Han and Heat

[swankystar]

She sits like judgment wrapped in red,
Not hanbok, but latex threads instead.
No noona waiting to be saved—
She is the rule. He is enslaved.

Koreatown hums above their scene,
But down below, she’s feral, queen.
No lotus flower, soft and shy—
She parts her legs. He learns to cry.

His tongue, her altar. Skin, her script.
Each flick, a vow. Each moan, a whip.
She drips han onto his willing face—
A legacy he learns to taste.

They called her quiet, called her cute,
Assumed her body came with mute.
But here she speaks in every sigh,
Her name a ***, her gaze the sky.

No East-bound geisha, no sweet prey—
She chains the myth, then walks away.
And in her wake, the stories fall:
The girl who knelt now owns them all.

[di****]

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