SEOUL 1989

You live in a small apartment, as you’re foreign to Korea. It’s around 1am, you’re trying to fall asleep, and you’re covered in blankets. Suddenly, you feel a cold hand snaking up your side. It’s bony, it’s soft, and it sends shivers up your spine.

You can’t sleep, huh, baby? a voice whispered in your ear. It was quiet, with a delicious Korean accent. Warm, red lips left small, wet kisses down your neck. Arms wrapped around your waist, and now your back was to a solid chest. As a reply you shook your head, leaning into him.

Awe, I’m sorry, my sweet baby doll, you turned to face the man. He was half-dressed, his torso exposed to you. Covered in muscles and a snatched body, he smiled at you sweetly before kissing your forehead. He moved his lips down to your cheeks and jawline, ending at your lips. Maybe I could help. I’ll give you a massage.

You looked at his jet black hair, being the male equivalent of a wolfcut. His pitch black eyes were dead, making you squirm. Can I play with your hair?

As a response he smiled and nodded. You moved your hand up to touch his hair, massaging his head. He covered both of you with the several blankets, turning you into a burrito. He buried his chiseled face into your neck as he kissed your neck even more, small moans leaving his lips.

You’re literally perfect.