#i played it for the first time when it came out on switch and it is very good :) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kwilquib · 2 days ago

Text

On the Cliff,

Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

Park Jiwon (Fromis_9) X Male reader Word Count: 10k+ Switching POV

a/n: Plot. Also some reference to Pojangmacha fic

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor filled the dimly lit hospital room. The antiseptic scent clung to the air, thick and suffocating. You stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, jaw clenched. Your father looked smaller than you ever remembered—sunken cheeks, pale skin stretched thin over brittle bones. The man who had once loomed over you, larger than life, now lay powerless, staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a rasping whisper, barely audible over the machines.

"It was that woman."

Your body tensed.

Your father exhaled shakily, his fingers twitching against the stark white sheets. "She played me. Played all of us. Your mother… she never recovered." His gaze shifted to you, eyes dark with something too raw to name. "I loved your mother, but I— I was weak. And that woman knew it."

You didn’t move, but inside, something twisted. You had known the story—or at least, you thought you had. You had pieced it together through hushed conversations, through your mother’s silent suffering, through the slow, agonizing decline of your family’s name. But hearing it now, spoken in the last breaths of a dying man, made it feel like a noose tightening around your ribs.

"She came to me looking like salvation," your father continued, his voice thick with regret. "She was young, beautiful. The perfect bait. And I— I was a fool. I let her in. I let her take everything." His lips curled in disgust, whether at the woman or himself, you couldn’t tell. "She made me believe she cared. I was blinded by it, convinced she was loyal to me. But she had her own ambitions, her own alliances. She turned on me the moment I was no longer useful, leaked my weaknesses to the board, let our enemies carve us apart piece by piece." A bitter chuckle rattled in his throat. "And your mother… she couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear me."

The weight of those words landed like a hammer. You had spent your whole life hating that woman. And now, your father’s words only cemented that hatred.

"She destroyed our family," your father choked out, eyes burning with a desperation you had never seen before. "She pretended to be innocent. Sweet. But underneath it—she was poison. Never trust a woman like that." The beeping of the monitor slowed. Your father’s breaths grew shallower.

"Promise me." His trembling fingers gripped your wrist with surprising strength. "Promise me you’ll never let a woman like that fool you. Never fall for their lies." You stared down at him, your jaw tight, your chest burning. You swallowed hard and nodded.

"I promise."

Your father exhaled, a final, ragged breath. Then—silence.

The silence lingered, stretching far beyond the confines of that hospital room. It clung to you, heavy and suffocating, even as the memory began to fade.

"Promise me."

Your father’s words echoed in your skull, the weight of them pressing against your ribs like a vice. You had spent years honoring that promise—guarding yourself, sharpening your instincts, never allowing another woman to wield the same power over you.

Never letting yourself fall.

A sharp knock at the door shattered the stillness.

"Sir?"

You blinked, the hospital walls dissolving into the dark wood paneling of your office. The sterile scent of antiseptic was gone, replaced by the faint traces of whiskey and leather. Your hands, once clenched into fists, relaxed over the mahogany desk. The past bled away, leaving only the present.

Junho stood at the doorway, sharp-eyed and expectant, his fingers resting against the stack of files he carried. He hesitated, his usual confidence tempered by caution. "You didn’t hear me the first time." It wasn’t a question.

You exhaled, pushing a hand through your hair. "What is it?"

Junho stepped forward, placing the documents on your desk. “The arrangements for the wedding are proceeding as planned. But are you really going to marry her?” His gaze flickered, unreadable. “You haven’t met her since the dinner.”

Your fingers tapped against the desk, slow and deliberate. The dinner.

The memory surfaced instantly—the soft clink of silverware, the hushed murmur of conversation, the weight of expectation pressing against your spine. Jiwon sat across from you, wide-eyed, uncertain. But it wasn’t her you had been focused on.

No. It was her.

Jiwon’s stepmother.

The woman who destroyed your mother.

Who led your father to ruin.

Who nearly dragged your entire legacy to the ground.

And now, she sat at the same table, smiling as if none of it had happened, as if the past wasn’t soaked in betrayal and blood.

Your grip on the armrest tightened. The realization was slow, creeping like rot beneath the surface. This was too much of a coincidence. Too perfect.

Jiwon, the innocent, the naive. The girl who had walked into your life like fate itself, who had clung to you in desperation, who had let you take her apart in the dark. A woman like her stepmother wouldn’t leave things to chance.

The scandal.

The convenient fallout.

The marriage proposal wrapped in necessity.

You had walked straight into their hands.

Your stomach twisted, rage curling deep in your chest. Was she always a part of this?

Had every look, every stammer, every trembling touch been nothing but a carefully placed act? A perfect imitation of innocence—just like the woman who came before her?

Your pulse pounded in your ears. I won’t be played again.

This marriage—this whole situation—it was nothing more than a beautifully orchestrated trap. And Jiwon…

Jiwon had led you right into it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The past few weeks had been nothing short of surreal.

Jiwon sat still, her hands resting lightly on her lap, fingers twisting the edge of her lace gloves as strangers filtered in and out of the room, offering polite smiles and murmured congratulations. The air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers, the soft hum of conversation filling the space, but none of it felt real.

It was almost laughable—how quickly everything had changed.

For years, she had been invisible. A ghost in her own home. Her father barely spared her a glance, and when he did, it was with disappointment or indifference. Her stepmother had dismissed her presence altogether, treating her with a cool detachment that bordered on contempt. Jiwon had long since learned to exist quietly, to take up as little space as possible.

But now…

Now, her father greeted her with warm smiles, his voice laced with an unfamiliar fondness whenever he spoke her name. Her stepmother—who had never once held her, never once stroked her hair—now caressed her cheek, whispering about how beautiful she looked, how proud she was.

Everyone who had once ignored her suddenly saw her. Acknowledged her.

It should have felt like a dream. Instead, it felt like a carefully crafted illusion, one she had no control over.

And the man who had promised to stand by her—the man who swore she wouldn’t be alone—

He wasn’t here.

Not once had he checked on her. Not once had he appeared in the past weeks, leaving her alone to navigate this overwhelming shift in her world.

Jiwon swallowed, staring at her reflection in the gilded mirror across the room. The woman who gazed back at her was unfamiliar—dressed in layers of silk and lace, adorned with delicate jewelry that sparkled under the light. Elegant. Poised.

But beneath it all, she felt like a girl lost in the wrong story.

A flurry of voices interrupted her thoughts. More guests approached, smiling, offering their congratulations. Cameras flashed, capturing a moment she wasn’t sure belonged to her.

In just a few minutes, she would walk down the aisle.

And the man waiting for her at the end of it…

He felt further away than ever.

"Hey, Jiwon. You okay? You look… unsure."

Jiwon blinked, snapping out of her thoughts as her friend studied Jiwon with quiet concern.

She forced a smile, pushing aside the unease coiling in her stomach. "I'm fine. I'm just happy you could make it."

"You think I'd miss this?" He scoffed lightly, a teasing lilt to his voice. "Besides, you never really made new friends after coming back from abroad. Someone had to show up for you."

She huffed a small laugh, the familiarity of his presence briefly easing her nerves. "I appreciate it."

"And I still owe you that drink," he added with a smirk, though his gaze softened.

Jiwon hesitated before carefully broaching the subject. "Yunjae…” Jiwon started with his name.

“How’s… everything been? Since that night?"

Yunjae’s expression flickered—just a brief moment of reflection before he gave a small, almost sheepish chuckle. "Well, as you’ve probably heard, a lot changed. Minnie and I… we’re in a much better place now. That night—talking to you—helped me see things clearer. We just needed to actually listen to each other."

Jiwon’s lips parted in surprise before a genuine smile found its way onto her face. "I’m really glad."

"Yeah, me too," he admitted. Then, after a pause, he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I know this might sound funny coming from me, considering how things started, but… congratulations, Jiwon. I really hope you’ll be happy."

Something tightened in her throat. She wished she could say the same for herself with certainty.

"Thank you, Yunjae."

He gave her a small, knowing smile. "I should head inside. Minnie’s probably already waiting for me."

With a final nod, he turned and walked away, leaving Jiwon alone with the weight of everything unsaid.

Just as the silence settled, the doors swung open with a sharp thud. The sound jolted Jiwon, her heart lurching, but the sheer weight of her dress kept her rooted in place.

Her father entered first, shoulders squared, a proud smile curling his lips—too wide, too polished. The kind of smile that never quite reached his eyes. Her stepmother followed closely behind, her movements smooth, calculated, as she shut the doors behind them with a soft click. That same alluring smile played on her lips, a stark contrast to the cold calculation gleaming in her eyes.

Jiwon’s fingers curled into the fabric of her gown. She had expected them, of course. But something about the way they carried themselves—like victors surveying their conquered prize—made the room feel smaller, suffocating.

Her father was the first to speak. "You look beautiful, Jiwon," he mused, his voice warm, almost doting. A mockery of affection. "It’s a proud day for our family."

Jiwon swallowed hard. "I—"

"You're securing our future, after all," her stepmother interjected smoothly, stepping closer. "A true daughter of the Park family."

Something in her tone sent a shiver down Jiwon’s spine. There was a weight behind those words, a meaning she had yet to grasp—but she could feel the edges of it pressing in on her.

Her father hummed in agreement. "And, of course, this marriage is just the beginning. The real victory comes next."

Jiwon’s hands tightened in her lap. "Next?"

Her stepmother tilted her head, feigning sympathy. "Come now, Jiwon. You must understand by now." She let out a soft laugh, as if they were discussing something amusing rather than something terrifying. "A wife’s duty is to bear an heir."

The words dropped like a stone in Jiwon’s stomach.

Her father’s smile didn’t waver. "With a child, we’ll have an unshakable claim over the family. You, Jiwon, will be the mother of the next generation. And once that happens…" He trailed off, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against his wrist.

Her stepmother finished for him, voice like silk. "Once that happens, your husband’s presence in the family will no longer be… necessary."

Jiwon’s breath caught in her throat.

She knew they had their ambitions—had known all her life that her father was ruthless, that her stepmother was cunning. But this—this was something else entirely.

Her father chuckled at her silence. "Don’t look so pale. It’s not as though anything will happen to him—so long as he remains useful."

Jiwon shook her head, her voice trembling. "I won’t—"

Her stepmother tsked, stepping forward until she loomed over Jiwon, her manicured nails ghosting over the fabric of Jiwon’s sleeve. "Jiwon, darling," she murmured, "you’re not rejecting your own father’s wishes, are you? After all he’s done for you?"

Jiwon pressed her lips together, her pulse hammering in her ears.

The older woman sighed, feigning disappointment, before her expression softened into something almost gentle. "Perhaps… you need a little more motivation?"

Jiwon stiffened as her stepmother leaned down, her lips close to Jiwon’s ear.

"Your mother," she whispered. "Did you know? She’s still alive. Hospitalized. Somewhere… far away."

Jiwon’s breath hitched.

Her stepmother smiled, slow and satisfied. "Your father is the only one who knows where. He’s been taking very good care of her all these years."

Jiwon’s stomach twisted violently.

"Would be a shame," her stepmother mused, straightening, "if something were to happen to her, too."

The words weren’t loud, nor were they laced with open malice. But the meaning was as clear as day.

Jiwon’s hands trembled in her lap.

This wasn’t a request. This wasn’t something she could refuse.

Her father exhaled, pleased. "You understand now, don’t you, Jiwon?"

She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat, eyes burning, as she slowly—reluctantly—nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The corridors of the estate were quiet, the air thick with the scent of fresh flowers and polished wood. You barely registered it, your mind occupied with the conversation you had just left behind.

"At least check on her," your grandmother had insisted, her voice laced with exasperation. "She's about to be your wife, whether you like it or not."

You had intended to avoid her—intended to keep your distance until you figured out what exactly you had walked into the night of the dinner. But even you could admit that perhaps you had been too hasty, too quick to assume the worst.

Jiwon wasn’t like her stepmother. Not at first glance, not in the way she carried herself, not in the way she had looked at you that night with startled, hesitant eyes. And yet—

You inhaled sharply, shaking the thought away as you neared the room. The door was slightly ajar, the soft murmur of voices filtering through the gap. You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But the moment you caught Jiwon’s father voice, low and brimming with satisfaction, you stilled.

"With a child, we’ll have an unshakable claim over the family."

A chill curled down your spine.

"Once that happens, your husband’s presence in the family will no longer be… necessary."

Your breath stilled.

"It’s not as though anything will happen to him—so long as he remains useful."

Something inside you snapped taut, the words sinking their claws deep into your chest.

You stepped back before you could stop yourself, your pulse pounding in your ears. The voices continued, but you heard no more.

Your presence was temporary. You were a stepping stone. A means to an end.

And Jiwon—

A sharp, bitter laugh nearly escaped you.

Jiwon was part of it, after all.

That innocence, that wide-eyed hesitation—it had all been an act. A carefully constructed lie, just like her stepmother before her. And like a fool, you had almost believed otherwise.

Your jaw clenched as you turned away, footsteps measured, calculated, as you left.

You had been right all along.

Jiwon had trapped you. And now?

Now, she would have to live with the consequences.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jiwon remained in her seat long after the door had closed, the silence pressing in around her like a tightening noose. Her fingers curled around the hem of her dress, knuckles turning white. She had agreed.

She had agreed.

The words rang in her head, hollow and inescapable. It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen it coming—the moment her father’s voice had turned cold, she had known there would be no escape. But knowing and feeling were two different things. And now, sitting alone in this unfamiliar room, the weight of her decision finally began to settle in her bones.

Her mother.

Jiwon’s throat tightened. The moment she had seen the frail woman’s trembling hands, the way her thin fingers clutched at her sleeves, she had known. Her mother had always been her weakness. Not because she was weak, but because she had once been Jiwon’s entire world. Before the stepmother, before the decline.

Before everything fell apart.

Even when their father had been cruel, even when he threw words like stones, they had each other. She could still remember the nights spent huddled together, her mother brushing her hair and whispering stories about a future where they would be free. A future that never came.

The timing had never been lost on Jiwon. Her mother’s health had started declining not long after the woman who now called herself her stepmother arrived. At first, it had been subtle—exhaustion, small lapses in memory, a persistent cough. But as the months passed, she had withered, shrinking into a shadow of the woman Jiwon once knew. By then, her father had already turned his affections elsewhere. And Jiwon, too young and too powerless, had been forced to watch as the person she loved most in the world was quietly erased.

A sharp knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. She barely had time to compose herself before it swung open.

He stepped inside, his presence filling the room like an approaching storm. It was the first time she had seen him since the dinner, and if she had harbored any hopes of warmth, they died the moment his eyes met hers.

Cold. Distant. Unreadable.

Her fingers clenched tighter around the fabric of her dress.

The man who had decided her fate stood before her, and yet, she still couldn’t tell if he saw her as anything more than a piece in a game she didn’t understand.

He studied her for a long moment, the silence stretching between them like a blade poised to strike. Then, finally, he spoke.

“Our arrangement,” he said, his voice smooth but edged with something unreadable, “will be simple.”

Jiwon remained silent, waiting.

“I won’t interfere with your life, and you won’t interfere with mine. We will play the roles required of us, but beyond that, you are nothing to me.”

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver through her. It wasn’t a declaration; it was a challenge. As if he expected her to protest, to resist. But she didn’t.

His gaze flickered, as though he had anticipated something more from her. He took a step closer, and she forced herself not to recoil.

“You should know,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, “I could have backed out at any moment.”

Jiwon’s breath hitched.

“I still could,” he added, his tone calculated, measured. “But I won’t. If your father thinks he can push me into a corner, he’s mistaken.”

The implication was clear. He knew. Maybe not everything, but enough to recognize her father’s ambitions. And yet, he had chosen to go through with it anyway.

Before she could think of how to respond, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle, placing it on the table between them.

“Take one every day,” he instructed. “If you miss a dose, I’ll know.”

Jiwon stared at the container, her stomach twisting. Birth control.

He was ensuring that no matter what, there would be no child between them.

“If you want to stay married to me,” he said, voice quiet but firm, “you’ll take these until the day you die.”

Jiwon swallowed. There was no room for refusal. And so, as always, she didn’t disagree.

The wedding hall was vast, lined with golden chandeliers and pristine white florals, a vision of perfection that felt strangely distant to Jiwon. The sea of guests blurred together, a collection of unfamiliar faces, their expressions unreadable. This was not a day of love or joy—it was a spectacle, a performance they were expected to play their parts in.

She walked down the aisle, each step measured, her fingers clutching the bouquet like a lifeline. Her dress trailed behind her, heavy with fabric and expectation. At the end of the aisle, he stood waiting.

The man she was to marry.

His expression was unreadable, his stance composed and indifferent. He did not offer his hand, did not look at her with warmth. There was no illusion between them, no false pretense of affection. Only an arrangement, a binding contract disguised as vows.

Their words were hollow, exchanged with a detachment that felt suffocating. Promises of forever that neither of them believed. When it came time for the kiss, she braced herself.

And then he kissed her.

It was not soft. Not hesitant. His lips pressed against hers with a force that stole the air from her lungs. There was nothing tender in the way he claimed her, nothing gentle. It was hunger—raw and unapologetic, a quiet declaration of possession rather than devotion.

When he pulled away, she barely had time to catch her breath before the ceremony continued. Applause rang in the air, meaningless and distant. The rest of the night was a blur of faces, empty smiles, and whispered congratulations that felt like a cruel joke. Jiwon drifted through it all, numb, her mind unable to process the weight of what had just happened.

By the time they arrived at their new home, exhaustion clung to her like a second skin. The large estate loomed before her, unfamiliar and unwelcoming. He entered first, not sparing her a glance, not offering a single word.

Jiwon followed, struggling under the weight of her luggage. He didn’t moved to help her, didn’t acknowledged her struggle. And as she stood at the threshold, her fingers tightening around the handle of her suitcase, she realized—this was how it would be.

Alone.

She stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her, sealing her fate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sit at the edge of the master bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room. The exhaustion of the day settles deep in your bones, but the weight pressing on your chest has nothing to do with fatigue. The remnants of the wedding still cling to you—the scent of roses, the suffocating formality, the hollow vows exchanged before strangers.

Dressed in a fresh bathrobe, your damp hair cools your skin as you skim through your tablet, searching for a moment of solitude. The bed behind you remains untouched, pristine except for the rose petals carefully arranged in the shape of a heart—an unspoken expectation you refuse to acknowledge.

Then, a knock at the door.

You don’t react at first, your eyes still fixed on the screen. Silence stretches between the knocks and the inevitable click of the door unlocking. You already know who it is.

Jiwon steps inside, wrapped in a bathrobe identical to yours. The delicate scent of soap and damp skin trails after her. She hesitates, closing the door behind her with quiet deliberation, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeves. Uncertain. Guarded.

You lift your gaze, watching her.

The sight of her stirs something sharp in your chest. Hatred, you tell yourself. Resentment. She’s an intruder in your life, a pawn willingly placed by her father, another person trying to get too close. And yet, beneath it, there is something darker. Something possessive.

Your grip on the tablet tightens for a second before you set it aside.

“You’re here,” you say, your voice unreadable.

You knew she would come. Expected it. She had no choice but to. And yet, the fact that she approached you first—however hesitant—baffles you. It almost amuses you, the way she’s trying to be brave.

She must really be that obedient to follow her father’s scheme.

Your gaze lingers on her, unreadable. Then, with quiet authority, you break the silence.

“Why are you just standing there?” Your voice is steady, edged with something unspoken. “Come here.”

She flinches—barely—but obeys, her steps hesitant yet quick, as if afraid of hesitating too long.

Now she stands before you, close enough that you can see the way her fingers clench at her sleeves, the way her breath is measured, controlled. You remain seated on the bed, watching her.

Studying her.

Her face is calm, carefully composed, but it does little to hide the truth. She’s visibly nervous—fidgeting, hesitant—looking so vulnerable, so innocent. Almost convincing.

But you know better.

You know her goal, the schemes she’s woven with her father—the quiet ambition hidden beneath her downcast eyes. To bear your child. To secure her place.

Still, as she stands before you, fragile in the dim light, you find yourself wondering… which one is real?

You stand up, walking past her toward the bedside drawer.

Her eyes follow your every movement.

“Did you take what I gave you earlier?” Your voice is calm, measured, as you retrieve an identical container to the one you had given her before.

Behind you, her voice wavers. “I—I did.”

Hesitation. A crack in her certainty. You don’t trust her.

“Did you really?”

You turn to face her, closing the distance between you. She tilts her head back slightly, forced to meet your gaze.

“Ye—”

Before she can finish, you grip her cheeks, prying her mouth open as you shove the birth control pill inside, pressing it down with your fingers.

Her eyes widen in shock, a muffled protest escaping as her tongue instinctively fights against the intrusion. But she swallows—she has no choice.

Your fingers linger, pressing down on her tongue, feeling the warmth, the slick resistance. When you pull away, you grip her tongue briefly, tilting her chin up as you inspect her mouth. No tricks. No lies.

A thin strand of saliva clings to your fingers as you finally release her.

She coughs slightly, breath unsteady, staring at you in disbelief. “What was that?”

You sit back on the bed, meeting her gaze as you bring your fingers to your lips, sucking them clean with deliberate ease.

“Extra precaution.”

She stood still, accepting your answer without question.

"Strip."

The command hung in the air, firm and unquestionable. She flinched, surprise flashing across her face, but she obeyed.

With hesitant fingers, she loosened the knot at her waist. The bathrobe slipped from her shoulders, gliding down her smooth skin before pooling soundlessly at her feet.

A deep blush spread across her cheeks, her hair falling forward in a vain attempt to shield her shyness. Her arms instinctively crossed over her chest, hiding the soft curves of her bare peaks.

The ambient glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm sheen over her stomach, the smooth expanse of skin taut with restrained tension. Her legs pressed together, her posture curling inward as her hand covered the last remnant of her modesty.

"Good girl."

Your praise was quiet, yet heavy with meaning.

Reaching out, you grasped her wrist, pulling her closer. She resisted—barely—but you easily moved her hand aside. Your other hand traced along her thigh, parting them ever so slightly, revealing her core, wet by her own liquid.

A smirk tugged at your lips.

"What a good wife you are," you murmur, your voice laced with a disturbing amusement. "Already so ready to please me."

Her response catches in her throat—"I—I…"—the words failing her as if the weight of expectation leaves her speechless.

Your hand slides along the curve of her folds, teasing and tracing the delicate creases of her skin. With each measured stroke, your finger becomes slick with her natural arousal. A muffled moan escapes her as her free hand flies to cover her mouth.

Gently, yet inexorably, you press your finger deeper—soaked in her arousal—until it enters her fully. A small gasp betrays her internal struggle as she adjusts to your unyielding pace.

You begin slowly, gradually increasing your movements. Her soft moans rise in hesitant tempo, each one matching the growing rhythm of your advances. Then, you introduce another finger. Her head tilts back involuntarily as you refuse to give her a moment’s reprieve.

"Ahh— no, wait..." she pleads, her voice laced with desperate uncertainty. Yet you do not relent. Instead, you curl your fingers in a deliberate arc, eliciting a sharper shriek from her. With practiced precision, you place your hand over her clit, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles.

"I… can't... Nnnnggfff..." she struggles against the tide, her words a broken plea amid the mounting intensity. Her hands grip your arm, desperate to slow you down, as her back arches from the force of your intrusion. Her legs tremble, slowly giving out as her body leans on you for support.

"Ah— nnghh..." she murmurs, the sound a conflicted blend of surrender and resistance. Her hand reaches for your shoulder, seeking any anchor to stave off the overwhelming surge. Her body spasms; the tension in her inner walls tightens around your finger, and a rush of her arousal escapes in a final, quivering release.

Abruptly, you withdraw, moving swiftly to grasp her waist as her legs buckle beneath her. You catch her, steadying her as she struggles to remain upright. Her eyes lift to meet yours—wide, searching, and filled with the heavy cadence of labored breaths as she fights to reclaim control.

You watch her, admiring the way her eyes close in ecstasy, and a sudden realization washes over you.

"Haven't I been spoiling you?" you murmur, recalling every stolen moment—in the hotel, in the car—where you’ve consistently taken the lead, always giving pleasure without receiving the same in return.

"I always take the lead. You’ve yet to return the favor," you add, your tone both teasing and expectant.

Jiwon’s expression betrays a mix of understanding and uncertainty. Unsure of how to respond, she remains silent. You close the distance between you, capturing her lips in a deep, hungry kiss. Your tongues meet and clash in a fervent dance, exchanging heated promises with every breath.

Abruptly, you break the kiss, gently pushing her chin aside to examine her flushed, expectant face. "Kneel," you command.

Without hesitation, she sinks slowly between your knees. Her head lifts to meet yours as you cradle her chin, holding her in place. Her hand wanders to your lap, her eyes shimmering with anticipation as if silently asking what will come next. You trace a slow, deliberate path along her lips with your thumb, savoring the soft warmth as they part slightly.

Leaning in once more, you capture her lips with another searing kiss. You deepen the kiss, then abruptly pull back—a teasing farewell that leaves her yearning for more.

"Well… it’s about time you did something," you say, guiding her hand toward the concealed promise beneath your robe. Her gaze shifts from your eyes to the unmistakable bulge, and with trembling fingers she slips aside the fabric, revealing your erection in all its evidence.

For a long moment, she stares at it, as if trying to reconcile the raw desire before her with the uncertain spark in her own eyes. Gently, you take her hand, guiding it to the sensitive flesh. Her skin is warm under your touch, and as she hesitantly grasps you, you can almost feel the electric pulse of her uncertainty mingling with burgeoning confidence. With measured strokes, you lead her hand along the length of you, the sensations building slowly into an undeniable rhythm.

"That's it... good girl," you murmur, your voice a deep, approving rumble as you watch her confidence grow with every careful stroke. You cup her cheeks, tilting her head upward so that your eyes lock in a wordless conversation of need and surrender. Her hands come to rest momentarily, leaving her lips glistening with anticipation. You trace your fingers along her parted lips, sliding them open with deliberate slowness, savoring the taste of her warm, inviting mouth.

Meeting her gaze again, you softly command, "Jiwon... I want to feel them."

Her hesitant whisper, "Y-you want me to...?" trembles in the charged air, and with a barely perceptible nod of your head, she understands. Inch by inch, she moves closer, positioning herself more deliberately between your legs. You sense the gentle quiver of her skin as she aligns herself, every inch of her body alive with a mix of trepidation and desire.

"I don't know how..." her voice quavers, uncertainty mingling with desire as she prepares herself.

"Kiss it," you instruct, your tone both commanding and gentle.

She leans in, and you feel the delicate warmth of her breath caress the sensitive tip. Her lips make contact—a tentative, feather-light tap that soon deepens as they press against you. You close your eyes for a moment, the sensation of her soft, pliant lips against your skin sending a surge of pleasure rippling through you. Her tongue, at your urging, begins a slow, deliberate exploration, its texture smooth and almost liquid as it swirls around you like a whispered promise.

Without pausing, she takes you deeper, her mouth enveloping you with a hunger that is both raw and exquisitely controlled. "You don’t have to take it all," you murmur, a playful lilt in your voice, "just take what you can. Don’t be greedy." Her movements adjust, each soft, rhythmic bob eliciting a cascade of sensations that pulse through you like electric fire. The soft, wet sounds of her ministrations blend with your own heavy breathing, creating a symphony of raw desire.

"You're a natural," you praise, urging her, "use your tongue." Her eyes lift to meet yours—a silent challenge and invitation—and her tongue resumes its languid, swirling dance.

A low groan escapes you, and you weave your fingers through her hair, feeling its silky texture, as you grip it firmly. Her hand returns to you, stroking with a confident rhythm that matches the escalating heat coursing through your veins. "Jiwon, I'm close..." you confess, the words vibrating with urgency. Instantly, her pace quickens, her motions becoming a blend of gentle precision and fervent need.

The sensations build—each movement, each taste, each whispered moan intensifies the delicious pressure that coalesces within you. With a sudden, overwhelming rush, you climax. You pull her head closer, guiding her to savor every drop of your release as it spills out in hot, heavy waves. The warmth of your essence mingles with her taste, a heady cocktail that electrifies every nerve ending. Her hand instinctively grips your legs, a desperate effort to slow the inevitable tide, tears form in her eyes, yet you hold her firmly in your embrace.

As you finally relent, you gently free her, steadying her trembling form as she staggers slightly, breath ragged and eyes wide with the aftershocks of pleasure. Her lips, still glistening with the remnants of your intensity, part in a silent, awe-filled query.

You cradle her face once more, your fingers soft yet insistent as they squeeze her cheeks and pry open her mouth. "That’s bad etiquette, your supposed to show it to me next time." you explain, your voice a low murmur of possessive satisfaction. In that charged moment, the heady blend of taste, warmth, and the lingering thrill of domination cements the unspoken pact between you—a promise of indulgence, control, and an ever-deepening exploration of every tantalizing sensation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Jiwon slowly gathered herself, she could still feel the lingering warmth of his release on her skin, the taste and texture of him clinging to her fingertips as she involuntarily spat out the remnants. The cool air of the room mingled with the residual heat of their union, and she shivered—not solely from the chill, but from the tumult of emotions that surged within her.

Before she could collect her scattered thoughts, she felt his gentle touch on her cheeks. Kneeling beside her, his presence was paradoxically tender and possessive as he reached out with the soft fabric of his bathrobe to dab away the tears staining her flushed skin. The unexpected care, so unlike the harshness that usually followed, startled her into a fleeting blush.

“Tha—thank you,” she managed in a trembling whisper, her voice thick with conflicting gratitude and apprehension.

“You did a good job,” he murmured, his tone imbued with a chilling mix of praise and predation. “Now, it’s time for your reward.”

“Wha—”

Jiwon barely had time to react before he lifted her with ease, placing her back onto the bed. Her breath hitched, body still trembling from the mix of emotions left in the wake of his touch. Gentle one moment. Cruel the next. She should have expected it.

Her hips teetered at the edge of the mattress, and he stood between her parted knees, his hands firm against them, keeping her exactly where he wanted.

‘He's watching me.’

‘Studying me.’

She swallowed as his smirk deepened.

“Isn’t it the wife’s duty to bear a child?”

Jiwon’s nails pressed into the sheets. There it was. The test. The first of many, no doubt.

“Isn’t that what you want?”

Her throat tightened. What she wanted? If she laughed, would he see how bitter it sounded? If she cried, would he believe it was an act?

“To be bred?”

Her stomach twisted. He was daring her to reveal herself. Daring her to slip—to prove that she was exactly what he thought she was.

But she couldn’t slip. Not now. Not ever.

‘I didn’t want this.’

‘But I can’t fight it, either.’

‘I have to stay.’

‘I have to endure.’

‘Because if I leave, I lose him completely.’

Her father’s threats still echoed in her head. She could see the cold calculation in the man standing before her, waiting for her reaction, waiting to confirm his suspicions.

So she took a slow, steady breath, willed her expression into something soft, something patient—something that might make him hesitate, just for a second.

And then, she whispered…

“If that’s what you think I want…”

She lifted her gaze to his, unblinking, unwavering.

“Then take me, husband.”

His smirk faltered. Just for a moment. But she saw it.

Without a second's pause, his throbbing cock slammed into her. The suddenness made her bite her lip hard—she gritted her teeth as his tip plunged deep, stretching her tight, yet her slick walls clamped down like they were hungry for every inch. He didn't hesitate at all; he moved inside her like a man on a mission.

“Ahh—please take me…” she moaned, voice raw and desperate.

He shifted, hoisting himself up so that his weight crashed into her hips, pounding her hard against the bed. Every thrust sent a brutal surge of pleasure through her, her mind turning to mush as he filled her up relentlessly.

“Mmngh… it feels… good…” she managed between ragged breaths.

He leaned in close, his pace only ratcheting up as he grabbed one of her breasts and sucked on it roughly. With every forceful stroke, her knuckles went white from gripping the sheets. She could feel him pulsing inside her, each burst of heat making her walls grip him tighter.

“Fuck… Jiwon, I'm cumming,” he growled, his seed erupting deep within her.

As he exploded, her body shuddered, spasming beneath his relentless pace. Her insides burned with warmth as she felt his hot liquid flood through her. Gasping for air, she lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling as the raw intensity washed over her.

Jiwon barely had time to catch her breath before he flipped her over, her legs straddling his waist, her sore, used core pressing against his still-hard cock. Her body twitched, overstimulated, slick with sweat and his release.

Her breath hitched—hot, shaky. She could still feel him inside her, the raw stretch, the pulsing heat of his cum coating her walls. It was filthy, overwhelming, and worst of all, addictive.

Her thighs trembled as she tried to adjust, but his hands gripped her hips, keeping her locked in place. Dominant. Demanding.

“You’re not done,” he murmured, voice low, rough.

A whimper caught in her throat.

Her body knew what he wanted before her mind could protest. The ache between her legs burned, but the way he stretched her, filled her—owned her—sent another pulse of heat straight to her core.

She bit her lip, dizzy, drunk on the mix of pain and pleasure.

She should resist. She should fight. But instead, her hips rolled forward, sinking down onto him again.

And just like that, she was his all over again.

You feel her soft, slick heat as her hips roll forward again, claiming you once more. Every thrust drives home that undeniable truth: she’s yours—if only for this moment. With a low, possessive growl, you murmur in her ear, "You're mine now, Jiwon. My wife. You belong to me." The words slice through the heavy air, and you see a flicker in her eyes—a mix of desire and submission that only fuels your obsession.

Each powerful thrust becomes a tease, a reminder that she’s married to you now. You hammer into her with relentless precision, your hands gripping her hips like anchors, as you whisper, "You're married to me, baby. And every time you give in, you show me you're mine." The admission is as raw as it is maddening—there’s a burning need inside you to claim her completely, even as a bitter edge lingers knowing she isn’t fully yours.

Your movements grow more intense, faster, as you savor her muffled moans and the way her body trembles beneath your control. "You're mine, all mine," you taunt, your voice rough with desire and a hint of anger at the parts of her still beyond your reach. Every time she shudders against you, it only deepens your fixation, stoking the fire of your obsession.

The rhythm builds—a brutal, primal cadence that leaves both of you teetering on the edge. You feel the mounting pressure in your core, each pulse of pleasure a desperate claim staked on her body. With a final, powerful surge, you push her to the brink, the heat of her response mingling with your own as you both climax in a searing explosion of raw, unyielding passion.

In that explosive moment, as you collapse into a ragged pant and feel her trembling around you, you remind yourself: she’s yours, even if not completely. And that thought, as addictive as it is infuriating, leaves you craving more—more of her, more of the thrill of the chase, and more of the undeniable power that comes from claiming her, if only for tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing Jiwon noticed upon waking was warmth.

A steady, suffocating heat pressed against her back, an arm locked firmly around her waist, pinning her in place. For a moment, she forgot where she was, the scent of unfamiliar cologne pulling her from the haze of sleep. Then, as the memories of last night settled in, she froze.

His grip was possessive even in sleep, fingers curled against the fabric of her nightgown as if unconsciously staking his claim. His breathing was steady, deep—utterly at ease, unlike the man she had faced hours ago.

Jiwon turned her head slightly, careful not to disturb him. His face, relaxed in slumber, lacked the sharp edges of cruelty he wore so easily when awake. It would have been easy to mistake this moment as something tender, something intimate.

But she knew better.

Slowly, delicately, she moved. His hold tightened briefly before slackening, and with a patient, measured effort, she slipped from beneath his grasp. The sheets rustled as she sat up, brushing her hair back as she exhaled softly.

She had endured.

And she had won.

A quiet, wry smile played on her lips as she recalled the flicker of hesitation in his eyes last night. A test, he had called it, but wasn’t she testing him too? Every step she took, every word she spoke—each one was carefully measured, carefully placed. She would prove herself, not through grand gestures or desperate pleas, but through patience.

Through endurance.

With renewed resolve, Jiwon rose, slipping into a robe as she made her way to the kitchen.

Cooking had never been something expected of her, but she had learned in the moments she needed to. And today, she needed to.

The kitchen was unfamiliar but elegant, the kind of space meant for functionality rather than warmth. She moved quietly, tying her sleeves back as she set to work. By the time the sun fully broke past the horizon, a modest breakfast had been laid out—a bowl of warm rice, side dishes arranged neatly, and a pot of fresh tea waiting beside them.

Jiwon sat, fingers brushing the rim of her teacup, waiting.

The sound of a door opening signaled his arrival.

He emerged from the bedroom fully dressed, his presence effortlessly commanding as he adjusted his cufflinks. He didn’t spare her a glance at first, his focus entirely on the watch he fastened around his wrist.

Then, finally, his gaze flickered toward the table.

Jiwon straightened, offering a soft smile. “Good morning.”

He didn’t return it. Instead, his eyes swept over the meal before returning to her, unreadable.

“You’re eager,” he remarked, voice edged with something she couldn’t quite place.

Jiwon remained composed, lifting the teapot to pour him a cup. “I thought it would be nice to eat together.”

His lips curled, but it wasn’t a smile. “You’re rather good at this, aren’t you?”

She stilled slightly, glancing up. “At what?”

“At playing the role.”

The words were sharp, cutting.

“You act like the perfect wife—cooking, smiling, waiting patiently.” He stepped past the table, reaching for his coat. “But devotion doesn’t come so easily, does it?”

Jiwon’s fingers tightened around the porcelain cup, but her smile never wavered.

He shrugged on his jacket, glancing at her one last time. “Keep pretending, Jiwon. You’re good at that.”

Then, without another word, he turned and left.

The door shut behind him with a soft but final click.

Jiwon sat there, the morning light spilling across the table, the warmth of the untouched meal cooling by the second.

She exhaled, forcing down the sting of his words.

He didn’t appreciate her effort. That much was clear.

But that was fine.

She had known from the start that this wouldn’t be easy.

So she would endure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day drags on longer than it should.

You sit in your office, drowning in paperwork, drowning in thoughts you don’t want to have. No matter how many meetings you sit through, how many reports you skim over, your mind keeps circling back to her. Jiwon. Her voice, her presence, the way she had looked at you this morning with quiet understanding despite the venom in your words.

It frustrates you. It infuriates you.

You don’t want to think about her.

And yet, as the day turns to night, as the city lights blur past the window of your car, you realize you’re anticipating the sight of her waiting at home.

By the time you step through the door, the house is silent, but not empty. The first thing you see is her—head resting on folded arms, her body slumped forward against the dining table. The soft rise and fall of her shoulders tells you she’s asleep.

Your gaze shifts. The table is set. A meal untouched, slightly cooled, waiting for someone who never arrived.

You pause. Something twists in your chest, unfamiliar and unwanted.

Then, as if sensing you, she stirs. Her lashes flutter, and she blinks sleepily, eyes meeting yours.

She doesn’t complain. Doesn’t scold. Instead, she straightens, quickly smoothing her hair, adjusting her her blouse, straightening her skirt as if she had never dozed off. A small smile finds her lips.

"You're home," she says softly, as if the hour doesn’t matter, as if she isn’t tired.

She moves to tidy the table, but you step forward. Closer than she expects.

She stills.

The space between you shrinks, suffocatingly close. You see the way her breath catches, the way her fingers twitch slightly, caught off guard.

"Sit," you say, voice lower than intended. "Eat with me."

She hesitates for just a second before nodding, slipping into obedience like it’s second nature. She acts perfect. Too perfect.

Not a single question about why you’re late. No complaints, no discontent, just quiet acceptance. She plays the role of a devoted wife flawlessly.

So flawlessly it’s insulting.

Her eyes hold nothing but innocence, and that alone makes you hate her.

How can she look at you like that? As if she’s pure, as if she’s untouched by the circumstances that brought you together. As if she isn’t just as tangled in the lies, in the schemes, in the things left unspoken between you.

It’s condescending.

It’s infuriating.

And before you realize it, you’re closing the distance completely, fingers curling around her wrist as you pull her toward you. She barely has time to react before your lips crash against hers.

A gasp. A shiver.

Then she melts.

Not fighting. Not pushing away.

Because of course, she wouldn’t.

You lift her with ease, carrying her toward the bedroom. A blur of heat and desperation, of control slipping through your fingers.

She lets you take her. Because she wants you to trust her.

Because she wants to.

You sit her at the edge of the bed, standing before her, watching. Her breath is uneven, her flushed face tilted up, eyes locked onto yours. There's something different now—a shift. The same hesitance lingers, but beneath it, a quiet resolve. A waiting.

You pause, searching her expression, hoping—no, daring her—to break the silence, to say something that isn’t just compliance. But before you can push, before you can test her further, she moves first.

Jiwon reaches for you, her fingers brushing your jaw, then gripping, pulling you closer with a force that surprises you. And then her lips crash into yours—clumsy, desperate, but deep.

For the first time, she takes the lead.

You stiffen, startled, but the hesitation is brief. Her kiss is unpracticed, unsteady, but there's no mistaking the hunger behind it. It’s raw, unfiltered, and it ignites something sharp in your chest. A slow-burning ache.

You let her pull you down, her body shifting back as you follow, both of you sinking into the bed. The warmth of her beneath you, the way her breath hitches as your weight presses her down—it feeds something dark and possessive inside you.

She’s yours.

But is this surrender, or something else? A game? A test?

You pull back just enough to look into her eyes, searching, challenging. She meets your gaze, lips parted, her fingers still gripping you as if afraid you'd slip away.

She’s not afraid.

She wants this.

And that realization undoes you more than it should.

You lean in, pressing your lips against her neck and trailing heated kisses along the sensitive skin, feeling her soft gasps escape as your mouth travels toward her throat. Your hands work quickly, unbuttoning her blouse to reveal the delicate line of her bra. With a swift motion, you pull it aside, exposing her supple breast, which you immediately take into your mouth, sucking on it with an eager, possessive hunger. Her low, purring “Hnnng…” vibrates against your lips.

Never pausing, your hands move to loosen the rest of her clothes. Her hips respond instinctively—lifting as her skirt slides away to pool at the bed’s edge. You trail your kisses down to her stomach, letting your lips brush softly against her skin as your hands adjust, preemptively parting her thighs to guide you toward her center.

You slide her panties aside, exposing every enticing curve of her wet folds. Breathing in her arousal, you plunge your tongue inside, tasting her heat. A soft “Ahn—” escapes her as you explore her depths, your tongue playing over her sensitive core. You flick her clit teasingly before taking it fully into your mouth, sucking with a deliberate, insistent rhythm. Her wetness mixes with your saliva as you delve into her, every movement igniting sparks of desire.

“Jiwon… you keep gushing out, no matter how much I suck,” you murmur with a husky edge, a mixture of amusement and dark satisfaction in your tone.

“Wait—” she protests, her voice tight with the mounting pleasure.

You don’t relent. “I said—wait—” you command, though your actions speak louder than any pause ever could.

“Please… I’m… cumming—” she gasps, and her body betrays her words as it surges toward climax. In an explosive moment, her release splatters across your face—hot, sticky, and all-consuming. “Ahh…” she cries out as her body arches in ecstasy, then adds with a hint of mortification, “I—told you to wait—.”

“No problem…” you reply, wiping your face casually as her body continues to convulse on the bed. “Jiwon—you’re still twitching,” you tease with a grin, your voice low and laced with possessiveness.

Gently, you shift her so that a soft pillow cradles her head, offering her a brief moment of rest as you unzip your pants and pull out your throbbing cock. She watches every movement with wide, anticipatory eyes. Positioning yourself between her spread legs, you begin to rub your length along her slick, inviting entrance.

“Don’t worry, just relax and I’ll put it in—” you whisper. You search her face for signs of nervousness, but instead find her eyes locked on your cock—not with hesitation, but with burning anticipation and a subtle, impatient squirm of her hips. You almost laugh at the transformation: the Jiwon who once carried an air of innocence now succumbs to raw lust, unable to wait any longer.

“Ah… haah…” she pants as you slowly push inside her, pausing to savor her reaction. For a moment, she looks up at you in confusion, then stammers, “You— you can move,” her embarrassment masking the depth of her desire.

Her words barely register as her moans intensify. “It’s so deep…” she murmurs through gasps, the sensation overwhelming her senses. The sound of her voice provokes you, and you grip her feet, pressing them together while your hands hold her ankles high, forcing her thighs closed around you. Her hips rise instinctively as you tease, “Do you like it deep?” ramping up your pace, every thrust a declaration of ownership.

“You fit me so well, Jiwon…” you murmur, the possessiveness in your tone unmistakable. Her hands fly to her mouth, as if to stifle her own words, but you’re far from finished. You move her hand to her lips and then guide her mouth to your ear, demanding, “Let me hear you, Jiwon—moan for me… tell me how good you feel… swear for me.”

You set aside her legs and lean in closer, folding her over you as you pump her harder, each thrust a wild rhythm that echoes through the dark room. “Fu—fuuckk… it feels so good,” she swears hesitantly, her voice raw with lust and surrender.

“Good girl,” you praise her, your tone a mix of command and satisfaction as her moans grow louder. “I’m… close…” she confesses, breath ragged as the heat and pressure push her toward her peak.

You lean in, your voice a low growl as you demand, “Whose wife are you, Jiwon?”

“Yours,” she gasps, the truth spilling out in the heat of the moment.

“Whose cock are you getting off to?”

“You… yours,” she replies without hesitation.

“Who owns you?” you press, your words a final, irresistible challenge.

Before she can complete her sentence, your own climax hits. With one final, desperate thrust, you release deep inside her, your seed marking her as undeniably yours.

“Good girl,” you murmur again, a possessive smile tugging at your lips as you gaze into her eyes—eyes that reflect satisfaction, comfort, and an undeniable, reluctant affection.

As her body slowly relaxes and her moans fade into soft breaths, you catch a whispered, unexpected question. “Do—do you want more?”

That single query ignites you anew. With a fierce grin and a burning need, you pull her close, ready to continue the savage dance of desire. The night stretches out before you—each moment a relentless, raw reclamation of her body and soul. You fuck her repeatedly as the hours melt away, every thrust, every whispered command forging an unbreakable link between you two.

With each round, your dominance and obsession deepen—a potent mix of pleasure, pain, and the undeniable thrill of claiming what is half-yours, half-her own. As the night fades into a haze of lust and sweat, you continue your brutal, passionate conquest, knowing that in this dark, endless moment, she is irrevocably and utterly yours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jiwon stirred awake, warmth enveloping her in the quiet of the morning. The sheets tangled around her bare skin, the lingering scent of last night still present in the air. She turned her head slightly, eyes landing on him—peaceful, unguarded in sleep. His arm was draped over her waist, his fingers curled lightly against her side, as if unconsciously holding onto her.

A small, secret smile formed on her lips.

For a moment, she allowed herself to believe. To believe that last night had meant something. That the passion he had poured into her, the way he had claimed her over and over again, was more than just a response to his own torment. That maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to let her in.

Carefully, she reached up, her fingertips ghosting over his cheek, tracing the strong line of his jaw. He had been different last night—less cruel, less guarded. She had whispered his name like a prayer, breathless and undone beneath him, her body surrendering completely, her voice filled with lewd, desperate pleas for more. And he had given her everything.

Last night, she had belonged to him in every possible way.

Her fingers trailed lower, brushing against his lips.

Then, his eyes opened.

For a moment, there was something soft in them—something almost like contentment. He stared at her, the corner of his mouth twitching, as if on the verge of a smile.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

His gaze darkened, his expression turning to stone. Without a word, he flicked her hand away, the contact breaking as if it burned him.

Jiwon barely had time to process the shift before he was already moving, throwing the sheets off as he sat up, his back to her. Without sparing her another glance, he stood and strode toward the bathroom, the door closing with a sharp click.

The warmth she had felt just moments ago faded, replaced with something hollow.

She swallowed, forcing herself to breathe. Then, slowly, she gathered herself, slipping out of bed and into her robe.

If last night had taught her anything, it was that she couldn’t let this shake her.

By the time he emerged from the room, freshly dressed and ready to leave, Jiwon had already set the table, breakfast neatly arranged. She turned to greet him, her voice soft, carefully measured.

“Good morning.”

His steps faltered for the briefest second, his expression tightening as he took in the sight of her. The tension in his shoulders increased, his scowl deepening as if her very presence offended him.

Then, without a word, he walked past her, grabbing his coat on the way out. The door shut firmly behind him, the sound echoing in the empty space.

Jiwon stood still, her hands resting lightly on the back of a chair. Her gaze lingered on the untouched plates, the food now growing cold.

Last night, she had felt closer to him than ever before. The way he had touched her, the way he had whispered against her skin, the way she had surrendered to him, her voice raw with devotion—it had felt real. But now, in the light of morning, he was more distant than ever.

She bit her lip, her fingers tightening against the wood.

She had changed, hadn’t she? The innocent girl from before would have never acted the way she did last night. She would have never begged for him, never cursed in her moans, never admitted—without shame—that she was his.

He had ruined her.

Or perhaps… she had let him.

a/n: Part 4 comming....

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #Jiwon smut #fromis 9 smut #fromis 9 #park jiwon #qwilorg

284 notes · View notes

yeoningz · 14 hours ago

Text

CAUGHT BETWEEN THE PAGES ⋆˚࿔ 최수빈

your professor catches you reading a not-so-safe-for-school book in the middle of his class. in an effort to make things better, you fear that you may have just made them worse.

⧼ 📖 ⧽ 一 pairing ⸝⸝⸝ professor!choi soobin ✗ student!fem!reader includes ⚬ ⚬ ⚬ beomgyu and yeonjun of tomorrow x together, dino of seventeen, giselle and karina of aespa

genre ⚬ ⚬ ⚬ smut, fluff, porn with plot, comedy

warnings ⸝⸝⸝ teacher/student, age gaps, power play, light dom/sub dynamics, switch! to soft dom!soobin, masterbation (f. rec), erotic literature, explicit language and sexual content, spanking, cumming in pants, dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, name calling (slut), wet dreams, impact play, oral (m. rec), facefucking, deepthroat, big dick soobin, doggy style, sex on furniture, unprotected sex, creampies, talk of contraception (reader is on birth control), alcohol mentions, drinking and partying, hair pulling, size kink word count. 12. 2 k | ⧼ 📜⊹₊ ⧽ 一 to library.

[notes.] a rewrite of my first ever fic on tumblr, study night! this is a romanticization of student/teacher relationships where both parties are consenting adults, but it is important to note that these relationships can be problematic in real life due to one parties authority over another's and unstable power dynamics. thank you to @jellymochii, @biteyoubiteme and @beomiracles for proofreading! reblogs and feedback are very appreciated <3 i hope you enjoy!

YOUR LINGUISTICS PROFESSOR embodies everything you find detestable in a teacher. His classes are a monotonous drone of information, devoid of anything exciting or engaging, though that might not be entirely his fault with how boring the subject he teaches is. He rarely deviates from whatever script he had thrown together— no doubt just the night before, from the way he rambles and stutters— and he absolutely refuses to entertain any questions or foster any interesting discussion. He never accepted late assignments or gave any extensions, his tests are ridiculously hard, and he’ll dock points off your assignments for the tiniest, stupidest reasons. Sure, it’s a difficult course, and it’s important to your major, but you swear he seems to take some kind of pleasure in making his students miserable. Each class feels like an eternity, and often you find yourself counting down the minutes until you can escape the insufferable, suffocating atmosphere of his classroom.

Yet, for some strange, inexplicable reason, you find yourself absolutely obsessed with him.

Maybe it was because you spent your time in his class focusing more on him than any of the words that came out of his mouth. His irritatingly handsome, angular face and his pouty, kissable lips, how he turns red and gapes like a fish out of water when he’s talking himself into a corner or is asked a question he doesn’t know how to answer. His big veiny hands and how they look when he waves them around animatedly, filling your head with thoughts of how they would look caressing your body. His tall, fit body and how he towers over you whenever you come up to him, the way he has to lower his head to look you in the eye, a soldering heat bubbling in your belly from the way he makes you feel so small. The way he loves to pepper his lectures with painfully unfunny dad jokes, and the way he gets all blushy when no one laughs. It makes you cringe, but in some odd way you also find it incredibly endearing. Sometimes you even catch yourself giggling quietly, stupid and u lovesick puppy. You can’t stand to be his student, but you dream at night about being something else to him entirely— it’s a paradox that drives you to detrimental distraction. How can you be so obsessed with someone you loathe? His perplexing combination of qualities was like some kind of mystery you felt compelled to unravel, at the very least to put your own mind at ease.

That was when you found the novel. It was hidden in the romance section of your favorite used bookstore, squished between two old technicolor cover harlequin novels, it’s dark and simple spine juxtaposing against all the bright colors and ornate fonts. It intrigued you enough to pull it from the shelf and look it over, your cheeks heating up as you take in its cover. A headless, well-dressed man sat in a chair with his legs spread invitingly, the smart suit he was wearing disheveled and his undone belt held tightly in his hand, the leather strap resting against his inner thigh. The title Lessons in Attraction was printed where his head would be, vague but provocative enough to make your stomach flip. The man immediately reminded you of Professor Choi, from the way he was dressed to the prominent veins in his hands, and when you flip the book over to read the synopsis you understand the connection. It outlines the story of a steamy romance between a strict economics professor and his teaching assistant, an innocent, young virgin who wants nothing more than to please. It was as if the author had plucked your deepest fantasies straight from your head and printed them out on paper, then planted the book in the perfect spot for you specifically to discover. You knew just from skimming through the pages that reading it would only do you more harm than good, but you just couldn’t put it down, drawn to the story like an addict needing a fix. You hid it in your stack of textbooks, and you refused to look the cashier in the eye as they checked you out.

At first, you had intended to keep it hidden in your bedroom, only to be read late at night when your roommates were either out or asleep. But as your obsession with your professor continued to deepen, so did your obsession with the novel; soon you found yourself taking it with you everywhere you went, reading snippets whenever you had the chance and quickly shoving back into your bag anytime someone would walk by or glance over at you. Your dreams devolved into graphic, vivid replays of your favorite dirty scenes, with Professor Choi in the place of the professor from the story. You wake up hot and bothered every morning, and his class becomes even more difficult with your head now full of illicit, naughty fantasies. Everything he does makes your belly swirl with need, even something as simple as running a hand through his hair or adjusting his glasses— you can’t even bare to look at him, and instead try your hardest to focus on whatever boring tangent he was rambling on about… until you caught yourself fantasizing about how his deep voice would sound whispering dirty words in your ear.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Professor Choi’s lectures were beginning to feel more like sick torture— you needed something to keep you distracted before you went insane.

So, against your better judgement, you started to bring the novel to read in class. You sat far enough in the back that you were certain he wouldn’t notice, and your poor classmates were too bored out of their minds to look your way. It was easy to keep it hidden away tucked in your lap, so you could pretend to be writing in your notebook while you read. Something about it excited you, reading about fucking your professor with your real professor standing there in front of you, none the wiser. Being able to admire him as you indulged in your secret desires. If he caught you, you would be humiliated, but you would be lying if you said that the thought didn’t excite you a little too…

“Miss L/N, what are you doing?”

You nearly shoot straight out of your chair, your professor’s sudden call of your name shocking you out of your reverie. You had gotten so absorbed into your novel that you had forgotten to check to see if he was looking your way. “H-huh?”

“You keep looking at your lap.” Professor Choi remarks, peering up at you from his spot at the podium with an unamused frown. His thick-rimmed glasses made his pretty brown eyes appear even larger than they already were, blinking up at you like he was studying you through a magnifying glass. “You’re not on your phone, are you? You know I have a no-tolerance policy when it comes to electronics.” [GU1]

“Oh! No, sir, I’m just…” your startled gaze bounces back to the book in your lap, and you swallow nervously. “Reading.”

“Reading?” Professor Choi echoes, raising his brow. “What are you reading? I assume it’s not the textbook, from the look on your face.”

You blanche, trying your hardest to appear nonchalant as you snap the book shut and shove it down into the recesses of your school bag. “It’s nothing!” You reply far too quickly, sounding guiltier than sin.

Professor Choi blinks, his magnified eyes raking over your sweating face before trailing down to your bag, clasped protectively in your lap.

“Give it to me.” he orders curtly, stretching out his hand.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. “What?! W-why?!”

“Reading anything that isn’t the course material is against my class rules— I have it printed clearly on the syllabus, though with how you can never seem to pay attention I wouldn’t be surprised if you missed it when I went over it at the beginning of the semester. I would recommend looking over it again to see if there’s anything else you’ve forgotten. Now, get up and hand me that book.”

The entire class has turned to look at you now too, dozens of pairs of eyes fixated on your every move. The silence is absolutely deafening. Your heart races and your hands tremble as you squirm in your seat, trying desperately to come up with some sort of escape as if you were in a horror movie; you might as well be, because out of all the ghouls and monsters you can think of, this has to be your worst nightmare.

You consider refusing. Technically, Professor Choi couldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to— hell, you could walk right out of the classroom right then and there if you really wanted to, with both your book and your dignity intact. After all, you were a grown adult paying to further your education out of your own pocket. Trying to confiscate your belongings as if you were a child was borderline insulting.

But you can’t risk your grade over something like this, as embarrassing as it was, and you wouldn’t put it past him to penalize you in some way for defying your orders. You were already struggling as it was, partly because of how difficult the coursework was and mostly because of how you could never concentrate whenever Professor Choi was around. To make matters even worse, passing was a requirement for your degree. Getting even more on his bad side than you already were simply not an option.

It takes every ounce of energy you have to force yourself to stand up out of your seat and trudge down to Professor Choi’s podium, clutching your novel against your chest like you were clutching pearls. He has to pry it out of your hand with a considerable amount of force, because you can’t seem to loosen your fingers around the cover.

You scamper back to your seat, but not before turning back to see Professor Choi eye the cover with a startled expression. It would have been comical if you didn’t feel like you were seconds away from throwing up all over your desk.

He places it gingerly face-down on his desk like he was handling a dead fish, and you’re both grateful and horrified that he noticeably avoids making eye contact with you when he steps back up on his podium. “You can come by my office later to get it back, Miss L/N. I have a free period at six.”

“Yes, sir.” You answer glumly, staring at your shoes.

Luckily for you, he dismisses the class only a few minutes later, muttering about something to do with grading papers. You’ve never ran out of that lecture hall so fast in your life.

“Whoa, what’s up with you?” your friend Beomgyu asks when you walk by him in the hall, backpack and skateboard in hand without a care in the world. “You look live you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

You stop just long enough to realize that you were still running, even though you had made it nearly halfway across the building. “I’m so fucked.” You state simply.

“What? What happened? Did you do something to piss off Professor Choi again?”

“Yes. No. Kind of?” you cringe inwardly. There’s absolutely no way you’re telling Beomgyu about any of what happened; he’d laugh at you to the point you fear you might actually start crying. “I don’t want to talk about it. I gotta go.”

You shuffle away before he can respond, and while you feel bad ignoring him as he calls out to you in confusion, you’re focused solely on finding somewhere quiet and empty to hide out until your next class. And maybe grabbing an iced coffee or something. Just to drown out the tears as you wallow in your own misery.

Against all odds, you manage to make it through the rest of your classes. The wait was almost worse than getting caught, barely able to sit still in your seat as you panic inwardly for hours on end. If it was Professor Choi’s intention to psychologically torture you, he wildly succeeded.

And you’re absolutely sure it was, because the first thing you see once you step into his office is your professor lounging back in his chair reading your book.

“Professor!” you yelp.

Professor Choi glances up from your book, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes as he sends you a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, Miss Y/N! You’re just in time. I was just flipping through your book here, it seems awfully… interesting.”

You gulp, your trembling hands clutching the strap of your bag in a vain attempt to ground yourself. “Um, sir!” you squeak, rushing to his side to glance over his shoulder at what page he was on, praying to whatever god that will listen that he hasn’t read anything raunchy. “I think it would be best if you, um, didn’t read that…”

“Oh?” Soobin flips the page and quirks his brow, not even sparing you a second glance as he adjusts his glasses, “What do you mean?”

You rack your brain desperately for a good enough excuse, but you can’t think of anything other than just how mortified you were, watching helplessly as your professor’s keen eyes scan over the pages. “Can I have it back now?” you say instead, your voice small and shaking.

“Surely you can wait just a little longer— now I’m dying to know why you don’t want me to read this.” Professor Choi’s crooked, dimpled smirk infuriates you.

Was there any possible way that you could talk your way out of this without telling him upfront that what he was holding in his hands was an erotica, one about a teacher and a student no less? You shuffle nervously, stumbling over your words as you try to stutter out something, anything, “You, um… you wouldn’t like it.”

He turns his head to look up at you again, the look in his eye sharply changing when he takes in your frightened state, into something you don’t recognize and aren’t sure you like. “How can you be sure I wouldn’t enjoy it? I’m a fan of many different genres of literature, though I’ve never read anything quite like this before. Is it some sort of romance novel? If it is, you don’t have to be ashamed, Miss Y/N. I’m sure many young women such as yourself read these sorts of novels, though I strongly discourage reading them while I’m in the middle of a lecture. It’s simply disrespectful. Now, where was I?”

He trails his finger down the page as if he was looking for his place, and you bristle. “Sir, seriously, don’t—!”

“I followed my professor to his office, watching with bated breath as he rounded his big wooden desk.” Professor Choi reads aloud. You barely stop yourself from screaming, instead letting out a sort of pained choking sound. “He stopped to stand behind me, looking down my shoulder as if he were looking over my essay just as I was. I had made three errors in my writing, each one circled in bright red ink. He seemed more upset about it than usual.”

“Professor, please.”

“’Put that essay on my desk.’ he said, so I did.” Professor Choi continues, ignoring you. He had gave the professor character a stupid, high pitched voice when he spoke, which would have been funny if you weren’t so humiliated. “’Now bend over with your elbows on my desk, so that you are looking directly at the essay. Keep your face very close.’”

“Stop it! Just let me have it!” You hated to talk to him this way, but if he continued reading any further… it took everything you had to keep yourself from running out of his office and crawling into the nearest ditch to die in.

“That’s not how you should speak to me, Miss Y/N. Now you certainly aren’t getting it back.” Professor Choi retorted, his evil little smirk growing even wider. You wanted to hit him, or kick or scream, but you couldn’t do anything except stand there and try your hardest not to cry. “I was puzzled, but I followed his instructions, bending over the top of his desk so that my chest, belly and arms were pressed against the hardwood. My nose was merely a centimeter or two away from the letter, which made it difficult to read. My skirt was starting to… to slide up the backs of my thighs, but I was sure that if I moved to tug it back down, I would just get into even more trouble.”

You grimace when Professor Choi’s voice broke, his smile slowly starting to slide off his face. But he did not stop reading. “’Now read the letter to yourself. Read it over and over again.’ My professor said. I read: “In today’s rapidly evolving global landscape, the integration of technology in…” and at the word “integration”, which I had misspelled, he— he… um… Oh.”

You began to feel less like wanting to die and more like you were actually dying. Professor Choi stared hard at the pages for a painfully long moment, his ears turning bright cherry red, but to your surprise and absolute mortification, he began to read aloud again. His voice had dropped that cheerful quality, however, sounding winded as if he had been hit upside the head. “At the word “integration”, which I had misspelled, he reeled his arm back and spanked me hard. I stopped reading with a loud gasp, shocked— the sting reverberated through my core, fiery hot, and despite my embarrassment I began to soak through my panties. At my silence, I was spanked again, even harder. ‘I said read it.’ My professor reminded me. ‘Be a good girl and follow instructions.’”

Professor Choi shut the book closed abruptly and looked up at you with a very red face and wide eyes. The tears that had been pooling in your lashes threatened to spill down your cheeks, so overcome with fear and embarrassment that your stomach turned like you were going to be sick. That was just what you needed to top off this already life-ruining experience, wasn’t it; vomiting all over your professor after he uncovers your darkest, dirtiest secret.

“This is extremely inappropriate material to bring on campus.” Professor Choi finally says, his voice wavering.

“Yes, sir.”

“And that relationship, it’s… wrong. It’s against the university’s code of conduct. I— he could get fired for that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You shouldn’t be reading this. It’ll put... thoughts in your head that don’t need to be there.”

“…Yes, sir.” Part of you wants to argue with him, remind him that you’re an adult and can read whatever it is that you would like, but you don’t have the strength to.

He sighs heavily, like something important is weighing on his mind, and he hands you back your book before turning back to pour over the scattered, forgotten papers on his desk. “Go home, Miss L/N. And get rid of that book.”

You turn tail and scamper out into the hall, but you can’t help but glance back into Professor Choi’s office as you leave. He’s hunched over his desk with his elbows resting on the wood, his fingers tangled in his dark hair as he rests his head in his hands. It seems like something is bothering him, something bigger than grading papers or your stupid, silly book.

You don’t stick around to find out what it is.

The next morning, you receive a rather hastily written email from Professor Choi telling you that he’s cancelling classes for the rest of the week. He’s come down with a cold, he claims— you and the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach know better than to believe that.

You don’t see him until next Monday, but even then he might as well not have shown up at all. He struggles to get through his lesson plan even more than usual, and he wouldn’t look away from his papers or the projector, even when one of your classmates raised their hand to ask a question. You spent the entire period gathering up the courage to go up to him after his lecture, but when you do he brushes you off with a lame, half-baked excuse about having papers to grade and no time to talk, grabbing his things in a rush and scampering out of the lecture hall before you can call out for him to come back.

The pit in your stomach opens up into a black hole, swallowing up everything except for overwhelming, gnawing anxiety. It’s eating you up inside, manifesting itself in how you’ve chewed your lips until they bled, and then bit your nails down to the quicks— anyone with eyes could see that something was weighing on you, and you became increasingly tired of all your friends asking if anything was wrong, so once you were finished with your classes you took to hiding out in your dorm room curled up on the couch, your favorite fluffy blanket wrapped around you as you sullenly binge-watched a k-drama you’ve seen a thousand times.

While you were more of a homebody, your two roommates were much the opposite. Karina and Giselle loved to go out and party. Tonight was no different, the two of them flittering around the dorm as they got ready to go out to some club, and while they had given up on trying to get you to join them a while ago, something about the way you moped about seemed to reinvigorate Karina’s desire to get you off of your ass and out on the town. She knew you better than anybody, and immediately she could sniff out that something was off.

“Why don’t you come with us? You can borrow one of my dresses.” She offers, rummaging through her collection of high heels. “It’s a Friday night, everyone’s out! We can dance, we can find some boys to take home; it’ll be fun. You look like you need some.”

“I don’t need to have fun. I need to study.” You reply solemnly, scowling, but you make no moves to get up off the couch. It was a shitty excuse even to your own ears; it was obvious you didn’t have any plans to do anything tonight except feel sorry for yourself.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” She huffs. You don’t even have to look at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes. “Something’s bothering you and you won’t even tell me or Gigi what’s wrong. Don’t you think a drink or two would be good for you? You can vent to us all night, too. I promise we’ll listen.”

“I don’t know if I even want to tell you about it.”

“Why not? We’re your best friends, Y/Nie. You can tell us anything, even if it’s stupid or embarrassing. If it’s bothering you this badly, it’s clearly something serious.”

You peer out from under the blanket to look over at Karina— the worry in her eyes makes your heart sink. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t even consider taking her or Giselle up on their offers, but the way you were stuck running circles inside your head was far from normal. “You promise not to laugh at me?” She smiles warmly. “Nope. But I promise I’ll hear you out regardless.”

The loud, thumping bass reverberating throughout the club did very little to help ease your pounding headache. Your temples throbbed with every beat, the pressure so severe it felt as if your skull was just moments away from splitting in two. You don’t think you’ve ever been this uncomfortable in your life; the dress that Karina gave to you was a size or two too small, the shiny fabric so tight around your chest that you gasp for air. It would be difficult for you to breathe even in properly fitting clothes, the air hot and heavy from the throngs of sweaty bodies that surrounded you. You felt claustrophobic, the crowd closing in on you and threatening to swallow you whole— the only place to escape was to the bar, but even there you’re bombarded with flashing lights, deafening music, and the overlapping voices of everyone around you. You have to strain your ears to make out what Giselle was saying, and she was just on the barstool right next to yours.

“Aren’t you glad you came?” She giggles, sipping on a brightly colored cocktail. She had ordered a round of them for all three of you, and the amount of alcohol mixed in them felt like a sucker punch to the face, even with all the sickeningly sweet grenadine the bartender had used to try and mask the flavor. You watch in abject horror as both she and Karina downed them one by one like they were water.

“No.” you reply honestly.

“You will once you tell us what’s going on with you!” Karina interjects from your other side. “I meant it when I said I wanted you to vent to us, let it all out and give us the tea! Aeri’s dying to know.”

“It’s really embarrassing…” you admit, staring forlornly down at your own drink. “I’d rather just forget all about it.”

“It can’t be that bad. You didn’t drop your pants in front of everyone or anything, did you?”

You cringe. “God, no. It’s not like that.”

“Then it’s nothing you can’t tell us about.” Giselle shoots you a smile over the rim of her glass.

“It’s… it’s about Professor Choi.”

“Our linguistics professor?” Karina cocks her head. “Isn’t he the one you have a massive crush on?”

Your cheeks flush, your drink becoming even more interesting as you avoid looking at either of them in the eye. “Maybe.”

“Ugh, your taste in men is the worst.” Giselle snickers. “I don’t understand why you like him so much. He’s such a dick.”

You fight down the urge to defend him— for some odd reason, you feel a surge of protectiveness over Professor Choi, even when you completely agree with what Giselle is saying about him. “Yes, I like him, but that’s not the point. The point is that I totally fucked up and now I think he hates me.”

“What did you do?! Please tell me you cursed him out, he fucking deserves it.”

“No, Gigi, oh my God.” Even the mere thought of doing something like that sends shivers down your spine. “He caught me reading during class.”

“…That’s it? You’re freaking out over that?” Giselle blinks.

“It’s what I was reading that’s the problem.” you lament miserably, gathering your courage with a sip of your disgusting cocktail. “I have this book; it’s about a teacher and a student… getting together, if you know what I mean. It’s really dirty… and he caught me reading it in class. He took it, and then he read it himself right in front of me! He thinks I’m a freak. It’s been two days and he won’t even look at me.”

Karina and Giselle stare at you.

“Why the hell were you reading a smut book in class?!” Karina gasps, her dark glittery makeup making her wide eyes look even wider. “And one about a professor, too— were you trying to get caught? There’s better ways to go about telling him that you want to fuck him.”

“I don’t know— I was bored and stupid, okay?!” You had been asking yourself the same question for days, mentally beating yourself to a pulp every time it crossed your mind. “I thought he wouldn’t notice me since I sat in the back… now he’s going to tell the dean, and I’m going to get expelled, and—”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Giselle stops you in your downwards spiral, grabbing your shoulder to ground you. “You’re thinking too hard about this. He’s probably just a prude. If he was going to do something like that, he would have probably done it by now. Plus, I don’t think that’s really something you can be expelled over.”

You lean into her touch, resting your head on her shoulder as she pats your back comfortingly. “He’s mad at me…” you whine petulantly. “I was trying to get that TA position, too… fuck, I’m so screwed.”

“What would he be mad at you for? Being horny?” Karina laughs, “It’s really his own fault for snooping in your stuff.”

“I think you’ll still get it.” Giselle supplies helpfully. “You’ve really got nothing to worry about. Sure, your grade sucks, but I’ve seen the two of you talking in the hallway before— the way he looks at you is insane. And the way he looks at your ass when you leave is even crazier. You just showed him that you feel the same way about him that he does about you.”

“Don’t say that.” You groan. “You think that about every guy I talk to. There’s no way in hell that Professor Choi feels anything for me except hatred.”

“If you’re really that worried about it, you can always just apologize.” Karina says, drumming her long nails against her glass. “It might not do anything, but it’ll make you feel better.”

That was the first bit of real advice either her or Giselle had given you in a while, even if it left a bad taste in your mouth. “I don’t know. I feel like that would just make things worse. I need to go to the bathroom.”

You scramble off the barstool in a rush, teetering on your heels— you weren’t even that tipsy, but every step made you feel like a newborn deer. Karina and Giselle watch you hobble away in pity.

You stumble through the crowd in search of a bathroom sign, quickly getting lost in the sea of bodies. There’s little room to move around, everyone pressed up against each other dancing, too intoxicated to notice you trying to politely squeeze by. They jostle and knock you around, and you nearly trip over your own wobbly feet multiple times. Your headache grows nearly unbearable, your desperation to find an escape leading you to start pushing people out of the way so you can continue to move forward. One particularly drunk woman nearly knocks you to the ground, and she shoots you a dirty look over her shoulder when you shoulder past her roughly. You hate to be rude, but you’re teetering dangerously close to your breaking point. You need to find some peace and quiet, and fast.

But all of that goes out the window when among the countless bobbing and weaving heads, you spot a frighteningly familiar pair of broad shoulders.

“Professor Choi?!” you call out in shock, shoving your way towards him. “What are you doing here?!”

Without his suits and big clunky glasses on, you almost don’t recognize him. He was leaning back against the wall with two men who you vaguely recognize as other professors at the university, talking and laughing amongst themselves with beers in their hands. You admire the curve of his tall nose, the way his pronounced collarbones peeked out from the loose linen shirt he wore, the first few buttons undone to show a delicious strip of tan skin. His dark hair, usually gelled back to show his forehead, was left fluffy and untamed, framing his pretty brown eyes. He jumps a little at your voice, turning away from the men to look at you.

His eyes widen sharply, moving slowly from your face down to your chest. They linger there for a moment, blinking owlishly, before he tears them away from you completely, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

“Oh, um. Hello, Miss L/N.” he stutters, suddenly very interested in the state of his shoes. You make a quick mental note to thank Karina later for convincing you to squeeze yourself into this stupid dress.

“Oh, this is Y/N?” One of the men slurs gleefully, a grin stretching across his handsome face. There was a certain hunger in the way he undresses you with his fox eyes, scanning you head to toe like a predator. You could tell from his flushed pink cheeks that he was very drunk. “I’ve heard all about you! It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Something odd flashes in Professor Choi’s eyes and he jerks his head to shoot his friend a deathly glare. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“You’ve… heard about me?” you cringe, your heart sinking. Out of whatever Professor Choi had to say about you, none of it could be anything good.

“Oh, not much, just that you’re one of the brightest students that he’s ever taught.” The other man cuts in, chuckling. He tips his head back and takes a swig of his beer, flashing you his sharp jawline. “One of his favorites to have in class, he says.”

“Such a smart head on those little shoulders! You should consider taking my econ course next year, it’d be a gift to see your pretty face in my class.” The first man adds, his crooked smirk widening.

“Yeonjun, Chan, please.” Professor Choi grits out through his teeth, anxiously running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, what did you say, Miss L/N?”

You splutter as your lips refuse to form words. You?! The brightest student he’s ever had?! That was just a complete and utter lie; if it wasn’t for Giselle helping you with an extra credit assignment you had practically begged him on your knees for, you would be failing his class spectacularly. You couldn’t fathom why Professor Choi would say something like that to these two men, when nearly every class he was scolding you for being late, distracted, forgetting your deadlines, a combination of all three and more. Not only that, but with what had transpired the other day still fresh and stinging… they had to be saving face or making some kind of sick joke. As you collect your thoughts, you half expect them to start pointing and laughing.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, peering up at Professor Choi’s blushing face. He avoids meeting your eyes, just like how he was in class.

“Am I not allowed to enjoy the start of my weekend?” he retorts, fiddling with the pull tab on his beer. “Clearly, you’re doing the same.”

He spits out the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth. It stung like an insult. “I thought you said you were busy.” you assert, biting your lip to keep from scoffing. The liquor giving you a little too much courage; he was still Professor Choi, even if now standing in front of you he looked like just any other guy.

“I… was.” He mumbles, “And now I’m not anymore. It’s really not any of your business.”

It takes everything you have to keep from blurting out that your book really wasn’t any of his business either, but you manage to hold your tongue.

“I’m sorry, I just— Sir, I need to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” He says matter-of-factly. It’s far from what you were expecting him to say.

“What do you mean?” you challenge, your annoyance starting to turn sour. “It’s about the other day.”

Professor Choi continues to play dumb, though he keeps throwing sidelong glances to his coworkers. “What about it?”

“I want to apologize.” You bite hard on your lower lip. For doing nothing wrong.

Professor Choi’s eyes snap up to meet yours, inky dark irises wide in shock. “Y/N—”

“Apologize?” Professor Choi’s friend— Yeonjun— butts in, raising an eyebrow. “What happened?”

All the color leaves Professor Choi’s face, even the blush that was slowly trailing from his cheeks down his neck. He awkwardly clears his throat and averts his gaze, putting on a show of cupping his ear and pretending to be confused. “Sorry, I can’t hear you over all of this noise! If you have a question, I’ll be in my office tomorrow afternoon. Go on and have a good night.”

“Wait, Professor—!”

“Have a good night!”

It takes you a long time to find your way back to the bar, drunk, defeated, and stewing in your own thoughts. You’re pleasantly surprised to see that Giselle and Karina have been sat waiting for you all this time, but you don’t have it in you to feel happy or grateful as you plop yourself back onto your empty barstool. Their irritation quickly shifts to confusion and worry, both shooting you odd glances as Karina tentatively hands you another cocktail.

“Are you okay?”

“Did you get lost or something?”

You take a long sip, the disgusting sweetness and the bitter liquor overpowering your senses enough to calm your racing thoughts. “I think I’m going to go and talk to Professor Choi tomorrow.” is all you say.

“If you fuck him, please put in a good word for me.” Giselle slurs drunkenly in reply. “I need to pass that fucking class.”

“You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you, Miss L/N?” Professor Choi whispers in your ear, his deep voice dripping with honeyed venom. The fabric of his dress shirt ghosts over your back, his body so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. He has you trapped against his big wooden desk, bent over it obscenely with your ass in the air as you whimper and squirm. Your skirt and panties pool at your ankles, leaving your most intimate areas exposed for him to view. Your leaking pussy quivered from the icy cold air, your hole clenching desperately around nothing and aching to be filled.

“I’m sorry!” You mewl, voice wavering.

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you sorry for?” he presses, so deliciously condescending in the way he feigns ignorance, “Apologize to me properly and tell me what it was that you did.”

“I’ve been bad, sir. I was reading during your lecture, and I’m sorry—”

“Oh, you weren’t just reading.” Professor Choi scoffs, straightening himself up and off your back. He rounds the desk to circle you like prey, his slow methodical steps echoing throughout the quiet of his office. They echo in your ears and strike a dizzying mix of fear and anticipation in your heart.

“I-I was reading smut and…” your face burns hotter than the sun, and you close your eyes and take a deep breath to will yourself to have the courage to admit what it was you were caught doing. “…And I was touching myself.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.” He stops to stand at your side, his mere presence hovering above you enough to make you shudder. “Tell me exactly how you were touching that slutty little pussy.”

His words go straight to your core, making you squeeze your thighs together in need. Just a little friction was all you needed, and the edge of his desk granted a great opportunity… but as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t let yourself give in to desperation and grind yourself against Professor Choi’s desk like a dog in heat. He would notice immediately, and it would only worsen your punishment.

“I was… I was rubbing my clit through my panties.” you admit ashamedly, “Grinding against my fingers. I was going to put one inside but you… you stopped me.”

“I could see your hand up your skirt all the way from the back of the class.” Professor Choi spits, his carefully controlled demeanor cracking and his wild, untamed anger boiling to the surface. “It’s like you’re trying to get the two of us caught. You’re lucky no one else was looking… or was that what you wanted? Did you want everyone to see what a slut you are?”

“N-no!” you gasp, but the idea gets you even wetter; you wanted nothing more than for everyone to know that he was much more than just your professor, that he was yours and in turn you were his. “I’m a slut j-just for you, no one else!”

“Fuck, that’s right.” he groans lowly, his voice dripping sex. He picks up a long wooden ruler off his desk, right by your head, and points the tip at the nape of your neck. It ran slowly down the curve of your spine, a ghostly barely-there touch that left a trail of fire erupt across your skin. He stops at the plush swell of your ass, gently caressing your flesh with the cold wood. “You’re all mine. My favorite little student. You just need some discipline to put you back in your place, hm? Show me what a good girl you can be and count for me.”

He rears his arm back, poised and ready to strike. You can hear the ruler whooshing through the air, sharp and fast as he swings his arm forwards—

Your eyes snap open with a gasp. Suddenly, you’re back in your bedroom, curled up safe and sound in your bed, groggy and disoriented as you slowly come back down to reality. While you dreamt about Professor Choi often, never had one felt this vivid, this real. You can still feel the echoes of his touch, the phantom pain of his ruler against your asscheek haunting you like a ghost. Your panties are soaked through completely, sticky arousal pooling in the fabric and dripping down your thighs, creating a wet spot on your sheets. You toss and turn to try and go back to sleep, but it’s no use; you’re so horny you can’t think straight, can’t ignore the dull throbbing in your core.

As your hand slides under the waistband of your panties, you decide that enough is enough.

You were at your breaking point. Your life had spiraled completely out of control in the span of just two days, all because your stupid puppy-love crush of a professor had to be nosy about your reading material. He just had to find a way to humiliate you even more than he already did, didn’t he? He could’ve just given you your book back and the two of you could have gone on with your lives. He shouldn’t have even taken your book in the first place! You could have continued fantasizing about him from the back of the class, not a worry in the world, instead of losing precious hours of sleep and mentally beating yourself up.

And after your interaction at the bar, you feel even more ridiculous. If Professor Choi truly had the intention of telling someone about what he had caught you reading, wouldn’t he have told the other professors that he was with? And lying to them about you being his smartest student… you couldn’t wrap your head around it.

It was clear that Professor Choi didn’t want to talk about it. But even if he wants to pretend like none of this ever happened, you just couldn’t.

There was simply no other way for you to get over all of this other than finally confronting him. You needed to make the endless spiral stop, tell him exactly what was on your mind and finally put this to bed. The longer you stew over everything that has transpired, the more your fear and anxiety boils over into anger. This was all Professor Choi’s fault! You needed to give him a piece of your mind, or you don’t think you’ll ever be able to move on.

Professor Choi doesn’t answer until after the fifth knock, his face immediately dropping once he swings open his office door to see you standing there in front of him. His hair is a mess and his clothes are disheveled, his tie half undone and his shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Anxiously he adjusts his glasses, the wide brown eyes behind them looking like a cornered deer’s. “You actually came over to apologize?” He blurts out before you can even open your mouth, genuine surprise taking over his features. “I didn’t think you—"

“Actually, no, I’m not here to apologize!” you declare, the words spilling out before you gave yourself the time to second guess yourself. You had lied awake until the sun came up thinking about what to say, and you weren’t going to let those wasted hours go to waste. “I’m here to tell you, sir, that going through my book was an invasion of my privacy! And that it’s none of your business what I read! I’m an adult, not a child, and I can do whatever I damn well please!”

Professor Choi blinks owlishly, staring at you in stunned silence for so long that your newfound confidence falters and you begin to shuffle nervously.

“Oh. Um… alright.” He finally says.

“Alright?!” you echo incredulously, your irritation coming back in full swing. “You’ve been avoiding me for days and all you have to say for yourself is alright?!”

Professor Choi’s eyes flicker around anxiously, and it suddenly hits you that you were yelling at him in a public hallway. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Yes you do!” you shriek. This really wasn’t how you were planning on any of this going, but it was far too late to turn back. You open your mouth to continue your rant, face burning hot with unbridled rage, but Professor Choi quickly grabs your wrist and roughly pulls you into his office. The sudden act shocked you into silence, your eyes wide and mouth agape as he drags you all the way back to his desk.

“Listen.” He growls, his voice octaves deeper than you’ve ever heard it before. “You’re acting way out of line right now. Don’t you dare ever talk to me like that, you understand me? I’m still your professor, even when we’re not in class. You’re to treat me with respect—”

“Then you treat me with respect first!” you retort, though you do manage to calm yourself down enough to lower your voice. “Playing dumb and refusing to talk to me after humiliating me in front of everyone! What was even the point of doing that? Was it just for your own sick pleasure?!”

“Y/N.” Professor Choi sighs, the second time you’ve ever heard him call you by your first name— the first was at the club, but you were far too distracted to dwell on it. “I know you have some sort of feelings for me. You’re not very good at hiding it.”

Your entire world comes crashing around you, though you suppose that you shouldn’t be too surprised. You had just let yourself hope beyond reason that he would never pay you any attention.

“What I’m trying to say is… Y/N, you need to stop it. Get rid of the book. I can’t be with you, it’ll never work, okay? I’m your teacher, and ten years your senior. There’s plenty of college boys around campus for you to ogle over instead.”

“You say you can’t but… do you want to?” you ask quietly, barely above a whisper.

Professor Choi doesn’t meet your eyes. “I could get in a lot of trouble, Y/N. You could too.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You challenge, a hopeful spark igniting in your chest. He didn’t say no… and you may be looking too into things, or just clinging onto hope, but that was more than enough proof to you that your professor was hiding some feelings of his own.

“We can’t do this.” He mumbles, his voice growing wilder, more defiant.

“Sure we can! I’m an adult, you’re an adult… did I scare you away with my book or something? Look, it’s okay if it wasn’t up your alley. There’s nothing wrong with being vanilla, Professor. You don’t have to, like, spank me or anything—”

“But I do!” he interjects suddenly, his head shooting up to look at you with wild eyes. His entire face was bright crimson red.

“You… wait, what?” you must have misheard him. That was the only explanation, surely; There was no way he actually—

“I can’t stop thinking about it! I thought there was no way you’d be into anything like that, that I needed to stop thinking about you and move on like a professional, but then you go and pull this, and now I can’t go a single second without thinking about putting you over my knee! It’s driving me insane! I can’t even look at you!”

“Professor—”

“Soobin. God, just call me Soobin. I can’t handle you calling me that right now.”

You open and close your mouth a couple of times, surely looking like a fish out of water— This was the absolute last thing you expected to come out of your professor’s— Soobin’s—mouth. Your eyes bulge out of your head, your face burns hotter than the sun… your pussy clenches pathetically. It felt like you were in a dream, almost, which might have been why you suddenly felt so brazen— if you wanted him, and he wanted you, who were you to deny him?

“Then do it.” you say, voice barely above a whisper. Soobin looks just as shocked at your proclamation as you were. “If you want to do it that bad, do it.”

He moves in a flash, giving you no time to prepare— within seconds has you thrown over his lap on his office swivel chair, your hair hanging in your face as you blink wildly at the floor. Soobin brushes one of his big hands against you skirt-clad ass, barely a brush of his fingers, but you still gasp all the same.

“Do you really want this?” He breathes, voice low, his breathing hard—the outline of his cock presses hard against your stomach through his slacks, making it considerably hard to focus on the words that came out of his mouth.

It takes you a moment, but you manage to choke out a whiny “Yes, sir, please.”

Soobin stutters out an uneven breath, his fingers inching down to the hem of your skirt, teasing the tops of your thighs for just a moment before pulling the fabric up to expose your ass, a noticeable wet spot present on your panties.

“So pretty…” He coos. You can feel his cock twitch against your stomach, those long knobby fingers trailing along the edge of your lacy thong. “Is it okay if I take your panties off, bunny?”

You whimper and nod your head— Soobin lands a gentle love-tap to the junction of your thighs with an airy chuckle. “Use your words like a good girl.”

This couldn’t be happening. You had to be dreaming, or hallucinating, or something, anything except truly living through this fantasy come to life— Boring, bland Professor Choi, the biggest prude you thought you knew, was just way too good at this, at making your legs shake and your pussy throb all the while barely touching you. In just an afternoon your reality had shifted from thinking that he had to be the world’s biggest loser virgin to thinking that he was even sexier than the professor in your book.

You weren’t sure how to feel about it, but your cunt did.

You must have stayed silent for too long, because without much warning Soobin lands a much harsher spank to the top of your asscheek. “Bad girl!” he admonishes, and you can hear the teasing, dimpled grin in his voice “C’mon baby, use your big girl words. Tell me how much you want it.” His hot breath fans over your ear— you couldn’t hold in your moan even if you tried, the broken whine sounding weak and pathetic even to your own ears.

“P-Please, sir… please take my panties off. Please spank me.” you whimper, your face beet red and your pussy drooling— Soobin’s deft fingers stroke slowly up and down your folds, feeling the wetness seep through the cotton fabric of your panties. You bite your lip to keep from screaming.

“That’s my good bunny.” You could hear your panties rip as he tears them off of you in one solid motion, the biting cold air meeting your hot soaking cunt and making both you and Soobin hiss. He admires the slick leaking down your thighs for a brief silent moment, deep breathy voice cooing at the way you arch into him and his touch, before he straightens back up and lands a stinging, eye watering spank deliciously close to your core. You yelp at the sting.

“That’s for being a fucking tease,” Soobin states, soothing your reddening flesh with a soft caress of his palm. “Being so fucking hot all the time and driving me crazy because I thought I could never have you.”

You hadn’t realized that this was confessional. Shooting him an evil smile over your shoulder, you giggle, “You could’ve just asked.”

Another spank, this time with even more force. Your hips buck with a shrill cry spilling from your open, panting mouth, your eyes watering— you had no idea Professor Choi was this strong. He refuses to give you any time to prepare, never warning you when the next hit to your ass will come. “I didn’t say you could talk back.” He growls.

You’re on the verge of tears from the red-hot stinging in your ass, but you still giggle at his words. “You’re kinky.”

Soobin just rolls his eyes, spanking you again, albeit a little softer. “And this one’s for being a brat. How about you start counting for me, bunny? That’s one.”

“One?! You’ve hit me four times!” Maybe you were pushing it too far, but it just came naturally to you to fight back, make him work for your submission and obedience. You relished pushing him as far as he would go; you relished losing.

Soobin grabs a handful of your hair and yanks hard, making you gasp loudly and your empty pussy flutter. Leaning down close to your ear, he lets out a warning growl; “I said fucking count.”

You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life. Torn between bucking your hips into Professor Choi’s bulge and pushing back into the touch of his hand, you give a quiet, watery whimper of “One…”

The hand holding your hair lets go, your head falling limply over his knee. “That’s my girl.” He coos lowly, stroking your head.

It distracts you enough that the next harsh slap to your ass feels even more intense than any of the others before it. “T-two…”

“That’s for being so fucking disrespectful. And in front of my colleagues too, no less. It’s like you were asking for me to ruin you.” Soobin tsks. “You need to learn to watch your mouth.”

The urge to say something smart tugs at you again, even if just to prove his point, but another spank rains down on your sore, bruising asscheeks before you can seize the opportunity.

“T-three!”

“And that’s… that’s for pushing me to put you over my lap in the first place. You couldn’t just leave it alone, could you? And now look at you, making me risk my job to teach you a lesson.” Soobin’s voice wavers, filling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place— it was extremely difficult to focus on his words when his fingers began to trail down the curve of your ass to your sticky, quivering folds, rubbings the tip of his thumb right over your clothed core. You moan unabashedly, shifting your hips and opening your legs to give him better access to what was peeking out between your thighs.

The fifth spank never comes. Soobin tugs your panties to the side and pushes two long, thick fingers between your folds, stuttering out a low moan like he was the one being touched. He starts a rough, dizzying pace almost immediately, his fingertips searching for that spongy spot inside of you. You grind your hips back against Soobin’s fingers, a drooling mess against his slacks.

“Pr-Professor…” you whine high in your throat — you want more, want him to speed up, slow down… his touches were driving you wild. You hadn’t been touched like this ever before.

“I told you not to call me that.” He hisses, curling his fingers against your sweet spot and making you keen. “Please, call me by my name.”

“Soobin!” you cry out, writhing against him. You felt a passion rising within you like the hottest fire, clouding your brain. You couldn’t think of anything except of the pleasure that he gave you, couldn’t utter out anything other than his name.

“Such a slut, falling apart just on my fingers…” he chucks huskily, enamored with the filthy wet sounds your cunt made and how they echoed through the quiet office. “I’ve thought about doing this for forever, God… you’re just as beautiful as I thought you’d be.”

His thumb, wet from your arousal, comes down to rub tight, delicious circles against your sensitive, engorged clit, your strangled wail no doubt loud enough to be heard from the hallway. The building ecstasy distracts you enough for him to push in a third finger into your tight hole. The stretch burns but you love it, your hips kicking and moans growing louder and louder as he effortlessly takes you apart.

“...Too much…!” you manage to choke out, digging your teeth into the fabric of Soobin’s slacks to keep yourself from screaming out in bliss. You felt full to the brim, pushed closer and closer to the edge with every rough flick of your clit and thrust of his perfect talented fingers. He teases a fourth finger around your leaking, stretched out rim, the threat of it alone enough to make your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh bunny, if this is too much there’s no way you’ll be able to take my cock…”

The tears that had been brimming in your eyes start to stream freely down your burning cheeks, choked hiccups and sobs wracking your body, but it was the most pleasurable agony you had ever been in. Your hips move with a mind of their own, bucking against Soobin’s cock, thick and hard as a rock, only seeming to grow bigger and bigger every time you rub against it. You relish the sharp intakes of breath he takes every time you move against him. He was starting to fall apart too, you could tell, his voice sounding a lot less dominating and a lot more whiny and pathetic with each roll of his hips up into your tummy.

“I’m gonna… gonna make you cum on my fingers,” he whines low in his throat, his hand completely soaked in your arousal up to the wrist. “You gonna make a mess for me?”

His fingers dig impossibly and wonderfully hard into your sweet spot, that white-hot band of desire in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with each perfectly aimed thrust. You wail and sob, your hand reaching back to grab a tight fistful of his shirt sleeve. “I-I-m— ‘m gonna cum!”

Soobin’s other hand, the one that had been stroking your hair, then comfortingly up and down your back, rises up to smack your ass, the sudden burst of stinging pain making you scream, and for real this time.

“You gotta ask first, bad girl! Gotta ask for permission b-before you cum…” His voice starts to break, his hips stuttering helplessly— the feeling of his big fat cock grinding hard against you only added to the fire in your belly.

“Can I cum? Please, sir, can I cum? I’ll be a good girl, I promise, just let me cum!” you had no control over your mouth, hardly any conscious at all— all you could focus on was the tightening in your belly, the way Soobin’s fingers thrusted in and out of your pussy so good… you were his brainless whore, fucked dumb on his fingers.

“Shit, go on honey, my good girl, my bunny… cum all over me, make a mess!” with his permission you let yourself topple over the edge, moaning and whimpering like a whore as you soak your thighs, Soobin’s hand, his shirt and slacks with your juices. You lay across his lap twitching for quite some time afterwards, your chest heaving like you had just run a marathon… you’d never come before like that in your life, not as hard or for as long. Soobin was with you the whole way as you come down from your high, sweet as can be as he coos praises into your hair and pats your back, kissing your head when you raised it to look over your shoulder at him.

Slowly, you realize that you no longer feel his bulge poking at your belly. You release your iron grip on his shirt to slide your hand down his chest and abdomen, all the way down to gently cup his very wet crotch. “Sir…?”

“S-sorry, bunny… couldn’t help it…” he turns his head away from you to hide his glowing red face, but you can see how his blush spreads down his neck and up to the tips of his ears.

“Did you just… cum?” you ask in awe and disbelief, looking down to see a dark stain spreading across the fabric of his slacks. Soobin only mumbles in response, refusing to answer or turn back to look at you, his blush growing an even deeper shade of red. It was all the confirmation you needed.

Professor Choi came in his pants like a virgin without you even needing to touch him. Something about that alights a blazing inferno in your core, your senses overtaken with need even though you had just had an orgasm yourself.

“I want to taste it.” You breathe out, your overwhelming desire eclipsing any rational thought and taking control of your words.

“Y-you… what?” his head snaps back to you in surprise, his eyes wide and clouded with lust as they gaze headily into yours.

“Your cum, wanna taste it, want it on my tongue…” you’ve never spoken like this to anyone, your voice not feeling like your own— the words spill out from between your lips mindlessly, desperate for more of Soobin’s brain numbing pleasure as you rub him through his slacks. His cock twitches underneath your fingertips, beginning to harden again from the ministrations. “Can I please suck you off, sir?”

“Fuck.” Soobin moans, rough and deep in his chest, the sound shooting straight to your sensitive pussy. “Yeah you can, naughty girl, come on, get on your knees and suck my cock. Clean up my mess.”

Your entire body feels limp and weak, not wanting to cooperate with you as you slide off of Soobin’s lap to the floor. It takes great effort to get yourself situated, kneeling on the floor with your unsteady hands grasping at his thick thighs. He widens his legs to give you more room to get comfortable, one of his big hands instinctively coming down to tangle in your hair as your own begin to slide up the insides of his thighs towards his straining belt buckle.

Ever so slowly and meticulously you unbuckle Soobin’s belt, the jingling of the metal buckle as it’s casted aside like music to your ears. You pull his pants and boxers down together in one rough tug, Soobin canting his hips to help you guide them down his thighs. His cock springs free and slaps obscenely against his belly, smearing the light fabric of his dress shirt in his thick, viscous cum. You can’t help but stop and stare, enamored by the sheer size of it— nearly as thick as a can and twice the length of one, throbbing veins making your mouth water. Cum still leaks from his angry red tip, fat and bulbous, the entirety of his length wet and shiny down to his heavy, twitching balls and neatly trimmed pubes.

You kiss the tip with a delighted grin, the contact barely-there but enough to make Soobin throw his head back and whimper in delight. Your tongue peeks out from between your lips to slide across his slit, earning a high-pitched needy hiss from the man above you, his long fingers tightening their grip on your hair as you lick down his dripping shaft. His thick, salty cum tastes like ambrosia on your tongue, the delicious bitterness quickly getting you drunk. You can’t stop until you lick him completely clean, and even then it’s impossible for you to pull away, the feeling of his weeping cockhead heavy on your tongue far too addicting. Greedily you suck him into your mouth, relishing in the way his girth stretches your lips before swallowing him deeper and deeper until his tip knocks against the back of your throat. You can hardly fit your hands around him, let alone your mouth, fisting what couldn’t fit down your throat as you start bobbing your head. More broken tears collect on your lashes and drip down your wet cheeks, looking utterly ruined and wanton as you gaze up from between Soobin’s legs into his hazy, unfocused eyes.

The eye contact is too much for him— his eyes roll back in his head with a whimper and his cock twitches violently inside of your mouth, the grip he has on your hair shifting from guiding your head along his shaft to tugging you off him with a sudden and disorienting strength. He pulls you off him with a wet pop, a foamy string of saliva connecting from his shiny cockhead to your needy whimpering lips.

“I’m gonna cum again if you don’t stop,” he pants, gasping for breath, “I gotta fuck that pussy first, bunny, please. Need to feel that tight cunt squeezing around me.”

“D’you wanna cum inside?” you goad, a lustful, mischievous grin overtaking your features, “Don’t worry, Soobin, I’m on the pill. You can fill me up if you want to.”

Your words make him visibly shake, what was left of his flimsy resolve crumbling right before your eyes, leaving nothing but primal hunger. “Get on the fucking desk.”

You obey immediately, hardly able to contain your excitement as you stumble to your feet and bend over Soobin’s big oak desk, wiggling your ass in the air invitingly. Your skirt and panties were still pulled up and pushed aside, exposing your dripping puffy hole for his eyes to feast upon.

“So pretty…” he croons behind you, his hands caressing your hips and waist. They smooth over the exposed globes of your ass, his fingers fiddling with the gusset of your drenched panties. Sheer pink lace that compliments your flushed skin, looks so delectable running through Soobin’s fingers as he grabs your asscheeks and spreads them wide. “You look so cute in pink.”

he hisses in appreciation at the sight of your dripping hole quivering, sliding a finger down between your pussy lips to circle at your engorged clit. “Holy fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans, accentuating his claim with a flick of his hand— your pussy squelches obscenely, the lewd, pornographic sound making your cheeks flush. “I can’t take it anymore, I have to be inside of you— you can take it, right bunny?”

“Please!” you beg, hardly able to string together a sentence, “Please, sir, put it in, I need it so bad, need your cock—”

You’re interrupted by the feeling of his cockhead slapping against your entrance, Soobin running the leaky tip up and down your slit a few times just to hear your little whimper before burying himself inside to the hilt in one smooth thrust. He rams into you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs, his long fat shaft stretching out your hole much more than you could have ever been prepared for. The burn is indescribable, overwhelming every single one of your senses in the best way, your tight gummy walls gripping his cock like a vice as the both of you struggle to adjust.

He's so deep inside of you it feels as if he’s poked through your cervix and into your womb, his big fat mushroom head snug right beneath your belly button. You’re so deliciously full that it makes your head spin, already fucked completely brainless before Soobin had even begun to properly move.

“Does it hurt?” he asks you softly, so gentle compared to how he carved out your insides. In any other circumstance you would find it sweet that he was this concerned, but you were certain that if he didn’t start moving inside of you right then and there, you were going to die.

“More.” you croak back in response. “Give it to me.”

With a winded groan, Soobin relents. He pulls his cock out until just the head was inside of you, giving you not a single moment to prepare before slamming back in with a force that knocks you further up on the desk. The hardwood against your cheek does nothing to muffle your loud, unabashed shriek, so he improvises by shoving two of his thick fingers past your open lips, the musky tang of your own juices filling your mouth when you suck hungrily at the digits. He set up a punishing rhythm within seconds, his hips clapping loudly and wetly against your ass while he muffles your whines and wails. His heavy balls smack against your oversensitive clit with every rough thrust, sending shockwave after shockwave of pleasure straight to your core. The desk cuts into the skin of your hips painfully, but if anything, it only adds to the burning sweetness building steadily in the pit of your belly.

“F-fuck, I’m close already!” Soobin puffs against the shell of your ear, pressing himself up against your back— you’re suddenly thrown back into your dream from the night before, the way the sensations were eerily similar yet nowhere near as good as the real thing. “Gonna cum inside you, is that okay? Wanna see how pretty your pussy looks dripping my cum.”

You can only drool in response, your thoughts fragmented and scattered, babbling desperate nonsense and rolling your hips back to meet Soobin’s thrusts with a dizzying force. Your body vibrates with liquid fire, heating your puffy cunt and quivering thighs— faster than ever before were you hurtling towards your climax, that familiar tightening in your core growing harder and harder to bear. You wanted nothing more than to yield to the tide, let it overtake you completely, and in turn pull Soobin down with you.

Your professor was going to cum inside of you. The fantasies that had haunted you for months truly became a tangible reality. What did you do to make you so lucky?

“This slutty pussy’s sucking me in so fucking tight,” Soobin groans, his thrusts growing sloppier, “Tell me you want my cum, baby, come on. Who’s cum do you want inside of you? Tell me and I’ll give it to you!”

“Yours!” you shriek with the last remaining bits of your energy, your words nearly incomprehensible to how you sniffled and sobbed around Soobin’s fingers. “Want your cum— my professor’s cum inside of me!”

You took a gamble, but it was just what he wanted to hear. With one last aggressive thrust, Soobin bottoms out inside of your pulsating cunt, his bulbous cockhead kissing your battered cervix as he cums with a broken cry. The sensation of his sticky, hot seed splashing against your insides is just what you need to tip over the edge yourself, your walls clamping down on him and milking him for all he’s worth as you ride out your own climax with long, surrendering moans. He hisses from the overstimulation, but he makes no movements to pull out, letting himself soften inside of you as you both struggle to catch your breaths. Thick viscous globs of your mixed cum leak out from where you’re connected, dripping down your thighs and Soobin’s balls to collect in a puddle on the floor.

You gaze over your shoulder to watch as Soobin slowly and carefully pulls out, a creamy, foamy white ring formed around the base of his cock. His glasses were fogged up from his heavy breathing, his hair and clothes even more a mess than it was when he had first opened the door, his pink face so irritatingly kissable when he shoots you a nervous dimpled smile.

You cant help but giggle at him.

“You’re not going to… tell anyone about this, are you?” he asks you anxiously, opening one of the desk’s drawers to retrieve a packet of tissues.

“As long as you explain to me why you told those other professors that I was your best student.” You reply smartly, your grin widening when he scowls.

“It was the only way I could think of how to explain why I talk about you so much.” He admits shyly, wiping down the mess between your thighs. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather if we continued that charade so it doesn’t look suspicious when I ask you to come to my office every once in a while.”

“Will you give me that TA position then?”

“You technically don’t qualify,” He laughs, “but I thought that was a given.”

“You won’t regret bending the rules a little, I promise.” You tell him with a wink and a smile. The love-stricken, goofy dimpled grin he shoots back at you makes your heart soar.

“I know I won’t.”

𝒯O𝔐ORROW X 𝒯O𝒢E𝒯HER 𝒯A𝒢L𝒾S𝒯 ⪼

@dwaekkicidal , @11vr1 , @jjunbug , @enigmaticaphrodite , @jellymochii, @mapofthemazeinthemirror, @fullbodyblankets , @hyunj00 , @yunverie, @izzyy-stuff, @arcturus444, @love-ning, @gncbnahc, @dawngyu

to be added to my taglist, please send me an ask or fill out the form here!

#txt x reader #txt smut #txt fanfic #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #soobin x reader #soobin fanfic #soobin smut #soobin hard thoughts #soobin hard hours #soobin x you #txt x you #kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

129 notes · View notes