you weren’t planning on talking to her about the sink. you were just venting, really, sipping wine on your balcony while your next door neighbor, mia, scrolled through her phone and nodded in solidarity.

“it’s been leaking for days,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “i called maintenance twice. emailed the property manager. it’s like no one’s in a rush unless your place is flooding.”

she perked up at that.

“you should’ve told me sooner,” she said, setting her glass down. “jisung’s a plumber. he’ll do it for you. free, of course.”

“oh, no, i couldn’t-”

“please.” she was already pulling out her phone. “you’re suffering. let my husband feel useful for once.”

ten minutes later, she was pushing him through your door, smiling like this was her good deed of the day.

“he’ll take care of it,” she said, tossing you a wink. “he loves showing off.”

you managed a laugh, still a little stunned. “thanks.”

“and don’t let him charge you, okay?” she called over her shoulder before disappearing back into her apartment. “he owes me for leaving the laundry in the washer again.”

the door shut and you turned to him.

jisung gave you a small, polite smile. “hey.”

you nodded back. “hey.”

you’d lived next door to them for a while, but never really talked to him. maybe a few greetings in the hall. the occasional awkward smile in the elevator. you didn’t know what you expected, but now that he was standing in your kitchen, tool bag in one hand, shirt slightly clinging to his chest from the humid air, you realized you’d never actually looked at him before and now you couldn’t look away.

he worked in silence.

you sat at the table, pretending to scroll your phone, pretending not to stare at the way his shirt rode up when he knelt, the hint of his lower back and hipbone peeking out. his hat was turned backward now, hair messy, sweat beginning to gather at his hairline.

when he slid fully under the sink, something happened in your chest.

his arm stretched up to reach a pipe. his shirt clung tighter. his biceps flexed. he let out a low, breathy grunt, deep and quiet and your thighs clenched immediately under the table.

you looked away. looked back. swallowed hard.

it got worse when he sighed, voice muffled from under the counter.

“is your AC out too?”

your heart jumped. “what?”

“it’s hot as hell in here,” he said, sliding out a little to look at you. there was sweat on his temple. “your air’s not working, right?”

you nodded, cheeks hot. “yeah. it’s… broken. been too embarrassed to complain again.”

he smiled. “i can look at that too, if you want. after this.”

your stomach fluttered. “you don’t have to do that.”

he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “nah, it’s no big deal.”

he went back under. you went back to watching.

his shirt had darkened with sweat, sticking to his lower back. when he moved, it pulled up more, exposing the hard line of his abs. when he reached again, he let out another low grunt, followed by a breathless “shit,” and a soft chuckle under his breath.

“you okay?” you called out, your voice tighter than intended.

“yeah,” he said. “just tight under here.”

your head spun.

you should not be having these thoughts about your friend’s husband. you shouldn’t be imagining how those arms would feel around your waist. how that mouth would sound against your skin. how that voice would sound saying your name instead of-

“you’re staring,” jisung said, voice light but unreadable.

you blinked.

he was watching you now, propped on one elbow, smirk playing on his lips.

you opened your mouth. no words came out.

he raised a brow. “you’re gonna make me blush if you keep looking at me like that.”

you laughed too fast and too nervous. “i wasn’t-”

he slid out from under the sink completely, sitting up on his knees, brushing off his hands. “it’s okay.”

you swallowed, eyes flicking down.

he was flushed, sweaty, breathless. his shirt clung to his chest, to his stomach. his eyes lingered on yours a little too long. you both froze for a second. the air between you crackled.

he stood slowly, muscles flexing, and grabbed a towel from your counter to wipe his hands.

“sink’s good,” he said, breaking the silence. “i’ll go look at the AC.”

you nodded, still stunned.

he gave you one last look before disappearing down the hall toward your thermostat and you sat there, heart racing, thighs pressed tight together, pulse pounding in your ears.

you were in trouble.

you watch him work from the hallway.

he’s crouched in front of the wall unit, shirt sticking to his back, fingers twisting wires like he’s done it a hundred times. he hums a little under his breath a soft, tuneless thing and wipes his forehead on his shoulder.

you haven’t said anything in the last five minutes.

mostly because you’re afraid you’ll say the wrong thing. or the right one.

finally, the air kicks on with a low, mechanical whir. a soft gust hits your face and you sigh without thinking. his head turns toward you.

“there we go.”

you smile, soft. “thank you.”

he nods, standing, stretching his arms behind his back until his spine cracks. his shirt lifts again. you look away too late. he notices. doesn’t comment.

“you should be good now,” he says. “but if it goes out again, just knock. i’ll fix it.”

you nod, biting your lip, then grab your wallet from the side table. “let me give you something.”

his brows lift. “for real?”

you’re already pulling out cash. “yes. it’s the least I can do-”

“hey,” he steps toward you, hands half raised. “i’m really okay. i wasn’t expecting anything-”

“that’s exactly why i want to.” you shove a few folded bills into his hand. “you fixed two things in like, an hour. i’d be sweating in silence for another week if not for you.”

he glances down at the cash. doesn’t move to give it back but when he looks up, his eyes drop briefly to your chest.

your tank top clings with the heat. no bra. you catch the flick of his gaze, and your breath skips, just once. he sees it.

you both pretend he wasn’t looking.

you cross your arms. “i’d feel bad if i didn’t.”

he stares at you for a beat.

“you could pay me in another way.”

it comes out so smooth, so low, you almost think you imagined it.

you blink. “what?”

he shrugs, smiling a little like he didn’t just change the air in the room entirely.

“i mean,” he says, fingers toying with the cash now, “there’s more than one kind of payment, right?”

your pulse kicks. you step a little closer. just enough to feel the cold air from the vent and the heat still rolling off his body.

“what kind of payment are we talking?” you ask, eyes locked on his.

he looks down at your lips. then back to your eyes. then drops the cash on your counter, slow.

“whatever kind you feel like offering.”

your breath catches. his hand brushes yours when he moves past you, toward the door. “but only if you want to.”

and just before he opens it, he glances back.

“like i said,” he murmurs, voice low, hungry. “if anything else breaks… you know where to find me.”

then he’s gone and you’re left standing in your cold apartment, heart racing, thighs clenching, breath held tight in your lungs.

he didn’t touch you.

he didn’t have to.

you’re already ruined.

>____<

you think about it longer than you should.

long enough to convince yourself you won’t do anything.
long enough to tell yourself mia’s been nothing but kind, welcoming, generous, trusting.
long enough to almost believe you can ignore the way jisung’s voice sounded when he said another way, or the way his eyes lingered like he was already touching you. almost

but his name stays stuck in your head. his hands. the way he filled the doorway. the heat. the implication.

and when you knock on mia’s door a few days later, it’s supposed to be innocent.

“hey,” you say, leaning against the frame, trying to sound casual. “this is stupid, but something else in my apartment’s acting up. i was gonna call maintenance again, but… if jisung isn’t busy…”

mia’s eyes light up immediately.

“oh, don’t even bother with them,” she laughs. “jisung’ll do it way faster.”

you hesitate. “only if he’s free. i don’t want to-”

she’s already pulling her phone out.

“please,” she says. “he loves fixing things. gives him an excuse to avoid chores.”

your stomach tightens when she adds, “actually.. perfect timing. i’m heading to yoga. he can go help you now.”

she’s already dialing. you swallow hard.

you hear her voice as she turns away, cheerful and loud. “babe? can you go help y/n next door real quick? yeah, now. she needs you.”

you force a smile when she hangs up, stomach twisting.

“he’ll be over in like fifteen,” she says, grabbing her bag. “you’re a lifesaver for keeping him busy while i stretch.”

you laugh weakly. you barely remember walking back to your apartment.

>___<

you change your mind halfway through the door.

the guilt flares again but the want is louder now. heavier. you tell yourself it’s just clothes. just confidence. just curiosity.

the skirt you choose barely covers anything. when you move, it rides up dangerously high. the halter top snaps at the front, thin fabric stretched over your chest, one careless tug away from exposing everything.

no bra. no underwear.

your reflection stares back at you, flushed, nervous, reckless.

fifteen minutes feels like an hour.

when the knock finally comes, it’s firm but hesitant like he’s not sure he should be here.

you open the door.

jisung’s breath catches immediately.

it’s subtle. barely there. but you see it. his eyes flick down, up, linger again like he’s trying and failing to look away.

“hey,” he says, voice a little rougher than last time.

“hey,” you reply, stepping aside. “thanks for coming.”

he nods and steps in, tool bag slung over his shoulder. the door clicks shut behind him and suddenly the apartment feels smaller. warmer. charged. his gaze drops again. your legs. your waist. the snap at your chest.

“uh,” he clears his throat. “what’s… what’s broken?”

you turn, leading him further in. every step makes your skirt ride higher. you feel his eyes burning into your back now, no attempt to hide it.

you stop near the living room, heart hammering.

“it’s… this,” you say, pointing vaguely. not at anything specific. just the wall. the outlet. nothing at all.

he follows your finger, frowns.

“this?” he asks.

you turn to face him.

“yeah,” you say softly. “it’s been… acting up.”

his eyes drop again, slower this time. deliberate.

he looks back up at you, something dark and unreadable flickering across his face.

“doesn’t look broken,” he murmurs.

your throat goes dry.

“are you sure?” you ask.

his jaw tightens. “pretty sure.”

there’s a long pause.

the air conditioner hums softly behind you. cold air brushing over skin that feels too warm.

he steps closer.

“you sure this is what you needed me to look at?” he asks quietly.

your heart pounds so loud you’re sure he can hear it.

you don’t step back. you don’t answer. and that’s answer enough.

his eyes drop again.

first to your chest, the thin fabric of your halter barely holding shape over your breasts, the outline of your nipples clear under the soft light, the center snap begging to be undone with one simple tug.

then to your thighs.

your skirt's ridden up just a little more, and you don’t move to fix it. you can feel the way your skin’s exposed, bare beneath, cool air brushing between your legs.

you don’t say anything. neither does he.

his eyes drag slow over your body like he’s memorizing it. his breathing’s deeper now, chest rising under his sweat damp shirt, jaw tense like he’s holding something in.

then he licks his lips.

slow. deliberate. his tongue dragging over the corner first, then the center.

your stomach flips.

“fuck,” he mutters, almost under his breath, like it slipped out.

your pulse pounds in your ears.

“you’re not wearing anything under that,” he says it like an accusation, voice low and rough.

you don’t deny it.

his eyes snap back up to yours. something dangerous simmers there now hunger, tension, restraint being tested.

“why’d you really ask me to come over?” he asks, voice quieter, tighter.

you step in, not touching him. just close.

close enough to feel the heat roll off him.

“maybe i wanted to see if you meant it,” you whisper.

he stares at you for a second longer.

then his hand lifts, slow, fingers brushing just under the edge of your top, barely there, waiting.

you don’t stop him.

and when his thumb drags over the first snap,

the snap pops open with a soft, cruel sound.
then another. then the last.

your top falls apart, fabric sliding off your shoulders, and suddenly you’re standing there, completely bare from the waist up chest rising with every shaky breath.

jisung just stares.

his mouth opens slightly, but no words come. his eyes move slow, devouring every inch of you, pausing at your breasts, your skin flushed and tight with tension, nipples hardened from the cold air or the way he’s looking at you, you can’t tell which.

his breath shakes. his hands twitch at his sides.

“fuck,” he says again, voice hoarse.
“mia can’t know.”

you nod.

he takes a step closer. his chest brushes yours. his hand slides up your bare waist, fingers trembling.

you feel the weight of her name between you, the wrongness of it, the sharp edge of what this is becoming. but the moment his mouth crashes into yours, hungry and desperate and filled with every silent thing he’s wanted since the day you moved in, that guilt evaporates like smoke.

you don’t feel an ounce of it.

your hands are on him instantly, clawing at his shirt, yanking it up. he helps you peel it off, lets it fall somewhere by the door. your palms run over the warmth of his skin, the sweat, the tension humming under every inch of muscle.

his back is broad, tight, flexing under your touch as he leans you back toward the wall. your nails drag down his spine, harder than you mean to, and he groans into your mouth, hips pressing forward like he needs to be closer, like he’s ready to lose control.

“do that again,” he growls against your lips.

you do.

deeper. harder. nails leaving angry little red marks down his back that he’ll definitely see in the mirror later, when he’s in the shower pretending this didn’t happen but he doesn’t care right now.

right now, he’s panting against your mouth, rutting against your bare stomach, fingers digging into your hips like he’s trying to hold back like he doesn’t want this to be over too fast. like he’s still trying to convince himself this is a mistake while grinding against you like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

“you’re so fucking…” his voice dies as he kisses your neck, teeth grazing your skin.

he doesn’t say what.
he doesn’t have to.
you already know.

>____<

you don’t remember how you got to the wall.

one second his hands were at your waist, his mouth on your neck, the next he’s lifting you like you weigh nothing, your bare back pressed to the cool drywall, thighs wrapping around his hips like it’s instinct like you’ve done this a hundred times in dreams and now your body just knows what to do.

your skirt’s bunched around your waist. your skin is hot, flushed, slick where it sticks to his chest. his hands dig into your thighs, holding you up, fingers flexing like he doesn’t trust himself not to squeeze harder. he presses his forehead to yours, breathing ragged.

"tell me to stop," he says again, like he’s already losing the war with himself.
"say mia’s name. say anything. i swear i’ll walk out."

you look at him, completely bare, completely still your lips kiss bitten, your chest rising and falling with every breath you try to control. you don’t say anything. you don’t want him to stop and he sees that.

“fuck,” he breathes out, dragging his hand down between your bodies, cupping you without hesitation. “fuck, you’re soaked.”

your head drops back, a soft sound leaving your throat. “i’ve been thinking about this for days.”

“yeah?” he whispers, dragging two fingers through your folds. “did you think about my hands?”

you nod, shameless.

“thought about your mouth, too,” you breathe. “and how you looked under that sink. all sweaty and-”

his mouth crashes into yours before you can finish. he’s already sinking to his knees.

you gasp, back arching off the wall as he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and drags your skirt higher, completely exposing you. your pussy is dripping needy, swollen, aching and he just stares for a second like he’s trying to memorize the sight of you ruined for him.

"you’ve got no idea how many nights i’ve thought about this," he mutters, almost to himself. "thought about getting my mouth on you... just once."

“then do it,” you say, breathless.

and he does.

his mouth is hot, wet, starving. his tongue drags through your folds like he’s been dreaming about it slow, then firm, then relentless. his hands grip your thighs tighter as you start to shake, your back sliding up the wall from how hard you’re trying to hold on.

he moans into you when your fingers tangle in his hair. he grinds his face into you like he needs it. like he might come from this alone.

you’re panting now, head tilted back, your leg shaking over his shoulder. “don’t stop,” you whisper. “jisung-don’t fucking stop-“

he doesn’t. his tongue circles your clit, flicks, sucks, buries into you deeper.

and when you come, you break. your thighs tighten, your body trembles, your nails scratch down his scalp and you moan so loud it echoes off the walls, his name, his name, his name.

he doesn’t stop until you push him away.

when he stands, his mouth is slick with you. his eyes are dark. his breath is ragged.

“you taste like fucking heaven,” he groans, kissing you again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“fuck,” you pant against his lips. “i need you.”

he’s already undoing his pants.

“then take me,” he says. “take everything you’ve been thinking about.”

his pants drop with a low, heavy sound belt clinking, zipper undone, fabric sliding down his hips.

you’re still trembling, barely holding yourself up against the wall, legs parted, chest rising and falling too fast, mouth open, dazed, waiting. ruined already and you haven’t even felt him inside you yet.

jisung fists his cock in his hand, head bowed, breath uneven as he looks at you. your skin’s flushed. your lips are swollen. your thighs are sticky with your own orgasm and his spit. your skirt’s bunched up around your waist and you’re not wearing a thing underneath. and you look at him like you need him to ruin you more.

“fuck,” he groans, voice hoarse. “you’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

he steps forward, nudging your legs wider, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance.

you both gasp.

“you sure?” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours, nose brushing yours. his voice is shaky. “you sure you want this?”

you reach down, wrap your hand around him, guide him to your entrance yourself. your voice is soft, broken.

“stop asking.”

his control breaks with a hiss.

he pushes into you slowly thick, hot, filling you so deep you both fall silent for a moment, like the air’s been sucked from the room. you grip his shoulders, dig your nails in as he stretches you open, every inch of him dragging against soaked, sensitive walls.

when he bottoms out, you moan into his neck.
and he stays there, just for a second, his hands gripping your thighs like he has to hold onto something.

“shit,” he breathes. “you feel… fuck, you feel unreal.”

you whimper. roll your hips. he groans like you punched the air from his lungs.

“you can move,” you whisper. “i want you to.”

he pulls out halfway and snaps his hips back into you. your gasp echoes off the wall.

he does it again. and again. each thrust faster, harder, deeper. your body bounces against the wall with every movement, your moans tumbling out between kisses, gasps, whispered curses.

you cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping you upright, one hand fisted in his hair, the other clawing down his back.

“fuck, your nails-” he groans, shuddering, “you’re marking me up.”

“good,” you pant, dragging your mouth down his jaw. “want you to feel it later.”

he fucks you harder at that. his thrusts turn punishing, fast, wild. his mouth finds your chest, your throat, your lips. you cry out every time he hits that spot deep inside you, every stroke messy and desperate and so fucking good you swear you’re gonna break. he reaches down, rubs your clit in fast, tight circles.

“come again,” he pants. “wanna feel you clench around me.”

you sob his name. your body tightens, spasms. your second orgasm slams into you and you swear you see white legs shaking, cunt squeezing around him so tight he nearly loses it right there.

he groans, snapping his hips once, twice more before he buries himself to the hilt, holding you still as he spills deep inside you.

his head drops to your shoulder. you both go still.

the only sounds are your breathing.
your heartbeats. the low hum of your AC that he fixed, days ago, before everything fell apart.

jisung pulls back slowly, like he’s waking up from something.

your legs stay wrapped around him.

“what the fuck are we doing,” he whispers against your neck.

you’re still shaking, throat raw. “why does it feel this good.”

he doesn't answer.

but he kisses you again, soft this time. slow.

and when he finally sets you down, helps you clean up, doesn’t look you in the eye,
you already know this won’t be the last time.

and you won’t feel guilty for a second of it.

the silence that follows is thick and humid.

your heartbeat pulses between your legs where his cum is already beginning to slip out around his cock both of you flushed, fucked out, and breathing too hard for how quiet the room is.

his hand finds your jaw, thumb brushing gently over your cheek.

“sorry,” he whispers, but he’s already kneeling again, his breath ghosting across your inner thigh.

you squirm. “jisung, i-”

“shh.” his voice is low, wrecked, but still soft. “let me take care of it.”

you barely get a warning before his tongue is between your legs again, licking up the mess he left inside you like he’s starving for it. your hands scramble for something, anything to hold onto. his arms curl around your thighs, holding you open as his mouth works, slow and gentle but relentless.

“baby-fuck,” you whimper, hand in his hair, tugging. “too much-”

you’re soaked, his cum and your arousal smeared across your thighs, down to your knees. he groans against you like he likes the mess. like he’d live there if you let him.

you come again without meaning to.

legs shaking, back arching, moaning his name in a voice you don’t recognize as yours. your thighs try to close but he doesn’t let you, his tongue dragging over your clit through it all, your overstimulated nerves screaming for mercy.

you finally shove at his head with a breathless laugh, thighs twitching.

“enough,” you giggle, still gasping for air. “you’re trying to kill me.”

jisung’s lips are wet, flushed, hair a mess, eyes shining like he’s never seen anything so beautiful.

he presses one last kiss to your thigh before standing, grabbing a dish towel from your kitchen like he hasn’t just spent twenty minutes between your legs. he wipes you off gently, keeps a hand on your waist as you shakily try to get your balance again.

"can you walk?"

"barely," you breathe.

he grins, then starts grabbing his shirt from the floor, stepping into his jeans. the shift back to reality is jarring, the room’s still thick with the smell of sex, your AC humming steadily now, his belt clinking as he fastens it.

you fix your skirt with trembling fingers, pulling the hem down, smoothing it as best you can. you don’t even bother with the halter top. it’s too far gone, one snap still hanging half open.

jisung moves quickly, wiping sweat from his neck, running a hand through his hair. he grabs his tool bag, scans the room once like he’s checking for evidence. his cheeks are still pink. his lips swollen. his shirt clings to his chest with sweat.

you glance at the time and your stomach twists.

she’s going to be home. he seems to read your panic.

“i’ve got it,” he says. “just follow my lead.”

he opens the door, just as calm as if he were finishing a regular house call. you’re standing behind him, peeking over his shoulder, trying not to look like someone who was just fucked against a wall so hard your knees still feel like jelly.

and that’s exactly when it happens.

“oh!” a voice laughs.

your stomach drops.

mia.

she’s walking up the hallway from the elevator, yoga mat slung over her shoulder, ponytail bouncing. she looks relaxed, freshly showered, totally unsuspecting. jisung freezes.

you go still behind him.

“you’re still here?” she grins. “i figured you’d be done in, like, ten minutes.”

jisung clears his throat, and for a second you think he might actually choke on air.

“uh-yeah,” he says. “took longer than expected.”

“i’ll bet,” she teases. “she probably talked your ear off, huh?”

your laugh comes out two seconds too late, too tight. “you know me.”

she eyes him, then you, then smirks. “he didn’t give you trouble, did he?”

“no,” you say. “he was… very thorough.”

jisung coughs, hiding his mouth behind his shoulder.

“well,” mia shrugs, unlocking their shared apartment door, “thanks for helping her. you’re basically the building’s unpaid handyman at this point.”

“anytime,” he says, stepping back toward her with his bag over his shoulder, sweat still clinging to the base of his neck. you watch his back as he disappears into their apartment.
you don’t exhale until the door clicks shut behind him. then, finally, you let yourself lean back against the inside of your own door, chest heaving, head spinning, thighs still sticky, breath caught between guilt and the aching memory of his mouth on your skin. he was right. you knew where to find him.

and now you knew what it felt like to be taken apart by hands that weren’t yours to hold.

and the worst part?

you already wanted more.

>____<

“we shouldn’t be doing this”

you were never hired for your note taking skills.

minho knew that from day one. you’d walked into your interview in that tight little blouse, a pen in your mouth and eyes wide and shiny, acting nervous while crossing your legs just to distract him. he knew exactly what you were doing.

and he still hired you.

because he liked his assistants submissive, pretty, and obedient when he needed them to be.

you weren’t perfect, but you were his favorite stress relief.

and he made sure you knew it.

“sit next to me.”

you blink up from your usual spot across the conference room table, confused.

minho gestures to the chair right beside him, closer than necessary and says it again, quieter. “i said, sit next to me.”

you nod quickly, grabbing your notepad, pretending to be professional, when really you already know what this is.

you’re barely seated before he leans in, voice low and smooth in your ear. “try and behave, yeah? you’re supposed to be taking notes.”

the meeting starts.

you’re nodding along, pretending to pay attention, scribbling nonsense across your page while minho’s hand slides under the table.

you stiffen the moment his fingers skim the inside of your thigh.

he hums in your ear, all innocence. “good girls sit still. don’t they?”

his fingers slide higher. you swallow hard, legs pressed tight together, but he knows your body too well. his fingers graze the edge of your panties and you jerk, knocking your pen off the table.

“ah.” he says it louder, drawing attention. “clumsy today?”

everyone chuckles lightly. you smile, red in the face, and lean down to grab your pen while his fingers stay right there between your thighs.

when you sit back up, trying to breathe normally, he taps the blank page in your notebook.

“write,” he mouths.

you do. hand shaking slightly.

his fingers push your panties to the side and slide against your folds, already soaked, and you both know it. he doesn't even try to hide the smirk that twitches at his mouth when he feels it.

“always so wet,” he murmurs under his breath, barely audible, like he’s just clearing his throat.

you squeeze your thighs tighter, face burning, eyes locked on the projection at the front of the room while he lazily rubs circles against your clit.

“don’t you dare make a sound.”

you nod quickly, lips parted in a silent gasp, trying so hard to keep it together and he just leans in, whispering filth right into your ear.

“you know what i want when this meeting ends, don’t you?”
“you’re gonna be such a good little toy for me, aren’t you?”
“gonna let me fuck the stress out against my desk like a proper secretary?”

you bite the inside of your cheek hard.

he slides one finger in. slow. deliberate.

you grip the edge of your chair with your free hand, knuckles white and when the meeting finally ends, he grabs your wrist before you can run.

“come with me.”

his office door shuts behind you with a heavy click. you drop your notebook, breathing uneven.

minho looks calm, as always. jacket off. tie loosened. sleeves rolled.

he stalks forward and corners you against the desk, fingers under your chin. “you were squirming so much. everyone probably thought you needed the bathroom.” he smirks. “but no… just needed to be fucked, right?”

you nod helplessly. “yes, sir.”

his eyes darken.

“say it again.”

“i just… needed you.”

his lips brush your cheek. “such a needy little thing.”

he flips your skirt up without warning and pulls you against him. his thigh slips between yours as he lifts you onto the desk. “what am i gonna do with a girl who can’t even sit through a meeting without dripping all over my fingers?”

you open your mouth to answer, he kisses you hard instead. he tastes like control and kisses like he owns every inch of you. he breaks the kiss, grabs your jaw roughly, and says, “tongue out.”

you do. he slips two fingers into your mouth, the same fingers he used on you under the table.

you suck without thinking. instinct.

“good girl.”

you whimper.

“take your panties off.”

you slide them down shakily. he yanks them from your hands and stuffs them into his pocket with a smirk. “these are mine now.”

his belt’s already undone and then he’s inside you. deep. rough. one hand braced on the desk, the other gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. he sets a brutal pace immediately, slamming into you like he’s trying to fuck all the tension from the meeting out through your body.

you’re gasping, moaning, legs wrapped around his waist, and he’s not slowing down.

“is this how a good secretary behaves?” he growls.
“wearing short skirts and dripping all over the conference chair?”

you shake your head, moaning louder.

he slaps your ass once, hard. “answer me.”

“n-no, sir-i’m sorry-i’ll be good-”

he grabs your face again. “you are being good. that’s why i keep you.”

his thrusts grow harder. more desperate. his mouth crashes into yours again as you fall apart around him, shaking, crying out, clenching so tight around his cock he almost can’t hold it. he finishes with a groan, burying himself deep, spilling inside you with a quiet hiss of your name.

you’re both panting and sweaty

he brushes your hair out of your face, suddenly gentle again. “take five,” he murmurs. “then get back to your desk.”

you stare at him, dazed.

he winks. “and bring your notebook. i think we’ve got a lot to go over.”

>______<

minho had been on edge all day. snapping at phone calls. short with the team. pacing behind his desk like a wolf barely caged. normally, you know what to do when he’s like this. normally, a little touch, a sweet whisper, a “can i help you relax,?” is all it takes before you’re bent over the desk, dripping, obedient, filled until he forgets his name but not today.

today, when you closed the office door, slipped behind his chair, and pressed your lips to the shell of his ear with a soft, “you need to unwind, don’t you?” his jaw clenched.

he pulled away from your touch and without even looking at you, he said, flatly,

“go get some actual work done.”

you froze. your cheeks burning. no pet names, no teasing snark. just cold dismissal.

your throat tightened as you backed out of his office, humiliated. had you read it wrong? had he gotten tired of you?

you returned to your desk, heart pounding. eyes burning.

and when jinyoung, the office flirt with the wandering eyes and too bright smile strolled by and gave you that look, you didn’t ignore it like usual. you smiled. you laughed at his joke. leaned in when he whispered something suggestive. licked your lips on purpose. flipped your hair and let your gaze linger.

you weren’t stupid. you knew people were watching. and you wanted minho to be one of them.

he was.

when you glanced toward his glass office wall, he was already watching, one hand frozen over his mouse, the other clenched in a fist against the desk.

his eyes locked on yours. your stomach flipped.

you didn’t see him the rest of the afternoon.

but when the clock hit 6:03 p.m., your phone lit up.

[lee minho boss]: my office. now.

you walk in slowly. he doesn’t look up.

he’s seated behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, no tie, eyes fixed on a stack of papers he’s not reading.

“you wanted to see me, sir?” your voice is soft. careful.

“lock the door.”

you do. hands shaking a little. the second the click echoes, he speaks. low. dangerous.

“is he fucking you?”

you blink. “what?”

his chair scrapes back as he stands, walking around the desk slowly, eyes never leaving yours.

“is that what you want now?” he says, voice hard. “attention from pathetic little boys who think they can touch what’s mine?”

your breath catches.

“you rejected me,” you whisper.

“i didn’t reject you.” he’s in front of you now. towering. furious. “i was trying to get through the day without bending you over my desk and ruining your makeup before the quarterly meeting.”

your lips part.

“and you,” he growls, grabbing your face roughly, “decided to punish me for it?”

you say nothing.

he drags his thumb across your lip, tilting your head. “you wanted to make me jealous?”

you nod.

“congrats,” he breathes, before shoving you to your knees.

“open your mouth.”

you do wide, obedient, throat tight with anticipation.

he unzips and pushes you to your knees, groans when your lips wrap around him. both hands grip your hair, holding you still as he fucks your throat, hard and fast, eyes wild with possessive rage.

“you don’t flirt with other men,” he pants. “you don’t smile for them. you don’t look at them.”
“you want to act like a little slut? then be my slut.”

tears run down your cheeks. spit drips from your chin. he pulls out suddenly, dragging you up by the wrist and throwing you over the desk.

papers scatter. you gasp.

“you gonna behave now?” he snarls, dragging your panties down your thighs. “or do i have to fuck it into you again?”

“please,” you whisper, legs shaking. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean-”

he slaps your ass hard, then lines up behind you and thrusts in without warning, burying himself to the hilt.

you cry out.

“that’s it,” he growls into your neck. “take it. take what you were begging for with your little games.”

his pace is brutal. punishing. everything you wanted and more.

you claw at the desk, moaning, sobbing, falling apart.

“who do you belong to?”

“you, sir-i’m yours-fuck, i’m yours-”

he wraps a hand around your throat and fucks you harder. deeper.

“then act like it.”

you cum without warning, body convulsing, clenching so hard around him that he groans, nearly collapsing over you as he spills inside, hips jerking with the force of it.

you stay there, breathless, whimpering, ruined.

he finally pulls back, panting, and runs a hand through his hair. “you try that shit again,” he warns, “and i’ll make you crawl across the office in front of everyone with my cum dripping out of you.”

you nod, lips swollen, mascara smudged, still trembling. he tucks himself back in and leans down to kiss your shoulder.

“next time i say ‘get back to work’...”
his fingers stroke gently between your legs, teasing.
“...you’ll know exactly what i mean.”

fic related links: #1 #2#3 #4

>_____<

bang chan - professor x student tw: explicit sexual content, professor/student dynamics, power imbalance, dom!chan, possessiveness, public teasing, jealousy, mild corruption, marking, praise.

lee know - boss x secretary tw: explicit sexual content, power play, dom!minho, possessiveness, degradation, facefucking, overstimulation, possession, public play, brat taming.

han jisung - next door neighbor tw: explicit sexual content, next door neighbor, infidelity, dirty talk, cumplay, guilt, light dom/sub undertones.

members TBD ⤵️

next door neighbor

boyfriend’s brother

roommate’s boyfriend

boyfriend’s dad

stalker

step brother

maid/nanny

masseuse

his best friend’s mom

sugar daddy x sugar baby

wedding planner x groom to be

doctor x patient

tenant x landlord

boss x secretary

therapist x obsessed patient

the first time you step into professor bang’s office after hours, you already know it's a mistake.

you’re not sure if it’s the way the door clicks softly behind you, locked, you think, you swear you hear him turn the lock or the fact that his eyes drag slowly up from the papers on his desk to meet yours.

he’s in a black button down. sleeves rolled, collar open. glasses on. legs spread under the desk like he owns the entire department. he doesn’t say anything at first. just looks at you like he’s deciding whether or not he should ruin you.

“you wanted to talk about your paper?” he asks finally, voice low and steady.

you nod, setting your printed copy on his desk, but your hands are already trembling. “yeah… i wasn’t sure about the structure. i thought-”

“read it,” he cuts in smoothly.

“what?”

“aloud,” he clarifies, leaning back in his chair. “read it to me.”

you blink, lips parting. “here…?”

he smiles, slow and dangerous. “yes. right there.”

so you do. awkwardly at first, eyes on the page, voice a little too soft. but as you speak, you can feel his eyes on you. like heat crawling up the inside of your thighs. like a palm pressing against your stomach from the inside. he’s not even pretending to look at your paper. he’s watching you. your voice falters on a sentence. something about duality. you don’t even remember writing it.

“keep going,” he murmurs. “don’t stop unless i tell you to.”

your throat is dry. your knees feel weak. you’re wearing a skirt, short, but not inappropriate. still, you can feel the air against the backs of your thighs and you know he can see the way you keep pressing them together.

“you always wear skirts like that to class?” he asks suddenly.

you freeze.

he leans forward, forearms braced on the desk. “answer me.”

“i..i didn’t think it was too short.”

“it’s not,” he says, and his voice dips even lower. “just short enough to make me wonder what you’d do if i told you to come sit on my desk.”

your breath catches. “professor-”

“chris,” he corrects. “say it.”

you look at him, pulse racing. “chris.”

he closes his eyes for half a second like the sound of his name on your lips physically affects him.

“come here.”

you hesitate.

“i locked the door,” he adds, like that makes it okay. “no one’s coming in.”

your feet move before your brain catches up. suddenly you’re standing in front of him, books forgotten, heart in your throat.

he reaches out, fingers ghosting up your bare thigh.

“been thinking about this for weeks,” he mutters. “you in those skirts. the way you blush when i look at you too long.”

you shiver when his hands grip your hips and lift you onto his desk like you weigh nothing.

he steps between your legs, tilts your chin up with two fingers. “you know how wrong this is?”

you nod.

“and you still came here.”

another nod.

“good girl.”

your body reacts before your brain does, a soft whimper slipping out as heat rushes straight between your legs. he smirks and then his mouth is on yours.

it’s rough, filthy, hot. teeth and tongue and low groans that vibrate in your chest. his hands are everywhere, your waist, your thighs, under your skirt. he’s so much stronger than you imagined, pinning you to the edge of the desk with ease, grinding against your clothed core like he’s starving.

“fuck,” he breathes against your lips. “i’ve thought about this so many times. jerking off in this chair, thinking about you.”

you moan.

“you wear cute little panties like i imagined?” he murmurs, hands sliding under your skirt now.

you nod frantically, already gasping as his fingers brush the damp fabric.

“oh, you do,” he groans. “and they’re soaked already. haven’t even touched you properly.”

“please…”

he chuckles darkly. “please what, baby? you want your professor to fuck you on his desk? like a dirty little secret?”

you don’t even try to hide the moan this time. “yes. please.”

he growls, lips crashing into yours again as he works your panties to the side and slides one thick finger between your folds.

“so wet for me,” he whispers. “so perfect. so fucking mine right now.”

he touches you like he’s memorizing every sound you make. praises you for everything, how you open for him, how you moan his name, how you beg. he gets off on your innocence, your trust, the way you let him take control.

you end up bent over the desk, panties around one ankle, cheek pressed to your own essay.

his hands grip your hips like he’s trying not to break, and he leans over you, breath hot at your ear.

“wanna fill you up,” he groans. “wanna fuck you full and watch it drip down your thighs.”

you whimper something broken and desperate.

“look at you,” he whispers. “so smart, so sweet in class… and now you're letting your professor use you like this. god, you’re perfect.”

he cums with a strangled moan of your name, hips buried deep, hands trembling on your skin.

when it’s over, he pulls out slowly, almost tender.

fixes your skirt. presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck. then he sits back down, adjusts his glasses, and clears his throat like nothing happened.

“you’ll get an A,” he says with a wink. “but feel free to come back for extra help anytime.”

>______<

you don’t even make it five minutes into class before you feel his eyes on you.

not in the normal way, not in the soft, casual, “i’m lecturing the room” way. this is hot and heavy and full of intent.

you’re wearing a fitted dress. a little clingy. nothing too wild. but maybe your lip gloss is a little shinier than usual. maybe your thighs are crossed a little tighter and he’s noticed. of course he’s noticed. professor bang sees everything.

he’s standing at the front of the room, talking about literary metaphors and character motivations like he didn’t fuck you over his desk last week with your own midterm beneath your cheek.

you try not to squirm in your seat. you really do.

but then the guy next to you, one of the dumb jock types who never actually does the reading leans in and whispers, “that dress looks insane on you.”

and you laugh. just politely. awkwardly. it’s not a big deal but from the front of the class, chan freezes.

it’s barely a second, just a flicker in his expression but you catch it. the way his jaw ticks. the way his grip on the lectern tightens.
the way he says “as i was saying…” just a little too sharply before continuing the lesson.

shit.

you keep your head down, heart racing.

class ends painfully slow. he doesn’t look at you once after that moment. doesn’t even glance in your direction. you almost convince yourself you imagined it. until you get the text.

"stay after."
"we need to talk."

two minutes later, the lecture hall is empty and you’re not. he shuts the door behind the last student. locks it. turns slowly.

“didn’t like that,” he says simply, voice low, calm. the kind of calm that hides the storm.

“what?”

he walks toward you. unhurried. measured. like he knows exactly what he’s going to do with you.
to you.

“him. whispering in your ear. making you laugh.”

you blink. “he was just-”

“i don’t care,” he cuts you off, stepping closer. “i don’t want anyone else talking to you like that.”

you swallow. “we’re not… you’re my professor, you can’t-”

he’s in front of you now, body heat searing, voice a murmur at your ear.

“i know exactly what i am,” he whispers. “and i know what you let me do to you. i know how you sounded when you begged for more.”

your breath hitches. his hand finds your hip. slow. deliberate. the heat of it bleeds through the thin fabric of your dress.

“did you think about me after?” he asks. “did you touch yourself to the memory?”

you nod, cheeks burning.

“good girl.”

he spins you around, palms flat on the desk, hips pressing into your backside.

you gasp. “what if someone comes back-”

“then you’ll have to stay quiet,” he murmurs, lips ghosting the back of your neck. “can you do that for me?”

you nod again, breathless. his hands are everywhere, under your dress, up your thighs, pulling your panties to the side like he owns you.

“this pussy’s mine,” he mutters. “you understand me?”

you nod again, helpless. he slips two fingers inside you without warning, and you nearly cry out but he’s already covering your mouth with his other hand.

“shh,” he coos. “you wanna get caught? want them to see how soaked you are for your professor?”

you shake your head. your body says otherwise.

he fucks you with his fingers slow and deep, whispering filth in your ear the entire time.

“bet you wore this dress on purpose.”
“wanted to show off. wanted attention.”
“but only i get to touch you. only i get to make you feel this good.”

you’re already trembling when he finally pulls his fingers out and licks them clean. watching your reaction the whole time. he doesn’t fuck you. not this time. instead, he kneels, pushes your legs apart and devours you like he’s starving.

the desk is hard under your ass, but his tongue is sinful, working you over, over and over, until you’re biting your own hand to stay quiet. you whimper as he circles your clit, slow and purposeful. your hips buck without permission, your thighs trembling. when you cum, you cry out his name in a whisper, hips bucking against his mouth, legs shaking. he kisses your inner thigh. leaves a mark then stands, straightens his shirt, and cups your cheek.

“next time,” he murmurs, “you’ll keep your pretty little laughs just for me.”

you nod, dizzy, fucked out.

“and wear the dress again,” he adds with a smirk. “i liked it.”

>______<

sneaking up on him in the shower

after months, weeks, and days of begging you finally give in and peg him

catching him fucking himself with your toys

teasing his hole <3

when you’re too stubborn to accept his apology, he finds another way to apologize to you.

sucking his cock in public

even in public he lowers your top just to suck on your tits

you were taking work calls all day but he was too horny to wait for you