Warning: cheating, cream pie, spanking, non-consensual spanking, come eating, aggression, sexual overstimulation, pet names, rough sex.
Summary: His clothed knee presses between your legs, grazing your sensitive core. You Mumble between the harsh kisses, “More Sannie,” he breaks the kiss, causing you to whine, “What baby?” he says teasingly as he presses kisses down your neck. “That's not how we ask for things, ask correctly.” The feeling of his lips feathers over your skin.
A/N: Im sincerely trying to stay persistent with writing but I become very shameful when writing smut.
Your robe drapes over your bare body, as you watch the broad-shouldered man exit through your overly large doorway, enter his car, and drive off into the palm tree lined streets on both sides.
You ideally live the dream life that some women yearn for: a super-rich husband who gives you unlimited money, barely any attention, a nice place to live, and a too big of a mansion for two married people without any kids. The mansion is perched directly on a hill covered in what seems like untouched grass, thanks to the lawman who comes weekly. A tan pebble dash coats the house, with deep brown tile panels on the roof.
But in all honesty, you got bored with the money and loneliness that accompanies it. Having to welcome your overworked and traveled husband back home, shame constantly washes over as you examine the prominent eye bags and shitty posture of said husband. How can you explain that while he’s away for countless days and nights, you've been seeing someone else?
Though what woman could deny San, his nice honey skin, face that's perfectly dotted with moles, his mountainous biceps that easily flex with every measured movement he made in your presence, and the dimples on his cheeks that appeared when he flashed his smile.
Ickle thoughts race through your mind an unhealthy amount of times throughout the day, but it's just the consequences that come with the indignity. Nothing San couldn't fix.
Your husband lazily wraps his arm around your waist to pull you in and give you a quick peck on the lips, before hauling off his suitcase out of the door once again, leaving you alone.
For safety, more or less, you wait a couple of hours to make sure he’s actually gone by doing your hair and makeup. After pampering, you sprint to your room, your lacey, lingerie dress flowing behind you. Flopping onto your bed, you unlock your phone to call San.
“I'm so lonely in my mansion, could you come over and keep me company?” A small chuckle rings from your phone.
You hear shuffling before he speaks, “My princess needs company?”
Pressing a faux pout on your face, sulking, you shake your head and let out a soft “Mhm”.
The pristine wood floors squeak under Sans shoes as he slowly trails into the wide opening of your living room. He stretches his arm to grab your wrist, pulling you into him. The bold scent of black coffee envelopes your nose as his hand goes around your back to steady you, and his other hand cups your cheek, pulling you into a warm kiss, his velvety tongue lapping over yours.
San breaks the kiss, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Let's go upstairs”.
The sound of wet kisses engulf the once silent room as both of you fall flat onto the huge, round bed. His weight instantly presses you into the bed. Sans big hands greedily roam every inch of your body, you lean into every short touch, head clouded with lust.
He pinches the loose strap of your light, sheer dress, sliding it down your arm as his knuckle lightly brushes your skin. He completely removes the dress, leaving you exposed to the room's piercing cold.
Climbing off of you, he drops to his knees, easily dragging you to the edge of the bed by your ankles. Resting on your elbows you gaze at him, your blown out eyes wandering to his face. A pink blush is visible as he admires your body, covered in a thin sheen of sweat.
San uses his elbows to spread your legs open, nearly drooling, “You didn't wear any underwear, you're so ready for me, baby.”
Your slick covers Sans mouth and the tip of his nose as he greedily eats you out. groans and slurping sounds air between your thighs that instinctively tighten around his head, leaving a faint ringing sound in his ears. Your moans become louder the more his tongue prods at your pulsing hole.
Weakly, your fingers entangle in his black hair as you grind upwards, his warm tongue lapping at your drenched vagina. His grip on your thighs loosens as he snakes one hand up to your clit, applying pressure, moving in a circular motion.
You feel a pulsing sensation as you tighten around nothing. Warmth floods through you. “Ah, San!” his name comes out in a high pitch, whiny tone. Your legs slightly shake as you watch him lift his head from your core.
San gives you a messy open mouth kiss, his tongue swiping over yours before you incase it between your lips. You can taste yourself on San's mouth as the kiss becomes messier, with spit pooling at the corners of your mouth. You feel the pads of his fingers brush past your stomach upwards to your chest, lightly cupping your breast. You lean into his touch, wanting more.
His clothed knee presses between your legs, grazing your sensitive core. You Mumble between the harsh kisses, “More Sannie,” he breaks the kiss, causing you to whine, “What baby?” he says teasingly as he presses kisses down your neck. “That's not how we ask for things, ask correctly.” The feeling of his lips feathers over your skin.
You let out a moan of annoyance.
You and San have a strict line of rules when it comes down to the affair, he provides everything your absent husband can’t, dominance and pleasure.
“San, can you please fuck me?” He gives you an affirmative “mhm” before quickly flipping you on your stomach. After many anticipated hookups you already know the routine, you stick your ass into the air arching your back. Your hair messily fans out across the bedspread and your upper back, giving San a clear view of your backside. He brushes his hands down the slope of your arch, nearly drooling.
He never got fully naked when it comes to fucking you, he just springs his half hard cock out of his grey sweatpants, too desperate and in a hurry. But it doesn’t matter to you anyway, you’re always too busy staining the bedsheets with your tears and makeup.
San rests the tip of his pretty pink cock directly onto your entrance. Teasingly, he moves back and forth with his cock sliding through your slippery slick, the sound echoes in your ears as your body shakes with every jolt of San's hips. So desperate for his thick long cock to penetrate you.
You move your ass in an attempt to make San slide into you “Ah, no baby be patient”, he says, giving you a slight hard smack on your left cheek.
The pain sends a shock of pleasure through you as your needy pussy clenches. San takes your cunt clenching as a chance to sleeve himself comfortably into you in one swift movement. Your eyes roll back and quickly shut as you shout out of pleasure, pressing your ass into his pelvis causes him to instantly hit the gummy part in your pussy.
You wiggle your bum as Sans dick sits still in you, he chuckles at your eagerness. He shifts to the right a cry surfacing from you, the new angle sends a new wave of pleasure through your whole body as Sans thick cock stretches through, ramming into your pussy harshly.
A wet smacking sound fills the room as he fastly rutts into you, loud whines and thank yous fly out of your mouth the harder he hits the right spot. Your body grows weak from keeping your position as your second climax rushes out of your body, coating his cock as he continues to bully you.
Chasing his release, a warm white cream coats your walls and the base of his dick as he slows down, eventually halting his movements. He’s huffing breathlessly into your ear while his cock softens inside of you, his hands faintly keeping you in the position.
“Fuck baby, I'll never get tired of your tight pussy.” He says pressing kisses down your spine, you feel his dick grow hard inside of you.
Barely able to keep your eyes open, half lidded you hear him mumble in a warm comforting voice “One more baby, I have to make sure you’re well satisfied before your hard working husband comes back.”
Giving San a faint moan and head nod in between shallow breaths, your sweaty palms faintly grip the wrinkled sheets on each side of your head as he rests his on your hips.
Slowly but deeply he moves inside of you, little squeals and squeaks escaping from you the faster san goes, its all your fucked out body can muster up.
One deep and hard thrust sends your hand back, pressing against his lower abdomen in an attempt to stop his punishing thrusts, only for him to grab your arm and use it as leverage to fuck you harder.
“I said one more” he grunts roughly through his teeth as he spills his seed into you. He drops your arm, your whole body following along, falling flatly onto the bed.
As you slip into a well needed rest you hear rustling behind you and the footsteps of San walking to the spacious bathroom connected to your room to run bath water for you.
He always gave you a warm bath, helped change the sheets and a few hugs and kisses before leaving you to your own.
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Tag list: comment or request if you want to be added!!
A/n: A/n: All of this is a work of fiction and not meant to represent Ateez in any way. Jst smth quick and silly hope u like it <3 It‘s pretty short sorry💔
📼 Chris Travis - bring it back
Hongjoong - dying his hair
Naked, barely. Just came down from a high so intense, but for some reason this felt even more raw. Intimate. Your fingers were stained with the dark red color. Hongjoong stayed seated inside the bathtub with his back leaned up against the cold surface of it while you kneeled behind him. It wasn‘t unusual for a creative genius to see a vision in the most out of comtext moments, but of course you‘d help him. Get it done no matter what. Regardless of you being just in your underwear that you hardly had on or that your boyfriend didn‘t even bother to put on anything. The idea was there and it had to be done before it left his mind. Regardless of him pounding into you at a pace and force almost deadly, making you see stars and moaning eachothers names like animals only a few moments ago. Your bodys collapsed into another, the lights lit dim and fullfillment hit you just right when drowsiness was starting to take over you. The aftermath was comfortable and thoughts that just suddenly bubbled up would be in the center of attention. Now we‘d feel vurnerable enough to share them.
„Your hair looks washed out“ you murmured and ran your nails through Hongjoong‘s hair which lead you to where you are now. Silently, not unsettling, dying his hair. You massaged the chemicals into his scalp. You‘ve done this before, not enough to call yourself his personal stylist, but enough to be a caring girlfriend. With your fingers and his hair smudged in color he tilted his head back. He gave you a lazy, tired, expression, altough deep within it spoke nothing but love. You smiled and leaned forward to give him a quick peck on the lips.
„Tired?“
Seonghwa - playing nintendo
Your back pressed into Seonghwas chest, your naked- and slightly sticky bodies holding eachother for comfort. Seonghwas hot breath was fanning your neck and you simply hugged his arms. Right now you never wanted to let go.
Altough, for whatever reason you had trouble falling asleep. You weren‘t unease, not at all. Sex with him never felt like perfomance or making use of the other. It felt warm. Close. Everything was all about deepening your love and caring for your partner. It wasn‘t boring, but neither was it overwhelming.
Yet, still, right now you could not rest and you were sure enough that your boyfriend felt the same. You stole a quick glance at him over your shoulder. His eyes were barely open, he stared at your neck that he had covered in bites and love marks just a while ago while his fingers rubbed circles into your skin. No he wasn‘t sleeping either. When he caught your eyes, you didn‘t have to exchange words before your lips collectively curved up. No you wouldn‘t be sleeping either.
Within the next moments you were curled up on his side, your head falling to his shoulder while you both stared at the small TV glowing dim infront of you. A game was turned on that he adored and you always found yourself watching him.
The room still smelled like sex, your clothes were still scattered across the floor, accessories and spare condoms forgotten on your bedsite tables. You couldn‘t bother to care as much of a tidy person you were. The game he had put on was slow, comfortable. Not about perfomance either as you shared your thoughts and he pressed the buttons on his controller.
Yunho - takeout food
The room stung a harsh scent of sweat and sex. Breathless, satisfied, you layed comfortably on Yunho‘s bare chest while your fingers brushed nonsense onto his warm skin. His arms stayed wrapped around you. Possessive yet caring. Yunho rubbed your lower back while the two of you cooled down from the heat of the moment just mere minutes ago. The room was dark, though just enough to see eachother.
„Love you so much“ he whispered into the air, before leaning down and planting a soft kiss on your forehead. Just for assurance.
You smiled, your vision was getting blurrier and your body felt weaker. Any second, you would fall asleep in your boyfriend‘s arm. When all of the sudden, a little grumble right below you allerted your senses. It was quiet, but you knew what it meant. You gazed back up, eyes on a threat of closing and confusion painting your expression, but suddenly joined by a teethy grin. Yunho looked almost embarassed. he giggled akwardly while covering his mouth with his palm.
„Yunho…?“ your tone dripped off tease to which his eyes squinted and laughter followed.
„I‘m sorry“, sheepish, your boyfriend admitted. He let go of your body and you steadied yourself upwards to look down at him. Neck flushed, stomach making little stirring noises again. He ran his fingers through his sex looking hair and exhaled deeply. He was hungry.
It didn‘t take long. Barely minutes when you found yourself at a local food chain that allowed restless and fucked out guests like you past 1 am. You buried yourself deeper into Yunho‘s hoodie, it being the only thing you found on the floor when looking for something cozy enough to throw on quickly. Yunho on the other hand, hair a complete tousled mess, any zipper that didn‘t even make an effort to hide the bite marks as well as hickeys and sweatpants alongside crocks that did their job for now. But he was happy with eyes close to resting and his vision dozed off into the distance. Yunho chewed around his burger, his mouth full of food and reaching for more at the same time. You couldn’t help it, as untidy as you both looked: a moment like this was really touching and intimate in its own way.
He fucked you good, you‘d pay for his late night food.
Yeosang - deeptalking
It was always a little quieter with Yeosang. Obviously you were never ill at ease with him. Talking was fun and Yeosang loved listening, it was only for raw moments like these. You brains completly shut off, limps relaxed and breaths heavy. You stared into his eyes, still recovering from your orgasm. Your thighs were trembling from riding him at such a desperate pace when your body caved into his. You buried your forehead into Yeosang‘s shoulder and he wrapped his strong arms around your waist. You didn‘t even bother to move, with ease Yeosang shifted your body so you could both lay down together. You just wanted to be close right now. Yeosang propped his chin on top of your head, his fingers tracing along your waist whilst his gaze distanced itself.
It was only for a moment like this when the air felt close enough to speak his mind.
„Remember when we were at that bar in 2019 where I spilled my drink all over you?“ you smiled weakly while peeking up at him. He wasn‘t looking at you, his mouth had a mind of its own.
„The restaurant was playing this one song I hated it“ he paused before shaking his head.
„I don‘t hate things, but I know that it really added to my embarassment“ he kept on rambling, a laugh escaped your nose.
„I wonder if the waitress still thinks about it, I really messed up. Yunho was laughing at me“
Yeosang shifted further into the covers. You loved talking, but sometimes even someone as quiet as Yeosang had thoughts running laps in his head.
„He still teases me about it, oh and that time I downed two bottles of soju and could not stop throwing up“ Yeosang chuckled at his own sillyness, before finally sparing you a glance. You were on the verge of passing out, but could not stop yourself from smiling.
„I don‘t even remember it, but the others do“ his palm brushed your cheek, his thumbs caressing your skin when he leaned down to place his lips onto yours. Once he pulled away, he collected his thoughts again. Until.
summary: “The amazing sex, wet, heavy kisses in between, game nights with his brothers, and spending nearly every minute of the day hip to hip clearly fogging your head, it made you fill with the need of a stronger title to him. But you weren't anything but a body to Belphie and if that's how it had to be, then let it.”
genre: F/M, smut, angst, explicit
W/C: 1,658
Warnings/tags: Crying During Sex, Hair-pulling, Bruises, Riding, Power Bottom, Crying, Angst, Biting, Rough Sex, Rough Kissing, Situationships, reader is desperate, Casual Sex, Belphegor Being an Asshole (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Belphegor has a big dick, Creampie, alternate universe
A/N:I kind of hate this but it's okay.... Don't be like reader, don't be a loser for anyone, ok?!!!?!?!? Have self-respect…
A chilling breeze slips through the cracks of the open window, wrapping around your half clothed body. Your panties are peaking through Belphie's oversized, airy, tee that he let you borrow for the night. The sheer curtains flow in the room as hushed buzzing and the sound of cars fly by. Your head rests on Belphegor’s chest that’s slowly rising up and down, his arms loosely enveloping you.
You wake as the dark, isolating sky illuminates the side of Belphegor’s calmly resting face. His legs are intertwined with yours.
You didn’t get much sleep throughout the night, constantly tossing and turning at the thought of whether there was more to you and Belphegor’s relationship. You shuffle around in bed to escape his warm grasp, sitting up you watch him sleep before nudging his shoulder.
“Belphie, wake up… I can't sleep”.
He lets out a weak moan, the sound of the thin comforter shuffling as his fingers wander to your waist, attempting to pull you back into his grasp.
“No seriously” your voice is weak as the sensation of your throat becoming numb gets in the way, tears stinging in your eyes.
Belphie hears the straining in your voice and slowly opens his eyes to sit up. His hair is in a wild disarray while his plaid top loosely drapes off of his defined shoulders. His vision clears to see your figure dimly lit.
An uncomfortable silence rests between you two as Belphegor watches your crestfallen face, the tears that drip from your eyes, wetting your lashes as it leaves wet streaks on your cheeks.
The look of worry washes over his face as he cups yours, this quickly knocks the sleep out of him as his eyes ties to yours instantly.
“Hey, why are you crying? What's wrong?” You shift your head to diffuse his gaze while nudging his hands off of your face.
You sniffle. Taking in a deep breath, you inhale the smell of the woodsy outdoors and the scent of clean linen.
“Why did you say our relationship is just casual when Lucifer asked about us yesterday? The things we do dont feel casual…”
He shifts into your view again, running his long, slender fingers through his hair to push it back.
“Is that not what we are? You know, we agreed on no attachments.”
“No attachments” echoes through your head, not because he's wrong, he's completely right. You knew the agreement before anything happened between you two. You built up a mountain of courage to ask him out and in response you got a list of sorry excuses on why he couldnt date you, almost like warnings. “Im not a relationship kind of a guy”, “Im a piece of shit”, things that didnt even turn you away like they would to any normal person, you didnt mind the hurt that would come out of pursuing him. but you never wanted “casual” with Belphie.
The amazing sex, wet, heavy kisses in between, game nights with his brothers, and spending nearly every minute of the day hip to hip clearly fogging your head, it made you fill with the need of a stronger title to him. But you weren't anything but a body to Belphie and if that's how it had to be, then let it.
Calmly you swipe the tears off of your face, adjusting your humiliating posture, how much more desperate could you get? Wasn't groveling at his feet enough? Depending your whole day on how he treats you? In all honesty you could get more desperate, and you did every time you set aside your feelings for temporary satisfaction.
‘No you're so right, I don't know what got into me….”
Your wet eyes wander to his relaxed lips, leaning in, you engulf his lips into your hot mouth harshly causing his teeth to clash with yours. Belphie lets out a sharp gasp before placing his hand on the back of your head, pushing you closer. You let out a compact moan giving him the access to your open mouth, he slides his tongue in, rapidly your tongue meets his, taking in the slightly salty taste of him.
He swiftly wraps his other hand around your waist, the feeling of his cold hand slightly making you jolt. He lays down, head resting on his cow print pillow as you straddle him now pressing onto his hard wood. Smoothly, you move back and forth, feeling the head of his cock brush against your sensitive pearl.
He removes his hand off of your head, now positioning it between your thighs, heat emitting onto his hand, he glides his cold fingers into your panties dipping one finger into your wet pussy. Letting out a deep groan he breaks the passionate, wet kiss, a thin string of saliva splitting between you two leaving your mouth and chin lathered in spit.
A whimper flows from your red, puffy lips, with canine bite marks that are visible, caused by Belphies overly hungry and lustful greed, nearly beating his twin brother's glutton.
“Look at how wet you are for me baby, can I take these off? Hm?” he asks, pulling at your panties. You nod your head as you grind against his finger nearly begging him to fuck you. Lust and need clouds your head making you incapable of using your words.
Spreading your wetness, the sound of your pussy rings in his ears. He hooks the same finger that was inside of you onto the lace of your panties swiftly pulling them down, you raise your hips and one leg to help, swiftly sitting back down once your creamy pussy leaves the panties. Pressing back onto his upper thighs you leave enough space for his hard cock that's printing out of his pants to still be in view. He leaves your drenched panties hanging on one of your ankles, not enough care to fully remove them.
He palms his hard, heavy flesh, groaning from the tingling sensation of his own hand,
pulling it out of his shaggy sleeping pants. You make eye contact with his intensely red tip that has clear, runny precum dribbling down tracing the veins of his dick.
Belphie situates his hands on your hips slowly hovering you over his tip that he teasingly prods at your small entrance. Your walls clench at the though of him painfully stretching you out, no matter how many times he hardly fucks you with his ovely grand steel, the anticaption still makes you tense.
You slowly sink down, instantly closing your eyes from the slight burning sensation of being split open. A low groan vibrates from his chest as he throws his head back, “(name loosen up a bit, ok? I got you.”
He tightens his grip on your hips which will definitely leave bruises later on, not that you mind. It reminds you that in some way you and Belphie still had something. You liked when he marked you all overin places visible for everyone to see.
You exhale, a sharp cry making Belphies dick jump. Leaning down you plant a hot, teethy kiss on his lips, whining into his agape mouth. He thrusts up meeting your weak bouncing, his cock takes the shape of your fleshly, warm, tight, cunt. The sound of wet skin heats the room, as you can barely keep your balance from the intense, erratic thrusts, he swirls his tongue around your mouth as the nails of his fingers scrape your sides the more you jolt from his upshots.
Tears sprinkle from your low, fucked out eyes as you breathlessly whine, Belphie removes one hand from your hips taking note of the dark marks left behind, he leads his now free hand to your hair, digging his fingers into your scalp. He pushes your face level to his mouth, licking up your tears, the salty taste coats his tongue, you feel his warm, hot, wet tongue draw on your puffy cheeks.
He shifts his hips slightly, hitting the right spot deeply inside, you pathetically whine “right there Belphie”. He tightens the grip on your scalp, flattening his feet onto the bed for more stability, his constant drilling into your hot, messy pussy makes a pool of slick on the bottom of his abdomen that splashes between the both of you slowly making a mess of the linen under him.
The more his dick hits the mushy part of your cunt the harder it is to keep your loud moans at bay. You fully collapse onto his chest, breast flat against Belphies chest as your sticky, sweaty, face rests on his, both of you cheek to cheek now, your hands rest besides Belphies head, as he moves his to rest on your hips once again. He loudly grunts at the feeling of you tightening around his length, causing him to pause for a moment, your clenching almost making it unbearable to move.
You're coming close to your release. “Ahh-mhmm Bel- cumming.” Your cries become sharper as you grasp the sheets. More tears falling, a stray, sliding onto his face. He meets your messy, lazy riding.
Finally, your creamy cum dribbles down to the base of his cock as you slowly and deeply rock your hips riding out your high, Belphie is close behind still having a spur of energy to finish, he pushes your hips fully down ignoring the absent minded look in your eyes.
Your tummy feels full and hot as he spills himself inside of you, continually thrusting until he's soft and empty. Your fingers finally loosen from the sheets as he softens inside of you. Eyes growing heavy you look up to meet his lazy gaze, he’s already peering at the top of your head, he tightly wraps his arm around your warm body kissing your forehead.
“I love you.” You knew it meant nothing but the comfort he gives you makes it feel special even if it's temporary, it's still from him.
summary: every girl has had that exhilarating little crush on their teacher, it’s not unheard of by any means. it almost always amounts to nothing, a small little motivation that keeps you awake in class. most girls don’t get hired by their professors to be a babysitter, and most girls don’t end up entwined in a situation so wrong that it eats them alive at night. not the guilt, or the shame. but the hunger, and the need. and most professors certainly don’t play into those little infatuations, and find themselves chasing that chance to absolutely ruin them. so why are you trying to play house and take on a role that wasn’t meant for you?
warnings: age gap(reader is in her 20’s, mingi is in his 40’s), this is nasty, DILF!mingi, lowkey salt & pepper!mingi, tension, power dynamics, emotional turmoil, girl dad mingi, manipulation, corruption, teasing, condescending!mdom, pet names(sweetheart, pretty baby, darling, slut etc), size kink, voice kink, praise, mating press, oral(f!receiving), countdown, biting, fingering, lowkey breeding kink, choking, overstimulation, dirty talk, eye contact, messy sex, mouth covering, hold the moan, creampie
wc: 18.1k (I am SO sorry)
notes: hiii… my dear @linearities, it’s me your secret admirer! you put down dilf Mingi and I was SAT. and then you mentioned prof!teez, so I just thought why not combine the two? you don’t understand how much I got into this while I was writing it’s kind of insane, god I hope you like it. all the love in the world… thank you @everyonewooeverywhere for hosting such a fun event
- your secret admirer <3
tracklist: million dollar man, strange candy, baby one more time
You weren’t stupid. You weren’t dumb, quite the opposite. You were intelligent, cunning. A smart woman who sometimes made foolish decisions. This would be one of them, one of the stupidest you've ever made.
And you would still do it again if ever given a second chance.
It nearly frightened you, the effect he had on you; it was embarrassing enough. It felt like an unattainable crush, a fleeting little infatuation that was bound to pass with time.
But it was so hard to get over it when you saw him nearly every day of the week. And even so, it was still not enough, and far too much all at once.
If it had to be described as anything, the word would be taboo. When he was introducing himself to his class of the year, he started with something that made your stomach do a flip.
“Y’know I have tattoos older than most of you in here, so if you ever question my teaching methods, think long and hard about how much longer I’ve been on earth than you.”
You thought long and hard, alright, and it certainly didn't help your little girly infatuation with your professor.
Professor Song Mingi, a literary instructor at your college. Students clamored during open season to squeeze into his class, which always filled up so quickly during enrollment. His teaching was sound and effective, and it didn’t hurt that he was way too easy on the eyes.
A low, flowing voice that was easy to grip onto and follow, gentle handwriting, and a pristine way with words. Dark tresses that framed his soft yet angular face, pink, puffy lips that wrapped around his syllables like a glove. His pretty, sharp nose beckoned for a rider. His meaty arms that always seemed to be struggling beneath his rolled-up white blazers, the buttons on the cuffs mere seconds from popping off.
His class was always dimly lit, a comfortable aura that made it easy to ease into learning. You could write a 20-page essay on why you enjoyed his class.
He was never dismissive, always listened to his students attentively, and truly valued their thoughts and opinions. He enjoyed shaping young folks' minds and helping them through their way, assisting them in growing and becoming respective, creative individuals.
You never struggled in his class, never had to ask for tutoring sessions. And to be honest, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle a one-on-one with him either way. He was too intimidating, too suffocating.
Whenever he asked the class a question, and you were able to gather your bearings to answer, you could hardly keep yourself from tripping over your words with how intense his gaze was.
Like he was clinging onto every word like a lifeline, his eyebrows raising now and then when your response flowed from your lips, his tongue would poke out the corner of his mouth, nodding along as he listened.
He’d always smile when you finally stumbled through your response, pointing his pen in your direction with a sly grin.
“Smart girl.” That stupid voice that made your brain dissolve into a useless puddle.
It was never good for your nerves.
But recently, you felt like his material has been getting more difficult. Maybe it was because finals for the semester were approaching, and the work started to get more grueling? Or maybe you were just tired, but his lectures started to blend into watercolor, and the readings he assigned the class started to sound like pig Latin.
Luckily, you weren’t the only one confused, when a girl who sat next to you leaned over while he was talking and whispered to you.
“Is he speaking English right now?”
Today was no different; the stress started to weigh on you as more finals began to close in. Recently, you’d been a bit tight on money, trying your best to save up from the barista job you’d been managing for the past year, but it was starting to fall short.
You had set up a job portfolio the night before in a fit of desperation in hopes of snagging a gig on the side in childcare, just to push you through the last few months of the year.
The winter chill nipped at your bones, and you always felt demotivated in the cold. The class dragged on, and you could barely keep your thoughts in a straight line as Professor Song droned on. You tried to cling to every word, retain every piece of information, but it all just seemed to slip away like you had butter fingers.
Your notes became sloppy, and your doodles in the margins became more frequent. Everyone in your immediate vicinity seemed just as hopeless, and this must have caught your professors' attention.
He turned from the board, and his face fell from concentrated to a soft sort of concern. He sighed softly and set his pen on the desk, a quiet clatter on the wood surface. This caught your attention, and you raised your head slowly.
Your eyes locked with his immediately, almost as if he was already trained on you before you raised your gaze. Your eyes dance with one another for a fleeting moment, and something flashes across his face, subtle yet electrifying. Then he’s clearing his throat, ripping his eyes from yours, and swimming over the rest of the lecture room.
He moves away from the board, lifting himself to sit on his desk, crossing his legs, and clasping his hands on his lap.
“Alright, guys, I get it.” The class directs its scattered attention to its professor sitting on his desk, his foot shaking back and forth softly. “It's the end of the semester, we’re all tired. Believe me, I’m in the same boat.”
He turns his head to a framed picture on his desk, a candid photo of him and his young daughter celebrating her birthday at the aquarium. “My daughter keeps whining at me about how hard her coloring sheets are. She can’t for the life of her understand the difference between indigo and violet.”
This pulls a warm laugh out of everyone, and you can’t help but join in. Professor Song never stops talking about his daughter; he loves her with all his heart. He has her many scribbled arts around his lecture room, photos of her on his desk, and her pipe cleaner flowers displayed proudly in the far right corner.
You tap your pen against your notebook rhythmically, and you don’t catch the way his eyes sweep over your face while the laughter dies down. “Everyone’s running on fumes, and I’m sure you’ve heard it a thousand times, but this is important. We’ll pull through this last month, and we’ll have a few weeks off to laze away, and it’ll be well earned. Right?”
The class nods in agreement, and Professor Song smiles in acknowledgment. “So, do me a beautiful favor, and stay with me a little longer while we get through this, okay? You all have been doing phenomenal this year, let's keep it up til the end, yeah?”
Everyone perks up at the encouraging words, and you find your energy slowly creeping its way back into your blood. Just enough to get through the day, but not enough to prepare for the shitshow that was to come.
Two thousand weekly.
You rubbed your eyes, blinking a few times and drinking some water to be sure you weren’t hallucinating the mail in your inbox.
You had arrived back home after dragging yourself through the last bits of Professor Song’s class, leaving with mostly full note pages and a renewed vigor to pull through this last semester.
The portfolio you had set up on the nanny website already had a response, and quite an unexpected one. A generous offer for pay, a part-time position as a babysitter for a young girl, age 6. Two thousand per week for 6 months, free meals provided, flexible schedule. It was almost too good to be true. The email didn’t go into too much detail, only offering further information if you shot back a response expressing your interest.
It was everything you needed and more, but one thing was making you hesitant. One small, coincidental detail.
Regards, M. Song.
Signed at the bottom of the email, like colorful barbed wire.
It had to be a coincidence. There was no way it was him.
Song is a common last name; you were sure it had to be somebody else. No matter, it was too good to pass up, and you found yourself drafting your email before you gave it any more rational thought. If it were him, it would be dangerous. You’d be deep in enemy territory.
You sent the email expressing enthusiastic interest in the position, and slammed your laptop shut so hard you thought you heard a key fly off. You buried your face in your hands and groaned aloud into the darkness of your bedroom, trying to shake the weird feeling blossoming in your chest.
It had to be a coincidence. There’s no way your literary professor saw the hundreds of capable babysitting portfolios to choose from and decided to pick yours. There’s no way you posted it yesterday, and he just so happens upon a day later and immediately makes his decision.
There was no way he was offering so much money for something as simple as babysitting.
There was no way you’d be able to go through this and maintain a professional, normal attitude.
Not even 10 minutes later, your phone chimes, the blinding light illuminating your dark room, therefore sealing your fate. You hadn’t even clicked the notification, skimming over the email banner before mentally checking out.
Dear Miss L/N,
Thank you for expressing your interest in the position. I would be delighted-
And that was it. You eventually gathered enough courage to open the email. It gave you all the information you needed, a scheduled time to meet at his home to set up the payroll, and introduced you to his daughter. Work out kinks and settle into the position.
Mr. Song doesn’t return home until after dark, well after 9 pm. Your shifts start at 3 pm every day for the next six months. Sundays are guaranteed days off, and he shall keep you posted on future days off if available. You had mentioned in your email that you were a student, so availability might fluctuate depending on school.
His response?
“You mentioned you were a student; I am well aware of this fact. Do not worry, I will ensure that your studies will remain unaffected.”
An insane thing to say, by the way.
It was definitely him. Regardless, you would find out in due time when you finally meet him at his home, and solidify what was to come, which can only be described as unmentionable.
-
His big warm hand encased yours, swallowing it whole so effortlessly. Calloused fingertips brush against the pulse that bounces in your wrist, and you barely keep your breath from hitching. His thumb runs over your knuckles, and you swallow a weird noise.
“Thank you for taking the position, darling. You’re saving me a hell of a lot of time.” That's stupid, grin, toothy, and wide. His eyes crinkled at the corners, the crows' feet making their grand appearance. The streaks of silver that flow through his dark hair like a wave you’ve never noticed until now, so close it was hard to miss.
“Of course… Mr. Song, thank you for considering me.” You weren’t sure whether you should call him professor or a different honorific outside of the lecture room, but he did not correct you, so you assumed it was the right choice.
You caught yourself that Saturday morning paying extra attention to your hair, curling your lashes a little higher, reapplying layers of lip gloss until it looked like you’d been making out with honeycomb.
Throwing together a cute outfit to make a good “first impression.” You couldn’t believe yourself, but once you were out the door and in your car, it was too late to worry about it now.
Your nerves were alight as you made your way to his address. You nearly saw him every goddamn day, but of course, this was different.
His residence was a rustic western style house, furnished with well-kept gardens in the front yards and a freshly painted porch and patio. A cute, homey place that somehow just made him all the more attractive.
You pulled into his driveway, taking your keys out of the ignition and giving your body a moment to relax. A few deep breaths and one life saver mint later, and you were stepping out with your purse in your clutches and your anxiety written all over your poor face.
You hadn’t even noticed until you raised your gaze from your feet, but there he stood. On his front porch, that white blazer with his rolled-up sleeves, no tie today. Black slacks and his glasses low on the bridge of his nose. His eyes are leering at you.
You stopped in place when you saw him, and his expression never changed. A sort of scrutiny on his brow as he watched you step out of your car, dare you say borderline predatory, but you certainly wouldn’t want to set anything into motion by manifestation. Surely not.
You lift your hand and give a curt, polite wave. Then his brows are falling, his lips are curling, and he’s offering a warm, gentle smile.
“(Name.) Good to see you, I’m glad you could make it.” Mingi’s own voice booms over his front yard to your ears, and you force your feet to unstick from the driveway pavement and continue to walk to his home.
You walk up the steps with only slightly shaky legs, face-to-face with him. “Of course, sorry if I’m a bit early.”
He smiles wider, yet softer. “It’s perfectly fine, I’d prefer you be early rather than late. I admire your punctuality; you’ve always been like that.”
You’ve always been like that.
You try not to let the praise get to your head, and you barely miss the way his tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he catches the way your shoulders hunch slightly at his words, and your fingers squeeze the straps of your purse just a little tighter.
“Well, let’s not just stand around. She’s excited to meet you.” Mr. Song turns and pushes open his front door, standing in front of it to hold it open. “After you.”
You smile nervously and slowly walk inside. He watches every step you take as you brush past him, your shoulder just barely grazing his lower chest, there not quite being enough room between him and the door frame to give you a spacious entry. His cologne hits your nose as you walk by, and you stop yourself from inhaling deeply as you plant your feet on his foyer floor, listening as he shuts the door and clicks the lock.
You were in enemy territory, and you had never felt more vulnerable in your life.
Immediately, you were tripping over toys, and you nearly fell backwards as a little girl came running up you, picking up one of the dolls you nearly busted your ass on and handed it to you.
“Okay and scene!” You can’t help the smile that breaks on your face, the confusion of being suddenly thrown into a scene, evident.
“Wait, what’s happening-“
The little girl is carrying another doll, and she shakes it back and forth as she begins to speak. “Where have you been? You’re late again!” She pouts furiously as she points to the doll in your hand, and you know that's your time to shine.
“I’m not late,” you speak through the doll in your grasp, kneeling to sit at eye level with the girl. “In fact, I’m right on time!” You motion the doll’s arm to point at an invisible watch on her plastic wrist, and you practically see the girl light up over you playing along with her.
You pay no attention to Mingi, who stands behind you, watching you interact with his daughter, a small smile on his face. You play along happily, and he can see how much his daughter has already taken a liking to you. But before she can drag you into another scene, Mingi is clearing his throat.
He crouches down and with his strong arms he scoops her up, and little giggles flow from her as he lifts her into his hold. “You little monster!” He grumbles playfully, the sweetest smile on his lips as litters her face in fleeting kisses, an exaggerated ‘mwah’ punctuating each one he landed.
He swings her back and forth like she was on a carnival ride and he laughs morph into joyous squeals, the smile on Mingi’s face nothing short of beautiful.
You watch in awe and admiration, how sweet he is with her and it makes something in your heart twist.
When she reaches her little hand out and pulls on some of his hair, his smile drops a little and hers only widens.
“Ouch- okay, no hair pulling sweetpea we know this.” He gently sets her down, not without the theatrics akin to a landing airplane.
Once her feet touch the ground she mumbles out an adorable sorry, and you swear you see Mingi’s heart melt.
“Alright, lovebug, you can give her more acting lessons later. Daddy needs to talk to her for a second, okay?”
The little girl frowns as you sheepishly hand her back her doll. “Don’t worry, we can play a lot more once I’m all settled in. I promise.” You smile, and she returns it, taking her doll back and bounding away to the couch in the living room, resuming her little roleplay on her own.
You stand up slowly and watch her skip away, somewhat avoiding turning around to see Mr. Song. When you finally turn, his back is to you as he’s begun walking to the kitchen. You follow, nearly tripping over toy cars and plush animals again.
He stops in front of the kitchen island, pouring you and himself a small glass of water out of a filter. He sets the cup on the countertop with a clink, sliding towards you as you stand a few feet away from him, trying to keep as much distance as is deemed appropriate.
When the silence stretches for much too long, you pick up your cup and take a big sip, hoping the cool water will calm your nerves. You open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it.
“She likes you a lot already.” He states, raising his eyes over and glancing at the back of the couch.
A shy smile graces your face as you take another sip. “You could tell that from such a small interaction, Professor?” You glance up at him over the rim of your glass, and you don’t miss the way his eyebrows raise, and his face shows nothing short of amusement.
“Well, she is my kid after all, and I know her pretty well.” He takes a sip from his own glass, tapping his metal-clad fingers against the checkered walls of the cup. “And I don’t see why she wouldn’t like you.”
Of course, you were going to ask, what the hell does he mean by that? You smile, more confident now, setting your glass on the countertop and crossing your arms over your chest.
“Do tell, what's there to like?” Something about the entire conversation just felt… informal. You’ve never spoken to him outside of the lines of education or questions about exams. This type of talk was far beyond your teacher-student boundaries, even if it can be considered as fleeting small talk.
This makes him laugh, and you feel your lips twitch at the melodic sound. You try not to smile any harder than you already are.
“Asking for lip service now, are we (Name)?” His playful tone of voice carried a much lighter cadence than the authoritative tone he held in the classroom. You tried not to notice that tattoo that was peeking through his sheer white dress shirt.
“No, Mingi.” You reply just as playfully, and you find yourself rubbing your lips together, grounding yourself with the feeling of the layer of lip gloss on your lips.
His eyes linger on your mouth for just a fraction of a second, hardly noticeable. They trail up the side of your face, and his gaze stops on your eyes. Something in his eyes changes, a kind of shift that makes your heart stop for a moment. His jaw flexes and fingers twitch as he moves to cross his own arms.
“That’s Mr. Song, or 'sir' to you, young lady.” His eyebrows set hard, and you feel your stomach drop at the sudden change in attitude. He looks down at you like you’re small, like you don’t deserve his respect. As much as you’d like to push it, he controls your grades and ultimately your future. And passing up on such a gratuitous opportunity with this job simply to act a little too familiar with your professor would be borderline idiotic.
His eyebrows raise, and his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, urging your confirmation of his command. “Understand?”
You swallow and nod your head politely. “Yes, sir.” You quickly grab your glass again and down the rest of the water, taking a moment to gather yourself, because as depraved as it was. That entire interaction made you god-awful wet.
“We may not be in class, but I’m still your elder.” He turns around and walks past you, a trail of his cologne passing beneath your nose and fogging your brain. You have to crane your neck to watch the back of his head as he walks away, the sheer size of him dizzying.
“If you don’t mind me asking.” You force from your throat, keeping your eyes on the floor as you speak. “Was there any reason you chose me specifically?”
He snorts, endearingly so. “Do I need a reason?” Like it was a dumb question, even though there are no such things in his words. “I just decided to hire you. Nothing more and nothing less.”
“Well, there were plenty of people who were just as capable, if not more so-“
He interrupts you with a whistle and a loud snap of his fingers. “What did I say?” He leans his head backward like he was annoyed, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips as he speaks under a low breath. “God, always so inquisitive.”
You stop from letting your mouth drop open in surprise. “If you have any implications swimming around that pretty brain of yours, forget it. You’re a capable girl, aren’t you?” He lowers his gaze to you, waiting expectantly for you to reply.
You nod and pick a piece of dust off your shirt. “Of course.” You reply in a small voice, but Mingi clicks his tongue and shakes his head.
“Say it out loud. C’mon.” You take a small breath and sigh quietly.
“I am capable.”
Mingi smiles and turns away from you once more. “Beautiful. Save the rest of the questions after we set up your payroll.”
He finishes, and he raises his hand and brings up his middle and ring finger, motioning to you in a “come hither” motion, a movement so slow that it seemed dizzyingly suggestive.
“Come now, while we’re still young.” You force your feet to move and follow him further into the house, passing his daughter as she plays on her own world on the couch, completely oblivious to the strange tension that lingered between her father and her new babysitter.
Mingi was intense, authoritative. He knew how he wanted things to be and made sure everyone else stayed in their lane. And you had a weird lingering feeling that nothing good was to come out of stepping that home privacy boundary.
But hey, two thousand was two thousand. And maybe you were being greedy, but something much more than money was keeping you from using your fucking brain and getting out of dodge.
He was not good for you, and god he knew it. You both knew it. But if the heat you felt in your lower belly and the racing of your heart were anything to go by, the gut instinct that told you not to walk into the wolf’s den was for sure one that was meant to be ignored.
After a smooth process of connecting your bank account, printing you a house key, and an extensive tour of the home, he sent you home with a thank-you bonus of a few hundred dollars and your schedule for the following week. Monday through Friday, at 3 pm, you would arrive at the Song residence. You would see Mingi off for his night classes and tend to his daughter until he arrived home at 10 pm.
He never mentioned a wife, or any kind of spouse. You had assumed they had most likely divorced, you never saw any picture of a woman around the house, and his daughter never mentioned a mother.
You had considered asking him about it, but something inside of you said that would be overstepping a grand boundary that should not be touched.
While you had Mingi’s morning class, he would only be on campus for those two hours before returning home to spend the rest of his day with his daughter, before the evening whisked him away to work once again. So, of course, you would still see him in class.
And it is so much worse now.
And you couldn’t help but feel that he found the whole thing amusing.
Teaching the class like normal, writing down key points on the board, reading through articles and poems, and helping everyone pick the words apart. You never called him sir in class; it was always Mr. Song or Professor. He asked you to call him sir, no, demanded that you refer to him as such when you visited his home.
So with a slow raise of your hand, to ask a question that truly meant nothing. He paused his writing to look at you, and he moved back around to continue his writing once you had been acknowledged. “Yes, ma’am?” He asks, while he finishes the cursive curl of his letter y.
“You say that symbolism in poetry is entirely up to the reader’s perception, and that we can choose to decipher it any way we see fit. Is that maybe a little too loose in terms of freedom, considering some people might extend their reach of understanding too far to be deemed within the author’s original intentions?”
It was an innocent question, a good one, maybe perhaps a little random. Mingi turns away from the board, ending the sentence he wrote with a heavy period, a loud thunk against the whiteboard. The edges of the blue ink splatter around the punctuation.
“It's as I said,” he begins, eyebrows relaxed as he finds you easily at your desk, rolling your pencil eraser over your bottom lip, a curious glaze of intrigue shadowing your eyes. “While it is entirely up to the reader, most people are smart enough to gather what the poet is trying to convey. Readers can come up with similar conclusions, but maybe with different rounded edges. There will be similarities, but there can also be differences, all because we perceive everything differently as humans.” He quietly adjusts the knot of his tie, the veins in his hand flushing as he moves.
You find your eyes falling to watch his arm move, his biceps struggling under his sleeves. You smile and nod, bringing your pencil down to your chin and tapping it lightly. “Thank you, sir.”
Nobody else catches it; it was so subtle that it wouldn’t have mattered to anyone even if they did. But his hand froze around his necktie, and his fingers twitched. His nose scrunched only slightly, and a sharp, quiet inhale made your skin prickle.
He nods quietly and turns back to the board to continue teaching. “Always with the smart questions.” He murmurs under his breath, and you both clearly knew that the question was about much more than just poetry.
The first day went surprisingly smooth. You arrived at his home early, of course, using your new key to unlock the door and welcome yourself in. His daughter was the first to greet you, running to you and enveloping your legs in a tight hug, her little nails digging into your skin with how hard she held you.
You said hi, all warm smiles and soft tones, only raising your eyes when you feel another pair on you. Standing at the end of the hallway was Mingi, leaning against a doorframe with relaxed ease, his tie loosened and his hair astray. He leaned his head against the white frame, his eyes low as he paid no attention to anything but you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face, and all you could feel was pinned. Like he was holding your body down with just his gaze, and it makes your heart kick up.
Then he smirked, a ghost of one if anything. A knowing, small smile that would be easy to ignore if it simply wasn’t him. Before you could say or do anything else, the little girl, whose name you learned was Ami, was dragging you away from the foyer, spewing phrases about new toys and complimenting your punctuality.
Mingi watches you walk away with his daughter, clasping your hand tight, and your sweet little warm smile returns as you respond to her words with enthusiastic earnestness.
She leads you to the couch, grabs the remote, and asks you to switch on a movie for her.
“Can I borrow your new friend for a second, sweetheart?” Mingi appears behind the back of the couch, his sudden presence nearly startling you out of your skin. He looks down at his daughter with nothing short of pure love, his gaze soft and his tone low and sweet. Ami pouts dramatically and crosses her arms.
Mingi pouts in turn, giving her playful puppy eyes. Then you feel his fingers gently brush the nape of your neck, a slow, gentle caress that was so light it could have been mistaken for a breeze. But it was too warm, too calloused.
“Please?” he whines with a smile, and his daughter rolls her eyes, setting down the remote with a clatter.
“Okay, Daddy, but bring her back.” Her little voice warms your heart, happy that she's taking a great liking to you. You swallow as you feel his fingers slip away from your nape, and you're standing on wobbly legs to follow him as he begins to walk away.
“I promise I will,” he says, blowing her a little kiss, to which she returns with a bright smile. Mingi is leading you away from the living room, and you follow behind with a sort of muted apprehension, and it feels like you are in school again. Like you were being led away by your teacher to talk about poor behavior.
Once you’re back in the foyer, he turns to you, and his soft, parental smile has fallen into something unrecognizable.
He pulls a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and hands it to you. “This is your list of things that should be maintained and done while watching her. Keeping the place clean, making sure she eats well. Everything we’ve already discussed.” You take the list and give it a swift once-over, mentally noting the most important things.
You slip it into your own pocket, raising your head to look at him once more, and for just a split second, you swear you caught his gaze lingering on your neck. “If you have any questions, my number is also on that piece of paper. Do not call me, but you can message me.”
You nod silently, and he sighs. “Can we work on your verbal confirmation? Use your words, please.” You can’t help the almost sour look that flashes across your face, and you quickly gather yourself before exaggeratedly dropping into a flashy curtsy.
“Yes, boss, I understand.” You say in a dramatic prim accent, but before you could stand back up straight, you feel his warm, large hand slip beneath your chin, gripping your lower jaw firmly.
He’s lifting you back up, leaning his head down so close that you feel his breath on your neck, his nose just shy of brushing against your ear. Your breath catches, and his sweet scent clouds your senses, and you could feel your knees start to buckle beneath you. Mingi’s hand keeps its firm hold on your chin as he lowers his voice to a heavy, throaty whisper that makes the skin on your temple tingle.
“Try again, and lose the attitude, gorgeous. You know better.” His breath fans over your ear, and you could physically feel the skin of the back of your neck flare warmly. He squeezes the pads of his fingers against the soft flesh of your cheek a little harder, and the heat blooms across your lower jaw at his tense hold, and you nearly melt into his hand. Your own voice drops to a nervous, shaky whisper, and you exhale slowly out of your nose. It was so quiet you could hear the wristwatch on his hand ticking by your ear.
“Yes… Sir.” You correct yourself quietly, and his hand still doesn’t move. Instead, his thumb gently runs over your cheek, a repeated soothing path like he’s trying to lull you to sleep with his caresses. He leans away from your ear, coming face to face with you once more, his nose mere inches from brushing with yours. So close you can see every strand of silver in his hair, every wrinkle at the corners of his eyes, every freckle, and the remaining five o'clock shadow from where he shaved earlier that morning. He smelled of faded cologne and wintergreen mints, and you could hardly stop your eyelids from fluttering.
His thumb moves over your bottom lip, gently pressing down on it like he was admiring how soft you were, taking a mental note of how easy you melt under him. How all he needed to do to get you to act right was to pet you like you were some kind of puppy.
It felt like an eternal standstill by the time he slipped his hand away from your face, and you could still feel the heat of it across your face. It felt so wrong. And god did you want to feel it again.
He turns and fixes his loose tie, slipping his blazer on and adjusting his watch. He walks away, leaving you standing like a dumb fawn, grinning as he opens the front door, his keys jingling in his hand. “Do behave yourself, while rewards and punishments are not handed out in class, my home is an entirely different story.”
And with that final note, the door shuts behind him with a click, and you are left in Mingi’s foyer with your heart in your throat and warmth in your stomach, and your entire body thrumming with what can only be described as anticipation.
-
You and Ami got along well, playing with toys and watching television. There was a small spat when you tried to get her to eat her veggies, but after some bribery with a promise of a packet of gummies, she offered up no more fight.
Putting her to bed was no easy feat either, her only surrendering at the promise of a bedtime story. You sent her off to go pick a book, and she came into her bedroom, trotting proudly with the first installment of the Narnia series.
When you dared to question her lengthy decision, she responded with, “Daddy has been reading this to me every night, we’re on chapter 6, he said you could continue reading it to me.”
You quietly roll your eyes, mumbling to yourself as she begins to tuck herself into bed. “Did he now?”
You didn’t complain, and you did find yourself easing into the storytelling, reading with a soft, slow tone to help lull her off to sleep, which didn’t take long, especially after a long day of play.
When her breathing evened, and her head went lazy on her neck, you switched off her lamp and set her stuffed zebra next to her arms and left her room, making sure her rainbow night light in the outlet was on.
You shut her door with a quiet click and sighed to yourself. First night done, now all that was left to do was wait for Mingi to arrive home. You pulled your phone out of your back pocket to check the time.
9:03
He was sure to be home anytime soon, so you decided to take the book you were reading with you downstairs. It had pulled you in enough just by that one chapter alone, and you found yourself wanting to read it from the beginning.
Your bare feet padded against the tile floors of the kitchen, the house asleep and silent as you picked a small mandarin out of the fridge. You sat at the kitchen island, gently peeling the citrus fruit as you held the book open with one hand, and began to read.
You found your fingers nimbly peeling the white veins of the orange and dropping them onto the napkin. Engrossed in the book, you slipped slice after slice of mandarin past your lips as you continued to read.
The quiet of his home was so different in comparison to your own. Tucked further towards the countryside, absent from the honking of horns and the screeches of tires. Just the tranquil sound of whistling trees and the occasional creak of the house settling. It was nice, something you could see yourself getting used to.
You weren’t sure how long you had been reading for, and it wasn’t until you heard the front door shut that you were ripped from your own little world. You hadn’t even noticed the jingle of keys in the lock. Your orange was long gone; only the shredded peel remained as he walked past the foyer, straight into the kitchen to see you.
He paused for a moment, taking in your peaceful little moment, then smiling to himself as he began to shed his coat and drape it over the kitchen table chair. “You look comfy.” He murmurs, loosening his tie.
You swallow a dry patch in your throat, the whole moment reeking of something inappropriately domestic. The low, warm lighting of the overhead oven light. Mingi quietly gets unready after a long day of work, your eyes catching on the way his muscles flex with every movement he makes.
Unclipping his watch and dropping it into the small wooden bowl on the edge of the counter, uncuffing his dress shirt and rolling his sleeves up once again, the hints of a tattoo you’ve never had the pleasure of fully seeing peeking underneath the white linen.
Running a large hand through his silver streaked hair, the strands falling around his face in an organized mess as he sighs, a deep and heavy sound that makes your thighs clench underneath the island.
You close the book absentmindedly, dropping your gaze to the counter just as he raises his eyes to look at you, and you clear your throat as you move to stand.
“I see you’re reading Narnia. Ami asked you to read it to her?” His voice was so quiet, so lofty, it made your brain fizz.
You nod. “She ate dinner well, told me she had fun playing with me today. She asked me to read to her, and she was out like a light by the fourth page. It intrigued me, so I decided to give it a gander.”
You raise your head again, gathering your orange peels in your hand and crossing over to the trash can in the corner. Once dropped in the waste, you turned to hand the book back to him. Your arm outstretched, to which he only stood and stared back at you, his eyes dropping over your body in a less than subtle once over.
He finally reaches out and takes the book from you, not without letting his long fingers brush against your knuckles. His two middle fingers slip between the pages, bookmarking the place that you had stopped at. You swallow as he puppy dog ears the page with one hand, before closing the book and setting it on the island.
The muted glow of the oven light shadowed his face in a soft yellow, the rest of him swallowed in the darkness of the home. He was so tall, his body big enough to stand in front of you and effectively block you from being seen by anyone.
“Well, I should be going.” You mutter, nervously wrinkling the corner of your shirt over and over again. “Thank you again.” You nod your head respectfully, and yet neither one of you makes any move.
Mingi doesn’t move; instead, he lifts his head, lowering his eyes to a half-lidded kind of gaze that makes you feel like you were being preyed on. He sees the tension in your shoulders, the unevenness of your breath, the uncertainty in your eyes, the curiosity in the way your fingers twitch at your side.
The unconscious way your tongue wets your bottom lip, the little vein in your neck that only he could notice.
Then he’s stepping forward, slowly, just enough to have you closer. Smell you, smell him. Not too inappropriate, but maybe not professional.
“I should be thanking you, darling.” His hand reaches out, oh so slowly, just enough to give you time to back away if you want. You don’t. His index finger finds a curl at the front of your head, gently twirling it around the tip of his finger, his eyes on yours.
A gaze so warm, so mistakenly hungry, you swore you were hallucinating. He watched you visibly melt, your lip forming into a parted pout, a beckon. A silent ask.
His finger moves away from the curl of your hair, dances along the side of your neck, brushes down with featherlight gentleness against the side of your throat, a tickling sensation that has your body shivering.
His eyebrows knotted together like he was conflicted, like he was battling an inner ache, one that he was holding himself back from showing.
You couldn’t take it. You simply couldn’t.
Your brain hadn’t caught up to your body, but before you could second-guess yourself, your hands shot out and gripped the collar of his dress shirt, dragging his head down and crashing your lips into his.
No words, no gasp, just a wanton moan that slips past your lips and against his.
Mingi growls from the back of his throat, a sound of sheer surprise, nearly losing his footing underneath him. He rips his head back, his eyes wide and his breathing coming labored.
You freeze, your hands holding nothing but air as he pulls himself away from you. Your heart dropped to your stomach. A look of pure fear on your face as you realized he didn’t reciprocate.
Fuck. Fuck.
A conflicted look flashes across your professor’s face, and he looked like he was about to give you what for. You screwed up.
You immediately open your mouth, ready to spew pathetic attempts at apologies and pleas for forgiveness. But he beats you to it.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” His gravely voice comes out strained and low, and a painful silence begins to stretch between you two.
Then, he bites his inner cheek, his hand lifts and slips his glasses off his face, all but letting them fall onto the counter, groaning low and sonorous, and he’s on you before you could breathe.
His hands slip around and grip either side of your waist, a tight, possessive hold as he slots his lips with yours, melting against your mouth like you tasted like a heaven he’d never get into.
His hands roam up and down your waist, his mouth opening and closing against yours, sliding his tongue over yours, and running it over your teeth. Moaning, sighing into your mouth, his eyebrows knit together in nothing short of pure bliss.
Your hands find his shoulders, your neck beginning to hurt from having to crane your head up to kiss him. All heat behind your tongues, warmth and wetness against each other as you feel a thin trail of drool slipping down the corner of your mouth.
Then he’s lifting you, picking you up off the ground, and dropping you on your ass on the kitchen island. Merely eye level with him, he kisses you deeper, shoving his tongue further down your throat, tilting his head to the side to completely devour you.
Your hands drag down the front of him, your palms flat against his chest, whimpering against his lips in tandem with his starved movements. A quiet “baby” is murmured around your tongue, and your entire body erupts into consuming flames.
His hands slip down and find either of your thighs, spreading them pretty and wide as he slots his lower body between them, pushing his body closer to your between your legs.
His hand moves back up and cups the back of your head, the other trailing up the front of your body and finding a grounding home at the base of your neck, pulling your head further into him as he takes like the greedy man he was.
Kissing the college girl on the counter as she tasted like bourbon, squeezing your flesh like it was keeping him sane, melting at the soft, needy moans that flowed down his throat from your reactions to his touch.
It was a breathless, taboo kind of lust that only people sick in the head can get a kick out of. And if this makes Mingi a sick man, then so fucking be it. He finds himself lost in the sweetness of your lips, the arch in your back. His hand trails down the side of your waist, warm and big as he finds the flesh of your thigh again, squeezing and pressing the softness, moaning at how smooth your skin feels in comparison to his rough hands.
His hand slips up the leg of your shorts, and warmth blooms on your skin, your body shivers as you lean further into him, your kisses turning needy, dangerously feral.
It’s your whiny, low moan that nearly undoes him. And the way your hands slide up to help further loosen his tie. But while he may not be a good man, he’s not a bad one either. With a type of restraint only a soldier could have, Mingi pulls away from your shiny, swollen lips, a thin trail of saliva between you both snapping silently.
Your heavy breaths mingle together, and he rests his forehead against yours, the hand on your neck slowly sliding away, and his other hand moving from your bare thigh to firmly place them flat on either side of your spread thighs, loosely caging your body against the island.
You say nothing, only fighting to catch your breath as your dizzy brain struggles to catch up. He looks down at the floor, the bulge in his pants loud and proud and fucking painful.
With a deep sigh, he turns away, wiping his mouth with the palm of his hand as he mutters a deep “fuck” beneath his breath.
You slowly crawl off the counter, realizing that you need to go. Now.
“I-I’ll see you tomorrow, Min- uh... Professor Song. Sir-“You stutter over your words, a foggy layer of need clouding your mind after having been kissed like he was trying to eat you alive.
Mingi seethes, inhaling sharply as he raises a hand to get you to keep quiet.
“Stop- goddamnit. Sweetheart, don’t call me ‘sir’ right now unless- unless you want me to fuck you against that wall.” You swallow, and it takes everything in your power not to get on your knees and beg for just that.
He could practically smell your hesitation, and it nearly made his entire body erupt into a muted shiver. You nibble on your bottom lip, he could see the way you nervously shake, and you open your mouth to respond, but he just knew what you were going to say, and he did not need to hear it right now.
“Oh, babygirl, you shouldn’t want that.” He ignores your pretty little glazed-over eyes and your frizzy hair that he messed up with his own two hands.
The addicting way you held onto him with your smaller hands, arching your back into him and keening into his touch, crying out as it hurt for every second he let you breathe.
“And neither should I.” He mumbles like he was trying to convince himself too.
Mingi massages his upper jaw, exhaling heavily out of his nose before he turns away from you again, truly believing that if he looked at you one more time, he wouldn’t be able to compose himself. Forty-something years old, and one of his students is making him feel things he hasn’t felt since high school.
“Go home.” He commands, his bassy, breathless voice sending a shockwave straight between your legs. When you don’t immediately move, Mingi clenches his jaw and slightly turns his neck, giving you a glimpse of the turmoil on his face.
“Now.” He bites out, and before you could form another thought, your body was moving.
You grab your things off the living room coffee table and slip out of the house, speeding off to your car and pulling off into the cricket-filled night, confused, turned on, and conflicted.
It was only the first day, and the walls were already crumbling.
-
The following week was torture. Dragging yourself out of bed after being kept up all night with ludicrous dreams, dreams of what could’ve happened if you two didn’t stop. Panties sticky and eyes heavy, you crawl out of bed and dread having to face him every day.
It went the same every day; you arrived, maybe a little later than usual. You avoided every look he shot your way, and you never asked any questions. Just listened and took notes, silently. And when it was time to watch his daughter, he’d be out the front door by the time your car pulled into the driveway, walking past you in silence as you effectively traded places.
You both knew it was for your own good, to keep whatever had been brewing between you two at bay, even if it was never explicitly stated. You had hardly said a word to your professor since that first day. But your eyes said everything.
His, too, god if you both couldn’t be subtle. He’d sit at his desk, watching you click away at your laptop, your leg bouncing beneath the table as you nibbled on your nail. He imagined things about you, things that made him have to adjust his pants before he stood to continue teaching.
And when he arrived home early? Fuck it was even worse. He’d quietly sneak in the front door and catch you and Ami on the couch, her head lying on her lap with her blanket tight in her grasp.
You read to her in a soothing, quiet voice, and gently, your hand stroked the top of her head, playfully brushing your fingers over her face like you were trying to convince her to close her eyes, all with a beautiful smile on your face.
Your pretty pout, your mothering voice, your frizzy hair, and your soft body. God, it makes him so hard it hurts. That night, he announced himself and offered to take Ami off to bed himself, and by the time he made it downstairs, you were already in your car and pulling out of the driveway. It was better this way anyway, Mingi would tell himself. But better for whom? And for what?
Why was this so wrong?
His morale was beginning to chip away, and with each passing hour, each passing day, it was getting harder and harder to keep his hands off of you. And he could tell you felt the same. Your lingering looks and the way your thighs would clench when your gazes met in the lecture room.
Saturday night. You did not go to class that day; therefore, you did not see him. But you would have to later. He always travels to campus on Saturday night to get any extra work done. A workaholic, you called him once. And it was true.
So when you arrived at his front door once again, you tried with every bone in your body to act normal. Unlocking the entrance, you walked inside the now familiar home and stopped in your tracks when you noticed him. Standing in the hallway entrance, like he was waiting for you.
His eyes are low, and his body seems tense. Wearing a form-fitting black dress shirt today, the top two buttons undone. Something more casual for the weekend. A small silver necklace with a dog tag pendant disappeared beneath the collar, and you could see the print of the tag through his shirt. His hair was messier, and his glasses were clasped loosely in his hand.
You breathe quietly, then he's walking towards you. Just as you think he’s going to stop, he walks right past you and reaches for his watch in the little brown bowl. “Ami is down for a nap; if she’s not up by five, go ahead and rouse her.”
He slips on the timepiece, then slides his glasses onto his face, letting them sit low on the bridge of his nose. You nod in acknowledgment, and he's already made his way to the front door, his car keys jingling on his fingers.
Just as you think he’s going to leave, he pauses, his hand hovering above the knob.
“And keep your hands out of my liquor cabinet, young lady.” Now that makes your heart stop. You may have indulged one night after you put Ami to bed, just a couple shots, nothing too concerning. But he had noticed, of course, he had.
When you don't reply, he turns back to you and raises his eyebrows in a scrutinizing question. “Next time, have enough manners to ask. That stuff is not cheap, sweetheart.” The pet name had a bite to it, and you can’t help but want to bite back.
He turns, opens the door, and takes one step outside.
“I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll ask politely next time.” You speak the words with a ghost of a moan enveloping them, and you could see the way his shoulders tense and his hands squeeze the doorknob harder.
Mingi inhales sharply and keeps his head forward. The silence stretches so long and thin you think time might have frozen. And when he speaks next, it sends electricity through your blood, and you can't deny the way you feel your skin tingle.
He laughs, a slow, soft chuckle. “Keep that shit up, (Name),” he challenges, adjusting the straps of his watch in one swift movement. “I can be a bad man if you need me to.” Then the door is shutting behind him, a loud click that rivals the pounding of your heart in your ears.
The house is silent once again, and you are left alone with your racing thoughts and a really, really stupid fantasy in your mind that makes you feel like the nastiest bitch on earth.
-
The bottoms of your feet felt like they were burning, and the floors of his house were frigid. The heat of your body rivaled the still quiet of the house, Ami put to bed, leaving you as the only soul awake inside.
Mingi would be home any minute. And it was at this moment that you needed to make a decision. You weren’t sure what you were going to do, or rather, you weren’t sure what he was going to do.
Or what he wanted to do.
You felt trapped in a home with no lock, like there was no escape. The windows were unbreakable, and the walls were too thick. You were a trapped animal who did not want to leave in the first place.
You could argue that you were a dumb, naive little girl who didn’t know her way in the world, who couldn’t pick up on the signs that her professor wanted to fold her in half and show her what it felt like to be ruined by a real man.
You’d be such a liar, because that’s the one thing that you wanted. You were stupid for wanting this. And Mingi wholeheartedly believed that.
He believed that your wanting him was complete ignorance of consequences, turning a blind eye to plenty of boys who were perfect for a sweet girl such as yourself.
Choosing a man, one that would not care how much you cried those pretty tears, a man that would fuck you until you weren’t able to tell where you ended and he began.
And it was taking everything in his power as he climbed into his car after work that night to not drive himself off the bridge as he drove. Because that would be the sole and only way to stop himself from pouncing on you as soon as he stepped through the front door.
You lie on his bed. In his room. Invading his space without a care in the world as you took in his abode. Neat, clean-smelling, suffocating. Being in there felt like you couldn’t move a muscle without the walls closing in on you.
He strictly told you his room was off limits, that you had no business in there. He would come home, and he would find you in there, the doe on the wrong edge of the forest. And he would hunt you then and there, because you stepped into his territory, and the rules were painted in red on his sheets.
When Mingi first stepped foot into the house that night, he was surprised to find you missing from your usual place at the kitchen island. Reading a book, having a snack. Waiting for him so politely.
You weren’t in the living room, you weren’t in Ami’s room. The guest room, either. Were you hiding from him? He sighed and set his briefcase on the kitchen table, loosening his tie with a groan and setting his watch in the wooden bowl.
You could hear him from upstairs, the familiar sounds of him getting unready. You shifted in his sheets and sat up straight, straining your ears to listen for him.
Footsteps, the clack of the metal plates beneath his shoes, resonated throughout the house like gunfire. The sounds of them ascending the stairs, before the silence of his footfalls as he hit the carpet. He was upstairs.
Immediately, you began to second-guess your decision to be in here. Your choice to take this job. Hell, your choice to take his class to begin with. It was all too risky, too grey.
Silence again, and you could only feel your heart beating in your ears.
“I sure hope you’re not in there, doll.” His voice was so much closer that you could see his shadow through the crack beneath the door. His voice penetrated the walls of his room like a dark kind of fire, and it rattled your bones.
He could hear you. Hear you shift your weight on his sheets after he addressed you. He could hear you stand, hear you walk to the door, and stop in front of it like you were scared to walk any further.
“You’re not supposed to be in my room, you know better.” His tone was tinged with a disappointed, disciplinary note. Mingi teases you by lightly shaking the doorknob, and you nearly jump out of your skin. Why were you so nervous? You had no idea.
You know better. One of his favorite things to say to you. It was true after all. You do know better, but it doesn’t mean you acted like it.
Mingi wouldn’t admit it. Not to you, not to himself either. But he was having so much fun with you. You awakened this dangerous excitement in him that made him want to make all the wrong choices.
He wanted to bend you over his knee and punish you for affecting him the way you did. He wanted to bury his fingers deep in your hair and pull like he was trying to steer you about at his discretion while he worked you inside and out.
Mingi wanted to lay your body out and make you cum so many times you’d have to drop out of his class because every time you laid eyes on him, you would still feel him in your belly.
You made him feel alive, and at his age, that was a dangerous thing.
When you didn’t respond to him, he lowered his voice to a small, gentle coax, like he was trying to convince you he was no threat. “Listen, sweetheart, you’re not in trouble.” It was like he was using his dad voice on you, and you hated that it made you freeze and your heart flutter.
“I just want to talk to you. So are you going to come out of my room? Or am I going to have to come get you myself?”
Your hand hovered over the knob, and just as you dropped it to twist it open, you stopped. Your brain reeled in your skull, and you backed away from the door with small, quiet steps.
When Mingi realized you wouldn’t be opening the door, he couldn’t help but smile. So typical of someone so young and fresh-blooded like you.
You wanted to be found, you wanted to be desired, you wanted to be chased. You wanted Mingi to open that door and make you regret your decision not to listen to him.
You didn’t use your manners and ask with your big girl words, but don’t worry, he’d come in there and set you straight.
Just as you were starting to second-guess yourself, the knob twists, and the door makes no sound. No creak, no squeal on the hinges. Just a silent, slow invitation. The warm light of the stairwell flooded the floor of the dark bedroom, like a spill of orange oil. He stepped in, reached back, and shut the door closed once more with a muted click, and darkness shrouded the room again.
The silence stretched as he stalked towards you; with every step he took, you took one back.
With every step he removed something. His shoes came first, then he reached up and slipped his glasses off his nose, setting them on the dresser he passed by.
His tie was next, his big veiny hands untying it gracefully and wrapping it around the palm of his hand like a leash, teasingly, before he let it hit the floor.
One by one until you were backed against the wall by his headboard. His smell surrounded you like mustard gas, his body shadowed over you like a monster, and his eyes pierced through the dark like a hunter. You barely contained your trembling once he was close enough to touch, close enough to melt into.
His big, rough hands find your wrists, gently gripping them and sliding his palms up your inner arms, over your shoulders, to the back of your neck. He cupped your nape like he was trying to cradle your head from injury, so gentle and so loving.
He squeezed softly, stepping further into you, pressing his body against yours, molding your front with his. His head craned down, and he maneuvered your neck to train your eyes on him. In the dark, everything felt more intense. His touch on your neck burned, the way his thumbs stroked along the edges of your jaw, and his blunt fingernails scraped against your nape.
He inhaled deeply, like he was trying to calm himself.
“Asking for permission really isn’t your style is it?” He spits out the words like a reprimand, and he could feel you shiver under his touch when he said it. You had tears in your eyes, you looked like you had just dropped your lollipop, and you wanted to cry. You were so pretty.
You felt him everywhere, in your ribcage and in your head; he smelled so good. The silver in his hair glimmered from the lamp in the far corner. You heard a roll of thunder in the distance that sounded like Mingi’s moans. The onpour of rain that hit the roof like a broken television.
He looked so beautiful in the dark.
“We can fix that.”
While one hand remained on your neck, the other slid away, along your jaw, up the front of your throat, until you felt his fingers prod against your pouted lips. You opened with zero hesitation, and he slid his middle and ring fingers into your mouth, laying them flat on your tongue.
Oh, so slowly, he glides his fingers in and out of your pretty little mouth, pushing just far enough against the back of your tongue to make the tears in your eyes finally fall. “Such a nasty, pretty baby.” His eyes fell like he was entranced by you, your compliance, and the way you shook like a deer. His eyebrows knit together like he was trying to memorize you, everything about you.
He presses his fingers up, and your canines gently sink into the flesh, and it makes his skin tingle. Back down across your tongue, breaching the back of your mouth, gagging around him with a sad little choke.
He slips his fingers out of your mouth, and you hardly notice the saliva that connected to him, with how you could not pull your eyes away from his face. With a patience that drives you both mad, he trails his hand down the front of your body, over the swell of your breasts beneath your shirt, down to the waistband of your shorts.
He presses his hand at the back of your neck harder, forcing your forehead to collide with his. Nowhere to run as he slips his hand into your shorts.
“You wanna be nasty?” he whispers against your lips, and you catch yourself nodding. You didn’t even mean to, but he finds it so amusing.
Your entire body jerks when you feel his wet fingertips slide beneath your panties and brush over your lips, lifting the slightest bit, finding your clit with such quick ease you could hardly believe it.
Your hands shoot up and fist the front of his shirt, and your eyelids widen then flutter as he presses against that sensitive bundle of nerves, a gentle press and prod as he circles against your clit with teasing intent.
When Mingi watched you practically melt at the simplest of his touches, he felt the confessions start to rear at the backs of his teeth. The urge to tell you everything you may or may not want to hear.
His breath ghosts over your parted lips, his fingers making mind-numbing work of your clit, rotating movement and pressurized strokes that made your thighs shake around his wrist. With a deep breath, he pressed his lips to yours, slipping his thick tongue into your mouth and groaning down your throat.
His fingers claw at the back of your neck, tracing intimate patterns into your mouth, as his fingers dance away from your clit, and gently he prods at your dripping entrance. He coats his fingers in your arousal, and he presses his thigh between your legs to spread you further for him.
“You’re such a pretty little thing.” He whispers into your mouth, and you gasp against him when he slowly fills your soaked cunt with one thick finger, and you feel your eyes roll when he presses so deep and curls up just right. He circles the pad of his finger against that spongy spot, and he purrs into your mouth when your hands on his shirt tighten even more.
“I drive myself crazy thinking about you at night.” Slow, deep come-hither motions inside of you that had your breath coming in broken shudders. “I’d think about kissing you silly, holding you down, playing with you, having that smart mouth of yours moaning for me instead of giving me lip.”
You shiver as he slips a second finger inside of you, a slight stretch that had your knees buckling, but he kept you up by the back of your neck, fully pushing his body against yours and holding you still against his bedroom wall. You moan whiny and pathetic as he slips his thumb up and gently circles it against your clit, all the while his fingers keep curling nice and deep inside you.
“Would you like that?” He murmurs, pulling away from your lips and gently kissing below your ear, breathing lowly against the side of your neck. Your skin shivers as his voice brushes over your ear, and you can hardly control the way your body responds to him so effortlessly, like he has an invisible leash on you.
You nod, muttering out a pathetic ‘yes.’ Mingi pressed the tip of his nose against your neck and pressed his lips against your skin so you could feel them move when he talked. “Words, sweet girl. Haven’t I already told you this?”
It was hard to form words while he was fingerfucking you so well, so deep it was making your stomach cave in, but the need for more outweighed everything else. “Y-yes, sir.” You whimpered, and you felt your chest flutter when he groaned lowly against your ear, a guttural, primal sound that had you clenching around his fingers.
He leans away from your neck with a fleeting kiss, moving his hand from the back of your neck around to the front. Squeezing at the base of your throat, his fingers pressing on those sensitive, soft spots on the side that started making your eyes darken at the corners. His fingers pressed harder, deeper, coaxing inside of you with purpose that was making you go insane with bliss.
Your hands frantically grasped at anything you could, his wrist, his shirt, his belt, anything you could to ground yourself as he pushed you towards that orgasm. He held your throat nice and tight, and you were choking on moans as he fucked you with his thick fingers, and he breathed heavily against your lips. The grip on your neck kept your head in place for him, and as your eyes began to roll to the back of your head, he pressed against those soft spots a little harder.
“Eyes, darling, eyes,” he commands in a breathless moan, and you tear your eyes from the back of your head to look at him, and it nearly undoes you. His fingers are relentlessly curling deep in your pussy, his big warm hand squeezing your throat just tight enough to make your body feel all fuzzy. His dark, begging eyes make your stomach clench, his guiding, baritone voice making your whimpers slip out involuntarily.
“You wanna cum?” He whines against your lips, just lightly loosening his grip on your neck to allow you to respond. “Ask me nicely.”
“Yes, fuck- please…” You moan hoarsely, and Mingi takes his bottom lip between his teeth.
“So you do have manners.” He teases, his thumb brushing upwards against your clit as the grip on your throat tightens once more. “Cum then, baby. Let it go, make a mess for me.” The corners of your vision bleed into something dark, and he lowers his mouth to take your lips with his again, moaning softly into your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Come on, come on….” he barely whispers into the kiss, and you cannot deny him even if you tried. His fingers never cease, only slowing as he does his very best to prolong your orgasm like some kind of torture method. His fingers curl and prod, rolling inside of you as your orgasm rocks your body, a feeling so intense you feel like you are shattering from the inside out.
“Thats it, that's it. Don’t stop.” He keeps kissing you, fucking your cunt with his fingers, squeezing your throat just hard enough you feel like you might have been on the brink of passing out.
Mingi rides you through it, the restraint in his movements starting to slip away the more he sees of you. His hand on your throat moves away and slips beneath your shirt, up and over your smooth stomach, around to the warm skin of your waist. Up until his hand slips beneath your bra and cups the swell of your breast. So soft beneath his calloused palms, he finds that he can’t stop his fingers inside of you, massaging your chest and continuing to fingerfuck you through the overstimulation.
“Wait-” you whine out, interrupted by your own moans. Mingi reaches behind your back and finds the clasp of your bra with more surprising ease. It falls loose beneath your shirt, and he maneuvers your shirt over your head. He catches your surprise, and it only makes his cock twitch at your sweet expression.
“I’m a grown man, (Name).” He speaks against your cheek, slipping the straps of your bra down your arms until it falls onto his floor. “None of this is new to me, baby.” Finally, he slips his fingers out of your cunt, and the slick sound it made was embarrassing. He gives you no time to quell on it as he slides his fingers into his mouth and cleans your mess off him with a hungry moan.
His other hand makes quick work of the buttons of his shirt. One by one, unclipping the silver buttons until it's completely open. As he reaches for his belt, the clank of the metal makes your thighs clench. He cocks his head to the side, running his tongue over his bottom lip.
“Lie down,” he instructs, as he undoes his belt. The dark of the room shrouds his face, and a loud rumble of thunder rolls, much closer this time. You can hardly move at first, your eyes trailing down his body. Toned, the grey and black happy trail that disappears beneath the waistband of his pants is tantalizing.
You swallow and slowly sit on the edge of the bed, but Mingi doesn’t give you the chance to lie back on your own. Once he loosens his belt, he’s leaning over you and caging you in. His hands find your waist as he inches you further up the bed and pushes you onto your back. You stare at the dog tag on his necklace that swings back and forth as he sets you up how he wants.
His thighs, thick and strong, cage either side of your legs as he leans down, his hands massaging up your sides like he was trying to soothe you to sleep. He kisses between the valley of your breasts, down your chest, and along your stomach, all the while his hands make their way further down to the waistband of your shorts, teasing you with his fingers slipping beneath them as he worships your body.
“So soft.” He mumbles between kisses as he slips your shorts down your legs and off onto his floor. “So pretty, so sweet.”
When his fingers hook on your panties, he moans and nibbles on the flesh of your stomach, and your entire body tenses as he slips off the final piece of clothing.
Down your legs, off your feet, and onto the floor. He’s quick to sink to his knees at the edge of the bed, hooking his big, strong arms around your lower waist and pulling you to the edge of the bed, just enough to where your ass nearly hangs off.
He signals you with his hands, making a grabbing motion. You watch and slowly give your hands to him, and he laces his fingers with yours and holds your hands down against your abdomen.
Your thighs hang over his broad shoulders, his face inches away from your dripping cunt, and Mingi’s eyes bore into yours as he places a soft, gentle kiss against your mound.
You whimper in anticipation, and his hands squeeze yours harder, your limbs twitching at his pinning gaze.
“You want my mouth, honey?” He teases, blowing a stream of cold air against you, your thighs twitching around his head.
“Fuck… please?” You beg lowly, and he gently lets his tongue loll out of his mouth, splitting your lips with a low laugh. When you jerk at the feel of his warm tongue, he tugs your hands harder against your stomach and trails his tongue up to circle your clit.
“Stop squirming, and take it for me.” He opens his mouth and takes your sensitive nub into his mouth, running his tongue over it and sucking it like he’s been deprived for months. Which technically wasn’t a lie. He had dreams of your taste, dreamed of the reactions he could drag out of you with his mouth.
Your moans come out high-pitched and cracked, his warm mouth working your poor pussy out like his favorite meal. Obscene, sloppy noises as he fucks you open with his mouth. Detaching from your clit and burying himself between your thighs even further. His nose nudges the nerves while his tongue slips inside of you. Tasting you, drinking you, making you cry like a baby while he ruins you.
“F-fuck… too much-!” You were so sensitive after his fingers fucking you stupid just mere minutes before, and now his thick tongue is filling you like no other, his pretty big nose pressing up against your clit so perfectly it was insane.
He lets go of your hands, just to take both your wrists in one hand while the other flattens against your stomach, trailing down along your inner thigh, before gently sliding between your slick pussy lips.
“Fuck, you taste incredible, such a wet mess.” He wraps his lips around your clit and slides his coated fingers inside of you once again, and your voice shatters when she curls them perfectly. The stimulation of his mouth and the feel of his fingers pressing and kneading, your wrists twist and turn in his grasp, but he makes no move to let you go. He only squeezes tighter. He groans around your clit, and your mouth falls open as the vibrations of his voice send sparks flying in your brain.
Moaning like he could feel it himself, slow, coaxing motions of his fingers against your walls that had your eyes rolling, the tip of his tongue circling your clit just enough to have you tethering that edge.
“Good girl… good girl…” he coos, his voice muffled as he focuses on getting you to cum again. “Feel me, focus on me, pretty baby. God…”
He was getting off on your frantic movements, your endless amounts of arousal that seemed to gush from you. The way you clenched around his fingers when his voice vibrated around your clit.
“You’re right there.” He encourages, shaking his head back and forth against your cunt, your arousal slipping down his chin and coating his lips, the wet slurping sounds so nasty and vile.
“Keep working for me, you're so close.” Mingi talks you through it, pulling away from your clit and littering wet kisses against your tummy. “Rock your hips, tell me what feels good, let me hear you.”
You choke out a broken cry, and he’s tempted to let up just so you can quiet down, but he’s addicted to you, and he couldn’t stop even if he tried.
“U-up..” you stutter out, and he wastes no time. Gently, he moves his fingers inside of you, nudging them upwards a little more. He feels it, your body tense and your cunt clench, and you let out a low groan.
“There… right there…” You exhale, and he presses up against that spot, circling the tip of his fingers against it repeatedly, instead of thrusting them. A constant, mind-numbing pressure that feels so good it hurts.
“Yeah, there we go.” He grits out, bringing his tongue down and flicking it up against your clit in soft kitten licks, a slow light, warm pressure that makes your hips jerk to chase it more.
You try to cry out, beg for more, but the harder his fingers pressed, the less you could remember English. Your breaths were whiny, and your voice kept cracking, and you were so close to cumming again.
“I'm going to count you down, darling.” His low voice pulls a low wail from your chest, and you try to move your hands to grab his head to push him further against you, just to remember he had you restrained.
“You can cum your brains out when I get to one, okay? Can you do that for me?”
You nod your head frantically, your hips bucking against his tongue that oh so gently teases your clit. Mingi smiles and nibbles your sensitive nerves playfully, and then he starts to increase the pressure of his fingertips against your G-spot.
“10.” You cry out when he runs his tongue along your inner thigh, up and down, a teasing motion against the sensitive skin that makes your entire body flare with heat. “9… 8… 7…”
With every number he bites you. Sinking his teeth into your thigh, your stomach, your clit, anything his mouth could reach between your legs. And all the while, his fingers never stop curling.
“6… 5… uh uh. C’mon, baby, get a hold of yourself, not yet.” He feels you clench hard, your moans getting breathy. He knows you’re so close, he can hear it in your tears. But he gave you a command, and he expects you to follow it.
“You can do it… 4.” He wraps his lips around your clit one more time, and this time he lets out long, drawn-out groans that come from deep in his chest, the quiver of his voice stimulating your clit so perfectly you thought you wouldn’t make it.
“3…2… c'mon baby, make it good. Cum yourself stupid for me, okay? For me… please?”
God, when he whines. It hurts your head. You force yourself to breathe, the knot in your stomach tighter than ever. He lets go of your wrists, and immediately, your hands fly and bury themselves in his soft hair. His now free hand snakes underneath your thigh and hikes it further up his shoulder, prying you open as your legs begin to close around his skull.
His tough fingers sink into the soft flesh, and he drags his tongue over your clit in repeated, pressured waves.
“1… go ahead, baby, cum for me. Don’t hold back, give it to me. Let me have you.” You shatter, instantaneously. It hurt, it felt amazing. Your entire body locks up, his hand on your thigh, squeezing so hard it was sure to bruise, his fingers coax and prod, dragging you through it.
He moans around your clit, and you feel like you’ve been shocked with volts of electricity. Your fingers grip his hair at his scalp, the intensity of your orgasm nearly knocking you out.
He laps at your pussy, drinking up the slick that spills from you, and you find yourself limp beneath him, regaining your breath as he cleans you up greedily during the aftershocks. Purely for his own enjoyment, it seems. He could watch you do that all day. He finds himself wondering if you’ve ever squirted before.
He rests back on his haunches, taking in your body below him. Squirming and soaked, begging for his hands and for his mouth.
“You’re so fucking bad for me.” Mingi breathes out in barely controlled disbelief, like your very being was something unhealthy while he was on a diet.
He’s leaning back over you and letting one hand slip around your body, pressing against your lower back to arch you a bit, his other hand unbuttoning his pants with hurried precision.
His lips swallow yours in a hungry moan, tilting his head and kissing you long and deep and frantic, your heavy breaths brushing against each other, his warm tongue running over yours in a cannibalistic kind of hunger.
“You’re making me such a bad, bad man, baby.” Mingi coos into the kiss, and while he’s kissing you into a fever, you feel something warm and heavy press against your stomach. Slowly, he grinds his hips against you, humping his cock against your belly.
You can tell two things immediately. Number one. Mingi was feral. The kiss was all teeth and drool, not giving you one second to breathe. The hand on your back is moving back up and gripping the back of your neck to help maneuver your head in the best way to kiss you as deep as possible.
And two. He felt so fucking huge.
Not to mention the mere size of him as he is, his broad shoulders shielding you from even being able to see the ceiling of his bedroom itself. But you can feel his cock twitch against your flesh. Long, so much so it reaches past your belly button, thick, hot. He was gonna split you in half, there was no doubt about it.
When he finally gives you a moment to breathe, he’s taking his other hand and grabbing the underside of your thigh, lifting it and maneuvering your leg over his shoulder, your ankle resting next to his head.
Spreading you nice and pretty, he reaches back down and grabs the base of his cock, setting it between your drooling lips, twitching against your clit, and you groan loudly into the space.
He gently moves his hips through your folds, a slow, slick glide as he lubes himself up with your arousal, moaning low and deep as he coats himself with you. His hand drags up your body, grabbing every inch of flesh he can before his hand is cupping over your mouth, pressing down nice and hard.
Your eyes widen as his hips never cease their movement, only gliding even smoother the wetter the length of his cock gets. He leans down to press his lips against your ear, and he kisses it lightly, his shaky breath fanning over you.
“Shh…shh.” he coos, and he cock jumps when he feels your moans vibrate beneath his palm. He litters the side of your neck with wet kisses, and your entire body shivers as you realize that no matter what you do, you cannot move.
He has you pinned against his mattress with the strength of his own body, holding you down with his weight. He feels you shake, and he swears he feels your cunt get even wetter, and he’s barely holding back the primal urge to pound you into his bed until you cry for him to stop.
“Not gonna use a condom with you, baby, I’m going to give it to you raw, maybe fuck some manners into your head while I’m at it.” Mingi groans nice and low against your ear, and then he’s finally sinking his cock into you, nice and slow. Stretching your pretty little pussy out as torturously as he can manage.
When you squeal beneath his hand, he shakes his head and leans back, his eyes lock with your watery ones as he clicks his tongue.
“No baby no….” He purrs, but he doesn’t stop sinking into you, pressing his hand further against your drooling mouth. “You have to be quiet, okay? Please?” He begs in a low, whiny tone. You can feel every vein of him graze against your pulsing walls, your tears spill down your cheeks and flow over his knuckles, and he whispers sweet nothings to you as he seems to sink into you endlessly.
“Such a pretty crier, darling.”
“Almost there, just a little more, beautiful slutty girl, taking me so well.”
His fingers are wet with your tears, and he can’t quite bottom out yet; he has to fuck himself deeper into you.
“Alright, I need you to be a good girl for me and keep that pretty mouth shut, I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?” You whine with a broken cry, and he’s pulling his hips back, sliding the length of him out of you, and then sliding right back in with a moan you can feel in your chest. Your legs shake as he pushes himself just a little deeper this time, and your belly feels full of him.
“Yeah, you've been wanting me to mess this pussy up, huh, baby?” Mingi’s free hand finds the base of your throat once more, helping keep you quiet by limiting your airflow. And you tighten around him so much that he has to pause because he physically cannot move any further.
He laughs lowly, and he peeps the way your eyelids flutter, and you seem to have drunk haze over your eyes. One hand over your mouth, so large he practically has your entire jaw in his grip. The other with a grounding hold on your throat, just tight enough to make you a little dumb. His entire body presses down against yours, pinned beneath him, so helpless.
His cock thick, heavy, and deep in your guts, slow, mean strokes that make your drool pool in the back of your throat.
He grins, and then he’s pressing himself deeper into your cunt, and you moan gutturally against his palm.
“Nasty little girl. You like not being able to breathe when I fuck you? Huh?” You don’t answer, of course, just moan and whine as he fucks his cock into you, deep and slow.
Your muscles start to tense from the pressure, your leg straightening over Mingi’s shoulder as the pleasure absolutely sweeps you away beneath his warm body.
“Your legs are locking up, baby.” He murmurs, pressing his lips to the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. “C’mon, relax, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” He teases you, even while drilling his cock into you like he was insatiable.
Then he’s slipping his hand underneath your knee, bending your leg forward, and pressing it against your chest. You cry out, and suddenly he’s sinking in ever deeper, and you feel so incredibly full. His hand slips away from your mouth for just a moment to hook beneath your other knee, and pushes it up to your chest as well, folded underneath your professor like some kind of doll.
You choke out an overstimulated sob, and once he’s able to hold both your legs down against your body with his chest, his hand is back on your mouth to keep your noises down.
He stops moving his hips and shivers, the new angle having you so much tighter around his cock, and with your knees up to your shoulders, making you look so small, he’s seconds away from losing it.
“S-Sir…” you whine beneath his palm, your cries muffled and your breath hot against his skin. Mingi’s cock jumps inside of you when he feels your voice against his hand, and he drops his head by your neck with a shaky, low moan.
“I’m sorry, pretty baby.” He murmurs in your ear, and then he starts to move again. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”
This time, he’s kissing spots so deep you feel him in your ribcage. His tip scraping that perfect spot that makes your muscles cramp, and your throat catches.
“Am I too big for you?” He smiles against the flared skin of your throat, pulling his hips all the way back, tantalizingly slow enough to force you to feel every thick inch of him stroke in and out of your walls.
He leans away from your neck and looks at you, your eyes fluttering and your nose flaring as he slowly eases into a meaner pace, nearly pounding your cunt like he couldn’t control himself.
“Look at me, baby,” Mingi mumbles softly, and when you don’t respond, he squeezes your jaw harder, and your eyes shoot open. “I said, look at me, right here.” His voice is rougher this time, commanding. Like how he talks to the class when he wants their undivided attention, but this time it’s laced with pure primal need.
Your eyes lock with his, and everything starts to crumble. Your whines break into breathless, sad whimpers, your legs shake even when he’s got them pressed to your chest, your pussy gushes around him as he finds a relentless, deep rhythm, drilling his fat cock into you.
“Holy shit, you’re soaked.” He breathes out, pressing his lips against the back of his hand that covers your mouth. His hips smack against yours, a wet slap of skin with every drag of his hips; you could hardly hear yourself think.
“Good slut… fuckkk- my baby is so needy, hm? Such a selfish pussy.” He’s bullying you now, his swollen lips shiny and wet, then finally he’s taking his hand off your mouth and immediately replacing it with his lips.
Kissing you slow and deep, muffling your cries with his own mouth. His tongue fills your mouth, and your moans vibrate against him, and you feel as he starts to fuck up into you faster, the slaps of skin louder and the pleasure scraping up your spine and rendering you cockdrunk.
“Such a crybaby.” He groans down your throat, his warm chest pressed against your own like a heated cage, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.
“Mm, just wanna- fuck… just wanna make you feel good.” He sinks his teeth into your bottom lip and almost growls, and you notice he’s starting to get rougher, get meaner. Losing control.
He started to ramble in cracked moans under his breath. “Better than her… p-prettier than her… fuck-! Softer than h-her…”
You hadn’t had half the mind to dwell on his words, but you just knew he must have been talking about his wife. Whether she was in the picture or not, he was still thinking about her. And you hated to admit it, but it sent your ego soaring.
His hands grip the underside of your thighs, pushing your legs harder against your body, then he’s dragging his hips back with a heady growl and pounding you.
Hard, deep thrusts that have you sliding up the mattress, he’s careful enough not to send the headboard flying against the wall, but it’s still enough that it sends your poor little brain into a frenzy.
“Shouldn’t be letting me do this to you.” He breathes through gritted teeth, his messy salt and pepper hair falling over his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak again, but interrupted himself with a broken moan. You felt so fucking good around him, he couldn’t believe it.
A wet, blissful mess under him. Such a smart girl who risked everything she had just to be ruined by a man old enough to be her father. There was no redeeming himself now. And he wasn’t sure that he’d want to.
“Does it feel good? Does my baby feel good here?” His hand gently presses against your lower stomach, where he’s buried inside of you, teasing you with heated questions he knows you don’t have the capacity to answer. You shake and shiver every time his tip kisses that sweet spot.
You’re doing so well, keeping your voice down, struggling to breathe as you try to keep your noises to yourself. And in all honesty, all he wants to do is hear you. He wants to hear you squeal and cry for him, but not while his daughter is home.
“P-please…!” You weep, your hands scrambling to grab something, anything. He doesn’t let you, grabbing both your wrists in his huge hand and lifting your hands above your head.
“Wrap your legs around me.” He bites out, sliding his hand from under your thigh and covering your mouth once again. Your muffled whines flow through his hand as you follow his command, wrapping your shaky legs around his waist as he adjusts the position of his hips so he can put as much force as he can behind his thrusts.
With your wrists pinned above you and your mouth beneath his palm, his gaze burns through your skull, and his eyebrows knit together like he’s focusing. “Shh. Be still, be quiet.”
You whine loudly, and he presses his hand harder against your mouth, shaking his head like he was disappointed.
“No ma’am, you know better.” He groans, sinking his teeth into your shoulder to muffle his own noises as he starts to fuck you so hard it’s like he is trying to force your cunt to mold to his shape.
Resolute, deep, cruel, Mingi uses your body like he is burning from the inside out. Angling his hips upward with every thrust to perfectly graze against your G-spot in a way that had you spiraling forward to your orgasm in record time. Your neck involuntarily cranes backward, and his hand follows your movements, keeping a tight grip on your jaw to muffle you.
Your wrists wiggle in his grasp, your hands shaking and spasming as all you feel is white-hot bliss. Like your entire being was pleasure embodied, and Mingi was working you out so perfectly.
The wet slaps were impossible to mask, the creak of the bed rivaling Mingi’s only thought that swam around his brain.
Break her. Break her. Break her.
You sobbed quietly, and you couldn’t believe this was happening. It all felt too good, and Mingi was way too good at this. It would be easy to get addicted, and it would ultimately be the downfall for you both. But you were too lost in it to care; all you wanted was to cum, and Mingi was getting you there no problem.
“I know baby, I know.” He growls under his breath, and your stomach lurches.
Mingi whines out broken and low curses, dropping his forehead against yours, his body jerking when he feels you tighten around him.
He lifts his eyes to your fucked out ones and kisses the tip of your nose, such a soft gesture, all the while he pounds your pussy to death.
“You cumming beautiful?” He exhales, and you nod frantically beneath his hand. There’s a conflict in his eyes, then he’s leaning down to whisper in your ear.
“I’m gonna move my hand, but you have to be quiet, darling. I want this to be good for you, but you have to breathe through it.”
You weren’t really listening, too focused on your orgasm, the more it coiled in your lower stomach. You nodded, anything to let you cum. Mingi wasn’t buying your eagerness, and he shook his head.
“Look me in the eyes and say you understand.” You force your eyes to lock with his, his hips slowing to a deep grind, your shuddering breaths warming his hand.
Your pleading gaze has him crumbling, and slowly he slips his hand away and grips the front of your throat loose enough you can breathe, but enough to assert control.
“I u-understand!” You cry, your voice a low whimper. “Please, Mingi, I’ll b-be good! I promise…”
Your sweet voice, it makes his cock twitch inside of you, and he grinds so deep into you that your lungs shake.
“Beg.” He snarls, forming his lips into a mocking pout. “Say, ‘Please let me cum, please fuck me through it, please.’ Make it pretty, use your manners.”
Your nose flares, and your cheeks are wet with tears make Mingi’s heart pound.
“Please… let me c-cum.” You whimper, your bottom lip wobbling, every word a drunken slur. “Please, wan’ it so bad… please.”
He smiles greedily, your pleas trailing off into quiet, mindless babbles, while he slips his hand between your melded bodies and finds your clit.
You feel his fingertips press up against it, and a gasp tears from your lungs, your legs tightening around him enough to force his hips to sink his cock deeper into you. Mingi tucks his bottom lip between his teeth drunkenly, circling your clit and grinding his hips into you each time he bottoms out with every powerful thrust.
“Yes. Yes…” You weep pathetically, and with every clench of your cunt, every sweet noise from your mouth, Mingi finds it very hard to push the thought of fucking a baby into you to the back of his mind.
His body craves it, his soul screams at him to fill you up, his cock twitches from the sensitivity of holding himself back. He knows that it would be bad for both of you. Once he lets go like that, he’s going to want to fill you up again, again, again. Until the results are satisfactory and you are round with his child.
He doesn’t want that. He’s sure you don’t want that. His body craves it, his instincts pick up on your young, palpable fertility like he was some kind of animal.
Your legs lock up around him, and your back arches off the bed, so close to that blinding edge. Your hands reach around his claw at his broad back, your nails scratching him up, dragging a wince from his lips.
“M-Mingi-! Oh my god… right there- right there…”
The authoritative honorific long abandoned, your brain clouds over as your orgasm creeps up your neck.
“You got it, sweetheart…” he praises, never stopping the repetitive strokes of his fingers, the filthy grind of his hips. “Cum for me, all over me, please baby…”
He kisses the front of your throat, sucking dark marks into your soft skin and running his tongue flat over them. Repeated begs for you to fall apart on his cock, begging for you to let go.
Your entire body tenses, and then it washes over you in waves; they seem to never stop. He doesn’t stop moving his hips; he starts to fuck you faster. Dragging your orgasm out and taking advantage of how tight you’ve gotten, you cry out and shake violently. Mingi gives you no room to breathe, every slick sound of his cock slipping in and out of you so smoothly, only seeming to help you cum harder.
“That’s it… yeah… c’mon babygirl. Don’t stop. Cum until it hurts.” He smashes his lips with yours and moans loudly down your throat, his tongue invading your mouth with a greedy hunger, fucking you with renewed vigor. His hands slide up and cup your jaw, holding your head still as he kisses you stupid.
Then, your legs tighten around him, you tilt your head, and kiss him deeper. You force his hips against yours, and he sinks deeper into you.
“Inside.” You moan around his tongue, and you could feel his low, gravelly whine against your teeth. “Please.”
“Fuck…” he growls, and the hands on your jaw slip up and splay against either side of your face, holding you like you might try and run from him. “Don’t say that.”
But you double down. “Please, sir. Need you to fuck me full of you… get me all messy.”
Mingi gives you a warning look, his thumb slipping down and pushing against your chin, opening your mouth for him. He opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, and you watch as a string of spit falls down the tip of his tongue and into your mouth, and your entire body erupts into an uncontrollable shiver.
“You want it?”He grunts, molding his lips with yours and kissing you so nastily, so dirty, you swear you were cumming again. You whisper pleading ‘yes’s’ and whimpering begs for him to fill you up, and you could practically feel the resolve crack in hips. “Gonna make this pussy a fucking mess.”
How could he resist? Mingi’s hips stutter, and his mouth opens against yours, breathing heavily, exhales broken with whines and groans. His pretty eyes half lidded, and his eyebrows pulled together as he shoves himself deep in your cunt one last time before he’s cumming, rolling his hips into you as he shakily moans against your lips, filling your pussy up with him.
Warmth spreads throughout your body, and Mingi’s entire body presses down heavily against yours, his hips grinding against you in slow, repeated motions, making sure not a single drop of him slips out of you.
Your heavy breaths fill the quiet of his room that has fallen, and realization begins to set in. There was no coming back from this.
You weren’t going to drop his class. You weren’t going to quit the babysitting job. You needed both, and Mingi could do without you, no matter what you decide to do.
He could find a new babysitter. It would be one less paper to grade.
But he doesn’t think he would be able to go one day without craving you like some kind of drug.
Slowly, he crawls off of you, his heart still racing. You sit up on your elbows, and immediately you move to gather your clothes, but his hand on your wrist stops you.
“Whoa, whoa, wait. What are you doing?” His gentle, kind voice has returned, and your eyes widen as you freeze in place.
“I’m- I’m getting my stuff…?” You’re confused, and he shakes his head like he was disappointed. He stands up and guides you to stand with him. He towers over you, and his hands, which were so rough with you earlier, caress the sides of your arms.
Up your shoulders and along the marks he littered along your neck. He presses his lips to the top of your head and kisses you softly, inhaling the smell of your shampoo. “Let me take care of you.” He murmurs into your hair, and you exhale shakily.
“Why?” You answer, and he rolls his eyes and scoffs.
“What a stupid question.” He laughs, massaging your shoulders and maneuvering you to walk towards his bathroom.
“I thought you said there was no such thing.” You tease, and he opens the bathroom door before picking you up and setting you on the counter.
“I can be wrong sometimes.” He shrugs, turning around and opening the sliding glass door of the shower. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
While he’s adjusting the temperature of the water, you turn and look at yourself in the mirror. You were an awful wreck. Frizzy hair, sweaty skin, dark marks on every inch of your body. He really did a number on you.
“I am still a gentleman after all.” He smiles and turns to fetch you once again, scooping you up and setting you inside the tub.
“You weren’t acting like one earlier.” You mumble, and he scoops some water in his hand and splashes it on your face. Your mouth falls open in shock, and he raises a warning eyebrow at you.
“Manners, young lady.”
Mingi cleans you up with a soft rag, gently washing you clean with a soap that smells like him. You nearly fall asleep in his arms, strong and grounding as held your body up.
He’s careful with you, like you’re made of glass. Attentive to your sensitive spots. He dries you off like a baby duck, avoiding your hair to not mess it up any further.
Once he’s got you cleaned up, he ushers you downstairs and urges you to eat something while he takes a shower of his own. He ever generously cuts you up a bowl of fruit, wearing nothing but a loose towel around his waist.
That strange domesticity from the first night he had hired you returned tenfold. And you couldn’t pull your eyes away from him while he worked. His damp hair clinging to his skin, his skin shiny and freckled. The tattoos on his body faded and turned green from the years of existence.
He lay you on the couch, gently massaging your ankles while you ate the fruit, a comfortable quiet settling over both.
“You can sleep here, if you want.” He whispers, massaging your calves. His glasses sit on the bridge of his nose, and he glances at you over them. You avoid his gaze, very interested in the pieces of kiwi sprinkled about your bowl.
“I shouldn’t.” You mumble, and you could feel his grip on your calf loosen. You turn and lock eyes with him, and he thinks he would do anything for those pretty eyes you give him.
“We shouldn’t.” You finish, and you move to stand, but he follows you. His hands cup your elbows and pull you close, flush to his chest. His fingers caress the fragile bone in your arms, and he leans his head down to kiss your forehead.
“Just for tonight, you shouldn’t be driving. You can hardly keep your eyes open.”
He kisses your eyelid, trailing chaste smooches down the side of your face until he melts against your lips, breathing deeply as you lean into him.
His hands slide down from your elbows to gently envelop either side of your waist, tilting his head to greedily kiss you deeper.
You sigh into his mouth, and he could feel you relax in his arms. Your hands reach up and wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him further against you.
“Okay.” You whisper, pulling away from his lips. He smiles, the smile lines making your heart flutter in your chest. He kisses the corner of your mouth, then he’s leading you away once again, the half-empty bowl of fruit abandoned on the side table. “Just this once.”
Of course, once would turn into twice. And before you know it, you have a routine with him.
Moments that were spent together in the privacy of his own home gradually transitioned into fleeting touches in the campus library, pushing you up against secluded bookshelves and eating you out to high heaven.
Dragging you to his office after class and bending you over his desk and having you then and there like some kind of animal.
You even went so far as to have him over at your home, riding on the hope that your parents wouldn’t decide to come home early from their date nights.
If the board found out, he’d be terminated effective immediately. If your parents found out? God knows how they would feel.
So you agreed to keep this little secret between you two. His daughter was none the wiser, and she never questioned whenever you chose to stay the night, it only made her happier.
You and Mingi had something. Something good? Something bad? You weren’t sure just yet.
For now, you were having fun. Something someone your age should prioritize. You act like strangers in class, only fleeting looks that were silent promises for what was to come later in the privacy of his home.
These kinds of things were always bound to end in a disaster, and god you prayed it wouldn’t. Just this one time.
You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t his wife. You were a placeholder of sorts, a ghost to fill the empty shadow left in the home. You had no place there, but the longer you stayed the more you began to burn your imprint into the floorboards.
The wolf can keep that fawn as a pet for a little while, but its instinct to consume will always outshine later down the road.
And the fawn’s instinct to flee will always be there; it never disappears. However long it chooses to ignore it, will only prolong the pain that will destroy it when it is finally devoured.
Summary: Reader who is obsessed with Seonghwa, specially his tongue finally gets the chance to live out her fantasy because of a dreading art final.
Genre: F/M, smut, explicit.
WC: 2,021
Warnings/tags:
ParkSeonghwa/Reader, Park Seonghwa, Squirting and Vaginal Ejaculation, Tongue Fucking, Come Eating, Perverted Reader, Pet Names, Alternate Universe - College/University, Degradation, Spit Kink, Tongues, Dom Park Seonghwa.
A/N: this is the fastest ive ever written and posted fanfics back to back. But I accidentally made the banner PNG big so this is ugly. It’s not like my Mingi one ughh! And Ive tried to fix it sm so just ignore it 💔! Likes, reblogs, and feedback is always welcome!
In all honesty, you wish your brain could just turn off because of the amount of perverse thoughts you had about him while trying to focus in class.
Seonghwa,the boy who sits directly next to you in your art class. Constantly you sneak side glances at him, intensely focused on the teacher’s unamusing blabbering, even if it was just for one second, watching the sway of his pencil and the way his pink, long, pointed tongue wets his perfect lips, glazing them in spit.
God, you wonder what his mouth tastes like.
A loud voice booms through the room, startling you from your trance.
“Ms.(Name), please focus. Did you hear anything I just announced about the final exam?” He says in a stern voice, waiting for your answer.
Sinking into your seat, heat spreads across your face as everyone in the room looks at you, even Seonghwa.
“Uhm..No sir..Im sorry.”
Frustration casts from him as he repeats himself.
“You’ll be partnered with Seonghwa for your final exam,” Seonghwa awkwardly smiles at you as the teacher continues. “Find a historical artist to make a biography about, you have two weeks. Class dismissed!”
Everyone rushes out of class leaving you to scramble your items into your bag, not noticing Seonghwa standing in front of your desk.
He watches you quickly shove your sketchbook into your bag, finally catching your eyes, “Hey, we can go to the campus cafe and brainstorm some ideas if you’d like.”
You shove your clammy hands into your pockets, uttering, “Yeah that would be perfect!”.
Throwing your bag over your shoulder, you follow behind Seonghwa out of the class room. A few minutes of silence passing before you clear your throat, “Sorry about earlier, I usually pay attention…Im just all over the place. You know finals and all, haha.”
He turns his head enough to look at you as he keeps his walking pace, “Oh, it’s nothing! I definitely know what you mean. But…You seem to be a pretty good artist, I've been meaning to talk to you honestly.”
You nearly trip over yourself hearing those words roll off of his tongue, before you could slip out a reply you two arrive at the cafe.
Seonghwa swings the door open for you, the aroma of coffee and sugar hits your nostrils, as the sound of the busy cafe rings in your ears. Students with laptops and loads of papers scattered around.
Taking the lead, you drag Seonghwa over to a secluded table in the corner of the cafe where no else is around, for privacy….Of course.
You sit with your hands in your lap, back facing the wall and your face towards the empty seat, watching Seonghwa settle into said empty seat.
He pulls out his oddly neat sketch book in contrast to yours. Which is covered in various random marks from paint, pencils, markers and even pins. Pages are even misplaced and not to mention the various inappropriate and even weird images you took hours drawing of him instead of doing your work.
He quickly opens his laptop and starts typing, A far too lengthy silence rests between you two as you stand up smoothing the wrinkles out of your outfit, “Would like something to drink?”
“Just a bottle of water is fine!”
You strut back to the table with two battles of water in your hand, gently you place one bottle in front Seonghwa, sitting down again.
Your eyes dawn onto his sketch book once again, “Can I see some of your work?”.
He raises his eyes from his bright screen, a charming chuckle emerges from his mouth, “only if you’ll let me see yours.”
Your heart plunges into your stomach, mouth instantly running dry.” “I--”.
Seonghwa instantly notices the color drain from your face, his smile turning into a concerned frown.
“Oh it's fine if you don't want to show me I was just joking..But here you can look at mine. I'm going to use the bathroom, okay?”
Letting out a deep breath and lowering your head from the immense amount of embarrassment. “Ok.”
You watch Seonghwa walk away, disappearing into the bathroom door. Reaching for his sketch book you divert your attention to his open water bottle that he took a drink of before leaving you alone.
You take a swift look around the golden lit room as you palm Seonghwa's bottle. Poking your tongue out slowly you run it across the rim of his bottle, letting out a low hum as you shut your eyes to envision running your tongue against his. Savoring the taste of him, your lips fully wrap around the bottle taking a small swig.
A pop sound leaves your mouth as you pull the bottle away, a string of saliva following behind. You brush your tongue against your bottom lip breaking the string of spit before carefully placing the bottle back down and flipping to a random page of his sketch book.
Seonghwa plops down into his seat, taking a clean swig of his drink. Your gaze averts to the closet window near you to hide how flushed your face is from the fact that he's drinking from the bottle you defiled in the heat of desperation.
“Ok, so..It's pretty hard for me to focus here, can we--”. You hurriedly cut him off “We can go back to my dorm! It's only a five minute walk from here.”
His eyes examine your face, it's completely different from when he left for the bathroom, weird.
You push the door to your dorm room open, yellow and orange art covers the walls making the room shockingly lively, as various plushies are piled onto your twin size bed with a simple desk next to it that's covered in paint and many scattered papers.
Seonghwa’s mouth is nearly agape as he slowly drops his bag onto the floor, exploring the walls of your room. “Wow, and why didn't you want me to look at your art?” He walks over to one specific piece of art resting his hand over it. “Is this…Me?”
“Oh my god--” You say, clasping your hands over your face causing your words to come out muffled.
“I mean, yeah… Please don't think I'm weird.”
Seonghwa turns against the wall, “Why would I think you're weird? Many artists have muse, am I your muse, hm?” He says in a condescending, teasing tone while tilting his head.
“What??!, no…That's weird..” You sit on the edge of your bed to get away from Seonghwa who’s still leaning against the wall. His eyes follow you as you lean your head back to stare at the ceiling.
“You're lying….I always see the way that you stare at me in class and I have seen those pictures you've drawn of me in that sketch book.”
Your head snaps up, eyes wide as Seonghwa walks towards you. “Wha- how did you see anything in my sketch book?”
He’s now standing directly in front of you, eye level with his groin, noticing the tent in his pants. Your mouth waters but the shame makes you lift your head up to meet his gaze.
A small smile is tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Come on don't be shy now, where was all this shame when you were tonguing down my water bottle in the cafe?” He grabs your face causing your lips to pucker, tears crowd into your eyes as a small moan squeezes out of your mouth.
He takes that as a chance to press a small kiss onto your lips, you lay back onto the bed, Seonghwa climbing over you to deepen the kiss. A small line of droll rolls down your mouth as your breathing becomes ragged.
The shock of Seonghwa not being disgusted by your perverse behavior, the haste of his kissing, and the feeling of the lips that you've dreamed about all semester makes it hard for you to keep up with the passion of his kiss.
Seonghwa tongue pushes past your lips and you happily open your mouth.
Your tongue crashes with his, swirling around each other. He interrupts the kiss to catch his breath, mouth hovering directly over yours.
A small whine leaves your mouth, wanting more, you cup the back of his head pulling his lips back into yours. You quickly brush your tongue over his perfectly aligned teeth before seizing his bottom lip into your mouth.
He lets out a deep, groan leaning down onto you more, applying more of his weight, you feel his manhood press onto your leg. He drives his tongue deep inside your throat causing a small gag.
He pulls away again, stopping to look at how dazed you are, spit drenches your bottom lip and chin.
He huffs out a laugh. “Is this what you wanted, you freak?” Playfully you nudge his shoulder giggling.
Seonghwa’s eyes travel down to your exposed neck, pressing soft kisses that send tingles down your spine.
You press your palm onto Seonghwa’s head, halting his kisses that lead to your stomach. His big, dark brown eyes look to you in panic, “Am I doing something wrong?”.
You get up to rest on your elbows, nearly whispering, “No I just wanted to ask if you can eat me out" You quickly turn your head, visibly blushing.
A big grin cracks across his face, instantly making you regret asking, “Wha- ah, you know I can't hear you, speak up.” He says in a teasingly playful voice.
Plopping back onto the bed, you let out a dramatic sigh while opening your legs, giving him a clear view of your nearly see through panties because of how soaked they are.
Seonghwa settles between your legs, his hot breath brushing your core, your legs twitch from the sensation of him being so close to where you want his mouth to be. “Ah, I see what you want.
He grabs the sides of your pantie, peeling them off of your soaked pussy. Some of your arousal soaks the panties, drawing a low grumble from Seonghwa as he drags the tip of his long tongue up the crotch of your panties in his hand. You mewl at the lewd view, thrusting your hips up towards Seonghwa.
“Ok princess, be patient.” He rests his hands on your hips as he flattens his tongue directly on your soaked cunt, slowly he continues to drag his tongue up scraping every bit of arousal that soaks out of you as you squirm under his firm hold.
You both know you're being too loud for your dorm neighbors who are definitely going to complain later about how noisy you are, again.
You thread your fingers into his silky, perfectly lengthened black hair. “Ah- Seonghwa--- Please more- mhm.” He flicks the tip of his tongue perfectly over your sensitive nub a few times before locking his lips onto it and sucking.
Your face contorts in pleasure as your mouth is shamelessly open spewing out beautiful sounds, music to his ears.
He drags his tongue through your folds, easily slotting his tongue inside of you, feeling your plush walls promptly tighten around him. He buries his nose into your pubic area, pushing his tongue further in, he starts to flick his tongue.
Your grip on his hair tightens as if you're trying to pull his hair directly out of his scalp, your thighs squeeze his head.
You attempt to squirm from his tight grip on your hips, he recognizes and moves his hands to your thighs to pry them back open as your release covers his tongue and gushes out of, drenching your bed, his chin and just the collar of his shirt.
He laps up every drop out of you like a thirsty dog, finally coming up for air. He flops down next to you, chest heaving harshly. “Was I any good?”.
You take a big gulp, legs tingling before responding “Better than I imagined.”
Both of you laugh in unison, completely forgetting about the finale that none of you even planned to start in the first place.
Mingi visits a strip club out curiosity and boredom but becomes spellbound by a specific dancer, the feeling seems to be mutual until reality returns and it’s “just a job” for the dancer.
Genre: F/M, Smut, Mature.
WC: 1,663
Warnings/tags: Finger Sucking, Strangers, hookup, Alternate Universe, Riding, Squirting and Vaginal Ejaculation, Creampie, Pet Names, Song Mingi Has a Big Dick (ATEEZ), Size Kink, Size Difference
A/N: this took me forever to write AGAIN…. Started this last year. I honestly just cringe at my work a lot….. But I need to get over it so I can build a audience just be patient with me guys!! Feedback, likes and reblogs are always welcome!!!
The smell of overly sweet perfume, chewing gum, cigarette smoke, and alcohol wafts around Mingi as he sets foot into the rather sketchy brick building, with disco lights illuminating around it, located on a secluded corner, where cars are parked sparsely.
Slow, sensual music flows from the hidden speakers as the air becomes humid. Mingi enters the building, his eyes settle into the darkness before landing on you at the center of the stage, his pulse quickens.
His mouth instantly runs dry, nearly stilling in his steps, his eyes becoming glued to you.
Pink magnetic lights frame your body as you spark around the pole effortlessly, hair flowing with every spin and snap you strategically set out onto the floor as if you were playing an intense game of poker.
Mingi morphs through the aisle, his mind locked on you. Grabbing a seat anywhere, not checking his surroundings.
A loud crackle comes from the speakers as you squat down to gather the stray bills on the floor before disappearing into the satin curtain.
“Alright, everyone, that was (Name) on the dance floor, let’s give her a round of applause.”
The monotone voice spits out into the speaker, followed by a click.
Mingi snaps out of his trance shortly after noticing you prancing around the club, making small conversation with customers, before walking over to him as he sinks further into his seat, the sweet scent of cherry chewing gum inching closer to him.
Music fades in the background as you make your much wanted presence known. He sizes you up and down, biting his lower lip.
A few minutes of silence rest between you two as if Mingi forgot how to speak.
“Hi.” You say, in a loud, seductive manner gazing down at Mingi as you wait for him to invite you into his lap.
Mingi huffs a small laugh before licking his lips.
“Hey pretty lady.” He says in a low, silky voice, sending chills down your spine. He grabs your arm to pull you into his warm, thick lap.
Your arms wrap around his neck as you settle into his lap. Your eyes connect like magnets making deafening eye contact. You break the silence first once again not being able to take the heat of his stare.
Your overly glossed lips pout before speaking.
“Would you like a private dance?”
He shifts in his cushioned seat, making you shift as well, feeling his girth underneath you.
Your mouth waters.
“I would love a dance from you.” Mingi says rubbing your thigh.
This isnt something new to you, you speak to many men every day, dance for them, listen to their complaints about their lives, and touch them when you would rather die.
But it’s just something different about the blonde haired man, that you’re now leading behind satin curtains to only dance for.
Red lights cover the room in a sensual manner as the music falters in the back, you push Mingi into the plushy velvet covered seat as you quickly straddle him.
Your lips hover apart from his, nearly making contact as you feel his hot breath brush over your lips. He rests his hands on your hips. Mingi lets out a low hum that sends flutters to your lower abdomen as you pull away from him leaving him throbbing.
You get up from his firm thighs, now strutting towards the shining pole in your beautifully polished heels that hypnotize Mingi as they clink against the floor.
You bend down grabbing a microfiber towel. You start from the top of the long cylinder, wrapping your fingers gently around the pole as you suggestively motion your hand up and down.
Heat rises to Mingi’s face. The fact that such little actions that you perform gets a literal rise out of him causing him to adjust in his seat as he watches you step onto the circular platform.
You perform many tricks, but not for too long before you get tired of the merciless teasing, along with Mingi, who snuck in light touches any chance he got, desperation basically radiating off of him like cheap cologne.
You get onto all fours, snaking your way over to Mingi. He leans forward, the scent of makes your breath hitch. He hooks his finger under your chin, drawing your lips to his for a passionate kiss.
Mingi’s breath is steady, light sighs and moans withdrawal from him as you slide your tongue into his mouth. The both of you nearly fight for dominance, and the kiss becomes sloppier. spit covers your mouth as your hands now rest on his knees for some form of stability.
He finally breaks the kiss, gaze darkening as he looks at the mess you two made, your lips covered in subtle bite marks, swollen and red.
Cupping your face while he bites his lips he says.
“You look so pretty baby, I can’t wait to ruin you with my big dick”. A full moan leaves your mouth, Mingi takes that as a chance to slide his thumb on your tongue, pressing down causing tears to form in your eyes as you gag.
You tighten your lips around his thumb, forcefully sucking and swirling your tongue around his long, slightly salty digits while keeping intense eye contact. You’re squeezing your thighs together and grinding on the heels of your feet for any amount of relief.
Disconnecting your mouth, a string of saliva follows behind.
“Please—“ you place your head onto his thigh, the tip of your nose nearly touching his heavy balls that are protruding from his black, skin tight slacks. “Please fuck me”.
Mingi effortlessly tucks his hands under your arms, pulling you up onto his lap in one swift movement, legs resting on the sides of him. You let out a little yelp from the sheer strength, laced in desperation.
Your hands instinctively cup his face, your lips crashing into his. The warmth from his skin and his ragged breathing inducing you to grind down on his hard, throbbing length, his hips jerking up to meet your barely covered heat.
Swiftly, Mingi tears the straps of your outfit off your shoulders to release your breasts. He latches on to your sensitive nipple averting his eyes upwards to your face thats contorting in pleasure. Your mouth is agape and eyes shut tight as you unmercifully grind harder. The button on his pants forging extreme pleasure.
With need and hunger, you reach between you and Mingi feeling heat rest upon your hand, you pop the button of his slacks and unzip them in one fast motion, releasing his cock. Hard and stiff, veins lining up and down. Your breath catches at how heavy and thick he is. Mingi notices and wraps his hands around your waist to pull you close enough to whisper in your ear.
“Don’t be scared, you can take it (Name). I’ll be gentle, ok?”
You squirm from the sensation of his hot breathe caressing your ear, letting out a minuscule whimper as you lift you hips to line Mingi up with your pussy thats already dripping and clenching around nothing just from the dizzying anticipation.
Mingi tilts his head back, a low hum rumbling from his chest as his dick sinks into you. Your walls shape around him as you suck him in. Your fingers involuntarily clench onto Mingi’s shirt from the sensation of his cock bullying itself fully inside of you.
“Ah-A…Its too much..Mhm”
The scene of you struggling to form a sentence and keep up your dominant act makes Mingi’s dick jump inside of you as you grow weaker leaning into him. He feels a bit perverse being turned on by you being helpless on his cock.
In a cooing voice he says “No, no, it’s okay baby look” he jerks upwards into your tight pussy. “Im almost all the way in, it’s okay relax, I got you”. His hands stroke your hair as he slowly moves you up and down on his length.
You lift your head to look into Mingi’s half lidded eyes “Mhm—feels good”
“Yeah? Good, that’s all I want to do is make you feel good, doll”. He kisses your forehead.
Mingi quickens his pace the more you let out satisfied mewls and squirm for more. A sticky, white mess forms between your thighs leaving a wet mess on his slacks, the sound of combined slick echoing through the room.
The head of cock grazes the gummy part inside of you causing your walls to clench around him as he continues to drag himself against them. You fingers twitch as you ground down harder meeting his punishing thrust.
“UHHHH- Yes right there!! Omg please keep going.” Mingi breath quickens the louder you get, the sensation of you squeezing around him makes him dizzy as his rhythm becomes sloppy.
A hot, warming sensation spreads inside of you as your release gushes out into his lap and the seat Mingi rests in.
You both sit in silence, your head collapsed onto his now dampen shirt as his chest moves up and down comforting you as you both come down from your high, harsh breathing covering the room.
The silence is interrupted by the once again loud crackle from the speakers.
“Okayyy!! Another round of applause for (Name) let’s welcome her back onto the stage.”
You snap back into reality, jumping off of Mingi’s lap almost losing balance. Your is hair disheveled and the straps of your outfit are worn out. You rush over to the mirrors on the wall of the curtained walls fixing your lipstick.
You can see Mingi in the mirror behind you rise from his seat, pulling his ruined slacks back up, his face displaying confusion. He spins you around.
“I-I have to go, this is my jo-“ you’re cut off by a deep, yearning kiss, one last kiss as if he’s trying to memorize your lips, his tongue tracing every inch of your mouth.
𝙂𝙀𝙉𝙍𝙀: 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵, 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘩, 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘺'𝘢𝘭𝘭, (evil) secret camboy with a corruption kink au, 18+
𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙩 𝙗𝙛! 𝙎𝙖𝙣 (𝙝𝙚'𝙨 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙚) 𝙭 𝙄𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩! 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧
𝙎𝙔𝙉𝙊𝙋𝙎𝙄𝙎: He was sweet—almost too sweet. The kind of boyfriend who said all the right things, touched you like you mattered, and smiled like he had nothing to hide. But the charm was a mask, carefully crafted to disarm. Behind the softness lurked something darker: a hidden lifestyle he documented regularly online under the pseudonym ‘ch0i-kitty’, who posted content of girls he slowly corrupted on camera, vulgar perversion and live streamed conversations about his target of choice.
You thought you were falling in love.
You didn’t realize you were being documented.
AKA In which your sweet boyfriend isn’t as sweet as you originally thought and is a pervert with a taste for corrupting girls on camera. wc: 7k
warnings: characters have little to no moral code, corruption kink, impact play, full nelson, strangling, hair pulling, overstim, dubcon (somewhat), rough sex. dom!san, mindbreak, coercion/intended manipulation, san’s a massive pervert and a red flag (like genuinely, it’s pretty bad), reader gets photos of them taken without their permission—heads up, plot twist!
don’t read if u don’t like it
this is arguably the filthiest thing i’ve written on this blog thus far…. and that’s saying something LMAO
“Baby, did’ya eat today?” San reaches across the table, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. You shake your head, hair swaying, and take a sip of your iced tea. The condensation seeps into your fingers, and without thinking, you wipe your hand on your lap. Bunny’s diner—a diner owned by San’s childhood friend Seonghwa—was bustling under the brunch traffic. You don’t notice San’s gaze drifting upward—nor the way he taps his finger against the salt shaker, nudging it just enough to send it tumbling off the edge.
“Fuck—sorry.” Face chagrin and flushed as he tries to reach under the table, purposely bumping his head against the edge. San gets on his knees, scraping at the excess salt on the floor slowly—eyes darkening as he makes contact with your skin tight panties that practically restrict the blood flow around your cunt.
You’re wearing white today.
Cute.
He makes sure his phone’s on silent before he snaps a photo, pocketing it before sliding back into the booth, and sighing exasperatingly. “Why am I so fucking clumsy?” He groans and threads his fingers into his head to curl into himself. “—I feel like everyone heard that.”
They didn’t. He knew they didn’t. Not under all that clanging going on in the Diner’s kitchen.
You reach forward, grabbing his hand with doe eyes. “No one heard it! It’s okay, baby. I drop things all the time.”
It takes everything in San to not moan.
You were perfect.
He couldn’t stop talking about you when he live-streamed last night: everything he wanted and planned to do to you, your name falling out of his lips as he touched himself slightly out of frame—gripping tightly, grinding—stifling his moans with gritted teeth against a belt so you wouldn’t hear him during your call.
You called for no reason. All you said was “I called because I missed you. I love you.”
Sugary. Honey. Cotton candy and the color pink. You were the sweetest fucking thing.
And he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to ruin something so badly. None of the other girls before you wore innocence as well as you did.
To them? It was an aesthetic—something subject to change. They wanted him to ruin them. But you?
You were his idle angel and sweetness incarnate—doll like lashes without a hint of suspicion or mal-intentions. Shy. The type to naturally hold a hand out when you needed help getting down from somewhere and not flinching when a big arm wrapped around your waist to pick you up.
The type to kiss San and plan on a wedding—not him stuffing you full of cock and fucking you dumb into a stale pillow in his dorm room. To flinch and pull away in embarrassment when his hand crept under the cup of your bra, begging him kindly to take it slow.
Which he did.
He has been.
He savors the push and pull—it’s how he knows you’re the real deal.
San watches you slice into the Canadian ham, a content smile tugging at his lips as you happily dig into your eggs Benedict. You’d need all the energy you could get.
He slides his pancakes over to you, smearing honey butter and packing on the cinnamon just the way liked them and tells you he’s too full to eat anymore.
“You’re missing out, Sannie.” You jest, tapping the tip of your fork against your teeth playfully. “You barely ate—“ you pause to take a bite, smiling at him mid-chew. “Something on your mind?”
He bites back a smile, eyes folding into half moons as he stared at you for a couple of beats “It’s just cute—the way you look when you eat.”
“The way I eat?” You tilt your head.
“Yeah—you just…stuff your mouth until it’s super cramped. Careful” he wipes cream from the side of your mouth ”— you might choke if you take too much all at once.”
A sudden tension threads through his voice, pulling your eyes up from the plate, curious. You nod, offering him a sweet smile.
“Aye, captain!”
San always worries about the smallest things.
He scrolls through his phone as you finish your meal, the clink of your fork masking the soft swipes of his finger. You don’t see the images flashing by—candid frames of you lost in thought, others taken while you slept, your shirt slipped just high enough to expose the delicate curve of lace against skin. Some are closer, hungrier: your legs parted in sleep, revealing only the faintest swell of softness. He lingers on that one a moment longer, gaze unreadable, mouth still curled in that contented smile.
When you finish eating, San calls for the waiter with a patient smile—sliding a stack of bills down before rearranging the dishes politely and leaving.
San’s thick, calloused fingers grab hold of your hand —threading meticulously before leading you out of the Diner, exhaust fumes of humid street stalls and early autumn conundrum waft into your nose. You feel content. Full. Happy and in love.
You watch his side profile, the breeze tugging gently at his cropped hair. He glances both ways, unfazed by your gaze, then crosses the road with you—heading toward his daddy’s old ’70, the metal sun-warmed and waiting.
You trail your fingers along the muted, rust-red paint while waiting for San to unlock the door—then slip inside as he murmurs a small joke under his breath. He rolls the windows down, knowing you like to rest your head on his arm while he drives, your feet dangling out the window—just far enough to feel free, but never close enough to tempt danger.
At a red light, San reaches a hand towards the glove compartment—digging around before pulling out an old camcorder. A small jingle plays as it turns on, the chime beckoning a giggle from you. “What’s that?”
He doesn’t answer—just presses play.
“Smile for the camera, pretty.”
Then he gives your thigh a light smack when you laugh, face buried in your hands as you shrink back into your seat, grinning behind your fingers. Playfully, you peek an eye out—laughing with your heart, wind in your hair, and girls just want to have fun by Cyndi Lauper playing in the background.
He gets you home safe and sound, kissing you a little bit rougher than usual. The red light of his camcorder still flickers on his dash—camera becoming a voyeur on top of his dashboard when his hands rest on your thigh, fingers idling just beneath the hem of your dress and pulling lightly to squeeze the flesh it’s sandwiching.
You skip to your porch, all girlish giggles and swaying skirts as you wave goodbye and close your screen door. And San watches.
Intent.
Indulging.
Ravenous.
“She was wearing white today.” San tinkers with a rubix cube, webcam pointed low enough to capture the sharp of his jaw—a canine-like half grin, as he licked his teeth and sucked in a frustrated breath. He unbuttons his dress shirt just enough for a golden sliver of skin to peak out and spreads his legs purposely so that his pants are taut on his form.
Little pings sound from his desktop and he doesn’t bother reading any of the incoming chats from his stream. “It was practically choking her pussy—you think that’s why she chose to wear it? Friction or what not?” He scoffs playfully, rubbing a thumb over the flat of his stomach as he leans back on his computer chair, recalling.
The way you tasted like honey butter and cinnamon and the way your underwear was tight enough to make your flesh swell red.
A celebratory chime rings from his computers speakers, an automated girl singing “points, points!”
[• ch0i’s_fav-kitty_ gifted 200 points and left a note! “Ruin her for the rest of us.” ]
San smirks cunningly.
“Well, since you asked so nicely—I’ll plan a gift just for you, kitty.” He unbuttons the last few notches on his dress shirt, sliding his palm down the flat of his golden tummy and under his slacks. “But until then, I’ll dedicate this show to you.”
Biting at the cuff of his wrist, stifling his moans and keening his neck just enough to keep the crowd satisfied since they weren’t allowed to see his face. San was in his element and this was his arena.
He’ll use the money from this livestream to pay for something sweet, vanilla, and totally boyfriend coded before melting you down into something wrecked. Unrecognizable. Fucked up and pretty just for him.
The best part? He’s waited this long so you’d let him do it willingly.
Choi San knew he had all the makings of the perfect boyfriend—the kind others envied, whispered about, and admired from afar. Charismatic, intelligent, and from a well-to-do family—and upon arriving as a legacy to his university, he was immediately ushered into the most prolific brotherhood of the institution. You’d hear his name uttered in locker rooms, the corners of lecture halls, and in offices as Professors discussed recommendation letters.
He sold the best parts of himself when it came to finding love, but profited the most off the filth he worked hard to keep separated from his offline life.
There’s just one tiny pothole in San’s initially seamless perfection: he liked ruining things. Good things. Especially good girls. On camera.
Everyone believed San had immaculate taste in women. The few he entertained publicly all shared the same quiet allure—graceful, composed, the kind of girls who seemed untouched by anything cruel. Poised. Innocent. Almost too good to be real and too hard to dislike.
What they didn’t know was that San preferred them pure for a reason—because he had a fucked up way of getting off. If he got them to love him enough, then he’d be able to do anything—including filming every moment he got to break them down on camera. The slow sip of corruption dousing a white dress in a way that bested murder. To be caught on tape and immortalized—proof that he had the makings. The power to ruin without apology.
It started as scratching a place he knew he shouldn’t have scratched in the first place— a shaky livestream, stuttered words that left him like he sat in either a confessional or investigation room until he finally settled comfortably into the skin of his darkest desires. The small online community quickly grew once he released his special series, sugarcoat: a long term documentation of girls he dated and taped for his loyal followers—all perfect subjects for their fixation on the act of corrupting.
But with the others before you, it all felt like roleplay. What Choi San wants is what Choi San gets—and this is to his detriment. It was too easy. If he’d asked any of them on the first date to film, he would’ve gotten the green light.
Performative innocence, not even played to the T. C-rate actresses in frills and lace—itching to tear off the costume once shooting ends.
San didn’t camboy for money. He did it as reprieve from the kind of perfection that stifled him with its ideals on a daily basis. Here, he could be horrible.
Desired for his ugliness, for his muck.
And you were the closest thing to a natural high he’d ever felt in his entire life—the sweetest layer of his series. His beloved cherry on top.
“Did you like it?” San chuckles, dimples carving into his grin, softening the sharpness of his features. The flashing LED lights of the carnival dance in his eyes, tiny sparks catching like stars—like every bit of the boy you used to dream about. You’re breathless, and not just from how he looks in that black compression shirt, clinging to him in all the right ways, but from the rollercoaster he’d talked you into riding.
“…Like’s an understatement. Can we go again?” You bounce on your toes, ponytail swinging excitedly. San sighs playfully, and then shakes his head. “Baby, I’ve got a surprise waiting for you at my place—remember?”
Eyes brightening, you hold on tight to his left arm while making your way out the exit. The distance screams of ride-goers and arcade game music muffle your conversations—almost domesticating them. “Come on, can’t you give me a clue? What’s the surprise?”
“No. Can. Do.” He furrows his brows, punctuating, and then slings his arm over your shoulder—pulling you into his arms to lay a kiss on your temple. “Be a good girl. Patience is a virtue.”
Roses.
Take out dinner that arrived just on time and tapestries hung around his dorm room to make it look more cozy and less clinical under the usually bright fluorescent overhead light. He bought an extra toothbrush and filled one of the drawers of his bathroom with a variety of skincare products, essential oils, and menstrual products.
Your favorite ice cream was frozen to perfection in his freezer and the T-shirt you liked stealing from him already waited at the edge of his bed for you, folded kindly.
San shut the door behind him, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watched you flit around the room, gently tapping the new fairy lights with the tip of your nail.
“I thought we could have a sleepover now that the term’s over,” he said. “With the internship starting soon, I won’t get to see you as much.”
“San…I love it. Your room finally looks lived in” you jest, elbow bumping his waist, and turn towards him to wrap your arms around the slim of his waist. He flinches slightly, body tensing—sensitive. Internally groaning because you probably don’t realize how close he’s been to snapping.
The air feels…different. Charged. Laced with an unspoken expectation—San sees it in the way you seem to curl shyly when he digs his face into the crook of your neck, your usual behavior and touchiness diluted into something moderately restrained.
You typically fed on physical affection the way someone would drink water, a domesticated sense of skin to skin contact: a pinky locked with his as you studied, legs draped onto his lap while scrolling through your phone or leaning over his shoulder to watch reels with him.
You’re seated between his legs, facing the TV. Some vintage horror movie drones on in the background, as a girl screams in horror when an undead fist pushes straight through cemetery dirt—reaching towards heaven.
She fails to run away in time and you laugh.
He didn’t expect you to find it funny, a quirk to his brow when he swears he hears you mumble “Survival instincts of a peanut” under your breath.
When you adjust, San stills. Breath hitching when he feels the lace of your skirt rub against his jeans and he knows you feel it too.
He tries his luck and slides a palm under your shirt before rubbing the skin of your stomach casually. You lean into it, hips unconsciously rolling towards his hands.
It’s the flush on your face that undoes him, eyes unfocused, looking almost confused by the wetness he knew made your panties cling to your skin.
“—baby. Can I touch you more?” He coats his words in sugar, breathing into your ear sweetly. The edges of his voice beg.
“…mhm.” You nod slowly, hair falling over your cheekbones as you peer up at him. San pulls you closer, your back pressed against his chest as he peppers wet kisses up your neck.
He groans when you shiver and your back to press your breasts into his hands instinctively.
But you flinch away, a quiet embarrassment settling into your bones. You look confused, thighs closing and pressing against each other looking for relief in the pressure. “San, wait—I’ve…never done this before. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Do you trust me?” he asks, his gaze steady as he tilts your chin up, capturing your lips in an upside-down kiss. His jaw moves slowly, deliberately, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that’s both soothing and seductive. You hum, eager, reaching up for more—until he pulls back, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes.
“I… like filming things,” he continues, voice low, almost coaxing. “I want to remember it. Forever. Can I?”
Your eyebrows scrunch together—conflicted. “Sannie—what if I don’t look good on camera and you have that on you forever?” He shakes his head. “Baby—“ running his hands down your body and under your bra, cupping your breasts and twisting the tips of your nipples. A sharp yelp leaving your lips as he licks up the side of your throat. “I promise, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
His serpentine eyes lock onto yours without hesitation, unflinching. His presence wraps around you like a tightening coil, arms holding you in place as you suddenly feel small, almost like prey caught in his grasp.
San guides your hand to lock behind your back. Sandwiching your arm and gripping it above his aching cock. “See what you did to me?”
He grinds into your hand with a deliberate whimper into your ear.
His grip on you tightens, absolutely fucked out. For the love of god he’s waited months. It’s the longest he’s ever held out for. After a couple of beats—hesitation crumpling under the weight of profound lust, you agree. “Whatever makes you happy.”
Fuck.
He’s obsessed—you’re perfect for the gig. For him.
San doesn’t think he wants to share the footage for once, second thoughts running rampant.
“Whatever makes you happy?” he repeats, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are you sure? Can I do whatever I want to you?” Wide eyes gaze at him. Pure. Unadulterated with the right amount of curiosity.
“If it’s for you—yes. I trust you.” His mouth clashes with yours instantly before sliding his tongue in when you gasp in surprise. A string of saliva connects your mouth when he lets you go.
“Lay down.” There’s a sudden chill in his tone. An unraveling—strict, direct, impatient and leaving little to no room for hesitance.
Reaching over to his dresser, he pulls the same camcorder and adjusts it so it’s pointing directly at you. San turns the zoom dial, diluting the environment of the room and focusing entirely on you.
Without delay, he casually reaches over to unzip your skirt and pull off your panties like he’s done it plenty of times before.
He lays one of your legs over his lap and spreads you open. Your hands immediately jolt to cover your face, thighs slamming closed in attempts to hide from him.
“Let me see you. You were being such a good girl. I want to look at your pretty little pussy.” Peaking one eye at him through a gap in your fingers, you slowly part your legs. He spits on his fingers, still seated next to you as he leans from the side to gaze down at your cunt.
Making sure that the camera is framing you properly, he pulls at your folds with two hands—one on each side so that the camera catches the fluttering of your fleshy insides. Your body jolts, a small moan of surprises tumbling out when he massages your clit in circles and holds your leg down with a firm hand.
“Does it feel good?” He giggles when you nod in surprise. Doe eyed as you finally put down your hands and stare at his movement.
“It’s such… a pretty color. I wanna see it more.” A smack lands directly above your clit— a silent scream choking in your throat at the intense stimulation and sting. San mentally counts to ten, each slap descending faster, harder, and landing more precisely. Rubbing side to side, your body jolts when you feel your cunt clench around nothing—raising your hips to dig his hand against you with more pressure. Rhythmic moans leave you when your orgasm hits you, but he doesn’t stop after the waves leave you.
You body flinches from the sensitivity, small jerks as you push and pull away from his touch “San—I can’t.”
“Yes you can. And you’ll take it until I want to stop. Understood?” You only cry out, tears welling in your eyes at the intense stimulation. He smacks your cunt again. “Understood?”
“Understood!” You bite out, relenting, and he slides a finger into you—curling and feeling the gummy texture.
He commits it to memory and wishes he had the sort of camera that could film from the inside. He’ll buy that later.
You don’t know how long he fingers you for.
You’re restless—finally growing accustomed to the continuous ministrations of his hand. There’s nothing gentle in the way San drives you flat onto your stomach—his body looming over you like a dark shadow, muscles tense beneath the fabric of his compression shirt. A quick unbuckling and shuffling of him sliding off his jeans later—and your vision goes white when he pushes himself into you in one go.
He’s huge.
San grins darkly when he hears your choked whimper, slamming down into you and pressing his full weight against your back.
The bed creaks repetitively with his brutal pace, muffled screams leaving you as he fucks into you—definitely bruising your cervix in the process. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, drool slipping out of the sides of your mouth—totally icing out the fact that you’re fucking obscenely loud at a dormitory. Someone bangs on the wall but San only fucks you harder, pulling your hair and pressing into you until your body goes limp and lays completely flat on the bed.
Everything is blanking out. Your name, what you’re doing, where you are and with who “S-san I can’t take it.”
He tugs you up by the hair, vulgar slaps against the reddening flesh of your ass continuing their onslaught. “You can take it baby. Just be a good girl and shut up for me.” Slapping your breasts, he flips you over and slides himself snug against you—pelvis pressing yours directly and stuffing himself back in.
Both of his hands wrap around your throat, unrelenting—brutal. The veins on your face rise to the surface, mouth falling open to try and scream but immediately failing. All of his weight is being held on your throat as he uses the force to propel himself forward—digging into you.
You think you pissed yourself mid orgasm, but San keeps going—eyes obsidian and dilated, bordering on animalistic frenzy. Slapping desperately at his arms because of the overstimulation again—you claw at the skin, gasping and seeking breath. He sends three more hard thrusts down before cumming thick ropes into you with a pornographic moan. “F-fuck.”
San swears he’s never seen anything more pretty than you lying under him—bruised, drying tears and smeared mascara—body completely red like it’s fighting a fever. He slaps his cock onto the fat of your pussy before leaning down and breathing in the smell of your sweat gathering in the crook of your neck. He massages your hip, coaxing—and pulls you in to cuddle.
Just as he’s about to slip back into the role of the perfect boyfriend, you murmur sweetly.
“Did that make you happy?”
He stills. Clock ticking in the back of his head up until it hit five seconds
and flips himself onto his back, tugging you along with him—fumbling to push his already fully hardened cock inside. His arms slide under your armpits and lock behind your neck before he jack hammers upwards—pushing past his own sensitivity, fully intent on fucking you until you felt like raw meat. You don’t count how many orgasms you had or how many people knocked on San’s door groggy and pissed only to be ignored.
He groans, pulling out to slap your cunt before quickly sliding back in. “ Do ya like that? Feels good princess? You’re doing so good.”
Your legs grow tired from having to hold your weight up from his chest, feet flat against the bed before going limp—back sandwiched against his damp skin. San doesn’t stop, only slithering a hand down to rub your clit in circles. “Are you happy? Am I being good enough? Sannie, I’m tired.” You whine lightly, eyebrows scrunching as tears threatened to fall.
He whimpers “So fucking good. I’m almost done, sweetheart. Just one more and we can go to bed, yeah?” You almost black out when he fastens his pace, spraying while orgasming and arching your back with vulgar moans.
He pulls out this time, cumming on the fat flesh of your thighs before petting your pussy lightly—appeasingly in performative apology. San holds your body tightly against him, clamping his arms around you while peppering kisses on your shoulder.
“You made me so happy today—seriously, you’re my favorite girl ever.” He rocks you lightly as you giggle.
God, he’s obsessed.
You were the perfect balance between submission and maintained innocence. He’s too tired to look over the footage, but his brain still maps more content ideas.
There’s no way he’s sharing this one but…he’ll still talk about it once he livestreams.
San thinks he might actually love you—and it’s that thought that carries him into deep sleep.
When San’s breathing lulls softly, your eyes blink open in the dark. Slowly, carefully, you reach for his phone, unlocking it with practiced ease. Your thumb drifts across the screen, skimming through his apps—until you find it. A hidden folder buried deep in his files.
Photos, videos, pixelated and zoomed in screenshots of your legs spread open. It’s casual almost—the way your eyes drift around his screen, observing.
Silently, you close out the apps one by one, then inch closer to his sleeping form. Unreadable eyes watching him sleep without blinking. You trace his nose bridge and jaw, kissing him lightly as he slept
slightly unsatisfied by the extent of his hidden perversion.
You thought it’d be worse.
You shut your apartment door—pulling your hair tie away and shake the hairs threatening to fall in your eyes before tugging off the cashmere sweater off like it burned you. The rest of your clothes fall like feathers to the floor, leaving a trail to your bedroom.
You fucking hated cashmere. Fingernail tapping against a custom Zippo—cherry etched into the steel—you flick it open and light a cigarette. Smoke curls around you as you sink into your computer chair, wearing nothing but your underwear. You type in the password: ch0i’s_fav-kitty_.
The page immediately opens to a pending livestream
[ch0i-kitty is online • ]
“—she was such a good girl. Nothing like the others. Pure. Willing to take it and learn—“ You grin, taking a fat drag of your cigarette before leaning back—amused.
Are all boys this dumb? This easy?
All you had to do was play good girl at a surface level for a hotshot like him to come crawling. You watched San for months—committing to the trails of information you could find: a small business card in the backdrop of his stream, the edge of a university hoodie, a fraternity ring—never missing a single livestream to know the exact kind of girl he wanted most but could never find. Not in full at least.
Either too good and too willing to be bad for him. Too slutty from the get go and unable to convince him that they’d never had sex before—rookie stuff.
No one was committed to the bit. Not as much as you were.
Lifting a hand to grab your phone, you call just as San eased a hand down his dress pants—mirroring his actions by peeling your underwear to the side.
You see him grit his teeth and try to control his heaving breaths before answering the phone on live, voice resonating directly into your ear. “Hi baby, you okay?”
Slinking a finger inside, face flushed red with maniacal victory “—nothing. I just called because I missed you.” You grin devilishly when he tilts his head back, stifling a groan as his fist picks up in speed.
“—I miss you too, baby. Already.”
You hum softly, a smile in your voice as you lie—just for a second—saying you had to head back to work. Then you hang up.
You flick the ash off your cigarette, not blinking as you watched him get off. Fingers clicking against your keyboard—positively transfixed by the camboy you’ve obsessed over for a year. He deserves a little treat.
[• ch0i’s_fav-kitty_ gifted 100 points! ]
“Thank you for your donation, kitty. You’re the best.”
Choi San was yours.
And you were his.
because no one could play the good girl better than you.
You decide to wake up early and surprise your boyfriend with breakfast after a long, heated night in bed.
Quietly crawling out of bed, Wooyoung’s T-shirt swallowing you whole, covering your lace panties as you pad to the kitchen trying not to wake him.
You grab a few pans, planning to make something quick like eggs and bacon along with toast since you aren’t a seasoned cook at all.
As you start to beat a few eggs in a bowl you, hear the creaking of Wooyoung’s bedroom door, and, not long after his feet padding softly on the cold tile floor of the hallway.
“Hey babe, what are you doing?” he says, his voice thick with sleep. As the scent of clean linen wafts around you from his body.
His shaggy black hair is tousled around his face, as his sweatpants rest on his hips just enough to tease his happy trail, along with his T-shirt slouching across his chest.
You flash him a warm look as he walks around the island to wrap his arms around your waist.
“Nothing, I just wanted to make you breakfast.”
Your back rests against his warm chest as he pulls you in closer tucking his chin in the nook of your slender neck, breathing you in.
He hums softly, “Ok well, let me help you out”.
Wooyoung reaches from behind you slowly brushing his digits against yours as he removes the bowl taking it into his own hands, pouring the bowl of overly whipped eggs into the searing pan. Which naturally causes him to press his groin against your butt. Your neck flares hot as you feel his hardness against you, your cheeks slightly flushing pink.
As much as you want to decline his offer you don’t, and it’s not like he would oblige to the rejection because he knows you don’t know what you’re doing, and honestly, you don’t either. And you enjoy the closeness.
You feel his hot breath against your ear as he murmurs, “Here, take the spatula and stir slowly.”
Without thinking, you grasp the spatula. Your fingers grazing the veins on his warm hand. You continue to stir slowly as Wooyoung instructs you to. Slowly and slyly you rut your hips against his hardened member, letting out a soft whine.
Stirring the eggs slipping past your mind as you continue to feel Wooyoung behind you.
“Accidentally” you drop the spatula, now bored of stirring eggs. Wooyoung grins as he takes a step back. You swiftly turn around to make eye contact with him.
You mischievously say, “oops”.
He chuckles at your attempt to escape cooking. You make big doe eyes and bite your lower lip, feigning innocence.
“Go ahead and pick it up, hurry.” He says in a commanding, teasing tone, as his eyes follow you slowly bending down in front of him, your face inches away from his groin.
His hair being disheveled lit a fire in you, how he effortlessly looks so hot and can easily have you under his control no matter what he does or says.
Wooyoung rests his hand on the knob of the gaslit stove, turning it off because he knows you won’t be doing any more cooking.
He tucks his finger under your chin, lifting your head, your glossy eyes making searing contact with his piercing ones as teasing pleasure creeps up your heated body.
He lets out an intoxicating chuckle. “I think you should just stay down there and open your pretty mouth.” The tent in his pants becoming very apparent now as you’re level with it.
Your jaw loosens, breath catching at his unrelenting words. The look in your eyes, glimmering and blown out gives him more than enough confirmation at how badly you want his dick in your mouth.
Wooyoung drags his already hard cock from his shaggy pajama pants, the tip already glazed in precum.
Raising your hand to grasp the base of his cock, hot and veiny. Your mouth aches to taste him as you pump him a few times. You instantly remember how thick and curved Wooyoung’s length is as your mouth stretches to wrap around the peak of his cock, hollowing your cheeks, drawing a faint, pornographic groan from him, causing your pussy to clench around nothing.
Without hesitation, he gently runs his hands through your hair, guiding your wet, heated mouth lower onto his cock. Your nose touching his pubic hair, nearly gagging. You look through your eyelashes at Wooyoung, tears welling and running down your heat stricken cheeks.
Wooyoung’s voice syrup like, cooing, “aw good job baby, you’re take all of me so well. My princess crying while I’m so deep in her throat.”
His cock twitches just from the sight of tears, how your nice full lips stretch around his dick and the drool running down the sides of his cock.
You let out a whimper, vibrating through his member as your tongue swipes under his cock tracing every vein. A salty taste coats your tongue as you start to bob your head back and forth, your throat contracting from every gag and moan fighting to escape your mouth around Wooyoung’s length. A line of curses and high pitch moans slips out of his mouth as the grip on your hair tightens.
“Keep going baby I’m close. Swallow every last drop like a good girl.” He says in between moans as shallow breathing escapes his mouth.
You pick up the pace, A bit more sloppy sucking and his breathing fastens as he releases, warm with a twinge of salt.
Subtle thrust continue as more spit and tears coax all over the floor. You pull back to catch your breath, instantly shifting Wooyoung’s sight back onto you. You swallow every last drop. Opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue to show how much of a good girl you are for swallowing all of his release.
Wooyoung gazes down at your fucked out face, drool and spit covering the lower part.
You’re still doe eyed as you harshly breathe, chest moving up and down under his now soaked t shirt that he let you borrow.
He grabs your chin, brushing his thumb across your lips, “Mmm, look at my baby all messy.” He softens his voice, speaking in a more tender tone, “Too much? Baby one more time, here I’ll even help.”
He fists his cock, now pressing it against your wet lips. You obey, opening your mouth because not one part of your body would ever deny him.
You swirl your tongue around his sensitive, red tip watching his face expressions contort. He grabs your hair to make a makeshift ponytail now using full force to face fuck you. Not long after throwing his head back as his knuckles turn white from the grip he has on your hair.
Gurgling and slurping sounds cover the kitchen from the speed of Wooyoung’s cock tunneling down your newly sore throat. Thumbing for Wooyoung’s thighs gripping them for a sense of stability.
Not able to keep your eyes open or keep up with his pace you let out series of muffled moans and breathing, spit bubbling up towards your nose as more tears trail down your face.
Wooyoung lets out a gravelly groan loosing his grip on your hair as he releases down your throat once again.
Slowly he eases out of you, his whole demeanor changes as he watches you with hooded eyes, pant loudly to catch up your breath.
He adjusts his now, soft, wet, warm cock back into his pants that are basically pointless now, also wet.
“Ok Princess let me help you up.” he tucks his hands under your arms easily lifting you onto your feet.
Hard for you to keep balance you nearly fall but he catches you. You let out a euphoric moan resting against his chest as he caresses your hair, kissing the top of your head.
“You did so good doll, so much better than any breakfast you could’ve made me.”
You lift your head up, breast pressed against his chest giving him a warm, tired smile.
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