#incessant

Seonghwa’s apartment, despite being lit by multiple soft white lamps, couldn’t have been any warmer than the brisk temperature outside. Nonetheless, you compliment the way he’s designed his interior as you take off your shoes. Some months ago, when you’d started your masters program, you’d never thought you’d be invited inside your mentor’s home. 

In fact, of all that came with a masters degree, you were probably least excited about having to deal with a mentor. They’d been marketed as people who’d help you set off your path with the right connections, with the proper networks, but it had always seemed like an unfortunate byproduct of higher academia.  

You were so not looking forward to meeting older, snooty, PhD candidates and spending time with their holier than thou attitude. So much so that you had to forcefully drag yourself to the orientation hall that early fall morning where a small batch of nervous education masters students were waiting for their mentors. You stood by them, cheeks sore in a painfully superficial friendly smile, and one by one, your peers were pulled away, greeted by their older mentors.

A good amount of the bunch were older, hair peppered with streaks of silver and white, and you had sighed, dropping your smile momentarily as you looked around you. As more and more of the other students were picked away by their mentors, you had slowly slinked away to a quiet corner near the refreshments. 

As you were stuffing a mini poppy seed muffin fully into your mouth, you turned back to the crowd to find that a man, not much older than you, was making his way towards where you were standing alone in a corner of the bustling hall. Mistaking him for another masters student, you look over his shoulder, only to have him stop directly in front of you, with your name on his pink lips posed as a question. 

Somehow, you had lucked out and landed Park Seonghwa as your masters mentor, and suddenly, having a mentor didn’t seem all too bad. 

He was very pretty, his face maturely slender and plush lips settled in a pout. He had a lean frame, which helped him seem as if he was towering over you despite being only some inches taller. His hair was jet black, almost blue, and settled straightly over his face, lengthening it. You’d have to be completely oblivious to not notice the jealous stares thrown your way from the other female masters students. But a successful PhD student in his own right, Seonghwa was also breathtakingly intelligent. 

In the months that followed, you came to find that his quietly offered advice always came from a place of care and genuine concern, and his methods of conducting research were something you couldn’t compliment enough. He was sure of himself, albeit clandestine with his ways, and thereby, his work, modestly confident between the group of incredibly well-respected and experienced mentors, all of which had at least a decade or two on him. 

But it was hard to focus on the knowledge he had to offer you completely when the words falling from his pillowy lips always sounded so strangely seductive. His quiet manner and low voice didn’t do much to quell your unruly, and absolutely unprofessional, desire for him. 

When you were helping him sort through his research, it was always his fingers you’d zero in on. When you met him early in the mornings to discuss your progress, it was his gravelly voice, still heavy with sleep. When you were sitting side by side discussing your own thesis, it was his distinct scent of Black Opium coming from his skin.

Utterly ashamed with yourself, you had gotten off to the thought of Seonghwa a multitude of times, conjuring different ways he would take you. Sometimes it would roughly after a particularly challenging day around his older colleagues. Other days it would be gently as the weather cooled on the campus around you. Whichever way it was, you were always able to make yourself cum to him. 

It didn’t help that he was great with children, too. As you observed him in the field, you saw his usual demeanor falling away to reveal smiles and playfulness, taunting and teasing the children. Many of the children’s eyes would be filled with tears when the time for goodbyes came, already asking when he’d be coming over to play again. 

It wasn’t until the semester really kicked into effect some weeks later when the piling work was threatening to take its toll that you decided enough was enough. So you promise yourself to push your immature infatuation aside, focusing on your degree and on your degree only, but every now and then, you’d catch yourself shamelessly ogling and desperately praying Seonghwa would mistake it for admiration. 

Despite that, now well into the fall and the semester, you and Seonghwa were working like a well-oiled machine, efficient and functional. Which was incredibly important now that you’d received your topic for the spring seminar that was to be held sometime early next year. 

The night you had received your topic, you and Seonghwa were teeming with ideas. Cooped up in his office, you wrote potential outline after outline, gathering research and preparing as many stances as you could conjure up. Sat side by side on the carpet of his intimate 100 square foot office, the two of you worked nonstop. The mid-afternoon had turned into late evening and still, your shoulders stayed firmly pressed against Seonghwa’s as you combed through more and more research. 

Though as the hours passed by, your strong resolve began to fade away. The proximity that you didn’t seem to mind at 5:00 pm was beginning to make you dizzy at 8:00 pm. His woody perfume, the way his fingers expertly typed away at his laptop’s keyboard, the glasses that kept slipping down the slope of his nose. 

Thankfully soon after, Seonghwa had decided to call it a night, but by the time you were packed up and ready to leave, you realized there were no longer any buses running on campus, so when Seonghwa offered to drive you to your apartment, you happily took him up on the offer.

After dropping you off at your own place, Seonghwa had offered to hold the next meeting at his apartment just off campus tomorrow and you had giddily agreed, deciding to meet after your lectures wrapped up in the late afternoon.

Breaking your own promise, you had gotten yourself off to him that night from the remainder of his scent that had seeped into your own clothes. 

But now, in the quiet of his cool apartment, you’re feeling a little out of place. It felt a little surreal to be in a place that was completely Seonghwa. Sure, his office had bits and pieces of him, but the equipment was clearly the university’s. The bland brown carpet, the sturdy gray desk, and the harsh fluorescent lights didn’t belong to Seonghwa. 

This space, which was completely his, felt like Seonghwa. In the center of his living room was a clean white rug, and instead of turning on the overhead lights, he began switching on many of the lamps. The cushions on his white couch were fluffed to resemble clouds, and there was a mild fragrance of vanilla that hung in the air. On his center table was a neatly arranged stack of literary journals and as you take off your shoes, you notice the way he’d organized his own pairs in a small closet. 

It was overwhelmingly Seonghwa. Of course, in the best way possible. 

The two of you waste no time, immediately unpacking the research from your bags, and per Seonghwa’s suggestion, splay them on the floor to get another perspective. You try desperately to ignore being surrounded by Seonghwa and hone in your focus on your research. 

Adn to your credit, things are going well, and hours pass as you collect evidence and build up your strategy. It isn’t until half past ten that you hit a wall. 

For maybe the past hour, you’ve been trying to find evidence to lay the groundwork for your second hypothesis with no luck. The spread out research has made a shuffled mess on the floors, and both you and Seonghwa are sitting on the ground with your aching backs against the couch. You flip through your notes in search of a journal to get past this godforsaken roadblock. 

“We could use Hoffman’s essay in Journal No. 51 to provide evidence for the requirement of substantially good parents to raise substantially good children?” you offer with a tired sigh, holding out your highlighted copy of Journal No.51 to Seonghwa. 

Instead of taking the journal from you, he scoots closer from his end of the couch to yours, shoulders bumping yours. Features softened with exhaustion, he moves even closer in an attempt to read the words on the page of the journal.

Suddenly, the image of Seonghwa playing with children flashes across your eyes. It wasn’t uncommon to shadow other teachers in your line of majors, and you’d even shadowed Seonghwa shadowing another teacher. He was great with kids, seeming able to read into their every microexpression, knowing exactly what they wanted from him before they had the chance to tell him. “Do you think you’d make a good parent?” you find yourself asking, already knowing the answer.

You’re met with silence. You can hear a group of probably drunk students walking outside of the apartment complex before Seonghwa’s air conditioning system kicks in. He’s contemplating the answer, unsure if answering would be crossing a line. 

He backs away from the journal, choosing instead to look at the disarray of pages and books. “I’m not sure,” he finally says, admission quiet. It’s the first time you don’t hear the confidence in his voice. “Do you think you would?”

Frankly, you weren’t so sure either. You think you were very clinical in your approach, very textbook. You weren’t naturally attuned to children and were honestly quick to be irritated at irrational behavior that one would obviously expect to come from children, but you did care for them. You wanted to be a good parent. And for a second, your brain slips to Seonghwa, thinking what parenting would be like with him. 

God, you think it would be the most easiest thing in the world. So before you can filter the thought away, you respond, “Yes, if I was doing it with you.”

“With me?” Oh my god. Your eyes widen a little in shock. You wanted the material of his rug to swallow you alive or shrink into a subatomic particle or become a child. Anything to explain the reason why you said what you said. 

But, unfortunately for you, none of those things happen, so you clear your throat in an attempt to at least appear put together and justify, “I mean, we’re both studying elementary education, you know?” 

It was a bullshit excuse. You knew it, and you were painfully aware that Seonghwa knew it. There was no correlation in parenting a kid and educating them. It was too far of a reach to even begin to entertain. 

But Seonghwa only smiles, exhaustion fading away to reveal mischief, leaning back to rest his back against the couch. Kids were the absolute last thing on your mind. You’d had to work with them enough for your degree, and putting an additional strain on yourself, especially while you were still in school, seemed all too unwise. 

“Kids are tough,” he says, eyeing your stiff form. He wraps his arm over the couch, not touching your body, but resting close enough for you to feel its presence. “There's a lot to consider. They require a lot of attention and care and love. You’ve got to raise them right, under the right supervision, to get them ready for the world. It’s a lot of effort for something that only takes one good shot. Ever considered that?” What the fuck was going on? 

In the moments that pass as Seonghwa waits for your answer, you wonder if he’s thought about you as much as you’ve thought about him these past several weeks.

One part of your brain shouts at you, scolding you for entertaining the thought and not stopping yourself. It wasn’t as if this wasn’t completely and absolutely immoral. Having relations with your mentor is probably up there on things you definitely shouldn’t do as a student. But all the momentary panic and anxiety felt overruled by the wetness collected on your panties. 

Because the other part of your brain is eager to give into the temptation. It makes you rub your legs together, which Seonghwa no doubt catches, and it also makes you speak up. “I’ve thought about it,” is how you choose to summarize your thoughts. 

The ghost of his arm falls away, and you think you've visibly deflated against the couch at the loss of his pseudo-touch. Suddenly his hand is in your hair, fingers threading through the strands at the nape of your neck. You stiffen again, holding back a moan. Seonghwa scoffs, and at your silence, decides to tug. 

He pulls your hair, tilting your head back to look at him. His eyes are dark, filled with a primal hunger that makes your pussy clench. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear, voice low with intent, “Is that so? And have you thought about what it takes? The sacrifices, the intimacy, the practice?”

His other hand trails down your body, over your clothed breasts, your stomach, coming to rest on your thigh. He squeezes, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he slides his hands higher, pushing your skirt up. “Because I have. I’ve thought about all the things we’d need to do to get it right. All the ways we’d have to touch, all the ways we’d have to taste, all the ways we’d have to feel each other. 

He nips at your earlobe before pulling back to look at you, his gaze knowing. “You think I don’t notice the way you look at me? If I didn't know any better, I’d assume that you would start drooling for me if I asked,” he mocks. 

Seonghwa isn’t as oblivious as you’d like him to be. He’d be a complete fool to not notice how you often zone out staring unabashedly sometimes at his hands, other times at his shoulders. But the times when you’d stare openly at his lips, while he was talking that too, had him growing hard under his desk. 

And it wasn’t like he was completely innocent either. After your first couple of meetings, he moved your desk, which prior to meeting you, was facing his, to the corner of his small office only to get a better view of the swell of your breasts under your silken blouses and to watch the material of stupidly short pencil skirts rise higher and higher on your thighs when you’d eventually cross your legs.

Every now and then when you were working on your seminar project, you’d pull up your chair next to him, and Seonghwa could barely contain himself. The smell of your perfume would hit his nose, and just like that he was gone. He’d pull himself together for the sake of your work, but it took everything in him to not shove the papers off his desk and take you right there. 

“I bet you would. In fact, I bet you’ve fantasized this moment in your pretty little head countless times, haven’t you?” His hand reaches the hem of your skirt, fingers brushing against the damp material of your panties. He smirks at the evidence of your arousal. “Seems like you have,” he says, giving your clothed pussy three sharp slaps. 

You feel like you can’t breathe. Of course, you’ve thought about this. More times than you’d care to admit, but you feel like you’re glued to the edge of Seonghwa's couch, taking his touch without much fight. When he pulls on the waistband of your underwear and lets it snap back onto your skin, that is when you finally exhale and reach for him.

Messily, your lips clash against his, and there’s no formality, no decorum. It’s raw, and it’s messy, and there’s spit and teeth everywhere. You’ve definitely caught Seonghwa off guard, but he’s quick to regain his composure, one hand keeping your legs spread while the other is back at the nape of your neck.

He pulls your leg over his lap, sitting you down on his hard cock. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, the same hot desperation in his touch. He presses you down, grinding your body over his, while he nips at your lips, his tongue fighting only momentarily for dominance before you give in. 

As he’s kissing you, he wraps your legs around his waist before standing to set you down on his pristine couch. He breaks the kiss, moving away to look down at you. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with lust. He licks his lips, tasting you on them. “Fuck, you taste good.” He leans in to lick your lips while his hands grope every inch of you as he grinds his cock against your clothed pussy. 

You tilt your hips up to meet his thrusts, and the friction feels delicious, sending sparks of pleasure down your spine. “Please,” you whimper, not sure what exactly you’re begging for.

“So needy already,” he says, unbuttoning your blouse while kissing a trail down your torso. “I’ve barely even started with you.”

He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, and he does the same to your clothing, leaving you in just your underwear on the couch. You’d feel shame, but your busy eyes rove over Seonghwa’s chest and wide shoulders instead, taking in the hard planes of muscles, making you swallow thickly. God, you wanted to mark his skin so badly. 

But Seonghwa’s giving you no time, tugging your panties aside, exposing your wet folds to the cool air of his apartment. His fingers teasingly circle your clit, making you gasp. With impatient hands, he’s taking your panties off, and as soon as they’re on his floor, he’s running the thick pads of fingers up and down your pussy, spreading the slick that’s been collecting for probably the past several hours. 

“Fuck, you’re so ready, aren’t you? So eager for my touch. You want me to fill you up? Hmm?” he asks, increasing the pressure and speed of his movements. “Want me to finger this tight little cunt until you’re squirting all over my hand?”

The shame comes back in full force, hitting you altogether, all at once, because with the little stimulation that Seonghwa’s providing you, you think you’re going to cum. 

He finally slides a finger inside, incredulously scoffing at how tight you are. He pumps his finger in and out, adding a second not long after, and curling them, before pushing them deeper inside and curling again, experimenting to find that sweet spot. He finds it fairly quickly when your moans increase in volume, and he focuses his attention there. 

“Fuck! Please, please!” You arch your back, legs shaking at the rapid movements. But Seonghwa doesn’t let up, picking up the pace. 

He fucks you harder and faster with his fingers, his thumb pressing down hard on your clit. You can feel yourself tensing, your walls fluttering around his slender fingers as your orgasm crashes down on you. “That’s it,” Seonghwa says, not letting up. “Cum all over my hand like the dirty little slut you are. Show me how much you like having my fingers inside you.”

He leans in, biting down on the skin at the base of your neck, sucking hard to leave a mark as he feels you come undone. He keeps his fingers moving until you’re shaking with the force of your release. Only then does he slow down, gently massaging your sensitive flesh as he brings you down from your high. “Good girl,” he whispers into your ear, withdrawing his gingers and bringing them to his lips to lick them clean. “Mm, you taste even better than I imagined.” 

With wide eyes, all you do is watch him, taking in how his long tongue wraps around his pretty fingers, sucking your essence cleanly off of them with his own eyes shut in ecstasy. 

Your filter seems as if it's taken the day off, because the next words that leave your mouth are, “Hwa, I need you inside of me, please.”

He removes his fingers from his mouth with a pop, looking down at you. He leans in to whisper in your ear, pressing his chest against your, and you hope he can’t hear how fast your heart is beating. 

“You’re going to take everything that I give you without any complaints. You’re going to be a good student and listen to your mentor, got that?”

You think you could come again from his words alone, and when he backs away, eyeing you for an answer, you can only shakily nod. 

He takes his cock and runs it along your pussy, watching you with hungry eyes. He spits into his hand, coating his cock in a mixture of his own spit and our orgasm before he slowly starts pushing into you.

You tremble beneath him, completely at his mercy as he takes what he wants from your willing body. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he all but growls, fingers digging into your the flesh of your hips hard enough to leave you covered in bruises for days. He stays there, buried deep inside you for some moments, feeling the rhythmic beating of walls hugging his cock. “Fuck, I’m gonna ruin this pretty pussy for anyone else.”

Seonghwa sets a brutal pace, each snap of his hips jostling you further up the couch. You can only cling to the hand rest and take it, lost in the haze of pleasure and overstimulation. “Use me,” you whimper, voice breaking on a moan. “I’m yours, your slut.”

Through your half-opened lids, you can see him grinning down at you ferally, pupils blown with lust. He brings one of his hands up, wrapping it around your throat. Contrasting the bruising thrusts of his hips, the hand around your throat is gentle, squeezing lightly at your airways. 

Seonghwa drops his head forward, forehead resting against yours, his pace not faltering. “Damn right you are,” he says. “This cunt belongs to me. Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasp out, feeling your pussy clamp down around him at the dominance in his voice. “It’s all yours, Hwa.”

He moans prettily at the way the nickname falls from your lips, thrusting into you even harder. “Good girl,” he praises, thumb brushing over your pulse point. “I’m gonna fill this pussy up until you're dripping with my cum.”

You cry out, head thrashing on the cushion as you cum, your release barreling down on you like a freight train. “Please,” you beg, voice wrecked. “Fill me up, mark me, make me yours,” you whine, words jumbled together. 

But Seonghwa understands anyways, obliging your request with a harsh thrust, slamming into you one more time and emptying himself inside you with a hoarse breath. You can feel him pulsing inside you, filling you up to the brim until it’s leaking out around his cock. Seonghwa grinds into you, making sure every last drop is deposited deep inside your hungry cunt. 

When he finally pulls out, you’re left gaping and dripping, his seed oozing out of your well-fucked hole. He flips you onto your stomach, pushing your legs up and back, leaving you with your ass in the air and head pressed into his cushions. 

“Fuck, look at that pretty little pussy, all stretched and sloppy,” he grumbles out, gathering the cum leaking out of you and pushing it back in with his two fingers. He takes some moments, looking at your fucked form. Your legs are still shaking slightly and your eyes have rolled back in your head while you shudder under him. “I need to fill you up again.”

Before you’re able to completely comprehend his words, Seonghwa’s lifting you off the couch and carrying you to his bedroom. You try to keep your eyes open in an attempt to observe his space, cream and silver objects quickly blurring past you, but it takes Seonghwa only a few strides until he's thrown you onto his sheets and is hovering over you again. 

He rakes in your body, the bruising of his harsh hold already taking place on your hips, your heaving chest trying to catch its breath, and the mess that he’s left in between your legs. With a shuddered groan, he positions himself at your pulsing pussy, rubbing the head of his reddened cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your juices and his own release. 

The overstimulation has you running on overdrive, needing to close your legs at the tingling sensation.

But with a quick shove, Seonghwa has them spread again. “You’re mine, my little student, my little cumslut. Do you understand?” he asks, his voice rough with desire. “This pussy belongs to me, and I’m going to fill you up over and over and over again until my cum is leaking out of you for days.”

And with that, he pushes his hips forward, burying himself inside you to the hilt once more. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your walls already sensitive from your earlier orgasms, but he doesn’t give you a chance to adjust, immediately setting a fast pace that has his headboard slamming against the wall.

He leans down, capturing one of your nipples between his teeth and biting down just hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. “Stay still,” he mutters onto your skin, but you’re gone, thrashing at his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. You’re barely able to hear him over your own moans, hiccuping at the overstimulation.

As if he didn’t already feel amazing inside of you, Seonghwa tightly grips the underside of your thighs, sure to add to the collection of bruises on your body. You’re not making it any easier for him, and with your legs constantly threatening to close, Seonghwa’s pace was faltering, unable to put his energy completely into fucking you dumb. 

Having had enough of it, he brings your ankles over his shoulders and presses his weight onto you, pushing himself deeper into your sopping pussy as Seonghwa all but folds you in half. You can let out a strangled cry as your eyes roll back into your head at feeling him nestled so deeply inside of you. 

“I said stay fucking still,” he presses his forehead against you again, and you feel like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. He looks at you with a crazed look in his eyes. “God, I’ve wanted to cum so deep inside of you for so long. I’ve wanted you to feel me for days. I want you to feel me when you’re in class, I want you to feel me when we’re talking to the all the old fucks in our department meetings. Fuck, you don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to take you in my office with a line of students outside.”

Your voice feels caught in your throat, and for a moment, the only sound in the room is of your skin slapping together. Seonghwa takes in your aghast expression and finds himself smirking, leaning in once again to capture your lips with his in a quick kiss.

Seonghwa entirely surrounds you. His forearms are near your ears, fingertips tangled in your hair. His lips huff at your temple, and beads of his sweat drip onto your neck. The smell of your release, his release, Seonghwa’s woody perfume, the vanilla encapsulating his apartment is all around you. When his dick twitches inside of you, signaling his climax, you realize you needed his cum inside you.

“Please cum inside me, Hwa. Please, I need it so bad, please, please,” you whine. “Fill me up, please, fill me up,” you repeat like a mantra. The words are slurred together, spoken in between moans and cries, not making much sense. 

Yet, just as he did before, Seonghwa answers your pleas, and with one sharp thrust, he fills you up once again with a low growl. He stays buried to the hilt, and you can feel rope after rope of his cum being spurted inside your pulsing walls. 

He’s flipped your lethargic body on its stomach again, pulling your ass up to his face. With rushed fingers, he’s smearing the mix of your arousal and orgasm with his around your lips and clit. It’s overwhelmingly messy and the sound of the mess is nothing less than obscene, but you feel like you’re floating, riding the high of your orgasm. 

You’re not quite sure what Seonghwa’s doing when his fingers are pulled away from your core, and it isn’t until he utters his next words that you know what’s running through his mind. “Again.”

Your eyes widen as he pushes your face into his pillows while pulling your hips upwards. “I-I thought it only took one good shot?” you mumble against his sheets, unaware of the perverted plans Seonghwa had for you. 

Perspiration had gathered at your back, and Seonghwa could only laugh at your already beyond fucked-out state. His fingers run up and down your abused pussy, stopping at where his cum was trickling out of you. With two fingers, he pushes his release back inside, curling his fingers in the process, watching the way your eyes flutter shut. 

“Better to be safe than sorry,” he comments, removing his fingers and incessantly aligning himself against your ruined pussy once again for the third time that night.

Author's Note II: I would really appreciate you leaving your thoughts in the form of comments and/or reblogs! It really helps me out and keeps me motivated to write more, so thank you in advance to those who do! Much love <3