand tightly, the cold from your wet skin contrasting with his warmth.

"If you're gonna scold me, at least look at me like you mean it.”

…

“Go lay down you’re tired..”

You whisper as his hand drops down.

Bangchan paused for a moment, his expression softening a little. He was tired, that was true. His gaze lingered on you for a beat longer before he let out a sigh, his shoulders slumped.

"Yeah... I am tired..."

He pulled his hand away, giving you a half-hearted nod as he made his way to the bed. As he settled onto the bed, he leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes. A weary sigh escaped his lips.

You couldn't help but notice the fatigue etched across his features. His once sharp, intense gaze was now softened, and deep circles under his eyes betrayed his fatigue. Silence filled the room, broken only by the sound of the rain still drumming against the window. Bangchan just laid there, his chest slowly rising and falling with each breath.

“We’ll talk later i’ll be in the living room.”

Bangchan’s eyes cracked open at your words, but he didn’t move.

"...Again with the living room?" His voice was low, rough, almost hurt beneath the exhaustion.

"You always run there when we’re... like this."

He sat up slightly, just enough to watch you go, one hand dragging over his face.

"Just... don’t stay up too long. The rain’s making the couch damp again."

Then softer, barely above a whisper

"I’ll make it up to you… somehow."

You hum out a hm quietly closing the door.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the room, leaving him alone with the rain outside and his own thoughts.

He let out a heavy sigh, lying back down. It was too much right now,the exhaustion, the guilt. He wanted to talk to you, to apologize... But it was too hard with his head so clouded. So he closed his eyes again, letting himself be taken over by the sound of the rain, hoping it might drown out his racing mind.

The couch felt damp, just as Bangchan had warned. The rain from outside had seeped into the fabric, making you shift positions uncomfortably. As you sat there, the silence of the room seemed almost deafening. Without Bangchan's steady presence, the space felt strangely empty.

Your eyes scanned across the room, lingering on the familiar places where you and Bangchan used to laugh and love. It was all so achingly familiar... and yet, it felt so far away now.

All the memories, none used to be painful but every time you look around, you can’t help but feel like everything is slipping out of your reach.

You sigh out feeling the overwhelming feeling of dread coming again, this time you can’t hold back your tears as you cry uncontrollably.

The soft sobs you tried to muffle into your palms didn’t go unnoticed by the quiet house. Minutes passed then a creak. The bedroom door opened. Bangchan stood in the doorway, barefoot and disheveled, his clothes slightly wrinkled from lying down. His eyes softened instantly at the sight of you curled on the couch, trembling with silent tears.

He didn’t speak right away.

Instead, he walked over slowly, sank down beside you, too close for comfort but too warm to pull away. He pulls you into his chest without asking. His arms wrapped around you like he used to in high school. tight, possessive, like letting go meant losing everything.

"Yaa... why are you crying?" he murmured into your hair voice rough but breaking.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

One hand cradled your head while the other held firm around your waist.

"...I’m still here," he whispered fiercely. "Still yours, even when I suck at showing it."

“It doesn’t feel it” you respond quietly through your tears.

Bangchan’s grip tightens at your quiet words like they struck something deep in his chest. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his brown eyes searching yours under the dim living room light.

"...I know," he said softly, voice thick with regret. "And I hate that."

His thumb brushed your cheek, wiping a tear—rough fingers trembling just slightly.

"I’m not good at this anymore... not like before. I get lost in work. In my head. But y’know..." He paused, jaw clenching. "Still.”

A breath.

"I still love you... even when it doesn’t feel like it."

“Are we going to get a divorce..?” you reply, heart aching at even the mention.

The word hung in the air like a knife.

Bangchan freezes, his eyes snapping to yours, wide and raw.

"Divorce?"

His voice cracked, broken like you’d just ripped open a wound he didn’t even know was bleeding. He grabbed your hand fast, too tight almost, pulling it against his chest so you could feel his heartbeat. Hard. Fast. Real.

"Look at me," he whispered fiercely. "Do I feel like I wanna let you go?"

His breath shuddered. "Never. Not in this life, y/n. Not ever."

He lowers his forehead to yours, voice breaking under his breath:

“I wouldn’t survive if I lost you…”

"We’re hurting… yeah. But we’re still us, and I’m not giving up on us."

You listen closely to him, it’s been so long since he showed any compassion or love towards you. Finally this is a glimpse into your Bangchan. You nod wiping your access tears.

Bangchan doesn’t release your hand, instead, he gently traces your palm, his breathing finally steadying.

For a while, you both just sit there, leaning against the couch and holding hands. The rain outside continued to fall, almost melodic now against the windows.

Then he speaks breaking the silence, quietly, without looking at you.

“Can I ask you something my love?"

“Hm?”

Bangchan swallows hard, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He keeps his eyes down, rare the hesitation in him.

"...Remember senior year? When I skipped my final exam... just to drive you to the beach?"

A faint, almost painful smile tugged at his lips.

"You were crying cause your mom said no. So I took you anyway. Got a flat tire on the way back... walked two miles in the dark just to get service."

He finally looked up,eyes glistening, voice soft.

"...I’d do it again tomorrow. For one hour with you like that. Carefree. Laughing."

A pause.

"Are we still... allowed to be happy like that?"

You take in his words, remembering the happy time you both had skipping school together to go to the beach. You sigh slightly smiling, reminiscing the time.

“Of course we are.. i don’t know what’s stopping you, i still try but you don’t..”

Bangchan's expression darkened, he could hear the slight resentment in your voice, and it stung.

"You know I'm under a ton of pressure," he shot back, sharper than he'd intended.

“You think i like being this way?”

He didn't mean to snap, you could see the regret in the hard lines of his face. But he was too frustrated, too tired, to soften his voice now.

"I don't know what you want from me.

“I’m sorry” you respond looking away from him. You couldn’t look at his hurt face. You both worked and never made time for each other. Blaming him didn’t make you feel better it never did.

Bangchan sighed out, running a tired hand through his hair. The tension was growing with each word.

"Yeah, you're always sorry," he muttered, a bitter edge in his voice. "But sorry doesn't fix anything."

He knew he wasn't being fair, but his frustration had taken over. Every word stung, even as he said them.

"I'm working my ass off to make us comfortable. And all I get from you lately is complaints and nagging."

You can’t help but sigh out, this whole situation was frustrating and felt unfixable.

His jaw clenched tighter. Your silence was only fueling his anger.

With a swift motion, he got up from the couch, pacing in front of the window.

"That's your answer?" he huffed, running a hand down his face. "A sigh? I'm trying to talk to you. To fix this. But you're so damn silent all the time, I feel like I'm yelling at a wall!"

…

“Stop yelling at me.”

Bangchan froze mid-step. Your voice was quiet but sharp and firm. It hit him like ice water to the chest. He turns slowly, eyes wide, actually seeing you for the first time that night. You weren’t shrinking. You weren’t apologizing anymore.

And he just stood there, breathing hard as his body relaxed.

"...I'm not yelling at you," he finally whispered, voice cracking. "I'm yelling cause i’m scared..”

He dropped onto the couch beside you,closer now, shoulders slumped.

"I don't know how to do this without losing myself... or losing you."

You see his eyes gleaming up at you, almost filled with tears. Glossy and pretty. His lips sore from being chewed on from stress. His hair was scruffy but perfectly dropped in front of his face. You breathe out as you lean in kissing him annoyed. You missed your husband so much.

The kiss was messy, angry, desperate but it was yours. Before Bangchan could react, you had lunged forward, hands curled into his shirt, pulling him close.

For a moment, he didn't move.

Then he snapped.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, bringing you closer, fiercely, possessively. His other hand grabbed your waist hard enough to bruise. He bit your bottom lip, making you gasp against his mouth.

"Fuck sake, y/n," he growled. "Don't make this harder."

“Just shut up for once”

He didn’t argue. Instead, Bangchan moved.

In one swift motion, he pulled you onto his lap,your legs straddling him as his mouth crashed against yours again. No more words. No more excuses. Just heat. Need. Hands tangled in hair, lips bruising skin.

He kissed you like he was drowning and you were the only breath left, desperate to prove something without saying a thing.

When he finally broke the kiss, forehead pressed to yours… all he whispered was,

"...Shutting up.”

“Finally..”

That one whispered word seemed to snap the tension coiled tightly in him. He grabbed your hips, pulling you even closer. His mouth found your neck, leaving a trail of hot, greedy kisses down your skin.

"You're so infuriating," He whispered against your collarbone. "Always pushing, challenging, nagging... Driving me crazy."

He nipped your earlobe, fingers tightening on your hip.

"I hate that I still want you and need you so goddamn much."

You felt yourself already soaked not just from the rain. It’s been weeks since Chan even touched you. It’s been a while for both of you. Hungry and hot from the kisses you whisper in his ear,

“Take out all your anger and stress out on me.”

His eyes darkened,not in anger but in desire. In raw, primal need.

"You want to be my stress relief?" he growled, fingers digging into your sides. "You want me to take it all out on you? Make you feel every ounce of frustration and anger I've been holding in? You sure about that, baby?"

His eyes were locked on yours, waiting. Wanting.

“Of course”

There was no going back now. Bangchan didn’t wait. He flipped you onto your back in one swift move, pinning your wrists above your head as he loomed over you, eyes wild and jaw tight.

“머무르다”(Stay.) His voice was low, dangerous. "Don’t move. Don’t speak unless I tell you to."

His knee pushed between your legs just enough to make you gasp, and he smirked,one of those old, cocky smirks from high school that used to make your knees weak. His lips ghosted above you.

Then his mouth crashed into yours, fierce and punishing, as if every unsaid word between you both was being burned away with heat and teeth.

You smirk kissing and tangling his hair between your fingers.

As you smirk at him, it sends a fire straight through Bangchan’s veins. His grip on your wrists tighten, voice dropping to a rough growl against your lips.

"... don't look at me like that unless you wanna break first.”

He lowered his body fully onto yours, heavy and unrelenting, letting you feel all the tension he’s been holding onto for weeks

"You think this is a game?" His teeth grazes your bottom lip. "I’ll make you beg before I let go.”

You can’t help but giggle, feeling so turned on but happy that your Bangchan had returned.

Bangchan froze mid-bite, body rigid. He lifts his head, eyes darkening as he meets your gaze,that playful, teasing glimmer in your eyes still there. His grip on your wrists tightened until it was almost painful. "Oh, you think this is funny?"

His free hand found your hip, fingers digging into flesh and holding you still.

"You think it's cute to make me wait when I've been aching for you for weeks? When I'm on the edge already, y/n?"

“So cute..” you mumble under your breath staring up at him. You couldn’t help but stare.

"Cute?” he repeats, voice dangerously low. "You call me cute when I’m trying to ruin you?"

He leans down until his nose brushes yours, his lips barely touching as he speaks, hot and slow,

"Then let’s see how cute I look when you’re trembling and screaming my name.”

You almost moan as his fingers hook your underwear. Needy, you pull him in for another desperate kiss.

Without warning, he deepens the kiss, taking back the control, his tongue sweeping over yours as he pressed you into the couch. He tasted like heat, like need, like want.

His free hand slid up your side, roughly grabbing your thigh and hitching it up over his hip.

"Say it again," he demanded, voice rough. "Say I'm cute."

You pull back panting, needing more.

“You’re the cutest.”

On your lips, it was both a tease and a praise, and it was killing him. His hands tightened on you as he fought the urge to just take, to just claim you right there on the couch.

Because yes, he was losing control. And yes, he wanted to let go so badly it ached.

With a growl, he pushed up your shirt just enough to kiss the soft skin of your stomach,hard and hot, like punishment wrapped in want.

"Then show me," he whispered against your flesh, voice rough with need. "Show me that i'm still yours."

He takes off his shirt as you push against him. His strong physique holds you in place as you kiss him right down to his happy trail, caressing his firm abs.

Every kiss you left was a spark, lighting something in him he could no longer contain. When your lips trailed down his neck, then lower, soft, and teasing the deep groan that tore from Bangchan’s throat was raw.His hands flew to your hair, gripping tight as he arched into you.

“Yaa.. stop playing.”

But you didn’t stop.

And when your lips brushed over his chest once more he finally snapped.

In one brutal motion, he pulled you up and pinned you beneath him again, eyes wild and voice low:

"You want to tease me? Fine."

He yanked open your shirt and threw it to the side carelessly along with your shorts.

“You walk around wearing such pretty things underneath..”

His rough fingers play with the edges of your lace set. Your feet poke at his belt barely holding up his jeans as his cock is fighting a way out.

“Open it then baby..” he murmurs as you shuffle on your knees, eager to strip him.

This is the perfect way to makeup.

He was supposed to be punishing you. Punishing himself. But instead, here you were, teasing him, smiling, making him want things he'd long denied himself.

You undo his belt as the jeans hit the cold wooden floor clinking loudly. You waste no time yanking down his underwear and tossing it to the side. His tip was already glistening from precum, wet and ready for you. Chan chuckles loudly before spreading his legs, letting you in between.

He looks down at you, staring as he cradles your face smiling. You look up licking a stripe from his base to his tip.

His cock looked so big between your two hands as you stroked it. God he tasted so delicious, you were mad at past you for not pinning him down these past two weeks and sucking his soul out.

You groaned as you worked your way down his cock slowly, eyes already watering from the length but you loved it.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful” he mutters out between his moans slamming his head back on the couch.

“Thank you Channie.” you respond over his cock.

Channie.

That old nickname, soft and sweet, hits him like a memory. For the first time all night, his rough edge wavered. His hands stilled on your hair.

"Don’t call me that unless you mean it.”

Voice low. Raw. Almost breaking.

But then he pulls you up gently, kissing you slower this time less fire, more feeling. Lips moving against yours like he was trying to say everything he couldn't put into words.

When he pulled back, eyes dark and serious,

"Only ever yours… y/n.”

“I always mean it silly.” you respond laughing.

Your laugh hits him like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.Bangchan freezes then his grip on you tightened not rough, but desperate.

"You always do this," he muttered, voice thick. "Laugh like nothing’s broken… like we’re not broken."

He leaned down until his nose brushed yours, a rare flicker of something soft in his eyes.

"...But you're right. I am silly." A pause. "For ever letting you see me lose myself.”

Then he kisses your forehead gently. He whispers against your skin,

"Now shut up and let me love you properly.”

You gasp as he suddenly flips you over on the couch swiftly.

“Ass up now.” He says firmly.

You comply arching excitedly. He loved how you obeyed so easily. You position yourself as you feel his tip teasing the entrance already. Chan moaned, sinking deeper into you as he held you firmly in place.

“You’re sucking me in so well-“ he groaned as he slid in, inch by inch. The sensation was too much you couldn’t speak as his cock stretched you amazingly. The tip finally hit your cervix as it seemed like it was going on forever. You take in the whole feeling. Everything was throbbing. It was so sexily painful.

Chan unclipped your bra tossing it to the side as his hands found your hardened nipples. He squeezed your breasts in just the right way where he had you overstimulated and panting. He was still holding back the urge to move as he let you adjust to the size of him. You moaned softly knowing he was holding back everything to make you comfortable.

“I-i’m so mad at you-“ you moan out.

Bangchan groaned, his hands tightening on your hips, still holding you in place as he grinded against you teasingly making your walls squeeze again.

But then he caught the smirk on your face, and irritation flared in his eyes.

"Mad, huh?" he growled, voice rough. "You're mad and you're still grinding against me like this? You're a damn tease."

He gripped your hair pulling it as he took one of your breasts with his other hand, kneading at a annoyed pace. He buried himself deep inside. The pleasure of finally being fucked was indescribable. He couldn’t be gentle anymore. He eventually found his rough pace and pounded into you hard.

“Fuckk-“ he growled out speeding up as your voice broke every stroke. Chan thrusted deeper, almost vigorously as he felt the bulge of his cock protruding into your belly. You felt his fingers find your clit with cruel precision as his pace never falters, he instantly knew how to make you cum quickly.

“You’re mine” he whispered leaning down, “you always fucking will be, you understand me?”

You nodded, you couldn’t possibly answer, you were so close.

“Does my baby wanna cum?” He smirks nipping your earlobe. You know he’s smug seeing you so needy underneath him.

You nod again.

“Use your fucking pretty voice.”

He pounds into you harder as you feel him getting closer too.

“Please Channie ple- please” you whine out choking on air as you feel closer to your release.

“Fuck thats it baby”

“Cum on my cock, that’s my girl” he bites his lip groaning loudly.

Your body convulses around him as you scream his name, pleasure rippling through you like a wave, you feel Chan whimper as he feels you squeeze him so so tightly.

“Shit i’m gonna-“

Chan loses it. He buries himself to the hilt, hips stuttering as he spills into you moaning your name.

Both of you lay there panting for a while, Chan’s face buried into your back as he slowly eases out, soothing your stomach as you sit back on the couch.

Your legs feel like jelly, your eyes are glossy from the satisfaction. He kisses you softly. Like an apology and a promise all in one. You feel his hand tracing circles on your arm.

The silence gets broken by Chan leaning closer.

“Let’s go take a warm bath yeah?” He beams at you tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

You nod as he caries you princess style to the bathroom giggling. Nothing has really changed.

☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆...