Discover Top Posts Tagged with #cherrylixi

Teacher's pet 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆... Pairing: Nerd!Jisung x afab!reader Genre: smut no minors pls! (Includes unprotec sex, fingering, oral, squirting, nipple play, possessive themes)🔞 Summary: What starts as an academic crush on your painfully observant professor becomes significantly harder when you find his lewd diary. Wc: 13k Enjoy reading <33 If you want any specific ideas tell me and I will see what I can do! A/N: OML this took so long?? but yes we love nerdy & possessive hanji, If i say i hate nerd Han burn me bc that HOE is not me (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ ☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆...

✧( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ )✧

"You dropped this."

The voice came from behind you, warm, slightly amused, just as you were shoving your notebook into your bag. You turned to find Professor Han holding out a stray pen between his fingers.

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Han." You bowed your head slightly, catching the faint scent of his cologne, clean and woody as he leaned forward to hand you the pen.

When you straightened up, his mouth was quirked at the corner. His fingers lingered for half a second longer than necessary before he withdrew them, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slightly rumpled blazer.

"You’re always in such a hurry after class," he remarked, tilting his head toward the empty hallway behind him. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting sharp shadows under his cheekbones. "Do I bore you that much?"

"Oh no, sir," you said, your smile flashing quick and bright despite the flutter in your chest. "Just on my way to the café."

Professor Han hummed, low and considering, his gaze lingering on you a second too long. "The one by the library?" he asked, nodding toward the east wing. "Their espresso machine sounds like a dying animal." He laughed.

"Actually," you said, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder, "I was thinking of trying the one across the road. I heard they do a nicer coffee." The words tumbled out before you could second-guess them, and you caught yourself biting the inside of your cheek. Professor Han blinked, his smirk softening into something more genuine almost pleased.

"Is that an invitation?" he asked, voice dipping into that teasing tone you'd come to recognize during after office hours, when he'd lean back in his chair and dissect your arguments with a precision that left you equal parts frustrated and electrified. You shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but your pulse betrayed you, thrumming loud enough that you wondered if he could hear it.

Professor Han chuckled, the sound warm and low, as he stepped back to gesture toward the exit. "Lead the way," he said, and just like that, you were walking side by side through the university corridors. His stride was relaxed, hand holding his bag, whilst the other stayed in his pocket.

Outside, the afternoon sun was sharp, casting long shadows across the grass. You squinted against the light, adjusting your bag strap. “Professor Han—“ you said as he shifted slightly to block the sun from your eyes with his shoulder.

"It’s okay," he said, hands still tucked into his pockets as he nudged a stray pebble with the toe of his shoe. "Call me Jisung." The way he said it, like he’d been waiting for the right moment made your breath catch. He glanced up then, sunlight catching the gold flecks in his eyes, and smiled. Not the polished, professional one he wore during lectures, but something looser, warmer. The kind of smile that made you forget, just for a second, that he was your professor at all.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your bag.

The café across the road was small, the kind of place with mismatched chairs and handwritten chalkboard menus. The bell above the door jingled as you stepped inside, and the rich, bitter scent of freshly ground coffee wrapped around you like a familiar embrace. Jisung hovered just behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

"You weren’t kidding about the coffee," he murmured, nodding toward the gleaming espresso machine behind the counter. It was sleek and modern, a far cry from the rattling beast in the library café. His shoulder brushed yours as he leaned in slightly to inspect the menu, and you fought the urge to stiffen, forcing yourself to breathe normally despite the sudden tightness in your chest.

The barista greeted you both with a tired smile, her fingers tapping against the register. You hesitated for a second, acutely aware of Jisung hovering just behind you close enough that you could feel the faint shift of fabric when he adjusted his stance.

"Matcha latte, please," you said. The barista nodded, her fingers flying across the screen before she glanced expectantly at Jisung.

"Black coffee," he said, then paused, considering the pastry case. "And—" He pointed at a croissant dusted with powdered sugar. "That. For her."

"Oh no, it’s okay sir—Jisung," you corrected yourself, the name foreign on your tongue.

The croissant sat between you on the small café table. You poked at the edge of the plate, “You didn’t have to—"

"I wanted to," he interrupted, leaning back in his chair. "Consider it an apology."

"Well, thank you," you said, smiling as you carefully split the croissant in half. You nudged the larger piece toward him. "Here—consider it a peace offering for all the times I argued with you in class."

Jisung laughed, his fingers brushing yours as he accepted the pastry. The contact lingered, just a fraction too long before he pulled back, leaving your skin tingling. "You mean all the times you were right?" he teased, taking a bite.

His eyes never left yours. The café hummed around you, the hiss of steam, the murmur of other customers but it all faded into background noise. You took a sip of your matcha latte to steady yourself.

"You know," Jisung said, setting his cup down with deliberate care, "I’ve been meaning to ask you something." He traced the rim of his mug with his thumb, and you found yourself tracking the movement, the way his fingers curled just slightly. "Why did you pick my class?"

Jisung’s question hung between you, casual yet weighted like he’d been waiting to ask it all semester. "Well," you started, smoothing your thumb over the damp edge of your cup, "I always excelled at English literature and wanted to continue it." The answer was textbook, rehearsed, the kind you’d given advisors and relatives. But under Jisung’s gaze sharp and amused, as if he could see right through it, the words felt flimsy.

Jisung took a slow sip of his black coffee, his eyes never leaving yours. "That’s what your transcript says," he acknowledged, setting his cup down with a quiet clink. "But transcripts don’t explain why you argued with me for fifteen minutes about postmodernism in the middle of a lecture on Romantic poetry." His mouth quirked, and you caught the glint of challenge in his expression. "Or why you’re the only one who stays after class to debate the footnotes."

"Yeah... I write a lot in my spare time." The admission slipped out like a secret, too quiet for the café’s clatter. You watched his eyebrows lift, just a fraction and hurried to clarify. "Not just essays. Fiction.”

Jisung leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, fingers loosely clasped. "Fiction," he repeated under his breath. "What kind?"

You shrugged, suddenly self-conscious under his attention. "Short stories, mostly. Some poetry." You hesitated, then added, "A novel, once. Half-finished."

Jisung’s eyes lit up, not the polite, professorial interest he gave during office hours, but something sharper, more genuine. He straightened in his chair, the table creaking under his sudden movement. "You’re kidding," he said, voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. "I’ve been working on one for years. Never got past chapter twelve."

The admission caught you off guard. Professor Han Jisung writing fiction? The man who dissected your essays with surgical precision and graded your papers in red ink so meticulous it looked typeset? You blinked, stirring your matcha absently.

"That’s unexpected," you said, leaning your chin onto your hand, smiling as you watched him across the table. "I thought you’d be more of a non-fiction kinda guy." The sunlight caught the edge of his cheekbone, highlighting the faintest dusting of pink as he huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck like you’d caught him in something embarrassing.

Jisung tilted his head, the corner of his mouth tugging up. "What, because I spend my days grading dry academic essays?" he grinned as you snorted into your latte. "Turns out even stuffy professors need an outlet.“

You giggle. “I’d love to read your work sometime." The words slipped out before you could second guess them, half-teasing, half-sincere. Jisung's fingers froze around his coffee cup, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second, long enough for you to notice the way his throat worked when he swallowed.

"Careful," he murmured. "That almost sounded like you’re asking for extracurricular reading." His voice dipped low, threading through the café’s ambient noise. You watched, mesmerized.

"Would you like to come by my place?" Jisung asked suddenly, his fingers drumming against the side of his coffee cup before stilling. The question hung between you casual, but weighted with something unspoken. "I've been working on some stuff that I think you'd like."

Across the table, Jisung's expression remained carefully neutral, but his knuckles were pale where they gripped his cup.

"Sure," you replied, smiling as you both finished the last of your drinks standing up from the café table.

You pretended not to notice how Jisung's fingers brushed the small of your back as he held the door open.

Outside, the afternoon had softened into golden hour.

"You okay with taking the train to mine?" Jisung asked, smiling as he brushed a stray hair back. The question was casual, but there was something in the way his fingers flexed at his sides, like he was physically restraining himself from reaching out.

You hesitated, watching a group of undergraduates spill past you both laughing and chatting. The station was just two blocks down, the familiar rumble of the approaching train already vibrating underfoot. "Won't people—" you started, then bit your tongue. Jisung tilted his head, waiting. Won't people talk? Won't they recognize us? The unspoken questions hung between you like static.

"I mean, I know you’re a young teacher, but still—" you blurted out, then immediately regretted it when Jisung’s footsteps faltered mid-stride. He turned toward you, eyebrows lifting in silent question. The train doors hissed open behind him, and a rush of commuters surged past, forcing you both to step closer together on the platform.

Jisung leaned in slightly, his shoulder brushing yours as he ducked his head to hear you over the station’s chimes. "But still... what?" he prompted, voice low. His breath ghosted warm against your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. You swallowed hard, gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. You hopped on the train as Jisung followed behind.

"But still... what?" Jisung repeated, his voice dropping to a murmur as the train doors hissed shut behind you both. The carriage was half-empty, the late afternoon crowd thinning out. You hesitated, fingers tightening around the overhead rail as the train lurched forward.

"Isn’t this—" You bit your lip, glancing around at the scattered commuters. A student in the far corner was scrolling through their phone, oblivious. An elderly man dozed against the window. "I don’t know... this isn’t intruding, is it?" The words came out softer than you intended, almost lost in the rumble of the tracks beneath you.

Jisung’s expression softened, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out but thought better of it. The train swayed, pressing your shoulder against his.

"Intruding?" he repeated, voice barely above the rattle of the carriage. His mouth curved into a smile. "You’re the one who invited me for coffee, remember?"

"Yeah, but—" You faltered, watching the city blur past the window. "Coffee’s one thing. Your place is..." You trailed off, heat creeping up your neck. Jisung exhaled a quiet laugh, his elbow nudging yours.

You got off at the next station as the train sped away. The next train hissed into view seconds later.

"Come on—before we miss this train," Jisung grinned, his fingers suddenly closing around yours as he tugged you forward. His palm was warm and slightly rough against your skin. The train doors chimed in warning, the sound barely audible over your own heartbeat.

You stumbled into him, your free hand flying up to brace against his chest as the momentum carried you both deeper into the carriage. His blazer was soft, the fabric warm from his body heat. Jisung steadied you with a laugh, his other hand coming up to hover near your elbow. "Careful," he murmured, though he didn't let go of your hand. His thumb brushed absently over your pulse point, as if he could feel the way your heartbeat hurried beneath your skin.

The train was one of those beautifully refurbished vintage models, the kind with wide windows that slid open and polished wooden benches that creaked under your weight. You settled onto the seat beside Jisung, close enough that your thighs brushed whenever the carriage swayed. The late afternoon sun streamed through the glass, painting everything in gold, and a light breeze slipped through the open window, carrying with it the distant scent of the city’s bakeries and the faintest hint of Jisung’s cologne.

Jisung stretched his arm along the back of the seat, his fingers drumming an absent rhythm against the wood. "These trains always remind me of being a kid," he mused, tilting his head toward the passing skyline. The wind tousled his hair, softening the sharp lines of his profile. "My dad used to take me on the old line every Sunday. Said it was the best way to see the city without any distractions."

You nodded, leaning into the sway of the train. "I used to ride this line all the time when I lived on the other side of the city." The admission slipped out easily, loosened by the golden-hour glow and the way Jisung's fingers still brushed yours where they rested on the seat between you. "Back when I was applying to the university, actually. I'd take the early train just to sit in the library courtyard and pretend I already went here."

Jisung chuckled, his thumb tracing a slow arc over your knuckles. The motion was absent, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it but it sent a current of warmth up your arm anyway. "Smuggling yourself onto campus," he mused, tilting his head to catch your eye. "Should I be concerned about a pattern of academic trespassing?"

You laughed as Jisung pushed up his glasses, smirking. The lenses caught the afternoon sun, momentarily obscuring his eyes. "Academic trespassing?" you echoed, nudging his knee with yours as the train swayed around a bend. "I prefer to think of it as... early enrollment."

Jisung's smirk deepened, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the seat back behind you. "Early enrollment," he repeated. His thumb brushed the nape of your neck, barely there, just the faintest graze, before he withdrew his hand to adjust his glasses again. The frames left a faint indentation on the bridge of his nose, and you had to curl your fingers into your palms to stop yourself from reaching out to smooth it away.

You couldn’t help the way your little crush on Professor Han deepened with every passing moment. It wasn’t just the way his fingers lingered on you, or how his thigh pressed against yours whenever the carriage swayed. It was the way he tilted his head when listening, like your words were worth dissecting. The way sunlight caught in his lashes when he laughed, turning them gold. The way he said stupid shit with that teasing smile, as if he’d been waiting all semester to find someone who matched his wit.

The train slowed as it approached his stop, brakes groaning against the tracks. Jisung stood, offering his hand, not to help you up, but just because. You didn’t let go immediately, and neither did he, his fingers tightening just enough to make your pulse skip. "Careful," he murmured as you stepped onto the platform, though the train had long since stilled. His thumb brushed your knuckles once before he released you, leaving your skin tingling.

"Thank you," you replied with a smile, still distracted by the way the evening sunlight caught in Jisung's face. It wasn't until you both stepped clear of the platform that you realized your fingers were still tangled together, his thumb resting lightly against your pulse point. Neither of you had let go.

His fingers twitched slightly against yours, not retreating, just adjusting as if this casual intimacy was something he'd been thinking about longer than the duration of a train ride. The silence stretched between you, filled only by the distant echo of departing trains and the shuffle of commuters. Then, with deliberate casualness, he laced his fingers more securely through yours and tugged you gently toward the exit.

"My place isn’t far from the station" Jisung murmured, pulling his keys from his pocket as you both rounded the corner onto a quiet residential street. The metal jingled faintly in his palm, as he tilted his chin toward a brick fronted walkway with ivy crawling up one side. The building looked older than the surrounding apartments, its worn iron railings slightly crooked with age, but there was something charming about it.

His fingers tightened briefly around yours as you climbed the steps, his thumb brushing your knuckle when he paused to unlock the door. The lock clicked open as Jisung shouldered the door open with a quiet, "After you." The hallway beyond was dimly lit, the hardwood floors creaking underfoot as you stepped inside, the scent of old books and faint whiskey wrapping around you like a second embrace.

The first thing that struck you was how much light there was. Floor to ceiling windows lined one entire wall of Jisung's apartment, bathing the space in golden afternoon glow. Bookshelves sturdy and modern, built into the walls stretched from floor to ceiling, packed tight with volumes in neat rows. But unlike the haphazard stacks in his office, these were organized with almost obsessive precision, arranged by genre and then alphabetically within each section. You could spot the occasional gap where a book had been pulled and not yet returned, little absences in the otherwise perfect order.

"I know," Jisung said, catching your gaze as he toed off his shoes by the door. He smirked, rubbing the back of his neck where his hair curled slightly at the nape. "It's a sickness." His feet made no sound as he crossed the hardwood floors, unscuffed as if freshly polished, to flick on a minimalist lamp. The warm light pooled across the low coffee table, illuminating hundreds of well-worn paperbacks stacked messily.

Jisung nudged a stray hardcover back into alignment with his foot as he passed the shelf, the motion so automatic you wondered how many times he'd done it without thinking. "Don't mind the mess," he deadpanned, gesturing to the shit ton of books and notes left everywhere. His smirk softened when you laughed, fingers trailing along a shelf as you examined titles. Your fingertip bumped a slightly crooked volume Nabokov’s Pale Fire and Jisung’s hand twitched at his side like he was physically restraining himself.

"Your place is lovely, Jisung," you said, fingertips grazing the spine of a well-loved copy of The Great Gatsby. The leather binding was soft under your touch, the gold lettering slightly faded from handling. Behind you, Jisung exhaled a quiet laugh not quite self-conscious, but something close.

"It’s a little obsessive," he admitted, nudging a stray paperback back into alignment on the coffee table. The motion was absent, automatic, like he couldn’t help himself.

"My brother says it looks like a museum. 'Who alphabetizes their spices, Jisung?'" He mimicked a high-pitched voice, rolling his eyes, but you caught the way his fingers lingered on the shelf as he smiled.

You giggle as you look around, fingertips grazing the spine of a well-worn poetry collection. "Obsessive? Maybe. But it’s kind of..." You trail off, searching for the right word as sunlight pools across the hardwood between you. "Endearing." The admission slips out before you can second-guess it, and Jisung’s fingers pause mid-adjustment on a book.

You perched on the edge of Jisung's sofa, too stiff, too aware of the way the cushions barely dented under your weight as he moved toward the kitchen. His blazer was draped over the armchair now, sleeves rolled to reveal forearms his tendons shifting as he reached for glasses in the overhead cabinet. The ice clinked sharply when he dropped cubes into them, the sound startling in the quiet apartment.

He glanced over his shoulder, catching your startled expression, and smirked. "Nervous?" he asked, tilting his head toward the untouched sofa cushions behind you. "You look like you're sitting on a museum piece." His fingers curled around the refrigerator handle, the tendons in his forearm flexing as he pulled the door open. "Would you like something to drink?"

You swallowed, fingers fidgeting. "Water’s fine," you said. Jisung’s smirk deepened as he pulled a pitcher from the fridge and poured with care.

"Thank you, Jisung," you murmured as he handed you the glass, your fingers brushing against his just long enough to feel the warmth lingering beneath his skin. The water was crisp and cold, condensation already beading along your fingertips, but you barely registered the chill. All you could focus on was the way Jisung’s eyes tracked the path of your thumb along the rim of the glass, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something then thought better of it.

He cleared his throat and turned back toward the kitchen, but not before you caught the way his knuckles whitened around his own glass. “I’ll be back in a sec” Jisung smiled as he headed up stairs.

Your fingers traced the condensation on your glass absentmindedly as your gaze drifted across the living room. The late afternoon light had shifted and that’s when you noticed it a stack of handwritten notes piled haphazardly beside the sleek laptop on Jisung’s desk, so out of place amidst the meticulous order of the apartment. A single leather-bound notebook lay open on top, its pages filled with dense, looping script that slanted aggressively across the lines, as if the words had been chased onto the paper.

You shouldn’t look. You knew you shouldn’t look. But your feet carried you forward anyway, the hardwood cool under your socks as you drifted toward the desk. The top page was covered in revisions, entire paragraphs crossed out with such anger the pen had nearly torn through the paper and in the margins, tiny arrows pointed to frantic notes crammed between lines. One phrase stood out, circled three times with an intensity that made your pulse stutter, "Her laugh was the first thing he noticed not the pitch, but the way it crinkled her eyes, like she’d been saving it just for him."

The sentence stared back at you, ink slightly smudged where Jisung’s pen had lingered too long. Your fingers hovered above the page close enough to feel the indentations of his handwriting, but not touching. Not yet. Because beneath that line, crammed into the narrow margin like a secret, was another, "She argues like she’s fencing, all quick parries and calculated retreats, and Christ, I want to lose to her."

Your breath caught. The notebook’s spine creaked as you turned the page without meaning to, revealing a half-finished scene where two characters a professor and his student, though the names were scratched out and rewritten three times. The dialogue was verbatim. That was your argument from last Tuesday’s seminar, down to your habit of twisting your pen between sentences.

The next page turned with a whisper, revealing fragments, jotted observations. “Her hair catches sunlight like that brown until it isn’t, then gold at the edges when she turns her head too fast." Your fingers trembled against the paper.

A coffee ring stained the corner of the next page, warping the words slightly, “Bites her lower lip when concentrating. Left side only. Would she notice if I—" The sentence ended abruptly, ink blotted as if Jisung had slammed the pen down mid-thought.

Your fingers closed around the notebook's leather cover before you could stop yourself. The spine cracked open with a whisper, revealing pages upon pages.

The next page turned with a whisper, and your fingers froze against the paper. The handwriting here was different less precise, ink smudged as if written in haste. “She leans forward when she argues, and fuck, the way her collarbones catch the light—like she’s daring me to trace them." The words burned against your retinas. Your pulse roared in your ears, drowning out the distant sound of Jisung’s footsteps upstairs.

Another page. Another confession. "Today she wore that sweater with the loose neckline. Every time she bent over her notes, I had to bite my tongue raw." The ink blurred slightly, as if dampened by sweat or-

Your throat tightened by something else entirely. The margin here was crowded with frantic sketches quick, rough strokes of a hand pushing fabric aside, of teeth grazing a shoulder you recognized with sickening certainty.

The next page was dog-eared, the paper soft from repeated handling. Your breath hitched as your eyes caught the words scrawled in Jisung’s tight, urgent script, “I wonder if she makes noise when she touches herself. Small sounds, barely there—the catch of her breath when she’s trying to be quiet. Or maybe she doesn’t try at all. Maybe she moans loud enough to shake the walls, and Christ, I want to hear it." The ink bled at the edges where his pen had pressed too hard, leaving the paper slightly warped, as if he’d written this in a fever.

Your fingers trembled against the page. A hot flush crawled up your neck as you read on, “Does she bite her lip like she does in class? Or does her mouth fall open, pretty and ruined? Does she think about me when her fingers slip lower—" The sentence ended abruptly, the pen stroke jagged where he’d clearly crossed it out. But not thoroughly enough. You could still make out the words "y/n" beneath the furious slashes.

The notebook's pages stuck together slightly as you turned them, they seemed never ending. Then you saw it, an entry dated just last Wednesday, penned in handwriting messier than the rest, ink smeared like he'd been in a hurry.

“Fuck. Fuck. She wore that perfume today—the one that clings to the air when she walks past my desk. Vanilla and something darker underneath, like she wants to be tasted. Three hours of lecture and all I could think about was pressing my face to her neck and inhaling until my lungs burned. Had to dismiss class early. Locked myself in the storage closet behind the supply shelves. Came so hard I saw stars thinking about her thighs pressed against my ears while she rides my tongue. Her scent was still on my hands when I graded papers afterward. Didn’t wash them until midnight."

The notebook slipped from your fingers, not quite falling, but enough that the spine hit the desk with a soft thump. The sound echoed in the quiet apartment, suddenly deafening. You remembered the pen. The damn pen. Last Thursday, Jisung had paused mid-lecture, patting his pockets with a theatrical sigh before turning to the class. "Anyone got a spare?" he'd asked, and of course you'd been the first to raise your hand, sliding your favorite black gel pen across the desk. He'd taken it with a murmured thanks, his fingers lingering just a second too long on yours. You'd watched, transfixed, as he uncapped it with his teeth (a habit you'd teased him about later) and scratched notes in the margins of his lecture draft. The same pen that had disappeared into his breast pocket afterward, tucked away like a secret.

Now you knew why.

You barely had time to register the sound before the creak of footsteps on the stairs froze the breath in your lungs. Jisung was coming back.

You scrambled to flip the notebook closed. The pages crumpled slightly under your panicked touch as you shoved it back into place, knocking over a stack of papers in the process. A single sheet fluttered to the floor, landing face up, a half-finished poem with your name circled three times at the top, the letters dark and desperate like he’d traced them over and over.

The footsteps halted mid-stair.

You didn’t need to turn around to know Jisung had seen you, the sharp intake of breath behind you was enough. The air in the apartment thickened, charged with the weight of a thousand unspoken words caught between his ribs and yours. Slowly, deliberately, you turned.

The notebook lay open between you like a crime scene. Jisung stood frozen halfway down the stairs, one hand gripping the banister so tight his knuckles had gone bone-white. His throat worked silently, once, twice before he managed a strangled, "You—" and then nothing. The word hung in the air, incomplete, as his gaze darted from your face to the incriminating page and back again. His Adam’s apple bobbed violently.

You’d never seen him speechless before. Not in lectures, not during office hours, not even that time Jeongin from the debate team tried to argue that postmodernism was just "emo for philosophers." But now Jisung looked utterly gutted, his lips parted around unformed words, his free hand flexing at his side like he wanted to reach for the notebook but couldn’t bring himself to move.

"Shit, I'm—" Jisung's voice cracked mid-sentence, the sound raw and unguarded. The air between you thrummed with the weight of everything unsaid.

You took a shaky step backward, your heel bumping the desk leg. The silence stretched for a bit, punctuated only by the distant hum of the refrigerator and the too-loud hitch of Jisung's breathing. His throat worked visibly as he descended the remaining stairs with deliberate slowness, each step measured like he was afraid any sudden movement might send you bolting for the door.

"Jisung." You barely recognized your own voice low, steadier than you felt, as he took another cautious step forward. His glasses caught the light when he adjusted them.

He stopped just out of arm's reach, fingers twitching toward the fallen poem before shoving both hands into his pockets instead. His throat moved as he swallowed. "I can explain," he started, but the words died under your gaze. You'd never seen him like this, chest rising too fast, the usual sharp angles of his posture gone soft with surrender.

"Did you write this about me?" The words left your lips before you could stop them. The air in the apartment seemed to still.

Jisung's fingers flexed at his sides, then curled inward. A muscle jumped in his jaw. For the first time since you'd met him, through countless lectures, heated debates, stolen glances in office hours, Professor Han Jisung looked genuinely speechless. His throat worked silently.

Jisung exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound halfway between a laugh and a surrender. "Yes." His gaze didn't waver. "Every word."

The silence stretched between you. Jisung’s gaze flickered to the notebook then back to your face, searching for something you weren’t sure you could name. His throat moved as he swallowed, the sound audible in the stillness.

"I didn’t expect..." you mumbled, your fingers brushing the frame of his glasses to push them back up his nose. The gesture was intimate, your thumb skimming the arch of his cheekbone before withdrawing. Jisung's pupils dilated behind the lenses as you stepped closer.

"You are such a perv, Han Jisung." The accusation came out breathless, half-laughing, as you tapped the open notebook with one fingertip.

Jisung didn’t flinch. Instead, his lips curved into something dangerously close to a smirk, though his voice was rough when he countered, "You read it." His hand rose to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"Did you like what you read..?" Jisung's voice was low. His fingers still hovered near your ear, his thumb brushing the shell of it in slow circles that sent shivers down your spine. The question hung between you.

You swallowed, your pulse rabbiting beneath your skin. The notebook lay open between you, its pages filled with Jisung's desperate, ink-stained confessions. "I—" You hesitated, your gaze darting from his lips back to the notebook. "It was... detailed."

“Y/n..." Jisung breathed your name like it was something sacred, his fingers trailing from your ear to the hinge of your jaw. The pad of his thumb pressed lightly against your pulse point, and you could feel the tremor in his hand mirroring your own. "You're shaking."

The observation was soft. You hadn't realized it until he said it, how your knees had gone weak beneath you and how your fingers clutched the edge of the desk for balance. The leather-bound notebook lay between you like a third presence, its pages still parted to that damning passage about the storage closet, about his hands, about the way he'd—

Jisung took a step forward.

"You read it," he murmured again, voice roughened at the edges. His thumb brushed your wrist where it rested against the desk. "Every word. Every fucking confession." His lips curved into a smile,too sharp. "And you're still here."

The slap landed with a sharp crack, not hard enough to sting, but enough to make Jisung’s head snap sideways, his glasses ascew across his face. His cheek burned where your palm had connected, the ghost of your fingers lingering on his skin like a branding. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

Then Jisung laughed, the sound scraping against his throat as he turned back to face you. His cheek bloomed pink where you’d struck him, his pupils blown wide behind his disheveled bangs. "That’s it?" he rasped, tongue darting out to swipe at the corner of his mouth. "After everything you just read? That’s all I get?"

You couldn't help but roll your eyes as Jisung inched closer, biting his lip.

"You are such a creep, Jisung," you said, but your voice cracked halfway through, the words landing somewhere between accusation and surrender. Your palm still tingled from the slap, the heat of his skin lingering on yours like an echo.

Jisung exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh, more a release of tension, and adjusted his glasses with deliberate slowness. The left lens was smudged where your fingers had grazed it, distorting his eye behind the glass. "Yeah," he admitted, voice rough. His thumb brushed the reddening mark on his cheekbone, pressing lightly as if testing the sting. "But you knew that." His gaze flicked to the notebook still open on the desk, then back to you. "You read that."

"On the outside you just look like a nice, attractive English teacher..." You tapped Jisung's shoulder with one fingertip, watching the way his throat worked when he swallowed. His glasses were still crooked from your slap, one lens catching the fading light in a way that made his left eye appear darker than the right. "But little does everyone know.."

Jisung's mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but something dangerously close. He caught your wrist before you could withdraw your hand, his thumb pressing into your pulse point with deliberate pressure. "Know what?" he challenged, voice dropping into that register that always made your knees weak during lectures, low and rough, like he'd been grading papers all night.

Your fingers reached up to adjust his glasses, the frames warm from his skin. "You're a fucking horny creep," you whispered, your breath hitching halfway through as laughter bubbled up, nervous, giddy.

Jisung didn't flinch. His exhale hit your lips, warm, as his hands slid up to cage your wrists against his chest. "Tell me something I don't know," he murmured, his voice roughened at the edges. His pulse thrummed violently beneath your fingertips, betraying the calm of his words.

Jisung's hands slid from your wrists to your hips in one fluid motion, fingers pressing into the dip of your waist hard enough to bruise. His grip was possessive, not tentative like the fleeting touches in the café or the careful brush of his fingers on the train. This was deliberate, his thumbs tracing the edge of your hipbones through your clothes like he'd mapped them a hundred times in his head and was finally verifying.

The desk hit the back of your thighs with a dull thud before you registered Jisung moving, his hands sliding under your hips in one fluid motion, lifting you as easily as if you were weightless. Your breath caught as your back met the wall behind the desk, the impact jostling a stack of graded papers that cascaded to the floor in a flutter. Jisung didn’t even glance at them. His gaze never wavered from yours, dark and hungry and utterly focused.

"You’ve been driving me insane," he murmured, the words rough against your lips as he crowded between your knees. His palms slid up your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. The wood beneath you was cool through your clothes, but everywhere Jisung touched burned. "Every damn lecture. Every time you bite your lip thinking too hard. Every—" His voice cracked as your knees tightened around his hips, pulling him closer. "Christ, the way you argue with me like you know I’ll let you win."

Jisung's lips brushed the column of your throat, a featherlight graze that shouldn't have burned, but did. His teeth followed, scraping the delicate skin beneath your ear in a way that made your hips jerk against his. The sound that escaped you was embarrassingly loud in the quiet apartment, half-moan, half-laugh, muffled against his shoulder when you buried your face there.

"You wrote about this," you gasped as his tongue licked the spot he'd just bitten, your fingers twisting in his hair, longer than professors' hair should be, soft between your knuckles. The realization hit you between breaths, every flick of his tongue against your pulse, every nip of teeth was rehearsed. He'd scripted this in smudged ink, weeks or months before your fingers ever touched that notebook.

Jisung's breath hitched when your nails scraped the nape of his neck, just like he'd written in Chapter Twelve, in that messy margin note you'd almost missed. His hips jerked forward instinctively, pinning you harder against the wall as if he could fuse the scene from his notebook directly into reality. The desk creaked ominously beneath you, but neither of you cared.

"I've thought about this..alot," he murmured against your collarbone, teeth grazing the hollow where your pulse jumped. His hands slid higher under your thighs, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there with a familiarity that shouldn't have existed yet. "Every fucking variation. The supply closet after office hours—". "The empty lecture hall when you stay late to argue about Faulkner—".

"Spread them now," Jisung murmured, the words rough against the damp skin of your throat. His hands slid down your thighs with deliberate slowness, fingers pressing into the soft flesh just above your knees, not pushing, just guiding. The desk creaked beneath you as you instinctively obeyed, letting your legs fall open around his hips. The wood was cool against the backs of your thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from Jisung's body as he knelt between them.

The position should have felt obscene, should have made you scramble to cover yourself, but the way Jisung looked up at you through his glasses, turned it into something dangerously intimate. His breath hitched when your knees brushed his shoulders, the warmth of his exhale ghosting over your inner thighs as he leaned in closer. "Christ," he whispered, fingers flexing against your skin. "You're even prettier than I imagined."

"This skirt is so pretty," Jisung murmured against your inner thigh, his breath hot through the thin fabric. His fingers traced the hem with slowness, following the delicate scalloped edge where it brushed mid-thigh. "The way it fans out when you turn—god, I've watched it all semester." The confession came out rough, punctuated by his soft cheek leaning against the sensitive skin above your knee.

You gasped when his hands slid beneath the skirt. The material pooled around his wrists like spilled ink, the checkered print crumpling under his grip. "You—" The words dissolved into a moan as his thumb found the lace edge of your underwear, tracing the border with agonizing precision. "You stared at my skirt during lectures?"

Jisung’s fingers curled into the lace, his knuckles brushing against the damp heat between your thighs as he exhaled a laugh. "You have no idea," he murmured, dragging the pad of his thumb along the soaked fabric. "The way this one rides up when you cross your legs in the front row. How the hem flutters when you rush out after class." His teeth grazed your inner thigh, blunt and deliberate. "You look so pretty in everything—how could I resist?"

The confession unraveled you more than his touch. His voice was wrecked, syllables crumbling at the edges like the pages of his overhandled notebook. You could feel the proof of his words in the way his fingers trembled, not from hesitation, but from the effort of holding back. The desk creaked as you arched into his touch, your hips lifting instinctively. Jisung groaned, low and ragged, his grip tightening to keep you still.

"This is the type of underwear you wear?" Jisung's voice was pure gravel, his grin wicked as his fingers traced the damp lace stretched taut over your skin. The pad of his thumb pressed down right where you ached most, drawing a choked noise from your throat.

"So fucking slutty," he murmured, dragging the lace aside just enough to expose you to the cool air of the apartment. His exhale hit your bare skin, hot and uneven. "You wore these to my lecture last Tuesday. I know because I saw the strap when you bent to pick up your pen."

Your hips jerked involuntarily, the lace scraping sensitive flesh as he huffed a laugh against your inner thigh. His teeth grazed the same spot he'd written about and you realized with dizzying clarity that he'd cataloged every detail.

"You—" The accusation died in your throat when his tongue replaced his thumb, licking a slow stripe through the fabric. The lace darkened instantly, clinging to your skin as he groaned. "Christ, you're soaked. Just from me looking?"

You bit your lip, embarrassed, looking down, only to realize with dawning horror where your gaze had landed. Jisung's glasses were fogged at the edges, his pupils blown wide behind the smudged lenses as he stared up at you from between your thighs. The flush creeping up his neck matched the heat burning your own cheeks, his parted lips inches from where your skirt bunched around his wrists.

His fingers tightened on your hips just holding you there, suspended in the moment like a sentence trailing off mid-confession. The air between you smelled like charged with something darker, something unmistakable. His exhale hit damp fabric, making you twitch violently against his grip.

"Jisung-ah—" you moaned, the syllables fracturing into a gasp as his tongue finally replaced fingers on lace. The sound startled both of you, too loud, too desperate in the quiet apartment and Jisung's grip on your thighs tightened reflexively. His glasses fogged more at the bridge from your heat, lenses obscuring his eyes but not the way his throat worked when you arched against his mouth.

"You say my name like that," he murmured against damp fabric, teeth scraping the soaked lace just hard enough to make you jerk, "and I'll fail you." The threat would've landed if not for how wrecked his voice sounded, like he'd been the one reduced to panting against someone's thigh. His fingers trembled where they gripped your hips, nails biting crescents through your skirt.

The first lick was slow, flat-tongued and devastatingly thorough as if Jisung intended to memorize the taste of you through lace. His glasses dug into your inner thigh when he tilted his head, the metal frames leaving indentations that would linger like fingerprints. You gasped, fingers scrabbling against the desk's edge as his tongue circled the exact spot you were craving.

"Fuck—" The syllable shattered when his teeth caught the soaked fabric, tugging just enough to expose bare skin to the apartment's cool air. Jisung exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound ragged, before replacing lace with his mouth, hot, open-mouthed and ravenous. His thumbs pressed into your hipbones, holding you in place as he licked into you with the same focused intensity he reserved for dissecting sonnets in class.

"So fucking cute," Jisung mumbled against your inner thigh, his breath hitching as he peeled the soaked lace aside with trembling fingers. The fabric clung stubbornly for a heartbeat before yielding, revealing skin flushed pink with want. His glasses slid down his nose with the motion, one lens pressing cold against your knee as he exhaled sharply, half disbelief at the sight.

"Shit, you're dripping—" The sentence fractured when his thumb brushed your slick heat, his groan vibrating against your skin.

The desk groaned beneath you as you arched into Jisung's touch, your fingers fumbling with the top button of your blouse. The crisp paper of his graded essays pressed against your back, each rustling sheet a stark reminder of how many student assignments were being irrevocably creased beneath your weight. Jisung didn't seem to care, he kissed your thighs gently as your blouse gaped open, revealing the lace edge of your bra to the golden afternoon light filtering through his apartment windows.

"These too?" Jisung's voice was wrecked as he hooked a finger under your bra strap, the elastic snapping back against your skin with a quiet twang. His glasses were completely fogged now, abandoned somewhere in the tangle of discarded papers near your hip. Without them, his gaze was startlingly direct, dark and hungry as it tracked the way your chest rose with each uneven breath. "You wore this to my office hours last month," he murmured, thumb brushing the scalloped lace. "Spent forty minutes arguing about Brontë while I counted every fucking time this strap slipped off your shoulder."

Your fingers trembled against the next button of your blouse from the way Jisung's gaze burned against your exposed chest. The fabric parted with a quiet snick, revealing another inch of skin that Jisung tracked with a hunger that made your pulse stutter. His thumb stilled against your inner thigh, pressing hard enough to leave a mark as you undid the third button with deliberate slowness.

"You're watching me like I'm—" The words dissolved into a gasp when Jisung's mouth found your entrance.

Jisung's tongue was hotter than you expected, flat and deliberate as it dragged through your folds with the same slow precision he used to underline passages in textbooks. His nose bumped your clit when he tilted his head, and you gasped at the sensation, too much and not enough all at once. His glasses were gone, abandoned somewhere in the mess of papers on the floor, you could see clearer the way his eyelashes fluttered when you jerked against his mouth. Without the glasses, his face looked startlingly bare, younger somehow, the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the faint scar above his eyebrow more pronounced.

"You taste like heaven..” Jisung's voice fractured against your skin, his breath hitching when your fingers twisted in his hair. His lips were slick with you, chin glistening where he'd pressed his face deeper between your thighs. The words dissolved into a groan as he licked into you again, his tongue circling your entrance with agonizing patience before flicking upward in a sharp, practiced motion that made your back arch off the desk.

The first finger slid in with ease, his knuckles brushing against you in a way that made your thighs clamp reflexively around his wrist. Jisung let out a muffled laugh against your skin, the vibration sending shocks up your spine, before nipping at your inner thigh in warning. "Easy," he murmured, the word warm and damp where his lips pressed. His free hand smoothed up your trembling stomach, fingers splaying across your ribs as if to steady you. "I'm not going anywhere."

You choked on a moan when he hooked that finger just so, the pad of it rubbing against a spot that made your vision blur at the edges. The desk creaked violently as your hips jerked off its surface, papers cascading to the floor. Jisung didn't even flinch.

The moan that ripped from your throat was embarrassingly loud, sharp enough that Jisung's fingers stuttered inside you, his eyes blown wide as he watched. His lips curled into a smirk you felt more than saw, the vibrations of his chuckle sending fresh tremors through your oversensitive nerves. "That's it," he murmured against damp skin, his tongue lapping at the mess he'd made between your thighs. "Let me hear you."

His free hand slid up your stomach, fingers splaying across your ribs, just possessive, as he added a second finger with torturous slowness. The stretch burned deliciously, your body yielding to him like well-worn pages under his touch. Papers rustled beneath your arched back as you gasped his name again, louder this time, the syllables breaking when his thumb found your clit in relentless circles.

Your fingers tightened in Jisung's hair, just enough pressure to make him groan into you. His scalp was warm beneath your fingertips, strands soft as ink between your knuckles. The motion pulled his head back slightly, forcing him to meet your gaze through the haze of pleasure clouding your vision. His lips were slick, chin glistening where he'd pressed his face into you moments before, and the sight alone sent another pulse of heat between your legs.

The change was instantaneous, Jisung's fingers curled sharply inside you, his wrist twisting at an angle that shouldn't feel possible until you're gasping against the desk's edge. His pace accelerates with the precision of someone who's imagined this exact motion a hundred times, each thrust measured yet frantic, as if he's racing against some invisible clock. His thumb finds your clit again, the pressure brutal in its consistency, rubbing tight little circles that make your vision pulse white at the edges.

"You take me so well," Jisung murmurs, the words vibrating through your skin. His free hand slides up to palm your ribs, fingers splaying possessively as he presses you harder into the desk, ensuring you feel every deliberate stroke. The wood creaks violently beneath you, his graded papers now irrevocably crumpled under your shifting weight. His focus is just on you, lapping like a desperate dog.

"Fuck—Ji, I'm gonna cum—" The words tore from your throat raw and ragged, your fingers twisting in Jisung's hair hard enough to make him groan against your clit.

Jisung's laugh vibrated against your skin, dark and uneven. "Yeah?" His tongue pressed harder against your clit, circling in tight, relentless motions that matched the pace of his fingers. The wet sound of his hand moving between your thighs was lewdly loud in the quiet apartment.

"Cum all over this book." Jisung groaned, his fingers twisting inside you with deliberate cruelty. The pages of his notebook, the one filled with his desperate confessions, lay spread beneath your hips, pristine paper crinkling under your shifting weight. His lips curled into something feral when you whimpered, his thumb pressing down harder on your clit. "You read it," he rasped, breath hot against your skin. "Now ruin it."

The command sent a fresh pulse of heat through your veins, your fingers scrabbling against the desk's edge as his fingers curled. The notebook's pages were cool beneath your bare thighs. You could still see the way his pupils dilated when your hips jerked involuntarily, smearing dampness across his handwritten words.

The moment stretched like taffy, your moans echoed, Jisung's fingers and tongue didn't stop, before everything snapped.

A sound tore from your throat, half-sob, half-laugh, as your hips jerked violently against his hand. Wetness gushed across the notebook beneath you, ink bleeding instantly under the sudden flood, his frantic handwriting dissolving of desire and shame.

Jisung made a noise like he'd been punched, his free hand clutching your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints as he watched his words drown under you. His fingers never stopped moving, drawing out the aftershocks with cruel precision until you were squirming, oversensitive and shaking, his name a broken syllable on your lips.

The notebook pages stuck to your thighs as you gasped for air, Jisung's fingers still lazily tracing circles inside you, gentler now, almost apologetic. His breath came in ragged bursts against your knee, lips parted and glistening. When you finally managed to focus, his gaze was locked on the wreckage beneath you, the ink-blurred pages plastered to your skin like a second confession.

"You..." Your voice cracked. Jisung's thumb pressed against your hipbone in silent question as you swallowed. "You're insane." you breathed out barely.

Jisung exhaled like he'd been holding his breath underwater for too long. His fingers slid from you slowly, sticky with slickness, and he examined them with rapt attention. "Insane?" His voice was sharp like gravel, lips curving into that smirk that always made your stomach flip during lectures. "You're the one who came on my manuscript."

He lifted his hand to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick a stripe across his fingers without breaking eye contact. The groan that escaped him was so genuine, eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat before reopening with renewed hunger. "Christ. Even better than I imagined."

The sight of Jisung's tongue swiping over his ink-stained fingers, your wetness mingling with the blurred remains of his confession, sent a fresh pulse of heat between your legs. You almost came again just watching him, thighs trembling against the ruined notebook pages still stuck to your skin. When he finally met your gaze again, his pupils were blown so wide they swallowed everything, his lips slick and parted around a shaky exhale.

"You taste like fucking sin," Jisung rasped, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing ink and spit along his jawline in a way that shouldn't have been erotic but made your hips jerk involuntarily against the desk. The motion dislodged another crumpled page from beneath you, some poor student's midterm, now irrevocably creased and damp, but Jisung didn't even glance at it. His attention was fixed on the way your chest rose and fell with each uneven breath, your blouse still hanging open where you'd abandoned the buttons midway.

"Jisung, I want more—" The whine slipped out before you could swallow it, your fingers curling into the wrinkled fabric of his button-up shirt. The cotton was soft under your grip, still warm from his skin and faintly damp where you'd clutched it during your climax. You yanked him forward with his tie more force than intended, sending his chest crashing into yours with a muffled thump that rattled the desk. His belt buckle scraped your inner thigh, cold metal against overheated skin, as he caught himself on trembling forearms, his breath stuttering against your collarbone.

Jisung exhaled sharply through his nose, his hips jerking involuntarily at the contact. You could feel the hard line of him through his slacks, pressed flush against your still-trembling thigh. His lips parted around a silent curse when you rocked up instinctively, the friction drawing a ragged groan from his throat. "Fuck—" His hands flew to your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises as he pinned you back against the ruined notebook.

You whined again, pouting, the sound embarrassing to your own ears, as Jisung pulled back just far enough to study your face.

"More?" His voice was wrecked, syllables cracking at the edges like overhandled paper. "You just came hard enough to ruin six weeks of my writing." he teased.

The reminder sent heat crawling up your neck, part shame, part perverse pride, as your thighs clenched reflexively around his waist. The ruined notebook pages clung stubbornly to your skin. Jisung tracked the motion with a darkening gaze, his thumb brushing the damp lace still tangled around your thigh. "You're greedy," he murmured, lips curling around the accusation like it was a compliment.

You arched an eyebrow and swung your legs off the desk with deliberate slowness, his ruined notebook pages peeling away from your thighs with wet, obscene sounds. "I take that as a no then," you said, smoothing your crumpled skirt down with exaggerated primness even as the damp lace of your underwear clung to your skin. The movement made Jisung's breath hitch, his fingers twitched toward your hips like he wanted to pin you back down, but you'd already slipped just out of reach, your feet hitting the floor.

Jisung's laugh was dark, uneven. He stood between your discarded legs, ink-stained fingers flexing against his thighs as he watched you adjust your blouse with faux innocence. The top three buttons were still undone, exposing the lace edge of your bra. You made a show of refastening just one button, leaving the other two gaping, before turning toward the door with an exaggerated sigh.

"See you later, Professor Han," you murmured, flashing him a smile that was equal parts teasing and breathless.

You didn't make it three steps down the hallway before Jisung's fingers wrapping around your wrist with enough force to spin you back toward him. His breath came in ragged bursts, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal ink-stained forearms. He was on the brink of looking scary but the sexiness overpowered.

"Fuck this," he growled, tugging you back inside so forcefully your shoulder slammed against the doorframe. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, but before you could protest, Jisung's mouth crashed into yours, all teeth and desperation, his fingers tangling in your hair to angle your head.

The kiss was nothing like the measured, precise way Jisung presented himself, this was messy and so desperate, his teeth catching your lower lip hard enough to sting. You gasped into his mouth, fingers scrabbling at his collar as he backed you against the apartment door. His glasses pressed uncomfortably between your faces, he must've grabbed them from the desk.

Jisung's hands were everywhere at once, cupping your jaw, sliding into your hair, mapping the exposed skin of your collarbones where your blouse still gaped open. Everywhere he touched burned like lit matches, his fingertips leaving trails of ink and want across your skin. When you arched into him, he groaned low in his throat, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh and hike it around his hip with a roughness that made your breath hitch.

"You are such a brat," Jisung gasped against your mouth, his fingers tightening in your hair as you bit down on his lower lip hard enough to draw a sharp hiss from him. The taste of copper bloomed between your tongues and you grinned against his lips, rolling your hips up to feel the rigid line of him through his slacks.

The muffled groan that escaped him vibrated through your chest as he pinned you harder against the door, his knee sliding between your thighs with rough precision.

Jisung's fingers dug into your hips with bruising force as he lifted you effortlessly, one hand sliding under your thigh while the other braced against the small of your back. Your gasp was swallowed by his mouth as he carried you the few stumbling steps to the nearest couch, the world tilting dizzyingly until your shoulders hit the cushions. He followed you down without breaking the kiss, his knee nudging your thighs apart to settle between them with a groan that vibrated through your chest.

The couch was older than it looked, the leather creaking ominously under his weight as Jisung braced himself above you, one forearm planted beside your head while his other hand yanked at his belt buckle with impatient tugs. You arched up to nip at his jawline, laughing breathlessly when the motion made him fumble the clasp. "Someone's eager," you murmured against his pulse point, relishing the way his throat jumped under your lips.

"Spread your legs." Jisung commanded as he loomed over you, the words rasped against your ear with a roughness that sent electricity skittering down your spine. His knee pressed insistently between your thighs, the leather of the couch creaking beneath his shifting weight. When you hesitated, just to watch his jaw tighten, his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your inner thigh, dragging a gasp from your lips as he forced them apart himself.

The couch cushions were cool against your bare skin where your skirt had ridden up, but Jisung's hands were fever-hot as they mapped your body with familiarity. His thumb brushed the damp lace still clinging to you, the fabric soaked through from earlier, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, like the evidence of your arousal was personally offensive to him. "Still wet," he muttered, dragging the underwear down swiftly.

Jisung's glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, just far enough that the frames caught the late afternoon sunlight slanting through his apartment windows, glinting gold against his skin. He didn't push them back up. Instead, he let them perch there precariously, the lenses magnifying the dark hunger in his eyes as they raked over your sprawled form.

Jisung's fingers made quick work of his shirt buttons, popping them open one-handed. The fabric parted to reveal a strip of sharp abs dusted with a trail of dark hair leading to his cock. It landed somewhere near the messy coffee table.

"You're overdressed," he murmured against your collarbone, fingers already sliding beneath the hem of your skirt. The backs of his knuckles grazed your thighs, still sensitive from earlier, as he bunched the fabric upward with deliberate slowness. The leather couch sighed beneath you when you arched into his touch, the cool air hitting your exposed skin as he dragged the skirt down your legs and tossed it aside without breaking eye contact.

The first button of your blouse popped free. Jisung's fingers froze on his belt buckle, mid-tug, his gaze locking onto your hands as you worked the second button loose with deliberate slowness. The fabric parted to reveal the lace edge of your bra, the same one he'd confessed to staring at during office hours, and you watched his throat work as he swallowed hard.

"You're—" Jisung started, then bit off the words when you shrugged the blouse from your shoulders in one smooth motion. The fabric pooled around your elbows before you shook it off entirely, letting it flutter to the floor somewhere near his shirt. His gaze tracked the movement hungrily, pupils dilating further as he took in the expanse of bare skin now available to him. "So pretty.."

Your fingers traced the strained outline of his cock through the expensive fabric of his slacks first, just a teasing brush that made Jisung's breath hitch against your neck. He slid them off faster than you could count, then, charged by the way his hips jerked forward, you slid your hand lower, cupping him fully through the dampening cotton of his briefs. The wet patch was already sizable, the fabric clinging hotly to his skin where precum had soaked through.

"Fuck—" Jisung's voice fractured when your thumb pressed deliberately over the slick spot, his forehead dropping to your shoulder with a muffled groan. His hips stuttered forward into your touch.

"Christ, you're going to kill me," he rasped, teeth scraping against your collarbone as you rubbed slow circles through the damp fabric.

The air left Jisung's lungs in a punched-out groan as he finally, finally shoved his underwear down past his hips. The elastic caught briefly before he kicked the fabric away entirely, his cock springing free with an obscene wet sound where it slapped against his abdomen. The flushed head glistened under the golden afternoon light, precum beading at the slit in a way that made your mouth water instinctively.

"Shit," Jisung hissed through clenched teeth when your fingers wrapped around him without wasting time, his hips jerking forward into your grip like he couldn't help it. His cock was warmer than you expected. He was thick enough that your fingers didn't quite meet around him, the veins along his shaft twitching under your tentative strokes.

Jisung's fingers trembled slightly as he slid through your entrance testing. The contrast of cold air against overheated skin made you squirm, but he pinned you in place with his hips, the blunt head of his cock dragging through your slick folds with deliberate, agonizing slowness. His breath hitched against your throat as he pressed forward just enough to tease, then retreated again with a groan that vibrated through his chest.

"You feel—" His voice fractured when you arched up impatiently, catching just the tip of him inside you. The stretch burned deliciously, your thighs quivering where they bracketed his hips. Ink smeared across your stomach where his fingers gripped you, dark streaks of his horny notes blending with the sweat-slicked flush of skin.

Your fingers tangled in the damp hair at Jisung's nape as he pressed forward with agonizing slowness, the stretch burning in a way that made your thighs tremble against his hips. The angle was different like this, more intimate than anything you'd imagined during stolen glances in his lecture hall, with his forehead pressed to yours and his breath shuddering against your lips. His glasses were perched still on his face, you couldn't decide whether he looked cute or hot biting back his moans.

"Look at me," Jisung murmured when your lashes fluttered shut, his voice rough but impossibly soft, thumb brushing your cheekbone. His hips moved with deliberate precision, each slow advance drawing ragged breaths from both of you until he was fully seated inside you, the sensation so overwhelming your fingers clenched involuntarily in his hair.

"You're too tight," Jisung groaned as he bottomed out, his forehead dropping to yours with a sharp exhale that smelled faintly of whiskey and desperation. The words vibrated against your lips, barely audible over the ragged hitch of his breathing. His cock twitched inside you hot and thick, as your pussy fluttered around him in instinctive response, drawing a ragged curse from his throat.

The veins in his neck stood out in sharp relief, his pulse hammering visibly beneath his jaw as he swallowed hard. "Christ," he rasped, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. "I can't—you feel—"

The first thrust punched a sound from both of you that should've shattered the windows. Jisung's groan harmonizing with your moan as he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in. The force knocked the breath from your lungs, your nails scoring down his bare shoulders as your back arched off the couch.

Jisung's rhythm was merciless from the start, no tentative exploration, just deep, desperate, rolling thrusts that had your thighs trembling within seconds. The leather couch squeaked beneath you, the sound barely audible over the wet slap of skin meeting skin. One of his hands anchored your hip hard enough to bruise while the other tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to expose your throat to his teeth.

"Ah—Mr. Han—" The moan tore from your throat, syllables fracturing as Jisung's lips sucked at your pulse point with just enough pressure to blur your vision. His answering groan vibrated against your skin, the hand in your hair tightening reflexively when you arched against him. The honorific, so clinical in lecture halls, felt filthy now, dripping from your lips.

Jisung's hips stuttered at the title, his cock twitching inside you with a wet sound that made your thighs clamp around him instinctively.

"So you're into that teacher-student shit, are you?" Jisung smirked against the shell of your ear, the words rough and uneven as he snapped his hips forward with deliberate force. The pace he set was punishing.

“Say it again," he rasped against your throat. His rhythm faltered, just for a second, as he dragged his lips up the column of your neck, breath hot and uneven against your ear. "Say it like you're failing my class and begging for extra credit."

The title tumbled from your lips before you could stop it—"Professor Han"—the syllables cracking mid-moan as Jisung angled his hips just so. His answering groan vibrated through your chest, his fingers tightening in your hair hard enough to sting. Against your throat, his lips dragged wetly across your pulse point.

"Fuck, the way you say it, like you haven't been imagining this since midterms."

The sound punched out of you before you could swallow it, high and mortifyingly desperate, your face flushing red as Jisung’s smirk widened against your throat. His fingers tightened in your hair, angling your head back further to expose the blush crawling down your neck. “That’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his hips snapped forward with renewed purpose. “Let me hear how much you hate this.”

You hated the way your thighs trembled around his waist, the way your nails dug into his shoulders like you were afraid he’d vanish if you let go. Most of all, you hated how your body betrayed you, arching into each thrust with a hunger that made your stomach clench. Jisung’s laugh was dark and uneven against your collarbone as he murmured,

“You’re fucking dripping, sweetheart. Tell me you didn’t imagine this when you handed in your last essay.”

The whimper escaped you before you could bite it back as Jisung’s hips snapped forward with enough force to slide you up the leather cushions. His grip on your thighs tightened, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks that would linger for days. Your nails scraped down him in retaliation, but he only moaned at the sting, his cock twitching inside you in response.

"Look at you," Jisung rasped, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. His thumb brushed your lower lip, swollen before pressing down.

"Taking me so fucking well." The words vibrated against your temple where his forehead rested, his lashes fluttering against your skin with each ragged exhale. His rhythm was relentless now, each thrust punctuated by the squelches and the creak of overburdened leather beneath you.

Jisung's fingers found your clit with terrifying precision, rough at first, then settling into an insistent rhythm that matched the snap of his hips. The double stimulation had your pussy trembling within seconds. His thumb circled just shy of where you needed it most, the teasing strokes drawing ragged curses from your lips as your hips jerked helplessly against his hand.

"Is this what you imagined during lectures?" Jisung's voice was wrecked as his fingers sped up, the pad of his thumb pressing harder against your clit with each desperate roll of your hips. His smirk was palpable even without seeing it, the smug dick.

"When you'd bite your pen like that and stare out the window?" His teeth grazed your jaw, blunt and punishing. "Were you thinking about my fingers, sweetheart? Or just my cock?"

"All of you," you gasped, fingers twisting in Jisung's hair as his hips snapped forward.

His fingers traced lazy circles over your nipples through the lace of your bra.

"You're my favorite student," he confessed, voice rough with something darker than pride, thumbs flicking over the hardened peaks until your back arched off the couch. "My smart girl." The words dripped slow.

You gasped when his teeth replaced his fingers, biting down just hard enough to make your thighs clench around his waist, the lace tearing slightly under the sharp pressure. His laugh vibrated against you low and pleased, as he peeled the ruined fabric aside to replace it with his mouth. The wet heat of his mouth made you aware of every cell in your body, the suction on your nipple deliberate as he dragged his teeth over the flesh.

"I would hope I'm your favorite," you gasped, nails raking down Jisung's back as he savored the pain, "you're fucking the shit out of me right now." The laugh that escaped you was breathless. Jisung's hips stuttered mid-thrust, his cock twitching deep inside you in response.

"Shit," he rasped, his rhythm turning uneven, slower now, but deeper, each drag of his cock along your walls calculated to wring another broken sound from your lips.

"Trust me," you whispered, "any girl from the class would be happy to be in my place right now." The words tumbled out between ragged breaths.

Jisung froze mid-thrust, his cock twitching deep inside you as his head lifted sharply. The sudden stillness was jarring, his breath hitching audibly against your throat where his lips had been trailing wet kisses. When he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them.

"You're kidding, right?" Jisung's laugh came out strangled, his hips stuttering mid-thrust as his fingers dug into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. The sudden halt made you whine, your hips jerking up to chase the friction he'd denied you. His grip tightened, pinning you in place.

"I'm so fucking lucky I get to fuck you," he rasped, the words raw with something that sounded dangerously close to romantic.

"You've got every guy on campus wrapped around your finger."

His next thrust knocked the air from your lungs, rougher than before, almost punishing, as if he needed to prove his point through sheer physicality.

Jisung's left hickeys on your collarbone, blunt and possessive, before he dragged his mouth up the column of your throat.

"That TA who 'accidentally' bumps into you after class?" His hips snapped forward on the word, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made your vision whiten at the edges. "The rugby captain who carries your books to the library?" Another brutal thrust, this one deep enough to make your toes curl. "They'd fucking kill to be where I am right now."

The moan tore from your throat before you could swallow it, low and whiny, muffled against Jisung's lips as his fingers circled your clit with relentless precision. His thumb pressed down just shy of where you needed it most, the teasing pressure drawing a broken whimper from your lips that he swallowed greedily. His kisses were messy, all teeth and tongue and barely-contained desperation, his breath hot against your cheek as he murmured filth against your lips between gasps.

"You sound so fucking pretty," Jisung rasped, the words rough with arousal as his fingers sped up, the pad of his thumb pressing harder against your clit with each desperate roll of your hips. His rhythm was merciless, just this side of too much, the stimulation toeing the line between pleasure and overstimulation in a way that had your thighs trembling around his waist.

"Ji—I'm gonna cum," you moaned, Jisung's thumb pressed down hard on your clit in tight, insistent circles. Your thighs trembled violently around his waist, your toes curling against the small of his back where sweat made your heels slip against his skin.

Jisung's hips stuttered at the sound, his cock twitching deep inside you as he bit down on your collarbone hard enough to leave more marks.

"Yeah?" he rasped voice wrecked beyond recognition. His free hand slid up your ribs to palm your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in rough, distracted circles. "Let me see."

The orgasm hit instantly, one second Jisung's fingers were circling your clit with lazy precision, the next your vision whited out completely as your back arched off the couch. Your thighs clamped around his waist with too much force for a guy about to pull out, your entire body locking around him.

Jisung swore loudly as your walls fluttered around his cock in rhythmic pulses, his hips stuttering mid-thrust.

"Fuck, fuck—" His voice deepend as you clenched around him again, his cock twitching deep inside you.

Jisung's hips jerked once, twice, before he buried himself to the hilt with a groan that sounded like it had been ripped from his chest. His entire body trembling as he spilled inside you with pulses so violent they made your own oversensitive nerves twitch in sympathy. His forehead dropped to yours, noses brushing as you lazily made out.

"Y/n.." Jisung's whispered, his lashes fluttering against your cheekbones as his cock twitched weakly inside you, still riding out the aftershocks. His fingers traced your jaw with uncharacteristic gentleness.

"Fuck, you're perfect."

Jisung's withdrawal was slow, his cock dragging against your oversensitive walls until you whimpered. He collapsed atop you with a groan, his sweat-slick chest pressing flush against your tits, still trembling slightly with aftershocks. His glasses, managed to stay on the bridge of his nose and you couldn't help but giggle as you pushed them back up.

"Sweetheart," he muttered into your skin. His fingers traced idle patterns down your side, not possessive now, just absentminded, like he couldn't stop touching you.

"You wrecked me." His breath hitched when your nails scraped lightly up his spine, the motion drawing a shiver from him despite the heat still radiating off both of you.

Your lips brushed Jisung's forehead in a soft kiss. The contact made him freeze up. You could feel his eyelashes flutter against your collarbone in response, his breath hitching mid-exhale.

Jisung's lips curved into a smile against your pulse point. "That's new," he murmured, the words vibrating against your damp skin. "Not in the notebook."

"Did I meet your expectations in your notes?" You smirked, dragging your fingers through the soft mess of Jisung's hair.

Jisung laughed as he rolled his weight onto one elbow, the motion making his biceps flex where they bracketed your hips. "You exceeded them," he admitted, voice rough. "Though I may need to revise my methodology."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress the laugh that bubbled up when Jisung kissed you again, soft this time.

Jisung pulled you into him as if trying to merge your two bodies into one single entity. His arms wrapped around you with a sudden, fierce intensity, squeezing the remaining breath from your lungs in a way that felt less like a hug and more like a claim. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his skin still damp and hot, and you felt the low rumble of his chest against yours.

"Mine," he murmured, the word muffled against your skin. He shifted, tightening his grip until you were practically crushed against his chest. "Mine, mine, mine."

"You are such a freak, Jisung," you giggled as you looked up to see him grinning.

☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆...

🏷️ Taglist: @11racha @janaethedreamer @sparklingyoongi @tinys0ftie @lvebyheehoon