#jisung smut
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nct dream having a s/o who's shy during sex
nct dream x fem!reader (18+ mdni)
a/n: hii! sorry, y'all, that's not proofread, I just wrote it real quickly to not leave you guys without an update bcs i'm working on a few requests 🥺
cw: smut, oral (f), fingering, petnames.
MARK seemed taken aback at first. like, he didn't want to make you uncomfortable, he wanted this moment to be good for you too, so he kept asking if you were sure and if it was okay to continue. when you gave him a green light, he would nod and take things slowly with you, checking to make sure you were fine with what he was doing and reassuring you that it was fine to be shy. he let you wrap your arms around his neck and hide your face there, knowing that this was your way of cooperating with the situation.
he was understanding and patient, knowing that you needed time and didn't want to push too quickly. he loved having you close to him like that, everything seemed more intimate when you were close together. it was like a whole new level of intimacy and he couldn't really explain it with words, but it just felt right to him.
“babe, please,” he murmurs against your forehead, his voice shaky with restraint. “think you can relax a little for me? your tightness is amazing, but i need to move,” as soon as you relax, he begins to move his hips slowly, savoring every inch as he pushes deeper into you. each stroke hits just the right spot and elicits a soft moan from your lips. he showers you with praises as he makes love to you tenderly.
it seemed like there was an unspoken contest between you and JISUNG over who could be the most bashful in that moment. and, just as usual, you managed to claim victory! despite seeing himself as the one to lead, he was surprisingly unsure of his next steps, attempting to put you at ease as best he could. with a gentle determination, he whispered reassurances in your ear about making it feel good and creating a memorable experience for you. yet, every word he uttered only seemed to amplify the heat in your body.
but through all the nervous laughter and flustered glances, you could sense jisung's genuine care for your wellbeing. as his hands explored your body, they were hesitant yet firm, as if trying to learn your every curve by heart. he gently nuzzles your neck as he speaks, his breath hot against your skin. "i promise i'll take it slow. just tell me what feels nice.”
HAECHAN remembered how he saw you struggle to just take off your clothes, how embarrassed you seemed, so he figured he'd take the opportunity to help. initially, he was gentle and supportive, telling you it was all right, and you could take your time. however, when you were underneath him, hiding your face with your arms and holding back your cute moans, oh boy, that's when he would get really devious. he'd force you to look at him and whisper dirty words in your ear, really making you squirm and, more important, he would make sure to tease you enough to make you beg.
“look at me,” he would say demanding. “i’ll stop moving if you close your eyes again,” as he says this, he's already thrusting into you in an agonizingly slow pace. it would be so much worse if he just stayed still. “n-no, hyuck, p-please,” you stutter out in a pleading tone as you open your eyes quickly and look at him. “please what? i said you have to use your words, love,” he leans close to nibble on your earlobe, making you shriver. he loved how responsive you were. “please… f-faster, i…” you tried to move your hips to match his rhythm but his grip on your waist tightens, keeping you exactly where he wants you. "mmh, I'm listening,” he nuzzle against your neck, patiently waiting for you. "I-i want to c-cum again, p-please, go h-harder,” you say in a frustrated tone, burying your face in his neck to hide yourself. he was pleased with you words, his smirk widen and he feels his cock throb with excitement. he would let you hide this time. “can’t deny it if my love asked so nicely.”
seeing this side of you, the vulnerable and timid one, was something truly endearing to JAEMIN. “my bold princess is feeling shy today?” he asked, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth as he pressed a light kiss to your quivering lips. “there’s no reason to be,” he assured before placing another tender peck. gently coaxing your arms away from hiding your chest, he encourages you with another kiss, his thumb tracing lazy circles on cheek. “you’re stunning, princess,” his lips soon follow suit, moving down to your neck, leaving trails of kisses as he goes.
jaemin’s breath is hot against your skin as he nuzzles further downwards, pausing at your collarbone. he flicks his tongue across the delicate flesh, the sensation makes goosebumps break out on your skin, causing you to shiver slightly. “you’ve got nothing to hide from me,” his hands move to unclasp your bra, freeing your breasts completely. with a low groan, he finally takes one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling lightly.
CHENLE would be so confused. he was trying to make you feel good, but you were making things difficult. it wasn't because you didn't want it, so he was even more confused as to why you weren't letting yourself enjoy it. "baby, why are you doing that?" he asked with a puzzled look, raising an eyebrow as he saw you closing your legs. "stop closing your legs," he said, making you look away from him. “n-no, it's... i-it's embarrassing..." you mumbled, biting your lower lip. he let a small "oh" escape his lips when he realized what was happening.
"aw, are you feeling shy? you're so cute!" he said, letting a small sigh escape his mouth as he ran his hands gently up and down your thigh. the touch was comforting, his hands caressing the skin as he leaned in closer. "what about this? keep your eyes closed and let me take care of you, just relax,” he kissed your thigh, his voice so gentle it made your heart flutter. the thought of just letting go and giving him control was enticing, so you nod and kept your eyes closed as he requested. with a wicked grin, he pushes your legs further apart, revealing your beautiful, swollen center. he takes a moment to appreciate the sight before leaning down to taste you, his tongue sliding effortlessly inside. you gasp and grab onto his shoulders, trying to steady yourself as he begins to explore every inch of you.
JENO had come to understand your behavior patterns, he knew that you would react just this way. you were always the type to talk too much and do less, specifically in regards to your flirting. you seemed to derive a lot of fun from sending suggestive texts, spicy pictures that didn't give too much away, raunchy voice messages and all. yet when it came time for the actual act, you seemed to always shy away from it. he had learned to read your subtleties, and this time he didn't let you ran away.
"aww, look at you now," he says, his voice low and teasing. "you were all fire and ice earlier, sending me those naughty texts and photos, making my imagination run wild." he leans in closer, his breath hot against your cheek. "but now that we're here, you're suddenly shy?" he held your chin to force you to meet his eyes. "what happened to the feisty little thing that had me on edge all day?" before you could try to say something back, he shut you up with a hard thrust, making you gasp. "you know, you really shoudn't start something you can't finish."
RENJUN knew you were naturally shy about physical contact, he wasn't surprised by your reluctance. in fact, he knew that you would be a little coy whenever the physical intimacy went up a level. he knew your shyness would make this a delicate process, so he decided to start things off gentle. "that's it, just spread your legs a bit more, darling," he asked softly in your ear, continuing to keep you in a gentle hug from behind. you could practically feel your heart beating out of your chest. you had asked him not to look at your face since you felt nervous, and he agreed. but he was lying, he just had to move his head a little to capture your expressions.
he starts gently caressing your inner thighs, sending shivers up your spine. he feels your pulse quickening and your breathing becoming more ragged, which makes him feel even more determined to give you pleasure. he continues to tease you, getting closer and closer to where you really need him to touch. he traces his fingers lightly over your wet panties, feelings your arousal seep through the fabric. he slowly pulls them aside and slips a finger inside you gently, pumping slowly as he watches your reactions. your breathing quickens and your moans get louder with each thrust, so he adds another finger, stretching you just enough to feel amazing. as he continues to move inside you, he presses his thumb against your clit, massaging it in slow circles. he’s careful not to go too fast or hard knowing that anticipation can be just as satisfying as release.
#nct dream smut#nct x reader#nct dream x reader#mark lee smut#mark lee x reader#haechan smut#haechan x reader#jaemin smut#jaemin x reader#jeno smut#jeno x reader#chenle smut#chenle x reader#jisung x reader#jisung smut#renjun smut#renjun x reader#nct reactions
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say please — han
pairing: han jisung x fem!reader
tags: established relationship, minor dom/sub dynamics, smut!🔞
warnings: swearing, minor dom/sub dynamics, both are switches, spitting, like a lot of spitting, squirting, fingering, mess!!, use of “gross”, “disgusting”, “messy” but in a sexy way, ji calls reader mommy, fingering, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, undisclosed use/disuse of protection, enjoy <3
inspo: ji’s insta post <3
notes: a gift for my baby juni @hyunsvngs i hope you like it it’s your fault either way <3
{ wc: 1780 }
“what?” jisung turns to you after you whine loudly at him.
you’re both lazing around in bed, have been since you arrived back home after going out for lunch. it’s getting warmer now but you’re still in sweats and one of ji’s hoodies. you don’t mean to match each other but jisung has a lot of grays in his closet, and so you end up in the same colour scheme.
“can you stop texting and give me attention?” you pout.
jisung quickly puts his phone away and turns his body fully towards you.
“you were watching tiktoks,” he pouts back.
“i’m bored of them now,” you shrug, caging his hips between your legs as you roll on top of him.
“and what do you wanna do now?” he pushes your hair away from you, gravity doing its job by letting all of it fall on jisung’s face. he splutters around dramatically before neatly tucking it behind your ears.
“annoy you,” you say, kissing his cheek.
“that’s not annoying,” he smiles softly. the movement causes his cheeks to bunch up, allowing you to take a bite from his flesh with a giggle.
“ow!” he yells, trying to push you off him.
he can’t, as you’ve trapped him underneath your thighs, and all he can do is kick around the bed while you keep biting around his cheeks.
“you can’t keep eating me,” he whines loudly, pushing at your shoulders.
you move back slightly, smirking at your boyfriend.
“what?” he gaps at you.
“you’re hard,” you point out.
“yes, what else is new?” he scoffs at you, running his hands up and down your thighs slowly.
“was it the biting?” you chuckle.
“no,” he looks away, “i didn’t know you were so strong.”
you knit your brows at his confession, cocking your head to the side slowly.
“what?”
“you can hold me down pretty well,” he pointed out, “didn’t realise.”
“alright,” you say, because you aren’t sure what else you should say.
“can i eat you out now?” he pouts, eager, as if that was the next obvious thing to say in that moment in time.
it wasn’t, so you start laughing loudly.
“it’s not funny!” he defends, “i need your lips on mine.”
you lean down to kiss him softly.
“not those lips,” he mumbles against the kiss, before sinking his hand in your hair as he deepens it.
you kiss him slowly, despite his efforts to turn the kiss messy you don’t let him—controlling the pace subtly, but jisung scums to it anyway.
when you’re both out of air you pull away slowly, jisung’s heavy breaths against your skin.
“want my pussy?” you ask, breathless.
“yeah,” he nods, eyes shiny, “yes.”
“not like that,” you click your tongue, “be good.”
“i-i am! you know how good i can make you feel,” he urges.
“i do know,” you smile at him, “i also know you have manners.”
“come on,” he pouts at you, eyes so so big in front of you.
you quickly get off him, pulling off your clothes in a hurry before you spread your legs in front of him.
“oh, fuck,” he blushes, “fuck it’s so pretty. pussy so so pretty,”
he grabs your thighs, pulling you towards him in one quick motion.
your boyfriend is so soft and sweet you can often forget how strong his arms are and the force he’s able to use on you if he wanted.
“ji, shirt off,” you tell him, and he quickly peels off his layers.
now you can see his arms, look at them as much as you’d like. it makes your mouth water. you start wondering how it would feel to bite his arms instead of his cheek, and when jisung sees you aren’t looking at him he starts whining again.
“attention,” he lets out in a whine.
you chuckle at him softly before locking eyes.
“can i now?” his face is a few inches away from your pussy, so close you can feel little puffs of air on your wetness every time he breathes.
you want to push his head right into your cunt but you don’t. instead, you just shake your head.
“spit,” you tell him, your fingers carding through his long hair.
jisung quickly does as he’s told, like he always does, and gathers spit on his tongue. he lets it fall down, maintaining eye contact, and his spit slowly starts running down your folds.
you can’t help whimpering at the feeling.
“more, more,” you ask, raising your hips to meet his spit halfway.
jisung lets more and more of it fall, a few times landing directly on your clit and you keen loudly at the feeling. “make it messy, ji, fuck.”
jisung can’t wait any longer, and he surges forward to wrap his lips around your pussy—but you stop him.
“you didn’t say please,” you tsk, “so you aren’t getting any.”
jisung’s eyes widen in realisation and he quickly opens his mouth to start begging. you fucking love it when he begs, but this time, it won’t help him. so you grab his wrist and sink his fingers in his own mouth before he can start begging and change your mind.
the sound gets caught in his throat, so does his moan.
“give me your fingers, ji,” you say, slowly moving his fingers in and out of his mouth with the grip you have on his wrist, “fuck me with your fingers.”
jisung nods eagerly.
you let his fingers slide out of his mouth with a small pop, and he wastes no time before rubbing his fingers all over your folds, spreading the spit around everywhere.
“messy,” he says, a little dazed.
he slowly sinks his finger in, and noticing there’s little resistance thanks to his dick stretching you out this morning, he quickly sinks in another one.
you let out a loud moan at the fullness.
“wanna taste you,” he whines, a louder one coming out when all you do is shake your head.
“fingers, need them,” you moan out, as he pushes in deep and fast. he adds a third finger, the stretch now deeper and so so sweet as your wetness helps him easily glide his fingers in and out.
you let him spit on your cunt again, a high pitch moan leaving you at the contact.
“tits, tits,” you don’t even know what you’re saying, “make my tits messy, too.”
jisung quickly moves up the bed, continuing the fast pace of his fingers before he sticks out his tongue above your tits.
they bounce softly from the impact of him finger fucking you, and he tries his hardest to aim the string of spit towards your nipple. it doesn’t work, so instead he rubs the spit around, smearing it around your nipple as you moan loudly from the added stimulation.
“fuck it’s so gross,” you whine, “so dirty.”
“so fucking gross,” he agrees, this time spitting harshly on your other nipple. the wet contact and his words cause you to start clenching around his fingers. “so messy, you like it so messy it’s disgusting.”
“make a mess, please, baby,” you moan.
“mommy loves it gross,” jisung pouts at you, and you feel the knot in your stomach start to tighten.
“ji, ji, i’m so fucking close,” you grab his hair, pushing him back between your legs.
his eyes zero in on your cunt, the loud wet noises and your moans filling the room as jisung starts to whine again. “please, let me taste.”
“fuck, fuck, i’m so close, fuck,” you chant, “ji!”
jisung somehow manages to fit in another finger, sinking them in all the way to his knuckles.
“ji, ji, ji, ji,” you babble out incoherently.
“mommy, i’m doing everything, please let me taste,” he begs.
“stick your tongue out, baby,” he quickly does so, his eyes wide and looking up at you as his tongue sticks out millimetres away from your soaking pussy, “fuckfuck, i’m gonna squ—“
and before you can say anything, your stomach tightens and your thighs starts shaking and your clit pulses as a gush of water squirts out as your orgasm takes over your body.
you can’t let yourself look away even as the pleasure takes over you because jisung is doing his best to catch all of it on his tongue, his face covered in your release.
your thighs are covered in it and so is your stomach and everything is wet around you and your walls are pulsing tightly around four of jisung’s fingers but before you can notice any of that jisung wraps his lips around your clit harshly as he pushes his fingers as deep as they can go and flicks them hard against your walls.
you cry out from the overstimulation and the way his fingers brush against your sensitive spot but jisung doesn’t stop, only pulls away for a moment to say, “fuck, i need you to do that again.”
so you let him keep going, the pleasure taking over your whole body as your thighs close around his head and you scream.
“ji, it’s too much, holy fuck—“
he hums against your clit and it sends you over the edge again, but for whatever reason you don’t squirt this time.
still, your orgasm takes over your body for at least forty seconds.
once you recover you open your eyes to see jisung taking off his boxers—that are soaked through his own release.
“i’m fucking the shit out of you, you don’t even get it,” he says urgently, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach.
you’re leaning on the wetness now, the covers soaked in your release and jisung’s spit and before you can complain jisung grabs your hair and sinks his dick inside you. the stretch feels so fucking good, your walls looser but still not enough to accommodate comfortably for jisung’s girth. and the sensitivity of two orgasms so close together means you’re already clenching around him.
“everything is wet, ji,” you complain, and jisung pinches your nipples in response. hard.
you moan loudly and he says, “mommy likes the mess, huh? so i’m gonna push your face into the mattress you squirted on and you’re gonna thank me.”
he pushes your face into the mattress, and it smells like cum and spit and a little bit like sweat and when you don’t say anything he thrusts into you.
“thank you, ji,” you whimper out, “now fuck my brains out.”
“say please?” he chuckles, before grabbing your hips tightly and drilling into you.
#all.works#skz x reader#skz x you#skz x y/n#skz smut#skz scenarios#han x reader#han x y/n#han x you#han jisung x reader#han jisung x you#han jisung x y/n#jisung x reader#jisung x you#jisung x y/n#jisung smut#han smut#han jisung smut#kpop x reader#kpop smut
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𐙚˙⋆.˚ nct dream reaction to you touching yourself!
‧₊˚ 💭 ✩彡 , , 2.5k, smut under the cut [cw: masturbation, degradation, voyeurism, fingering, very mild dubcon in jaemin’s, nudes, allusions to phone sex, established relationship in most, i think that’s it]
♡ mark . . . the poor baby had just gotten back from practice and was nearing the bedroom door when he heard some sounds of what he thought was you in pain or distress. being the sweet boyfriend he was, he hurriedly went to open the door, but the sight that greeted him was certainly not one he was expecting. you were laid out on the bed, your pants pulled only halfway off your legs as if you were too desperate to even bother taking them off fully, a hand stuffed in your underwear as you threw your head back and let out the prettiest sounds, looking so blissful and fucked out. your eyes shot open at the disturbance that was mark's arrival, the light blush coating your cheeks nothing in comparison to the bright, tomato-red one that decorated his. "fuck, um– i'm sorry, lemme just– i'm just gonna go", he mumbles his way into the bathroom, bumping into the door while trying to enter, but you both knew he looked for too long. now what was he supposed to do? it's not like that godly an image of you is going to leave his head anytime soon, no, of course not, he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it for days, weeks, months even. sprawled out on the bed like that, lips parted and letting out such dirty, magical sounds– fuck, he couldn't help letting his hand travel into his pants in a similar fashion to you. before he knew it, he was jerking himself off to the thought of you (something he had definitely done before, but he had some wonderful new material now), pumping his cock up and down while his breathing became laboured, but in all his haste and pleasure, he had "forgotten" to lock the door. "um, need a little help there?"
♡ renjun . . . you thought renjun texting you “pleaseee baby, come over tn” meant that the two of you would spend time together until you eventually fell asleep, which did happen for a while until your boyfriend excused him to go play “one game with the boys”. though you rolled your eyes at him, you were fine with him playing a game or two, figuring you could just be on your phone for a bit. you weren’t, however, expecting to be sat on your phone for over an hour, with renjun now having his headphones on (you don’t know what the point was, though, you could still hear all the slurs being shouted mutedly from them). “renjun”, you grouched, but he doesn’t even turn to face you. “if you wanna leave me for a man, just say that.” he does laugh at this, but he pleads “one last one”, making you sigh and slump back down on the bed. you had chosen the pretty, new lace underwear you had bought the other day to wear tonight, but now you’re too salty to let him take it off you. deciding to take matters into your own hands, you shimmy out of your shorts, rubbing circles over your underwear with your eyes trained on his back. if he was too busy to touch you, what’s stopping you from doing it yourself? you try and fail to stifle your moans with your arm as you slip your hand into your underwear, rubbing your clit for a moment before dipping your fingers into your entrance. “renjun…”, you call out again, but both of you know it sounds different this time, and he glances over his shoulder at you. it’s almost comical the way he does a double take, pushing his headphones off of one ear, to get a clear look at you. slowly but surely, the tips of his ears and cheeks are dusted with red, but his eyes still shyly observe the hand concealed by your underwear. “oh…”, he sounds out while you throw your head back and whine, his headphones now fully off and you could hear whoever he was on call with distantly calling out “renjun? renjun, what the fuck we’re losing?” he shuts off his computer screen without even looking at it, getting up and slowly walking over to you, sinking down on the edge of the bed. “you just gonna sit there or you gonna help me?”, you grumble, but his eyes don’t miss the way your hips buck up. “wanna watch.”
♡ jeno . . . you swear you had meant to wait for him to return, you had tried your best to busy yourself while jeno was at schedules. he had told you the exact time that he would return, no earlier, no later, than 7:30 p.m. and there he was, promptly unlocking your front door at 7:29 p.m., expecting you to be reading a book in your room, or baking brownies-for-one in your underwear in the kitchen. he definitely wasn’t expecting the sight that greeted him. he had given you one rule for when he was away at work, to “not touch what’s mine”, one simple rule. you seemed eager enough to please him before he left, so he certainly wasn’t expecting to hear moans coming from the kitchen. he watches you for all of five seconds, back facing him with one hand disappearing into the waistband of your shorts, head thrown back a little as you leaned against the counter. “what are you doing?”, the sharp, gruff way in which he says it make you stop immediately, yanking your hand out of your shorts and holding it behind you. it was one thing if you were pleasuring yourself in the bedroom, but right out here? in the kitchen? jeno promptly walks over to you, reaching over and clasping the hand behind your back tightly, jerking it over to him. your fingers all but glisten when held under the ceiling light, and your cheeks redden at the short “pathetic” he spits while looking at you. not breaking the heavy eye contact, he closes his lips over your two fingers, swirling his tongue around them before releasing them with a ‘pop!’. the next thing you know, your face is being pressed against the cold granite surface of the counter hard, while jeno’s other hand holds both your wrists together behind your back. “you know how to count, right?”, he asks demeaningly, and while he lets go of your head, your cheek is still pressed against the counter so hard you can see the condensation form as you breath, nodding your head before he yanks your shorts down with such force that you can still feel the burn on your hips five seconds later. he places the palm of his hand flat against your ass, pulling your underwear up to reveal more flesh. “i’m gonna show you what happens to whores when they don’t follow a simple rule.”
♡ haechan . . . “well, well, well," you could practically hear the smirk in his voice, tone dripping, pouring with desire, just sounding so sultry. your eyes shot open at the sound of him, squealing shortly and rushing to cover yourself up with the blanket. "what do we have here?", he cooed from the door, one foot in front of the other and a hand placed against the doorframe, leaning against it. "f-fuck off, hyuck", you replied breathlessly, cheeks dusted with pink due to your embarrassment and also the rush you were feeling from touching yourself. he wasn't supposed to be back so early, you thought you were going to be alone for a little while longer; clearly you were wrong. "fuck off? did you mean 'fuck me'?", he drawled, letting out a half scoff and half chuckle, slowly sauntering towards you. “why don’t you show me what you were doing there?”, his suggestion sounds more like an order, and its like you lose the ability to think when he reaches over you to lead the hand straying away from your pussy right back, inclining his head to the side expectantly. under his urging, watchful eyes, you continue your previous actions, eyes widening when hyuck lets out an almost pornographic moan at the sight. sinking your fingers deeper into yourself, you whimper out of pure frustration from the fact that these were your fingers instead of his, and you swear you are almost in tears when he says, “stop”. he’s quick to replace your fingers with his own, coating his digits in your wetness before pumping two into you without any warning. “think you can give me three? maybe four orgasms?”, he cooes, tutting when you shake your head ‘no’. “i think we’re gonna find out.”
♡ jaemin . . . “aren’t you sweet?”, to say hearing your roommate jeno’s friend’s sultry voice startled you would be an understatement, fully believing you were home alone when you started pleasuring yourself. “jaemin– what the fuck–”, a blushing, bumbling mess, you’re quick to yank your blanket over your partially naked body, not knowing how long he’d been standing there watching you or how he had gotten into your house in the first place, choosing to ask about the latter first. “how the fuck did you get in? and did no one ever teach you how to knock?”. tilting his head to the side, jaemin raises his eyebrows but makes no efforts to hide the way his eyes scanned over your blanket-covered body, tracing your hips, collarbones, legs with his gaze. “jeno gave me the keys. and that’s not fair, the door wasn’t shut. besides, you called me”, he replies coolly, taking a step into the room but leaving the door wide open, as if you invited him in. “i heard you call my name in that pretty little voice of yours, but i thought you were hurt. didn’t think you were fucking yourself with your fingers to the thought of me.” you move to further cover yourself up as he walks closer to you, embarrassed out of your mind that he both heard you moan his name and watched you touch yourself. but what he does next really has you shocked– eyes never leaving yours, his hand snakes over to his pant-covered cock, gripping it with a satisfied hiss, a smirk curving on his lips when he sees your look of surprise and…desire??? “you see how hard i am for you, pretty?”, he all but moans out and you do see, the outline of his cock straining against the material of his sweatpants and making your mouth almost water at the thought of it. without another word, he’s in front of you, pulling his raging boner free from his pants. “what do you say we give jeno a little show when he comes back?”
♡ chenle . . . “damn, you started without me?” after enjoying the dinner you had cooked for the two of you, you suggested taking a shower together before slipping into bed to watch a show. following the routine that you had wherein one of you would cook and the other would clean, chenle grabbed your plate and his, placing them in the sink and telling you that he’ll be there in about ten minutes after he finished washing the dishes. figuring you could just get undressed and enjoy the extra space in the shower before your boyfriend joined you, you opted to start without him, but leaving the door unlocked for him. the second the hot water hits your body, you are relaxed, letting it soak your hair and cover your body. you trail your hands along your body to further spread the water, but soon you can’t ignore the dull thud coming from your core when you reach your inner thighs. grazing your fingers against yourself and testing the waters, you slowly begin your ministrations, spreading your folds with more intent now. another two minutes in and you’re blatantly touching yourself, head resting against the glass of the shower, steam engulfing its expanse while you sigh out of bliss. chenle, having left the dishes to dry, decided to join you, ridding himself of his clothes and finding the bathroom door to be partially open. when he’s greeted by the sight of you, your back is facing him, but it doesn’t take a genius to understand what you were doing. when you finally hear his voice, you look over your shoulder in surprise and slight embarrassment, but that is soon replaced with pure lust when your eyes mirror the look in his. “thought i’d get a head start”, you offer, slowly picking up the pace with your hand. “is that so?”, he muses, placing his hand over yours but not stopping your actions. “we both know that i can make you cum much faster than you can.”
♡ jisung . . . when you first started dating your boyfriend jisung, you didn’t realise just how much time you’d be spending on your own. if he wasn’t away at practices, he was busy filming various videos and content, so a large portion of your day was spent waiting for him. this was not to say you were unsatisfied with your relationship, you still got to spend time with him and when you did, it was time well spent. all you were saying is that you got a little lonely and bored at times, and that would explain why you were currently standing by the sink, debating whether you should hit send. you had just finished taking a couple photos of yourself during a moment of confidence and horniness and now they sat in the message bar of yours and jisung’s dms, waiting to be sent. you and jisung had gone there multiple times, but nudes were unexplored territory, yet you thought, fuck it, and hit send. even though you know he’s busy, it doesn’t take long before the ‘delivered’ changes to a ‘seen’, and you watch as the typing bubbles appear and disappear a number of times. after five minutes or so, you’re starting to worry and overthink, biting your lip when you see that jisung is now trying to call you. you pick up and play it off with as much confidence as you can, but jisung sounds the opposite– breathing heavy and voice quiet, like he’s trying to make sure no one hears him, and you hear the sound of a lock clicking. “why would you– are you–”, he blubbers, clearly at a loss for words and you can just picture him, cheeks coated with a sheen of red, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing. “what are you doing right now?”, he asks in a goofy manner and you can’t help your chuckle at the sound of his shy voice, cooing into the speaker. “i was missing you, sungie…”, you mewl, positively beaming when you hear him audibly gulp. “was thinking about you.” his breathing quickens and he mumbles “thinking of me?”, before he clears his throat. “what about me?” you smile at his inability to balance his shyness and desire, and you tell him what you were thinking about, soon hearing the telltale sound of a zipper being pulled down.
#nct#kflixnet#nct drabbles#nct x reader#nct headcanons#nct au#nct fluff#nct fic#nct imagines#nct dream#nct smut#nct scenarios#nct dream headcanons#nct dream angst#nct dream x reader#nct dream fluff#nct dream smut#nct dream imagines#nct dream reactions#nct reactions#mark smut#renjun smut#jeno smut#haechan smut#jaemin smut#chenle smut#jisung smut#nct blurbs#nct angst#nct oneshot
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maneater (r. fantasies)
warning: noncon, semi-public sex, jisung × (f) reader x jaemin
wc. 1.3k
love that i wrote this for @neocentral and she’s also the only reason i was able to recover this 🫶🏽 EVERYONE SAY WE LOVE YOU BELLE
maybe it was jisung's fault, the unfortunate outcome of his generous naivete. foolishly, he had mistaken your kindness for infatuation, your exuberant flashes of teeth when you glanced his way as flirtatious gestures of mutual affection.
jisung wouldn't consider himself a loser. he had a couple of friends. sure, he wasn't the most popular guy around, especially not with girls, but that didn't make him a loser. there was no reason to doubt his chances with one of the campus' most popular students, especially not when you made it so easy to like you.
too easy, jisung would think, clenching his pale, whitened knuckles into stiff fists when he saw other guys talking to you, checking you out from head to toe like you were a fresh slab of meat on display.
deep down inside, even if he refused to admit it to himself, jisung couldn't fault them like he wanted. your wit was admirable and your beauty rivaled that of goddesses. to say nothing of the fact that you were so amicable and approachable, maybe too approachable.
idiotically believing under the trance of your bewitching stare and enthralling smile that you reciprocated jisung's less than platonic feelings for you was his first mistake.
mustering the courage to approach you and ask you out was his second.
at the very least, you were sweet enough to let jisung down gently. even as you ripped his thudding heart out his chest and shredded it with bared teeth, unraveling the thread upon which his very world spun, your lips were fixed in a perfect smile as you apologetically told him that you didn't feel the same way, tenderly brushing your hand against his.
how kind of you to shatter his heart in the most beautiful way possible. you had to have done this a dozen times before, maybe even twice as much, so accustomed to rejecting every male's advance that you knew all the right words to say.
"you'll forget you ever felt this way," you'd told him at one point, most of your other words becoming white noise to his ears as indignation poked holes into his chest and swallowed him whole.
jisung liked to think that he handled the rejection fairly. outwardly, at least, it was true. you wouldn't have guessed from looking at him that the world as he knew it had been upturned and rage was festering in side of him quickly and brutally. he should've listened to his friends when they told him, dude, she's a maneater.
to think only days ago jisung thought so highly of you. now, whenever he saw you, only the most degrading of words came to mind. what a picky, arrogant whore, hissed his thoughts bitterly.
you must've thought you were so much better than him. you must've got a good laugh at his expense, leading him on and making him believe even for a minute that you liked him the way he liked you. or maybe you were just playing hard to get, so entitled that you thought he would chase you.
wrong. jisung was not like those other guys that would come begging at your feet and he refused to lower himself to such degradation, solely so that you could feel better about yourself.
it had to only have been a couple of weeks forward, jisung's anger intensifying by the day, when he heard those godawful noises coming from just around the corner.
he recognized that voice - your voice. jisung would never admit that he was obsessed with you, but there was no doubt in his mind that the high-pitched, agonized cry he heard came from between those glossy lips of yours.
naturally, it was jisung's first instinct to investigate, to wonder what was so terrible that you were shrieking so sharply. he became especially curious when the sound was cut off, suspicious sudden and abrupt, as if it had been muffled.
jisung tiptoed around the corner, quiet as to not disturb the scene unfolding just shy of him. although, given how busy the city was, bustling with everyday life, it would've been more difficult to hear him approaching.
jisung nearly gasped at what he saw, poking his head around the sturdy brick wall and spotting your frame caged behind jaemin's as your back was pinned harshly against a cold wall.
"shh, sweetheart." jaemin crooned, tone of voice cheating his violent hands. "wouldn't want anyone else to see you like this, now would you? imagine how hard it would be for you to have a good future if all anybody saw when they looked at you was this loose little pussy."
jisung wanted to say that that was already what people saw, but he held his tongue. he didn't want to risk making his presence known. one slightly wrong move, one bad step, and both of you would know that he was watching, lurking discreetly in the shadows.
shameless, jisung whispered in his brain, shaking his head as he kept his eyes locked on the incident in front of him. jaemin was forcing himself onto you in broad daylight, for fuck's sake. without a care in the world if anyone saw him.
even as people walked only mere feet away from the sight, burdened with the tasks of their own problems. people that wouldn't randomly think to check around an alleyway to see if there was a girl attempting to fight off her attacker.
your face was familiar, but hardly recognizable all at once. your usual heart-stopping smile was surely upturned into a piteous frown, though it was obscured from jisung's vision as jaemin smothered your screams with his palm. moisture stung your eyes, gathering at your lashes and dripping thickly down your tear-stained cheeks.
even with jaemin's palm pressed flat against your mouth, your whimpers still faintly traveled through the hot, stuffy air. you thrashed in his burly arms, struggling to wrest your way out, but jaemin kept you in place with his spare arm.
part of jisung was bristling with pain and seething with white-hot anger watching another guy touch in ways only he should've been able to, but he couldn't move and he definitely couldn't look away. your stiff nipples were exposed from where jaemin had yanked your shirt down, jisung arriving only moments to see how jaemin sucked at licked at the tender buds.
"i don't take no for an answer," jaemin whispered, stuffing you full of his thick, veiny cock. your pussy was sore from how vigorously he was using you, but nothing would stop jaemin from doing as he pleased if he wanted it enough.
jisung's cock twitched in his light sweatpants. he only wished he could've felt the way your cunt squeezed his cock for dear life, milking it for every last drop of cum like it did jaemin's. if only he would've had the courage to slam you against a wall and take what he wanted, show you who was in charge.
it kept him up sometimes fantasizing about how tight and wet you were as he fisted his own cock to ecstasy. the sight of jaemin abusing your poor little cunt was infuriating, but erotic. not taking out his cock and pumping in his hand took all of jisung's willpower.
watching how wide your gorgeous, fretful eyes were, how your chest heaved quicker and quicker, skipping breaths to get to the one that came after, jisung almost felt bad for you. he liked to think he would've been much more tender, had he gotten the opportunity, setting the mood and taking his time to please you.
until you broke his heart. now, whatever happened to you was out of his hands and jisung couldn't have cared less, ignoring the panic in your body language and obvious pain tensing your features.
jisung had the power to stop his friend if he really wanted, to intervene and save you from your troubles, and he most likely would've, had you not wounded him. but he remembered the gash still fresh on him, your smiles rubbing salt in the cut, and decided this was what you deserved. you'd get over it.
yeah, she'll forget she ever felt this way, jisung mimicked resentfully, those words burned onto his heart harshly. so in the end, against jisung's better judgment, he kept on walking.
#park jisung smut#tw: noncon#nct dream smut#nct dream hard hours#nct smut#jisung smut#nct dream x reader#jisung x reader#nct jisung smut#revehae fantasies
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𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥…
— nct dream as different kink based scenarios.
content warnings: smut, unprotected sex + more. this is pure self indulgent filth.
word count: 2,6K.
౨₊ৎ Mark
fingering, BEGGING (</3) and edging.
you let a whimper and a soft ‘please’ escape you, wanting to come so bad already, but unfortunately for you, your boyfriend, mark, has other plans.
leaning down, he places a soft peck on your stomach before placing several open mouthed, hungry kisses on your inner thighs, so close to where you want him.
“tsk, i thought i taught you better than that, princess,” mark quips, the condescending tone sending waves of heat up your spine.
he gathers the cum leaking from your cunt and pushes it back inside, causing a loud moan to escape your parted lips.
mark watches as your hips buck and squirm from every breath on his lips on your glistening cunt. getting lost in your eyes, he finally seals his lips over your clit again and begins sucking, softly.
“y/n, you have to use your words…”
you feel your lower lip trembling, and your eyes already having tears welling in them. “please, baby—” you beg shamelessly, breathless moans escaping you and filling mark’s ears, making his cock twitch.
he flicks his tongue from side to side so your only reply will be another moan, another plead.
“p-please.”
“please what?” he smiles devilishly, draping your legs over his shoulders as he inserts a second finger in your dripping hole. he circles his tongue around your throbbing, swollen clit, working his two fingers into your tight hole. “words, sweetheart. tell me what you want.”
your pleading and screams get louder as mark’s fingers move faster, his thumb working your clit in circles. He pushes another finger in, finding your sweet spot as your thighs begin to shake. “please…make me come— please, markie.”
you let your head flop back on the bed; just panting and moaning as he presses three fingers inside you.
“mhm, you look so pretty like this,” he smiles, gazing up at you, “sucking all three of my fingers in. fuck, i bet you want my cock. bet you want me to fuck your throat raw until you can’t speak for a day, hm?”
“yes! fuck, mark, please—‘m gonna cum,” you moan.
each thrust of his fingers causes you to lose track of time and space and you can’t help but feel the tears pooling in your eyes.
mark waits until you’re on the cusp of your orgasm to stop his ministrations, and take his fingers out in one swift movement.
“no no no no, why— fuck, why did you stop?” you cry, your body arching off the bed as much as you can to try and get any touch from him.
you whimper when he gently pushes you back down.
tears stream down your cheeks, a pathetic pout etched on your face, and mark can’t help but smile as he kisses the expression off.
“please,” you’re saying, over and over again in a small, desperate tone.
“please, baby— please, please, please,” you beg a few more times, but in that defeated, small voice that means you know for a fact you won’t get what you want.
knowing if you beg enough, then maybe, just maybe, he’ll give you what you want.
but you better pray for it.
౨₊ৎ Renjun
spitting, praise kink, body worship and pet names !!!!
“shit, princess,” renjun starts, sucking harshly on your clit with his skilled tongue, “look at the mess you made.”
you groan, wanting to retort, but you’re lost for words. renjun doesn’t say anything, he merely gazes up at you, a mixture of your arousal and his spit glistening on his chin and dripping down his defined jaw.
“you’re fucking dripping,” he smirks mischievously at you, “i can’t wait to watch you fall apart, pretty.”
you babble incoherently, turning into a crying mess as he sucks on your clit like a lollipop, until you begin to shake, quivering uncontrollably as you mewl his name like a mantra.
“shh, shh. you’re doing so good, baby girl, you look so pretty. just keep going like this, okay angel?” he whispers breathily. “can you do that for me?”
crying out at the praise, you can’t help but nod hesitantly, causing him to smile as he begins tonguing your aching hole while his two fingers work on your clit, rubbing vigorously.
finally you hear him continue to praise you, whispering sweet nothings against your clit as he finger fucks you; and your senses can’t help but get overwhelmed.
there’s too much going on, and all you can - and will focus on, is renjun, renjun, renjun.
“fuck, junnie—” you whine pathetically, clenching around his long fingers and making him groan against your cunt.
just before you can come, renjun kisses up your body, making you whimper as you quiver around his hot breath against your lips.
“say ahh, baby girl,” he smiles, gripping your cheeks and slapping them, demanding you to: “open your mouth.”
you let a gasp escape you as you part your lips, letting him spit in your mouth before firmly grabbing your jaw and following up with a question of, “who do you belong to, huh?”
“you!”
“mhm ‘s that right?” he smirks, mocking you as he smears the spit all over your lips and face. “yeah? that’s a good fucking slut.”
his fingers thrust faster inside your hole and his thumb continues to rub your clit, determined to make you come and make you see stars.
you cry out in pleasure, and when you orgasm for the fourth time, renjun comes, untouched, his cock pulsing against your thigh as he writhes in pleasure; the feeling of you cumming enough to make him come undone, his cum staining his boxers.
౨₊ৎ Jeno
face fucking, degradation & corruption/innocence kink. 😵💫
“more jen,” you beg pathetically as you look up at jeno with the prettiest doe eyes.
you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out flat and inviting more of him in as he slowly slides his cock inside your small, soft mouth.
but it isn’t enough for you. “please, ngh i want— i need more.”
it’s like a switch is flipped, your usually sweet and careful boyfriend who always treats you like you’re made of glass, finally snapping and becoming rough with you; animalistic moans escaping him as he begins fucking your face.
“greedy fucking slut,” he snarls, tangling his fingers in your hair as he thrusts his cock down your throat. “you want more, huh? i’ll fucking give it to you.”
he moves his hand from your jaw to the back of your head, holding you steady as you keep bobbing your head and swallowing around his length.
“take it, slut,” he growls, thrusting harder and almost forgetting it’s your mouth he’s fucking, and not a toy. “shit… baby, that feels so good.”
you gag around him, drooling all over yourself as mascara cascades down your cheeks and your perfectly applied red lipstick a mess, all smudged from having your plush lips wrapped around your boyfriend’s dick.
you feel your throat beginning to burn and you can barely see his face due to the tears welling in your eyes, but you still want more. you want to please him, and take him - all of him; wanting him to move faster, deeper, until you’re a trembling mess and can’t breathe.
jeno hisses before yanking your hair harshly and thrusting back into your mouth, “you’re such a dirty little whore… fuck— you love choking around my cock, don’t you, slut?”
humming in agreement around him, he lets a loud whimper escape him as he bites his bottom lip.
he can’t help but wipe away your tears as he fucks your tight throat and pretty face into a drooling, needy mess. your boyfriend moans loudly, tangling his fingers into your hair before increasing his pace.
“oh yeah?” he growls, pushing your head down to make sure you choke around him and taste every inch of him. “let’s see how much you can take before you start crying like a little girl and beg for air.”
౨₊ৎ Haechan
dacryphilia, squirting (!!!!!) and pet names 😫😫
“please fuck— yes, hyuck, nggh don’t stop,” you mewl, barely able to make out coherent sentences as you babble nonsense with the need to cum.
you know at this point, your brain is purely focused on haechan’s mouth on you; the way he grinds against the mattress to relieve himself as he pleasures you with his mouth and fingers, the sweet sounds escaping the both of you…
you know you aren’t going to last long.
haechan gazes up at you through hooded eyes, you can feel him smirk against your cunt as he devours you, listening to your pleas.
he’s more than practiced at making you fall apart and making you cry and scream his name, which is why he has a new mission to be fulfilled: to make you squirt.
and, since he knows your body better than you do, he knows the only way to make that happen, is to edge you first.
so that is what he decides to do.
his wet lips closes around your throbbing clit, sucking harshly as his eyes focuses on the expressions you are making, taking in each of them in and memorising what makes you feel good.
and without a warning, he inserts two of his fingers inside of you, curling them and hitting the spot you love oh so much.
you can’t help but scream his name and arch your back for more.
“that’s the spot, huh pretty?” he smirks, moaning as he feels your walls clench around his digits. “shit, you like it when i touch this spot, don’t you?”
you bite your lips, tears streaming down your cheeks as you desperately hump haechan’s fingers, his wet tongue, and his pretty face; searching for release.
with every breath you take, soft whimpers and ‘oh my god’s’ leave your lips.
“you gonna come for me, princess?”
you nod vigorously, lust practically plastered in your eyes as his fingers and tongue begins to match the pace of your rocking hips.
“h—hyuck…” you whimper as you twitch, moaning as he leaves bite marks alongside the many other bruises that litter your body from his mouth. “god, i’m gonna—fuck!”
you sob when you feel his breath against your core, “let it go, baby,” he growls as he sucks and licks your clit with a moderate amount of pressure. “cum for me.”
he smirks when he sees tears sliding down your cheeks, “you’re so so so beautiful when you cry for me, angel…”
“so fucking pretty,” he moans, the thrusts of his fingers getting rougher and rougher every time you let out a sound.
“fuck— baby girl, i wanna see you shower the fucking sheets… wanna watch you cry, hear you scream. let it all out, baby, soak my fucking hand.”
“no, wait—” you start, but it’s too late.
you feel the sudden sound of fluids gushing down the side of your knees, soaking your inner thighs as tears of humiliation burn down your cheeks.
you feel embarrassed, mortified in fact but, hyuck merely makes a seal with his lips and sucks your clit so hard that it’s enough to clutter your vision as you gush around his fingers and mouth.
“shit— that’s it, squirt for me. fuck, just like that, that’s my girl.”
౨₊ৎ Jaemin
overstimulation, face sitting & auralism <3333
“fuck— i need to taste you now,” he groans, his lips immediately finding your tits, pulling down the cups of your bra to get better access to your nipples. he latches on to your nipple, sucking firmly while kneading the other in circular motions. “c’mere baby, sit on my face.”
he wastes no time in finding your swollen clit with his tongue, wrapping his arms around your thighs and burying his face deeper into your wet pussy.
as he sucks on your clit, he looks up at you; his eyes focusing on you and your facial expressions.
he loves the small gasps and moans you let out, but he wants you to scream for him.
“are you holding back?” he asks, his tongue swirling around your clit faster, his moans causing vibrations that had you whimpering his name.
“don’t. i wanna hear your pretty little moans.” he adds, urging you to scream for him.
you feel yourself getting closer to your release as he speeds up his ministrations, and when you finally come with a scream of his name and a yank of his hair, he laps up your spill of juices dutifully, cleaning up every last drop as you come down from your high.
“oh? you thought i was done?” he poses, “no no, baby, you can take one more for me, right?”
౨₊ৎ Chenle
exhibitionism & dumbification 🥵
“chenle,” you plead, your voice thick with tears as you try your best to stop yourself from rolling your hips against his, “there’s people nearby— oh my god, we’ll get caught.”
“fuck them,” he groans into your ear before looking up at you, his deep voice and gaze sending shivers down your spine. “let them walk in, I don’t give a shit.”
you feel your thighs begin to quiver and shake as he continues having his way with you, fucking and using you like a rag doll, and just when you feel your legs almost give out from under you, chenle grabs your hips and wraps them around his waist as he keeps fucking you.
for a quick second, you’re grateful, but that’s until you realise this new angle has his dick drilling even further into your cunt.
“oh my god,” you cry out, “we can’t— chenle… you’re crazy.”
he just smiles at you, looking into your eyes; knowing they’re saying a differing story. thrusting his hips in deeper, he hisses as your hot walls squeeze around him, groaning loudly before he begins rubbing your clit in fast circles.
“tell me to stop,” he purrs seductively, kissing at your jaw before trailing kisses along your neck, “fuck— say you don’t want this as much as i do, and i’ll stop.”
the way your eyes roll into the back of your head has the blood rushing right to chenle’s cock. you both know for a fact you won’t tell him to stop, and when he begins thrusting faster, setting a relentless and merciless pace, you can’t help but give in and moan his name like a prayer as you fall apart.
“that’s my fucking girl,” he smirks proudly, picking up his pace, letting his movements do the talking for him. “shit, that’s it, baby… scream my name, let them hear you.”
౨₊ৎ Jisung
breeding and dacryphilia <3
“you wanna cum?” he questions, placing your legs over his shoulders as his pace quickens, a choked moan falling from your lips at the feeling.
you nod vigorously, your voice already slipping into a little whimper as you squeeze your eyes.
“fuck, baby… ‘m gonna fill you up good,” he purrs, thrusting forward, loosening his grip on your waist until his cock is fully sheathed inside your gspot.
“that’s the spot, right baby?” he growls animalistically, teasing you with a few shallow, yet powerful and merciless thrusts, as you wrap your legs around his waist, trying to feel more of him inside you.
“oh my god, jisung— fuck, right there,” you moan, feeling his groans echoing throughout your body, as he leans forward, placing his hands on either side of your head and leaning down to kiss you deeply, hungrily; biting your bottom lip and making you gasp. “please, i want you to come inside of me.”
“yeah, babe?”
jisung smiles devilishly, quickening to a brutal pace as he trails a hand down to massage your throbbing clit.
“want me to fill you up with my cum over and over again? get you pregnant?” he whispers, loving the way your entire body shakes and reacts to the thought of him knocking you up.
© foolsunz 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, modify, or take credit for any of my works.
#i am so normal about them…….#nct dream smut#nct smut#mark smut#jeno smut#haechan smut#jisung smut#jaemin smut#renjun smut#chenle smut#lee haechan smut#mark lee smut#na jaemin smut#huang renjun smut#lee jeno smut#park jisung smut#zhong chenle smut#nct dream scenarios#nct dream x reader#nct x reader#nct scenarios
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strawberry cake
word count: 1.3k
warnings: afab!reader, reader x jisung, consensual somnophilia, smut - MINORS DNI.
synopsis: jisung fucks you in your sleep idk there's no other plot here
i’m wet and you’re not home to help me
i’m going to bed
don’t wake me up when you get back
(i’m wearing the shorts)
11:09 pm
these are the texts jisung was met with when he finally got a chance to look at his phone. it was almost midnight, his muscles hurt beyond compare and his eyelids felt like lead when he tried to blink, but the simple message that you had sent him made his entire body sing in excitement.
it wasn’t often that you allowed him this - you liked to be awake to watch his features morph in ecstasy when he first sank into you, wanted to witness the way his eyes rolled back into his head when he came. today was a different case though; you genuinely were tired, and you knew that even if you tried to stay awake for him that you would fall asleep halfway through, and wouldn’t that be a kick to jisung’s self esteem?
so you created this system of sorts. a pair of sleep shorts that you bought that was in a color you never usually wore, just so there was no chance of confusion. a signal that jisung was allowed to do whatever he wanted to you, whether or not you were awake - when you first brought it up to him he was apprehensive, but neither one of you could ignore the way his cock jumped in his boxers at the idea.
just like it was now, as he was rushing through packing his bag so he could make it home to you. he makes it home in what must be a record breaking time, nearly sweating in excitement the entire way. if he got any judgemental looks from the way he bumped into people as he sped by, he didn’t notice, too focused on his goal to give them a sparing thought.
your body was a lump under the comforter when he finally approached you, blankets pulled around you like a cocoon so only your face was still visible. he almost felt bad at the thought of having to remove you from the warmth, but his neediness won over it.
he takes his clothes off hastily, shivering when the cold air hit his feverish skin, but he paid it no mind - there was one thing running through his thoughts right now and it was making his dick harden at an alarming rate.
he kneels on the side of the bed, peeling back the comforter just to make sure the shorts were still on - they were, of course they were. you wouldn’t tease him like that, but even when you were asleep your consent was important. he wouldn’t do anything to betray your trust.
you weren’t a light sleeper, which worked to his benefit. the cold air didn’t cause you to stir at all even though you were clad in a old bralette and skimpy shorts. he could see the outline of your nipples hardening through the fabric of your bralette, though, and he couldn’t resist from reaching towards them to rub at them with his thumbs. if awake, you would have shivered and whined, sensitivity ruling over your impulses, but now you don’t react at all. it was like you were a doll, and if your chest wasn’t rising and falling with your breaths he might believe that you were.
if his cock wasn’t hard before, it certainly was now.
he couldn’t resist from stopping to look at you, a rare thing that you don’t usually allow him to do when you were awake. his eyes roamed from the curve of your nose to the dark circles under your eyes to the plush bow of your lips, features completely relaxed. you’re beautiful. his hand moves up to your face, cupping it gently and moving it towards him so he could press a gentle kiss to your forehead. even though you didn’t feel it, he wanted you to know that he loves you.
god, he loves you so much.
you let out a soft snuff of breath when he grazes his hands over your hips and he freezes, watching your features carefully until he was sure that they remained soft with sleep. while he wouldn’t mind you being awake, that wasn’t part of the plan. you had said not to wake you up, and he was nothing if not obedient.
he pulls your shorts down to reveal your bare pussy, panties left off and a wet patch glistening on the crotch of your shorts. had you touched yourself before going to bed, thinking of him? did you come, moaning his name and wishing it was on his dick? or did you edge yourself, priming your body for him, making it ready?
either way, the evidence of your arousal was enough to make him snap as he crawls over you, a dangerously possessive look on his face as he finally takes his cock in his hand. he runs the tip of it through your folds, collecting your slick on him, and the feeling of it makes him let out a groan. he lowers his head to your neck as he pushes in, the slide easy from how lax your body was. He let out a shaky breath as he pushed fully into your tight heat as he moves his lips to your pulse point. the slow, rhythmic rush of blood follows through to his hips as he thrusts in small motions, holding himself back from taking you the way he so desperately wanted to.
he took your limp hands in his, intertwining your fingers together before pressing them to the mattress above your head. holding you down, even though you weren’t awake to move regardless. he backs up a bit as he picks up his rhythm, focusing on the tiny furrow of your brow and the way your mouth twisted up in pleasure.
you were clenching around him without restraint, like your body was unconsciously trying to keep him inside of you. he let go of one of your hands, wrapping his fingers around both of your wrists to keep them in place as his free hand wandered down your body to your clit. he rubbed at it experimentally, gasping when your hips jerked up to meet his automatically. he started a slow rhythm with his fingers as he continued fucking into you. your breaths was coming out in short huffs, lips parting again and again with every one, your body responding to the stimulation in a way your mind likely wasn’t. he wonders what you were dreaming about, if you were; he hopes that it’s about him.
without warning, your body shakes through a helpless orgasm but you remain asleep, eyes fluttering behind your lids. jisung barely has time to spare a thought of how that was even possible before he was hurtling towards his own, the rhythmic clenching of your cunt milking everything out of him until he was barely able to hold himself up over you. he collapses next to you, pressing kiss after kiss to whatever part of your body he could reach, whispering praises to you in between that fell on deaf ears.
when he could stand without his legs feeling like jelly he cleans you up, gently wiping at your dripping hole with a warm washcloth, fixated on the way you clenched on nothing when he passed over your swollen clit. he throws the rag to the side, climbing back over you so he could settle himself at your side and when he looked at you -
your eyes were open.
“how long have you been awake?” jisung asks, blinking at you.
“since you started panting into my neck,” you giggle, reaching for him so you could pull him into your side. “you seemed to like me being asleep though, so i pretended.”
“god, it was so hot,” he says, looking up at you with shiny eyes, embarrassingly fond of you. “what did i do to deserve you?”
“well,” you take his wrist, guiding his hand down towards your stomach. “i can think of a few things you can do now.”
#stray kids smut#skz smut#stray kids imagines#han jisung smut#han jisung x reader#han jisung imagines#jisung smut#han jisung#stray kids fic
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HARD THOUGHTS #2 — JISUNG.
pairing: jisung x reader(afab)
genre: smut, NSFW
warnings: confident-cocky!jisung, oral (f.receiving), dirty talk, face sitting
a/n: i’m horny so...
everyone always describes jisung as a whiny subby mess, who can’t dom you at all and will cry out of frustration. but i’m here to propose a cocky-confident jisung agenda.
first of all, have you seen this man’s smug smirk when he is on stage?? AND THAT DAMN TONGUE.
just imagine him doing this face during sex - smirk on his lips, bottom lip clamped between his teeth. he sticks his tongue out in anticipation, while he takes off your panties and settles down between your legs. and while doing so, he never breaks the eye contact, because he knows how flustered it makes you.
he doesn’t call you filthy names or treats you like a bitch. instead, he teases you and makes you feel so shy out of nowhere. be prepared, because you’ll always be blushing like crazy while having sex with him.
“wanna stay forever between your legs.”
“the blush on your cheeks is so cute.”
“do you like that, jagi?”
“want me to eat you out more?”
“you taste so good, i can't help it.”
“you are so greedy. can’t even live a day without having my face down there.”
he says these things, knowing that HE is the one who can’t live a day without your pussy. but he just loves having you blushing and stumbling over your words.
he has your arousal smeared all over his face - covering his chin and lips, but he doesn’t care. he only smiles at the way you cover your eyes in embarrassment while he licks your juices off his face.
if you sit on his face, he for sure will hit you with “i said, sit, jagi. don’t worry if i can breathe or not. just sit on it.”
he is confident in his actions, knows exactly what to do to make you squirm under him and cum in a few minutes. his big hands and long fingers covered in rings never leave you body, always finding some part of it to grab onto. if he is not caressing your thighs, be sure he’ll squeeze your boobs or hold down your waist.
he doesn’t admit it, but he cums in his pants just from making you finish on his tongue. he really just can’t help. you taste too good.
a little compilation of jisung with his tongue out because he needs a pussy on his face to put that tongue for use
-> reblog to support me, if you enjoyed reading this and please let me know your thoughts in the comments! ♡
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TAGLIST (OPEN): @hanjisung-enjoyer @fun-fanfics @soonie1010 @noellllslut @newhope8 @channiebahngswife @chanscappuccino @vivioluh @rockstrhanji @yoontaethings @katsukis1wife @caitlyn98s @yaorzu-blog @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan
#stray kids#skz smut#skz x reader#han jisung#skz jisung#jisung dom#han jisung smut#han jisung x reader#jisung x y/n#jisung x reader#jisung smut#skz han#han smut#han x reader
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Would you maybe be interested in this?
https://www.tumblr.com/thefantasydenthoughts/745174509121929216/sending-one-more-i-hope-im-not-annoying-i-feel?source=share
a/n: (link) I am yes BUT you know I have to add my own twist
Synopsis: You never expected to run into three terrifyingly handsome men the night you ran away on your wedding, but you didn't expect them to be so inviting either.
warnings: MDNI 18+, fem!reader, 4some, jerking off, multiple orgasms (f!), light pussy play, PIV, cumming inside, no protection, lots of boob play, overstim (f!), GUN INVOLVEMENT (not nsfw), kidnapping?? (kinda), prolly missed more lmao
4.3k words
"Don't scream," you hear a deep voice whisper in your ear before your mouth is covered. "Unless you want metal in your head."
Your small whimpers muffle in his hand, but you nod. The man with chubby cheeks gives you a sympathetic look and frowns at the one holding a gun to your head. "Do you have to say that? You're gonna make her cry."
"Jisung," a cat-like man says his name sternly. "We don't have time for this, let's go."
Jisung grumbles while they lead you to an alleyway away from the main street. The tall man behind you keeps the gun to your head, guiding you to follow them. There are hardly any lights this deep into an alley, but the moon provides enough to help you spot a parked car.
They're taking you back. The thought of your arranged marriage makes you cry, weeping in the hands of your kidnappers. Tears seep through the man's fingers and you taste the saltiness on your lips. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, but the hand on your mouth prevents you from properly inhaling.
You shake your head back and forth, trying to escape from his grip. "No," you sob. "I don't wanna go back. Don't send me back. Please."
The man with the cat eyes unlocks the car and opens the backseat door. "Damn Hyunjin. What'd you tell her?"
"I didn't say shit!" Hyunjin has to bump you toward the car as you try to escape. "She just started crying. Are you sure we have the right girl?"
It takes Hyunjin and Jisung to put you in the car. To ensure your captivity, each of them sits beside you, thigh to thigh. The other one sits in the front, roaring the car engine to life. "All I was told was that she had white heels. That's it."
You're still crying, hiccuping as Hyunjin keeps the gun pointed steadily at you. Jisung takes a comforting approach, opting to hold your shaky hands and smooth over your skin. "Nothing is gonna happen, okay?" He smiles wearily at you. "Just a few questions. That's all."
No way that's all. If your fiancé sent them, they'll do more than just ask questions. "D-don't lie to me," you say through your tears. "You're gonna send me back to h-him and make me m-marry him and you'll kill me if I don't." You expect them to keep feeding you lies in an attempt to calm you, but Jisung's expression is utterly confused.
"Marry? Marry who?" It's the driver who asks. He hasn't put the car into gear yet as he turns to look at you. His face is more terrifying when he's pissed. "Who are you?"
Shouldn't you be asking them that?
But you tell them. You tell them how you were set up for an arranged marriage with a man whose name you don't even know. You tell them that tonight is the night you ran away from your wedding. You're sure he's sent people to find you, and since Hyunjin had that god-forsaken gun, you thought they were the ones.
"Holy shit," Jisung swears when you finish your story. "Chan is gonna kill us."
You're not sure who Chan is, but you're not eager to find out. "Don't tell him! I promise I won't say anything. I swear. I'll pretend like nothing happened and...and I'll give you anything you want! I have money! I don't care how much you ask for, just don't hurt me." Your bottom lip trembles.
Han shares a look with Hyunjin who looks at the man in the front for directions.
"Listen," the driver speaks softly. "We aren't gonna hurt you. We weren't even thinking of it. We were supposed to question a different girl but someone got it wrong." He shoots a look at Jisung. "But I promise, pretty, nothing's gonna happen to you, okay?"
He sounds sincere, and whether he means it or not, it makes you feel just a little better. You nod and wipe the tears sliding down your face, trying to control your breathing. Hyunjin seems to have long abandoned the gun and Jisung’s hand moved to your knee. Suddenly, it’s not too scary having them pushed against you.
"See?" Jisung gives you a sweet smile. "You're gonna be okay. Minho looks all mean, but he's not too bad."
Minho grunts.
"Okay, maybe he is a little bad, but he's not all bad." Jisung gives a reassuring squeeze.
You nod, trying to smile but the need for air is more important. You're still in your wedding dress with a huge coat over it. With the two men sitting hip-to-hip with you, it's starting to feel hot and uncomfortable. You try fanning yourself with your hand, but it's not enough. Deciding it’s better to remove your coat, you slowly shrug the material off. It slides down your shoulders to reveal the dress you tried so hard to conceal.
It's beautiful, much to your dismay. A corset wrapped tightly at your waist so your breasts overfill at the top. It's loose on the bottom, with a slit starting at your upper thigh to expose your leg. It makes you look accentuated, yes, but it's a reminder that you were a pawn. You wish you could remove it entirely.
"Oh wow," Jisung can't help his shock. His eyes lock at your chest before traveling up to your neck. "You look...you look...I mean you were getting married, I know, but-"
"You look beautiful," Hyunjin saves Jisung from embarrassment. You discard the coat on the floor of the car before looking at Hyunjin. Maybe it's because he's no longer threatening you, but he looks charming under the car lights. His eyes remind you of how the crescent moon looks high in the sky. Though his lips seem to demand your attention from his smile, you can’t help but be drawn to the shining metal on his eyebrow.
"I uhh...thanks," you aren't sure which enchanting features to look at. “You look…good too.”
"Thank you," he giggles. "So is this what you were gonna wear for a man you've never even met?" Hyunjin gestures at your dress. Your smile falters and you nod. "What a waste," he places his large hand on your face, thumb stroking your cheek. "Such a pretty thing like you deserves so much more. Don't you think, Ji?"
"So much more," Jisung scoots closer to you. His hand goes to your knee while leaning into your neck. "So pretty." His breath is warm on your skin. His body heat feels like an inviting blanket you want to wrap yourself in. Though you haven’t spoken to Jisung much, he seems to be the ‘nicest’. He was the only one who made an effort to calm you down, even if it didn’t help much at the time.
You can tell Jisung wants to touch you more. He's practically vibrating with need, but he holds back. The only sign he gives you is the hand on your leg. It never travels up, but his fingers make small circles on your skin. His hesitation only works you up more. Feeling his hand on your knee is only a hint at what you might endure tonight. You're surprised to see how much you want to feel all of them touching you.
Still, you have the mind to remember how scared you were moments ago. “I don't- I don't think-" You're cut off by Hyunjin tracing his thumb on your mouth. He taps your bottom lip, pulling it down to reveal your lower teeth.
"Don't think, angel," he sounds like a dream. "You're safe with us, that's all that matters."
Safe? That you aren't too sure of, but you don't try to stop Hyunjin when he leans in. His hand is steady on your cheek while his lips meet yours. The kiss is soft, a gentle mingling to let you know he wouldn't do anything you're not ready for. You tilt your head up to get more of his taste. A specific flavor of coolness meets your mouth, he must wear chapstick.
Mint, you think.
The kiss deepens and his tongue swipes against your lip. You debate on it, unsure if you're really wanting to fuck the same guys who scared the shit out of you minutes ago. But everything just feels so good. Hyunjin's mouth and Han's inching hand. You're already on the run from your finance, what's the harm in fucking up more?
You part your lips, inviting Hyunjin's tongue. He inhales and grunts at the wetness of yours. They slide together and mix, twisting into an open-mouthed kiss crudely.
Hyunjin properly reattaches his mouth to suck on your bottom lip, pulling the skin in a way that makes you whine. Jisung takes the opportunity to slide his hand up the slit, finding home at your inner thigh. You feel his mouth attach to the exposed part of your neck. His tongue is hot on your skin, licking and sucking until your throat turns a bright shade of pink.
"Are you guys seriously gonna fuck in my car?"
Oh. Right, there's another person here. Hyunjin slowly pulls away from you. The lack of kissing has you chasing his lips, blindly following the sensation.
Han whines in the crook of your neck, sparing a look at Minho who looks both irritated and aroused.
"But Minhooo..." Jisung pouts. "She's so pretty."
"So pretty," Hyunjin parrots.
"And we weren't very nice to her at first. This is us making it up! This is the least we owe her, don't you think?" Jisung must have Minho under some type of spell because his features soften. There's a brief moment of silence that's nearly deafening. The attention shifts from Minho to you, and you can hardly stand the tension.
"I...I want to."
"Oh, you do?" Minho doesn't sound too friendly. "Alright then. Go ahead." He twists his body so it's fully facing you and the other men. You hear Hyunjin groan and Jisung giggle. They waste no time in getting back to their original position, though Jisung seems eager to spread your legs wide this time.
The feeling of two hot mouths lands on both sides of your neck. You gasp, fists gripping their pants.
You lock eyes with Minho to see a smirk on his lips. "You're...you're just gonna watch?"
Minho's smile widens, "Why? Is two not enough for you?"
Hyunjin laughs against your skin while you blush. "That's not what I meant," you whimper when Jisung bites down on your flesh. "I just...I don't want you to-"
"He's a big boy, angel," Hyunjin picks up his head from your neck. "If he wants to watch, he can watch you cum on my dick, okay?" You turn redder, hand coming up to cover your bashful expression.
It's a good thing you've got something covering your mouth because Jisung has managed to infiltrate your underwear amidst the conversation. He massages your cunt through the material in slow circles. You hum and widen your legs while Hyunjin helps to hike the dress up to your waist.
"No, she’s gonna cum on me first!” Jisung pouts. “I wanna be the first one.” To drive his point home, Jisung moves your underwear to the side. He spreads your lips to show the arousal collecting somewhat proudly. “I did this! It’s not fair that Hyunjin calls the shots when I’m the one who got her wet! And I was the only one nice to her!”
Ah, that’s true. Even if Han’s throwing a bit of a tantrum, you can’t help but find it somewhat cute. The points he makes are valid, and if he wasn’t as welcoming as he was in the beginning, you would probably be doing something very different than what you are now.
Though Han’s directing his whining at the others, you nod. “I…I don’t mind if Jisung goes first.” Your words quiet the car before Jisung looks at you with an endearing smile. “Really?!” He claps when you nod.
“See!” He looks at Hyunjin. “You don’t get to get everything just ‘cause you’re handsome.”
You giggle as Jisung grabs you by the waist to hover you a few inches off the seat. He slides underneath your ass and wiggles his pants down, using a hand to free his cock. Hyunjin still keeps the dress at your waist so you’re able to see Jisung spring-free when you look down.
It’s a lot thicker than you thought. It flushes a deep color while the head of his cock is even darker. A few small veins trail along his length, but one along the sides has you already lowering yourself down in anticipation.
“Whatever. You’re just opening her up for me,” Hyunjin grumbles.
His words are lost to you and Jisung as he taps his tip on the front of your pussy. Jisung swivels his hips so he’s able to smear his pre-cum over your cunt. You match his movements, grinding back and forth so your clit can catch his flared tip. It’s hard to steady yourself while wearing heels, so you find leverage by hanging onto the headrests of the front seats where Minho sits.
“Can’t forget about these,” Minho hums to himself as he reaches for your corset. He loosens the top part of your dress before spilling your breasts out, cupping and groping them. He flicks your nipples in an attempt to get them to harden. With his thumb and forefinger, he pinches the buds until you squeal.
Hyunjin can’t contain himself anymore. He watches as Jisung gets to rub his dick all over your pretty cunt and as Minho plays with your tits. Finding a solution, Hyunjin bunches the material of your dress in one hand behind your back so a newly free hand can finally touch you somewhere. And that somewhere is your cunt.
“Don’t you want Jisung in your pussy already? Hm?” You feel Hyunjin slide his long fingers to Han’s cock so he can push it up. The tip slightly breaches your entrance, but there’s not enough force for it to go in all the way. Still, you can feel the warmth of it, of all of them. Minho’s soft yet ruthless hands twisting your nipples until they blossom with pink; Han’s hot dick sliding across your pussy; and Hyunjin’s warm fingers guiding the cock where it should go.
You nod, though you aren’t sure if he can tell.
Hyunjin grabs the base of Han’s cock and angles it to your cunt. “So wet already, it should slide in real good.” He tugs the back of your dress as a sign to lower yourself. Hyunjin is careful to make sure Han’s cock stays perfectly aligned with your hole despite how much he’s moving. Your lower lips spread as the head of his cock breaches your entrance, a whine leaving you. Inch by inch, you take Han’s length inside of you, thighs burning as you slowly make your descent.
Minho’s hands travel from your chest to your shoulders, helping you fully settle on Han’s cock. “Shit, look at that,” he laughs breathlessly. “Pussy opens so good for him.” You whine at Minho’s praise, finding the motivation to finally sink fully into his cock with a moan.
“Gotta fuck you,” Jisung whimpers from behind. His hands find the curve of your hips before he thrusts upwards. You squeal at his intrusion, thighs shaking. “J-Jisung! Can’t- I can’t- Just wait let me-” But he doesn’t wait and a bigger part of you is glad. You can feel his thighs slapping against the bottom of yours, how he’s whining just behind your ear with soft apologies.
“So, so good. Pussy so good to me, baby. I- fuck- ‘m sorry. I’ll be slower next time, mkay? I promise.” Jisung opts to wrap his arms around your middle torso to properly fuck up into you. Your tits bounce at his harsh thrusts and Minho doesn’t hesitate to get back to work on them. He takes hold of your nipples and pulls, watching your back arch forward. The whimper that leaves your mouth is heavenly, and Hyunjin can’t help but grow restless.
The taller man moves his hand to rub on your clit, moving the flesh in wide circles. Your jaw drops and you tilt your head to look at Hyunjin, eyes glazed with tears and arousal from the overstimulation. He gives you a dazzling smile, “You should see how you look, angel. Gettin’ all worked up over one dick. It’s so cute.”
Your styled hair must be a mess from the way Jisung keeps pounding into you. Your dress is wrinkled and damn near disheveled at the top because of Minho’s persistent groping. And you’re sure the expensive makeup can only last so long. So to hear Hyunin call you cute seems like it should be impossible, but the look on his face screams authenticity. You mean to thank him, to say anything that could describe how grateful you are for all of them making your night, but the moment you open your mouth, it’s moans and cries that sound instead.
“Fuck! Her pussy,” Jisung groans. “Gonna make me cum. I can cum in you, right? Can I?” The desperation in his voice makes you want to agree, but it’s Minho who answers him. “You get to fuck her first and cum in her? That hardly sounds fair.” Even though you can see the smirk on Minho’s lips, Jisung cries out as if he’s been wounded. His embrace around you tightens and his thrusts grow sloppy. Despite that, your cunt hugs his cock eagerly, begging for his cum. The walls of your pussy feel stretched and used, but you can feel your womb aching to be filled.
“Want it…” you moan. “All of it. I want all of it.”
It’s as if you’re Jisung’s savior. He can’t help but laugh, looking at his hyungs with triumph. “Heard that? You heard that, right?” He kisses the exposed part of your neck tenderly. “Thank you, baby, thank you. Imma fill you up nice and full. Gonna be leaking with my cum for weeks.”
“Gross,” you hear Hyunjin grimace. There’s not a chance to glance at him before Jisung bucks up into you with fervor. You gasp, leaning forward towards Minho so Jisung can have full access to your pussy. It’s wet, it’s lewd, and Hyunjin only makes the sounds louder as his fingers flick back and forth against your nub.
You’re reminded of how tired your legs are in this position, but that thought is distracted by a warm mouth enveloping your breast. You look down to see Minho peering up at you through his lashes, your nipple between his teeth. He gently bites before sucking it back into his mouth, letting his tongue graze the bud repeatedly. He hallows his mouth to make a powerful suction and leans his head back, taking your tit with him.
It’s no shock when you cum, but it is sudden. You’re not sure which action made you finally tip over, but Jisung can feel the gushing of your cunt and the squeezing of your walls on his cock. Hyunjin can feel how much wetter your clit has gotten, how it twitches in his hold. Minho only giggles when your entire body vibrates, tits jiggling in his mouth.
Han whines, “Is she cumming? I can feel her pussy creaming all over my cock. Shit, feels so good baby. Gonna make me cum.”
“Mhm,” Hyunjin looks at your wrecked state that barely manages to keep you upright. “She’s cumming all right. Don’t think she can take much more, Ji. Hurry up or she’ll pass out on my turn.”
The thought of having Hyunjin fuck you makes you clench on Jisung’s cock. It seems like he appreciates this, moaning before spilling hot cum into your pussy. It floods your cunt in streaks, finding a place deep in your womb. Your knuckles turn white from the grip you have on the headrests, teeth digging into your lower lip just to keep yourself from being too loud. Jisung groans and rests his forehead on your back, giving you tired thrusts to ride out his high.
“God- fuck! You put a spell on this pussy or something? Squeezing me so tight like it doesn’t wanna let me go.” Jisung struggles to pull himself out of you. He adjusts his hands back to your hips so he can lift you, slowly dragging his cock against your walls. You moan at the feeling of him sliding out. It’s cautious and slow, a good alternative from how roughly he was fucking you. The two of you let out a loud whine when he’s fully out.
“About time,” Hyunjin pushes Jisung out of the way. Jisung frowns, “Hey! That’s not very nice.”
Hyunjin laughs, shaking his head as he adjusts himself to how Jisung was. “Shut up. Just hold her dress up.” With grumbles, the younger man listens and bunches your wedding dress in his fists. Hyunjin slides the tip of the cock on your pussy, sending overstimulating shocks throughout your body.
“Make it fast,” Minho directs his attention to Hyunjin. “We’ve overstayed.” Hyunjin nods, but not without a few mumbles under his breath before sinking himself inside of you.
You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Han’s cock wasn’t the longest, but it hardly lacked the thickness to stretch you out. With Han, it felt like you were being lolled around, but with Hyunjin, you can’t help but still. His cock goes deep, a never-ending feeling of being probed. You throw your head back, uncaring for how loud your moan is. Hyunjin shivers under you, hands shaky as he quickly finds a pace to fuck into you.
Minho has a front-seat view. It’s an understatement to say he’s amazed at how well you’re taking Hyunjin. Your cunt flutters open perfectly for him, clit swollen from being rubbed. Minho watches the inches upon inches being slammed into you before being pulled out. You can’t blame him when you see him sneak a hand to undo his jeans before pulling his cock out.
“Shit! Can’t believe you got to fuck this pussy first,” Hyunjn moans out to Jisung. “Still so tight.”
Jisung is wiggling in his seat despite already cumming, Like Minho, he’s slowly stroking his soft cock at the sight. “Mhm. Tight little pussy. He’s fucking you real good, huh?” He doesn’t expect you to answer, you’re too busy trying not to scream at the bruising pace Hyunjin’s set. If you thought Jisung was rough, then Hyunjin is brutal.
“T-too much!” You yelp when Hyunjin finds a certain spot in your cunt. He feels your walls clench so violently that Jisung’s cum leaks onto his cock. “N-not there,” you whimper. “Can’t take it.”
“But it feels so good there,” Hyunjin retaliates. For once, his hips slow to purposely drag his cock across that spot. You squirm and hiccup in his hold, squealing at how overwhelmingly blissful it feels. Jisung wipes the corner of your mouth, collecting the drool that’s begun to seep through your lips before popping it in his mouth to suck.
Hyunjin drives his cock deep inside, “You feel that?” He pulls a few inches out and grinds in again. “That’s where I’mma put all my cum. Right in here.” You shiver at his words, nodding mindlessly. He smiles at your pliant state though you can’t see. “Good girl.”
“And you called me gross,” Jisung rolls his eyes, thumb still in his mouth as he watches Hyunjin desperately get himself to cum inside you. His words are hardly noticed though amongst the sound of skin and moans. All you can focus on is how close Hyunjin can bring you in such a short amount of time. He’s focused on fucking you right and you can feel how hot his body is. He brings you back down on his cock with such vigor that your entire body jiggles at the force. Minho’s eyes switch between your cunt swallowing Hyunjin’s cock to your breasts. You wish you could reach over and replace his hand with your own, but Hyunjin has a strong hold on your body for his own use.
His cock twitches in your pussy and he groans. Hyunjin’s hips have started to falter, but you’re hardly upset about it. Your cunt feels beyond abused, leaking with Jisung’s cum every time Hyunjin fucks into you. The familiar feeling of euphoria builds in your stomach and you feel it grow with every powerful thrust. You’re so caught up in the sensation of your approaching orgasm that you almost miss Hyunjin announcing his own high.
“Oh, angel. I’mma cum in you. You want my cum, yeah? Say it. Fuck. Say how much you want it.”
Hyunjin expecting you to talk despite pounding himself into you is comical, but you manage to squeak out small words. “So bad. I need it, Hyunnie. I- I wanna feel it inside me, please.” Your babbling is more than enough for Hyunjin to unload. He shivers and stills his hips flush against your ass, letting his cock pump you full of cum.
You can feel his tip pressing against your cervix. His cock is rubbing against your gummy spot so perfectly that you cum seconds after him. Hyunjun moans at the feel of your walls clamping down on him.
When he slips out of you, your thighs fold until you collapse on his lap wetly. Your legs tremble both from exertion and the pleasure coursing through your body. You rest your head on the middle console, wrapping your arms around your torso in an attempt to stop yourself from shaking. Hyunjin soothingly runs his hands up and down your back, cooing at how well you did with Jisung chiming in with compliments.
It takes you a moment to recognize the wet sound of Minho stroking himself. You tiredly pick your head up just in time with his orgasm. Minho’s cum shoots so far that a few strings of cum land on your face. You blink and flinch at the warm substance, automatically using your tongue to swipe off the gooey liquid.
“Oops,” you can see Minho trying his best not to laugh. “Uhh…let’s take you to Chan’s now.”
#smut#skz smut#stray kids smut#stray kids#skz#skz hyunjin#skz hard hours#skz hard thoughts#skz jisung#skz han#skz lee know#skz minho#minho skz#minho smut#hyunjin smut#han smut#Jisung smut#poly skz#hyunjin hwang#han jisung#skz lee minho#minho stray kids
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nct dream reaction :: getting horny unintentionally
𝗥𝗘𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗗? 〚YES〛/ 〚𝗡𝗢✗〛
⟶ requests are closed.
AUTHORS NOTE. was talking abt this with @haechrry a while back and i almost passed away so i had to write it. also, a biiiiiig thank you to @dollyji who helped give ideas for chenle and jisungs (mwah). also again this isn’t proofread it’s currently 5am so if you notice any mistakes, no you don’t <3
. . . 𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗞
mark always has his hand on resting on your thigh, both intentional and unintentional. you learnt over time that this specific form of physical touch comforted him, made him feel at ease, grounded him whenever he was stuck in his own head. the touch comforted you too and you didn't have any problem with it, but it was the strokes of his fingers and the grabbing of your flesh that turned a sweet moment into a moment of want and need. you wanted nothing more than to grip his hand and shove it in between your thighs to where you yearned for him the most.
you're stuck in one of those moments, eyeing his hand that rests on your thigh, watching his fingers drum against your skin as he hums a tune under his breath all while staring down at his phone in his other hand. he has no idea what he's doing to you.
"what are you looking at?" he suddenly asks you and your head snaps up to meet his eyes, noticing that he's staring at with you an unreadable glint. "what's up?"
"nothing" you shake your head, but you press your lips together with a deep exhale as you start to feel mark's fingers knead into your skin. "do you know what you're doing?"
"no?" he frowns before his attention dart down to his hand, realisation creeping over him. "oh" he gives you a boyish grin, something you immediately want to kiss off of his face. "i didn't know me doing something so simple turned you on so much"
"everything you do turns me on"
"i can do something about that, if you want?" mark suggests as he shuts off his phone and places it down, turning to face you fully as he leans in close, "just open your legs a little wider for me, baby"
. . . 𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗝𝗨𝗡
he’s just standing there. he’s just standing half naked with a towel hanging loosely off of his hips as he rummages through your drawers to look for his sleepwear. yet there’s something about him standing half naked in your room that has your mind running wild.
the imprint of his cock pressing against the material of the towel has your mouth watering, the water droplets that slide down his chest does nothing to help calm your feral thoughts and you can almost feel yourself beginning to drool when his body turns to face you, throwing a clean shirt and boxers down on the bed.
you watch with hungry eyes as he tugs the towel off his hips, letting it fall to the ground as he reaches for his boxers to put them on but your quicker, leaping over the bed covers to snatch them up, causing him to make a noise of surprise as he looks at you with wide eyes.
“i need to get dressed” he chuckles when he sees you hold the item close to your chest. “baby, come on…”
“i don’t think you’ll be needing them” you say truthfully and you see a smile start to form on his lips.
“and why’s that?”
“because i’m going to suck your cock” you tell him, noticing how his cock twitches at your words. “and then you’re going to fuck me. after that, we’ll shower together to not waste water… and maybe we’ll go for round two”
“yeah? is that right?” he asks you and you nod immediately. “alright. get on your knees for me then and suck me off so i can fuck you good”
. . . 𝗝𝗘𝗡𝗢
it's supposed to be a romantic date night with you and jeno, enjoying the midnight sky after a hefty meal and a few drinks, wrapped up in each others arms as you enjoy your alone time together.
but the situation you're in doesn't feel romantic in the slightest, in fact you're feeling a little hot and aroused being pressed up against a railing with jeno standing behind you, chin resting on your shoulder and his arms wrapped around your middle, his body flush against yours as he takes in the scenery.
you can feel him, all of him. his cock pressing between your ass cheeks which is covered by a flimsy skirt and every breath he takes, it presses more into you, caging you between him and the railing.
your pussy aches for him, desperate to flip up your skirt and push your underwear to the side to have him so easily slide into you and fuck you right here in public, for anyone to see, but you know that's not going to happen.
"this is supposed to be a romantic date night yet you're grinding your ass against my cock like a bitch in heat" you hear him murmur into your ears and you mewl softly, doing nothing to stop your actions as you continue pushing back into him and he grips your hips tight, hissing through his teeth. "keep going and i'll bend you over this railing, let the whole city hear you scream my name"
. . . 𝗛𝗔𝗘𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡
the position of haechan laying between your thighs, head resting on your belly as he watches something on his phones screen has you feeling weak in the knees. his breath fans against your skin, his hair tickles you every time he moves, the light pecks he gives you randomly has you squeezing your thighs around his shoulders.
he coos, taking it as a sign of you hugging him and he stokes you, delicate fingers tracing shapes on your skin, not realising the damage he’s causing to you and your poor panties that are probably soaked in arousal, feeling uncomfortably sticky on your folds.
you try to manoeuvre around to get some friction, to feel anything that could satisfy the need for him and the way he slowly turns his head to look at you could almost be deemed as comical if it wasn’t for his darkened gaze.
“i know what you’re doing” he says, completely disregarding his phone as it drops to the bed sheets. “i know me laying between your legs like this is turning you on. Do you think you’re sneaky?”
you cant help but scoff, “You knew yet you didn’t do anything about it?”
“just wanted to see if you’d beg me” he states nonchalantly, pressing his hands on your thighs to spread them apart further, smirking as he sees the damp patch on your shorts. “do it, baby. beg me”
. . . 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗠𝗜𝗡
“fuck, why is this so hard?” you hear jaemin curse under his breath from the kitchen and your brows pull together at the sound, peering your head around the doorframe to see your shirtless boyfriend staring down at a recipe on the countertop, palms flat against the surface and muscles bulging as he leans in to take a closer look.
he grumbles and curses again, mumbling something about the ingredients as he runs his fingers through his hair and let’s put a frustrated sigh, craning his neck back to reveal his adams apple.
the sight, undoubtedly, is arousing. seeing jaemin so worked up and cursing over something so simple has you feeling a little hot and bothered, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you watch him roll his shoulders back with a grunt and he goes to turn, seemingly heading towards the cabinets but stops in his tracks as he sees you, leaning against the doorframe with a familiar glint in your eyes.
“how long have you been standing there?”
“long enough” you answer, clearly checking him out as your eyes roam over his chest and down to his vline where the rest his hidden by a pair of sweatpants that hang from his hips. “what are you doing?”
“was hungry, tried following a new recipe” he explains to you with a grin, drumming his fingers against the countertop as he looks at you, gaze turning sultry. “although if you come over here and sit your pretty little ass down in front of me, i may be hungry for something else”
. . . 𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗡𝗟𝗘
“did you see that? that was such bullshit… what the fuck? how can someone be so dumb? so clueless? i swear, they do this shit on purpose. stupid fucking idiots—”
you’re salivating at the mouth hearing chenle curse out the players on the tv screen, too engrossed in the game to notice how much of an effect his rant seems to have on you.
chenle getting riled up over anything and everything is definitely one of your favourite versions of him, seeing the annoyance and anger swimming in his irises, face red and teeth grit together. he doesn’t get riled up at you per se, it’s at everything else that pisses him off. (even though sometimes, you do wish it was you, hence why you always act like a brat in the bedroom).
eyeing him up, seeing how his jaw clenches makes you want to push at his shoulders to lay him down flat and smother his face more than ever, and with his fists clenching at his sides makes you yearn for him to manhandle you in his grip and have you in any way he prefers.
but it was him clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth and poking at his cheek in frustration that makes you snap, hands gripping his shoulders and laying him back against the sofa cushions, climbing onto his lap and tugging his belt through the loops of his jeans.
“really? that easy?” he chides you, brow raising as if to say he was in disbelief. but with how he’s growing harder beneath your palm, you know he’s feeling the exact same way as you. “come on then, princess. sit on my face while i fuck your mouth”
. . . 𝗝𝗜𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚
you’re supposed to be finishing up the latest episode of a tv show, promising to get it over and done with to spill your thoughts and theories with your bestie over text. but you struggle to complete the task when you can see jisung in the corner of your eye fiddle with his hands, twisting the rings that he’s wearing around his fingers and pressing down on his knuckles to crack them all while whispering lowly beneath his breath—lyrics of a song that sounds a little suggestive due to his tone.
you try to not take any more notice but you find yourself in a difficult position with him leaning against you and hearing the whispers so clearly in your ear and the movements of his fingers. you fidget in your seat, clearing your throat as you try to collect your thoughts all while the arousal builds, pussy clenching around nothing as you squeeze your thighs together.
“why’d you keep moving so much?” jisung suddenly asks you and you freeze, almost feeling a little silly at being caught.
“you’re distracting me”
he cocks his head to the side innocently, “i am?”
“yes” you nod. “i can hear you whispering the lyrics to that song and playing with your fingers… it’s distracting”
“is it?” jisung asks again this time, but his voice is low and sultry, causing you to turn to look at him in surprise as he smiles at you. “want me to whisper how much i want to fuck you in your ear while i finger you? i can do that if you want”
©𝗠𝗥𝗞𝗜𝗦
#nct smut#nct dream smut#nct dream reaction#nct dream smut reaction#mark lee smut#renjun smut#jeno smut#haechan smut#jaemin smut#chenle smut#jisung smut
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𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 - college bf!han jisung x fem!reader
wc: 3k
synopsis: there's an hour until your roommate comes back and your boyfriend is looking particularly delicious.
a/n: HI :3 i wrote it.... jisung not a complete sub.. i wrote it. as always thank u miss may and miss ems for proofreading for me <3
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
sw: daddy kink, soft dom jisung maybe?, choking, sub reader, messy sex, reader has a wap, oral (m and f rec), doggy, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk! jisung has a dirty mouth
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
there’s a scoff from beside you, and you jump in surprise when jisung wails, flinging his legs around. “baby! you’re not even watching the movie!”
you’re not, and you can’t even deny it. you’ve been staring blankly at your laptop screen where it sits on the edge of your twin bed, and it feels like you have seen this studio ghibli film with jisung a million times. you huff and try to curl up into his chest, and he makes a noise again, nose nudging your head incessantly until you look up at him.
“are you bored?” he asks, eyes round. his bottom lip is jutted out into a pout, and you want to kiss it, want to litter kisses around his face until he’s blushing and giggling in his shyness.
it’s been a few months with jisung now. he was so cool when you first met him, all baggy jeans and beanies and nail polish, and he even lives off campus. he has his own bedroom there, and you honestly wish you two were stationed there right now instead of anxiously waiting for your roommate to arrive, because you’d been thinking about sex with jisung.
of course you had. jisung had arrived to yours with his signature wide grin, messy curly hair and oversized flannel falling off his broad shoulders, and you’d immediately thought of jumping his bones. you let him into your room, curled up on the bed with him and let him choose the movie, and while you’d been waiting for him to make a move, he seems to not even be thinking about it.
you’re not bored, you just want your boyfriend’s cock in your mouth.
“‘m not bored, hannie,” you shake your head solemnly. he tilts his head in confusion, and you feel bad for thinking such unsavoury thoughts about him. it’s not like you can help yourself, he just fucked you so good last time, and your eyes are going half lidded just from the thought. your legs on his shoulders, the headboard of his bed hitting the wall, his mouth on your tits, his fingers on your-
“oh my god,” he bursts out laughing, eyes crinkling. “jagi. are you being dirty right now?! i just wanted to watch a movie-”
“i didn’t say anything!” you whine, slapping his shoulder playfully, and jisung’s still chortling. he can’t help it, shoulders shaking, and when he finally calms down your cheeks are burning crimson. you grimace, embarrassment eating you whole. “sung-ah.”
he looks at you with a cocky grin, raising his eyebrows. “baby, there’s nothing to be ashamed about. i’m thinking about fucking you all the time. i’ve been hard since i got here, to be honest.”
the way he says it is so straightforward, so blunt, that it makes you scoff out a laugh. you love the way he can make you feel so relaxed by just being him, and so you cuddle closer, wiggling against his chest in delight when he kisses your forehead.
and then you realise.
“you- you’re hard… right now?” you ask, licking over your bottom lip. it’s hard to tell in his huge baggy jeans, but if you stare hard enough you think you can see his length pressing against his zipper. you feel jisung nod against your head, and you sigh, rubbing your thighs together with need. he’s hard right now, and his hands move to the denim to adjust himself. “i- can i suck you off, sungie? i want to so bad.”
the film has been forgotten. you still hear the audio blaring from your laptop speakers, and your eyes move to look at the screen to check the time. you still have an hour until your roommate gets back.
“fuck. yeah, you can,” jisung nods eagerly. his hands move from his jeans to allow you access, and you’re quick to undo the button and the zipper that keep you from your boyfriend’s cock. he’s hard in his boxers, a wet patch of precum soaking through the black fabric, and you pull his jeans down all the way to discard them on the floor.
jisung pulls his shirt up to above his tummy for you to see him in his whole, and you blink wordlessly at the sight of him, mouth agape. above his boxers, a v-line leads upwards into his slender waist before panning outwards again at his broad shoulders. his abs clench and unclench under his skin in anticipation, and you run a fingernail down one, watching him quiver. he grins cockily, but his chest is heaving already, and you get so irritated at his confidence that you lean down instantly to mouth over his clothed erection.
“shit,” jisung whimpers, hand moving to clutch the headboard behind his head. “fuck, yeah. suck daddy’s cock, my baby. pull it out, c’mon, c’mon-“
“jisung,” you huff, eyes stern when you look up at him. he pushes his fringe from his eyes with his free hand, licks over his lips, and you’re still glaring. “let me play.”
he does. he lets you mouth and dribble all over the fabric of his boxers until they’re soaked through, material almost turning transparent with your spit, and then you finally yank the waistband down to rest underneath his balls. they’re so little, so round and full, and they almost push his shaft upright for you with how swollen they are.
you lick over his balls and he gasps, thighs twitching. “mm, god, fuckin’- hnnnfg, hot little mouth, baby,” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut, and you’re so desperate you can’t help but lean upwards to suck his cockhead into your mouth. you run your tongue on the underside of his tip, right where it’s sensitive, and his hands fly to your hair so fast you think he might fuck your throat. “don’t be mean to me, yeah? not today. not today, my baby, be good for daddy.”
“mm,” you hum, letting his shaft fall from your mouth. with a grip around his base, brushing past his dark pubic hair, you slap it against your tongue a few times. jisung’s eyes roll back into his head. “i’ll be good for daddy. daddy likes me dirty, huh?”
“f-fuck yeah, my baby,” he nods, enthusiastic, and when your head ducks down again to taste him his knee jolts so hard he almost kicks you. “daddy loves you d-dirty, ooh- oh, that’s- baby, makin’ my cock feel so good.”
you let him tighten his grip onto your hair, and then you bob your head. jisung’s length always presses at your throat uncomfortably but you can’t help but crave the pressure, sucking hard every time your head drops and letting your lips muse wetly over his shaft on the way back up. jisung’s hips kick up when his cockhead finally kisses the back of your throat and you gag, eyes watering, and he’s quick to pull you off of him by your hair.
a string of your saliva connects you to his length as you pout up at him in question. “i’ll cum, don’t- don’t do that,” he says, breathless, and you giggle. it’s hoarse but jisung still smiles as if you’ve charmed the socks off of him, and you blink in question when he finally takes his flannel and his tee off, dropping them on the floor. he’s so delicious, honey skin stretching over tight, lean muscle, and his abs tense while you ogle him.
in a brief second, you’re pinned to the bed, jisung’s lips against yours. jisung always kisses filthy, tongue all over your lips and drool slicking down to your chin. you let him force his hands to your sleep shorts, and he’s impatient when he yanks them down, rings cold against your skin. you’re so whiplashed by the whole situation that you pull your t-shirt off yourself, breaking the kiss, and jisung looks like he’s about to cry.
“oh, baby,” he murmurs, eyes wide and fixated on your chest. your nipples pebble against the cool air and you can’t help but writhe on your bed, smiling bashfully at your boyfriend. before you can get insecure or even the slightest bit embarrassed jisung’s shoved his face in your chest with a deep exhale. his curly hair tickles you and you laugh, thighs kicking up. “daddy’s home, babies.”
“jisungie!” you slap him on the shoulder playfully, and he retreats with a little huff of amusement. finally, his eyes drop lower, and his hands smooth upwards on your thighs. he licks over his bottom lip, eyebrows raising, and then he’s slowly moving closer.
“mm, let me taste it first,” he murmurs, and you squeak when he wraps his hands underneath your asscheeks, yanking you down the bed. he wastes no time, curly strands covering his eyes as he smothers his face in your cunt. jisung’s a little theatrical when he eats you out, you think - he positively growls into your pussy and almost cums in his pants every time - but he swears its a reasonable reaction.
he swirls his tongue around your clit and then he’s pursing it between his pretty lips. he flicks it with the tip of his tongue, and you moan, high pitched and airy. when your hands move to his hair, tugging the strands a little, he finally sucks the bud hard. it feels like he’s driving you insane, your thighs twitching and brain floating off into a less embarrassed, entirely more horny headspace.
“a-ah! ah, daddy! daddy, my pussy, ‘s- daddy, more,” you whine, and he can’t deny you ever. his tongue flicks over your hole and then he licks a fat, wide stripe up your folds. his mouth dribbles your wetness as lubrication to dirty your pussy up even more, and it practically talks to jisung when he sucks your folds into his mouth. “more! moremoremore, gimme, gimme, pleaaaaase!”
fucking his tongue over your clit again, jisung growls, and the vibrations ring through your body like you’ve been struck by lightning. you grind your hips upwards into his mouth, and he only shakes his head against your pussy enthusiastically, smearing spit and slick over your heated skin.
“hnnfg- ahhhh! ah, my pussy! feels s’good, my pussy feels so good, jisungie, daddy,” you babble, drunk with it. jisung’s hips kick against the bed once, twice, and he whines against your pussy when you wrap one thigh around his pretty head to keep him smothered. you ride his face with it, and jisung just can’t - he can’t handle it, tapping your thigh incessantly in a wordless expression.
you unhook your leg from his head and he moves quickly, leaning over you to give you a chaste, wet kiss tasting entirely of you before he’s pushing you onto your side on the bed. he slides behind you, chest pressed up against your sweaty back, and you feel his cockhead rutting against your hole.
“i guh- i gotta fuck you now, i’m sorry, so sorry,” he’s ever so respectful, huffing out a breath against your shoulder. “c-condom? want me to- to use a condom, baby?”
“n-no,” you slur, pushing your hips backwards. you feel drunk on him, needing more than him to fuck your cock into you until you’re crying with it. “fuck me, please. p-please gimme it, sungie.”
he slides home in one thrust. jisung’s not huge - he has a delicious case of boyfriend dick, and the stretch is enough to make you gasp every time. you’re still not used to it, and you make an internal vow to fuck your boyfriend ten times more.
“see? you d-don’t- don’t have to be mean to me,” he whimpers at a particular slick thrust. his hand goes to your inner thigh, pushes your leg up at an angle that has you shaking, pussy squelching around his cock. “daddy will fuck you good, see? i can do it. i can do it.”
“yeah! yeah, mm- d-daddy can, daddy can,” you babble, hiccuping on a wet noise from your throat, and jisung groans. he shifts closer to you, grips your thigh a little harder, and the bite of his rings into your skin makes you gasp. his hair tickles yours on the back of your head, and then his spare hand shuffles from underneath your waist to your throat and grabs. you can’t help but keen. “daddy!”
“ssh, s-ssh,” jisung murmurs, and you have half a mind to tell him he’s being just as loud, if not worse. he’s panting and whimpering behind you, hips rutting his chubby cock into the slick hole you’ve provided for him. “baby, you’re fuckin’ wet. wet little hole, s-so- so little, so tight on my cock, i- fuck, baby. i c-can’t!”
he can, and he proves it by gripping your throat a little tighter, his balls slapping against you harder. the change in pace ruts his cockhead against that spongey spot inside of you and you wail with it, incoherent wet noises leaving your lungs.
“y-you’re fuckin’ my pussy so good, daddy,” you croon, eyes watery with it. he fucks you a bit harder in apology for your strained voice, but it only makes you moan louder, fingers moving upwards to grip the pillow under your head. you think you could rip it with how good he’s fucking you, and you feel his thighs bounce behind your legs to fuck you harder.
on a particularly wet thrust, jisung’s dick slips out of you, and you whine at the same time he does. he fucks it against your hole messily, trying to slide it back in, and he huffs impatiently. your hole gushes desperately, the wetness leaking onto where jisung bumps his cock into you, and it squelches messily.
“you’re too wet, she’s talkin’ to me,” he moans, but you know he loves it. you grind your ass against him a little more to tease him, and he sits upright sharply.
“sungie, no- no, keep trying, daddy!”
he tugs at your ankle impatiently and you flip onto your stomach, letting him crowd into your space. “c’mon, c’mon, baby,” he ushers, and you hear the slick sounds of him stripping his cock behind you. he whines with it, and then his spare hand taps your ass impatiently. “hands and knees. let daddy fuck you from behind, god, please.”
you have to. you’d do anything he wanted, and so you prop yourself up, back arching into a perfect position for him to slide back home. he can see a little better like this, and you fuck your ass back onto his cock for him to watch the slick slide of him entering you over and over. when he grips your ass, spreading your asscheeks for a better look, you hear him let out a stuttered breath and you know you don’t have much time left before he’s done.
“i gotta- baby, you gotta cum for me, yeah?” he says, quiet, and then he’s leaning over you. his chest presses against your back, and the sensation of your skin rubbing against his peaked nipples makes him lose concentration for a moment, steady pace haltering. “fuck! fuck, baby, you gotta cum, i’m gonna cum, i will-”
“d-daddy, please! i’ll try, i’ll try- i- i’ll be good, i’m good,” you babble, hand moving down to rub sticky circles on your clit. you use your wetness to lube it up a bit more, indirectly brushing against the base of jisung’s cock. jisung lets out a keen at the touch, his arms wrapping around your waist to bounce you backwards as he fucks into you. the pace gets quicker, and you feel his cock throbbing incessantly inside of you.
“still not used to fucking this cunt, n-not used to how perfect you are, baby,” jisung murmurs, and his language makes you gasp, gummy walls clenching down around his chubby shaft. “oh! oh, i don’t think i ever will be, baby, fucking clench on me again!”
you do, almost subconsciously with how your fingers speed up on your clit. it’s wet and messy with how much you’re gushing around him but the circles seem to be enough to get you close, your tits bouncing as you move on your boyfriend’s cock. before you know it, you’re cumming, a loud keen leaving your lips as you soak his shaft. you’re sure there’s a white ring of your cum forming at his base right now, soaking his pubic hair and dripping to his balls, and the thought makes you clench down harder.
“fuck! yeah, baby! that’s it, like that, clench on me, good g- oh, oh! oh, i’m gonna-”
his body practically collapses on you when he cums. you realise he must have been holding it back for a while because he wails too, cock pumping heavy loads of his cum inside of you. when you turn to him, his eyes are rolling back into his head, little pants of air leaving his lungs as he fills you up straight to your cervix.
thirty seconds later, jisung’s still collapsed on top of you, his head leaning on your shoulder.
“jisungie,” you say, and then you have to clear your throat. “jisungie. you okay there?”
“i think i died,” he mumbles, and a bit of drool leaks to your skin. you giggle, reaching back in an awkward position to ruffle his hair. “pussy’s too good. oh, when’s your roommate back?”
“um,” you blink at your laptop, still playing the movie from earlier. the device is hanging off if the bed and you make a conscious effort to kick it back on with your foot. regardless, it’s only been twenty minutes and you want to laugh. jisung’s just too sensitive - he always gets too worked up to go very long. “like, forty minutes or so.”
“ah, great, i’m not moving,” jisung cuddles closer to you, cock still soft and resting inside of your walls. after a short while, he inhales, and you feel his eyelashes tickling you as he blinks rapidly. “wait, we only fucked for twenty minutes?!”
you ruffle his hair again, a fond smile on your face. it’s an awkward position, but you’ll do it for your boy. “don’t worry about it, sungie.”
“mm,” he responds, unsatisfied. “fine, but next time we’re going for twenty hours.”
“huh?!”
#juno's fics ♡#han jisung smut#han jisung fic#han jisung fanfiction#han jisung x reader#han jisung imagines#stray kids imagines#stray kids smut#stray kids fanfiction#stray kids fanfic#skz scenarios#skz fic#skz smut#skz x you#skz x reader#stray kids x you#stray kids x reader#han jisung x you#jisung fic#jisung fanfiction#jisung smut
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Reckless Convictions
Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.
Pairing: Han Jisung x fem reader
W/c: 31.5K
Warnings: masturbation, perversion, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, dry humping, trespassing, sex in a semi-public place (no one is around), fingering, cum eating, mention of cheating
Synopsis: Your senior year of college takes a strange turn when you develop a relationship with your professor.
18+. Mdni!
•
The first time you come across a coda in a piece of music, you are to ignore it. You may only jump to it once you’ve begun from the da segno symbol, and played through until reaching the written indication to return to the coda.
If we've passed the coda once, let this be our sign.
Come back to me.
•
Upon entering your senior year of college, the news is broken that the old lecture hall on the east side of campus is officially on its last leg as a functioning location for classes. You’re made aware of this through an email from the school’s president, detailing the intricate plans to demolish it entirely and build a new gymnasium in its place. And for the most part, the students are happy about this fact, whispering excitedly amongst themselves as they traverse the grand cherry wood flooring and picture all of the new sporting equipment this facility will soon house. They speak of the bright painted walls that will represent the school’s colors like every other new modern replacement for the old-fashioned buildings- cobalt blue and white, resembling that of a dentist’s office on most days. And they make sure to voice their very robust distaste for the spiral staircase that leads to the second floor of the lecture hall, the stairs always announcing the late arrival of students with the deafening creak of wood and a tarnished banister.
Yet as you hoist your bag further up your shoulder and follow a trail of students into the lecture hall for your first day back at classes, you can’t help but feel sorry for the old place, always having loved the courses you took here. A philosophy course one semester, where the ancient feel of the building only made stories of Greek myths more vivid as they graced your imagination. A writing course the semester after that, where your professor could hardly be bothered to properly read your essays, despite the attention to detail you gave to them. And now this course- the only remaining course with afternoon availability, something about the history of classical music.
One glance around the room tells you all you have to know about this course- it's full of students who couldn’t care less about courses pertaining to music, especially not general education ones for mindless credits. You reckon all of the students here would rather have landed art analysis, or even some form of a writing course, yet instead they’ll be stuck learning about Bach and Mozart for the next few months. Of course you’re not bothered by it, being a music major yourself, but it’s painfully evident in the way that they keep their faces glued to their cell phones and blow bubbles of gum as you wait for the arrival of the professor. The rows of chairs are fuller than you’d anticipated, groups of friends chatting amongst themselves, while those sitting alone are busy on their laptops or with headphones blasting muffled music.
You settle on a spot in the middle, away from most of the students already acquainted with each other, and cross your legs as you wait in silence. While the others groan about their courses and inquire about their remaining credits, you take in the sight of the lecture hall- it’s just as massive as you remember it from last semester, the ceiling housing patterned medallions and hanging pendant lamps that give a dim glow to the room. The seats are just as uncomfortable as you remember them, too, folding suede brown chairs that jerk violently if you move a little too much, and at the very bottom is a crescent-shaped desk and a tall podium reserved for the professor. It’s a little old, sure. And it smells like mothballs on most days- but it’s a shame to tear down someplace so historical like this.
Your course is set to start at three, and at almost five minutes past the mark, the students are visibly confused by the absence of a professor. You can hear them murmuring and speculating about canceled courses or retired professors, and it’s then that you realize you’re not even sure who the professor is. So you reach into your bag, pulling out your schedule for the one class you have today, and printed in bold black text to the right of the course name is the professor’s name.
Mr. Han, it reads, and you scan the name over a few times before shoving the paper back into your bag. You conclude he sounds like an older man, probably a little irritable toward students who couldn’t care less about music history. And he’s probably late to most of his classes like he is today, not bothering to be punctual for a group of students who will grow to despise him mere weeks into the semester.
A little past the ten minute mark, some students have begun to pack their belongings, ready to depart from the confines of the lecture hall and go inquire about why there’s no professor assigned to this course, maybe even beg for a switch of classes. And then, as though he can sense they’re making attempts at an escape, a man you can only assume to be the professor shoves past the double doors, a leather laptop case slung over his shoulder, making his way to the desk in rushed motions.
“Sorry, sorry,” he calls out, hoisting his bag over the desk and motioning for students to take their seats again.
“I apologize,” he reiterates, sighing deeply, hands tucked in his pockets as he glances around the room. It’s then that you notice he’s drenched, stringy black strands of his hair falling into his face, droplets of water speckled on the thin wireframe glasses that sit on his sharp nose.
And your second observation- he’s not old. In fact, he’s nothing close to the likes of the average professor- he’s attractive. Not just attractive- he’s alluring, captivating, like a model cut out from the thin pages of an editorial magazine. He’s tall, with a slim frame that contrasts his broad shoulders and sculpted biceps that protrude through the sleeves of his collared button up shirt. The white fabric clings around his broad chest so erotically, patches of dark gray rainwater conveniently providing you a better view, and his shirt is tucked into a tight pair of khaki slacks, hugging his toned thighs and leaving little to the imagination. He’s not even dressed provocatively, you mentally remark to yourself. He just looks like that.
All of this so perfectly complementing his flawlessly sculpted face, an angular jawline that clenches as he speaks, and plump pink lips that pull back to expose a pearly white and perfectly straight set of teeth. His pronounced nose bridge is made more attractive with his geeky pair of glasses, and those eyes- big and brown, framed by thick black eyelashes that flutter as he pulls off his glasses and wipes the lenses with the cuff of his sleeve.
“Lots of traffic when it rains,” he says sheepishly, pinching the frame of his glasses with two fingers and setting them so delicately back on his face. “It won’t happen again.”
And then he pulls his hands out of his pockets, leaning against the podium at the front of the room and taking a good look at the array of students.
“Welcome,” he announces, giving a small nod before continuing to speak. “My name is Professor Han. I’ll be your instructor for the duration of this course.”
He pulls back from the podium, shuffling through the leather bag on his desk and pulling out a stack of papers. The first student to the left is handed the stack, instructed to pass them to the back of the crowd as he explains it’s your course syllabus.
“Pretty much everything you need to know is listed here,” he says a little louder, as the room teems with echoing chatter. “I accept late work up to a week after it’s due, with a point subtracted every day it’s late. If you’re going to be later than 15 minutes, please don’t show at all. The stairs are too loud. Food and drinks are permitted, just don’t make a mess. And do whatever you want with phones and laptops, just shut off the sound.”
He paces back and forth as he speaks, his wet shoes squeaking along the tiled flooring as he does. He wears canvas sneakers with his fancy teaching attire, and he pulls them off remarkably well.
“A little bit about me,” he then says, and you perk up at his words, intrigued by just everything about his presence. “Been teaching here for about five years now, since I finished grad school. I love music, and I love music theory, so you’ll hear me talk about it a lot in between historical lectures. I teach three classes in total, all pertaining to music history, and in my free time, you can usually find me doing something related to music. Any questions?”
The class falls silent as his gaze scans the room, his curious eyes falling over the rows of seated figures who in reality, desperately want to ask him questions, but they’re also painfully shy in his presence. He gives a little nod as he takes note of their blank stares- and then his gaze falls momentarily over yours- staring directly into your paralyzed figure, almost as though he’s challenging you to ask him something, anything. But you don’t- you just remain seated, staring back at him, hoping the glowing blush on the tips of your ears doesn’t pick up under the dim lighting of the room.
“Okay,” says Professor Han, clasping his hands together and gesturing to the board behind him now. “Let’s see if I can figure out how to use this projector this time around.”
*
Lucky for you this semester, your schedule is sparse throughout the week, just a total of three classes on varying days. Which means you have ample free time to laze around your dorm when you’re not attending courses. Students make the most of their senior year, scoping out parties and sneaking out late at night to catch a movie or a quick bite- and you would join them, if you had people to join.
It’s not that you failed to make friends in the duration of your college career- in fact, you made solid efforts to befriend most of the people you came across, sometimes even allowing yourself to be dragged to a party and entertain mindless frat boys. But none of them stuck around, and you quickly realized they were much further from the simplicities you actually enjoy about college. Like the coffee shop on the second story of the student union, where the barista always adds a little too much caramel to your lattes. Or the windowed seat at the very back of the 8th story in the library, where when it rains, you can watch lines of people rush to their classes with hands over their heads and desperately clutching their umbrellas. Even your dorm room is a preferred spot for you, where you often find joy in curling up under your covers and getting lost in a good book. And although you’ve grown to love being alone, it’s a little jarring some nights, like the following Friday in your first week when almost everybody is out at a party, and the return to your dorm room is pitch quiet as you walk down the carpeted hallways. As you swing your door open, you gasp at the sight of your roommate, who’s not usually occupying her side of the room- not unless she needs something.
“Oh,” says Mina, as she places a stack of folded clothing into a large duffle bag and zips it up. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”
You chuckle softly at her remark- of course you’d be here today. And the day after that, and the day after that… you’re always here. It’s Mina who seldom graces you with her presence, usually too busy at her boyfriend’s dorm or out with a group of friends.
“I’m here,” you say sheepishly, assuming your spot on the edge of your bed. Mina says nothing, raising her eyebrows a little and nodding, and you can tell she’s thinking about what a pathetic life you must lead.
You and Mina have never quite gotten along- not for reasons much more complicated than disagreements regarding her cleaning style or her boyfriend coming over unannounced. You’re simply from two separate worlds, and it’ll remain that way for the next few months until you graduate.
“I’m going to my boyfriend’s,” Mina announces unsurprisingly, hoisting the duffel bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Okay,” you say to her finally. “Have fun with Lucas. I’ll see you on Monday.”
She seems to roll her eyes as she makes her way out the door, not so much as a goodbye from her. And when the dorm is all to yourself again, you reach for the book on your shelf, one you’ve gotten halfway through since yesterday’s time spent alone, and curl up under the covers, the sound of gentle rain tapping on the window behind you.
By the time Monday rolls around, you’ve almost forgotten entirely who your course professors are.
It’s always taken you a few months to get situated with their lecture styles, and on occasion, even their names- but this semester in particular feels so unimportant. It’s your final one, after all, and while students talk excitedly about plans for the future and their graduation parties, the only thing you’re looking forward to is the physical degree you’ll get to leave here with.
Mondays are for your intermedia course, led by a professor who dismisses the class early almost every chance he gets. Wednesdays, you have another writing course, and you have to stop yourself from dozing off while students review their essays dissecting music theory during critique sessions. And Thursdays are spent in the old little lecture hall on the east side of campus with Professor Han. You’ve forgotten about him by the time your first official class with him rolls around, and you mentally scold yourself for dressing so casual in his presence when you remember how attractive he is.
When he saunters in, much earlier this time around, the students cease their chatter, and all eyes are on his handsome figure as he makes his way to the podium. He wears fitted slacks again, a knit sweater tucked into the belt that hugs his thin waist, and a collared white button down is visible at the neckline. His jet black hair is styled neatly out of his face to reveal his chiseled features, and his wireframe glasses are absent this time around, emphasizing the big brown eyes that peer back at his students.
“Good afternoon,” he says to the class, and they utter mumbled replies back at him.
“I hope you all had a good weekend,” he then remarks, pulling his laptop out of his bag plugging in a series of wires to set up the projector. The class remains quiet at this, not a single word from any of the students as they sip coffees and navigate their own laptops in hushed motions. Professor Han looks up at the class as his fingers hover over the mouse of his keyboard, his lips pulling into a grin, eyes forming little crescents as he lets out a soft chuckle.
“Come on guys,” he says dramatically. “Why are you so silent? You’re killing me.”
It’s the first time the classroom fills with laughter, and Professor Han seems to relax a little as he takes in the sight of smiling faces. He’s not quite sure he’ll ever get used to the silence that falls over college lectures, especially in the awkward first few weeks, when students are too scared to even look him straight in the eyes. And what Professor Han never quite grasps is that the students aren’t afraid of him- they’re intrigued by him, just the way that you are.
The girls wear full faces of makeup to a single 3pm lecture in hopes that he’ll take special notice of them, and the boys almost seem to mirror his dapper choices of clothing, trying their hand at knit crewnecks and slacks with canvas sneakers. Anybody who knows him concludes he’s just about one of the coolest professors around, yet he’s too consumed by his passion for music and theories of composers to take notice of anybody’s fascination for him.
And aside from that fact, he’s a professional at his job, only here for the purpose of lecturing and distributing course materials. He doesn’t make friends with other professors on campus, he doesn’t traverse these buildings when he doesn’t have to be here. And he certainly doesn’t care to know any of his students beyond the space of these four walls.
The projector starts up with a low hum, and a slideshow is promptly shone onto the wall across from you, a painting of some historical figure accompanying the title slide.
“I want to preface this lecture by saying that this particular composer is often deemed one of the greatest of his time, which is true for the Baroque period, and untrue in comparison to some of the other greats.”
There are stifled laughs from around the room as he makes his way to the screen at the top of the wall. As he transitions to a speech about the Baroque period, he reaches up to pull on the little string that dangles from the center, and your eyes can’t help but observe his lean figure as he does. The hem of his sweater is untucked from his slacks momentarily, revealing the small waist he flaunts beneath such a broad chest, and one hand reaches down promptly to cover himself again. It feels so wrong losing your focus from the lecture like this, your mind wandering places you know it shouldn’t be. Yet as he speaks, you can’t help but imagine what the rest of his chest must look like underneath the oversized knit that swallows his sculpted figure. Your eyes graze briefly over his navy slacks, ones that hug him so generously, and down to the stylish canvas sneakers he wears, the same ones he wore last time. They squeak along the tiled floor as he paces, hands gesturing passionately as he recounts the history of Johann Sebastian Bach, who you’ve only just realized this lecture is about.
“Not only was he a composer, but he was an organist, a harpsichordist and a violinist,” he explains, clicking the little remote in his hand and proceeding to the next slide. “He was a prolific part of the Baroque period, and he’s well-known today for some of his most famous instrumental and choral pieces.”
He paces the room confidently as he speaks, head down most of the time as he details accounts of Bach’s life, seemingly having memorized most of it.
“Does anybody happen to know any of his orchestral music? There’s one in particular he’s very famous for.”
The class falls silent again as Professor Han scans the room, pausing from clicking through slides as he awaits an answer. Nobody says anything, and all that fills the air are the sounds of keyboard clicking as they do their best to mindlessly copy his words. Without a second to properly think it over, and before you can even begin to doubt yourself, your hand is shot straight into the air, heart racing as his eyes fall to your seated figure, and then he gestures toward you, a small smile on his face.
“Yes!” he says enthusiastically. “Go ahead.”
“Brandenburg Concertos?” You voice quietly, a slight tremble in your voice as you speak. You’re not sure you’ve ever done adequate research on Bach- let alone any classical composer. But you are familiar with German history, and the Baroque period and the grand titles of symphonic pieces are still ingrained into your memory from years of piano lessons.
“That’s correct,” he replies, an amused breath escaping his lips as he speaks. His gaze lingers on yours for a second- just a brief second, not enough for the students to imply anything.
And Professor Han is admittedly fascinated by you himself, the question always marking the course as his first official question of the semester. One he’s never gotten the right answer to until now. In fact- one he’s never even had a student take a stab at answering until now. He’s well aware that no normal college student is going to have the Brandenburg Concertos in the back of their mind like the rest of the frivolous knowledge that dwells there, but perhaps he’s finally been assigned a student who gives the slightest shit about this course and its materials.
“Sorry- what was your name?” Professor Han then asks, the corner of his lip pulling into a half-smile before he proceeds with his lecture.
Students in front of you crane their necks to get a good look at you, and the peers on either side of you glance at the single sheet of notebook paper on your desk, scribbled with sparse notes in dark blue pen.
“Y/n,” you finally respond, your voice coming out more timid than you’d hoped it to. You feel microscopic with all eyes on you like this, quietly praying he’ll proceed with the lecture so that you can go back to admiring him from afar and in the comfortable silence of your thoughts.
“Y/n,” he repeats, giving a small nod, and then he finally transitions to the next slide.
Professor Han might not care to be on campus when he doesn’t have to- but that certainly doesn’t mean he’s generous about early dismissal when it comes to his courses. The analog clock above the doorway counts down the seconds before he finally dismisses his students- and even then, he’s not averse to keeping students a few minutes past to wrap up his lectures, either. While it’s a trait most students despise during their classes, not a single student utters a word of dismay when he requests just five minutes more of their time, their eyes still fixated on his pacing figure as he rushes through the remainder of his slides. He has a way of encapsulating a whole room when he speaks of ancient composers, like he’s meant to be up on a podium recounting Bach’s concertos. And the students soak up every last second they get to be in his presence, a sort of melancholia present in the room when they finally file out the door for the afternoon and back to their dorms.
When you find yourself lingering in the classroom a bit longer than the other students, completing the futile task of shifting around papers in your bag, Professor Han seems to take notice, glancing at you over the screen of his laptop and observing the way you shuffle about in the now silent room.
“Brandenburg Concertos, huh?” He calls out to you, and your gaze falls to him, where he’s seated at his desk, the familiar wireframe glasses now sitting upon the bridge of his nose.
“Yeah,” you respond, a little unsure of how to entertain the conversation without coming off as painfully awkward as you truly are.
Professor Han chuckles a little, and then he glances back to his laptop, typing something as he continues speaking.
“Nobody’s ever gotten that one right. In my five whole years of teaching.”
“Really?” You reply, thoroughly surprised nobody’s heard of the most famous orchestral pieces by one of the most significant composers.
“Nope,” he says plainly, shaking his head to affirm his answer. “Are you secretly a composer or something?”
It’s your turn to chuckle lightly, approaching his desk with your bag slung over your shoulder as you shake your head.
“Just years of piano,” you say to him.
“Piano? Very tricky instrument, it’s good to pick up when you’re still young.”
“I’ve been playing competitively for ten years,” you explain to him, heartbeat quickening a little as he lowers the screen of his laptop to make eye contact again.
“Wow,” he breathes out, thoroughly impressed by the fact. “I might have you teach a lecture or two, then.”
You chuckle in unison with him, shrugging as he pushes his glasses a little further up on his face.
“Convince them to put a piano in here and I’ll think about it,” you say to him. “I need a few course materials.”
“Deal,” he replies, narrowing his eyes a little as his lips pull into a smile, flashing you his perfect set of teeth. He glances around the room momentarily, and just as you think the conversation’s over, he sighs deeply, pushing back his laptop screen once more and continuing to type.
“Pity they’re tearing it down, though. A piano would have been a nice addition.”
It’s your turn to glance around the room, craning your neck up toward the tall medallion ceilings and elegantly crested walls. The room looks even more beautiful at this hour, rows upon rows of vacant brown chairs folded neatly back into their place, beams of afternoon sunlight streaming through the long glass windows on either side of the room.
“It is a shame,” you echo, grazing your fingertips along the smooth wooden finish of his desk. He seems to be lost in thought as he stares at his computer screen for a brief second, eyes glazed over as he remains silent. There’s not a sound in the room as he pauses his typing- no students remain in the hallways, no one taking notes in the stillness of the lecture hall. Just you and your professor, in silent thought about the unfortunate fate of the grand lecture hall.
“Maybe next year I’ll be teaching in a gymnasium,” he says finally, shooting you a sad smile and shrugging.
And then he winks at you- nothing romantic behind the gesture, just a brief blink of his left eye as he lets his gaze fall to yours.
And for the second time in the confines of this grand lecture hall, you pray the dim lighting doesn’t reveal the growing blush across your cheeks.
*
As the weeks pass, Professor Han’s lectures are stuck in your head like the piano melodies you’re so acquainted with. Beethoven Fidelio. Le nozze di Figaro. Adagio Cantabile.
The titles of famous composer pieces circle your mind like they’re suggestions by him, to you. And you like to think they are, when he’s slipping comments into his lectures about which pieces are his favorites, which are the most evocative and which ones he’s listened to the most.
The other students sit absentmindedly as he lectures, hearing the words he utters and writing notes like they’re translating his musical language to one they can comprehend. But they’re not listening to him- you’re certain they’ll never understand it the way that you do.
“Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake was my first piano recital piece,” you’d told him once after class. And the way his face lit up when you did, indulging you in a long list of reasons why he deems Tchaikovsky his favorite composer of the Romantic period.
“Only a genius could have produced 1812 Overture,” he said to you excitedly, throwing his head back in disbelief and slouching back in his swivel desk chair as he collected his thoughts.
“That’s the one he used real artillery as background noise in, right?” You had responded, a bright smile on your face as you spoke the common language only the two of you seemed to understand.
“And church bells!” He had responded excitedly, clasping his hands together as he recalled the booming melody.
And then he had played it for you- despite the two of you already knowing the piece very well. His slender fingers hovering over the keyboard of his laptop, searching for the overture he’s listened to almost daily in the duration of his career as a professor.
As a quiet stillness fell over the lecture hall following the departure of the last few students, the speakers echoed with the booming instrumentals of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture- the entire four minutes of the song. You watched in fascination as Professor Han gestured at his all favorite parts, waving his hand in the air to mirror the harsh eighth and sixteenth notes that span the intricate melody. Excited chuckles escaping his lips as the familiar sound of cannons could be heard in the background, followed by the lull of harmonious church bells.
It was then that he turned the music down a few notches, explaining how he helped teach this piece back when he still worked as a musical director. You recall the fleeting sadness that seemed to overtake him, his smile faltering a little as he seemed to think back to his time there. And when asked why he didn’t teach anymore, he had simply shrugged, failing to give you any sort of explanation for it. He just kept his gaze on his desk for a moment, snapping out of it seconds later, turning the volume up again and waving his hands in composing gestures as the song reached its end.
It was also the first time you recall feeling a little sorry for him, carefully observing the way these talks of music and composers seem to bring out a sort of sadness from within him. The dichotomy of him against the overtures he’s so drawn to- their booming crescendo notes and tempos noted allegro con brio, and yet when the lecture hall is empty and he’s all alone, he carries himself like a somber melody, beaming only with the mention of music and then shrinking like a diminuendo set of notes, dying down until a silence falls over the two of you again.
Some several weeks in, you’re certain the fascination is no longer rooted in lust, but simply a desire to speak this mutual language of music with him, the only time either of you ever really feel heard.
*
If someone were to tell you that you’d ever find interest between the pages of a course-assigned college textbook, you would have taken them for a complete liar. And yet you can’t help but find yourself engrossed in the textbook for this course, the thick red book taking complete precedence over the stack of unfinished books on your nightstand.
Weekends are spent flipping through the pages of quotes by famous composers, stories detailing their fast-paced lives and detailing all of their greatest accolades. You carefully study the music sheets, too, reading between the staff lines the same way you scan the plain text of the chapters. It comes to you easily, translating quarter notes to melodies you hum to yourself, reading key signatures like novel dedications.
And the book ignites a sort of spark in you again, reminding you of the days you still spend in front of the monochrome keys for hours, memorizing pieces and adding in your own annotations along the treble and bass.
So when Mina comes home one afternoon, desperate to borrow your textbook, you’re admittedly vexed by the request, reluctantly reaching into your bag to retrieve it for her.
“I didn’t know you had this course,” you say to her, wiping fingerprints off the matte cover and carefully handing it to her.
“Yeah, it’s the worst,” she says, making no effort to avoid transferring new fingerprints onto the cover as she stuffs it into her bag. “But the professor’s hot.”
And her mention of him is somehow vexing to you- of course she only sees the young, attractive professor he is, and not the sheer brilliance behind his lectures. Of course she doesn’t care to understand his background, his favorite historical pieces or take notice of the way he lightens up at the mention of his old days as a musical director. She’s just like the other students in your class- hearing him, but not really listening.
“Professor Han?” You inquire, knowing very well he’s the only professor who teaches that particular course.
“Yeah,” she says, reaching into her duffle bag and shuffling around for something. “Pretty sure he’s the only reason people still show up to that stupid class. I wonder if he goes for younger girls.”
She chuckles as she pulls out a tube of lipstick, uncapping it and reapplying the dark red tint to her pouty lips.
“I’m going to my boyfriend’s,” she then says to you, tucking the tube of lipstick back into her bag and pivoting to face you. “I can have your book back by Monday.”
“Could you have it back by early morning?” You say to her, voice almost cracking as you plead so desperately. “I really need it back before my quiz.”
You’ve already practically memorized the chapter you’re being quizzed on, but you’re always well-prepared for quizzes and tests in Professor Han’s course, reviewing the textbook a thousand times to earn the highest grade possible. You’d be ashamed to score any less than remarkable on his tests, feeling a need to prove to him that his course is something you take just as seriously as he does.
“I guess,” she says furrowing her brows a little at your desperation. “I’ll try to have my boyfriend drop it off before my class or something.”
“Tell Lucas it’s important,” you relay to her, as she keeps her gaze on yours. “I really need to pass this quiz.”
“I said I’ll try,” she emphasizes, making her way to the dorm with the same pink duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
And then she’s gone again, not so much as a wave goodbye as you’re left alone for the weekend.
*
By the time Monday rolls around, Mina is nowhere to be seen. She does this sometimes, spending entire weeks at her boyfriend’s apartment and ditching a long list of her classes.
Except along with the absence of your roommate, comes the absence of your textbook.
Lucas never shows on Monday to return your textbook, and Mina is completely MIA when you try to call or text. So by Thursday, you have no choice but to attempt your quiz without having read the textbook chapter a millionth time.
“Welcome, welcome,” Professor Han calls out as students take their seats. “Put your phones away and get out a pen or a pencil. We’ll start the quiz in a few minutes.”
You occupy the seat at the very front, where you always do now, and wait patiently as he digs around his bag for the stack of quizzes.
“This quiz covers all of chapter 7,” he says, passing along the stack of papers and instructing students to distribute them across the room. “You have 30 minutes from now. If you have questions, please raise your hand and I’ll come to you. Other than that, good luck.”
And the room falls silent as he makes his way back to his desk, the etching sound of pencils scribbling on paper as students begin their quizzes. You swallow nervously, scrawling your name across the top of the paper, and then let your gaze fall to the first question.
Name one the symphonic pieces Ludwig van Beethoven was famous for.
Your lips pull into a knowing smile as you pencil in a response with ease- Symphony No. 5, the same one you discoursed with Professor Han about just last week.
What time period defined Classical antiquity?
Between the 8th century BC and the 5th century AD, you write down quickly, moving on to the next question.
From his desk across from you, Professor Han glances over the screen of his laptop at your slouched figure, observing how you pencil in responses quicker than any of the other students, without even taking a moment to think over the answers. He smiles to himself a little, amused at the clear indication of the only music major in here, a clear liking for this subject the way he has, unlike the students rushing through his course for credits. His eyes fall back onto his laptop screen where he begins to work on an email, and yet before he can continue, you’re sauntering over to his desk with your quiz in hand.
“You’re finished already?” He inquires, lowering the top of his laptop to meet your gaze.
“Yes,” you say simply, sliding him the sheet of paper and giving him a little nod.
He grasps your quiz between his calloused fingers, and just like you assured him, every line is complete with a clear response in pencil.
“I can grade it right now since you’re the only one finished,” he asks, a challenging expression on his face as you stand confidently across him.
“Sure,” you say, gesturing to the paper as he retrieves a red pen from his bag.
You watch with bated breath as he scans the first question with the tip of his uncapped pen, giving a small nod as he then moves on to the next. The second question is the same, Professor Han looking it over and moving on to review the third now. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as he reviews your answers, despite being confident you’ve gotten at least the majority of them correct. Your gaze averts his seated figure as strands of his hair fall into his face, head hanging over your little sheet of paper as he checks and then double checks your responses.
“Yeah,” Professor Han finally says, sitting up straight once more and fidgeting with the red pen he neglected to even make use of. “It’s all right.”
He looks up at you with a curious expression, a kind of twinkle in the big eyes that are magnified by his geeky looking glasses. And his lips quiver with the intention to say something to you, but he can’t quite find the words. He’s simply taken aback by your skill, never having seen somebody share this similar level of knowledge regarding music history as he does. He wishes you would stay and discourse all your favorite pieces with him the way you normally do after his lectures, but the rest of the class remains quietly scribbling down their own answers, probably most of them incorrect like they usually are, and he can’t possibly request your presence for much longer in an unassuming fashion.
“You can leave early,” he whispers so as not to disturb the other test-takers, giving you a small nod as he slides the quiz into his bag.
“Really?”
“Yeah. That’s all I had planned for today. Just read chapters 8 and 9 for next class.”
You begin to pivot on your heel, excited to depart from class a little bit earlier today and hopefully catch up on other course work, despite this being your favorite class. But his words make you stop in your place, turning to face him once again and shrugging sheepishly.
“Professor, I…don’t have my textbook,” you say awkwardly, fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater as you speak. “My roommate borrowed it last Friday and I haven’t been able to get a hold of her. If there’s a PDF you know of, or maybe a library rental-”
He doesn’t let you finish before he’s reaching into his bag again, pulling out his own textbook and sliding it across the desk to you.
“Take mine with you,” he says confidently, giving you a thin-lipped smile. “Just remember to bring it back next week.”
“Are you sure?” You question, taking the thick book from his grasp and flipping it over to examine the cover. It looks a little different than yours, a varying colored font on the cover and much yellower, older pages, but it’s the exact same book as the one you’ve familiarized yourself with so well already.
“Positive. I think you’ll enjoy the next two chapters, too. Lots of piano stuff.”
He grins as he finishes, flashing you his signature toothy smile, and you feel your heart flutter at the fact that he’s even remembered you play the piano.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” you reply, tucking the book under your arm and smiling back at him. You hope that nobody behind you suspects why you’ve been standing at his desk for just a little too long, but you’re entranced by his presence in the silence of the room, wishing so badly you could stay and ask him about all of his favorite pieces like you normally do after class is dismissed. But you can’t be sure if they’ve taken notice, and you make your departure, anyway, giving Professor Han a small wave as you finally make your way out of the class and to the hallway.
Inside the lecture hall, Professor Han observes the remainder of the students working on their quizzes, not missing the way they visibly struggle to comprehend some of the questions or make guesses to material they should definitely know by now. And it’s a familiar sight to him, seeing his students disregard the course entirely and drag their feet just enough to pass the course.
You seem to be the only exception, though, thoroughly understanding and even enjoying the course material. And try as he might to brush off the thought of you, he can’t seem to, fascinated by the way you not only hear him, but listen to him, making his role on campus feel a little less futile- something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.
His brows are furrowed as he works on his laptop, the room teeming with the scribbling noises of doubtful penciled-in answers by students on their quizzes and the subsequent erasing because they simply don’t know. But you know- you always know. Like the passing moments after class in which you indulge him in a fact about your journey as a music major, and he’ll often gift you with tales from his days as a prestigious symphonic director.
And you always send him off with a benevolent wave, tucking your hair behind your ear and sauntering out so gracefully, your short skirt flowing with your purposeful strides back to your dorm room.
Not that he’s taken notice of you, of course. Not that he sometimes prays you’ll be the last one out the room so that he can try to impress you with a fact about his musical knowledge or earn little anecdotes about your life he pieces together. That would be entirely inappropriate considering he’s a professor and you’re his student- and no fleeting amount of finally feeling listened to could change that fact.
Conversely, is he wrong to admit to himself that he’s fascinated by your musical knowledge? That the silence of the room is more unnerving when you’ve already gone home for the day?
Furthermore, that he doesn’t feel like such a loser when you beam at his stories and press him for more details about his musical career? Of course he can’t admit it to himself, because that would be entirely inappropriate- he’s a professor, and you’re just a student. But as he remains in front of his laptop, his eyes scanning the room at the students who are lost in thought- or lack of, rather, there’s only one empty seat in the front row. A seat typically occupied by your graceful presence, where you do your best to avoid making heavy eye contact, too, tucking strands of hair behind your ear and smiling at all his jokes. And inappropriate as it may be to admit it, he misses you when you’re not around- musical conversations, the sight of your delicate figure seated and paying attention to him and only him. Learning, listening.
*
The library is empty that same weekend, the gentle tap of rain on the window closest to you making for a peaceful ambiance as you settle on the velvet cushions of the vacant sofa. In your possession, a warm cup of coffee, as well as Professor Han’s textbook, held tightly in your grasp as you navigate to the inside cover.
Mr. Han, the inside hard cover reads, written neatly along the bolded black line. You smile to yourself, grazing the tips of your fingers along the black sharpie, imagining how he’d looked when he first penned it in. Probably the same way he does now, his big eyes blinking as he cocked his head in concentration and grasped the pen between his slender fingers.
You wonder briefly how old his book is- it appears much older than yours, the pages thin and worn like it’s something he’s utilized for a good while. Your fingers skim the smooth stack of pages before thumbing to the inside, landing on chapter 8 as he requested for this week’s reading assignment. And you smile as you do, taking careful note of the state of his book pages.
Surrounding the small black text, in disarray and almost indistinguishable in loopy blue penmanship, are his annotations, carefully analyzing the sentences as though he’s studied them a million times.
“Written at just five years old!” One sentence reads, underlining a sentence describing Mozart’s Minuet in G major. You can’t help but chuckle softly to yourself, fascinated at the fact that he annotates with the exact same level of enthusiasm he speaks of these pieces.
Another annotation specifies how Mozart’s music was tuned to 432 hertz, a frequency commonly associated with instilling a sense of peace and calmness within one’s body. And as you continue reading the bolded text of the chapter, his annotations provide a clearer image into the history of the composers, detailing minuscule facts about their lives and their music. They aren’t facts mentioned in the book, but rather ones he seemed to know based off memory alone, and you’re impressed he’s able to retain such a vast collection of information pertaining to the subjects. Some excerpts are simply marked with a “wow!” Or a series of exclamation points, and you find yourself endeared to how much of a clear liking he’s taken to the work of a textbook chapter.
As you skim a paragraph explaining the intricate work of Piano Sonata no. 12, his familiar blue annotation catches your eye again, except this time, it feels as though it transcends the page and speaks to you.
“Listen to this one,” it reads, underlined twice in blue pen. And for a moment, the thought overtakes you that he may be telling you to listen to it.
The sentence looks so intentional, almost begging for you to give into the simple request. The implication of underlining it not once, but twice, knowing he’s the only one reading this book. Except maybe he had intended to lend it to you, so that you might take the suggestion and listen to it like he had when he annotated it.
So without another second wasted on analyzing his intentions, you pull out your phone, popping in your earbuds and selecting Mozart’s Piano Sonata no.12 from a list of classical pieces. The piece is almost 20 minutes long, a fact which you find comfort in, knowing you get to think about Professor Han for the entirety of the 20 minutes you’re listening to his suggestion.
The notes begin short and vibrant, melting into one another with such fluidity and color. You shut your eyes to the flowing melody, letting yourself melt with the harmony and become one with Professor Han’s recommendation. And 30 seconds in, there’s a shift, from the joyful tune to a more rushed one, notes transitioning to staccato touches along the keyboard and picking up in pace. Like a gentle stride to a fast-paced sprint, similar to many of the tunes you lose yourself in completely while performing.
Then back to a gentler tune again, the pace slowing down once more and moving again in gentle strides. And just as you think it’s died down, the tune assumes both tempos- fast and then slow again, from a relaxed stroll to a purposeful sprint, in the direction of resolution and with every intention of taking your emotions for a wild ride in the process.
You scan the text again as you listen, indulging yourself in the complex history of Mozart’s experience writing the soulful piece, one he was presumed to have written in either Munich or whilst visiting Vienna. And you read Professor Han’s annotations in the process, heartbeat quickening as you allow yourself to imagine they’re all for you.
“This part is the best,” he annotates, referring to the melancholy movement that begins at nearly seven minutes in. It’s much slower, assuming a minor key and with little resolution at the end of every measure. Dragged-out half notes make up the majority of the piece which bewitches you, your mind racing with thoughts of Professor Han and his little inscriptions jotted down just for you.
The piece sounds a little like him- robust and enchanting, but with something more behind it all. Perhaps a story that’s dying to get out, a history he keeps tucked away in the back of his mind or even a secret he harbors. You think back to the way he gets when he speaks of his favorite pieces and his favorite composers- undoubtedly full of life and glowing with passion. And yet when questioned about his time directing, he’s quick to pull back again, shifting back into the professional composure he wears everyday, simply there to lecture from his memories alone and assign textbook pages as homework.
You’re not sure you’ve ever met somebody who mirrors your passion for music so well- like the two of you speak a language nobody else seems to comprehend. Even his annotations must look like gibberish to the masses, who probably wouldn’t bother to tune into Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 for the sole purpose of understanding him through it. Your alphabet transcends the English language- perhaps the two of you speak only in treble and bass, utilizing the eight notes available to you on a pin-straight staff and yet producing hundreds of thoughts in the process.
Ones that yearn to know him beyond the confines of a classroom, to understand who he was before all of this, before he was stuck in the old hall to the east of campus and made to preach to students who couldn’t give less of a shit about it all.
But you do- you always do.
And as the third movement begins at the 12-minute mark, the sounds of distressing melodies and ill-paced harmonies flooding your ears, you grasp a red pen in hand, leaning over his textbook and inscribing similar annotations to his.
“I love this one,” you scribble alongside his words, smiling to yourself as you converse on the thin pages of his old textbook. It doesn’t cross your mind once that your annotations will exist on the pages for eternity- in fact, you hope they do. You hope his message is received on the pages as much as they are by every inch of your yearning soul, that the bright red pen you wield contrasts so clearly against his blue marks and provides reciprocation to all of this passion.
“The third movement is my favorite,” you then note, scribbling something about the melody in juxtaposition to the evocative choice of tempo. And your annotations continue, and continue, all through the page, as though the book is yours and not something entirely borrowed.
The final paragraph is concluded by him with a simple sentence- one that critiques the lack of resolution.
“Discoordinate, fading notes,” it reads. “Feels like it’s missing something.”
And a bold decision it is, to make a record of Mozart having possibly forgotten something. But music is only reflective of your own emotions- perhaps it’s not Mozart forgetting something, but rather Professor Han feeling as though something’s missing. To you, the piece ends here- discoordinate fading notes that serve as the resolution. To Professor Han, there’s still something beyond those final few eighth notes, like the song isn’t reaching its full potential.
Beside his comment, one last penned-in annotation, one that you observe for a good while, reading it once, twice, and three times over as he practically offers a suggestion to Mozart himself.
“Coda?” It reads simply.
A coda- somewhat of an epilogue in music. It’s ignored the first time around- not really regarded by the musician until the da segno- to which a musician then plays until the indication to jump to the coda. And the coda serves as a resolution to the entire piece, typically a sonata, concluding with triumphant notes and the complete opposite of fading discoordination like Professor Han is so averse to.
You bring your red pen down to his comment, hovering the ballpoint tip over the paper for a moment, before making your final annotation along his pages.
A circle, with a cross in the center- a coda, a musical epilogue, an offer for resolution.
*
“Here’s your textbook,” Mina says casually when she finally returns that week, tossing it beside you on the bed and averting your gaze.
“Thanks,” you reply, entirely failing to confront her about having returned it a week later than you’d originally requested.
“I shouldn’t have even borrowed it,” she says with a frustrated huff. “I failed his stupid quiz.”
“Chapter 7?” You question, unsurprised by the admission to you.
“Yeah,” she replies, hoisting herself over her duvet and spreading her arms out behind her. “I don’t know a single person who’s passing that useless class.”
She keeps her gaze on the wall for a moment, and then she glances at you briefly, her expression unreadable as she speaks.
“Can’t believe I also have to waste my time at the stupid extra credit thing this week,” she announces, huffing as she concludes her speech.
You continue working on your laptop, not yet meeting her gaze as she rants, her legs dangling carelessly over the edge of the bed.
“What extra credit thing?”
Mina turns to look at you again, furrowing her brows together, almost in disbelief at your words.
“The extra credit thing Professor Han emailed about? There’s an exhibit at the art museum nearby for famous dead composers or something. If you turn in a ticket for proof you attended, you get like, 10 whole points or something.”
You stop typing on your laptop momentarily, glancing over the top of your screen to meet her gaze at last, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“This week?”
“Yeah,” she says, frowning slightly as you turn back to the computer. “You didn’t get the email about it?”
“I guess I didn’t,” you say to her, beginning to look up the event online. “I’ve been so busy.”
In reality, Professor Han’s email missed your inbox because you weren’t invited, consistently boasting an A in his class all semester. The extra credit is only intended for students like Mina, who are well on the route to failing his course without some form of extra credit. But to you, the event won’t serve as extra credit- it’s just an excuse to catch a glimpse of Professor Han again, maybe gain more insight into his favorite pieces and converse with him beyond the four walls of the lecture hall.
The rain is still coming down in sheets by the time your next lecture with Professor Han rolls around, the class much emptier than usual, most students opting to remain in the comfort of their dorm rooms. Professor Han produces a thought-provoking lecture on Mozart this time, conveying many of the works you read about in his textbook. And when his lecture concludes, he leans back against the podium, thanking all students who did attend today, an unspoken race against the clock unfolding as the two of you stall and wait for the rest of the students to clear out.
When the class is finally empty, he beckons for you with two fingers, remaining slouched against the podium and crossing his muscular arms out in front of him.
“I have your book,” you say to him, reaching into the bag slung around your shoulder.
He accepts it from your grasp, glancing at it briefly, before setting it down on his desk and folding his arms again. You want him to open it, to read your annotations and feel heard like the purpose your little scribbles are intended for. But he doesn’t- he just leaves it there, keeping his gaze on yours and remaining silent for a minute.
“What did you think of chapters 8 and 9?” He asks finally.
“Good stuff,” you say, giving him a shy nod. “I was familiar with a lot of it, but definitely still some new pieces I hadn’t heard of. I’ll try to get around to them when I can.”
Professor Han nods, and then you watch as he sprawls his hands out behind him, leaning back against the podium still and crossing his legs at the ankles.
“There’s an exhibit at the museum across the street later tonight,” he says, voice trembling a little as he speaks.
He’s not sure why he’s even bringing it up- maybe because he’s trying to keep the conversation course-related. It’s definitely not because he wants you to be there- a reckless way of thinking indeed.
“I know,” you say to him with a knowing smile. “I was wondering where my invite was for the extra credit.”
A breathy chuckle escapes his toothy grin as he holds his gaze on yours.
“You have a perfect score,” he replies in a low voice. “The extra credit is for people who are failing my class.”
“It can’t also be for art enthusiasts?” You retort, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I want to tour the dead composers gallery, too.”
Professor Han wants to entertain this- so, so badly. He wants to drop the professional act and flirt with you like you’re so clearly doing to him- but he can’t. You’re just a student, and it would be wrong to toy with the imbalance of power he holds over you. Still, there’s no reason you can’t also show to the exhibition, as a student who simply wants to partake in a walkthrough of the subject at hand. He can’t prohibit you from going, after all.
“I can’t give you any more credit,” Professor Han says with another breathy chuckle, cocking his head to look at you a little better. Your eyes sparkle as they stare back at him, a giddy smile plastered on your face and your hair tucked behind your ears between laughter as you meet his gaze again.
“But I can’t stop you from going, either.”
At this, he pivots on his heels, turning around to reach into the leather bag by his laptop. You watch curiously as he pulls out a small piece of paper, handing it to you and saying absolutely nothing.
But one glance at it tells you exactly what it is- a ticket to the exhibition, one that’s already been paid for. You remember Mina telling you she had purchased her ticket already, meaning this one was purchased for you- by Professor Han.
“Really?” You question with wide eyes, examining the ticket and then looking back at him with an excited smile.
“I didn’t ask you to come,” Professor Han reiterates. “You asked for extra credit. And you bought that ticket yourself.”
At this, he cocks his head a little, and then he shoots you a wink the same way he did once before. Only this time, your heartbeat quickens at his actions, ones that seem to desperately seek out attention from you and even make attempts at getting closer to you.
“I wanted extra credit,” you repeat to him finally, shooting him a wink, too. “And I bought this ticket myself.”
*
The so-called “dead composer’s gallery” has been an extra credit assignment of Professor Han’s for all five years he’s been teaching. It’s hosted in the art museum right by campus, the same few paintings of composers he lectures about making the rotation every fall to tell stories of their lives and flaunt the work they produced. Students don’t typically care for it, showing up to walk the duration of the gallery in a rush, flashing their ticket to Professor Han and collecting an easy ten points so as not to repeat his class.
He’s aware of the fact that they don’t read a single one of the bronze plaques that detail the names of the composers, or that they audibly insult the paintings, despite Professor Han being within earshot of them in the quiet space that houses the art. But for him, it’s simply a way to avoid teaching the same set of students a second time. One semester of watching them drag their feet is enough, he’s always thought to himself.
Professor Han has walked the exhibit a plethora of times, thus he usually shows in a simple sweater and some jeans, and the students marvel at the sight of him dressed so casually unlike at his lectures. And despite the exhibit being no different than the last few years, he feels compelled to dress up for this visit, admiring his efforts in the mirror as he adjusts the collar of his white button-down and centers his tie.
Of course, deep down, he’ll never admit he’s dressed up for you tonight, his mind racing with the unprofessional thoughts that you might show up just for him. He’s usually a mere spectator at these exhibits, silently assuming a spot in the corner of the room as the students make their rounds and eye him nervously. He emphasizes the notion that asking questions is encouraged, or that the students are free to chat with him about their favorite paintings and apply them to his lectures. Yet they never do- they just pace the marble floors at an expeditious pace and send him off with the wave of their ticket, not a single painting having resonated with them in the process. Some of them even groan, or verbally complain about the task, as though Professor Han’s forced them here tonight, and not the near-failing grade so many of them are stuck with. As though he’s not doing them a favor by offering extra credit for such an easy task, and an enjoyable one at that- or at least to him.
Wet sneakers squeak along the marbled floors as the students make their rushed rounds, many of them accompanying groups of friends as they stifle laughter at the art and then make their departure with the flash of a ticket in Professor Han’s direction. He remains in the corner of the large gallery room, one hand shoved in the pocket of his black slacks, the other grasping a folded pamphlet as he skims the artist names and waits for students to approach, should they require his attention. Yet it’s a futile task, having been at the event for nearly two hours now as the students come and go.
Admittedly, and with all the profound guilt weighing deep in his chest, Professor Han can’t think about anything except for you, desperately scanning the halls and glancing at the doorway for the familiar sight of you sauntering in, a beaming smile on your face and purpose in every stride. The exhibit is near closing by this point, just a handful of students remaining as he glances around the room and watches them rush to finish touring the display.
And embarrassingly enough, he counts down the seconds on the silver wrist watch he wears, hoping maybe you’re just running late by chance.
As the little hands on his watch tick in seconds, and you’re still nowhere to be seen, the thought suddenly overtakes him that this is all so stupid. What is he thinking, waiting around for a student like this- one he teaches, and one he’s tried his best to avoid having non-platonic thoughts about? It's silly. Not to mention- wildly inappropriate.
As Professor Han gathers his canvas bag hoisted over a nearby bench, and sends the last handful of students off with a polite bow, a quick turn of the corner confirms his first theory.
“Hi,” you say to Professor Han, bowing to him and tucking a wet strand of hair out of your face. “Sorry, I was running a bit late. Lots of rain outside.”
Professor Han can’t help but hold your gaze momentarily, enchanted by the sight of you, despite coming to the conclusion that this is wrong. If it’s wrong, he’ll have to sort out the logistics some other time- because you standing in front of him like this, dressed much more elegantly than he’s ever seen you, a smile on your face and already glancing around at the gallery at the works of art- everything about this feels right.
“Hi,” he says back, a nervous exhale escaping his lips as he does. He silently prays you can’t tell that he’s been waiting around for this all evening, longing to see you just once tonight and maybe talk about musical composers the way he’s been dreaming of.
“Vivaldi?” You question, brushing your way past him to the giant painting across from you, depicting the famous composer in a red robe clutching his signature violin. “I’m assuming, by the violin.”
“Yeah,” Professor Han says, turning to face the painting, too. “Kind of a scary dude, isn’t he?”
Professor Han realizes you’re the first student to make a single comment about one of the paintings here- a fact he’s well endeared by, and simultaneously completely unsurprised by.
“Debatable,” you respond. “For his portfolio alone, sure. But if we’re talking looks, I think Brahms might win this one.”
Your eyes shift to the left of Vivaldi’s at the cold stare of Johannes Brahms, a long white beard and a sharp mustache framing his glaring eyes. Professor Han laughs lightly, and then he takes note of the way you cock your head at the bronze plaque, reading a detailed little account of Brahms and scanning the art as you do.
“Brahms wasn’t scary,” he finally says with a shrug of his shoulders. “He was actually really lonely.”
“Yeah?” You question back, observing the way he stares up at the painting.
“Yeah,” he affirms. “There was a long-standing rumor that he had a crush on pianist Clara Schumann- of course she was already married. Some think Clara may have cheated and secretly reciprocated feelings for Brahms, too- but regardless, he died alone.”
The space is quiet between you both, a sort of melancholia falling over you two as you piece together the story in your mind. You can’t help but imagine how lonely it must have been for Brahms, keeping his love for Clara a complete secret in the presence of her spouse. A love so strong and so unmoving that he chose to die alone rather than find a woman that served as replacement for the love he felt for Clara.
Your mind paints images of Brahms and Clara together, his gaze fixed on hers and so helplessly in love while she was wed to another man all along.
“That’s tragic,” you say finally, feeling a pit form in your chest. “What a lonely life it must’ve been.”
Professor Han seems to take note of your change in tone, perking up a little as he chimes in again.
“He still had his music,” he says to you. “And a very successful career.”
And your head cocks again at Brahms’ face across from you, a stoic expression in his eyes and his thin-lipped pout- almost as though he was hiding part of himself from the masses all along.
“But he didn’t have the one thing he wanted,” you finish telling him.
Professor Han says nothing, giving a small bow to the painting with his arms tucked behind his back. He searches for the words to say, ones that might comfort you in this pity you take on him. But he can’t, feeling as though you may be right.
Brahms had music, a successful career composing everything from Wiegenlied to Symphonies 1 and 3, a long list of credits and enough fortune to travel the world when he wasn’t producing excellency. But he never had Clara Schumann- a tragic unrequited love he took with him to the grave. Could the tender touches and kindred soul of a lover ever be replaced by half and eighth notes on a staff? By the wave of a baton in a sea of brass and wooden reeds? Was he happy, simultaneously getting everything he wanted and nothing he dreamed of?
Johannes Brahms never had Clara Schumann. And conversely, perhaps Professor Han will never get close to what he wants, either.
The dead composer’s gallery quickly proves to be a lot more tragic than you’d anticipated. The paintings are beautiful- grand golden crested frames that house detailed depictions of famous composers, wearing powdered wigs and fancy dress robes. And every stride to the next work of art is accompanied by Professor Han’s tragic, detailed account of their love lives.
“Tchaikovsky was gay during a time when it was highly illegal,” Professor Han explains. “He had a long list of gay lovers with whom he’d write romantic letters to, and he came under heavy scrutiny when it was made public- especially since he was already of a low social class.”
“Must’ve been terrifying,” you tell him, narrowing your eyes at the intense stare of his painted portrait. “What did he do?”
Professor Han is quiet for a moment, glancing over at you and parting his lips as though he’s going to say something. But he simply remains silent, staring back up at the painting and swallowing nervously.
It’s only when you glance over at him, raising your eyebrows a little in the direction of his looming figure and almost gesturing for him to continue, that he reluctantly provides an answer to your question.
“He married a student,” Professor Han says quietly.
And he understands very well what the implications are here, producing stories of instructors being romantically involved with their students, when he’s here with a student himself.
Here with you, the very same student he’s been waiting on all evening. The student he’s enjoying telling stories of composers and their romantic involvements to, and the same student he’ll find any excuse to spend more time with once the dead composers gallery is already closed for the night.
“They didn’t last, of course,” Professor Han then continues. “It was impulsive, and they were severely incompatible. Not to mention his heart already belonged to another.”
It’s your turn to get quiet, simply nodding at his words and piecing together tidbits of Tchaikovsky’s tragic romance.
“Professor,” you say to him suddenly, turning to face him with a small smile on your face. “How do you know so much about the romantic histories of famous composers, anyway? Is this part of your lecture style?”
Professor Han chuckles lightly in response, his eyes forming little crescents as his lips pull back into a big grin. He looks much happier here like this, compared to the way he carries himself during his teaching- more laid back, comfortable, even.
“I think you have to understand where they fell short in romance,” he says, maintaining the same warm smile on his face. “It’s where most of the passion, and pain alike, stemmed from in their pieces. The sheer intensity of some of the orchestral or symphonic pieces, they’re…” his voice trails off momentarily, observing a painting of Mozart on the wall in front of the two of you, whose story he hasn’t even indulged you in yet as the museum staff prepare to close for the evening. He tilts his head to one side, pondering his words briefly and giving a little nod before continuing.
“They’re all crafted from yearning in one way or another.”
*
The evening rainfall is torrential outside, the sidewalks almost empty as people seek shelter in the safety of their cars and apartments. Once you’ve both exited the museum, Professor Han remains under the concrete roof that spans the entrance, looking out at the glistening pavement roads that reflect with red and green traffic lighting.
“Are you parked on the street?” He asks hesitantly, his hands shoved in the pocket of his slacks as he awaits your reply.
“I walked here,” you say to him, a light chuckle escaping your lips. “My dorm’s just a few blocks away.”
His eyes widen at the admission, thinking back to where his car is parked, just around the corner in the museum’s designated parking garage. He debates offering you a ride, but he knows it’d be in his best interest to avoid being alone in a car with the one woman he so dangerously can’t stop thinking about.
“Do you need a ride?” He then asks, the words leaving his lips before he can even stop himself. It’s like he’s overtaken by another version of himself- one who can’t cease this little chase you’re indulging him in, too.
“I don’t want to burden you,” you respond, a sheepish smile on your face as you try to veil the fact that you’re elated he’s even offered.
One more chance to make things right- and yet there’s no discernible boundary between what feels right, and what is right.
“It’s not a burden,” he affirms. “It’s not safe to walk home in this rain.”
Your gaze meets his, a sort of triumphant smile pulling on your lips as he cocks his head in the direction of the parking garage. There’s no distinctive plan either of you have in mind, but you’re also drawn to each other, admittedly wanting nothing more than to find little excuses to put off your departure for the evening.
He begins in the direction of the garage without even waiting for verbal confirmation, and yet he doesn’t have to, because you’re already trailing alongside him like it’s been your plan all this time. You maintain a giddy smile on your face as you both brave the rain together beyond the concrete ceiling of the museum entrance, tucking your necks into your shoulders and laughing as the rain drenches your clothes completely, strands of hair falling into your face and dribbling rainwater down your glowing cheeks.
“It’s just past here!” he calls out over the deafening sounds of rainfall, squinting his eyes amidst the drops of water that weigh on his eyelashes and making out the faint outline of his car in the dimly lit parking garage.
You trail behind him as he gestures for you to follow, also catching a glimpse of his parked car in the garage, seemingly the only remaining one at this hour.
Professor Han opens the passenger door for you, stringy pieces of hair falling into his face as he gestures for you to get in. And you do without hesitation, smoothing down your skirt and occupying the sleek black leather seat. When the door is shut, there’s a brief silence that falls over you as he makes his way around to the driver’s side, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the rearview mirror. Your makeup is a little smeared from the rain, wet hair slicked down and your clothes clinging to your figure with dampened spots. But for the first time in a long while, you look happy, finally making use of your time beyond the walls of your dorm room.
Professor Han slides into his seat at last, the door shutting promptly beside him, and he runs his slender fingers through the slick black strands of hair that fall into his face. You watch him curiously, heart racing at the sight of him so close to you, your bodies almost touching if not for the center console that so conveniently separates your yearning bodies. Drops of rainwater find purchase on his bent knees, further dampening his slacks as he wrings out his jet black hair over them. And he chuckles as he does, a little embarrassed he looks so disheveled in your presence.
When he hears you reciprocate with a gentle laugh, he turns to look at you, and it’s then that he realizes how dangerously close he is to you.
From this proximity, he can make out the spheres of rainwater that collect on your blushed cheeks, every last speck of mascara that collects under your eyelashes and flutters as you blink curiously at him. He can distinguish the lipstick you’ve strategically worn just for him, one that almost mirrors the natural pink shade of his pouty lips. He can feel the clear tension that bubbles over the center console as you lean in just a little, not enough to graze his mouth over yours, but certainly enough to feel the sharp breath that escapes his lips as he leans in, too.
And just as your eyes begin to shut, with every intention to kiss him right then and there, the sound of distant rainfall lessening as your rapid heartbeat fills your ears, he pulls back again.
“Sorry,” Professor Han remarks quietly, resting his hands on the steering wheel and shaking his head as though he's physically ridding himself of the urge to kiss you.
Your eyes open again, met with his trembling brown pupils that fixate on the dashboard in front of you both. And then he starts the car without another word, not yet backing out as he sits with his thoughts for a moment.
You desperately want to think he was going to kiss you, too, but you feel painfully stupid for being turned away like this in his car. Maybe it’s not how you’ve been reading into- maybe this is strictly a teacher-student relationship the way it’s supposed to be.
“Do you want to go back to your dorm?” He asks amidst the silence, not meeting your gaze. He’s scared he’ll get the urge to kiss you again, or that you might clock how nervous he is to be here with you.
You’re quiet for a moment, a little angry with things as you ponder the question. He’s not quite telling you to go home- but he isn’t asking you to stay, either. He’s just putting the ball in your court- both a safe, and a risky play at hand.
“No,” you voice finally.
He just nods at your response, clicking his tongue once and waiting for you to say something else. But you don’t- instead, you wait for him to say something else, too.
“Do you want to get out of the rain?” He then asks in a quiet voice, not specifying where that may imply. And although he doesn’t, you nod in agreement, meeting his gaze briefly as he reciprocates with an affirmative nod of his own.
*
Professor Han may have physically refuted the notion that kissing you in his car was anywhere near appropriate- and yet at this hour, the only place he can think to seek shelter from the rain with you is his apartment.
His apartment is nothing special at first glance, just your typical run-of-the-mill unit on the third floor of his building, but at a closer inspection, everything is exactly what you’d expect it to be.
Music sheets scattered along tables and couches, scribbled hastily with notes and annotations, much like his textbook was. A studio piano against the wall of his living room, the leather-seated bench that accompanies it stacked high with music theory books and more sheet music. The walls are decorated with rows of photographs, ones that you wish you could derive answers from, much like the dead composers gallery.
“Sorry for the mess,” he says sheepishly, peeling off his coat and draping it over the back of a chair.
Your arms are folded behind your back as you traverse the wooden floors as though this place is a museum, too. You relish in the sight of every decorative item, every sheet of music and every placement of his old-looking furniture, like it might give you more insight into exactly who Professor Han is. It’s just like he is- classic, enchanting, captivating.
“What are all these?” You ask him, pointing to a wall with a neat collage of photos.
At a closer inspection, you realize many of them include him, presumably from several years ago. He’s blonde in one of them, wearing a black pinstriped suit and a stylish pair of silver earrings. Another one shows him with midnight blue hair, the cool-toned hue contrasting rather beautifully against his tanned skin. His hair is still black in many of them, but he looks younger, dressed casually with a big smile plastered on his face.
And the most fascinating quality in all of them- he looks important. Like he’s a notable figure among the other subjects, usually standing in front of a podium or a music stand, sometimes with a baton grasped between his hands and raised in motion.
“Are these from your directing days?” You then ask, knowing the answer already.
It feels a little wrong to be seeing the photographs, almost as though they’re not supposed to be visible to just a student of his. They’re a glimpse into another life he’s lived- one you’re too late to be a part of. And more importantly, one he hasn’t seemed to be interested in talking about. You remember the times he’d brush off the mention of directing, change the subject or even just respond with an absent shrug. And yet standing in front of the proof it happened, you can’t help but probe for answers, feeling as though they might provide insight into who exactly he is underneath this pensive mask he wears.
“Those are from my directing days,” he confirms with a sad smile, making his way over to you and staring up at the wall. He examines one in which he’s in the middle of composing, stick held high in the air and a concentrated expression on his chiseled face.
“You look really cool,” you tell him, and he laughs lightly in response.
“Thank you,” he replies politely. “I always felt cool.”
You begin to tell him that he’s still cool, the way he captivates a whole room with lectures about famous composers and music theory he just knows offhandedly now. But you quickly get quiet again, not wanting to overstep any boundaries.
When you turn to face him again, you’re well aware of how close he is to you, droplets of rain still gliding down the bridge of his nose and onto the damp collar of his dress shirt. You also notice he’s wearing his glasses again, which remain the only dry part of his attire.
He seems to take notice of the heightened proximity for the second time today, too, making his way over to the couch and sitting on the edge of the velvet green cushions. But his gaze still remains fixed on yours, admiring the way you peer at his space.
“Professor, can I ask you something?” You say to him, approaching him cautiously, yet keeping a comfortable distance from him.
“Anything,” Professor Han replies, swallowing nervously and resting the palms of his hands flat on his knees. His long legs are draped over the edge of the couch, bent at the knees and spread so that he’s comfortably resting against the back of the cushion.
“You didn’t tell me about Mozart,” you say to him, twiddling your fingers in front of you. “What was Mozart’s love life like?”
Professor Han thinks it over momentarily, his eyes darting to the ceiling as he recalls Mozart’s romantic involvements. And it doesn’t take long, because it’s another tale he knows very well already.
“Well he lived with a family during his time in Vienna,” he explains. “They had a daughter named Constanze, who he took a particular liking to.”
You nod at his words, approaching him a little more now and observing the way he tenses a little, yet also noticing he makes zero effort to move away.
“His father didn’t approve,” Professor Han continues, eyeing the gentle sway of your skirt as you near him. “And yet when Mozart moved out, they maintained a relationship in secret.”
“A secret relationship?” You echo, and he nods affirmatively. “And then what happened?”
“Well,” he begins, dropping his hands to his sides as you stand right in front of him now. “Mozart wrote Constanze’s disapproving father a very famous letter. And they later married.”
“A letter?” You question. “Do you recall what was in the letter?”
You eye him from above, your thighs practically grazing his kneecaps as he remains seated in front of you.
And then in a painfully slow movement, all the while reminding yourself not to rush it, your hands find his, intertwining your fingers together and allowing you to pull yourself even closer to him, effectively slotting yourself between his knees. Professor Han’s breath hitches in his throat as you do, his heart racing wildly in his chest, pulsing reminders grazing his conscience that this is wrong. Yet juxtaposed against your delicate touches on his skin, and your curious eyes awaiting a resolution to his story, he can’t help himself.
“The letter?” He asks nervously, and you nod at him.
“Yeah. Do you remember it, by chance?”
Of course he remembers it- he could recite it in his sleep if he wanted to, every last word and emotion ingrained so deep within his soul as though its memorization was some requirement to work in a music-related field. But he hesitates to utter the words, knowing that if he does, they serve as permission for this- all of this, to indulge himself in all his reckless convictions right here with you.
“You don’t have to,” you say to him shyly, loosening your grasp on his fingers.
And you refer to both the utterance of Mozart’s letter, as well as the actions you know are bound to unfold if he does.
“No, I…” he interrupts, a sharp breath leaving his lips as he speaks. “I want to.”
A small smile tugs at your lips, tightening your grasp around his fingers once more, and then you wait for him to begin.
Professor Han takes a deep breath, some form of a prayer or maybe a beg for absolute forgiveness to a higher power racing his mind before he speaks again. And then, with all the weighing guilt in his heart, he begins to voice the letter back to you.
“I must make you better acquainted with the character of my dear Constanze,” he begins, finally allowing you to pull yourself onto his lap and steady yourself with two hands on his strong forearms.
“Keep talking,” you say to him, reaching out to tuck a strand of wet hair out of his face.
“Her whole beauty consists of two little black eyes and a pretty figure,” he continues, swallowing nervously at every tender touch you produce against his skin. His hands rest on the curves of your waist, delicately grazing up and down as you watch him curiously. Your legs bend to straddle him, skirt flowing over his black dress slacks and draping over the fabric of his crotch, where he can feel himself growing unbearably hard for you.
“Mhm,” you say, two hands now grazing the fabric of his silk black tie and loosening the knot at the collar.
“She likes to be neatly and cleanly dressed, but not smartly; and most things that a woman needs, she is able to make for herself.”
At this point, Professor Han’s tie is completely undone, your nimble fingers now undoing the buttons of his shirt and grazing fingertips along the exposed strip of his chest to you.
He pauses momentarily, eyes fluttering briskly as he relishes in the sensation of your skin against his. And then in one swift motion, your hands tug the fabric of his tie toward you, grazing your open mouth over his and pressing a short, chaste kiss to his pink lips.
He waits for more, but you don’t indulge him just yet, pulling away to stare into the swirling galaxies he houses in his big eyes.
And before he can finish reading the letter, you’re speaking again, putting out the same words he completely intended to produce.
“I love her, and she loves me with all her heart,” you say to him, finishing Mozart’s signature letter for him. ���Tell me whether I could wish for a better wife.”
Professor Han says nothing, his eyes widened with shock for a moment as you toy with the fabric of his tie. He wasn’t expecting you to know the tale, let alone echo the letter back to him- one he’s had memorized for most of his life.
“Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father,” you voice with a small shrug. “It’s always been one of my favorites.”
And Professor Han can’t take it anymore, finally allowing himself to pull you in by the small of your back, desperately gripping his fingers against the fabric of your shirt and locking his lips with yours once again. His kisses are purposeful, and needy, but he’s still gentle with you, guiding you further down the length of his legs until you’re sat right over his crotch. The two of you say nothing in between kisses for a good while, remaining like that and exchanging gasped breaths into each other’s mouths as his hands explore every inch of your still-clothed body. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into you and arching your back into his touches. And when his hands graze the length of your skirt, tenderly stroking up the skin on your inner thighs, you chuckle lightly into his mouth, well amused by the actions as though you haven’t wanted it all this time, too.
“Is this okay?” He says nervously, pulling away momentarily to scan your expression.
“It’s more than okay,” you say to him, toying with his tie again. “I’ve wanted to do this so badly.”
Professor Han chuckles lightly, not wanting to admit he’s been thinking about it, too. Maybe externally you’ve already taken note of the way he stares at you as he speaks during lectures, or the way he eyes your short skirts when you assume your seat in his classroom. But you don’t know the nights he spends alone in his apartment, desperately fucking his fist to the thought of you bent over the podium in his lecture hall and filling the space with your erotic moans. Or the way he’s had to divert your gaze in class sometimes, lest he accidentally flaunts a hard-on for the whole class to see, because he knows his mind will run someplace it shouldn’t be.
He’s completely ridden with guilt, his sleep schedule almost nonexistent as he spends hours after he’s already tucked himself into bed, praying the universe won’t punish him for thinking about a student like this.
But he can’t help it- not when you saunter into his classroom so confidently every week, speaking of composers with the same level of admiration he shares, earning the highest grade possible and taking a genuine interest in his life. He’s almost angry at the reality of it, questioning constantly why you hadn't crossed paths before he became a teacher.
“Where were you during my college days?” Professor Han says out loud, a sort of disappointment evident on his face as he speaks. “I wish I’d known you earlier.”
You chuckle in response, one hand tangling in the back of his hair as you rub in gentle massaging motions.
“What’s wrong with right now?” You retort, trailing one finger over his plump lips.
“What’s wrong is that I’m your professor,” he emphasizes, scoffing lightly. “Everything about it is wrong.”
“I’m an adult,” you respond, pulling him in by his collar to work kisses down the column of his neck. “And I want this.”
“Yeah, but…” he begins, the guilt weighing heavily on him all over again.
“You don’t want this?” You then ask, pushing yourself off him briefly and holding eye contact with him. He looks as nervous as he always does when he’s near you, his eyes wide with fear and his timid movements conveying a clear reluctance to reciprocate the affection.
“I do want this,” he mutters sheepishly, knowing it’s also not in his best interest to lie to the woman he’s been leading on for several months now.
“I can leave,” you say to him finally, acknowledging how scared he sounds at the prospect of being here with you. “I won’t tell a single soul. It’ll be like it never happened.”
And Professor Han’s eyebrows arch up in an almost pleading motion, not verbally conveying anything, and yet telling you all that you need to know in the process.
Without saying anything back to him, you reach down to pinch the bridge of his wireframe glasses between your index finger and thumb. His glasses are fogged up, resting almost crookedly on his face when you pull them off, snapping the frame shut between your teeth and setting them on the couch beside you. You can hear Professor Han’s breath hitch in the back of his throat, nervously awaiting your next move and practically shifting total control over to you, who wastes no time reattaching your lips to his and humming into his mouth. He looks completely helpless under you like this, beads of sweat forming on his temples, indistinguishable against the rain droplets that still grace his attire. When you pull away, you examine his chest again briefly- the very same one you couldn’t seem to look away from on your first day of classes. His broad pectorals jut out against the thin white fabric of his button-down shirt, almost completely see-through all drenched in rainwater. And two buttons reveal his sharp clavicles to you, but you’re still just as eager to see the rest of him.
So in slow movements, you graze your hands down lower, snaking off his tie and discarding it alongside him with his glasses. Your nimble fingers work his buttons now, undoing them one by one, pulling open the hem of his shirt so that his chest is visible to you, and when the very last one is undone, you practically tear open both sides of his shirt, allowing the fabric to drape down over the couch and slouch off of his shoulders.
His waist is a sight to marvel at, delicate yet still muscular, made even more erotic in contrast with his broadened shoulders that span much wider than his hips. And your lips quickly find every curve of his chest, pressing a trail of kisses along his clavicles, up to the crook of his neck, down where his nipples protrude and along his shoulders, which tense up beneath your touch.
“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes in blissful pleasure as your kisses turn a little harsher, pulling his flesh between your teeth and sucking small bruises onto the raised goosebumps that grace every inch of him. You can feel him shift beneath you, trying his best to keep his now swollen cock at a distance from you, as though the act might be less incriminating if you can’t feel his physical yearning for you. And yet it’s enough for you to take notice, scooting closer to him with a smile on your face as you meet his lips once more.
When he feels you squeeze your thighs around his still-clothed cock just once, enough for the friction to emit a bead of precum from under his slacks, his hands find your waist again, tugging lightly at the fabric to signal you to remove it.
“Can I take this off?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes now hooded with lust, lips parted at the sight of your body practically grinding onto his.
You don’t reply, simply crossing two arms over your torso and pulling your shirt off over your head. It’s discarded along with the pile of other things, and then before he has to ask, your bra joins it beside him, too.
Professor Han feels as though he might finish right here at the sight of your breasts on display for him, your hardened nipples protruding generously with arousal and practically begging for his touch. He feels his mouth water with saliva, desperate to take you in his mouth, but somehow even with you straddling him like this, he’s too scared to make a move.
“Professor,” you say to him quietly.
“Hm?” He responds.
You say nothing back to him, blinking innocently down at him and waiting for him to act upon his urges. You know what it is that he wants so badly- and you want it, too. But you want it to feel as mutual as the yearning has, for some confirmation neither of you are manipulating the other into this. His eyes don’t leave your breasts, examining the way your chest rises and falls with every heavy breath as you wait for him. And then he meets your gaze again, a sharp breath escaping his lips as he does.
“Jisung,” he says, now chuckling lightly. His hands snake up your sides, rising higher, and higher, until they’re resting on the mounds of your breasts, not yet making contact with your hardened nipples.
“What?” You hum in response, a small smile on your lips as he watches you carefully.
“That’s my name,” he now says, leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss again. As he does, his hands move lower, until his slender fingers are sprawled out over your nipples. He doesn’t stop kissing you, moving his hands in gentle kneading motions over your breasts as his kisses turn more eager.
“You don’t have to call me professor,” he says in between kisses, hands now reaching around to pull you in closer, gripping your ass just as tenderly the way he did your breasts and desperately grazing your smooth flesh against his calloused fingers . “Just call me Jisung.”
As you smile into the kiss, he flips up your skirt, looping one finger into the hem of your panties and toying with it as he adjusts himself below you. He tugs at your panties just an inch, now transitioning his movements to find the buckle of his pants, metal clinking between your bodies as he unfastens it and snakes it out beside him.
You pull your own panties off as he unbuttons his slacks, awkwardly parting from you momentarily to rid himself of the still-drenched fabric. And then all that remains are his boxers, his erection pitching a tent against the constricting fabric as he resumes his kisses.
“Jisung,” you breathe into his mouth, earning a toothy grin from him against your parted lips. “I love it. I love your name.”
“You’re welcome to say it whenever you want,” he says back, running his hands along the small of your back.
“Just me?” You ask teasingly, tangling two hands in his ebony hair.
“Just you,” he emphasizes, grazing his fingers along your inner thighs. “Just like you’re the only one who scores a perfect on everything she does,” he continues, the pads of his fingers attaching to your clit.
“Just like you’re the only student I’d bring back here in the first place.”
Jisung’s fingers begin slow, circular motions on your bundle of nerves, earning a gasp from you as he dips once into your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it around again.
His mouth accumulates with a needy wad of drool, cock growing even harder at the sight of your eyebrows arched for him as you grind into the pads of his fingers and push him even harder against your flesh.
“Do you think about me often?” You ask him between labored breaths, tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. His eyes are wide with lust and curiosity alike, peering back at you so innocently, with every intention to pleasure you.
“I do,” he affirms, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.
“What do you think about?” You now ask him, scooting even closer and allowing your chests to make contact as you wrap your arms around him.
“Those short little skirts you wear just for me,” he replies, smiling as he speaks. “They drive me insane.”
“That’s on purpose, you tell him, grazing your nails along the back of his neck. “What else?”
“Your stories of piano,” he then says, surprising you with his response. “It’s so sexy how talented you are.”
“Really?” You ask him, chuckling lightly as he kisses you once again. He nods affirmatively, dipping two fingers into your entrance with ease, just past your glistening folds, but not yet moving them inside of you.
And then he grows quiet for a moment, meeting your gaze with a serious expression, before he begins to pump his fingers slowly in and out of you as he speaks again.
“I touched myself to your book annotations,” he tells you, this time a smile absent from his chiseled face.
“My book annotations,” you repeat, and he cocks his head to look at you.
“All for me,” he continues, filling the ache between your legs with the gentle thrust of his fingers. “Were you trying to get my attention?”
“Depends,” you reply, clutching his shoulders and moving down the length of his fingers a little further.
“On what?”
“On whether yours were for me,” you say to him finally, clenching down around his digits.
He moves his thumb to stimulate your clit as he fucks you, earning a breathy moan as you struggle to speak now.
“Tell me what it was like,” you say to him breathlessly. “Describe it to me.”
“It was earlier today- just before the gallery,” he explains, cocking his head as your lips part in pleasure. “I never annotate in red. I knew instantly that it was you. Your handwriting- your words,” he continues. “I wasn’t expecting it- I’d hoped maybe you penned in a phone number or something.”
You chuckle lightly as he speaks, taking note of the way his fingers pick up the pace inside of you.
“You would’ve loved that, huh?” You retort. And his fingers now move inside of you in a ‘come hither’ motion as he resumes his actions.
“I would’ve loved that,” he groans. “Too bad all I had was your handwriting, and the thought of you in that skirt you wore today. And ten minutes alone with my right hand, praying you’d actually show up tonight.”
Jisung can’t cease his perverted confessions once they begin escaping his wet lips. In complete contrast to his reluctance earlier, his fingers now thrusting in and out of your sopping pussy with such force, spilling every little detail about how much he’s thought about you these past few months.
“God, I love your body,” he breathes against you, craning his neck to take your breast in his mouth. His mouth latches around your erect nipple, tongue swirling in circular motions as he hums helplessly. And you let out a fervent moan at the sensation, not missing the way his fingers prod into your squelching entrance, your thighs trembling as you near your finish.
“Jisung,” you gasp, tangling a hand in his hair and tugging him gently off of you. A string of drool connects his wet lips to your flesh as he meets your gaze, labored breaths grazing your skin, desperate to taste you again.
“What is it?” He coos back.
“I want to finish with you,” you say helplessly. And your hand reaches down between the two of you onto his still-clothed crotch, taking his girth between your hand and giving a light squeeze. He’s wet, as though he’s already finished once for you, and he whimpers powerlessly at the contact.
“Fuck,” he whimpers, shutting his eyes in pleasure at the sensation. “Fuck, touch it again, will you?”
You chuckle lightly in response, looping a finger into the hem of his boxers and tugging down.
“I can do a lot more than just touch you,” you tell him, allowing his fingers to depart from your entrance as you position yourself over him. He watches too as you tug his boxers over his crotch, his eyebrows arching in preemptive arousal as he feels the cool air graze his exposed flesh. And when his cock is finally free, growing erotically against the concave of his abdomen, you can’t help but gasp, completely in awe at the sight.
He’s much bigger than you’d anticipated, a thick girth lined with pink protruding veins and a generous length, his cock almost red at the tip and leaking with precum.
“Fuck,” Jisung says for a third time, feeling another bead drip down his length at the prospect of you watching.
“Is it okay if-”
Jisung doesn’t let you finish your sentence before he’s nodding eagerly, practically begging you to ride him. And you waste no time indulging him in the request, positioning your entrance over him and steadying yourself with two hands on his broad shoulders. He says nothing as he waits, his nails digging into the small of your back as he shuts his eyes, reveling in the sensation of your body so close to his. And then before he can meet your gaze again, you’re sliding down the slick of his length with complete ease, almost bottoming out fully as he opens his eyes again and whimpers loudly.
He’s already pulsating rhythmically inside of you, the tip of his cock kissing your walls as you move even lower, precum mixing with your wetness and producing a light sloshing sound as you begin to move up and down.
His eyes watch your pussy swallow him for a few motions, doing his best to stave off his orgasm as you pant at the sensation. You can feel him all the way in your stomach, filling you up so fully and deeply, labored breaths leaving your lips as his whimpers fill the room. And then you capture him in a wet kiss again, just barely grazing your lips over his as his voice rises in pitch.
“Shit, I can’t,” he whines, gripping your skin a little tighter. “I’m gonna cum so fast.”
“It’s okay,” you emphasize, clenching around his girth and smiling against him. “We have all night.”
The words make him twitch once inside of you, the thought of fucking you a second time making him dizzy with anticipation. Any fleeting thought that this might be a bad idea is completely dissipated from his mind, replaced with unwavering pleasure and his longing to fill you up the way he’s imagined for the better part of the semester now.
“Can I cum inside of you?” He groans, using two hands to move you down his length a little deeper, your clit grinding softly against his abdomen as he bottoms out inside of you. “Jesus, you feel so good.”
You nod in response to him, burying your head in the crook of his neck as he continues to help you, one finger stimulating your clit again as beads of sweat trickle down his forehead.
For a while, no one says anything, the only sounds present between the two of you being the gentle slosh of your juices around his girth and the helpless panting that bridges the gap between your bodies. Your moans and his whimpers are a lot like the discoordinate piano pieces he analyzes so deeply, fading in and out of pace and searching relentlessly for resolution.
And as you crescendo toward your release, you can’t help but take note of how right it feels to be here with him, consuming each other the way you pour yourself into your music, as he does his work. He had asked you earlier where you’d been all his college life- but you know you’re supposed to be together like this now, regardless of his relationship to you. Had he been ten, twenty years your senior, you wouldn’t care- it’s your souls that keep you intertwined like this, the way he sees you for your passions and your interests, beyond just the traditional sense of a student and a teacher. He’s so much more than that- he’s so much more than just a professor.
As Jisung reaches back to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, you feel yourself clench once around his pulsing girth, and then you let go entirely around him, grasping his broad chest as you breathe out his name like a prayer in the duration of your release.
“Jisung,” you moan against him, allowing his first name rather than his professional title to linger between your two listless bodies.
“Y/n,” he groans back, shutting his eyes briefly and arching up his eyebrows. And then as you tremble in exhaustion around him, legs aching from working yourself to your finish, he reaches his finish, too, shooting generous ropes of cum up inside of you and wrapping two arms around you to pull you closer to him.
He remains like that through his finish, his head finding purchase in the valley of your breasts, resting against the chest that rises and falls with deep breaths as his release dribbles down out of you.
And neither of you make any haste movements to get cleaned up just yet, allowing yourselves to remain pressed up against each other, hands tenderly caressing flesh and limbs tangled together.
In the midst of massaging his soft ebony locks, the pads of his fingers clinging tenaciously to your body, you can feel the presence of tears graze your chest, soft sniffles emitting from his flushed face against you. He weeps for you- for his guilt, for yearning, for the confirmation that he’s not better than his filthy conscience after all. And contrastly, because he knows he has all night to do it again, and again, and again.
*
By the morning, your bodies are sore and bruised, sunbeams absent through the giant glass windows of Jisung’s apartment as it continues to rain outside. There’s a chill in the air as thick clouds of fog caress the windows, and not even the layered duvet of Jisung’s bed is enough to warm your still-nude body.
You blink in a state of confusion around you, not realizing where you are momentarily. It’s not until you eye the stacks of music books, loose sheet music and picture frames that you recall last night’s events.
How many times had he fucked you- four, maybe five times? You can’t remember; you do remember he was good at it, switching back and forth between having his way with you, and then submitting to you again, letting you take the reins and ride him until you physically couldn’t anymore. As you sit up in bed, you catch a glimpse of him beside you, his bruised chest visible under the white duvet that drapes lazily over him and covers only his lower half.
He’s still asleep, lips parted innocently and his hair tousled around his chiseled face. He’s also in need of a shave, flaunting a generous patch of stubble on his chin. And you’re not sure he’s ever looked so tantalizing to you before.
When he hears you stirring about, his eyes flutter open, meeting your tired gaze and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He begins to say something, but then he gets quiet again, sighing deeply and shutting his eyes once more. You observe as his lips pull back into a sheepish grin, his straight teeth exposed as he chuckles lightly.
“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” He says with a groan. And you simply shrug in response, lying back down beside him, resting one hand on your pillow as he turns over to face you.
It’s a little more real at this proximity, the fact that you’re in bed alongside your professor. But the point still stands- it doesn’t feel awkward, nor do you regret any part of what unfolded yesterday. It’s like something that was bound to happen- if not last night, it would’ve been a week from now, maybe two weeks- definitely not three considering how long you’ve been thinking about him.
Jisung swallows from across you, his hand tucked under his pillow, too, and he watches as you reach out to trace the mole he flaunts on his cheek. It’s not one you’ve had the pleasure of noticing until now- it’s really not one that can be noticed from the vast distance between a lecture chair and a podium. But beside him in his bed, you take notice of everything- the mole in his cheek, the flutter of his long lashes, the sheer guilt he still wears on his face.
“Come on,” Jisung says from beside you, cocking his head in the direction of his bedroom door. “I’ll make you coffee.”
“The blue hair was a bold choice,” you say to Jisung, gripping a warm mug of coffee in hand as you sit cross-legged on his wooden flooring.
You’re in nothing but one of his t-shirts, your hair still messy from last night’s events and lipstick staining the edge of the white mug he’s provided you with. He’s a little more put together this morning, despite canceling today’s classes, a white woolen cardigan enveloping his figure and gray sweatpants hung loosely around his toned legs.
“I dyed my hair a lot back then,” he says from his spot on the couch, staring up at the photograph you admire.
And for some reason, the utterance of “back then” makes you laugh, the way he speaks as though he’s twenty years older than he is. He’s really just six years beyond you, a gap that most would overlook had he not been a professor. And sure, he already boasts a master’s degree and years of experience, but it’s not as though you’re not on the same path yourself.
“Why did you stop?” You ask, turning to meet his tired gaze.
He sighs momentarily, bringing the mug up to his lips for a sip, and then he shrugs at you.
“It’s not professional,” he says plainly. “I had to look the part.”
You smile at him, shaking your head before responding.
“Not the hair,” you emphasize. “Directing. Why’d you stop directing?”
It’s the first time you’ve asked the question so boldly, despite pondering it for all the time you’ve known him. And his composure turns uncomfortable again, as though the question implies much more than it lets on.
“You don’t have to answer,” you say to him after a brief silence, feeling guilty for having overstepped. But Jisung shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows before speaking again.
“It was eating me alive,” he explains, his gaze falling to a distant stack of books as he thinks back to his days as a director. “I couldn’t do anything else. I couldn’t focus on anything. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep- I wanted to be the best. I just wasn’t a very good person.”
You nod at his words- it’s a phenomenon you know very well already, being a music major yourself. The soul-crushing weight of turning everything into a competition, of bypassing your peers and losing loved ones along the way. You’re pretty sure your lack of friends in college can be largely attributed to the same thing.
“Well I think you’re a good person,” you say finally, but his gaze still doesn’t find yours. You can tell there’s more he wants to say- but he remains there, staring into the distance, pondering a lifetime of regret he’ll continue to take with him if he doesn’t at least try to address the hurt.
“I wasn’t,” is all he can say, earning another head shake from you.
“You can’t blame yourself for wanting to be good, Jisung. I’m sure you feel the same thing working as a professor. Besides, that doesn’t mean you can’t-”
“I was a lousy husband,” Jisung finally blurts out, and your eyes snap to his gaze again, finally making contact with his trembling eyes.
“Husband?” You echo, and he swallows nervously.
“I married so young,” Jisung tells you now, folding his legs on the couch in front of him. “I thought it was the right move, fresh out of college with a girl I’d been dating for four years. I had everything- a job, a wife, a sense of stability.”
You’re taken aback by the admission, never once having taken Jisung to be a formerly-married man. He is young, and aside from the sexual tension that’s risen between the two of you, he shows no interest in pursuing another partner.
“The divorce cost me everything,” Jisung says, his eyes glazing over again as he recounts the story. “I was responsible for somebody walking away from what they believed was a lifetime of stability. And she knew it, too, that I was lousy. She told me- her parents told me. I just wanted to be the best at my work. And it cost me everything. So I quit. And I opted for something that wouldn’t drive me crazy anymore.”
Jisung’s heart races wildly in his chest as he speaks, and then he’s hit with the realization that he’s venting to a student of his- one who shouldn’t be occupying his apartment in the first place. One he slept with several times last night- one who he feels oddly safe confiding in. But a student, nonetheless.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Jisung finally says, furrowing his brows again. “I’m sorry- maybe you should go.”
You remain quiet, still sat on the floor, not even halfway finished with the cup of coffee he’s brewed. And he feels bad again, knowing it’s not fair to be taking his frustration out on you.
“Do you want me to leave?” You ask in a meek voice. Jisung chews the inside of his lip, meeting your gaze with a sorrowful expression. At first he shrugs, like he might indeed want you out of this space he calls home. But then he shakes his head sheepishly, shrinking back into the couch cushions and sighing heavily.
You’re not entirely sure what to say to him, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, but longing to keep him company. He just seems lonely, you can’t help but think to yourself. He’s so ridden with loneliness, and guilt and yearning for more.
“Jisung,” you say to him, setting your mug aside and folding your hands in your lap.
He meets your gaze again, a sort of heavy, exhausted expression on his face.
“Do you really think Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 is missing something?” You then ask him, referring to the annotations from his textbook.
He keeps his gaze set on yours, fascinated you’ve remembered his penned-in opinions on the aforementioned works from class. And then he nods lightly, humming a little in response to you.
“There’s no resolution,” Jisung huffs. “It just fades into nothingness.”
You nod back at him, sitting back on the palms of your hands and cocking your head slightly.
“That's a resolution to some listeners,” you say to him. “Maybe you just desire something beyond those last notes.”
His gaze flickers over your knowing expression, pondering the way you speak of the familiar tune.
“Maybe you ought to seek what a resolution is to you.”
*
“I think Professor Han is fucking somebody,” Mina says to you one day as she gets ready in front of the full-length mirror across from her bed.
“Why do you say that?” You retort with a small chuckle, your interest piqued at her words.
“Haven’t you noticed he cancels class a lot?” She replies, wiping a mascara smudge off from below her left eye. “He runs late all the time now, he just shows up in a t-shirt when he does lecture. And he just seems happier, overall. That’s every indication that he’s getting some action.”
You thumb the pages of your textbook- or rather, Professor Han’s textbook, red pen grasped between your fingers as you finish up an annotation.
An annotation you pen in just for him- responses to his music suggestions, comments about his analyses and flirting between the lines of music notes. The textbook is exchanged back and forth between the two of you, conversing secretly between the thin pages of music theory, producing poetry from a language only the two of you speak- by each other, and for each other.
Sometimes you imagine it the way Mozart and Constanze’s relationship unfolded- secret, but robust, full of passion and yearning for one another.
And when you tell Jisung about it later that week, he practically doubles over in laughter, eyes forming little crescents as the melodious tune of his “ha ha’s” fills the space between the two of you.
“I guess I never realized how presumptuous you students can be,” he says, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
He doesn’t seem worried in the slightest- at least not with this cautious system the two of you have developed to maintain the secrecy. You don’t linger in his classroom when lectures conclude, careful not to make it too obvious that you’re waiting around for him. Instead, you meet him at his apartment, just a few blocks away from campus and void of people who might piece together the reality of the situation, like Mina. It’s convenient that she doesn’t seem to suspect anything regarding why you’re always absent from your shared dorm now, considering she’s always at her boyfriend’s place, anyway. And although Jisung makes a mental promise to himself to stop canceling his evening classes so frequently, he can’t help it.
He’s just as drawn to you as you are to him, finding solace in the way he can finally confide in somebody after so long. Jisung thinks back to the way he handled the divorce so privately, quietly putting in his two weeks notice as a musical director and opting for a career path which didn’t take so much of his time and sanity.
He recalls the majority of his friends and family acknowledging what a lousy husband he’d been, and the feeling of knowing he’d made a colossal mistake agreeing to marry so young when he could hardly grasp what he even wanted further down the line. But to you, he’s just a work in progress- you’re still enchanted by the way his mistakes are rooted in sheer passion for his work. The way he lights up when he speaks of his old days as a director, the alluring poetry he produces for you between the pages of a course-assigned textbook. He’s so much more than his mistakes- he’s so much more than the evident loneliness, and guilt, and yearning he harbors.
And although the physical aspect is but a minuscule factor of the relationship, it’s still undeniably sweeping, as though it’s another language the two of you share in secrecy. Jisung had admitted once that he hadn’t even been with another woman following the divorce- a fact which you now know to be true, the way he fucks with such desperation, as though he’s going to lose you to the same careless mistakes as before. But he also understands that you’re different, and that you don’t apprehend him for any of his former mistakes.
He indulges you in tales of his days directing, one arm slung lazily around your waist as he holds you close and plays old films of the symphonic band in action. And it’s more captivating to watch him get lost in his work, the way his eyes glaze over as he watches himself on screen, the thin black baton waving around in rushed motions as the band plays. He wears elegant suits lined with brass buttons and expensive cufflinks, and the expression on his face when the on-screen symphony turns to him for direction- hundreds of eyes eagerly awaiting his next move, as though he controls them. Pairs of eyes who actually give a shit about the field of work- not just make an appearance for a grade. He grins ear to ear when you pry for more answers, and especially when you conflate the pieces to that of your own, mentally recalling your own piano sheet music. And when you deluge him in compliments, reminding him that he’s remarkable for all that he’s done, and he’s still remarkable- as a professor, and even following his divorce, he can’t help but grow hard at the affection, reveling in the robust support and the love he’s not sure he’s ever felt before you.
He’ll often make love to you right there on the sofa, symphonic pieces still playing faintly on the tv in the background, and he’ll do it again and again to convey the reminder that he’s grateful, and that no one has ever heard him the way that you do.
*
One month into the arrangement, Jisung texts you in a sheer panic, requesting you meet him in the east lecture hall. It’s extremely uncharacteristic of him to make efforts to meet in the one place you could get caught, but still you adhere to his request, throwing on a sweater and rushing out of your vacant dorm to the east side of campus.
The campus buildings are almost haunting at this hour, no more than two, maybe three students in sight under the dim glow of the lamps that line the concrete pathways. The building names are also completely indistinguishable at this hour amidst the sheer darkness, and the only sounds that can be heard are the distant chirp of crickets and the occasional roll of a skateboard. When you arrive at the grand hall, you quickly realize it’s no longer accessible, closed off by rows of fencer wire and shut off entirely from the rest of the school.
“It’s finally done for,” a voice says from beside you, and you know it to be Jisung’s before even turning to face him.
“Already? I thought construction was supposed to begin next semester, though.”
Jisung shakes his head, hands stuffed in his pockets as he exhales deeply.
“I got the email today,” he says in a frustrated tone. “Just some short thing about not delaying the project. They’re moving me to the tiny little hall around the corner.”
You take a moment to think over the hall he speaks of- it might as well be a mobile classroom with how small it is in size, just one narrow hallway that branches off into a line of 3 other rooms. The desks are reminiscent of those from your high school days, and you can’t remember the heating ever having worked during your time passing through, the hall constantly freezing when it rains.
“I didn’t even get a proper send-off,” he reiterates, his gaze not moving from the bright orange temporary fencing. “I would’ve taken a moment to appreciate it one last time.”
You think for a moment, taking a brief moment to glance around you at the eerily empty campus, and then you turn back to Jisung with a small shrug.
“Don’t you still have your keys?”
“Yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “But…”
Jisung doesn’t finish his sentence, instead pondering the suggestion as he keeps his gaze on the fencing. He knows it would be reckless, practically breaking into the old lecture hall like this to give it one last look, but he’s also overtaken with frustration and a longing for closure.
“I do have my old keys,” he says suddenly, glancing around the vacant buildings nearby, at the faint silhouettes of shadowy trees and dim streetlamps. You watch curiously as he runs a hand along the tip of the neon orange fence, pushing down to locate where it gives in a little. And just at the very end of it, it does, pulling down much further and lowering just enough so that it’s adequate to climb over. Jisung hoists himself over the fencing, his muscular arms steadying himself as he lifts one leg over the fence, followed by the other, and then grounds himself in the muddy grass on the other side. It's the first time you take notice that he’s in a simple pair of blue jeans, brushing mud off his toned thighs and then meeting your gaze again.
“Come on,” he says to you, nearing the fence again and holding a hand out, beckoning you to follow his lead. You don’t think twice before you’re mirroring his actions, hoisting your frame over the plastic fencing and planting two feet in the mud, Jisung helping you regain your balance with his calloused hands finding purchase on your waist and then interlocking his fingers with yours.
“I hope they haven’t changed the locks yet,” he says, leading you to the familiar grand entrance of the lecture hall. His keys are fished out of the pockets of his jeans, jingling softly as he twists his gold key into the lock, and then with an affirmative thud of the door being pushed open, he smiles to himself, beckoning for you to follow him inside.
The lecture hall is even more eerie than the campus is at this hour, not a single light illuminating the dark wooden floors that span the tower. The moonlit glow through the windows flashes with the gentle wave of trees that almost grazes against the glass panes, and you can’t quite distinguish where the gargantuan ceilings even end in this darkness. Jisung makes his way to the spiral staircase to the right of the room, craning his neck up to get a good view of the room, and then he beckons you again with the wave of his hand.
“They haven’t touched the stairs yet,” he says, beginning up the stairs with one hand cascading along the wooden banister. You follow behind him, the only sound echoing around the hall being the familiar loud creak of the stairs as you make your ascent. And for the first time, it’s a sound you realize you’re going to miss very dearly, never having realized it was something you took for granted all this time. The way these stairs obnoxiously announce your arrival when you’re late to class with a coffee in hand, or how the wooden steps boom in volume when students rush down them in hordes toward their next class. Although you’ll have graduated and moved on by then, the knowledge that everything is going to be different remains a jarring fact.
At the top of the stairs, it’s comforting to see that nothing looks different just yet, the podium still intact and rows of chairs folded neatly in their places. Jisung doesn’t make any move to turn on the lights, careful not to reveal that anyone’s broken into the old building, and he makes his way to the podium, staring out at the sea of vacant chairs that sit untouched amidst the darkness.
“I loved this room,” he says after a moment of silence, his voice laced with regret.
You span the perimeter behind the podium, grazing your hands along the old walls, recalling how many times you’d stared at them beyond Jisung’s pacing figure as he spoke of composers and musical theory.
When you make your way to the podium alongside him, mirroring the way he stares out at the empty seats, he glances at you briefly out of his peripheral vision. Jisung wonders if you can tell that the demolition of this room is so painfully metaphorical for him, like one final indication that he deserves no better than the confines of a dingy little room far away from this one. As though every time he feels he’s that much closer to redeeming himself following a nasty divorce, he’s shut out again, misplaced, suddenly right back to where he was five years ago. Misguided, lost, full of regret and a permanent yearning for resolution- one that never seems to come.
In fact, he’s pretty sure you’re the closest he’s ever gotten to one, when you’re assuring him that there is a life beyond the mistakes he made in his early 20s- that the curse of pondering his place here doesn’t have to define him entirely. And that there’s always still time- to love, to better himself, and to revisit the passion which once drove him mad.
It doesn’t mean it’s going to repeat itself, you had told him once. You could do it differently.
“I don’t think Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 needed a coda,” you say to him, breaking the deafening silence between you two in the vast empty space of the room.
Jisung finally turns to look at you, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his jeans as he replies.
“Why’s that?”
“It doesn’t need to repeat the entire first part,” you explain to him. “That part is emphasized enough. I think the listener should appreciate that it just ends where it ends.”
Jisung thinks over your words for a moment, not entirely sure why you’ve brought up the piece way back from chapter 8 of his lectures. And yet he nods in response, his breath hitching in the back of his throat a little when you turn to face him, too.
“I like that it’s a little unclear,” you finally say to him.
And this time he doesn’t respond- not with words at least, opting to pull you in for a gentle kiss, his hands working their way down the small of your back. His lips feel somber against yours, like he seeks to inhibit his sadness with the tender touch of your lips against his, pushing you back against the wooden podium and spinning you around to work kisses down your neck.
There are no words spoken between the two of you, just the vibration of small moans echoing from your lips as he sucks a hickey into your flesh, even though he knows he shouldn’t mark you. And yet he does, a physical reminder that you belong to him, and hopefully one to convey the notion that you’re the closest thing he’s ever gotten to resolution.
Jisung’s hands work your blouse open, his jeans pressing into you from behind, already rock-hard for you as his hands tug off your shirt. And he giggles against your flesh when you gasp at the cold air that grazes your skin.
“Jisung,” you say to him, your hands gripping the wood of the podium. “We probably shouldn’t do this here.”
It’s he who brushes off the lewd act, consoling you with the unzip of his jeans, his bulge pressing into your thigh as he continues to work kisses down your neck.
“We won’t get caught, baby,” he says as his fingers rub circles over your clothed core under the thin fabric of your skirt. “I promise.”
And then it’s you tugging your own panties down, allowing him full access to your wet cunt as the palm of his hand works you in rhythmic back and forth motions. He doesn’t even need to touch you- not when you’re already dripping for him. And yet he remains like that for several minutes, breathing heavily into the shell of your ear as your moans echo around the dark lecture hall, his cock only growing harder against you with every touch.
It’s undoubtedly arousing for him to look out at the classroom he’s lectured in for so many years, one he usually associates with nervous test-takers and monotonous speeches- and to watch the very same space be filled with your gasps of pleasure. His eyes scan over the very seat you occupy every week, recalling the times he’s fantasized about exactly this- touching you the way he knows you deserve to be touched and making you his in the forbidden confines of a classroom. Without so much as a word, his boxers are pulled down too, positioning you in front of him and allowing his fingers to wrap around the base of his leaky cock. He strokes himself just once, eyes shutting at the sensation of his tip brushing against your warm flesh. And then he prods into your entrance, tapping ever so gently as his other hand intertwines with yours.
You take him with complete ease, the way you always do when he’s fucking you this sweetly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as indication to speed up his movements. But he doesn’t- he just maintains a steady pace inside of you, his hips smacking lightly against yours as he resumes wet kisses along your shoulder.
A million thoughts graze his mind as he fucks you- like the fading notes of Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, and how evidently his annotations referencing a coda have resonated with you. Or the tales of Mozart and Constanze’s secret love, of Johannes Brahms and Clara Schumann and a lifetime of unrequited romance that never quite got its closure. Jisung thinks about the nights you two spend in his apartment, watching reruns of him directing symphonies, or mornings when he cancels class because all he can do is lie entangled with you and bask in the love you two share in the privacy of his home.
His mind also goes back to the divorce, a constant pain he carries with him, remembering all the ways he let other people down in efforts to focus on his career and his love of music. Nights he stayed out far too long annotating sheets of music, knowing very well that his wife was waiting up for him. Anniversaries he forgot, birthdays he failed to prioritize because music always came first. And consequently, begging his ex-wife to stay, knowing very well she had already made up her mind- that he was a lousy person, far too consumed by his career and incapable of loving the way she had.
Jisung’s movements pick up in pace as he thinks about the future of this old building- soon demolished into a pile of dust, the old walls crumbling despite the years of history pent up inside of it. Tests failed and lectures given, days he spent funneling that same passion into something entirely new, because directing was never the same once he understood what a neglectful husband he’d been. The walls to be painted blinding shades of cobalt blue and white, like a fucking dentist’s office, and not an inch of the building to suggest it had ever housed an appreciation for music, simply replaced by a basketball court and cold metal bleachers.
He also thinks about you, and how you made the semester far more tolerable, your beaming smile and your curiosity about not only music, but him, serving as a beacon of hope that perhaps this wasn’t all in vain. And your comforting words helping him understand that perhaps this isn’t what he wants after all, that this chapter of life may very well crumble along with this old building. Maybe this is the end, like resilient music notes approaching the finale of a symphonic piece- and he can either allow the fading discoordination to mark the finish- or take to the da segno, and start again.
Maybe a coda is sooner than he thinks- maybe resolution is closer than he thinks.
You’re well aware of Jisung’s now rapid movements inside of you, gasping at the sheer size of his swollen cock grazing your walls, your hand tightly gripping his and your mind wandering to where his currently lies.
But you can’t verbalize the curiosity- not when he’s interrupting you to tilt your face to his, planting a wet, open-mouthed kiss on your mouth and breathing desire back into you.
His fingers prod themselves into your mouth as he fucks you, murmuring little pleas to let him watch you taste yourself, his cock inserting in tandem with his fingers as he matches their pace. Your moans are stifled as your tongue swirls his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you let the pleasure overtake you.
And then he slides his fingers out for a moment, watching strings of saliva drip so erotically down your parted lips as you continue to take his cock obediently.
“I love you,” he says like it’s an epiphany. But it’s not- he reckons he’s known it for a long time now, almost scared at the intensity of his emotions for you. He’s not quite sure he loved his wife like this, and he’s not sure he knew he was even capable of loving again. In fact, Jisung only knows that he truly loved one thing in his lifetime- music. Music, and now you.
“How could I ever ask for a better woman?” He breathes against your skin, goosebumps rising as his words echo Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father and echo in the vast, empty room.
Your reciprocation is muffled with the re-insertion of his fingers in your mouth as he reaches his finish inside of you, painting your walls with his release, holding you close and stimulating your clit again as he coaxes an orgasm out of you, too. And the finish is nowhere near fading, nor discoordinate, as the echoes of your moans reverberate off the walls and fill the emptiness with your passionate yearning for one another.
Da segno
Returning to the dorms to find Mina in her bed for once is a shock to you- especially considering she’s been speaking of a camping trip with her boyfriend for several weeks now.
At first you check your phone, briefly, thinking maybe you’ve gotten the date wrong. But you haven’t- it’s a Friday evening, the same evening you know she should be on route to her planned trip with Lucas.
She’s propped up in bed, carefully examining something when you make your way past her, eyebrows furrowed and deep in thought.
“Hey Mina,” you say to her cautiously, pulling your sweater up a little higher up on your neck.
She doesn’t reply, eyebrows still furrowed as she keeps her head down. And then she chuckles lightly, still not looking up at you.
“I feel like you’re out more than I am these days,” she says to you, and you can’t quite make out whether she’s being condescending or cordial with you.
“Yeah,” you reply nervously, sitting on the edge of your bed across from her and crossing your arms. “Just been trying to take more walks.”
Mina purses her lips, nodding, and then she exhales sharply before she speaks again.
“Lucas broke up with me,” she explains. But she doesn’t sound sad, or even angry- she simply relays the news with a straight face, not even glancing up to catch your shocked expression.
“He did?” You blurt out, feeling an overwhelming sense of sympathy for her- of course you don’t really care for Mina, but you also know how frequently she’s out with him, how highly she speaks of him and how in love she’s been with him for all the years they’ve been together.
“Yeah,” she reaffirms, sighing as she speaks. “He’d been cheating for several months. I’m over it now- I just thought I might get a head-start on this week's notes.”
You nod at her again, still aware she seems to be repressing something, far too casual for your liking and almost ready to lash out at any given second.
“That’s good,” you tell her, crossing your legs on the bed. “I’m really sorry. Let me know if you need anything-”
“I did find this week’s chapter to be particularly interesting,” she interrupts, slouching further back against the wall by her bed.
It’s your turn to furrow your brows, a little confused by her behavior, especially considering she hardly ever reads assigned textbook chapters.
“Listen to this,” Mina says, and then her lips pull into a wicked grin as she begins down the page, her voice laced with rancor.
“I must make you better acquainted with the character of my dear y/n,” she begins, and your heart all but stops in your chest.
It’s then that you notice the textbook in her grasp, the familiar old font and the yellowing of the pages- Professor Han’s textbook, the same one riddled with erotic poetry between the lines of music theory.
“Mina, please-” you begin, voice cracking, a futile task as she raises her voice and continues speaking.
“Her whole beauty consists of two sparkling eyes and a delicate figure,” she reads. “She likes to watch me direct symphonies, and she knows music theory like the back of her hand.”
Your heart races in your chest, mind swirling with fearful thoughts as she voices the familiar love letter back to you. Professor Han’s most recent addition to the textbook, derived from Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father, and a written account of Jisung’s affection for you. A letter you’ve read over and over since he produced it, and the same one you so carelessly left lying open on your dorm bed in a rush to go see him at the lecture hall.
“She likes to hear the stories of famous composers and their romances, and she lets me make love to her as though she belongs to me,” Mina reads, her voice growing even louder as you now approach her. Your hands reach desperately for the book, which she holds away from your reach as she now stands up on her bed, her feet digging into the mattress as she steadies herself with one hand on the wall.
“Please, stop,” you beg, to no avail, as she then concludes the letter.
“Most things that a student neglects, she excels in. I love her and she loves me with all her being- tell me whether I could ask for a better woman.”
The room falls painfully quiet as she finishes, thumbing through the pages with a soft rustling sound.
“That’s just one,” she says, maintaining the same wicked expression on her face. “The book is full of them.”
And then she shuts the book, examining the cover, meeting your gaze as she assumes her position back down on the mattress and crosses her legs.
“This is the professor’s textbook, right? That’s why it looks a little different. I had wondered, when I first snatched it from your stuff.”
You stay quiet, your gaze falling to the floor as tears brim your eyes. You want to fight back, but in reality, the book serves as admission itself- there’s no denying it’s a letter from him, to you. It’s incriminating by his loopy cursive handwriting, the book she’s seen him wield so many times in the classroom during lectures and the way he speaks of making love to you.
“You’re fucking Professor Han?” She finally says aloud, and the words sting, although you’ve been expecting them.
“It’s not like that-”
“That’s why you’re doing so well in his class? While the rest of us bust our asses studying for his stupid quizzes? What do you even do, suck him off when nobody’s looking? How big is he?”
“Stop!” You exclaim, the tears now cascading down your flushed cheeks and gathering on your trembling chin.
Mina says nothing as she wears the same stupid smirk on her face, and then she tosses the book to you, which you grasp in your shaky hands. You hold it close to you, wishing so badly you could undo whatever it is she’s seen in the book, but you know that it’s far too late- the book is no longer a sacred little thing between you and Jisung.
“What do you want?” You say to her quietly, sniffling as you tuck the book under your duvet.
“What do I want?” She echoes.
“Yes,” you huff frustratedly. “Anything. Just please don’t tell the dean about this- or anyone, for that matter. I promise to do whatever it is that you ask, especially since-”
Your rambling comes to a sudden halt when Mina begins laughing, her hands clutching her stomach as she does, almost doubling over on the bed and kicking her feet with enthusiasm.
“Do you think I’m gonna blackmail you, or something?” She questions between laughter, meeting your gaze with tears in her eyes as she continues giggling between words.
“I always knew you were weird,” she remarks. “Not like, ‘fuck a professor’ weird. But it is weird that you think I’m gonna blackmail you.”
You don’t say anything to Mina, sitting on your bed again and sprawling one hand out to rest atop the book, which remains hidden under the duvet.
“You mean… you… won’t tell?”
“I’m impressed,” Mina replies, now lying on her side and propping her head up in her hand. “He is the hottest professor on campus. But no, I’m not going to tell anyone. Contrary to your belief, I really don’t care to ruin either of your lives. I have more important things to worry about.”
You sigh a heavy breath, relieved that Mina’s taken the high road and chosen to ignore the situation altogether. But you can’t cease the heavy weight it bears within you, one that fears not for your future, but for Professor Han’s. You know the majority wouldn’t believe it, the tale that this was a mutual thing between the two of you, that he’s just a pained divorcee, and you’re a lonely college student. To the masses, it would look like complete manipulation, Professor Han requiring a sexual relationship from you for an A in his course, and keeping the discrete flirting alive within the pages of his textbook. It’s more irresponsible on his end than it is yours- and although you both know it’s wrong, it still feels different. It still feels as though it’s rooted in yearning.
“I still need a textbook,” Mina says, breaking the silence between you two. “Like, for this week’s chapters.”
“Oh, right,” you say to her quietly, reaching inside your school bag for the correct book. You toss it to her without another word, observing the way she flips to the page she was on, and resumes reading as though nothing happened.
But her voice still replays in your head, reading aloud the sacred letter Professor Han produced for you within his textbook, one that never should have graced anybody else’s eyesight except your own.
And the tears resume as you watch her, a heavy guilt present as the words play in your mind again, and again, and again.
*
Jisung’s apartment doesn’t feel the way it normally does later that week- not when you’re first sauntering in with meek steps, being flooded by a barrage of questions about why you’ve skipped class for two weeks. And especially not when you finally recount the incident to Jisung, tears flooding your eyes and cascading down the deep gray bags that hammock under your lashes. The nights have been sleepless for all fourteen days, tossing and turning on your mattress about whether Mina is actually going to keep her promise about not telling. And she appears to, failing to acknowledge it whenever she’s in your presence, visibly still coping with the aftermath of her breakup. She simply comes and goes in casual strides, sometimes still borrowing your textbook from you and returning it far later than you care for, but it really doesn’t matter by this point. You’ve stopped reading the textbook entirely, coming to terms with the fact that you’ll have to rely on your own knowledge to pass any of the assignments distributed. And Jisung knows something is wrong when he finally does see you after two weeks, dressed loosely in a pair of sweatpants, your face flushed with tears and averting his gaze.
“You’re going to be so mad at me,” you emphasize to him, shielding the tears that fall from your trembling eyes with one hand, as he crouches on the floor in front of you and gives your hand a little squeeze.
And he’s adamant that nothing could make him hate you- that whatever it is you’re facing can be worked through, and that he’s going to stand by you regardless. Yet when you recount the incident to him, explaining the way Mina had read through his written confessions of sleeping with you and expressing his love for you, Jisung falls completely silent- a reaction which is somehow more scary to you than vexed words.
“Are you sure she knows it’s mine?” He asks, pulling away to stand in front of you. He feels much taller when he’s towering over you like this, pacing frantically along the wooden floorboards and chewing on the inside of his lip nervously.
“I’m sure,” you reply quietly. “She must’ve been reading it the entire time I was out. It has your name in it and everything.”
Jisung is quiet again, thinking over your words, and then he places his hands on his hips as he speaks again.
“Did she say anything else?” He inquires.
“She said that she wouldn’t tell anybody. As far as I know, she hasn’t. I just feel-”
“I’m never going to get it now,” he then says, running his hands through his hair nervously and glancing around the room.
“Get what?”
“Jesus,” he says, almost chuckling in disbelief. “I spent all this time interviewing, and if this gets out it could ruin everything.”
“Interviewing?” You echo meekly.
“Just when I thought I had it all again. I was so close to being back. Getting out of this shitty job and making a name for myself again.”
Jisung assumes a spot in one of the chairs across from you, burying his head in his hands and remaining silent. You want to ask him to clarify what he means by interviewing, but you’re also scared of him when he’s like this, knowing he’s reverting back to the version of himself who puts music above everything.
“You couldn’t just make something up?” Jisung then asks, scoffing lightly as he finally meets your gaze.
“What?”
“You couldn’t just fucking lie? Why on earth would you admit to it?”
“Lie?” You repeat to him with a shaky voice. “What did you want me to say?”
“Say I wasn’t interested in you,” Jisung retorts. “Say you were writing the letters to yourself. You’re putting my entire career at risk because you couldn’t be bothered to put my book away?”
You’re taken aback momentarily by Jisung’s words, hardly making sense of them at first. There’s no way he could be blaming you for this- not when he’s just as guilty as you are. In fact, Professor Han may be more guilty, acting upon his urges when he knows the power imbalance he wields over you- you’re just a student of his, nowhere near the status he upholds at this school. But as he continues prodding you for questions about why you hadn’t just lied, or made a bullshit excuse, or something, the message is conveyed loud and clear. He’s blaming you entirely for being found out.
“This is about directing,” you say when the realization hits you, almost laughing at the sheer absurdity of it.
“Of course it’s about directing,” he retorts, throwing his hands in the air and scoffing loudly. “I worked my ass off interviewing for one of the most prestigious roles a few hours out of here, I got an offer just yesterday, and now this is going to ruin everything. When they hear about the little fling I had, and they assume I coerced you into it, when you know damn well you led me on. And it’s going to be my divorce all over again.”
A silence falls over the room as you take in his words. You suddenly feel microscopic in his presence as the betrayal sets in, and for the first time since the arrangement, the discomfort of this being a student-teacher relationship washes over you.
“It’s not going to get out,” you say to him softly. “Mina hasn’t told anybody, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.”
Jisung gives a small nod at your words, and then he slides his hands into the pocket of his jeans.
“I hate that you don’t realize when you’re doing the same thing all over again,” you then say to him, averting his stern gaze.
“What are you talking about?”
“Why are we even doing this?” You continue, scoffing lightly. “Is this some sick way of reenacting the same mistakes you did before, and hoping for a different outcome? Now your directing days are just within reach again, and you’re doing the same thing, making your shortcoming’s everybody else’s fault except your own. I think you’re more afraid of not being able to relive your glory days than of losing anybody you love.”
“That’s not what this is, and you know that,” Jisung retorts. “You know how I feel about you.”
“Just admit that I’m a distraction because you miss your old life,” you continue, a little calmer now. “It’s the first time your career felt like it once did when you were directing, and in love, and I’m just some good fuck who takes genuine interest in your stories.”
“That’s not what I’m-”
“Do you ever imagine I’m her?” You ask him, meeting his concerned gaze. “When you’re fucking me in your bedroom? Do you ever imagine I’m your ex-wife waiting up for you the way she used to? Pretend you’re still a director and that you finally have everything you want?”
“That’s enough,” Jisung voices, and you shake your head at him.
“You might have been infatuated over some fleeting moment, seeing the face of your ex-wife whenever you looked at me. But I really, truly loved you. And she was right- you are a lousy person. You just can’t seem to understand when your interests take precedence over your emotions.”
Jisung is silent as his lip quivers in response, experiencing all over again what he did on the night his ex-wife left him. He’d always feared it would come back to haunt him- but not like this. Not through repeating the same mistakes all over again- just as he thought he finally found closure.
Like a musical piece with triumphant notes approaching an end, suddenly directing him right back to the symbol forcing repetition. It’s dizzying, and it’s painful, and he’s sure that a conclusion is far from his reach now.
Without another word, you pivot on your heel, gathering your bag and making your way toward his front door again.
“Y/n, please wait,” Jisung calls out, but he can’t find the words to clear his name of your accusations. Instead he remains quiet when you turn to face him, his shoulders sagging in a defeated manner as you shrug in his direction.
“I really think you ought to find what resolution means to you,” you say to him finally. “Repetition isn’t always it.”
*
The dingy old hallway within the radius of the old east lecture hall is indeed just as undesirable as you remembered it- it’s freezing cold when it rains outside, the students struggle to traverse the narrow hall as they brush against each other in passing and the classroom is nowhere near as enchanting as the grand room of the old hall. Made much worse are the stripes of cobalt blue and a blinding shade of white, which line every wall in the building, almost distracting as lectures are conveyed from the front of the room. The students maintain their same positioning as the lecture is given, typing on their laptops, the clicking sounds of keyboards much louder now at this close proximity of all the chairs to each other. And you don’t write down a single thing, staring at the stripes of blue and white on the walls, following their trail from one side of the room until they reach the hinges of the door, and then repeating the process over and over again.
Professor Han’s departure comes as a surprise to many, the students murmuring amongst themselves as they theorize what could cause such a sudden leave. He fought with the dean and quit. He has a terminal illness. He’s sleeping with a student.
Of course some of them come close to the truth, but they’ll never know for sure- not unless they’re one of the two people on campus who do know.
Mina makes an attempt to ask you about it at first, fiddling awkwardly with the pages of your textbook as she inquires about the status of your relationship. She proceeds to ask if you’d known he was leaving, but not before tears are streaming down your face, your words coming out between hiccupped sobs. And all that she’s able to coax out of you is the verbal confirmation that yes, you knew he was leaving, and no, nobody else found out about the arrangement.
Professor Han’s replacement is a shameful excuse for a lecturer, an older man who only knows as much as the textbook explains, and nothing beyond the printed text. He goes so far as to actively discourage questions, expressing his distaste for “wasting time”, yet the students are well aware it’s because he simply doesn’t have the answers they seek. Your classmates don’t care of course, their grades cushioned by the generous 20 points, instead of 10, which Professor Han opted to distribute for the dead composer’s gallery walkthrough as one final parting gift. And aside from one last email thanking the class for their participation in the duration of the few months he taught it, Professor Han promptly makes his departure from your life, too. Not so much as a thank you, an apology or even a love letter the way you know he once would have written, had he not been so consumed by a yearning for his old life. Just like his ex-wife, you’re shut out by him, made to feel as though reciprocated affection is somehow a selfish request. And maybe it is when it comes to Professor Han- maybe he’s truly just incapable of loving without the limitations of his work. Like the famous composers you learn of, he’s a genius in so many ways- just not in romance. And certainly not in learning from his mistakes.
On occasion, you write to him again, tearing out pages from old chapters in your textbook and scribbling along the vacant margins.
“The old lecture hall’s finally been torn down- all that remains are gray dust and pieces of the old stair banister. They’ve already built up part of the new gymnasium. If I look out the new classroom window, I can see them sampling paint swatches- all shades of blue and white, of course. The students miss you- the boys still dress like you, and the girls don’t even look up from their laptops when your replacement speaks. There’s nothing to look at, of course- not when you’re absent.
We finally reached Constanze’s short chapter in the textbook- chapter 14. Did you know she remarried after Mozart? There was no animosity between the two until his death- she spoke so highly of him until the end. We credit Constanze for many of his posthumous works. Ones that never would have seen the light of day without the respect she paid to him.
I think highly of you, too- I know you don’t know it, but I think back to your old videos, when you’d wave around that black baton of yours and lead symphonies. I understand the fear you harbored in letting all of that go.
You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. I wish you hadn’t told me that you were falling in love, and I hope you’re doing terrible-”
Your red pen is set down promptly as you allow yourself to catch your breath, ceasing this unproductive flow of consciousness you spill onto the pages of your textbook. Many nights end this way, your thoughts poured out and then repressed once more, no method of delivering them to him, regardless. And although you want to reconnect with him, you have no way of actually doing so, even his apartment now vacant as he assumes his new role as a director a few hours out of town. It’s a jarring fact, coming to terms with the notion that you’re likely never going to see him again. But you know it’s his way of resolution- repeating the same process as before, hoping for a different outcome.
*
“You’re starting the tempo change too slow,” Jisung says with a heavy sigh, setting his baton down on the music stand and waving his hand. “Pick up from measure three, on your own this time. I’ll be back in five.”
The room fills with the discoordinate overlap of instruments practicing, woodwinds rotating their reeds and brass players emptying spit valves. Jisung makes his way past the double doors, shielding his eyes from the almost blinding rays of sunlight that glare down over the music hall at this hour. And then he leans against the same brick wall he always does when he’s this mentally exhausted, shutting his eyes momentarily and exhaling.
He’s directing again, conducting symphonic pieces he’s only ever dreamed of. His hair is two shades lighter than it was when he was teaching, his closet is filled to the brim with elegant blazers and he’s compiled a generous collection of gold and silver cufflinks the way he once used to. But something feels different- and it’s felt that way for months now.
Sometimes Jisung can’t recall if symphonies were always this arduous to lead. He’s almost certain he’s verbally noted the painfully slow tempo change to them about a trillion times, and yet every time the metronome is turned on, guiding them with the obnoxious repetitive click at 80 beats per minute, they’re too slow.
Slow enough for his mind to wander elsewhere- like whether they’ll ever have the chance to rehearse the final few bars of this piece. Or questioning if they actually respect him here, as a director, and not just as a replacement for a metronome when he’s not yelling at them.
And occasionally, as much as he hates to admit it, the thoughts involve you. His pride’s too far gone to admit he ruined things, and his ego would never let him find you and convey some form of an apology- especially not after begging someone to stay once long ago, to no avail. But his mind wanders to the image of you in the audience, observing him keenly with the same beaming smile on your face and a genuine interest in whatever it is he’s doing- whether it be conducting grand symphonies, lecturing facts he’s memorized like the back of his hand or even just recounting old tales alongside you.
In the pocket of his blazer lies the same pathetic scrap of paper he just can’t seem to let go of- and as he glances at the inching second hand on his wristwatch, he pulls it out again, carefully undoing it from its folded state and scanning the contents. Page 256 from his textbook, detailing Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, complete with his scribbled annotations, and yours, so perfectly complementing all of his remarks.
“Coda?” He had written along the margins- a little addition that stuck with you all that time. Every time you were tangled in his embrace, listening to stories of his days as a director, Jisung pressing little kisses to your forehead, you’d inquire about his need for a musical epilogue. One that you didn’t believe was necessary within the piece, feeling as though the repetition equated redundancy in this case. “I think the listener should just appreciate that it ends where it ends,” you’d told him once, a statement he disagreed with at the time, but one he finds himself thinking over a lot these days.
Perhaps you were so certain about the finale of Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 because you could appreciate every other measure of the piece. The triumphant swell of the crescendos that mark the introduction, the changes within tempo and the distinctly separate movements that complement each other with such force. Measures that Jisung seemed to neglect, always searching for something beyond the eight notes that make up the piece in its entirety. But maybe you were right all along, that sometimes a listener should simply appreciate where a piece ends- that there doesn’t need to be any form of repetition, or even the need for a coda. Maybe those fading, discoordinate notes are enough- maybe that’s a coda in itself.
The double doors swing open as Jisung takes careful note of the symbol you also tagged at the bottom of the page, an oval with a cross through the center, a coda- an offer for resolution.
“Jisung?” Somebody asks, and he glances up to catch the gaze of who he remembers to be a third chair woodwind player.
“We practiced measure three again,” he says cautiously. “Could you… have a listen one more time?”
Jisung sighs, tucking the folded piece of paper back into his blazer and glancing beyond the student through the double doors. The music hall is dark inside, despite it being the middle of the day, the navy blue carpeting and the tinted windows completely obscuring the beauty of the world beyond the four walls. And then he looks the other direction, at the clear blue skies and the bustling roads, where the people don’t look back the way he’s done for so long.
“Sir?” The student asks again, twiddling his fingers together in front of his collared shirt.
“Not now. I’m leaving early today,” Jisung says, buttoning his blazer closed and giving the student a small nod. “Practice measure three until it’s perfected for next time.”
And then he begins toward his car, taking purposeful strides with a plan he hasn’t even conjured up yet, only knowing he has to keep looking forward if he wants any sort of resolution to all of this.
“And for god’s sake,” Jisung then calls out suddenly, stopping in his tracks to convey the message clearly.
“Get the tempo right, next time, will you? I’m tired of hearing the same thing over and over again.”
Coda
The evening of some important date in December is marked by the particularly frosty air, your dorm window fogged up with a sheet of ice and the halls much too cold to traverse without generous layers of clothing.
The remaining students here walk up and down the length of the hallways with cardboard boxes balanced in their arms, talking excitedly amongst themselves about plans for graduation parties and post-college life. And you can’t seem to part with the comfortable atmosphere of your dorm bed, neglecting your own stack of boxes as Mina makes her way in and out of the shared dorm room you’ve gotten so accustomed to.
“Are you using that box?” She asks, loudly sealing one with packing tape and setting it on top of another.
“No,” you say plainly. “It’s all yours.”
She takes careful notice of the way you remain draped over the bed, eyes glued to the ceiling as you think back to the last of your college days. A formal graduation in a week, which you’ve already opted out of. A series of parties even Mina tried to drag you to, every invitation promptly declined. And a prestigious internship in the city waiting for you come springtime, where you’ll be right back to appreciating the intricacies of music theory and piano.
Everything should feel as though it’s falling into place- and yet it doesn’t. It feels different- and it’s felt different for months now.
In a perfect world, you reckon you’d be elated to make your departure from these dorms, and anticipate the new life that awaits you after these four years of dedication. But you can’t help but feel as though something is missing from all of this- something well beyond your reach.
You think back to Brahms and Clara Schumann a lot these days, and the passionate, yet unrequited love that he took to the grave with him. He never got close to what he wanted- he had music, and a career so successful he was deemed one of the best composers who ever lived. And yet much of his life’s work was still rooted in unadulterated yearning, because he never had Clara Schumann. You want so badly to place your own musical accomplishments over your yearning, and yet you can’t. Not when the yearning had quickly transitioned to unrequited love the same way it did for Brahms, and it’s been that way since Jisung left.
You also think of Mozart and Constanze, and how he fought for everything to be with her, despite the hardships they faced. And you want to scream at Jisung when you recall Mozart’s letter to her father, one that’s now been tainted by his poetic words to you along the margins of his course textbook.
“Y/n, you’re never going to finish packing today at this rate,” Mina remarks, occupying a spot next to you on the bed. “Do you need help or something?”
“I’m good,” you say to her, meeting her gaze as she looms over you.
She remains quiet for a moment, examining your expression, and then she folds her hands in her lap politely.
“You know,” she begins. “You’re the smartest musician I’ve ever met. It’s a little weird how much you know sometimes.”
“Thanks,” you retort with a small chuckle.
“And I don’t think messing around with anybody got you where you are today. You did that yourself.”
You meet her gaze finally, not speaking as she shrugs softly. You’re a little surprised at the kind tone she assumes, wondering briefly if there’s some sort of catch to her words.
“Just… give yourself what you deserve,” she finishes. “Whether that means going back, or looking forward. But don’t settle for less than you really want. I did, for so long. And I’ll be the first to tell you it’s not worth it.”
You swallow as you nod at her words, knowing who she refers to without the utterance of a name. And then you furrow your brows as you press her for one more thing.
“Mina,” you say to her. “Why didn’t you tell anybody? What did you get out of keeping my dirty secret?”
She chuckles softly, throwing her head back and shrugging before speaking again.
“Those annotations,” she begins. “They’re not just some dirty little secret. That’s… a sort of thing I’ve never seen at that proximity. They way you speak to each other, it’s like some language the rest of us would never understand. At first, I thought I was skimming too far ahead in the textbook or something. Of course, maybe it also had something to do with the 10 extra points he gave us before leaving.”
You laugh lightly at the same time she does, and then her expression grows serious again as she picks at a loose thread on the duvet.
“It just kinda sounded like you two were in love,” she finishes. “I wouldn’t get in the way of that.”
You hold her gaze for a moment as she stands up again, brushing off her jeans and hoisting another box into her arms.
“Anyways,” she continues. “I’m out of here. Good luck in the city, and-”
“Mina,” you interrupt her, sitting up to look at her properly.
She blinks a few times, surprised you’re sitting up in bed for the first time today, and holds your gaze over the sealed top of her cardboard box.
“Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it enough.”
Mina smiles, her pink glossed lips pulling into a kind grin, and there’s no remaining tension between the two of you for possibly the first time since you’ve lived together.
“You’re welcome,” she replies, accompanied by a gentle nod. “Oh- and you might want to check out the new part of the gymnasium they finished constructing today. I think they followed your advice and finally put a piano in there.”
And then she’s off again, shooting you a small wink before she saunters out of your dorm, this time for good.
*
The chill of the December air is unforgiving at the early hours of the morning like this, the campus nearly empty as students depart from the place they’ve called home for four years, their college years packed up into cardboard boxes and sealed away at last.
You still have a lot of packing to finish yourself, a new chapter in the city awaiting you while you traverse the concrete village one last time. And although these halls have housed some of your most stressful memories, staying up late studying for exams and rushing to make it to class on time, you’re going to miss every part of it. Like the coffee shop on the second story of the student union, where the barista always adds a little too much caramel to your lattes. Or the windowed seat at the very back of the 8th story in the library, where when it rains, you can watch lines of people rush to their classes with hands over their heads and desperately clutching their umbrellas.
And of course, the grant east lecture hall- one you’ve already missed for the better part of the semester following its demolition. As you round the corner, you can make out the new gymnasium that’s already partially erected in its place. It’s another blinding shade of white, like the rest of the buildings are, closed off to the public and still lined with the same bright orange temporary plastic fencing as before. At where is supposed to become the entrance at some point in time, a rectangular cutout in the concrete slab of a wall, nothing but a thin plastic tarp prohibiting entry. And though you know that you really shouldn’t, you can’t help yourself, hoisting your legs over the orange fencing to the other side, your feet planting into the grass lining with a gentle thud.
There’s nobody around at this hour to watch you sneak into the new gymnasium- and realistically, what form of punishment can they even issue, anyway? Expel you?
The tarp sways with the gentle caress of a December breeze, like an invitation to come wander the new space which once housed years of history, now structured for basketball games and college rallies alike. And with one last look around, only to ensure nobody’s watching you partake in the prohibited act, you sneak your way past the orange fencing, kicking the tarp aside to gain entry, and then taping it back into place behind you.
It looks like a gymnasium- and it smells like a gymnasium. Gone are the overpowering scent of mothballs that once graced the music hall’s staircase, replaced instead by the woody notes of sawdust and fresh paint. The walls are white, true to the rest of the school’s buildings, and along the walls which are finished, the signature cobalt blue stripe. At this proximity, it’s almost humorous to bask in the putrid colors you’re grateful you’ll never have to stare at again.
As you take in your surroundings, you remember Mina’s words from earlier, recalling a new piano they placed here, and you scan the room from left to right- only there’s nothing. No piano- not even a dingy keyboard like the one in the old practice room. Why would a piano be here, anyway? In a gymnasium meant for sports and jock gatherings? Could it be Mina’s way of sending you off with one final bout of animosity?
You’re doubtful- that isn’t Mina. You know her way of comforting you earlier was rooted in the good intentions she’s always had. Which still begs the question- why did she send you here?
As you begin toward the other side of the gymnasium, a gentle rustle from the tarp startles you, the blue masking tape being lifted piece by piece and moved aside for another person to gain entry.
Construction workers, you think to yourself. It’s going to be awkward getting out of this one. And as you approach the cutout in the concrete wall again, ready to conjure up some form of an explanation, another person does make entry, crouching so as not to bump his head, as he stumbles inside and regains his balance.
His hair is two shades lighter than the last time you saw him. He still wears the same dorky wireframe glasses as before. And he looks elegant, in a white button down and black blazer, the same canvas sneakers he used to love double-knotted at the laces and complementing his black slim-fitting slacks.
“What are you doing here?” Is all you can say to him as he approaches, his hands shoved in his pockets and a leather bag slung over his shoulder.
“Mina practically chased me when I was leaving,” he says, gesturing to the empty space around you both. “Said I had to come see some new piano they put in here.”
He glances around the room, eyebrows furrowed in a confused manner, and then he turns to face you.
“Where is it?”
“There is no piano,” you say to him, crossing your arms frustratedly. “She told me the same thing.”
Jisung begins to say something, and then he stops, giving a small nod as he averts your cold stare.
His thumb toys with a loose thread inside the pocket of his slacks, and then he meets your gaze again, strands of brown hair falling into the shy expression he wears on his face.
“Graduated, huh? How’s it feel?”
“Fine,” you reply in a reluctant tone. “I leave today.”
“Where are you headed?” Jisung asks, swallowing nervously.
“Landed an internship in the city,” you tell him. “It’s close by. Just some piano thing.”
Jisung’s lips pull into a grin, chuckling lightly as he nods in response. “I always knew you’d land something good.”
You remain quiet, looking around the gymnasium once again, and then you turn to him with some hesitation.
“What are you doing here?”
Jisung sighs deeply, looking around the gymnasium, too, before speaking.
“I had an interview. Quit my directing gig.”
His words take you aback momentarily, a million questions racing through your mind about why he’s no longer directing and why he’d be interviewing here of all places.
“You interviewed here?”
“Wasn’t so much of an interview as it was a conversation,” he retorts. “They even had my old badge. I really need to get that updated considering my hair’s not technically black anymore-”
“Why would you interview here?” You emphasize to him again. “You hated it here. I thought you wanted some fancy directing thing.”
Jisung is quiet again, digging the heel of his canvas sneaker into the thick layer of sawdust that lines the floor. He knows that his ego is far too big, and he’s still consumed with an overwhelming amount of selfish pride. But he also knows that he’s not going to find any form of resolution without breaking this vicious cycle of repeating his mistakes, especially when a resolution is finally within reach.
“Look, I fucked up, okay?” Jisung finally says, taking you by complete surprise.
“The minute I started there again, I knew that wasn’t my calling anymore. Maybe it was back when I was still young, and all starry-eyed for the stupid baton and the fancy suits.”
He turns to face you at this point, taking a step toward you and almost physically demanding you reciprocate the eye contact.
“But you were right- that chapter of my life is finished now. And yeah, maybe the students don’t pay attention when I stand up there and lecture. And sure, I’m just going to be some lousy assistant college band director out here. But finding you- and the way you’d listen to me, and the way you never judged me for my shortcomings, even though I was a shitty husband once, and a shitty professor and an even shittier boyfriend to you- you made me realize it was finally time to let go.”
Jisung can’t seem to cease his emotional speech once he begins, frantically gesturing as he continues speaking. He feels like a different person entirely in this vulnerable form- like the Jisung you knew when he was first breaking his walls down around you. And the Jisung you know when he isn’t putting his dreams of a past life before the people he loves.
“… and then I couldn’t stop thinking about Brahms and Clara, and how he died without ever having told her how he felt. Or Tchaikovsky who had to hide who he loved- and then Mozart! God, that stupid letter- she remarried, you know that? Did you ever get to that chapter? Of course you did, before I could tell you, at least.”
Jisung paces the floor in rushed motions as he speaks, his wet sneakers squeaking obnoxiously along the gym floor as the words escape his lips. You don’t try to speak for a little while, carefully soaking in what you assume to be an apology. And then he stops in his tracks, eyebrows arching into a pleading expression as he towers over you.
“Music isn’t the same without you,” he finishes. “None of this is.”
You lock your gaze with Jisung’s, his big brown eyes almost trembling as he awaits a reply. And simultaneously, you do your best not to let your guard down too quickly.
“Is this how it unfolded back then, too?” You ask calmly. “When you begged somebody to stay after the first time you made this mistake?”
Jisung’s lips part to say something, but then he’s quiet again, waiting for you to continue, praying for something better than this.
“I think you’re a genius,” you continue. “I think you’re remarkable, and talented, and loving you comes so easily. But you make it hard when you do the same thing to everybody you’ve ever loved.”
“You’re the first woman I’ve ever loved,” Jisung blurts promptly, and a deafening silence falls over the room. He hesitates to continue at this point, fearing as though he’s going to scare you off, but he’s also never verbalized it to you despite thinking about it every waking second of the day, and he’s determined not to form new mistakes he could risk repeating.
“I let it happen back then because music was the only thing I loved,” he explains. “It was a shitty thing, and for so long I struggled to move on because I was still lost in the only thing I ever loved. And then you came along; I don’t need to direct when I have you. I’ll be a teacher- hell, I’ll be a fucking janitor if that’s what you want. You were my sign to move on from repeating the same fucking thing all over again- you are my end.”
Jisung breathes heavily as he finishes, gauging the shocked expression in your trembling eyes. He waits for you to say something, and then without averting your gaze, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper and handing it to you.
You unfold it slowly, already knowing it by the familiar yellowing color and small printed font- page 256 of his course-assigned textbook, detailing Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, complete with all your annotations alongside his. Only his are no longer visible- they’re crossed out, completely scribbled over in black pen, concealing his call for any form of repetition within the piece. All that remains at the bottom of the page, in the same red pen you first marked in, is a single oval with a cross through it- a coda.
Your gaze meets his after examining the page briefly, surprised he’s kept it after all this time. And then he sags his shoulders a little, gesturing to the page still in your grasp.
“I passed my sign once,” he says sheepishly. “Just please come back to me.”
Jisung doesn’t wait for you to respond this time, instead cupping your cheeks gently with his hands and pulling you in for a passionate kiss, which you don’t hesitate to reciprocate, letting your hands wrap around the back of his neck to pull him even closer to you. His lips work against yours eagerly, but still tenderly, breathing all of his desire back into you and confirming the notion that this is all he’s ever really yearned for.
He smiles into the kiss against you, grazing his thumbs up to wipe stray tears that cascade along your cheeks, and then with one more chaste kiss to your lips, he pulls away once more, chuckling lightly.
“Can we just start over?” He asks you innocently. “No repetition, no secrecy. Just start anew.”
You chuckle lightly at his proposal, nodding in his embrace, and then he pulls away entirely to hold a hand out to you.
“Han Jisung,” he says. “I’m an assistant director for the college band.”
“Y/n,” you respond with a smile, shaking his hand firmly.
“So lovely to meet you- can I interest you in a tour of the gymnasium I work in?”
He throws an arm over your shoulder, beginning down the length of the vast space and gesturing to the walls beside you.
“This is where I yell at students to fix their tempos,” Jisung explains, giving your shoulder a little squeeze as you chuckle in response to him.
“And this is where I tell stories about famous composers and their love lives. Tell me, y/n- do you know the tale of Mozart and Constanze?” He then asks with a smile.
“I can’t say I do,” you play along, earning an exaggerated gasp from him.
“Well then I’d love to tell you all about it. How do you feel about art galleries? There’s one not far from here…”
And Jisung’s hand drops to yours, intertwining your fingers together as he lets himself start anew, alongside who he now knows to have been a sign for him this entire time- a coda, an epilogue, an offer for resolution.
#stray kids#skz#skz smut#stray kids hard hours#skz scenarios#han jisung smut#han jisung#han jisung skz#stray kids fanfic#stray kids x reader#stray kids smut#han skz#han smut#stray kids han#stray kids hard thoughts#smut#jisung smut#skz fanfic#han jisung hard thoughts#han jisung x reader#han jisung x you
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Best Friend: Han x Reader
Thinking about how Jisung is always the reader's best friend in fics, which made me think of best friend to lovers Jisung x Reader....
Content: Smut, Fluff, A little Angst
Warnings: Oral sex, Unprotected sex, P in V sex, Dirty talk, Use of the word 'slut,' Hair-pulling, Maybe some praise kink if you squint
WC: 3400
“Which dress should I wear?” You question. You hold up two dresses in the mirror and place each one in front of your body, eyebrows furrowing as you imagine each one on your figure. You look at your best friend through the mirror, gauging his reaction.
“Black,” says Han, though he doesn’t look up from his phone.
“Jisung!” Your sharp tone makes his eyes shoot open wide, a surprised look on his face that you’ve gotten to know well over the years–the one he makes when he knows he’s gotten himself into trouble. “You didn’t even look at the options!” You scoffed at him incredulously.
“I didn’t have to,” he says snidely. “The red one makes you look sexier, the black one makes you look… I don’t know, sleek?”
“Sleek,” you say with a laugh. “Okay, so I should wear the red one!” As you go to hang up the black dress in your closet, your friend appears from behind you.
“On a first date? You’re not trying to seduce him just yet,” he jokes.
“But I wanted to look sexy,” you pout. “Plus, you never know–” Before you can finish your sentence, Han snatches the red dress from your grasp and runs out of the room at full speed. Mouth agape, you run after him giggling. Jisung makes some screeching noises as he runs around and he even hops onto the couch, standing above you. You take a moment to keel over, laughing at him while catching your breath. This is something your friend has always been good at doing; making you laugh. Especially on a night like tonight in which you were more nervous than you cared to admit, Jisung knows exactly how to push your buttons and have tears forming in your eyes from his humor.
“Give me that, please, Sungie. You’re gonna mess it up!” You fake glare at him and cross your arms, watching as he holds the dress up over his head.
“I can’t believe you’re ditching movie night for some guy,” he says. “Movie night, it’s an annual tradition… to just abandon it… It’s heresy! Heresy I say!” You shake your head at the man before sitting next to him on the couch. He sits as well, abandoning his ridiculous stance, and takes a deep breath next to you.
You lean your head against his shoulder before sighing. “It’s not just any guy,” you say softly. “Seungmin seems special. I think he really likes me.” Jisung ignores the panging in his chest. The fact of the matter is, Han Jisung is undeniably, uncontrollably in love with you. And normally, he has absolutely no problem with that fact, especially with hiding it from you. But on this night in particular, there is one issue: You are going on a date.
You’d been on dates before, of course. But not since Jisung has identified his attraction and feelings toward you. And what could he say? That he was jealous, that he wanted you to stay here and get with him instead? Of course not!
“I… I know, jagiya. Um, you’re going to have a good time,” he replies into your hair. “And hopefully get laid. You’ve been so tense lately.” God, why did he say that? He didn’t want to think about that, especially with a guy that wasn’t him!
You laugh and push his shoulder lightly. “God, I hope so. I just need to be fucked like a slut, you know?” You grin at him widely, but he feels like he might get sick at your words. Usually, the two of you have no problem joking with one another, and yes, maybe 50% of the time your jokes are rather explicit, but Jisung can’t help but run a hand through his hair and take a deep breath at your words.
“Don’t say that,” he groans, albeit with a weak smile.
“Ughhh, but Sungie…” you laugh. “You know I’m joking but it’s been so long… I do want to be folded in half like a pancake–”
He lets out a nervous laugh and holds his hand over your mouth.
“Seriously, gross,” he says. You lick his hand. In disgust, he gets up, handing you the red dress in the process.
“Thank you!” you preen at your friend and jump up, running to your room to get ready for your date. He follows to watch and lay on your bed.
You look stunning in the red dress, of course. He knew you would. But coupled with the lipstick, the hair, your perfume… it makes his heart pang and sit heavily in his chest.
You are in a rush. As you say goodbye to your friend and start to lock up, he pulls you into a tight hug,
“Sung… You’re not seriously mad about movie night, right?” You laugh against him but feel yourself growing red at the proximity. You can smell his shampoo from here, and his embrace is so tight, his arms wrapped around you so tight that it makes you gulp. You push him away slightly just so you can look in his eyes.
“No, of course not,” he says, but he’s slightly pouting. You would’ve missed it if you weren’t paying close attention to his face, and if you didn’t know each of his expressions like the back of your hand. “Just… I hope you have a good time tonight. Text me if you need me, kay? And turn your location on… just in case he’s really a serial murderer or something.”
“Alright, you got it. Thanks so much for coming over,” you say as you lock your front door, allowing your friend to leave the house with you.
“You never have to thank me,” he reminds you.
***
The date went alright.
Seungmin was a sweet guy, he really was. He took you out to a nice restaurant and he flirted with you, he made you smile, and he was just the epitome of a gentleman. But, you realized there just wasn’t a spark. Something was missing. There were no butterflies, no rush from your heart to let you know he was the one. And you told him as much at the end of the night. There were no hard feelings, really.
So why do you still feel so damn emotional?
As you step into your house, you pull out your phone and you’re texting Jisung before you even realize what you’re doing.
Y/N:
Can you come over?
Sungie:
Already OMW!
You’re laying on the couch, sulking emotionally. You half debate cracking open a bottle of wine to drink your sorrows away but decide against it.
Instead, you wipe away small tears and hold yourself back from sniffling. Jisung bursts in your front door, looking around frantically. The sight makes you hiccup laugh through your tears and he’s running to you, kneeling in front of you on the couch.
“Fuck, jagiya, are you okay? Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him, I’ll really kill him, I promise… Well, maybe not kill him, but I swear I’ll really hurt him…” He starts rambling and it makes you laugh.
“I’m fine, Ji. He didn’t hurt me… The date actually went really well.”
“Oh,” he says, letting out a sigh of relief. He looks into your eyes. “Shit. You scared me. What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Bull shit, or you wouldn’t have called me over,” he says. He puts his hands on your knees and his head on the couch, looking up at you.
“Just… we didn’t click. He was so sweet. He still paid after I told him I didn’t want another date, which was really nice… Is there something wrong with me?” You ask. You look into his eyes and he swears he could split in half, your teary doe eyes making him want to burst into tears himself.
“Of course not, why would there be?” He questions.
“Just… It’s been over a year since I’ve had sex, even longer since I’ve dated someone… I finally get to go on a date with a nice, hot guy, and I completely blow it. What if that was my last shot? What if nobody wants me?” You wipe a tear away.
“Don’t say that,” he says sharply. Your eyes widen. In all the time that you’ve known Jisung, his demeanor has always been relaxed, joking, and somewhat aloof. So for him to be so blunt and sharp with you? It makes you tense up. “That isn’t true.”
“How do you even know that?” You cross your arms at him and shoot him what you hope is a nasty glare but you know it probably comes across as much more pathetic.
“Because I love you.”
You scoff at him. “Han Jisung, if this is some sort of sick joke you better count your days, because that’s a really fucking low blow after tonight.”
“Y/N, I would never joke about this. I love you much more than you could ever realize. I have loved you for so long… It hurts. I have wanted to tell you for so long, but I was so scared of messing up our friendship. There’s nothing more in this world that I love more than your smile, more than making you laugh.” He pauses, gauging your reaction. For once, he truly doesn’t know what you’re thinking and it scares him, but he continues anyway. “Just… The thought of you going out on that date tonight, it made me so sick. The thought of you kissing someone that wasn’t me… God, you didn’t kiss him, did you? Argh, that would make me so sad… But I just… I don’t even know the guy and I couldn’t help but think that I would be better for you. That he wouldn’t be able to make you laugh, and he wouldn’t know how absolutely ridiculous you look when you dance while you’re drunk, and he wouldn’t know that Saturday nights are our movie nights, and he wouldn’t know that you say your favorite color is lavender, but it’s actually–”
You cut off the man by lunging forwards onto the floor and pressing your lips into his. The kiss is searing and all-consuming and he pulls you forward until you’re in his lap. As you straddle him he holds your head in his hands, brushing hair behind your ears as he brings you further into him. You’re both emotional and out of breath but so desperate to have things keep moving forward that when you open your mouth to deepen the kiss, it’s all tongue and teeth and heavy breathing but holds more feeling behind it than any kiss you’ve ever had.
“Jisung…” you whisper, pulling away. He looks at you with wide eyes, pupils blown out. He’s panting and his hands take place on your arms, holding you in place as he searches deep into your eyes.
He pulls you into a deep embrace reminiscent of the one you shared just this afternoon.
“I feel the same… I think the reason why my date went so poorly is because he wasn’t you.” You hear his breath hitch and he pulls you impossibly closer, looking deep into your eyes before pulling you into another kiss. This one is more gentle and chaste but fills you with desire nonetheless. “I didn’t kiss him, by the way,” you say. Your statement puts Jisung at ease. “You’re the only one I want to kiss, Sung.”
You kiss him again but start to trail down his neck, leaving wet open kisses behind. Jisung is a panting, moaning mess beneath you, and his noises encourage you to go further. You lift his shirt up over his head and press your crotch into his, relishing in the sounds he makes as you kiss his chest, his collarbones, and his abdomen before you feel a hand weave itself into your hair, pulling you harshly.
“Still want to be fucked like a slut?” His words make you gasp.
“Ji, I was joking,” you say, but his hand pulls tighter on your hair, revealing your neck to him; wet open-mouthed kisses and tongue pressing against your neck releases a loud, nasty moan from your lips.
“You can’t lie to me, baby,” he says into your skin. “We’ve joked about it too many times for it to really be a joke. Can you answer me? Do you want to be fucked like a slut? Say the word and we can stop.” He lifts up your dress and throws it off of your head almost comedically, and it would have made you laugh if you weren’t now on complete display for the man.
“Yes… please.” That was all the word Jisung needed to go forth and absolutely ravish you, taking your body as if it were his own. He sucks small marks against your skin, guiding your hips to rock into his own in steady movements. Meanwhile, he unclasps your bra, discarding it to God knows where, paying full attention to your now exposed skin.
“So beautiful… God you’re making me feel so good, grinding against me so good baby… I’ll cum soon, I’ll cum in my pants if we don’t stop,” he rambles. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, paying it full attention while teasing the other with his thumb. Your head falls back from the pleasure, from the enticing man underneath you that you’ve known for so long, for the man who’s cologne has been engraved in your brain for years but only now does it make you feel needier with lust and desire when it floods your senses. Suddenly, he lifts you off of his hips with alarming force, placing you to sit on the couch while he remains underneath you on the floor.
“Please, can I eat you out? Let me make you feel good baby, please,” he begs, rubbing small circles onto your thigh. You nod your head at him, lifting your hips and your underwear is removed in an instant.
He dives forward, wasting no time before connecting his mouth to your glistening core. You moan loudly at the contact and his arms reach forward to pull you closer to his face. His wide eyes meet yours and he grins, absolutely deriving his own pleasure off of yours and the way you squirm beneath him. He eats you out in a way that is similar to his personality; it is messy, it is eager, and it is all-consuming. His tongue flicks desperately against your clit and you buck your hips up into his face but he holds you down easily, forcing you to take what he gives. His tongue switches between teasing your entrance and giving your clit his direct and undivided attention, and the pace makes you feel dizzy.
“Please, please,” you say, and you’re not even sure what you’re begging for. He changes the angle suddenly, pressing your legs up to your head so that you’re completely at his mercy. He spits right onto your aching hole, the act crude but making you moan nonetheless. Immediately he dives back in, holding your legs as he sucks and flicks at your clit until you’re shaking from overstimulation.
You try to warn him but it’s too late, you’re thrown over the edge with a loud sigh. He guides you through it, lapping at you languidly with his tongue as you pulse against him from aftershocks. He releases from you and the lack of contact makes you feel antsy, immediately wanting more, immediately craving that contact again.
“Jisung,” you breathe out. “Again… want to feel you again, please. Need you… touching me, please.” He wastes no time before pulling his pants and boxers down in one swift blow and you moan at the sight of him naked before you. You reach to touch him and stroke his cock but he stops you, guiding you to your feet. Your legs tremble but he holds you steady.
“What are you–” you begin to ask, but he shushes you, grabbing your hips and bending you over the side of the couch. He pushes your back down so that you’re arching for him, ass pressed up in the air.
“M just giving you what I promised,” he says, rubbing your back almost soothingly as he teases your entrance with his cock. Every time he makes contact you hiss and try to press back into him, but to no avail. “You made me wait this long to let me fuck your pretty pussy babe, should I make you wait too?”
His words make you moan out, and you’re babbling before you even realize it. “Jisung, Sungie, no please… Please Ji… I need you so bad… Please let me… Please don’t make me wait… Fuck… Please…”
His laugh is airy, as if you’ve knocked all of the air out of his lungs. You tilt your head back, trying desperately to see his face, and his expression is exactly how you imagined it; desperate, incredulous, lips parted open in a small ‘o’ shape. That’s the last thing you see before he presses his full length into you and your eyes screw shut from pleasure.
He immediately groans out, trying to stay still but desperately rocking his hips into you deeper, right against your g-spot which makes your eyes roll back and tighten around him. In turn, he begins sharply rutting right against your hips, shallow but deep.
“Fuck, fuck, jagiya. You feel… so good. Just like how I imagined,” he starts. “Your pussy… God, it was made for me to fuck… For me to fuck you dumb.” He is stuttering and rambling but you don’t even care, his words, soft moans, and pants making you feel incredibly needier. He reaches forward and pulls you up against him, grabbing your head and meeting your lips into a blinding and messy kiss as he fucks you. It makes your head reel and his hands find your tits and grab them hard for just a second as he finds his pace but the overstimulation makes you go stupid with desire.
Just as fast, he pushes you into the couch again. He grabs both of your wrists from behind and pulls them into his hand, using the momentum as a way to let himself fuck into you harder and deeper. You’re crying now, tears flowing from your face from pleasure and letting out noises that you didn’t know you could make, loud ‘ah, ah, ah’s’ from every thrust of his hips into yours.
“Please tell me you’re close, baby,” he says shakily. “Fuck, I don’t think I can last much longer.” His words make you close your legs together as he fucks you, the friction sending you even closer to the edge.
“So close, Sung, please.” Your words barely escape your mouth but you know he hears you, as his hands take place on your hips now, his death grip searing as he pulls you all the way on and off of his length, slamming into you at full force.
“Cumming,” you say, and you can only warn him the one time before you’re spasming and convulsing all over his cock, his soft and gentle praise guiding you through it in complete contrast to his harsh actions against your body. You’re still pulsing with aftershocks as he groans, pulling out of you and releasing all over your back in hot spurts. As the two of you catch your breath, he immediately pulls you into a kiss again, gentle yet passionate.
“I love you so much,” he says. “Wanted to do that for so long. Wanted you. Wanted you to be mine and wanted you to know how much I love you.” His eyes meet yours, searching, waiting for a response.
“I love you too, Jisung.” He smiles and his eyes close, relishing in the fact that finally, you are now undeniably his.
He cleans you up and guides you into your room, pulling you into his arms. Your head rests on his chest and your limbs are an intertwined mess, unable to differentiate where you start and Jisung ends. That night you watch your movie, the way it was destined to be all along. Jisung’s jokes make you laugh until you cry, and this time he is able to tell you that making you smile is one of the greatest pleasures he has ever been graced with in his life, and he tells you this with a kiss pressed against your mouth.
***
Masterlist Recs
#Han#Han Jisung#Han Jisung x reader#han x reader#skz#skz smut#skz x reader#skz x you#stray kids#stray kids smut#stray kids x reader#stray kids x you#skz scenarios#Han jisung x you#jisung smut#Han smut#han jisung smut
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OT8 Stray Kids sending you horny rants while you're out (fake text)
Ooft this had me sweating. No warnings I can think of? Raunchy as fuck obviously.
#stray kids smut#skz smut#bang chan smut#lee know smut#chan smut#changbin smut#felix smut#i.n smut#jeongin smut#seungmin smut#jisung smut#han smut#chris bang smut#hyunjin smut#minho smut#stray kids text#thefantasyden
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park jisung fic recs!
✰ drunk jisung is clingy… and kiss-driven - @asteroidsung (you didn’t take bestfriend!jisung to be an affectionate drunk, thinking he would be the type to be sleepy and quiet. clearly, you’re mistaken. and oh how good it feels to be wrong.)
✰ Heart Band-Aids - @tynct (you and jisung separate from the others at an amusement, and he buys you heart band-aids)
✰ HAUNT ME, BABY! — PJS - @ukiyoexo (when you see a ghost, you’re supposed to be scared right? yeah, that’s what jisung thought too until he met you. a night spent in boredom leads you to lighting random candles and attempting to summon a ghost. you never expected it to work — or for the spirit to be so cute.)
✰ 8 letters | park jisung - @xiaodejunletsact (4 years ago, you and jisung’s long term friendship came to an abrupt end. now in senior year, the two of you find yourselves being forced together again by your mothers. suddenly, jisung begins to ask himself what is more important: his reputation or you.)
✰ sweeter than honey. - @luvdsc (you and jisung are too busy being the biggest simps for each other that neither one realizes that, well, both of you are the biggest simps for each other. or alternatively, diamonds (and park jisung) are a girl’s best friend.)
✰ fwb!park jisung x reader - @jenosbigtoe (fwb!jisung but he desperately wants to make you his so he goes the extra mile to show u how much he really wants you)
✰ perv!jisung x reader, braces - @neocentral
✰ Too Young - @loudstan (You thought avoiding Jisung after what happened during his first rut would make the problem go away (SPOILER ALERT: it didn't.)
✰ at midnight with you - @hyuckbeam (your boyfriend just recently got his driver's license, and boy, was he adamant to take you for a ride (with you being just as eager as him).
✰ DO IT AGAIN - @taexoxosgf (your brother’s best friend can never get you alone. that’s why he won’t miss an opportunity— even if your brother’s on the other side of the walls.)
✰ dance practice ; 박지성 - @martiniblues (with you and jisung’s time running thin due to his schedules, you decide to go visit him at practice. when the two of you finally have some time alone, jisung thinks this is the perfect time to mess with you.)
✰ texts w/ bf!jisung! - @haespoir
✰ flirty bf texts. - @ohmygs-blog
✰ FULL MOON — PARK JISUNG - @moonjella (your boyfriend, jisung has his rut and has been avoiding you all day. for the first time his rut has aligned with a full moon making it much more powerful than usual. he's afraid of hurting you, but you show him just how strong you can be and how much of him you can take.)
✰ SCORE THAT GOAL! — smau - @lqfiles (after your college had announced that all the students were required to join a club and attend it twice a week, you were planning on either a) dropping out, or b) join the art club and pretend to be sick most of the times. that was before you discovered that park jisung is a long time member of the football team. change in plans: you LOVE football.)
✰ Teach Me || P.JS - @ihaechans (It's been about ten months since you and Jisung started dating, and not once has he fucked you properly. Yes, he's fucked you multiple times, but you're always on top riding him, or simply using him as you please, leaving him no room to fuck you how he wants to. Finally, he musters the courage to talk to you about it, and the outcome makes him wish he'd done it sooner.)
✰ jealousy | pjs - @heyjwi (your boyfriend loved watching you perform but today something was different. that angered expression and glaring eyes, what’s wrong with him?)
#nct#nct dream#park jisung#jisung#park jisung smut#jisung x reader#nct jisung#jisung smut#park jisung x reader#park jisung x y/n#park jisung x you#park jisung fic#park jisung nct#nct smut#nct drabbles#nct x reader#nct imagines#nct hard thoughts#nct hard hours#nct dream smut#nct dream drabbles#nct dream x reader#nct dream hard hours#nct dream hard thoughts#nct dream jisung#nct dream x y/n#nct dream fic#kpop#jisung park#nct jisung smut
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kinktober - day sixteen
kink: sex toys with jilix
warnings: smut - MINORS DNI. sex toys, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, afab!reader. mention of hentai (typical jlix things). 3k.
it’s something that felix and jisung bring up all the time. throughout your entire time as roommates slash best friends with benefits they’ve talked about it, but they’ve never followed through with it.
they want to ruin you. stretch you so far that you’re left with your pussy gaping, fill you up so far that it feels like your breath is taken away. the thought of it sends you into a dizzy spell if you think about it too long, but it’s always just that. a thought. you’re not sure why, since every other kink that’s been brought up has been tried and added to the ranked bulletin board in your room.
handcuffs? yes, enthusiastically.
petplay? no, much to jisung’s poorly concealed disappointment.
stuffed full of sex toys? TBD.
but no matter how many times any of you had brought it up, whether it be giggling into a glass of wine or holding hands in the dark under your covers, they never made any moves to make it become reality.
so, you decide to take matters into your own hands.
it’s almost too easy to sneak an excessively large order of sex toys onto jisung’s credit card, the one he had given to you with a wink and a whispered you know what to do with this. you hadn’t known what to do with it, but you pocketed the card anyways, saving it for a rainy day. maybe this is what he had meant when he said that to you - you’ll find out soon, probably.
by the time it arrived you were almost sick with anticipation, the thought of it not leaving you as you obsessively checked the tracking of your package every possible second. when it finally arrived they weren’t home, and you opened it without abandon, ripped pieces of cardboard littering the floor. they looked…daunting. almost scary. incredibly exciting.
“tomorrow,” felix says, more to the contents of the box than to you. “tomorrow, we’re going to ruin you with these.”
“tomorrow?” both you and jisung whined together, and you exchanged a fist bump over the box as felix huffed at you.
and yet, with all of the impatient waiting you did in the past week (and jisung in the past day), tomorrow came sooner than you could catch up with. you were naked on the mattress before you could even blink, cunt clenching around nothing as you watched them lay out the materials that you had so meticulously picked out.
it might be a little too soon for an endeavor like this, it would be smarter to try out every toy first and make sure you were comfortable with all of them, but they’ve kept you waiting too long for this for you to think about being smart right now.
they lined the toys up at the foot of the bed, all washed and sanitized and ready for whatever filthy use they were going to be put through. there’s four of them, varying in size, girth and length, color, and vibrations and thrusting ability, and you’re already a bit overwhelmed just looking at them.
or rather, a lot overwhelmed.
they make eyes at each other over you, having some kind of silent conversation in the creepy way that they do. felix nods and moves to sit by your head, moving you around until your upper body was half in his lap. jisung, on the other hand, picks up the first toy and examines it, twisting it around in his hand.
“relax, baby,” felix’s voice rumbles through you, and you melt into him a bit when he runs his hand through your hair.
jisung’s eyes are fixated on your pussy now, and you can almost see the wheels turning in his head as he imagines how wrecked you’re going to be once they’re done with you.
“jisung, come on,” you whine, wriggling a bit in felix’ lap.
“let me enjoy this,” he bites back, sending you a playful glare.
“i think i’m the one who’s supposed to be enjoying this,” you pout, relaxing back into place when felix tugs at a strand of your hair.
“oh trust me, you will,” felix’s voice grumbles from behind you, vibrations from it dousing your body just as jisung finally touches you. it’s not quite where you want, his hand is tracing up and down your thigh, but it’s something.
he takes his time mapping out your skin, planes of smooth flesh that he’s seen and felt and loved before, but never this slowly. never this reverently. it’s almost frustrating, but felix begins massaging your neck and shoulders and you’re too relaxed to provide any protest beyond a frustrated huff of breath as your eyes flutter closed.
“no, stay with us,” felix coaxes your eyes open, and you almost giggle at how funny he looks upside-down from where you’re laying. it feels like time is moving in slow-motion as jisung uncaps the lube and drizzles it on the toy, the smallest one you had chosen. it’s thin with a bulbous head, created specifically to hit right at your g-spot, a smooth metal with a lustrous purple finish. it’s beautiful, even more so when he runs the cool metal head up and down your folds, warming it up. when it gets to your hole you nearly swallow it up, the glide almost too easy from the lube and your wetness that’s been building since before you even took off your clothes.
“eager, are we?” jisung teases, and you just snarl back at him, too impatient to deal with being in a sarcastic argument with him right now. you usually love his playful banter during sex, but that’s when you’re in a mutual push and pull dynamic. right now the only thing you want him to push is the toy into you. “fine, i’ll give you what you want, but remember that you asked for it.”
all at once, he’s thrusting it in and out of you, twisting his hand just right so that it hits your spot every single time. it’s already almost too much, and you push up against felix to try and get away from the sudden onslaught. he just laughs, pinning you in place as jisung keeps going and going and going.
it only takes a few minutes for your orgasm to approach, expectantly fast with how keyed up you’ve been since you woke up. you’re just starting to come when — in one quick move — jisung removes the toy and replaces it with his fingers, crooking them up right where he knows you like it best, over and over. the change in pace makes everything so much more intense, and you can’t stop your body from arching off of the bed, your head pressed into felix’ thighs. it feels like minutes before you slump back onto the mattress, panting hard and twitching from aftershocks. he removes his fingers, holding them up so you and felix could see how slick they are from being inside of you. he sticks them in his mouth, sucking at them a bit like a lollipop, and lets out an appreciative noise at the taste. you hide your face into felix’ leg, embarrassed at his actions.
jisung doesn’t let you recover before grabbing the second toy, a bright pink vibrator complete with a thrusting head. he forgoes the lube this time, choosing to scoop up your wetness onto his fingertips and spread it across the toy instead. you whine when his fingers brush your clit, overly sensitive even though it hadn’t been touched yet. he settles the tip of it against your hole, rubbing at it in tiny circles.
“what a greedy fucking pussy,” jisung says, almost clinical in the way he looks at felix with an arched brow. like he’s not talking about a person. “just came and she’s already leaking for more.”
felix just hums, dark eyes fixed on the way your bottom lip is stuck between your teeth as jisung slides the second toy into you. it settles in perfectly, leaving you so comfortably full that you think you could fall asleep like this, especially after coming as hard as you just had.
“what did i tell you?” felix says, accentuating his words with another sharp tug to your hair. “stay with us, baby.”
“i’m - ah,” your breath leaves you as jisung flicks the vibrator on. even at it’s lowest setting, it sends pulses of pleasure swimming through you, and you feel hot all over. the heat intensifies when he pushes the toy just a little further into you and presses the button for the thrusting to start. it feels strange at first, the rubber head so different to jisung or felix’s cocks, but then he angles it upwards just so and there it is.
every time you clench down onto it you feel your toes and fingertips tingle with pleasure, little pricks of static taking over your limbs. jisung holds the base close to your entrance, keeping in place as it thrusts into you in a perfectly delicious rhythm.
“this one might be my favorite,” jisung says, and he sounds like he’s kneeling down to worship something rather than kneeling to absolutely wreck you. you try and reply, but your words get swallowed by a series of sounds that escape your throat. “felix, find a way to shut her up, will you?”
it’s almost comical the way jisung turns into a control freak when it came to sex; you weren’t complaining though, even when felix hooks his thumb into your mouth and presses down on your tongue. jisung turns the vibrations up and you come for the second time, your eyes rolling so far back that you’re almost scared they’ll get stuck there. he keeps the toy there, letting you ride out your orgasm, and he only turns it off when you start to twitch with oversensitivity.
“is it my turn now?” felix takes his thumb out of your mouth and strokes his hand down your face, leaving a trail of your spit down your cheek. “i want a turn, you’re hogging her.”
“whiny baby,” jisung tuts, but he stands up from where he had been kneeling in front of you. he drops a kiss to your inner thigh before switching spots with felix, settling in behind you.
while felix had let your hands wander, clenching in and out of fists as you got more and more into it, jisung had no such notion to give you freedom. he immediately traps your wrists into one of his hands once he was sure your head was comfortable in his lap, and his other hand comes to rest at your collarbone. it’s possessive, the way his fingers curl up just a bit like he’s waiting for a reason to run his nails down your skin.
the third toy that felix picks up is a normal dildo, clear glass in a respectable size and length, and you’re almost glad for a little normalcy right now.
“should i eat you out first? make you come on my tongue before using this?” he asks, mouth so close to your clit that you could feel his breath hitting it. it made you shiver.
“if you do that i might not last,” you groan, trying to clamp your thighs shut but you were stopped by felix’s hands. “you’ll have to scrape my body off of the bed.”
“i’ll have to do that anyways when i’m through with you,” he teases, drawing back a bit. “but you’re right. i want to see your face when i ruin you, and it’s hard to do that from down there.”
the slide of the dildo entering you was almost undetectable after jisung had dealt with you, the only thing you could feel was the coolness of the glass and the fullness in your lower belly.
you sigh, letting your head fall back into jisung. maybe felix would go easy on you for the first one? you let your body relax so felix could push it all the way in.
you regretted that almost immediately though - felix, with all of his dancer’s grace and control, knows exactly what to do with his hands. knows how to twist his wrist just right, how to speed up and slow back down in perfect timing, and it doesn’t matter that it’s just a normal dildo because he isn’t a normal fucking person.
he alternated between an insanely fast and agonizingly slow rhythm, never letting you get used to one before switching to the other. every time you got close, he’d angle it just away from your spot, leaving you teetering on the edge of an orgasm over and over.
if jisung wasn’t holding you down you’d be thrashing against the sheets right now.
when felix finally let’s you come it’s with his mouth sucking at your clit and your body taught as a rope. it feels like hours before you come down, wave after wave of boiling pleasure burning through your veins, taking over your whole body.
“okay?” jisung asks as felix pulls the toy out of you, shushing you when you whine at the feeling.
“guh,” you let out, the most intelligent response you can offer him right now. he lets go of your wrists to intertwine his hands in yours, keeping you close but knowing that you needed the grounding.
the last toy was really for them. you know that they’re little freaks inside, and you couldn’t stop yourself from selecting it - a bright green and red silicone toy, shaped like a tentacle. it’s wide at the base, about the size of your fist, and that brings up another idea that you store in your head for later. the tip is tapered, and little faux suction cups line the entire surface of the toy. it isn’t too long, but god it’s thick.
felix picks up the bottle of lube and coats the thing generously, and you’re grateful for it. for how big it is, you weren’t sure if your body was capable of slicking it up without some help.
“can’t,” you stutter out when he places the tip at your entrance, teasing it inside of you. you wanted to move away but you couldn’t, jisung made sure of that.
“you can,” jisung coos at you, the first time he’s spoken since switching places with felix. “you know what to say it you really can’t. but i think you can, baby girl.”
he’s right. through all of this, your safeword hadn’t even breached through to your consciousness. you still wanted this, as insane as it was.
“fuck, you’re stretched out,” felix curses, pushing the toy into you. you can feel it all the way in your throat, even though it was only a little over halfway inside of you. god, was he going to try and get the whole thing in?
the answer was yes, he was. he twists his wrist, letting your body get used to the girth of the toy for a moment before pulling it out almost all the way. he slowly slides it back in, and the squelch of the suction cups dragging in and out makes you flush so hard you feel lightheaded.
jisung is breathing hard behind you, and you revel in how affected he is right now. you chose well, you did good.
you’ve never had something inside of you that felt like this; it wasn’t moving but you could imagine if it was, in the ways that tentacles did in the hentai jisung made you watch - you never understood the appeal until now. you wanted it to completely engulf you. you had almost forgotten that it was attached to felix’s hand until he started pumping it in and out of you, absolutely obscene sounds filling the room from both it and your own mouth.
when you come for the last time it’s a fragile thing, slow rolls of heat washing over you, less intense but no less pleasurable. you feel floaty even felix removes the toy carefully, dumping it on the floor and pressing a flutter of kisses to your thighs. your head is sailing through the clouds just as your body feels weightless, the only thing keeping you tethered to the bed being their hands on you.
“let’s get her cleaned up,” jisung says, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.
“no, ‘m not done,” you mumble, half into jisung’s arm where your mouth is now squished. there’s a line of drool running from your lips down his skin, but you’re too exhausted to care about something that would normally send you into a fit of embarrassment.
“oh, she’s out,” felix sounds almost in awe, like he can’t believe the state the two of them had pushed you towards. that he couldn’t believe that, even though you couldn’t move a single limb in your body, you were still asking for more. felix reaches to the nightstand where he had placed a cool water bottle with a straw peeking out, and he holds it up to your mouth so you can suck small sips. the water feels heavenly, soothing your parched throat perfectly. did he put magic in this water? it sure feels like he did.
you didn’t realize that you were talking out loud until they laugh, the sound of it sending happiness throughout your entire body. you made them happy.
“hi baby,” felix materializes at your side, cradling your face in his hands so you are looking at him instead of the ceiling. “bath or washcloth?”
“can’t move,” you replied, hoping he’d understand. when he comes back with a washcloth and starts cleaning you up, you know he did. he knows you so well.
you let out a series of whines when he cleans around your pussy, the burn of overstimulation bordering on painful now. jisung soothes you with a kiss for each one, his hands still intertwined with yours.
you fall asleep before felix finishes, and you miss the way they both look at you with nothing but adoration in their eyes.
—
kinktober masterlist
#stray kids smut#skz smut#stray kids imagines#lee felix smut#felix smut#jisung smut#han jisung smut#lee felix x y/n#han jisung x reader
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AFTERCARE — JISUNG.
pairing: jisung x reader(afab)
genre: mature, fluff
warnings: established relationship, cumshot, mentions of sweat, jisung is so whipped
“ngAHHHaHh- i’m cumming!” you moaned as your walls clenched around your boyfriend’s dick.
feeling his own orgasm approaching, jisung pulled out and jerked his cock with furious speed. hot loads of cum spurted on your ass and began to slowly dribble down your leg.
“fUCK!” jisung breathed out, letting the last drops of cum fall on your skin.
“can you…” you barely finished the sentence, and jisung was already helping you lie down on your stomach so that you wouldn’t get the sheets dirty.
“that was so good, baby.” he planted a soft kiss on your shoulder.
“mhm-“ you mumbled as you made yourself comfortable on the bed. your legs were sore from multiple rounds, and all you wanted was to just lay for a bit and breathe.
jisung settled down next to you, pulling you closer by the waist so that your chests were touching. your legs wrapped around him, and you could feel his naked cock touching your stomach.
“wait, let me clean you first.” he offered, but you stopped him before he could move.
“want to lay with your cum on me…” you whined and closed your eyes, snuggling deeper into his neck.
his skin and hair were covered in sweat, his cum was all over your leg, and you should have felt disgusted, but you didn’t. because it was jisung.
“as you wish, baby.” your boyfriend was a bit impressed by your words, but complied, giving you a warm smile. after all, he was not the one covered in cum right now.
the room fell into silence for some time. you could hear how jisung’s heartbeat came back to normal, so did your own.
“it’s so cute how you got used to lying naked together after we’re done…” jisung randomly said, caressing your lower back.
and he was right. when you just started dating, you immediately rushed to the shower, especially if he came on you. but now you’ve been asking for it. asking him to cum on your ass or lower back. to claim you as his.
you just hummed in response to his words and finally pulled away from his neck. the fond look that jisung gave you made your heart tremble. he leaned in and captured your lips together in a quick kiss, taking your breath away again.
for a split second, your eyes caught a sight of his dick, growing hard again.
“eww, why is it moving by itself, gosh!” you turned away, and jisung let out the cutest laugh.
“well… because we just kissed, and i like when we kiss...” jisung was looking at you fondly, enjoying the scene you were making.
“tHIS?! from just a kiss? seriously, how can you live with that thing between your legs…” you scoffed jokingly, but actually felt flattered, knowing that a simple kiss provokes such a reaction from your boyfriend every time.
jisung just giggled in response, brushing strands of hair off your face.
some more time passed before you spoke again.
“okay now i actually feel disgusted. can you clean me?” you whined, feeling how the liquid on your skin turned solid.
“clean you?” he raised an eyebrow, smiling cheekily.
“i can’t stand.” you pouted. “my legs are all sore.”
jisung giggled, but obeyed. of course he did.
standing up, he lifted you in one motion, putting you on your feet. but they immediately gave way and you pouted indignantly. “i told you i can’t stand, babe!”
you were acting like a whiny child, but that’s what he got for fucking you for hours without a break.
jisung sighed and tucked you closer to him by the waist. you hands reflexively rested on his chest, and you could feel his heart pounding. his skin was still sticky with sweat, but it didn’t make him look less hot.
“is that better?” he grinned, satisfied with how your breath quickened.
his hand then gripped on your ass, while the other remained on your waist, helping you not to fall.
your cheeks flushed red, and you answered quietly. “yeah… now take me to the bathroom.”
jisung’s grin grew even wider.
with his hands holding your body firmly, you finally made it to the bathroom. it was so hard to stand on your wobbly legs, so you leaned on the sink, giving him a full view of your ass.
jisung took a towel, soaked it with warm water and began to gently rub your skin. you could see his focused expression in the mirror, and it warmed your heart.
“wait, which towel did u take?” you asked just to confirm.
“the one that i always use. the cum towel.”
“ewww! don’t call it like that! that’s disgusting!” you whinged, and jisung laughed at your face expression, continuing to clean your skin.
you’ve admitted to yourself several times that seeing jisung’s bare body was better than any painting in the louvre. he was not buff, he didn’t have a crazy amount of muscles. but that’s how you liked it. a slight curve of the biceps, a toned chest, a v-line and a slight hint of abs. the honey skin only warmed up your desire to lick off the remnants of his sweat.
“what?” he looked at you in the mirror.
“nothing. you just look cute when you’re focused.” you said boldly, knowing how flattered your compliments make him feel.
jisung exhaled heavily and shook his head, making you grin. a cute blush appears on his cheeks.
“aren’t you done yet?”
“no.” he said, continuing to rub the same spot on your ass.
“c’mon, i know there is nothing left to clean.” you whined. “i wanna lay down, ji. you can stare at my ass there.”
“you will get dressed and go eat or do something else, as usual.” he pouted, looking at you pleadingly with his boba eyes.
“i promise, i won’t.” you assured, a little embarrassed that your boyfriend likes to see you naked so much.
“promise?” a mischievous twinkle appeared in his eyes. "and can I touch your ass?"
“yess, you can.” you rolled your eyes jokingly, laughing internally at how excited he got.
“alright then.” jisung said, picking you up. “let’s go.”
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masterlist | taglist
TAGLIST (OPEN): @hanjisung-enjoyer @fun-fanfics @soonie1010 @noellllslut @newhope8 @channiebahngswife @chanscappuccino @vivioluh @rockstrhanji @yoontaethings @katsukis1wife @caitlyn98s @yaorzu-blog @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan
#stray kids#skz smut#skz fluff#skz jisung#skz x reader#han jisung#jisung fluff#jisung x y/n#han jisung smut#han jisung x reader#stray kids jisung#jisung x reader#jisung smut#skz han#han x y/n#han x reader#han fluff
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