incl. choi yeonjun, choi soobin, choi beomgyu, kang taehyun, kai kamal heuning.
cw. implied previous relationship, ex!txt, yearner!txt, lowk loser ex!txt, reader never actually appears in the work, heart break, loss, angst.
notes. first work on this blog, feeling nervy… no beta we die like men
yeonjun
misses your soul, writes songs for you
yeonjun feels your absence everywhere, from the little things like how you used to fold his shirts a specific way to the big things like how he misses your warmth in his bed. you are a hurdle he will never truly get over. and he prefers it that way.
because if he were to ever truly forget you, what would have him hunched over a notebook in the dead of night: song lyrics flowing from the tip of his pen (that you gave him) like water? if he allowed himself to forget the way you would hum softly while doing the most menial of tasks, how would he lay the rhythm into the melodies of their newest singles? how would he ever find himself searching for you in every song that plays through his earbuds, finding the bell-like ring of your laughter in the chorus and the way you sounded crying in the bridge?
choi yeonjun knows he won’t ever get over you, and he likes it that way. because that man is nothing if not a yearner at heart.
to him, music is love, and to give you up would be nothing less than the pain he would feel if he had to ever stop singing. and he’ll be damned if he ever has to give that up, so he’s resigned to the fact that he will die with the taste of your name on his tongue.
soobin
misses your presence, keeps the apartment the way you always liked it
soobin is a busy man, leader of a fourth generation sensation, constantly hosting shows, always off on some sort of side quest. so there was nothing he valued more dearly that his time at home. because it was always the time he got to spend with you: just the two of you.
but now the apartment feels nothing more than a cold reminder of the one that got away, the one he let slip through his fingers like sand. it is no longer a space he can truly find rest in, not when you aren’t there. so, in a desperate attempt to keep his life something close to normal: he finds himself folding the blankets like you, keeping the dishes in the cabinets you always liked, he keeps every little piece of decor and memory you left scattered around the house. soobin keeps your favorite mug on the bottom shelf of the cabinet, the spot where you never had to complain about it being too high up.
because even if this place is nothing but a shell of what it once was, empty without your warmth to fill the cold and lonely nights, at least maybe he could delude himself that one day you might come back.
choi soobin was a creature of habit, and his favorite vice was loving you, even if it only brought him sleepless nights.
beomgyu
misses your laugh, instinctively looks for you when he hears something funny
beomgyu has always valued the little joys in life: the way people laugh after tripping, the warmth that spreads through your chest after laughing so hard that you feel your lungs wheeze, the way you always made him feel.
he was always a happy person, even when he didn’t feel that way. beomgyu didn’t think he would ever love anything so much that he would lose the ability to laugh without them; but then you came into the picture. with you, he would laugh so hard that his stomach ached for a good few minutes after. now he finds himself barely able to muster a chuckle at something that should have him rolling on the floor. because he always looks for you before he laughs: and then your absence makes him forget what was ever so funny in the first place. how can he laugh when he doesn’t have you to share it with?
no matter how hard he tries, how many times he swears he needs to just get over it and move on, he simple can’t. because nothing will ever be truly funny without the sound of you beside him, without the sight of you smiling so hard it strains your cheeks, nothing means anything without you.
it hurts even more when he sees you giggling at someone else’s jokes: worse than any sort of ache. because who even is choi beomgyu if not your source of light?
taehyun
misses your care, finds himself running himself to the ground without you
taehyun has always been an extremely hardworking man, if there’s something he wants: he devotes his all to getting there. that reflected with the quality of his work, he was a brilliant singer, a fluid dancer, and an even better boyfriend. he gave his all to the people around him, even if it meant there way nothing left for himself at the end of the day.
but you were always there to recharge him, to remind him to take care of himself, to stay up with a plate waiting when he got home from a late schedule.
where were you now, as he finds his body begging to let the earth reclaim him after a particularly hard practice? where were you to tell him not to try to fit in filming that tiktok between shoots? where were you to feed him when he was so tired he could barely shut his door behind himself? he was dedicated to a fault, he doesn’t notice when he starts to crack, too busy focusing on the world around him and everything that he has yet to achieve. you always noticed, you were good to him like that.
kang taehyun can’t find himself taking breaks, because the second his mind isbn’t clouded with work, your voice rings in his ears like tinnitus: echoing but never fully there. because no matter how hard he had worked: it wasn’t enough to have kept you by his side.
huening kai
misses your touch, sometimes feels it in phantom pain
kai was well known for his infectious smile, the joy that seeped out of him like the warmth of the very sun. there was never someone he couldn’t brighten up, he was simply too good for this world.
so why does he find himself alone in his bed at night, half-asleep and hallucinating the glide of your fingers down his spine. some nights he wakes up out of a dead sleep because he thought he had felt you brush against his arm. some sort of joy curls in his chest as he looks over to what was once your side of the bed, only to be crushed by the crippling realization that it was indeed just as empty as it was when he fell asleep.
he knows you aren’t there, he knows you may never be there again. but that doesn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat at every lingering touch his mind betrays with. maybe, maybe this time, it was actually you: and then he’s sitting up alone in the dark staring at his bed, because it is never real.
no matter how many times he tells himself that it isn’t you, he simply cannot help but check… just in case.
because heuning kai was absolutely, devastatingly, and all-consumingly in love with you, even if your absence broke his heart a little more each time.
Genre : Suggestive, 18+ (MDNI)
Writing Style : Drabble
Pairing : OT8 x Fem!Reader
Summary : What he's like when he's soft and sweet with you in daily life vs how it changes when you're in the bedroom together.
Bang Chan | 방찬
One of Chan's habits he's picked up with you is placing his hands on your waist or hips while he's sneaking by. It's always a fleeting touch, always gentle as he lets you know he's there so close to you.
But in the bedroom, his touch burns and leaves your skin igniting under his fingertips. The only thing that soothes the bite from when he smacks his palm down against the swell of your ass is the cold of the silver chain draped around his wrist.
Lee Know | 리노
Minho's favorite place to have you is in his arms - on top of him cuddly during overcast mornings while the rain patters against the windows of your bedroom or at the kitchen counter where he'll hold onto you from behind. His hold is strong and firm enough to keep you close to him but never too tight.
Until he's pounding into you from behind in front of your closet mirror. It's easily one of your favorite positions, his arms so tight around your waist that you can feel his forearms flexing to keep your back flush against his chest.
Changbin | 창빈
Always the respectful gentleman, Changbin tries to keep his touches polite when he's with you, even if you've been dating a while. He's grown to have a habit of letting his hands rest on your body while standing near each other - specifically wrapping one hand just above your waist so it sits higher on your ribs. Even then, he never allows his fingers to wander close to your chest out of respect.
But in the bedroom he's all over your tits, grabbing handfuls and tugging on your nipples until they're puffy and swollen from how much he sucks on them while he fucks into you at a pace that makes your head spin. (king of overstimulation)
Hyunjin | 현진
Hyunjin's always sitting his legs open. It's just what's most comfortable for him, his legs are long. And he loves having you in his lap, keeping you close and sometimes taking naps like that - but he almost rarely ever makes it into something sensual.
But in the bedroom, he's always using the muscle to his advantage. When you're being stubborn and squirming under his wandering touch, he'll push his knee between your own and use his thigh to press yours open for him so he has easier access. And if he needs to, he'll use his thighs to pin your own open for him.
Han | 한
Jisung's so sweet with his kisses to you; He loves peppering them over your cheeks, nuzzling his cheek into your skin to make you giggle and laughing against your throat when you try to push him away because it tickles.
In the bedroom, he's far less innocent with it. You almost always end up leaving the room the following morning with hickies scattered over your skin - marks left behind from places he had bitten down into your softness and licked over to soothe the puffy skin. He loves leaving these marks especially over your inner thighs and your waist so they peek when your shirt lifts.
Felix | 필릭스
Always prodding the corner of his lips, his tongue is constantly on the move whether in annoyance at a little joke you made or in admiration at the way you sprawl over his lap like you just know how much he loves it when you cuddle close to him during movie nights.
In the bedroom, he's just as skilled as he is on stage. He's never once left you feeling dissatisfied when he's gone down on you, tongue circling and flicking over your clit in a way that makes you jolt and writhe against his dark sheets. And if he's nice enough to fuck you with it? Oh - Heavens.
Seungmin | 승민
Seungmin has a cute habit of playing with your clothing - twisting your rings between his fingertips, and sometimes rubbing your fingers against his if you're holding hands at the time. He loves fidgeting with you because he gets to have you close to him and he can mess with something in his hands.
In the bedroom, he likes to see the way you squirm just because of his fingers. He always starts with two because he's greedy; He drinks in the way your hips jolt to follow his hand, the heel of his palm rubbing on your clit as he slides in a third and curls them against that soft spongy spot that makes your vision cloud white.
I.N | 아이엔
Jeongin knows you like that he's been grinding the workouts lately. And he loves to be playful about it - Flexing dramatically to get you to hoot and holler for him in a way that makes you both laugh. It not only boosts his ego but also just makes him feel good knowing you enjoy his physique as much as you do.
But the muscle isn't just for show. He puts it to use during sex, and recently he's figured out how much you love being pinned in different positions. Specifically when he loops his arms under your shoulders while fucking you from behind, using his own arms to pin yours behind your head. Not only does he love being flush against you during sex but this allows him to put you face down in the sheets gasping for breath - which he looooves.
i want to take a bite out of bluesung i’m on some sort of emo nerd brainrot rn.
pov you find out the class nerd is in an alt rock band when you see him onstage suddenly with piercings and died hair absolutely shredding on the guitar while singing…
incl. choi yeonjun, choi soobin, choi beomgyu, kang taehyun, kai kamal heuning.
cw. implied previous relationship, ex!txt, yearner!txt, lowk loser ex!txt, reader never actually appears in the work, heart break, loss, angst.
notes. first work on this blog, feeling nervy… no beta we die like men
yeonjun
misses your soul, writes songs for you
yeonjun feels your absence everywhere, from the little things like how you used to fold his shirts a specific way to the big things like how he misses your warmth in his bed. you are a hurdle he will never truly get over. and he prefers it that way.
because if he were to ever truly forget you, what would have him hunched over a notebook in the dead of night: song lyrics flowing from the tip of his pen (that you gave him) like water? if he allowed himself to forget the way you would hum softly while doing the most menial of tasks, how would he lay the rhythm into the melodies of their newest singles? how would he ever find himself searching for you in every song that plays through his earbuds, finding the bell-like ring of your laughter in the chorus and the way you sounded crying in the bridge?
choi yeonjun knows he won’t ever get over you, and he likes it that way. because that man is nothing if not a yearner at heart.
to him, music is love, and to give you up would be nothing less than the pain he would feel if he had to ever stop singing. and he’ll be damned if he ever has to give that up, so he’s resigned to the fact that he will die with the taste of your name on his tongue.
soobin
misses your presence, keeps the apartment the way you always liked it
soobin is a busy man, leader of a fourth generation sensation, constantly hosting shows, always off on some sort of side quest. so there was nothing he valued more dearly that his time at home. because it was always the time he got to spend with you: just the two of you.
but now the apartment feels nothing more than a cold reminder of the one that got away, the one he let slip through his fingers like sand. it is no longer a space he can truly find rest in, not when you aren’t there. so, in a desperate attempt to keep his life something close to normal: he finds himself folding the blankets like you, keeping the dishes in the cabinets you always liked, he keeps every little piece of decor and memory you left scattered around the house. soobin keeps your favorite mug on the bottom shelf of the cabinet, the spot where you never had to complain about it being too high up.
because even if this place is nothing but a shell of what it once was, empty without your warmth to fill the cold and lonely nights, at least maybe he could delude himself that one day you might come back.
choi soobin was a creature of habit, and his favorite vice was loving you, even if it only brought him sleepless nights.
beomgyu
misses your laugh, instinctively looks for you when he hears something funny
beomgyu has always valued the little joys in life: the way people laugh after tripping, the warmth that spreads through your chest after laughing so hard that you feel your lungs wheeze, the way you always made him feel.
he was always a happy person, even when he didn’t feel that way. beomgyu didn’t think he would ever love anything so much that he would lose the ability to laugh without them; but then you came into the picture. with you, he would laugh so hard that his stomach ached for a good few minutes after. now he finds himself barely able to muster a chuckle at something that should have him rolling on the floor. because he always looks for you before he laughs: and then your absence makes him forget what was ever so funny in the first place. how can he laugh when he doesn’t have you to share it with?
no matter how hard he tries, how many times he swears he needs to just get over it and move on, he simple can’t. because nothing will ever be truly funny without the sound of you beside him, without the sight of you smiling so hard it strains your cheeks, nothing means anything without you.
it hurts even more when he sees you giggling at someone else’s jokes: worse than any sort of ache. because who even is choi beomgyu if not your source of light?
taehyun
misses your care, finds himself running himself to the ground without you
taehyun has always been an extremely hardworking man, if there’s something he wants: he devotes his all to getting there. that reflected with the quality of his work, he was a brilliant singer, a fluid dancer, and an even better boyfriend. he gave his all to the people around him, even if it meant there way nothing left for himself at the end of the day.
but you were always there to recharge him, to remind him to take care of himself, to stay up with a plate waiting when he got home from a late schedule.
where were you now, as he finds his body begging to let the earth reclaim him after a particularly hard practice? where were you to tell him not to try to fit in filming that tiktok between shoots? where were you to feed him when he was so tired he could barely shut his door behind himself? he was dedicated to a fault, he doesn’t notice when he starts to crack, too busy focusing on the world around him and everything that he has yet to achieve. you always noticed, you were good to him like that.
kang taehyun can’t find himself taking breaks, because the second his mind isbn’t clouded with work, your voice rings in his ears like tinnitus: echoing but never fully there. because no matter how hard he had worked: it wasn’t enough to have kept you by his side.
huening kai
misses your touch, sometimes feels it in phantom pain
kai was well known for his infectious smile, the joy that seeped out of him like the warmth of the very sun. there was never someone he couldn’t brighten up, he was simply too good for this world.
so why does he find himself alone in his bed at night, half-asleep and hallucinating the glide of your fingers down his spine. some nights he wakes up out of a dead sleep because he thought he had felt you brush against his arm. some sort of joy curls in his chest as he looks over to what was once your side of the bed, only to be crushed by the crippling realization that it was indeed just as empty as it was when he fell asleep.
he knows you aren’t there, he knows you may never be there again. but that doesn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat at every lingering touch his mind betrays with. maybe, maybe this time, it was actually you: and then he’s sitting up alone in the dark staring at his bed, because it is never real.
no matter how many times he tells himself that it isn’t you, he simply cannot help but check… just in case.
because heuning kai was absolutely, devastatingly, and all-consumingly in love with you, even if your absence broke his heart a little more each time.
soooooo monster skz 👀 werewolf chan??? siren felix?? vampire seungmin 👁️👁️ kyuubi jeongin! incubus hyunjin :000 orc or half orc changbin. jisung as some kind of hybrid (cat? dragon? bunny? who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)
Do with this information what you will ✨
monster!skz drabbles i can’t stop thinking about
sweet anon… you opened the floodgates that is my monsterfucker brain. i hope you enjoy my devolve into madness >.< this is a long ass post sorry (not sorry at all btw)
pairing; skz x reader (minho is posted here!)
tw; monsterfucking, fem reader, NSFW!, pet names, unprotected sex (be smart), manhandling, blood drinking, oral (f and m receiving), blood and guts, semi public scene, vague manipulation, abo dynamics, ropes, claws fangs scales and fur (*blushes*), some degradation, biting, branding, temperature play (?), poor y/n is about to be exhausted
bang chan;
it’s late when you first meet him. you’re walking home from a night out, hands pulling your skirt down on the dimly lit street. the full moon gives an eery glow to the otherwise dark, lonely concrete path.
and yes, you know it’s stupid to walk home alone. you know you’re a little tipsy and should have called an uber, but alas, you thought the ten minute walk could clear your head. you had a fight with a friend and felt too heated to get into the stiff air of someone else’s car- so, the chilly night air seemed like a better alternative.
this alternative, however, also included a giant fucking wolf in the tree bank. you still completely when you see it, eyes glinting off the moon light, hunkered down like it waits for prey. your heart drops to your ass, surely, you’re dead. surely, you’re about to be on the morning news, torn to shreds and beyond the point of identification.
the wolf watches you from a distance. when you scoot closer to the corner, ready to make a run for it, the wolf suddenly snaps its head in the direction of the woods. you inhale- it runs off, darting back into the thick greenery.
you run.
the next day you feel like you’re caught in a haze, glowing eyes meeting you every time you close your own. so you think, maybe you need a pick me up. maybe you need a coffee.
the coffee shop is a nice, day-lit walk. the overcast sky and gentle air remind you that you are alive and well- not torn to shreds. not a late night snack for a giant beast. as you’re walking, a body brushes yours. when you turn, a man is staring back at you.
“oh! my bad,” the man says, voice smooth, grin splitting his face and dimpling his cheeks. you feel your heart skip a beat in your chest as he looks over your body. he seems to catch himself, clearing his throat and sticking out a large, scratched hand. his knuckles are bruised. “i didn’t mean to startle you. i’m chan.”
you don’t remember giving him your name, but you love the way it rolls off his tongue. it sounds like a sigh, an exhale, he says your name like you’ve met before. old friends, even.
chan starts popping up more and more, he becomes your best friend. loyal, strong, muscular- fucking hot- he’s the whole package. he’s the type of friend that makes it easy to blur the lines, makes it easy to see how far you can push before he pulls away. but he never does. he pushes back, closes in on you every single time.
chan is acting weird. it’s been about a month since you met, since he became so important to you, and today feels… off. you try to ask him to hang out, but he brushed you off, saying he wasn’t feeling well. instead of taking his word for it, you decide to check up on him.
you’re not crazy. if you didn’t have such a horrible pit in your stomach, such a terrible feeling, you wouldn’t bother him. but it’s nearing midnight and you can’t sleep- restless at the thought of something bad happening. so, you go to his place. you take the spare key from the potted plant next to his door, and you walk in.
chan is on his couch. chan is panting, noticeably sweating, hair mussed from constant tugging. he’s barely wearing any clothes- only boxers- and you pause as you look at him.
chan is alert, snapping his head toward you in a way that’s almost too fast. he stands on wobbly knees, frantically looking towards the night sky through his open window before looking back to you. his eyes are glowing.
“y/n,” chan pants out, brows furrowed. “fuck- go home. now!”
you aren’t quite sure what happens next. one minute, you’re standing in the entryway of chan’s apartment, watching in horror as his body starts to contort in ways that cannot possibly be real. the next minute, you’re slammed into the carpet, claws digging into the floorboard by your head and a snarling set of canine teeth way too close to your neck.
chan- at least, you think it’s chan- is above you. he is growling, sharp and animalistic. between low noises you hear a single word, filled with the need to claim, to mark you. mine.
you would have to be massively fucked up to find this hot- your pussy clenches at the sight of him, though. not quite wolf, not quite human, and you gasp loudly as claws rip through your shirt. fuck, maybe you are massively fucked up.
“you shouldn’t have came here,” chan growls, voice ripping from his throat. “stupid puppy, need your alpha to teach you some respect, hm?” you whimper. chan absolutely demolishes your clothing.
you’re soaked, probably need to pay to get the carpet cleaned, but chan doesn’t seem to mind. he growls, sniffing at your neck right where it meets your shoulder. you feel his cock- large, pulsing, hot- against your thigh and a moan passes through your lips. chan can’t help but rut into your thigh, now nipping at the skin of your neck.
“spread your legs, darling. good girls take their alpha without whining, yeah?” chan grumbles, voice a low timbre next to your ear. you shiver violently, legs spreading open as he lines up with your entrance. no prep, no lube, just your soaked cunt and his precum covered cock to ease the way.
you scream when he thrusts in, you can’t help it. it’s rough, the stretch making your vision blurry. it’s so good. you feel like you’re being split in half, marked and claimed entirely by him. you are chan’s, and in return, he is yours.
“my sweet puppy,” chan moans, rutting into you frantically. his clawed fingers grip your hips hard, sure to draw blood. you hope they leave angry red scratches. you hope your blood stays under his nails forever. you beg, a string of please please please chan please leaving your lips, although you aren’t even sure why. all you know is that your stomach is tightening, hands balling up into fists, and chan’s sharp canines are grazing the fragile skin of your neck.
“gonna mate you- fuck, y/n-“ chan is panting now, teeth grinding together like he wants nothing more than to sink them into you. you want him to so bad, you bare your neck for him. “shit. gonna fill you so full, you’re gonna take my knot-“
chan’s teeth sink into your neck. you moan loudly, the noise ripping from your throat like an animal of its own, and you cum- hard. then chan is cumming too, pumping his load into you and thrusting in to the hilt, a large bump at the base of his cock wedging inside of you and staying there. his knot, probably.
you spend an uncertain amount of time- maybe minutes, maybe hours- on the ground, panting and allowing chan to lick your neck clean. he’s practically purring, hands no longer clawed as they run through your hair. finally, he is able to pull out. you whine, earning a sweet hushing sound from the man as he carries you to lay down. a gentle kiss is pressed to your forehead. you fall asleep laying in your mate’s arms.
changbin;
the last thing you expected when you heard a loud bang on your front door was this.
a man stands towering over you. huge- well over seven feet tall, muscles the size of your head, and the expression of someone that would easily murder you without blinking twice. holy fucking shit, you’re dead.
when he bullies his way into your apartment, opening the pantry door and killing a fucking demon right in front of your eyes, you’re surprised to say the least. a demon was messing with your pancake mix and shit.
the man- the orc, rather, tells you his name is changbin. he’s grumpy- a little pissy all the time. you tell him you’re fine, but he insists on staying around a little longer to ensure your safety. humans are too dumb and fragile to be safe on their own, he grunts. he wants to make sure the threat is eliminated.
he stays with you for months. not only in your home, but physically with you. all the time. honestly, you assumed this would annoy you. you consider yourself to be pretty independent, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t like having scary guard dog privileges.
changbin is bigger than any human man you could ever meet. no one approaches you, no one tries to pick you up when you’re having fun with your friends. changbin is always there, like a statue next to you, ready to fight (and kill) anyone who looks at you wrong. it’s oddly peaceful. you feel safe.
the thing is, changbin does not make empty threats. he told you he would keep you safe, and he has proven that he will. the demon in your pantry was the first instance; the sleazy man in denim staring you down from across the room will be the second.
sometimes, men have no survival skills. you can tell this is one of those times as the man wobbles on his feet, stalking towards you and flopping down into the chair to your right.
immediately, you say you’re not interested. why would you be when you’ve been fucking yourself to the thought of your hot orc bodyguard every night? but the man doesn’t take no for an answer. his hand moves to touch your bare thigh.
it never makes contact. instead, there’s a sickening crack as the man falls from his seat with a loud cry, holding his wrist. you didn’t even see changbin move, but suddenly he’s towering over the figure and raising his fist in the air.
you dart out of your seat, tugging at changbin’s snug shirt and whining about wanting to go home. obviously, murder would be a hard crime to plea innocent for- especially when half the bar is staring in your direction. changbin is still for moments, then he huffs loudly. grumbling, he circles your wrist with two large fingers and drags you towards the exit of the bar.
you can tell he’s pissed. and really, he doesn’t give you a chance to ask him about it. as soon as the door to your apartment is locked, he’s throwing you over his shoulder and taking large strides towards your bedroom. you punch and kick at him, telling him to let you down, but it’s wasted energy. he throws you onto the bed without breaking a sweat.
“ridiculous,” he scoffs, arms crossed and visibly fuming. “can’t even go out of the house without having useless humans beg for your attention.”
then, he’s closer. caging your thighs in between muscular legs and pinning your wrists at your head. “but i don’t have to beg, right y/n?” he asks, voice still tinged with anger. “no, i don’t. you will, though.”
your clothes are ripped away in seconds, the cotton fabric feeling so flimsy under his strong hands. changbin undresses next, leaving you panting and your eyes bulging at the sight of his massive cock. it’s almost as big as your forearm. you’re about to be ripped apart, just like your clothes.
“don’t worry, fragile little thing,” changbin huffs. “i’ll get you nice and wet. ready to take what i give you.”
and he does. changbin’s tongue, large and dripping with his spit, licks a stripe through your already wet pussy. he moans at the taste, sound vibrating your sensitive clit as he moves his tongue and lips. your hands thread in his hair, legs spread wide open around his strong, solid shoulders.
changbin’s tongue fucks into you deeper than anyone has ever been, your own fingers couldn’t even do it justice. he prods at your bundle of nerves, with each press of his tongue fire zips up your spine. he can tell when you get close- legs trying to squeeze around his head but unable to move much- and he… stops.
you whine and cry for more, begging for the release you could practically taste, but changbin doesn’t respond to your cries. instead, one solid arm flips you over in a single movement; you’re on your stomach now, large hands wrapping around your hips and pulling you to your hands and knees.
“have to make sure stupid assholes know who you belong to,” he grunts, hands tightening on your hips. you’ll have finger shaped bruises on your lower stomach tomorrow. the dimples of your back with be marked with purple kisses. the thought brings you that much closer to desperation.
when changbin lines his cock up with your greedy hole, you clench in anticipation. he grumbles in annoyance under his breath, large thumbs spreads your cunt open to make way for his length. then, he slides home.
your eyes roll back when you feel his hips press against your ass, head falling to hang between your arms. his hand stretches over your stomach- palming himself from within your body. fuck.
changbin starts thrusting, hips smacking into your ass and turning it bright red. you hold onto the headboard, hoping it doesn’t break- the bed is creaking. mattresses are expensive. each and every thrust inside you leaves you dripping, and if you were capable of forming any thoughts you would be embarrassed of the wet sounds coming from the place where the two of you are connected.
changbin shifts, long fingers coming to press against your clit and move in tight, fast circles. then he’s groaning, forehead resting between your shoulder blades as he moans, “fuck, you feel like heaven- cum for me, pretty girl. wanna feel you squeeze my cock-”
and then you cum. harder and more earth-shattering than you ever have in your life.
you get impossibly tighter around his length, pussy throbbing with every wave of the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. changbin isn’t far behind you, pounding into your heat once more before burying himself deep inside you and cumming, stuffing you full.
when you come back down from the clouds, changbin is wiping your body with a warm washcloth. you blink sleepily at him, smiling in your dazed state at the feeling of his gentle movements, as if afraid to hurt you now. when he is done, he climbs into bed beside you. large, strong arms wrap around you like a blanket, a kiss lands in your hair. as you’re dozing off, he mumbles out a last breath into the night air- a promise.
“i’ll always keep you safe, baby. you can count on me.”
hyunjin;
really, you’ve had plenty of stupid ideas in your life. this one might take the cake.
summoning a demon with the intention of trapping it, with the intention of tricking it into hunting someone down for you, is a bad idea. you know that. when your best friend had proposed the idea, handing you an incantation that predated modern latin, you had told him exactly how bad you thought the idea was. but here you are- black candles lit in a circle of salt, a bowl of your own blood resting in the middle.
granted, you probably should have learned old latin pronunciation. or maybe even like, new latin. really, any form of latin. but you didn’t, because the idea was already bad. how could it get worse?
in the end, the incantation didn’t even work. the candles burnt out, your blood remained cold in the ceramic bowl, and you were left with nothing but vague frustration as you cleaned your kitchen floor of the mess.
you lay down for the night shortly after, snuggling under your blankets and feeling the softness of them against your smooth, bare legs. with a sigh, you sleep.
then you wake up- sweating, heart racing, bolting upright to dart your eyes around your room.
you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. you feel the urge to bolt from your bed, run out the door and keep running. someone- something- is watching you. you can’t explain how you know, you just know.
then, you see it. from the corner of your dark room, there is a figure crouched in your floor. you sharply inhale when crimson eyes meet your own, the shadow tilting it’s head in observance. slowly, the figure stands.
as it comes into the abysmal light from your window, you can start to make out certain features. elegant legs taking graceful steps, slim fingers attached to large, veiny hands. long, black hair cascades over broad shoulders, and those eyes- blood red, glinting with mischief in the sliver of light.
it’s a man, you think. a shockingly beatiful man. you feel the bed dip as hands press down on the mattress, the figure slowly crawling up until he is caging you in from all sides.
a low hum rumbles in his chest, then, “it has been centuries since i have been called upon, millenniums since the being was so… mouthwatering.”
the man leans in close, stealing the breath from your lungs as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “so tell me, y/n. why did you call?”
oh, so he knows your name. fantastic.
“i… i need to kill a man.” you mutter, doe eyes batting upwards in nervousness. you were much more confident when you went over your script in the bathroom mirror. the man laughs breathily, shifting his weight to trail fingertips down your neck, collarbone, and downward. the fingers stop at your cleavage- right where your tank top starts.
“you called me for a murder? darling, i never get my hands dirty. i prefer to feed on those who are more than willing.”
shit. you really should have learned how to pronounce that incantation.
you gulp audibly, hand shaking as it moves to the demon’s chest. your intent had been to push him off of you, but now that your hand has made contact with chilled skin and strong muscle, you can’t find it in yourself to drag it away.
“do not lie to yourself, doll. why did your heart call to me?” the demon mutters, his hand enveloping your own on his bare chest. he moves your hand down, down further, until it rests at the silk fabric above his groin. your fingers curl into it without thinking.
“maybe-“ your voice cracks, so you try again. to your humiliation, the demon grins. “maybe i wanted… to forget?”
now, the fingertips at your cleavage move further, dragging your top down and off your shoulders- off your body all together. you fight the urge to whine as cool air hardens your pert nipples, the demon locking eyes with you as your shirt leaves your body. his grin widens, dark and warning. your heart accelerates against your ribcage.
“that, i can do. it is what i was made for, after all.”
the demon wastes no time revealing your body, strong hands leaving chills in their wake each time he removes more clothing. next, the silk around his hips unfolds, revealing the biggest, prettiest cock you have ever laid eyes on. and you have never thought a dick to be pretty in your life.
your mouth is watering- the demon coos at you like he knows. his hand wanders into your hair, petting the strands before gripping you tightly and moving forward so that his length is just out of your reach. with glassy eyes and a breathless sigh, you open your mouth for him. and he takes full advantage.
his cock is heavy on your tongue, throbbing when you whine around him and close your lips to suck at the tip. he pushes further in, continuing to use your hair as a guide to push and pull your mouth on his length. he groans, low and deep, when you feel him hit the back of your throat and you swallow.
“good, darling. worship me,” he hums. and you do.
drool leaks from your lips, down your chin, as the demon uses your mouth to his content. when you move a hand up to stroke him, he gently slaps it away with a hush. with one final tug of your hair, he leaves you panting, mouth open, and tears falling from your eyes. you aren’t sure if you are thankful for a breath of air- you want to choke by his hands.
“stop whining, doll. i will give you what you desire most,” he grins, sharp teeth glimmering in the darkness of the room. his eyes are brighter somehow, red pools of blood swirling in otherwise black irises. your legs spread wider, bracketing his sharp hip bones as his length presses to your entrance, running his cock head through your soaked folds and watching you clench around nothing in desperation.
when he presses in, it’s slow. deliberate. like he wants to make sure a space is carved out for every inch. when he is buried to the hilt, hips pressed flush to yours, he lets his head fall back with a sigh- as if embracing a lost lover. he pulls out just as slow, you feel him pulse as just the tip of his cock rests inside your wet, messy hole.
then, his hips snap.
the pace he sets is immediate- bruising, deep, pulling your thighs so that your legs are around his broad shoulders, ass lifted off the bed. his hands grip your hips like he will never let go, the promises of bruises seared into his touch. and you scream, hands reaching for his arms and clawing at his skin, sure to draw blood. instead of a complaint, the only thing to fall from his lips is a long, animalistic groan.
it’s all so much- so many sensations pulling you in so deep you feel like you’re suffocating. one of his hands moves to your nipple, plucking and pinching meanly just to feel the way you clench around him.
the demon can tell when you’re close, it only makes him double his efforts. his claws prickle your hip where they draw blood, he pants and moans loudly when he licks his fingers clean.
“fuck- darling, you taste so good. show me how you feel when you fall apart, when i take what is mine.”
with those words, you’re completely swallowed in pleasure. as you cum, moaning and sobbing and shaking, the demon moans too. his eyes roll back, snapping his hips once more before burying himself to the hilt inside your pulsing cunt and cumming- long, thick ropes covering your walls.
the demon shushes you gently as you cry with the aftershocks, turning you onto your side and slipping in behind you. you’re a mess; sweat covered skin, blood drying on your hip bones, cum leaking from your aching cunt. he doesn’t seem to care, just pushes your hair away from your face and mouths at the place where your neck meets your shoulder.
“you did amazing, doll. perfect for me,” you hear him hum into your back before your eyelids grow heavy.
you black out. you know you do, because when you wake it is to the sound of birds chirping and early morning light. you’re fully clothed, your pjs from the night before hanging off your body- wrinkled, but clean.
that was the hottest dream i have ever had, you think, stretching and groaning when your limbs pop after being still for so long.
you go to the bathroom groggily, still foggy brain barely wincing at the bright lights. when you look in the mirror, you pause.
the back of your shirt has a large, dark red stain. blood. it has to be.
your heart drops to your ass as you gently lift your shirt in the mirror, gritting your teeth as sensitive, aching flesh hits the cold air. then you gasp- wide eyes staring at your back in shock.
right between the dimples at the bottom of your spine, large and dark crimson from dried blood, lies one word. italicized cursive, a stamp on your body that will surely take forever to heal; a brand that will stay scarred long after the pain subsides.
hyunjin.
jisung;
in hindsight, you probably should have done a background check on your new roomie before he moved in.
but really, your intuition is so good! and han jisung did not seem like a murderer or stalker- he seemed like a very strange, very hot, loser.
and for fucks sake, that’s your type.
so he moved in shortly after responding to your craigslist ad, shortly after you met for coffee to get to know each other. and to be fair, things haven’t been bad. just… odd.
jisung might be a little weirder than you had initially thought. the man has a metric fuck ton of trinkets- and hey, you love trinkets! but he brought boxes full of things; little gold coins, gold statues of various animals and deities, ashtrays with golden flecks molded into them. you had initially joked that you were more of a silver girl, jisung had just wrinkled his nose and huffed at you. huffed.
not only does he have a hoarding issue, but jisung is also like, incredibly clothed. all the time.
here’s the thing: it’s the middle of fucking july. there is no reason for jisung to be wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, t shirt tucked in underneath. you sweat just looking at him. and he wears these weird ass contacts- all the time. bright blue eyes were jarring to see staring back at you in your kitchen at first, but whatever. you got used to it.
about a month after moving in, jisung started leaving you gifts. little crystals, flowers that he had definitely picked himself- they were never creepy, he always tried to play it cool, but the blush high on his cheeks made you hide smiles behind your hands. you knew he wanted you to like him, and it was working.
you’re a simple gal- when jisung comes home from one of his late night walks, silently placing a rock next to you (a geode, split open and glimmering delicately in the low light) it makes you swoon a little. when he knocks on your bedroom door and holds out a beautiful silk fabric, emerald green and expensive to the touch, mumbling something about how he had too many clothes and you deserve it, you melt. he’s just too damn cute.
the longer jisung shared your apartment, the more time the two of you spent together. suddenly, you couldn’t imagine your life without jisung. he’s your very best friend. he’s clingy in the same way you are, love language shown in his effort to spend quality time in your presence and give you pretty things. living with jisung comes easy, natural.
you have never seen jisung mad.
he’s a chill guy. a nice dude. he is frustratingly calm all the time, laughing off jabs directed towards him, grinning in amusement when you try to push his buttons. nothing gets under his skin, like ever. and it drives you crazy, because you want to get under his skin- just once. just to see what would happen.
jisung is very adamant about having time alone. part of the reason the two of you work so well living together is because he works from home and you work in an office, meaning he gets to be by himself from 9-5 every weekday. jisung also values honesty. he is incredibly loyal, never leaving your side whenever you’re at home or spending time around the city together, and he expects the same from you. he expects honesty, loyalty, and his alone time.
which is why you plan to break all three of these expectations at once. just to see what will happen.
you have another friend who you love dearly. he thinks you’re a little insane, suggesting your master plan to him, but he also lives for the drama. it isn’t hard to get him on board with your idea. it isn’t hard to call into work and say you’re sick. it is a little hard to look jisung in the eyes and tell him you’re leaving for work that morning- but you hope he will forgive you.
“it’s just a prank, relax,” you huff to your friend, walking down the hallway to your apartment door. he rolls his eyes, whining behind you.
“i literally don’t know this man, he could kill me!”
you laugh in response but say nothing more as you quietly step up to your front door. when you have slowly turned the key, unlocking it, you look back to your friend with raised brows. now or never.
he sighs, grimacing in annoyance before grabbing you by the waist and leaning into your neck. he whispers i hate your guts into your ear before you back into the door, opening it quickly.
you don’t see jisung immediately, but you know he sees you. you giggle and thread your fingers into your friends long hair, trying not to actually laugh at the feeling of his lips pecking your neck. there are no butterflies, no arousal pulls in your stomach, it feels almost clinical- but you pull out your best acting skills to moan softly.
you hear the tv show playing stop as jisung pauses the tv, cursing loudly. when you peak an eye open, pushing your friend away in fake shock, jisung is covering himself with a blanket. for a moment the room is silent. you stare at jisung with wide eyes, fighting a grin as he stares back at you, chest heaving from the unexpected entrance.
“shit, sungie- i didn’t realize you would be home,” you curse, faking an apologetic look and smoothing out your skirt. jisung blinks back at you, stare blank for a moment. then, his eyes turn to slits- head tilting as he looks between the two of you.
“y/n,” jisung states, calm. too calm. “could you tell the other thing to leave? we should chat.”
your friend has his hand on the door before jisung is even finished- coward. he mutters something about hoping your lay is worth his life, and as the door closes you lock it, biting your lip when you turn back around.
it’s too quiet. jisung has his legs crossed under the blanket, whole body covered by the fabric, but his eyes are still pinning you to your spot. when you open your mouth to speak, jisung holds up a hand to stop you.
“you know, y/n, i think this is really funny.” he says, looking entirely unamused. his tongue pokes into his cheek as he shifts under the blanket- uncomfortable in his seat. “it’s so funny that you just- what? conveniently forgot i work from home? forgot i am always here, every weekday? forgot i don’t like having uninvited- pests, in my home? touching my things?”
your mouth is dry. you can’t speak, can only squeeze your thighs together and try to squeak something out. “sungie, i-“
“no. there’s no need for that,” jisung cuts you off again. “you know what i think you’re doing?”
then, he stands. the blanket is left to fall on the ground, and you immediately notice three things.
one: jisung is wearing baggy shorts and a tank top. you have never seen this much honey skin- if your mouth was dry before, now it’s like cotton.
two: jisung is jacked. biceps protrude from his top, strong calves and thighs, huge pecs-
three: jisung… has fucking scales. honest to god scales- red and orange crawling up his arms, down his legs, and peaking out from under his tank top. you flush, suddenly feeling too sweaty in the cool air of the room.
jisung doesn’t stop until he is right in front of you, now looking down at you through thick, dark lashes. his eyes are even orange- bright, with cat-like pupils. that explains the contacts.
“i think, you knew i would be home.” he murmurs, tongue (forked fucking tongue) peaking out to lick his bottom lip. when your breath catches in your throat, he grins- too-sharp white teeth making your knees feel wobbly.
he doesn’t stop talking. “you know i’m always home, you know i don’t like people in my space, and you know i don’t fucking like lying. so you’re either really, really stupid, or you did this on purpose.” jisung leans in closer, eyes practically glowing as he huffs through his nose, agitated. his hand comes up to your neck, holding the side of your throat in his grasp- not applying pressure, just holding, as if to say i could hurt you if i wanted to.
“so y/n, which is it? are you just really fucking stupid?” then, he gives your throat a shake- jostling your head like a doll. “or was it on purpose?”
you’re silent. speechless. stunned and blinking dumbly at your roommate. you can see the vibrant scales on his arm from the corner of your eye, reminding you jisung isn’t fucking human- at least, not entirely. suddenly you feel like an animal, small and weak and trapped in the hunter’s lair.
your pussy throbs. holy shit.
jisung is waiting for you to speak, so you muster what little words you can remember through the fog in your brain. “you- you caught me, ji. it was on purpose.”
jisung’s tongue pokes into his cheek as he raises an eyebrow, head lifting condescendingly. “oh really? and what made you think you could get away with that?”
you flush, thighs squeezing tighter together. jisung notices this time, cat-like eyes flicking down to your legs before they’re back on yours. you clear your throat, his hand briefly squeezes before letting go to simply hold you again.
“maybe i didn’t think i could get away with it,” you whisper, batting long eyelashes up at him. “wanted to know how far i could push before you pushed back.”
that seems to be all it takes. jisung laughs once, nodding as if he had just made a decision in his head. then, you’re being shoved back into the wall- hand on your neck pinning you to the surface. his other hand moves to your top, pulling it down roughly and revealing your hard nipples to the air. you gasp at the sudden shift, but the sound is swallowed as jisung kisses you harshly.
all you can do is moan as jisung kisses you, meanly biting into your bottom lip until your mouth opens and his forked tongue meets yours. the hand not gripping your neck tugs on your thigh and you take the hint, wrapping your legs around his waist and leaning your weight into the wall behind you.
jisung breaks away from the kiss, lips traveling to your neck to bite and lick across the skin. then, his mouth is on the top of your breasts. “you wanna see me push back, baby?” he breathes into your skin, making eye contact with you briefly. “this is me pushing back.”
jisung’s mouth wraps around one of your nipples, sucking it into his mouth. you moan breathlessly, head tilting back into the wall. jisung’s mouth is warm- but it gets warmer. it gets hot, tongue like liquid fire as he kisses across your chest to tease your other pert nipple.
“fuck- jisung, that-“ you gasp, moaning at the heat blooming into your skin. you feel him grin against you, lips pressing a chaste kiss to your chest before he raises up.
“you like that? like feeling that flame, baby?” jisung purrs, pupils dilated to near-circles. you whimper as he flips your skirt up around your waist, nodding quickly.
you do like it, the feeling of his molten tongue leaving a searing trail over your sensitive skin. in your half-delirious state you wish it would leave marks. then jisung moves his hand from your neck, rubbing his thumb up and down your soaked underwear and laughing to himself.
“shit, baby. already a mess and i’ve barely done anything, hm?” he coos, pressing harder against your clit through the thin fabric. you whine, trying to grind your hips into his hand. he takes pity on you, tsking once before finally pulling your panties to the side.
you sharply inhale when jisung’s finger enters you without warning- jisung inhales too, mocking you. the look you get when you raise your head to weakly glare at him makes you clench around his finger. not only is he enjoying this, but he knows you are too. jisung is always so nice, so gentle, but now? seeing him mean and biting, teasing you with dexterous hands and a mischievous glint in his eyes? you’re so turned on it hurts. you need him- bad.
but you know jisung. you can feel his hard cock pressing into the swell of your ass, you know he wants this just as bad as you do. he slides a second finger inside of you and you moan as he curls them, pressing insistently into that sweet bundle of nerves.
“fuck, y/n- you’re putting on such a good show,” jisung grins, fingers moving faster. “my hand is dripping, rockstar.”
you whine, long and drawn out, hands clenching on his shoulders. “god- close, jisung! please, please don’t-”
you feel his lips on your neck, heat licking up your spine as he growls into the skin. “cum, baby. cum all over my fingers.”
you fall apart just like that; your thighs shake, sensitive cunt tightening and pulsing around jisung’s fingers. then, you feel his fingers leave you as something way fucking bigger takes their place.
jisung thrusts his entire length into you in one swift motion that has you sobbing- hands clawing at his shoulders hard enough to break skin while you’re still pulsing from your orgasm. you feel his cock splitting you open, the stretch of it aching in a way that makes you feel dizzy. you’re still throbbing, pussy clenching around his length as you come down from your high, and he doesn’t even give you time to adjust before he’s adjusting his grip on your ass and shifting his hips.
“just like that, baby,” jisung pants, snapping his hips forward like he’s starved. “gripping me so tight, that little cunt is greedy, huh?”
all you can do is moan, tears falling from your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure. jisung uses his thumbs to spread your pussy, watching himself fuck in and out of you with a half-manic look in his eyes. he bites down hard on his bottom lip, starting to rub your oversensitive clit in tight little circles while nailing your g spot with every thrust- you might die like this. to your shock, you feel close again.
this time, you barely open your mouth before your orgasm is slamming into you, white-hot and licking up your spine like a fire. jisung groans loudly, forehead falling to your chest, hips moving quicker as his thrusts grow sloppy.
“just like that, rockstar. squeeze my cock- fuck,” he rambles, pistoning his length into you for a few more seconds before moaning and squeezing his eyes shut, mouth falling open as you feel his release coat your aching walls.
you’re still whimpering when jisung pulls you off the wall, shushing you gently as he carries you to his room. you register vague details, like the shiny trinkets littering his shelves and the heaps of soft, silky blankets you’re deposited onto. when jisung crawls into the bed behind you, spooning you under the warm, weighted blankets, you hear him purring.
“next time you want attention, just ask baby.” jisung huffs, rubbing your back tenderly. “i would be happy to give it to you.”
felix;
you have never really liked the ocean.
it’s creepy- being in water that is so vast, knowing you could be swallowed deep in a seconds notice, no one to hear your screams over the roaring waves- it’s scary. you’re much safer on dry land, where you can walk and breathe fresh air.
going on a cruise is genuinely the last thing you ever wanted to do. but your best friend bought the tickets for her birthday, and it would be decidedly shitty of you to say no. so you find yourself here- laying on the deck with your friends surrounding the pool, waves looking darker under the rising moon. the sun had set half an hour ago, and the lull of the waves crashing into the ship has rocked you into a sense of security. your eyes are half closed, breath coming softly.
“psst, y/n,” your best friend shakes you, making you look up sleepily. “i think we’re heading back in. coming?”
you nod, yawning and stretching. “in a second, my leg is asleep. i’ll catch up,” you chuckle, trying to rub the pins and needles out of your calf. you watch your friends head back inside, sighing and leaning back against the cheap plastic chair again.
you fell asleep- like a fool. you don’t know how much time has passed when you blink your eyes open, but the moon is hanging right above you in the sky. you shiver, the chilled night air causing goosebumps to appear on your bare arms and legs.
the thought of being alone, on the ship’s deck in the middle of the night, leaves an eery feeling in the pit of your stomach. you sit up quickly, trying to calm the anxiety in your throat, when you hear someone behind you clearing their throat softly.
your body jerks- head snapping towards the sound so fast your neck pops.
behind you stands a man. a gorgeous man. clear honey skin, long blond hair, full pouty lips. you blink at he waves and draws closer, trying to even out your rapid heart rate. when he sits down gently beside you, you feel much calmer. a deep breath leaves you.
“hello, beautiful. what’s got you out here so late?” a deep, soothing voice rumbles from the man’s chest. you feel your breath come easier, as if his voice is giving you oxygen.
“i fell asleep…” you mutter softly, raising an eyebrow as you take in his body- dripping wet, by the way. “what’s got you soaked?”
the man grins, sharp white teeth and freckled cheeks and crinkles by his eyes. the moon is above you, but you feel the warmth of the sun. you grin back at him, almost subconsciously.
“i just showered,” the man laughs. “can i have your name? i’m felix.”
“yeah, it’s y/n. you showered fully clothed, felix?” you ask, brow furrowed although you don’t feel as confused as you should be. the more felix talks to you, the more you sink into your chair. you could listen to him for the rest of your life.
felix flashes a dazzling grin again, but his eyes seem somehow sharper- like he knows something you don’t, like you just handed him a golden ticket. you barely blink when he shifts closer, shifting your legs into his lap so he can sit in the lounge chair with you. the closeness makes you feel dizzy; a warm, swooping feeling running down your spine.
“enough about me, love.” felix says calmly, thumb running back and forth on your bare thigh. “who left you out here all alone?”
your friends- you had forgot about them. “oh, my friends… i should head back to the room.” you pout, so comfortable where you are.
felix blinks at you like he feels sympathy. like you’re a toddler who doesn’t understand anything about the world around you. he tsks at you, lifting your chin with his index finger and thumb. holding eye contact when he whispers, “or… you could stay with me, right?”
right. you could do that- why didn’t you think of that? felix smiles softly at you, looking proud. it makes your cheeks flush and your stomach clench. felix’s eyes are glimmering, little silver specks of glitter wafting through pools of deep, dark ocean water. the thumb holding your chin moves to your bottom lip, opening your mouth gently. then, he’s leaning in.
his tongue slips into your mouth. immediately, you’re gone. you moan softly into his touch, letting his tongue flick behind your teeth and circle your own like he’s claiming you. his hand tightens on your thigh and before you can really comprehend it, he has flipped your positions so that you are straddling his waist.
“are you gonna fuck me, gorgeous? hmm?” felix hums, smiling when you nod rapidly. his shorts are pulled down, long cock heavy against your stomach as he pumps himself. “go ahead, love. show me how good you can be for me, yeah?”
you whimper, hips grinding against his length as the words wash over you. felix is holding your hip steady, taking his other hand away from himself to move your bathing suit bottoms to the side and reveal your wet cunt to the cold air. you gasp, rocking back and forth and getting more soaked at the feeling of felix’s hard cock between your folds.
you feel so good- too good. you could cum just like this, pussy dripping onto the length of his pretty cock. but felix has different plans, he taps your thigh lightly to get you to stop, lining his member up with your clenching hole, and pushes in.
you feel like you’re drowning- fully seated, feeling his tip kiss your cervix and rub against that sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you. you whimper quietly, circling your hips to get used to the feeling. when felix’s hands tighten against your hips, you slowly start moving.
at this angle, his cock hits your most sensitive spots with every thrust. all you can do is bury your head into the side of his neck, moaning and bouncing on his length, fucking yourself like your life depends on it. you want to feel good, of course, but you want felix to feel better. the thought of giving him pleasure, making him cum, makes you more soaked with every thrust.
“look at me, angel,” felix says, the words rolling off his tongue like a song. he grips your hair firmly, using it to pull your head up.
you moan, the sound turning into a gasp when your eyes settle behind him before you meet his gaze. the boat- you’re still on the boat. you’re out in the open, being fucked within an inch of your life by the most beautiful man you have ever seen.
“what if someone sees us?” you whimper, eyebrows furrowing as you slow to a halt. felix laughs breathily, shifting you on his lap so he can bend his legs.
“let them see, i want everyone to know how good i fuck you.”
felix’s hips snap- his length moving in and out of your ruined cunt hard.
you scream.
you hope the sound is drowned out by the waves- the waves that have gotten rockier since the last time you can recall. beyond the sound of water crashing into the ship, all you can hear is felix, and felix doesn’t seem to care about the waves.
his hips continue to meet your ass, the pace so harsh it might bruise (you hope it does). you’re breathless, but felix is still talking.
“that feel good, baby? tell me, who do you belong to now? who’s pretty little pussy is this?” he grunts, leaning forward to press biting kisses to your chest.
“you- fuck, it belongs to you!” you whine, trying desperately to meet his thrusts. your legs have gone useless, thighs made of gelatin, but you still try. you want to make him feel so good.
“that’s right, baby. all mine to use,” felix groans, hand moving from your hip to your ass. suddenly, there’s a long fucking finger- and it’s pressing into you. right beside felix’s length.
you whine one more time, the feeling of being stuffed full enough to have you blacking out as you cum. your body is in overdrive, spine zipping with lighting, stars bursting behind your eyelids, pussy clenching around felix’s length and finger tight.
the feeling has felix gasping, pretty glittering eyes rolling back in his head as he cums, hot and deep inside you. you feel full to the brim, ropes of the sticky substance hitting your walls and making you throb again. you feel owned.
felix is still inside you when you come down from your high, face buried in his neck. he smells like sea salt and fresh air. you feel him tap your thigh again, causing you to blink at him sleepily, still feeling trance-like. he smiles softly at you, tucking stray hairs behind your ear and wiping tears from your face. when had you started crying?
“are you ready to go home, beautiful?” he asks, deep voice making you feel safe and satiated- warm despite the night chill. you nod softly, leaning into his hand as he cradles your face.
“yeah,” you mutter, yawning. “take me home.”
felix pulls out of you, gently hushing your whines of emptiness. he pulls your bathing suit back into place, scooping you up in his arms. you look out at the blurry scenery, watching as felix walks the two of you to the ledge of the ship. the waves are calm again, brushing the boat like a small animal saying hello. it feels inviting.
“let’s go home, love.” felix hums. and you do.
you go home.
seungmin;
a vampire lives in the creepy old castle on top of the hill by the cemetery. you’re sure of it.
your friend group jokes about this all the time- let’s go say hi to the vampire, i’m sure the vampire at the cemetery would love a snack, etcetera, etcetera. it’s one of the longest running jokes your friends have.
“okay, y/n- i dare you to go say hi to our friendly neighborhood vampire.”
still, it never gets old.
you laugh, running a hand through your hair as your friends whoop and holler, encouraging you to take the dare. rolling your eyes, you say, “what if he doesn’t want my company?”
another friend giggles, “c’mon y/n, don’t be a coward! are you… scared?”
really, that’s how you end up here- at the cemetery gates, one in the morning, your friend group yelling and pointing their phones at you as you walk inside.
“if i die, i’m haunting every single one of you bitches,” you laugh, shaking your head. you turn towards the cemetery, just barely able to make out the shape of the eery, desolate castle in the distant fog. well, it’s now or never.
the further you get into the fog of the night, you start to shiver. it’s cold out, late autumn air making your skin tingle. you’re sure the corpses around you are staying warmer. when you arrive at the foot of the hill, you wipe your sweaty palms against your long skirt and start your ascent.
from afar, the castle is big. up close, standing in front of the long, towering doorway, you realize it is gigantic. the gothic, stained glass windows and cobblestone exterior are beautiful, but the sheer mass of the building has something stirring in your gut. nerves attack your stomach as you raise your hand to knock.
knocking is the most reasonable thing to do, right?
there’s no answer- shocker. it’s the middle of the night, and if anyone truly does live here, they would be asleep. though, you doubt anyone actually resides in the castle. you’ve never seen anyone coming or going, the cobwebs on the door knockers proof of the vacancy. whatever. this was a waste of time.
your phone chimes, a message from your group chat stating go in or you lose!
annoyed, you huff. apparently, this will continue to waste your time.
you steadily grip the intricate door handle, polished stone carved with symbols you don’t understand, and twist the knob. at first it doesn’t budge- but then, a loud creak as it is pushed open.
you grunt with the force you have to exert, but manage to crack the door wide enough to squeeze inside. once you’re in, the door slams shut behind you, sealing your fate with an ominous click. the sudden silence makes your ears ring.
taking a deep breath, trying to ignore your rapid heart rate, you look at your surroundings. to your left is a large living area, deep red silk covers each sofa with yellow vines sewn into the fabric. a matching red rug sits underneath a large, mahogany coffee table, which is in front of a massive fire place. you breathe in deeply, smelling the lingering scent of burning wood.
someone has been here.
you carefully make your way further into the room, running fingers over books lining a shelved wall. no dust- you blink at your fingertips.
turning towards the fireplace, you squat down to hold a hand over the burnt wood. heat emits from the pile, warming your palm. then, you still. you didn’t feel it before, but you do now. something is behind you.
“oh, the spider caught a fly.”
you stand in record time, fighting the black spots dotting your vision as you twist to stare at the man before you. dark, elegant suit pants, a tan silk shirt, and heavy rings adorning calloused fingers. dark brown hair feathers out over his forehead, leading you to stare in shock as he looks back at you with crimson irises.
“well?” the man questions, raising a single eyebrow. “i would start running, little one.”
you run.
your feet stomp against the wooden floorboards as you try to sprint back to the door. when you had came in, it was only a handful of steps. now, it feels like the door keeps getting further and further away. when you successfully make it past the living room threshold you reach a hand out for the polished doorknob.
you hear a ripping sound, followed by an oomf! as you crash onto the floor. looking back you realize-
your fucking skirt got hung on a loose nail.
of course it did. you aren’t the final girl in some fucked up horror movie, this is real life. if anything, you would be the dumb one that dies in the first fifteen minutes.
you hear a low chuckle as the man slowly comes closer, shoes clicking in the silence of the room. you can’t hold back a whimper as he towers over you, feet planted on either side of your hips. you couldn’t move- couldn’t try to run anymore. he would just catch you.
he crouches down, smiling small and sharp and a little cruel as he looks you in the eye.
“that was pathetic,” he mutters. you nod slowly; it was pathetic. “what’s your name, little lamb?”
your voice is shaky when you reply, “y/n.”
“y/n,” the man mumbles, tilting his head as if deciding how it tastes on his tongue. he reaches out a hand, lifting your chin between his pointer finger and thumb. he is holding you a little roughly, making your lips pout slightly as you furrow your brow.
“it is a pleasure to meet you, y/n. call me seungmin. can you repeat that for me?” the man- seungmin- asks, although you don’t feel like you have much of a choice.
“…seungmin?” you whisper, the name foreign on your tongue. you might be delusional, but it tastes good in your mouth- like heady incense and metal.
when he grips your chin harder, sharp nails digging into your soft skin, you wince. that only serves to make him hold tighter, shaking your head slightly. “no whining. do you know why i asked you to say my name?”
you shake your head slowly, eyes watering at his grip. seungmin grins, and your blood runs cold. fangs. honest to god fangs are seated where his canines should be.
a vampire lives in the creepy old castle above the cemetery. you fucking knew it.
“because after i’m done with you, it is the only name you will remember.”
you’re hauled off the ground before you can process the words, and you’re being tossed onto silk sheets before you can even question how you got up the large, winding staircase in the hall so quickly. you yelp as he plops you onto the bed, not harshly but not soft. he treats you like a thing- an object he doesn’t care to break.
seungmin considers you for a moment, eyes dragging over every inch of your body. you feel naked and exposed, fragile and prey-like, and he hasn’t even touched you.
“i will only say this once,” he mutters, hands behind his back as he steps forward. he sits on the edge of silk sheets, looking every bit like some ancient, biblical statue of god. he smirks at you, unable to hold it back, like he can read your mind. and maybe he can- do vampires have superpowers like twilight made them out to?
“i am hungry, y/n,” seungmin says quietly, snapping your focus back to the present. he raises a hand, one singular finger running over your exposed calf. your breath hitches like you’ve been touched with a live wire. the ghost of a smile turns his lips upwards- feeling your reaction to him.
“i am starved,” he continues, fingertip trailing up and up, taking the bottom of your skirt with it. his movements stops half way up your thigh, pausing right before your skirt is moved to expose everything underneath. then, locking eyes with you:
“but you will let me feed, right?”
your chest rises and falls as if you’ve ran a marathon- panting for air and locked in a staring contest with something ancient, magic thrumming through his veins and curling down your throat heavy enough to make air scarce in your lungs.
you’re shaking, terrified, but beneath all the adrenaline and sweat clinging to your skin- you’re fucking soaked.
the realization makes you squeeze your thighs, knees knocking together. seungmin notices- of course he does- his sharp eyebrow raises.
“i need an answer,” he states, monotoned and deadpan, as if he didn’t look between your legs like you were the juiciest steak in the world. you would think he remains unaffected if you hadn’t noticed his blown out pupils; black fills his irises, animalistic and ready to pounce.
you nod, he doesn’t move. “a verbal answer.” he states, reigning in impatience. his fingers move on your leg, just barely raising your skirt more. just enough to reveal the barest hint of your aching core and wet panties.
your head feels heavy, the only thought playing on repeat is please, please, please- though you aren’t sure what you’re begging for. you say it aloud anyway, because maybe seungmin will know.
“i want it,” you say, voice coming out like a whimper. “please.”
the sharp grin you get in response makes you burn.
seungmin takes his time undressing you, as if he hadn’t said he is starved at all. if anything, he is patient. your clothes are taken inch by inch, until you’re left in nothing but the silk sheets around you; you shiver, trying to use the sheet to cover your chilled body.
you don’t make it far- seungmin grips your wrist as soon as you pull the blanket towards you, thumb pressing harshly into your fluttering pulse point.
“don’t try to hide,” he chides, eyes flitting from your own, to your chest and hard nipples, traveling down to your stomach, and finally pausing on your glistening pussy. you clench from the attention, empty and wanting so badly to be full. not only full, but whole.
he settles between your legs, hands coming to spread your thighs wide. you whimper- pitiful, you think. the voice in your head sounds like his.
seungmin is laser focused, leaning down and dragging open mouthed kisses over your neck. you heart stutters when he pauses by your shoulder- and he huffs a laugh into your skin. mean, teasing, like he knows what you’re waiting for.
suddenly you feel long, rough fingers- feather light touch running up from your entrance, circling your sensitive clit, then moving back down. you moan loudly, when your hips jolt to get closer to the touch his hand moves away. he chuckles at your resulting whine.
“what’s wrong, little lamb?” seungmin purrs, hand gripping one of your thighs tightly to hold you open. the fingers of his other hand continue to barely press against you, making you feel more and more desperate for ruin.
“please-“ you borderline sob, hands grabbing his shoulders through his shirt just for an anchor. finally, finally, you feel him move.
two fingers slide into you in one smooth thrust, immediately curling upward with pinpoint precision and making you cry out. seungmin mutters something, you can take it, as he starts pumping and scissoring them. your cunt is soaked- dripping onto the silk bedsheets and ruining them as you hear the wet sounds of his palm hitting your sensitive clit.
seungmin leans in again, mouth ghosting over your neck just long enough for you to clench around his fingers in anticipation. then, he passes by your neck entirely. instead he focuses his attention on your nipples- hard and already too sensitive- pressing his tongue directly to one before closing his lips around it.
you moan loudly, hips grinding down so that his fingers are pushed deeper inside you. seungmin huffs out an amused sound against your tits, the vibration around your nipple causing you to whine and beg for more.
“please, please,” you borderline yell, nails clawing at clothed shoulders. “need more- fuck, need you-“
seungmin slides a third finger into your eager pussy, the stretch sending you spiraling into more fucked-out whining. you feel like you’ve been lit on fire, desperate to have him own you in every way possible. you want his fingers, his tongue, his cock- fuck, you would probably let him carve his name into your ribs as long as he promised to finally fucking bite you.
“so needy,” seungmin hums, lifting from your nipple and moving to give the other one the same treatment. “you gonna beg for it, little one?”
“seungmin,” you whine, feeling the drag of his long fingers against your sensitive walls. you’re close already- you’re fucked. “god, please! i need you i-inside me, please!”
you’re crying. you hadn’t even realized. you are so overcome with need that your body doesn’t know what to do with itself. but then seungmin is shushing you, whispering that he knows exactly what to give you- exactly how to take care of you. then, he’s shedding his clothes.
his cock is mouthwatering.
he is long, curved just slightly at the tip, a blushing vein running under his shaft and precum leaking from his tip. you know you aren’t the only one affected now. seungmin wants you so bad.
he curses under his breath once, spreading your folds to watch as he lines his cock up with your entrance and teases the tip around your aching hole. he leans down to your ear, about to speak.
he pushes in to the hilt in one smooth, deliberate thrust.
then, his fangs sink into the fragile skin of your neck.
you scream. you absolutely shatter around his length, buried inside you as you come undone.
your neck is fucking sore- white hot pain quickly morphing into dizzying pleasure as you feel him pull the blood from your veins. his hips grind into yours, not pulling out. just a dirty rhythm to make your toes curl while he drinks from you.
“fuck, that’s it. squeeze my cock, work for it,” seungmin is moaning, eyes rolling back in his head as you throb around him. you see stars, panting and clawing at his arms hard enough to leave angry red lines. he pulls away from your neck, eyes glazed over as he looks down at you.
he starts thrusting.
the pace seungmin sets is deadly- hips pistoning into you with measured, fast punches. his cock kisses your cervix with every full, deep thrust. you swear you can feel it in your stomach. it’s like your body is rearranging its organs specifically to make room for him.
“please,” you whimper out again, entirely unsure what you’re begging for. you’re fucked dumb. and seungmin knows it, grinning at you with blood stained teeth and still-hungry eyes.
“already fucked stupid?” he asks, looking sympathetic. “unfortunate. i’m just getting started, pretty girl.”
seungmin’s hands move, one anchoring your hip to the bed for easier control, one coming up to your throat to grip you tight. the air fights to pass into your lungs, your moans turning broken and fragile at the added pressure. seungmin’s thumb is right above the puncture wound from his fangs, and when he shifts he presses directly over the still-tender wound in a way that makes your body seize up, squeezing him tight.
your moans grow an octave higher- that feeling sparking in the pit of your gut once again as seungmin drags his cock over that sweet bundles of nerves that makes you melt. he shifts, hand that was on your thigh now coming to circle your clit with precise, sharp fingers.
“gonna cum again, little one?” seungmin asks, huffing in amusement even as he starts to lose the pace of his thrusting. “go ahead. milk me dry, darling.”
your legs twitch on either side of seungmin’s waist, thighs clenching shut around him as you cry out- loud, voice cracking, eyes rolling back. seungmin squeezes your neck once more, a harsh reminder of who you belong to from this point forward.
you cum. hard.
the second orgasm you have makes your vision go white. you can feel seungmin lean back down to puncture your neck, the side he hadn’t already bit, and another wave of pleasure moves through you. your legs shake, vision going blurry, as you weakly grab onto the hair at the back of his neck.
seungmin pulls away, using your pliant body to thrust once, twice more before holding himself deep inside you with a guttural groan, breaking apart while seated deep inside you.
you can feel him throbbing, pulsing with every wave of his orgasm. when you both ride out your highs, the room is silent aside from your panting and seungmin’s quieter, deeper breathing.
he pulls out slowly- you both wince. he disappears for a minute only to come back with a soft cloth, damp and warm where it touches the skin of your thighs. seungmin cleans you up, focused on every bit of the mess the two of you have made.
when he deems you clean enough, he lies down beside you on the wrinkled sheets. your heartbeat stutters as he wraps you in an oversized, silken button down, a large comforter enveloping the two of you right after. he brings a hand to the back of your head, pulling you gently into his chest.
“i have unfortunate news for you, little lamb.” seungmin mutters, lips to your hair. you furrow your brow and look up, not responding. fingers card through your hair.
“i plan to keep you in this bed, forever. you’re mine now.”
seungmin’s fingers trail down, stopping at the fresh puncture wounds on your neck. you gasp, eyes fluttering as he presses down teasingly over the wound.
“til death do us part.”
jeongin;
getting lost in the middle of a forest was not on your bucket list. but if it had been, you could put a little check mark next to it now.
you had laid a trail of flower petals when you entered the forest. all of the townspeople always warn against going in without a clear way out- the winding paths and overgrown flora make even the best cartographer fall into confusion. however, you live on the very edge of this forest- however dense and intimidating it may be, you always follow the tree-line to pick seasonal berries and honeysuckle from the bushes. the forest makes you feel at peace.
today you decided to venture farther in than usual. the season has been bountiful, but rumors detail more forage buried deeper in the intricate canopy of trees- berries you can’t even find unless you dare walk into the unknown. so you picked flowers from your garden, shed them of their petals, and left a colorful trail behind you as you walked into the thick greenery.
you had thought you were lucky. you had thought the petals would keep you from getting turned around. now, so deep into the trees and bushes that all you can see is more trees on all sides, the flower petals you remember leaving trails of liberally are gone. as if swept away by the wind- or picked up as soon as you had placed them.
you sigh as you slouch onto a large tree that had fallen over. you tried going back the way you came, only to feel deeper in the woods. the sun is slowly moving overhead, slowly making way for the moon, and the sweat beading on your forehead is only partially from the temperature.
you’re lost. thoroughly.
oddly enough, you feel less worrisome than you should. the forest has always been a second home to you, now you have just explored farther into its walls and deeper into its crevices. as long as you make it home by sundown, there is no need to fret. the fresh honey suckle in your basket relaxes you, the berries ready to provide nourishment when you feel hungry.
the sun goes down.
you have been wandering for hours- feeling no closer or further away from home than you had been during the day. dusk quickly approaches, every owl hooting and deer rustling the nearby fallen branches makes your heart kick in your throat. you feel faintly dizzy, how had you passed the same tree four times now?
another fallen branch snaps nearby; undoubtedly, another deer trying to remind you it’s time to leave. you step backwards, ready to turn around and walk in a straight line until you can see something that isn’t green, but your heel hits a large root.
a muted thud- just as you trip on the tree root, hitting the damp dirt, ass first.
ouch.
you groan in frustration, pitifully kicking your legs as you squint up through the leaves above you. hours ago, the sun had been overhead. now, the moon takes it’s place, glimmering and twinkling like it is amused by your struggle.
“are you lost?” a smooth voice, quiet and to your left. your head quickly snaps towards the sound, heart beating like that of a wild hare as you look at the crouching figure beside you.
you hadn’t heard him approach, but the man is close now. elbows on his knees, loose fitting pants tied around slender hips with a simple rope. when your gaze tilts upwards, you find a wide, mischievous grin and sharp, white teeth.
the man is gorgeous. jaw-dropping, like he just walked out of ancient greece. The taught muscles of his biceps and large thighs let you know his body matches the gods you compare him to.
the fox-like figure raises an eyebrow, plush lips curling upward in an amused grin. you blink at him, unable to remember what he had said.
“what?”
the man grins fully, laughter curling around your body and settling beside your brain. he reaches a hand out towards you, slender fingers and manicured, pointed nails aiding in getting you to your feet.
“i said, are you lost?”the man hums, dimpled cheeks and mischievous eyes luring you in. you shake your head, smoothing out your dress and picking a stray leaf out of your stockings.
“no! of course not,” you scoff, completely lying. “i just… got a little confused. i’m on my way home.”
the man still grins, undeterred by your uncomfortable posture. he raises his eyebrows at you. “oh yeah? i’m on my way home, too. wanna walk together?”
you pause. normally, trusting a man you don’t know in the woods would be a terrible, horrible idea. but really- this guy seems… fine. maybe your survival instincts are just dulled because he’s hot. and what other choice do you have? wander until a larger animal finds you?
you nod. “sure, lead the way.”
he does lead the way; you watch the man’s broad back as he walks half a step in front of you, hands in his pockets and humming to himself. slowly, you begin to relax. you aren’t really in danger, you will be able to go home.
the trees don’t get any less dense the longer you walk. however, the man suddenly comes to a halt and turns to face you. you jump, almost running into his solid chest, but stop yourself at the last second. when you look up, the moon shines in his glimmering pupils.
“well, you’re welcome to come in. get a good night’s rest then start home tomorrow,” the man hums, grinning still. you furrow your brows, but your eyes widen when you peak behind him. there’s a whole cottage in the middle of the thick, twisting trees.
“you live here?” you ask, incredulous. the man laughs, eyes turning to sweet crescents. his laugh makes your ears ring, like a siren song.
“i do,” he nods, heading towards the wooden door. you follow quickly behind, afraid to be left alone again. “i can get you home, but it’ll have to be when the sun is up. i can’t see well at night.”
you pause in the threshold of the wooden cottage, watching as the man walks into his kitchen and stirs a large, boiling pot. as you cautiously step further into the home, closing the front door, your mouth waters. you smell stew- it smells heavenly.
you shuffle closer to the pot, stomach rumbling. apparently, berries and honeysuckle are not the best source of nutrition when you have been walking aimlessly for hours. the man notices your starved state, wetting your lips as you peek into the large pot. he clears his throat softly.
“you can have some, you know.” the man smiles, pulling two wooden bowls from a shelf above. he scoops a large portion into both bowls, handing one to you.
“oh- thank you…” you smile sheepishly, trailing off as you realize you don’t have his name.
he tells you it’s jeongin.
the longer you spend in jeongin’s presence, legs criss-crossed on a mat beside a large, stone fireplace, the more relaxed you become. jeongin is nice; he is witty, sharp-tongued, yet comforting to be with. you finish the stew fast, stomach full and bones content to rest.
jeongin takes your bowls back to the kitchen. when he sits down on the mat again, his knee brushes yours. the feeling, oddly, makes your stomach swoop.
“y/n,” jeongin murmurs, eyes quickly cataloguing the details of your face, the relaxed state of your body. whatever he finds when he looks at you makes his lips quirk up at the edges.
“are you tired? you are more than welcome to sleep in my bed. i can take the couch.”
you furrow your brows, pouting slightly. jeongin’s eyes flit down to track the movement.
“no way, i can sleep on a couch. it won’t kill me,” you say. you move to twist your body, back cracking as the tension from the day is released. as you groan from the feeling, jeongin laughs softly. his hand comes to gently rub your spine.
“please, your body needs proper rest. you should take care of yourself- if not, you’ll get weak.”
the hand on your back draws lazy circles, making your breath hitch. your half lidded eyes fly open, wide and doe-like. when you make eye contact with the man, sharp teeth bite into his bottom lip. briefly, you imagine them at your jugular.
“really, it’s fine.” you breathe out, pulse thudding against your temples. you can’t pinpoint why, but you feel cornered. trapped.
jeongin’s nails graze your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. while running them lightly over your back, one of his fingers catches on a torn seam. you feel the cut of the thread as his nail snags it, breaking the hemming.
suddenly, the contentment you felt earlier is replaced. while you expect to feel terror, you can’t bring yourself to move away. you realize with startling clarity that you aren’t afraid. your pussy throbs- you’re soaked.
jeongin’s mouth splits wide, like a cat that caught a mouse. self-satisfied, confident in his domain. he lives in these woods; if you chose to run now, he would find you. catch you.
you don’t want to run.
“what made you so quiet?” he hums, tilting his head. “you’re like a mouse, baby.”
you squeak. he laughs.
then, he leans in. whispering right by your ear, “come here. let me show you what these claws are for.”
jeongin pulls you into his lap, leaving you gasping and holding his broad shoulder with shaking hands. with a hand gripping your jaw, claws digging into your cheeks, he opens your mouth and takes exactly what he wants.
the second his tongue meets yours, you both moan. the wood burning in the fireplace behind you crackles, heating the room as your skin breaks out into a sheen of sweat. jeongin uses the hand not on your face to run up your thigh, under your dress, and grip your bare waist in his rough grasp. your hips grind downwards unconsciously- the feeling of claws gripping your skin and his cock heavy underneath you makes your panties stick to your wet core. you want to wake up tomorrow and find nail-shaped marks on your body.
“fuck, i can feel how wet you are, baby.” jeongin purrs, lips turning upwards against your skin as he leaves open mouthed kisses down your neck. “soaking my pants too, hm?”
you shudder, tilting your head back so he has more access to your neck. “please, jeongin- i need you, please-“
“shh, sh, sh,” he shushes you gently, looking at you with pity in his eyes. you whine against him, circling your hips harder and causing his eyelids to flutter softly. “don’t worry, lovely. i’ll give you what you need.”
jeongin lifts you effortlessly, laying you on your back, legs spread wide on the mat below you. he helps you remove your dress, leaving you in your ruined panties and nothing else. his eyes are hungry, starving even though you had just ate. when he glances back up at you, he’s panting.
“you look absolutely delicious,” he moans, hands gripping your thighs and spreading your legs wider. you whine as his head lowers, nipping teasingly at the sensitive skin near your core.
“i just have to taste you.”
jeongin slides fingers into your panties, slipping them to the side before he is devouring your cunt. you cry out at the first pointed, precise flick of his tongue against your clit, trying to close your legs around his head. the thought is useless; jeongin keeps your legs open with his hands, tongue fucking in and out of you at a pace that makes your toes start to curl already.
“please- too much-“ you beg, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your hands grip thick, dark hair like it is your only tether. you have never felt so close so fast in your life. no slow build, no wave of pleasure, only white-hot, pinpoint pressure that makes your vision go blurry. it feels too good, has your pussy clenching on his tongue before he’s even been between your legs five minutes. it’s embarrassing, how fast you’re hurdling towards orgasm.
you feel more than hear it, the vibration of laughter against your sensitive clit. jeongin is laughing at you- at your pitiful, needy sounds. the thought makes a fresh wave of slick arousal leave you.
jeongin’s tongue moves upwards again, flicking over your clit and encasing the sensitive bud between his lips, sucking on it until your legs are trembling. then, claws dig into your thighs again- you’re reminded the man below you is not quite human.
you break. thoroughly, completely shatter.
your thighs try to snap shut, but jeongin holds them open with rough, calloused hands. his tongue moves through your orgasm, steadily working you until you’re reduced to nothing but whimpers and twitching joints. with one last wide, flat lick to your core, he rises to his knees between yours legs.
“fuck, baby-“ he groans, head tilted downward so he can untie the rope of his pants, pushing the fabric down around muscular thighs. “you’re perfect, needed me to find you, hm? needed me to bring you home?”
you nod faintly, biting your bottom lip harsh enough to taste metal. jeongin is huge- cock pretty, vein running up the underside of his shaft, head pink and leaking precum that makes your mouth water. he notices you looking, a sharp, calculating glint in his eye.
“what is it, pretty?” he tilts his head, looking down at you with half lidded eyes as he taps the head of his cock against your pussy teasingly. “wanna beg for it?”
you whine, clenching at the wet sound of your cunt trying to pull him in. “please! jeongin, i need you- please, please, please-“
he laughs again, has the audacity to lean down and hook his thumb into your mouth just to shut you up. when you try to glare at him through watery eyes, you still completely.
there are three- no, four tails coming from behind the man. you watch the way they curl and sway like a cat, unable to move as more and more pop up. in total, as the fur fans out in a peacock-state, you count nine orange and white appendages springing forth from behind him.
holy fucking shit. definitely not human.
jeongin sees your distracted state, glancing behind himself with little care. when he turns back to you his eyes seem somehow sharper, more aware of his surroundings. more aware of you.
the thumb in your mouth presses down on your tongue, causing spit to pool around your teeth. you blink up at him, eyes wide and expression deer-like.
“still begging, baby?” jeongin murmurs, narrowing his eyes.
against all warning signals flaring in your head, you nod.
the grin you get in return is borderline feral, all sharp canines and pearly white teeth as jeongin lines himself up with your entrance and bottoms out in one long, smooth thrust. you cry out around his thumb, biting down on it in your attempt to ground yourself. the sting of pain makes him hiss, the pace he sets is immediately brutal.
jeongin drags his thumb away from your mouth, dragging your own salvia down your cheek before gripping both thighs to pull your legs over his shoulders. his hips snap in time with your loud cries and his own panting, hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes your heart stutter every time he thrusts in. your hands fumble to grab onto something- anything to keep you stable- but come up short. instead, you can only grab the edge of the mat to pray for sanity.
“fuck, you’re so tight,” jeongin moans, head tilting back to bare his neck. the tails are wrapped around him now, curled like tentacles and fluffed up in a show of dominance. if you were capable of thought, you might think they’re pretty.
“please- j-jeongin, i can’t-“ you babble, whining out the words in between your own moans, pleasure zipping through every atom in your body. your blood pumps in time with his thrusts, your heart beating in his clawed grip. even now, you know nothing will ever compare to this feeling. you’re undoubtedly ruined for anyone else.
“baby, god. you getting close?” jeongin asks, bottom lip once again taken between sharp teeth. you nod frantically, head bobbling as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten for the second time. this time, the feeling builds slower. the peek of pleasure is just up ahead, and all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and pray that the spiral leaves you still breathing.
jeongin moves his hand and your eyes snap back open with a broken moan. his deft fingers meet your clit, pressing tight, fast circles to the bud of nerves. faintly, you can tell his thrusts are getting sloppier too. less precision, more desperation.
“cum on my cock, pretty.” he groans, fucking into you at a faster pace, using all of his energy to push you that much closer. “fuck me, just like that.”
your body locks up around him- coil in your stomach finally snapping as you shudder through a second orgasm.
it lasts for what feels like decades, pussy convulsing and throbbing around his cock. then, as you’re finally coming down jeongin groans. he thrusts into you once, twice more before burying himself to the hilt and cumming deep inside you.
when the rhythm of your heart finally returns to normal, jeongin pulls out. you almost groan in annoyance, but the feeling of soft warmth enveloping your body has you sighing instead. looking to your left, jeongin looks back at you with puffy lips and pink cheeks. nine tails surround the two of you, cocooned in safety and comfort in the woodland cottage.
you wake up to the bright light of the morning sun. looking around with a furrowed brow, you feel discontent with your cotton sheets and silk pillowcases. the thought of fur and a beating heart still haunts you. had you dreamt the whole thing?
the dense treeline of an evergreen forest still peeks at you from beyond your bedroom curtains. when you finally crawl out of bed, your lower back aches. there are small, claw-shaped scratches littered along your hips. none of this convinces you of the truth, though. no-
the thing that convinces you of reality lays on your kitchen table. your basket, fresh berries and honeysuckle piled on one side. the other holds a large mason jar, delicious stew from your memories seated inside. there’s a piece of parchment attached to the lid, when you pick it up you can feel the warmth emitting from the glass.
when you miss me, come to the forest.
i will find you.
-y.j.
a/n;
this was so tremendously fun to write and i put my whole pussy into it so please lmk what u think :3 /gen i worked on this every day for like two weeks bc i wanted to make sure it was perfect
i can’t stop thinking about jisung being a dragon like im crawling on the floor i need him so bad
okay this has been going on for a while. and we all know who this is about, it's about @dakusan. i will say it directly to her face and tag her.
i must admit im embarassed that i was at first fooled by her content and even sent asks and praised what she did because i believed it was real. feeling gaslit and grossed out rn
i have many reasons to believe it's ai, and i feel incredibly disgusted by the praise and the support and the monetization this person is getting for ingenuiene content. it's just not fair to other creators and our fandom space is becoming a hollow ai-generated place
regarding her fics, other users have already done a great job at explaining how to spot it in text, you can read it here and here
why is her music (VERY likely) also ai generated?
ridiculous pace. if we look at the audiomack, there's 20 albums, each has at least 6 songs, some have up to 10. it's roughly 120-200 songs. mind you, bangchan had only hit ~200 songs to his name recently, and he's been in production around 10 years at that point.
arguably, every person's pace is different but let's just compare the numbers and think for a sec
2. the same bpm, same rhythm, same rhyme pattern in all the songs. listen to a few of them on available platforms (here or here), and now listen to this song i made in 10 seconds with ai, writing in a prompt "write me a song about heartbreak". i didn't feed it ANY references, just that short sentence and look what came out
very similar voice, same rhyme pace and pattern, same vibe, same perfect vocals, same singing style. tweak it a little to clean up the very computer-y glitchy sounds and there you have it. a VX song she claims to have written herself
sound similar? you can try it yourself, it's Suno AI
i'll tell you even more, if you ask to add rap and some beats, it's gonna give you exactly the sound of VX's songs. basically identical
3. the naming. doesn't exactly prove anything but is very sus, because it has the very same structure, adjective + noun, also my little ai production named the song automatically as "Shattered Echoes" itself. and it's exactly the same shyt
4. she uses ai for her links, so i don't see why she wouldn't for everything else. instead of putting the tiniest effort into making a page herself, she does the job with ai. again, not direct proof, but does make you wonder
if that ain't enough for you guys, especially the direct comparison of an ai-generated song and her music she puts up as her own - i don't even know. for legal reasons, i am NOT claiming anything. however im giving yall a lot of reasons to have a rethink about who you're supporting.
404: 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙
⭒ college au · fake dating · slowburn · nerd!jisung · tension & comfort ⭒
୨୧ 14.3k words ୨୧ ∣ 1.5k Followers special
pairings ⇢ nerd!han jisung x student council head!reader
genre: college au · fake dating · romance · tension-heavy fluff · angst · comfort · slight spice (no smut)
⌕ synopsis:
You’re the picture-perfect student council head — organized, outspoken, admired. Han Jisung is the boy always tucked into his hoodie, quiet in the back of your class, barely a whisper. When a creepy jock won't take a hint, you drag Jisung into a fake relationship to save face. What starts as an act becomes a mess of accidental touches, lingering stares, and tension you can’t breathe through. He's not just the quiet boy — he's the boy who listens, who protects, who burns in silence for you.
But what happens when your fake boyfriend becomes the only one who truly sees you?
author's note:
I wrote this for every girl (including myself.) who’s ever wanted the shy boy with the hoodie to look up and set the world on fire. Jisung is love. Jisung is war. Enjoy the tension and tell me who’s falling harder — him or you.
⌗ not proofread!
⌗ send asks/request, I scream over them. (literally.)
The fluorescent lights of the deserted hallway hummed, casting a sickly yellow glow that did nothing to soothe the frantic beat of your heart. You clutched your textbooks tighter, knuckles white against the worn covers, as Mark’s shadow loomed closer. His usual cologne, a cloying mix of something vaguely sporty and entirely too much ambition, now felt like a suffocating cloud.
“Come on, [Y/N],” his voice, smooth as polished concrete, grated on your nerves. “Just one date. What’s the big deal? Everyone knows we’d be perfect together.”
Everyone meant Mark and his circle of jock-brained sycophants who believed your role as head of the student council meant you were fair game for the school’s most entitled. You’d spent the last month deflecting his increasingly persistent advances with practiced smiles and vague excuses. But today, after an exhaustive three-hour council meeting that had drained you of all your polite reserves, his unwavering confidence was a suffocating weight.
“Mark, I’ve told you,” you tried, your voice a little breathier than you would have liked. You glanced around frantically. The hallway was completely empty, the last stragglers having vanished moments ago. Even the ever-present janitor seemed to have taken an early leave. “I’m really busy. And besides, I… I’m already seeing someone.”
A perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose, a smirk playing on his lips. “Oh, really? That’s news to me. And to everyone else, for that matter. Who’s the lucky guy, then? Because last I checked, you were practically married to the student council, not anyone with a pulse.” He stepped closer, his imposing frame blocking your escape route to the main exit. The faint scent of stale locker room and fake confidence was overwhelming.
Panic, cold and sharp, coiled in your gut. You needed an out, and you needed one now. Your eyes darted wildly, desperate for a distraction, a human shield, anything. They landed, almost comically, on a figure hunched over a locker at the far end of the hallway.
He was a silhouette against the muted light from the window, his form swallowed by a voluminous, dark grey hoodie that looked several sizes too big. Baggy jeans pooled around his worn sneakers. A pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses sat low on his nose, catching the light as he meticulously rearranged what looked like a stack of obscure-looking textbooks and a tangle of wires. Even from a distance, you could tell he was flinching slightly, as if the last sliver of afternoon sun dared to trespass into his personal space. His head was bowed, hidden by the hood, and a pair of headphones were clamped firmly over his ears, effectively isolating him in his own world.
Han Jisung. The resident genius-slash-recluse of the school. He was known for his almost supernatural ability to avoid eye contact, his mumbled responses, and his uncanny knack for solving the most complex calculus problems while simultaneously sketching what looked like intricate circuit boards in the margins of his notes. He was the antithesis of everything Mark represented. He was… perfect.
A reckless, desperate impulse seized you. Without a second thought, you pointed.
“Him,” you declared, your voice ringing with a conviction you absolutely did not feel. “That’s my boyfriend.”
Mark’s smirk faltered, replaced by a look of bewildered incredulity. He followed your gaze, his eyes narrowing as they landed on the oblivious Jisung. He looked back at you, then back at Jisung, then back at you again, as if trying to reconcile two vastly different species.
“Him?” Mark scoffed, the word dripping with disbelief. His voice was loud enough to echo in the empty corridor. “Han Jisung? The… the library hermit? You’re telling me he’s your boyfriend? The guy who looks like he’s allergic to sunlight and hasn't had a conversation longer than three sentences in his life?” He actually let out a short, disbelieving laugh, as if the idea was the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard.
His reaction, the open ridicule, fueled a sudden surge of stubborn defiance in you. You squared your shoulders, a cold resolve replacing the earlier panic. If he wanted to mock, you’d give him something to mock about.
“Yep,” you said, injecting a breezy confidence into your tone, though your stomach was doing somersaults. “My boyfriend. He’s… private. And very studious. We like to keep things low-key.” You even managed to give a small, saccharine smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go see my boyfriend. We have… private, studious things to do.”
You brushed past Mark, his jaw still slack with disbelief, and walked with as much nonchalance as you could muster towards the far end of the hallway. Every step felt like walking a tightrope over a canyon. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the corridor. Jisung was still oblivious, humming tunelessly to whatever was blasting through his headphones as he meticulously organized his locker.
You reached him, slowing your pace. He was so engrossed that he didn't even notice you until you cleared your throat, a little louder than intended. He startled, his head snapping up so fast that his glasses almost slid off his nose. His eyes, wide and a startling shade of brown behind the lenses, were framed by wisps of dark hair peeking out from under his hood. He looked like a startled woodland creature caught in the headlights.
His gaze flickered to your face, then down to your textbooks, then back up to your eyes, his brow furrowed in utter confusion. He pulled one earbud out, a strand of wire dangling awkwardly.
“Uh… hi?” he mumbled, his voice soft, almost a whisper, as if he rarely used it.
You forced a smile, trying to appear calm despite the residual tremor in your hands. “Hey, Han. Can I… can I talk to you for a second?”
He blinked, clearly thrown off by the direct address. “Me?” he squeaked, his voice cracking slightly. He glanced around as if expecting someone else to appear from behind you.
“Yes, you,” you confirmed, stepping a little closer. You lowered your voice, conscious of Mark’s lingering, disbelieving stare from down the hall. He was still watching, you could feel it. “Look, I know this is going to sound completely insane, but I just… I need your help. It’s important.”
Jisung’s eyes widened even further, darting nervously between you and the empty space around him. He took another earbud out, completely. “Help? With what? Did you… did you lose your keycard? I have a master for the lab, but…”
You quickly shook your head. “No, no, nothing like that. It’s… it’s a personal emergency.” You hesitated, then decided honesty was the best, albeit most embarrassing, policy. “That guy, Mark, he’s been harassing me..not exactly- but like cornering me. Really persistent. And I just… I panicked. And I told him I had a boyfriend.”
Jisung’s face remained a blank canvas of confusion. “Okay…?”
“And then he asked who,” you continued, wringing your hands. “And you were the only person in the hallway. So… I pointed at you.”
He stared at you. A long, silent moment stretched between you, broken only by the distant hum of the building’s ventilation system. His eyes, usually so focused, seemed to be buffering, trying to process this unprecedented data. A faint, mortified flush began to creep up his neck, dusting his pale cheeks.
“Me?” he finally managed, his voice barely audible, a mixture of disbelief and genuine fluster. “You… you told him I was your boyfriend?”
You winced. “I know! I’m so, so sorry, Han. It was completely impulsive. I just needed him to back off. He… he only cares about appearances, you know? And he would never believe I’m dating someone who’s, well, not like him.” You gestured vaguely in his direction, then immediately regretted it. That sounded worse. “Not that you’re not amazing! You are! Just… different. Which is great! He just wouldn’t get it- He is- dumb!”
He was still staring, his face growing progressively redder. His hands, which had been fumbling with a calculus textbook, stilled. He looked so utterly out of his element, so clearly unused to this kind of direct, chaotic attention, that a pang of guilt shot through you.
“I understand that you were scared,” he said, surprising you with his quiet empathy. His voice was still soft, but there was a genuine understanding in his eyes now, replacing the initial bewilderment. “He… he can be very… persistent.” He paused, then sighed. “So, now he thinks… we’re dating?”
“Yes,” you confirmed, feeling a fresh wave of mortification. “And he’s the type to double-check. He’ll make it his mission to find out if I was lying. He’ll make my life a living hell if he thinks I strung him along.”
Another beat of silence. Jisung seemed to be doing complex mental calculations, weighing the pros and cons of this entirely unexpected predicament. He ran a hand through his slightly messy hair, pushing his glasses further up his nose.
“So,” you ventured, taking a deep breath and plunging into the proposal you’d mentally formulated on your panicked walk over. “Here’s the deal. I need you to… fake date me. Just until he backs off. A few weeks, maybe a month or two. You wouldn’t have to do much. Just… be seen with me sometimes. Acknowledge me in the halls. Maybe walk me to class once in a while i will do so too! I’ll make it as easy as possible for you. And… I’ll pay you, if you want. Or I can help you with anything, any projects, extra credit, anything you need.”
Jisung’s eyes were wide, fixed on you. He looked like he was witnessing a complex scientific phenomenon he couldn't quite explain. He opened his mouth, then closed it. His cheeks were still flushed, but a strange glint, almost of… intrigue, flickered in his gaze.
He took a moment, then, to your utter surprise, a tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. It was quick, fleeting, but undeniably there.
“I’ve read about this trope,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice barely audible. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly behind his glasses.
Your breath hitched. Trope? Of course, he would know the literary term for it. You almost laughed in relief. This might actually work.
“So… you’ll do it?” you asked, a hopeful tremor in your voice.
He exhaled slowly, a soft, almost imperceptible sound. He looked at you, really looked at you, with an intensity that made you momentarily forget the chaos that had led you here. There was a quiet kindness in his gaze that you hadn't expected.
“Okay,” he said, the single word a quiet agreement. “I… I can help.”
Relief washed over you so intensely that your knees felt a little weak. “Oh, Han! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You have no idea what a lifesaver you are!”
You were so overwhelmed that you almost hugged him, but caught yourself just in time. He flinched slightly at your enthusiasm, confirming that physical contact was probably still off-limits.
“Okay,” you said, trying to dial back your excitement. “So, starting now. We’re… we’re dating.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “So, maybe… let’s walk out together? Mark’s still out there.”
He nodded, a hesitant bob of his head. He pulled his backpack onto his shoulder, adjusting the heavy strap. The hood was still up, almost completely obscuring his face.
As you walked down the hallway side-by-side, a bizarre sense of unreality settled over you. You, [Y/N], the perpetually composed student council head, were now fake-dating Han Jisung, the human embodiment of the library. It was absurd. It was terrifying. And somehow, exhilarating.
You passed Mark, who was still standing there, looking like someone had just told him the sky was purple. He stared, wide-eyed, as you and Jisung walked past. You even managed a small, victorious smirk in his direction. Jisung, for his part, kept his head down, but you felt a slight tremor in his arm as he walked beside you. He was radiating an almost palpable aura of anxiety.
As you stepped out into the bright afternoon sun, Jisung blinked, wincing slightly. He seemed to shrink further into his oversized hoodie.
“I live… this way,” you said, pointing down the street.
“Oh. Right.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looked like he might genuinely faint. His hands were clenched at his sides.
You resisted the urge to laugh, knowing it would probably send him spiraling. This was going to be a fascinating few weeks. You wondered what kind of internal monologue was running through his head right now.
Later that night, curled up in his bed, surrounded by an impressive array of coding books and music equipment, Han Jisung pulled out a worn, leather-bound journal. The pages were filled with neat, precise handwriting, diagrams, and what looked like musical notations. He uncapped his pen, hesitated for a long moment, then wrote:
Dear brain, what are we doing?
He paused, chewing on the end of his pen. He scratched out a line, then started a new one.
Log Entry: Day 1.
Operation: Fake Dating.
Initiated: [Y/N], Head of Student Council.
Subject: Me.
Purpose: Deter persistent… jock.
Status: Extremely Confused. Data points: Elevated heart rate, inexplicable sweating, internal system overload.
Hypotheses: This is either the most illogical decision of my life, or… a new variable in an otherwise predictable equation. Further research required. Must procure more rom-coms. For science. Obviously.
He closed the journal, running a hand over its cover. The memory of her intense gaze, her nervous yet determined smile, and the fleeting relief in her eyes when he agreed, played back in his mind. He still couldn't quite believe it. Her. And him. Boyfriend. The word felt alien on his tongue, a foreign program his system was struggling to run. He sighed, a soft, bewildered sound, and pulled his blanket tighter around himself. This was going to be… interesting.
-
A few weeks bled into a month, and the initial, stomach-lurching awkwardness of your fake relationship with Han Jisung had, surprisingly, begun to settle into a strange, almost comfortable rhythm. Mark, thankfully, seemed to have taken your declaration seriously. His smirks had vanished, replaced by a sullen, confused frown whenever he saw you and Jisung in the same vicinity. Victory.
The “public moments” you’d proposed were surprisingly easy to orchestrate. Jisung, true to his word, would nod stiffly when you passed him in the hall, sometimes even offering a fleeting, almost imperceptible half-smile that was more a nervous twitch than genuine amusement. He’d walk you to class, head down, eyes usually scanning the floor as if searching for a lost theorem, but always staying a respectful half-step behind you. He’d even mastered a quick, almost imperceptible glance around the corner before you turned it, a silent check for the creep. It was endearing, in its own peculiar way.
Today was a test of the new normalcy. You were meeting your friends for lunch in the bustling cafeteria, a place where privacy went to die. Jisung was already there, meticulously dissecting a sandwich and ignoring the world through his omnipresent headphones. You spotted him, a small island of quiet in a sea of raucous chatter, and a mischievous idea sparked.
"Hey, guys!" you chirped, approaching your table where Sarah, Liam, and Chloe were already digging into their trays. "Sorry I'm late, had to grab something." You didn't wait for their replies. Instead, you veered slightly, heading straight for Jisung's table.
He looked up, startled, as your shadow fell over him. He pulled out an earbud, his eyes wide. Before he could utter his usual mumbled greeting, you leaned down, a bright, easy smile plastered on your face, and linked your arm through his.
"Hey, babe," you said, loud enough for your friends to hear, but soft enough to sound somewhat natural. You squeezed his arm gently. "Mind if I steal a fry?"
Jisung froze. Absolutely, completely froze. His entire body stiffened, and you could feel the tremor in his arm even through the fabric of his hoodie. His eyes, already wide, somehow managed to widen further, darting from your arm to your face, then wildly around the cafeteria as if searching for an escape route. A deep, mortified blush bloomed on his neck, creeping upwards to engulf his ears. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, about to spontaneously combust.
"G-girlfriend?" he choked out, the word escaping him in a strangled gasp. It sounded less like a term of endearment and more like a medical emergency.
You tried to suppress your giggle, biting the inside of your cheek. "Yeah, girlfriend," you repeated, your smile unwavering. "These fries look amazing."
He let out a small, strangled sound that might have been a whimper. He didn’t reply, didn’t move. He just sat there, a statue of flustered confusion, his eyes fixed on your arm linked with his, as if it were a venomous snake about to strike. He finally managed to push his tray of fries vaguely in your direction, then just… shut down. He sat rigidly, observing you, his gaze following your every movement as you casually plucked a fry from his tray.
Your friends, who had been watching the entire exchange with open mouths, finally reacted.
"Wait, that's him?" Sarah whispered, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and dawning fascination. She knew Jisung existed, of course, everyone did, but seeing him up close, interacting with you… it was jarring.
Liam, always the cynic, raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, [Y/N]? The guy who communicates exclusively through hums and the occasional muttered equation?"
"He's actually… kinda adorable," Chloe mused, a soft smile playing on her lips. She was known for seeing the good in everyone, and even she seemed genuinely surprised. "And he's so respectful. Look at him, he just gave her his fries."
You shot them a look that clearly said, Play along, then turned back to Jisung, who was still rigid. You nudged him gently with your elbow. "You okay there, Han?"
He finally blinked, like a computer restarting. "Fine," he mumbled, though his face was still burning. He carefully, almost tentatively, picked up his sandwich again, but his movements were stiff, like a robot whose joints needed oiling.
Over the next week or so, something remarkable happened. Jisung, the boy who flinched at your slightest movement, started to get used to your touch. Not just used to it, but almost… receptive. When you linked arms in the hall, he still tensed for a split second, but then his muscles would relax. If you accidentally brushed his hand reaching for a textbook, he wouldn’t jerk away. Once, during a particularly boring lecture, you leaned your head on his shoulder, pretending to rest, and after an initial rigid shock, he actually… sagged slightly, as if finding a strange comfort in your proximity.
Alone in his room, he’d freak out. He’d replay the day’s interactions in his mind, dissecting every touch, every accidental brush. His journal entries became a chaotic mix of calculus theorems and frantic questions about synaptic responses to unexpected tactile stimuli. Why did her arm feel… right? Why did my shoulder not immediately recoil? Is this a malfunction?
"Okay, boyfriend," you declared one afternoon, holding up your phone. "We need more proof. For believability. We're taking selfies."
Jisung looked at the phone as if it were a deadly weapon. "Selfies?" he croaked, his voice cracking. "But… my face…"
"Your face is just fine," you laughed, pulling him closer. He stiffened, but didn't pull away. You pressed your cheek against his, tilting the phone. "Just smile! Or don't. Just… exist, awkwardly. Would suggest smile a little"
He died inside. You could practically feel his soul departing his body. His smile was less a smile and more a grimace of pure existential dread, but the photos, to your surprise, were perfect. They captured his endearing awkwardness and your playful charm. You posted one on your private story, adding a heart emoji. You could almost hear Mark's blood pressure rising from across campus.
One afternoon, heading home, you spotted a photo booth in a small arcade. "Come on," you tugged on his sleeve, "Boyfriend duty! We need more proof."
He looked utterly terrified, but followed you inside. The small, cramped space felt even smaller with his nervous energy. You put in the coins, and the flash went off, startling him. He jumped, his face a mask of surprise in the first shot. The next few were a blur of you laughing, him looking utterly bewildered, and then, in the final shot, you leaned in, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to his cheek. He froze, eyes wide, a blush erupting on his face.
When the strip of photos slid out, you both looked at them. You burst out laughing at his expressions. He, surprisingly, didn't look completely horrified. He even managed a tiny, shy smile at the one where you kissed his cheek. You took the strip, carefully tearing it in half. One half, you tucked into the clear case of your phone, hidden behind your favorite polaroid. The other half, you offered to him.
He took it with trembling fingers, his gaze fixed on the image. Later that night, alone, he would carefully fold it and tuck it into his wallet, a secret treasure.
You discovered a new hobby: leaving him notes. Little Post-it notes, sometimes with a doodle, sometimes just a silly message, sometimes a reminder for a "date" (read: walking you to the library). You'd slip them into the pocket of his hoodie when he wasn't looking, or stick them to his locker.
He kept every single one. Even the dumbest ones, like the one that just said "Hi, Boyfriend!" with a smiley face, or the one with a crude drawing of a stick figure holding a pizza slice. He had a small, otherwise empty box in his desk drawer, and each note was carefully smoothed out and placed inside. They were tangible proof of… something. Something new, something confusing, something that made his chest feel strangely warm.
His protectiveness, while still subtle, was growing. During one of your student council meetings, as you presented your budget proposal, you felt a prickling sensation on your neck. You glanced up, and there he was, standing just outside the meeting room, leaning against the wall. His gaze wasn't on you, but sweeping the hallway, then settling on the figure of Mark, who was loitering near the water fountain, pretending to be absorbed in his phone, but clearly watching you.
Jisung's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He pushed off the wall and, with a casualness that was entirely un-Jisung-like, walked closer to the meeting room door, positioning himself squarely in Mark's line of sight to you. He pulled out his own phone, feigning interest, but his posture was subtly different now – less reclusive, more… present. He was a silent sentinel. You almost smiled.
Every morning, he’d be there. Waiting by your locker, or just outside your first class. He always looked sleepy, a slight slouch to his shoulders, but his eyes, behind his glasses, were always scanning the hallway, a quiet vigilance about him. And he would listen. He wouldn't interrupt, wouldn't offer advice unless explicitly asked. He just listened, head tilted slightly, as you yapped about the latest student council drama, or a funny thing your friend did, or a particularly frustrating chemistry problem. He absorbed it all, a silent, comforting presence.
You found yourself teasing him more and more. Gently, of course. Just enough to see that fascinating blush creep up his neck, to watch him fumble for words.
"You know," you'd muse, as he meticulously organized his pens by color, "for a genius, you really get flustered easily, Jisung."
He'd drop a pen, pick it up, his ears turning bright red. "It's… it's a physiological response to unexpected… stimuli," he'd mumble, avoiding your gaze.
"Uh huh," you'd hum, batting your eyelashes playfully. "Or maybe you just think I'm really charming."
He’d be 0.2 seconds from imploding. His entire system seemed to overload. He’d clear his throat, adjust his glasses, and find sudden, urgent interest in the scuff mark on his shoe. It was addictive, seeing him unravel in such a delightful way.
At night, in the quiet solitude of his room, the journal entries grew longer, more introspective.
Log Entry: Day 57.
Subject: [Y/N].
Observation: Increased tactile interaction.
Response: Initial system shock, followed by inexplicable sense of… comfort?
Hypothesis: Proximity effect. Further testing required.
Current research focus: Human romantic comedies.
Objective: Understand typical ‘boyfriend’ behaviors.
Data collection: Kissing scenes.
Note: Significant variation in technique. More data needed. For academic purposes only, of course. Just in case.
He’d rewatch a particularly passionate movie kiss, pausing it, rewinding, watching it again. He’d make mental notes: Angle of head tilt, duration, lip pressure… He’d flush furiously in the dark, wondering what on earth he was doing, what kind of ridiculous rabbit hole this "fake dating" was leading him down. But then he’d remember your laugh, the way your hand felt linked with his, the way you trusted him to just be there, and a strange warmth would spread through his chest.
The "Boyfriend.exe" program was definitely running. And to his utter bewilderment, it was running surprisingly well.
Five months. Five months had somehow evaporated since you’d pointed a desperate finger at the unassuming figure of Han Jisung and declared him your boyfriend. What started as a chaotic lie had morphed into an oddly comfortable, undeniably complex routine. The initial panic of the fake dating had long subsided, replaced by a nuanced understanding, a silent communication that had slowly, subtly, woven itself into the fabric of your daily lives.
You’d grown fond of him. More than fond, actually. You found yourself looking forward to his quiet presence, his sleepy morning greetings, the way he’d listen intently to your endless stories without interruption. He was a steady, grounding force in your otherwise bustling world, and you realized, with a quiet jolt, that you genuinely enjoyed his company.
And Jisung? The metamorphosis was remarkable. He was still Jisung, the boy who wore his hoodie like armor and spoke in soft mumbles, but cracks had appeared in that carefully constructed shell. He was opening up. Tentatively at first, like a shy bloom unfurling in the sun, then with increasing confidence.
It started with music. You’d been walking home one evening, the sky painted in hues of lavender and bruised orange, when he’d suddenly cleared his throat.
“You know,” he’d begun, his voice still quiet but laced with an unfamiliar excitement, “I’ve been working on a new track. It’s… it’s a bit experimental. Combines trap beats with a classical piano melody. I’m trying to capture the feeling of… organized chaos.” He looked at you then, a rare, direct gaze, his eyes shining with an almost childlike enthusiasm. “Do you… do you want to hear it sometime?”
Your heart had done a funny little flip. “I’d love to, Jisung,” you’d said, genuinely. “Tell me about it. What inspired it?”
And he did. He talked about his dreams of producing, about the intricate layers of sound, about how he heard melodies in mundane things, like the rhythm of raindrops or the hum of the school’s heating system. He spoke about his favorite artists, dissecting their compositions with a passion that was almost startling. His words tumbled out, faster than you’d ever heard him speak, and his hands, usually so still, moved animatedly as he described complex musical structures.
You just listened. Really listened. Not because you had to, but because you wanted to. You watched his face light up, the way his eyes danced behind his glasses, and a warmth spread through you. He was more than just the quiet nerd. He was a brilliant, passionate soul hidden behind a thick, soft hoodie. And you found him incredibly, irresistibly cute when he was so excitedly absorbed in his world.
One particularly sweltering afternoon, you were sitting in the near-empty library. He was sketching furiously in a notebook, a diagram of a complex sound system by the looks of it, while explaining something about song octaves – a topic completely lost on you, but his enthusiasm was infectious. As he leaned closer to point out a detail, his glasses, perpetually sliding down his nose, slipped precariously. Without thinking, your hand reached out, your fingers gently pushing them back into place on the bridge of his nose.
His hand, which had been mid-air, froze. He stopped talking mid-sentence, the word ‘frequency’ hanging unfinished in the air. His eyes, magnified by the lenses, were suddenly wide and fixed on your face. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move. It was as if a crucial circuit in his brain had suddenly overloaded. He short-circuited.
A faint, but undeniable, blush crept from his neck, up his cheeks, and flooded his ears. It was a deep, fiery red. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. He just… stared. His breathing seemed to hitch.
You pulled your hand back, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. His reaction was always so extreme, so beautifully, awkwardly honest.
“Cute,” you murmured, a genuine warmth in your voice. “You’re cute when you get all excited about music.”
His blush intensified, reaching the tips of his ears. He looked away, his gaze darting to the ceiling, then the floor, anywhere but at you. He cleared his throat, a rough, dry sound.
“It’s… it’s not… frequency is important for… harmonics,” he stammered, trying to pick up where he’d left off, but his voice was strained, and he clearly couldn't remember what he was saying. He eventually gave up, closing his notebook with a soft thud. The tension in the air was palpable, a delicious, unspoken energy simmering between you.
That night, after your part-time job at the local café, you found him waiting for you outside, leaning against a lamp post, his hoodie pulled low. The streetlights cast long shadows, and a cool breeze had picked up.
“Hey,” you said, a little surprised, but pleased. “Didn’t expect you to still be here.”
“Just… thought I’d walk you home,” he mumbled, pushing off the lamp post.
As you walked, the air grew chillier. Your hands, still slightly damp from washing dishes at the café, were cold. You shivered. Jisung, ever observant, noticed. He stopped, and without a word, slowly, awkwardly, offered you his hand.
It wasn't a confident, bold grab. It was a hesitant, open palm, almost a question. Your heart thumped. You slid your cold fingers into the warmth of his sleeves, finding his hand beneath the layers of fabric. His fingers were long and surprisingly warm. He didn’t intertwine them with yours, but simply held them, your hand enveloped by his and the soft fabric of his hoodie. It was an awkward, almost clumsy hand-hold, but it felt incredibly intimate. A surge of warmth spread through you, far beyond the physical. This was new. This was different. This was something.
He started composing something with you in mind. You didn't know it, not explicitly. But sometimes, when he was humming to himself, or scribbling in his music notebook, you’d catch snatches of melody that felt… like you. Bright, sometimes a little chaotic, but with an underlying sweetness. He’d quickly stop if he noticed you listening, muttering about “just experimenting.” But you suspected. You felt it in the way his eyes would linger on you after a particularly poignant chord, or the way he’d absentmindedly tap a rhythm that mirrored the beat of your own heart. He wouldn’t admit it, not yet, but you knew.
One afternoon, you were at his house, his room, ostensibly working on a group project, though you were mostly procrastinating while he was immersed in something on his laptop. He suddenly flinched, slamming his laptop shut with an almost comical speed.
“Everything okay?” you asked, startled.
“Yeah! Fine! Just… uh… a bug. In the code,” he mumbled, avoiding your gaze, his face a little pale.
You raised an eyebrow, suspicious. He’d never been this flustered about a coding bug. He was usually methodical, calm. Later, after you’d left, he reopened his laptop, his heart pounding. There, in his image folder, was a candid photo of you. You were laughing, caught off guard, your hair a little messy, sunlight streaming through the window. He’d taken it weeks ago, completely on instinct, because you’d looked so beautiful in that moment. He hadn't realized he'd saved it.
A wave of self-loathing washed over him. Creep. What if she found out? What if she saw it? She’d be disgusted. She’d think he was some weird, obsessive stalker. His carefully constructed fake-dating facade would crumble. Without a second thought, he deleted the photo, emptying the recycle bin. It was better to erase all evidence, to protect this fragile, confusing thing they had.
The tension, however, wasn't just sweet and domestic. It had an edge, a sharp, possessive quality that began to emerge from Jisung.
It happened during basketball tryouts. Mark, of course, was there, dominating the court. Your guy friends, convinced Han needed more "extracurriculars" to appear "normal" (and because they secretly found his awkwardness hilarious), had somehow dragged him along. You were there too, cheering them on from the bleachers. Jisung, surprisingly, wasn't terrible. He was methodical, if not flashy, and his long limbs proved surprisingly useful for blocking.
During a water break, you overheard Mark, loud and obnoxious, talking to his cronies.
“Yeah, [Y/N]’s been weird lately,” he scoffed, loud enough for half the gym to hear. “Still parading around with that, what’s his face, the library kid. Seriously, what does she even see in him? Probably just using him to make me jealous. She’ll come crawling back once she realizes what she’s missing. I mean, look at her, she’s practically begging for it, wearing those-“
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Because at that exact moment, a basketball, thrown with surprising force and precision from across the court, sailed through the air and hit Mark squarely in the face. It wasn't a soft tap. It was a solid thwack. Mark staggered back, clutching his nose, a stream of expletives erupting from him.
Everyone turned. Jisung was standing in the middle of the court, a basketball still cradled in his hands, his face oddly blank, almost serene.
“Oops,” he said, his voice quiet but carrying surprisingly well in the sudden silence. “My bad. Must’ve slipped.” He offered a small, unconvincing shrug.
The coach, a gruff man who secretly admired Jisung’s unexpected court sense, just sighed. “Jisung, focus!” But there was no real reprimand in his voice. And to everyone’s surprise, Jisung, the library hermit, actually got into the basketball team.
Later, as you walked home, you looked at him, a flicker of something new in your eyes. "You 'accidentally' hit him with that basketball, didn't you?" you asked, a knowing smile playing on your lips.
He looked at you, his usual flustered expression back, but something else lingered behind it – a spark of something fierce. He reached out, his hand gently patting your head, a soft, almost paternal gesture.
“He was being annoying, baby,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual, but with an underlying steel. “Don’t worry about it.”
Baby. The word, spoken so casually, yet with such unexpected possessiveness, sent a shiver down your spine. This quiet, awkward boy was changing. And the tension, once a playful hum, was tightening, growing thicker, hinting at depths you hadn't anticipated. The glasses might still be glitching, but something was very, very clear. This wasn’t just fake anymore. Not for him, and maybe, just maybe, not for you either.
The air in the stadium was thick with anticipation, a palpable buzz that vibrated through the bleachers. Today was the first inter-college basketball match, eleven months into your "relationship" with Han Jisung. Eleven months that had taken you on a journey from panicked desperation to… well, whatever this quiet, intense, undeniably real connection was.
You scanned the court, searching for him. The team was warming up, a flurry of bouncing balls and athletic bodies. Jisung, despite his initial reluctance, had proven to be a surprisingly valuable player. Not flashy, not a showboat, but strategic, precise, and with an uncanny ability to anticipate plays. He was the quiet anchor of the team, the one who didn't seek the spotlight but consistently delivered.
The whistle shrieked, signaling the start of the match. The crowd roared, a wave of sound crashing over the court. The game began, a fast-paced blur of motion. Jisung was in the thick of it, his long limbs surprisingly agile as he weaved through opponents. He made a crucial block, then sprinted down the court, his usually bowed head held high.
The stadium lights beat down, hot and unforgiving. The air was heavy, humid, sticking to skin. As the first half drew to a close, a timeout was called. The players clustered around their coach, sweat slicking their brows. You watched as Jisung, breathing heavily, reached down and, with a casualness that made your breath hitch, lifted the hem of his jersey to wipe the sweat from his face.
And then you saw them.
Not just you. Everyone did.
Beneath the loose fabric of his jersey, revealed for a fleeting moment, were toned abs. A sculpted, defined core that spoke of hidden strength and consistent effort. He was lean, yes, but undeniably muscular not too much but in a manner to make people swoon. The "baggy hoodie" image you, and everyone else, had of him shattered in that single, sweat-drenched instant.
A collective murmur rippled through the stands. Whispers, surprised gasps. He wasn’t just “nerdy Jisung” anymore. He wasn't just “the quiet one who got dragged into basketball.” He was suddenly… Han Jisung. An athlete. And a seriously, unexpectedly attractive one.
Your eyes widened. You knew he worked out. He’d mentioned late-night gym sessions, a way to de-stress from his studies and composing. But you’d always pictured it as a casual thing, a functional necessity, not something that produced… that. You felt your cheeks warm, a heat that had nothing to do with the stadium lights. You tried desperately not to stare, to maintain your composure, to pretend you hadn’t just witnessed a paradigm shift in the universe.
You failed. Hard. Your gaze kept drifting back to him, even after his jersey settled back down. You weren't the only one. People were openly staring, pointing, a new kind of interest dawning in their eyes.
Jisung, oblivious, seemed deeply confused by the sudden change in the crowd's energy. He furrowed his brow, glancing around, as if trying to locate the source of the collective gaze. He tugged at his jersey, as if sensing the newfound scrutiny, but he didn't connect it to his brief, accidental reveal.
The second half began, and a new energy coursed through Jisung. Whether it was the heat, the adrenaline, or the subconscious awareness of being watched, something ignited. He played with fierce precision, making incredible passes, and then, in the last two minutes, he did something truly remarkable. He stole the ball, dribbled with unexpected speed, and sank a perfect three-pointer. Then another. And another. Each shot was met with an explosion of cheers, the crowd now fully invested in the quiet dark horse.
He was the reason they won. The final buzzer blared, and the scoreboard confirmed it. The team rushed him, patting his back, shouting his name. Jisung, looking overwhelmed but undeniably pleased, gave a shy, triumphant smile.
After the post-game chaos, you met him outside the locker rooms. He was still in his sweaty jersey and shorts, his glasses slightly askew, a water bottle clutched in his hand. He looked exhausted, but exhilarated.
“You were amazing, Jisung!” you exclaimed, genuinely proud.
He blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… got lucky, I guess.”
“Lucky? You practically carried the team!” You nudged his arm playfully. “Everyone was staring at you.”
He frowned, a hint of confusion still in his eyes. “Yeah, I noticed. It was… weird.” He hadn’t put two and two together yet. Bless his oblivious heart.
“Come on,” you said, deciding to let him bask in his innocence for a bit longer. “Let’s go back to your place. We still have that history project to work on.”
He nodded, and you started the walk to his dorm. The evening air was cooler now, but the lingering heat from the stadium seemed to cling to him. As you reached his building, he fished out his keys, his movements a little clumsy with fatigue. He opened the door, stepping aside to let you in first.
His room was exactly as you remembered it – a controlled chaos of books, music equipment, and half-eaten snack wrappers. But today, the most striking thing was the air-conditioning, blasting cool air. You shivered slightly, feeling the sweat dry on your skin.
“You look cold,” he observed, his voice still a little breathless from the game. He gestured vaguely to his bed. “There’s… there’s a hoodie on my bed if you want.”
It was his signature dark grey hoodie, the one that usually swallowed him whole. You picked it up. It still smelled faintly of him – something clean, and a little like old books and fresh laundry. You pulled it over your head, the soft fabric a comforting weight. It was still huge on you, the sleeves dangling past your fingertips.
You glanced at him, a playful smirk touching your lips. He was still standing by the door, watching you, his eyes wide. He had stopped functioning. Completely. His mouth was slightly agape, and a deep, mortified flush was spreading across his face again, even darker than before. His gaze was fixed on you, specifically on his hoodie, now adorning your smaller frame.
You loved that you could do this to him. His reactions were always so pure, so uninhibited.
“Is the brain the only thing toned about you, Han Jisung?” you flirted lightly, watching his reaction. You leaned against his desk, crossing your arms, the oversized hoodie making you feel both small and powerful.
He stammered. “W-what? No! I mean… my… my muscles… for… for… strength!” His words tumbled out in a nonsensical jumble. He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. Without another word, he spun on his heel and practically sprinted towards the kitchen.
“I’ll go get you something to eat!” he yelled back, his voice strained. “Water! Snacks! Food!”
You laughed, a soft, warm sound that filled his room. He was still so gloriously awkward, even with his newly discovered abs.
A few minutes later, as you scrolled through your phone, a notification popped up. A text message. From Mark.
'Still with that loser? Heard he actually scored a few points today. Cute. You know who the real MVP is, [Y/N]. I’m still waiting.'
Your jaw tightened. He just didn't quit. You were about to delete it, to block him for good, when Jisung walked back into the room, two bottles of water and a bag of chips in his arms. His eyes, still slightly red from his internal system overload, landed on your phone screen. He saw Mark’s name.
The playful awkwardness vanished. His face, usually so soft, hardened instantly. His eyes, behind his glasses, glinted with a dangerous intensity. He dropped the chips and water onto his desk with a thud.
“What did he say?” he asked, his voice low, deceptively calm, but laced with an undeniable edge.
You looked up, surprised by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “It’s nothing, Han. Just Mark being Mark. I was about to delete it.”
He walked over to you, his eyes still fixed on the screen, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Give it to me.”
“No, really, it’s fine,” you tried, but he gently, firmly, took the phone from your hand. His gaze scanned the message, and then a primal, possessive anger flashed in his eyes. He clenched his fist around your phone.
“I’m going to confront him,” he said, his voice quiet, but utterly lethal. “He needs to learn. He needs to understand that you are not available. And he needs to stop.”
He looked like he was genuinely about to walk out the door and hunt Mark down punch some god damn sense into him. The raw intensity in his eyes startled you. This was a side of Jisung you’d only glimpsed – the silent guardian, the one who “accidentally” hit people with basketballs. This was different. This was pure, undiluted fury on your behalf.
You reached out, your fingers gently touching his arm, feeling the tense muscle beneath the hoodie’s sleeve. He flinched, but didn't pull away.
“Don’t,” you said, your voice soft, but firm. You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, just below his glasses. His entire body tensed again, but this time, it was a different kind of tension. “He’s not worth it. You are.”
His breath hitched. The anger slowly, visibly, bled out of him, replaced by a deep, almost overwhelming softness. He lowered your phone, his grip loosening. His eyes, unfocused, stared straight ahead, as if processing the simple, profound statement. He lifted a hand, his fingers tentatively touching the spot where your lips had been.
The anger was gone. Replaced by something else. Something much, much deeper. The system had overheated, but the emotional core was still running. And it was starting to feel a lot less like a glitch, and a lot more like a fundamental change.
-
One year. A full 365 days had spiraled past since that chaotic afternoon in the hallway. A year of shared glances, whispered jokes, accidental touches that felt anything but accidental, and the slow, insidious growth of something far more complex than a "fake" relationship. Today marked their one-year anniversary, and you’d decided to celebrate it quietly, just the two of you, with the slightly-burnt cookies you’d baked.
You met in his room, the familiar space now feeling like a second home. The scent of vanilla, faintly clinging to your clothes from your baking, mingled with his subtle, comforting scent of old books and something uniquely Han. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, meticulously tuning his guitar, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"Happy Anniversary, Jisung," you said softly, holding out a small, velvet pouch.
He looked up, startled, a shy smile gracing his lips. "Oh. Right. Happy… anniversary, [Y/N]." He took the pouch, his fingers brushing yours, sending a familiar spark through your skin. Inside was a delicate silver pendant, engraved with a small, abstract musical note.
"It's for your music," you explained, a little nervously. "So you always have a piece of it with you."
His eyes widened slightly as he took it out, tracing the tiny lines. "It's… it's really beautiful, [Y/N]. Thank you." He looked genuinely touched. He then reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, intricately carved guitar pick, attached to a delicate silver chain. It was polished, gleaming, clearly well-loved.
"And this," he said, his voice a little softer than usual, "is for you. It’s my favorite plectrum. It’s seen a lot of… inspiration. I thought… you should have it."
Your heart swelled. It was such a him gift – personal, meaningful, something he clearly cherished. You took it, a warmth spreading through your chest. "It's perfect, Han."
You slid the silver pendant around his neck, his skin warm beneath your fingertips. He did the same for you, his long fingers surprisingly gentle as he fastened the chain, the small, cool pick resting against your collarbone. The air felt thick, charged with unspoken emotions.
He looked up then, his gaze meeting yours. Your eyes drifted down, almost involuntarily, to his lips. They were soft, slightly parted, and you found yourself wondering, not for the first time, what it would be like to truly, really kiss him.
As if he’d read your mind, his gaze dropped to your lips too. The space between you, normally filled with comfortable silence, crackled with an undeniable tension. Your breath hitched. His eyes, usually hidden behind the shield of his glasses, were intense, almost hungry. He leaned in, just slightly, a silent question in his gaze. You felt yourself leaning in too, your heart hammering against your ribs.
The moment stretched, taut and fragile, ready to snap. But then, a sudden, loud laugh from the hallway broke the spell. A group of students passed by, their voices echoing. Jisung flinched, pulling back abruptly, his face flushing crimson. The moment was gone, shattered like fragile glass.
Later that week, as you walked home from school, the sky opened up. Rain, cold and sudden, lashed down. You instinctively pulled your bag over your head, but it was useless. You were already soaked.
"Wait," Jisung called, pulling his umbrella from his backpack. He opened it quickly, holding it over you. He maneuvered it so that the bulk of it shielded you, leaving his own shoulder exposed to the downpour. He hated the rain. You knew that. He always grimaced, always complained about the damp clinging to his clothes. Yet, here he was, deliberately getting wet to keep you dry.
As you reached your doorstep, dripping and shivering, he looked at you, a soft, concerned look on his face. "You're soaked. You'll catch a cold." He reached out, slowly taking out his hoodie from his bag – the very one you’d worn that day, the one that smelled faintly of your vanilla perfume. He pulled it out and offered it to you.
"Here. It's dry. Put this on."
Your heart gave a funny lurch. He was giving you his hoodie. Not just a hoodie, but his hoodie. The very symbol of his comfort, his privacy, his world. You took it, clutching the warm, dry fabric to your chest.
You looked up at him, standing there in the rain, his hair now plastered to his forehead, droplets clinging to his glasses. He looked so vulnerable, so open. The tension from the other night, the almost-kiss, returned with a vengeance.
He was still holding the umbrella, but he slowly, tentatively, lowered it. The soft drizzle started to land on both your faces. His eyes, usually so guarded, were fixed on yours, vulnerable and full of an unspoken longing. He leaned in again, slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.
Your lips were so close. You could feel his warm breath ghosting across them. Your eyes fluttered closed. This was it. This was the moment.
And then, just as your lips were about to brush, you both pulled back. Simultaneously. A silent, shared retreat, born not of rejection, but of a sudden, terrifying realization of the precipice you were standing on.
Jisung's eyes were wide, a flicker of panic in their depths. He looked away first, turning his head sharply, his hand instinctively reaching up to push his wet hair back.
Over the next few days, he started pulling away. Subtly at first. He wouldn't meet your gaze as readily. His morning greetings were a little more subdued. He stopped walking you all the way to your door, dropping you off a block away with a mumbled excuse. He was becoming more guarded, slipping back into his familiar shell, and it frustrated you to no end. Why? Why now? Especially after giving you his hoodie, after that almost-kiss that had felt so incredibly real?
You tried to break through his new distance, to tease him like you used to, but he would just nod, or offer a tight, almost forced smile. He wasn't short-circuiting anymore; he was shutting down.
Then came the incident that sent him spiraling. You were studying in the library, working with Liam, a close friend from your chemistry class. He was showing you something on his tablet, and you both leaned in, laughing at a particularly ridiculous diagram. It was completely innocent, just two friends sharing a moment.
Jisung, who had been at a table across the room, looked up. He saw you, leaning close to Liam, your head thrown back in laughter. He saw Liam’s hand gesturing, brushing your arm. And something inside him snapped. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move. He just stared, his face paling, his eyes turning cold and blank. He quickly packed up his things, stuffing them into his bag with a jerky, uncharacteristic urgency, and walked out without a word, leaving his usual quiet farewell unsaid.
You found him later, sitting alone on a secluded bench behind the dorms, staring at nothing.
"Jisung," you began, your voice firm, but gentle. "What is going on? Why are you being so weird?"
He flinched at your presence, as if he hadn’t heard you approach. He refused to look at you. "Nothing. I'm fine." His voice was flat, devoid of its usual soft inflections.
"No, you're not," you insisted, sitting beside him. "You’ve been pulling away for days. And then you just walked out of the library. What happened?"
He finally looked at you, his eyes clouded with a pain you hadn't seen before. "It's… it's just… complicated." He ran a hand through his hair, his voice rough. "This… this isn't real, [Y/N]."
Your heart clenched. "What are you talking about? Of course it's real! We’ve been 'dating' for a year, Jisung! We—"
"No!" he cut you off, his voice rising, a raw edge to it. He finally met your gaze, and the agony in his eyes was unmistakable. "It’s not real for you! This was fake. It started fake. You’re not mine." The words were ripped from him, laced with a bitterness that cut deep. He pulled away from you, physically, emotionally.
You stared at him, stunned. The air grew cold, even colder than the recent rain. "Then tell me," you challenged, your own voice trembling with a mix of hurt and frustration. "Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me this past year meant nothing. Tell me you don't feel anything for me."
He opened his mouth. His eyes searched yours, desperate, conflicted. His jaw worked, and he looked like he was in physical pain. He couldn’t do it. The words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t say it.
He finally looked away, shaking his head slowly. "I… I can't."
The silence that followed was deafening, crushing. The unsaid hung heavy between you.
The very next day, news spread like wildfire. The fake-dating "break" was announced. How, you weren’t sure. Perhaps Jisung had simply stopped waiting for you in the mornings, or you’d walked out of class alone. People just assumed. And everyone, especially Mark, assumed you’d broken up. Whispers followed you in the halls, pitying glances, speculative stares.
Jisung regretted it immediately. The moment the words left his lips, the moment he saw the hurt in your eyes, a crushing wave of despair hit him. He saw you walking alone, the space beside you starkly empty. He saw the looks people gave you. He saw Mark's renewed, predatory interest. He hated it. He hated himself.
But then, the self-doubt, a lifelong companion, crept in. You’re not enough. You’re just the weird kid. She deserves someone better. Someone who isn’t afraid to kiss her in the rain. Someone who isn’t constantly short-circuiting around her. Someone who isn't a coward. He felt like he’d somehow sabotaged the best thing that had ever happened to him, because he was simply… not enough.
The malfunction was complete. The system was off. And the "Do Not Disturb" sign was firmly in place.
-
The "break" lasted exactly three days. Three days that felt like an eternity, each hour stretching into a raw, aching expanse of regret. You moved through them like a ghost, the vibrant world around you muted, the usual clamor of the student body replaced by a hollow echo in your ears. Every time you saw Jisung’s usual spot by your locker empty, or the table in the library where he’d quietly hunch over his notes deserted, a fresh wave of despair washed over you. You missed him with a ferocity that startled you, the absence of his quiet presence a gaping wound.
He missed you too. You knew it. You felt it in the charged silences that hung between you when your paths accidentally crossed, in the quick, painful glances he’d steal before looking away, a haunted look in his usually gentle eyes. He looked pale, even more withdrawn than when you’d first met him. His hoodie seemed to swallow him whole, a desperate attempt to disappear.
The last straw came when you saw Mark, a sickeningly triumphant smirk plastered on his face, sauntering towards you in the cafeteria. He looked like a cat that had gotten the cream, ready to pounce now that his rival was seemingly out of the picture. The thought of going back to endless, polite deflections, of tolerating his smug advances, was utterly unbearable. You couldn't do it. You wouldn't.
You had to fix this.
Without a second thought, you walked straight out of the cafeteria, ignoring Mark’s surprised call. You didn’t even grab your bag from your locker. You knew where he lived, of course. His house was only a ten-minute walk from campus. The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long, dramatic shadows. Your heart hammered with a desperate urgency. You needed answers. You needed him.
When you reached his apartment building, you didn't hesitate. You marched straight to his house, raising your hand to knock, but before your knuckles could connect, it swung open. Jisung’s mom, a kind-faced woman with warm eyes who looked remarkably like a slightly more extroverted version of her son, smiled warmly at you. She knew about the "dating thing," of course, as you had both clumsily, vaguely explained it months ago.
“Oh, [Y/N], dear!” she chirped, her smile unwavering. “Jisung’s in his room. He’s been a bit… quiet today. Go on in.” She gestured vaguely down the hall.
Your stomach clenched. His mom was home. This added an entirely new layer of terrifying awkwardness to the situation, but there was no turning back now. You mumbled a quick thank you and made your way down the short hallway to his bedroom door.
You knocked twice, a firm, decisive rap. The sound seemed deafening in the quiet apartment. After a moment, the door slowly creaked open.
And then you saw him.
He was standing there, framed in the doorway, a vision that simultaneously stole your breath and made your heart ache. He was wearing a pair of dark grey sweatpants, hanging low on his hips, revealing the faint V-line above the waistband. He was shirtless. The lean, toned abs you’d glimpsed at the basketball game were fully exposed, glistening faintly from a recent shower. His hair was messy, still damp, curling artfully around his ears. And around his neck, resting against his skin, was the silver pendant you had given him, the little musical note catching the light.
He looked utterly shocked to see you. His eyes, usually hidden behind his glasses (which were now conspicuously absent), were wide and vulnerable, a raw confusion etched on his face. His mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out.
The sight of him, so exposed, so unexpectedly beautiful, jolted something loose inside you. The anger, the frustration, the hurt – it all coalesced into one burning question.
“Why didn’t you fight for me, Jisung?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, but laced with all the pain of the past three days. Your eyes searched his, desperate for an answer. “Why did you just… let me go?”
He flinched, as if the words were physical blows. His gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders slumping. “I… I didn’t think I deserved you,” he admitted, his voice hoarse, barely audible. The confession was ripped from him, an agonizing truth. “I’m… I’m just me. And you’re… you. You deserve someone who isn’t… constantly short-circuiting. Someone who’s… better.” He sounded utterly defeated.
The raw, heartbreaking honesty of his confession hit you like a punch to the gut. He thought he wasn’t good enough. All this time, all this beautiful, confusing tension, all his shy attempts at closeness, and he’d been battling this profound self-doubt.
It was too much. The unspoken yearning, the quiet suffering, his vulnerable confession – it all converged into an undeniable, overwhelming urge. You couldn't hold back anymore. You wouldn't.
Before you could think, before he could react, you surged forward. Your hands, with a sudden, fierce determination, reached up and cupped his face, pulling him down. You found his lips, soft and hesitant, and you kissed him.
It was desperate. It was messy. It was everything the almost-kisses hadn't been. Your lips molded against his, an explosion of pent-up emotion. He was stiff for a split second, utterly shocked, then his mouth softened, responding tentatively. His hands, which had been hanging uselessly at his sides, slowly, hesitantly, came up to rest on your waist, pulling you a fraction closer.
You broke apart, breathless, your foreheads touching. Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his. His eyes were wide, blown out, reflecting a mixture of shock, confusion, and a dawning, incandescent hope. His lips were still parted, slightly bruised from the force of your kiss.
“My mom is still home,” he whispered, the words tumbling out on a shaky breath, a last vestige of his awkward, logical brain.
You pulled back just slightly, a small, triumphant smile playing on your lips. You looked at him, truly seeing him, shirtless and beautiful and utterly in love.
Then, he moved. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you against him with a sudden, possessive strength that made your breath catch. He leaned down, his lips finding yours again, this time with a confident, undeniable hunger.
The kiss was longer. Deeper. It was a declaration, a surrender, a desperate claiming. His hands moved from your waist, one tangling in your hair, the other pressing into the small of your back, arching you against his bare chest. You felt the hard planes of his abs, the rapid thrum of his heart against yours. Your hands, still on his face, tangled in his damp hair, holding him close.
“I don’t think she would really care,” he mumbled against your lips, a low, husky sound that sent shivers down your spine. His voice was thick with emotion, utterly unlike the quiet whispers you were used to.
He pulled his head back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and intense. Then, with a decisive move, he reached behind you, pushing the door shut with a soft click, plunging the room into a more intimate, hushed light. He didn’t break the kiss, simply deepened it, stepping further into his room, pushing you gently backward towards the bed.
You stumbled back, still locked in his embrace, your legs hitting the edge of the mattress. You both tumbled onto the bed, a soft thud. He landed half on top of you, his weight a comforting pressure, his lips still devastatingly on yours.
He finally pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, both of you panting slightly. His eyes, still wide and vulnerable, searched yours. The fear was still there, a tiny flicker, but it was overshadowed by something powerful, something new.
“I think,” he whispered, his voice trembling with a confession that had been building for months, for a year, for a lifetime, “I think I’m in love with you.”
The words, spoken so simply, so honestly, were the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Tears welled in your eyes. You reached up, cupping his face again, your thumb stroking his jaw.
“I think I’m in love with you too, hannie,” you whispered back, the admission feeling liberating, profoundly right.
You fell asleep tangled up on his bed, the soft glow of his bedside lamp casting a warm light over the room. He was shirtless, his arm wrapped tightly around you, holding you close. You were still fully clothed, but your hearts were racing in tandem, a frantic, joyous beat that echoed the tumultuous journey you’d taken. The awkwardness was gone, replaced by a profound sense of peace.
The next morning, the sun streamed through his window, painting the room in hues of gold. You woke to the feeling of his steady breathing, his arm still around you. He was fast asleep, his face peaceful, a faint smile playing on his lips. You carefully disentangled yourself, sitting up. You looked at him, truly looked at the man beside you, and your heart swelled.
He woke moments later, blinking groggily, then his eyes snapped open, a dawning realization on his face. He looked at you, then at himself (still shirtless <3), then at the messy bed, and a blush began to creep up his neck. But this time, it was different. It wasn’t panic. It was a shy, happy flush.
He reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. He squeezed gently. “Good morning, [Y/N].”
You smiled, a genuine, radiant smile. “Good morning, Jisung.”
He walked you to class that morning. Not a block away. Not with his head down. Hand-in-hand. His fingers were firmly, possessively linked with yours, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. His shoulders were straighter, his head held a little higher. He wasn't hiding. Not anymore. He met the stares of curious students, not with defiance, but with a quiet, undeniable confidence. This was his. You were his.
As you neared the main entrance, a familiar, unwelcome voice cut through the morning chatter.
“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Back with the librarian, are we, [Y/N]? Thought you’d finally come to your senses. Don’t worry, the offer’s still on the table. You know you want someone real, someone who can actually handle you—”
Mark. He was leaning against the lockers, his usual smug grin back in full force, his eyes raking over you, then flicking dismissively to Jisung.
You felt Jisung stiffen beside you. His grip on your hand tightened, almost painfully. You braced yourself, ready to step in, to deflect, to protect him from Mark’s usual condescension.
But Jisung didn’t flinch. He didn’t retreat. He stopped. He turned to face Mark, his entire posture radiating a cold, coiled fury you’d never seen before. His eyes, unshielded by glasses, were blazing.
“Listen here, dickhead,” he said, his voice low, gravelly, and utterly devoid of its usual softness. Every word was precise, cutting, delivered with an icy calm that was far more terrifying than any shout. “I let you talk before because I felt sorry for you. Because you’re pathetic. But you’re not going to talk about her like that. Not ever again.”
Mark’s smirk wavered, replaced by genuine shock. This wasn’t the Jisung he knew. This was something else entirely.
Jisung took a step forward, pulling you slightly behind him, shielding you. His voice dropped even lower, becoming a lethal whisper. “Touch her again, speak to her again, even look at her again with that disgusting glint in your eye, and you will regret ever being born and breathing the same fucking air as her. Learn to respect first, dickhead.”
The final word was delivered with such venom, such quiet menace, that Mark actually took a step back, his face paling. He stammered, opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Jisung didn’t wait for a reply. He simply turned, his hand still firmly clasped in yours, and continued walking towards your class, leaving a stunned, speechless Mark in his wake.
The system had not only rebooted, it had upgraded. And the "Do Not Disturb" sign was now backed by a very, very powerful firewall.
-
The atmosphere around Han Jisung had undergone a complete thermodynamic shift. Where once there was awkward tension and self-conscious fluster, there was now an almost unbearable softness. It was like watching a perpetually guarded hedgehog suddenly bloom into a purring housecat. And you, it seemed, were his favorite scratching post.
He was, quite simply, whipped.
The transformation began subtly, a quiet hum beneath the surface, but now it was loud and clear, echoing in every gesture, every stolen glance. He’d arrive at your dorm every morning, not just to walk you to class, but with a freshly brewed coffee clutched in his hand – exactly how you liked it, black with just a dash of oat milk. He’d learned your order within days of you mentioning it once.
He still wore his hoodies, of course, but now they seemed less like a shield and more like a comfortable second skin, an extension of his soft, quiet confidence. He still mumbled, sometimes, especially when caught off guard, but his words now carried a warmth, a possessiveness that made your stomach flutter.
You found him taking pictures of you. Not secretly, like before, but openly, unabashedly. During study sessions, on walks, even just as you were laughing at something silly. He’d frame you in his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration, then show you the result, a shy, proud smile on his lips. They were always good, capturing candid moments you didn't even know he noticed.
And he listened. Oh, how he listened. If before he was a silent sponge, now he was an active, engaged audience of one. He’d remember details of your day, your frustrations, your small victories, and bring them up later, offering quiet comfort or genuine celebration. Your voice had become his favorite melody, and he absorbed every single note.
Despite the newfound confidence and possessiveness, the core Jisung remained. He was still nerdy, still prone to the endearing stutter when truly flustered, and still occasionally blinked like an owl in direct sunlight. But now, those traits were layered with a thrilling new boldness. He kissed you whenever he wanted. A quick press to your temple as you worked, a soft brush against your lips when he caught your eye across a room, a lingering, breathless touch when you were alone. Each kiss was a silent confirmation, a tangible declaration that you were irrevocably his.
One sunny afternoon, you were lounging on his bed, flipping through one of his comic books. He was at his desk, tinkering with a new beat. A playful impulse struck you. You reached over, snatching his glasses right off his face.
“Hey!” he yelped, a startled sound, his eyes blinking rapidly, temporarily unfocused. He looked hilariously vulnerable without them.
You held them out of his reach, a mischievous grin on your face. “What’s the magic word, Jisung?”
He squinted at you, a soft smile replacing his surprise. He knew this game. He knew you. He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made your chest warm. “Please, my love?” he said, his voice husky, an entirely new nickname that sent shivers down your spine.
You melted. You placed the glasses back on his nose, his touch lingering on your fingers. He caught your hand, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. He let you steal them. He let you get away with anything.
One evening, he was showing you the progress on his latest composition – a melody that swelled and pulsed with an undeniable emotional depth. You recognized the faint echoes of your own laughter, the rhythm of your hurried footsteps, the quiet comfort of his presence woven into the notes. It was about you. You knew it.
He sat on the edge of his bed, his guitar resting against his hip. “This part here,” he murmured, his fingers hovering over the fretboard, “is supposed to feel like… like the moment you realize something beautiful is happening.” He gestured for you to come closer.
You didn't hesitate. You shifted, swinging your legs over and settling onto his lap, facing him. He tensed for a split second, then his arms naturally came around your waist, holding you close. His chin rested on your shoulder as he guided your fingers over the strings. His breath ghosted against your ear, and the warmth of his body seeped into yours.
“See?” he whispered, his voice soft against your skin, “Your thumb here, on the C chord. And then these two fingers for the G…” His large hands enveloped yours, teaching you the chords, his body pressed against yours, the guitar a physical conduit for the intimate lesson. The melody, now imbued with his closeness, felt impossibly tender.
Later, much later, curled up in his bed, half-asleep after hours of talking and listening to his music, you murmured, the words slipping out unbidden, soft and hazy with sleep.
“I love you, Hannie.”
His breathing hitched. He stiffened, infinitesimally. He thought he misheard. It was too quiet, too soft, too… monumental. His mind, usually a hyper-efficient processing unit, sputtered. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at your face, illuminated by the faint glow of the moon through the window.
“What… what did you say?” he whispered, his voice thick with a sudden, overwhelming emotion.
You blinked, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. You looked up at him, meeting his wide, questioning eyes. A soft, lazy smile touched your lips.
“I said,” you repeated, clearer this time, your voice imbued with all the quiet certainty of your heart, “I love you, Jisung.”
He melted. Physically. His entire body seemed to relax, to soften into the mattress. He buried his face in your hair, a low, contented groan escaping his lips. His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer until there was no space left between you. He pressed kisses to your scalp, your temple, your forehead. He didn’t say anything back immediately, but you felt the shudder that ran through him, the profound relief, the utter bliss. His silence was louder than any words.
He started wearing the hoodies you selected for him during your infrequent, chaotic shopping trips. You’d pick out soft fabrics, unique colors, or subtle patterns that you knew he’d never choose for himself. He’d try them on, looking bewildered, but then he’d wear them. And sometimes, you’d catch him, subtly, almost instinctively, spraying your vanilla perfume on the collar. He felt like it would be cute, he confessed once, a shy whisper. Like he was hugging you all day.
Those became your "hoodie dates." Simple, quiet evenings, often just in his dorm, him in a hoodie you’d picked out, you in one of his. The air would be filled with the scent of vanilla and Jisung, a comforting, intoxicating blend.
He kissed your shoulder, a soft, deliberate press of his lips against your skin. Then his lips moved, tracing a path along your collarbone, up your jaw, until they reached the sensitive skin just behind your ear, down the column of your neck. Each touch was light, feather-soft, yet utterly devastating. Your breath hitched, a delicious shiver running through you. His hand, warm and firm, rested on your hip, pulling you closer still.
The unspoken hung heavy in the air, a silent question. You both knew where this was leading. The soft breaths grew shorter, more ragged. The air crackled with a dizzying heat. His lips moved to your throat, eliciting a soft gasp. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, closer.
You almost took things further. The desire was a burning, undeniable ache. But then, in the exquisite tension of the moment, you pulled back, breathless, a wide, joyous smile breaking across your face. He looked up, his eyes dark with longing, a question in their depths.
“I could live like this forever,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin.
You held him close, your own smile unwavering. This fragile, beautiful thing you had built, brick by awkward, heartfelt brick, was now your sanctuary. His soft possessiveness, your gentle teasing, the constant hum of unspoken affection – it was everything you never knew you needed. And in his arms, you knew, with profound certainty, that you were exactly where you were meant to be. The “whipped” program was fully installed, and running perfectly.
-
The campus auditorium buzzed with an electric current, a palpable hum of anticipation that felt almost dizzying. Tonight was the annual student talent showcase, an event usually dominated by seasoned performers and boisterous bands. But tonight, something felt different. Tonight was Han Jisung’s night.
You sat in the third row, a knot of nerves and exhilarating pride twisting in your stomach. You had known he was composing something with you in mind. You had felt it in the subtle melodies he hummed, heard it in the passionate way he spoke about weaving emotions into sound. But he hadn't revealed the full scope of it, only that he was playing an "original composition."
The lights dimmed, and a hush fell over the crowd. A spotlight flared, illuminating the center of the stage. Jisung walked out, carrying his guitar, a familiar dark blue hoodie clinging comfortably to his frame. His glasses, nestled on his nose, reflected the stage lights, giving him an almost ethereal glow. He looked nervous, his shoulders slightly hunched, but there was a quiet determination in his posture that radiated outward. He sat on the stool placed center stage, his fingers already finding comfort on the fretboard.
He glanced up, his eyes sweeping across the audience, and then, he found you. His gaze softened, a small, private smile touching his lips. It was a smile that spoke volumes, a silent promise. And then, he began to play.
The first notes were soft, hesitant, like a tentative beginning. A simple, ethereal guitar melody, almost fragile. But then, a subtle beat dropped, a low, pulsing rhythm that grounded the sound, giving it depth. His fingers danced over the fretboard, coaxing out intricate chords, weaving complex arpeggios that built and swelled. His voice, usually so quiet, rose, a clear, melodic rap that wove through the music, telling a story.
It was your story.
He sang about a chance encounter in a deserted hallway, a panicked lie, the disbelief of others. He rapped about hesitant glances, fumbled conversations, and the unexpected comfort of a shared silence. He sang about notes in a hoodie pocket, about shy smiles and the warmth of a hand in his sleeve during a cold night walk. The lyrics detailed every awkward, sweet, tension-filled moment you had shared, painting a vivid picture of your journey.
He spoke of secrets kept, of watching rom-coms for "research," of accidentally hitting someone with a basketball. He even recounted the moment you pushed his glasses back on his nose, the "short circuit" in his brain. His voice swelled with emotion as he described the subtle shift, the growing fondness, the undeniable pull.
Then the music shifted, growing more intense, more vulnerable. He rapped about the fear of falling too hard, about pushing away, about the agony of seeing you laugh with another, the crushing weight of self-doubt. The melody became almost painful, raw with regret. He confessed his fear of not being enough, his belief that you deserved "someone better."
And then, the music shifted again, brightening, soaring. His voice filled with an overwhelming tenderness as he described your unannounced visit, the desperate question, the electric touch. He sang about the kiss, about finding home in your arms, about realizing that love wasn’t about being "perfect," but about being perfectly you.
His gaze found yours again, unwavering now. He saw the tears streaming down your face, hot and unbidden. He saw the pure, unadulterated emotion reflected in your eyes. And he played harder. The guitar chords resonated with a newfound power, his voice imbued with every ounce of his confessed love. It wasn't just a performance; it was his soul laid bare, a public declaration of how utterly, completely whipped he was for you.
He brought the song to a crescendo, a final, powerful chord that hung in the air, vibrating with undeniable emotion. The last notes faded, leaving a stunned silence in the auditorium.
Then, he lowered his guitar, looked directly at you, his eyes shining, and spoke into the microphone, his voice clear and ringing with a newfound confidence that sent shivers down your spine.
“This,” he announced, his voice echoing through the silent hall, “is for the girl who rewired my heart.”
And that was your cue. You didn’t think. You didn't hesitate. You pushed past the stunned audience members, scrambling over knees and chairs, your heart thundering against your ribs. You ran, a blur of motion, towards the stage.
He saw you coming. A wide, incandescent smile spread across his face, lighting up the entire auditorium. As you reached the stage, he slid off the stool, meeting you halfway. You launched yourself into his arms, your arms wrapping around his neck, and you kissed him.
It was a public kiss, in front of the entire campus, and it was glorious. It was everything the almost-kisses hadn’t been, everything the tentative first kiss on his bed had promised. It was deep, possessive, overflowing with years of unspoken longing and months of tender affection. The crowd erupted, a deafening roar of cheers, whistles, and applause. It was loud, chaotic, and utterly perfect.
The creep? You heard he was quietly expelled the following week. It seemed his behavior hadn't gone unnoticed by the administration, especially after his increasingly aggressive online messages. Karma, indeed.
A week later, the dust had settled, the campus still buzzing with the afterglow of Jisung’s performance and your very public declaration. You had a final date planned, a quiet, familiar comfort: your favorite café, the one with the best vanilla lattes and the mismatched armchairs.
You spotted him immediately. He was sitting by the window, bathed in the soft afternoon light. He wasn’t in a hoodie. Instead, he wore a crisp white button-down, the sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows, revealing the toned forearms you now loved. He had on sky-blue pants and a pair of worn Converse, a subtle nod to his casual style, but undeniably more put-together. The silver pendant you’d given him glinted at his throat, and his glasses sat comfortably on his nose. He held a small, artfully arranged bouquet of wildflowers, a whimsical contrast to his new, confident demeanor.
He saw you, and that familiar, shy-but-smitten smile blossomed on his face. He stood up as you approached, and for the first time, he openly, unabashedly flirted.
“Took you long enough, love,” he murmured, his eyes twinkling as he held out the flowers. “Thought I’d have to send out a search party.”
You laughed, taking the bouquet, leaning in to inhale the delicate scent. “Someone’s feeling bold today, Han Jisung.”
“Only for you,” he whispered, his eyes lingering on your lips. He paused, a flicker of his old hesitation, but it was quickly replaced by a confident smirk. “You spent time on your makeup, didn’t you? I don’t want to ruin the lipstick.”
You raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in your gaze. “Oh, really?” You leaned in, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to his lips, smudging your lipstick just a little. “Too late.”
He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that vibrated through your chest. “Good,” he said, his eyes darkening with desire. He leaned in, deepening the kiss, no longer caring about the lipstick.
After you ordered, he reached under the table, pulling out a small, elegantly wrapped box.
“Happy… non-anniversary,” he said, pushing it across the table to you.
You opened it carefully. Inside, nestled in satin, was a sleek, silver flash drive. You looked at him, puzzled.
“It’s our story,” he explained, his gaze soft, full of emotion. “In music. Everything. From ‘Error: You’re My Boyfriend Now’ to… well, this.” He gestured between the two of you, a profound happiness radiating from him. “Every moment. Every feeling. Every glitch. All captured.”
You felt tears prick your eyes again. It was the most Han Jisung gift he could have ever given you. A symphony of your shared journey, from chaos to profound love.
You reached across the table, taking his hand, intertwining your fingers. His thumb stroked the back of your hand, a familiar, comforting gesture.
He leaned in, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The nerdy boy was still there, but now, he was entirely, unapologetically himself. And entirely, irrevocably yours.
He squeezed your hand gently, his gaze unwavering, and then, he spoke the last line, a simple truth that echoed the entirety of your story, a perfect loop of beginning and end, and a promise of forever.
⤷ Agent Assigned: Kim Seungmin x afab!reader
⤷ Client Scenario: A formal gala event with the unwelcomed presence of an ex-fiancée ends with three times the customer satisfaction
⤷ Case Warnings: protected sex, car sex (public sex), cowgirl, oral (f.rec), fingering (f.rec), multiple orgams (f.rec)
⤷ WC: 3k
♡ Stray Hearts File: 001 of 015
⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Your match is 2 minutes away.
The dot on the Rent-a-Boyfriend app inches closer, your nerves are taut under the smooth line of your gown. He’s almost here. One minute away now.
Your screen glows dim under the table you were dragged to by a new hire who talks too much and thinks that the two of you are friends. You aren't, but for now, you'll pretend. It's better than looking like you're alone while your ex-fiancée flaunts that blonde from accounting like she's a rare Rolex.
Part of you hates him, another part of you wishes you didn't. Maybe then it wouldn't be so painful to see him at events like this. Not because you miss him, no. It’s because he’s an asshole.
Your colleague laughs at a joke someone else told and you take the opportunity to slip away. You swipe a glass of champagne off of a nearby tray and drink it too fast to be considered well mannered.
Then—because the universe loves a well timed fuck-you—that’s exactly when he shows up. Your ex.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, all smug in his navy tux, hand already on the waist of the bright-eyed blonde. Her dress is too tight and bright for a gala, you can tell she doesn’t care.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” you answer coolly, fingers clutching your clutch tighter than necessary.
He shrugs. “Just thought it might be hard, ya know. Coming alone.” You don’t flinch. You smile. He’s twenty seconds away.
Your ex opens his mouth again—probably to drop some condescending bomb about how he’s “sure you’ll find someone someday”—when a hand touches the small of your back, large and warm. Splayed right over the slight curve in your spine.
“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart,” a low, syrupy voice interrupts. “Parking was a nightmare.”
Your ex turns just in time to see ‘your man’ step into view, black suit like it was made just for him, tie knotted clean enough to tell that he’s done this before.
“Kim Seungmin,” he says smoothly, nodding once at your ex, unbothered, eyes dark but gleaming like he’s already getting a kick out of this. “Director of Strategy at Asan Tech. You are?”
The lie rolls off his tongue like he truly believes it. Hell, it was believable. Even though all he did was spell NASA backwards and slap tech at the end… your ex seems to buy it. You attribute it to the way Seungmin carries himself. There’s a velvet air to him. Something that says ‘I’m barely trying and I’m still better than you’. Something that makes you feel hot in places you shouldn’t, but still, you hold onto his arm a bit tighter.
Your ex stiffens, mouth twitching as he mutters his name. “She and I used to—”
“Ah,” Seungmin cuts in, tone dipped in amusement. “One of those tragic mistakes she doesn’t talk about.”
You almost choke.
Your ex bristles. The blonde is too busy gawking at your man to notice.
Seungmin leans in just a bit, hand resting naturally over yours where you hold him. “Shall we?” he murmurs in your ear, like you’re lovers who never stay at one stop for too long. Easily bored by those who are clearly not on your level.
Once you’re away from the blast zone and seated at your assigned table, you lean in. “Director of Strategy?”
He shrugs, unbothered. “Would’ve gone with CEO, but I didn’t want to emasculate him so hard he goes to HR in the morning. You’re welcome.”
You scoff. “You really think you're charming, don't you?” he’s too busy swiping a glass of champagne from a passing server to look your way. You take the opportunity to assess him properly—sharp jaw line, glowing skin, dark eyes that challenge you just right—then he looks back your way, sliding a glass over.
“Charming enough that you picked me,” he says, not missing a beat. “From just a picture too, so yes. I do.”
You roll your eyes and sip your champagne, but the way he watches you over the rim of his glass—lazy, amused, like you’re his entertainment for the evening, not a client—makes your chest feel tight.
Now dinner starts.
The seating chart is a set up. Your ex and his blonde arm candy are across from you and Seungmin at the long table. The tablecloth is ivory, the centerpieces are gaudy, and the blonde is still chewing her gum. Too loud, too absent minded. Your ex is bragging about god knows what to some senior employee he’s clearly trying to kiss up to. He always was a sell out.
Then there’s Seungmin— sitting with one arm draped across the back of your chair, legs spread just wide enough to toe the line between casual and cocky. He looks like he owns the place. He hasn’t looked at the menu. Hasn’t looked at the servers. Hasn’t even glanced at the table of executives eyeing you both with thinly veiled curiosity.
His eyes are only on you.
“You’re staring,” you mutter, sipping your water without meeting his gaze.
“You’re wearing that dress,” he replies like it’s something he’s used to. Something that routinely poisons his self control. “I’m just appreciating the craftsmanship.”
Your mouth twitches. “The fabric?”
“No.” He leans in, voice low and heat-laced. “The body in it.”
You nearly choke. Again.
He smirks, eyes never leaving your flushed expression.
Across the table, your ex keeps glancing over. His date is talking to someone else entirely and that senior exec he was trying to butter up keeps avoiding eye contact with him. You’ve knocked him off his game. And damn it feels good.
Seungmin’s fingers brush your knee under the table. Casual. Intentional. A distraction. You jolt just a little—surprised but not displeased. He still hasn’t looked away from you, even as he speaks loud enough for nearby ears to hear. “Thank you for bringing me tonight, baby.”
You blink, you wanna say that he had no choice, that he’s literally being paid by the minute but you smile instead “I hope that you’re enjoying yourself, honey.”
The smirk that he offers you is disarming, practiced and perfected. “Of course I am. It’s not every day I get to be the hottest man in the room with the most stunning woman on my arm. Free drinks are just a bonus.”
You roll your eyes, still smiling despite yourself. “You really practice lines like that in the mirror, don’t you?” your voice is a whisper, he watches your lips then leans in just close enough for his own to brush your cheek.
“Only the ones that work.” Your cheeks heat, you clear your throat. How is he so good?
When the first course is served, Seungmin finally looks away. He glances at the plate like it personally offended him, then back at you. “That’s a leaf.”
“It’s arugula.”
“It’s offensive.”
You laugh under your breath, shaking your head. His expression is dead serious as he forks the salad like he’s the one filing a complaint with HR in the morning. The woman next to you—a junior VP with a Cartier bracelet and gossip glinting in her eyes—leans over.
“So,” she says with a saccharine smile. “You two are precious. How long have you been seeing each other?”
You freeze.
Seungmin, however, doesn’t even blink. “Six months,” he says smoothly, setting his fork down. “Met at a conference out of town. She was wearing red lipstick and giving dirty looks to the panelists. I knew I was doomed but I just had to know her name.”
You stare. Impressed.
“Oh, wow,” the woman laughs, hand fluttering. “That’s so…romantic.”
“It wasn’t,” he deadpans. “She told me I was boring before I even introduced myself.”
“I wasn’t wrong,” you shoot back, playing along now. “He was quoting Plato to a bartender.”
“And you ordered vodka cranberry like a nineteen year old trying to blackout before curfew.”
“Excuse me for having taste.” The man beside Seungmin chuckles awkwardly, clearly unsure if you’re flirting or fighting.
Seungmin reaches over and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Too gently. His fingers linger just a second too long. “Noona is even prettier when she’s mean.” he says casually before taking a sip of wine. You dig your nails into his thigh under the table, a silent sign to shut the hell up. His mouth twitches.
Asshole.
He’s a cocky, smooth, handsome asshole.
When you glance at him, your ex is glaring at you and the blonde is gawking at Seungmin once again. It even seems that a few other ladies at the table have joined her in appraising your man.
Mission successful.
The rest of the night is performance art. He knows just how to lean in, just how to touch you without looking like he’s trying. When he laughs, it feels unrehearsed. When he calls you “baby” in front of a coworker, it sounds like he’s said it a thousand times before.
You don’t know how much of it is an act anymore. You don’t know which one of you is blurring the lines. You just know that nothing feels clear right now.
You reach for your glass again. Just as you realize he’s watching you again, leaned back with heart eyes so convincing you forget the arrangement for a beat.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you say.
“Like what?”
“Like this isn’t pretend.”
He hums. “Tell me what part’s pretend, and I’ll stop.”
You don’t have an answer.
So you take another sip. You let his hand rest on your thigh for the rest of the meal, thumb tracing light circles while he tells some made up story about a trip you two took to Aruba. And he just keeps looking at you.
· · ─ ·♡· ─ · ·
The night winds down with speeches and too many fake laughs. Your heels start to pinch. Your wine glass stays half-full, untouched now because if you drink anymore, you’ll say something reckless.
Finally, when the gala begins to thin out, you slip your arm into his and walk toward the parking lot. The night air is a welcome relief—crisp and clean compared to the stifling heat inside, or maybe it was just the warmth of his hand on your lower back for the past twenty minutes.
“Did I play the role well enough for you?” he asks, tone dry.
You toss him a glance. “Yup. You were just the right amount of asshole.” He smirks, small and lethal. You ignore the way it makes your chest flutter. “You nearly made me believe it.”
“You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”
“And you looked like you do this every weekend.”
“I might,” he says, holding your gaze for just a second before letting his eyes slowly wander down, tracing curves that his fingers have ‘mindlessly’ grazed all night. “But I think tonight has been my favorite.”
There’s a pause. Too long.
You shift your weight, wrap your arms tighter around yourself.
“I’ll give you a five-star review,” you mutter, pretending not to feel how charged everything is. “Maybe even a tip. Maybe.”
His lips curve. “Don’t tip me unless I earn it.”
Your eyes flick down to his lips and the champagne from earlier starts speaking for you “Oh? So, is there a way you want to earn it?”
He steps closer, one hand reaching out to fix your necklace—slow, deliberate, far too intimate for a stranger.
“Maybe,” he says, voice dropping low. “The dinner was nice but that was just foreplay.” Your breath catches.
Seungmin reaches past you and pulls open your car door. The back door. You look behind you, then up at him, eyebrows raised. “You’re serious?”
He doesn’t respond, only looks at you with dark eyes that say get in loud and clear. You don’t move, so he does, a small step forward to close the gap between you.
“You hired me,” he says calmly. “Let me finish the job.”
There’s something daring in his voice that makes your thighs clench without permission. You’ve seen his reviews, you knew this was on the table—hell, you’d hoped for it.
Seungmin watches you just as he has all night, Studying. Jaw clenching when his eyes flick to how your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You bat your lashes once, twice, then turn and slide into the seat.
The door shuts behind you. He walks around the other side of the car, no rush, and gets in next to you. Then, with the quiet click of the door lock and the parking lot streetlamps painting amber along the sharp cut of his jaw, he turns to you.
“You’re tense,” he says, reaching over to touch your knee, fingers brushing under the hem of your dress. “Let me help.”
Then he kisses you. Hard. Like this is the part of the job he looks forward to. Like he’s been counting down the seconds until he could ruin you and call it customer service.
Your head tilts back instinctively, one of his hands cradles the back of your neck. The other finds your waist, sliding down to the curve of your thigh. He hikes your dress up with the kind of expertise that says he fucks just as good as he looks. That alone makes you moan into him.
Fingers skim your core over your underwear and you suck in a breath. Seungmin breaks the kiss, nose brushing yours. “Tell me how you like to be fucked.”
You swallow. “With your fingers first. Then your mouth. Then—”
He presses two fingers between your legs and your head falls back with a moan. Every thought is gone, every nerve sparks with the press of his fingers, long and precise.
“Keep talk’n to me” he hums against your throat, slowing his ministrations just enough for you to think. You clear your throat, blink your eyes open and part your lips just enough to make the smallest sound.
“Then—then fuck me. Let me ride. Use me after. I don’t care. Just make me come until I can’t see straight.” his finger hooks into the gusset of your panties, pulling them aside just enough for his thumb to find your clit.
“Good girl.” The way he says it wrecks you. Your hips jerk, chasing more, but Seungmin doesn’t give you a second to think. His fingers move with effortless precision, tracing the heat between your thighs like he’s memorizing every inch.
Slow. Measured. Cruel.
You’re already panting. “Let’s try for three, yeah?” he murmurs, dragging his mouth along your jaw as one finger dips in and curls.
Your hips kick up again, uneven like the moan breaking from your chest. “Ya know, thought you’d be more of a fight.” he kisses the shell of your ear, teeth grazing the lobe. “But you’re melting for me like you’ve been counting down the seconds.”
You grab his tie. “You’re on the clock.”
“Mm.” he slips in another finger, making you shudder. “Then you’d better come fast.”
You choke on a gasp, legs spreading wider as his fingers work you open. You watch him—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, the most infuriating look of casual confidence on his face. It’s unfair. He’s not even breaking a sweat. You’re soaked, whining under your breath, trying not to collapse in the backseat of your own damn car. He pulls his fingers out and sucks them into his mouth then moans—just a little, just enough to ruin you.
Then he shifts, your back to the passenger door and one leg over his shoulder. His hands knock your thighs apart with ease, dress bunched around your waist, and—
Holy. Shit.
He eats like he’s starving. Moaning as soon as his tongue flattens against your cunt and grunting when you make the prettiest little keen he’s heard in a while. Your back arches off the seat, hands buried in his hair. His tongue is relentless—circling, flicking, dipping down just to drag another broken whimper out of your throat before focusing back on your clit. He spits onto you clit just as his fingers rejoin the mix, fucking you open while his tongue follows.
“Oh—fuck—Seungmin—”
He hums. You cry out. He doesn’t stop until your thighs are trembling and your vision is white-hot at the edges. Until you’re coming into his mouth, hips grinding helplessly, and moaning too loudly for a backseat fuck.
He pulls back, chin glistening, smug as hell. “One.”
“One?”
“We agreed on three, remember?” he’s already unbuckling his belt. “Or has that pretty head already gone dumb for me?”
You don’t even have time to blink before he’s pushing his slacks down, cock thick and flushed. He grips your hips, pulling you into his lap like it’s nothing.
“Ride me,” he murmurs. “Like you said you would.” He rips open a condom between his teeth, rolling it on with one hand which would be a red flag for anyone who didn’t do this for a living.
You straddle him, breath catching as he lines himself up, rubbing the tip through your folds and letting you control how much you take. His weeping cock disappears into you slowly. The stretch is perfect, the length is ridiculous. Your moan when he bottoms out is downright obscene.
“Fuck, noona—” he groans, hands digging into your ass. “You’re tighter than expected.”
“So you expected something?” he huffs a laugh, then thrusts up hard.
Your head just barely hits the ceiling. “Jesus—!”
“Not here,” he says, smiling slow. “Just me.”
His hands smooth up your sides, guiding you while you ride him like you’ll never get the chance to again—because you might not. Dress pushed up, one heel digging into the leather seat and one lost on the floor, Seungmin buried deep and panting against your neck as you grind and bounce and take him.
His hands are everywhere—guiding, gripping, spanking once, then twice when you slow down.
“Second one’s coming,” he warns.
You don’t believe him, until he brings his thumb to your clit and makes you see stars.
Two.
You’re barely coherent, slumped against his chest when he shifts your position just enough to fuck up into you with maddening precision.
“You asked for this, baby.” his voice is wrecked. The squelch of your cunt mixes with his heavy breathing. Your moans are muffled into his shoulder but he can hear you loud and clear over the sound of skin slapping.
“I paid for this.” you rasp, gasping when his lips find the sensitive spot of your neck.
“And I’m giving you your money’s worth.”
You claw at his shoulders, fingers digging in like holding on could steady what’s already spinning. “I’m gonna—”
“Good. Take it.” His pace grows sharper, more frantic. “Cum on my cock. So I can fill you up like a good fucking boyfriend would.”
You fall apart.
Three.
“That’s it—shit, gonna cum. Gonna fucking—fuck, noona” You’re shaking in his lap, panting against his neck, muscles limp and dress falling off one shoulder when he finally kisses you—deep, slow, dirty.
He fucks you slow through his orgasm, tongue sliding over yours and low, rough groans vibrating through you. His muscles are tight, cock is throbbing. When he pulls back, you’re breathless.
And then he grins.
“Now,” he says, slicking his hair back with one hand, taking a deceivingly calm breath. "Don't forget to leave me a five-star review.”
You stare.
“You absolute menace.”
“Mm. But you’re glowing.”
You slap his chest, still twitching, and sigh. “Fine. But I’m not tipping.”
“You already did,” he says, smirking like he’s won something. “Three times.”
a/n: I was so nervous to post this! I hope you enjoyed the first one shot of my event! Thank you for reading ♡
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
andulkaphoto
vaporwave
2087
