jay's lap dog. @tiramishoon - Tumblr Blog

,,Dollhouse’’

Professor!Song Mingi x student babysitter!Reader

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.

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