hello, i'm faith, ntmy! welcome, here's a quick navigation guide to my blog! <3
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hi, i'm faith! i am 18+ and i write for both stray kids & ateez!! requests are currently open! i am always looking for friends/mutuals so feel free to send me a dm or ask! and if you'd like to, claim an anon emoji!
being sick and being on your period at the same time is not for the weak...
anyways i'm posting the first chapter soon :) exam season is over and my bream is finally here!! got a job with more convenient hours too so..!! excited to be more active <3
aghhhhhh i've been offline/not interacting for so long T-T i need to catch up on all my moots and fav writers works.....if you see me spam comments or spam reblog in the next few days don't mind me....heh
btw 2k words into chapter one of mister pretty face :P
exams are fucking killing me sjdksbjnfjdjd this id why i'm writing so slow i promise once exam season is over i'll be back asap and be more consistent
blessed to be stressed am i right or am i right
...
who am i even yapping to i barely have any followers
you kind of wished he had never found out about it. not really, but now it certainly seems he likes to use it as leverage against you.
your boyfriend was gentle in all the ways that count. soft touches that made you feel like precious art. sweet words of encouragement that made you feel seen. but sometimes you feel like he might be too gentle with you.
the only times he ever let that soft-handed mask down were when he was fucking you.
and the first time he ever found out about your little infatuation, he seemed to have grown a little more comfortable with roughing it up a little.
“oh god… oh baby. fuck, you feel so good.” on your stomach, face pressed into the sheets, san’s face nudged in the tight space where your neck meets your shoulder. his arms caged either side of your head, resting his forearms next to your ears.
his chest was glued to your back, your spine digging into his stomach. bare and hot and wet, your bodies pressed against each other without an inch of space to speak for. your entire body shivered when he forced himself deeper into you, his curved, thick cock splitting your cunt open.
this position had him so deep, so invasive, so full. his hips rolled against the flesh of your ass, san’s voice dipping low in needy moans when you squeezed around him while he pulled his hips back, listening to the slick sound your pussy made, trying to keep him inside.
“pussy’s so warm today, baby.” he lets his mouth fall open against the shell of your ear, panting and groaning to make your brain melt. “making me feel so fucking crazy, you make me feel crazy, pretty.”
you forced your head out of the pillow when you felt his thrusts slow to a deep grind, pulling a ragged whine from your mouth. you pried your eyes open to watch as his arms moved around your head.
“turn, look at us.” he kisses below your ear, and drags his tongue up the side of your cheek. his right arm reaches and grabs his phone from the corner of the bed, holding it tight in his hand and scrolling and pressing buttons.
you forget he keeps a tall mirror against his bedroom wall, right next to the end of his bed. you can see the top halves of your melded bodies. his big, broad shoulders shadow your littler form under him. his soft, flushed face meeting your eyes in the reflection, his big, meaty arms flexing and twitching around your head every time he moved.
you watch to try and see what he was doing, and he punishes your nosiness with a sharp, deep thrust that makes your calf lock up.
“mind your business, babydoll.” he grumbles, then you feel it. his left arm curls around the front of your throat, tight. the muscles twitch and contract over your neck, just enough to limit your breathing. snug, warm and secure around the front of your throat.
he feels you tighten around his cock, and it makes his skin prickle. “ooh, fuck…” he groans and you feel his voice vibrate against your back. you forced your eyes up and you can see his phone recording your reflection in the mirror. catching the fucked out look on your face, his thick arm wrapped around your throat in an owning headlock.
his mouth spreads into a sly grin when your eyes roll when he pulls back his hips and then sinks his cock back into you so slowly, so smoothly, your legs jerk under him to try and escape the feeling.
“my soft little slut…” san leans down to whisper in your ear, the flash of his camera moving with each thrust. he licks the tears that pool at the corner of your eyes before he drags his head back up to watch you both in the mirror.
“look at you go, baby.” he praises around a heated smile. “drooling all over my arm like some kind of puppy. does that feel good? hm?”
you whimper out an incoherent agreement, and he giggles softly, littering the nape of your neck with soft kisses. he adjusts his hips to drag against that deeper, sweeter spot, that makes you still and lightly sink your teeth into his arm.
he keeps that meaner pace, deep heavy strokes in your guts that you can do nothing but lie under his body and take. his arm around your neck made clouds swim around in your brain. he tightens the hold, and you squeal loudly, barely catching the way he zooms in with his phone to better catch the pretty look on your face.
your cheeks squished by his muscles, your eyes desperate and heavy-lidded. he thought you looked so cute, and who would’ve thought that all he had to do to get you this needy was to put you in a headlock.
san fucks you greedily, the curve of him perfectly hitting that spot that turned your mind off. his voice egged you on, his low moans, and his pretty heavy breaths. groaning ’mhms’ of approval with every thrust into you as if he was grading the feel of your cunt around him. with every stroke, you only seemed to get even wetter, and the proof was the sticky web of your slick that clung to his base.
“mm, i love fucking my baby, slow… and stupid.” he attaches his lips to the pulse point on your neck, sucking and running his tongue over the sensitive spot of skin. “jus wanna fuck you so deep it hurts.”
he’s in your ear, talking to you and only you. all the while his phone catches every moment, every thrust and every moan.
his lower stomach repeatedly brushes against your back, his cock stirring up your insides at the most, torturous and delicate pace. the slow smack of flesh, the sticky hollow sound of your cunt swallowing all of him.
you feel his knees brace against either side of your hips again, adjusting his posture a little. his arm around your throat tightens to your near limit, his head nudges against your neck, his lips whispering against your cheek.
this way he uses your neck as leverage to anchor is body to allow him to fuck his cock into you a little faster, a little rougher.
“yeah, baby, yeah. take all of me. all of me.” san’s voice drops into a breathy purr, pressing his lips directly against your ear, the soft skin tickling you. “givin this pussy a workout hm?”
you groan and kick your feet, and he laughs at you as hand from the arm he’s got your neck trapped in buries itself in your tangled hair and yanks your head to the side so you’re fully facing the mirror, your ear resting below his jaw.
“you like to be lazy. you like to lie here— fuck… lie here and take dick, helpless and limp. let sannie do all the work huh, princess? let this pussy do all the work for you?”
he turns his head and your eyes catch in the mirror. his eyes are lidded, competent and heated. yours are foggy, tear-glazed, spent. he smiles at your expression and growls under his breath when you clench around his dick again.
his fingers scrape against your scalp with every heavy stroke of his hips, his pretty grunts and moans making your belly twist into swirls.
your hands grasp at the sheets, your cries coming out choked and breathy then more san fucked you, and he seemingly forgot that you needed to breathe until you tapped on his bicep to tell him to let up.
he does immediately, loosening the hold on your throat. you gasp and choke, but he doesn’t stop moving his hips, fucking you slow and deep while you regain your breath.
“aww, ‘m sorry babydoll.” he kisses your temple and you could feel him giggle against your skin. his voice lowers to that brain ticking whisper and you feel your air stolen from you again.
“bet you would’ve looked so pretty passed out on my cock.” he finally sets down his phone and takes his now free hand and trails it down your body, running along the side of your waist, his hips never stopping that deep, languid push and pull.
“looking all soft and sleepy.” his hand snakes between your body and the bed and finds your clit with his coarse fingertips. you gasp and squirm under him, your body shaking as a plea for mercy. san only laughs, circling upwards against the sensitive nerves while he splits your pussy open, over and over and over again.
“think i could still make you cum in your sleep princess?” he whispers against your throat and you feel as his arm tightens its hold around your throat once again. you feel the bed start to shake and your cunt start to burn with pleasure as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, filling you long and deep at just the right angle.
“mmhm, soak my cock baby.” he growls under a moan, letting his tongue fall from his mouth and tasting the flushed skin on your throat. “make it smell like you.”
he bites his bottom lip and his eyebrows furrow, his cock pounding into you so full he just might had been close to fucking your cervix.
his fingers on your clit continue to move at that dragging, spherical pattern that helps that pressure build slowly. stroke my stroke, praise by praise. you melt under his body while he uses you as he sees fit. your pussy sucks him in everytime he draws back, your pretty little moans make san’s head spin.
“gonna fuck myself to that video everynight while im on tour.” he promises against your skin, your orgasm dangerously close to sweeping you onto the floor. he rolls his hips with every thrust, forcing his fat tip to press against your gspot.
“eee..every n-night..?” you whimper deliriously, his cock effectively having cut off all cognitive function, a stupid smile spread across your face.
he laughs and kisses your shoulder as he rolls his hips a little harder. “mhm, every night baby. i'll send you some videos so this pussy-” he thrusts hard this time, as if acknowledging her himself. “-doesn't miss me too much. want you to remember how good i make you feel while i'm gone.”
you shake violently when his tip nudges that spot just right, and right at that moment you cum on the spot. your limbs jerk and twitch and once san’s felt you cumming he eases his hips into a faster rut, pounding your pussy through your orgasm, fucking you through it.
“there we go, there we go. let it take you baby, keep cumming, keep cumming for me.” he pinches your clit and teases it with gentle brushes while he mounts you on his mattress.
his arm is covered in your drool, the red indentations of your bite marks inflamed on his skin. san looks back at you in the mirror, and you’re too out of it to notice as he pulls out his phone again and starts to record the reflection.
your eyes are shut and your brows are furrowed in bliss, lips parted in pathetic whines, your cheek resting against his bicep. he keeps his eyes on the mirror as your face twists in overstimulation when he starts to grind his cock deep into you.
his muscles flex, and he can feel the strain in his wrist from continually holding the camera up to capture you two. your shoulder twitches every time he bottoms out into your pussy, and your eyelids flutter every time he presses his palm against your lower stomach. he catches every change in expression, every twitch of your body, every lilt in your moans.
he always misses you so bad when hes away, so he always makes sure he fucks you so unbelievably well that you could probably do without him for at least a few days.
until you’re sore, or your stomach burns, or you physically can’t cum anymore. and he’ll be so methodic, so thorough, so gentle. anything to get you satiated for the first few days in his absence.
he's gotta work you out of his system somehow anyway, or else he'll be a horny, delirious wreck on tour.
「summary」 : physics was never a strong subject for you, but when your hot new tutor kim hongjoong comes to the rescue, you start to wonder if you're really staying for the lessons - or just for him.
「warnings」 : mdni, college party, academic pressure, smoking weed, shotgunning, kissing, cuddling, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing, happy ending woohoo!
「author's note」 : this is my contribution to the LIVE ALIVE! collab event with @sungbeam. I am grateful for everyone i met in this collab and i recommend going and reading everyone else's works as well!
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The hours of studying weren't cutting it anymore. For the first time in your college career, your grade threatened to drop to a C.
To every other student, that may not seem like the end of the world. But to you, a C on your transcript could put you at risk of losing your academic scholarship.
This scholarship is the only thing getting you through school, cause only lord knows your broke parents aren’t able to pay for any of it.
That’s what made the whole situation kind of difficult. Your pride of knowing you are intelligent, but not being able to allow yourself to get help until it’s too late.
It was Mingi’s party where you would finally admit it.
You hadn’t even planned on going. You had a practice set due next Friday and a textbook that had been open on your desk for three days without you actually reading it, and the idea of spending a Friday night pretending to be fine while a chapter on velocity sat waiting for you felt wrong.
You went anyway. Because staying in that room alone with your own spiral had stopped being productive two weeks ago.
The party was what Mingi’s parties always were - small at first, then suddenly not, people multiplying from somewhere, the kitchen getting loud.
By ten o’clock you were on the balcony.
Hongjoong was already out there.
You knew him the way you knew a lot of people at this point in the semester - from being in the same department and having mutual friends. You’d talked before. Enough to be comfortable, not enough to have anything real. He was easy to be around, which you’d noticed without meaning to.
“You look like you’re thinking too hard for a Friday,” he said, without looking over at you.
“I’m always thinking too hard.” You said facing his direction.
He glanced at you then, brief. Accepted that. Looked back.
You stood there for a while without talking, which was fine, easier than fine, actually. You didn’t have to pretend to care about anything at the moment.
Eventually, because the drinks loosened things and you were tired of holding it in, you said: “I might be failing physics.”
He turned.
“Not failing,” you corrected. “C range. Which for me is…” You stopped, hand scratching up the back of your neck while breaking eye contact. “It’s not good.”
He didn’t say that’s not so bad or I’m sure you’ll be fine, which you appreciated more than he could’ve known. He just asked: “What part?”
So you told him. It was pretty much everything. The lab equations, formulas, the way things made sense in lecture and then fell apart the second you tried to apply them alone at your desk at midnight.
He listened like he was actually tracking it, not just waiting for you to finish.
“I took that class last year,” he said, when you were done. “I still have all my notes.”
You looked at him.
“I’m not a tutor or anything,” he added, like he wanted to be honest about that. “But I know the material. And sometimes it just helps to have someone explain it differently than the professor does.”
You were quiet for a second. Your pride sat somewhere in your chest, doing what it always did - resisting.
But you thought about your scholarship. About your parents. About the practice set sitting on your desk.
“Okay,” you said.
He looked mildly surprised, like he hadn’t been sure you’d say yes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You turned back to the railing. “If you’re offering.”
“I am.”
You worked out the details quickly after that - Thursday, his place, early evening. Uncomplicated.
He texted you the next morning just to confirm, which you hadn’t expected, and you wrote back your schedule and tried not to read anything into the fact that he’d texted first.
You spent the days between being sensible about it. He was someone you knew. He was helping you pass a class. That was the whole story.
You’d almost convinced yourself of that by Thursday.
His apartment smells exactly like him.
"Ignore the mess," he said, though there wasn't one. It was neat - books stacked on the coffee table, a blanket draped over the back of the couch, and a warm-toned light coming from the lamp in the corner. "I usually study out here, but the kitchen table has more room, if you would rather."
"Here is fine," you say while settling into the couch.
Hongjoong hesitated, then sat on the opposite end. He pulled textbooks out of his bag along with printed notes, a calculator, and things to write with. He really took this seriously.
He set up the area very organized, flipping the pages to chapter four.
You watched as his hands started to draw. They were nice. He had good handwriting too, the kind that flowed across the page and didn't look rushed at all.
He got into the in depth explanations on lab equations, comparing them to your collected data and to the work on the upcoming test.
"Does that make sense so far?" He asked, glancing up.
"Yeah it does. You were right. You are explaining it way better than the professor ever could."
"Oh, thanks. I've just taken the class before," he scratched the back of his neck.
"When?"
"I took it last year. I am trying to graduate early." He started to crack his knuckles, becoming a little anxious. "Sorry, that's not important, let me show you how to solve the practice problems."
-
An hour passed more easily than expected. Physics almost made sense when Hongjoong was the one explaining it. Or maybe you just liked listening to him talk.
He helped you gather your things as you prepared to head towards the door.
"Same time next week?" You mentioned while putting your shoes on.
"Yeah, definitely. If you want," he smiled.
"I do."
You left him standing in the doorway, and if you'd turned around, you'd seen him standing there long after you left, wondering why his heart was beating so fast.
That study packet got turned in. The weekly quiz was graded. You finally felt a little bit more confident in your Physics abilities.
The scores came back. Better than expected. B- on both of them.
That is definitely a start to leveling out your grade.
In the second session, you wore a tank top that always slides off one shoulder.
Hongjoong noticed. You caught the way his eyes flickered while he set up his notes.
"How was the quiz?" He broke the silence, making himself comfortable on the couch again. This time he was a little closer to you. Or maybe you were overthinking it.
"Better than expected. I actually got a B."
"Oh wow, That is a lot better than the last one," His face actually lit up. Something about his genuine expression made your chest feel a little warm. "See? you just needed a little push."
"Or maybe I just needed a better teacher," you added, taking out your laptop from your bag.
He tried to hide his face in his palms as his ears started to turn red. "I-uh… No, you did the work."
The session started off like the last one, but you started to notice things they never stood out before. He was so patient with you, even when he had to explain things multiple times. The way he pushed his black hair back when he was thinking, or how he tapped his pen between his fingers while he watched you use the calculator.
Fuck. It was kind of hot.
You rested your chin on his shoulder as he continued on about formulas, or whatever he was talking about.
Hongjoong went still for a second. He didn't push you away, he just went back to what he was saying. You didn't move back.
He kept talking, but his voice went slightly unsteady as he tried to focus only on physics.
"So if you apply this equation here-" his breath hitched as you shifted. "-you will get the velocity."
"Mmm," you hummed as if you were absorbing the information. Really, you were just watching how his throat moved when he swallowed.
His hand trembled as he wrote out the next practice problem. Poor him, he tried so hard to keep his eyes on the paper.
"Try this one," he slid the paper towards you, with his voice a little higher.
When you sat up, you heard him sigh. Hard to tell if it was relief or disappointment.
You worked through the problem, aware of him watching over your work. His leg bounced every few seconds, a sign of his nervousness.
"Is this right?"
He jerked back "It's perfect, you got it."
"Thanks to you."
He cleared his throat after a second, reaching back for the textbook. His hand bumped into yours.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"You apologize a lot."
"I- do I?" He finally looked at you.
"Yeah," you smiled, tilting your head. "You don't have to, I don't mind."
The rest of the session was… hard.
Hard to focus on studying. Hard to focus on anything but him.
He waved you goodbye as you walked through the door. He let out a noise; not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.
He waited till he could hear your footsteps in the hall get quieter as you walked away before sinking back into the couch.
What the hell was that?
When you got home, the scent of Hongjoong's cologne started to linger in your mind longer than it should have. It was beginning to become a problem.
The tutoring sessions were innocent enough, but you can't help but to let your imagination wander when thinking about them.
He was undeniably handsome, but not in an aggressive way. Quietly so. The kind you didn't notice all at once - it accumulated. The slope of his jaw. The way his eyes moved when he was reading, focused and unhurried. His hands, which you had spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about since the second session. Long fingers, especially sexy.
You were sitting in your own apartment now, textbook open in front of you, and none of it was going in.
You read the same sentence four times.
It wasn't that you hadn't been attracted to people before. You had. This just felt different in a way that was inconvenient, given the circumstances. He was your tutor. Technically. Sort of. He had been very clear he wasn't a tutor, which somehow made the whole thing worse.
You closed the textbook.
The problem wasn't even the attraction itself - you could manage that. You'd filed things away before, kept them at a distance. The problem was how easy he was to be around. How he didn't make you feel stupid when you got something wrong, just waited, redirected, tried a different angle. How he remembered what you'd struggled with the week before without you having to remind him.
The patience of it was what got to you.
You leaned back against your headboard, staring at the ceiling.
You thought about the second session. His voice went unsteady. His hand bumping yours and the way he'd pulled back like he'd touched something hot. The sigh when you sat up - the one you still hadn't decided the meaning of.
You pressed the back of your hand to your mouth.
He probably helped other people. Probably sat just as close to them, explained things just as carefully. You had absolutely no reason to believe you were anything other than someone he was doing a favor for.
And yet, you reached for your phone on instinct, scrolled past his contact without pressing it, then set it face down on the mattress.
You opened your textbook again. Read the same sentence. Closed it.
You had to wait another week before you could see him again.
That is way too long.
You pick your phone back up and scroll back to your chat. The only message there were pertaining to the tutoring or your grades.
You nervously shoot him a text. A simple -
hey, do you ever just like… take breaks? from studying i mean
You sent it before you could rethink it. Watched the screen. Told yourself not to watch the screen.
The dots appeared fast.
yeah lol why
You chewed the inside of your cheek.
idk. just been in my head a lot lately. my apartment is starting to feel like a prison cell
A pause this time. Longer than the last. Long enough that you started composing an exit strategy - never mind, just being dramatic - and then his response came through.
i usually take drives when it gets like that. clear my head
You read it once. Read it again.
that's actually a good idea
You hadn't planned what came after that. You didn't need to.
you wanna come with? i can pick you up Saturday. like 8ish
You stared at it.
He had suggested it himself. Unprompted. I can pick you up - not we could, not maybe sometime.
Your thumb hovered over the keyboard for a second longer than necessary.
yeah. 8 works
He sent back a single okay with no punctuation, which for some reason made your face warm.
You put your phone down and sat very still in the middle of your bed.
Outside of the sessions. No notes, no textbook, no practice problems giving you something to look at that wasn't him. Just his car and the dark and whatever version of yourself showed up when there was nothing academic left to hide behind.
You thought about the way his voice went unsteady in the second session. The sigh you still hadn't figured out.
You pulled your knees to your chest.
Saturday.
You were already nervous and it was only Thursday.
When he arrived, shivers went down your spine. You don't know how to act around him. Not outside of 'tutoring', and definitely not alone.
The scent of his car was exactly the same one you had been thinking about the past two days.
It was masculine. And very addictive.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
You buckled your seatbelt and stared forward.
"You eat?" he asked, pulling away from the curb.
"Not really."
A second of silence.
"Wanna grab snacks from the convenience store before we head out?" He offers.
"Honestly, yeah. That sounds nice," you say, stomach ironically growling simultaneously.
The drive to the store was short, but no less awkward. He had soft music playing lowly in the background, and a slight mist intermittently coating the windshield.
He held the door for you, held the snacks you chose, and paid for your food at the end of it. It was clear it was just a friendly gesture, but his actions couldn't help but tug at your heartstrings.
He didn't tell you where he was going, and you didn't ask.
That felt like the right call. The city thinned out gradually - fewer streetlights, more open roads, the kind of quiet that only exists past midnight when everyone sensible has gone home. Hongjoong drove with one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting against the window. Like he'd done this a hundred times.
He pulled off onto a road you didn't recognize, gravel crunching under the tires, and parked at the edge of what looked like an overlook. The city sat below it, distant and glittering, doing its thing without you.
"Here," he said simply.
He killed the engine. Reached into the back seat without much ceremony and pulled a small tin containing weed from his jacket pocket, setting it on the console between you.
You looked at it. Looked at him.
"I should've asked first," he said, reading you. "We don't have to."
"No, I -" You shook your head. "I want to."
He cracked the window on his side. You did the same. The night air came in cool and damp, carrying the smell of wet grass.
He was unhurried about the whole thing. Careful, even. His hands moved with the same quiet focus they did when he was setting up his notes, and you watched them the way you always did without meaning to.
He passed it to you first.
The first pull smoothed something out in your chest almost immediately. Not dramatically - just a quiet loosening to the tension you hadn't noticed you were carrying.
You passed it back.
For a while neither of you said anything. The music was still going, faint enough that you could barely make out the song. Hongjoong tilted his head back against the headrest and exhaled slowly toward the cracked window.
"Is it always like this?" you asked eventually. "When you drive."
"Pretty much." He turned to look at you. "Does it help?"
You considered that honestly. Considered all of the work you have been trying to get through over the past few weeks.
"Yeah," you said. "It actually does."
He looked at you a second longer than necessary, then back out the windshield.
You sank a little lower in your seat. The warmth was settling in fully now.
-
Maybe the weed made you a little more confident, or maybe you are just an idiot. But after a few more hits, you asked a question that definitely caught him off guard.
"Can I ask you something?" you say, gesturing for another drag.
"Yeah, what's up?" he hands it over.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" you squeak out.
A second of silence.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't ha-"
"No, I don't," You both interrupt each other.
"Oh no, its fine. I don't mind that you asked," he reassures you.
"I definitely just made it awkward," you say with a straight face.
"No you didn't," he giggled, "Its not a big deal."
You passed it back to him and stared out at the city, pretending to be very interested in the lights.
"Why?" he asked after a moment.
"Why what?"
"Why did you want to know?"
You could feel him looking at you from the side. You kept your eyes forward.
"Just curious," you said, which was technically true and also completely dishonest.
He made a small sound. Not quite convinced. He took a drag and let the silence sit there between you, and you got the feeling he was doing it on purpose - giving you room to say something more if you wanted to.
You didn't. Not yet.
"Do you?" he asked.
"Do I what?"
"Have a boyfriend."
"No," you said.
"Okay."
"Okay," you repeated.
Neither of you elaborated. The rain had picked back up again, softer now, and the windows had started to fog at the edges from the warmth inside the car. Hongjoong reached over to wipe a small circle clear on his side, and the mundaneness of it somehow made everything feel more intimate.
You were too aware of everything. The proximity. The low music. The way his knee was angled slightly toward you without him seeming to notice.
You were mid-thought when he turned to face you.
He didn't say anything. Just looked at you for a second with something unreadable in his expression, and then he leaned forward.
Your breath caught.
He exhaled slowly, the smoke passing warm from his mouth to yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of it. Your eyes stayed open for a second too long, locking eye contact with him across the console.
Neither of you moved back.
The smoke dissolved. The space between you didn't.
His forehead came to rest against yours, barely - just the lightest point of contact, like a question. His breath was unsteady in a way that made something ache in your chest, because he was always so composed and right now he wasn't, and that undid you more than anything else could have.
You closed the last inch yourself.
It was soft at first, like both of you were still deciding. His hand came up slowly, fingers brushing your jaw, and that was what made it real. The careful way he touched you, like he'd been thinking about it and was trying not to get it wrong.
You kissed him back properly, and he made a quiet sound against your mouth that you felt more than heard.
When you pulled back, neither of you went far. His hand was still at your jaw. Your fingers had found the front of his jacket at some point without you noticing.
He searched your face in the low light.
"I've been wanting to do that," he said quietly, "since the second session."
You laughed short, a little breathless. "The second session."
"When you leaned your head on my shoulder." He exhaled. "I didn't know what to do with myself after you left."
You giggled, resting your forehead against his again. The rain came down steadily against the roof, the city lights blurred softly through the fogged windows, and you stayed right there, in no rush to go anywhere at all.
-
Some time went by and the high started to fade into tiredness. It was nearing midnight, and though neither of you had anything important the following day, you both decided to call it a night.
He drove you back home, but this time conversation flowed easier than the first time. Laughing, cracking jokes, playfully punching his arm when he made you giggle.
When you finally got back home, wished you a goodnight, and waited until he saw you get inside before driving away.
Your phone screen lit up.
thank you for tonight :)
i was actually just about to say the same thing, thank you
You can feel the blood rush to your face as you try to keep your composure.
so i'll see you thursday? he asked.
of course :P
You and Hongjoong texted each other here and there throughout the week, just check-ins and making sure you didn't need any help with homework.
Once the next tutoring session rolled around, it felt more like you were there just to be around him, and it was less and less about the physics, or your grade.
Of course you would still put in the work and pay attention, but what's the problem with having some eye candy to look at while you did it?
-
Tonight he wore that delicious black sweater that dipped just low enough to expose his collarbones. You'd be lying if you said you didn't catch yourself staring at them, or the way his lips moved when he tried explaining something that you had no intention of listening to.
"Are you listening to anything that I am saying?" he paused, voice cracking a little.
He didn't look at you. He couldn't. He just kept his eyes glued to the notebook, but the flush on his cheeks was a dead giveaway.
"I'm taking it all in, trust me," you murmured with your face suddenly closer to his than it was moments before.
He didn't even know how to respond. His eyes just glance between yours, with a shade of pink blooming across his face as he tries to get back to what he was saying.
"Right," he cleared his throat, shifting back to put a little distance between you. "So, the velocity equation…"
"Hongjoong."
He stopped.
You took the pen from his hand and set it on the coffee table. He watched you do it without protest.
"We're not really doing physics right now," you said.
He exhaled through his nose, a quiet, reluctant sound. He'd been pretending not to know that and you'd just made it impossible. "What do you mean?"
"I think you know what I mean…" your voice drops, sliding your hand in his thigh.
You laughed, which seemed to break something loose in him too, and then he was smiling, the real kind, the one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle, and something in your chest pulled tight at the sight of it.
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Simple, careful. His fingers lingered at your jaw the same way they had in the car, like he remembered exactly where they were supposed to go.
"You make it really hard to be responsible," he murmured.
"Then stop trying so hard."
He searched your face for a second, that quiet, steady look he had, making sure. Then he closed the space between you.
This kiss wasn't soft the way the first one had been. This one knew the answer already. His hand curved around your jaw, tilting you toward him, and you felt him exhale slowly through his nose like he'd been holding something in all week.
You turned toward him fully, fingers finding the front of that sweater, the same way they'd found his jacket in the car. He made a low sound when you pulled him closer, and his free hand came to your waist, warm even through the fabric.
The notebook slid off the cushion and landed on the floor.
Neither of you acknowledged it.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, forehead dropping to yours, breath uneven. Up close like this, in the warm lamplight of his apartment, you could see the flush across his cheekbones, the way his eyes had gone a little dark.
"Physics can wait," you said quietly. "I just want to make you feel good."
"Wait." He squeaked quietly. "I have never done any of… this… before." He gestured with his hand.
"Shhh… just let me take care of you," you softly kissed his neck, lips dragging against the sensitive skin. "Will you let me do that?"
He leaned back further on the couch, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. "Fuck," He whispered. "Yes, please."
A few wet kisses left his neck glistening with your saliva. Your fingers trail down from his shoulders to his abdomen, unable to ignore the tent growing in his pants. Virgins get hard so easily.
He reached down, his fingers threading gently through your hair, not pulling, just guiding as you leaned forward. Your hands trembled slightly as you tugged at the waistband of his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, already hard and throbbing, the tip covered with pre-cum. It was thicker than you'd imagined, veined and curving slightly upward, making your mouth water at the sight.
You wrapped your fingers around the base, feeling the heat of him pulse against your palm. Hongjoong let out a low groan, his hips shifting involuntarily as you stroked him once, slowly, from root to tip. "Fuck, that feels good," he murmured, his voice rough but airy.
Emboldened, you parted your lips and took the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the sensitive underside. The salty taste of him filled your senses, and you hummed softly, the vibration drawing another deep moan from him. You sucked gently at first, your cheeks hollowing as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper inch by inch.
Hongjoong's grip in your hair tightened just a fraction, not forceful but encouraging, as he watched you with hooded eyes. "Just like that... yeah, baby, take more." You obliged, relaxing your throat and sliding down further until the tip brushed the back of your mouth. Your free hand cupped his balls, massaging them lightly, feeling them draw up tight under your touch.
The room filled with wet, slurping sounds as you worked him over, your saliva coating his shaft and dripping down to your fingers. You pulled back occasionally to lick along the length, tracing the prominent vein with the flat of your tongue before diving back in, sucking harder now, your pace quickening. Hongjoong's thighs tensed under your arms, his breaths turning ragged.
"God, your mouth is so fucking perfect," he gasped, his head falling back against the couch. You glanced up at him through your lashes, the sight of his parted lips and flushed cheeks spurring you on. You hollowed your cheeks again, sucking with more pressure, your hand twisting in rhythm with your mouth.
He bucked slightly, a warning rumble in his chest. "I'm close... don't stop."
You didn't, pushing yourself to take him as deep as you could, gagging just a little but powering through, determined to make him unravel. With a guttural curse, Hongjoong came, his cock twitching as hot spurts of cum flooded your mouth. You swallowed around him, milking every drop until he shuddered and went limp, pulling you up gently to kiss you breathless.
"That felt…incredible," he whispered against your lips.
You lied against him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. He fixed his pants to be halfway decent while you laid together, his fingers combing through your hair.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. His hair was slightly messed up, cheeks still flushed, eyes soft in a way you hadn't seen before.
You stayed like that for a while. Long enough that the night got quieter outside and his breathing evened out into something comfortable. At some point he reached over and turned the lamp down without disturbing you, and that small, thoughtful thing lodged itself somewhere in your chest and stayed there.
When you finally left, he walked you to the door.
"Thursday?" you said.
He nodded, a small smile catching the corner of his mouth. "Thursday."
You didn't kiss him again at the door, but you thought about it. And by the way he watched you go, you got the feeling he did too.
Thursday came faster than expected, which should have been a relief and somehow made it worse.
You stood outside his door for a second longer than necessary before knocking. You weren't sure what version of him was going to answer. He opened the door and his eyes went soft for just a second before he caught himself.
"Hey."
"Hey."
He stepped aside to let you in. The apartment smelled the same. The lamp was already on, warm in the corner, and the notebooks were out on the coffee table like always. Like nothing had changed. Like he'd set everything up the same way on purpose, giving you both something familiar to stand on.
You appreciated that more than you knew how to say.
You sat down. He sat beside you - closer than the first session, not quite as close as last week, somewhere carefully in between. You noticed. You didn't say anything.
"So," he started, uncapping his pen.
"So," you echoed.
He glanced at you sideways. A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth and he looked back down before it could become something more. "Chapter six. Momentum."
"Right."
"You okay?"
"Yeah." You tucked your leg underneath you, settling in. "Are you?"
He paused, pen hovering over the notebook.
"Getting there," he said.
Which was somehow exactly the right answer.
The session started the way they always did, but something underneath it had shifted. He was still patient. Still explained things twice without making you feel like you needed to apologize for it. But every so often he'd glance over and catch you already looking, and neither of you would say anything, just return to the notebook like it hadn't happened.
It happened four times. You counted.
At some point your knee found his without either of you moving toward each other. You both left it there.
"Okay, try this one," he said, sliding the paper toward you.
You worked through it slowly, aware of him watching over your shoulder the way he always did, that quiet focused attention that you had completely given up pretending not to like.
"Is that right?"
He leaned in to check. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him.
"Almost," he said. "You dropped a negative sign here."
"Ugh."
"It's an easy fix." His pen moved across the paper, correcting it gently. "You had the right idea, you just-"
"Lost track."
"Yeah." He looked up. You were closer than either of you had accounted for. His eyes dropped briefly to your mouth and then back up, the apples of his cheeks going pink. "You just lost track."
He didn't move back. Neither did you.
"Hongjoong."
"Mm."
"We're doing it again."
"Doing what," he said, which was absolutely unconvincing.
"Pretending."
He exhaled slowly through his nose. Set the pen down. Turned to look at you properly for the first time since you'd arrived.
"I don't know what we're doing," he admitted quietly. "I just know I've been thinking about last week a lot."
"Me too."
"I wasn't sure if that was…" He stopped. Started again. "I didn't want to assume."
Something in your chest pulled loose at that. Of course he hadn't assumed. Of course he'd set the notebooks out and sat at a careful distance and tried to give you an easy out if you wanted one. That was just who he was.
"You're not assuming," you said.
He searched your face the way he did when he was making sure he understood a problem correctly. Then something in his expression settled.
"Okay," he said softly.
"Okay."
He reached over and closed the notebook.
Even though the following tutoring sessions consisted of a worrying fusion of actual tutoring and… something else, your grades slowly started to improve.
The notebooks still came out, out of habit, out of genuine necessity - but so did the takeout containers, and the long conversations that had nothing to do with lab reports or equations. You learned that Hongjoong had a playlist for every mood and none of them were labeled. That he stress-cleaned when deadlines got close. That he laughed with his whole face when something actually caught him off guard.
You told him things too. About the scholarship. About your parents. About the specific brand of pride that had kept you from asking for help until a stranger's balcony and too much to drink had finally loosened it out of you.
He listened the way he always did. Made you feel wanted.
Your final grades were imputed into the system.
General Physics: 88% (B+)
You stared at it on your laptop screen for a long moment before you texted him. No buildup, no explanation. Just a screenshot and a single line-
i think you saved my GPA.
His response came fast.
you did all of the work. you deserve it.
You got the scholarship renewal letter in May.
It came in an email with a lot of formal language that you didn't read past the first line, because the first line was enough. You sat at your desk, in the same chair you'd been staring at a textbook from when none of this had started yet, and felt something settle quietly in your chest.
You called Hongjoong before you'd even fully processed it.
"I got it," you said when he picked up.
"Yeah?" The warmth that crept in before he could compose himself. "Of course you did."
"You sound more sure than I was."
"I was always sure," he said.
It wasn't dramatic, the way things shifted between you. There was no single moment you could point to and say that's when it became real - it had been accumulating the whole time, the way his attractiveness had, quietly and all at once.
It was real the night he drove you back from dinner and reached over to hold your hand on the center console without making anything of it.
It was real the morning you texted him something stupid at 7am and he responded immediately, which meant he was already awake, which meant he was already thinking about his phone.
It was real when he introduced you to his friends as someone important and then looked mortified about it, ears going red, and you had laughed for a long time while he stared at the ceiling.
By the time summer started, the physics textbook had been returned to whatever shelf it had come from. The notebooks were still around, tucked somewhere in his apartment. Occasionally you'd find one and flip through the pages, the careful handwriting, the diagrams, the practice problems he'd written out for you at the beginning of all of this.
Does that make sense so far?
It did now. All of it.
"Stop reading that," Hongjoong said from the kitchen without looking up, like he'd developed some sense for exactly what you were doing at all times. "It's embarrassing."
"It's not embarrassing. It's sweet."
"It's a physics notebook."
"That's what makes it sweet."
He came around the counter with two mugs and set one in front of you, then sat beside you - middle of the couch, same as always - and looked at the notebook over your shoulder.
"You actually got that one wrong," he said, pointing.
"I got the next one right."
"You did," he agreed.
He leaned back, pulling you with him out of habit. You let the notebook fall closed.
Outside, the semester was over. Your grade was where it needed to be. The scholarship was secure for another year.
And Hongjoong's arm was around your shoulder, warm and easy, like it had always belonged there.
You closed your eyes, and nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck.
Now, it felt natural.
-/-/-/-/
taglist : @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @kisssan @way2jellyous @civeua @stxrrywoo @strhwa @s0ul1nyah @velvetjoong @klowiishere @eviemae5864 @3nhyxx @leewayout @paomaoposts @eggielix @matzduo (reupload since i messed the first one up)
「summary」 : physics was never a strong subject for you, but when your hot new tutor kim hongjoong comes to the rescue, you start to wonder if you're really staying for the lessons - or just for him.
「warnings」 : mdni, college party, academic pressure, smoking weed, shotgunning, kissing, cuddling, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing, happy ending woohoo!
「author's note」 : this is my contribution to the LIVE ALIVE! collab event with @sungbeam. I am grateful for everyone i met in this collab and i recommend going and reading everyone else's works as well!
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The hours of studying weren't cutting it anymore. For the first time in your college career, your grade threatened to drop to a C.
To every other student, that may not seem like the end of the world. But to you, a C on your transcript could put you at risk of losing your academic scholarship.
This scholarship is the only thing getting you through school, cause only lord knows your broke parents aren’t able to pay for any of it.
That’s what made the whole situation kind of difficult. Your pride of knowing you are intelligent, but not being able to allow yourself to get help until it’s too late.
It was Mingi’s party where you would finally admit it.
You hadn’t even planned on going. You had a practice set due next Friday and a textbook that had been open on your desk for three days without you actually reading it, and the idea of spending a Friday night pretending to be fine while a chapter on velocity sat waiting for you felt wrong.
You went anyway. Because staying in that room alone with your own spiral had stopped being productive two weeks ago.
The party was what Mingi’s parties always were - small at first, then suddenly not, people multiplying from somewhere, the kitchen getting loud.
By ten o’clock you were on the balcony.
Hongjoong was already out there.
You knew him the way you knew a lot of people at this point in the semester - from being in the same department and having mutual friends. You’d talked before. Enough to be comfortable, not enough to have anything real. He was easy to be around, which you’d noticed without meaning to.
“You look like you’re thinking too hard for a Friday,” he said, without looking over at you.
“I’m always thinking too hard.” You said facing his direction.
He glanced at you then, brief. Accepted that. Looked back.
You stood there for a while without talking, which was fine, easier than fine, actually. You didn’t have to pretend to care about anything at the moment.
Eventually, because the drinks loosened things and you were tired of holding it in, you said: “I might be failing physics.”
He turned.
“Not failing,” you corrected. “C range. Which for me is…” You stopped, hand scratching up the back of your neck while breaking eye contact. “It’s not good.”
He didn’t say that’s not so bad or I’m sure you’ll be fine, which you appreciated more than he could’ve known. He just asked: “What part?”
So you told him. It was pretty much everything. The lab equations, formulas, the way things made sense in lecture and then fell apart the second you tried to apply them alone at your desk at midnight.
He listened like he was actually tracking it, not just waiting for you to finish.
“I took that class last year,” he said, when you were done. “I still have all my notes.”
You looked at him.
“I’m not a tutor or anything,” he added, like he wanted to be honest about that. “But I know the material. And sometimes it just helps to have someone explain it differently than the professor does.”
You were quiet for a second. Your pride sat somewhere in your chest, doing what it always did - resisting.
But you thought about your scholarship. About your parents. About the practice set sitting on your desk.
“Okay,” you said.
He looked mildly surprised, like he hadn’t been sure you’d say yes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You turned back to the railing. “If you’re offering.”
“I am.”
You worked out the details quickly after that - Thursday, his place, early evening. Uncomplicated.
He texted you the next morning just to confirm, which you hadn’t expected, and you wrote back your schedule and tried not to read anything into the fact that he’d texted first.
You spent the days between being sensible about it. He was someone you knew. He was helping you pass a class. That was the whole story.
You’d almost convinced yourself of that by Thursday.
His apartment smells exactly like him.
"Ignore the mess," he said, though there wasn't one. It was neat - books stacked on the coffee table, a blanket draped over the back of the couch, and a warm-toned light coming from the lamp in the corner. "I usually study out here, but the kitchen table has more room, if you would rather."
"Here is fine," you say while settling into the couch.
Hongjoong hesitated, then sat on the opposite end. He pulled textbooks out of his bag along with printed notes, a calculator, and things to write with. He really took this seriously.
He set up the area very organized, flipping the pages to chapter four.
You watched as his hands started to draw. They were nice. He had good handwriting too, the kind that flowed across the page and didn't look rushed at all.
He got into the in depth explanations on lab equations, comparing them to your collected data and to the work on the upcoming test.
"Does that make sense so far?" He asked, glancing up.
"Yeah it does. You were right. You are explaining it way better than the professor ever could."
"Oh, thanks. I've just taken the class before," he scratched the back of his neck.
"When?"
"I took it last year. I am trying to graduate early." He started to crack his knuckles, becoming a little anxious. "Sorry, that's not important, let me show you how to solve the practice problems."
-
An hour passed more easily than expected. Physics almost made sense when Hongjoong was the one explaining it. Or maybe you just liked listening to him talk.
He helped you gather your things as you prepared to head towards the door.
"Same time next week?" You mentioned while putting your shoes on.
"Yeah, definitely. If you want," he smiled.
"I do."
You left him standing in the doorway, and if you'd turned around, you'd seen him standing there long after you left, wondering why his heart was beating so fast.
That study packet got turned in. The weekly quiz was graded. You finally felt a little bit more confident in your Physics abilities.
The scores came back. Better than expected. B- on both of them.
That is definitely a start to leveling out your grade.
In the second session, you wore a tank top that always slides off one shoulder.
Hongjoong noticed. You caught the way his eyes flickered while he set up his notes.
"How was the quiz?" He broke the silence, making himself comfortable on the couch again. This time he was a little closer to you. Or maybe you were overthinking it.
"Better than expected. I actually got a B."
"Oh wow, That is a lot better than the last one," His face actually lit up. Something about his genuine expression made your chest feel a little warm. "See? you just needed a little push."
"Or maybe I just needed a better teacher," you added, taking out your laptop from your bag.
He tried to hide his face in his palms as his ears started to turn red. "I-uh… No, you did the work."
The session started off like the last one, but you started to notice things they never stood out before. He was so patient with you, even when he had to explain things multiple times. The way he pushed his black hair back when he was thinking, or how he tapped his pen between his fingers while he watched you use the calculator.
Fuck. It was kind of hot.
You rested your chin on his shoulder as he continued on about formulas, or whatever he was talking about.
Hongjoong went still for a second. He didn't push you away, he just went back to what he was saying. You didn't move back.
He kept talking, but his voice went slightly unsteady as he tried to focus only on physics.
"So if you apply this equation here-" his breath hitched as you shifted. "-you will get the velocity."
"Mmm," you hummed as if you were absorbing the information. Really, you were just watching how his throat moved when he swallowed.
His hand trembled as he wrote out the next practice problem. Poor him, he tried so hard to keep his eyes on the paper.
"Try this one," he slid the paper towards you, with his voice a little higher.
When you sat up, you heard him sigh. Hard to tell if it was relief or disappointment.
You worked through the problem, aware of him watching over your work. His leg bounced every few seconds, a sign of his nervousness.
"Is this right?"
He jerked back "It's perfect, you got it."
"Thanks to you."
He cleared his throat after a second, reaching back for the textbook. His hand bumped into yours.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"You apologize a lot."
"I- do I?" He finally looked at you.
"Yeah," you smiled, tilting your head. "You don't have to, I don't mind."
The rest of the session was… hard.
Hard to focus on studying. Hard to focus on anything but him.
He waved you goodbye as you walked through the door. He let out a noise; not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.
He waited till he could hear your footsteps in the hall get quieter as you walked away before sinking back into the couch.
What the hell was that?
When you got home, the scent of Hongjoong's cologne started to linger in your mind longer than it should have. It was beginning to become a problem.
The tutoring sessions were innocent enough, but you can't help but to let your imagination wander when thinking about them.
He was undeniably handsome, but not in an aggressive way. Quietly so. The kind you didn't notice all at once - it accumulated. The slope of his jaw. The way his eyes moved when he was reading, focused and unhurried. His hands, which you had spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about since the second session. Long fingers, especially sexy.
You were sitting in your own apartment now, textbook open in front of you, and none of it was going in.
You read the same sentence four times.
It wasn't that you hadn't been attracted to people before. You had. This just felt different in a way that was inconvenient, given the circumstances. He was your tutor. Technically. Sort of. He had been very clear he wasn't a tutor, which somehow made the whole thing worse.
You closed the textbook.
The problem wasn't even the attraction itself - you could manage that. You'd filed things away before, kept them at a distance. The problem was how easy he was to be around. How he didn't make you feel stupid when you got something wrong, just waited, redirected, tried a different angle. How he remembered what you'd struggled with the week before without you having to remind him.
The patience of it was what got to you.
You leaned back against your headboard, staring at the ceiling.
You thought about the second session. His voice went unsteady. His hand bumping yours and the way he'd pulled back like he'd touched something hot. The sigh when you sat up - the one you still hadn't decided the meaning of.
You pressed the back of your hand to your mouth.
He probably helped other people. Probably sat just as close to them, explained things just as carefully. You had absolutely no reason to believe you were anything other than someone he was doing a favor for.
And yet, you reached for your phone on instinct, scrolled past his contact without pressing it, then set it face down on the mattress.
You opened your textbook again. Read the same sentence. Closed it.
You had to wait another week before you could see him again.
That is way too long.
You pick your phone back up and scroll back to your chat. The only message there were pertaining to the tutoring or your grades.
You nervously shoot him a text. A simple -
hey, do you ever just like… take breaks? from studying i mean
You sent it before you could rethink it. Watched the screen. Told yourself not to watch the screen.
The dots appeared fast.
yeah lol why
You chewed the inside of your cheek.
idk. just been in my head a lot lately. my apartment is starting to feel like a prison cell
A pause this time. Longer than the last. Long enough that you started composing an exit strategy - never mind, just being dramatic - and then his response came through.
i usually take drives when it gets like that. clear my head
You read it once. Read it again.
that's actually a good idea
You hadn't planned what came after that. You didn't need to.
you wanna come with? i can pick you up Saturday. like 8ish
You stared at it.
He had suggested it himself. Unprompted. I can pick you up - not we could, not maybe sometime.
Your thumb hovered over the keyboard for a second longer than necessary.
yeah. 8 works
He sent back a single okay with no punctuation, which for some reason made your face warm.
You put your phone down and sat very still in the middle of your bed.
Outside of the sessions. No notes, no textbook, no practice problems giving you something to look at that wasn't him. Just his car and the dark and whatever version of yourself showed up when there was nothing academic left to hide behind.
You thought about the way his voice went unsteady in the second session. The sigh you still hadn't figured out.
You pulled your knees to your chest.
Saturday.
You were already nervous and it was only Thursday.
When he arrived, shivers went down your spine. You don't know how to act around him. Not outside of 'tutoring', and definitely not alone.
The scent of his car was exactly the same one you had been thinking about the past two days.
It was masculine. And very addictive.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
You buckled your seatbelt and stared forward.
"You eat?" he asked, pulling away from the curb.
"Not really."
A second of silence.
"Wanna grab snacks from the convenience store before we head out?" He offers.
"Honestly, yeah. That sounds nice," you say, stomach ironically growling simultaneously.
The drive to the store was short, but no less awkward. He had soft music playing lowly in the background, and a slight mist intermittently coating the windshield.
He held the door for you, held the snacks you chose, and paid for your food at the end of it. It was clear it was just a friendly gesture, but his actions couldn't help but tug at your heartstrings.
He didn't tell you where he was going, and you didn't ask.
That felt like the right call. The city thinned out gradually - fewer streetlights, more open roads, the kind of quiet that only exists past midnight when everyone sensible has gone home. Hongjoong drove with one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting against the window. Like he'd done this a hundred times.
He pulled off onto a road you didn't recognize, gravel crunching under the tires, and parked at the edge of what looked like an overlook. The city sat below it, distant and glittering, doing its thing without you.
"Here," he said simply.
He killed the engine. Reached into the back seat without much ceremony and pulled a small tin containing weed from his jacket pocket, setting it on the console between you.
You looked at it. Looked at him.
"I should've asked first," he said, reading you. "We don't have to."
"No, I -" You shook your head. "I want to."
He cracked the window on his side. You did the same. The night air came in cool and damp, carrying the smell of wet grass.
He was unhurried about the whole thing. Careful, even. His hands moved with the same quiet focus they did when he was setting up his notes, and you watched them the way you always did without meaning to.
He passed it to you first.
The first pull smoothed something out in your chest almost immediately. Not dramatically - just a quiet loosening to the tension you hadn't noticed you were carrying.
You passed it back.
For a while neither of you said anything. The music was still going, faint enough that you could barely make out the song. Hongjoong tilted his head back against the headrest and exhaled slowly toward the cracked window.
"Is it always like this?" you asked eventually. "When you drive."
"Pretty much." He turned to look at you. "Does it help?"
You considered that honestly. Considered all of the work you have been trying to get through over the past few weeks.
"Yeah," you said. "It actually does."
He looked at you a second longer than necessary, then back out the windshield.
You sank a little lower in your seat. The warmth was settling in fully now.
-
Maybe the weed made you a little more confident, or maybe you are just an idiot. But after a few more hits, you asked a question that definitely caught him off guard.
"Can I ask you something?" you say, gesturing for another drag.
"Yeah, what's up?" he hands it over.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" you squeak out.
A second of silence.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't ha-"
"No, I don't," You both interrupt each other.
"Oh no, its fine. I don't mind that you asked," he reassures you.
"I definitely just made it awkward," you say with a straight face.
"No you didn't," he giggled, "Its not a big deal."
You passed it back to him and stared out at the city, pretending to be very interested in the lights.
"Why?" he asked after a moment.
"Why what?"
"Why did you want to know?"
You could feel him looking at you from the side. You kept your eyes forward.
"Just curious," you said, which was technically true and also completely dishonest.
He made a small sound. Not quite convinced. He took a drag and let the silence sit there between you, and you got the feeling he was doing it on purpose - giving you room to say something more if you wanted to.
You didn't. Not yet.
"Do you?" he asked.
"Do I what?"
"Have a boyfriend."
"No," you said.
"Okay."
"Okay," you repeated.
Neither of you elaborated. The rain had picked back up again, softer now, and the windows had started to fog at the edges from the warmth inside the car. Hongjoong reached over to wipe a small circle clear on his side, and the mundaneness of it somehow made everything feel more intimate.
You were too aware of everything. The proximity. The low music. The way his knee was angled slightly toward you without him seeming to notice.
You were mid-thought when he turned to face you.
He didn't say anything. Just looked at you for a second with something unreadable in his expression, and then he leaned forward.
Your breath caught.
He exhaled slowly, the smoke passing warm from his mouth to yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of it. Your eyes stayed open for a second too long, locking eye contact with him across the console.
Neither of you moved back.
The smoke dissolved. The space between you didn't.
His forehead came to rest against yours, barely - just the lightest point of contact, like a question. His breath was unsteady in a way that made something ache in your chest, because he was always so composed and right now he wasn't, and that undid you more than anything else could have.
You closed the last inch yourself.
It was soft at first, like both of you were still deciding. His hand came up slowly, fingers brushing your jaw, and that was what made it real. The careful way he touched you, like he'd been thinking about it and was trying not to get it wrong.
You kissed him back properly, and he made a quiet sound against your mouth that you felt more than heard.
When you pulled back, neither of you went far. His hand was still at your jaw. Your fingers had found the front of his jacket at some point without you noticing.
He searched your face in the low light.
"I've been wanting to do that," he said quietly, "since the second session."
You laughed short, a little breathless. "The second session."
"When you leaned your head on my shoulder." He exhaled. "I didn't know what to do with myself after you left."
You giggled, resting your forehead against his again. The rain came down steadily against the roof, the city lights blurred softly through the fogged windows, and you stayed right there, in no rush to go anywhere at all.
-
Some time went by and the high started to fade into tiredness. It was nearing midnight, and though neither of you had anything important the following day, you both decided to call it a night.
He drove you back home, but this time conversation flowed easier than the first time. Laughing, cracking jokes, playfully punching his arm when he made you giggle.
When you finally got back home, wished you a goodnight, and waited until he saw you get inside before driving away.
Your phone screen lit up.
thank you for tonight :)
i was actually just about to say the same thing, thank you
You can feel the blood rush to your face as you try to keep your composure.
so i'll see you thursday? he asked.
of course :P
You and Hongjoong texted each other here and there throughout the week, just check-ins and making sure you didn't need any help with homework.
Once the next tutoring session rolled around, it felt more like you were there just to be around him, and it was less and less about the physics, or your grade.
Of course you would still put in the work and pay attention, but what's the problem with having some eye candy to look at while you did it?
-
Tonight he wore that delicious black sweater that dipped just low enough to expose his collarbones. You'd be lying if you said you didn't catch yourself staring at them, or the way his lips moved when he tried explaining something that you had no intention of listening to.
"Are you listening to anything that I am saying?" he paused, voice cracking a little.
He didn't look at you. He couldn't. He just kept his eyes glued to the notebook, but the flush on his cheeks was a dead giveaway.
"I'm taking it all in, trust me," you murmured with your face suddenly closer to his than it was moments before.
He didn't even know how to respond. His eyes just glance between yours, with a shade of pink blooming across his face as he tries to get back to what he was saying.
"Right," he cleared his throat, shifting back to put a little distance between you. "So, the velocity equation…"
"Hongjoong."
He stopped.
You took the pen from his hand and set it on the coffee table. He watched you do it without protest.
"We're not really doing physics right now," you said.
He exhaled through his nose, a quiet, reluctant sound. He'd been pretending not to know that and you'd just made it impossible. "What do you mean?"
"I think you know what I mean…" your voice drops, sliding your hand in his thigh.
You laughed, which seemed to break something loose in him too, and then he was smiling, the real kind, the one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle, and something in your chest pulled tight at the sight of it.
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Simple, careful. His fingers lingered at your jaw the same way they had in the car, like he remembered exactly where they were supposed to go.
"You make it really hard to be responsible," he murmured.
"Then stop trying so hard."
He searched your face for a second, that quiet, steady look he had, making sure. Then he closed the space between you.
This kiss wasn't soft the way the first one had been. This one knew the answer already. His hand curved around your jaw, tilting you toward him, and you felt him exhale slowly through his nose like he'd been holding something in all week.
You turned toward him fully, fingers finding the front of that sweater, the same way they'd found his jacket in the car. He made a low sound when you pulled him closer, and his free hand came to your waist, warm even through the fabric.
The notebook slid off the cushion and landed on the floor.
Neither of you acknowledged it.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, forehead dropping to yours, breath uneven. Up close like this, in the warm lamplight of his apartment, you could see the flush across his cheekbones, the way his eyes had gone a little dark.
"Physics can wait," you said quietly. "I just want to make you feel good."
"Wait." He squeaked quietly. "I have never done any of… this… before." He gestured with his hand.
"Shhh… just let me take care of you," you softly kissed his neck, lips dragging against the sensitive skin. "Will you let me do that?"
He leaned back further on the couch, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. "Fuck," He whispered. "Yes, please."
A few wet kisses left his neck glistening with your saliva. Your fingers trail down from his shoulders to his abdomen, unable to ignore the tent growing in his pants. Virgins get hard so easily.
He reached down, his fingers threading gently through your hair, not pulling, just guiding as you leaned forward. Your hands trembled slightly as you tugged at the waistband of his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, already hard and throbbing, the tip covered with pre-cum. It was thicker than you'd imagined, veined and curving slightly upward, making your mouth water at the sight.
You wrapped your fingers around the base, feeling the heat of him pulse against your palm. Hongjoong let out a low groan, his hips shifting involuntarily as you stroked him once, slowly, from root to tip. "Fuck, that feels good," he murmured, his voice rough but airy.
Emboldened, you parted your lips and took the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the sensitive underside. The salty taste of him filled your senses, and you hummed softly, the vibration drawing another deep moan from him. You sucked gently at first, your cheeks hollowing as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper inch by inch.
Hongjoong's grip in your hair tightened just a fraction, not forceful but encouraging, as he watched you with hooded eyes. "Just like that... yeah, baby, take more." You obliged, relaxing your throat and sliding down further until the tip brushed the back of your mouth. Your free hand cupped his balls, massaging them lightly, feeling them draw up tight under your touch.
The room filled with wet, slurping sounds as you worked him over, your saliva coating his shaft and dripping down to your fingers. You pulled back occasionally to lick along the length, tracing the prominent vein with the flat of your tongue before diving back in, sucking harder now, your pace quickening. Hongjoong's thighs tensed under your arms, his breaths turning ragged.
"God, your mouth is so fucking perfect," he gasped, his head falling back against the couch. You glanced up at him through your lashes, the sight of his parted lips and flushed cheeks spurring you on. You hollowed your cheeks again, sucking with more pressure, your hand twisting in rhythm with your mouth.
He bucked slightly, a warning rumble in his chest. "I'm close... don't stop."
You didn't, pushing yourself to take him as deep as you could, gagging just a little but powering through, determined to make him unravel. With a guttural curse, Hongjoong came, his cock twitching as hot spurts of cum flooded your mouth. You swallowed around him, milking every drop until he shuddered and went limp, pulling you up gently to kiss you breathless.
"That felt…incredible," he whispered against your lips.
You lied against him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. He fixed his pants to be halfway decent while you laid together, his fingers combing through your hair.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. His hair was slightly messed up, cheeks still flushed, eyes soft in a way you hadn't seen before.
You stayed like that for a while. Long enough that the night got quieter outside and his breathing evened out into something comfortable. At some point he reached over and turned the lamp down without disturbing you, and that small, thoughtful thing lodged itself somewhere in your chest and stayed there.
When you finally left, he walked you to the door.
"Thursday?" you said.
He nodded, a small smile catching the corner of his mouth. "Thursday."
You didn't kiss him again at the door, but you thought about it. And by the way he watched you go, you got the feeling he did too.
Thursday came faster than expected, which should have been a relief and somehow made it worse.
You stood outside his door for a second longer than necessary before knocking. You weren't sure what version of him was going to answer. He opened the door and his eyes went soft for just a second before he caught himself.
"Hey."
"Hey."
He stepped aside to let you in. The apartment smelled the same. The lamp was already on, warm in the corner, and the notebooks were out on the coffee table like always. Like nothing had changed. Like he'd set everything up the same way on purpose, giving you both something familiar to stand on.
You appreciated that more than you knew how to say.
You sat down. He sat beside you - closer than the first session, not quite as close as last week, somewhere carefully in between. You noticed. You didn't say anything.
"So," he started, uncapping his pen.
"So," you echoed.
He glanced at you sideways. A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth and he looked back down before it could become something more. "Chapter six. Momentum."
"Right."
"You okay?"
"Yeah." You tucked your leg underneath you, settling in. "Are you?"
He paused, pen hovering over the notebook.
"Getting there," he said.
Which was somehow exactly the right answer.
The session started the way they always did, but something underneath it had shifted. He was still patient. Still explained things twice without making you feel like you needed to apologize for it. But every so often he'd glance over and catch you already looking, and neither of you would say anything, just return to the notebook like it hadn't happened.
It happened four times. You counted.
At some point your knee found his without either of you moving toward each other. You both left it there.
"Okay, try this one," he said, sliding the paper toward you.
You worked through it slowly, aware of him watching over your shoulder the way he always did, that quiet focused attention that you had completely given up pretending not to like.
"Is that right?"
He leaned in to check. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him.
"Almost," he said. "You dropped a negative sign here."
"Ugh."
"It's an easy fix." His pen moved across the paper, correcting it gently. "You had the right idea, you just-"
"Lost track."
"Yeah." He looked up. You were closer than either of you had accounted for. His eyes dropped briefly to your mouth and then back up, the apples of his cheeks going pink. "You just lost track."
He didn't move back. Neither did you.
"Hongjoong."
"Mm."
"We're doing it again."
"Doing what," he said, which was absolutely unconvincing.
"Pretending."
He exhaled slowly through his nose. Set the pen down. Turned to look at you properly for the first time since you'd arrived.
"I don't know what we're doing," he admitted quietly. "I just know I've been thinking about last week a lot."
"Me too."
"I wasn't sure if that was…" He stopped. Started again. "I didn't want to assume."
Something in your chest pulled loose at that. Of course he hadn't assumed. Of course he'd set the notebooks out and sat at a careful distance and tried to give you an easy out if you wanted one. That was just who he was.
"You're not assuming," you said.
He searched your face the way he did when he was making sure he understood a problem correctly. Then something in his expression settled.
"Okay," he said softly.
"Okay."
He reached over and closed the notebook.
Even though the following tutoring sessions consisted of a worrying fusion of actual tutoring and… something else, your grades slowly started to improve.
The notebooks still came out, out of habit, out of genuine necessity - but so did the takeout containers, and the long conversations that had nothing to do with lab reports or equations. You learned that Hongjoong had a playlist for every mood and none of them were labeled. That he stress-cleaned when deadlines got close. That he laughed with his whole face when something actually caught him off guard.
You told him things too. About the scholarship. About your parents. About the specific brand of pride that had kept you from asking for help until a stranger's balcony and too much to drink had finally loosened it out of you.
He listened the way he always did. Made you feel wanted.
Your final grades were imputed into the system.
General Physics: 88% (B+)
You stared at it on your laptop screen for a long moment before you texted him. No buildup, no explanation. Just a screenshot and a single line-
i think you saved my GPA.
His response came fast.
you did all of the work. you deserve it.
You got the scholarship renewal letter in May.
It came in an email with a lot of formal language that you didn't read past the first line, because the first line was enough. You sat at your desk, in the same chair you'd been staring at a textbook from when none of this had started yet, and felt something settle quietly in your chest.
You called Hongjoong before you'd even fully processed it.
"I got it," you said when he picked up.
"Yeah?" The warmth that crept in before he could compose himself. "Of course you did."
"You sound more sure than I was."
"I was always sure," he said.
It wasn't dramatic, the way things shifted between you. There was no single moment you could point to and say that's when it became real - it had been accumulating the whole time, the way his attractiveness had, quietly and all at once.
It was real the night he drove you back from dinner and reached over to hold your hand on the center console without making anything of it.
It was real the morning you texted him something stupid at 7am and he responded immediately, which meant he was already awake, which meant he was already thinking about his phone.
It was real when he introduced you to his friends as someone important and then looked mortified about it, ears going red, and you had laughed for a long time while he stared at the ceiling.
By the time summer started, the physics textbook had been returned to whatever shelf it had come from. The notebooks were still around, tucked somewhere in his apartment. Occasionally you'd find one and flip through the pages, the careful handwriting, the diagrams, the practice problems he'd written out for you at the beginning of all of this.
Does that make sense so far?
It did now. All of it.
"Stop reading that," Hongjoong said from the kitchen without looking up, like he'd developed some sense for exactly what you were doing at all times. "It's embarrassing."
"It's not embarrassing. It's sweet."
"It's a physics notebook."
"That's what makes it sweet."
He came around the counter with two mugs and set one in front of you, then sat beside you - middle of the couch, same as always - and looked at the notebook over your shoulder.
"You actually got that one wrong," he said, pointing.
"I got the next one right."
"You did," he agreed.
He leaned back, pulling you with him out of habit. You let the notebook fall closed.
Outside, the semester was over. Your grade was where it needed to be. The scholarship was secure for another year.
And Hongjoong's arm was around your shoulder, warm and easy, like it had always belonged there.
You closed your eyes, and nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck.
drabble — he's so cute begging for you to peg him.
Jisung had never been the type to stay quiet about what he wanted. He wasn't shy—he'd tell you straight up if something made him uncomfortable, or if he was craving something new.
And right now, he was doing exactly that.
He sat at the foot of the bed, legs spread comfortably. You stood between them, his warm hands resting firmly on your waist, fingers gently pressing into your skin. He tilted his head up, looking at you with those big, glossy puppy eyes, dark, needy, and impossible to resist.
"Are you sure, Ji?" you asked softly for the third time, your fingers slowly threading through his silky hair. The gentle caress made him sigh deeply, a soft, contented sound that vibrated against your palm as he leaned into your touch like he couldn't get enough.
"I... we've never tried pegging before," you added, voice laced with worry. "What if it hurts you?"
Jisung kept his eyes closed, his long lashes resting against his cheeks. He nuzzled his face deeper into your hand, rubbing his cheek against your skin with quiet need. For a moment, the only sound was his slow, heavy breathing. Then he slowly shook his head, his voice coming out low, husky, and full of trust.
"I know you won't hurt me," he murmured, his warm breath brushing your wrist. "I trust you completely."
That's exactly how he ended up like this.
Jisung was pressed face-down into the mattress, his soft cheek squished against the sheets. His back arched so beautifully for you, hips lifted high, round ass raised and offered up like a gift. His eyes were wide and glassy, completely blown with pleasure, as if he were under a spell. His pretty lips stayed parted, sweet, broken moans spilling out nonstop with every breath.
You were right on top of him, chest pressed flush against his back, both hands gripping his tiny waist tight. Your fingers dug into his warm skin as you fucked him deep and steady from behind. Each smooth thrust made both of you groan loudly, the wet, filthy sounds of skin slapping skin filling the room as pure pleasure rolled through your bodies.
You picked up the pace, hips snapping faster and harder against his ass. The wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin grew louder, sharper, filling the room as you drove deeper into him with every thrust.Your hand slid down his sweat-slicked body, fingers wrapping firmly around his aching length. Jisung instantly cried out, his voice cracking into a loud, needy whine. The moment you started stroking him, slow, tight, and perfectly in time with your thrusts. His moans turned higher, whinier, more desperate.
"F-fuck... ahh—!" His whole body trembled beneath you. His back arched even deeper, pushing his ass back to meet every powerful thrust while his cock throbbed hot and heavy in your hand. Pre-cum leaked steadily over your fingers, making each stroke slick and filthy.
Jisung's eyes fluttered, his wide puppy gaze growing hazy and unfocused. His pretty mouth hung open, drool slipping from the corner of his lips as broken, whimpering moans poured out nonstop. He was slowly slipping deeper into subspace, every rough snap of your hips and every twist of your hand pushing him further under.
Jisung started babbling, his words turning into soft, incoherent little sounds.
"Mm—ah... please... s-so good... can't... hah—"
His voice cracked and broke, the sentences melting into desperate, whiny noises that barely made sense. His hips jerked weakly against the mattress as his orgasm slowly built, thighs shaking hard.
You caught on immediately. A small smile tugged at your lips as you tightened your grip around his leaking cock and started pumping him faster, long, firm strokes that matched the quicker snap of your hips. You drove into him deeper, harder, the wet slap of skin against skin growing frantic and loud.
Leaning down, you pressed your lips right against his ear, your warm breath brushing his flushed skin as you whispered sweetly, "That's it, baby... you're doing so good for me. Let it build. You're so close, aren't you? Gonna cum so hard for me?"
Your voice stayed soft and loving, even as your hand worked him relentlessly and your hips kept pounding into his tight heat. Jisung's moans shot up in pitch, turning into high, broken whimpers. His body tensed beneath you, every muscle pulling tight as you pushed him right to the edge.
Jisung's babbling suddenly sharpened, his voice turning raw and desperate.
"I'm— fuck, I'm gonna cum... I'm so close— please, please—" His words tumbled out broken and shaky, hips jerking uncontrollably as the pressure inside him built higher and higher, threatening to snap.
You didn't slow down for even a second. Instead, you doubled down, slamming your hips forward faster and harder, burying yourself deep inside his tight heat with every powerful thrust. Your hand tightened around his throbbing, leaking cock, stroking him fast and firm, slick sounds filling the air as pre-cum coated your fingers.
With your other hand, you reached up and grabbed a thick fistful of his soft hair. You yanked his head back firmly, forcing his back to arch sharply. Jisung let out a loud, gasping cry as his chest lifted off the mattress, his body curving into a perfect, trembling bow. The new angle was devastating. Every brutal snap of your hips now drove your strap directly against his prostate, hitting that sweet, sensitive spot over and over with perfect precision.
"Yes— right there— ahh!" he screamed, voice cracking loudly, completely wrecked with pleasure.
You kept pounding into him without mercy, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the room. Your lips hovered right beside his ear, your warm breath hot against his flushed, sweaty skin as you whispered sweetly.
"That's it, baby... cum for me. Let it all go. I want to feel you fall apart so hard for me."
The overwhelming pleasure finally crashed over him. Jisung's entire body seized up violently, back arched impossibly tight, thighs shaking, toes curling into the sheets. A loud, broken scream ripped from his throat as he came hard, his cock pulsing wildly in your hand, thick ropes of cum spilling messily over your fingers and onto the sheets below. His walls clenched rhythmically around you, milking every last wave of pleasure while his loud, desperate moans filled the room.
Jisung's loud, broken scream slowly melted into soft, shaky whimpers as his orgasm crashed through him. His whole body trembled violently beneath you, cock pulsing hard in your hand while thick, warm ropes of cum spilled messily over your fingers and soaked the sheets. His tight walls clenched rhythmically around your strap, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until he was completely spent.
You stayed buried deep inside him for a few more gentle thrusts, helping him ride through the aftershocks, before slowly pulling out with care. Jisung let out a tiny, needy whine at the loss, but you were already moving to take care of him.
Carefully, you loosened your grip on his hair and guided his head back down onto the pillow. Your hands slid soothingly over his sweat-slicked back, massaging the tense muscles as you whispered softly against his ear,
"You did so good for me, baby... so perfect. You took me so well." You gently rolled him onto his side, then pulled his limp, trembling body into your arms. Jisung immediately curled into you like a sleepy kitten, burying his flushed face in the crook of your neck. His breathing was still ragged and heavy, little aftershocks making him twitch every few seconds.
You pressed soft kisses all over his damp forehead, his cheeks, and his swollen lips, while your fingers gently carded through his messy hair. One hand rubbed slow, comforting circles on his lower back, right where he was probably sore, while the other wiped the sticky mess from his spent cock with a warm cloth you'd prepared earlier.
"Shh... I've got you," you murmured tenderly, holding him close against your chest. "You were amazing, Ji. My good boy. Just rest now. I'm right here."
Jisung let out a tiny, contented sigh, his body finally relaxing fully in your embrace. His eyes fluttered shut, a small, blissed-out smile tugging at his lips as he nuzzled deeper into your warmth, safe and loved in your arms.
࿐ girl I ain't one for begging but now you got me begging! (MDNI!)
Chan was known for being the kind of guy who took charge. always the one who took the lead, the way he carried himself, shoulders back, stride confident, it all screamed dominance.
People assumed things when they saw him, that he called the shots, that he’d smirk down at you with that infuriatingly self assured look. And he leaned into it, too, playing the role so well even his closest friends bought it.
You’d believed it too, at first. How could you not? you'd see the way he acts, he’d be leaning against the pool table, rolling a cue between his fingers like he owned the place, his voice a low rumble as he teased someone about their shitty aim.
But then there’d been that one night, the two of you alone in his apartment, drinks in hand, when he’d let his guard down just enough for you to see it — the way his fingers trembled when you brushed against them, the way his breath hitched when you leaned in close. And now here he was, sprawled across your bed, his usual composure unraveling under your hands.
His fingers twisted into the sheets beside his hips, teeth clenched with the effort of holding still as your palm worked him in slow strokes. The way his breath stuttered when your thumb swiped over the head — god, it was delicious, how much he fell apart when you touched him like this. "Fuck—" The word came out ragged, desperate. "Please—"
You slowed your hand just enough to watch him squirm, his thighs tensing as he fought the urge to chase the friction. "Please what?" you murmured, dragging your fingertips lightly along the underside of his cock just to hear him whine.
"Please don’t—don’t stop," he gasped, his voice cracking on the last word.
The way he begged was nothing like the cool, collected facade he wore in public. Here he was all desperation, his usual dominance stripped away until all that was left was his raw, trembling need.
"You’re so good like this," you told him, watching the way his stomach clenched at the praise. His cock twitched in your hand, precum smearing across your fingers as you tightened your grip just slightly, just enough to make him groan. "it suits you."
Chan’s breath hitched, his hips jerking up into your touch as if he couldn’t help it — couldn’t stop himself from chasing the friction, the heat of your palm. His fingers twisted deeper into the sheets, knuckles going white.
"Fuck—" His voice was ragged, wrecked, his usual smooth baritone reduced to something breathless and pleading. "Please—please—" He didn’t even know what he was asking for anymore, just that he needed more, needed it faster, needed it rougher.
You obliged, speeding up your strokes just enough to drag another gasp from his throat, his head tipping back against the pillows with a loud whine as his back arched.
"You’re so loud," you giggle, dragging your thumb over the slick head of his cock just to hear the punched out noise he made in response. "I didn’t know you could sound like this."
"hngh—m'close" His whole body tensed under your touch, and you could feel it building in him, the s hips shuttered against your hand like he was losing control of them. "God, please—"
"go on," you purr, pressing your lips to the damp heat of his temple, your hand working him faster now, slick with him. "I wanna hear you."
His breath stuttered, then his whole body locked tight beneath you, a strangled cry tearing from his throat as he came, shaking apart under your hands.
You kept stroking him through it, slower now, drawing out every last twitch and gasp until he was boneless against the sheets, his chest heaving. "T-Thank you"
a/n: back to my sub!chan propaganda ayyy, based off of a request (and a dream I had today)
