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bunny-hwa · 17 hours ago

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Popular, Boy

☆06: The first move.

Pairing: Nerd!Hongjoong x Popular!Reader

Genre: +18, slow burn, angst, smut, drama, dark academic, love triangle.

wc: 10,8k

Summary: You and Hongjoong grow closer, but in your world, trust is a dangerous thing. Mike's cruelty lingers, and in the shadows, a plan unfolds... One designed to break you.

Break your heart, and make you question everything... especially Hongjoong.

Warnings: Verbal abuse, past trauma (?), power dynamics, fluff, suggestive.

Series masterlist

☆05 ☆07: The first breakdown.

The low rumble of the engine fills the quiet evening air as you glance out the window. The car is nothing like the sleek, expensive vehicles sitting in your family’s garage. It’s modest, a little old, and the faint smell of worn leather lingers in the air.

“You borrowed this from your dad?” You ask, raising an eyebrow as you turn to Hongjoong.

He shrugs, his hands gripping the steering wheel with a mix of focus and nervousness. “Yeah. Figured it’s better than taking the bus.”

The bus? Hell no, you have never been in one and you hope it never happens.

You glance at him, a small, amused smirk playing on your lips. The whole thing is… endearing in a way you don’t expect.

“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?” You cross your legs and adjust your pink leather jacket.

“Nope.” His lips quirk into a smile, but he keeps his eyes on the road “Just sit back and enjoy the ride, pretty.”

You roll your eyes but don’t press further. There’s something about his excitement that keeps your curiosity piqued.

When the car finally comes to a stop, you step out and immediately catch the sound of distant laughter and the faint scent of fried food in the air. Turning toward the neon-lit entrance ahead, your brows knit together.

“An amusement park?” Your voice is tinged with surprise.

Hongjoong steps around to your side, his hands in his pockets and a slightly nervous look on his face.

“You said you’d never been to one, so…” He gestures toward the brightly lit rides.

You glance down at your outfit—high heel boots, a sleek skirt, and your leather jacket—then back at him.

“And you didn’t think to mention that I might want to dress for this?”

He grins, his nervousness fading into a playful confidence “You’ll be fine. You look beautiful and you could rock a runway in a park if you wanted to.”

You shake your head, unable to suppress a smile “Fine. Lead the way.”

The ticket booth is up ahead, and you instinctively reach for your purse, already accustomed to paying for yourself—and for others. But before you can even unzip it, Hongjoong steps forward, pulling out his wallet.

“Two adults, please.” He says, handing over the cash.

You blink, momentarily stunned. People don’t usually pay for you. They just assume you’ll foot the bill, given your family’s wealth. But here Hongjoong is, without hesitation, handling everything.

“Thanks.” You say, your voice softer than usual.

He shoots you a small, reassuring smile “It’s a date, isn’t it?”

The park is alive with energy—bright lights, music, and the unmistakable hum of excitement in the air. You’re not sure what to expect, but as the night unfolds, you find yourself swept up in the moment.

Hongjoong pulls you from ride to ride, his enthusiasm contagious. You scream on the roller coasters, laugh uncontrollably on the spinning teacups, and you surprise yourself by enjoying the bumper cars, laughing uncontrollably as Hongjoong tried—and failed—to outmaneuver you.

Hongjoong made a great effort to win a small stuffed bunny at one of the carnival games, he handed it to you with a triumphant grin.

“For you,” He says, holding it out.

“Seriously?” You ask, but there is no hiding the smile that tug at your lips “It’s so tacky.”

“Tacky but adorable, just like you.” He counters with a pretty smile.

And you find yourself clutching the fluffy bunny tightly as you continue through the park.

At the snack stand, you try to insist on paying, but Hongjoong beats you to it again, handing over the cash before you can protest.

“You’re really committed to this, huh?” You tease.

He shrugs, offering you a bag of popcorn “I like treating you. You’re worth it.”

The words catch you off guard, leaving a strange warmth in their wake. You look at him, the boyish grin on his face, and wonder how he can be so… genuine.

As the day turns into evening, the park’s lights flicker on, casting a magical glow over everything. You stand in line for the carousel, the soft music adding a nostalgic charm.

You climb into one of the ornate horses, your laughter echoing as Hongjoong chooses the one beside you.

“You’re having fun, admit it.” He says, his voice filled with mock accusations.

You tilt your head, a playful smirk on your lips “Maybe a little.”

The carousel begins to move, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in the moment. The weight of your pride, your fears, and the persona you had carefully crafted seems to fade.

It’s just you and Hongjoong, spinning in a world that feels oddly perfect.

As the evening wears on, you realize something else—you’re having fun. Real, uncomplicated fun. It’s a feeling you’re not used to, and it’s equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

When you finally board the Ferris wheel, the city sprawls out below you, glittering in the night. The car sways gently, and Hongjoong’s arm rests casually on the back of your seat.

“You’ve been quiet,” He glances at you “What’s on your mind?”

You hesitate, your fingers toying with the hem of your jacket “I guess… I’m not used to this.”

“To what?”

“To someone doing all of this just for me.” You admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looks at you, his expression softening “You deserve it, pretty. All of it.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to respond. The gnawing doubt in the back of your mind refuses to let go.

What if this isn’t real? What if he’s just playing along, trying to climb some invisible ladder to the top?

The Ferris wheel car rocks gently as it halts at the top, giving you a perfect view of the glowing amusement park below. The world feels smaller up here, the laughter and music from the park blending into a soft hum. But your focus isn’t on the view.

Hongjoong’s hand brushes against yours, hesitant yet deliberate “YN,” He begins, his voice soft but firm, breaking the fragile silence. You turn to him, caught off guard by the serious tone in his voice “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” His eyes locking onto yours “Something I should’ve said a long time ago.”

You blink, unsure of where he’s going with this “What is it?”

He exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair “Do you remember the first time we met? On the first day of college?”

You frown slightly, trying to recall “I remember you asking me for a pen and I told you not to speak to me again and get lost.” Both of you chuckle at the memory “You were… different back then.”

He smiles faintly, though there’s a sadness to it “I was, and I remember everything about that moment. How you walked into the lecture hall like you owned the place, and every single person in the room noticed you. Including me.”

You tilt your head, curious now.

“I knew I didn’t stand a chance,” He continues, his voice quiet “You were… YN. Popular, beautiful, confident—everything I wasn’t. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And I guess, in some way, I thought if I could change myself, maybe you’d notice me.”

“Change yourself?” You echo, your brow furrowing.

He nods, a faint, self-deprecating chuckle escaping his lips “The clothes, the hair, trying to fit in with your world—it was all for you. Even when I begged you to make me popular, it wasn’t really about the popularity. I just wanted to be enough for you. To have a chance with you.”

His words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say.

“You hated me back then.” You murmur, though your voice lacks conviction.

“I didn’t hate you,” He says firmly, his gaze unwavering “I hated how you treated me sometimes, yeah. But I didn’t hate you. How could I, when I was in love with you?”

Your breath catches “In love with me?”

“Since that first day,” Hongjoong admits, his voice barely above a whisper “It didn’t matter that you barely knew I existed. It didn’t matter how hard it was to watch you humiliate me or use me as a punchline. I just wanted you to notice me, YN. Even if it hurts.”

A lump forms in your throat as you stare at him. His words are raw, honest, and so unlike the Kim Hongjoong you’ve grown accustomed to.

“Hongjoong…” You trail off, your voice faltering.

He shakes his head, his hand tightening around yours.

“I know how it sounds. And I get it if you don’t feel the same way. But I had to tell you. Because all of this? It’s real for me. You’re real for me.”

You feel your chest tighten, the weight of his confession pressing down on you. Part of you wants to believe him, to let yourself fall into the warmth of his feelings, but the doubts linger.

“What if…” You begin, your voice trembling “What if you’re wrong? What if this isn’t real?”

“I’m not wrong,” He says with quiet determination “And I’ll prove it to you, pretty. Every day, if I have to.”

His words stir something deep inside you, but the echoes of your brother’s voice resurface: ‘Once the thrill of the game wears off, they’ll both be exactly where they belong—crumbling.’

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the turmoil within you.

“I don’t know if I can trust this.”

Hongjoong leans closer, his eyes searching yours “You don’t have to trust it all at once. Just… let me show you. Let me prove to you that I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, you hesitate, your heart warring with your mind. But then, as if on instinct, you lean in and press your lips to his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, but then it deepens, his hands cupping your face as yours find their way to his shoulders. For a moment, the world around you disappears, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

When you finally pull away, breathless and flushed, Hongjoong’s eyes are wide, his expression filled with awe.

“Does this mean that we are…?”

“It means,” You interrupt, your voice trembling but steady “That I’m giving you a chance to prove it, then we discuss what will happen. Don’t make me regret it.”

He smiles, the kind of smile that reaches his eyes and lights up his entire face.

“I won’t. I promise.”

The Ferris wheel begins to move again, but this time, as it descends, you feel lighter, the weight of your doubts momentarily lifted.

Maybe this is reckless. Maybe it’ll all fall apart. But as Hongjoong’s hand finds yours again, lacing your fingers together, you decide—for now—you’ll take the risk.

✮ ⋆

The hum of the car engine fades as Hongjoong pulls up to your family’s grand estate, its sprawling driveway illuminated by soft outdoor lighting. He steps out of the old car and quickly moves to your side, opening the door for you with a charming smile.

“Such a gentleman.”

You tease, stepping out in your heels, clutching the medium-sized plush bunny he’d won for you at the amusement park. Its soft, floppy ears brush against your arm, and for reasons you can’t quite explain, holding it makes you feel… warm.

“Well, tonight was special. You deserve the whole VIP treatment.” He quips, offering his hand to steady you.

As the two of you walk toward the front steps, the soft chill of the evening air wraps around you, but you barely notice it. The warmth of the evening lingers, and you’re not quite ready to let it go.

“I had fun tonight.” You admit, your voice softer than usual.

“Yeah?” He asks, his eyes lighting up “You’re not just saying that because I let you beat me at the ring toss, are you?”

You roll your eyes, a laugh escaping as you hug the bunny tighter.

“You didn’t let me win. I’m just naturally talented.”

Hongjoong grins, leaning slightly closer “Naturally talented, huh? I’ll remember that next time I’m getting crushed at bumper cars.”

A comfortable silence falls between you for a moment as you both reach the front door.

“Thank you, Hongjoong,” You say, turning to face him fully “For everything. I mean it.”

He scratches the back of his neck, his cheeks tinged pink under the porch light. “You don’t have to thank me. I just… I wanted you to have a good time.”

“Well, mission accomplished.” You reply, your smile lingering.

The moment feels charged, like the quiet pause before a firework explodes. Slowly, he steps closer, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips.

“Goodnight, pretty.” He says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Goodnight, Joongie.” You reply, leaning in.

Your lips meet in a tender kiss, warm and unhurried, the kind that feels like a promise. The bunny slips slightly in your grip, but Hongjoong steadies it with a hand, his touch lingering just long enough to make your heart flutter.

When you pull back, there’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, as though he’s reluctant to leave.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at school.” He murmurs, his hand brushing yours one last time before he turns and walks back to his car.

You watch him drive away, the sound of the engine fading into the night. For a brief moment, you stand there, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

The plush bunny in your arms feels oddly comforting, and you catch yourself smiling at the memory of him insisting on winning it for you. He’d been so focused, so determined, as though nothing else in the world mattered.

But the warmth is short-lived.

As you step inside, the soft click of your heels echoes in the dimly lit foyer. The house feels quiet, almost too quiet, and a sense of unease prickles at the back of your neck.

“Late night, huh?” You freeze. Mike’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife, cold and taunting.

He steps out from the shadows of the living room, his arms crossed, and an infuriatingly smug look on his face.

“So, did Prince Nerd sweep you off your feet?”

You roll your eyes, trying to keep your composure “Go to bed, Mike. You’re not my keeper.”

He chuckles, the sound low and mocking “Oh, but it’s so entertaining watching you play house with your little project.”

You glare at him, your defenses rising “He’s not a project. And you don’t know anything about him.”

Mike raises an eyebrow, stepping closer “Don’t I? Let’s see… Hongjoong, the reformed nerd. The guy who suddenly started hanging out with the queen bee… How curious, don't you think?” Your jaw tightens, but he doesn’t stop “You think that’s love, YN? Or is it desperation?"

"Face it, dear sister. He’s obsessed with you because you’re a trophy. The queen bee who gave him the time of day. Do you really think that’ll last? Once he realizes he can’t keep up, he’ll snap back to reality. And where does that leave you?”

“Stop it,” You snap, your voice shaking slightly.

But Mike only smirks “You’re scared, aren’t you? Scared that I’m right. Scared that once the shine wears off, he’ll remember who he really is—and leave you behind.”

His words sink in like claws, dragging at the fragile hope you’d started to build tonight. You open your mouth to fire back, but the lump in your throat stops you.

Mike leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper “Enjoy the fairytale while it lasts, little sister. Because when it ends, it’s going to hurt.”

Without another word, he turns and disappears into the shadows, leaving you standing there, clutching the bunny tightly to your chest.

The warmth of Hongjoong’s kiss feels like a distant memory now, overshadowed by the weight of Mike’s cruel words.

As you climb the stairs to your room, the doubts creep in, unbidden and relentless.

You set the bunny down on your bed, its soft, innocent face staring back at you as though mocking your turmoil.

Tonight was perfect. But now, you’re not so sure how long perfect can last.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

March, 2008⋆｡

You were five years old, standing in the middle of the schoolyard with a bouquet of cheap plastic flowers and a small silver medal hanging around your neck. The other kids were swarmed by their parents, showered in hugs, kisses, and congratulations.

You stood apart, your smile faltering as you scanned the crowd again and again, hoping to find a familiar face.

But your parents never came.

By the time the babysitter arrived to take you home, the festival had already ended, and the school grounds were nearly empty. You sat quietly in the car, clutching the medal tightly in your small hands, determined not to cry.

You had worked so hard for the performance, staying late after school for weeks, practicing the routine over and over. You had wanted your parents to see you, to be proud of you.

When you finally got home, the house was dark. Your parents weren’t there, of course. They had told you that morning that they might be "a little late," but you hadn’t realized it meant missing the entire festival.

The babysitter gave you a sympathetic smile before heading upstairs. You sat at the dining table, the silver medal still around your neck, as you stared at the empty chairs where your parents should’ve been.

It wasn’t until late at night that you heard the front door open. You rushed downstairs, your little heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

Your parents entered, followed by your eight-year-old brother, Mike, who was holding a shiny trophy in his hands.

“Look at this, first place!” Mike boasted, raising the trophy high.

“We’re so proud of you, Mike.” Your mother said, ruffling his hair.

“Mommy, Daddy,” You began hesitantly, clutching her medal “You missed my dance festival.”

Your parents glanced at you briefly, their smiles faltering for just a moment.

“Oh, honey, we’re so sorry,” Your father said, though his tone was distracted “But Mike had his soccer game today, and his team won! It was such an important match.”

“I won too. I won second place, look.” You said quietly, holding up your medal with a smile.

You looked between your parents, hoping for a flicker of pride, of recognition.

Mike snorted “Second place? That’s just the first loser, YN.”

Your cheeks burned, and your grip on the medal tightened “It’s still good,” You muttered.

The oldest exchanged a quick look before your mother knelt down in front of you.

“That's incredible, sweetie. We’re sorry we couldn’t make it. We’ll make it up to you, okay? Tomorrow, we’ll take you to the store, and you can pick out whatever you want. How does that sound?”

You nodded slowly, but the hollow ache in your chest didn’t go away. You watched as your parents returned their attention to Mike, showering him with questions about his game, reliving every goal and every cheer.

You stood there, forgotten, the silver medal in your hand feeling heavier by the second.

That night, as you lay in bed, you stared at the medal on the nightstand. You thought about the promise your parents had made, the reward they’d offered to soothe their absence.

A reward.

That’s what you were worth to them. Not their time, not their presence, but a material gift to ease their guilt.

And so, even at five years old, you learned a valuable lesson: if you couldn’t earn love, you could at least be compensated for its absence.

✮ ⋆

October, 2017⋆｡

The house was alive with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Streamers in shades of purple and gold adorned the grand living room, and a three-tier cake stood proudly at the center of the dining table, surrounded by an array of delicately prepared treats.

It was your fifteenth birthday—or at least, it was supposed to be.

You stood near the large bay window, your dress a vision of elegance and sparkle, the kind your mother had insisted on getting for the occasion. But your smile was thin and forced, your eyes constantly darting to the growing crowd around Mike.

Your older brother was the center of attention, as he always seemed to be.

Earlier that evening, just as the guests began to arrive, Mike had announced to their parents that he had been accepted into the most prestigious university in the country. The news was met with exuberant cheers and immediate celebration.

Your parents’ pride radiated like the sun, casting a shadow over everything else—including you.

At first, you tried to hold onto the joy of your own milestone, but as the night wore on, the decorations, the cake, and even the guests seemed to shift their focus.

“To Mike!” Your father’s voice boomed as he raised a glass of champagne “For making us the proudest parents alive!”

A collective cheer followed, and you felt your chest tighten. You glanced at your mother, hoping for a gesture of acknowledgment, but she was too busy beaming at Mike.

The words you had rehearsed to thank everyone for coming stayed locked in your throat.

“It’s okay…” You told yourself, gripping the edges of the dress to steady your trembling hands.

As the hours passed, your birthday transformed into an impromptu celebration for Mike’s achievement. Relatives and family friends crowded around him, offering their congratulations. The gifts that were meant for you sat unopened on a side table, forgotten.

Later that night, after most of the guests had left, you found yourself alone in the kitchen, picking at the remains of the untouched birthday cake. Your parents walked in, their faces still glowing with pride.

“Darling,” Your father said, noticing your somber expression “Why are you here by yourself? It was such a wonderful evening.”

You looked up at him, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“It was supposed to be my birthday party.”

Your mother’s smile faltered “Oh, sweetheart, we’re so sorry,” She said, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder “But you understand how important this is for Mike, don’t you? This is such a big accomplishment for him.”

“I guess.” You mumbled, though the ache in your chest remained.

Mike walked in then, a triumphant grin on his face “What’s this? Pouting because you had to share the spotlight?” He teased, ruffling your hair in that condescending way that always made your blood boil.

“It’s not a big deal. Come on, you should be happy for me. Not everyone gets into a school like this.”

You clenched your fists, fighting the urge to lash out “Happy birthday to me.” You muttered under her breath.

Her parents, sensing the tension, exchanged a quick glance.

“YN, we’ll make it up to you. Tomorrow, we’ll take you shopping and get you whatever you want. Anything at all.”

You forced a smile, nodding mechanically.

“Sure. Thanks.”

But as you lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being invisible. No matter how hard you tried, it seemed you would always come second to Mike—the golden child, the perfect son, the one who could do no wrong.

And so, the seeds of bitterness were planted, watered by years of neglect and overshadowed by a brother who always shone brighter.

You promised yourself then that you would never let anyone make you feel small again.

If you had to be cruel to survive, so be it. Because in a world where everyone else seemed to have the upper hand, kindness felt like a luxury you couldn’t afford.

✮ ⋆

July, 2020⋆｡

The dining room was filled with laughter and the soft clinking of glasses. The long table was adorned with an elegant spread, shimmering under the chandelier’s warm glow.

It was Mike’s farewell dinner, a grand event in honor of his departure to Germany to pursue his master’s degree in business management.

The room buzzed with pride and excitement for the family’s golden boy.

You, now seventeen, sat near the end of the table, quiet and composed, your gaze fixed on your untouched plate. You had learned to blend into the background during these family gatherings, where you knew your presence would be an afterthought.

“To Mike!” Uncle William raised his glass for the third toast of the evening “A true inspiration to us all. You’ve always been the pride of the family!”

“Here’s to making us proud in Germany,” Chimed in Aunt Silvia, dabbing her eyes with a napkin “Our boy is destined for greatness.”

Everyone joined in the toast, glasses clinking, voices filled with admiration. Your grip tightened around the fork, your knuckles white as you forced a polite smile.

“And what about you, YN?” Cousin Andrew’s voice cut through the noise like a blade, drawing attention to her “Any plans to follow in your brother’s footsteps? Or is it still fashion magazines and parties for you?”

The table erupted in laughter, the kind that stung more than it amused. Your jaw clenched, but you kept a neutral expression, unwilling to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

Your mother’s voice cut through the mockery, firm but not forceful.

“That’s enough, Andrew. YN has her own path, and she’s doing well in school.”

“Well, of course she is,” Mike interjected, his tone smooth but laced with condescension “YN has always been… creative.”

More laughter followed, and you felt the familiar sting of their dismissive comments. Years of enduring this treatment had toughened you, but tonight, it felt heavier, like a weight pressing on your chest.

As dessert was served, Grandpa leaned toward you.

“You should be proud of your brother, Little YN. He’s setting the standard for the family. Maybe one day you’ll find your own way to contribute.”

“I am proud.” You said softly, voice steady despite the lump in your throat.

Your father, noticing the tension, tried to lighten the mood.

“Come now, let’s not overshadow YN entirely. She’s done well this year, too.”

“Sure,” Mike quipped, a smirk tugging at his lips “But tonight isn’t about her.”

You pushed your chair back, movements graceful despite the storm brewing inside you.

“If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll get some air.”

The murmurs at the table quieted as you left the room, heels clicking against the polished floor.

Once outside, You inhaled deeply, the cool night air filling her lungs. Your chest heaved as you fought back the tears threatening to spill.

You wouldn’t let them see your break.

Not now. Not ever.

When your parents found you later, sitting on the garden bench, your father held out a small, velvet box.

“We’re sorry, darling,” He said, his voice soft with guilt “We didn’t mean to make you feel left out.”

You opened the box to reveal a delicate diamond bracelet, the stones catching the moonlight.

“It’s beautiful.” You said, slipping it onto your wrist.

But inside, the gesture felt hollow. No gift could fill the void left by years of neglect and overshadowing.

That night, the bracelet glittering on the nightstand, you made a vow: If the world wanted to underestimate you, you would let it. And then, you would show them all just how wrong they were.

✮ ⋆

Present year (Mike’s return)⋆｡

Hours later, you returned home after dinner at Hongjoong’s house, your mood lifted by the warmth and genuine affection of his parents. But the moment you stepped inside your own home, the oppressive atmosphere returned.

Mike confronted you as always, but you didn’t mind, didn’t talk back. But your chest burned with frustration and hurt.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you passed by your parents’ room. Their voices carried through the cracked door.

“Do you think we should talk to her?” Your mother asked, her tone uncertain.

Her father sighed “She’ll be fine. She always is.”

“I don’t know,” She said softly “Maybe we should get her something. You know how sensitive she can be about these things.”

“A trip, perhaps?” Your father suggested “Or maybe one of those designer handbags she likes. It’s not like she doesn’t enjoy it.”

You froze in the hallway, stomach twisting. Of course. This was how it always went. Gifts instead of apologies. Material things to soothe over their lack of understanding or support.

You leaned against the wall, fists clenching.

As a child, you had cried over these moments, hoping for more, longing for genuine care. Now, you knew better.

You have learned to accept it, even take advantage of it.

If they thought they could buy your affection, you would let them.

Your lips curved into a bitter smile. If they wanted to give you a car, a trip, a bag, or whatever else they thought would ease their guilt, so be it. You’d make sure it was worth their while.

But as you slipped into your room and closed the door, the bitterness remained, gnawing at the edges of your heart.

You should be used to this by now.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

The bustling energy of the school hallway feels distant as you walk to your locker. Usually, your heels click with purpose, your presence commanding attention.

But today, something is off. You aren't radiating your usual aura of authority and sharpness. Instead, you move through the crowd quietly, your thoughts heavy.

Your mind has been restless since the night before, replaying old memories you rarely allowed yourself to dwell on. The echoes of the past—your parents’ hollow apologies, Mike’s dismissive words—lingered, intertwining with the warmth you had felt during the date with Hongjoong.

Why now? Why did those memories resurface now, after a day that had been nothing short of… perfect?

As you approach your locker, you feel a presence behind you. Turning, you see Hongjoong standing there, his brows furrows in concern.

“You’ve been quiet.” He says softly.

You tilt your head, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“And that’s unusual?”

“For you? Yeah.” He says, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You smirk faintly but don't respond. Instead, you play with the lock on your locker, your movements uncharacteristically hesitant.

Hongjoong leans against the locker next to yours, studying you.

“Something’s on your mind.”

You hesitate, pride warring with the strange weight pressing on your chest. Finally, you shrug, closing the locker door.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Not everything revolves around you, Joongie.”

Hongjoong chuckles, but his concern doesn't waver “Okay, but if you need someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”

You nod, taking a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease.

“Today I planned a little meeting at my house, bring a swimsuit.”

✮ ⋆

The sun cast golden reflections over the pool as music pulses through the speakers. Laughter and chatter fill the air as you and your friends lounge around, drinks in hand. Mindy, Samantha, Wooyoung, Seonghwa, San, Mingi, and Hongjoong are all there, the atmosphere lighthearted and carefree.

Dann, ever the obedient little pet, carries a tray of drinks, moving carefully to avoid spilling anything. She approaches the group, her expression unreadable as she sets the drinks down on the small poolside table.

"Finally." Seonghwa smirks, picking up his glass.

"Took you long enough, nerd." Mindy snaps.

"What, did you have to mix them by hand?" Wooyoung adds with a chuckle.

Dann clenches her jaw but says nothing. She had learned that silence is often the best defense. But today, something in her burns hotter than usual.

Maybe it is the sight of you and Hoongjoong sitting so close, his hand around your waist, your chemistry undeniable.

Maybe it’s the way you barely acknowledge her, as if she is nothing more than an accessory in your world.

"You should be more grateful," Dann mutters under her breath "Not everyone is willing to put up with your bullshit."

Silence. Then laughter. You arch an eyebrow, standing up and tilting your head as if you hadn't heard correctly.

"Excuse me?"

Dann swallows, but her resolve doesn't waver "I said—"

But before she can finish, you let out a scoff, exchanging a look with Wooyoung. Without warning, you place a hand on Dann’s shoulder and give her a hard shove. Wooyoung, catching on to the moment, joins in, and together you push Dann straight into the pool.

A loud splash echoes through the air.

Laughter erupts from the group as Dann surfaces, coughing and sputtering, her soaked hair plaster to her face. Wooyoung doubled over, wiping tears from his eyes. Even Hongjoong chuckles along with the others.

Dann wipes water from her eyes, her face burning—not just from humiliation but from something deeper. Something sharper.

As the group continues to laugh, none of them notices the figure watching from the mansion’s balcony. Mike stands at a distance, his expression unreadable, his grip tightening around his glass as he observes everything in silence.

The laughter has barely settled when Dann storms away, her soaked clothes clinging to her like a second skin, her face burning with humiliation.

She can still hear their amusement echoing behind her, but she doesn’t turn back. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

Just as the group is about to move on from the incident, a familiar voice interrupts.

“Sweetie,” Your mother’s elegant tone cut through the chatter, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Yes, mommy?”

Your mother looks over the group with an approving nod “I see you’re all having fun,” She says pleasantly “I wanted to extend an invitation to all of you. This Saturday, we’re hosting a celebration for Mike’s accomplishments. It’ll be a grand affair.”

The mention of Mike makes your stomach twist, but you keep your expression unreadable.

Your mother’s gaze then lands directly on Hongjoong “And you, young man, I would love for you to attend.”

Hongjoong blinks, clearly caught off guard. He isn’t sure if that is true or just a polite formality, but he nods nonetheless.

“Uh, thank you, Mrs. Clarke. I’d be honored to come.”

“Wonderful.” She said smoothly, and with that, she excused herself, leaving the group with murmurs of intrigue about the upcoming event.

✮ ⋆

As the night stretches on, one by one, your friends depart, leaving only you and Hongjoong by the pool. The energy has shifted. The teasing, the careless fun—it all faded into something quieter, something heavier in the air between you.

The water is cool against Hongjoong’s skin, a welcome contrast to the heat radiating between you. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, feeling the warmth of your sun-kissed body against his own. You straddle his lap, your fingers threading through his hair as you talk.

“And your friends… what are they like?” You ask, your voice softer now, genuinely curious.

Hongjoong chuckles “A bunch of nerds, really,” He admits “Yunho is always energetic, making jokes and annoying. Yeosang is quiet but he is also a weirdo.” You both laugh, you can see in his eyes how much he appreciates his friends “On the other hand, Jongho is reserved and always listening, sometimes scary, but in general we spend way too much time debating books lore and analyzing sci-fi movies like it’s a science.”

You smirk, tilting your head toward him “That’s kinda cute.”

He raises an eyebrow “Cute? You wouldn’t last five minutes in one of our discussions.”

“Try me, I know much more than just fashion and pop culture gossip.”

And for a while, you simply talk. About things that don't matter, about things that do. And for the first time in a long time, you aren't thinking about your reputation, about expectations, or about proving yourself.

You are just there, with him.

At some point, you drift closer, and Hongjoong notices. The way your eyes soften under the dim lights, the way the water reflects off your skin. The way you look at him—not like he is some nerd trying to reach too high, but like he is just Hongjoong.

Without overthinking, he leans in, brushing a damp strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re different when it’s just us.” He murmurs.

“And you don’t mind?”

He shakes his head “Not even a little.”

Your lips meet, tentative at first, then deeper. The warmth of the water, the way your bodies press against each other—it’s intoxicating. Your fingers curl around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.

His hands trace slow, lazy circles on your bare waist, and for that moment, nothing else exists.

"You always talk about your nerdy friends," You murmur as you pull back a little, your breath catching against his lips "But you never really tell me about you."

Hongjoong lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head "And here I thought you didn’t care."

You roll your eyes, but there’s something different now. The barest hint of a smirk touches your lips.

"Maybe I do."

His breath hitches at the sound of your voice, and you feel the faint tremor in his hands as they hover on your waist. There’s hesitation, a slight uncertainty, as if he’s not sure how far to go or whether he’s doing it right. You like it. It’s endearing.

You know exactly what’s on his mind, that quiet nervousness, and it only makes you want him more.

You reach out, tracing your fingertips slowly down his arm beneath the water, deliberate and teasing. He shivers slightly under your touch, his pulse hammering.

When your hand drifts to his chest, you linger there, pressing your palm flat against his skin, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your fingers.

“Let's go shopping tomorrow after school. You need a suit, and you have to impress my mother.”

“Only your mother?” He teases, making you scoff.

“Think what you want, but you need something that screams ‘I belong to YN Clarke’.”

Hongjoong laughs but nods “All right then, pretty.”

"You’re warm," You note absently, your breath shaky as you let your touch wander.

Hongjoong exhales sharply, his hand lifting, skimming over the curve of your waist. His fingertips brush over your bare skin, and you can feel his uncertainty, the way he pulls back just a fraction when you press closer.

His breath is uneven, like he’s trying to keep up with the rhythm of your touch, trying to suppress the nerves coiling in his gut. He swallows hard.

"YN—"

You cut him off before he can say more, leaning in to kiss him again, your lips meeting his with an urgency that both surprises and excites him.

The kiss is slow at first, teasing, but as Hongjoong slides his hand to the small of your back and pulls you closer, something inside both of you snaps.

The moment his grip tightens, pulling you flush against him, you gasp softly, feeling the heat between you intensify. Hongjoong's kiss becomes deeper, rougher, his hands gripping you like he’s been starving for you, his touch becoming bolder, more eager.

His muscles tense beneath your hands, the slight tremor in his touch betraying his inexperience, but you don’t mind. If anything, you find it charming, knowing you’re the one who can pull this reaction from him.

The water around you suddenly feels too cool compared to the heat of his body against yours. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers threading through his damp hair as he presses you against the edge of the pool.

He kisses along your jaw, over the damp skin of your throat, sucking lightly before flicking his tongue over the spot to soothe the sting. You shudder at the sensation, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist beneath the water.

"Joong—" You breathe, your voice barely above a whisper, lost in the warmth of the moment.

But he swallows the rest of your words with another kiss, drowning you both in the heat of it, in the desperation, the raw hunger that feels so real and unrestrained.

His hands roam lower now, gripping your thighs beneath the water, and you arch into him. You can feel his self-control hanging by a thread, the way he stifles every urge to push harder, faster, the way he almost overthinks each move. It’s a mix of hesitance and hunger.

He wants you so badly, but he’s not sure if he’s doing it right. But the more you respond, the more he realizes that’s not what matters. It’s the way you want him that matters.

You guide him without saying a word—your body melting against him, soft sighs escaping your lips as he becomes more confident with each touch. His kisses deepen, and the passion between you escalates.

There’s nothing awkward about this anymore. The hesitation fades, and what’s left is raw, real, and completely right.

"God, you drive me crazy," He murmurs against your lips, voice hoarse with the effort of holding back.

You smirk, brushing your fingers along his jaw "I know, nerd."

Hongjoong groans, his grip tightening as he nips at your lower lip in retaliation. You laugh, but it quickly fades into a soft sigh when he dips his head, kissing along the curve of your shoulder, his lips gentle but insistent.

For a moment, you can feel him stiffen slightly, unsure whether he’s moving too fast, and then you pull him closer, urging him to follow your lead. His hands move with more certainty now, exploring with a quiet passion, and the way his body reacts to yours is nothing short of electrifying.

The beauty of it is not just in the physicality—the way his hands and lips touch you—but in the way he’s learning.

Hongjoong is not perfect, and he’s not experienced, but he’s here.

He’s with you, and the more he responds to you, the more he learns what you need, the more you find yourself consumed by him.

It’s the way he forgets his nervousness, the way he becomes sure of himself because of you.

And you know, deep down, that this isn’t just about the touch, the heat, the kissing. It’s about the way he’s learning to be confident in himself. Because of you.

And that, in the end, makes all the difference.

For once, you let yourself get lost in it. In the way Hongjoong touches you, the way he wants you, the way he holds you like you’re something precious.

It 's intoxicating.

And yet, hidden in the shadows, Dann stands frozen, her chest tightening, her fingers clenched into fists as she watches the scene unfold.

Dann hadn’t meant to stay. She hadn’t meant to see.

But there she is, standing by the edge of the terrace, her heart sinking lower and lower.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It wasn’t just some game you were playing.

This is real.

She has told herself she doesn't care. That it doesn’t matter. But the painful sting in her heart tells her otherwise.

And it hurt.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

The next day, you and Hongjoong find yourselves strolling through an upscale shopping mall. The polished marble floors gleam under the soft glow of designer store lights.

As usual, your style is impeccable—heels clicking in rhythm, and your hair flowing with the air. Beside you, Hongjoong is a stark contrast, casual yet charming in his plain sweater and jeans.

You lead him into one of the most exclusive stores, where racks of tailored suits and elegant ensembles line the walls.

The sales assistants greet you with knowing smiles, instantly recognizing your status.

“Do you even know my size?” He teases, watching you confidently pull out a dark navy suit with subtle pinstripes.

You smirk, holding the suit up to him “I don’t need to know your size. I have an eye for perfection.”

He shakes his head, chuckling as he takes the suit from your hands “You know I don’t need something this expensive, right? I can just wear the stuff I have at home.”

“Not if you’re going to a party as my date.” You say firmly, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Hongjoong smiles softly but doesn’t press further. He disappears into the fitting room, and while he’s gone, you wander the store, your gaze drifting over the luxurious displays.

The weight in your chest hasn’t eased since yesterday. If anything, it feels heavier under the bright lights and polished surfaces.

It’s not about the suit. It’s not about the party. Shopping, spending, indulging—it’s the only thing that ever distracted you from the hollow ache inside. It always has been.

“YN?” Hongjoong’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

You turn, and for a moment, your breath catches. The suit fits him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean frame.

He looks… confident. Polished.

Yours.

“What do you think?” He asks, doing a half spin for effect.

You step closer, your fingers brushing over the lapel of the jacket “You look…” You pause, searching for the right word, then smirk “Like someone who belongs to me.”

He laughs, shaking his head, but there’s a hint of pink in his cheeks “I should’ve known you’d say that.”

After the purchase is made—your card, of course—you both leave the store. You’re holding onto a medium-sized bag containing some clothes as Hongjoong holds a bag with his new suit that costs more than some people make in a month.

As you walk through the mall, Hongjoong’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He glances at the screen, and a small smile spreads across his face.

“What is it?” You ask, curious.

“It’s Jongho, Yeosang, and Yunho,” He says, showing you the message “They’re asking if I want to hit the arcade with them tonight. It’s been ages since we’ve hung out.”

You notice the way his eyes light up at the mention of his friends, and for a moment, your heart clenches.

You nod, keeping your expression neutral.

“You should go.”

He hesitates, slipping his phone back into his pocket “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” You say with a small smile “Go have fun with them. You deserve it.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, studying your face.

“Yeah,” You reply, tilting your head slightly “I’ll just go home and relax. Maybe binge some show or something.”

Hongjoong doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push.

“Okay, but only if you promise me something.”

“What?”

“That you’ll call me if you need anything.”

You roll your eyes, your lips curving into a smirk “Relax, Joong. I’m not helpless.”

“I know you’re not,” He says softly “But I care about you, pretty. A lot.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. You can’t help but wonder if it’s only a matter of time before those words—his care, his affection—turn into something else.

Something colder.

He leans down and kisses your forehead, his hand briefly brushing yours.

“I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Okay,” You whisper, watching him walk away.

You clutch the bag in your hand, the weight of the expensive items nothing compared to the familiar emptiness settling in your chest.

✮ ⋆

The arcade was alive with the sound of laughter, the ping of game machines, and the occasional cheer of someone winning.

Hongjoong walked in, spotting the boys huddled near the air hockey table.

“Hongjoong!” Yunho calls, waving him over.

“About time you showed up,” Yeosang teases “We thought YN had you on a leash or something.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, grinning “Very funny.”

Jongho smirks “For a moment we thought you'd say no, since you've only spent time with her.”

“I also have a life apart from being with her and she also needs her space, so she let me come.”

“She let you come? I didn't know you had to ask permission to go out with your friends.” Yunho snorts mockingly.

“We’re kind of a thing now.” Hongjoong murmurs shyly.

The boys look confused at each other before looking at him.

“What do you mean with that, Joong?”

He hesitates before shrugging, a small smile tugging at his lips “We had a date.”

Yunho drops the joystick he was holding “A date?!

“Wait, wait,” Yeosang says, laughing “YN Clarke? Like, the queen bee had a date with you?”

“The same one.” Hongjoong replies, scratching the back of his neck.

Yeosang and Yunho exchange a look before breaking into wide grins.

Jongho let out a low whistle “I thought you were joking about liking her. She actually went out with you?”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong says, his smile growing “It was amazing. I took her to the amusement park. She even let me win her a prize—a stuffed bunny.”

Yunho grinns “Aww, how romantic. Joongie the Casanova.”

“More like Hongjoong the miracle nerd,” Jongho adds “Seriously, dude. YN Clarke? That’s insane.”

Yunho’s grin widens “Dude, you’re living the dream. A date with the queen bee of the school? You’re officially a legend.”

Hongjoong chuckles, his face reddening slightly. Before he could respond, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Joong?”

He turns to see Dann standing a few feet away, clutching a soda.

“Dann?” He says, confused “What are you doing here?”

“Yunho texted me,” Dann says, glancing at the boys “Thought it’d be nice to hang out.”

Hongjoong stiffs slightly “Oh... Uh, cool.”

Dann steps closer, her gaze lingering on him “It’s been a while. You’ve been… busy.”

He scratches the back of his neck, glancing at his friends for support “Yeah, I guess I have.”

Dann smiles, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes “With YN, right?”

“Yeah,” He answers, his tone cautious.

Yeosang, sensing the tension, jumps in “Hey, let’s hit the games. Air hockey, anyone?”

“Sure,” Dann says quickly, stepping closer to Hongjoong “We can team up.”

Hongjoong hesitates. He knows you don’t like Dann being around him—and he can't blame you. Dann’s feelings for him are obvious, you told him from the beginning and he can already confirm it.

He doesn’t want to hurt Dann, but he also doesn’t want to disrespect you.

“Actually,” He starts, his tone gentle but firm “Why don’t you play with Jongho? He’s unbeatable.”

Dann’s smile falters “Oh. Right. Sure.”

Yunho raises an eyebrow at Hongjoong, but doesn’t comment. They are all aware of the feelings of both, Dann in love with Hongjoong and Hongjoong with you, they just hope that things don't get awkward in the future.

As they move toward the air hockey table, Dann hangs back, watching Hongjoong laugh and joke with the others.

Her chest tightness. Hongjoong was pushing her away—kindly, yes, but it was still rejection. And she knows why.

It 's not fair. She had been there for him when no one else was. She had defended him when people mocked him for being a nerd. And now, he was choosing you. Again.

Her phone buzzes, breaking her thoughts. She pulls it out to see a message from Mike:

Mike C: Stay focused. Remember our deal.

Dann clenches her jaw, her fingers tightening around the phone.

If Hongjoong wants to choose you, fine. But you don’t deserve him. And Dann is going to make sure he sees that—no matter what it takes.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

The cafeteria is alive with its usual energy, but the corner table claimed by you and your entourage buzzes with a more refined excitement. The topic of the day? Saturday’s celebration for Mike at the Ritz.

“So,” Mindy begins, twirling a strand of her perfectly styled hair “Who’s already stressing about their outfit? Because I may or may not have gone a little overboard at Valentino yesterday.”

“Only yesterday?” Wooyoung teases, smirking “Some of us have been planning for days. I’m bringing the tux my dad wore to that gala in Monaco. He swears it’s vintage gold now.”

You scoff, taking a delicate sip of your iced coffee “Monaco tux or not, just don’t embarrass me, Woo.”

“Moi? Embarrass you? Never, babydoll.” He grins, leaning back in his chair.

Mindy sighs dramatically, resting her chin in her palm “I still think about the last party. The lighting, the flowers, the champagne towers. Do you think they’ll top it this time?”

“They’d better,” You reply nonchalantly, though your gaze flickered briefly “My parents love to ‘impress.’ It’s practically their brand.”

“And what time should we grace them with our presence?” Another of your friends, Samantha, asks, pulling out her phone.

“Seven-thirty, at the Ritz. And be punctual. This isn’t one of those parties you can show up fashionably late to.”

“Noted,” Wooyoung says, tapping the time into his calendar “And little Hongjoong? Are you ready to make your grand debut into the Clarke world of extravagance?”

Hongjoong, who has been quietly observing the banter, chuckles softly “I think I’ll survive. YN’s already dragged me through the whole shopping process.”

“Oh, please,” You cut in, smirking “Dragged? You should be thanking me, Joong.”

He raises his hands in surrender, laughing “All right, all right. I owe you one.”

“Just one?” Wooyoung teases again, winking.

Mindy’s eyes lit up as she leaned forward “Wait, what did you go with? Armani? Tom Ford?”

“Tom Ford, It suits him. And trust me, he’ll be turning heads Saturday night.”

“Can’t wait to see it.” Woo says, smirking at him.

“So, how many bottles of champagne do you think your parents are bringing out this time? Ten? Twenty?”

You snort, leaning back in the chair with an air of practiced nonchalance “If it’s less than twenty, I’ll personally tell the caterers to triple the order.”

Wooyoung laughs “Forget the champagne. I’m more interested in how many pastries they’ll have. Last party, I swear I had a religious experience with those chocolate eclairs.”

“Oh, the eclairs,” Sam sighs dreamily “I’ve been thinking about them since then. And don’t even get me started on the tiramisu.”

Hongjoong chuckles, glancing at you “So, is this a party or a dessert buffet?”

“It’s both. A Clarke family event is always an experience. You’ll see.”

“Damn right,” Woo said, raising his water bottle like it was a champagne glass “To YN Clarke and her family's amazing parties!”

The group laughs, the easy camaraderie filling the space. Hongjoong looks at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. You caughting his gaze and, for a brief moment, your confident exterior softened.

The party was just days away, and for now, everything seemed perfect.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

The air in the Clarke mansion was a flurry of activity, with staff bustling through the grand halls, preparing for the evening’s event. The clinking of silverware and the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the dining room, where the family had gathered for breakfast.

You sit at the table, scrolling through your phone, your polished nails tapping lightly against the screen. Across from you, Mike is casually flipping through the day’s paper, looking as composed as ever. Your father is already grumbling about last-minute details while your mother sips her tea, the picture of elegance amidst the chaos.

“Dann, can you help me with this?” Dann’s mother’s voice echoes softly from the kitchen.

Dann, trying to stay invisible, hesitates before hurrying to her mother’s side. Together, they carefully carry trays of food into the dining room.

Your father raises an eyebrow, glancing at Dann as she places a platter of fruit on the table.

“Quite the multi-tasker, aren’t you?” He remarks, his tone hovering between sarcasm and indifference.

Dann stiffens slightly, her cheeks coloring “Just helping my mom, sir.” She says quietly.

Before anyone can say more, your mother sets her cup down with a delicate clink.

“You know, I’ve been watching how hard you work around here, Dann,” She says warmly “Always helping your mother, always polite. I think it’s only fair that we extend an invitation to you for tonight’s party.”

The room falls silent. your head snaps up, eyes narrowing slightly, while Mike’s smirk barely conceals his amusement.

“Mom,” You begin, voice sharp “I don’t think—”

“Nonsense, sweetie,” She interrupts smoothly “It’s about time we show a little appreciation. Don’t you think so?”

Dann blinks, surprise evident on her face “Oh, Mrs. Clarke, that’s… I mean, thank you, but—”

“Of course,” Your father interjects, his tone dry “Just make sure you’re aware of the dress code. It’s black tie, not… casual.” His eyes flick briefly over Dann’s simple attire, and the implication hangs heavy in the air.

Your mother’s jaw tightens, and shoots her husband a pointed look “Which is why, sweetheart, you’ll be lending her something appropriate to wear. I’m sure you have plenty of dresses that would look lovely on her.”

Your lips curve into a slow, calculated smile “Of course, Mommy.”

After breakfast, you guide Dann into your walk-in closet with a sweeping gesture, the dazzling array of dresses catching her wide-eyed attention.

She's already entered the closet next to your room, but this one is much bigger. Her fingers trail hesitantly over the delicate fabrics, her expression a mix of awe and discomfort.

She’s never been surrounded by such luxury, let alone been invited to wear it. The second-hand clothes she normally wears couldn’t be further from this.

“You’ve got so many.” She murmurs, her voice tinged with wonder.

You smile, tilting your head “I know, it’s almost a problem, right? Too many choices. But don’t worry—I’ll help you find something that’s just right for tonight.”

Dann nods quickly, her unease flickering across her face. She’s not used to this kind of kindness from you, and it’s unsettling.

But as much as she doesn’t trust it, she can’t exactly refuse either.

You reach into one of the last racks, where the clothes you no longer wear are stored, you pull out a shimmering emerald gown with a slit up the side.

“Here’s a favorite of mine. It’s gorgeous on, trust me. And it’ll definitely help you stand out.”

Dann takes the dress with both hands, handling it as though it might dissolve in her grip “It’s beautiful,” She says, her tone genuine “I’ve never worn anything like this before.”

You smile, masking your amusement “Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

Moving through the racks, you select another gown, this one a deep crimson with delicate lace detailing.

“Or maybe this one? It’s a classic. Wore it to a charity auction, and let me tell you—it turned heads.”

Dann stares at the dress, wide-eyed “Wow. It 's amazing.”

She’s completely oblivious to the fact that these dresses, as stunning as they are, are from last year’s collections—now outdated by anyone with even a passing knowledge of fashion.

To Dann, they’re the height of elegance.

You pull a lavender gown from the back of the rack, its soft beading catching the light.

“This one’s a little more subtle,” You say, handing it over “It’s sweet and sophisticated. I think it’s perfect for you. You can keep it, take it as a gift.”

Dann nods enthusiastically, her unease momentarily forgotten as she clutches the gown to her chest.

“Thank you, YN. This is… this is so kind of you.”

You wave off her gratitude with a bright smile “Of course. It’s my pleasure. Go try it on, let’s see how it looks.”

She disappears into the dressing room, and you lean against the doorway with a smug tilt to your lips.

The plan is unfolding perfectly. These dresses, while stunning in their time, are no longer the kind that command admiration—they invite quiet judgment.

But Dann doesn’t know that, and that’s exactly the point.

When she steps out in the lavender gown, her face lights up “It fits perfectly,” She says, her voice tinged with shy excitement.

You study her for a long moment, your smile never faltering.

“It looks wonderful on you, just wait until you see everyone’s reaction tonight.”

Dann beams, completely unaware of the double meaning behind your words.

“I can’t thank you enough, YN.”

You wave her off again “No need to thank me. I’m just glad you’ll have something to wear.”

Inside, you’re already picturing the whispers and raised eyebrows at the party. Tonight will be a night she’ll never forget—for all the wrong reasons.

As Dann leaves the room clutching the dress, you lean against the doorway, arms crossed. Your mother’s unexpected invitation throws you off, but if Dann is going to attend, you will make sure it’s on your terms.

✮ ⋆

Dann holds the lavender dress against herself, staring at the delicate fabric in awe. She hurries to the kitchen, where her mother is wiping down the counters.

“Mom, look at this,” Dann says, holding the gown up for her mother to see “It’s beautiful, but I don’t have the right shoes or makeup to match it.”

Her mother glances at the dress, her expression softening with a mix of pride and concern.

“It’s lovely, sweetheart, but you’re right. You need to look your best if you’re going to that party.”

Dann frowns “But… I don’t have anything like that.”

Her mother thinks for a moment, before leaving the kitchen she smiles at her “Why don’t you go shopping? Find a nice pair of shoes and maybe some makeup. You deserve to feel special tonight.”

As Dann mulls over the idea, Mike enters the room, his usual air of confidence trailing behind him. Overhearing their conversation, he leans casually against the doorframe.

“Shopping for the party, Dann?” He asks, his tone dripping with feigned interest.

Dann straightens, clutching the dress tighter “I don’t have shoes or makeup, so I thought—”

“Perfect.” Mike pulls out his wallet, flipping through the neatly arranged bills and credit cards. He holds out a black credit card “Here. Get yourself something nice. Consider it a little thank-you for… being cooperative.”

Dann hesitates but eventually takes the card, murmuring a quiet “Thanks.”

Mike’s smirk widens “While you’re at it, I’ve been thinking. Wouldn’t it be amusing if Hongjoong accidentally ended up at the wrong address tonight?”

Dann’s brows furrow “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know.” His tone is casual, but his eyes gleam with mischief “If YN’s little nerd showed up at the wrong place, it’d be quite the embarrassment. Don’t you think?”

Dann bites her lip “How would we even do that?”

Mike’s smirk sharpens “Simple. We just need YN’s phone. Once you’re back, we’ll figure out the details.”

Dann nods slowly, the plan settling uneasily in her mind. She doesn’t like deceiving Hongjoong, but the thought of disrupting YN’s perfect evening is too tempting to resist.

Later, at the shopping mall, Dann wanders through the perfume section, marveling at the elegant bottles and their enticing scents. She is about to make her selection when a familiar voice catches her attention.

Turning, she sees Hongjoong standing a few feet away, examining a cologne bottle. His brows furrowed in concentration as he sprayed a tester onto a card.

“Joong?” Dann calls, her voice carrying a hint of surprise.

He looks up, a smile breaking across his face “Dann? What are you doing here?”

“Just… shopping,” She says, holding up a small bag “You?”

“Same,” He says with a laugh “YN told me I needed to step up my game for tonight, so here I am.”

Dann’s mind races. This is her chance to plant the seed of doubt. She steps closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

“By the way, did YN tell you about the venue change?”

Hongjoong blinks “Venue change? What are you talking about?”

“Oh,” Dann says, feigning surprise “I thought she’d have mentioned it. YN’s mother invited me to the celebration because I’ve been working for YN, so she told me earlier that Mike decided to move the party to that new place downtown, I'll send you the address, but she said something about Mike wanting a more modern vibe.”

Hongjoong frowns, confusion flickering across his face “Why didn’t YN tell me?”

Dann shrugs “She’s probably just busy with everything. You know how these rich people's events are—chaotic.”

He nods slowly, though uncertainty lingers in his expression “Yeah… maybe.”

Dann smiles sweetly, placing a hand on his arm “Don’t worry. Just show up at. You’ll be fine.”

As Dann walks away, a pang of guilt surfaces. But it’s quickly overshadowed by the thrill of watching the plan unfold.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

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k-hotchoisan · 7 months ago

Note

hiiiii <333 I have lovedddd lovvvveeeddd alll of your works I actually spent my day reading each and everyone of them I love it so muchhh!! 😭❤️

I have a request teehee, could you write one where Sannie is like a professor in your college and there’s little teasing here and there and where he ends up having her alas!! DOM - SAN ‼️💋

his favourite

<prof!san x fem!reader>

Prof Choi likes playing favourites.

You’re his favourite.

Genres/Warnings: smut, dom professor Choi San, pwp, face fucking, unprotected sex, oral (m receive) ,mutual pining, age gap, size kink, cream pies, mild jealousy plot, sir kink, light bondage (just tying up reader) teasing, sexual tension, teaching assistantxteacher obv forbidden but we still eat it up anyway!

Word count: 12.3K

a/n: happy birthday to the man of my dreams </3 enjoy this little choi san birthday treat. i put my love into this so please love this as much as i did! and thank you @bro-atz for the tidbits of help as always 🩷

apply for taglist here!

You stare at the laptop screen, scanning through your details on the application form, double, and triple checking that everything was filled in correctly.

“Which professors are you trying as a teaching assistant for?” Your roommate asks, her neck craning over to see you attaching the file to six different emails, to six different professors within the department, pretty much answering her question the moment she reads off each professor’s email.

“Why not try for the department chair?”

You scrunch your eyebrows as if it’s the first time you’re hearing that.

“Who?”

“Professor Choi?”

Your eyes widen, your neck almost getting whiplash from how fast you turned to your roommate at the sound of his name.

“Why the fuck would I try him?”

Your roommate shrugs in an attempt to hide her amused reaction from your reaction at his name.

“Who knows? I’m confident he remembers you even though you spent only one semester with him”, she hums turning away to pour herself another ice drink from the pitcher. “On a serious note, you may as well just get all the help you can get. Besides, what are the chances that Prof Choi sees your email? He’s the department chair. I’m sure his mailbox is just flooded anyway.”

True, you think to yourself, turning your head back to your laptop, and adding the professor’s email address in. But you still hesitate, staring at the application form, your cursor hovering over the send button. Your roommate looks over at you, and she decides that your wishy-washy behaviour is just being the biggest nuisance on earth, so her hand flies over yours and helps you to press send, and she watches you freak out at her while she giggles and escapes after committing her crime, chasing your roommate around the kitchen island for a good seven minutes.

Settling back down in defeat, you sigh in your hands, giving yourself pep talks.

Right.

The chances are close to zero that Prof Choi will see my application anyway.

The chances of him remembering me are close to zero anyway.

You shut your laptop, and the applications are completely erased from your mind.

“Yo, check your emails, babe. The application results are out for me”, your roommate says, her eyes glued to her laptop screen.

You settle yourself down across her, a chilled drink in your hand, pulling up your email inbox. As you expected, you see the subject headline ‘Teaching Assistant Application Results’, and you expand the email.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me”, you mutter, loud enough for your roommate to hear. Her head pops out from behind her screen.

“Who did you get?”

“Choi San.”

Professor Choi San. His classes weren’t the bane of your existence—but he, himself was.

And the fact that it only took one semester to solidify that claim. Almost everyone wanted to get into his class, so fucking many of them just squealing over how he looked almost god-like. You wonder how much of a swoon he would be, how much of the rumours that travelled down the stream were factual, though with thousands of students constantly fighting for a spot in his class, you sure were coloured surprised when you landed a spot in Professor Choi’s class.

The moment he walked in, the whispers within the confines of the lecture hall erupted into gasps and squeals. Unfortunately, the rumours were right—the moment ProfessorChoi walked in, it was as if your eyes naturally followed his movement—confident strides in his steps dictated by his outfit—a simple dress shirt under a dark gray vest that accentuated his wide shoulders and skinny waist.

He was so fucking handsome—his hair neatly slicked back, frameless glasses sat on his nose bridge, his sharp and small eyes hiding behind the lens. Undoubtedly, seeds of infatuation began lodging themselves in you. Well, it’s not like you had a chance with him anyway, especially when the gold band reflected from his ring finger being a huge indicator. Maybe keeping him as an eye candy would work out just fine.

Prof Choi’s classes were interesting, and he as a professor, other than being a distraction during the majority of his classes, held his credentials. However, at times, some sarcastic comments would bubble to the surface, and even though he did tend to commend top-scoring students for tests, he still maintained professionalism for the most part—the content taught wasn’t rocket science anyway. You saw yourself being able to breeze through the syllabus for the most part until you received your grade for one of your essays. You stared at his comments, marked in red lines, circles, and words—tone cold and direct—not that you weren’t used to it, but this time? You felt his comments alongside him marking you down were completely unjustified.

It was then that you pushed past the group of girls who would stay back after class to shamelessly flirt with him, under the guise of wanting to discuss more about the content taught that day, and you stood before the group, asking to speak to Prof Choi personally. Prof Choi did have people staying back after class to consult with him about grades, although they would stay shortly with him staying stern to his marking rubrics, but when he realised you weren’t backing down on top of the way you approached him so directly, it intrigued him.

His office was spacious, considering that he was the department chair—and without introductions, he had you dive in immediately in consultation.

You wasted no time, flipping through the spent pages of your essay, pointing out areas where you felt his comments were unjustified. Prof Choi listened, and he refuted your points, some of which you decided to accept but not for one particular part;

“This part had no proper scientific support of your argument for this point-“

“Bullshit”, you cut him off. Prof Choi blinked, shocked at the blunt cut from you. His eyebrows were scrunched in confusion next, wondering if he heard right that a student not only just cut him off, but cussed at him.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s here. A small significance value is still something isn’t it?” You replied, pointing at the paragraph after. He glanced at the paper once more, forcing himself to focus while you fought back that your argument was supported.

So you made Prof Choi sit before you and listen to your elaborations, and needless to say, he was rather impressed, although he had to hold his expression neutral.

You came out of the consultation victorious—the day Prof Choi called you over after his class again, handing you your script, and you saw your total marks shooting up to a gorgeous score. Your head was so into the clouds that you returned a smirk along with a shrug—showing off your victory and satisfaction as your thanks—an I told you so, leaving the professor to stare after you in awe while you practically skipped to your seat.

That sealed your fate.

From then on, Prof Choi would have his attention on you—recognising which seat you picked to sit in in class, wondering why you hadn’t dared sit nearer. And when it came to picking people to answer questions, his gaze would fly to you immediately—either waiting to call you out once you raised your hand or simply calling you when he felt like it. For some sick reason, he finds the way your face scrunches up in stress when he calls your name in his honey-soaked voice amusing, and even adorable at times, though he would never admit it. But oh, did he love the comments and answers you would give him.

Despite that assignment being the only one where you decided to consult Prof Choi, following every grade release of an assignment, he would single you out, especially after class, to fucking ask if you had questions regarding said assignment, which honestly started to freak you out—mostly because he never gave you the attention before, and you weren’t used to it. The whispering gossip in the class about you being the teacher’s pet slowly reached your ears too, and even Prof Choi heard it—and he only exacerbated that rumours by constantly giving you his attention.

Every time you reached your dorm, the words that left your mouth which your roommate could recite verbatim, “I swear to god, Prof Choi has it out for me!”

Not to mention you were fucking relieved when the last day of his class rolled around, but unfortunately, his parting words to you were, “I’m sure I’ll see you around, y/n”. You did everything in your power to avoid getting into his class and even bumping into him, which seemed to work swell.

Until now that is.

Now here you are again, standing before the familiar heavy wooden door, staring up at the wooden plate, embossed with gold lettering “Department Chair Choi San” staring right at you. You had to physically drag yourself off your bed to prepare for the first day partnered with Prof Choi. And when your roommate’s words of “oh come on, he can’t be that bad. He’s hot!”, echoed through your ears, it all the more made you want to just ditch your first day by clawing your eyeballs out.

You had to collect yourself before Prof Choi collected you.

With a raised knuckle, you rap against the door, taking deep inhales in the process. His voice, which sounded deceivingly like honey, remained the same as you remembered.

“Come in.”

You pause for a moment, embracing yourself before holding onto to doorknob and pushing his door open.

There he was, Professor Choi, his eyes focused on the scripts on his desk, which had piled up. His space remained the same as you remembered, for the most part—shelves littered with awards and files, the same desktop taking up one-quarter of his huge ass desk, and the couch with the coffee table left to the side of the room. Prof Choi wore a stern look of concentration on his face, still preoccupied with finishing up marking his scripts.

When his pen pauses and his gaze shifts towards the door, a small smile spreads across his face. He lifts his head and drops his pen, interlocking his fingers on his desk with growing amusement when his eyes meet yours.

Fuck, he’s still so handsome.

“Professor Choi”, you greet, holding your expression neutral as you bow, forcing yourself not to fidget with your tote bag.

“Y/n!” Prof Choi greets almost too enthusiastically. “I would assume you would be more than delighted when I picked you to be my teaching assistant.”

“Honoured, almost”, you reply. It’s taking all of your energy not to break his gaze. He’s staring at you with unreadable eyes, and you’re wondering if the fluttering in your chest is from the anxiety or the way Prof Choi is staring at you.

Prof Choi laughs, and it tickles your ears a little too good.

“Sit. We have a lot to go through today”, he gestures to the seat before him, and you take it.

He switches on his monitor to his course syllabus and turns the monitor slightly towards you.

“Oh, before we begin, it’s a pleasure meeting you again, y/n.”

Oh boy, was being Prof Choi’s teaching assistant a fucking handful. You knew it was gonna be rough, but to be assisting Professor Choi San? He was on another level—his schedule would be filled to the brim with meetings with the faculty on top of conducting classes weekly. You struggled in your first month, learning the ropes, especially from a busy and challenging professor like him. He wasn’t mean or cold at all, on the contrary, more direct and meticulous. Well, he had to be, considering his position. Nonetheless, it felt like he was always too busy to attend to your questions sometimes, and that would leave you to your own devices.

You stand in the aisle, looking down at the assortment of foods lined up in the chiller. Has Prof eaten yet? Does he even eat? What does he even eat? By instinct, you pull out your phone and open his chat.

[you]: Hi Prof. Have you eaten? I’m at the convenience store near the campus. I could grab something quick for you.

A couple of minutes go by, but your phone doesn’t receive a ping, and you had to reach the office soon. So you pick up another tuna rice ball for the professor alongside yours before making a beeline for the cashier.

Prof Choi hears the knock on his door and as usual, he utters his usual “come in”. His gaze lands on you, and he glances at the clock.

“You’re on time today”, he points out.

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. “I’m always on time, Professor.”

“You’re usually in a little earlier.”

“Right, because I got you this”, you reply, rustling through the plastic bag in your hands, fishing out the rice ball.

He looks up at you, confusion hinted in his expression. He doesn’t take the food yet.

“What’s this?”

“Tuna rice ball. Surely only having coffee in the morning is not filling your stomach.”

You put the food in front of him. “Besides, I messaged you but you didn’t reply. So I just chose something safe. Unless you’re telling me you’re allergic to tuna or something.”

Prof Choi blinks. His hands reach out to take the snack from the desk, unwrapping the plastic packaging as he watches you leave his office to grab a mug of coffee. He glances over at his phone, and sure enough, your name is there with your message.

Since then, his reply would pop up in mere minutes whenever you asked him if he wanted anything to eat.

Of course, the more you spent time with him, the more you grew comfortable, and all the thoughts you ever stressed about slowly faded off. Prof Choi grew more relaxed around you, internally grateful that you’re able to tank a significant fraction of his workload for him. Undoubtedly, you also come to realise that Prof Choi is human after all—he obviously would make mistakes, even as someone of his caliber, and deep inside, you found it rather cute, well, until you had to stop yourself from developing deranged thoughts.

Not to mention, another problem seemed to pop up—his flirty banter. He likely picked up that it made you flustered sometimes, and since then, he wouldn’t let it go, relishing at the way pink creeps up your cheeks when he would say something that wasn’t like his ‘professor-self’, and at worst, feeding into your crooked thoughts.

You stare at him as he types away, particularly, the metal band around his ring finger. You wonder who was the lucky lady who had the chance to be with him. You blink.

What the hell were you thinking?

“It’s rude to stare, you know”, Prof Choi’s voice snapping you out of your daydreams.

“I’m just wondering about your ring, that’s all”, you reply, forcing your attention back to your half-marked assignments.

“I’m not actually married”, he suddenly confesses, and for some reason, it makes your heart beat slightly faster.

“Huh?” Is all you manage to reply.

Prof Choi chuckles. He pauses his work on the desktop, turning his attention to you. Even though you have worked so closely with him for a while already, you can never seem to find your composure around him.

Even though you see his face every week, you can’t seem to wrap your head around how insanely good-looking he is, how sometimes you struggle to maintain eye contact with him, because it doesn’t take long before you feel yourself slowly flushing.

“I wear it on my ring finger so the students stop asking about my marital status”, Prof Choi clarifies. You watch him pull the ring from his ring finger and fit it over his index.

“So you’re single”, you echo.

He nods, “I’m single.”

What is this strange feeling of relief?

“What about you?” He suddenly asks. You’re not looking directly at him, and you don’t realise the way he’s looking at you attentively. And if you do, you just might combust.

“I’m…single too”, you answer, trying to meet his gaze, fidgeting with the red pen in between your fingers.

“And why’s that? Too busy fighting with your professors for grades?”

You glare at him.

“I think it was my professor picking fights with me”, you reply quickly, jabbing right back at him.

You watch Prof Choi lower his gaze, a smile spreading across his cheeks—an actual smile—his dimples showing up. Oh fuck. Just when you thought you could depend on your ribcage to contain your heart properly, you found out Prof Choi could actually smile.

When he looks up at you again, you break the eye contact, your gaze flying back to the papers before you.

“You know, I’ve met many students, but you were the first to cuss out at me.”

You did? “I did?”

Your professor nods, cocking his eyebrow at the way you had seemed to have simply forgotten something as eventful as that.

This time, Professor Choi bursts into a chuckle, completely amused by your reaction.

“Is that why you kept-“

“Giving you chances to answer in class for credit? You should really thank me for that. Your grade for my class was one of the highest you know.”

You feel your cheeks flush. But before you can retaliate, Prof Choi cuts you off.

“Jokes aside, no. I think the discussion we had that afternoon had an impression on me. The cherry on top was you cussing at me. I liked that. Refreshing and endearing”, Prof Choi continues, his attention seeping back to the pile of scripts before him.

“I think this side of Professor is pretty refreshing and endearing too”, you let it slip.

His pen pauses in mid-air. You don’t catch his gaze completely softening on you.

As the semester continues on, you began easing into the class schedules. You watch prof get swarmed by a group of students, a usual ritual that happens right when the class ends. At this point, you had grown used to it. Sometimes the students would come and approach you instead, which honestly surprised you, but your heart would feel warm, knowing that these students trusted you.

It was then you became acquainted with another teaching assistant under Prof Choi, who joined shortly after you did—Choi Jongho. Initially, he came off as a rather shy individual, but the both of you warmed up quickly with each other, sharing the workload and bonding over gossip with each other. Gosh, was he fucking amazing with gossip, especially when it came to Professor Choi. Soon enough, the both of you were texting almost on a regular basis, the conversations weighing more towards academic topics sprinkled with a little gossip.

“You’re going off with Choi Jongho?”

“Yeah”, you reply, bunching the papers in your hands. “I’ve got some things to discuss with him about.” Partially true.

For some reason, even though your professor has been completely swamped with papers to grade and meetings to attend, you would always find him loitering around your desk from time to time. He seems to especially enjoy doing that when you’re around.

“You’ve been spending an awfully lot amount of time with him”, Prof Choi points out, looking over your shoulder as he watches you scribble on another student’s paper.

“Yeah, we get along well actually. Isn’t that a good thing, Prof? Both your teaching assistants are besties.”

For some reason, that makes Prof Choi frown, but you’re too absorbed in your work to notice it.

A couple of minutes go by, and you still feel his presence, not that you mind, but you’re starting to find it peculiar that he’s been hanging around your desk a lot recently.

“Do you have something to discuss with me, prof?” You ask, eyes still glued to the paper.

“Yes”, he replies, taking another sip from his mug. “What do you think of Choi Jongho?”

Such a random question to ask, you think. Maybe he’s just making sure you and Jongho get along well?

You pause, giving yourself to think, tapping the back of the red pen against your bottom lip, taken aback by Prof Choi’s sudden question, but the conversations you and Jongho had resurfacing into your brain, and a giggle escapes you, which makes Professor Choi subconsciously narrow his eyes and furrow his brows.

“He’s fun to be around, and despite how he looks, he’s actually got a wicked sense of humor. Oh god, wait. Let me tell you what you he did that day while we were having lunch together-“

You turn your head to continue to run your mouth, only to slowly trail off when realise his face is just inches from yours, and you swear your heart is on a treadmill from the lack of distance between you and Prof Choi. It’s as if time paused, the both of you sinking right into each other’s gazes. You can’t help but notice how intense his gaze is, and you can’t seem to decipher his thoughts, but from the way this situation played out, you swore he’d just lean in and kiss you.

Your heartbeat accelerates at the thought—why would he do that?

And when his fingers are on your chin, your rational thoughts are getting flushed out.

“That’s an awful lot of cute things about Choi Jongho. I’ve never heard you talk about another Choi like that.”

You swallow hard, your body still frozen in spot.

“What do you think about him then?”

“Jongho? I was just-“

“No. Choi San.”

Oh god. You could only stare back at him. Prof Choi tilts his head, his eyebrows raised, waiting for his answer. His cologne floats and almost shuts down your senses—has he always smelled this good?

The corner of his lips curl slightly at the way you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights.

“I t-think Prof-“

“San. Choi San”, he corrects you.

Another hard swallow the more you try to focus your gaze on him.

“I think Choi San’s a great professor. He’s really competent, a lot softer than he presents himself as-“

Fuck you can’t think. Not when he’s staring down your eyes to your lips like that.

“Mmhm.”

“And he’s really so-“

Then a loud knock echoes across the room, breaking the tension. Prof Choi’s body doesn’t shift, but he looks up at the door, shouting “door’s unlocked”, before he stands back upright, adjusting his glasses and walking back to his desk.

Jongho’s head peeks in, then he bows at Prof Choi before he walks to your desk. You stare up at him with a forced smile.

“Ready to go? I was waiting for your message”, Jongho says, his eyes glancing over the professor, then you, a strange feeling that he probably interrupted something.

You nod, while shoving your belongings into your bag, then slinging it on your shoulder.

Barely being able to look at Professor Choi, you still force yourself to, bowing goodbye to him.

“Thank you Prof Choi. See you tomorrow.”

He looks up from his desk, right into your eyes.

“See you too, y/n.”

You can’t help but wonder how far things would have gone if Jongho didn’t knock the door.

Jongho isn’t an idiot. Initially, he assumes that you and the professor were on much friendlier terms considering that you came in before he did. Granted, the workload he would give the both of you was the same, he would take the initiative to have lunch with the both of you both individually and together whenever he had pockets of free time, but what roused his awareness was the lingering glances Professor Choi would cast at you from time to time, the way he seemed to relish the reactions you would give him whenever he teased you.

He notices the way your ears would grow red even when you roll your eyes at the professor and jab him with another playful snarky remark.

Though he wonders how dangerous things could get, Jongho thinks this could get interesting.

The semester continues smoothly, the only change being that Jongho being absent from the office more often due to his other commitment to soccer. You remember him telling you he had quite a big match coming up, the sparkle in his eyes bright and twinkling whenever he talks about said sport.

If he wasn’t in classes, he’d be off for training, hopping into the office from time to time to pass Professor Choi marked scripts and reports. Prof Choi pretty much didn’t mind—he stated as long as Jongho did his job, he could be free to do what he wanted outside of being a teaching assistant.

Needless to say, the office was mostly Prof Choi and you, now even more time spent with him with Jongho mostly being absent. By then, the both of you had grown so accustomed to being in each other’s presence that banters amongst each other became the norm—the both of you competing with each other with unserious remarks, laced with almost flirtatiousness, just to see who would back down first.

Then came the proximity—since Prof Choi would wander over your desk as if he had all the free time in the world, he would somehow strike up another conversation with you, leaning over to hear you better, his arm bumping into yours to look over at the papers you were grading to check if you were doing them correctly. But what he absolutely adores the most is when you’d roll over to his desk to pester him with your questions—sometimes even testing him on his own content.

He likes the way he gets to be closer to you. He likes the way your shoulders touch his when you lean in to push the paper towards him so he can see the script better.

He likes the way you would finally look up and meet his eyes when you’re done formulating your question, waiting to hear his opinion.

Today is no different—Professor Choi being so used to the notion that he would only be seeing you in the office, the corner of his lips pull upwards at the thought of the types of banter you would have with him, the kinds of shenanigans you would bring into the office.

He hears your knock at the time you would always arrive, watching the way the door opens, and your head popping from the door, as you greet, “Hi Prof!”

“Good morning, y/n”, he would greet back, sipping on his morning coffee.

You walk over to his desk, dropping his tuna rice ball. “Here you go. Enjoy your breakfast, Prof!”

“You can stop calling me Prof”, Prof Choi suddenly says, twirling the pen in his hand. For a second, you wonder what triggered the sudden change. You’ve been calling him Prof since day one, pretty much used to it already, the only time you didn’t was when he—never mind. The thought of it is making your face flush again.

“Is there something else you want me to call you?” You ask, trying to calm your heartbeat down when that memory suddenly resurfaces.

“You can call me San. I’m fine with that. I know you’re still my teaching assistant but we’ve been working closely. I think it’s fine to drop the Prof honorific.”

You try out.

“Sure thing San”, you reply. “Though it’s gonna take a while for me to get used to this.”

“If you’re able to cuss in front of me, calling me by my name should be the least of your worries, y/n”, San teases.

You raise your hand, feigning a stance ready to smack him before you lower your arm, listening to the way San laughs before rolling your eyes and sinking into your desk.

The day marches on as normal—attending a class or two with Jongho before he’s whisked away to his soccer practice, leaving just the two of you for the rest of the day.

San is leaning at your desk again, looking at you typing out your report. He squints slightly before he leans down to your shoulder, his finger pointed at one of the paragraphs, asking you about the content. You answer him, and when you turn your head once you’re done, you find yourself looking at San’s side profile mere inches away—his sun-kissed skin, his pretty lashes, his thick, well-trimmed eyebrows, and the way his lips protrude out a little—he always looked like he’s pouting in the most adorable way.

That’s when you realise a problem seemed to be bubbling up to the surface, try as you might to ignore it, repress it—that you’re falling for your professor. Fast.

You snap back to reality, finally aware of how loud your heart is beating against your rib cage, and your hand flies up in instinct as a divider between you and San. San blinks at the sudden movement, confused.

“Y/n, what are you doing?” He’s not moving.

“I think I’ve got something on my face.”

San cocks an eyebrow. “You do? Let me check-“

His palm covers yours, bringing it down to the table, and you’re kicking yourself for sprouting such a self-sabotaging lie.

Why? Because now San has his hand on yours on top of his face in full view of yours, his eyes meeting yours before his gaze flutters around your face, checking for whatever hell you said was on your face.

His gaze meets yours and for a split second, something else glints in his eyes.

The door swings open, and San straightens himself up, slightly irritated at the interruption, leaving you to spin your chair away from San, your hands cupping your cheeks, the heat warming you up against the cold air conditioner. The heat from his hand on yours lingers for a little longer.

Jongho walks in, his duffel slinging on his shoulder with his shoe bag clipped.

“Hey, Prof. Hey cutie.”

San blinks. What did he just call you?

“Hey jjongie. Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?” You ask, forcing yourself to focus on your colleague instead.

“Supposedly, yeah, but there was a sudden downpour midway so training got cancelled. Might as well get some work done here”, he shrugs, dropping his bag onto the floor.

San is wrapping his head around the fact that you and Jongho seem to have pet names for each other.

“Didn’t miss me too much right?” Jongho teases. “‘Cause I did!”

“That’s a first coming from you jjongie”, you reply, surprising a smile.

“Of course! It’s been a while, how could I not? We should go eat dinner together sometime.”

San only stares on in silence, pretending to sink back into his grading.

Jongho walks over to your desk, taking his turn to look at your report. San watches the way Jongho’s arm is comfortable over your seat, as he asks you about your report, talking to you as if San wasn’t just behind you seconds before.

The fact you’re entertaining him—hitting his arm playfully and laughing at his remarks—all the more rouses some kind of irritation in San. It’s like a boiling pot.

He pretends he doesn’t see the way Jongho leans in to whisper something into your ear although it’s bugging him so fucking much. For once, he wishes Jongho’s training didn’t cancel.

“Oh right before I forget”, Jongho mutters, rushing back to his desk, digging through his bag. He walks back over with a paper in hand and places it before you. You glance down and your face brightens up—it’s a ticket to his game.

“For real?” You exclaim, your eyes bright, taking the ticket in your hands. “I’ll definitely make time for you.”

“I’ll score goals for you, kay?” Jongho teases, his eyes glancing at San, who is progressively looking more irritated.

“Ah, Is San not going?”

“San? Since when were you on first name basis with him?” Jongho wonders aloud, the suspicion only brewing even more.

“Jongho, don’t you have reports to hand in?” San asks curtly.

You feel like you are caught in between crossfire for some reason.

Jongho smiles, then has your head under his arm, which elicits another irritated reaction from your professor.

You have never had Jongho done this before. In fact, you recall him offhandedly mentioning that he’s never a physical touch person, and that anything with physical touch makes him shudder.

“Relax, Prof. You’d rather your subordinates get along than not right?”

Just when San is about to reply, Jongho suddenly exclaims.

“AH, coach is calling me back to the field. Prof, I’ll send you the report by tomorrow okay? See you guys!”, Jongho hums as he runs back to his desktop to turn it off.

“Has he always been like that?” San wonders aloud, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I guess. It’s actually what makes him cute.”

“Cute? You think Jongho is…cute?”

“Is he not? Doesn’t he remind you of a bear? Big and cuddly.”

San clears his throat, and you watch him walk over to your desk, his hand resting on the tabletop. He leans in.

“So… you find it cute when he gives you pet names?”

“Well, I mean-“

“You find it cute when he plays with your hair?” San curls your locks around his fingers.

You can’t seem to get words to leave your throat.

“You find it cute when he has his hands all over you like that?” He’s leaning in even closer this time, arms trapping you at either side.

“Prof-“

“No. It’s sir.”

Your mind is in a whirlwind at the way he’s towering over you, his scent the only thing filling your olfactory senses, the way he’s staring right into you, gaze sharp as a blade.

“You find it cute when his touches run up your body like this?” His fingers are trailing up your arms, every touch he burns into your skin, and when his thumb pauses at your chin, you realise you’re royally fucked.

Once more, his face is mere inches away from yours. You wonder if you’ll be teased like two previous times before.

“Of course you don’t. You’d rather I do that to you, right?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Yes, sir.”

His voice is barely a whisper, his eyes downcast, staring at your lips like it’s his reward to claim.

“Good girl.”

Of course, he claims it.

His kisses are so greedy—his lips prying yours open, and you feel yourself completely give in to him, surrendering whatever resistance, rationale, repression to Choi San.

You want more—you want seconds. Every swipe his tongue passes your lip, it makes your head float. How does someone taste this fucking good?

He pauses mid-way—barely a couple of seconds, to pull off his glasses and strew them across the desk—then goes back to devouring your lips.

San would smile in between kisses when he hears your whimpers. He thinks you’re so fucking adorable when you tremble slightly at his touch. It all goes straight to his cock.

He thinks you’ll be even more adorable when he ruins you.

When San pulls back, he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, watching your glazed-out expression with amusement.

"I'd love to continue messing you up, but I have a meeting to attend. I’ll deal with you later, sweetheart. See you next week.”

His touch lingers on your chin for a couple of seconds longer before he pulls away and shifts to walk back to his desk, leaving your heartbeat wild and erratic, and your thighs squeezed tighter.

Since then, that was all you ever thought about—the slight smile before his lips collided with yours, the way his words rang in your ears. You could barely meet his eyes.

In more instances than one and with any chance given to him, he’d close up any physical distance he had with you. Worried that your emotions would bubble and overflow when he does that, you developed a habit of avoiding his eye contact.

Even after classes, you swore he was casting you glances even with lines of students waiting to talk to him.

“Did you piss Prof off or something?” Jongho asks as he shuts his laptop.

“Why are you asking?”

He shrugs. “It’s just that he’s been eyeing you down like a hawk recently. Did something happen between the both of you?”

You freeze when the flashbacks of the taste of his lips return to your memory when you remember how hungry he looked just wanting to devour you.

“Y/n?”

You blink, then force yourself to meet Jongho’s eyes.

“No. Nothing happened. At least I hope I didn’t make any mistakes.”

“You’re fine. There’s a reason why the department chair chose his teaching assistants.”

You laugh softly at his words.

But when you hear San’s voice from behind you, you almost jump.

“Y/n, Jongho, the both of you can wrap up here and head back to the office”, he instructs. You feel his warmth radiating from behind, and it only makes your heart jump at the proximity.

You watch Jongho slowly pack up, small conversations sparking between the both of you about his soccer practice.

You glance at the door. San isn’t back yet.

“I think it’ll take him awhile to be back. The students there seem to really like him.”

No doubt, the female students for this class seemed a lot more assertive, almost always demanding all of San’s time. Well, not that it should matter. It’s not as if he should mean anything-

“Y/n? Are you okay? You seem pretty off recently. Even Prof’s pretty worried”, Jongho’s voice grounding you back to the cold office.

You force a smile and shake your head.

“I’m fine. I guess it’s just so much workload to deal with.”

Jongho places his hand on your shoulder in comfort, “You’re doing fine. You know you can approach either of us if you’re struggling right?”

You feel comforted, even though your messy thoughts weren’t even about the workload, so you return an assured smile before waving Jongho off for his soccer practice.

You’re wondering what you’re feeling nervous about, because when the door of San’s room opens, you jolt slightly.

“You’re still here?” You hear San ask.

“Yeah. Need to reply to some emails and double-check some of their assignments.” Not a total lie. It’s the swirling feelings he’s been giving you whenever that day surfaces in your mind, the small bouts of attention he pays you and the touches he lets linger a little too long that’s all a dopamine rush in you. You can’t help but want more. But in the same breath, meeting his gaze will allude doom for you.

San nods as he sits back at his desk, going right back to his computer. The silence continues for awhile and you’re surprised that you’re even able to concentrate.

“Y/n”, you hear San call you.

Your gaze doesn’t break from your screen. “Hmm?”

“Come here. Help me look at this.”

You walk over, ignoring the way your heart is just pounding so damn loudly. It’s painfully obvious that San is staring right at your face, and it’s also painfully obvious that you’re avoiding looking at him.

And it definitely seems to be ticking him off.

Your eyes stay locked to his screen reading off whatever is on the screen, and nothing is processing in your brain.

“It looks good”, you curtly reply, trying to ignore the fact that you’re being stared down by a certain professor. You turn away, your eyes still not acknowledging San, only for your professor to stop you in your tracks.

“Now where do you think you’re going?”

He’s making you face him now.

You’re still not giving him eye contact.

“Back to my desk?” You say, looking off into the distance. But San seems to have other plans.

“You know ‘looks good’ isn’t the feedback I’m looking for, right?”

Shit. You know that clear as day.

Now San has both his arms trapping you on his desk.

You somehow still manage to avoid his sharp gaze even when you’re backing up against him, easily letting him corner you.

His belongings are strewn all over the desk when he pins you down. By some miracle, only papers flutter down his desk.

And you’re finally looking right at him.

“You’re finally looking at me, y/n”, he states the obvious. “Now tell me, did I do something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t, sir”, you reply curtly.

He leans in closer.

“Then why are you avoiding my eye contact?”

You shut your eyes and squeeze them. There’s no pure way out of this—your dirty thoughts are seeping into the smallest crevices of your brain, and the more San is prodding you, the more it makes you throb.

“It’s because that evening when we…” you feel your cheeks burn with every word leaving your lips.

San is waiting for you to continue.

“When we kissed…couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“And?”

“It made me want…more.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Has anyone told you how adorable you are when you’re honest?” He chuckles. “I’m gonna finish what we started sweetheart, like I promised.”

It makes your heart flutter.

“Am I getting your consent for this?”, San’s voice rings in your ears. You’re finding it hard to focus, especially when his thumb is pushing past the corner of your lips, and you’re just growing wet as fuck.

This is not right. This is so dangerous.

“Yes sir”, you reply back, trying to ignore the way your cunt is just tingling from the feeling of San’s thick erection pressing against you.

“That’s my good girl”, he praises before he dives in for a hungry kiss, his fingers roaming around your body, squeezing your tits before he unbuttons your shirt at an agonising pace. He smiles on your lips when he hears your soft gasp, and he presses his lips down to your jaw and then to your neck, sucking and biting the soft skin against your neck, his erection growing tighter against his trousers when he hears you moan and squirm.

When he’s satisfied with the light marks he decorated down your neck, his lips are pressed against your ear, and his hands are moving dangerously close to your cunt, and inevitably, your bottoms are off in seconds, leaving you in your pretty panties.

“I would prefer fucking you on my bed instead for the first time, but taking you on my desk? Maybe not too bad.”

Your cunt squeezes at the sound of San cussing. You never thought he’d sound this fucking hot.

He groans when his fingers press against the soaked patch of fabric hiding your pussy. All that wetness for him. He bunches up the fabric and rubs it against your clit, the friction drawing frustrated whimpers from you, much to his satisfaction. It feels so good but it’s not enough, and it’s driving you crazy.

San’s fingers finally hook against the waistband of your panties, sliding them off your legs, and pocketing them, much to your shock.

And he doesn’t give you much time to focus on that because when he pulls his cock out from his unzipped pants, it makes your head spin from how thick Choi San is.

“Sir, I’m not sure-“

“It’ll fit, sweetheart, like it’s made for me”, is all the warning San gives before he lines up to your hole and pushes his cock in.

You can’t tell what’s fucking you up more—the way his cock is stretching you open or the San groaning in relief when he finally gets to stuff you full.

You bat away your tears, his cock so fucking full inside of you, pressing against your walls, being squeezed so perfectly by you.

God, Choi San thinks he’s in heaven.

His fingers brush across your cheeks, collecting your teardrops. His eyes lack any ounce of empathy.

“Aw, are you crying because it feels good? You look so fucking pretty crying when I’m stretching you open.”

You barely find the words to reply to him, all stuck in your throat, your mind only flooded by the way San’s cock is buried in your cunt, your thighs trembling from the pleasure. It’s almost sickening. You know you shouldn’t be doing this—not with your professor, not on his fucking desk, but when he has you wrapped you around his finger and cock fucking the daylights out of you, it’s a temptation you can never resist.

A soft hiccup escapes past your lips when San pulls out almost all the way, his cock covered in a sheen of slick and precum before he pushes himself in once more, groaning when you clench around him for the nth time.

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart. God, I could just fuck you all day. You’d like that right?”

You’re barely keeping track, eyes rolled to the back of your head while your thighs twitch from the pleasure, but you manage to hold the eye contact, and through blurry tears, you mutter a weak, “Yes sir”.

“Of course you do”, San hums before he pulls out once more and starts fucking you dumb on his desk.

No matter how much you try to cover your mouth, bite your tongue or your lip, your moans only come out louder in defiance, the dopamine shooting up your pussy over and over again whenever San’s cock hits your pretty spots.

Your mind is addicted to the way San’s shirt is buttoned down his chest, his cleavage almost fully out for you to gawk at, the way strands of his hair cling to his forehead because of the sweat, the way his eyes roll back when he feels you squeeze him with every loud fuck, and the way he looks down to you from time to time before he eats up your pathetic moans with hungry kisses.

He fucked you up so good, you didn’t even realise it until now.

“S-San”, you manage out a whimper, “please…”

“Please what, sweetheart?”

You don’t even know what you’re begging for.

“Please… you feel so fucking good. I’m gonna cum. It’s so fucking good”, you babble, trying to force your eyes open.

San can’t help but smirk when his ego is being stroked so nicely like that, especially by you. He’s a good person, of course, he’ll give what his good girl wants.

His thumb slides south on your body until you feel the ticklish sensation of him on your clit. Cream and precum pooling at the base of his cock makes it even worse for you—with every graze, his finger pressed onto your clit, the knot tightened in your stomach.

Your nonsensical strings of words only push San to tease you more as he endearingly watches you break slowly when your orgasm builds up.

Your body twitches, your back arches, your eyes roll back, white splashes beneath your eyelids. Your orgasm burning through you while you cry out San’s name and you twitch pathetically on his cock, letting your cream leak all over his wet cock.

“Fuck. You’re such a good fucking girl for me, aren’t you?”, you hear San curse. He fucks you through your orgasm, the overstimulation building up. The sensitivity feels so fucking good.

His hand catches your jaw, and he forces you to meet his eyes.

“Wanna pump you full of my cum, keep you so fuckin’ full for days on end,” he huffs, “but not now, sweetheart.”

Not that you minded, but there’s a strange tinge of disappointment ringing at the back of your head.

San thrusts into you a couple more times before he pulls out, his thick and wet cock resting on your pelvis, twitching as his hand takes over.

Nothing can beat Choi San’s fucking face when he cums. He looks like he’s in fucking heaven, and he’s tearing up the sky because of you. His fingers leave light marks on your thighs, you hear him groan at such a low tone that your cunt flutters uselessly against the air. Translucent spurts land on your skin, but it barely registers in you—you’re too busy swooning over the way your Professor just cummed over your body.

San’s high dies down, and he catches his breath, casting you a glance, red dusting his cheeks, before he reaches out for the tissue box to clean you up.

A quick kiss on the lips before he goes on to collect all the papers all over the floor.

That night he drives you home, filling the space with light conversations as if he didn’t just railed you on his desk.

It’s only when you reach home that you realise one important thing—San still has your panties.

You know you shouldn’t be telling secrets to your colleague, especially when it’s about your fucking boss. But here you are, facing Jongho, who has his arms crossed in front of you.

“What’s up with you and Prof?” You predict the words that leave his lips.

You hesitate to tell him, unsure how you should even say it, where to even start.

The worst part you knew clear as day was that nothing changed since that day. You chalked it off as San being swamped with assignments to deal with, that’s why the topic was never brought up again, but something still irked you. The only comfort you had was that the semester was ending, and so was your term as San’s teaching assistant.

Maybe it was how it was meant to be. Just nothing more than that.

But when you realise the dreaded feeling prickling at the back of your eyes, you knew you were fucked.

“I don’t know how to even start jjong”, you sigh. Jongho scrunches his eyebrows.

You watch his expression switch from one to the other. You expected him to freak out at you, yell at you for unprofessionalism or something, but he doesn’t.

“It’s so fucked up. But I just can’t help but wonder if he feels anything”, you mutter. The thought of you not being the only one he’s doing this with makes your stomach churn. But somehow, in the most twisted ways, confiding Jongho made you feel slightly better.

“Well, looks like we’ll have to play that card I guess”, Jongho shrugs. “But you should mentally prepare yourself for the results, that’s all I gotta warn you. I just need your consent to play along.”

It’s a risky bet you’re playing, but drastic times called for drastic measures, right?

As the semester closes to its end, so does the workload. San feels a lot lighter on his shoulders, and while he’s grateful for his teaching assistants for lifting a significant amount of workload off him, the end of a semester meant the end of the working relationship between him and his teaching assistants. He usually doesn’t feel that much, considering he has had many teaching assistants in the past, but for some reason, he feels a sense of discomfort lodged in his stomach when he thinks about having to let them go.

Especially one of them.

He sighs, removing his glasses from his nose and shutting his eyes while reviewing the exams. San feels like a fucking idiot when his eyes land on your empty desk, his frustration bubbling when you cross his mind again.

Even though he pretends to keep himself busy by flooding his mind with work, somehow, you would bubble to the surface once more, pushing him into the pits of frustration when he’s reminded of the way you get a kick arguing and refuting him just to get a reaction out of him, the way you taste like sweetest thing on earth he’s ever tried and the way you completely unravel when San fucks every single thought out of you—

He bites his cheek.

No. He has to keep it professional. At least, until the term is over.

He just doesn’t know how to tell you.

He knows he’s entered deep waters when he crossed the line that evening, the sight of you undone right before him snapping all his rationale. More than anything, he’s suffering the withdrawals, maybe that’s the punishment he has to bear.

He glances at the colourful ticket at the corner of his desk. It’s Jongho’s big game. Even though he usually doesn’t let himself intertwine with his subordinate’s personal interests, it’s hard not to.

In addition, you’ll be there. Maybe he’d snag you after the game and talk to you properly.

The meeting ran overtime, San glances down at his silver watch, realising he’d missed almost thirty minutes of Jongho’s game. Despite the exhaustion, he pushes it aside and heads to the stadium.

He watches the brightly lit scoreboard as he takes a seat on the bench, Jongho’s team is in the lead by one point.

Somehow he gets wrapped up in the game, cheering when Jongho’s team takes championship as the benches all burst into loud cheers too.

He gets up to leave, already thinking of drafting a text to congratulate Jongho in his head, maybe get him a small congratulatory gift on the side.

Then he spots you, just rows below. Now, he’s walking down as if on instinct, to get to where you are.

San pushes past the crowd to approach you. He’ll offer to drive you back—he knows it’s all an excuse but anything to get you into his space once more.

His arm outstretched, reaching out to tap your shoulder, then suddenly stopping when he sees Jongho appear right in front of you. That’s fine. San could just congratulate him at the same time—

Which all of those thoughts immediately disintegrate when he watches Jongho cup your cheeks with his hand, his eyes widening in complete silent horror as Jongho leans into you for a kiss.

You seriously doubt that Jongho’s plan would work. Didn’t San decide not to come anyway? You heard it with your own ears too.

Nonetheless, you pushed it to the back of your mind, focusing on cheering for your friend, watching the leading scorer jump from one team to the next. You couldn’t help but erupt into cheers when Jongho’s team won, screams echoing through the open stadium.

You watch Jongho walk up to the benches where you are, and his arms wrap around you, his smile big and bright, competing with the stadium lights.

“Congratulations, baby bear”, you tease, pushing against his shoulders lightly. Jongho inches close to you.

“He’s behind you by the way”, Jongho mutters, loud enough for you to hear, but not long enough for you to process, because his hands are cupping your jaw, his thumb pressed against your lips.

He hears you muffle some kind of question but your lips stay sealed.

“You owe me one for this,” is the last thing you hear before he leans in. Your eyes widen in shock, and you freeze in your spot, even though his lips don’t meet yours, evidently separated by Jongho’s thumb, his action had caught you off guard.

You barely have the capacity to process what had just happened, and you feel someone’s warmth tightening against your wrist.

Jongho lets go of you immediately, but you’re staring right at your professor, who is staring right at Jongho with an unreadable expression, with his fingers curled tightly against your wrist. It feels like an eternity since you saw him. He’s not wearing glasses today and his hair is down instead of his usual slicked-back look, donned with a simple dress shirt and tie which framed his wide shoulders so perfectly.

“Congratulations on your win, Choi Jongho. I believe you should be with your team to celebrate right?”

Jongho only smirks back. “Right. See you babe. Thank you, Prof. See you next week.”

Jongho casts you a glance, the mischief twinkling in his eyes before he turns his heel down the stairs and back to the field.

What the fuck just happened?

And you find yourself staring up at the male before you, his gaze piercing into yours.

“Prof—San?” You blink. “I thought you weren’t-“

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart. Why would I not want to see the cute relationship my teaching assistants have right?” His voice is laced with venom.

San doesn’t really elaborate further, leading you to his car, sealing your fate once more when the passenger doors close shut.

He’s all over you. His body is burning up, maybe just as fast as yours is, and it’s making you feel dizzy. His moves are aggressive, impatient and you swear you feel something else too—desperation.

“S-San—“ you gasp, in an attempt to take control of something.

“It’s sir to you, sweetheart”, his voice low and gentle, but commanding. Goosebumps scatter across your skin, making you shiver in response when his palms slide up your waist.

You never saw it coming—from the second his hand grabbed yours, pulling you away from Jongho, his eyes locked into yours for a moment before he turns to Jongho, then to the car ride back, where you noticed the way his knuckles turned pale from gripping the steering wheel. On the walk to his car, you asked him where you were going, and all he did was turn to you and reply, “We’ve got things to talk about, don’t we, sweetheart?”

Now you’re becoming undone once more under San’s touches, trapped beneath him like the first time, now at his place, on his fucking couch instead.

“It was just foolish of me to just let it be, wasn’t it?” He asks. “Fucking you dumb on my desk wasn’t a good enough indicator, was it?”

“S-sir…!”

“And you think it’s cute getting all cuddly with Jongho? Letting him kiss you all over, touch you all over?” San mutters, his fingers wrapped around your throat, his grip tightening slightly and you’re sure he’s about to leave light imprints.

But oh, was it so fucking exhilarating—the thought of Choi San riled up like that, a sight you’ve never seen before, and you’re not sure if fear or excitement running through your veins right now, but what you do know, is that if he finds out that your panties are completely soaked through, you’re fucking done for.

His lips collide with yours again, branding himself as some kind of oxygen thief when he’s turning your mind into complete mush.

“I’m not sure if it’s a little game to you sweetheart, but if it is, I think you need a reminder.”

You breathlessly look up at him, and he looks ethereal even when he’s panting and looking pissed as hell.

“What reminder, sir?” You dare ask back.

The side of San’s lips tugs upwards. His hand leaves your throat and trails down your blouse, effortlessly unbuttoning the apparel until he tugs it off you, panting at the sight of your tits hugged by your lace bra. Your bottoms are off again on the floor of his bedroom, alongside any ounce of rationale. Your soaked panties are agonisingly pulled off your legs, and before you know it, his hands spread them open too. It takes all of San’s self-control to not stuff you full. At least, not yet.

“It’s my cock you’re gonna cum all over. Even when you have another guy’s lips on yours, it’s my name you’re gonna fucking scream.”

Oh. Oh god.

The pieces of what Jongho was trying to do suddenly come together, unfortunately, the realisation doesn’t last long because San has his lips greedily on yours again on top of the way his full-blown erection is pressing onto your pussy.

“Sir”, you manage out a weak mutter when he finally pulls away, trying to press and grind against his clothed dick for some friction or anything to rid the burn that’s going through your body. But San remains still.

“Use your words since you love using your mouth so much.” Like kissing Choi Jongho.

Your mind is a complete puddle.

“I really…fuck. I really need you to fuck me right now, sir”, you beg, red flushing your cheeks, but it’s not from the shame. There’s a feral glint in San’s eyes that you don’t miss.

“No”, is all he answers, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach.

“Not until I’ve fucked your mouth full, sweetheart.”

All you can do is watch him speechlessly as he hooks his index finger on the knot of his tie and loosens it, unraveling it back to its original form.

“Hands together”, he commands you, and you do so immediately, basking in the scent of his cologne while he leans into you, his hands tying knots around your wrists with his tie. “Don’t let it loosen, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. Now on your knees.”

You’ve never dropped to your knees so fast.

San forces you to watch him unbutton and lower the fly of his trousers, and you’re just doing your best not to get drool on his expensive carpet.

When his cock springs out, you’re also forced to watch him fuck his palm at a slow pace, drinking in his groans, slick staining your inner thighs, and the fucking floor next if you don’t do anything.

His cock is heavy against your cheek when he taps it there, and your tongue slips out of your mouth by instinct, given experimental kitten licks on his slit, before his fingers catch your chin, and he forces you to look up at him.

“Look at me”, he instructs.

You do. You do your best not to break the eye contact, trying not to be sidetracked by his big fucking cock, but your eyes can’t help but dart to his appendage.

“No, keep your eyes on me”, he redirects once more, his fingers fixing your head in place.

Then he slides his cock into your mouth and pulls out a choked moan from you.

“That’s it. Good girl”, he grunts when you start bobbing your head, fucking his cock with your mouth.

His fingers trail to the back of your head, but he’s using all of his strength not to force your head down.

But as you pick up the momentum, it’s an automatic reaction to push your head down so his cock hits the back of your throat. Your eyes are watering but fuck you feel like you’re in fucking heaven. Your head spins whenever his wet cock is forced down your tight throat, and you break eye contact a few times, which San has to tap your jaw to make you keep eye contact while he fucks your face.

“I’m cumming, sweetheart. Fuck. Keep that pretty little mouth open for me yeah?” He groans, bucking his hips, letting streaks of warm white paint your throat and mouth, watching the way you’re looking up at him with doe eyes, taking his cum in your mouth like a good girl. His good girl.

He smudges his thumb against the corner of your lips before his arms carry you up, only to dump you on the couch.

Your back is on the couch again, hands still tied behind your back and legs up with San pressing his body weight on you.

He props your leg on his shoulder, and he stretches you open inch by inch. You gasp when he fills you up, your walls immediately clenching around him.

“So fuckin tight for me, sweetheart. You take me so well.”

His thrusts are growing more aggressive mixed in with the possession that’s bleeding in and it’s setting your whole body on fire. Your words are caught in your throat when he’s buried into you to the hilt. He groans at the way your pussy is fluttering pathetically against him.

It feels so fucking good that nothing but stars engulf your vision when his cock stuffs you full to the hilt again. His name leaves your lips like a mantra on top of broken moans and whimpers, and it only makes San fill up the space in your pussy all the more better.

His shoulders are so wide that he’s towering over you, his fingers forcing you to face him whenever you’re drifting because of the pleasure, his eyes feral when you look so fucked out for him. And when he combines his heavy thrusts with a squeeze around your throat, it makes your mind shut off and your cunt cream all over his dick.

“Good girl, looking all so fucked out for me.”

His cock is hitting all the perfect spots, and it’s driving you insane with the knot tightening in your stomach at such a fast pace. You think you’re sliding off the couch but San isn’t letting you—especially not when his thrusts are keeping you on the couch. His name continues to leave your lips in broken moans every time he fucks you.

San snakes his fingers to your scalp and he tugs sharply, enough to force you to look up at him. You’re tearing up again, and it feels so fucking good with the way he’s keeping your hair tugged while he fucks the ever-loving shit out of you.

“My name does sound much better when you’re crying it doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

You choke back a moan when he hits your g-spot once more.

“Y-yes sir.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Full. So full sir. Want more. Please. Need you to ruin me”, you beg once more, your mind floating in an endless euphoria.

“Oh, I definitely will”, San hums, watching in sheer pleasure as your eyes roll back when his cockhead presses perfectly against your g-spot over and over.

Before you realise it, your orgasm hits you like fucking train, spreading through your body like a fucking wildfire, engulfing every crevice of your body.

He’s gonna break you, and you’re fucking loving it.

“San-“, you cry out, not registering the way he’s wiping the tears off your eyes. “So good. You feel so good. Cumming so much-“

“I know, sweetheart. It feels so fucking good doesn’t it?” He asks with a smile, satisfied when you nod frantically while he rubs your thighs.

Your thighs are shaking from how good this all feels, cream staining your inner thighs and his cock when he pulls out.

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart”, San reminds you.

He turns you over, keeping one hand on your tied hands, while the other pressing your head against the back of the couch. He lines his cock back to your cunt, pushing into your hole once more. You choke on your moans again, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes until he’s fully seated in you once more.

The sounds are even wetter now, especially when you’re overstimulated, pussy just being so perfectly abused by Choi San. You fucking love the way his hands are around your neck, forcing you against the cushions when he fucks you dumb from the back.

Your stomach is in knots once more, the feeling building up faster than the previous time, and all you can mutter is that it feels so good. San thinks you’re so fucking adorable when you’re not having banters with him and being this cock drunk for him.

Then he pulls you off the couch, letting you catch a breath before he sits you on his lap, his cock still buried in your cunt, and starts bouncing you off his cock from below.

He alternates between melting your brain with his pornographic moans right at your ear and planting more love bites down your jaw.

“Gonna cum again. You feel so fucking good in me. Oh god”, you hiccup through your tears, the sensitivity pushing your limit.

“Cum as hard as you want, sweetheart. I’ll let you milk me dry, fill you up so fucking good that you’ll be leaking with my cum for the next two days.”

That was enough to set you off. Your pussy convulses when your second orgasm hits, fireworks bursting in your eyelids, long drawn-out cries while San fills your tight cunt with his warm and thick cum, while his groans fill up in your ears. You feel his fingers massaging your thighs, coaxing you from your high.

You’re dizzy, and light-headed as your head slumps against his shoulders, too spent to acknowledge the male behind you leaving more marks down your neck.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” San breaks the momentary silence, well aware that his softening cock is still in you.

Your hand flies up to his chest to stop him, even though you’re still recovering from seeing stars.

“We need to talk-“

“After we clean up”, he cuts you off, lifting you off his cock and carrying you bridal style to his bathroom.

But you’re stubborn.

“N-no. It wasn’t what you thought it was”, you say, feeling your tears well up in your eyes on top of the weight.

The prickles are starting to form at the bottom of San’s heart, but he’s more focused on trying to hose you down with warm water. But he’s listening you run your mouth, not that he minded.

“We didn’t kiss”, you reiterate.

Now he’s just confused. He stares at you.

“We just had sex, y/n”, San reminds you, trying not to let the red reach his cheeks.

“No—I mean Jongho and I. We didn’t kiss”, you clarify.

San doesn’t really know if he should believe your words or his eyes, but now he’s focused on lathering your hair and body.

“That wasn’t what I saw”, he replies, avoiding eye contact.

“That’s cause we did this-“ you huff, turning his head to face you, imitating the way Jongho had slid his thumb between your lips and his, demonstrating San the fake kiss.

San only stares at you wordlessly when you pull back, only more questions than answers.

“But why would he do that for?”

“He was trying to rile you up.”

“For what?”

“To see if you felt anything for me?”

“By kissing you?”

Oh god. It felt like the more you explained, the more San was getting the wrong ideas. You let your head sit in your hands, unsure if it’s from the embarrassment or the fact that you don’t even know where to start.

“It wasn’t a kiss, Choi San”, you groaned, your hands leaving your face, suddenly self-conscious that San is staring intently at you. “After we, um, fucked the first time, you acted like nothing happened, and I felt like shit about it, and I told Jongho and then…” you trail off, feeling your cheeks heat up again. It’s probably the hot water, at least that’s what you try to convince yourself with.

“I don’t kiss people I’m not in love with, San”, you sigh in defeat. Your eyes are downcast, but you feel his fingers cup your cheeks, and his lips press onto yours. You swear you could go another round again.

The silence hangs in the air for a while, only the sounds of the shower filling the emptiness when he pulls back.

“I didn’t do anything since after that evening because I wanted to properly tell you after the term ended.”

“Tell me what?”

“That I’m in love with you, too.”

You blink. Somehow that shocked you more than the both times he fucked your brains out.

You don’t answer him because your head is just swarming with so many thoughts, and San lets you do so, satisfied that he’s finally have you quieten down so he can finish washing you up.

Even when he’s dressed you in his oversized hoodie, San peppers you with kisses, basking in the way you sometimes cover his face with your hands to stop him, which only rouses him to continue to attack you with his lips.

San’s arms are tight around you when the both of you are finally on his bed. You smell like his favourite body soap and he can’t seem to get enough of it—nuzzling against the crook of your neck, muttering sweet nothings. You think this is probably your favourite version of Professor Choi.

Your fingers twirl around his splayed-out locks, and you speak.

“Prof Choi”, you tease, and San looks up, and it’s the first time you actually see him pout—it almost makes you combust.

“I told you to stop calling me that”, he frowns, burying his face, feigning trying to cut off physical contact from you, which only makes you laugh in response.

“I just wanted to disturb you”, you respond, trying to yank him back into your arms. “I do have a question though.”

His head pops up from his pillows and he stares at you, waiting for you to speak.

“When did you realise you had feelings for me?”

He pauses, giving himself a couple of minutes to think.

“The moment I received your teaching assistant application.”

📚 Bonus Epilogue 📚

“Prof Choi!” One of his teaching assistants calls out to him.

He turns his head and attention to her, pushing up his glasses.

“Yes?”

“I need help with this part of the assignment. Could you help me check that I’ve marked it correctly?”

San nods, taking the papers from her.

As he scans through her work, the teaching assistant’s eyes glance down at the band hugging his ring finger.

“Prof, you’re married?”

San pauses his writing to glance at the glistening gold on his finger, and a small smile spreads across his cheeks.

“You know, I used to wear a ring on my ring finger so students would stop asking me if I was married or not.”

She raises her eyebrows, her curiosity piqued. “So you’re not?”

“I am.”

Her eyes brighten, invested in her handsome professor’s love story.

“Tell me more then”, she asks.

San scoffs playfully, turning his gaze to her.

“All I can tell you is that she’s always been my favourite.”

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