Summary: Tired of the endless misery of being an omega in the corporate world, Y/N takes a chance: she quits her job and buys a ticket to Vegas. There, she meets an alpha who changes her life---for the worse? For the better? Only time can tell. It's jaded and imperfect, but it's love.
A/N: Hello everyone!! I am alive :D After the worst writer's block I've ever had, I'm back with a new OT7 x reader fic! Now, I will admit I have not completed writing this AU but I have a good portion of it done so I hope you guys will enjoy it <33 Also, if anyone's up for it, I'd like to start doing taglists and even some polls for future chapters!!! Any thoughts, please let me know as I've never done it this way before. This fic will also be cross-posted to AO3 for anyone who'd prefer to read it there.
Summary: Your new neighbor wants you bad, but you barely give him the time of day, leading him to ask you to make a list of tasks he can accomplish to get you to finally sleep with him.
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Social Media AU, College AU, Neighbors to Friends to Lovers, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Slow-Burn, Hurt/Comfort
Word Count: N/A
Warnings: chapter specific warnings will be included on each individual post
Author’s Note: this is a social media au (aka SMAU) so the entire story is told through messages between the characters, with no written chapters. I just want everyone to be aware of that since this is my first time trying one! this wasn't something I ever planned on doing, but I had the idea and figured why not try it. plus, it gives me time to work on some of my long-standing wips while you guys are busy reading this for the next few weeks. I'll be releasing chapters biweekly on Mondays and Thursdays at 7 pm EST. some chapters are fairly short given the nature of smau, but I'm hopeful you'll still enjoy reading the new drops each week!
synopsis: A Marriage Law was the last thing you expected to dictate your future, let alone shackle you to Park Jongseong. A pureblood heir, painfully composed, infuriatingly good at everything, and—unfortunately—now your husband.
What starts as reluctant cohabitation, filled with awkward silences and sharp words, slowly unravels into something neither of you can ignore. Stolen glances, fleeting touches, and the illusion of normalcy turn into a dangerous game neither of you meant to play. Is it all for show? Or has the line between pretend and real already disappeared?
But love alone isn’t enough to erase the past—or the law that forced you together. As the Ministry looms over your every move, and whispers of rebellion grow louder, you and Jay must decide: fight the law, or fight for each other.
wc: around 20.5K
warnings: Marriage Law AU, Harry Potter AU, forced marriage, government control, slow burn, forced proximity, awkward domesticity, enemies to lovers, bickering, rivalry, mutual annoyance, emotional angst, hurt/comfort, doubt, insecurities, fear of the future, eventual smut, explicit sexual content, sexual tension, intense intimacy, fear of love, conflicted feelings, vulnerability, mentions of pregnancy, future parenthood, domesticity, soft Jay, pining, repressed feelings, denial, yearning, lingering touches, stolen glances, smut, sexual content, F! receiving.
A/N: PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU GUYS THINK I'D REALLY APPRECIATE THE FEEDBACK!!!!!
You woke to the sharp tap, tap, tap against your window, the early morning light bleeding through the tattered curtains of your London flat. Sleep still clung to your body, but the incessant tapping forced you upright, rubbing the remnants of last night’s exhaustion from your eyes. You recognized the Ministry’s wax seal before your fingers even touched the envelope. Your stomach dropped.
It was here.
The letter you had been dreading for months. The whispers of the Marriage Law had been circulating for nearly a year, rumors passed between hushed conversations at pubs, in hidden corners of Diagon Alley, and among former classmates who refused to believe that the government could enforce such a thing. But deep down, you had known it was only a matter of time. The Ministry had already been heading in this direction for years, pushing for more control under the guise of restoration.
With a deep breath, you slid your nail under the seal, breaking it with a snap. The parchment unfurled in your hands, the ink dark against the crisp paper.
Dear Miss Y/N,
By decree of the Magical Unity Act, you have been assigned a partner as part of the Ministry’s initiative to preserve and strengthen magical bloodlines.
Your assigned match: Park Jongseong. Pureblood.
You are required to present yourself at the Ministry within 48 hours for the formalization of your union. Failure to comply will result in consequences deemed necessary by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We trust you will uphold your duty to preserve our magical world.
Sincerely,
Matilda Greengrass
Head of the Magical Unity Office
Park Jongseong. Of all the people in the world, it had to be him.
You weren’t sure what to think. You had never hated Jongseong—not really. He had always been there in the background, a constant presence in your classes, a name that lingered on the top of exam scores just above yours. He was the type of person who excelled quietly, never rubbing his victories in your face, but still managing to be infuriating simply by existing. You had no idea what he thought of you. If he had any feelings about your academic rivalry, he had never shown it.
And now, he was going to be your husband.
You hadn’t even processed the letter properly before you found yourself in a booth at The Leaky Cauldron, sitting across from Riki. You had sent an urgent owl the moment you had read the letter, needing to talk to someone—anyone—who might understand.
Riki was younger than you by only a couple of years, but you had always seen him as something of a younger brother—mischievous, quick-witted, and annoyingly perceptive when it came to your emotions. He was the kind of friend who teased you relentlessly but would hex anyone who dared to cross you. If there was anyone you could turn to in a moment like this, it was him.
“You got him?” Riki’s eyebrows shot up when you showed him the parchment. “That’s...sure, yeah.”
You groaned, letting your head fall into your hands. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Well, I mean—it could be worse, " Riki shrugged, taking a sip of his Butterbeer, “He’s not, like, awful. He’s just...Jongseong. A bit awkward, not much of a talker, but not the worst person to be tied to for life.”
You groaned again. “That’s supposed to be comforting?”
He grinned. “A little,”
You shook your head, trying to focus. “I don’t even know how I’m going to tell my parents. They’re barely involved in my life as it is, and now I have to explain to them that I’ve been legally bound to someone they don’t even know?”
Riki’s face softened. He knew how complicated your relationship with your parents was—how they had never truly accepted the magical world, even after you got your Hogwarts letter. “You don’t have to tell them right away,” he said gently. “Focus on getting through this first.”
The Ministry of Magic smelled like ink, parchment, and old magic. The weight of history pressed down upon you as you walked through its grand halls, flanked by Aurors ensuring that every witch and wizard assigned under the Magical Unity Act appeared for their mandated marriage registrations. The building was colder than you remembered, or maybe it was the weight of what was about to happen that made you shiver.
Jongseong was already waiting when you arrived, standing stiffly in the corridor outside the registration chamber. His posture was impeccable, shoulders squared, his hands buried in the pockets of his finely tailored robes. The deep green fabric complimented his sharp features, accentuating the strong lines of his jaw and the dark intensity of his eyes. There was always something enigmatic about Jongseong—he was the type of person who carried an air of quiet authority, a man who never wasted unnecessary words. He rarely let his emotions show, but now, even beneath his composed expression, you could see the subtle signs of tension—the way his fingers tapped idly against the parchment he held, the way his lips pressed together a little too firmly.
You swallowed hard, gripping your own letter tightly. His eyes flickered toward you, assessing.
“Y/N.” His voice was steady, but there was something unreadable beneath it. He gave you a small nod, nothing overly familiar, yet not entirely cold.
The Ministry official cleared his throat, pulling you both out of the awkward moment.
”Park Jongseong and Y/N L/N,” he announced, his voice devoid of emotion, as if he had done this a hundred times before. He motioned toward the chamber doors. “Step inside. We will begin the legal binding process.”
Your breath hitched as you stepped forward, feeling the heat of Jongseong’s presence beside you.
The chamber was larger than you had expected, with high ceilings adorned with ancient runes glowing faintly in the dim light. At the center of the room stood a grand mahogany desk, where stacks of parchment were neatly arranged. Hovering above it was a blood-binding quill, pulsing faintly, attuned to the magic that would soon seal your fates.
“Please, be seated.”
You and Jongseong sat across from each other, the tension between you thick, though neither of you acknowledged it. The official took his place behind the desk, flipping open a massive leather-bound ledger.
“Before we proceed, it is my duty to inform you of the terms and expectations set forth by the Ministry under the Magical Unity Act. This marriage is legally binding under magical law, and both parties are required to uphold their roles as husband and wife.”
Your stomach twisted. You knew this was coming, but hearing it laid out so plainly made it harder to ignore.
“First, you will be required to cohabitate within the next twenty-four hours. The Ministry has provided accommodations, though should you choose to relocate, you must inform the Department of Magical Law Enforcement within seven days.”
Jongseong’s fingers drummed lightly against the desk, his gaze unreadable. He was listening carefully, though he gave nothing away.
“Second,” the official continued, flipping to another section of the document, “you will be required to consummate the marriage within one year. This will be monitored magically, and failure to do so may result in penalties.”
Your breath caught. You forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, but you couldn’t help the way your fingers curled slightly against your lap.
Jongseong’s face remained calm, though you thought you saw the faintest flicker of tension in his jaw.
“Third,” the official continued, “as part of the act’s goal to maintain the magical bloodline, you are expected to conceive a child within two years. Failure to comply will result in further legal interventions. Exceptions will only be granted under rare circumstances, such as medically confirmed infertility.”
You exhaled slowly, heart pounding. This was the part that had haunted you the most. It wasn’t just about being forced into marriage—it was about being forced to give up control over the future you had always imagined for yourself.
You had wanted children, eventually. You had imagined raising them in a world where they could make choices freely, where they could love and marry without being told when and how. But now, that dream had been reduced to a cold deadline set by the Ministry.
Jongseong finally spoke. “What are our rights in terms of autonomy?” His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it.
The official barely looked up. “You are granted limited autonomy. While you may maintain employment and personal activities, your primary duty remains fulfilling the obligations of the act. Any attempt to break the contract is considered an act of defiance against the Ministry.”
Jongseong gave a slow nod, as if he had expected that answer but wanted it spoken aloud regardless. The official placed two scrolls of parchment in front of you, followed by the hovering blood-binding quill.
“By signing this document, you are agreeing to all conditions and responsibilities dictated by the Magical Unity Act. Once signed, the bond is sealed permanently under wizarding law. Any attempts to nullify it without Ministry approval will result in severe consequences.”
Jongseong’s eyes met yours then, and for the first time, there was something there—a quiet understanding, a shared reluctance. Neither of you wanted this. But there was no choice.
With a deep breath, you reached for the quill. The moment your fingers touched it, a sharp, warm sensation prickled against your skin, and the magic within it stirred in response. You watched as your name etched itself onto the parchment in deep crimson ink.
Across from you, Jongseong did the same.
The moment his signature was completed, the parchment glowed gold, sealing the contract. A faint hum of magic filled the air as the binding took effect.
It was done. You were married.
The official gave a brisk nod, gathering the signed documents. “The bond is sealed. You are now husband and wife under magical law.” He closed the ledger with a dull thud before standing. “Congratulations.”
The word felt hollow.
The moment you stepped into the apartment the Ministry had assigned, the full weight of your situation slammed into you. This wasn’t just a bureaucratic nightmare anymore. It was real. It was your life.
The space was larger than you expected, a sleek, magically expanded flat that felt caught between two worlds—modern and traditional, functional and intimate, impersonal yet unsettlingly designed for romance. It was clear that whoever had designed these living quarters had done so with the idea of a happily married couple in mind.
The open-concept living space had softly enchanted lighting, walls painted in neutral, calming tones that could be adjusted to fit the residents' “mood.” A fireplace sat in the center of the lounge, with a plush sofa curved just enough to suggest cozy nights spent tangled together. The kitchen was fully stocked, fitted with both Muggle and magical appliances, making it impossible to avoid the domestic intimacy the Ministry seemed so determined to impose.
Two bedrooms were set at opposite ends of the flat, though one was clearly meant to be temporary. The master bedroom, which you tried to ignore, was the worst of it. The king-sized bed was too large, too luxurious, the silk sheets far too inviting. The enchanted wardrobes had already been merged, both your belongings stored together, blending lives you hadn’t chosen to entwine.
Even the bathroom was designed for two people meant to share everything. The tub was massive, the type built for indulgent baths, fitted with potion-infused oils meant to relax muscles—meant to encourage closeness. The sinks, the mirrors, the counter space—everything was structured with a life of intimacy in mind.
Jongseong was standing stiffly just inside the doorway, his hands still shoved into the pockets of his dark robes. He looked as out of place as you felt. His eyes flickered over the surroundings, lingering on the details, his expression betraying nothing.
“Well,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “This is… something.”
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Yeah.”
An awkward pause stretched between you. Neither of you moved.
You cleared your throat. “So… Do you want to set some ground rules?”
Jongseong finally looked at you, his head tilting slightly. “Ground rules?”
You shifted uncomfortably. “For… coexisting.”
A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but it disappeared just as quickly. “Fair enough.” He nodded toward the hallway. “You can take the bedroom on the left.”
You hesitated. “The Ministry expects us to share one eventually.”
His jaw tightened slightly, but his voice remained calm. “We don’t have to rush into that.”
You let out a breath of relief. “Good.”
Another silence settled. This was going to be excruciating.
You thought the first night would be easier because you had separate rooms. It wasn’t.
The walls were too thin. Every tiny shift, every creak of the floorboards, every sigh of the bed linens as one of you turned over—it was impossible to forget that you weren’t alone. That there was someone else here, just a few steps away, existing in the same space, adjusting to the same forced reality.
You lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, feeling every inch of the strangeness that had settled into your life. The silence of the apartment was deafening. Somewhere beyond your door, Jongseong was doing the same. Not sleeping. Not moving. Just existing in this same, uncomfortable limbo.
You weren’t sure how long you lay there before you heard it—
A soft, almost hesitant knock on your door.
You sat up immediately, heart stammering in your chest. “…Yeah?”
You moved toward the coffee pot, pretending not to notice how he was gripping his quill a little too tightly. The sight of him already reading the regulations booklet made your stomach twist. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know what new absurdities the Ministry had included.
“What’s that?” you asked warily.
Jongseong turned the booklet toward you so you could see the bold title stamped on the front.
A Guide to Magical Marital Expectations: Understanding the Unity Act.
You stared at him. “You’re actually reading that?”
He shrugged, flipping to the next page. “Figured it might be useful to know what we’re legally bound to.”
You sighed, sinking into the chair across from him. “And? What’s in it?”
Jongseong skimmed a few lines before speaking. “Mostly just reinforcing what we were already told. Cohabitation, marital duties, legal ramifications if we break the contract.” He hesitated, his fingers pausing on the page. His jaw tensed slightly, and that was when you knew whatever he had just read wasn’t going to be pleasant.
A beat of silence.
Bravely, you cleared your throat. “What else are you working on?”
Jongseong’s eyes flickered up briefly before he tapped the page with his quill. “Just organizing my work schedule. Trying to figure out how to balance—” He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “All of this.”
Right. Work. You hadn’t even thought about how this new life would affect your schedules. You needed to figure out yours, his, how to exist in this space without stepping on each other’s toes.
“I have a morning shift at Flourish and Blotts starting tomorrow,” you said after a pause. “And I have an evening class twice a week.”
Jongseong nodded slowly. “I start work at the Ministry at eight every morning. Sometimes later, depending on meetings. But I’m usually back by seven.”
You absorbed that. That meant you’d have the mornings mostly to yourself, but the evenings… “So we’ll see each other mostly at night.”
“Yeah.” His expression didn’t change, but there was something unreadable in his gaze. Maybe he was just as wary of that realization as you were.
You stirred your coffee absentmindedly. “And, uh… weekends?”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t usually work on weekends, but I study. And sometimes I meet up with friends.”
Right. Friends. You almost forgot that, despite everything, he had a life outside of this.
That thought stuck with you longer than it should have. Maybe because you were realizing that your life, your freedom, had been traded in for something else. For something you didn’t get to choose.
“Oh,” he said flatly. “Also.” He looked up at you, his dark eyes unreadable. “The shared bed rule.”
You grimaced. “I was hoping they’d forgotten about that part.”
Jongseong sighed, setting the booklet down with more force than necessary. “Unfortunately, the Ministry doesn’t forget anything.”
The booklet sat between you on the table, the pages filled with carefully worded regulations, all designed to ensure that the couples formed under the Magical Unity Act fulfilled their “duties.” The words seemed too sharp, too final, as if they carried an unspoken command beneath them.
Your fingers curled around the edge of your mug as you read the clause for yourself.
Clause 7.3 - Marital CohabitationIn order to promote a natural and successful union, married partners must reside within a shared living space and engage in consistent physical proximity.
It is required that both parties sleep within the same quarters by the third month of marriage.
Noncompliance will result in Ministry intervention.
You exhaled sharply, closing your eyes for a moment. “They’re really monitoring everything.”
Jongseong tapped his fingers against the table, his expression carefully neutral. “We have three months to figure that part out.”
You rubbed your temples. “Three months is… not a lot of time.”
He looked at you for a long moment before setting the booklet aside. “We’ll deal with it when we have to.”
And for some reason, that stuck with you.
Jongseong—or Jay, as his closest friends called him—was totally unamused by his morning conversation.
He sat at his desk in the Ministry, flipping through paperwork as Jake lounged against the opposite desk, watching him with a knowing look. The blond Auror had a casual ease about him, one leg stretched out, a quill spinning between his fingers as he regarded Jay with mild amusement.
“So,” Jake finally said, dragging out the word. “How’s married life?”
Jay didn’t look up. “It’s fine.”
His friend snorted, adjusting his robes as he leaned in. “Oh, come on. I know you better than that.”
Jay set his quill down with a sigh. “What do you want me to say?”
Jake tilted his head, considering. “I don’t know. That she’s unbearable? That she’s the love of your life? That you’ve realized you actually have a thing for arranged marriages?”
Unamused, Jay shot him a flat look. “None of the above.”
But the blond was relentless, he leaned forward, arms resting on the desk. “So, what? You guys are just awkwardly existing in the same space?”
Jay hesitated, fingers tapping against the parchment in front of him. “…Something like that.”
“Is she at least decent company?”
Jay exhaled, stretching his arms before finally looking up. “She’s normal. It’s awkward. We’re trying to figure out how to coexist without making it worse.”
“Makes sense. I mean, you didn’t exactly get a say in this. Neither of you did.”
Jay appreciated that Jake wasn’t trying to force humor into the situation, not like their other friends probably would. Jake had a way of knowing when to joke and when to actually listen, which was why he was one of the few people Jay actually talked to about things that mattered.
the Australian smirked. “Alright, I’ll leave it alone. But tell me one thing.”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “What?”
The blond's grin was slow and knowing. “Do you find her attractive?”
Jay’s hand froze mid-page turn.
Jake caught it immediately. “Ohhh. That’s interesting.”
rolling his eyes, setting the file aside a little too forcefully, the married man in question responds. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Jay pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re insufferable.”
Jake laughed, standing up and stretching. “Well, I’d say welcome to married life, but…” He gave his friend a mockingly sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve already figured out it’s a mess.”
Jay shoved his hand away. “Get out of my office.”
“See you at lunch, hubby.”
Jay groaned as Jake walked away, already regretting every life decision that had led to this conversation.
Jongseong was a morning person. You learned that quickly.
He was always the first to wake up, moving around the apartment with an effortless ease that was frankly annoying to someone like you, who preferred to cling to sleep for as long as possible. You often woke to the sound of the shower running, the smell of coffee brewing, and the faint rustling of parchment as he read through Ministry documents while waiting for breakfast.
This morning was no different a few weeks later.
By the time you groggily dragged yourself out of bed, Jongseong was already fresh out of the shower, hair still damp, a towel slung low around his waist. His toned chest and broad shoulders glowed slightly in the morning light, water droplets still clinging to his skin as he casually walked toward his dresser, seemingly unaware—or unbothered—by your presence.
You immediately averted your eyes, heart stammering in your chest. But you could still feel him, still sense the heat radiating off his skin, and the way the air seemed thicker in his presence.
“Morning,” he greeted smoothly, voice still slightly hoarse from sleep.
Your throat felt impossibly dry. “Yeah. Morning.”
He smirked slightly, as if noticing your discomfort, and continued dressing—slowly. The deliberate way he pulled his shirt over his head before taking it off again, deciding he wanted a different one, the flex of his muscles, the way he pushed his damp hair back… it was infuriatingly distracting.
You turned toward the kitchen in desperation, fingers gripping the edge of the counter as you tried to steady yourself. You were not going to be affected by this.
But then he walked past you, his bare arm brushing against yours, the heat of his skin searing through the fabric of your sleeve. You felt the breath hitch in your throat, a sudden rush of awareness sparking along your spine.
You had just taken your first sip of coffee, finally feeling somewhat human, when a loud knock echoed through the apartment. You and Jongseong exchanged a glance.
“Expecting someone?” you asked.
He sighed, setting his mug down. “No. But I have a bad feeling about it.”
The moment Jongseong opened the door, a tall, severe-looking woman in a charcoal robe strode in without invitation. She introduced herself as Ms. Alderton, her expression a mixture of polite authority and thinly veiled scrutiny.
“We’re conducting routine compliance inspections under the Magical Unity Act,” she said, flipping through her clipboard. “It’s a simple process, really. Just verifying that the two of you are… adjusting well to married life.”
Your stomach dropped.
Jongseong had not finished dressing.
He was still only wearing a towel around his waist.
You saw the exact moment Ms. Alderton’s eyes flickered downward—not in a scandalized way, but in a very obvious assessment of the situation.
“Oh.” She blinked, arching an eyebrow. “I see I’ve caught you at a… private moment.”
Jongseong’s entire body tensed. You scrambled to grab his shirt off the chair and shove it at him.
“Right, um, we weren’t expecting company,” you said quickly, willing your face not to burn.
Jongseong took the shirt, clearing his throat as he pulled it on, but not before you saw the way his abs tightened under the scrutiny, the way his fingers twitched as he buttoned his shirt with forced composure.
Ms. Alderton hummed, clearly unimpressed. She began the inspection, moving through the apartment with cold efficiency.
She examined your living quarters, asked too many questions about how often you and Jay were together in the same space, and, of course, dropped the expected question:
“And how are you finding the transition into… intimacy?”
You nearly choked on your tea.
Jongseong, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “We’re taking our time with that,” he said evenly. “As I’m sure the Ministry is aware, not all couples move at the same pace.”
Ms. Alderton gave him a knowing look, scribbling something onto her parchment. “Well, as you both know, there are expectations to be met. We’ll check in again soon.”
And with that, she was gone, leaving the weight of her unspoken warnings hanging in the air.
You let out a long breath, still feeling the residual heat of the morning’s tension clinging to your skin.
At work, Jongseong barely had time to sit at his desk before Jake was on him.
“Alright, listen, I’ve been patient, but you’re dodging, man,” the blond Auror said, plopping down in the chair across from Jay’s desk. “We need to meet her.”
Jay sighed, rubbing his temple. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”
Jake gave him a pointed look. “You’ve been married for weeks and we haven’t even met your wife. Sunghoon’s convinced you made her up.”
“We’re fine. We’re adjusting. That’s all you need to know.”
Jake smirked. “See, the more you say it’s fine, the less I believe it.”
“You’re impossible.”
Jake shrugged. “That’s why you love me. So, what do you say? A small get-together. Nothing crazy.”
Jay sighed again, but this time, he hesitated. He knew the Blond wouldn’t let this go.
“I’ll… think about it.”
When Jay got home that evening, you could immediately tell something was on his mind.
“What is it?” you asked, watching as he loosened his tie.
“Jake keeps pushing for us to meet up with him and the guys,” Jay admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I told him we were fine, but he wasn’t buying it.”
You thought about it for a moment before shrugging. “Maybe we should.”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
You nodded. “I mean, we’re supposed to be building a life together, right? It might help to actually know the people in it. And… if something ever happens, it’d be good to have them as a support system.”
Jay studied you for a moment, then sighed. “Alright. But there’s an issue,” You arched your brow in response, “ They think we’re like them, you know, more settled into our married life”
“Ah, I see.”
He chuckled dryly, “And I haven’t had the chance to correct them.”
And that was how you found yourself getting ready to put on a show.
You weren’t sure why you felt so on edge. It was just a night out with his friends—people who, by all accounts, had no real expectations of you beyond existing at Jongseong’s side. But still, as you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your outfit for what felt like the tenth time, something in your chest felt tight.
Jongseong passed by behind you, fastening the cuff of his crisp, navy button-up. The color complemented his complexion unfairly well, the sleeves neatly rolled up to his forearms, just casual enough to look effortless.
His reflection met yours in the mirror. “Are you ready yet?” he asked, smoothing a hand through his hair.
You exhaled through your nose. “You act like getting ready is as simple as putting on a shirt.”
He smirked. “It is, actually.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t push it. Instead, you turned slightly, watching as he undid the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing just the faintest sliver of his collarbone. It wasn’t intentional, but it made something stir deep in your stomach.
The silence stretched between you as you turned back toward the mirror. He lingered behind you, close enough that the warmth of his body made the air feel heavier.
His voice came softer this time. “You look fine.”
Fine. Not breathtaking, not beautiful—just fine.
You scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”
Jongseong’s gaze flickered over you, his brows drawing together slightly like he wanted to say something else but thought better of it. Instead, he just let out a short exhale and reached for his wand. “Let’s go before Jake tracks me down and drags us there himself.”
As he stepped closer, brushing past you to grab his jacket, your breath caught in your throat. The scent of his cologne—clean, warm, just faintly spiced—wrapped around you before you could react. Your skin prickled as he leaned past you, his fingers grazing the dresser beside you.
You didn’t move until he pulled back, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve with practiced ease. Jongseong glanced at you once more, amusement dancing in his dark eyes, before he disappeared into the Floo Network.
You stepped into the Floo Network, watching as Jongseong disappeared in a swirl of green flames before following suit. The familiar tug of magic sent you tumbling through the space between, and in the next moment, you landed just behind him in the bustling pub.
The scent of warm ale, roasted meat, and burning firewood wrapped around you, the low murmur of conversation filling the air. The pub was lively but not overly packed—just busy enough to feel comfortably distracting.
Jongseong placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. His touch was light, but it lingered, a silent reminder that this was part of the act.
Jake spotted you first, grinning. “There they are!” He leaned back in his chair, tilting his glass toward you both. “The happy couple.”
You tried not to stiffen at the word. Happy. That was the goal, right?
Jongseong slipped into the role easily, his arm around your waist a little firmer now. “You make it sound like we’ve been in hiding.”
Jake clapped him on the back as everyone scooted over to make space. “Well, you have! We needed proof you didn’t just run away.”
The conversation flowed smoothly, the group’s laughter blending into the warm, buzzing atmosphere. But you couldn’t help noticing the way Jongseong’s hand lingered on your waist, the way his thumb traced lazy circles over the fabric of your dress. It was subtle—just enough to be convincing, just enough to make your pulse jump.
Sunghoon smirked, raising a brow. “So, how’s married life? Are you two still in the honeymoon phase?”
Jake chuckled. “Yeah, Jay keeps insisting they’re doing just great.”
You felt Jongseong’s hand tighten slightly on your hip as he hummed in agreement. “We are.”
And then, before you could react, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple.
It was brief, chaste, and yet… oddly intimate. His lips lingered just long enough to make your skin prickle with awareness.
The table burst into cheers.
As the night went on, the conversation shifted from teasing to storytelling. Jake leaned back in his seat, shaking his head fondly. “You know, I still don’t know how the hell Jay managed to get through Hogwarts without completely embarrassing himself.”
Sunghoon chuckled. “That’s because he had us covering for him.”
Jongseong scoffed. “You mean causing more problems than helping?”
Jake smirked. “Call it whatever you want, mate. But let’s not forget that one time you tried to impress a girl by showing off on the Quidditch pitch and almost broke your arm.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Now this sounds like a story I need to hear.”
Jake grinned. “See, back in school, Jay was all business, all the time. But one day, some girl in Ravenclaw was watching him practice, and he got it in his head that he should show off—flew higher than necessary, tried a fancy dive, and nearly knocked himself unconscious.”
Heeseung chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, young love.”
Sunghoon leaned in. “Speaking of, we should all introduce our wives one day. Maybe have a proper dinner.”
Jongseong stiffened slightly, and you felt it. But before he could say anything, you jumped in.
“That would be nice,” you said, smiling. “Though, I’ll admit, I’d probably be terrible at hosting.”
Jake waved a hand. “Nah, don’t worry about that. Besides, I heard you’re friends with Riki?”
Your brows lifted. “Yeah, I basically treat him like my little brother.”
Jake laughed. “Figures. We were both in the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. He was a Seeker, I was a Chaser—best duo ever.”
Sunghoon snorted. “And yet, somehow, Jay was the one always getting all the attention.”
Jake groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
The banter continued, light and warm, and despite yourself, you found that you were enjoying it. The illusion of normalcy was beginning to feel real.
Jongseong wasn’t just your forced husband tonight—he was someone who had a past, who had friends that truly cared about him. And maybe, you were starting to see why people cared about him, too.
The moment the Floo Network spit you both out into the apartment, the spell of the night started to break. Gone was the warm, buzzing atmosphere of the pub. Now, there was only quiet, filled with nothing but the ticking of the enchanted clock on the wall and the soft rustle of Jongseong adjusting his sleeves.
You expected him to make some dry remark about the night, maybe joke about Jake’s relentless teasing. But instead, he just stood there, staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
You blinked, taken aback. “I—yeah. Why?”
He exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “You were… different tonight.”
Your throat felt dry. “We were both acting.”
“Yeah.” His voice was quiet, unreadable. “I know.”
Neither of you moved. Neither of you quite knew what to do now.
The next few days were… different. Not drastic, not obvious, but something had changed. You noticed it in the way Jongseong lingered in rooms a little longer than before, the way his gaze flickered to you more often, the way silence between you no longer felt so hostile—just heavy.
Even the small moments carried weight. The way he passed you a cup of coffee in the mornings without needing to ask how you took it. The way he let his hand linger just a fraction longer than necessary when handing you something. The way your name sounded softer when he spoke it.
It was nothing. It was everything.
And then came the first real break in the routine.
You hadn’t expected to see Jongseong standing outside your workplace that evening. His presence was striking against the backdrop of hurried Ministry employees, his sleeves rolled up, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against a lamppost.
For a moment, you just stared, thrown by the sight of him waiting for you.
It felt unnatural—this wasn’t part of your unspoken agreement. You met in shared spaces at home, interacted when necessary, but waiting for each other? That was… different.
You hesitated before approaching. “What are you doing here?”
Jongseong glanced up, his dark eyes flickering over you before he straightened. “Picking you up.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “Since when do we do that?”
Jongseong exhaled, shifting his weight. “Since now.”
You studied him, waiting for an explanation that never came. Instead, he pushed off the lamppost and nodded toward the street. “Come on.”
A flicker of uncertainty settled in your stomach as you fell into step beside him. You weren’t used to this—him reaching out first.
As you walked, the sounds of Diagon Alley surrounded you—shopkeepers closing up for the night, the faint hum of distant chatter, the flickering glow of enchanted street lamps. But the quiet between you was louder.
At some point, he spoke again. “You get along with them.”
You glanced at him. “With who?”
“My friends.”
You hummed. “They’re easy to like.”
Jongseong nodded, his hands tucked into his pockets. His steps were measured, like he was choosing his words carefully.
“They like you too.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around your bag strap. Was that what this was about?
“You fit in well,” he added, his voice lower.
Something warm unfurled in your stomach. “Would it have been a problem if I didn’t?”
Jongseong smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Jake would’ve grilled you until you caved.”
You laughed, and for a moment, things felt effortless.
But as you reached the entrance of your shared home, a thought lingered at the back of your mind.
Why did he come to get you in the first place?
It was well past midnight when you shuffled into the kitchen, craving nothing more than a glass of water. You weren’t expecting to see Jongseong standing there, already by the counter, a mug in his hands.
He turned at the sound of your footsteps, his gaze flickering down your figure.
It wasn’t until you followed his line of sight that you realized exactly what you were wearing.
A nightshirt. Just a nightshirt. One that barely skimmed the tops of your thighs.
You hadn’t thought about it before leaving your room, but now, under his scrutiny, it suddenly felt like the single most scandalous thing you could’ve worn.
Jongseong cleared his throat. “Couldn’t sleep?”
You nodded, stepping closer, reaching for a glass. His presence felt larger in the quiet, like it filled the room in ways you weren’t prepared for. Like he was waiting for something neither of you had the words for.
After a moment, you sighed, staring into your mug as if the swirling liquid inside had all the answers. “I texted my parents about… this,” you finally admitted, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Two weeks ago.”
Jongseong’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t interrupt.
“They never replied,” you continued, voice carefully even. “Not that I was expecting them to.”
Jongseongs fingers tapped lightly against the table, a thoughtful rhythm. “They’re Muggles, right?”
You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I didn’t exactly have the best relationship with them before this. But I thought—” You paused, exhaling sharply. “I thought they’d at least say something.”
He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again, his voice softer than before. “Maybe they just… don’t know how to respond.”
You scoffed, shaking your head. “Or maybe they just don’t care.”
Jongseong shifted in his seat, glancing down at his hands. He looked like he wanted to say something, to reach for the right words, but he hesitated. Instead, he settled for a careful, almost reluctant, “I’m sorry.”
You lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “It’s fine.”
The silence stretched. The air felt thick. Too thick.
He exhaled through his nose, eyes flickering up to yours. And for the first time, you didn’t look away.
His fingers twitched. His jaw tensed. His eyes darkened, just slightly. And then, he took a step back. A deliberate one.
You swallowed. “I should—”
“Yeah.” His voice was lower than before. Rougher. “Me too.”
Neither of you moved for a long moment. And then you did.
The next morning, the reminder came. A letter, crisp and official, waiting for both of you on the breakfast table.
Jongseong opened it first, scanning the words, his jaw tightening. You peered over.
Ministry of Magic Directive 492-B: Cohabitation Progress Assessment
As part of your continued marital integration, you are required to submit a Cohabitation Progress Report detailing shared living arrangements and physical proximity. As per Clause 7.3 of the Unity Act, proof of continued cohabitation will be assessed in the next Ministry visit.
Failure to comply with expectations may result in reassessment and intervention.
You let out a slow breath. “They’re watching us closer now.”
Jongseong scoffed, tossing the letter aside. “Of course they are.”
Your fingers curled around the edge of the table. Something about the wording unsettled you.
“Physical proximity,” you murmured. “They’re pushing for more.”
Jongseong ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you. “Yeah.”
Silence.
The weight of the words hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.
“We need to practice.”
You looked up from your book, momentarily caught off guard. “Practice what?”
He closed his own book, exhaling like he had already anticipated your reaction. “Being more… natural with each other. The Ministry is expecting real signs of a relationship, not just two people coexisting in the same space.”
You swallowed, shifting slightly. “You mean touching, kissing, all of that?”
He nodded, meeting your gaze with a calmness that only made your stomach tighten further. He wasn’t wrong, of course. If anything, you should have expected this conversation to happen sooner. But something about the way he said it—so practical, so unaffected—sent a nervous flicker through your chest.
“How do you want to start?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.
Jongseong hesitated for only a moment before he pushed himself off the couch and extended a hand. “Come here.”
You stared at his outstretched fingers, debating, before finally placing your hand in his. His palm was warm, steady, and as he gently pulled you up, you felt your breath catch slightly at how close he was now.
“Hugging first,” he murmured, like he was giving instructions.
You exhaled softly before stepping forward, wrapping your arms around his waist. It felt awkward at first—stiff, calculated—but then, as his arms circled around you in response, something shifted. He was warm, solid, and despite the tension in your shoulders, there was a comfort in the closeness. You felt the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers rested lightly against your back.
“This isn’t terrible,” he muttered, voice lower than usual.
You huffed a small laugh, eyes still pressed against his chest. “High praise.”
He chuckled, a small vibration against your body. The silence stretched between you, no longer heavy with hesitation but something else—something unspoken. You weren’t sure how long you stood like that before he finally murmured, “Next.”
You swallowed, stepping back slightly. His hands lingered a second longer than necessary before dropping away.
“Kissing?” you asked, trying to sound casual.
Jongseong nodded, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “We should get used to it.”
You inhaled, forcing yourself to meet his gaze head-on. “Alright.”
His fingers reached for your chin, tilting it up slightly, and the air in the room seemed to shift. He didn’t move immediately, as if gauging your reaction, waiting for the tension to settle before he finally leaned in.
The first brush of his lips was light, cautious. Testing.
Your breath caught. It was such a simple touch, barely there, and yet it sent a strange warmth curling in your stomach. His lips were soft, warm, lingering just a moment longer than necessary before he pressed in again—this time firmer, deeper.
A slow, deliberate slide of lips.
Your fingers curled involuntarily into his shirt, as if steadying yourself, as his lips moved against yours with a patience that sent your pulse hammering in your ears. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t merely going through the motions. He was learning you.
There was something unbearably intimate about it, something in the way he lingered, in the way his fingers flexed slightly against your waist. Like he wasn’t sure where to place his hands, but he knew he didn’t want to let go.
Your own breath had turned uneven, the warmth between you making your skin prickle. You weren’t supposed to feel this. It was just practice. Just a test.
And yet, your heart betrayed you with every second he refused to pull away.
Just when you thought he was done, his lips barely parted from yours, he hesitated—and then he pressed a featherlight kiss to the corner of your lips, softer than the first, but somehow infinitely more dangerous.
Your eyes snapped open, breath stalling in your throat.
Jongseong didn’t move for a second, his gaze locked on yours as if waiting for a reaction. Then, he took a small step back, clearing his throat. “See? Not so hard.”
You exhaled shakily, forcing a smirk. “Speak for yourself.”
He smiled slightly, but there was something else there now. Something neither of you were quite ready to address.
That night, long after you had gone to bed, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The feel of his lips hadn’t left you. The warmth of his touch still clung to your skin, lingering in a way that made sleep impossible.
The first morning after the kiss, you had been unsure what to expect. Would he pretend it hadn’t happened? Would the air be awkward between you?
You walked into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and saw him standing by the stove, making coffee like he always did. The difference was how he looked at you.
"Morning," he said, and before you could respond, he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with an ease that made your stomach turn over. The touch was fleeting, barely there, yet entirely intentional.
By the second day, it was a hand at your waist when he passed by you in the hallway, fingers lingering as if testing his boundaries. You weren’t sure when it started feeling natural, but you knew that by the third day, when Jongseong pressed a small peck to your temple as he handed you your morning coffee, you didn’t freeze.
You accepted it.
Maybe even welcomed it.
By then, you had decided that if he could do it so easily, so could you. That morning, before leaving for work, you turned back to him just as you reached the door.
"See you later," you murmured, before pressing a quick peck to his cheek.
It was supposed to be casual, unthinking, but as soon as you stepped back, you caught the slight widening of his eyes before he composed himself. You had caught him off guard.
You swallowed, feigning nonchalance, before leaving quickly. You were the one initiating now.
It was the second evening when Jongseong offered to pick you up from work again.
"If people see us together more often, it might help with the whole convincing thing," he had reasoned.
Logical. Sensible. Everything Jongseong was.
Except when he showed up outside your building, leaning against the stone wall with his hands in his coat pockets, looking entirely unbothered while your coworkers noticed.
"Your husband’s here again," one of them teased as they nudged you.
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the heat crawling up your neck as you stepped outside. He looked good under the streetlights, the cool air turning his skin slightly pink. His gaze met yours, and something flickered in his eyes before he pushed off the wall and walked toward you.
"Long day?" he asked as he fell into step beside you.
"Exhausting," you murmured. "Thanks for picking me up."
He glanced at you, then, as if on impulse, reached for your hand. Not a performance. Just instinct. His fingers laced through yours with the same steadiness he always carried, and even though you told yourself it was just for show, your pulse didn’t get the memo.
Halfway down the street, you spotted a familiar figure across the road—Jake. He caught sight of you at the same time, waving enthusiastically.
Without thinking, you smiled and waved back. "Jake!"
Jongseong’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, just barely noticeable, but he didn’t say anything.
Jake grinned, giving a knowing look before disappearing into the crowd. You cleared your throat, hoping Jongseong didn’t read into anything. But of course, he had noticed.
The morning of the visit felt different. Heavier.
You woke up to the quiet sounds of Jongseong moving around the flat, the faint scent of coffee drifting through the air. The weight of the upcoming meeting sat in your chest like a stone—there was no ignoring the fact that today, the Ministry would scrutinize everything you and Jongseong had been working toward.
You lingered in bed for a moment longer than usual, staring at the ceiling, feeling the heat of your own overactive thoughts. Had you practiced enough? Would they believe you? Would they catch on that some of these moments had started feeling far too real?
You sighed, forcing yourself up, and padded into the kitchen. Jongseong was leaning against the counter, arms crossed as he sipped from his mug. His hair was still damp from his shower, sticking to his forehead slightly, and—
You blinked. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.
Again.
Jongseong barely acknowledged you as he took another sip of coffee, then set the mug down with an exhale. “We should go over a few things before they get here.”
You were still staring at his bare chest, lips slightly parted. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this—Merlin, you lived together now—but something about it felt different today.
“Uh,” you said eloquently. “You’re—”
“I know,” he replied, completely unbothered. “I forgot to grab my shirt from the other room.”
Before you could respond, a loud knock at the door shattered the moment.
Panic seized your chest.
“They’re early?” you hissed.
Jongseong swore under his breath, grabbing for the nearest thing—your cardigan, which had been draped over a chair. He threw it at you before sprinting toward the bedroom, leaving you standing there, gripping the fabric uselessly as another knock sounded.
Forcing down your nerves, you rushed to the door, opening it just enough to see the official standing there, a clipboard in hand.
“Mrs. Park?” the man asked in a clipped tone.
“Yes,” you said, trying to sound composed.
“We’re here for the cohabitation assessment,” he continued, adjusting his glasses as he glanced down at his paperwork. “May we come in?”
You stepped aside, letting them in, just as Jongseong reappeared—this time fully dressed, but slightly breathless. The Ministry official’s gaze flickered between you both, already taking notes.
The official took a seat at the dining table, motioning for both of you to do the same. His assistant, a younger witch with keen eyes, remained standing near the bookshelf, observing.
“We’ll start with some basic questions,” the man said, clicking his quill against the parchment. “How has married life been treating you both?”
Jongseong leaned back slightly, arm draping over the back of your chair in a practiced motion. “It’s been an adjustment,” he said smoothly, glancing at you with what looked like amusement. “But we’re settling in well.”
The official hummed, eyes narrowing. “What would you say has been the biggest change since getting married?”
You hesitated, heart pounding. What was a normal answer?
Jongseong, of course, had no problem answering. “Waking up to each other in the house.”
You nearly choked on air.
The official scribbled something down. “And how do you usually spend your evenings together?”
Your mind raced. Jongseong was the first to respond, again, far too at ease with all of this. “Dinner, talking about our days, sometimes reading together on the couch.”
That was true. But the way he was selling it so smoothly made heat creep up your neck.
The assistant tilted her head. “And your sleeping arrangements?”
The air in the room thickened.
Jongseong barely hesitated. “We have separate rooms for now, but we’re adjusting.”
The official’s quill paused. A bad sign.
“That will need to change,” he said briskly. “As you know, starting next week, it will be mandatory for all married couples under this law to share a bedroom. The Ministry will have enchantments in place to verify compliance. Any deviation from this could result in a reevaluation of your union.”
Your stomach twisted. They were going to monitor your sleeping arrangements?
The assistant added, “It’s a common concern among couples who haven’t previously lived together, but physical closeness is a necessary step toward a successful marriage.”
Your hands clenched beneath the table. Necessary? Successful? What did that even mean in a marriage you hadn’t chosen?
The official leaned forward slightly. “Are you prepared for that transition?”
Jongseong’s grip on the back of your chair tightened just slightly before he nodded. “Of course.”
The official’s gaze flickered between you two, scrutinizing every reaction, every hesitation. “Then we will expect that adjustment to be complete by the next check-in.”
The assistant cleared her throat. “One last thing. We need to verify your comfort with one another.”
You barely had time to process before Jongseong’s fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face toward him.
You should’ve seen it coming.
His lips brushed against yours softly, gently at first. But the moment your breath caught, the moment he felt your fingers instinctively tighten around his, he pressed in just a little more—lingering, deepening, turning what should have been just for show into something you didn’t know how to categorize.
By the time he pulled away, your pulse was hammering.
The official seemed satisfied. “That will do.”
Jongseong didn’t let go of your hand.
The Ministry left shortly after, having seen enough. The moment the door shut behind them, you turned to Jongseong, heart still racing.
“That was—”
“Convincing?” he supplied, arching an eyebrow. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.
You swallowed. “You didn’t have to—”
He cut you off, voice lower. “Would you rather I hadn’t?”
You had no answer to that.
Because the truth was, you weren’t sure anymore.
And, worse still, in just a few days, you wouldn’t be able to avoid the reality of what the Ministry expected from you.
You weren’t just playing house anymore. You were about to start living in it.
You remained standing by the door, arms crossed, still feeling the weight of their scrutiny on your skin. The words lingered between you and Jongseong like an unspoken curse.
You must share a bedroom. You must be physically close. The Ministry will verify.
You turned slowly, eyes meeting Jongseong’s. He was still standing near the table, fingers drumming against the wood. He looked composed—too composed, like he hadn’t just promised the officials something neither of you had fully prepared for.
“You said it so easily,” you muttered.
Jongseong raised a brow. “Would you rather I had hesitated?”
Your arms tightened around yourself. “I don’t know.”
His expression remained impassive, but something in the air shifted—thick, charged with something unspoken.
You swallowed. “We have a week.”
“Six days.”
Your gaze snapped up. “You’re counting?”
He shrugged. “It’s important.”
You exhaled sharply and turned toward the hallway. The flat wasn’t huge, but it had two bedrooms. Your bedroom and his. The safe distance you had clung to was suddenly about to vanish.
You crossed your arms tighter over your chest. “We need to figure out how to do this.”
Jongseong ran a hand through his hair, considering. “We should start by deciding how to—”
“Who’s moving?” you interrupted. “You or me?”
He blinked. You hadn’t even let him finish.
For some reason, the question flustered him more than he expected. He looked toward his room, then toward yours, then back at you. “I… I guess it makes sense for one of us to move into the other’s space.”
You rolled your eyes. “That’s obvious.”
His jaw tensed. “Then why do you sound upset?”
You inhaled sharply. “Because this isn’t normal. None of this is normal.”
Silence. The tension was razor-thin, tight enough to snap, but just as the air felt like it might crack open with unspoken frustration, Jongseong suddenly stepped forward.
Your breath hitched as he reached up, fingers brushing lightly against your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. His touch was barely there—soft, lingering, as if grounding you before the moment could spiral too far.
Your stomach flipped. The anger, the frustration—it melted in an instant, leaving something quieter in its place.
“I know,” he murmured. “But we don’t have a choice.”
He hesitated for a beat before his thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, his fingers barely ghosting your jawline.
“Baby,” he murmured softly, testing the word, letting it hang between you. His eyes searched yours. “Is that okay?”
Your lips parted, but no words came. You weren’t sure what shocked you more—the nickname, or the fact that you didn’t mind it.
You swallowed, heart hammering in your chest, but eventually, you nodded.
Jongseong held your gaze for a second longer before his hand dropped, tension breaking just enough for you to exhale again.
You cleared your throat, stepping back slightly. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“It matters,” he murmured again. His gaze flickered with something unreadable before he turned and walked toward his room. He pushed the door open, revealing a clean and modern space—a bed that somehow seemed too big, a desk neatly arranged, shelves lined with things you hadn’t paid attention to before.
“This will work,” he said simply, like it was nothing. Like moving you into his space wasn’t going to alter everything.
You stepped into the room cautiously, running your fingers along the edge of his desk. This was real now.
Jongseong moved beside you, hands slipping into his pockets. “You’ll take the bed, obviously.”
Your head snapped toward him. “Where are you going to sleep?”
“The couch.”
“No.” The word left you before you could think about it. Because that would be too obvious. Too much space. Too much defiance against what they were expecting.
Jongseong tilted his head. “No?”
You swallowed. “If they’re monitoring, we can’t make it look fake.”
His expression was unreadable. Then, after a long silence, he said, “We’ll take sides.”
You nodded slowly. “Sides.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Neither of you moved.
The weight of the agreement pressed in around you. You would share a bed. You would be inches apart at night. The pretense of distance was officially gone.
Jongseong finally sighed. “I’ll move your things in tomorrow.”
You nodded. Then, after a pause, you took a small step toward him. “This isn’t going to be easy, is it?”
He smirked faintly. “Nothing about this has been.”
You exhaled slowly. “Then we should make it look real.”
Jongseong’s smirk faded slightly. He tilted his head, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. That look. That tension.
Without thinking, you reached for his wrist, fingers curling around it just briefly before pulling away. Something about touching him first felt necessary.
Jongseong didn’t pull back. Instead, he lifted a hand, his fingers brushing against yours before he murmured, “We’ll figure it out.”
You nodded, stepping back. “We have six days.”
His lips quirked. “Five and a half.”
You huffed a laugh despite yourself. Then, before you could change your mind, you turned and left the room, your pulse still unsteady in your chest.
The first night in the same room felt heavier than you had expected. You sat at the edge of the bed, fingers gripping the sheets as the reality of the situation fully settled over you.
Jay was in the bathroom, the faint sound of running water filling the silence of the bedroom. Your bedroom now. Your bed, which was suddenly meant for two.
When he stepped out, towel drying his hair, you didn’t look up immediately. Instead, you focused on the shifting space around you—the way your books now lined part of his shelf, your blanket was folded at the foot of the bed beside his, your perfume lingered in the air now.
The room was no longer just his. It was becoming yours, too.
Jay let out a slow exhale as he tossed his towel over a chair. When you finally looked up, your gaze caught on the fact that he was shirtless. He had no intention of sleeping in one, it seemed.
“I don’t sleep with a shirt on,” he said casually, noticing your stare.
You swallowed and cleared your throat. “Can you—just for tonight?”
Jay’s brows lifted slightly before he let out a quiet chuckle. “You really think a shirt’s gonna make a difference, baby?”
Your stomach flipped at the nickname, the casual way it rolled off his tongue. The second time tonight.
You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “Just for tonight.”
He sighed, but didn’t argue, grabbing a t-shirt from the dresser and slipping it on before climbing into bed. “Happy?”
You ignored the warmth creeping up your neck and nodded.
“You okay?” he asked after a beat, watching you.
You blinked. That was the first time he’d asked you that all night.
“Yeah,” you said, voice quieter than intended. “Just… adjusting.”
He hummed, turning onto his back. “You’ll get used to it.”
Would you?
You inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “We should set some ground rules.”
He nodded, shifting to get comfortable. “Okay. Like what?”
You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip. “No unnecessary touching while sleeping.”
Jay smirked. “You think I’m gonna be all over you in my sleep?”
Your stomach flipped at the teasing edge in his voice. “I think accidents happen,” you countered, narrowing your eyes.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Fine. No unnecessary touching.”
You nodded, though the warmth in your cheeks refused to fade.
“Anything else?” he asked, glancing toward you as he adjusted the pillows.
You hesitated again. “What if, what if one of us wakes up first?”
Jay raised a brow. “Then the other keeps sleeping? That’s usually how waking up works.”
You glared. “I mean, do we pretend to still be asleep? Do we—do we greet each other? What’s the etiquette here?”
Jay let out a soft chuckle, clearly amused. “I dunno. Do you want me to say good morning all soft and sweet? Maybe kiss your forehead while I’m at it?”
You shot him a look, but the mental image sent something warm curling in your stomach.
He grinned. “I’ll just say ‘morning’ and get out of bed. Sound good?”
You nodded. “Okay. That works.”
Jay leaned back against the headboard, watching you for a moment before tilting his head. "By the way," he murmured, "you don’t have to keep calling me Jongseong. Jay is fine."
You hesitated. "Are you sure?"
He smirked slightly. "Yeah. Sounds better when you say it."
Your stomach did an odd little flip at that, but you masked it with a nod. "Alright. Jay."
“You sure you’re comfortable?”
You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah.”
He hummed again, like he didn’t fully believe you, but didn’t push.
Then, just as you were about to shift under the covers, he reached over and brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.
Your breath hitched slightly at the unexpected softness of the gesture. It was casual, like something natural, something instinctive.
“Relax,” he murmured, voice lower now, almost drowsy. “It’s just me.”
Just him.
The realization settled somewhere deep in your chest as you nodded slowly. You lay back, facing the ceiling for a long moment, listening to the quiet rhythm of the room. Eventually, Jay flicked the bedside lamp off, and darkness swallowed the space between you both.
After a long stretch of silence, you swallowed and, almost in a whisper, asked, "Are you already used to it?"
There was a pause before Jay shifted slightly beside you. His voice was softer than before when he finally answered. "Not yet."
Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. You had spilled coffee on your only clean work shirt, and barely made it to your job on time. Meetings ran over, projects piled up, and no matter how much you tried to get ahead, the day kept dragging you down.
Then, to top it all off, the train home was delayed, and your wand flickered weakly when you tried to summon your keys at the door. By the time you finally stepped inside the apartment, exhaustion clung to your bones, irritation simmering beneath your skin.
You kicked off your shoes with more force than necessary, throwing your bag onto the chair with a frustrated huff. Everything sucked. Absolutely everything.
Then you looked toward the bed.
Jay was already there, half-asleep, his head turned toward the door as if he had been waiting for you. His hair was messy, his bare shoulders peeking out from beneath the covers. The dim lighting made his features softer, relaxed in a way that nearly made you forget how awful your day had been.
“Took you long enough,” he mumbled sleepily.
Your frustration flickered, the sharp edges of it dulling almost instantly. You sighed, running a hand over your face. “Yeah. Today was hell.”
Jay hummed, eyes barely open as he shifted, making just enough space for you. “C’mere, baby.”
Your heart clenched at the way he said it, voice thick with sleep, laced with a quiet warmth that had no right making you feel better.
You sighed again, but this time it wasn’t frustration—it was something softer, something that melted under the weight of his tired gaze.
You moved toward the closet to change, but Jay groaned softly, burying his face in the pillow. “No, just talk to me. I wanna hear about your day.”
You shook your head, exhaling as you unbuttoned your shirt. “You’re barely awake.”
“So?” he muttered, voice muffled. “Still wanna hear you.”
His insistence chipped away at whatever was left of your bad mood. As you moved through your night routine, you found yourself telling him everything—the stupid meetings, the unbearable commute, the way your boss kept mispronouncing your name even after working together for months.
Jay hummed occasionally, nodding in half-conscious agreement, eyes drifting shut between your sentences. But every time you stopped, thinking he had finally fallen asleep, his voice would break the silence.
“What happened after that?”
“Did you tell them off?”
“Bet you rolled your eyes at least five times.”
By the time you finally crawled into bed, most of the weight from the day had lifted, replaced by a quiet comfort that settled deep in your bones. As you exhaled, sinking into the sheets, Jay shifted beside you. His eyes were barely open, sleep pressing heavy against him, but he still reached out, fingers brushing against your cheek.
Without thinking, he murmured, "C’mere," and before you could register what was happening, he pulled you in, pressing a firm, lingering kiss against your lips. It was warm, slow, edged with sleep and something softer, something that made your chest tighten.
By the time he pulled away, his lips barely ghosting against yours, he was already halfway asleep again. "Better?" he mumbled, his voice slurred.
You swallowed, your pulse unsteady. "Yeah," you whispered. Jay’s fingers brushed against your arm as he exhaled a long, satisfied sigh. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
You huffed, shaking your head. “Me talking about my day was more for your entertainment than comfort, wasn’t it?”
Jay’s lips curled lazily. “Maybe.”
You rolled your eyes, shifting under the covers. But then Jay mumbled, “No shirt, no pants? I know you don’t like to wear your pants to sleep.”
You exhaled, already feeling the exhaustion tug at your limbs. “Fine.”
His fingers flexed against the sheets, satisfied. “Good. Together, we make one whole pajama set.”
You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
Jay hummed in agreement, already drifting off. Only when you settled beside him, feeling the shared warmth beneath the blankets, did he finally stop fighting sleep. But before he did, his hand found your cheek, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin.
Without thinking, he leaned in again, this time pressing a softer, lingering kiss against your jaw. You exhaled slowly, your hands hesitating for only a moment before one of them lifted, fingers grazing the bare skin of his chest, feeling the warmth beneath your touch. His breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted closer, his lips trailing down to brush a barely-there kiss against the curve of your neck, his hand moving up to cradle the side of your face.
"Sleep," he mumbled against your skin, voice fading into exhaustion, before finally letting go.
You woke up to warmth. A slow, steady heat radiating from beside you, the blankets feeling heavier than usual.
Your eyes blinked open to see him still asleep, lying on his stomach, one arm tucked under his pillow, the other stretched out lazily, fingers grazing your side. His breathing was even, his face completely relaxed in sleep.
You hesitated, watching him for just a moment longer than necessary, before attempting to shift away.
The second you moved, Jay groaned low in his throat. “Stay,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. His fingers flexed against your hip before retracting as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you yet.
You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped at his drowsy tone. “I need coffee.”
Jay cracked one eye open. “You always need coffee.”
You huffed. “And you always wake up in a good mood. How?”
He smirked sleepily, rolling onto his back with a slow stretch, his toned stomach peeking out from under the sheets. “It’s a gift, baby.”
The nickname sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, and you pushed the covers off before he could catch your expression. “I’m making coffee.”
Jay hummed, still blinking away sleep. “You’re really just gonna get up and leave me like this?”
You paused, turning to glance at him. “Like what?”
He grinned lazily. “Cold and abandoned.”
You scoffed but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re so dramatic in the morning.”
Jay only smirked as you made your way to the kitchen, the comfortable ease between you lingering even as you started your morning routine.
Moments later, he joined you, still shirtless, hair a mess, moving to grab a mug from the cupboard. As you handed him his coffee, he leaned in absentmindedly, pressing a soft kiss against your shoulder before taking the cup. The motion was so casual, so natural, that it took you a second to process.
You blinked, turning to face him. "Aren’t you kissing me too much?"
Jay stiffened slightly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. But then his lips quirked, and he leaned back against the counter, sipping his coffee.
You watched him for a beat before setting your mug down. "Fine."
Before he could ask what you meant, you leaned in, arms lifting to loosely wrap around his neck as you pressed a soft kiss just beneath his jaw, your lips grazing the warm skin of his neck. You felt the slight shudder run through him, the way his grip on his coffee mug tightened just a fraction. Jay's breath hitched slightly, his fingers tightening around his mug.
When you pulled back, you smirked at the way his ears had turned red. "Happy now?"
"You should kiss me more," he teased.
You shot him a look, passing him a cup of coffee. “You’re lucky I made extra.”
Jay took a sip, sighing in content. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, baby.”
You pretended not to react to the name, but the warmth stayed with you longer than your coffee did.
As you took another sip of your coffee, the quiet hum of the morning was interrupted by the sound of fluttering wings. An owl swooped in through the open kitchen window, landing gracefully on the counter, a neatly tied envelope clutched in its beak.
Jay sighed, setting his mug down as he reached for the letter. "That'll be from my parents."
You watched as he untied the parchment, unfolding it with a slight frown. The owl hooted softly, waiting for a response.
Jay's eyes scanned the page, his expression unreadable at first. Then, with a small exhale, he muttered, "They want to see us."
Your fingers tightened slightly around your mug. Us.
“You’re staring at it like it’s gonna bite,” he mused, taking a sip of his coffee.
You huffed. “I just don’t know what to expect.”
Jay exhaled through his nose, setting his mug down. “My parents… they’re not bad. Just… traditional. They’ll expect things to look a certain way.”
Your fingers curled around your cup. “And what if they don’t?”
He tilted his head slightly, watching you. “Then we make sure they do.”
There was something unreadable in his expression, something both reassuring and unsettling all at once. He was taking this seriously—not just the Ministry part, but the part where you both had to convince his family, too.
You bit your lip. “One thing at a time?”
Jay smirked slightly, tapping his fingers against the counter. “One thing at a time.”
You weren’t sure why the thought made your stomach twist, but something about meeting Jay’s parents, about having to present this marriage as real to them, felt heavier than anything you had prepared for.
Jay looked at you then, tilting his head slightly. "I can write back later. No rush. Honestly, let’s just get through the last Ministry visit for a while first—then we can deal with my parents."
You swallowed, nodding. "Right. No rush."
The owl flapped its wings, as if impatient, but Jay simply placed the letter aside, returning his focus to his coffee. The weight of the letter lingered in the air between you, unspoken but present.
The morning had started normally enough. Work had been relatively uneventful, save for your coworker Mina pulling you aside as you both sorted through some files in the break room. She leaned against the counter, stirring sugar into her tea with a knowing look in her eyes.
"So," she drawled, "how's married life treating you?"
You blinked. "It’s… an adjustment."
Mina scoffed, taking a sip of her tea. "Adjustment? That’s a diplomatic way of putting it. You barely look married. No ring marks on your fingers, no swooning over your husband’s lunch visits."
You huffed. "He doesn’t visit me at work, but he does pick me up after. And we do kiss and stuff."
Mina’s brows shot up, interest piqued. "Kiss and stuff? So, what, like a peck on the lips? A lingering moment? You making out against the nearest wall?"
Your face burned. "Not making out. Just… normal kissing."
Mina gave you a deadpan look before taking another sip of her tea. "Okay, listen. Make out. Suck his dick. Get laid. In that order."
You nearly choked. "Mina!"
She smirked, unbothered. "What? Jongseong is a total hottie, you’re stressed, and all this weird tension you’re feeling will go away the moment you two start properly acting like husband and wife."
You groaned, rubbing your temples. "You are actually the worst."
Mina shrugged, grinning. "I’m just saying, sweetheart, at some point, you’re gonna have to stop pretending this is a polite roommate situation. Might as well enjoy yourself in the process."
She only laughed, patting your shoulder. "I’m just saying, if you’re already forced to live together, might as well enjoy the perks, right? Bet he’s not bad in bed either."
Mina shrugged, clearly unfazed. "I’m the realist. You’re the one making this more complicated than it needs to be."
You rolled your eyes but couldn't fully shake her words from your mind as the day went on.
Jay had suggested going out for lunch—something about fresh air being good for you, but you had a sneaking suspicion he was trying to get you out of your own head. The tension of the upcoming dinner with his parents had been lingering between you both, and he was trying to shift the focus.
The café was cozy, tucked into a quiet corner of the city, the kind of place that blurred the line between magical and Muggle. Small, levitating candles hovered above each table, but there was also a very prominent espresso machine steaming in the background, giving the place a strange but warm blend of both worlds.
Jay was different today. More touchy.
The first time he reached for your hand, it caught you off guard. You had been gesturing while explaining something, only to have his fingers wrap around yours mid-sentence, lacing them together as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You blinked down at your joined hands, but he only smirked, continuing to listen as if nothing had changed.
Jay tilted his head slightly. "By the way, you always talk about Niki, but what about your other friends? Jungwon, right?"
You blinked. "Yeah. Jungwon and I have been friends for a while now."
Jay hummed. "Funny. I actually tutored him for like a week back in school."
Your eyes widened. "You? Tutoring Jungwon?"
He smirked. "Yeah. He was struggling with Charms. Thought he could figure everything out by himself, but he kept botching the spellwork."
You laughed. "That does sound like him. How did it go?"
Jay shrugged. "He quit after a week. Said he learned better by messing up on his own."
You snorted. "That sounds even more like him."
Jay smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Guess we’ve had more overlapping connections than I thought."
It wasn’t until later that evening, back at the apartment, that you realized just how much more comfortable Jay had gotten with you.
You were sitting on the couch, legs curled up beneath you as you skimmed through a book, when Jay walked in, plopping down beside you with absolutely no regard for personal space. Without hesitation, he reached for your arm and tugged gently, signaling for you to shift.
You raised a brow. “What?”
Jay smirked. “Come here.”
You scoffed. “Why?”
He sighed, as if you were exhausting, before simply pulling you toward him. You barely had time to react before you were settled against his chest, your back pressed against him as he stretched his legs out comfortably. His arms caged you in, warm and steady.
“Jay,” you muttered, stiffening slightly. “What are you doing?”
“Relaxing.” His voice was easy, like this was normal. Like you hadn’t just settled directly into his lap.
You swallowed, unsure of what to do with yourself. “I—”
“You’re warm,” he murmured, voice dropping slightly.
Your heartbeat stuttered.
The worst part was that he was warm too.
After a few seconds, you exhaled, finally allowing yourself to relax into him. Jay hummed in approval, his lips grazing against the shell of your ear as he shifted slightly, adjusting his grip around you. The touch was fleeting but intentional.
“You really don’t mind all this?” you asked quietly.
Jay chuckled, his breath warm against your skin. “Mind it? I’m starting to think I like it too much.”
You sucked in a breath, but before you could respond, he nuzzled against your shoulder, his teeth grazing your ear before closing lightly around it in a teasing nibble. Your breath hitched, and your fingers instinctively gripped his arm.
"Jay—"
He didn't pull back. Instead, his arms tightened around you, and his lips moved lower, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the curve of your neck. The warmth of it sent a sharp jolt through your spine, and before you could second-guess yourself, you turned slightly in his lap, tilting your head toward him.
It happened naturally—his mouth met yours in a kiss that was slower, deeper than either of you had intended. The shift in energy was unmistakable, tension curling between you like an unspoken understanding neither of you wanted to break.
Jay's hands splayed against your back, pulling you closer as your fingers curled into his shirt, anchoring yourself. When he bit at your bottom lip, a quiet noise escaped you, and he responded by deepening the kiss, tilting his head as if he couldn't get enough.
By the time you finally pulled away, breath uneven, his forehead rested against yours, his lips just barely brushing over yours again in a lingering tease. Your heart was still racing, your hands still lightly curled against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
Jay's breath was still uneven against your skin, his hands resting against your lower back, keeping you close. You could still feel the warmth of his lips, the lingering tension settling between you both like an unspoken acknowledgment.
His arms tightened slightly, and he nuzzled against your cheek, pressing a barely-there kiss against your temple. "You feel safe," he murmured, his voice lower, softer.
Your breath hitched. "What?"
Jay exhaled slowly, as if grounding himself in your presence. "With you. I feel safe with you."
The confession sent a warmth through your chest that you weren’t prepared for. Your fingers twitched slightly against his shirt, caught between the instinct to pull away and the need to stay exactly where you were.
Jay tilted his head, his nose brushing against your cheek. "You like taking care of me, don’t you?" he mused, teasing but sincere.
You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. "You’re impossible."
His smirk returned, albeit softer this time. "Maybe. But I think you like me this way."
You huffed, shaking your head, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let yourself sink just a little further into his embrace, knowing—deep down—you weren’t quite ready to let go yet.
"Told you you'd get used to it," he murmured, his voice husky.
“Jay,” you warned, though your voice came out softer than intended.
He only smirked, resting his chin on your shoulder like he hadn’t just sent your heart into overdrive. “You’re overthinking again, baby.”
And you hated that he was right.
You had been dreading the Ministry’s visit from the moment the letter arrived, confirming the final scheduled check-in before a long evaluation period. It was supposed to be a relief—this was the last time, for a while at least, that an official would come snooping around, dissecting your marriage like it was an experiment instead of your actual life.
But relief was the last thing you felt.
There was something suffocating about the expectation of passing. You and Jay had gotten good at playing your roles, good at the casual touches, the familiarity, the easy, teasing back-and-forth that had started feeling more real than pretend. But today, something felt… off.
Maybe it was because the words still echoed in your mind.
You should kiss me more.
You feel safe.
Jay had said it so easily, as if it was second nature to him now, to be comfortable around you. But comfort didn’t mean security, and today, everything felt like it was hanging by a thread.
The Ministry official, a stern-looking woman with wire-rimmed glasses, sat across from you both in the living room. A notepad in her hands, quill poised. Watching. Always watching.
“So,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “We’ve received positive reports so far on your integration as a married couple. How has the transition been?”
Jay, as always, was calm, composed, charming. “It’s been good. We’ve built a routine, settled into daily life together.”
Her eyes flickered to you. “And you?”
You swallowed. “It’s… an adjustment, but I think we’re getting there.”
The Ministry woman nodded, making a note. “Good, good. And the cohabitation aspect? Shared space, sleeping arrangements?”
Jay didn’t even hesitate. “Of course.”
You nodded, feeling the walls close in around you. You wondered if she could sense the strange weight in the air, the tension neither of you had fully addressed.
She glanced down at the file in her lap. “As you know, by the next evaluation period, the Ministry will be monitoring this aspect through magical verification. We must ensure that your union progresses naturally.”
Naturally. As if any of this had been natural from the start.
Her gaze sharpened. “And, of course, I must remind you that by the second year of marriage, procreation is expected. The Ministry understands that adjustments take time, but ultimately, your union is meant to strengthen the magical bloodlines.”
Your stomach clenched. Jay’s jaw tensed.
“Understood,” Jay finally said, his tone even.
You managed a nod, even though your heart was pounding in your ears. The official studied you both for a moment longer before standing, closing her folder.
“I believe that will be all for now,” she said, giving a tight smile. “We will check in again at the next scheduled period. Until then, I suggest you continue settling into your roles as husband and wife.”
And just like that, she was gone. But her words lingered, thick like smoke in the room.
Neither of you spoke for a long moment.
Then, Jay let out a sharp breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, that was fun.”
Your jaw clenched. “Fun.”
He glanced at you, sensing the shift in your tone. “What?”
You stood abruptly, pacing toward the kitchen, needing space. “Nothing.”
Jay sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Come on, baby, just say it.”
And maybe it was the way he said it—so effortlessly, so casually, as if nothing had just happened—that made something in you snap.
“Say what, Jay?” You whirled around, frustration bubbling over. “That I hate this? That I hate how the Ministry talks about children like we’re required to breed for them? That I hate how we have to act like our lives are some scripted performance?”
Jay exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You think I don’t hate it too?”
“Do you?” The words were out before you could stop them, sharp, biting. “Because sometimes it feels like you’re perfectly fine pretending.”
Jay’s expression darkened. "I’m trying to make the best of this, but you act like I’m the enemy. We’re in this together, or have you forgotten that?"
You let out a bitter laugh. "Together? Jay, sometimes it feels like you don't even care. Like you're just rolling with this because it's easier for you."
Jay’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, his posture stiffening. "What do you mean I don't care? Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I wake up every morning thrilled about the fact that my life got rewritten by some Ministry law?"
You exhaled sharply. "I never said that."
"No, but you sure as hell act like I’m the one who forced you into this." His voice was sharper now, frustration laced into every word. "I’ve been trying, okay? Trying to make this livable, trying to make it easier for both of us. But every time I do, you push back like you’d rather pretend I don’t exist."
You crossed your arms, hating the way his words stung. "I don’t pretend you don’t exist, Jay. I just—" You swallowed hard. "I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to balance what’s real and what’s not," Your heart pounded, "I haven’t forgotten that we're in this together. But maybe I wish we weren’t."
Jay’s entire body went rigid. His jaw clenched, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter, but no less sharp. "What do you mean, you wish we weren’t?"
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. "Jay—"
"No, say it," he pressed, his voice laced with something raw. "Has this all just been an inconvenience to you? Have I just been another part of the mess?"
You inhaled shakily. "That’s not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?" His eyes bore into yours, frustration and something else—something closer to hurt—bleeding into his gaze.
You hesitated. "I just meant… I don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore."
Jay’s expression darkened further, his frustration spilling over. "It’s all real, because this is our life now! This isn’t some fantasy, or some nightmare you can wake up from. This is it. We’re here, together, and no amount of wishing it away is going to change that."
Jay let out a harsh breath, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe it isn’t normal, but it’s ours. And if we keep tearing it apart every time something doesn’t go the way we want, then what the hell are we even doing?"
Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Neither of you willing to be the first to break it.
The silence that followed was deafening. Jay’s face didn’t change, but something behind his eyes did. A flicker of something that looked like hurt.
And then, just like that, the moment passed.
His jaw clenched, his voice measured. “We have dinner with my parents tonight.”
You inhaled sharply, your stomach twisting. You had completely forgotten in the middle of the chaos.
“Great,” you muttered. “Can’t wait.”
Jay exhaled, stepping back. “Just… get ready. We’ll deal with this later.”
The carriage ride to Jay’s family estate was quiet, tense. You barely spoke, both still reeling from the heated argument earlier. Jay’s gaze was fixed outside the window, jaw tight, and though you knew this dinner was important, you couldn’t shake the unease crawling under your skin.
By the time you arrived, the grandeur of the Park estate was impossible to ignore. The house—no, the manor—was a striking example of old magic, the kind of wealth that had been passed down for generations.
Tall wrought-iron gates opened with a soft creak, revealing sprawling courtyards lined with lantern-lit pathways, their glow flickering in the cool evening air. The mansion itself was regal, its high stone walls blanketed in ivy, windows aglow with warm golden light.
Jay straightened the moment the carriage stopped, his usual relaxed demeanor replaced by something practiced. Reserved. This was his world, and you were only stepping into it.
A house-elf opened the massive front doors before either of you could knock, ushering you into a vast foyer lined with polished marble floors and an intricately carved staircase leading to the upper levels. The walls were adorned with enchanted portraits, all featuring past generations of the Park family—stoic figures in rich robes watching you with unsettling scrutiny.
Jay’s mother was waiting in the grand entrance hall, regal as ever. Her dark hair was elegantly styled, her robes immaculate, her presence exuding the effortless grace of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
"Jongseong," she greeted, her voice smooth but edged with expectation. "It’s been too long."
Jay nodded, a polite smile barely reaching his eyes. "You know how it is."
His father stood just behind her, taller than Jay, his presence commanding even in silence. His features were sharp, his stare assessing, but there was a flicker of curiosity when he glanced at you.
His mother’s gaze shifted toward you, scanning with the precision of someone accustomed to weighing worth. "And you must be my daughter-in-law."
The title landed heavily. Daughter-in-law. It sounded more binding coming from her than it ever had from a Ministry official.
You dipped your head slightly. "It’s lovely to meet you."
She studied you for a long moment before giving a small nod. "Come in. Dinner is ready."
The dining room was ornate and intimidating, the kind of place where silence held weight. A long, polished table stretched across the room, set with fine china and gleaming silverware. Floating candles hovered overhead, casting a warm but almost oppressive glow on the deep mahogany walls lined with more ancestral portraits.
Dinner was served in meticulously timed courses, each plate appearing at the perfect moment as house-elves moved soundlessly through the space. The food was exquisite, but you barely tasted it—your mind too occupied with the undercurrent of tension between you and Jay.
His parents, though polite, were assessing you, their questions carefully crafted to evaluate rather than genuinely get to know you.
"Tell me," his mother finally said, dabbing her lips with a pristine napkin, "how have you been adjusting to married life?"
You forced a smile. "It’s been an adjustment, but we’re finding our way."
Jay’s father hummed, swirling his wine glass. "Finding your way?" His sharp eyes flickered between the two of you. "That’s an interesting choice of words."
You felt Jay tense beside you. "We’re managing just fine."
His mother tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharper than before. "Did you two have a fight?"
Your breath caught in your throat. The room felt smaller. Had they already noticed?
Jay let out a measured sigh, fingers tightening slightly around his fork. "It’s nothing. Just—" he exhaled, sparing you a quick glance, "a disagreement."
His mother hummed thoughtfully, setting her napkin down beside her plate. "Marriage isn’t about never fighting. It’s about how you handle the fights."
His father nodded, his deep voice breaking the tense silence. "A marriage built on avoidance will always crumble. Disagreements are inevitable, but how you choose to move forward from them is what matters."
The weight of their words settled heavily between you and Jay, a third presence at the table. It wasn’t accusatory, nor was it particularly comforting—it was simply fact. And it left you feeling exposed.
His mother’s gaze lingered on Jay for a moment longer before softening just a fraction as she turned back to you. "It will take time, but if you are both willing to build something real from this, then you must learn to meet each other halfway."
You swallowed, nodding slowly. Halfway.
After dinner, as the plates vanished and the dining room emptied, Jay’s mother turned to you with a calm, knowing expression. "Come," she said, rising gracefully from her seat. "Let’s wash our hands before dessert."
You hesitated for only a moment before following her, feeling Jay’s gaze linger on you as you exited the room. The air in the corridor was cool, laced with the scent of fresh linen and aged parchment. You expected her to lead you directly to the washroom, but instead, after you rinsed your hands, she gestured toward a side door that opened into a moonlit garden.
"A walk will do us both some good," she murmured, stepping outside.
The estate grounds were vast, illuminated by the soft glow of floating lanterns. The paths were lined with perfectly trimmed hedges and arching trellises of enchanted flowers that bloomed faintly in the evening air. It was quiet, serene, the opposite of the tension you had felt all night.
She walked beside you in silence for a few moments before speaking. "I can see the weight you’re carrying, dear. You don’t need to hide it from me."
You exhaled slowly. "It’s just… a lot. Adjusting, trying to understand what all of this means, what’s expected of me… and Jay."
Her lips curled slightly, not unkindly. "My son is… difficult at times. But I know him well."
You glanced at her, uncertain. "You seem to know a lot about us already."
She chuckled. "I know marriage is not easy, especially one like yours. But I also know that my son is not as indifferent as he pretends to be. He may act as though he’s handling everything well, but I see the way he looks at you. And I see the way you look at him, even when you don’t realize it."
You swallowed. "I don’t know how to make this work."
She stopped walking, turning to you. In the dim light, her gaze was softer than before. "Then start by meeting him where he is. And let him meet you there, too."
You nodded slowly, her words settling deep within you.
Then, as if sensing your next question, she offered a small smile. "If I know my son—and I do—he’s waiting for you upstairs. In his old bedroom. He may be stubborn, but he won’t go to sleep without trying to fix things."
The warmth in her voice was unexpected, and when she placed a gentle hand on your arm, she added, "Call me Mom. Family is built over time, but you’re part of ours now."
Something in your chest tightened, but you found yourself nodding, feeling the smallest bit lighter.
"Go to him," she murmured, stepping back toward the house. "The night is long, but love is patient."
The hallways of the Park estate were quiet, dimly lit by sconces casting soft, flickering light. The house smelled like old parchment, polished mahogany, and something herbal—like a potion left brewing long enough to become part of the walls. The weight of history pressed in on you as you followed the familiar path to Jay’s childhood bedroom.
Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as you stood outside his door, slightly ajar, warm lamplight spilling onto the dark floorboards. Your heart was a riot in your chest, each beat slamming against your ribs.
You pushed the door open.
Jay was there. Waiting.
He sat on the edge of his bed, one elbow propped on his knee, fingers pressed to his temple like he had the beginnings of a headache. His sleeves were still rolled up, exposing the lean muscle of his forearms, and his shirt hung loosely over his frame, collar slightly undone like he’d been tugging at it in frustration. His hair was tousled—from his hands, or maybe from the weight of the night.
He looked up as you entered. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders tensed.
The room was suffocatingly personal. The bed, bigger than you expected, was covered in dark gray sheets that had long lost their crispness. The walls, lined with old Quidditch posters and bookshelves crammed with textbooks and novels, spoke of a younger, more ambitious Jay—one you had never known.
Your throat tightened. This was his space. His past. And now you were stepping into it.
You shut the door behind you, your breath unsteady.
“Your mom told me you’d be here,” you said softly.
Jay scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. "Of course, she did."
The silence that stretched between you was thick with unspoken things. You shifted on your feet, nerves crawling up your spine. It shouldn’t be this hard to talk to him.
You exhaled. "She also told me to call her Mom."
That got his attention. His brow furrowed slightly, his gaze flickering over you like he was trying to decide if you were serious. "Yeah?"
You nodded. "She gave me some advice, too. About meeting halfway."
Jay inhaled deeply, rubbing at his temple before looking at you fully. "Sounds like her."
More silence. It wasn’t cold anymore, but it wasn’t comfortable either. Just hesitant. Fragile.
Finally, he sighed. "I don’t like fighting with you."
The words hit you harder than they should have. A lump formed in your throat. "Me neither."
Jay’s eyes softened just slightly, his posture relaxing the smallest bit. "I meant what I said earlier. This… us. It’s real, whether we wanted it to be or not."
You swallowed against the sudden sting behind your eyes. Real. That word lodged itself deep in your chest, making it hard to breathe.
You took a slow step forward. Then another. And another, until you were standing between his knees.
Jay’s hands twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.
"I don’t know how to do this," you whispered, voice tight.
Jay’s throat bobbed as he exhaled, and this time, he didn’t hesitate. His hands slid up your hips, fingers digging into your waist just enough to make you feel it.
“Then let’s figure it out together,” he murmured.
A small, broken sound escaped you before you could stop it. His grip tightened.
Tears slipped past your lashes, and Jay’s entire expression shifted. His fingers brushed up, cradling your face, wiping them away.
"Baby, hey—" his voice dropped lower, raw. "Why are you crying?"
You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t know. I just—" You sucked in a breath. "You call me baby like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like we’re normal. And I don’t know what to do with that."
Jay studied you for a long moment, then tilted his head forward, pressing his forehead to yours.
His warmth seeped into your skin, anchoring you. He smelled like home.
"You don’t have to do anything with it," he murmured. "Just let me hold you."
You let out another shaky breath before you did something you hadn’t done before.
You settled into his lap.
Jay’s entire body stiffened, but he didn’t stop you. His arms came up instinctively, wrapping around your waist, holding you tighter, like he was afraid you’d disappear.
Your fingers toyed with the edges of his collar, trailing along the warm skin just beneath it. His pulse thrummed under your fingertips, fast but steady.
Then, without thinking, you leaned in and kissed him.
It was soft at first, hesitant—a brush of lips meant to test the waters. But when Jay sighed against your mouth and pulled you flush against him, the hesitation melted away.
He kissed you deeper.
You could feel everything in the way he held you—his hands sliding up your spine, his fingers tracing your ribs, the weight of every moment leading up to this one.
By the time you pulled away, you were breathless. Your forehead rested against his, lips still tingling.
Then, in a hushed, teasing voice, you whispered, "I love it when you smother me with yourself. It makes me feel beautiful."
Jay froze.
Then—a deep, rich laugh rumbled in his chest. He tipped his head back, grinning. "What?"
Your cheeks burned. "It sounded better in my head."
Jay’s arms tightened around you, his lips brushing over your temple as he chuckled. "God, you’re ridiculous."
You hummed, tracing absent patterns over his chest. "But you love it."
Jay exhaled, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as if he belonged there. "Yeah, baby," he murmured against your skin. "I do."
For the first time that night, everything felt right.
The morning sun poured through the windows the next morning, casting golden streaks across the bedroom floor. You stirred slightly, feeling warmth wrapped around you—solid, firm, undeniably Jay.
His arm was draped over your waist, his breath hot against the back of your neck, slow and steady. His entire body was flush against yours, the weight of his leg thrown over yours, as if he had unconsciously tangled himself around you in the night.
You froze, hyper-aware of every point of contact. His hand splayed low on your stomach, fingers curled just barely under the hem of your shirt. His breath fanned over the shell of your ear, sending shivers racing down your spine.
Then, he tightened his grip.
You sucked in a breath as his fingers flexed against your skin, pulling you back against him. A low hum rumbled in his chest, deep and sleepy.
"Mmm. Stay," he muttered, voice thick with sleep, gravelly in a way that made your stomach flip.
You should move. You should pull away. But you don’t.
Instead, you let yourself sink into the warmth of him, just for a second. The feel of him—his bare skin against yours, the solid press of his body—had your mind spiraling into dangerous places. He was so warm, so strong, so impossibly close.
Your breath stuttered as you felt his fingers slide just a little lower, his palm pressing just a little firmer.
And then, realization hit.
You jerked away, heart hammering, but Jay barely reacted. He let out a tired groan, stretching his arm over his head before blinking at you through half-lidded eyes.
"What’s wrong?" His voice was hoarse, his gaze still heavy with sleep.
You cleared your throat, forcing your voice to stay even. "Nothing. Just… we should get up."
Jay smirked, lazy and knowing.
"If you say so, baby."
The walk home was silent, but thick. Every brush of your arms, every accidental glance, every moment of quiet between you carried an unbearable weight.
You weren’t sure when it had started—this undercurrent of something more, something dangerous. But you could feel it burning beneath the surface.
When you stepped inside the apartment, the air changed.
Jay lingered near the kitchen, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. He watched you, gaze heavy, unreadable. You could feel it—the tension crackling between you like a live wire.
Finally, he broke the silence. "You’re different."
You glanced at him. "So are you."
His lips quirked. "That a bad thing?"
You didn’t answer. Because no, it wasn’t. And that was the problem.
It started small. A test. A game.
You began pushing his buttons—on purpose.
Brushing past him with too much force. Leaning in just a little too close when speaking. Letting your fingers trail over his wrist absentmindedly, just to see if he’d react.
And Jay? He played back.
His palm ghosting over the small of your back when he passed behind you. His lips brushing your ear as he murmured something teasing. His fingers trailing down your spine for just a second too long.
Then came the moment when he finally called you out.
One night, as you passed him in the hallway, his hand shot out, catching your wrist.
He turned to face you, his eyes dark, smirk sharp.
"What’s this, baby? Trying to get my attention?"
Your breath caught in your throat. You had been. But you weren’t about to admit it.
You scoffed. "In your dreams."
Jay chuckled, but there was something dangerous in his expression now.
"Oh, I think you’ve been in my dreams, too."
Your heart slammed against your ribs. He was winning. And you couldn’t have that.
So, you did something reckless.
As you moved past him, you let your fingers drag over his stomach, just barely skimming the skin exposed by his loose shirt.
Jay stiffened.
For the first time, he looked affected. His jaw clenched, fingers twitching at his sides.
Then, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You keep playing with fire, baby."
You turned, eyes locking onto his. "And what if I am?"
His lips parted. His fingers curled into fists.
He was so, so close to losing it.
It happened in the smallest, most ridiculous way.
You were reaching for something on the top shelf in the kitchen when Jay stepped behind you, his body pressing up against yours, his hand effortlessly grabbing it before you could.
"Let me," he murmured, his voice low and deep in your ear.
You froze. Every inch of him was against you. His chest, his hips, his hands.
Then, you pressed back against him.
Jay let out a quiet, shaky breath. His fingers dug into your waist.
"You don’t know what you’re doing to me," he whispered. His lips brushed your ear, his breath warm.
You turned slightly, your lips just barely grazing his.
"Then show me."
And that was it. That was the moment. Jay grabbed you, spun you, backed you against the counter.
His mouth crashed against yours—needy, desperate, hungry. A gasp escaped you, swallowed instantly by his lips. His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you onto the counter with ease.
You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, so, so close.
Jay broke the kiss, panting, pressing his forehead against yours. His hands shook as they held onto you. "Tell me to stop."
You shook your head. "Don’t you dare.".
The air between you and Jay was electric, charged with unspoken desire that had been simmering for far too long. It was too much now, a weight pressing down on you both, demanding to be released. When his lips finally claimed yours, it was with urgency, with hunger, as if he had been holding back for months.
The kitchen—such a normal, mundane setting—was suddenly transformed into something far more intimate, more dangerous. The cool granite countertop pressed into your back as Jay’s lips crushed against yours, sending shockwaves through your body.
At first, your lips parted in surprise, but the moment you surrendered, it was over. His kiss was hungry, his mouth moving fervently against yours, tasting, exploring, claiming. His tongue swept inside, demanding, possessive, like he was marking you as his own.
A soft moan escaped you, a sound of surrender, of need.
It seemed to unleash something in him.
His hands, which had been resting gently on your thighs, tightened with fierce intensity. His long fingers dug into the soft flesh, leaving imprints as he pushed you further into the counter, molding you against him. Your back arched instinctively, pressing your body closer, craving more of the heat between you.
The kiss deepened, turning hotter, messier. A whimper slipped from your lips, and Jay responded with a deep, primal growl, his mouth leaving yours to trail fire along your jaw, your neck.
“God, baby,” he rasped, his voice hoarse, wrecked. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine, curling in your stomach. “You drive me fucking crazy.”
Your thoughts were incoherent, lost in the sheer intensity of him.
Your hands, which had been resting against his broad shoulders, now tangled in his dark hair, tugging, pulling him closer. You needed more, needed to be consumed by him, needed to drown in the way he was touching, kissing, ruining you.
"Do something about it," you whispered, your voice thick with want, raw with need.
It was a challenge, a dare—one that Jay was more than willing to accept.
With a feral grin, he pulled back, his eyes dark with pure desire. “Oh, I will.” His voice was low, dripping with promise.
In a swift motion, his hands gripped your waist, strong fingers spanning your sides as he lifted you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his hips on instinct, as if you had done this dance with him a thousand times before.
And then, you felt it.
His hardness pressing against you, just enough to make your breath hitch, just enough to send a delicious thrill racing down your spine.
Jay devoured your mouth as he carried you out of the kitchen, his footsteps unsteady, his grip unrelenting. You clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, matching his fervor with your own.
The urgency between you both was palpable, nearly unbearable.
By the time Jay kicked open the bedroom door, his lips never leaving yours, his hands never loosening their grip on you, your entire body felt like it was burning from the inside out.
He stumbled inside, kicked the door shut with his foot, and suddenly, everything blurred.
You barely had time to register the bed before you were falling onto it, your body sinking into the mattress as he followed, covering you, pressing you down, making sure you felt every inch of him.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he growled, his voice thick, rough with need. “Every fucking day, I’ve fantasized about having you, about claiming you like this.”
Your fingers traced the strong lines of his jaw, relishing the roughness of his unshaven skin.
"Then take me," you whispered, a boldness you didn’t even know you possessed. “Make me yours.”
Jay’s response was immediate.
His fingers wrapped around your wrists, pinning them above your head, his grip firm but careful. His free hand roamed, tracing your curves, exploring, memorizing.
His thumb brushed over the peak of your nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp from you, your body arching instinctively.
“I want to see you,” he murmured, his voice like gravel, heavy with restraint. “All of you.”
Your heart pounded as you sat up, pulling your shirt over your head, revealing the delicate black lace beneath.
Jay’s eyes darkened. His breath hitched.
Releasing your wrists, his hands moved to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing the hardened peaks, rolling, stroking, watching you squirm beneath him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his lips finding yours again, a searing, devastating kiss.
His mouth trailed down, down, down, leaving a path of kisses, nipping, sucking, making you tremble beneath him.
His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your pants, and you arched into him, desperate.
"Please, Jay," you begged, your voice a breathless plea. "I need you."
He let out a dark chuckle, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Oh, you’ll have me, baby. But first… I want to taste you."
And then, he did.
His lips, his tongue, his fingers—all of him, taking his time, taking you apart.
You were a trembling, gasping mess beneath him, gripping the sheets, crying out his name.
And when you finally shattered, when he pulled every last moan from your lips, he moved back over you, watching you, waiting, drinking in the sight of you undone beneath him.
You reached for him, pulling him down, wrapping yourself around him, whispering his name.
And when he finally slid into you, deep and slow, filling you in one smooth stroke, you knew. This wasn’t just need. This wasn’t just hunger.
This was everything.
Jay buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning as your body clenched around him, gripping him perfectly. He moved slow, deep, deliberate. Like he wanted to make sure you felt everything. Like he wanted to ruin you.
And he did. He whispered your name against your skin.
And when you both tumbled over the edge together, it wasn’t just ecstasy. It was something more.
Something terrifying, something dangerous, something neither of you were ready to name. Afterward, Jay didn’t move.
He just held you, his lips pressing absentminded kisses against your temple, your jaw.
The sheets were a tangled mess beneath you, the room still thick with the remnants of last night—the heat, the whispered names, the overwhelming need.
But morning had arrived, and with it, clarity.
You lay still, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding, stomach twisting. You could feel him beside you, the warmth of his body still clinging to yours, the weight of his arm draped lazily over your waist.
You should move. You should get up.
Instead, you stayed still, afraid to break the moment. Afraid of what came next.
Then, Jay stirred.
A slow inhale. A shift of weight. Then, his hold on you tightened.
“Baby, you know I'm in love with you right?” he murmured, his voice thick, raspy from sleep.
Your stomach flipped, heat rising to your cheeks at the way the word slipped so effortlessly from his lips.
Then, he pressed a lazy kiss to the back of your shoulder.
Something inside you clenched at the tenderness of it. The way his lips lingered, soft and warm, like he was memorizing you, grounding himself in the feel of you.
It was so different from last night. Last night had been fire, hunger, pure desire. But this? This was something else entirely.
Something terrifying.
You swallowed hard, your body going stiff beneath his touch. He noticed.
Jay let out a quiet exhale, his fingers tracing soothing circles over your hip. Then, finally, he spoke.
“I meant what I said.”
Your breath caught in your throat. His words. The confession you hadn’t acknowledged.
“I know,” you whispered.
He shifted, his grip tightening just slightly, as if afraid you’d slip away. His lips found your bare shoulder again, pressing another slow, lingering kiss.
“My Doll,” he murmured, his voice softer this time, but still weighted with emotion. “You don’t have to say anything. Not yet.”
You turned your head slightly, eyes meeting his for the first time that morning. He looked different.
Softer. More open. But just as intense. Your lips parted, but no words came. Because what could you say? You weren’t ready. You weren’t sure what this was.
But Jay just smiled, small and knowing, like he understood anyway.
“You don’t have to figure it out right now,” he murmured, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just… let me be here with you.”
Your chest tightened. That was the problem. He was already here. Closer than he had ever been. You didn’t know if you had it in you to push him away.
It took days. Maybe longer. But it was always there, lingering between you.
Jay never said it again, but you could feel it in everything he did.
The way he pulled you close when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way he touched you—not just with heat, but with reverence. The way he whispered "Baby" like it was the most natural thing in the world.
But the moment it finally hit you, it was almost embarrassing how obvious it had been all along.
It wasn’t in the quiet nights, or the way he held you in his sleep.
It was something as simple as Jay waiting for you outside of work.
It had been a rough day. One of those days where everything felt heavy. And when you stepped outside, seeing him leaning against the lamppost, hands in his pockets, waiting for you like it was the most natural thing in the world—
It hit you like a train.
He smiled the second he saw you, pushing off the post and walking over like he couldn’t get to you fast enough. “Hey, babe. You okay?”
And instead of answering, you just stood there, staring at him—this man who had somehow become everything.
Jay frowned slightly, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
You let out a breath, and before you could stop yourself, the words just slipped out “I love you.”
Jay stilled. His fingers twitched against your cheek, his expression unreadable.
Then, his lips parted. “Y/N…”
You panicked. “I—I mean it too I-”
But before you could take it back, Jay was already moving, already kissing you like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear you say those words.
And when he finally pulled back, breathless, a little dazed, he just grinned.
“You can say it again, you know.”
You rolled your eyes, but when he leaned in and whispered, “Say it again, baby,” you did.
Because you meant it.
Months later, the apartment felt different. Warmer. More like a home than a place you had been forced into.
The nursery had been Jay’s latest obsession. He had spent the entire day painting the walls, rearranging furniture, making sure everything was perfect. And now, he was sprawled across your bed, half-asleep, waiting for you.
You stood in the doorway, hand resting on your six-months-pregnant belly, watching him with amusement. His shirtless form was stretched across the mattress, hair still messy from the day’s work, an arm thrown over his eyes.
“Babe,” you called softly.
He groaned. “Mmm.”
You stepped forward, nudging his foot with yours. “You’re hogging the bed.”
Jay cracked one eye open, a slow, sleepy grin spreading across his lips. “And you’re glowing, mama.”
You rolled your eyes, crawling into bed beside him, letting out a relieved sigh as you sank into his warmth. Jay turned onto his side, one large hand coming to rest on your belly, thumb rubbing slow circles over the fabric of your shirt.
“Tired?” you asked.
“Exhausted,” he muttered, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “But you’re worth it.”
You smiled, letting your fingers trace the ridges of his forearm. “You’ve been working too hard.”
Jay hummed, shifting closer, his lips grazing your jaw, your cheek. “You’re carrying my kid. I’d build a whole damn castle if you wanted one.”
You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
He nuzzled against your cheek, voice growing drowsy. “Only for you, my Doll”
You turned your head slightly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips.
Jay smiled into it, whispering, “Can’t wait to meet them.”
Your heart squeezed, warmth flooding through you.
“Me too,” you whispered, letting yourself sink into him. “Me too.”
Then, in his half-asleep state, he muttered, “But if they have your stubborn streak, we’re doomed.”
You snorted. “Then you better start preparing now.”
He pulled you in tighter, his lips brushing your forehead. “I already have everything I need.”
You yawned, stretching your fingers along his bare chest before whispering, “Come here, baby.”
Jay let out a pleased hum, shifting fully into your arms, resting his head against your shoulder. His strong arms wrapped around you, careful yet firm, his warmth seeping into your skin as he melted into you.
“Mm, I like it when you call me that,” he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion.
You smirked, running a hand through his messy hair. “Good. Because I’m not stopping.”
As sleep began to claim you both, Jay murmured, “You know, I hated every second of that damn law.”
You sighed, your fingers tightening against his chest. “Me too.”
“But…” he continued, his voice soft and full of something deep, something real, “I’ve loved every second with you.”
You smiled, pressing a final kiss to his skin. “Me too, Jay. Me too."
katsuki bakugo is the type of man to randomly announce he’s dating someone in an interview…
“mr.dynamight, any plans after this patrol is over?!”
he glares at the camera, shoving the lens right out of his face. “tsk—! fuck off, you money hungry extras! it’s none of your—”
the blonde pauses mid-rant, catching everyone off guard as he suddenly leans down.
“—actually, give me this crap!”
he grabs ahold of the no doubt expensive ass camera, essentially blogging on national television in an unfaltering angle zoomed right into his nostrils.
“i know yur’ ass is watching this, y/n, so answer your god damn phone already!!” he shouts, unknowingly becoming a worldwide meme the literal next day.
everyone’s jaws drop as the cameraman scrambles to catch the equipment bakugo tossed back like nothing.
“mr.dynamight, please elaborate! who is this y/n you speak of?!” they exclaim, mics quickly shoved into his face as the paparazzi lights began flashing for the latest hero gossip in town.
“hah?” he scoffs back, frowning like the answer is completely obvious—and like their the idiots for even asking such a thing. “my wife.”
let’s just say your identity was trending the next day on all platforms… #answerthephoney/n
The 141 as a pack- not in the found family kind of way, but in the hunting kind of way.
They spot you by accident.
Price is the first to clock you, mostly because he’s the sort who notices exits, shadows, people sitting alone. You’re on a stool near the end of the bar, tucked under a blown out neon sign that flickers uselessly overhead. The rest of the place is a mess of dim bulbs and TV glow, but somehow the shadows around you are softer, edged in a kind of warm sheen.
It’s probably just the jewelry.
Tiny pieces, nothing flashy on their own: delicate chain at your throat, a charm on a bracelet, thin hoops catching the light when you tuck your hair behind your ear. But every time you move, something glints. Not bright. Not gaudy. Just enough to pull the eye.
Soap follows the first flash of gold the way a cat chases a laser pointer.
“Ach, look at that,” he mutters around the lip of his beer bottle, elbow nudging Gaz’s. “Sittin’ all by herself. Cute as a button. Like a wee rabbit waitin’ for a fox.”
Gaz leans just enough to see past him. You’re nursing a drink, straw between your fingers, eyes on the shelves of cheap liquor like you’re reading the labels to avoid looking at anyone else.
“Been here a while,” he says. “Came in just after we did. No one’s come up to her twice.” His brow creases. “Keeps looking at the door, though.”
Ghost says nothing, but he’s watching too, tracking the pattern: every time the door opens, your head lifts and your bracelet catches the dark, giving a quick, soft flash. When you realize whoever walked in isn’t who you were hoping for, your shoulders fall. You go back to tracing the rim of your glass.
Nobody comes to sit with you. Nobody stays near you for long.
Too alone. Too pretty. Too jumpy.
Easy.
Price takes it in, slow and steady.
Pack instinct kicks in before any of them say the word. They don’t need to say anything to align on the same thought. It’s in the way their focus narrows, the way their chairs angle subconsciously toward you. A hunting posture, dressed in civilian clothes and half finished drinks.
They’re not the soft, found family kind of pack people romanticize. They’re the other kind; the kind that closes around a target without thinking.
“Could just be waitin’ on her boyfriend,” Gaz offers, because he’s the one who says that sort of thing, even if he doesn’t quite believe it.
“She wouldn’t still be here if he was worth a damn,” Soap replies. “Look at her. Fella’s either stupid or blind.”
Ghost watches your fingers. You’re not fidgeting like a practiced flirt; you’re rolling the straw wrapper tight, tight, tight until the paper is an over wound thread. The kind of nervous habit you don’t perform for attention; it just happens.
“Doesn’t matter,” Price says, deciding for them. “Place like this, someone’ll try their luck eventually. Might as well be us.”
Us, not me.
Price drains his glass and stands. “C’mon,” he says. “Before some drunk fucker with worse intentions gets there first.”
Soap grins. Gaz pushes off the bar. Ghost follows.
The four of them rise together, scatter of chairs on sticky floor, their approach casual enough not to spook you, coordinated enough to close off any direction that isn’t toward them.
You feel them before you see them. The bar is loud- music, clinking glass, too many overlapping conversations- but when they move, the noise tilts. You feel a shadow fall across your little island of dim light.
You look up- and up- and up.
“Evenin’, love,” Price says, taking the middle, anchoring your attention. His voice is warm, edged with something rough. “This seat taken?”
You look at him, eyes wide, and for a heartbeat he can see the thought stutter through your head: I should say yes. I should lie.
Then your gaze skips over his shoulder, across Ghost, over Soap’s grin, to Gaz’s more cautious face. Four of them. All big. All dangerous, in the way that sets off every alarm bell you’ve ever had.
Your fingers tighten around your glass. Up close, they’re even more intimidating. Big men, all of them. Broad shoulders. Scarred knuckles. The casual alertness that says they’re dangerous even when they’re pretending not to be.
Your throat works around a swallow.
“N-No,” you say, barely loud enough to be heard over the music. “Um. No, it’s not.”
You don’t move away when he takes the stool beside you, though. That’s the first little surrender.
Up close, he can see the jewelry looks even smaller. A fine chain resting in the dip of your collarbone, charm nestled where his eyes keep dropping. A tiny stud in your ear that catches the bar’s dim light and winks at him whenever you turn your head.
“Good,” Soap says, dropping onto your other side like you’re the natural center of their group. “Be a shame to leave such a lovely lass sittin’ on her own.”
Ghost leans against the bar behind you, silent. Gaz drifts just off your shoulder, close enough that if you tried to slip down from the stool, you’d have to brush past him.
You don’t realize you’re boxed in. Not yet.
“Quiet night for a girl like you,” Soap says lightly, accent softening the words. “You waitin’ on someone?”
You pick at the napkin under your glass. “I was. My friend bailed, though, so…” You give a little shrug, embarrassed. “Just…finishing this before I head home.”
“That right?” Price nudges your drink with a knuckle. “Let us get your last one, then. Call it a good deed.”
Your instinct is to refuse. You start to shake your head. “Oh, no, that’s okay, I don’t wanna- ”
“We insist,” Soap cuts in, already nodding at the bartender. “Same again for the lady.”
You fluster. You’re not used to this kind of attention. Your necklace glints when you duck your head, catching the dim light in a quick flash at your throat.
“Thank you,” you murmur when the fresh drink appears. “You…you don’t have to.”
“What if we want to?” Price asks, lips tipping. “Bit rough, a girl like you alone in a place like this.”
You huff a nervous laugh and twist the straw wrapper tighter. “C-could say the same thing.”
Gaz huffs a small breath. “We’ve got each other.”
“Pack of us,” Soap adds, grin widening.
“Oh.” You glance at all of them again, as if that just made them more intimidating. “That’s…nice.”
Price watches the way your shoulders hunch, the way you angle your knees toward the bar, as if you’re half expecting someone to bump you. “Thank you again.”
“S’okay lass,” Soap grins, leaning in. “We’re not that scary once you get to know us.”
You look at the mask, the beard, the scars at Soap’s throat, the quiet calculation in Gaz’s eyes.
“You’re a little scary,” you admit, voice trembling around the edge of a nervous laugh.
Something pleased curls through Ghost’s chest at that, dark and satisfied. Good. You should be.
“Good instincts,” he says. “Most people don’t have ‘em.”
You fluster, ducking your head, and when the bartender sets down the fresh glass, the cube of ice inside catches just enough of the overhead light to bounce it up, up, directly into the small crystal at your wrist. It flashes once, sharp, a pinpoint of brightness in all the gloom.
You talk.
They ask easy questions- about your job, about living near the river, about why you stayed when your friend left. You answer in fits and starts, words tripping, always circling back to sorry and I don’t usually and this is weird, right?
Every time you move your hands, the charm at your wrist gives a soft, quick gleam. Every time you turn your head, the little studs in your ears catch the bar’s failing lights.
They like how nervous you are. How your voice trembles when Soap leans in to tease you. How you can’t quite hold Ghost’s gaze for long. How you keep saying you should go home but never quite stand up.
You’re not sure how to extricate yourself now that four strangers with war in their posture have decided you’re interesting.
“You got far to walk?” Price asks, casually, after a while. “We’re headed out soon.”
You hesitate. Lie on the tip of your tongue: I drove or I’m just around the corner or My boyfriend’s coming.
You don’t say any of it.
“I live a few blocks away,” you admit. “Down by the river.”
At that, four pairs of eyes sharpen. Enough distance to get you alone. Enough darkness. Not so far that you’ll get suspicious if they offer to walk you.
“Not safe on your own at this hour,” Soap says immediately.
Gaz gives a low, almost gentle snort. “You seen the lot that hangs around near the bridge at night? Nah. We’ll walk you.”
You start to protest, shoulders curling, fingers twisting in the strap of your bag, but he cuts you off with a small, easy smile.
“Let us be gallant, yeah? Last good deed of the night. Then we’re gone.”
You don’t have a good reason to argue with that, and they can see the moment your resistance folds.
“O-Okay,” you say. “If…if you want to.”
Price drops some notes on the bar, more than enough to cover their tab and yours. You slide off the stool, nearly bumping into his chest as you steady yourself. His hands go to your hips without thinking, big palms warm and firm, catching you before you can stumble.
“There you go,” he murmurs. “Got you.”
You look up at him from under your lashes, throat working around a small, flustered sound. He feels you tremble, just a little, like a skittish animal not used to being held.
He squeezes, once, possessive.
Then they take you out into the night
The city is wet from some half hearted rain earlier, pavement slick, puddles glimmering in the bruise colored light of far off streetlamps. You walk in the middle of them without being told to, instinct or training or simple common sense putting you where you’re most boxed in.
Price on one side, Ghost on the other, Soap just ahead, Gaz at your back.
You keep your bag strap clutched tight, thumbs stroking the worn fabric. Every now and then your knuckles bump Price’s hand, and every time, he has to stop himself from catching your fingers and not letting go.
“We do this for everyone, you know,” Soap jokes lightly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s a community service. ‘Walks For Strays.’”
You huff a startled laugh. “Is that what I am? A stray?”
He glances over his shoulder, eyes raking down your body in a way that’s anything but subtle. “Aye. You wandered right into our path, didn’t you?”
“Could’ve been anyone,” you say.
Price knows that’s not true.
He remembers the way his gaze kept snagging on you all night, how hard it was to keep his eyes from drifting back whenever you lifted your drink and the light slipped over your rings. How Ghost, normally content to sit with his back to the room and watch every corner, kept glancing in your direction.
“Wasn’t,” Ghost says quietly. “Was you.”
You don’t seem to know what to do with that. Silence falls for a few steps, your shoes splashing through a shallow puddle that sends a little fan of water up your calves. The reflection shivers there, ripples of light from the lamp above breaking apart and reforming, broken stars at your feet.
When you step up onto the drier pavement again, one of those broken stars lingers, caught on the thin chain at your ankle until it fades.
“Here,” you say softly after a while, nodding toward a side street. “This way.”
The road narrows, buildings rising up on either side. Fewer lights. Fewer people. The river’s smell rides the air, damp and metallic.
Price feels that familiar shift in his chest: the one that comes at the end of a hunt, when the world narrows down to the target and the terrain and what comes next.
You don’t notice. You’re too busy watching your footing, stepping around a cracked bit of pavement, apologizing when you bump Soap with your shoulder.
You stop in front of an old brick building with a cracked stoop and a single tired bulb over the door.
“This is me,” you say, turning to them with that same small, uncertain smile. “Um. Really. Thank you. For walking me.”
“Be rude to leave it here,” Soap says, tongue in his cheek. “You could at least offer us a cuppa, hen.”
Your eyes widen. “Oh! I, um. I mean, my place is a mess, I wasn’t- ”
“We don’t mind mess,” Gaz says.
Price takes a half step closer, not touching you, but close enough that you have to tip your head back to look at him.
You don’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know,” you say honestly. “I’ve never…”
You bite your lip. Nervous. Thinking. You look at each of them, one by one, like you’re weighing something heavy.
You trail off, skin heating, shame and something else crawling up your neck.
Price files that away like it’s intel. Never. Never taken strangers home. Never done something like this.
But she’s out here, with four men twice her size, letting them walk her into the dark.
You could fumble the lock and slip inside alone, door closing in their faces. You could make up a boyfriend, a roommate, a brother.
You don’t do any of those things.
You nod. Tiny, decisive.
“…Okay,” you whisper. “For a little while.”
The satisfaction that rolls through them is dark and mutual.
“Good girl,” Price murmurs before he can stop himself.
You flush all the way to your ears and fumble the key in the lock. When the door finally gives, you laugh, flustered. “Sorry. My hands are…”
She’s shaking, he thinks, pleased.
They follow you inside.
The hallway is dim and narrow, the overhead light bare and buzzing.
“Sorry,” you say, starting up the stairs. “The landlord keeps saying he’s going to fix the lights on the second floor and then never does.”
“Typical,” Gaz mutters.
On the landing, the bulbs are all dead. The only light seeps up from the stained glass window in the stairwell, painting everything in a murky, underwater wash. It brushes your face when you glance back at them.
For a second, your eyes seem to catch it and hold it, pupils blown wide, irises gleaming oddly in the blue green.
Then you blink, and it’s gone.
“This is me,” you say again, stopping at the first door on the left. You unlock it and push it open into darkness. “I’ll get the- oh. Right. Sorry. The hall light doesn’t reach in here. One second, the lamp is…”
You reach inside, patting the wall, fingers feeling for a switch that isn’t there. The four of them stack behind you, big silhouettes in the narrow hall.
“Here,” Price says, hand settling at the small of your back, guiding you in. “We’re not afraid of the dark.”
You give a breathy little laugh. “I kinda am,” you admit. “Just…don’t leave me standing in it, okay?”
The words make something low in Ghost’s chest twist in a way he doesn’t examine.
“That’s not on the agenda,” he says.
You step fully into the apartment. The dim hall light dies as the door swings almost shut behind them. Shadows swallow everything; the noise of the city outside muffles.
“Lamp’s by the sofa,” you mumble. “Just- hang on…”
They hear you move. The soft thump of your bag dropped on some surface. The scrape of your shoes toed off. Your voice, closer to the center of the room now.
Something inside them unwinds. This is familiar: dark rooms, unknown layouts, a target’s breathing somewhere just ahead. They relax into the predatory rhythm without even meaning to.
Soap’s hand finds the back of the sofa in the dark. Gaz’s foot bumps into the edge of a low table. Ghost’s fingers twitch once, reminding themselves there’s no weapon in them tonight.
“You sure you paid your electric bill?” Soap asks, laughing under his breath when the first lamp you try doesn’t click on.
You huff. “Funny. It worked this morning. I think the bulb just-”
The sentence cuts off.
The silence that follows is sudden and heavy.
“Love?” Price says. “You all right there?”
You don’t answer immediately.
Then, from deeper in the room: “Yeah. Yeah, I’m…here. Just- don’t move for a second, okay? It’ll be easier if you let your eyes adjust.”
There’s a new note in your voice. Not exactly different- still soft, still gentle- but smoother. Calmer. Like something let go.
They stand still, obedient without thinking about it.
The dark presses in.
Slowly, shapes begin to tease themselves out- the paler rectangle of a window, the looming outline of a bookshelf, the shadowed bulk of the sofa.
And you.
You’re standing a few feet away, turned toward them. The faint light from the street outside brushes your outline but doesn’t quite touch your face. For a breath, you look exactly like you did at the bar- small, bare armed, hair falling around your shoulders, the delicate chain at your throat a dim line in the gloom.
The glint of your jewelry answers the glow- your necklace, your bracelet, your rings all picking up that strange, pale color and tossing it back in miniature. It slides over your features, revealing them in slices: the curve of your mouth, the bridge of your nose, the line of your cheek.
Your smile is small.
And wrong.
It’s too wide. Not grotesque, not cartoonish; just a fraction beyond human, the corners of your lips pulled back enough to show teeth that look a shade too long, too thin. Not blunt little herbivore teeth, but fine, needled things that catch the strange light the way deep water catches moonshine.
Price’s hand, half lifted, stills.
“Turn the lamp on,” Ghost says, voice low. A command, not a request.
You tip your head.
“No,” you say, almost apologetically. “I don’t need it.”
The room seems to shift around that answer. The air grows heavier, cooler. The smell of the river outside seeps in under the window frame, only it’s stronger now, richer, like true seawater. Salt and depth and something briny underneath.
The moonlight bleeds in through the window slightly and the faint glow it throws off reveals more details now: the way your pupils have narrowed to vertical slits in eyes that gleam with their own internal shine; the faint, opalescent pattern under your skin along your throat and collarbones, like scales lying just beneath the surface; the way the chain at your ankle has gone almost luminescent, the bones of your bare feet pale as the bellies of deep fish.
Price’s mouth goes dry.
“What are you?” he asks, very softly.
You tilt your head again, studying him.
“You know those fish,” you say, “with the little lanterns? Way down where it’s too dark for anything else to shine?” You give the necklace a small, idle flick, and it swings, hypnotic. “They sit there for hours, just…waiting. Letting the hungry things come to them.”
Soap’s pulse roars in his ears. Gaz swallows. Ghost takes a single, measured step forward like he’s testing how real this is, how dangerous.
You watch him do it. The glow stretched over your face makes your smile seem sharper.
“I didn’t want you to think I was anything but innocent,” you go on conversationally, as if explaining something simple. “That’s important. If the prey knows the hook is there, it won’t bite.” Your gaze roams over them, four big men in a stranger’s dark living room, shoulders tense, instincts finally whispering wrong, wrong, wrong far too late. “Do you know how many things in the deep are drawn to light that won’t harm them? To something that looks small, harmless, soft? They can’t help it. Their brains aren’t built to resist.”
The last word curls like smoke, amused.
“You made yourself pretty,” Ghost rasps, fingers digging into his palms as he fights the instinct to step closer. “So we’d…come to you.”
You tilt your head, pleased. Brilliant boy. You’ve always liked the wary ones. They make the best meals. The most satisfying captures.
“Of course I did,” you say. “The abyss doesn’t chase. It waits. It shines.” You tap your chest lightly with the tips of your fingers. “I just had to sit in the right bar long enough. Predators always think they’re the only ones hunting.”
Your own teeth catch the glow when you smile wider.
“Anglerfish don’t chase,” you say, almost gently. “We wait. We shine.”
The little necklace hangs there, bright and terrible in the pitch black of your living room, and Task Force 141 realizes far, far too late that they never chose you at all.
synopsis: was it weird to fall in love with someone you’ve never met? maybe. but the guy you’ve been playing video games with for the past few months was simply too charming. unfortunately for you, he was already smitten with some girl in his economics class, and it also didn’t help that he thought you were a boy.
pairing/genre: two shot, jungkook x reader (fem), fluff, smut
tags: economics student!reader (do you see where this is going), gamer!jk & reader, IDIOTS to lovers, friends to lovers, college au, mutual pining, IDIOTIC shenanigans, secret identities bc im a whore for that !! and ofc some fun, heart-racing smut because i couldn't resist gamer!jk hehe but those exact tags will be in part two! oh right, did i mention IDIOTS ?!?!!
a/n: welcome to part one!!! thank u SO SO SO MUCH for all the love on the teaser i was genuinely blown away!! hehe again, this is inspired by the many unemployed bitchless jk gamer lives recently! side note: i know nothing about gaming except for minecraft and the sims so pls keep that in mind lol! thank u so so much for all the support, hope u enjoy!!<3
taglist: comment, reblog with a note, or send an ask with the fic name if you'd like to be tagged for part 2! or join my perm taglist :)
wc: 8.7k
main m.list | read on wattpad | part one | part two
Today was the day. You had to tell him.
A static hum from your headphones taunted you as your mouse hovered over the familiar Discord voice-changing extension that you downloaded a few years ago when you realized that gaming was a lot easier if people thought you were a guy.
The only time it sucked was when you started crushing on one of your best friends and he still thought your name was Leo and that you had a dick.
But that was going to change soon, you hoped.
“Dude, Sky Block has really lost its touch.” Jay’s light, airy voice tickled your ears. “Wanna play Bedwars next? Or do you want to finally download that new game on Steam?”
Minecraft was the game of choice today. While he started as a buddy to play Valorant with, some time between now and the past three months, you started joining multiplayer servers on all sorts of games with him.
“Not in the mood for Bedwars, honestly.” Your voice changer was still on and it probably hid how shaky your words were. “What was that new game again?”
You were stalling. Fuck.
He went on to explain this new game called Raft, but you couldn’t give two shits about it, barely listening. Instead, you plucked the courage to click on the voice-changing mod, opening the panel where you could select your voice type. You dragged until the mouse landed on “TURN OFF,” just as he finished explaining.
“So, what do you say? You down?”
You couldn’t click it.
“Sounds interesting, but maybe not today,” you began. “I think I’m gonna log off soon.”
“Already?” You heard him huff. “You’ve been really quiet today. Something on your mind?”
“Yeah, honestly.” You sighed and leaned back, hoping that a laid-back position would calm your nerves. “I do have something I want to talk about with you, though.”
“Me too, actually.” He clicked twice, probably closing some windows. “Wanna trade some thoughts?”
This could be good. An opportunity. You just had to get your shit together. It was just Jay, you reminded yourself. He was one of your best friends—the only one who didn’t know your real name but could probably recite your Steam purchase history by heart.
Have you ever met in real life? No. Have you ever seen his face? Also no. But somehow you couldn’t help but adore him.
Laughter tumbled out of him easily. Kids on Roblox looked up to him. Silver ranked players on Valorant hated him. And you? You had an astronomic crush on him.
But how could you not? He was just too cute. He got just as hyped up as you whenever someone made a legendary play. He understood all of your nerdy references, because he too, was a huge dork. He loved anime and manga to the ends of the earth but couldn’t finish a single book even if he were held at gunpoint.
In other words, he was irresistible. This made it all the more imperative for you to tell him the truth about who you really were.
Your heart thumped against your ribcage.
“Sure,” you managed to say.
“You first?”
You weren’t ready yet. You’d let it be the last thing you did on this call.
“Nah, you go.”
“Alright then.” He cleared his throat. “Don’t freak out, okay? This is kind of big.”
“Don’t tell me… you finally moved up to Gold in Val?”
He laughed. “No, but man, that would be nice. I’ve been Silver for too long.” You muffled a girly giggle. He was so dreamy when he laughed. “It’s actually about like, real life.”
“Bet. Lay it on me.”
You snatched a pillow from your bed to get comfy. Gaming with him was always fun, but late night talks were rarer. More precious.
“Okay. Aright.” He took a deep breath. “Don’t freak out but…there’s this girl.”
The air was knocked out of your lungs. You didn’t have time to mull over it, though, because he kept going.
“She’s in my econ class. She sits right in front of me, and I’ve been trying to talk to her all semester. I don’t think I’ve been doing a good job, though.” He sighed. “I know we don’t usually talk about these kinds of things but, I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty sure my friends in real life wouldn’t take it seriously.”
Your breath hitched. It was rare to talk about anything other than games, shows, or movies.
“That doesn’t mean you’re my last resort or anything. I just feel like—I don’t know—I’m more honest with you?” He gave a weak chuckle. “I mean, dude, who else would still be friends with me after finding out about my secret Hatsune Miku obsession?”
You willed yourself to laugh, giving him permission to keep going.
“Anyways, this girl is super cute. We’ve talked a few times but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t see me as anything more than a classmate. Any words of advice?”
You forced yourself to say something. Anything.
“What’s she like?”
“She’s gorgeous,” he immediately supplied. “Like, drop dead gorgeous. Really girly. Super smart.” He hummed in thought. “She looks like she’d be shy but she can be surprisingly feisty. I’ve talked to her a couple times, but only about school stuff.”
Every sentence punctured like a knife. All you could do was laugh.
“Sounds like you’ve got it bad, man.”
Why was it that the more nervous you got the more you spoke like a guy?
“I think I do,” he confessed. Your heart shattered a little. “She probably has no idea. I just don’t know how to start a conversation with her unless it’s about class stuff.”
“Maybe you could ask her out on a date.” Your voice was clipped.
“Don’t you think that’s too forward? I mean, we’re just classmates.”
“Well if you don’t shoot your shot, you’ll never know right?” You swallowed a lump in your throat. Your mouse permanently moved off the voice-changing mod. “I’d say go for it. Just make sure she doesn’t have a boyfriend, first.”
He hummed in thought.
“Alright. I’ll try it.”
“Good luck.” You hated your life. “Keep me posted.”
“Will do. Thanks, Leo.” You couldn’t see him, but you had a feeling he was smiling. “What did you want to talk about again?”
Right. You were going to tell him that you weren’t Leo. That you were actually a girl and that you had been lying to him about your identity for the past three months. And that you had a massive crush on him.
You wondered what his reaction would be. Would he be mad? Shocked? Happy?
Then, you thought about Jay—as a person, and as a friend. How late nights with him could whisk away the worries of college life. How with others you’d laugh quietly and smile softly, but with him you were unapologetically boisterous. You thought about what it meant to have him as a friend—to come home knowing that someone would be able to put a grin on your face. Then you remembered how to speak.
“I forgot.”
A moment passed before his signature delicate chuckle tingled your ear, and you hated how it made you swoon.
“Maybe it’s a sign,” your friend Jin suggested. “What if he’s ugly?”
“I think I’d still like him, honestly.” You were walking to your morning economics lecture. Jin’s class was on the way, so he came with you. “Is that weird?”
Jin hummed, thinking. “Not really. It’s sweet, but it’s also a little… pathetic.” You glared at him. He continued anyway. “You’ve only known him for what, three months? And you’ve also been lying to his face about your gender and name. If you can fall for someone that hard under those circumstances, I think it just means that you’re down bad. I mean, when was the last time you went on a proper date?”
Most of the time you loved Jin, but sometimes you wanted to strangle him. This was one of those times.
Jin had been one of your closest friends since he found you sneaking out of the club a year ago at some freshman orientation party, venturing towards a nearby Burger King. You sheepishly asked if he wanted to join you, and a huge grin overtook his face as he skipped over. You were inseparable ever since.
“I’m not the party type, and you know that.” You pouted, then sighed. “But you’re right, maybe I am a little pathetic.”
At your pitiful slouch, he slapped you on the back cheerfully. “Hey, I was kidding. You just have a soft heart. Nothing to be ashamed of!”
“Whatever,” you mumbled.
You and Jin reached your lecture hall, some students shoving you to trot into class. This class was always exceptionally full, with over six-hundred students in the lecture hall. It was a required class for several majors, after all.
“How about we go out tonight?” He pulled out his phone, scrolling for something. “There’s this club that Wendy wanted to go to, and it’s a Friday.”
You thought about it for a moment, looking at the pictures of the club Jin was showing you on his phone.
“Okay, sure. Let’s go.” It would be good to get your mind off things.
Jin let out a mini-squeal and hugged you, obviously overjoyed that you were finally agreeing to go somewhere with him that wasn’t a cafe or brunch place. He waved you goodbye as you parted ways, then you followed the other dozen-something students trudging into the huge lecture hall, your denim tote bag slung over your shoulder and swinging into other people as you battled to make it inside.
The hall quieted down just as you found your seat, one in the back where few students ventured, opting to climb more stairs for more space. Twenty minutes into the professor’s tangent on marginal utility, someone tapped you on the shoulder from behind.
You didn’t even need to look to know who it was.
“What do you want, Jungkook?” you asked through a heavy sigh.
“I have a question,” he said, sheepish.
You turned around to face him. He was wearing a white tank top with an oversized grey hoodie that was zipped just enough to reveal the upper part of his sleeve of tattoos. His hair was styled messily as always, and his piercings seemed to glare at you.
“You always do.” You rolled your eyes. “Have you tried taking a look at the syllabus?”
Every week, without fail, Jungkook would ask you some kind of stupid question about class and then bother you with nonsense about other random stuff. Most of the time the questions could be answered if he just looked at the course manual online. How much was the final exam worth? Could he get bonus points if he submitted assignments late? Where could he access the online textbook?
At first, you gave polite answers, but after the third time, you simply told him to ask the professor if he was oh-so-curious about the number of questions on the midterm. You figured that he was just having a ball poking fun at you; the quiet, nerdy girl who liked to sit at the back of the class having to answer stupid questions might’ve made a funny sight to a cocky guy like him.
Or maybe he was just dumb.
“It’s not about class this time.” He took his laptop and reached over, placing it next to your belongings. “Can I come down and sit with you?”
You didn’t even answer, but he was already climbing over. “Uh, sure?”
You had to admit it was a little impressive how smoothly he swung down a row and settled into the seat next to you, barely making any noise. But he was just one of those guys: effortlessly cool and kind of stuck up but rightfully so.
“Okay. So,” he started, opening his laptop to make it look like he was locked in. “I have a question.”
“You said that already.” You kept typing notes on your laptop, half-listening to the lecturer and keeping an ear out for whatever nonsense Jungkook would ask of you.
“It’s… it’s important.” His voice was softer than usual. That caught your attention.
“Okay.” You stopped typing and closed your laptop ever so slightly to show him that you were really listening now. “What’s up?”
“Um… well…”
For the first time ever, Jungkook looked nervous. He couldn’t make eye contact with you. You raised an eyebrow expectantly.
“Doyouhaveaboyfriend?”
You tilted your head and leaned towards him as if it were the volume of his question that made you unable to understand. “Say that one more time?”
He took a deep breath. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
You blinked once. Twice. What an unexpected question.
“No?”
Jungkook’s face melted into relief, then flushed into an expression that could only be described as mild panic, as if he hadn’t thought about what to say next.
“Why do you ask?”
He blubbered like a fish for a good two seconds—which you kindly did not comment on—before offering an awkward laugh.
“For a friend!” he declared. “I’m just… asking for a friend?”
“Oh.” You furrowed your brows, unsure why he sounded like he was asking a question. “Do I know him?”
“Um, no,” he said. “He just saw you on Instagram and thought you were cute and I told him I knew you so he asked me to ask if you had a boyfriend,” he explained hastily, all in one breath. “So here I am. Asking. For a friend.”
At that moment, the professor loudly declared that he was going to go over one of the most important topics that would appear on the final exam. You averted your gaze to the board and leaned over to say softly:
“Well, I’m not really interested in dating right now. But maybe if I ever run into him I can see?”
“Of course!”
You gave an awkward smile and nodded in response. Then, the rest of your attention went back to the lecture.
Jungkook had really done it, now.
How could he be so utterly stupid? He cursed his feeble heart for making a fool out of himself.
Seriously? He couldn’t man up and tell you the truth?
He blamed it on your stupidly cute face. Why did you need to look at him like that? Head tilted and eyes wide like a deer? God, he couldn’t stand you.
Correction: he couldn’t stand what you did to him.
This never happened before. Sure, Jungkook had some romantic adventures here and there with a girl or two. He was a good-looking young man in his early twenties after all. But no girl had ever rendered him speechless just by looking at him.
Every time he gathered the courage to tap you on the shoulder to make conversation, he’d always chicken out at the last moment and end up asking some stupid, class-related inquiry instead of saying anything meaningful enough to garner your attention. Today he was so close to making a real stride, but of course he had to fuck it up in an even worse way
If someone asked him why you had this power over him, he’d honestly have a hard time explaining.
Was it the way that you always leaned forward when you didn’t understand something? Was it how you’d scrunch your nose to pull up your glasses instead of using your hands? Or was it the way you’d quietly chuckle at the professor’s lame jokes when no one else did?
He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t have to be to know that he was absolutely whipped. And this was a big problem, because he couldn’t stop thinking about you, no matter what he was doing or where he was.
During class. In the shower. Even at the club—where he was currently taking shots with his friend, Taehyung.
The fiery liquid stung his throat as music pulsed around him. This was his third shot, but he still didn’t feel a thing. Taehyung gestured to the bar, a tacit suggestion for a fourth. Jungkook shook his head no.
Another friend, Jimin, decided to take it instead.
“Only three?” Jimin asked, raising his voice over the thumping house music.
“Maybe I’ll come back and do more,” Jungkook replied. “Gonna step outside for a bit.”
His friends nodded and shrugged, knowing that Jungkook was a free-spirit who would do whatever he wanted regardless of their opinion, anyway.
Outside, there were a few people smoking and chatting casually. The air was cold and a puff of fog escaped Jungkook as he drew out a chattering breath. In the sea of college students, the last person he expected to see was you.
But there you were.
Alone. On your phone. Shivering. You were wearing a short skirt and a puffer jacket. Gone were your usual oversized glasses, and your hair was pulled into a high ponytail that showed off your neck, strands flying in the wind at the side of your face. You leaned against the metal railing, facing the street as the occasional car whizzed by.
You were absolutely breathtaking.
Okay. He could do this. Puffing his chest, he walked over to you.
“Hey there,” he called, voice slicing the frosty air in what he hoped was a suave manner.
You jumped around. “Jesus, you scared me.”
“Sorry,” he laughed softly. “Can I join you?”
“Um, sure.” You scooched over, leaving room for him to lean against the railing as well. He joined you, looking out onto the street and gathering the courage to say something.
“So, what brings you out here while they’re playing Doja Cat’s top hits?”
“Oh it just… got a little too stuffy in there for me,” you admitted bashfully. “I could ask the same to you.”
He shrugged. “I’m not really the party type.”
A laughing breath spilled out of you. “Right, and I’m Beyonce. What else is new?”
Jungkook pouted. “I’m serious! I’m really not the party type.”
“Really?” You looked him up and down.
Shit, was his hair okay? Was his face already flushed from the shots? Did his leather jacket look nice? He gulped and hoped you didn’t notice.
“But you seem like the party type.”
He waved dismissively. “Maybe every once in a while. I’m more of a homebody than people might think, to be honest.”
“Well, that makes the two of us,” you said. “Not big on parties either. I just came out here to clear my mind, honestly.”
“Wanna get anything off your chest?”
“It’s okay,” you said. “I wouldn’t want to bother you with my stupid problems.”
“No, it’s fine,” Jungkook quickly denied. “I’m happy to lend an ear.”
You eyed him as if you didn’t believe him. “Okay,” you said slowly, nose turning red from the cold. You sniffled. “Um, thank you.”
“Of course. So what’s up?”
He was doing good, he thought. Casual conversation. Getting to know each other. But then you sighed deeply, and said something that made his heart clench.
“It’s… it’s actually about a guy,” you admitted. “I came here to get my mind off of him, but I guess I can’t stop thinking about him.”
Oh.
Oh shit.
Jungkook’s guts twisted as he forced a neutral expression onto his face. You continued.
“I met him a while ago, and I guess I started liking him pretty quickly. The thing is, he only sees me as a friend. But it doesn’t feel right, being friends with him when I feel this way. It’s like I’m deceiving him, somehow, you know?”
Jungkook could only internally face palm. If only you knew how he was lying through his teeth to you, too.
“And so I was going to tell him how I feel, but before I could, he started telling me about how he likes another girl,” you snorted, a defeated expression on your face. “So now I’m trying to get over him, I guess.”
“Wow. Sounds like an oblivious idiot.” This was all Jungkook could say, because really, how could any guy who got a chance to get to know you ever like someone else? He was almost personally offended by the notion. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
You turned, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “That’s… kind of you to say. It’s really not his fault though. I’ve not been all that honest with him, actually.”
Jungkook saw this as another opening.
He could come clean and tell you that the friend he mentioned earlier was all a lie—a fabrication that was the result of his stupid nerves. Then he’d tell you that he’d love to help you get your mind off that stupid guy by taking you out on a date, and then maybe you’d say yes. Maybe you’d say no.
But at the very least, he’d be honest.
Just as he gathered the courage, you spoke first.
“Wait, didn’t you say something about your friend?” Your back straightened. Gears were turning in your head; he could almost see them. “Earlier in class today. You said something about a friend wondering if I was single.”
“Oh.” Jungkook thought that anaphylactic shock would be less painful than this. “Right. Yeah.”
You whipped around, ponytail flying with you. “Okay, this is going to sound a little bit pathetic,” you began, slightly embarrassed. “But if your friend is cool with it, could you maybe set us up? My friends are saying that the only reason why I even like this guy in the first place is because he’s the only guy I talk to. Maybe if I just… see more of the world I can move on easier. And if your friend is cool with it, I’d love to meet him?”
You were talking too fast. He couldn’t think fast enough.
“Uh… sure.”
Fucking hell. Jungkook wanted to die.
“Really?”
He nodded.
“Thank you so much, Jungkook!” You beamed.
“No problem.” He sounded like a robot.
You didn’t seem to notice, smiling brightly. It was the same look you got on your face when you got an answer right, quietly celebrating the similarity between your work and the professor’s. It was the look you got when you took your first sip of coffee in the morning and it tasted just right.
Seeing it never failed to make Jungkook’s day a little better—except for this time.
One night out was enough to drain your energy for the whole weekend, it seemed.
It was a lazy Sunday night, and you were anxiously waiting for Jungkook to text you with updates on what his friend would say to your proposition. Jungkook hadn’t even given you the contact information or the name of his friend yet. You worried a bit; what if you seemed too desperate?
But of course, all your worries were washed away when you saw the familiar Discord notification pop up on your screen. It was Jay. He wanted to know if you were down to play that new game called Raft. It was apparently a cozy survival multi-player game that was popular among Stardew Valley enthusiasts.
You typed out a quick message saying that you’d be on in about thirty minutes.
After taking a shower and changing into your pajamas, you went to your gaming set up and downloaded the game, shooting him a text saying that you’d be ready soon. Jay replied instantly, starting a voice call.
“Yo. What’s up?” His voice was dreamy, as always.
“Hey.” You tried not to gush.
After getting the game all set up, you found an easy rhythm with him. It was a cozy game; all you had to do was basically fish and build on a raft that was floating in the middle of the ocean. That left room for lots of conversation.
“How are things with that girl?” You finally found the courage to ask.
A deep sigh came from him. “I kind of fucked up. It’s embarrassing.”
You laughed, imagining Jay trying to hit on a girl. He was probably really nervous—probably also really cute, you thought, which then made you sad, since you weren’t on the receiving end of those advances.
“What happened?” you asked, making your game character sit down on your shared raft.
“It’s embarrassing.” In the game, Jay plopped down to watch the pixelated sunset next to you. “Promise you won’t judge me?”
“Sure, I won’t judge you,” you confirmed. “I think.”
You could practically hear him roll his eyes, if that was even possible.
“Whatever. Don’t make me regret telling you this.”
“Sailor’s honor.” Your video game character was dressed like a sailor.
He took a deep breath and began. “So I was talking to her the other day about whether or not she had a boyfriend, and when she asked me why… I kind of chickened out and told her that I was asking for a friend.”
You scoffed—probably harder than necessary—then bursted into unapologetic laughter.
“Seriously?” You struggled to breathe normally. “Jesus, Jay, that’s really something else. You got nervous?”
His voice was small. “Yeah.”
He was so fucking adorable. Lord help you.
“And that’s not even the worst of it,” he groaned. “She asked me to set her up on a date with this guy. And I said yes. Even though the guy is me. I want to die.”
At this, you stopped laughing. “Wow. That’s so stupid I can’t even make fun of you for it.”
“Thanks a lot,” he grunted. “Any other helpful comments?”
His sarcasm was usually laced with playful humor, but this time he seemed genuinely upset. Maybe he liked this girl more than you thought. You fought the ache in your chest.
“Well, do you have a plan to start with?”
“I don’t. I was hoping you could help me with that.”
You and Jay mulled over the possible options.
Telling the truth was out of the picture, apparently.
Jay was adamant that this was simply not feasible since it would make him look like an asshole who just wanted to play with her feelings. You argued that there wasn’t really an alternative for it, either.
You didn’t want to help them all that much, if you were being honest. Hearing him lament on and on about how worried he was that he was ruining his chances with some girl—that was hard for you.
But alas, you found something to suggest, although it was so stupid you doubted he’d like the idea.
“What if you asked one of your friends to go on the date for you and purposefully ruin it? Then you can come in and—I don’t know—show her how much cooler you are. Sweep her off her feet. Be the hero. Or something.”
Silence.
You caught some tuna in the game, a fish icon popping up in your inventory as you pulled the fishing rod back. Nice.
“Leo...”
“Hm?”
“That’s brilliant!” His video game character stood, jumping around and emoting while circling around yours. “You’re a genius! You’re a genius!”
You forced an awkward laugh. “Thanks, I guess.” Was it actually a good idea? You didn’t even really remember what you suggested.
“Have some goodies.” His player—who was dressed like a little boy scout—dropped a bunch of food items on the ground, gesturing for you to pick it up. “It’s my thank-you present.”
A smile found its way onto your face. He really was too cute to stay annoyed at. “Why thank you, young lad.”
After the game’s sun started to rise, you and Jay went back to work, fishing and building on your raft until it looked more like a sophisticated island. While waiting for crops on your floating farm to grow and for great white sharks to swim away, you sent memes back and forth to each other in the chat, and at some point you went AFK for a bit to get the pizza that you had ordered.
Things were starting to feel normal. You could almost forget about your feelings. If you could forget today, maybe you could do it again tomorrow—and the day after as well. Then hopefully, you’d get over him completely.
It was around three in the morning, and you were getting ready to log off before Jay stopped you.
“Wait,” he called out. “I may or may not have one more request.”
“Shoot,” you replied, clicking out of all your windows except for Discord and taking a sip of your Diet Pepsi.
He hesitated for a moment. “Can you do it? The date?”
You nearly spit out your drink. Spluttering, you replied:
“What the fuck are you talking about.”
“The date. With the girl. Can you do it? Be the douchebag who ruins it all? You don’t need to be mean or anything—I don’t want to make her sad—just be cocky and insufferable. Fuckboy vibes. Someone she definitely wouldn’t like. Then hopefully I can swoop in, like you said. Show her how much better I am.”
You couldn’t find your words.
“Please, Leo. I know I’m asking a lot of you, but I promise I’ll pay you back somehow. I was thinking about it… and I don’t think I can ask anyone else. You’re the only person who would help me without making fun of me.”
What did you do to deserve this? How could you say no when his voice pinched like that? So helpless and desperate that you wanted nothing more than to help him?
“Will you?” he asked again.
Maybe a demon possessed you.
“Sure.”
Not even heaven could help you now.
“You’re actually stupid. How will you ever date anybody like this?” Jin wasn’t even making fun of you. His face was strewn into genuine remorse, as if your miserable love life were his own.
“I don’t know,” you lamented, groaning into your hands. “What do I do?”
Wendy patted you on the shoulder. “Maybe start by finishing your lunch,” she said softly. “Your stress looks like it's eating you from inside out.”
God bless Wendy—Jin’s girlfriend—who was always so sweet to you.
The university canteen bustled with life, which you tainted with the faint scent of death lingering all around you. You forced yourself to take a bite of an apple.
“Don’t you also have a date with whoever that economics boy is setting you up with?”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m so nervous about that, too. Jungkook hasn’t even texted me the details yet.”
“Jungkook, huh,” Wendy said, lips pursing in thought as she played with her food—something she often did when she didn’t want to eat anymore. “Isn’t he the guy who was rumored to have broken five girls’ hearts back in year one? The guy with all the tattoos and piercings, right?”
“Right!” Jin’s face lit up in recognition, discreetly putting another piece of grilled pork onto Wendy’s plate. “I’ve heard people call him the One-Date Wonderboy. They say he went on dates with five different girls in the first month of the semester—and they all came back saying that he broke their hearts after only one date.”
“I’m not sure if it’s all true, though. These are all just rumors,” Wendy commented, pulling out her phone. “But he really does seem like a fuckboy. Look.” She showed Jungkook’s Instagram.
“Phew,” Jin said through a low whistle, narrowing his eyes and pinching to zoom in on Wendy’s phone. “Red flag galore. Look at that six-pack.”
It was his only post; a picture of Jungkook at the beach, shirtless, his tattooed arm holding a green coconut as he sipped from a comically pink straw. His dark hair was slightly damp. Skin glistening with sea water. The caption read: “beach trip w da fam.”
“What do you think?” Wendy asked, turning to you and skillfully ignoring the extra piece of meat in front of her. “You’ve talked to him before, right? And he’s setting you up on a date. Are you sure he can be trusted?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if I even care about that right now.”
You barely slept these past few days, staying up late worrying and waking up early in a cold sweat. And as Wendy mentioned, you hadn’t really been eating well either, too stressed to think about anything other than the impending doom of going on a date with Jay’s crush. As a boy.
Goodness, how in the world were you going to pull this off?
Across from you, Jin was being pouty at Wendy for not finishing her meal. She sweetly swooned him with gentle praises, saying that she could get full just watching him eat. Too ill from your own disastrous love life to watch them, you averted your attention back to your phone, which made you want to puke even more.
A few minutes later, Jungkook texted you with where his friend wanted to take you out on a date. You absentmindedly agreed, too busy lamenting over your predicament with Jay to care about your date with this mystery friend of Jungkook’s.
Looking back, you probably seemed really pitiful to him; maybe that was why he was so nice to you. You weren’t sure if you believed the things Wendy and Jin said about him. Sure, he looked like a red flag, but you didn’t find that unnerving, necessarily.
He was less intimidating and more… stupid. And dumb, in a dorky way.
Kind of like Jay, but cockier. And… annoying?
Yeah. Annoying.
That’s what you’d call the feeling of knowing he was going to bother you in your economics lecture every Friday morning. That’s how you’d describe your first impression of him when he tapped you on the shoulder and asked if you had a laptop charger. Because who forgets to charge their laptop to the first class of the year?
But then he was also surprisingly kind at times: like when he offered to lend an ear outside the club when all you could think about was Jay. Or when he told you he’d be happy to set you up with his friend.
So hopefully, at least this blind date would go well.
After finishing lunch, you put away your dirty plates and started walking to your next class, Jin and Wendy bickering at your side. Absentmindedly scrolling through your phone, a realization struck you, stopping you in your steps.
You clicked out of your chat messages with Jungkook and into your Discord chat with Jay from a few days ago.
Your heart plunged out of your ass.
“Oh my god.”
Jin and Wendy turned to you. You showed them your dilemma, frantically shoving your phone into their faces with incoherent blubbering.
You’d just agreed to going on two dates, each at the exact same time and place with two different people—as two different people. One as yourself, and one as Leo.
“Oh honey…” Wendy trailed off.
Jin furrowed his brows. “Are you an idiot?”
“Yes,” you said, desperate. “I’m an idiot and I need my best friend to help me.”
To be fair, what were the chances that both Jay and Jungkook’s friend would propose dates at the exact same time and place?
You wanted to cry.
Jin’s face softened, and he sighed, thinking hard. Wendy as well. Then his eyes lit up with a gasp.
“I have an idea,” he began. “Get a pencil and a piece of paper. You’re gonna wanna write this down.”
Things were looking up for Jungkook.
He had someone secured for a fake date with you, and he trusted Leo with all his heart.
Leo was the only friend Jungkook had whom he could really be his true self with. Other people mostly knew him as the guy with the tattoos and piercings who liked to break girls’ hearts—a totally exaggerated rumor, by the way.
Honestly, he was a little flattered that people thought he was such a casanova. He didn’t know that having tattoos, piercings and a six-pack equated to being a fuckboy, but he didn’t necessarily hate the attention, either.
After all, in high school he was a total nerd. A geek, some would say.
He always had his nose buried in manga, dark circles surrounding his eyes after countless nights of staying up to play video games. He always sat at the back of the class, keeping quiet, and didn’t have many friends. Some classmates here and there thought he was nice. His TaeKwonDo instructor adored him, too.
But other than that, no one really paid attention to him until the summer after high school, when he grew out of his skinny-jeans and oversized hoodies, finding a new style that showed off his hard-earned muscles and freshly inked tattoos.
When he started university, he got more attention from the opposite sex in one month than he had in the other eighteen years of his life. He didn’t quite know how to handle it at first, but he eventually found a formula that worked: the more arrogant and conceited he seemed, the less people saw how awkward he could truly be. And people accepted that as if it were an unstoppable force of nature.
Of course someone who looked like Jungkook would be like this. Of course!
So it was easy to secure dates, or first dates, at least.
But then, a frustrating pattern emerged: he had no idea how to take it further with these ladies. He couldn’t talk dirty. He had never touched a woman before in his life. And he was hopeless at carrying conversation about anything other than games—and he wasn’t going to reveal to someone on a first date that the better part of his life had been spent glued to a computer monitor.
And unfortunately for him, these particular ladies expected him to take the lead for whatever reason. Was it the persona he made for them? Or, was it simply the fact that the look of his muscles alone screamed “let me dominate you?”
He wasn’t sure, and he was always scared to find out. By the end of every date, he’d make sure to end it. No matter how good the date was going, if he felt even the slightest trepidation in going forward with the girl, he’d tell them he wasn’t interested.
Five dates.
That’s what it took for him to realize that it was pointless to try and find someone he’d click with. Sure, his dating pool was much larger now, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he could easily find someone that struck his fancy.
Maybe he relished in his new persona a little too much—five dates might’ve been overkill.
Nevertheless, he really wasn’t the womanizer people wanted him to be. Not everyone knew the truth, but that was okay. He didn’t mind.
At the end of the day, he could always go back to his games.
So with Leo—someone who hadn’t ever known the other side of him before—he felt seen, in a good way. Leo didn’t poke fun at his interests.
Instead, Leo laughed all the time and asked fun questions. What was his favorite Pokemon growing up? What did he think about the spin-off series of Naruto? Who was stronger, Gojo or Kakashi?
Leo never judged him.
That was why he could only ask Leo for this astronomic favor. And thank goodness he said yes.
Jungkook was at PopMart, looking for a figurine of Itachi Uchiha—Leo’s favorite Naruto character—that he could give as a thank you gift.
His phone rang, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw that it was you. You had exchanged numbers a while ago at the club when he had agreed to set you up on a blind date.
“Yo. What’s up?”
“Hi Jungkook,” you started, slightly breathless, like you were nervous or something. He wondered why. “Are you busy?”
“I’m outside right now,” he explained. “But I can talk. I can always talk.” Shit, was that too much?
“Okay, perfect. Sorry to bother you.”
You never bothered him, he wanted to say. “No worries,” he said instead.
“So… I kind of have a favor to ask of you. Another one, that is.” You let out a timid laugh. “I promise I’ll treat you to a meal or something in return. It’s kind of a big favor.”
Jungkook would do anything for a meal with you.
“Sure. What is it? ” He put down the action figure that he was admiring, stepping outside the store to focus on talking to you. “I’m sure I can do it.”
“You’re the best!” You sighed in relief. “So um, I’m kind of setting my friend up on a blind date, but her date backed out… last minute.” You sounded like you were reading a script. “She worked really hard to clear her schedule, so I was wondering if you could do me a favor and hang out with her for a night?”
Oh. He was not expecting that.
“I really owe her a lot as a friend and… she likes guys who are cocky and insufferable—wait what?” A crinkle of paper could be heard. You cleared your throat. “I mean, she likes the bad boy type.”
Jungkook opened his mouth but no words came out.
“She’s not looking for anything serious! Just one date with a guy who’s her type so she doesn’t waste the one day she worked so hard to clear.” A shaky breath. “She wants to go to that same Italian restaurant you mentioned. I’ll meet your friend and you can meet mine. It’ll be separate dates, but at least we’ll all have a friendly face nearby. What do you say?”
He blinked a few times and looked around to make sure that he wasn’t having some fever dream. Then he sighed.
“It’s just one date, right?”
“Yes. Just one date to not waste her day off.”
Maybe he could do it.
It would also give him a natural reason to be in close proximity to you when the date was over. He would just make it clear to whoever your friend was that he wasn’t interested in her in the slightest. That he was only there to do you a favor.
Then, he’d come talk to you after and ask you how your date went and when you’d inevitably say it didn’t go well, he’d say something cool and make you swoon.
Yeah. That sounded good.
He’d even get to see Leo in person for the first time, albeit from a few tables away. Maybe Jungkook could also surprise him, he thought, imagining what Leo’s reaction would be seeing his dearest friend, Jay, in the flesh. He imagined texting Leo, to your left, and then giving him the biggest grin as shock painted his face.
They’d probably laugh about it later over Discord.
“Okay. Sure.”
You made a noise that sounded like a squeal in response. “Thank you so much!”
Cute, Jungkook mused. He wanted to hear more of your happy sounds—as creepy as that sounded.
“No problem,” he said, delighting in the grateful giggle that came after. He had this all figured out, he told himself.
Really, what could go wrong?
There were many, many things that could go wrong.
You paced back and forth, stepping over piles of clothing which were laid in messy heaps throughout your bedroom floor.
For one, Jungkook could say something about you—an off-handed remark such as: “So how did you become friends with Y/N?” or “Y/N tells me that you like edgy guys. Is that true?”
Or, Jay’s lady friend could say something like: “Nice to meet you Leo!” and then Jungkook would be like, “Oh that's not me. Y/N told me that your date couldn’t make it at first, so here I am instead.”
Then, Jay’s lady friend would wonder who the fuck this “Y/N” girl was, and Jungkook would wonder why the hell you hadn’t told your “so-called friend” that he was going to be her date instead.
At some point, Jay’s lady friend would reveal that she had no idea who you were. And then all of your lies would unravel and the date would be ruined.
Really, you should’ve just canceled or rescheduled the date while it wasn’t too late.
But of course, your emergency contact at that moment was Kim Seokjin, the guy who dipped his fries in ice cream and learned how to cook from food science research papers instead of proper cookbooks. So instead of doing anything sensible, you went with his convoluted idea of getting Jungkook—the One-Date Wonderboy, apparently—to go in your place as Leo.
“Look, all you need to make this work is to get some guy to ruin that date with Jay’s girl crush. I do feel kinda bad for that girl, but it’ll be fine since your… game boy or whatever will come save the day, right?”
You nodded.
“Great. And what kind of guy did Jay say he needed again?” Jin didn’t give you a chance to answer. “Exactly—someone cocky and insufferable. And Jungkook? Not only is he the epitome of a fuckboy, but he also has a sparkling track record for ruining first dates, does he not?”
You nodded again.
“So take out your damn phone and make it happen!”
You started dialing Jungkook, Jin’s script in your shaking hands. Wendy sighed and turned to Jin, a worried look in her eyes.
“You might feel bad for that girl, but I feel worse for Y/N.”
At that moment, it was a genius idea.
Now that it was D-Day, you couldn’t help but feel like it was the stupidest thing you’d ever done. You stared at your reflection in the mirror.
Gentle curls feathered over your shoulder, and a thin sheen of makeup lightly covered your face. It was some of your best work, you’d like to say; it wasn’t often that you got yourself dolled up. You wore a simple white dress and pinned a matching bow in your hair. For some pizzazz, you chose a pair of red Mary Jane ballet flats and a red leather bag to go with it.
You looked great. Didn’t feel so, unfortunately.
The Italian restaurant was already bustling when you arrived. You stood outside the establishment, shivering from the cold. Maybe you should’ve brought a jacket. Inside, you couldn’t see any empty tables. Did Jay make a reservation, or did “Leo” need to do it? Then you wondered if Jungkook’s friend made a reservation for your date as well?
You didn’t even know his name. Or what he looked like. Maybe Jungkook would introduce you to him before splitting off to find his own date, the girl Jay had a crush on.
What a mess. Your head was already starting to hurt.
“Hey!” Jungkook’s voice reached you before he did. “You’re here early.”
“So are you,” you said, taking in his attire as he ran up to you from the parking lot.
His usually messy hair was contained with some hair gel, yet somehow managed to still look fluffy. He wore a sleek black button up tucked into black, straight-cut jeans. A leather jacket was slung over his shoulder, like he wanted to bring it but didn’t have any intention of wearing it. All of his piercings were in. Chunky rings on his fingers. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Tattoos playing peekaboo.
Jesus.
He cleaned up nicely, you had to admit. You took a deep breath.
“Well, I forgot to make a reservation,” he explained sheepishly. “So I tried to come a bit earlier to see if I could get on the waiting list.”
“Gotcha,” you said. “Should we go ask?”
“It’s okay. I can ask for the both of us, since our dates will be arriving at around the same time, anyway.”
“Okay. I’ll wait here.”
As Jungkook left, you whipped out your phone to shoot Jay a text. Did he make a reservation too? You panicked for a moment—what if you ran into Jay’s crush before you met Jungkook’s friend? How would you explain to Jungkook how you’ve never met her before when she was supposed to be your “friend?”
Jin was going to get bonked in the head next time you saw him. How did he ever convince you that this was a good idea?
Jungkook came back outside, a desperate look on his face.
“Hey, it turns out that they only have one table left, and it doesn’t seem like they’ll be another one soon. Do you think we can turn this into a last minute double-date?”
Shit.
That was probably the worst possible outcome. Maybe you’d have to pull Jay’s crush to the bathroom and explain to her your frustratingly unique predicament so that she’d understand. And then she’d probably hate you a little bit for making such a mess of the situation.
Or maybe she’d understand; Jay said she was nice, didn’t he? Your brain was working in overdrive.
“Sure.”
That was how you found yourself sitting across from Jungkook in a cramped booth at an Italian restaurant, awkwardly fidgeting with the hem of your dress. You were waiting for Jungkook’s friend, and he was waiting for your crush’s crush to arrive.
You laughed internally. To anyone else, it would’ve looked like you and Jungkook were on this date together. In reality, both of your dates were ten minutes late.
“He should be here any minute now.” Jungkook brushed his hair back in frustration. He pulled out his phone and started typing away.
At the same time, your phone dinged with Jay’s reply on Discord.
jay:
there’s a table inside for u
where r u?
Furrowing your brows, you looked around for any other empty tables; perhaps there’d be one tucked in a corner with the “reserved” sign on top of it.
But there wasn’t.
you:
can’t find the table.
u sure u reserved for 7:30?
jay:
r u alrdy there?
you:
yeah lol
jay:
what do u look like?
You looked at Jungkook.
you:
black button up shirt
leather jacket
i have some tattoos
in case that helps your lady friend find me
jay:
lady friend 💀
ok first of all fire style
secondly where exactly r u ?
r u outside or inside
you:
inside
where is she btw
is she already here?
He didn’t reply. Turning your attention to Jungkook, you saw that he was looking back and forth between his phone and the front entrance of the restaurant, as if he were waiting for someone to arrive.
“Sorry,” he groaned. “My friend said he was here but I can’t find him.”
“It’s okay,” you said quietly, nervous. “I’m not sure where my friend is either.”
“I’ll call him.”
As Jungkook dialed his friend, your phone started to buzz in your bag. Jay was calling you.
Then, you got this eerie feeling. There were too many strange coincidences.
The way Jay and Jungkook chose the exact same restaurant and time. How they both answered calls with “Yo. What’s up?” Or the way Jungkook’s feet tapped impatiently as Jay’s Discord avatar taunted you while your phone vibrated.
It couldn’t be, right?
You declined the call.
At the same time, Jungkook glared at his phone with a frustrated huff, shoving it back into his pocket.
“Sorry, he didn’t pick up. I’ll try again in a bit.” He reached for a nearby menu. “Do you want to get drinks first? I heard the Espresso Martini is pretty good here.”
You were making dangerous connections in your head.
Jay’s economic lecture crush. The annoying guy who sat behind you on Friday mornings. Late nights playing practically every game on Steam. Staring at cars passing by outside a busy club in the early hours of the morning.
“Hey,” you started cautiously. “What did you say your friend’s name was again?”
He paused, looking up from the menu. “Oh right,” he laughed softly. “I can’t believe I haven’t told you yet.”
You forced yourself to chuckle.
“Leo,” he said, like it was the most normal name in the world. “His name’s Leo.”
⤷ taglist (in the reblogs): again, feel free to comment, reblog with a note, or send an ask with the fic name if you'd like to be tagged for part 2! or join my perm taglist :)
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a/n pt2. thanks so much again for reading! comments, reblogs, and likes really motivate me and art always super appreciated !! much love 🫶🫶
Oscar calling reinforcements (his mom and sisters) because readers run out of pads/tampons
oscar & the emergency rescue squad - OP81
Masterlist
summary:
you thought you were being slick. sneaking around oscar’s apartment with toilet paper in your underwear like he wouldn’t notice you ran out of tampons. but oscar’s not having it. the moment he figures it out, he activates full crisis mode and does the unthinkable - calls his mum and sisters for backup. it’s humiliating. it’s heartwarming. it ends with a new heating pad, a fresh pack of strawberry pads, and a very smug oscar.
warnings:
period talk, pads/tampons, mention of cramps, soft domestic chaos, secondhand embarrassment, oscar being the best boyfriend alive
You really thought you had it handled. Quietly sliding into the bathroom with your hoodie sleeve pressed between your thighs. Layering up toilet paper in your underwear like a medieval peasant. Waddling back to bed like nothing was wrong.
But Oscar knew something was wrong the second you climbed into bed like a raccoon caught stealing. He blinked at you, eyes soft but suspicious. “…what did you just do.”
“Nothing,” you said too quickly.
His eyes narrowed. “What’s under the hoodie?”
“Me.”
“Try again.”
You buried your face in the pillow. Oscar sighed. Climbed over you. Flipped the hoodie up like a detective and discovered your toilet paper contraption. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t gasp. Just nodded slowly like a war general assessing the battlefield.
“You ran out.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Don’t lie to me on my own sheets.”
You groaned. “I was gonna get more tomorrow.”
Oscar tilted his head. “So you were just gonna rawdog day one of your period with toilet paper and vibes?”
“…yes.”
He blinked once. Twice. Then he stood up, grabbed his phone, and walked to the hallway.
You sat up fast. “Oscar what are you doing.”
He turned. Deadpan. “Calling my mum.”
You shrieked. “What?! No, oh my god, no, Oscar don’t you dare-”
He held a finger up and dialled. “Mum? Hi. Yeah. Do you have any pads or tampons at your place? No she didn’t tell me she ran out, I caught her doing a DIY situation. No, I don’t know the difference between the pink ones and the purple ones. Yes, I remember the strawberry ones. Yeah? You’ll bring Edie and Hattie too? Perfect. Yeah, we’ll put the kettle on.”
He hung up. You stared at him in horror. “You traitor.”
Oscar grinned. “They’ll be here in fifteen.”
And they were. Fifteen minutes later, Oscar’s mum and both of his sisters stormed into the flat like a SWAT team. They had three shopping bags. One was just snacks. One was filled with pads, tampons, wipes, Midol, and a hot water bottle shaped like a duck. The third had a new pair of soft pyjamas and a clean pair of period panties because “she definitely hasn’t done laundry.”
You were beet red. They didn’t care. Oscar made you tea while Edie unpacked the pads like she was doing an unboxing video. Hattie handed you a blanket and told you you could cry if you wanted. Nicole gave you a kiss on the forehead and told you she’d be back next month if he forgot anything.
You sat in the middle of the couch surrounded by estrogen, comfort items, and overwhelming love.
Oscar knelt beside you and handed you your favourite mug. “You okay now?” he said softly.
You nodded.
“I’m sorry I told them,” he added, brushing your hair back. “But also I’m not sorry. Because now you’re warm and stocked and I get to be your hero.”
synopsis. Bob likes someone that’s not you and now it's up to you to begin Project Get Over Bob.
warnings. no use of y/n, not much angst right now, reader pining for Bob but pushing it all down!! Bob breaking my little y/n's heart.
word count. 2.7k.
part 2.
part 3.
Bob Reynolds was many things, but one thing he wasn’t, was subtle.
You knew it.
He knew it.
Everyone knew it.
So when he started batting his eyelashes at the owner of the local bookstore, you knew that you might have to get rid of your crush.
You and Bob had known each other now for at least a year, and had fallen into the perfect morning routine.
You’d wake up at 7am, stumble your way into the kitchen, knocking on everyone’s doors as you went. Of course, Ava, Bucky, and Walker would have already left for training, but it was nice to cause a bit of ruckus so early in the day. You’d pop some coffee on and by the time it brewed, Bob would be sitting at the island in the middle of the room with a grin and an extra Splenda packet for you.
But today?
Today, he was nowhere to be found.
“Coffee for me?” Yelena asked as she wiggled her brows at you.
You smiled and scoffed “Knock yourself out.”
“Have you seen my bowie knife, I think I left it in the sink but I came to grab it last night and it was gone.” she whined, her bottom lip jutting out in such a cute way you couldn’t help but grin and pinch her cheeks.
“You left your disgusting dirty knife in the sink?!! We practically EAT out of there.” Walker shouts.
“We don’t eat out of the sink stupid.”
“Well, if we’re washing our dishes in the sink and we eat off of them then – yeah – we do.”
“So what? You decided to throw my knife away because of that??”
Yelena’s accusation turns John bright red, the two bickering and throwing insults around at a rapid pace.
While those two are enthralled in a "spirited debate" Ava and Bucky stroll in. The latter animatedly mimicking what you think? is some kind of old-school wrestling move.
Bucky suddenly tunes into the two blondes’ argument and starts to smirk. You raise a brow at his reaction. His wink back was enough evidence that he definitely had something to do with the disappearance of Lena’s knife.
Yeah, you need to learn how to rage bait effectively from the centurion.
The elevator chimes and you all turn to see Bob waving, carrying a very nice smelling paper bag which you can only hope are filled with some almond doughnuts from Supermoon.
You open your mouth to say something, until a small figure coming out from behind him leaves you speechless. Long black hair, big eyes and-and wait it’s the lady from the bookstore? Lily?
You’d spoken to her before and honestly, she was lovely, super smart and made your day every time you stepped foot to her store. She'd recommended Dante's Inferno to you when you’d ask for an all-time classic so obviously you had to love her. You liked her so much you’d even taken her email so you both could discuss you guys’ excitement for the new Odyssey film.
And now here she was, the kind woman from the store clinging onto Bob’s side.
All you could see was his hand, Bob’s hand, your Bob’s hand covering hers so tenderly.
The way he did with you.
Everyone’s gaze seemed to zero in on you and your reaction.
“Hey guys, um Lily and I are heading to the game room, you-you guys are welcome to join, we’re watching The Shining!” god, the way his eyes shifted to hers in such a soft way, assuring her that she was welcome here, killed you.
He stares at you for a moment; you know Bob was looking for some comfort from you, that yes, it's ok he's brought her here and is finally trying to live a normal life.
Through your shock you pull yourself together, give a thumbs up and wink, mouthing the words "she’s cute". Your heart may be breaking but you care for him too much to not support something that makes him so obviously happy.
You can see him visibly relax and as the others rally to greet Lily a sudden flurry of steps from Alexei stole the group’s attention. The large leather clad (you’d have to have a conversion to him about the concept of lounge wear) man claps his hands together as he caught sight of the two in the doorway.
“Finally Bob, you ask Lily to come here. You know he asked me over and over and over advice on how to charm pretty woman with shop!” he says, turning to the group with a smile on his face.
Yelena places her hand in the small of your back and glares at Alexei, the man looking absolutely bewildered at the others’ reaction to what he thinks is the best news he’d heard all week.
“So.. you both together or –“ John questions, shooting an inquisitive look between the two.
“We haven’t really, well, haven’t put a label on it yet, we’re just hanging out, right-right?” he turns to face her, and every inch of her face lights up as she laughs.
“Yeah, this is his audition for boyfriend.”, nudging him in a familiar way.
They’d only known each other a month why were they suddenly so buddy-buddy?
Ava, as kind as ever, decides to change the subject, asking about the team’s plans for next month’s mission. You hear the words safe-house and horses but can’t bring yourself to care.
The lovebirds take this as their cue to leave and Bob gives you a soft smile as he walks away with someone that’s not you.
Ok.
Time to get over Robert Reynolds once and for all.
Phase 1
You decided to split Project Get Over Bob into 4 phases = fill up your timetable and become busy - stop hanging out with Bob – stop thinking of Bob – reach the ultimate nirvana and make yourself invisible to him.
Ok, well the phases were vaguely something like that.
Simple right?
Phase 1 was easy; you’d used the guise of a new hobby (jiu-jitsu) as an excuse to be out of any kind of common area or team activity. Claiming to the team during the monthly debrief that you had to know the sport as an effective cover for your mission.
So, while half of your day was taken up by morning classes and sparring in the afternoon with Lena and Buck, there was still the entirety of the evening to deal with.
You and Bob spent most evenings cooking dinner, filling reports to send off to Mel and watching shitty French arthouse films until you were both knocked out for the day.
This had to stop.
Ottolenghi could wait, you thought to yourself as you booted up your laptop and found the perfect pottery class that was on the other side of the city and about 2 hours long.
“Are you tryna to replace all of our plates?” a voice says from behind you, causing you to jump and almost drop the drink you were holding in your free hand.
“Jesus John, learn to make some noise when walking into a room!”
Walker jumps over the sofa landing snuggly next to you, he reeks of sweat nothing too bad but you wrinkle your nose in faux disgust.
“You smell awful did you roll around in dirt before you got here or what?”
“I’ll have you know I beat Bucky and Alexei while sparring today, hence the sweat.”
You look at him incredulously. There was no way that Walker could beat them 1 v 2. Sure, he was strong he’d managed to rough you up plenty of times but James had the fancy hydra serum and well Alexei was just out of his mind Russian so how did the so called ‘second rate’ captain America manage to beat them?
As if catching onto your line of thought John grabs your head and brings his arm around your neck, playfully tickling you with the other. You burst out in giggles, gasping and shouting at him to let you go.
While he has you in a headlock without mercy, Lily and Bob walk in. Their conversation stalls as Bob lays his eyes on the two of you messing around.
Walker straightens up and you stare at him confused with the immediate shift in behaviour.
“What are you both doing?” he questions his voice tight and his hands clenched at his sides.
“John managed to best the two greatest super soldiers on earth, apparently. I personally don't believe it” you state while winking in Lily’s direction. She holds her mouth with her palm, attempting to hide her laugh.
“Anyway, I’ve got some work to catch up on so I’ll see you guys later”, you clap your hands while standing up and shuffle out of the room, bidding goodbye to them all.
Bob looks at your retreating figure, both John and Lily staring at him snaps him out of his daze and he leads her to the lab downstairs.
You couldn’t wait to leave the room, Bob’s reaction made no sense to you. You knew he was always slightly awkward with Walker but they had hashed out whatever issues they had months ago, so why was he so annoyed with him today?
The rest of the week goes by with you keeping as busy as possible, you can count on one hand how many times you’d even seen Bob and you wanted to keep it that way.
You told yourself all you had to do was make it to week 4, and you would be off to Mongolia with Alexei and Walker for at least 2 months, and by then the Bob-shaped hole in your heart would be filled up and pasted over.
Phase 2
All you needed to do for phase 2 of your plan was to wean yourself off the drug that was Bob. The aforementioned drug was not making it easy for you, even though you’d changed your habits, he hadn’t.
Every day he would wake up even earlier than usual and make your favourite breakfast of blueberry pancakes and an iced black coffee, leaving it on the counter closest to the elevator. He would stand next to your breakfast, almost militant in ensuring you ate every last bit because how else would you have enough energy for jiu-jitsu? He was so happy that you'd decided to take on a new hobby and put yourself out there, you deserved to have fun so of course he wanted to show his support in any way he could.
You’d then decided to take the stairs around the back so you could avoid him but he’d taken to waiting by reception with your breakfast in a small tin, like a wife waving her husband off for work. Was Bob your wife?
Never mind.
You then decided to forgo even more sleep and join John in his 4am gym sessions, leaving for class after sparing with the super solider that spent 2 hours kicking your ass so hard that by the time you got to class you were aching.
At least it had limited your conversations with Bob.
One other problem needed to be solved.
Bob’s night terrors were almost daily and before Lily-gate you had allowed him to come to your room, he’d nestle himself into your sofa, you would wake up sometime after and speak to him until he felt at ease at which point he would whisper goodnight and tip toe back to his own bed.
You knew deep down that he only came to your room because it was closest to his, the comfort of your sofa was the most alluring part to him, you guess. It was bigger than Bucky’s, way softer than whatever the hell John had stuffed in his room, cleaner than Ava’s, and Alexei and Yelena had declined any kind of comforts in their rooms so that wasn’t an option for him.
Bob loved your room.
So you would need to change your room.
It had to be sneaky. The others were already pestering you about changing your training timetable, but a big change like this would arouse suspicion from Bob.
Maybe a burst pipe would be best?
You knelt next to your sink, gripping the hammer you’d stolen from the construction team that were plastering the entrance of the tower after an unfortunate parking incident at the hands of Yelena. You weren’t worried about the sound of you brutally slamming the hammer to the pipe, you’d forced Valentina to soundproof everyone’s bathrooms out of fear the others would hear you screaming your lungs out to Dionne Warwick every morning.
One final hit and water exploded across the room, soaking the floor and walls. Within minutes, the water seeped into the carpet of your room and once you were satisfied you changed out of your wet clothes and temporarily disposed of the hammer under your bed.
Running out your room you shouted for Ava (she was always locked in her room, tinkering away at her next project) you asked her to call maintenance up and with that phase 2 was well on its way. Your fake concern was definitely believable.
The team sans Bob gathered round your room door as the very kind man who had fixed up your bathroom informed you and Mel that the flooring would need to be replaced because of the risk of mold.
You struggled to hide your joy at the success of your plan and turned your body to grin to yourself. Quickly turning back and putting on a concerned face as you ‘brainstormed’ a solution to your-self inflicted dilemma.
Ava tutted loudly as the group discussed where you would be staying. She locked eyes with you and gave you a look you couldn’t figure out, you’d have to chase her up on that later.
“Could I have the room next to you Buck?” his was the furthest from yours and would provide a respite from the man that you were attempting to avoid.
“Yeah course kid, need a hand with your stuff?”
You both spent the day moving every single item in your room into the one at the end of the hall, there wasn’t even a speck of dust that could have been traced back to you.
As you brought the last box out of your room Bob rounded the corner. It had been a few days since you’d last spoken to the man and even the sight of his face felt like too much for you to handle. But ignoring him now would be cruel and it wasn’t like you were trying to punish the guy.
Right?
His hair was up in a clip, something he normally only did when at self-care night with you and the other girls, tucked into Lena’s covers with a hyaluronic face mask and a hot chocolate. You liked it, he’d normally have his hair covering his face but you like seeing him, all of him.
“What happened? What w-why is your room boarded up, did something happen-“
“A pipe burst so I had to switch to a different room” you shrugged. “Buck offered the one attached to his so-”
“What-what about the one next to mine?”
Shit.
You hadn’t really thought about a good excuse for that, obviously, the one next to his would be the more reasonable option but you quickly spit out a lie.
“I was considering it… but the view from the other side of the tower is so great at night! It’s nicer to have a view of Central Park than Goldman Sachs when I’m working.”
He nods in understanding, “Oh ok, that makes sense.” He stills for a moment, and it looks as if he may say something, but he stops himself.
You take advantage of his hesitation. “I’m pretty tired, I’m gonna turn in m’kay, see you around Bob.”
“Yeah-yeah I’ll see you, goodnight.”
You walk past him as quickly as possible without looking back; if you had, you would have seen the absolutely devastated look on his face.
Bob wasn’t stupid.
He’d been trying to get your attention for the past two weeks. He knew that you were working hard to prepare for your mission, but you always made time for him no matter what.
Bob decided he would get to the bottom of your strange mood, no matter what it took.
Hey guys, hope you like the fic so far, It’s my first time writing fanfiction and not consuming it so if anyone has any writing tips pls let me know!
a/n: this is my first jk fic SO BE NICE M’KAY? . . . now pls enjoy
synopsis: out of impulse, jungkook gets his tongue pierced, but totally forgot the part that for the next two weeks he’s not allowed to kiss his adorable, oh so desirable gf.
wc: 15.8k (mind you this was supposed to be 5k at the MOST . . .)
cw include: black fem!reader was in mind when written but picture her anyway you’d like <3, literally porn with a smidge of plot, unprotected sex, needy!reader, even needier!jungkook, lots of nasty kisses, tongue sucking, creampie, squirting, choking, oral both receiving, some biting, so much dirty talk omg, jungkook is a major perv, he uses her panties to masturbate and does . . . other things with them, he eats it through her panties, slow & rough sex, prone bone position, riding, sex in front of a mirror, backshots, spit, body worship, jungkook is so in love . . . whew i think that’s it—oh wait, he eats in while they shower together!
“are you nervous, honey?”
“mmhm?”
the corner your lips lifted into a giggle, gold bracelets on your wrists jangling as you reached over to squeeze your spaced out boyfriends firm bicep. this caught his attention, his doe-like, brown eyes flicking over to meet yours.
“ah, sorry. my mind was elsewhere. what did you say, baby?” jungkook grinned, leaning over until his shoulder was bumping into yours. you wanted to ask him what had his mind so preoccupied, but knowing jungkook, he’d most likely already forgotten.
you let out a low hum, slyly maneuvering your fingers into his lap to interlock with his. “i asked if you were nervous. s’probably gonna hurt getting your tongue pierced.”
jungkook shrugged, “mm . . . not really. if i can handle getting my lip—or even my eyebrow pierced, i think i can handle this. pain will only last a couple days anyway, yeah?”
you were about to answer, but suddenly a voice to your left caught both of your attention.
a bulky man covered in tattoos, and multiple facial piercings approached the two of you, a friendly smile on his face. “which one of you is here for a tongue piercing?”
jungkook gripped your hand softly and stood, bringing you up with him. “that would be me, she’s just here for support,” he gave your hand a tender squeeze, not bothered by the pda he was showing you in the slightest.
that was one of the things you loved about jungkook.
he was never afraid to show his affection for you no matter who happened to be in the room. friends, colleagues, strangers—it didn’t matter who it was. jungkook was still gonna kiss, touch, and hold you to his hearts content. and who were you to even complain about such a thing?
so he held your hand the entire time.
he held your hand while the piercer perfected the placement, while he rinsed his mouth out with a minty mouthwash, and once the needle finally went through his tongue, he held on even tighter.
he preened at your praise, his heart rate increasing tenfold when you whispered a sweet, ‘you’re doing so good, babe!’
jungkook winced as the piercer screwed in the tiny, silver balls on the bar, but you just squeezed his hand in reassurance. before he knew it, he was finished.
“how do you like it? placement okay and everything?” the man had asked, and with three slow blinks, jungkook nodded. the feeling of it in his mouth was foreign, but that was to be expected, and as for the way it looked? he loved it.
“s’great. thank you, thank you so much!”
you watched in complete adoration as your boyfriend admired his fresh piercing in the handheld mirror he was given. those big, brown boba eyes of his were so wide in awe you were sure they’d pop out if his skull. he was too cute.
“here, rinse your mouth with this again,” the piercer instructed jungkook, handing him another small cup of mouthwash. as jungkook swished the liquid in his mouth the man went over a few, simple instructions on how to properly care for the piercing.
“i would recommend soft foods the next couple of days, nothing too spicy or else it’ll get irritated, and this’ll probably be the hardest rule to follow but absolutely no kissing. swapping spit with someone, even your girlfriend, is the quickest way for it to get infected and reject, but other than that you should be good, man.”
jungkooks lips parted then shut. fuck.
the thought of not being able to kiss you whenever and wherever he wanted hadn’t crossed his mind. not even once. fuck. fuck. fuck.
“how—um, h-how long am i gonna have to do all that for?” and as soon as the words ‘ten to fifteen days’ left the piercers mouth, you could see jungkooks shoulders visibly deflate.
how will he ever go over a week without kissing your soft, pretty lips? your cherry gloss was like heroine to him. he loved swiping it off with his tongue, and letting the subtle cherry taste coat his tastebuds. and not to boast, but jungkook was the biggest munch he knew! how on gods green earth is supposed to go a whole fifteen days without tasting your cu—!
“hey, you alright? feeling lightheaded?”
jungkook blinked rapidly, and with a low hum he shook his head no.
“don’t know how i’m gonna go so long without kissing her . . . or eating spicy foods,” he chuckled, throwing his his back so dramatically you didn’t know whether to laugh or scoff.
“please excuse him. now pay this poor man so we can go get you some ice chips for your tongue,” you smirked, linking your arm around his muscular one. he glanced down at you, and fuck. he already wanted to give you a smooch.
you looked so cute in your pink, oversized sweater and miniskirt. not to mention you were trying out a new blush and lip combo that just made you look so sweet, he could’ve ruined you right then and there.
“why don’t you go hangout over there while i pay him, hm? maybe one of those pieces you see will inspire your next tattoo” he spoke lowly in your ear, giving your side a soft squeeze before sending you on your way.
as jungkook talked to the man about his form of payment, you stood to the side, wrapped up in your own little world. you nibbled on your bottom lip, manicured fingers playing with the hem of your skirt as you thought about how much of a pain in the ass jungkook will be for the next two weeks.
your sweet bunny of a boyfriend required physical touch on a daily basis, so to take out such a key part of it left both of you feeling less than thrilled. at least you had a tad of self control, jungkook on the other hand . . . need i say more?
he was the most impulsive person you’ve ever met, not to mention the neediest boy in the fucking world. underneath the leather jackets, tattoos, and piercings—jungkook was as soft as the strawberry crème cakes you made him on a daily when it came to you.
a hand squeezing your hip broke you out of your thoughts, “you ready to go, sugar?”
when you nodded, jungkook laced his tatted fingers with yours, bidding everyone in the shop a farewell before leading you out the exit and to his car.
it was a beautiful day out; a cool seventy eight degrees and the sun shone brightly above you. a perfect day for running errands and a late lunch!!
a little squeal slipped past your lips when jungkook lightly pushed you against the side of his car, his front pushing ever so softly against yours. “so what’s on the agenda for the rest of the day, hm?” he spoke softly, encasing your hips in his large hands.
you placed your hands on his hard stomach, blindly tracing the ridges of his abs over his shirt. he was so manly . . so masculine . . . and so all yours.
“well . . .” your voice trailed off, head innocently cocking to the side, “i wanna go to t.j. maxx, and get that hello kitty vanity chair. i also wanna head to that herb store and get more raspberry leaf—if i run out before my period comes i’m a goner!”
jungkook’s smile only faltered slightly at the mention of your awful period cramps. sometimes during that time of the month for you, he’d find you in your shared bathroom, head tucked between your knees as your body racked with sobs. he never minds it truly, but it shatters his heart every time he kisses those little tears streaming down your puffy cheeks away.
he tenderly rubbed your lower belly, forehead knocking against your gently as he nodded. “mm, don’t worry. we’ll get your herbs n’ your chair. maybe something to eat too?”
he was absolutely speaking your language.
“yes, that sounds perfect,” you grinned, scratching lightly at the hairs on the nape of his neck. jungkook practically purred at the contact, damn near forgetting you were out in the open. not that he really cared.
he wanted to swoop in for a kiss. just a tiny, little kiss. but the moment his head ducked down, his lips were met with the smooth skin of your palm.
he frowned, a noise of disapproval rumbling in his chest that was soon hushed by little kisses on his jaw. the feeling of your lips running over his hot skin had him shivering, brain nearly short circuiting.
you looked up at him through your freshly done lashes, “m’sorry for doin’ that, but you heard that man in there! no kisses for kookie for at least ten days.”
jungkook wanted to just collapse to his knees, and cry, and be as dramatic as possible—but chairs nodded to be bought, and herbs needed to be collected so he’d have to save the dramatics for another time.
he let out a small puff of air from his cheeks, his tongue already starting to sting from swelling, “you’re right. you’re always right, my smart girl.” he squeezed your sides gently, and nudged his nose against yours, “let’s go get that chair.”
after a short trip, and lots of lingering touches later, your chair and raspberry leaf were secured, and so was your hunger. on the way back home jungkook had made a surprise stop at your favorite taco spot—a small truck ran by two older women who absolutely adored the two of you.
the way home was pretty quiet. while you bashed on your three carne asada tacos with extra lime and salsa, jungkook casually sipped on a small horchata, the cool liquid bringing some relief to his sore tongue.
“it’ll always shock me how you make no mess,” he chuckled, putting his car in park. you dabbed the corners of your lips with a napkin, and did a quick check in the mirror to make sure no cilantro was in your teeth before giving him a small smile. “only because i know i’ll get an earful from you if i do.”
and right you were!! jungkooks mercedes amg was his pride and joy (right after you).
“need me to carry anything, honey?” you hummed, watching as jungkook balanced your bags and the small box containing the parts to your new vanity chair in his arms. he, of course, shook his head no, and instead gave you the job of unlocking the door.
before you even set your purse down, jungkook was already kicking his shoes off and ripping at the box, an obnoxious tearing sound echoing throughout your apartment. building furniture was a random favorite hobby of his, and he always looked damn good doing it.
“lemme get these outside clothes off,” you muttered, using your socks as little skates to slide into your shared room, little giggles slipping past your lips as you did so.
“you’re going to bust your behind one of these days if you keep doing that. hardwood floors hurt y’know!” jungkook called out to you, his boyfriend voice turned all the way on.
“yeah, yeah, whatever. are you gonna need your tools?” you called back, slipping off your skirt and sweater. your bra was the next thing to go, and after little to no thought, you settled on wearing one of jungkooks t-shirts.
the fabric smelt just like him. a citrusy, vanilla scent that made you sleepy every time you smelt it for too long. it also made your cunt feel tingly, but due to certain circumstances, you decided to keep your horniness at bay for jungkooks sake.
you’d be lying if the urge to kiss him hasn’t hit you once or twice, but who could blame you? your boyfriend had the most kissable lips ever, and the two lip rings that adorned the left side made you want them against yours even more!
but unfortunately it’d have to wait.
you brought the collar of his shirt to your nose one last time, inhaling deeply before getting on your knees and shimmying over to jungkooks side of the bed. now he did say which tools he needed, but you weren’t exactly a handy woman, so you just decided to bring his entire tool box.
when he heard the obnoxious sound of metal clanking together his eyes darted to the direction of the sound. his lips broke into a smirk when he saw you carrying his entire toolbox. you were so precious without even having to try.
you wearing little to nothing around your place wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. in fact, you did it so much that jungkook almost found it odd whenever he would come home from work and see you still fully clothed.
yes, you prancing around in just your panties and a top all the time was pretty distracting, but it was the best distraction a man could ever ask for. you have the prettiest, phattest pussy he’s ever seen, and she looks even more enticing hidden behind the soft cotton of your panties.
with a small grunt you set the metal box down, “here ya go.”
when your hands found purchase on your hips, your his shirt rose up, giving him a nice, close up view of your panty clad cunt. the pair you had on today were hot pink, with ‘juicy’ written in black cursive right on the part where your mound was.
‘i’ll fuckin’ say’ he thought to himself, teeth tugging on his lip ring to surpress the urge to pull you closer to him. it didn’t help. like at all, because three seconds later jungkook was pulling you two steps closer by the backs of your thighs.
your nose scrunched up, a giggling bubbling in your chest. “you know . . . you could at least try to be a little more discreet with your staring.”
jungkook groaned at your words, nosing at the inside of your petal soft thigh. “nothing fun about being discreet, babe,” he sighed giving your thigh a light peck.
you were out of his grasp a millisecond later, your head cocking back and forth. “watch those lips mister!”
“it was just a peck, it won’t do any harm, babe!” he pleaded, pulling you closer. his ring clad fingers held rather tightly onto your flesh, preventing you from moving an inch.
“mm, sure, but a peck with you always leads to something more,” you spoke softly, ruffling his jet black locs.
a drag of air got caught in your throat when his nose nudged against your cunt. “h-hey, that’s enough, mister! get back to work before i thump you.”
and with that, jungkook released his hold on your body. his fingers lingered for a second or two before letting go completely, his lips jutting into his signature pout.
“mean . . . very mean,” he muttered, turning his back to you to give your unbuilt chair his undivided attention. he knew he was being unfair, but shit, this entire thing this was unfair!!
it was dumb to say aloud, but truly, the thought of not being able to kiss you or any part of you didn’t cross his mind in the thought process for getting his tongue pierced—not even once! it was a cruel, sick, joke that was one hundred percent preventable, and now you both had to deal with it :(
you let out a little puff of air from your cheeks, and knelt behind your pouting boyfriend. “you say mean . . . i say responsible,” you whispered in his ear, kissing the shell of it before placing another soft kiss on his neck.
“don’t be sad, ‘kay? it’ll go by before you know it.” you knew your man, and you knew him well. you knew if he was challenged to do something, he’d do it and he’d do it well.
he whined at your words, thick brows scrunching together, “it can’t go by fast enoughhhh.”
seven hours later . . . .
jungkook felt as if he was going to combust into a million pieces. the urge to have his lips on yours didn’t curve in the slightest, and to make things even more difficult, he was now sporting a painful boner.
you were sound asleep on his chest, little snores leaving your slightly parted lips every so often. you were still wearing what you had on earlier, the only difference being a lavender colored, silk scarf wrapped securely around your head.
‘hells paradise’ played quietly on the tv, and the ac was on full blast giving jungkook the perfect background noise to fall asleep to. but he couldn’t. his mind was racing.
his legs felt stiff, begging to be stretched, but he knew if he moved even a muscle, you’d stir in your sleep and switch positions. when he held you like this he could feel the heat from your pussy right against his thigh, and as sick it sounded it made him feel so at ease.
with the way his tongue throbbed in pain, jungkook could use all the comfort he could get.
he slowly craned his neck to look down at your sleeping form, and fuck. you were the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. even when you were deep in sleep.
the semi-bright glow from the tv gave him just enough light to see that your eyes were moving every so often. he wondered to himself what you could possibly be dreaming about. selfishly enough, he hoped it was him.
“aish . . .” he muttered, shifting his leg the tiniest bit. you made a small noise in your sleep, and this had jungkook freezing in his spot. his heart pounded against his ribcage as you nuzzled closer into his side. and then you moved again . . . and again . . . and again, until jungkook was questioning if you were really asleep or not.
the dull throb against his thigh had his pierced brow twitching.
should he wake you? should he leave you be? should he just cut his losses and jerk off in the bathroom?
a gentle squeeze pulled jungkook out of his thoughts, and when he looked down, he was met with the sight of his sleepy girlfriends’ scrunched up face.
“mm, kook . .”
your voice was whiny, and laced with sleep. if only he was able to kiss away that tiny furrow between your brows.
“what’s up, baby?” he spoke softly, pulling your body impossibly closer to his. you breathed out a small hum when he cupped your ass, gentle fingers gripping the soft flesh.
goosebumps rose on the dark haired mans skin when you nuzzled your face in his neck. your lips brushed against the sensitive spot below his ear, “can’t fall back asleep . . . need your help, please.”
and there it was.
jungkooks hands shook as they ran up and down your body, squeezing and fondling any part of you that he could. “y-yeah? what do you need me to do for you, baby—i know you’re sleepy, but try to use your words for me.”
he heard a small sniffle and then, “fuck me back t’sleep, kook. pleaseee.” your hand lazily rubbed along the length of his covered cock, saliva pooling on your tongue at the thought of having him inside you.
without a second thought, jungkook maneuvered your body on top of his with ease. his dick was pressed snugly against your pussy—hot, hard, and ready to put you tf back to sleep!
jungkook’s breath fanned over your face, still minty from when he brushed his teeth. “really wish i could kiss you right now,” he grunted, lifting your body up just enough to pull his briefs down.
“i-i wish you could kiss me too,” you whined, back arching when he rubbed his leaking tip over your panties.
he didn’t take your panties off, instead he just pulled them to the side with two fingers, and slipped his cock right between your soaked folds. wet was an understatement—you were drenched. small pearls of your essence began to drip down his cock, already creating a mess between your bodies.
“ngh—put it in please,” you sniffled, bottom half slowly moving up and down the length of his dick. jungkook didn’t need to be told twice. he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, tatted hand gripping the base of his cock before slowly pushing the tip through that tight ring of muscle that greeted him so sweetly every time.
his free hand cupped the back of your neck, smushing your forehead against his. “so wet, princess. slipped right in like you were made for me,” he groaned, planting his feet in the bed to push more of his cock into your tight heat.
with a sloppy kiss to the corner of his lips you whispered, “because i was.” this nearly killed jungkook of course, his hips stuttering the tiniest bit.
he throbbed all around you. every protruding vein caressed your sensitive walls, and it didn’t make things better when his spongy tip started knocking obnoxiously against that spot deep inside you that had your toes curling.
you mewled at the stretch, grabbing onto his shoulders as you found your place in his neck once again. every moan, whine, every hitch of your breath—he heard it all, and it was driving him fucking nuts.
he wanted to talk you through it, whisper dirty praises and promises in your ear, but alas his tongue was just too fucking sore. he knew you liked him to be vocal, so he settled with matching your volume in moans.
jungkook’s hands roamed all along the expanse of your back. your skin was hot to the touch, his cold hands bringing you some sweet relief.
you wanted to melt into him. let your minds and bodies become one forever, but for now this would have to do.
“lemme take this off,” you muttered, sitting up to remove his shirt from your trembling from. the new angle had his cock hitting deeper, and this had you tightening up, forcing a hiss from the man below you.
he wasted no time fondling your breasts, a whine bubbling in his throat from lack of them in his mouth. you always made the prettiest noises when he sucked on your nipples. they were always so sensitive—even as he softly ran his thumbs over them.
“k-kook—”
“i know—shit, i know.” his voice was raspy from lack of speaking. his throat felt so dry, like someone had stuffed cotton down it. jungkook had a thirst, but not for a beverage of any kind.
as you began a steady rhythm moving back and forth, jungkook thumbed at your swollen clit. his jaw clenched, a groan rumbling in his chest at how wet you actually were.
sucking your clit into his mouth would definitely fix him right now—why, oh why did he have to get this stupid fucking piercing.
your hips stuttered slightly when he pulled his thumb away, and without a second thought he brought the digit to your lips. it wasn’t hard to find his eyes in the darkness of the room, and once you did you sucked the digit between your lips, humming at the sweet, yet tart taste that coated your tongue.
all your nerve endings felt as if they have been set ablaze. you could feel everything. you didn’t know what it was, but these intimate moments with jungkook always made you so beside yourself.
“what’s it taste like, hm? describe it for me,” he rasped out, pressing down lightly on your tongue before removing his thumb entirely.
your movements halted, but not for long, because jungkook’s hands were on your hips seconds later, resuming your slow paced grinding. “don’t make me say it, babe,” you whimpered, feeling your cheeks get hotter than they already were.
he couldn’t help but chuckle. you were still so bashful—even when getting split open by his thick cock.
it was silent for a few beats, and then without warning, jungkook cupped the back of your neck and pulled you back down to his level. his feet planted into the bed, and with that he began a slow, steady rhythm of thrusts.
“was is it sweet? i bet it was, you’re always so fuckin’—ngh, sweet,” he panted against your lips, making you whine veryyyy loudly.
your cunt started to became rather noisy, an obscene squelching sound becoming louder and louder as the minutes went by. but it wasn’t quite loud enough for your boyfriend.
your once warm body was suddenly met with a chill, goosebumps rising over the entire expense of your back. jungkook had also taken this as an opportunity to go faster—harder. the sound of his balls slapping against your ass echoed noisily throughout the room.
“love that sound,” he grunted, tucking your face in the warmth of his neck to shush your whines. between being overly drowsy, and jungkook fucking you like his own personal toy, your brain had turned into a complete pile of mush.
not a sentence, nor thought could be formed in your head. the only thing you could even think to do was kiss him—well kiss his neck specifically since his lips were off limits.
your lips latched onto the spot below his ear, sucking feverishly until he was squeezing the back of your neck in sensitivity.
“y-yeah, mhmm. keep kissing me. i need it,” he whispered the last part directly in your ear while also delivering a particularly harsh thrust. you made a noise between a sob and a gasp, and for a second you could’ve sworn you saw white.
both of his hands gripped your ass cheeks, spreading them only slightly so he was able to fuck you deeper.
a never ending chorus of ‘ah ah ah’s left your drooly lips, and soon, it wasn’t long before you were whining in jungkook’s ear about how you were about to cum.
you lifted your head slightly, “i’m *pant* i-i’m—!”
jungkook shoved your face back in his neck, the pace of his thrusts increasing to a speed so fast it had you seeing spots.
“i know, baby. i know. fucking do it.”
your ears started to ring, and your back arched, a beautiful symphony of moans following seconds later. jungkook fucked you through it all with one hand still securely on the back of your neck, and the other now grabbing onto your hip so roughly you were sure to feel it in the morning.
his toes curled when he felt you gush around him. your pussy was practically suffocating his cock, convulsing around him so harshly it was almost difficult to continue moving.
you heard a few curses in korean, follow by one more hard thrust before a sudden warmth flooded your lower belly. jungkook ground into you from below, milking his orgasm for all it was worth—which was a lot.
without even thinking he pressed a quick peck to your shoulder, his lips lingering for a few seconds before pulling away.
“ . . . you okay? was i good?” he whispered into your ear, but the only response he was met with was a small snore. your body was completely limp, occasionally twitching in his arms.
jungkook hummed contently, nosing at your cheek. his hands ran slowly up and down your back, tracing random hearts and shapes as he did so.
he was gonna have to wake you up soon so you could pee, but for now that would wait. he just wanted to bask in this moment for as long as he could.
it’s been nine days since then, and you two have been fucking like rabbits everrrr since.
morning, afternoon, midday, the middle of the night—it didn’t matter what time it was. if jungkook was in the mood, he had to have you.
the urge to kiss you hasn’t lessened. in fact it only grew stronger and more unbearable as the days went by. his cock leaked pathetically with pre every time he thought about your lips against his. he craved the feeling of biting into the plushness of your bottom lip, and tugging just enough to have you whimpering.
when his tongue became less swole the first thing he tried to do was kiss you, only to be met with the petal soft skin of your cheek. ‘it’s only been three days, kook!’ you had scolded him, breaking his heart for what felt like the hundredth time that week.
you being the sweet, amazing girlfriend you were, fucked the sadness out of him every single time though hehe.
the situation always ended up the same way. jungkook would be underneath you, brown eyes the size of saucers while you rode him into a blissful oblivion. you rewarded his restraint to kiss you with sloppy pecks across his neck and throat, your tongue tracing random shapes and lines into the sweaty skin.
he felt like a fucking teenager with the way he was so quick to jump your bones.
it was now day ten, and jungkook has surely lost his mind by now.
he was currently home alone, scrolling mindlessly on his phone as he waited to hear the familiar click! of the door unlocking.
you weren’t home, obviously. you had picked up an extra shift at the bakery you worked at, leaving jungkook all by his lonesome.
you’d been gone for seven whole hours, and to make things worse, you only texted kookie a handful of times before it was silence on your end.
he thought about going up there to visit you—maybe even partake in a sweet treat, but that would only end up doing him more harm than good. so here he sat, scrolling through your social medias for the umpteenth time.
fuck, you were so pretty. how did he end up with such a gorgeous girlfriend, hm? how did he manage to have the literal embodiment of perfection land in his lap?
he usually asked himself these questions when he was missing you really bad, or while he watched you sleep. is that creepy? eh, maybe, but who even really cares?
his eyes flicked up to the corner of the screen reading the time. it was fifteen minutes till five, and he still hadn’t heard from you since you last texted at noon.
“hope she isn’t working herself too hard . . .” he sighed, slumping back against the plush, gray couch cushions.
you were a bit of a perfectionist, and although he admired how much time and effort you put into your craft, he didn’t particularly care for how hard you were on yourself if the outcome wasn’t exactly what you wanted.
when you told jungkook baking was a ‘fun hobby’ of yours, he expected you to laugh off your minuscule mistakes, and enjoy the sweet treat. boy was he fucking wrong.
* cue super cute flashback *
“one more, one more!” jungkook chuckled, his tatted fingers gripping onto your chin to bring you in for another slow, nasty kiss. before you could even protest, his lips were against yours—soft and swollen from your previous kisses.
you giggled against his lips, a small gasp getting caught in your throat when he grabbed a handful of your ass over your pajama shorts. “mm, babe. i gotta get the cookies out before they burn,” you hummed, cunt clenching around nothing when he tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth.
the sweet smell of brown sugar and chocolate wafted into your nose, and you knew soon enough the enticing smell would soon turn burnt and bitter if you didn’t act quickly.
jungkook gave you one last peck before releasing his grip on you, a lazy smirk lifting at the corner of his lips. “alright, alright. i’ll leave you alone . . . for now. now lets go check on those cookies,” he grinned, showcasing those oh so cute dimples that made you swoon every time you saw them.
he let you lead the way to the kitchen— why you ask? so he could fondle and smack your ass to his hearts content. you didn’t bother to say anything, allowing the giggling man behind you to continue his antics.
when you opened the oven your lips pulled into a thin line, already dissatisfied with the slightly burnt smell that greeted you.
while you were screaming in your mind twenty seven different ways, jungkook was behind you, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for you to pull the tray out. he was so blissfully unaware of how homicidal you were over these damn brown butter cookies.
he leant over the pan, taking a deep inhale of the sweet treat. “shit, these look incredible, baby,” he muttered, mouth now beginning to water.
all you could do was sigh, your brows pulling together in a deep frown. jungkook noticed this and it had the cogs in his brain turning. what could possibly be so wrong? these were the most perfectly baked cookies he’s ever seen!
without saying a word you slowly lifted up a cookie with a thin spatula. just as you thought—they were burnt. the bottom was entirely too dark for your liking. once they cooled they were going to be hard instead of soft. this just broke your heart.
jungkook noticed the cloudy look in your eyes and stood up straight. he turned your body towards his quickly, but gently. “hey, hey, what’s wrong? why do you look like you’re about to cr—i mean, um—”
it was too late. two fat tears were already rolling down cheeks, waiting to be wiped away by jungkook.
“ugh, why would you ask me thatttt? you know i always cry when you ask me that,” you sniffled, blinking away more tears. jungkook puffed air through his cheeks, and cupped your face with both hands. this made you want to cry even more, but you managed to pull it together with a slow, but shaky breath.
you tried to look everywhere besides in front of you, but it was painfully hard to avoid your boyfriends’ intense gaze.
“why are you crying? your cookies look perfect . . . i’m sorry, but i don’t—i don’t understand,” he spoke softly, sliding his hands from your jaw to your shoulders.
your eyes flicked to the tray beside you, and then to the floor. “i’ve . . . made these cookies so many times . . but the one time i wanna make them for you, i fucking burn them. what kinda sick joke is that?”
“but baby they look perfectly fine to—”
“uhn uhn!” you grabbed one of the now cooled cookies, and showed him the dark brown bottom. “they’re not moist! they’ll be hard—inedible soon enough,” you sighed, pulling apart the cookie to reveal the steaming inside.
jungkook was completely stumped. burnt cookies were a very dark brown, blackish color, and they usually left a foul stench in the air . . . yet these were a perfect golden brown, and smelt so sweet he could’ve gotten a tooth ache. was he missing something?
“hmph, i don’t know what went wrong. maybe i cooked the butter too long? maybe they weren’t cold enough? i don’t know . . . will you try, please?” you pouted, holding one half of the cookie in front of him. without a second thought, jungkook scarfed down the entire thing, along with the other half.
the still warm chocolate chips melted on his tongue, making him hum in content. you watched with an intense glint in your eyes, waiting for any sign that he disliked the cookie.
his tongue slowly ran over his bottom lip, and without saying a word he grabbed another cookie, devouring it in only two bites. your eyes softened, tear stained cheeks now feeling extra hot from embarrassment.
“shut up . . there’s no way they’re that good,” you muttered, hiding your face in his obscenely large pecs. jungkook only chuckled, his hand coming up to pet at your hair softly.
“i think you’re being entirely too hard on yourself, no? they may not be as soft as you want them, but they’re certainly edible, babe.” his words were so sweet, and so gentle, it made you want to start crying all over again.
when you didn’t say anything he continued, “you could serve me flour on a paper plate, and i’d still eat it because it was made by you, and i’m so serious.”
when he heard you giggling into his chest it made his heart clench, but in a good way! your laugh sounded like the finest of symphonies to him, a sound he could hear on repeat for all his days to come.
“there she is, there’s my girl. no more crying, ‘kay? makes my heart hurt to see you so sad,” he spoke lowly, giving the crown of your head three gentle kisses.
your eyes slowly shut, the sound of his heartbeat making you drowsier by the minute. you could’ve fallen asleep right there, standing and all, but the sudden smell warm brown sugar had your eyes fluttering back open.
“try it,” you heard him ask, although it sounded more like a demand. your lips parted, and with a little hesitation, you took a bite of the cookie. the taste of brown butter and vanilla had you humming in delight, and this brought a smirk to jungkook’s lips.
“good, right?”
you hummed a small ‘mhm’ in response, and took another bite. “still kinda dry. they’re decent at best, and i’ll never get hired at ‘the sweet spot’ with decent cookies.”
your body went stiff when you heard jungkook let out a particularly loud sigh.
he wasn’t bothered that you were talking about working at your dream job again, no, never that. what bothered him so damn much was that you really didn’t believe your baking was good enough to get the job.
jungkook cupped your jaw firmly, forcing you to look up at him. he muttered ‘stop that’ in korean. two words that you were very familiar with (due to you being a massive brat), and like every other time it made your cunt feel tingly.
“stop what . . .” you murmured, clearly acting clueless to what he was talking about.
he breathed out a small laugh, and tongued at the inside of his cheek, already caught on to your little game. “i believe my girl is smart enough to know what i’m talking about—”
with little to no strength he lifted you by the backs of your thighs, and set you on the counter. the cold marble had goosebumps rising all over your skin, and you’d be squealing right now if his lips weren’t smushed against yours to keep you quiet.
he kissed the corner of your mouth, and then your jaw, and then the shell of your ear before whispering, “but if you need me to help spell it out for you, i really don’t mind.”
jungkook could’ve popped a boner right then and there at the way your pupils blew out at his words.
that’s how you ended up on the couch, knees pushed allll the way to your shoulders while jungkook edged you with his mouth. his tongue caressed your clit for what felt like hours, and you weren’t allowed to cum, let alone even move out of his grip, until you were screaming out affirmations about how you were going to get that job at the bakery.
two days later you woke up bright and early to prepare some sample pastries for your interview, and to no ones surprise (not even your own) you got the job! that same night you rewarded jungkook with his favorite apple and brown sugar strudels, and some mean head to thank him for encouraging you so much. <3
* end of cute flashback *
when jungkook had zoned back in from reminiscing, his jeans felt five times tighter than they did before, and his hands felt clammy. he needed you. all of you.
he needed to feel the soft bud of your nipple graze his tongue as he sucked on it. he needed to feel the pressure of your thighs squeezing against his head as he devoured you like you were his last meal. and most importantly; he needed a fucking kiss god dammit!!
he could barely even remember what it felt like to suck your tongue into his mouth. shit, he could hardly even remember the taste of your cherry gloss!
damn, that lip gloss you wore always looked so pretty—especially when you would suck him off and leave remnants of it all along the base of his cock.
“aish . . .” the frustrated man huffed out, giving his cock a quick palm over his sweats. his nose twitched, much like a bunny, when a shot of pleasure rushed down his spine at the contact.
his dick throbbed, almost painfully, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he would cave and help himself. he was only human after all!
before he could even process what he was doing, jungkook clicked the phone icon right above your name, and pressed the phone against his ear. as the line rung he was internally pleading for you to answer the phone. all he wanted to do was hear your voice.
suddenly he heard a click on the other line—
“hello?”
“o-oh!” jungkook sat up straight, his lips breaking into a dopey half-smile at the sound of your voice. “i didn’t expect you to answer . . . you never answered my texts—not that that’s a problem. i know you’re busy being the best pastry chef in the world.”
he could hear the smile on your face as you talked about the ups and downs of your day, and shamefully enough, it was making him harder.
god, he hated himself right now. why has this temporary ban on kisses made him to beside himself?
“an’ now i’m just hanging out in the office to take a break. i think i’m gonna head out soon, though. i’ve been so spaced out today.”
“mm, what have you been thinking about?”
jungkook didn’t mean to have that oh so familiar seductive tone in his voice, but unfortunately for him, he practically purred out the question.
there was silence, and then—
“honestly? . . . you giving me head.”
jungkook almost moaned aloud at that, but instead let out a sound that was a mix of a whine and a gasp.
this is why you were made for him, why you were his girl. you both craved each other so much. its always been an ongoing match of who’s the biggest yearner between the two of you.
“you there, babe? too crude for the workplace?”
your sweet laugh only fueled the fire in his lower belly. jungkook was so horny it was almost difficult for him to speak.
“n-no . . no, not at all. i’ve been thinking about the same thing actually. remember that day when you baked those cookies?”
he heard a small, barely audible noise that sounded a lot like a whimper. “mhm.”
with a shaky hand, jungkook pushed himself up using the armrest of the couch. everything was entirely too hot, he needed to feel some kind of relief.
“i remember how you couldn’t stop shaking when i was done. you came for, like, a whole minute. i couldn’t believe it.” as jungkook dumbly babbled about eating you out, he was also making his way to the bedroom.
the first thing that caught his attention when he walked in the room was your discarded panties from that morning. it felt like the peach colored garment was calling out to him. begging to be fucked n’ soiled by his sticky cum.
he was broken out of his thoughts when he heard the airy sound of your voice. “c’monnnn. don’t say stuff like that, or else i’ll look like a total mess in front of everyone.”
“mm, and what if i want that to happen?” he breathily chuckled, swiping your panties off the floor in one swift movement. he tucked the phone between his cheek and shoulder, and pulled his sweats down mid thigh before taking a seat at the edge of your shared bed.
“i think you look pretty cute all flustered and shy. i’m sure everyone else will think so, no?” jungkooks tone was very teasing, which was funny because he was honestly one stroke away from combusting into bits.
“mmcht. it might be cute to you, but i doubt my bosses will think it is.”
“hah—yeah . . . yeah, maybe you’re right,” jungkooks head tilted back when he finally wrapped the soft fabric of your panties over his swollen cock. it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy him like you ever could, but it would have to do for now.
an attempt to stay neutral, and quiet was never even made because your man knew just how much you liked to hear him.
“k-kook, c’mon—”
“just fucking come home already, y/n. i don’t mean to rush you at all, baby, but—fuck. just—just listen,” his slurred sentenced trailed off with a moan, and suddenly your ears were met blessed with a wet shlicking sound.
“please—”
“i’m using your panties. the ones you left on the floor this morning to be—ngh, specific.”
jungkook knew he was being sooo mean, and sooo unfair, but unfortunately my mans was fresh out of self control.
“hurry up, and come home so we can ruin each other,” he rasped, letting out one last moan to break you even more.
the dark haired mans eyes fluttered shut, and the first image that popped in his head was you; stark naked, and spread out for him, ready to have your pussy eaten until you cried.
he brought your panties to his nose, and took a deep inhale, while his other hand steadily pumped the thick base of his dick. they sorta smelled of him now, but the scent of you was still overwhelmingly there.
“mm, fuck,” he panted out, poking his tongue out to take an experimental lick at the crotch part. what he was going was disgusting, humiliating, and beyond perverted, but—
“shittt. it tastes just like her.”
his ring clad fingers squeezed harshly at the tip, and when he ran his thumb over the leaky slit, he tried his absolute best to imagine it was you.
time had seemed to go by rather fast, because just as jungkook was about to edge himself for the third time, he heard the door, followed by quick footsteps. there was no point in trying to hide what he was doing because; 1. he was too horny to give a shit and 2. he actually wanted you to see him like that.
your reaction was just as he pictured in his head only moments ago—flustered and intrigued. “oh . . . you’re here. i missed you, baby. so much.”
the evidence of his confession was leaking obscenely in front of you, and all you could do was stand there with parted lips, and clenched thighs.
with a low grunt, jungkook released his firm grip on his cock. “c’mere. ‘wanna touch you.”
your bag was the first to go, the designer accessory hitting the carpet with a soft thud. it was like your feet had a mind of their own, one taking a step after the other until you were nearly in your boyfriends’ grasp.
the moment you were in reach, he was tugging you closer by your flour stained shirt, and burying his face between your covered breasts. “h-hey!” you gasped, hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders. “this shirt is all dirty, honey, c’mon.”
“then take it off,” jungkook grunted below you, lifting up your shirt to finally kiss at your skin. he just didn’t give a shit anymore about the piercing rejecting, and if he kept this up, you were going to soon stop caring as well.
he kissed around the curves of your hips, making sure to give each side a cheeky little nibble, before tracing his tongue around your tummy.
“i’ll never get over how cute this is . . . suits you so well, sugar,” he spoke lowly, referring to the baby pink hello kitty jewelry that was pierced through your naval.
a purr rumbled in jungkooks chest when you scratched lightly at his scalp, murmuring a small, but sweet ‘thank you.’
“just—just lemme get these yucky clothes off, and take a shower before we get down to . . um, to business.” words that you were barely able to get out in the first place were quickly washed away, and long forgotten as jungkook suckled at your hip bone.
“you took a shower this morning, i’m sure you’re fine.”
this earned him a scoff, followed by a weak push to his shoulders. “i just worked for almost ten hours. not so sure i’m at my freshest.”
suddenly jungkooks nose was pressed against your lower tummy, “and yet you smell like sugar and . . . mm, strawberries?”
“close,” you whispered, taking his chin between your fingers. jungkook preened at the physical contact, leaning into your touch even further. his eyes widened slightly, patiently waiting for you to finish what you were saying.
“that’s cherries you’re actually smelling. i made a batch of cherry strudels before i left,” you finally spoke, scratching at his chin.
his lips parted, but you were quick to interrupt him, “i already know what you’re going to ask, and yes, there’s some in the kitchen waiting for you. ‘could never make some strudels without bringing one home for my kookie.”
fuck. you were just so sweet, and considerate, it made jungkook feel feral. his neglected cock twitched, begging for some kind of attention.
his fingers fiddled with the button to your jeans, and with those wide doe of his, he silently asked for permission to undo it. you bit your lip, hesitant at first, but after a little thought you slowly nodded.
his eyes stayed on yours, never once breaking contact as he undid the button of your jeans, the zipper soon following. “love you so much,” he whispered into your skin, slowly pulling them down.
you didn’t know what to expect during this very intense moment with your man, but what you certainly didn’t expect was for him to just start eating it through your panties!
his nose nudged against your clit as his tongue caressed the crotch area of your strawberry patterned panties. he could taste you. barely, but just enough. he could’ve passed away right then and there, and would’ve died happy, and content.
you were still standing, knees knocking together as you tried to keep yourself up. “babe, i really should freshen up f-first. h-hah, what about your piercing?”
suddenly a rush of pleasure shot down your back, making your body jolt forward. the sensation felt . . . foreign. this was odd, because jungkook has eaten you out through your panties plenty of times before.
“did you like the way that felt?” you heard the man below you speak, a cheeky smile spreading across his features. “want me to do it again? here—”
that same feeling returned, except it was more sloppy, more wet. it had your head tilting back, and if it weren’t for jungkook holding you up by the backs of your thighs, you surely would’ve collapsed.
you were absolutely speechless. your cunt was doing more of the talking than you were at this point, dripping into your panties, and creating an even bigger mess.
when you didn’t say anything, too wrapped in your own head, he spoke once more. “you like that, huh? like the way it feels on your pussy?”
your eyes fluttered rapidly, and when you peeked down, jungkook’s tongue was shallowly sticking out, giving you a nice view of the silver ball in the center. his tongue cupped your clit over your panties, slowly moving side to side.
jungkook was genuinely surprised he was keeping it together so well, and taking his time with you. before you arrived, the only thing he could think about was tearing these same panties he was kissing and licking on into two.
all you could do was watch in awe, the inside of your mind sounding like nothing but static. jungkook nipped at the inside of your thigh, regaining your attention.
“just a little taste, cutie. i can rinse with mouthwash after *kiss kiss* to make sure it doesn’t get infected.” you could practically feel your heartbeat in your clit as jungkook kissed over your clothed mound.
his fingers looped in the lacy waistband of your panties, and with a gentle tug, he pulled them down low enough just to get a peek at the fat of your pussy. he could see your clit peeking out from between your slicked folds, swollen and looking as tempting as ever.
“before you do that,” you whispered, carefully stepping out of your jeans, “i want a kiss.”
your man wasted no time pulling you into his lap, and it felt heavenly to be able to feel his dick press against your clothed pussy.
his tatted hand cupped the side of your face, “i just might die, and i’m not even kidding.”
this made you laugh, and although he was pleased to have made you smile, he was deadly serious. being denied your kisses had him nearly climbing up the walls!
“mm, you’re so dramatic—”
and that was the last thing that was said before jungkook’s lips were smushed against yours.
soft. that was the first word that popped in his mind. your lips, your skin, the little noises you made as he deepened the kiss—it was all just so soft.
you could tell he was trying to be gentle, and take his time, but it wasn’t long before his thumb was pushing down on your chin to part your lips wider.
the kiss was slow, deep, everything that he had imagined for the past ten days. feverishly, he sucked your tongue into his mouth, and the faint taste of cherry compote had him moaning into the kiss.
you could feel his piercing slide against your tongue. it had you shaking, like it was your first time kissing him all over again.
“hah—shit,” jungkook moaned, greedily kissing his way down to your neck. your skin was a bit sweaty from working so hard, but he didn’t mind in the slightest. “need to taste you now.”
you squeaked, eyes squeezing shut as he flipped you on your back with ease. his face burrowed into your neck, and while he whined apologies into your ear about the sudden roughness, his bottom half was also rutting pitifully into yours.
“oh my . . .” your lips parted in a dreamy sigh, lashes fluttering when you felt his swollen tip rub directly onto your clit. “p-please do something, kook.”
your shirt was pushed up, along with your bra, and seconds later you felt a pair of lips wrap around your left nipple. jungkook wasn’t pretty with it—he slobbered and licked all around your breast, making sure to swirl his piercing around your nipple in between licks.
“i am, baby. i am,” he gave your neglected nipple a wet kiss, “i got you, don’t worry.”
while you made quick work to rid your shirt and bra, jungkook kissed his way down your body, leaving a glistening trail behind him. when he reached your pussy, your thighs twitched making him smirk.
“you may be crying by the time i’m done with you,” he spoke softly, giving you clit one last kiss over your panties. “so i wanna apologize beforehand.”
he took his time removing your panties, his eyes zeroing in at the way your essence clung to the soaked cotton.
the second his tongue swiped between your sopping folds, he was greeted with a taste sweeter than anything you have ever baked for him. there was a slight tang that had him salivating for more, but the sweetness overpowered everything.
you knew jungkook was bound to have his dramatics turnt all the way up given the circumstances, but you definitely didn’t expect him to let out the loudest, most whiniest pornographic moan you’ve ever heard!
“babe,” you breathily giggled, combing your fingers through his hair. you tugged lightly on the strands when he sucked your swollen button into his mouth, the tip of his tongue caressing the pearl ever so gently. “p-pace yourself now, we have all the time in the world.”
jungkook hummed, but you honestly couldn’t even tell if he had heard a word you just said.
with a low grunt he pushed the backs of your knees up, and used his entire mouth to cup your pussy. his tongue slithered all between your folds before the infamous piercing finally swiped against your clit.
your stomach clenched when he did it again, and when he did it a third time, his ears were rewarded with you moaning out his name oh so sweetly.
“mm, you like that, baby? how does it feel? describe it for me,” he purred, circling his tongue around your clit. a shudder ran down your spine, and your cheeks felt as if someone placed hot coals on them.
“babe p-please—”
“do it.”
your lower half thrusted into nothing as jungkook spit directly on your clit. you could feel the saliva trickle between your folds, creating a wetter, even bigger mess between your thighs.
the center of of his tongue circled figure eights onto your clit, and you could feel the silver ball with every movement. your boyfriend was slowly, but surely, pushing you to your limit.
“it feels . . . u-um, like, different?”
“different in what way, baby? c’mon, i know that pretty head can come up with some smart words. you got the smartest mouth i know.” you could feel his smirk in your skin when he finished his sentence.
jungkook cupped your clit with his lips, and dragged his tongue all around the nub. his eyes fluttered shut at the symphony of moans that spilled past your kiss bitten lips.
the more he licked, the more your mind became a muddled mess. “kook—please slow down. i can’t thinkkk!” you whined, weakly pushing at his forehead.
your pleas only made him more feral for you, unfortunately.
the back of your head flew into the mattress when he hiked your thighs over his shoulders, bringing his face impossibly closer to your cunt. the grip he had on your thighs was kinda fucking ridiculous. you couldn’t move an inch!!
he has been hitting the gym a little harder to deal with all his pent up frustration, but jesus, you didn’t think he’d bulk up so quickly. if you were to compare your head to his biceps, you were sure they’d be bigger.
after ogling his physique from above, a pinch to your thigh brought you back to reality.
“i believe i asked you a question some time ago, and you still haven’t answered it.” his words were muffled into your thigh, and once he was done speaking he nipped at the skin just to hear you whine again.
“u-um, it feels hard . . weird, n’ makes her feel extra—ngh,” you tried to shut your thighs around his head from sensitivity, the word you were trying to say before you were interrupted, but jungkook was not letting up.
the sudden intrusion of his tongue in your clenching hole had tears springing to your eyes, but as soon as the feeling was there, it was gone just as quick.
“oh . . did you like that? maybe you should finish what you were saying, and i’ll reward you for it.” his tone was teasing, and just when you were gonna snap back at him, he was slurping obscenely at your cunt.
“i—”
with one final lick to your throbbing clit, you were cumming all over jungkooks tongue with a weak cry.
you couldn’t form a word, nor thought. all you could do was go limp, and let him have his way with you. he didn’t even mind that you came without permission—frankly, you could do anything you wanted, as long as he got to remain between your soaked thighs.
your essence coated his tongue like dribbles of honey, and he drank up every drop until your thighs were twitching against his reddened ears.
with a deep groan, jungkook pushed your knees alllll the way back, and when you wrapped your hands around your ankles to keep them in place, his chest swelled with pride.
jungkook latched on your clit, and hollowed his cheeks, earning a squeak from you. when his head shook back and forth, that’s when the tears in your eyes started free falling.
“o-ohh my,” you cried out, thighs now beginning to shake.
jungkook stopped, and only stopped, when he felt your finger tips tap repeatedly at his shoulders. something you only did when you were way past your limits.
he nosed at your clit, and gave her one more sloppy kiss before pulling away, but only by an inch. he didn’t want to stray too far from he wanted to be most.
it was silent for a few minutes; the only thing being heard were your shaky breaths, and the occasional whimper.
his lips brushed against your thigh, and when he started covering the dewy skin in kisses, you were mewling in protest. “i can’t, kook,” he heard you sniffle from above him.
“ngh—you’re lucky i’m so hard. otherwise i’d make you do it again,” he growled, slapping your pussy with his palm. your body jolted, and when you attempted to push yourself away from him, you were surprised to see you were out of his iron grip.
there you laid at the top of bed; chest heaving and legs shaking, meanwhile jungkook stayed knelt at the edge, eyeing you very intensely.
you felt your heart begin to hammer against your ribcage when he stood at his full height. the new addition to his sleeve tattoo that he had gotten a few weeks prior had him looking intimidating as ever.
he was silent as he removed his shirt, and he was still quiet as he shed his sweats and briefs. his cock was now an angry red shade, and leaking like a damn faucet. it had saliva pooling on your tongue.
“you gonna come down here, and take it? gonna come take what’s yours?” he spoke lowly, brown eyes never once leaving yours as he spit in his hand. he used that same hand to pump his twitching cock, slowly and teasingly.
your lips pushed into a pout, but you nodded, completely disregarding the throbbing between your legs. you needed him in your mouth immediately. even if it was just a taste.
his nostrils flared when you crawled over to him on all fours, and once you were finally in reach, his thumb hooked into your mouth, forcing you to look up at him.
“mm, you want some don’t you?”
his thumb was pushing down on your tongue, preventing you from speaking, so you just nodded. to drive him even crazier, you started sucking on the digit, even going as far as to moan around it.
“baby please,” your boyfriend panted above you, his cock twitching wildly at the action. he was so close to busting a nut, but he had to keep it together so you could have your fun with him.
he truly had you so spoiled.
he took the throbbing muscle in his hand once more, and slapped it against your cheek. “can’t do this for long. i’m already close enough as it is,” he warned, tracing the dribbling tip over your lips.
your eyes flicked from his cock to those big, brown boba eyes, and with a slow lick to your lips, you nodded.
when your lips wrapped around his cock, jungkooks jaw went completely slack. you gave him the same treatment he gave you; wet and messy.
thanks to copious amounts of throat training, you were able to take more than half of his cock in your mouth with ease. when the tip brushed against the back of your throat, his hips stuttered. “shitttt.”
you tried not to get carried away, but the nosies he was making were so pretty :(( you never wanted them to end.
your hand cupped his balls, and this earned you a nice, strained groan from him.
“geumanhae,” he muttered, yanking you back by your hair until only the tip remained between your lips. a shiver ran down his spine when he felt you exhale through your nose, and with one last trace around the head, you were pulling back completely.
you looked at him through your lashes, batting them softly. “stop what?”
jungkook chuckled softly, running a tatted hand through his slightly damp hair. “stop trying to make me cum. you’re not that slick.”
you fake pouted, and leant forward, messily kissing all across his thighs and lower abdomen. “what gave me away?” you spoke softly, trailing your kisses higher up his body.
when you reached his lips, jungkook gave in and gave you a single, slow kiss. “was too wrapped in it to realize anything . . . until you started moaning too. you know that shit makes me cum quick,” he chuckled, bumping his nose against yours.
“pfft, whatever. now gimme another kiss.”
jungkook didn’t need to be told twice. he squished your cheeks together, and slithered his tongue into your mouth. when you started sucking on his tongue, his chest deflated in a deep breath he didn’t even know he was holding.
you both were as physically close as two people could be, but it just wasn’t enough for him. god, he just wanted to live in your skin all day, everyday.
“how do you want it?” he hummed, kissing his way down to your neck. your chest arched into his, and with a dreamy sigh you said, “on my stomach.”
you heard a small ‘mhm’ and then you were turnt around, and pushed to your tummy. your lashes fluttered weakly, trying to process jungkook’s quickness. you shimmied further up the bed to rest your head on the mountain of pillows at the top.
“oh, baby. you don’t need those,” you heard your man chuckle behind you. you felt the bed dip, and then a sudden warmth against your back. jungkook lifted your head up gently, and slid him arm underneath with ease, allowing your head to rest prettily on his bicep. “not when you can lay right here.”
his bicep was nice n’ strong, but soft enough to rest against. the perfect pillow.
you used whatever strength you had left to spread your thighs apart, you didn’t stop until your knees knocked against his muscly thighs. “please put it in.”
jungkook rubbed the fat tip of his dick between your swollen folds, his nose twitching at the intense warmth that greeted him.
“hah—i’ll try to go slow . . can’t guarantee anything after that.”
he circled his tip around your clit, relishing in the wet noises that he heard, and with a shallow inhale, he finally pushed the first couple of inches inside your pussy.
he heard you let out a tiny gasp, and your body tensed slightly at the intrusion. “d-don’t clench so hard, baby,” he panted in your ear, “s’just me. ease up.”
the warmth that you felt on your back suddenly spread all along your body. jungkook covered you like a blanket, not letting a single sliver of your skin go untouched by him.
that sweet, citrusy smell of his wafted into your nose, and that’s when you finally eased up, allowing him to push more of his cock inside your tight heat. jungkook was careful with it at first; slowly sliding in and out until he was pumping into you with ease.
your brows scrunched together in pleasure, “oh fuck.”
jungkook made a noise in his chest so low at you cursing, it sent shivers down your spine. his free hand snaked underneath your bodies, and pinched at your clit. “w-watch that fuckin’—ngh, mouth.”
“s-sorry, sorry! can you go faster, please?”
you could feel jungkooks cock twitch inside you at your request, and without saying a word, he pulled alllll the way out before slamming back inside you. he moaned into your shoulder when your ass shimmied against his front. “what’re you doing, baby?” his voice was raspy, and strained as if he’d been hurt.
“need—need all of it in me,” you slurred out, too cockdrunk to even care about how stupid his dick has made you already. all you knew in this moment was that you needed every. single. inch of him.
“don’t worry, you got it all. just focus on feeling good for me,” jungkook whispered in your ear, now starting a steady rhythm of deep thrusts. you didn’t need to be told twice, and just completely went limp, allowing him to have his way with you once more.
his rough fingers grabbed at the fat of your hips, pulling you more into him, so he could fuck you harder.
“you like that? like when i fuck you like this?” he growled, wrapping his tatted bicep around your neck. your chin was resting on his forearm, and soon enough drool was dribbling from between your plush lips and onto his skin.
the loud moan you let out was more than enough of a response for him.
being trapped in his arms like this always made you excited, and a little scared. he was just sooo much bigger compared to you, and the fact that he was able to keep you in place or manhandle into any position he wanted didn’t make the obsession any better.
“ah ah ah! o-oh my goddd,” your baby pink, sock covered feet kicked wildly against the bed when his cock hit a spongy spot particularly deep inside of you. “gon—gonna cum soon,” you wept into his skin, the coil in your tummy getting tighter and tighter as the seconds passed.
“i-i know. i can feel it.”
and he wasn’t lying. your walls pulsed around him like crazy, warning him of your nearing orgasm. the loud squelching that happened each time he pushed into you was also a dead giveaway.
jungkooks hand snaked beneath your bodies once more, stopping at your lower tummy. he used three fingers to push down, hard.
this had your eyes crossing, your back arching into his scorching hot chest.
“j-jeonnn—!” you squealed out, limbs having a mind of their own as they twitched and shook violently underneath him.
jungkook tightened his grip around your neck, and fucked into you even harder, milking your orgasm for all it was worth.
“uhn, shit. squeezin’ me so tight, baby. who’s fucking you so good like this, huh?” he grit out, lowering his head to smush the side of his against your own. his tongue darted out to lick at a stray tear falling down your temple.
you couldn’t speak. your entire mind sounded like static, completely useless. that definitely wasn’t sitting right with your man.
“a-ah! jung—jungkook!” you sobbed out, the nerve endings on you shoulder going crazy from being bitten by him. it hurt, like a lot, but it also felt fucking amazing.
jungkooks tongue lolled out to soothe the bite, and each time his piercing swiped across the sensitive flesh you shivered. “there you go, baby. that’s all i wanted to hear.”
his heavy, brutal thrusts were no more, instead he settled for shallow grinding. god, he was so close to cumming, but he couldn’t. not now at least.
“c’mon. wanna— *huff* wanna fuck in front of the mirror.”
you whined at this, shaking your head weakly in protest. jungkook chuckled, sitting back on his knees, cock still nestled snugly inside of you. he spread your ass cheeks, teeth clamping onto his bottom lip at the sight of your cunt hugging his length so nicely.
“ugh, babe. m’so sensitive, please,” you sniffled, brows scrunching together in pleasure once more. this fucker had the audacity to flex his cock inside you, not even bothering to hide the grin on his face.
“pleaseee? i’ll be extra gentle i promise.”
you let out a small sigh when his rough hands began to massage at your lower back, careful not to press too hard.
“you’re such a liar. as soon as you have me bent over, you’ll be rough again,” you giggled, arousal starting slowly to pool in your belly once again.
you could feel the way his cock twitched, the way the thick veins wrapped around the base thrummed against your walls. fuck, you really wanted to feel the warmth of him nutting inside you.
jungkook mumbled a small apology as he slowly pulled his cock out, and wow. you had his shit glistening. streaks of your cream coated the base, and if you weren’t feeling so tired, he’d make you clean up your mess.
“turn around for me, pretty girl. wanna see your face.”
it took a minute, or three, but you finally managed to turn over with a loud huff. jungkook was still sitting back on his knees, eyes now glued to your swollen cunt.
you were so wet.
dribbles of your cum trailed down your ass cheeks and onto the bed, soaking the black cotton sheets even further. he chuckled, “guess i’m gonna have to do laundry . . . again. what a sloppy pussy you got, princess.”
he slapped your pussy once, twice, and when he did it a third time your thighs were closing in sensitivity.
“what’s wrong? thought you liked when i slapped her like that?” he tongued at the inside of his cheek, admiring how phat your pussy looked with your thighs closed the way they were.
“mm, i do. just extra sensitive right now,” you giggled hugging your knees to your chest.
jungkook slowly got off the bed, and with little to no strength, he pulled you down to the edge by your thighs. your arms reached out for him, and he was happy to lean down to let you wrap your arms around his thick neck.
“gonna let me have my way with you again, cutie?” he smirked, lifting your body off the bed. his rough hands cupped your ass, keeping you flush against his chest. the tip of his cock bumped against your cunt, and if he wasn’t so bent on taking you in front of the long mirror against the bedroom wall, you knew he’d fuck you right here, standing and all.
“you may . . . but you better be gentle. i have work tomorrow, n’ don’t wanna be sore,” your nails scratched at the nape of his neck, making him sigh contently. “you’re the best, baby.”
your legs slowly unwinded from around his waist, allowing him to set you down. you heard a giggle, and whipped your head around. “you laughin’ at me?” you smirked, getting on your knee in front of the mirror.
jungkook joined you on the floor, his lips breaking into an even bigger smile. “yes, yes, a little. your legs are shaking so much, i can’t help it.” and there he went showcasing those two, front bunny teeth that had you falling in love with him all over again every time you saw them.
you shifted towards him, your eyes sparkling like the finest of diamonds. “you’re so handsome,” you whispered, resting your hands on his thick thighs. “gimme a kiss.”
it was so nice to kiss your man again, it really was. his lips were always so soft, and plush. he did things with his tongue during kisses that you didn’t even know were possible!
“s-so obsessed with you,” jungkook moaned into your mouth, his hands gripping onto the fat of your hips so harshly, you were sure to feel it for the next couple hours.
your hand wrapped around his leaky, neglected dick, giving it a few slow pumps. jungkooks abs clenched, and his mouth parted, allowing you to suck his tongue into your mouth.
you let out a small squeak when he smacked your ass, tatted hand grabbing onto the soft, jiggly flesh afterwards. “you’re—heh, y-you’re distracting me,” he moaned softly, giving your ass another quick slap.
“m’sorry, baby. just can’t help myself, i missed your kisses so much.”
jungkook could’ve fucking cried. he was so turned on, and in love right now, the shit nearly brought him to tears.
“no, no, don’t be sorry. never be sorry, especially when it comes to men, remember?” he whined into the kiss, sloppily making his way down your jaw, and into the crook of your neck. “you’re everything—a fucking goddess. everyone should be kissing the ground you walk on.”
jungkook wasn’t even sure what he was saying at this point, too drunk on you and your body to even care what was coming out of his mouth.
your head tilted back in a moan, giving jungkook more access to your neck. “don’ say stuff like that. gonna make me an even bigger brat than i already am.”
jungkook didn’t mind that honestly. yes, you can be the biggest, poutiest brat he’s ever met, but you were his brat.
his brat to punish and reward as he see fit. his to fuck, and then take care of afterwards. his to spoil.
and spoiled you were!
after many failed relationships/situationships, jungkook became your first real boyfriend when you reached your early twenties. he took care of you financially, and loved you in ways you didn’t even know were possible, ruining you for any man or woman that could potentially come after him. (there will be no one that comes after him.)
“i don’t give a fuck about that. gotta keep you bratty so you need me all the time. all i wanna do is be needed by you, y/n.”
with one final kiss to your sweaty skin, jungkook removed his face from that oh so comfortable crook in your neck. “now turn around, and arch for me.”
you didn’t say anything. you just peered at him through your lashes, and gave him that look. the look that silently told him you wanted him to fuck you sooo good, and fill you up with his kids.
you turned around, now facing the mirror. you looked completely spent; the light eye makeup you wore to work was now streaky and smudged. the cherry gloss you were once wearing was now nothing but a memory—jungkook made sure of that.
your eyes found his in the mirror, and never left them as you got on all fours. your back arched, and that’s when jungkook was the first to break eye contact, his eyes immediately falling on your pussy.
you looked very enticing from this angle to say the least.
“remember,” you spoke softly, regaining his attention, “go slow.”
he didn’t want to go slow, like at all. his balls felt so heavy, ready to fill up your soft walls. going slow was the last thing jungkook wanted to do.
but you were his princess, his special girl, his reason for still having hope in this crazy world—so instead of fucking you into you floor like he hated you, jungkook took his time. well sorta.
he used no hands to push himself back inside your warmth, something you both very much enjoyed to watch, and slammed all the way in without warning.
you made a noise between a sob and a moan, completely taken aback by the action. your face fell into the plush carpet, your arch deepened, and jungkook could tell you were going to lay into him by the pout on your lips, but he was quick to shush your whines with a few soft kisses on the small of your back.
“so deep like this . .” your voice was light and airy, brain totally convinced that jungkook was almost in your tummy. a whine bubbled in your chest when he pulled your head up by your hair, forcing you to look at him once more.
“keep your head up. ‘wanna see your face while i fuck you.”
sigh, he had such a way with words.
a small, dopey smile formed on your lips, and he could see the hearts forming in your eyes at the demand. “i’ll keep my head up. promise.”
jungkook offered you a small smile in the mirror, and then his eyes slowly trailed to the sight of your cunt swallowing up his dick. your ass was pressed nice n’ tight against his pelvis, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could feel the heat from your pussy against his balls.
he tongued at his lip piercing, nostrils flaring as he slowly pulled out an inch, and then pushed himself back in. he just kept repeating to himself ‘need to go slow. need to go slow. need to go slow for her.’
while jungkook was having an internal battle to keep his composure, you were having your own challenges trying to keep your head up. each time he pushed back in, he went all the way in to the hilt, letting his fat tip knock against sensitive, spongy spot deep inside you.
a pearl colored ring of cream was now forming on the base of his cock, and that just made it all the more harder to keep his slow, steady rhythm going.
“love taking you like this,” he groaned, grabbing a handful of your peachy ass. when he glanced your reflection in the mirror; your head was still surprisingly up, but your eyes were low lidded, and your teeth were clamped onto your bottom lip so hard it looked like you were on the verge of drawing blood.
thankfully you released the plump flesh to respond to him, “y-yeah, me too.”
although you couldn’t see what he did, you could certainly hear it. the sound of his thick cock splitting open your creamy folds was deafening. you were so wet that at some points, jungkook was afraid his dick would slip right out of you.
“stop clenching s-so much,” he huffed, pulling you back by the fat of your ass to fuck into you not faster, but harder.
each time he was a little more than halfway out, you would clench your cunt around his tip, like you were afraid he’d pull out, and leave you high and dry.
“sorry i just—hah! n-need you to go a little faster? please?” you tried to make it sound like a demand, but under your boyfriends’ hungry stare, it was hard to give him any kind of orders. he made you feel so helpless when he got like this.
“yeah? like this?” the pace of his hips increased slightly, but not enough to satiate you. your eyes met his in the mirror again, “um, more like this—”
you pulled your hips forward, and slammed them back. you repeated this action until jungkook began to match your pace while also maintaining how hard his cock was pumping into you.
you thought he was deep before, but this was entirely new—you could feel him in your chest! it hurt a little, but it hurt so good.
“y-yeah—mm, just like that.” your head was starting to droop, obstructing his view of your pretty, fucked out face. this simply wouldn’t do—not when you’ve reached being peak cockdrunk.
your head was yanked up by your hair, and kept in place by jungkooks hand, his grip not loosening in the slightest. “do you even know what your name is right now?” he chuckled, swatting at your ass before gripping the jiggling flesh.
you whined, lips pushing into a pout as you shook your head ‘no’. this made his smile grow wider, and his balls tighten—he needed you cum inside you now.
his hand moved from your hair to your throat, and with a gentle tug, he finally relieved you of holding yourself up by keeping you pressed tightly against his sweaty chest.
“i’m so fucking cl-ose, god. please tell me you’re close, baby,” his words came out slurred from him mouthing at your shoulder.
you wanted to answer him, please him, but you simply couldn’t find the worlds—let alone move your lips to say them. that was until jungkook threatened to pull out if you didn’t.
you knew he wasn’t bluffing by the way his hips started to slow, and you’d be damned if they came to a complete stop.
you turned your head towards him, and jungkooks lips caught yours in a nasty kiss. tongues were sucked, teeth clashed together, and while he sucked on your bottom lip, you muttered out a breathy, ‘i’m close, kook.’
“i love you so much.”
“i love you m-more.”
several bruising thrusts later, and jungkook was cumming inside you with a loud whine, his hand closing around the sides of your throat a bit tighter to keep you in place. he shoved his free hand between your dripping thighs, and with three thick fingers, he rubbed fast circles on your clit.
“o-oh shittt!” your hand wrapped around his tatted wrist tightly, fingernails digging into his heated skin in a weak attempt to stop him.
“i told you to watch your fucking mouth,” he moaned out, pushing your head into the carpet, hard. you barely noticed though, too wrapped up in your quickly approaching orgasm.
he propped one knee up, and began delivering mean strokes. “you’re kinda struggling to listen today *huff* guess i can’t blame you though,” he chuckled, briefly slowing his thrusts so he could let a glob of spit fall into the already excessively wet mess between your bodies.
his cock as completely covered in your essence and his cum, and fuck, he felt so sensitive and raw, but he just couldn’t stop. in this moment, he truly believed that fucking your creamed pussy like this was the closest he’d get to feeling nirvana.
you were completely taken aback by how rough he was being with you. you loved it. you wanted more.
just as you were about to cum you moaned out ‘oh fuck!’ so loud, you were sure your neighbors heard. this only made jungkook smush your face harder into the carpet, his body hunching almost completely over yours as he fucked you at a speed so quick it had you seeing white.
you could suddenly feel puffs of air against your ear.
“if you wanted to get fucked harder all you had to do was ask—don’t gotta disobey me to get me to do it,” you heard him growl into your ear, and that’s what had you cumming with a squeal, your back arching completely into the floor.
jungkook fucked you through the entire thing, and then some more.
“y-yeah, that’s right. get it out for me—f-fuck, you sound so hot,” he whined into your hair, his pace never once faltering. he pressed a kiss to your sweaty shoulder, and straightened up his back. he bit down roughly on his bottom lip as he admired the erotic sight before him.
“p-pull out!” you moaned out, and when your cunt clenched tightly around his cock, he knew what was coming.
jungkook pulled out completely, and a clear stream of your cum followed, soaking the carpet beneath you. your body went limp, slowly slumping into a pile of mush.
you whimpered, tears free falling down your cheeks as jungkook massaged your ass and lower back. you could hear him mumbling praises, but you were entirely too spent to respond.
“c’mon, lets get you off the floor, and into the shower,” he spoke softly, earning a whine of disapproval from you. “you’re all messy, baby. plus, you need to pee,” he said matter of factly. he never failed to wake you up out a blissful post-fuck catnap to pee.
“fine, but you’re gonna have to carry me.”
“don’t i always, pretty girl?”
fifteen minutes later, you found yourself in the shower with jungkook, steaming water cascading down your sore bodies. jungkook had wrapped your hair up for you before you got in, allowing you to enjoy this quiet time with no worries.
he held you tightly against his chest, and hummed lowly, rocking your bodies side to side. after a few moments he whispered, “you think you can stand by yourself while i wash you?”
he was always such an intimate, sweet man.
you pressed a gentle kiss to his pec and nodded. “wanna wash you too when you’re done,” you mumbled, immediately missing his warmth as you detached your arms from around his slim waist.
jungkook was quick to squirt your favorite hemp rose soap into a loofa, and with careful hands, he scrubbed your body. first was your shoulders, and then your breasts where he took his sweet time, and as he scrubbed over your tummy and lower abdomen, a certain feeling had your lower half tingling.
“turn around, baby,” he hummed, adding more soap onto the loofa. he washed over your back carefully, afraid that if he added too much pressure, you’d shatter right in front of him.
he had you turn towards him once again, and got on his knees so he could wash your legs. he was very thorough. not a an inch of skin gone untouched by him.
he was eye level with your still messy pussy, and he’d be lying if he said taking a lick or two didn’t cross his perverted mind.
he looked up at you through his dripping lashes, “could you hand me your washcloth, please? gotta, um, clean up between your thighs.”
you brushed dark, wet strands of hair out of his face, allowing you to see those oh so tempting big, brown eyes of his.
“how about . . you use your tongue?” your voice came out tiny at the end, embarrassment flooding your system. you weren’t the best at dirty talk like this freak was.
he smirked at you, “yeah? want me to clean you up?”
he kissed at the insides of your thighs, nipping at the petal soft skin every now again to hear you gasp. your back fell against the cool tiles of the shower wall when you felt his tongue ghost over your slit.
he swiftly, yet calmly lifted your leg up by the back of your knee, and set it carefully over his shoulder. his tongue flattened, and slowly licked between your folds. the taste that greeted him was nothing less than sweet.
because of his great diet, jungkooks cum was on the sweeter side, so he never minded eating it out your pussy, especially when yours was mixed with it.
“keep going s-slow like that,” you huffed out, bucking your hips up. jungkook hummed and continued slowly stroking your clit, with his tongue. when his piercing brushed over it you mewled like a kitten, brows scrunching in pleasure.
his hand caressed the thigh that was on his shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps with each touch.
“good pussy,” he mumbled into your cunt, circling your hole with his tongue before slowly pushing it inside. your stomach caved in in sensitivity, a broken moan slipping past your kiss bitten lips.
his tongue massaged your sensitive walls, curling up just enough to have your thighs twitching. his nose nudged against your clit with each movement, bringing you closer and closer to your umpteenth orgasm of the night. you’d lost count long ago.
you nearly collapsed when you felt a finger prod at your entrance, and jungkook was quick to kiss your whines away with small pecks to your clit. “just one, baby. just wanna get you to where you need to be,” he groaned into your cunt, sucking your clit between his plump lips.
your thighs started to shake, and it wasn’t love before you were creaming all over jungkooks tongue with a high whimper. he laved his tongue sloppily over your swollen button, making you ride out your orgasm for as long as possible.
he licked your pussy clean, not leaving a drop behind to be wasted. “always so sweet for me,” he grinned, kissing the mound of your pussy before standing.
“now let me actually clean you up, needy girl,” he smirked, reaching for your lilac colored washcloth. he was gentle as ever as he slide the cloth over your gooey folds. he would mumble sweet apologies anytime he brushed over your raw clit, and each apology was followed by a kiss.
he was next to be washed down, and trust you took your sweet time running the navy blue loofa over his slicked skin. when you reached his lower half, he just smirked at you the entire time.
“my eyes are up here, pretty,” he chortled, regaining your attention that was previously on his soft cock. even when he wasn’t aroused his cock still looked so enticing.
once out of the shower, jungkook did all the work; meaning he dried you off, covered your body in shea butter, and ‘dressed you’ which was just him putting one of his shirts on you with nothing underneath.
all that fucking made him work up quite the appetite, so you weren’t entirely surprised when he started complaining of a rumbling stomach.
you settled on whipping him up his favorite spicy instant ramen with a fried egg. his body was glued to yours the entire time you cooked, lips occasionally pressing a kiss to your clothed shoulder.
“mm, kook,” you giggled, craning your neck away from his eager lips, “go sit, i’m almost finished. i’ll heat up the strudels while you eat.”
“but you’re so warmmm.”
“well, you should’ve put on a shirt. not my fault you wanna walk around and flaunt your muscles,” you grinned, pouring the steaming noodles into his favorite bowl to eat ramen out of.
it was a red, ceramic bowl that you had made during a pottery class you took with your friend. you were insistent on throwing it away because, lets face it, it could’ve been prettier, but jungkook refused to toss it. he insisted it was one of the most beautiful ceramic dishes he’s ever seen. a lie, but a sweet one.
with a huff, jungkook released his hold on you, and slowly made his way to the small table in the corner of the kitchen. he sat in one of the two chairs, and propped his chin on his elbow, admiring the view of you bustling around the small kitchen.
“there, all finished,” you said to yourself, carefully placing the fried egg on top of the noodles. “here you go, baby. careful, its super hot.”
jungkook didn’t head your words, of course, and took a big bite after blowing on the steaming bowl a handful of times. “s’hot . . . but s’good,” he said with a mouthful of food, brows furrowing together almost angrily.
“i’m glad you like them. i tried to eat some, but they were entirely too spicy for me,” you snickered, placing the strudels on a baking sheet.
“oh come onnn, they can’t be that spicy to you. c’mere give them another tryyyy.” even though you knew you were gonna regret your decision to indulge in the spicy food, you didn’t mind in the slightest knowing it would make jungkook happy.
begrudgingly, you stalked over to where he was sitting, your hands glued to your sides. “come here, pretty girl. got a small bite right here for you,” he smirked, holding up his chopsticks.
you made a small noise that sounded like a whine, and bent down, taking his chopsticks between your lips. sure enough, they were too hot for your tastebuds, leaving behind a painful sting as you swallowed them.
“ack! see, kook! too spicyyyy,” you panted out, shuffling your way over to the fridge.
as you downed a glass of ice cold cranberry juice to soothe the ache in your mouth, jungkook just watched with hearts in his eyes.
pairings: werewolf!CEO!Bucky Barnes x human!assistant!female reader
summary: feeling unfulfilled by your job, you sign up to become a member of the Pleasure Portal network, which allows you to have sex with monsters around the world for money. then, when you connect with an anonymous monster on a boring summer day at the office, it leads to an afternoon delight—and something more.
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, unspecified age gap, monsterfucking and teratophilia, werewolf/human sex, knotting, sex work/reader becomes a sex worker, portal sex, piv sex, very rough sex, unprotected sex, anonymous sex, multiple creampies, come inflation, cockwarming, orgasm control/delay, multiple orgasms, big cock, size kink, free use, some objectification, dirty talk, sexting, praise kink, light verbal degradation, bdsm undertones, sir kink, pet names (sweetling, sweet girl), aftercare, feelings
word count: 10.2k
a/n: for week 12 of @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer event, i had a pretty good idea of the premise for this fic (and it's based loosely on this post) but i had y'all vote to help decide some of the specifics, like Bucky being a werewolf. since the other two options were so close, i worked them both in 🤭 this ended up being way longer than i expected, but i'm really excited about this particular magical universe, and i hope y'all love it as much as i do!! please enjoy some werewolf CEO Bucky!!! ♡
prompt: "You can’t be real." | [Fantasy Character | Monsterfucking | Dreaming/Daydreaming]
Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist
You didn’t need the money. Not really.
All your bills were easily covered by your job. You worked 60 hours a week as the senior executive assistant to Bucky Barnes, who, in his early 40s, was the first werewolf to ever become CEO of a Fortune 500 company.
The role paid well enough that you’d been able to buy your dream apartment in Park Slope, Brooklyn, and still have money leftover for savings and fun things like vacations and going out to brunch.
So you really didn’t need any extra money from a side hustle, because your career was plenty lucrative. But, frankly, your job as Bucky Barnes’ senior EA was boring.
Over the course of your career, you’d worked hard to rise up the ranks of assistants, taking on new roles at different companies until you’d made it to the top of the ladder. But you found yourself in the odd position of having nowhere else to go, and little to do.
As Mr. Barnes’ senior EA, your job was to oversee the rest of the CEO’s assistants. At any given time, he had half a dozen, all of whom managed his schedule, fetched his dry-cleaning, and did everything else the busy werewolf didn’t have time to do.
However, after the brief transition period when you first stepped into your role and made some changes so that the fleet of assistants ran more efficiently, and everything was delegated to the others, there was little left for you to do.
All that was expected of you was to sit at your desk in the sparsely decorated antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, with its towering, thick wooden doors that were often closed, leaving you entirely alone. Occasionally, you’d have to greet any visitors who’d arrive for an in-person meeting, but that was rare.
Most days, no one came to Mr. Barnes’ office, since the werewolf preferred virtual meetings and phone calls to in-person sit-downs. So you spent long, arduous days alone at your desk while your boss worked and the fleet of assistants scurried around doing his bidding, which was relayed through you.
It left you with a lot of free time—free time that you spent trying to keep busy, and trying not to daydream about your handsome werewolf boss.
It had been against your better judgement that your foolish heart had caught feelings for Bucky Barnes, but it turned out you had a soft spot for werewolves with icy blue eyes, sharp canine teeth, and expensive suits. It didn’t help that he had a dry sense of humor and a brusque, no-nonsense way of conducting business that you respected.
Still, you maintained a professional demeanor at work, not allowing your feelings for your boss to show when you greeted him in the morning or spoke to him about his schedule. But if you were honest with yourself, your little crush on the werewolf was the reason you didn’t look for another job.
You’d fallen into a routine of monotony, broken up only by the brief, thrilling moments when you interacted with Bucky Barnes. You didn’t even realize you were looking for something to escape the vicious circle your life had become until it was right in front of your face.
It was on one particularly dreary afternoon when you took the first step down a path that would change everything.
Cold rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, obscuring the view of New York City’s Central Park that lay at the feet of the company’s high-rise in Manhattan. You felt like a princess trapped in a tower, held above and apart from the rest of the world, bitterly alone.
To remind yourself that you weren’t the last person in the world, living among the gray clouds, you found yourself scrolling through your social media feed, eagerly watching the little windows into other peoples’ lives.
It was then that you came across a video from a woman who made her living as a “spicy accountant.” Unlike some of the others you’d seen on the app, though, she made her money through something called Pleasure Portal.
You watched in rapt attention as the woman in the video explained what it was—a network created by the company’s warlock CEO using proprietary portal technology that connected those with willing holes with clients willing to pay to use those holes, even if they were entire continents apart.
According to the woman, all transactions were completely anonymous and conducted through the app, though there were options for leaving tips and favorable reviews. To ensure everyone’s safety, there was an application process that included health and background checks verified by the Pleasure Portal company.
And the best part, at least to you, was that it was open to everyone—human and monsters alike.
That had been the most enticing selling point for you, because even if you didn’t need the money, Pleasure Portal offered a safe and anonymous way for you to explore what it would be like to be with a monster, something you’d only ever fantasized about before.
Although you’d developed a crush on him, Bucky Barnes wasn’t the first monster you’d daydreamed about.
Over the years, you’d wondered endlessly about what it would feel like to be split open by a minotaur, to be put under a lust spell by a warlock, to be tied so intimately by a werewolf’s knot…
You’d been breathless with excitement as you applied to be part of the Pleasure Portal network right then, on that dreary afternoon. You kept oscillating between feeling like it was a dream, too good to be true, and giddy excitement as you filed your paperwork, and gave proof that you tested negative for STIs and were on birth control.
It took surprisingly little time to be approved, the app on your phone unlocking your profile while you were sent the portal device.
As soon as you got the notification that the package had been delivered, in the middle of the afternoon on a hot, summer day, you left your desk, giving Mr. Barnes a ridiculous excuse about needing to go home early to feed your neighbor’s cat.
Once at you made it back to your apartment in Park Slope, you tore into the box with as much care as you could muster, your eyes widening and lips parting with wonder when you finally got your hands on the portal device.
It was as small as a matchbook and, according to the instructions, should be affixed to your skin above, below or beside the hole you wished to connect to the network. The magic in the device could then be activated only from your app, which required face ID, and it could be shut off using the app or by voicing the safe word you registered with the service.
The app was how you connected with potential Pleasure Patrons, filling out your profile with interests and limits, and setting yourself as available whenever you were open to clients. Anyone looking to use your services as a Pleasure Pocket could send a request, and you had the option to approve or deny based on their profile, which revealed their first name, age and species, and how much money they were offering.
Although you were almost too excited to read through all the instructions on the portal device and fill out your profile, you forced yourself to pay attention and get through it as quickly and methodically as possible so you could finally get started.
It wasn’t long before you were attaching the device to your mound, just above your pussy, and setting yourself as available on the app. Your profile specified that you were particularly open to monsters—and you were delighted to discover they were all too eager to use your services.
From that night on, you became an active Pleasure Pocket on the Pleasure Portal network.
At first, you consigned yourself to only using it when you were at home, letting monsters from all over the world rail you while you made dinner or took a shower or lay on your couch watching TV. But work was so boring, and you really didn’t have much to do, so what was the harm in wearing it to the office?
It was breathlessly thrilling to wear the Pleasure Portal device at your desk, alone in the antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, feeling all manner of monster cock fill you while you were on the clock. It got to a point where even if you weren’t stuffed full of cock, you were daydreaming about it. Your idle thoughts constantly wandered back to your favorite Patrons.
The day everything truly changed, was a day like any other.
It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in New York City, the golden summer sun glinting off buildings and giving you a perfect view of Central Park with all its gorgeous green foliage. And it was another boring day at your desk, with nothing for you to do since the assistants were self-sufficient and Bucky was busy behind his closed office doors.
At that point, you’d been part of the Pleasure Portal network for a few months, and your mind kept straying back to one of your recent clients, a minotaur that had used you the previous week.
Your fingers toyed idly with the buttons of your silk blouse, which was tucked into a tight black pencil skirt. You bit your lip as you remembered the feeling of the minotaur’s impressive length filling you up for hours one morning, his stamina lasting for what seemed like an eon.
He’d used you for so long, and fucked you so relentlessly, you’d nearly passed out at your desk. It had been glorious.
Once he was done with you, the minotaur had left you a generous tip “for monopolizing your morning,” as well as a favorable review: “5/5 stars, tightest pussy I’ve had in a long time. Would fuck again.”
It was the last part of his review that still stuck with you a week later, and had you daydreaming that he would, in fact, fuck you again. You didn’t often accept repeat clients, but for the minotaur, you’d make an exception. He’d pleasured you well enough that you could see yourself enjoying another session with him.
Unbidden, your thoughts veered sharply away from your minotaur client. Instead, icy blue eyes, sharp canine teeth, and a broad chest clad in an expensive suit flashed through your mind. You tried desperately to halt your thoughts before they could venture further down that path, but your imagination couldn’t be stopped.
Your fantasy shifted, and before you could rein in your mind, you were thinking about being stretched open on a thick werewolf cock while you sat in your boss’s lap. The base of his length, where his knot would inflate, would nudge against your clit and remind you that once he came, you’d be unable to separate.
Your bodies would be tied together in such an intimate way that couldn’t be ignored. You’d be connected in the most primal, physical way possible…
With a sigh, you blinked the tantalizing image from your mind and returned your focus to the gorgeous sight of the summer sun shining brightly down on New York City, glinting off the water of the lake in Central Park and shimmering off the windows of the other skyscrapers in midtown Manhattan.
You willed your heart to slow and your breathing to even out in an effort to temper the heat that had begun building in your core. When your fantasy had shifted to Bucky, your slit had flooded with desire, and you could feel the sticky evidence in your panties when you crossed one leg over the other.
Truthfully, you’d hoped that joining the Pleasure Portal network would distract you from your crush on your boss, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Letting all manner of monsters use your hole was fun, but it was all anonymous, and it lacked the true connection you thought you could only find in real life.
And, to be perfectly honest, you weren’t interested in finding a true connection with anyone other than Bucky. Even the minotaur from the previous week paled in comparison to your boss. Though he’d been a good lover and had tipped well, you didn’t want anything more from him than a few more orgasms.
You were, unfortunately, still hung up on the older werewolf CEO with the icy blue eyes that sent shivers down your spine and the devastatingly handsome face. You wanted the monster who sat in his office just a few dozen feet away from your desk, but might as well have been a whole world away with the thick wooden doors and his inability to see you as anything more than his EA.
A soft chime from your phone pulled you from that train of thought and you picked up the device. A small smile stole across your face when you saw a Pleasure Portal notification: A new Patron was requesting a session!
Eager for something to distract you from your thoughts of Bucky Barnes, you quickly opened up the app and scanned the request.
James, 42, werewolf, was asking for an immediate session, and he was willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money—so much that even your eyes widened at the number of zeros. It was more than you made in an entire week as a senior EA, and all for a few hours of being this monster’s Pleasure Pocket.
Still, you couldn’t lie and tell yourself the money was really what swayed you. It was this potential client’s profile, particularly the part where he noted he was a werewolf.
After daydreaming about Bucky, you were feeling more than a little needy. And even though fucking this werewolf named James wouldn’t be the same as finally getting the attention you desired from your boss, you couldn’t deny yourself. You wanted a knot, and if you couldn’t have the one you really wanted, you’d take anything you could get.
So, without any more thought, you hit the button on the app that accepted James’s offer.
As soon as the Pleasure Portal app registered your acceptance, you felt the device hum to life on the mound of your pussy. Delightful tingles erupted in a circle around your hole, the magical current of the portal coming to life and teasing your skin.
You gave a little shiver of anticipation as you leaned back in your expensive, ergonomic desk chair. You closed your eyes, and waited for James to begin using his side of the open portal, arousal already gathering between your thighs as you thought about being used by the anonymous Patron.
Less than a minute later, you felt the pointed tip of the werewolf’s cock nudging carefully against your entrance. The first feel of him made your breath catch in your throat.
James felt big, even just the tip of him spreading your lower lips as he pushed against your entrance. He seemed to be taking it slow, testing out your readiness, being careful not to hurt you with one rough thrust.
When you realized how big he was and the care he was taking with you, your pussy flooded with arousal. It was enough to make your hole slick and ready for his massive cock.
It occurred to you that James might be the biggest monster you’d ever taken, and you were eager to find out if you were right about that. In your chest, your heart raced, but the rest of you remained still as you waited with a breathless excitement for James to feed you more of his cock.
Your prediction was confirmed a moment later when James pressed deeper, the narrow tip of his cock giving way to a thick girth that had you gasping for air and clutching the edge of your desk. Your nails dug into the unyielding wood as your pussy clamped down hard on the werewolf’s penetrating length.
A soft chime came from your phone, and you picked it up to find James had sent a text through Pleasure Portal’s in-app messaging system. Some clients tried to use it for dirty talk, but more often than not, their attempts at seducing you with words had the opposite effect so you usually ignored them.
However, James’s message was different.
Fuck, you’re tight. Even for a human.
The werewolf sounded grumpy, almost resentful of your pussy, like he could barely believe anyone, even a human, could be so tight. It was a far cry from the effusive flattery most other Patrons tried to woo you with, but the honesty of it charmed you.
A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, and your thumbs moved quickly as you typed out a response that you hoped would elicit more delightful grumpiness from the older werewolf.
Fucked many humans, have you?
The self-satisfied grin on your face slipped when James pushed further into your hole, your mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ and your eyes going wide as your body stretched to accomodate his monster cock.
He was so big and overwhelming, the velvet-wrapped steel of his girth rubbing deliciously against your inner walls while he pressed deeper, that you momentarily forgot about your phone and it fell with a dull thunk to your desk.
When he was still only partway inside your pussy, James paused, as if giving you time to adjust—and giving himself a moment to send an answer to your question.
My fair share. How many werewolves have you had?
Picking up your phone to read the message, you huffed a dry laugh at James’s blunt question. It wasn’t really his business—though he must’ve seen on your profile that you had a few positive reviews from past werewolf Patrons—but you found you didn’t mind the intrusive question.
For some reason, you felt a connection to James that had always been lacking in your previous clients, werewolf and other monsters alike. You knew it was likely just because he reminded you of the boss you were crushing on and would never have, but you couldn’t help indulging yourself and gave James an honest response.
A few. None as big as you, though.
The werewolf must’ve shunted his hips forward, burying his cock impossibly deeper in your pussy. The sudden surge of pleasure made you forget yourself, and a desperate squeal slipped from your lips before you could clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound.
God, he was so big, the stretch of him burning pleasantly through your core. Your pussy throbbed around the thick girth of his shaft, which was buried so deep, you swore you could feel him in your belly. Pressing a palm to your lower stomach, you stared down at your lap in awe when you could feel the thick steel of him inside your body even while you sat alone in your desk chair.
The magic of the Pleasure Portal was wild—and you loved it.
You loved sitting at your desk, in your office above the clouds, stuffed full of werewolf cock where anyone could walk in—where even Bucky could walk in—and talk to you like nothing was out of the ordinary. He’d never know you were full of cock, unless your face gave you away.
That thought made your pussy drip around James’s thick cock, making the slide of his hard length easier as he slipped even deeper. Your moan at the feeling was muffled behind the palm of your hand and you bent over, letting your forehead fall against the cool wood of your desk while you basked in the sensation of being filled so deliciously.
Even with your thighs trapped tight together by your pencil skirt, the new position opened your body up, and made it easier for James to hilt his monstrous cock in your tight hole. In seconds, he was buried to the base, filling you up more than you even thought possible.
It was all you could do to stifle your blissed-out moans and desperate whimpers in your hand, not wanting to draw your boss’s attention and end your exquisite torment as you writhed in pleasure on James’s cock.
I’m sure you say that to all the monsters on this app.
It took a moment for you to wade through the haze filling your head and grab your phone to read James’s message.
When you did, you let out an unladylike snort. It was so perfectly grumpy that it made you want to be playful with the older werewolf, an urge you didn’t often care enough about your Patrons to muster.
Gotta earn those tips somehow 🤪
James must’ve let out a low growl at that response, because you could feel the vibration reverberate through his cock where it was buried inside you.
A soft, pitiful mewl slipped from your lips, and you dropped your head back to your desk with a thunk, your eyes sliding closed as overwhelming pleasure washed through you.
You’re trouble.
The chime of your phone had you lifting your head back up, your eyes popping open, and you couldn’t bite back the smile at the warm grumpiness of James’s response.
Something about those two words had your heart doing flips in your chest and the long-dormant butterflies in your stomach taking flight.
Your inner walls were stretched so perfectly around his hard length, you could practically feel the thrum of his blood pumping in his shaft, and he could feel every throb of your pussy. Your pussy fluttered around the werewolf’s thick cock, and you could feel him twitch in reply.
It was as if your bodies were conversing in a language all their own.
It was so intimate, the physical connection between you and this anonymous werewolf named James, that you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to your boss. You wondered if he would be as big, if he’d fill you up as good—if you’d be able to feel every vein and ridge in his cock.
You wondered if Bucky would be able to make you smile and laugh the way James had.
And as soon as you had that thought, you realized how unfair you were being to James. It wasn’t his fault you couldn’t get over this ridiculous crush on your boss, and you started to feel bad for thinking about another monster while he was inside you.
So you pushed all thoughts of Bucky aside and refocused on James, picking up your phone to type out another playful response, hoping to get another grumpy reply.
Trouble with a tight pussy, though, right? 😉
Yeah, sweetling, you’ve got a very tight pussy. Feels like you’re strangling my dick.
You huffed a laugh at the vaguely violent description of your pussy, enjoying the blunt way the grumpy werewolf spoke. And if your heart fluttered even more at the sweet nickname and naked praise in James’s message, you ignored the blossoming emotion in your chest.
The only thing worse than harboring a crush on your unattainable boss was developing a crush on one of your anonymous Pleasure Patrons. That way lay only heartbreak, of that you were certain. So you tried to rein in the feelings developing in your heart.
When you tried to type out another playful message and remain detached, though, your fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, sending a text that was perhaps a little too honest.
Thank you, sir ☺️ I want to please you.
James’s cock jumped inside you, drawing a low, obscene moan from your lips before you could bite it back, your eyes going hazy as pleasure throbbed through your body.
Distractedly, you wondered which part of your message had elicited that response from James—whether it was you calling him ‘sir’ or your honest desire to please him. Or perhaps it was both.
Before you could muster up the courage to ask, his next message came through, and your mouth curved into a pleased smile when it answered your unspoken questions.
Keep calling me that and you’ll earn a very generous tip, sweetling.
A pleased smile bloomed across your face as you read James’s message. You tried to tell yourself it was in response to the prospect of the tip he was offering, and not the sweet nickname, but you weren’t fooling yourself.
You tried to think of a more playful, detached response, but before you could come up with anything, another message came in.
I have a call soon, I just need some quick stress relief beforehand, but I’ll double your tip every time you cum on my cock.
You breathed a sigh of relief before you could stop yourself, happy to have a break from your flirty exchange with the werewolf to talk about the logistics of your session. Still, you couldn’t stop your pussy from fluttering around James’s cock at his blunt, filthy words.
He filled you so well, it was almost hard to think, and you blamed your needy distraction for the almost desperate tone of the response you sent him.
Use me, sir, and I’ll do my best to take it 🫡 That’s what I’m here for.
James didn’t need any more encouragement than that. You could feel the way he groaned at your words, the low rumbling of pleasure reverberating through your sensitive inner walls, and making you gush with even more wetness, like your pussy was drooling for the werewolf cock stuffed deep in your hole to fuck you.
Then he was doing just that, using his side of the Pleasure Portal to fuck you hard and fast, pounding into your pussy like you were nothing more than a fleshlight made solely for his pleasure. It was brutal, ruthless, perfect, the way his cock filled your tight hole, the pointed tip bullying your cervix with every merciless thrust.
All you could do was take it, pleasure swarming through your body and overwhelming your mind, until you were little more than the werewolf’s toy, your body hunched at your desk, your face buried in the crook of your arm to muffle your sounds of enjoyment while you took everything he offered.
Your inner walls were stretched thin around James’s cock, and though the drag of his thick girth felt devastatingly good, it wasn’t enough to make you cum. With trembling fingers, you slipped your hand beneath your pencil skirt, not caring how high up your thighs you pushed the material, just intent about reaching the juncture of your thighs.
It took only a brief brush of your fingers against your clothed clit to set you off.
Your mouth fell open and you pressed your blunt teeth into your arm through the silk of your blouse, a high-pitched whine falling from your lips as the pleasure in your body exploded and you were carried away in the relentless rhythm of James’s cock pounding into your cunt.
Your panting breath was loud in your ears, but you could’ve sworn you heard a faint groan as your pussy milked the werewolf’s cock, your inner walls clamping down so hard on his thick length, you felt him twitch deep inside you.
But you brushed off the sound as a figment of your imagination. It must’ve been your mind playing tricks on you, born of a desire to hear your partner when you were alone in your pleasure, with only your gasps and moans as company. You ached to press against James’s sturdy body, to hear his voice, to feel more than his cock…
Thankfully, a soft chime from your phone dragged you back from the sudden rush of loneliness that filled your heart and threatened to consume all your enjoyment like a black hole.
Good girl. Cum on this fat werewolf cock like the perfect little slut you are, sweetling.
“Oh fuck,” you whispered to yourself, your eyes sliding closed as another shiver of pleasure skated down your spine at his words and his pumping cock. Already, tension was coiling tight in your core again, and you were rocketing toward another release.
You’d never gotten off to the dirty talk your Patrons had sent in the past, but James’s words did something to you no other monster had managed—they made your pussy gush and flutter. They made you moan, the sounds low and lewd as they bounced off the bare walls of the office antechamber.
James’s message was the ideal mix of praise and degradation. It tapped into your desires so perfectly, you wondered distractedly if he was also a wizard or a mind-reader.
And then you realized he hadn’t stopped his ruthless pounding even when he’d been texting you, which meant he was fucking his half of the portal with one hand while typing his filthy messages to you with the other.
It all unraveled something in you, and you scrabbled for your phone on the desk, your fingers clumsy and trembling as you typed out a response, desperate for James to know what he was doing to you. You wanted him to know how good he was making you feel.
You feel so so good inside my tight cunt, sir. Your fat werewolf cock is splitting me open, breaking me apart. Feels sooo good.
The act of typing out those words made the tension in your body wind tighter, and just as you hit send, you realized you were on the precipice of another release. Quickly, you sent another message without waiting for a response.
I’m gonna cum again.
Your fingers, which you’d pulled from beneath your skirt so you could text with two hands, slipped back beneath the tight fabric. They squirmed between your plush thighs, which were already pushing the pencil skirt’s seams to they’re limits, and tugged your panties to the side to rub your clit.
You were careening toward your second release in just a few seconds, your breaths coming in sharp, desperate pants, and your heart pounding in your chest. You could even hear the faint, obscene wet sound of James’s cock pounding into your gushing pussy.
But all of it fell away when you heard the chime of another message.
Rub your pretty pearl, sweetling, and cum again on this thick werewolf cock. Show me what a good slut you can be for me, use that tight cunt to milk my fat cock.
Obediently, your fingertips pressed harder to your clit and you rubbed it roughly, matching the rhythm of James’s fucking, until you were shoved over the edge again. Your entire body seized, every muscle in your body going taut, as the tension in your core wound tight and then, suddenly, snapped.
Dropping your phone to your desk, you shoved half your fist in your mouth to muffle the high-pitched scream that clawed up your throat and wanted to burst free.
You couldn’t tell how much noise you were making, but you hoped it wasn’t enough to get Bucky’s attention, because you were lost to the bliss James offered. You were a hopeless, pitiful puddle of pleasure in your ergonomic chair—and you never wanted it to end.
While you were in the throes of your release, you thought you heard another groan, deeper and filthier than the one earlier, a sound that matched the way James’s cock kicked deep in your cunt, like he was on the verge of losing himself in your body.
But that thought drifted away in the current of pleasure that was carrying you along, dissolving as soon as it had appeared, leaving you to revel in your release.
Distantly, you heard your phone go off, and you reached for it blindly, gasping for breath as you struggled to open your eyes and read the text.
That’s a good girl, cumming so perfectly for me. You have such a slutty hole, sweetling, cumming all over my werewolf cock and clutching at me like you’re begging for more. Do you want another one, my sweet girl?
A soft, sharp whine slipped from your lips and you had to bite down hard on your plush lower lip to stifle the sound. Even still, it ricocheted off the bare walls in the antechamber, and you hoped the thick wood of Bucky’s office doors muffled it.
But you barely paid your boss any mind, fingers trembling with need and excitement as you typed out a response to James with one hand.
Yes, please, sir. Please make me cum again, I wanna cum all over your big werewolf cock. You fill me up so so good. I wanna bounce on your huge, perfect cock and take every inch of your fat knot, sir. Please!
James’s reply came back so quickly, even you were stunned with how fast it appeared. All he said was:
Fuck. You can’t be real.
You had little time to marvel over those words, and the way they made your heart flutter dangerously in your chest, because in the next breath James was pounding into you even harder.
He used your cunt as his own personal pleasure portal, fucking you like you were the stress relief he deserved, shoving his entire length deep inside your pussy. The narrow tip of his cock battered against your cervix, pushing into it a little more each time, giving every thrust a sharp edge of pain that made the pleasure even more exquisitely devastating.
It was all too good, too perfect, your mind splintering as the world around you fell away entirely. You were no longer the senior EA to werewolf CEO Bucky Barnes, you were a Pleasure Pocket made to be used by every manner of monster for their pleasure.
No, not just any monster—you were made specifically for James, 42, werewolf. You were his personal sex toy, his pocket pussy, his fuck hole. And all you could do was take it—take his cock, take the brutal pounding he offered, and the bliss that came with it, and let him take his pleasure in your body.
You imagined James on the other end of the magical portal, holding the cylindrical fleshlight-like device in his big hands and yanking it down on his impossibly thick cock. You pictured him fucking the portal toy—and, by extension, your cunt—with everything he had, sweat beading on his face, the muscles in his broad body shifting beneath his fur and skin.
Before you could stop it, the image in your mind shifted, the generic figure of a werewolf morphing into something more familiar, something resembling the daydream you’d had earlier.
In your mind’s eye, James became Bucky.
You could so easily picture the way Bucky’s bright blue eyes would flash with hunger and darken with lust as he pounded into your tight cunt, the emotions churning like the sky during a summer thunderstorm.
It was far too easy to imagine the way his sharp canine teeth would glint in the lights of the office as he bore down on your body, his expensive suit only undone enough to free his cock, the gush of your pussy making a mess of the front of his slacks as he split you open with every thrust.
His inhuman muscles would strain the seams of his suit, making them cling to the bulge of his biceps and the flexing of his thighs as he fucked you on his desk. You’d be entirely at his mercy, which was exactly where you wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world—even with James.
A pang in your chest dragged you out of your fantasy, and you remembered the werewolf who was actually fucking you. You felt a little bit bad for daydreaming about Bucky when you were with James, especially since the latter had quickly become your favorite Patron. But, you reasoned, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.
So you sank deeper into your daydream about your boss, imagining it was Bucky fucking you instead of some random stranger on the other end of the Pleasure Portal.
The combination of James’s perfect cock and your imagination’s perfect picture of Bucky was too much for your mind and body to take. The werewolf was fucking you too hard and too fast, and you were breathless from the pleasure, unable to stop yourself from speeding toward a devastating release.
You held on for as long as you could, but James seemed intent on making you cum again before his call began. And the werewolf confirmed as much when your phone chimed with another message.
Do it. Cum on my cock, sweetling. Be a good girl and give it to me so I can fill you up with my knot and stuff your tight pussy full of cum. Then you can sit pretty on my fat werewolf cock like a perfect little knot slut while I take this call.
Those filthy words were all you needed to push you over the edge.
A breathy, high-pitched cry escaped your lips before you could stop it, but you were too far gone to care. Pleasure overwhelmed you, blackness creeping into the edge of your consciousness as your body shivered and shook with the force of your release.
All the while, your pussy was clamped down on James’s thick cock as he kept fucking you, like your body was begging for his cum. His hard length vibrated with a groan you could’ve sworn you could hear. You swayed perilously in your chair, your eyes closed and your entire being focused on the cock bringing you so much pleasure.
The werewolf lasted only a few more moments, his thrusts turning wild and erratic as he rutted into your too-tight cunt. Then he was shoving his cock deep in your hole, his knot inflating and stretching the edge of your hole a second before his big cock twitched inside you, spilling his cum in your plugged pussy.
Your breath caught in your throat at the sudden stretch of James’s knot, and though there was a brief moment when you worried he might be too big for you to take, your body was loose and relaxed enough from your three orgasms that it adjusted. You were left with a feeling of being blissfully full.
It felt so good, in fact, that you leaned back in your chair with a sigh of contentment. Your fingers trapped between your thighs stroked your clit and your pussy pulsed with one more release.
Pleasure shivered down your spine as you came again, and your inner walls fluttered weakly around James’s cock, sucking him deeper while his shaft throbbed and he filled you with cum.
Did you just cum for a fourth time, just on my knot?
You dragged your hand from beneath your skirt to grab your phone when it chimed. A sated smile curled the corners of your lips as you read James’s message, your pussy fluttering with happiness.
The smile bloomed into a full-blown grin when you typed out your response, going for playful but ending up sending something entirely too honest. Again.
Yes, sir 🥴 I wouldn’t have thought of myself as a knot slut, but I think you’ve converted me.
Haha
James’s dry response had a pleased sense of pride filling your chest. It was the first time he’d shown any kind of emotion outside of his dirty talk, and your heart squeezed, even as you told yourself nothing good could come of the little crush you were developing on your Pleasure Portal client.
Before you could spiral about how you felt about James, though, another text from the werewolf came through your phone.
Time for you to rest, sweetling. Be a good girl and keep my cock warm while I take this call. If you’re patient, I’ll use you again and double your tip.
You smiled at James’s message. Of course you could be patient and good, especially for him. You shifted in your seat, trying to get comfortable and accustomed to the feeling of fullness in your core.
It was a little strange, the feeling of James’s thick cock and full knot inside you, mainly because you were still alone at your desk, high above the New York City skyline, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, you thought you might be able to get very used to sitting on a werewolf’s knot, and even enjoy it very much.
But you would’ve rather been able to do so in the presence of the werewolf whose knot you were tied to.
A pang of loneliness pierced your heart, and you thought of the werewolf whose knot you really wanted to be tied to, but you quickly pushed it away. Instead of thinking about your boss, you focused on the throbbing pulse between your thighs where you were tied to the anonymous werewolf.
Thank you, sir. Knock ‘em dead 😘
As soon as you sent the message, you wanted to take it back. Blowing a kiss felt too…romantic, too intimate for a Pleasure Pocket and their Patron. But the little note had already popped up confirming James had seen it. He didn’t respond, though, and you had to assume his call had started.
You tried to distract yourself by checking on your own work.
The fleet of assistants were all busy with their tasks, and according to Bucky’s schedule, he was in a meeting for the next couple hours.
It was a relief to know your boss wouldn’t be interrupting your session with James, and you wondered distractedly if they might happen to be on the same call. But then you snorted and shook your head at the ridiculous thought. Not every werewolf knew each other, you chastised yourself, and it was small-minded to think otherwise.
It was just a coincidence that James was in a call at the same time that Bucky was in a virtual meeting.
Satisfied that there wasn’t any work to be done, you got comfortable in your chair, and closed your eyes against the bright summer sun filtering in through the windows of the antechamber. You allowed your mind to drift and daydream to your heart’s content.
You wondered what James looked like—what color his eyes were; what shape his canine teeth were, if he left them sharp or had filed them to be blunter and more socially acceptable. You wondered if he was broad-shouldered, like Bucky, or lithe and slim like other werewolves you’d seen.
All the while, you tried to ignore the building restlessness in your body.
You should’ve been plenty sated after James gave you four orgasms in such a short period of time, but the constant fullness of his cock in your cunt and his knot stretching the rim of your hole was enough to make you needy again.
Still, you remembered James’s last command, and you did your best to sit still, be patient and not bother him. It wasn’t that you cared much about the tip he’d offered, you just wanted to be good for him.
After a while, James’s knot deflated enough that he could’ve pulled free and ended the sessions, but he kept his cock lodged inside you. His cum was slowly seeping out around his thick girth, soaking your panties and creating a sticky mess between your thighs.
Unfortunately, that only turned you on more, your renewed desire mixing with the copious amount of James’s cum, and it wasn’t long before you couldn’t stop squirming in your seat. Unable to stop yourself, you slid a hand beneath your skirt, already bunched up around your thighs, and rubbed your clit teasingly.
The touch was enough to make your pussy pulse around James’s cock, and you felt his thick length kick in response. He’d softened a little since unloading his cum in your pussy, but you felt him start to harden again.
A second later, your phone chimed.
Sweetling.
A shiver of desire slid down your spine at the warning in James’s tone, even through text.
You knew the message was meant to stop you from distracting him during his call, but you couldn’t help yourself. You stroked your clit, delighting in the feeling of your pussy throbbing and his cock twitching deep in your tight hole, growing to fill you again.
With one hand, you typed out a reply.
I tried to be good, sir, but I’m just a silly knot slut who needs you to fill me up with your fat werewolf cock again until you’re pumping my tight cunt full of your cum and tying me to your cock with your knot 🤪
James’s response came back a few seconds later.
I knew you’d be trouble.
You gave a soft snort at his words, and though it was difficult to discern someone’s tone over text, you got the impression James’s comment was said with warmth.
Before you could analyze it any more, the werewolf’s cock began to move inside you. He fucked you in slow, shallow strokes that gave you only a fraction of the friction you needed to get close to cumming again.
You expected him to pick up speed, but he went on like that for long, torturous minutes, until a pitiful whine was building in the back of your throat and you were scrabbling for your phone.
In just a few minutes, James had reduced you to a desperate mess, your hips squirming restlessly in your chair, your body uselessly trying to fuck yourself on his cock.
Please, sir. Please fuck me, use my tight pussy to make your cock feel good. You’re tormenting me. I can’t get off like this. Please!
Writhing in your chair, you unbuttoned your blouse down to your bra, brazenly groping your tits and plucking at your nipples while you tried to give yourself the stimulation James seemed determined to withhold.
His next reply seemed to take forever.
Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you decided to be a naughty knot slut instead of a good, patient girl like I asked.
A frustrated sound wrenched free from your lips and you abandoned your tits to drop your hand between your thighs. You rubbed your clit madly, intent on eking out a release despite James’s torture.
James must’ve felt the way your pussy spasmed and fluttered around his cock as your pleasure ramped up, because another message came through.
If you cum, you won’t get any of the tip you’ve earned.
Your mouth twisted in a snarl and you rolled your eyes. Of course every man or monster using Pleasure Portal assumed you could be controlled with money. They all assumed that was the only thing you were after.
You’d never been more grateful for Mr. Barnes’ generous salary than in that moment, because it meant you could care more about your release than James’s threat.
You kept rubbing your clit, rocking your hips on your seat until the ergonomic chair began to squeak. You were desperately clawing your way to the peak of your pleasure, and though you could already tell it wouldn’t be anywhere near the heights you’d reached earlier with James, it would at least take the edge off.
But then the werewolf’s next message made your fingers go still.
If you cum, I won’t use your pussy again.
Your whole body shuddered in protest at the idea of not feeling James’s cock pounding into your cunt again, and a tiny growl slipped from your lips.
It took a great deal of effort, but you pulled your hand from between your thighs and typed out a reply.
Fine.
You couldn’t help but tack on another message, anger, desire and frustration swirling through your body and making you feel far too comfortable with your client.
You’re a mean werewolf.
Faint vibrations reverberated through James’s cock and you thought he’d chuckled at your message, though you couldn’t be sure. Even more frustration surged, and for the first time since you started using the Pleasure Portal, you wished you were actually with your client.
You wanted to see James’s reactions, you wanted to hear his voice and feel his strong body beneath yours while his cock filled you up…
That’s ‘You’re a mean werewolf, sir’ to you.
James’s message brought your attention back to him and, despite yourself, you giggled at his ridiculous joke. Some of the frustration had drained from you as you eased back from the edge of your release, and you were ready to forgive him.
But before you could, he sent another text.
Don’t worry, sweetling, my call’s almost over. Then I’ll use you the way you want.
With a happy grin, you settled back into your chair and waited patiently, keeping the werewolf’s cock nice and warm in your dripping pussy. You kept your thoughts on easy things like your plans for the next weekend as you watched the sun slowly descend on New York City, the shadows growing long as they stretched across Central Park.
True to his word, James’s call ended not too long after his last message. You knew the moment it was over because he started fucking you hard and fast again, so suddenly you cried out, careless about whether your boss could overhear you.
Thankfully, those thick wooden doors to Bucky’s office must’ve swallowed the sounds you made. You shoved your hand under your skirt, rubbing your clit, desperate to reach the crescendo he’d denied you during his call.
Cum on my cock, sweetling. Gimme all your sweet cream while I fill you up with so much cum, your belly will be bloated, stuffed full with my seed and knot.
As soon as you read James’s message, you were lost to the pleasure of his words and his cock, and your fingers on your clit.
You muffled a piercing scream in the palm of your hand as you came, your mind flooding with pleasure and your pussy clamping down possessively on James’s cock while he rutted into you. You were so far gone in your bliss, you thought you heard a roar over the rush of blood in your ears, but you didn’t think it could be real.
Then all thoughts were pushed from your mind and you could only focus on your own clenching body, the warm waves of bliss surging through your limbs as James’s knot inflated and tied you together. His cock twitched as his cum spilled inside you, filling you beyond what you thought possible.
You looked down at your belly, watching it swell slightly; your eyes widened, and your pussy gave an excited pulse. The sight was so obscene, you couldn’t help your response, but the werewolf on the other end of the portal didn’t seem to mind.
James’s cock kicked and reverberated like he’d groaned or chuckled, and you softened, relaxing into your seat as you enjoyed the aftershocks of your release. All the while, you lightly stroked your ever-so-slightly distended belly with a sense of pleased satisfaction.
While you floated in your post-orgasm haze, your phone chimed with a sound like a cash register. Lazily, you picked it up, knowing it wasn’t a text, and read the screen.
Your jaw dropped and your whole body clenched in surprise at the amount of money James had tipped. His cock twitched as if in response in your cunt and you pressed your palm to your lower belly, as if to calm him, while you blinked a few times.
Still, the absurd number remained on your phone’s screen.
You earned it, sweetling.
The message popped up in the app and you clicked on it, navigating to your exchange with James. Your fingers were clumsy as you typed out a reply.
Thank you, sir. You’ve been so incredibly generous.
You chewed on your lip, thumbs hovering over the screen as you wondered if you should say more.
You didn’t want James to think your session was all about the money, but was that a ridiculous thought? Maybe it was all about the money to him. He was using an anonymous sex portal app, after all. Not looking for someone to form a connection with.
But it still seemed like there was something more between you two, right? You felt more comfortable with him than you had any other client, like you knew him already somehow…
Before you could agonize over your exchange with James any more, a new message from the older werewolf came in.
You were the best stress relief and cockwarmer, sweetling, and I enjoyed our afternoon together. I hope you’ll accept me as a Patron again.
James’s words settled the anxiety brewing in your chest and you let out a sigh of relief. You knew it didn’t mean he’d ever want more than you offered on Pleasure Portal, but at least he wanted to be with you again. It was as simple as that, you didn’t need to overcomplicate it.
He wanted to have another session with you—and you wanted that as well. So you told him as much.
I had a good time, too. You’re welcome to use me any time you want, sir ☺️
The two of you chatted about unimportant things until James’s knot deflated, and he instructed you to drink plenty of water and have a nutritious snack. You promised him you would and bid him goodbye before ending the session.
Glancing at the time on your phone, you suddenly realized how late it had gotten and you pushed yourself up to your feet.
All the blood rushed to your head and you swayed for a moment, blinking spots from your eyes. Remembering James’s words, you gulped down some water from your reusable water bottle and grabbed a snack from your desk along with a spare set of clothes you kept on hand for messy Pleasure Portal sessions.
In the bathroom, you changed and cleaned yourself up, glad that Bucky was already in his office when you got to your desk that morning so he wouldn’t notice you were wearing something different if you ran into him.
Though that was a big if.
Your heart sank a little at the reminder of your unrequited crush on your boss, but hope filled you again when you thought of your newest Pleasure Patron. It might be another silly crush on an unattainable man, but at least James seemed interested in you.
By the time you made it back to the antechamber outside Bucky’s office, it was time for you to gather your things and head home.
You were bent over your desk, your hips straining at the seams of the slightly smaller pencil skirt you’d thrown on, having forgotten it had shrunk a little in the wash, when a door opened behind you. You jumped and straightened up, nearly dropping your water bottle and spilling it all over your desk.
“Oh! Mr. Barnes,” you said, spinning to find your boss towering in the doorway of his office, broad shoulders filling the space. “Heading home early?” you asked in a bright, professional tone, trying to hide the breathlessness from your voice.
It wasn’t often that you saw your boss. He was always in meetings or coming or going from his office so that you only got cursory glances of the large werewolf. But he was paused for once, and you took a moment to look him over.
He had a mop of dark brown hair, worn just a little bit shaggy so no one could ever accuse him of trying to pass as anything but a werewolf. His blue eyes were bright and sharp in the late afternoon light, and you could see just a hint of his canine teeth as he offered a charming smile.
That expression on Bucky’s face nearly bowled you over. Your eyes skimmed quickly over his broad shoulders, trim waist and thick thighs before returning to the handsame face of the werewolf that haunted your daydreams. He looked every bit the important CEO, but there was also a looseness in his body you’d never seen before.
“I am,” Bucky said, his blunt words drawing you back to the moment. He held a hand out in a gesture for you to precede him to the elevators beyond the antechamber outside his office. “Let me walk you out.”
The offer was so surprising, all you could do was murmur, “Oh, thank you,” before scurrying in front of him. As you began to walk, you felt James’s cum begin to leak from your pussy and you moved faster.
Your belly wasn’t bloated anymore, and you’d cleaned yourself up as well as you could in the bathroom, but your Patron had filled you with so much cum, you expected you’d be leaking for the rest of the day, if not into the morning.
You hoped desperately that your boss couldn’t smell it, because if he did, you wouldn’t have any explanation if he decided to question why you smelled like another werewolf’s cum when you were meant to be working at your desk outside his office.
When you came to a stop at the elevator bank, Bucky gently laid a hand on the small of your back and leaned around you to press the button. Thankfully, he didn’t show any signs of smelling James on you, and you exhaled a silent sigh of relief.
The two of you made idle chatter while you waited for the elevator—you asked him how his afternoon meeting had gone and the edge of Bucky’s mouth fluttered like he was holding back a smirk while he told you it went very well. He said he’d gotten everything he wanted.
Then he asked how your afternoon had gone, and you’d stumbled out a response about being very productive, all while more of James’s cum leaked from your cunt.
As you talked, you got the sense that Bucky was in a better mood than usual. He was certainly more talkative and open with you than was typical for the older werewolf CEO. He was polite, of course, but he mostly left you alone to do your job, only communicating via email.
But that particular afternoon, he seemed…happier. His icy blue eyes were warm, crinkling at the sides whenever he chuckled, and his smile was quicker, easier somehow.
Impossibly, it made Bucky Barnes even more attractive to you.
He was hot as the brusque and busy werewolf CEO, but this side of him, which was charming and warm, was even hotter. You could feel your heart unfurling in your chest, your feelings for your boss not only returning, but blossoming into something you didn’t know if you’d ever recover from.
When the elevator finally arrived, it was empty, and you gave yourself a subtle shake as you stepped in, reminding yourself that your boss was off-limits and likely didn’t see you as a potential partner.
Bucky followed you, pressing the button for the lobby and turning to you as if to continue your conversation. But just then, the door whooshed closed and you were alone in a small, enclosed space with your boss—your werewolf boss.
You were already looking at him, anticipating what he’d been about to say, so you were able to watch the change in his demeanor as it happened.
Bucky’s nostrils flared, and his shoulders stiffened, his bright blue eyes darkening with something you could only describe as hunger. His gaze raked over your face, and his chest expanded as he took a deep breath, his thick muscles testing the limits of his suit.
You watched as recognition dawned in his sharp, icy eyes, and if your mind wasn’t so sluggish after your afternoon of orgasms, you might’ve understood what was going on, what he was realizing.
As it was, you still hadn’t caught up with the shift in Bucky. You stared at him in confusion as he stepped quickly to the side, his thick finger pressing the emergency stop button on the elevator. It shuddered to a halt between floors, leaving you alone with your boss.
Slowly, Bucky turned to you, his eyes flashing with lust and his teeth bared so that you could see the light glinting off his canine teeth. He prowled toward you slowly, like he was trying not to spook you.
All you felt was intrigued, a thrill of excitement shooting through your body as you allowed Bucky to back you into the corner of the elevator until his chest was a hair’s breadth away from yours. Your chest was heaving in your blouse with excited, panting breaths, and your head was tilted back, watching Bucky’s face closely.
The purr that came from the werewolf CEO was so low and dark, you hardly recognized it as belonging to your boss, even as the sound went straight between your thighs. Your pussy thrummed eagerly in response, like it knew something you didn’t—like it recognized him in a way you didn’t understand yet.
“Tell me, sweetling,” Bucky Barnes rasped, staring deep into your eyes as his big hand settled possessively on your hip. You swayed into him, watching his pink mouth framed by dark, gray-streaked stubble as he voiced the question that would change everything. “Why do you smell like my cum?”
thank you for reading!! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡
as a reminder of my blog's rules, please do not comment/reblog only to request a part 2! specific questions and comments about the fic, the characters, and the larger universe are entirely welcome!! i just ask that you please engage with my story rather than simply demanding more!!
Bucky being a girl dad is so real but imagine his precious baby girl getting her first period and he's in denial like "no, oh no" - every stage of denial and his wife was like 😮💨
girl dad bucky forever 🫶
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Bucky had been through a lot in his life. Wars, Hydra, the snap, even the chaos of raising a stubborn little girl who inherited your sass and his temper. But apparently nothing—nothing—could prepare James Buchanan Barnes for the sight of his baby girl coming down the hallway with watery eyes, holding her hoodie tight around her middle.
“Doll,” he called from the couch, remote in hand, “what’s wrong? Someone at school bothering you again? You want me to—”
“No, Dad,” she mumbled, cheeks pink, not meeting his eyes.
That alone made him sit forward. She never hid things from him. He was her safe place. Always had been. “C’mere,” he said, patting the cushion beside him.
She shuffled over but sat with a few inches between them. That was strange, too. She always flopped against his side like he was her personal armchair.
Bucky frowned, instincts bristling. “Sweetheart, what happened?”
She looked up at him with wide eyes, then whispered, “I… think I got my period.”
Bucky blinked. Once. Twice. The words registered slowly, like an old machine grinding gears.
Then: “No. No, no, no.” He threw his hands up and leaned back like she’d just told him she robbed a bank. “That’s not—it’s too soon. You’re just a kid!”
“I’m twelve, Dad.”
“You’re my baby,” he corrected immediately, shaking his head. His heart was pounding. “Nope. Not happening. Denied. I’m vetoing this. You can’t—no. Not yet.”
From the kitchen, you let out a long, suffering sigh. “Bucky…”
He turned, scandalized. “Don’t you ‘Bucky’ me, doll, she’s not ready for this! She still watches cartoons in her pajamas and asks me to braid her hair before bed!”
Your daughter groaned and hid her face in her hoodie. “This is so embarrassing.”
“No, honey, it’s not embarrassing,” you reassured gently, stepping into the living room. “It’s normal. Every girl goes through it.”
“Not my girl!” Bucky argued, pointing at her like he could will biology into submission. “No, I refuse. She’s too little. You hear me, pumpkin? This is just a false alarm. Probably something you ate. Bad pizza. Tummy bug.”
“Dad!”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Bucky, she got her period. This is not a conspiracy.”
Stage two: bargaining.
He turned to you desperately. “Maybe it’s just… practice? Like… like her body’s just testing it out. Y’know, a one-time trial run. Then it’ll go away for a few more years. Right? That can happen, can’t it?”
Your raised brow answered that question for him.
Bucky groaned and collapsed back against the couch cushions. “No, no, no. This is the worst day of my life.”
Your daughter giggled despite herself, peeking out from behind her sleeves. “Dad, it’s not that big of a deal.”
“Not that big—” Bucky sat up, clutching his chest like he’d been shot. “Sweetheart, this means you’re growing up. That means… boys. And high school. And driving. And—” His voice cracked. “College. No. Absolutely not. I won’t allow it.”
“Buck,” you cut in firmly, sitting on the other side of your daughter and pulling her into your side. “You’re not helping. She needs reassurance, not a crisis.”
Stage three: anger.
“I’m not angry,” Bucky said, very much angrily. “I’m protective! You think I’m gonna sit here calmly while my baby girl becomes a—” he waved his hand around like the word itself was offensive, “—a woman?”
“Yes,” you deadpanned. “Because that’s literally life.”
“She was supposed to stay little forever!”
“That’s not how it works.”
“Then change the rules!” he snapped, pointing at the ceiling like the universe itself owed him a favor. “Hey! Whoever’s up there! Stop this right now! She’s not ready!”
By now your daughter was giggling so hard she had tears in her eyes, curled against your side while Bucky ranted like a madman at God, nature, and the general concept of time.
Stage four: depression.
A few minutes later, Bucky slumped down, his vibranium hand over his face. “It’s over. My baby’s gone. Next thing I know, she’ll hate me and slam doors and call me embarrassing. Then she’ll move out and never come home again.” His voice was muffled, but the drama was loud and clear.
You rolled your eyes. “Buck. She’s still the same kid who begged you for a puppy last week.”
At that, your daughter perked up. “We should get a puppy.”
“Don’t encourage her,” you warned.
But Bucky sat up, pointing at her again with wild eyes. “See? That’s my little girl! She doesn’t want boys, she wants a dog! You’re still my baby!”
Finally, stage five: acceptance.
When he saw the flush on her cheeks, the nervous way she kept fiddling with her sleeves, the excitement of feeling “grown-up” battling with the embarrassment of the moment, Bucky’s dramatics melted into something softer. He sighed, pulling her into his chest.
“Okay,” he whispered into her hair, voice thick. “Okay. I guess I can’t stop you from growing up.”
She hugged him back, small and warm in his arms. “Sorry, Dad.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.” He pulled back enough to look at her. “You’ll always be my little girl, no matter what, got it?”
She nodded. “Got it.”
Bucky pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and then turned to you helplessly. “...But you’re handling the details, right? Pads, tampons, all that scary stuff?”
You laughed. “Yes, Buck. I’ve got it covered.”
“Good,” he muttered, relief washing over him—until your daughter smirked and said, “Actually, maybe Dad should buy me pads. You know. As bonding.”
His face went white. “What?”
“Yeah,” you added slyly, unable to resist. “Good idea. You can handle it, soldier.”
“Traitors,” he grumbled, pulling both of you closer. “My whole house is full of traitors.”
But that night, when he came home from the store with three different kinds of pads, a heating pad, chocolate bars, and a stuffed alpaca he couldn’t explain buying, you caught the way he set them all carefully on her nightstand like they were supplies for battle.
And when she hugged him tight, whispering, “Thanks, Dad,” Bucky thought maybe—just maybe—this stage of life wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content, neighbors to lovers, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), reader first orgasm, soft dom Han Jisung, emotional vulnerability, praise kink, mention of toxic relationship, slight exhibitionism (thin walls), slight degradation of ex-boyfriend, aftercare, fluff, soft angst (parental neglect), mdni
notes: in which han jisung hears you faking your orgasms through the walls of your apartment--and things spiral from there.
The walls in this building are a joke.
Half an inch of drywall. That’s all that separates his shitty one-bedroom from yours. He’s counted.
It’s not like he meant to know so much about you. He’s not trying to eavesdrop on every late-night argument, every hungover FaceTime call, every time you drag your heavy Econ textbook across the floor.
He just lives here.
And unfortunately, so do you.
Jisung never asked for the proximity. He never asked to know the way your voice rises when you're tipsy or how you only sing when you thinks no one can hear. But he does. He knows. He knows you eat too many frozen waffles and tha tyour microwave beeps twice before you remember to take shit out. He knows the name of your boyfriend, the sound of your laugh when you’re trying too hard, and worse—
The exact pitch of your moans when you’re faking it.
Because you fake it. Every damn time.
And he would know. He’s had the misfortune of being hard at 2AM with your paper-thin walls pressed against his back and that sorry excuse for sex filtering through his second-hand studio monitors like a mockery of porn.
It’s always the same: breathy gasps, your boyfriend’s awkward grunting, the bed springs squeaking like hell, and then—
“Oh my god, yeah, just like that...”
Flat. Perfunctory. The kind of moan that sounds practiced. Rehearsed. Completely unconvincing.
Jisung rolls his eyes and turns the volume up on his mix.
Not because it bothers him. Not because he cares.
It’s just distracting.
He’s got better things to do than think about the pretty girl next door faking orgasms like it’s a part-time job.
Like finish this track. Like land an actual gig. Like figure out how the fuck he’s going to keep affording rent in a city that eats people alive and doesn’t even burp after.
He’s not interested.
He’s not.
Except—
Sometimes he wonders what it would sound like if you meant it.
What you’d sound like if someone took their time. If someone made you come for real, dragged it out of your with fingers in your hair and lips on your neck and the kind of steady, brutal rhythm that doesn’t stop until you’re shaking.
What you’d sound like if it were him.
Jisung curses under his breath and drags his headphones off.
His eyes are dry. His dick’s half-hard. His track’s going nowhere.
Cool.
Maybe he just needs to… do something. Anything. Something mundane. Something that reminds him he’s a functioning adult with a trash bin and a spine and better things to focus on than the soft moans of the girl next door and the way they don’t sound quite right.
He grabs the overstuffed trash bag by the door, ties it with too much force, and makes a beeline for the hallway before he can talk himself out of it.
The fluorescent lights hum. The elevator’s broken again. Everything smells vaguely like burnt toast and someone’s fruity shampoo.
This building is hell.
He loves it.
Jisung drops the bag down the chute, lingers a second too long just to feel the rush of cold air against his face, then heads back.
He’s barely two doors away from home when he sees you.
You’re standing outside your apartment, arms crossed over your chest, loose sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder like it’s been a long night. Your boyfriend—Jason? Jared? Justin?—is leaning in too close, his mouth moving fast. Jisung can’t make out the words, but the tone’s familiar. Sharp. Defensive.
The boyfriend tries to kiss you.
You turn your face away.
Jisung doesn’t mean to stop walking. His feet just… do.
“I said I’m tired,” you mutter.
“Oh, you’re tired?” the guy snaps, way too loud for this dingy little hallway. “You weren’t tired twenty minutes ago when you were riding my dick, were you?”
Jesus.
Jisung should keep walking. Should disappear into his apartment and mind his business like he always does.
But instead, he just—
“Hey.”
His voice comes out cracked around the edges, like it hasn’t been used in a while. Which is accurate. He hasn’t really spoken to anyone in three days. Not unless you count the talking he does into the mic when he’s laying down verses at 3AM.
You both turn to look at him.
Jisung tries to smile.
It’s more of a grimace.
“You, uh…” he clears his throat, glancing at you instead of the walking ego next to you. “You okay?”
You hesitate.
The boyfriend doesn’t.
“Who the fuck are you?”
Jisung shoves his hands deeper into his hoodie pocket. “Neighbor.”
The guy blinks, then laughs. “Oh. So you’re the one blasting that emo SoundCloud shit through the wall every night?”
Jisung winces. A breath stutters out of him like he’s been lightly slapped.
Then he notices it—you wince, too. The tiniest flicker of guilt flashing across your face, so fast he almost misses it.
And yeah. Okay.
That stings more than it should.
“I didn’t say it was shit,”you mumble under your breath, clearly meant only for your own conscience.
“Don’t worry,” Jisung says quickly, forcing a light tone as he scratches the back of his neck. “It’s fine. Totally fair. Some of my stuff is… uh. Kinda dogshit.”
The boyfriend grins like he’s just won something.
“Glad we agree. Thought I was gonna have to explain how sound works to a wannabe DJ.”
Jisung opens his mouth—then closes it again.
Not worth it.
Definitely not worth it.
Except you’re still looking at him. Still standing there with your arms folded tight, sweatshirt slipping down further. And your face—
There’s something in it. Not pity. Not sympathy.
More like… regret.
He hates that it softens him.
The boyfriend, oblivious, barrels on. “Anyway, next time you feel like giving a concert at four in the morning, maybe wait until someone asks.”
“Next time you feel like giving headboard percussion lessons at two,” Jisung mutters, “maybe make sure she actually comes.”
The words leave his mouth before his brain catches up.
Instant silence.
You gasp. Cover it with your hand, like you’re trying not to laugh—or scream.
The boyfriend just stares at him.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
Jisung shrugs, already stepping toward his apartment door. His hands are shaking a little, but he keeps his voice light.
“I mean, the moaning’s impressive. Real Oscar-worthy shit. But you’d think a guy who talks that much would at least know when he’s not doing it right.”
“You little—”
“Hey, man.” Jisung turns back for half a second, nodding at him with a crooked, tired smile. “If I can tell through the wall that she’s faking it, that’s not on her. That’s on you.”
He shuts the door behind him before the guy can even finish winding up his insult.
Click.
Deadbolt.
Silence.
Except for the thundering in his chest.
Jisung exhales hard, forehead thunking against the door. “What the fuck did I just do?”
He sinks down to the floor like his legs have given up. Which, to be fair, they kind of have.
This isn’t him. This isn’t what he does.
He doesn't talk back. Doesn’t mouth off. Doesn’t insert himself into other people’s messy lives—especially not yours. He barely speaks to delivery guys. Half his social life happens through a pop filter.
And yet.
“You’d think a guy who talks that much would at least know when he’s not doing it right.”
God. It was kind of funny.
But still—Jesus.
Jisung scrubs both hands over his face, embarrassment curling in his gut like a hangover.
Across the wall, he hears footsteps. Muffled shouting. The boyfriend’s voice, sharp with wounded ego. And then—
The unmistakable slam of a door.
Silence.
No more voices. No more fake moans. No more anything.
Jisung doesn’t move.
Eventually, when the silence stays long enough to feel safe, he hauls himself up off the floor. Brushes dust from his sweats. Tries not to replay what he said out loud like a greatest hits compilation of shit he absolutely should not have said out loud.
And when morning comes, it hits in a wave of cheap sunlight and neighborly noise.
He hears your usual routine unfold with near-perfect familiarity: fridge door opening, kettle clicking on, cabinet slam (twice—you always forget which one holds the instant coffee). Muffled cursing. Zipper. Then keys jingling against the lock.
He listens as you step out, lets the door fall shut behind you, and walks down the hall toward the stairs.
Everything is the same.
And none of it is.
Because this time, when you leave,your footsteps pause right outside his door.
Just for a second. A breath.
Then gone.
He groans and pulls the blanket over his face.
The rest of the day moves in its usual haze. Jisung does what he always does: noodles with a half-finished beat, eats instant ramen over the sink, ignores three texts from Chan asking for an update on the mix. His headphones stay around his neck most of the day, never quite getting used.
By sunset, the hallway is quiet again.
The beat he’s working on is shit. He knows it’s shit. He keeps tweaking it anyway.
It’s not even music anymore. Just sound. A bunch of clunky, disjointed loops that won’t glue together no matter how many times he messes with the tempo.
He’s just about to scrap the whole thing when—
Knock knock.
He freezes.
It’s soft. Measured. Hesitant.
He doesn't move right away—just sits there in his desk chair like someone just rang the doorbell in a horror movie. Then he leans back slightly, just far enough to peek over the edge of his laptop.
Another knock.
His heart does something stupid.
He stands. Pads barefoot to the door. Checks the peephole.
Of course it’s you.
You’re standing there in leggings and an oversized hoodie, arms cradling a plastic container like its armor. Your hair's pulled back, face bare. You look—
Small.
Unsure.
You lift one hand and knock again, even softer this time.
He hesitates a second longer, then opens the door.
Not all the way. Just a crack.
Your head jerks up. You blink. “Hi.”
He blinks back. “Uh. Hey.”
You shift your weight. “Can I—uh, are you busy?”
He opens the door a little wider, eyes flicking down to the container you’re holding. “No. I mean. Just… failing at music.”
That gets the faintest smile out of you.
“Right. Yeah. I, um…” You hold out the container. “These are for you.”
He stares. “Cookies?”
“Apology cookies.”
There’s a beat.
Then:
“I didn’t bake them,” You admit. “But I did walk two blocks to the overpriced organic place to get them. So. Effort was made.”
He blinks down at the container again, like it might disappear if he stares hard enough.
“Effort noted,” he mumbles.
You shift again, hugging your arms tighter. “You don’t have to eat them. I just—felt weird not saying thank you. Or sorry. You didn’t have to do what you did last night.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. Felt weird not saying something. So.”
You stand there in the doorway for a second, both of you clearly unsure of what to do now that the thing you came to say has been said. He should probably invite you in. Or take the cookies. Or smile, or make a joke, or something.
Instead, he clears his throat.
You jump in to fill the silence. “Also, just so we’re clear—I didn’t actually mean the SoundCloud thing. That was… low-hanging fruit.”
He raises an eyebrow. “So you’ve listened?”
That earns him a flush, bright and instant. “Not on purpose.”
“Wow.” He presses a hand to his chest. “What a glowing endorsement.”
“I’m just saying—I wasn’t trying to be a bitch. That wasn’t fair.” Your gaze softens. “Your stuff is good. Better than good, actually. The one with the—uh—strings and that lo-fi beat underneath?”
His eyebrows raise. “Track twelve?”
She nods.
His stomach flips. It’s ridiculous. But that track had been sitting unfinished for weeks, like something he wasn’t sure anyone but him would ever care about. And now she’s standing here—face bare, voice quiet—quoting it back to him like it meant something.
He doesn’t know what to say.
For someone who spends hours arranging syllables and syncopation for fun, it’s laughable how words immediately bail on him when they might actually matter.
“You, uh…” He shifts the container to one hand. “You’ve got a good ear.”
You smile. It’s small. A little sheepish. “I’ve got shit walls.”
That makes him laugh—quiet and surprised.
“I should let you hear more sometime,” he says, before he can talk himself out of it.
You tilt your head. “Yeah?”
“I mean—only if you want to. No pressure. I just thought…”
He trails off, scratching at the seam of his sleeve.
“I’d like that,” You say.
And he doesn’t know what to do with the warmth that blooms in his chest. It’s not huge. It’s not loud. But it’s there—steady and unexpected, curling under his ribs.
“Cool,” he says, voice softer now. “I’ll, uh. Let you know next time I make something new.”
You nod, then shift your weight backward—just enough to start retreating. But not before your eyes flick to his again, briefly, like you want to say something else.
He thinks might.
But all you do is smile—small and real—and take one step back towards your door.
“Goodnight, Han.”
His name on your lips feels like something it shouldn’t. Like a secret.
He nods. “Night.”
And then you turn. Cross the narrow hallway back to your apartment, keys already in hand. you hesitate at the door for half a second—he notices that, because of course he notices that—then slides the key in, disappears inside, and lets the door fall shut behind you with a soft click.
He watches the empty hallway for a beat longer.
He stares at his own door for a moment after he closes it, forehead pressed against the wood like the words you left behind are still floating in the air.
Goodnight, Han.
He hadn’t realized how nice his name could sound until you said it like that.
It echoes in his chest. Warms something that’s been cold for a while.
When he finally moves, it’s slow. He sets the cookies on the kitchen counter, grabs a pen, and flips open the nearest notebook—one he’s barely touched in weeks.
And he writes:
Track idea: starts quiet. Voice sample, maybe hers? Lo-fi beat behind it, soft keys. Let it build. Don’t let it rush. Let it breathe.
The boy next door with the quiet mouth and loud headphones. The recluse who only seemed to exist in studio beats and half-heard melodies through the wall. You knew his name before you knew his face—Han, printed on a mailbox slot too narrow.
Now he nods at you in the hallway. Smiles, even. You’ve learned that they’re rare, his smiles—crooked and shy, like they’re still trying to figure themselves out. You’ve started waiting for them.
Some mornings, you catch him in the elevator, hoodie pulled over messy hair, a takeout coffee in one hand and sleep in his eyes. You say hi. He says hey. He always holds the door for you.
It’s nothing. But it’s not nothing.
And then, one night—it’s something.
It starts with your friend’s voice, high and nervous. “I swear I had your keys. I swear they were just—fuck, okay, check your bag again—”
You’re too drunk to care. Or think. Or stand up straight
Your bag is wide open on the hallway floor, a war zone of receipts, gum wrappers, lip glosses with no caps, and an unopened pack of hot sauce packets you swear you didn’t steal from Taco Bell. Your friend is crouched beside it, frantically digging like she’s searching for buried treasure.
And that’s when the elevator dings.
You don’t even bother turning around. You’re too busy trying to balance one heel on top of a rogue pack of gum like it’s a tightrope.
Your friend, however, freezes. Then straightens sharply, whisper-hissing, “Oh shit—it’s your neighbor.”
You blink. “Which one?”
“The hot one.”
That gets your attention.
You turn—wobble—and there he is: Han. Grocery bag in one hand, hood halfway off, hair a little windblown. His eyes flick from your friend to you, then to the scene at your feet: your life in full chaotic display.
He pauses. Then says, with the softest little blink of disbelief,
“Uh… everything okay?”
You blink right back at him.
Then lean toward your friend—not subtly, not gracefully, and definitely not quietly—and whisper at full volume:
“You’re right, he is hot.”
It echoes.
Down the hall. Into the vents. Probably into the next dimension.
Your friend claps a hand over her mouth.
Han stares at you, frozen mid-step, grocery bag dangling like it no longer belongs to him.
You sway slightly. Flash him a winning, drunken grin. “Hi.”
His ears go pink.
He recovers with a cough and a quiet, “Hey.”
Your friend steps in, trying to salvage the moment. “She, um… lost her keys. And maybe her filter. And maybe also her last three brain cells.”
“I have at least five brain cells,” you argue, eyes still locked on Han like you’ve just spotted the last bottle of tequila on Earth. “Maybe six.”
“Okay,” your friend says sharply, grabbing your arm before you can say anything worse. “She’s drunk. She needs to sleep. You’re right next door. I trust you, I think. Will you—can you—?”
“I’ve got her,” Han says, voice gentle. Too gentle. Like he’s trying not to laugh but also trying not to die of second-hand embaressment.
He steps forward, freeing his hand long enough to steady you when you stumble again. His grip is warm, careful. You immediately lean into it like he’s a weighted blanket.
“Wow,” you murmur. “Strong and polite. A dangerous combo.”
He just smiles—shy and crooked, the way he always does when he doesn’t know where to put his face. “You good to walk?”
“No promises.”
“I’ll take that as a ‘maybe,’” he says, easing your arm over his shoulder.
Your friend sighs, already backing toward the stairs. “If she tries to seduce you, just tell her she cries at Disney movies and once got drunk and tried to fistfight a traffic cone.”
“I won, though,” you shout after her.
Han chuckles.
Your friend throws one last suspicious look over her shoulder, mouthing to Han, text me from her phone if she throws up, before disappearing down the stairwell.
And now it’s just you and Han.
And the heat of your skin pressed to his side.
And the wild, buzzing thought in your brain that you’ve never been this close to him before.
He shifts his weight. Glances down at you.
“You seriously okay?”
You nod. “I feel great.”
“You say that while using me as a crutch.”
“Yeah. But like—a sexy crutch.”
He laughs, head ducking slightly like he’s embarrassed for both of you.
But he doesn’t let go.
And he doesn’t stop smiling.
Han’s arm stays steady around you as he unlocks his door, grocery bag still dangling awkwardly from one wrist. He guides you inside carefully, flicking on the lights with his elbow and nudging the door shut behind you.
You blink, taking it in through a haze: tiny apartment, warm lighting, a bunch of wires and gear by the desk, no couch in sight.
He catches you swaying and steers you toward a plain padded chair by the wall. “Here, sit for a sec.”
You plop down like a ragdoll.
Han crouches in front of you instantly, gently tugging your heels off one at a time like he’s afraid you’ll tip over trying. “You good?” he murmurs, setting your shoes aside neatly. “Anything feel weird? Dizzy?”
You grin at him. “You’re so worried.”
He flushes instantly. “I just—yeah. I mean. You’re really drunk.”
“Yeah, but like, in a fun way.”
“Still,” he mutters, already handing you a bottle of water from the counter. “Drink this. Slowly.”
You take it. “You’re like a… a boyfriend. But like, a really responsible one. Like—tax-paying, call-my-mom-for-me energy.”
Han snorts and gets up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, you’re done talking now.”
“I’m not!” you call after him as he sets the grocery bag down. “I’m very interesting!”
He just shakes his head, trying (and failing) to hide his smile.
When you blink again, he’s in front of you, holding out a hand. “C’mon. Bed’s this way.”
You pause. “You only have one bed.”
His ears go pink. “You can take it.”
You squint. “Where are you gonna sleep?”
He shrugs, awkward. “Floor. I’ve got blankets.”
“That’s tragic.”
“I’ve survived worse.”
You pout but don’t argue as he pulls you gently to your feet again. You’re warm, wobbly, still clutching the water bottle like a security blanket, and when he steers you toward the bed, you barely resist at all.
He helps you sit, then hands you a second pillow and adjusts the blanket like he’s not trying to combust over how soft you look there. He’s halfway to standing up again when you tug the edge of the blanket higher and murmur:
“Thanks, Han.”
He’s still standing near the edge of the bed, half in the dark, blinking at you like you’ve just short-circuited every single brain cell in his head.
His voice is a little uneven when he says, “Y-Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
You smile at him, all cozy and soft, limbs draped across his sheets like you belong there.
He doesn’t even know where to put his hands.
“I, uh—” He scratches at the back of his neck. “I still have a bit of work to do. Just mixing something. I’ll, um. Be over here.”
You blink up at him. “What kinda work?”
“Music stuff.” His voice cracks a little, and he clears his throat immediately. “I won’t bother you. You can—yeah, you can just pass out. All good.”
“You don’t mind me on your bed?”
Han stares at you for a second too long.
Then jerks his gaze away. “No. I—I mean. No, definitely not. Like, at all.”
He fumbles over to his desk, nearly knocking over a pair of headphones, and drops into the chair like his legs have forgotten how to bend properly.
You snuggle deeper into the mattress, dragging the blanket over your legs with a dramatic sigh. “This is comfy. You have good taste in sheets.”
“Thanks,” he mutters, clicking around on his laptop even though the track’s already loaded.
You giggle.
He pretends not to notice.
You don’t see it—but his eyes flick to you constantly. Quick little glances when you shift, or sigh, or tuck your face into the pillow like it’s your new favorite thing. He can’t not look.
You yawn, cheek squished into his pillow. “You smell nice.”
He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a cough and a quiet plea for mercy. “You should, uh. Try to sleep.”
“Mhm.”
You don’t move.
Just keep lying there. All sweet and sleepy and tangled up in his blankets, on his bed, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And even though he should be focusing—he really, really should—
Han can’t stop smiling.
He turns back to his screen and presses play, the familiar beat fills his headphones, looping low and steady.
It’s not done—not even close. The layers are uneven, the bass too soft, the melody still fighting to find its place. But it’s something. And tonight, it’s the only thing keeping his hands busy while his mind refuses to stop thinking about you in his bed.
You’re quiet for a while.
He thinks maybe you’ve finally fallen asleep. You haven’t said anything in minutes, and your breathing’s slow, almost even. He lets himself glance over his shoulder.
You’re still awake.
Eyes open. Watching him.
You shift slightly under the blanket, cheek still pressed into his pillow. Your voice is soft, drowsy. “Can I hear it?”
He blinks. “What?”
“The track you’re working on,” you murmur. “Can I listen?”
Han’s heart does a somersault. Or maybe a backflip. Hard to tell through the static in his chest.
He turns fully in his chair. “Now?”
You nod, slow and lazy. “You promised. You said I could listen next time you made something new.”
Right. He had said that.
But not this one.
Not track twelve.
He fidgets with the headphone wire. “It’s not that one.”
You blink at him, confused.
“The one with the lo-fi strings,” he explains, voice quieter now. “Track twelve. I still haven’t finished it.”
“Oh.”
You don’t sound disappointed. Just curious.
He rubs a hand over his face, then offers a crooked little smile. “But you can hear this one. If you want.”
You nod again, eyes fluttering half-shut like the night is finally catching up to you.
He hesitates.
Then gently unplugs the headphones from the jack, letting the soft sound of the track fill the room.
It’s quiet. Dreamy. Bare bones but beautiful—slow, pulsing synth layered under a simple piano loop. There’s a vocal sample buried under the mix, something wordless and airy, like a breath that never ends.
You close your eyes fully this time, listening.
And Han watches you—watches the way your body relaxes into the sound, how your lips part just slightly, like the music is pulling something from you even in sleep.
He turns back to the screen, fingers hovering over the trackpad.
You speak again, barely above a whisper.
“It’s sad,” you murmur.
He doesn’t answer.
“Not in a bad way,” you add quickly. “Just… it sounds like it’s missing something. Like it’s looking for something.”
Han swallows.
Yeah.
That’s exactly what it is.
He stares at the waveform on his screen and says, very softly, “I think it’s trying to say something I don’t know how to say yet.”
You don’t reply. Not right away.
When you do, your voice is already trailing off into sleep. “You don’t have to say it. It’s already in the music.”
And then you're still.
Breathing even. Eyes shut.
Han doesn’t move for a long time.
Just sits in the soft blue glow of his screen, heartbeat slowing down to match yours, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to finish a song when the thing it’s missing is falling asleep five feet away.
Since the couchless sleepover, since the drunken key fiasco, since you fell asleep to the sound of his unfinished song.
And in that time, Han has come out of his shell in the slowest, sweetest way possible.
At first, he was shy. Still the hoodie-wearing recluse with his eyes glued to Ableton and his words tucked somewhere behind clenched teeth.
But then he started showing up more. At your door with takeout. With headphones and half-finished demos. With quiet, tentative smiles that stretched wider the more you smiled back.
You got to know him.
He told you about Malaysia—about sticky summers and midnight noodles and the way his parents still call twice a week even though they’re oceans apart. He told you how he moved to Korea for college, studied for a year, and then dropped out when he realized his brain was wired for sound, not textbooks.
You told him about your life, too—your parents and their ever-shifting conditions for love, the apartment they still pay for, the degree you’re grinding out just to prove something. To who, you’re not even sure.
And Han—turns out he’s kind of a chatterbox. Once he’s comfortable, the boy talks. About anything. About everything. With his hands, with his whole face. About samples and synths and the absolute travesty that is powdered parmesan.
Now, it’s like this: casual, constant, inevitable.
You crash at his place sometimes—not because you're locked out, but just because. Sometimes you bring your laptop and do homework on his floor. Sometimes you nap in his bed while he works. You keep a toothbrush there now. A hoodie of his has quietly migrated to your closet.
You even invited him to your graduation this spring. “It’s not like my parents are coming,” you’d shrugged, and Han had just blinked at you, then said okay, like it wasn’t the biggest fucking deal.
He still blushes when you call him hot. Still won’t take the bed when you stay over. Still treats you like you might disappear if he lets himself want too much.
And today, you’re at your place—your couch this time, legs tangled together on either end, killing time the way only two people who are too comfortable with each other can.
Lazy game of truth or dare. No real stakes. Just soft laughter and shared snacks and the kind of questions that teeter between teasing and tender.
Han’s fingers are brushing against your ankle, casual and unthinking. The popcorn bowl is somewhere on the floor, long forgotten. You’re both half-reclined, cozy and loose, a tangle of limbs and friendship that’s been threatening to become something else for weeks now.
You’ve already dared him to do his worst celebrity impression, and he’d made you sing a jingle from one of your old childhood commercials. The kind of dumb, lazy game that only works when you trust someone enough not to twist the blade when things get close.
Now it’s his turn.
“Truth,” you say, yawning, stretching like a cat in the sun. “I’m feeling vulnerable.”
He gives you a look. One brow raised, fingers tapping thoughtfully against his thigh. “Okay. What was your best orgasm?”
You blink.
Then laugh.
He flushes instantly. “Shit—was that too far? I thought we were in the spicy round.”
“No, no,” you say, waving a hand, trying to keep your smile light. “It’s fair.”
But you don’t answer right away.
You sit there for a second, fiddling with the hem of your oversized sleep shirt. His question settles somewhere low in your stomach—not uncomfortable, just… exposed. Like a truth you’ve learned to laugh off before anyone can look too closely.
You glance at him, then say it—half-teasing, like a joke you’ve told a few times before.
“I wouldn’t know.”
Han blinks. “You wouldn’t—?”
You shrug. “Never had one. Not a good one. Not any, actually.”
There’s a pause. His brows lift, lips parting slightly, but you beat him to it with a raised hand and a crooked grin.
“I know, I know. Tragic. I’m either defective or cursed. It’s a toss-up.”
He doesn’t laugh.
You thought he might—just to lighten the mood. Maybe roll with the joke, keep it casual.
But Han’s expression softens instead. Slowly. Like he’s putting something together.
But Han’s expression softens instead. Slowly. Like he’s putting something together.
“That’s not funny,” he says, voice quiet. Barely a wrinkle of sound between you.
You blink. “It’s kind of funny.”
“No, it’s not.” He leans in a little, eyes searching yours. “And it’s definitely not true.”
You hold his gaze for a beat longer than you mean to. “Tell that to every guy I’ve slept with.”
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t flinch. Just says, soft but certain, “They don’t count.”
Something in your chest pulls tight.
You sit back, let out a soft exhale through your nose. Try again, lighter this time. “I mean, at some point, you start to wonder if it’s just you, right? Like maybe I missed a biological memo.”
“You didn’t,” he says, firm now. “You just haven’t been with someone who cared enough to figure you out.”
You snort softly, eyes dropping to his lips before flicking back up. “What, and you do?”
His breath catches, just slightly. But he doesn’t flinch.
“Yeah,” he says. Simple. Sure. “I do.”
You go quiet.
It’s not the answer that surprises you—it’s how steady he is when he says it. Like it’s not even a question in his mind. Like he’s already imagined it, already decided what he’d do if you ever let him.
That steadiness makes your throat go tight.
“Okay,” you say, voice quiet. “Then what would you do?”
Han shifts slightly, eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable. Focused.
“I’d start slow,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like a line—it sounds like a plan. “Let you get used to being touched in a way that’s not… performative.”
You blink.
He leans in, just a little. Not close enough to touch. Not yet.
“I’d watch your face,” he continues, softer now, “and actually pay attention. I’d figure out what makes you squirm. What makes your breath catch. What makes you ask for more.”
Your pulse thrums at your throat, hot and sharp.
“I’d talk to you,” he murmurs. “Tell you what I’m doing. Tell you how fucking good you look while I’m doing it. Make sure you know every second that it’s about you.”
Your pulse thrums at your throat, hot and sharp.
You don’t say anything. You can’t.
Because Han is looking at you like he already has you spread out in his mind. Like he’s memorizing every microreaction, storing them away like he might need them later. Like he’s already tasting the sound you’ll make when he finally breaks you open.
Your voice comes out low. Barely there.
“That’s a lot of attention for one orgasm.”
Han’s mouth twitches. Not a smile. Not quite yet.
“I’m not aiming for one.”
You feel it in your chest—in your spine—the way his voice sinks into you. Low. Purposeful. Like he’s already in your skin, like the words themselves are a touch.
You can’t breathe.
He’s so close now, and still—still—not touching you. He could. He should. Your body is already leaning into the heat of him, legs still curled beneath you, the hem of your sleep shirt brushing high on your thighs. But he doesn’t move.
“Have you… done this before?”
He blinks. “Made someone come?”
You nod, quick, almost shy.
“Yeah.” His mouth lifts at one corner. “Why?”
You hesitate, eyes flicking over his face. “I… thought you were a virgin.”
Han blinks. Then he laughs—a soft, breathy thing that curls low in his throat.
“Wow,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks already going red. “That’s, uh… new.”
You’re not teasing anymore. Not really. Not with the way your eyes keep flicking over him—his mouth, his hands, the pink creeping up the slope of his neck. Not with how you’re sitting up straighter, how your thighs squeeze just slightly together without meaning to.
He notices.
And it flusters him, of course it does—he’s Han, after all. All nervous energy and soft-spoken charm. But there’s something else underneath it too. Something steady. Something you didn’t see before.
“You really think I’ve spent this much time listening to you fake it through the walls and didn’t fantasize about doing it better?”
Your breath catches. Hard.
His gaze doesn’t drop. Doesn’t falter.
And suddenly, you’re seeing him for what he is—really seeing him.
The slightly older boy next door. The dropout with big hands and bigger dreams. The quiet music producer who hides behind humor but notices everything. The same Han who always opened his door, always gave you the bed, always walked on the street side of the sidewalk—but now you realize he’s been wanting you the whole time.
And you missed it.
You look at him now—and you feel it.
The shift.
Because he’s still Han. Still hoodie-clad and sweet and overly cautious.
But he’s also a man.
And god, it’s hitting you all at once.
The way his eyes haven’t left your mouth. The way he says things like I’m not aiming for one with such quiet, devastating confidence. The way he can be so careful with you and still make your skin burn like he’s already touched you everywhere.
You swallow hard.
“So,” you murmur, voice dipping low, “you’ve done this before.”
His fingers twitch where they rest against his thigh. “Yeah.”
“How many girls?”
He blushes harder at that. Clears his throat. “I mean, not a lot.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“I’m not—” he fumbles, flustered now, voice high-pitched with embarrassment, “—like, I’m not some sex god, okay?”
You giggle. Can’t help it.
He glares, weakly. “Don’t look at me like that.”
You lean in. Let your voice soften. “Like what?”
He shifts under your gaze, eyes flicking down again before returning to yours. “Like you’re surprised.”
“I am,” you whisper.
And you are.
Surprised by the heat in your belly. Surprised by the tension in his jaw, the way he’s not looking away now. Surprised by the fact that the Han you thought you knew—the one who panicked over burnt rice and once apologized to a houseplant—is sitting in front of you, cheeks flushed, voice low, practically thrumming with restraint.
And the restraint is unraveling. You can see it. You can feel it.
His hand is still resting on his thigh. Tense. Useless.
You want it on you.
He must know, must feel the shift in the air, because he breathes out through his nose—shaky, controlled—and finally moves.
Not to kiss you.
Not yet.
Just slides closer, knees brushing yours. Hands braced on either side of your thighs like he’s holding himself back from climbing into your lap. Like if he gets too close, he won’t be able to stop.
His voice is soft when it comes. Careful.
“I don’t wanna mess this up.”
You blink. “What?”
“This,” he says, eyes darting between yours. “You. Us.”
Your heart kicks.
“I’m serious,” he adds. “If you want me to stop, I will. Even if I’ve already started. Even if you change your mind in the middle. I need you to know that.”
You just look at him.
At his flushed cheeks, his trembling fingers gripping the couch cushion, the way his eyes won’t stay still—darting to your mouth, your thighs, your eyes again.
You don’t know how to say what’s clawing up your throat. Don’t know how to explain that you’ve never felt like this. Like you could fall apart and not have to put yourself back together alone.
So instead, you reach for him.
You thread your fingers through his, bring his hand to your thigh—bare skin under the edge of your sleep shirt—and press it there, warm and waiting.
His breath stutters.
“Okay,” you whisper.
His breath stutters.
That’s all it takes.
His fingers flex against your thigh—just a twitch, nothing urgent. But the heat of them sinks in deep. You can feel how careful he’s being, how tightly he’s holding the leash on himself, like he doesn’t trust what’ll happen if he moves too fast.
You tilt your hips slightly. Just enough.
He moves.
Slides his hand higher, beneath the hem of your sleep shirt. Knuckles grazing soft skin, the inside of your thigh, and you’re already trembling. The anticipation is thick—so much thicker than anything that’s come before it. Your body’s aching and he hasn’t even touched you where you need it yet.
Han breathes out slowly. You can hear the effort it takes not to rush.
His fingers reach your panties.
They’re soaked. Clinging to you. And he makes a sound in the back of his throat when he feels it—somewhere between a sigh and a groan, like it’s hurting him, how wet you already are.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers.
“I’m trying not to.”
“You don’t have to,” he says, and leans in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “You can just let me take care of it.”
And you do.
You sink into the cushions and let his hand keep climbing. Let it trail over skin that’s already too hot, too tight, too aware. The hem of your shirt rides up over your hips as he moves, exposing soft skin and damp fabric.
He touches you through your panties first. Just a single stroke—up and down, slow, deliberate.
You jolt.
Your thighs twitch. Your hips tilt into his hand before you even mean to.
His fingers are steady. Gentle. No fumbling, no testing limits just to say he did. He strokes over the soaked cotton with maddening patience, slow enough that your body’s buzzing before he even slides them aside.
He strokes over the soaked cotton with maddening patience, slow enough that your body’s buzzing before he even slides them aside.
When he does, it’s with a breathless little sound—almost like awe.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice low and tight. “You’re so wet already.”
You shiver.
He doesn’t ask permission again. He doesn’t need to. Your legs fall open on instinct, your body already offering itself up like it’s been waiting for this. For him.
He dips his fingers into you with quiet care—just the first two, slow and unhurried, and it’s so much. Not just the stretch, not just the slick slide of it—it’s the way he groans like he can feel how good you feel around him. Like your body is turning him on just by existing.
“Holy shit,” he breathes. “How has no one made you cum?”
You whimper.
“Seriously,” he says, fingers curling slightly inside you, rubbing against that spot that makes your toes curl. “You’ve got the prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen. Wet and warm and just—fuck, baby.”
Your hips jolt when he says it—baby—and he notices. His mouth quirks.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, watching your face like it’s giving him instructions. “You like that. Being talked to while I fuck you with my fingers?”
You moan—helpless, high-pitched—and your hand shoots down to grab his wrist.
He stills immediately. “Too much?”
You shake your head. Or maybe you nod. You don’t even know anymore—your brain’s barely holding on, your body dragging you under, soaking up everything he gives like it’s the first drop of water in a drought.
He watches your reaction like it’s gospel. Like every twitch and gasp is holy.
“Thought so,” he says, and starts to move again—slow, controlled pumps of his fingers, careful not to lose that rhythm now that he’s found what works. The way your walls clench when he curls. The way your hips chase him when he retreats. The way your breath hitches when his palm drags across your clit just a little too hard.
And god, he uses it all.
“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes glued to where he’s working you open. “If this pussy was mine, I wouldn’t be able to leave you alone.”
You gasp.
“I’d keep you like this every night,” he says, voice thick now. “Stuffed, dripping, begging for it. Just like this.”
You keen, head falling back against the cushions, thighs straining around his wrist. Another twist of his fingers, another filthy curl, and you’re spiraling again—clenching, grinding, chasing something you’ve never actually caught before.
But it’s still not enough.
Close, so close. You can feel it in your gut, in the burn behind your eyes, in the way your whole body draws tight like a wire about to snap. But then it slips, slithers away like it always does, leaving you aching and wrung out and panting like you’ve been running in circles.
Han doesn’t stop.
He slows, sure. Eases off that pressure like he knows—like he felt the way you were peaking and watched it fall apart all over again.
Your breath stutters. Your hands tremble where they’re gripping the couch cushions. Your whole body shakes with the frustration of it.
Han looks fucking thrilled.
“Shit,” he whispers, eyes glued to the slick mess between your legs. “You’re gonna be a fucking problem, huh?
You whimper—shaky, half-desperate—and try to pull your legs closed, but his free hand slides up your thigh and keeps them open. He’s still panting, still hard in his sweats, and yet somehow entirely focused on you.
Your voice comes out broken. “I can’t—fuck, Han, I was so close—”
“I know, baby,” he murmurs, leaning over you. His fingers finally slip free, soaked and shining, and he brings them to his mouth like it’s nothing. Like tasting you is just a thing he does between breaths. “You’re so fucking pretty can’t believe no one’s ever made you come.”
He sucks one finger between his lips, humming low in his throat, and your entire body jerks.
He grins around his knuckle. Blushy. Sweet. Still Han, somehow—except his eyes are dark now, slow-burning, locked onto you with intent.
And when he speaks, it’s not teasing. It’s reverent.
“I knew you’d taste good,” he murmurs, dragging his hand down your thigh again. “Didn’t think you’d ruin me this fast, though.”
You squirm, still reeling from the touch of his fingers, still aching from how close you came—how it slipped just out of reach. Your panties are somewhere around your knees now, tangled and damp, and your thighs are trembling despite the warmth of the room.
But Han doesn’t give you time to settle.
He drops back down between your legs like it’s instinct.
Like he belongs there.
You brace for it—his mouth, his tongue—but nothing prepares you for how intentional it is.
Because when he licks you, it’s not just lust. It’s devotion.
The first press of his tongue is slow, hot, drawn out like he’s tasting something forbidden. It drags through your folds, slick and maddening, before he pulls back just slightly and exhales a shaky breath against your cunt like it’s worship.
“Fuck,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “You’re so fucking sweet. So wet—dripping for me, baby.”
Your hips jerk. A soft moan tears from your throat, helpless and startled.
He hums at the sound. And then his tongue is on you again—lapping, curling, sliding in lazy circles around your clit, not rushed, not rough. Patient.
But it’s overwhelming.
Too much and somehow still not enough.
You gasp, spine arching. Your thighs twitch against his shoulders again and he presses his hands there—holding you open, keeping you still. His grip is firm, grounding. Gentle only in contrast to the way he eats you.
He groans low when your hips roll, when your slick coats his lips and chin. Like it turns him on more than anything else. Like this is the part he needs.
He devours you like he’s starved for it.
Like he’s been thinking about this—you—for longer than he’s willing to admit. Tongue slow but deliberate, savoring every stroke, every gasp you give him. He doesn’t speak now, doesn’t need to. The sounds alone—your moans, the wet suck of his mouth, the way your breath stutters every time he flattens his tongue against your clit—say enough.
But it’s your reactions that do it. The way your body jumps every time he moves just right. The way your hands scramble for the couch cushions, for him, like you don’t know what else to hold onto. The way your thighs clamp around his head when he groans into your cunt.
That’s when he realizes.
You’ve never been eaten out before.
It hits him all at once—in the way you shiver, in the way your body doesn’t quite know how to take the pleasure he’s giving. There’s something raw about it. Uncharted. Holy.
He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tease. Just lets the knowledge settle deep in his chest like a vow.
So he slows down. Not to drag it out—to care. To guide you through it.
He pulls back just slightly, presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another one, lower, softer. You can feel his breath against your skin, shaky and uneven, like you are unraveling him just by letting him do this.
He kisses down, worshipful, open-mouthed presses of tongue and lips trailing toward where you’re slick and trembling—until he’s back on you, groaning deep in his chest like he needs this to survive.
He laps at your cunt like a man obsessed. Messy, wet, obscene.
His tongue flicks fast over your clit, sloppy and relentless, and when you whimper—high and panicked—his hands tighten on your thighs, dragging them wider, pushing you open like he can’t get enough. His nose presses into the soft swell of you and his mouth won’t stop.
And god—god, the noises.
The slick suck of his mouth, the soft wet licks between your folds, the broken, wanton moans he keeps letting out like your taste is fucking euphoric.
Your thighs are trembling against his cheeks, toes curling against the cushions, hands fisting in the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this plane of existence. Every time you start to come down, he drags you right back up—tongue flicking, then flattening, then sucking.
You’re soaking him. You know it. Can feel the slick mess coating his lips, his chin, now—but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t even flinch. Just dives in deeper, grinds his mouth against you like it’s the only thing that matters.
And maybe it is.
You’ve never made sounds like this before. Never felt anything like this. It’s a full-body unraveling—pleasure so raw and high-pitched it’s almost unbearable. You can’t even find words anymore. You try—gasp out his name, maybe a plea, maybe a warning—but it’s just breath. Just noise.
He hears it anyway.
Groans in response, and the vibration shoots through you—tightens every nerve, every muscle. You feel it everywhere. In your spine, in your belly, in your fucking teeth.
He licks through your folds like he’s trying to commit the shape of you to memory, tongue dragging over your clit in slow, hard laps now—intentional, devastating. One hand lets go of your thigh to slide underneath you, to lift your hips, tilt you toward his mouth like an offering.
Like you’re his altar and he’s ready to worship.
You don’t even realize you're crying until the tears hit your cheeks—silent and sudden, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it, the depth of it, the relentlessness of him.
Jisung doesn’t notice.
Or maybe he does and just thinks it’s holy.
Because he’s still moaning against your cunt like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Like this is salvation. Like this is his first time, too.
The warmth is unbearable. Sharp and sweet and all-consuming, climbing up your spine in thick, molten waves that won’t stop—won’t let you go. Your muscles are locking up, your breath catching in your throat, your fingers cramping from how tight you're clenching the cushions.
You’re going to break.
You know it.
You want to.
And he just keeps going—tongue pressed flat and firm against your clit now, dragging in slow, filthy circles while his lips suck softly, reverently, like he’s trying to love you apart piece by piece.
You feel it snap somewhere deep inside you.
The heat—the ache—the need—it peaks.
And then it bursts..
Your thighs clamp around his head, your hips jerk off the couch, your moan rips loose from your throat like you’ve been silenced your whole life and this is the only language your body ever needed to speak.
You’re cumming. Hard. Helpless.
Everything pulses—your cunt, your chest, your fingers. Every nerve is alight, every inch of you clenched and shaking, your whole body seized in the grip of something so big you can’t name it.
And Jisung doesn’t stop.
Not when your legs twitch.
Not when your body tries to squirm away.
Not even when you sob his name, high and wrecked, too sensitive to breathe.
He eats it up. Literally.
Groaning low in his throat, nose pressed to your mound, tongue still working your clit like he wants to wring another orgasm out of you before this one’s even ended. You try to stop him, legs trembling, fingers pushing at his hair with barely any strength behind them.
But he just moans again, long and loud and ruined, the vibration shooting straight through your core.
“H-Han—” you gasp, voice cracked and teary.
But he can’t stop. He won’t.
You’ve broken open for him—shattered for him—and it’s like something inside him snapped too. His mouth keeps moving, lapping through your folds like he’s addicted, like he needs the taste of you to live, sucking every drop from your body like he’s trying to memorize it.
You try again to push him off. This time with real effort. A desperate shove, your fingers fisting in his hair and yanking—not hard, not mean, but urgent.
“Han, please—”
He finally pulls back.
Gasps.
His chest is heaving. His mouth is slick and swollen, the lower half of his face soaked in your release, and he blinks up at you like he forgot where he is.
“Shit—fuck, I’m sorry, I—” he pants, voice wrecked, dazed.
Then he looks down.
And groans.
Because you’re still dripping.
Slick pooling out of you, slow and obscene, catching the light as it runs in glistening streaks down the curve of your pussy and the swell of your ass, soaking the couch beneath you.
And he can’t help himself.
His hands slide up your thighs again—possessive, reverent—and before you can stop him, he leans back in.
One long, filthy lick—from your entrance to your clit—slurping up everything you spilled. He moans as it hits his tongue, deep and satisfied, and swirls it around like he’s tasting honey.
He pulls back just far enough to look at you.
Face flushed, lips swollen and slick, chin glossy with your release. His eyes are glassy—fucked-out and starving and soft in a way that shouldn’t match the filth of what he just did to you. But somehow it does.
Somehow, it makes it worse.
He’s panting like he just ran miles. Sweat dampens his curls, his hoodie clings to his chest, and his cock is still straining hard against his sweats—visibly aching. But he doesn’t even look at himself. Doesn’t even care.
He’s still looking at you.
At the mess he made.
At your cunt—pink and soaked and fluttering with aftershocks, spread open on the couch like he carved you out just for him.
And he fucking smiles.
“Jesus,” he breathes, dragging his thumb along your inner thigh, slow and lazy, eyes still locked on the slick between your legs. “You’re unreal.”
You’re still trembling—wrung out, flushed, completely silent now except for the shattered sound of your breath.
But he isn’t done.
Not really.
Because then his thumb moves—trails closer, closer, until it’s swiping through the slick seam of you, collecting it, spreading it.
You flinch, hips twitching, breath hitching on a wrecked little gasp.
He freezes.
“Sorry—shit, sorry,” he murmurs, voice gone soft in the edges. “You’re probably so fucking sensitive right now.”
You nod, dazed. Barely. You’re not even sure you meant to.
But his eyes drop back down—and the sight of your cunt twitching under his touch, the way slick is still dripping out of you, slow and shiny, pooling where your thighs meet—
It short-circuits whatever restraint he had left.
“Can I…” he starts, already leaning in again, lips parted, breath ragged. “Just—one more taste, baby. Please.”
And before you can answer, he’s there again.
Licking into you.
Tongue flat and greedy, slow and deep, sliding through the wreckage he left behind like he needs it to breathe. He moans—loud—when it coats his tongue, when it drips down his chin, when he presses another kiss to your clit like he’s thanking it for everything.
You can’t stop shaking.
From how tender he’s being while still devouring you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. From how overwhelmed your body feels—stretched between too much and not enough, oversensitive but still wanting.
He doesn’t rush now. Doesn’t try to make you cum again.
This is different.
It’s reverent. Like he’s cleaning you up with his mouth, dragging his tongue through every slick drop, pressing soft kisses into the mess like he’s trying to soothe the tremble in your thighs.
You whimper, just once—raw and hoarse.
That’s when he stops for real.
You sigh into his mouth, quiet and trembling, the kind of sound that only comes when everything inside you is raw—peeled back, exposed, open. He swallows it like it’s precious. Like it matters.
His hand at your waist shifts, pulling you gently forward until your chest brushes his. You’re still bare from the waist down—thighs sticky, breath uneven—and he’s still clothed, still hard, still aching beneath his sweats.
But he doesn’t grind against you.
Doesn’t ask for anything.
He just holds you.
Your knees fall around his hips, lazy and loose, and his thumb strokes the hinge of your jaw—slow, absent, like he needs the contact to stay calm.
The kiss deepens. Not with hunger. With heat. With reverence. His lips move against yours like he wants to memorize the shape of your mouth, your breath, the taste of your tongue mixed with your own arousal.
You break first—pulling back just a fraction to breathe, eyes fluttering open.
He’s already looking at you.
And there’s something in his gaze that wasn’t there before. Something stunned. Struck. Soft.
He whispers, “You okay?”
You nod. Maybe too fast. You feel stripped down to something small and shaking, something new—but his hand doesn’t leave you. His thumb still brushes your cheek. His chest still rises and falls like he’s feeling everything with you.
You whisper back, “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”
Jisung exhales a laugh—wrecked and wrecking.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning forward again to press a kiss to your cheek, then another to your temple. “Then I guess we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
You don’t even realize you’re smiling until he kisses it. Presses his lips right there, at the corner of your mouth, so gentle it makes your eyes sting all over again.
There’s a beat of silence—thick and golden, warm between the ruined rhythm of your breathing.
Then he asks, quieter this time, “Can I hold you for a while?”
The crowd pours out of the auditorium like a tide—caps slightly askew, diplomas clutched tight, families gathered in little clusters of congratulations and cameras. Laughter. Shouts. The click of heels and the flutter of gowns. You scan the crowd, heart racing, eyes darting.
And then you see him.
Leaning awkwardly against a tree, holding a slightly crumpled bouquet of grocery store flowers and dressed in the nicest outfit you’ve ever seen him wear. Still a hoodie—because he’s him—but it’s black and clean and zipped halfway up over a plain white tee. His hair’s been pushed back, curls tamed, face soft in the sunlight.
Like he wanted to look good.
For you.
You run.
Full sprint, no hesitation. Laughing, radiant, the hem of your gown flying behind you. And Jisung barely has time to react before you crash into his arms—legs wrapping around his waist, face buried in his neck.
He catches you without thinking. Arms locked tight around your back, holding you like the whole world could fall away and he’d still have you.
“Jesus—hi,” he breathes, stunned, grinning into your shoulder.
“You came,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to look at him, eyes glassy and sunlit.
“Of course I came,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “I wouldn’t miss this.”
You swallow, smile trembling just a little. You’re still holding your cap too tightly. Still searching the crowd behind him, over his shoulder, behind trees and between cars—hoping.
And Jisung sees it.
Sees the flicker in your expression when you realize no one else is coming. No familiar voices calling your name. No parents weaving through the crowd, late and disheveled but here. Nothing.
Just him.
You try to play it off—force a smile, tilt your head.
But Jisung just exhales, jaw tight, eyes warm and sharp.
“Hey,” he says softly, tipping your chin up. “Fuck ‘em.”
Your breath hitches—more from the way he says it than what he says. No apology. No pity. Just truth, blunt and biting and yours.
“Fuck ‘em,” he says again, firmer this time. “They don’t get to take this from you.”
And something in you cracks. Not the kind that breaks—the kind that lets light in.
Your cap slips from your hand to the pavement. You don’t even notice. You just lean forward and let your forehead rest against his, eyes fluttering shut as the noise of the world fades away.
“I thought it wouldn’t matter,” you whisper. “That I didn’t care.”
He nods like he already knew. Lets his hand fall to the small of your back, thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of your gown.
“But it does,” you admit.
“Of course it does,” he murmurs. “You deserved more than this.”
You pull in a shaky breath. Exhale. Nod against him.
And then you laugh—quiet, almost startled. “God, you look nice.”
He pulls back just enough to give you a crooked smile. “You noticed?”
You sniffle, wiping under your eyes. “You did your hair.”
“I used product and everything,” he says solemnly, and that makes you laugh for real this time. His face lights up at the sound. Then, like he remembers something, his eyes go wide and he fumbles for something in his pocket.
“Wait—here. Got you something.”
You raise a brow as he pulls out a pair of slightly beat-up white AirPods and holds them out like they’re wrapped in silk.
“Your... earwax?” you tease, voice still thick, but lighter now.
Jisung groans, face going red. “Just put them in, smartass.”
You give him a look, lips twitching like you’re holding back another laugh, but you take them. Slip them in with practiced ease, still smirking, still sniffling a little.
And then—
You hear it.
Soft at first. A low, warm hum of synth. That familiar piano progression you’ve heard a hundred times echoing from his bedroom speakers, half-finished and always evolving. A quiet heartbeat of static underneath, the sound of something personal, unfinished—
But not this time.
Now it’s whole.
The bass comes in slow. The melody rises. The rhythm finds its footing like it’s been waiting for you.
Then his voice.
His voice.
Low. Raw. Stripped back and unfiltered, like he recorded it in the middle of the night, barefaced and half asleep. It’s not polished. It’s intimate. Each lyric laid out like a confession, like he’s pressing it directly into your chest.
You freeze.
Your mouth parts, but no words come out. You just stare at him—eyes wide, breath caught, the world suddenly nothing but him and the song in your ears.
Jisung watches you closely, fidgeting, clearly trying to read your face.
“I, uh… I finally finished it,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Track 12. I—kind of stayed up all night working on it. Wanted you to be the first to hear it.”
You swallow hard. “You—wrote this… for me?”
He nods, sheepish. “Well, yeah. Who the fuck else would it be for?”
You blink at him, still stunned, still half-floating somewhere between the melody and his smile.
The music wraps around you like a secret, like sunlight through a window. His voice in your ears. His eyes on your face. His hands fidgeting at his sides, picking at the edge of his hoodie sleeve, suddenly nervous like he didn’t just lay his heart bare in a three-minute track.
And then he says it.
Quiet. Almost like it slips out.
“I’m in love with you.”
Your breath stutters.
He panics a little, eyes going wide, hands gesturing now like he’s trying to physically catch the words and shove them back into his mouth.
“I mean—not in like, a weird, ‘I wrote you a song and now you have to marry me’ way. I just—I’ve been in love with you for a while, and I didn’t know how to say it. And then I kept not saying it, and then you let me eat you out on your couch and I was like, oh cool, guess I’m definitely in love with her—”
You stare at him.
Mouth slightly open. Ears still ringing with his voice from the track. Face flushed from the heat of him and the way he’s unraveling in front of you, hands flailing, words tumbling out too fast, too honest, too him.
“And now I’m saying it,” he rushes on, breath hitching. “And maybe it’s too soon or maybe it’s stupid but—fuck, I don’t care. I love you. And I don’t just mean in the afterglow, post-head, 'wow-she’s-so-pretty-when-she’s-cumming' kind of way—which, like, you are—but I mean in the real way. In the way where I think about you all the time and you’re in my music and my coffee and my fucking laundry detergent because you smell like it now—”
You cut him off with a laugh—soft and stunned, the kind that comes from something blooming too fast in your chest. Your hands reach for him instinctively, palms pressed to his chest like you’re trying to slow his heart down, or maybe match yours to it.
Then lean up and kiss him.
He melts into it—hands landing on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll float off if he doesn’t hold you down. His mouth is soft, a little shaky, like he still can’t believe this is happening. Like he’s kissing you with both hands behind his back, offering up his heart like a truce.
When you pull back, your forehead rests against his.
You’re smiling. He is too, in that breathless, stunned way—like you’ve both finally exhaled.
“I’m in love with you too,” you whisper.
He chokes out a sound. Somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. “No shit?”
You nod. “No shit.”
Jisung blinks, then grins—slow and wide and boyish.
He just stands there, still holding you, like his body hasn’t caught up with what just happened.
Like he's trying to memorize this moment—your smile, your closeness, the soft heat of your hands resting over his heart.
He opens his mouth like he wants to say something else. Closes it again.
Then settles for a quiet, breathless, “...Okay.”
You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Okay?”
He nods, dazed. “Yeah. Just… okay. Everything’s okay now.”
You lean into his chest, let your head fall to his shoulder. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for months. His arms wrap around your waist again, this time more certain. More steady.
And for a moment, neither of you says anything.
The crowd is still bustling in the background. Cameras flashing. Tassels swinging. Parents calling names that don’t belong to you. The sound of it used to sting—but not now. Not with him holding you like this. Not with the song still echoing in your ears, a private chorus written just for you.
You glance up. “So what now?”
He looks down at you, still smiling like he doesn’t know how to stop.
“We go home,” he says. “Order too much food. Fall asleep on the couch. Pretend we’re not both crying during The Office reruns.”
You snort. “That’s your big plan?”
He leans in, nudges your nose with his. “No,” he murmurs, softer now. “My big plan is to love you for a really, really long time.”
Your heart stutters.
And it’s so simple—so quiet, so uncomplicated—but it wraps around you like warmth, settles deep in your bones like something you forgot you were allowed to want.
You tip forward and kiss him again, just once. Just enough.
“Sounds like a good plan,” you whisper.
He grins. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Eventually, your fingers find his, threading together as the crowd begins to thin. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, grounding and sure.
You glance down at the flowers, still clutched in your other hand—slightly crushed, petals soft and folding in from the heat. But they’re yours. Someone showed up. Someone stayed.
You’re walking away with his hand in yours, the sun dipping low behind you, the final track still playing softly in your head.
EPISODE 1: HELP! MY HOT GIRLFRIEND CAUGHT ME CRYING AFTER GIVING HEAD! (NOT CLICKBAIT)
this is smut, do not interact if under 18
jisung thought tutoring the hottest girl on campus would ruin his GPA— not his pants. one month later, he’s somehow getting called ‘pretty’ mid-thrust and offering you pocky as a post-orgasm snack.
pairing: nerd!han jisung x popular!f!reader, established relationship genre/tags: college au, smut, fluff, jisung is a loser with a capital L, humor sprinkled in bc i’m unserious asf, lots of references to anime and other dumb stuff, lowkey perv!jisung, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), piv, protected s*x, kinda subby!jisung but he’s still a whore lol words: 5.4k (wasn’t expecting it to be this long… guess i yap too much)
[ note. ] — i had to make another nerd!ji fic bc i literally cannot stop thinking about him 😣 feel free to read my other fic for more context since it’s set in the same universe but i wanted to make a smut ver so here we areeee <33 also, i will be making more parts eventually, hence why it’s labeled as ‘episode 1’ so stay tuned for more !
cross posted to AO3
Jisung thought for sure that was going to die a virgin. Not in a sad, self-loathing kind of way, but more in a “yeah, that checks out,” kind of way. The type of peaceful resignation one might have while unplugging a broken router for the eighth time before crying into a bowl of instant ramen. Because guys like him— guys who quoted Dragon Ball Z unironically, who panicked when girls sat next to them in lecture halls, who built custom keyboards for fun and screamed at League. They didn’t date girls like you.
And they most definitely didn’t sleep with girls like you.
Still, that didn’t keep him from fantasizing. Constantly, shamelessly, unhingedly.
He’d never known what it felt like to have warm walls wrapped around his cock. Never heard those broken whines girls in hentai would make— unless he counted the ones he accidentally let out when he edged himself too long. His hand was simply never enough, no matter how many times he convinced himself he could “recreate the pressure.”
The bottle of lotion and box of tissues on his nightstand weren’t even hidden anymore— they sat like holy relics beside his gaming PC, ready for immediate access the second he closed League and opened incognito mode.
Porn never fully satisfied his craving though, he always wanted more. Even the best JAV compilation or doujinshi fan dub couldn’t compare to the real sickness consuming his brain: you.
You, with the glossy Instagram that he scrolled through like it was the damn Louvre. You, wearing micro bikinis in pool selfies with captions like ‘hot girl summer’ while he rots in bed, sweating and crying at the curvature of your ass.
You, biting your glittery, gel pen in class, leaning across the desk to ask for help, accidentally flashing a glimpse of cleavage so dangerous it made him pause mid-equation like he got hit with a stun grenade. Stalking your Instagram, seeing you in the tiniest baby tees and mini skirts. It was the perfect gooner material.
He’d stroke himself under the covers while biting a t-shirt to keep quiet, muttering your name between gasps like he was summoning a spirit. Fantasies playing out in his head that ranged from soft and romantic— like kissing you breathless during office hours— to completely feral, like bending you over his anime pillow while you called him “pretty boy” and ruined his life.
It didn’t help that you flirted with him now.
That you asked him to tutor you.
That you sat so close during study sessions he could sense your perfume from a mile away and taste the salt from the fries you always stole off his plate.
You laughed at his jokes, called him cute, even once said he had “nice hands,” and he nearly evaporated on the spot. Had to excuse himself to the bathroom with a boner and a prayer.
Every night ended the same. Him, fisting his cock in pathetic desperation at the thought of your pussy swallowing him whole, whispering ‘please’ like a man on the verge of religious enlightenment.
And every night, after he came all over his own stomach, out of breath and guilt-ridden, he’d sigh dramatically and say,
“I’m going to die alone. I know it. I’ll be the guy with the Zero Two body pillow and the unopened condom pack from 2017 that he keeps in case of a miracle.”
He did not, under any circumstances, expect you to be that miracle.
Never in a million years did he think he’d actually have a chance, let alone be dating you. You were just too perfect. The literal girl of his dreams.
Popular. Gorgeous. Cool in the kind of way that made any and everyone want to be around you without knowing why. You had that magnetic charm about you, an easily contagious laugh, a confident stride when you walk, and that dangerous habit of licking your lip gloss mid-sentence like you were in a CW drama.
And yet, somehow, here he was, currently horizontal on his bed, shirtless, breathless, with you on top of him wearing his oversized Bleach t-shirt and not much else, grinning like you’d just won first place in a science fair and a dance battle.
“Are you glitching?” You asked, poking his cheek. “Do I need to unplug you and plug you back in?”
“I- uh- w-what? No- yes? No.” He stuttered like every word had just magically left his vocabulary, he was definitely malfunctioning.
You laughed, head dropping onto his bare chest as he laid stiff as a board, arms hovering midair like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you even now. Even after dating you for a whole month.
“A month,” he whispered, still stunned by the timeline. “That’s like… thirty days of you voluntarily being seen with me.”
“Thirty one,” you corrected, lifting your head to smirk down at him. “Don’t forget the bonus day where you kissed me in front of the vending machine and the entire basketball team clapped.”
“I thought I was going to throw up.”
“You looked like you did throw up.”
Jisung covered his face with both hands and groaned.
God, he still didn’t know how this happened. When you had asked him to tutor you in stats, he assumed you were just kidding— or high. But you weren’t. You’d actually shown up. You’d flirted, sat on his lap one time when all the seats were taken at the library, and then acted like it was no big deal while his soul left his body.
And now here you were. Straddling him. Teasing him. Literally wearing his t-shirt with the anime print on it and calling him “baby” in the kind of voice that should be illegal.
“You’re so tense, Sungie,” you murmur, lightly dragging your fingers down his chest. “I know you like it when I touch you. You make these cute little gasps like a baby bird.”
“I-I don’t sound like a baby bird,” he mumbled, absolutely sounding like a baby bird.
You leaned down, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“Chirp.”
Jisung squeaked.
You lost it, giggling into his neck while he covered his blushy face with a pillow. “Oh my god, stopp- why are you like this- why did you choose me,”
“Because you’re smart, and sweet, and you get all flustered when I call you hot. And because,” you sat up again, hips rolling ever so slightly and watching his pupils blow wide as you rocked against his clothed erect, “you say things like ‘This is just like my fanfic’ under your breath and then deny it.”
He groaned at the sudden friction, arms falling limp at his sides. “You heard that?”
“Babe, I hear everything. Like right now, I can hear how bad you want me to ride you.” You bit your lip, feeling your wetness growing at a rapid pace as you continuously grind on him.
Jisung whimpered. “Okay. I- this is really happening, right? This isn’t like, some kind of VR dream or like a… cursed hentai plotline where I wake up and you’re actually a sentient toaster?”
You blinked. “What the hell kind of anime are you watching?”
He slapped a hand over his eyes. “Nevermind, pretend I didn’t say that..”
You kissed him then. Slowly. Tenderly. Like you had all the time in the world and like you couldn’t believe your luck either. Because yeah, you were the cool girl, but Jisung was the first guy who actually listened when you talked. Who remembered your favorite boba order. Who’d stayed up until 3 am tutoring you and still walked you to your dorm with sleepy, nerdy affection twinkling in his eyes.
So yeah, you were gonna roast him forever— but you were also gonna ruin him tonight.
“Hey, baby,” you whispered, reaching down to tug his sweatpants lower.
Jisung was in the midst of catching his breath like he’d just run a marathon. “Y-yeah?”
“After I make you cum, will you tell me all about the sentient toaster anime?”
“…Maybe.”
+
“Okay,” Jisung panted, curling into your side like a baby koala clinging to its mother, “that was better than every hentai I’ve ever seen.”
You snorted into his shoulder. “High praise coming from the man who owns a $300 body pillow.”
“She was limited edition!” He quickly defends himself.
You playfully roll your eyes, kissing his flushed cheek. “So are you, Sungie. So are you.”
And yeah, Jisung still thought he was going to die a virgin once upon a time.
But now, wrapped in your arms with kiss marks littering his neck and your laughter still echoing in his ears— he was just really, really glad that he’s been proven wrong.
+
The moment you straddled Jisung and kissed him again, something shifted in the room.
And not just him having an outer-body experience for the sixth time in an hour.
You pulled back from his lips to look around, and the first thing you said was, “Okay, I have to say it- your room is the most aggressively virgin-coded space I’ve ever been in.”
“I told you not to look too closely!” He whined, burying his face into your neck as you giggled and craned to inspect the chaos surrounding you.
“Let’s see…” you started ticking things off on your imaginary list. “Anime wall scrolls? Check. Neon RGB light strips that make your room look like a gaming dungeon? Check. Is that Hatsune Miku in a glass case next to middle school spelling bee trophies?”
He groaned. “They’re collector’s items—”
“You were runner-up in 8th grade and you framed it.”
“I peaked early, okay?!”
You laughed so hard you fell forward onto his chest. “I love you.”
He froze. “Wh-what?”
You blinked. “I said I love you.”
He looked like you’d just offered him a lifetime supply of ramen and also stabbed him in the heart.
“…I love you too,” he whispered, barely getting it out before he hid under the covers.
You tugged the blanket back down just enough to see his red face. “Hey. Don’t hide. I wanna see you. Look so pretty when you blush.”
“PRETTY?!” He yelped.
You nodded in confirmation, brushing hair off his forehead. “Mmhm. Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. Especially like this- messy hair, pink cheeks, all breathless under me…”
He made the most broken noise you’d ever heard.
His hands gripped your hips like he didn’t know what to do with them, like he was trying not to crush you or himself with how desperate he felt. His eyes were dark now, glazed and locked onto your every move as you slowly ground against the bulge in his sweats.
“This is real, right?” He meant to ask that in his head but blurted it out instead, voice slightly cracking. “This is really happening?”
You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Feels pretty real to me, baby.”
At this point Jisung was spiraling.
Not just emotionally. No, that happened daily.
This was a full-system shutdown.
You’d tugged your shirt off without warning and smiled down at him like it was the most casual thing in the world, and now his hands were hovering awkwardly mid-air like he wasn’t sure if he had permission to touch you or if he was being Punk’d by the gods of horny delusion.
Your skin. Your smile. Your fucking tits.
And worse— worse— as your fingers brushed through his messy brown locks and your thighs shifted over his hips, his brain suddenly screamed,
‘I can’t believe I’m about to get pussy before Jeongin.’
Jeongin, his slightly cooler, slightly taller, still-a-virgin roommate who had three rotating Discord kittens and a suspicious amount of cologne but somehow still never scored.
Jeongin, who walked around shirtless after push-up sessions and said things like “it’s not rizz, it’s charisma” unironically. Jeongin, who once said “I want my first time to be passionate and respectful” but also accidentally downloaded a virus trying to pirate a hentai dating sim.
Jisung had always assumed if one of them was gonna make it out of virginhood first, it’d be the guy with the Uzumaki clan symbol tattooed on his ribs and a social life.
But no.
It was him. Han Jisung. The guy who owned a limited-edition anime titty mousepad and squeaked like a kettle when a girl touched his arm. And now? You were grinding up against him slowly, teasingly, and he was barely clinging to reality.
“Y/n,” he whimpered, clutching your waist like you’d float away. “Can I- can I eat you out? Pleasepleaseplease.”
You blinked rapidly.
“…You wanna—?”
“So bad,” he choked. “I think about it all the time. Like in class. And when I watch those ‘how to’ videos online. Like, the diagram ones, not the porn ones, though I watched those too- but like educationally! For science!”
You stared blankly.
He was sweating.
“Okay,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’re really cute when you beg, y’know that?”
He nearly ascended.
You barely had time to giggle before he flipped you gently onto your back, hair falling into his eyes as he ducked down between your thighs like a man on a mission from God. His hands trembled as he slid your shorts down, breath hitching at the sight of your soaked panties.
“Oh my god,” he breathed out. “It’s real.”
You snorted. “What were you expecting? A hologram?”
“I don’t know!” He cried. “I was starting to believe you were some kind of high-level succubus sent to punish virgins.”
You cupped his flushed face. “Wouldn’t be the worst punishment.”
And then he locks in— eyes meeting yours as he sticks his tongue out, licking a long, fat stripe across your clothed slit. Soft. Slow. As if he was trying to memorize you with his tongue, the heat of it makes you jolt. He’s not just tasting you— he’s learning you, tracing intricate patterns with his tongue like he’s trying to decode you one flick at a time. Every motion is precise yet hungry, like he’s writing a love letter in Morse code directly to your pussy. His glasses slipping adorably down the bridge of his nose, solely focused on pleasing you.
You gasped at the feel of him against you, the pressure of his mouth sent heat curling low in your belly, it was torture. Too much and not enough. You needed to feel him without the barrier of soaked lace clinging to your folds, and he must’ve read your mind, because he groaned like he was the one being denied. He kissed your pussy like he was thanking it, mouthing over your clothed core before dragging open-mouthed kisses across your inner thighs, leaving your skin slick with spit and bites to your inner thighs. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, everything about him felt so warm.
His teeth grazed you— playful, hungry— and your hips twitched as he whispered something nasty under his breath, half to himself, half to your cunt. By the time he slid your panties down, your thighs were trembling, tossing the flimsy fabric aside carelessly, like he didn’t care where they landed, only that they were gone. Then he buried his face between your legs like you’d been starving him for his entire life.
His tongue slipped between your folds, hot and greedy, lapping up everything you gave him like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. He flicked up and down with obscene precision, wet, messy, relentless— his nose bumping your clit as he moaned deep in his throat, like he needed this, like the taste of you could make or break him. You were soaked, legs shaking, lips parted in a silent cry, and all he did was keep eating like he was trying to crawl inside you with his tongue.
You were loving the way it feels, every bit of you being hit with electricity. Your fingers tangled in his hair the second his mouth met your pussy, gripping tight, yanking just enough to make him groan into you like he was grateful for the pain. He never slowed down. If anything, it made him hungrier, tongue flattening against your slit before flicking up again, sloppy and fast and fucking filthy.
“God- fuck, you’re so messy,” you gasped, thighs twitching around his head. “You like that? Being my dirty little mouth toy?”
He moaned. Moaned. Into your pussy.
Nodding obediently, even as you tugged harder, grinding him closer. His glasses were long gone, hair disheveled, chin dripping with spit and slick as he slurred out something unintelligible against your clit. His tongue working overtime like he was trying to spell your name in cursive with every flick.
“Holy shit,” he mumbled, words caught in his throat. “I could live here.”
You threw your head back with a laugh— and then a sharp gasp as he got bolder, messier, more desperate. His hands kept you spread, his tongue curling and licking and worshipping like this was the only chance he’d ever get. He was sure that he’d jizz his pants just from giving you head— sure it’s pathetic, maybe even tragic. But he couldn’t help it. You were just too hot, too perfect, too fucking unreal, and the taste of you on his tongue, the feel of your thighs squeezing around his head, it was better than anything his fist or filthy imagination had ever given him.
Your fingers remain tangled in his hair, holding onto him for anchorage. He looked up at you with glassy, pleading eyes, the lower half of his face glistening with your arousal and rosy cheeks. “Tell me I’m doing okay? Please? I read five articles about this. I practiced on a peach.”
You gasped. “You practiced on what?!”
“Nevermind. Just- keep calling me pretty. I swear I’ll die happy right here.”
You tugged his head back down, voice ragged and ruined.
“Then make me cum, pretty boy.”
And he did.
Like a man with something to prove.
Like a nerdy little virgin who had just found his true calling.
Your eyes closed shut at the feeling, falling apart at the seams. Every stroke of his tongue making your insides tighten. You suddenly couldn’t remember how breathing worked, all you saw were flashes of white invading your vision, cumming so hard that you almost saw stars. You cried out, high and broken, hands grasping at his head as you came hard against his mouth.
Jisung moaned through it— loud and messy— tongue never letting up, licking you through every twitch, every gasp, every last jolt of overstimulation until you were tugging at his hair for dear life and gasping for air. Only then did he pull back, lips shiny, eyes half-lidded, face absolutely drenched, and smiling like he just beat the final boss of his entire life.
Somewhere in the past twenty minutes between Jisung nuzzling your thighs like a man starved and moaning like he was the one cumming, you had apparently blacked out, transcended the mortal plane, and been reborn as a puddle of girl.
Now, you lay sprawled across his unmade bed, fully clothed from the waist up and violently ruined from the waist down, chest heaving, eyes wet and glassy, one sock half-off your foot like a casualty of war.
And Jisung?
Jisung was cuddled up beside you like the world’s horniest golden retriever, chin resting on your shoulder, looking so smug and soft it was almost offensive.
You could still feel the ghost of his tongue between your legs.
“You sure you’ve never done this before?” You croaked out, blinking up at the ceiling like it had answers.
Jisung tilted his head innocently. “What, that? Nah. I just… researched. A lot. And I… uh, practiced on a fruit.”
You turned your head slowly. “Was it the peach again?”
“…It might’ve also been a mango. For tongue agility. But I named it after you, so it was romantic!”
You tried to snort, but it came out as a wheeze. “I can’t feel my legs, Jisung.”
He beamed. “Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Still taking it as one.”
He leaned in and kissed your cheek, then your nose, then your forehead like he hadn’t just destroyed your entire nervous system with his mouth.
“I feel like I just unlocked a secret side quest,” he victoriously cheered. “‘Satisfy hot girlfriend until she sees God.’ Bonus XP for oral stamina. Am I your favorite now?”
You blinked at him, still fighting for air. “I don’t even know my name right now. You’ve ruined me.”
Jisung squeaked and tucked his face into your neck, practically vibrating with joy. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
“You should. I saw the afterlife. It was just a video game buffering screen.”
He laughed, then rolled onto his back with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe this is real. You’re real. Your thighs are real. I had a girlfriend and head privileges all in the same night. I feel like I need to call my mom.”
“Please don’t.”
“Too late. She deserves to know her son peaked.”
You smacked him lightly with the nearest pillow, still grasping for air, still dazed.
And then he smiled at you— so big, so genuine, so sickeningly in love that your tired heart clenched.
“I’d do it again in a heartbeat, y’know,” he mumbled, brushing hair from your face. “Just say the word.”
You looked at him, the boy with anime figures on his shelf, lotion still on his desk, and love in his eyes, pulling him in for a kiss.
“Next time,” you whispered, “I’m returning the favor.”
Mindlessly reaching into his sweats, the second your hand wrapped around his length, you froze.
“…Jisung.”
“H-huh?”
You gave a blank expression. Looking down. Looking back up.
“This is- you’re.. how is this even—?”
“I DON’T KNOW,” he cried. “IT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE, I’M ONLY 5’7!”
You stared at him like he just told you he had a second life as a Marvel superhero.
“Oh my god, I just assumed you’d be, like—”
“Average?!” He gasped, scandalized.
“No! I just- I mean- look at you! You’re this cute little nerd with anime socks and a keyboard with cat ears.. how are you packing all this?!”
You were in utter disbelief, there’s no way your sweet, stammering little boyfriend had been walking around with a dick that big and had no idea what kind of weapon he was carrying. Just raw, untapped dick potential— XL stats on a man who still apologizes when his knees crack too loud. Poor baby had been lugging around a whole third leg, and didn’t even know the first thing to do with it ;(
He simply shook his head, fully tomato red now, flailing beneath you like he was about to spontaneously combust. He watched you like he was afraid to blink. You pumped him once, slowly, watching him shiver under your touch. His lips parted. His back arched. You hadn’t even gotten started and he already looked completely ruined.
“Can I ride you?” You asked sweetly.
He nodded so fast his head could nearly fell off. “Yes. Yes, oh my god, yes- please, I’ll do anything.”
“Anything?” You cocked your eyebrow.
“I’ll uninstall League right now if you ask me to—”
You giggled as you rolled the condom down over him, letting his hands greedily grab at your thighs. He was panting, forehead glistening with a sheen of sweat, like his brain was overheating just from the anticipation.
Then you finally lowered yourself, sinking down onto him, gradually, feeling the way you take him so easily from being soaking wet. Jisung mumbles something illegible under his breath as your cunt swallows his cock whole. It didn’t take long for you to reach the end of him since you were already so ready for him, staying in the same position to feel all of him inside you. His cock was splitting you open so nicely, it felt like you were in utter paradise.
And he made the sound.
Like his soul physically left his body, floated into the air, and gave you a salute on the way out.
“F-fuck.. you’re tight, I can’t—” he clutched your waist, eyes fluttering. “I’m gonna die. This is it. This is how I go.” He desperately bucks into you, wanting to feel more movement from you.
You move your hips to match his rhythm as you gain your balance, pressing both hands on his shoulder blades. You bounce slightly up and down on his cock, feeling your walls being filled up by every inch of him. You shifted from grinding on him real slow to picking up your pace indefinitely. Jisung threw his head back against the pillow from the pleasure, the sound of his balls hitting against your ass with the combination of it jiggling as you rode him like a bunny was enough to make him want to burst on the spot.
You leaned down and give him a chaste kiss. “Best way to go, huh?”
He nods vehemently. “Please don’t stop. Ever. I’ll cancel my Crunchyroll subscription for you. I’ll stop buying figurines. I’ll even delete my Genshin account.”
“Okay, now you’re being dramatic.”
He groaned helplessly as you continuously rode him like your life depended on it, breath hitching with every drag of your hips. He was so sensitive, so overwhelmed with it all that he couldn’t stop moaning into your mouth, mumbling broken, incoherent things like, “You feel soso good,” and “I can’t believe I get to have this,” and “Am I still breathing? No? Cool.”
You kissed down his jaw, showing no signs of stopping. You knew this was going to be one of those moments you’d both play on loop in your heads for a long, long time. “Still pretty, baby.”
He pants out. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You simply keep moaning as you kept bouncing on his cock, he was thrusting back into you, going even deeper. Your eyes reaching the back of your skull from the way he was hitting all the right spots. It wouldn’t take long before you started screaming his name and showering him with endless compliments.
“You’re so fucking pretty, Ji.” You were a broken record at this point, nothing but your whines and his grunts filling the room. You felt tense, your clit was throbbing, the pressure build up making you dizzy. Jisung couldn’t keep his eyes off you for a second, the way your tits bounced through your shirt, the way your long acrylics dug into his skin, he wasn’t even sure how he was still alive.
This was better than any of those fake scenarios that he’d absentmindedly create in his head, better than finally beating a level that he’d get stuck on for hours. He was in pure heaven, and he felt his high approaching any minute.
“I-I think ’m gonna cum,” he desperately choked out, rocking into you like a dog in heat.
Jisung was wrecked beneath you. Hands fisting into the sheets, mouth agape, his eyes rolling back every time you sank down fully and clenched around him.
“Fuck, please- please, I-I can’t,” he whimpered, voice shaky, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. His stomach tightening with every motion, trying so hard not to lose it.
You leaned forward and cupped his face, riding him a little harder, the slap of skin soft but steady. “You said you could take it, baby,” you whispered, voice syrup-sweet. “You begged for this.”
“I know, I- just- pleaseplease can I cum?” he panted, nearly on the verge of tears. His voice was raw, wrecked, like every second you didn’t let him was a cruel punishment. “’m so close, I’m- I’ll be good, I swear, just let me.. please—”
You seal his lips with yours, just to quiet the begging, grinning against his mouth as his hands fumbled for your hips again. He moaned into the kiss, his hips twitching helplessly under yours.
“You’re lucky you’re cute when you beg,” you airly chuckled, pulling back just enough to look down at him. His eyes were wild, glazed over, the pretty sounds he made were like music to your ears.
“Th-thank you,” he sobbed, the gratitude in his voice borderline ridiculous. “’m gonna- I’m- oh my god—”
And with that, he finally let go. Releasing every last drop of his seed into the condom, muscles tensing up, gripping you like you were his only tether to reality. He looked down to see your arousal creating a white, creamy ring around the base of his thick cock, almost about to cum again just from the mere sight alone. Your legs felt like jello, you were weightless, collapsing onto his sweaty, sticky chest as you try to catch your breath, brain all foggy in your post-coital daze.
You didn’t expect him to cry.
Okay— not, like, full sobbing. But a little misty-eyed? A little “what did I do to deserve this?” A sparkle in his gaze as you lay draped across his chest, both of you blissed out and glowing in the soft, RGB-lit afterglow?
Yeah.
He was trying so hard not to sniffle.
“You okay, baby?” You murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the curve of his jaw.
Jisung nodded, eyes wide and glassy. “I just… I thought my first time would be like, awkward. Or disappointing. Or I’d accidentally sneeze into someone’s mouth and get banned from touching boobs forever.”
You laughed against his skin. “Definitely didn’t happen.”
“No,” he grins, wrapping his arms tighter around you, “this was better than anything I could’ve ever imagined in my head. Better than my first SSR pull in Genshin. Better than when I tried the seasonal spicy chicken ramen and lived.”
You tilted your head up to meet his eyes. “That’s a pretty long list of victories to beat.”
“You’re the only victory that matters.”
“Oh my god,” you groaned playfully, “who is this smooth man and what has he done with my sweaty, anime-obsessed virgin boyfriend?”
He huffed, burying his face into your hair. “He’s still sweaty and obsessed with anime. He just… also happens to be madly in love with you.”
You smiled into his chest.
“Also,” he added, completely deadpan, “I think I saw the shadow realm.”
You snorted. “When?”
“When you said I was pretty and grabbed my—” His voice cracked. He covered his face with his hands. “Oh my god, I can’t say it. My ancestors are watching.”
You giggled, shifting to lay next to him and intertwining your fingers with his.
And for a while, it was just quiet. Safe. His hand slowly brushing over your side. Your heartbeat syncing with his. The faint whir of his PC fan still spinning in the corner because, of course, he never actually shut it down.
Then he jolted upright suddenly, as if he remembered something urgent.
“Wait.”
You blinked up at him, amused. “What?”
He slid off the bed, naked except for one, singular sock and scurried to his cluttered desk. You watched, dazed and curious, as he fumbled with drawers and cracked open a cabinet that definitely shouldn’t have had food in it.
Finally, he turned around triumphantly. Holding out a white, rectangular box.
“Pocky.”
You stared. “…Seriously?”
“I always imagined I’d give my girlfriend Pocky after her first time with me,” he said solemnly. “Like a weird little anime reward.”
You sat up and grinned. “You are a weird little anime reward.”
He climbed back into bed beside you and opened the box, pulling out one, white chocolate-dipped stick and offering it with both hands like it was a sacred gift.
You bit it gently from his fingers.
“Mmm. You’re such a good boy,” you purred with a playful smile, “giving me snacks after ruining me.”
He short-circuited. Almost choking on his own Pocky. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“I hope so.”
You kissed his cheek, then his nose, and then— just to mess with him— you whispered, “Still thinking about how big you are, by the way.”
Jisung made a noise so high-pitched it could only be heard by dogs. He flopped face down into the sheets, flailing helplessly while you laughed and straddled his back.
“You have to stop saying things like that,” he muffled into the pillow.
“Why?” You asked sweetly, brushing his hair back. “You’re my pretty boy. I’m just appreciating what’s mine.”
He peeked up at you, still pink, still glowing.
“…Promise you’re mine too?”
You leaned down and pressed your lips against his, soft and slow.
sharing a bed series part 5/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN.
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pairing: han jisung/reader
content info: dom!reader. sub!jisung. sexual content. enemies2lovers, sharing a bed trope. past misunderstandings, grudges, bickering. femdom feat: face slapping, face sitting, hair pulling, choking, riding, denial-n-cumming-anyway, kneeling, more pussy eating. this one is a little longer. teehee :)
-
“Hey, I hope you had a good flight…”
Chan’s voice message crackles through your phone speaker but you can barely hear him over the bustling airport. You wait until you are outside in the pick-up zone to try listening again. It is marginally quieter out here, cars coming and going, light snowfall brightening the winter night. With your luggage at your feet, you replay his voice mail.
“Hey, I hope you had a good flight. Something came up at work and I’m not gonna be able to pick you up. I’m really sorry ‘bout it, mate. Jisung is on his way to get you. I know, I know, but he’ll get you home, yeah? If you’re still mad tomorrow, I’ll take you to lunch and you can kill me there. Buh-byyeeeee!”
Oh, that son of a bitch.
The message ends just as a pair of headlights flash over you. You can see through the front window but despite the direct eye contact Jisung still feels the need the honk the horn not once, not twice, but three times.
You stand there with your arms hanging helplessly at your sides. Snow falls on your head and a frown darkens your whole face. Jisung just smiles and waves like an idiot, honking the horn again.
I am going to kill Chan, you think to yourself.
Jisung loves putting you in situations where you are the unrepentant supervillain of his life, so ignoring him and getting in a cab would just play into his horrible little hands. He might look unassuming in his puffy coat and backwards cap, might look soft and friendly with his fair hair and plushy pink smile, might look innocent with his big brown eyes peering at you with cartoonishly saccharine enthusiasm, but in reality none of that is true.
Han Jisung is the worst.
Han Jisung is your nemesis.
Han Jisung honks the horn again.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” you shout. You roll your eyes and heft your luggage over your shoulder, stomping with an incredible degree of petulance for a woman of your age. You toss your bag in the trunk then slide into the passenger seat.
Jisung honks again.
“Hello, hello, welcome to Flight H.A.N with Jisung airlines, this is your pilot speaking—”
You turn on the radio to shut him up. You are not in the mood for his shenanigans.
Jisung cringes with theatrical chagrin.
“Yikes,” he says with a bubbly laugh. “Tough crowd.”
“Just drive.”
“Yes, mistress, right away, mistress, Jisung lives to serve his mistress, please don’t hurt Jisung or leave him out in the cold tonight—”
You thunk your head against the headrest, glaring ahead as Jisung smoothly joins the traffic flow despite his nonsensical rambling.
You vaguely remember a time when Jisung was shy, back before he made it his life mission to send you hurtling into an annoyance-induced death. You also vaguely remember a time you liked him, him and his quietness, him and his quirky humour, him and his big, stupid, brown eyes.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Jisung sings along with the radio so you flip the station to one with talking. He strums his fingers on the steering wheel, lips pursed and eyebrows lifted. He casts you a few side glances that you pointedly ignore. When you see him open his mouth, you hold up a finger.
“Do not even think about it,” you say. “Whatever you were about to say or do… Don’t.”
He presses his lips together and makes an obnoxiously loud pop.
“Kk,” he says. “This should be a fun half hour.”
The airport is outside of the city, a half-hour drive to your downtown apartment. Usually. The weather has traffic horrifically backed up. Half an hour comes and goes and you are barely out of view of the airport.
“We could play a game,” Jisung says, looking at you sideways. “I spy with my little—”
“Nope.”
“Okay, cool. Cool, cool, cool.” He nods, strumming the steering wheel again.
The radio blathers on, you barely listening. You scroll through your phone until there are zero notifications, then you scroll through your photo album just for something to look at. Jisung hums to himself and you try not to get annoyed all over again. You exploding at something so inconsequential would give him way too much satisfaction.
The snow comes down harder. It pulls your attention from your phone to the blustery world outside. Everything is a harsh grey, the dark night foggily illuminated by the white snow. Even Jisung is concentrating now, his brow furrowed as he stares through the front window.
“Shit,” he says.
He changes stations to catch a road update. Your jaws drop in unison when the reporter mentions a thirteen hour delay on the main bridge into the city.
“Thirteen fucking hours?” you say. It comes out wheezy. “It’s winter! Why are they always so surprised by the fucking snow! God! What the hell are we gonna do?”
“We’re not going anywhere near the bridge, that’s what we’re gonna do,” Jisung says, flipping the car into reverse and immediately changing course.
“How else are we getting downtown?”
He looks at you like you’re so stupid that he can’t believe it, his eyebrows jumping up his face.
“Uh, hello, welcome back to town, it’s snowing here,” Jisung says. “We’re going downtown tomorrow when it won’t kill us or trap us in a car—”
“I want to go home—”
“Do you want to spend thirteen hours in a car with me?” Jisung asks. “Because that’s what going home will involve right now, k?”
He sounds terse. You feel a little better when he acts short with you too, more justified in your own rudeness.
“Fine,” you say. “What are we doing then?”
A ten minute trip turns into an hour long drive with traffic delays, but eventually you are rolling into the snow-covered parking lot of the only motel with a vacancy sign. You and Jisung do not speak, stepping out of the car and crunching along the snow in silence. The motel parking lot is washed a golden colour, the yellow balcony lights beaming over the white snow. It holds the promise of warmth. You hurry inside.
You shake yourself off in the tiny entryway while Jisung dings the desk bell. Someone appears to check you in.
“You’re a lucky couple,” she says. “Lots of folks have stopped because of the weather. We have exactly one room left available. It’s a nice cozy double bed. Sounds good?”
“Ummm…” You join Jisung at the desk, a million frantic thoughts running through your brain. “Hold on, we’re not—”
“Did you hear that, baby?” Jisung says with exaggerated fondness, because he can’t help but taunt you. “We’re a lucky couple. Isn’t that just our luck the only room available has one bed?”
You step on his foot deliberately and he yelps.
“Is there really no other option?” you ask the attendant with some degree of desperation.
“No, sorry.” She gives you a funny look but shakes her head. “I doubt you’ll have better luck finding a room anywhere else tonight. You can have this one or enjoy a car nap.”
“My beautiful wife and I are happy with a double,” Jisung says, already holding out his credit card. “Right, baby?”
You smack his ass, hard and swift. His eyes widen. You smirk.
“Right, baby,” you say with a snarl.
-
Tonight’s only saving grace is the hot water; you enjoy a long shower before changing into sleep shorts and a camisole. You join Jisung in the room, finding him sprawled on the double bed with air pods in his ears. He tossed his hat somewhere and is laying there in jeans and a t-shirt – remarkable, as you thought he might strip to his underwear just to be annoying. But no, he lays there peacefully. His fair hair is darker at the root, neatly framing his unfortunately handsome face. He has one arm flexed under his head, the muscle more pronounced than you remember it being. His eyes are closed as he nods along to the music.
You grab a pillow and thwack him in the gut. It startles him to attention, a strangled sound leaving his throat.
“You stay on that side of the bed and you do not move, got it?” you say.
He sticks his tongue out at you.
“Very mature,” you say.
You lay down with your back to him. After twenty minutes, he still has his bedside light on so you snap at him. He whines like a little baby but turns it off, leaving just his phone beaming at his face. You can hear his music but say nothing.
You can’t sleep. You want to roll over but you absolutely refuse to face him.
His phone screen finally goes dark after god knows how long and he puts it aside. There is a long stretch of silence in the dark. You swear you have never been so uncomfortable laying on this side in all your life. Knowing you will not be able to sleep without turning at least once, you decide to roll over. You figure Jisung laid down with his back to you anyway.
He didn’t. He is staring right at you, his big eyes making him look like a pathetic little lemur gawping at a human in the dark.
“Why don’t you like me?” Jisung says.
“Oh no,” you say, immediately rolling onto your back. “Absolutely not. We are not having a heart to heart.”
“Oh come oooon, please,” he whines. “This is the time and place—”
“It really isn’t—”
“It’s a classic story, a boy, and a girl—”
“I don’t like stories—”
“Forced to share a bed and share their secret feelings—”
“Those feelings are disgust, hatred, and revulsion—”
“Opening their hearts and—whoa, wait, what? Hatred? You hate me?” Jisung pushes himself up on one elbow, staring down at you with a completely horrified look on his face.
You try to ignore him and his stupid expressions, glaring at the ceiling as if it can do anything to save you. Your heart is beating fast but it doesn’t feel good. The pounding is coupled with a nauseous turn in your gut.
It is open knowledge that you do not like Han Jisung one bit, but you seldom vocalize it so explicitly. Certainly not to his face. Certainly not beside him in bed.
“That can’t possibly surprise you,” you say.
“Well, it does actually!” Jisung says. “I knew you didn’t like me but hate me? How could you hate me? I’m delightful.”
Even now, the clown is trying to joke. Because that’s all it is to him, isn’t it? Everything is just a joke all the time. Everything and everyone is a punchline waiting to happen. But you aren’t laughing. Your hands close into fists and you dig your nails into your palms to keep your frustration in check. Your neck feels hot and your stomach is still turning. You feel embarrassed about things you haven’t even said yet. Your tongue feels swollen somehow, your throat lined thickly. It takes several deep breaths before you can speak.
“Well,” you say bitterly, “I guess I just can’t help being a massive bitch. The worst you’ve ever met, right?”
There is a beat of silence, then Jisung flips on the bedside light.
You slap your fists down on the bedcovers and glare at him.
“Turn off the light,” you say.
“No way, you were just talking in a voice. What did you mean? Why do you--”
“Jisung, I swear to god, if you don’t turn off that light—”
“Look, can we just—”
You shove the covers down and climb on top of him without thinking, trying to reach the light yourself. He grabs you by the arms and pushes you back. You end up tussling ungracefully, you wriggling around like a worm and Jisung clearly in control but just as clearly trying to go easy on you. It puts you at an impasse. With an angry huff, you push away from him.
“If I said something—” he starts.
You laugh, a joyless cackle.
“If,” you repeat. “You’ve said a lot of somethings over the years, Jisung.”
“I—I didn’t mean it if I—I don’t even know what I—”
You look at him. He seems to be genuinely confounded and more than a little miserable, his eyes darting around as he racks his brain, his brow furrowed with obvious upset. His hand is frozen on his head, a clump of hair feathering through his fingers.
He meets your gaze and you roll your eyes. You feel hot and uncomfortable again, the source of your nausea climbing up and up and up until it is clawing its way past your lips and—
“The day we met,” you say, finally, after years of stamping down the humiliating memory, “you said I was a massive bitch, the worst you had ever met. And it—”
You are not sad. You refuse to be sad. This pain is years old now and it does not hurt you anymore. But you are angry – with him, with yourself, with this whole shitty circumstance, and the angrier you get, the more tears stab at your eyes.
You swallow down a lump in your throat and take a steadying breath. You stare at the wall because his attentive, earnest gaze is too much to bear.
“I know I’m a little awkward when I first meet people,” you say. “I’m shy and weird and sometimes… sometimes people think I’m a bitch when really I’m just quiet. Chan introduced me to you because he said that you were kinda the same, and that we had lots in common, and he thought we would get along. And then we met and—”
“We did,” Jisung says softly.
Your vision is blurry now. You sniff hard, wiping your arm under your nose.
“Yes,” you say. “We did. We got along amazing. We were quiet for a second and then it was like… like we were already friends. As if we always knew each other. I’ve never spoken like that to someone so quickly. It’s like I just forgot to be shy. I was so happy and then—”
“I remember all this,” Jisung says, still sounding confused. “I don’t get it. It was Changbin’s birthday, right? We were talking all night and it was great but then you just left without saying bye. Then the next time we met you already hated me—”
You finally look at him, hitting him with the full force of your emotional expression. He clearly was not expecting the tears because he literally jumps at the sight of you.
“I left after overhearing you talk about me in the kitchen to one of your stupid friends,” you snap. “’That woman is without doubt a totally massive bitch. The worst I’ve ever met.’ And you were laughing. Just… just standing there laughing about it, about me. And I had no idea why. Why? What had I said or done? It was humiliating. And it hurt, and the reason it hurt so bad was because it came from you.” You jab him in the chest, trying to sound angry because your tears are falling now and it just makes you feel pathetic. “It hurt, Jisung,” you say, “because it was you. From anyone else I wouldn’t care. But you were the one person I expected to understand me. The one person who got what it was like. So to hear you saying those things—god. I never wanted to see you again, but then you and Chan started your stupid projects together and I couldn’t get away from you. And you just got more and more in my face no matter what I did—”
“Oh my god.” Jisung slaps both hands to his head. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he is hearing. “Hold on,” he says, abruptly getting out of bed. “Just… just hold on.”
He runs away. You sit there more confused than anything, your face wet, your breathing uneven. He is gone long enough for you to get angry again, glaring at him when he gets back in the bed.
“Here,” he says, giving you the tissue box he evidently retrieved from the bathroom. “Just… here.”
He takes a tissue and awkwardly dabs at your cheek. You snatch it away from him, frowning.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says. He gets off the bed again, hovering awkwardly at the side while you wipe your face clean. He waits until you are composed, swaying where he stands, clasping and unclasping his hands. When you stop sniffling, he lets out a huge exhale. “Okay,” he says. “Look. I’m sorry. I’m… I’m really, really fucking sorry. And I want to explain, I really do, but… but if I explain, I think it’s only gonna make you upset.”
You give him a very sarcastic look.
“I’m already upset, you stupid jerk,” you say. “Just spit it out so I can go to sleep.”
“Right.” He runs his hand through his hair again. It falls softly down and flutters when he exhales. “God. Okay. This is gonna sound so stupid. But, yeah, okay, I do remember saying that actually. I didn’t know you heard me but… but that’s not an excuse. I know. I shouldn’t have said it at all. I totally do know that. But also… I said it, but I didn’t. What I mean is, what you heard me saying, I was not actually saying.”
You stare at him for a long moment.
“What,” you say, “the fuck?”
He waves his hands around defensively.
“What I mean is,” he says, “and stay with me… but… I actually meant it as a compliment.”
“A compliment,” you say. “A compliment? You called me a massive bitch as a compliment?”
“Yes.”
“Do you seriously expect me to believe that?” you shout, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at him.
His reflexes are fast. He ducks and the pillow sails over his head, whacking the blinds with a clatter. He looks there then looks at you, just in time for you to throw the tissue box. He dodges that too, ducking down again. The box hits the radiator and thunks to the ground.
“Okay, listen—” he says.
He is not fast enough when you chuck the second pillow.
“Okay, okay, I deserved that,” he says, holding the offending pillow up in surrender. He tentatively approaches the bed with it, eying you as he gently lays it back down.
You glare.
“I promise I can explain,” he says. “And you’re gonna love this explanation, because it is going to completely and totally humiliate me and you will have something to hold over my head for the rest of your life.”
“I’m listening,” you say. You feel embarrassed about crying so the least he can do is embarrass himself too.
“Thank you,” he says. He gets back on the bed, kneeling and tipping his head back. It looks like he’s praying, gathering the strength to admit whatever he is about to admit.
You cross your arms. You are annoyed he is taking so long and also annoyed that you genuinely want to know. Han Jisung has no problem blurting every stupid thought that crosses his mind, at least when it comes to you, so you cannot begin to imagine what dark secret he can’t bring himself to speak out loud.
You are halfway convinced he is trying to come up with a lie when he finally throws his arms out as if in supplication.
“I’m a fucking freak!” he says, with all the verve and jubilation of hallelujah. He closes his eyes and nods his head. “I’m a pervert and I think with my dick like ninety-eight per cent of the time. The other two per cent of the time I am honestly probably thinking with my prostate, though I haven’t really worked that one out yet completely—”
“What?” Your whole face screws tight with bewilderment. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I love bitches. No wait.” He shakes his head. “That came out wrong. Hold on. I love… well, yeah, no, bitches. Mean girls. Bullies. Catwoman.”
“Catwoman.”
“That whip… t-cha.”
“Jisung—”
“Look I was telling my friend about you because Minho’s an even bigger freak than me. He’s the only one who knows my secret and—”
“Your secret,” you say slowly. “That you… like bitches?”
“That I love bitches,” he says. “When I told him that you were the biggest bitch I ever met, it was because we both knew that what I meant was: holy shit dude, I just found my soulmate, she’s the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, I’m getting married tonight, and if she asked me to tattoo her face on my butt right now I would do it.”
You hate that you laugh, but the comment is so unexpected that it sputters out of you.
Jisung smiles, releasing a pent-up breath of relief.
“You were… are… funny, and smart, and yeah a bit quiet but you still don’t let it stop you from defending yourself or someone else when something is wrong. Remember when you told off that creep at the party? The one who was bugging Felix? You don’t take anyone’s shit and then you just move on quietly like it was nothing. I was obsessed with you from the second we started talking. Then I was a stupid horny pervert and opened my big stupid mouth and now you hate me.”
“I’m still not sure I really get it,” you say, admittedly flustered at his admission. You had no idea Jisung saw you that way. The woman he’s describing does sound pretty amazing, and he sounds sincerely infatuated. When your heart starts skipping beats again, it feels different than before. “Explain,” you say.
He slaps his thighs in a motion of surrender.
“Yup,” he says. “Okay. Fine. Cool. I like when women boss me around. I like when they are mean to me. I like when they hurt me and make me cry. It… it gets my dick hard, okay? I love bitches. I LOVE BITCHES—”
You reach out to slap a hand over his mouth, remembering it’s a motel in the middle of the night.
Jisung’s shoulders jump and he laughs into your hand, clearly embarrassed as he remembers where he is. You laugh in spite of yourself, lowering your hand.
“Oops,” he says.
“Oops,” you reply.
Oops, you misunderstood your eavesdropping.
Oops, Jisung never hated you.
Oops, you find yourself staring into his eyes for way too long.
“So just to clarify,” you say. “You’re into, like, female domination stuff, and you called me a bitch as the highest form of compliment in your crazy brain, and then you spent the next two years being as annoying as possible because…”
“I thought you were just, like, crazy edging me or something,” Jisung says, making you laugh helplessly into your hands. He laughs too, even while looking a little pained. “I did! I was like shit, she’s so nasty, she’s really taking me for a fucking ride. I would have kept doing this for the rest of our lives if this conversation didn’t happen. I would’ve been at your wedding like damn, she’s really got me going this time—”
“You’re so stupid,” you say, pushing at his chest without any real animosity.
“I know, I really am,” he says. He draws an X over his chest. “But cross my heart and hope to die, everything I have told you is the complete truth. I’d tell you to slap me because you definitely deserve it but honestly, it would give me a boner and I don’t think either of us wants that since we’re stuck in the same bed all night.”
He says it jokingly, of course. But you can hear the twinge of flirtation and truth under his just kidding.
And maybe you’re still on an adrenaline kick. Maybe your emotions are right at the surface. Maybe you hated him so much because deep down you liked him, and you hated that you liked him because of a misunderstanding.
And maybe, just maybe, those big brown eyes have drawn you in from the second you first saw him.
“Slap you,” you say, as if in deep contemplation. “Slap you where? Your face?”
This clearly catches him off guard. He opens his mouth and a garbled sound comes out. He thumps a fist on his chest.
“Uh, yeah,” he says. “Sure. Whatever, you know. You know.”
“Mhm.” You move so you are kneeling too, facing each other. You watch as he swallows hard, the gulp going down his throat. All the adrenaline you built up earlier is suffusing into the race of your bloodstream. Heat simmers below the surface of your skin. “And you like that? Getting slapped when you’ve been bad?”
“Oh my god,” he says. “Are you.. are we… is something happening right now? Oh my god. Hold on.” He says that but then all he does is stand up and sit back down again, rekneeling in the exact same position. “Right, okay,” he says. “Slap away.”
You snort, rolling your eyes but smiling. You lift your hand but he is staring at you so expectantly that it just feels weird, not sexy, and you laugh giddily with amusement.
“Aww, come oooon,” he whines, but laughingly too. “Don’t get shy. You were so good at it.”
“I’ve had years of bitchy practice, I guess,” you say with a quirked eyebrow, making him grin. You shake your head. “I dunno. Just. Do something to earn a slap I guess. It’s too weird to just smack you out of nowhere.”
“Do something?” he asks. “Uh, I dunno. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never done anything in my life to earn a slap. I’m seriously the most charming and funny and perfect guy ever and I—”
Your slap him across the face. The sound startles you because it sounds harder than it felt, ringing out loud with only the faintest sting on your palm.
Jisung looks genuinely surprised. His head turned with the impact of the slap, his jaw falling open. He blinks himself back into focus and you are about to ask if he’s all right, then he looks at you in a way he has never looked at you before. The desire and desperation of his gaze moves right through you, gathering hot in every intimate place.
“Did you like that?” he asks, his voice a little gravelly as it drops low.
“I don’t know,” you say softly. You reach out to touch his chin, a delicate touch that makes him shiver. You turn his face to look at the faint redness on his cheek. “Can I try again to be sure?”
He nods and swallows again.
You don’t ask for build-up this time. You pull your hand back and bring it down sharply on his cheek.
This time it makes him whimper. It flushes you with heat.
“Oh my god,” you say. “What else?”
“Uh, oh, fuck, um.” He touches his cheek and sucks in a breath. He pushes his hair only for it flop back in place. “Um,” he says. “Choking. F-fingers? Fingers in my mouth... Um, haha, I can’t think. Bondage? Yeah. Erm, denial. Overstimulation. Puuussy… yes, um, pussy. On my face please. Uhh… Punishment. Pulling my hair… Oh, hello.”
You take hold of his shoulders and push, guiding him to lay on his back. He is already panting when you straddle him, his eyes wide when you lean down.
“Do you still hate me?” he asks when you are millimetres away from his mouth.
You pretend to think about it.
“Hm,” you say with obvious theatricality, stealing a page from his book. “Yeah. I hate you so much. You’re my worst enemy. Sorry, baby.”
“That’s hot,” he says with a nervous little giggle. “You’re hot. You know I think—mmmf.”
You interrupt whatever long-winded joke was incoming. He does not protest this interruption as it involves a kiss, a good kiss, a deep kiss, one that pushes his head into the plushness of his pillow, one that has him moaning into your mouth. He lifts his hands to touch you, fingertips barely grazing your bare thighs when you seize his wrists. You shove them into the bed, pinned on either side of his head. He bucks under you, his mouth opening under your kiss. You bite at his bottom lip and drag your teeth, making his hips move even more.
You break away quickly and just as quickly slap him. It knocks a surprised breath out of him, his eyes a bit watery when he looks up at you.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, baby,” you say. “I’m just getting started.”
“Oh my god.”
You try not to smile but Jisung makes it hard. You feel flushed with excitement, hot with power and anticipation. You squeeze his hips between your thighs and push the hem of his shirt up and over his chest. He whimpers again but doesn’t move, his eyes closing when you hold down his wrists and duck your head.
“Fuck, oh god,” he murmurs, a constant stream of mumbled expletives as your mouth runs over his chest, kissing and licking and biting, teasing him until he can’t help but buck his hips for friction. When you feel him fully hard in his jeans you lean back, smirk, then climb off him. “Oh god, you’re too good at this,” he says, keeping his hands where you left them and gazing at you with wanting eyes.
You blow him a kiss and shimmy out of your shorts and underwear. Thoughtlessly he swings a hand down to touch himself, squeezing his dick through his jeans and groaning.
“Did I tell you that you could—” you start, but he puts his hand back beside his head before you can finish. His smile is far too innocent. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you say.
“Am I?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Shut up,” you reply, getting back on top of him. “I still hate you.”
“Oh god, yes,” he says. His hips buck into the air as you scoot over his chest. “More.”
“I hate you,” you say, moving until your legs are on either side of his head. “ I hate you so much, Han Jisung. I’m going to ruin you.”
“Fuck.”
He already has his mouth open when you lower onto his face. You grip the headboard and rock yourself over his tongue, back and forth until he finds your rhythm and takes over. What he lacks in precision he compensates with eagerness, licking at you without any care for the mess it makes of him, wet and sloppy and hot as his tongue moves inside you then up and down your pussy, circling your clit, sucking, flicking, back and forth, around and around—
“Oh my god,” you say, looking down at where you can see the top of his face, his eyes closed as he works, as he moans, as he squeezes your thighs in his hands and drags his tongue all over you. You grip the headboard tight when you come, throwing your head back and grinding down against him.
You lift your hips off his face, hovering above him on shaky thighs. You shuffle back and sit on his abdomen so you can see him, his eyes wide and wet mouth open as he pants. He licks his lips and murmurs please, please, please in a hoarse voice.
“Please?” you repeat, a little out of breath as well.
You swirl your fingers over his bare chest and fiddle with the t-shirt still bunched under his chin. He moves his face wherever you push it, tipping his head back, tilting it to the side. He goes cross-eyed when your fingers dance in front of him, touching his lips. His mouth falls open and his eyes close when you slide two fingers inside his mouth.
“Please what, Jisung?” you ask, slowly finger-fucking his mouth. “What do you want?”
He can’t speak around your fingers so he just whines, digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs.
“Oh,” you say. Your giggle is filled with genuine delight, even while your voice is rough. “I see. You want to put your dick inside me, baby? Hmm? You wanna say you’re sorry and that you’ll be good and let me ride you?”
“Good, so good,” he says, drooling around your fingers when you slide them out. He swallows hard, choking on nothing, then nods his head. “Please, please. Yes.”
You lean down and kiss his wet mouth, a chaste peck. You rub the corner of his lips, smiling at his closed eyes and wrecked expression.
“Okay,” you say. “Get ready for me then.”
You have a string of condoms in your luggage, always tucked in the pocket in case of emergency. Emergencies like a snow storm trapping you in bed with your former worst enemy turned lover.
When you get back to him, Jisung is laying there completely naked, flushed and stroking himself as he watches you. He lets you take his hand off his dick, holds you obediently when you guide his hands to your waist. He kisses you when you lean down, a hot and heavy kiss as you straddle him again. It ends when you push him flat and sit back, already grinning because you know you are about to short-circuit his brain.
“Wanna see a trick?” you say, and proceed to put the condom on him with your mouth. You laugh when you see his face after, his mouth hanging open as he blinks at you.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he says, but laughs a little.
His head thunks back into the pillows when you guide him inside you. You put your hands over his, holding them to your hips as you rock over him. His chest lifts and falls and his eyes close as he concentrates on not rushing your pace. He keeps holding your waist firmly when you slide your hands over his chest.
“Look at me,” you say.
He blinks his eyes open. You smile.
“Good boy.”
He makes a noise that sounds more pained than when you slapped him. It lights up inside you like fire and you move faster, take him deeper. You get a bit dizzy with how good it feels, his dick curving up to drive against the softest, most sensitive part of you, sending you hurtling towards another orgasm. You rub yourself at the same time, looking down at him as he gasps and moans, as he holds your hips and fucks you back.
You bring your hand to his neck and gently circle it, rubbing yourself harder when he whines with chest-deep desperation.
“I—I’m gonna—oh god—” he says, squeezing your hips so tightly that you think it might bruise.
It feels so good, his rough hands coupled with his dick hitting perfectly inside you. Your whole body draws taut for its crest.
“Don’t,” you say, laughing a little, not even to be mean but because it feels so good that you feel giddy. You squeeze his throat and his hips get erratic under you. “Not yet,” you say. “Me first.”
“Oh my god,” he says, looking up at you with frantic eyes. “I—I can’t—I’m gonna—”
“Jisung,” you say, squeezing his throat harder so he makes a choked-up sound that goes straight to your pussy. “Are you gonna be good or bad?”
“I’m—I’m—oh god.”
You stop touching yourself because you know he doesn’t stand a chance outlasting you. You ride him through his orgasm, choking him as he spasms and moans and cries out. His head lifts for a second, his eyes closed and brows furrowed, then he flops back down with an exhausted heave.
His eyes open again, watery and huge.
“Oh fuck,” he says, voice like gravel as you release his throat. A deep breath shudders out of him. “Oh… fuck,” he says, dreamily, smiling, then pouting. “Oh! Fuck!”
You giggle at him managing to say the same thing in three different voices.
You slip your fingers into his hair and tug, yanking his head up. He follows with a gasp.
“I should hit you again for that,” you say.
You slide off him, carefully. He sucks in a ragged, tearful breath when you touch his dick to deal with the condom. After, you rub your palm on the oversensitive head of it, making him grab at you and cry out. It squeezes a tear out of him and you kiss it away.
“Come on,” you say, grabbing him by the hair again. You get off the bed and drag him to follow. “I’m not done with you.”
He is a little shaky and boneless from coming. His footing is unsteady from the moment he touches the ground, moving with thoughtless obedience. He thumps down heavily onto his knees. When he sways, you straighten him. He blinks up at you, on his knees, already nodding.
You put your leg over his shoulder and draw him in. For the second time, he gets you off with his mouth, his hands on your ass and his face buried in your pussy. You sink your fingers in his hair and let it wash over you, humming happily when you are finished.
You lower your leg off his shoulder. Jisung slumps backwards, leaning against the bed and breathing hard, his face and hair a mess.
“Wow,” he says. He looks up at you. “That was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
You laugh, feeling hot and flushed but satisfied.
“Me too,” you say, making him smile.
You help him back into the bed because his legs seem a little numb. You lay beside him, rubbing the inside of his thigh as he kisses all over your face. You giggle then fall into a proper kiss, winding around each other affectionately.
“I’m gonna send Chan a gift basket,” Jisung says, making you snort. “I am! Thank you for having a family emergency, your timing couldn’t be better.”
You tip your head and look at him with confusion.
“Family emergency?” you say. “He told me he was working?”
“Working?” Jisung furrows his brow. “Huh? We don’t have anything coming up at work. He phoned me from the road and said he was heading out to visit family? He said he wouldn’t be back all week-end.”
“He told me he was stuck working and would see me tomorrow,” you say, your eyes narrowing as you slowly put two-and-two and together.
“I didn’t even know why he was asking me and not Changbin or something,” Jisung continues to muse aloud. “He said you were wanting to talk to me, though, so I figured—”
“I never said that! I mean, I’m glad we did but…” You sit up, glaring at the wall.
Jisung bursts into laughter, covering his mouth as he looks at you.
“Did Chan hustle us?” he asks.
“He threw us together in a snow storm so we’d be forced to reconcile!”
“I don’t think Chan can control the weather—”
“Oh, he definitely can. I bet he delayed the bridge himself—”
Jisung laughs some more, kissing the side of your face lovingly while you continue to glare contemptuously at the wall.
“Well,” you say, looking at him. You kiss him sweetly on the nose and he smiles at you. “That’s fine,” you say. “A vacancy for my sworn enemy just opened up. Looks like I found a replacement.”
“I’m good with that,” Jisung says. “But… you’re not allowed to enemy-fuck him like that. That’s just for me, right?”
You settle in his arms, forgetting about Chan for the time being, forgetting to glare, forgetting about everything that happened before tonight. You smile at him, brushing a bit of hair off his sweaty forehead. He is still flushed and beautiful, his hopeful eyes locked on yours. He smiles back.
“Yeah,” you say. “It’s only ever been just you, Jisung.”
He visibly melts, his laugh a breathless thing. He leans in and kisses you and you hold his face, kissing him back. You can feel him smiling against your lips and you smile too.
sharing a bed series part 3/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN.
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pairing: changbin/reader
content info: explicitly plus size reader. sexual content. friends2lovers, sharing a bed trope. lingerie. teasing. reading and watching porn. a bit of spanking. not so much choking but throat-holding. penetrative sex.
;)
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Oh god, you think, staring at your suitcase full of lingerie, what the fuck do I do?
You like beautiful things and you love lingerie. Your suitcase is brimming with pretty nighties and delicate babydolls, a luxury indulged for your own sake but completely inappropriate given the circumstances.
You thought you would have your own hotel room this holiday, but after a few friends dropped out of the trip, there was some last minute shuffling, and now—
“Yah! Where’s my toothbrush?”
Changbin is your hotel roommate for the weekend. Just you, him, and a single king-sized bed.
Oh, and your suitcase full of lingerie.
You slam the luggage shut, spinning around to look at him as he emerges from the bathroom in a frantic state of his own.
It takes a second to register his question, your eyes wide as you look him over from head to toe. His dark hair is damp from a shower and he is wearing nothing but a bath towel. He holds it shut at his hip, a sturdy thigh flashing when the towel parts. His body is one mouth-watering slab of big, broad bulk, and you find yourself clutching your own ample chest as if that will stop your heart from stampeding out.
“Ah, there,” Changbin says, strutting past you. Absent-mindedly, he says, “I’m almost done, then you can shower.”
The few minutes it will take him to brush his teeth will not be enough for you. Your efforts to find suitable sleepwear are completely futile. In the end, you settle on the simplest nightie with the fullest body, even if it is a bit transparent.
You take your turn in the bathroom after him. When it comes time to change, you slip into the nightie and stare agape at your own reflection.
Oh god, you think. This is a disaster.
This is your most conversative piece and it is still wildly sexy. You love your bigger body and you love dressing to accentuate its features, and this piece is no exception. Full thighs and fuller breasts and full curves spill up and over the tighter places. The little panties are swallowed up by your plushy ass and no matter how much you adjust the neck of the nightie, it continues to fall in the most suggestive way possible.
You look hot. If anyone else was waiting for you in that hotel bed, you would be fine. But it’s Changbin. Your close friend Changbin. Your close, hot, loud, insane, sexy, confident, drool-worthy, muscle pig friend Changbin.
You sigh, resigned to your fate. There is nothing more you can do.
You pop open the bathroom door and stick your head around the corner. Changbin is lounging in bed, dressed in a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, an arm thrown over his head as he watches something on his phone. His hair has dried fluffy and he is smiling at whatever he’s watching.
“Changbin,” you say. “Close your eyes.”
He does the opposite, like the stupid hot dummy he is, looking up at you. You get a swoop in your gut just from his curious glance, his messy hair, the comfort he radiates laying in your shared bed. It really is unfair how he is a hundred different styles of sexy at once. This is the same guy who was working out shirtless on the beach lawn just an hour ago, the same guy who showed up to dinner in designer glasses and a form-fitting jumpsuit, the same guy who was cuddling you in a hammock wearing a big hoodie and board shorts. Surely he could try and have the decency to look bad at least once.
“I said close!” you repeat.
“Ah! What!” He does it, even if he is confused, lowering his arm and covering his eyes. “There! Stop yelling at me!”
“You’re yelling, not me!”
“I’m not yelling!”
You are both yelling. But his eyes are closed so you make a mad dash for your luggage, tossing your day clothes haphazardly with a little wince for the mistreatment of your pretty things. But you need to be fast, shoving your clothes in your suitcase so you can dive under the covers before Changbin inevitably gets bored and—
“What are you wearing?” Changbin says.
“Changbiiiin!” You turn around with a furious scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. “I told you to close your eyes!”
“What, forever? I thought we were done!”
“Well, we’re not! Close them!”
“But I already—”
“Close!”
He grumbles a curse to himself but closes his eyes, laying back with his arms stubbornly crossed. You turn away to zip your luggage, shaking your head. You also fight down a giggle, one bubbling up from the tiniest bit of delight caused by Changbin’s dropped jaw and wide eyes as he thoroughly drank in the sight of you.
You turn around to find him peeking, one eye open. He is one second too late closing it again.
“I saw that,” you say.
“Saw what?” he says. “I missed it. My eyes are closed.”
“Uh-huh.” You walk up to the bed and fold back the covers, eyes on him the whole time. You put your hands on your hips when he cracks open one eye again. “Pervert,” you say, with a snort of amusement.
“Me?” He opens both eyes and gestures wildly. “Look what you’re wearing! How am I the pervert?”
“You’re in boy lingerie so be quiet.”
“What!”
“The grey sweatpants with the dick print.” You point to his lap. “Boy lingerie.”
“Ahhh! Ah! Hey! Have some principles. That’s reverse sexism. You should be ashamed of yourself.” He wags a scolding finger you at you. Then, for good measure, he grabs a pillow and puts it in his lap. “Stop objectifying me.”
You laugh in spite of yourself, climbing onto the bed. You put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“I thought I was sleeping alone,” you say. “I’m sorry. If you have a big shirt I can sleep in, I don’t mind changing.”
“You wearing that,” Changbin says, giving you a very thoughtful once-over that makes your whole body tingle, “or you wearing my shirt.” He lifts the pillow and looks under it. “What do you think?” he says, as if consulting his dick.
“You’re so stupid!” You hate how much you are laughing at this goofball. You roll your eyes even while giggling. “I’m going to sleep. Have a fun conversation with your little friend.”
“Ah! He’s not little,” Changbin says, as if very offended. “He’s average height and girthy, like me.”
“Nice try but you’re not average height and ew, oh my god, don’t say girthy.”
“Girthy.”
“I can’t hear you,” you say, sliding under the covers. You pull them up to your chin and lay on your side with your back to him. “I’m already sleeping,” you say.
“How am I supposed to sleep now!” he says.
“That’s not my problem!”
He grumbles some more while you snicker. Eventually he turns off the light and gets under the covers too. You both go on your phones, the little white lights illuminating the bed. You glance over your shoulder to see him laying with his back to you, watching videos on mute. You turn back to your phone and open your reading app, deciding you can squeeze in a chapter or two of your current romance.
You are reading about the latest duke’s pulsating member and his lady’s quivering thighs when Changbin turns over. You are too slow hiding your phone.
“Are you reading porn?” he asks, reaching out and snatching your phone.
“It’s not porn!” You sit up to grab it back but he holds it away. “It’s literature!”
“It’s porn,” he says, bursting into peels of giggles that should be ridiculous coming out of that buff body, but they only make you laugh too.
“Changbiiiin,” you whine through your own laughter, rolling half on top of him to try and grab your phone. “Give it baaaack. It’s not porn.”
“He throbbed as pleasure conquered his senses and ERUPTED LIKE A FORCE OF VOLCANIC NATURE—!”
“Stooooop!”
“That sounds painful,” Changbin muses.
You finally snatch your phone back and promptly toss it off the bed. It lands with a little thump.
Changbin is laying on his back and giggling like a child, poorly stifled teeheehees that do not relent even when you lean over him with your most intimidating face.
“That’s not fair,” you say. “You have to show me yours now.”
That gets him to look at you with surprise, tilting his head. You do not miss when his eyes go to your chest, especially because it lingers there for a very long moment. He touches his bottom lip, flicking his tongue over his thumb absently before finally meeting your gaze.
“What?” he says. “Did you say something?”
“Show me your porn,” you say.
“My—what! Get down.” He bats you away and crosses his arms. “I will remind you I am a man of principle. I have convictions. Unlike you, I don’t keep demeaning pornographic content on hand at all times. I have too much respect for the human form and the sanctity of intimacy and lovemaking.”
You blink at him.
“Fine,” he says, and picks up his phone. “Don’t blame me for any volcanic eruptions.”
Once he has his bookmarks open, you take his phone and roll over, ignoring his protests. You hold the phone out and click a link at random, even with him pressed right up against your back as he tries to steal it back. You wriggle in his lap, making him squeak, either because your ass is pushing at his junk, or because of the video that opens.
“Oh my,” you say.
It’s a point-of-view video, a man’s hand sliding down a very soft, curvy body. Your own body perks with interest when his thumb glides down her wet pussy, teasing her lips apart before sliding inside. Changbin makes a strangled noise that you hardly register, staring as the man in the video slowly fingerfucks the woman, a woman not unlike you in proportion and general appearance.
“I can explain—ah, hey! Why are you skipping?” Changbin’s somewhat embarrassed tone shifts midsentence to indignation as you tap to fast forward.
“I wanna get to the good part!”
“The good—? Yah! You’re so impatient!”
You ignore him, fast forwarding until you see a dick then letting it play.
Changbin has given up on trying to get his phone back. He makes a sound of miserable defeat and thunks his forehead against the back of your head. You bite your bottom lip, flushed from head to toe, your thighs especially squirmy as need gathers between them. You watch the woman in the video turn over until she is on all fours. The man pushes inside her and you watch the way her body moves when he thrusts deeply. His hand comes down in a sharp slap, making you twitch with wanting.
“I like that,” you say, aware of Changbin growing hard against your backside. You feel him twitch at your comment. When you skip ahead in the video again, he doesn’t speak. You stop when the man wraps his hand around the woman’s throat and you smile. “Like that too.”
He is rock hard against your ass. Either he thinks staying still means you can’t feel it or he wants you to feel it. Testing, you grind slowly against him.
He grabs your hip through the blankets.
“Ah, you.” He squeezes your hip. “No teasing.”
“No?” you ask, wriggling just a little more. “None at all?”
There is a brief pause, then he slides his hand under the covers to hold your waist directly. It is a slow, questioning motion, leaving you time to refuse. When you don’t, he slides his hand down to stroke your thigh.
You put his phone aside, the screen going dark, its contents forgotten as you turn your head. He slips one arm under you, his hand cupping a breast at the same time his other hand goes between your legs. When he kisses you, you open your mouth to immediately deepen it. He does, licking at you and sucking your bottom lip, grinding in a slow circle against you. It makes you ache, squirming in his strong embrace, his fingers only just hovering where you need him.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he says when you start bucking and whining into his kiss. He kisses you too deeply for you to protest his teasing, but then he finally hooks his fingers in your panties to draw them to the side.
You get dizzy, either from kissing more than breathing or just his overwhelming presence. When he touches you and feels how wet you already are, he makes a low sound and curses.
“Ch—Changbin,” you say, breathy and a little senseless already. “Please.”
He moves swiftly, manhandling you with ease and care. You turn over and he pushes the blankets away to get up behind you. You whimper into the sheets when he tugs you into a better position, then he is drawing your panties to the side again and stroking your whole pussy from clit to entrance and back again. His fingers are soaked by the time he puts them inside you, strong arm finding a steady rhythm quickly. Combined with a couple sharp smacks to your ass, you come apart with a cry, whole body shaking as you grind back on his hand.
You sink into the bedsheets, eyes closed, panting. You feel his hand wet hand cup your thigh, then his fingers spreading your pussy open. You clench around nothing and hear him curse.
You look over your shoulder at him. Even though you were the one who came, he looks completely wrecked, his fluffy black hair a dishevelled mess and his jaw clenched, shoulders tense. You look a little lower, staring at the thick bulge in his sweats.
It’s him who speaks first, his voice rough when he says, “You look… do you have any idea…”
“You’re not wearing underwear, are you,” is what you end up saying, giggling. “Boy lingerie. Told you.”
He snorts, grinning, looking more cocky than chagrined. That expression morphs to curiosity and hope when you reach for a make-up bag sitting on the head-table.
“Yes,” he says, when you pull a string of condoms out of it. For some reason, it’s the funniest response he could have given, and you giggle a little more. Those giggles come to a stop when he pulls your panties down, then rolls down the band of his sweatpants down too.
Your mouth falls open. “Wow,” you say. “You are—”
“Girthy?”
“Don’t make me change my mind.”
He mimes zipping his lips shut before taking the condom.
You accidentally untuck the bedspread when he finally gets inside you. One corner comes undone, and the second one follows when he starts fucking you in earnest. It’s a good, full stretch, and you moan into the messy bedspread as he grabs your hips to pull you into every thrust. You swear you see stars when he slides one hand up and around your neck, lifting your head and holding you by the throat as he fucks into you. He slows down a bit to rub at your clit, making you come and spasm around him, before he drives himself quickly to completion.
You end up sprawled facedown on the undone bed, your nightie in a state of disarray and your panties god knows where. He flops down beside you, breathing hard, still pretty much dressed. Once he’s caught his breath, he looks at you, smiling when he reaches out to brush some hair out of your face.
You smile back, rolling into his open arms. You rest your head on his chest and exhale.
Then, knowing it’ll get a reaction because he’s Changbin, you say, “That wasn’t bad.”
“Not bad!” he says, predictably loud. “What do you mean not bad? That was amazing. Come here.” He’s laughing now, pulling you close when you laugh and try to roll away. “Get back here. I’ll show you not bad.”
You knew because you were supposed to be watching the perimeter—checking for stragglers, verifying cleanup, maintaining comms—but your eyes had locked on him the moment the shooting stopped, and that was it. The screen in your brain went black, and the only thing playing was him, striding across the burned-out courtyard like a damn war god in tactical gear.
Bucky Barnes, ladies and gentlemen.
Gun up, shoulders squared, blood dripping from his temple like it was nothing.
Face unreadable.
Mouth unsmiling.
Vest tight across his chest, combat pants slung low and slashed up the thigh.
And that fucking walk.
Not rushed. Not stiff.
No.
It was the walk of a man who knew—knew he’d just dropped six bodies without blinking, knew there were eyes on him, knew the mission was over and somehow, he was still the threat.
And worst of all?
He didn’t even try.
He wasn’t posturing. He wasn’t doing it on purpose.
That strut? That slow, chest-up, shoulders-loose, model-type bullshit runway march through a goddamn warzone? That was just how he walked after he’d killed.
You let out a noise. It might’ve been a breath. Might’ve been a whimper.
Next to you, Yelena didn’t look away from her scope. But she heard it.
“Again?” she said, casually.
You tried to keep your voice level. “Shut up.”
Yelena clicked her tongue. “You are down so astronomical.”
You grit your teeth and forced yourself to look away, even as your eyes tried to drag back to him like magnets. You knew the shape of his silhouette now. You could sketch it from memory. The way he held the rifle loose but high. The metal arm gleaming, shoulders flexing with every slow step. Even the tilt of his head was hot—what the fuck was wrong with you?
You exhaled. “This is not sustainable.”
“Mm.” Yelena’s voice was too calm. “You say that every mission.”
Because it was true. Every mission.
Every time he came back looking like that.
Blood on his jaw. Breath fogging in the cold. Chest rising slow like he wasn’t tired, just pissed off that there weren’t more bodies to drop.
You blinked hard and looked at your HUD. It was shaking.
Nope. Not the HUD. That was your hands.
“Okay,” Yelena said, finally lifting her head. “On a scale of one to—let’s say—feral, where are we today?”
You didn’t answer.
Instead, you looked back.
And that’s when you saw it.
The walk.
That fucking walk—straight at you.
No helmet. Blood running down the side of his face. Rifle resting on his shoulder like it weighed nothing. His eyes found you across the yard, and he didn’t blink. Just kept coming. One slow step after another. Not fast. Not urgent. Just… like he was the end of a goddamn movie.
You felt your knees lock.
Yelena raised one eyebrow.
“Oh no,” she said.
You dropped your rifle.
You were already walking.
Yelena’s voice chased after you, high and amused:
“Oh my god. She’s gonna do it.”
It started in Prague.
You were running intel from a nondescript black van, tucked behind a brick alley that smelled like piss and cigarette ash. The kind of freelance op no one wanted their name attached to—something about a corrupt diplomat and a cache of untraceable weapons getting ready to change hands in the basement of a bar that pretended to be closed on Mondays.
But the only thing you remembered about that mission was the knife.
You were watching the CCTV feed from the corner camera above the bar’s liquor shelf. Dim red lighting. Long shadows. Loud music. A hellhole. You were mid-sentence with Yelena when it happened.
“—confirming three on the lower—no, wait, four. Bucky’s got—he’s—”
You stopped speaking.
On the monitor, Bucky stepped into frame.
Black tactical shirt, sleeves rolled. Knife in one hand, glinting in the low light. No gun. No backup.
Just him.
And four men.
The first came at him wide—bad choice. Bucky sidestepped and drove the blade up into the soft part under the man’s ribs, twisted, yanked it free.
The second tried to use a chair—Bucky caught it mid-swing, shoved it back into his chest, and spun him into the bar top headfirst.
Third and fourth moved in together.
It didn’t matter.
In ten seconds, they were both on the floor, one with a slashed thigh, the other with a knife pressed under his jaw. Bucky didn’t speak. He just stared at the man beneath him, one hand on his throat, the blade balancing against the guy’s windpipe like it was weightless.
And then—without a word—he stood up, wiped the knife clean on his own thigh, and turned his head.
Right at the corner camera.
Right at you.
He looked into the lens like he knew.
Like somehow, through the miles of fiber cable and static and cheap black-and-white security feeds, he felt you watching.
Your voice crackled back in late, rough:
“Uh—subject four is neutralized. Bucky’s—Bucky’s clear.”
Yelena’s voice, a beat later:
“Are you salivating?”
You ripped off your headset. “No.”
“I heard saliva.”
“I’m eating a granola bar.”
“You’re lying.”
You were.
That wasn’t granola. That was lust.
You sat in that shitty van with your legs crossed so tight your thighs cramped, and tried to convince yourself it was fine. That it was just adrenaline. That anyone would have reacted that way after seeing something so clean, so lethal, so stupidly hot.
You convinced no one.
Least of all yourself.
It was supposed to be a silent entry.
Small team. Quiet extraction.
A dark, hot warehouse near the Mexico City border, full of dust and diesel and the click of guns being cleaned. You were in civilian gear—tight black jeans, jacket, low profile—sweaty under your bulletproof vest, following intel on an arms shipment being rerouted under the table.
You hadn’t meant to get separated. But there was a moment—a miscommunication over the earpiece—and suddenly you were outside the secure perimeter, slipping through crates stacked high as walls.
And then a voice behind you said, "Qué rica te ves, preciosa."
You turned just as the hand grabbed your arm.
It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t violent.
But it was casual. Familiar. Possessive.
As if this man had done it before. Would do it again.
You sucked in a breath and shifted your weight, ready to elbow him in the jaw and introduce him to your knee—but then—
CRASH.
The sound of a body hitting concrete so fast it echoed.
Bucky appeared out of the dark, full speed, like he’d been waiting.
You didn’t even see the grab.
Just the result:
The man’s back slammed against the wall.
A loud crack—maybe a rib, maybe the wall—
Bucky’s hand wrapped tight around the guy’s throat, pinning him in place, his arm fully extended like he wasn’t even breaking a sweat.
The guy struggled. Tried to speak. Couldn’t.
Bucky’s face was blank. Dead. Like he'd flipped a switch labeled Winter Soldier.
And then he leaned in close.
“Touch her again,” he said, voice like gravel, “and I take your hand.”
Your mouth went dry.
You should’ve stopped him.
Should’ve said, “That’s enough,” or “We don’t need this,” or something reasonable.
But instead, you stood frozen. Chest tight. Eyes wide.
And you felt it—the heat crawling up your neck, the fire blooming low in your belly.
When Bucky dropped the man—let him crumple like trash—and turned back to you, his breathing heavy, you were already flushed.
“You okay?” he asked.
You nodded. Maybe twice. Too fast. “Yeah. I’m good. That was—uh. Efficient.”
He looked at you for a long second. Then nodded once, and kept walking.
You stared after him, pulse slamming in your throat.
Efficient.
That’s what you’d called it.
Not: hot.
Not: possessive in a way that made your knees buckle.
Not: better than porn.
Later, Yelena asked why you were acting weird in the transport van. Why your face was red.
You told her it was heat exhaustion.
She told you to go fuck yourself.
Berlin was cold that week. Cold and wet and full of smoke.
You were rooftop support—sniper nest, fourth floor, crouched on tarpaper with your cheek to the stock of your rifle. Objective was simple: keep eyes on the street. Eliminate any threats trying to escape the bombed-out safehouse below.
Nothing complicated.
Except the man on the ground.
Bucky had gone in alone.
And when he came out—
God.
He walked out through fire and fog like he’d orchestrated the whole explosion.
Shoulders back.
Gun up.
Expression carved from stone.
The broken husk of the safehouse glowed behind him in the red dusk, and for one terrible, humiliating second, your finger actually slipped off the trigger.
Because all you could think was:
“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my fucking life.”
You weren’t supposed to be looking at him.
There were hostiles in the street.
But your scope tracked him like it had a crush.
Through the magnified lens, every detail hit you at once:
His jacket, slashed open across the chest.
The glint of sweat in the hollow of his throat.
The faint steam rising off his skin in the cold air.
His mouth—set firm, jaw clenched, not angry, not smug. Just... calm. Like he knew he’d done everything right. Like the mission bent around him.
And that walk.
That fucking walk.
Deliberate. Wide stance.
Not cocky, not rushed—just final.
Like he was the mission. Like his presence was the closing statement.
You zoomed in.
You shouldn’t have.
You really shouldn’t have.
But you did.
You followed that man’s entire journey through the wreckage with the slow drag of a hungry lens, tracing the line of his thighs, the flex of his forearms, the loose way he rested the rifle against his shoulder like it was light as air.
Somewhere in the comms, someone was saying something. Your earpiece buzzed.
You didn’t respond.
Because Bucky Barnes was walking toward the evac vehicle in slow motion, and the way he moved—that fucking strut—was doing things to your central nervous system that you didn’t have language for.
When he finally disappeared into the transport, your mouth was dry.
Your heart was pounding.
And your pants felt…
Well.
You were glad you were on a solo perch that day.
And you were even more glad no one could see what you googled later that night in your hotel room.
You had boots on the ground and blood on your vest. Your pulse was still rattling from the firefight, and the scent of cordite hung in the air like steam.
But all of that—everything—faded the second you saw him.
Walking through the debris like he’d torn the battlefield in half with his bare hands.
It was worse this time.
Slower. Heavier.
Like he was dragging the weight of the mission behind him, letting it cling to him in smoke and heat and the sharp gleam of metal and sweat.
He was filthy.
Hair matted to his forehead. Blood running down one side of his throat. Gun still up, as if he hadn’t decided yet whether the world was done pissing him off.
And his eyes—fuck, his eyes—were locked on you.
That’s what did it.
That’s what broke the last fragile thread of your professional restraint, snapped it in two, and lit it on fire.
You muttered it without thinking:
“I can’t fucking do this anymore.”
Yelena’s head whipped toward you. “Wait. Wait—what are you—oh my god. She’s gonna do it.”
You didn’t answer.
You dropped your gear. Vest off. Rifle down.
And you walked.
Through the dust, through the bodies, through the ringing still echoing in your ears. Every step powered by something older than logic and stronger than common sense.
He slowed when he saw you coming.
His mouth parted just slightly. Like he wasn’t sure what you were doing—but he wanted to know.
And then—
You reached him.
And you jumped.
Your hands found his shoulders. His vest. His neck. You hauled yourself up like he was gravity itself and crashed your mouth against his like you were making a fucking statement.
Bucky caught you with a grunt, both hands instinctively grabbing your waist—hard. He staggered back a step as your body slammed into his, legs around his hips, fingers in his hair.
You kissed him like you were still in combat.
Like he was the next mission.
And this time—you were taking him down.
And holy shit, he kissed you back.
It hit you like a backdraft. The heat. The pressure. The hands.
You heard a shout from across the courtyard—probably Yelena. Possibly laughing. You didn’t care.
Bucky’s mouth was open against yours now. His breath ragged. Teeth scraping yours. His hands dragging down your back like he didn’t know whether to hold you or fucking devour you.
And when he finally tore his lips away—just enough to speak—his voice came low and shredded:
“What the hell was that?”
Your chest rose and fell. You didn’t blink.
“That walk,” you said.
“You do that fucking walk, Barnes. And it breaks my brain.”
Silence.
His eyes flicked over your face. Your mouth. Your hands still fisted in his vest.
And then—
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile. But almost.
“What walk?”
From somewhere far behind you, Yelena absolutely howled.
