SYPNOSIS. You and Oikawa Tooru are constant rivals.
Bickering in class, competing in grades, and clashing over your brother, Kageyama Tobio.
To Oikawa Tooru, you are a lifelong problem—his rival in class, his sharpest critic, and the fiercely protective older sister of his nemesis.
From Kitagawa Daiichi to Aoba Johsai, your relationship is built on mutual irritation
Somewhere along the way, Oikawa realizes how much he’s gotten used to your presence. Without any big confession, your rivalry slowly softens into something warmer.
PAIRING. kageyama's older sister!reader x oikawa toruu
GENRES. fluff, enemy to lovers?, slice of life, heavy brother complex, reader LOVES tobio, oikawa x reader rivalry, pinning
WORD COUNT. 3.1K
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ in this second part it focuses more on the relationship or lack there of between reader and oikawa tooru. its not exactly romancy, just a lil bit. anyways hope u enjoy it!
To Oikawa Tooru, you are a problem
Just like your brother.
Not a small one. Not an occasional inconvenience. But a recurring, deeply personal and pride-damaging problem
You have been one ever since Kitagawa Daiichi.
Back then, he’d thought you were just loud. Annoyingly principled. Always sitting two seats away, always sticking your nose where it didn’t belong—specifically, wherever your little brother was concerned.
Kageyama Tobio.
Just the name alone used to irritate him.
Not because of Tobio himself—no, Oikawa had plenty of thoughts about that—but because every single time he opened his mouth about the kid, you were there.
Like a guard dog or worse a lawyer.
“He’s creepy,” Oikawa had said once, carelessly, back in middle school.
You’d turned slowly in your seat. The smile on your face gone in an instant.
“Don’t talk about him like that,” you’d said. “He’s just focused.”
“He’s rude,” Oikawa shot back.
“You’re loud.”
“I’m charismatic.”
“You’re annoying.”
And something in the air had shifted and ever since then, it’s been like this.
Now you’re all at Aoba Johsai, older, supposedly wiser, and Oikawa thinks—briefly, foolishly—that maybe you’ve grown out of it.
You have not.
The first day of class hasn’t even started when you squint at him like he personally offended your bloodline.
“Why do you look like that?” you ask.
He clutches his chest dramatically. “Wow. Is that how you greet an old friend?”
“You are not my friend,” you say flatly. “You’re a man who keeps dissing my brother.”
Ah. There it is.
Oikawa hates it.
Oikawa Tooru has always been good at reading people.
It’s one of his strengths—right up there with his sets, his serves, his smile. He knows when someone is impressed, intimidated, infatuated. He knows when they’re lying, when they’re posturing, when they’re desperate for his attention.
Which is why you annoy him so deeply, because you never look at him the way other people do.
You look at him like he’s a problem.
It’s infuriating.
Your rivalry is famous. You snipe at him in class then he fires back. You outscore him on exams and make sure he knows. He brags louder about volleyball just to see your eyebrow twitch. You call him narcissistic. He calls you scary.
People expect it now. Iwaizumi sighs the moment you open your mouth. Classmates brace themselves when exam results come back.
One time a classmate asked if you were exes who had a bad breakup and your eyebrows immediately twitched.
“I would rather eat chalk than date him,” you announce once, to a group of stunned classmates. Loud enough for Oikawa to hear.
Oikawa laughs too loudly. “Please, like anyone would want to date you.”
Iwaizumi pinches the bridge of his nose and turns to oikawa. “Why are you like this?”
Oikawa stays silent and just scoffs at him, because he doesn't know either.
If Oikawa lives for volleyball.
You live to beat him academically and mentally.
Every test, every paper—you always score higher. Always with that calm little tilt of your page, that sweet, lethal smile.
“Huh,” you’d said once, tapping your score. “Turns out the best setter is only knowledgeable about volleyball.”
He’d nearly torn the paper in half.
Every day, you made it your personal mission to comment on his character—as if you knew him better than everyone else.
Funny enough, you did.
You never criticized his skills. Never his sets, his serves, his precision. You went for him instead.
“You’re so dramatic,” you’d say, unimpressed, as he grandly complained about practice.
“You love attention too much,” when girls crowded his desk.
“You pretend you’re confident, but you hate losing more than anyone here,” you added once, almost offhand.
That one stuck.
He laughed it off, of course—wide grin, easy charm. “Wow, profiling me now?”
You shrugged. “You make it obvious.”
And that was the problem.
You saw the cracks of his well curated character then poked at them, teased them, named them, like you weren’t afraid they’d bite back.
Most people admired Oikawa Tooru from a safe distance. They liked the version of him that was polished, impressive, untouchable. You interacted with him like he was just… a person. An irritating one, sure—but real.
You called him out when he sulked. When he overcompensated. When he tried too hard to be admired instead of understood.
“You’re exhausting,” you told him once, as he bragged for the third time that day.
He tells himself it’s annoying.
He tells himself that you’re just doing all this for your brother.
And maybe that’s why it bothers him so much.
Because the way you love Kageyama Tobio is… intense, loud, and unapologetic. You defend him like the world is constantly out to misunderstand him.
You cheer for him like he’s already perfect.
Oikawa doesn’t miss things like that.
He notices the way you straighten whenever Tobio’s name comes up. The way your voice sharpens, protective and sure. The way you never hesitate.
He wonders, sometimes, what that kind of certainty feels like.
Because there was a time—before he was Oikawa Tooru, before the pretty setter, before the praise—when he wanted that too.
Someone who would stand up without asking whether he deserved it yet.
He hates that thought.
He hates that you make him think it.
Still, every day follows the same rhythm.
You trade jabs. You roll your eyes at him. You one-up him. You glare when he talks about your brother.
And Oikawa… looks for it.
To him your voice has become part of his day.
Your arguments are timed like drills. Your insults hit closer than anyone else’s because you actually see him. That when you tilt your exam paper so he can see your score—again—his chest tightens in annoyance according to him.
And then, one week, you’re gone.
At first, Oikawa doesn’t notice.
Or rather—he notices, but dismisses it.
Your seat is empty. Whatever. You’re probably sick. Or busy. Or plotting something deeply annoying.
By day two, the classroom feels… off.
Too quiet.
No sharp comments when he brags. No dry muttering from your desk. No satisfied smile when he trips over a word during English.
Iwaizumi notices before he does.
“Where’s y/n?” he asks casually.
Oikawa scoffs. “How should I know?”
But his eyes flick to your seat anyway.
Empty.
Iwaizumi notices. Of course he does.
“You keep staring,” he says flatly.
Oikawa scoffs. “I am not.”
“You are.”
“…Shut up.”
By day four, the feeling settles in his chest like static.
It’s irritating, distracting, and just wrong.
He catches himself thinking, She’d hate this assignment, during class. Imagining what insult you’d throw at him if you saw his serve that day. Wondering—annoyingly—if you’re eating properly. Sleeping enough.
It pisses him off.
He wants to fight with you.
He wants you to call him annoying. He wants to argue about grades. He wants you to snap at him for mentioning Kageyama.
The realization hits him sideways.
He misses you.
It’s disgusting.
He hates it.
When Iwaizumi finally mentions it—“Track meet, I think. She’ll be gone all week.”—the relief hits Oikawa so hard it almost makes him dizzy.
Track.
Of course.
Just like him, you had your own obsession.
He should’ve known. You were always like that—laser-focused, stubborn, relentless in pursuit of whatever you set your mind on. The kind of person who didn’t half-commit, who didn’t dabble. When you cared about something, you gave it your whole spine, your whole breath, your whole future.
He imagines you on the track the way he knows himself on the court—counting steps, measuring pace, chasing a fraction of a second like it’s the difference between being seen and being forgotten. He can almost hear the way you’d scoff at exhaustion, the way you’d push through anyway.
Just like Tobio, he thinks before he can stop himself.
And maybe that’s why it gets under his skin.
Because he understands obsession. He understands loving something so much it rewires you. He understands choosing one thing and letting it define you, even when it hurts.
The classroom feels emptier without you, and now he knows why.
It isn’t just the lack of arguments. It’s the absence of someone who looks at him without illusion. Someone who challenges him without trying to replace him. Someone who exists outside of his orbit entirely—and still manages to matter.
Aoba Johsai wins a practice match that week. Oikawa plays well. Better than usual, even.
And still, when the gym empties, he finds himself thinking that you’d have something to say about the way he looks creepy on court, about how he lives for the screaming girls watching volleyball just for him.
He hates that he wants to hear it.
When you finally come back, it’s like the room exhales.
You look tired. Happy. There’s a faint bruise on your knee, your bag slung over one shoulder.
“Tooru,” you say, flat as ever. “You look loud today.”
Relief hits him so hard it almost makes him giddy.
“Oh?” he fires back automatically. “Did you miss me?”
You snort. “In your dreams.”
And there it is.
The rhythm returns.
Oikawa leans back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the paused screen like it personally offended him. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks.
“Heard you placed,” he says finally. Casual. Too casual. “Congrats.”
You squint at him, immediately suspicious. “…Wow. Was that genuine? Should I frame this moment?”
He clicks his tongue. “Don’t get weird. I’m just stating a fact.”
“Well,” you hum, leaning closer with a grin that already spells trouble, “you know me. Wouldn’t want to embarrass myself in front of the great king, right?”
The reaction is instant.
His head snaps toward you. “Don’t call me that.”
“Oh?” you widen your eyes innocently. “But I thought you liked it. Hinata Shoyo from Karasuno seemed very impressed with you when Tobio told him about your stories together.”
“I hate that nickname,” he hisses.
You beam. “Yeah, I noticed.”
Iwaizumi sighs from the side. “Why do you keep provoking him?”
You reply sweetly. “Keeps him humble.”
Oikawa scoffs. “Please. Coming from someone whose entire personality is ‘annoying sister of Karasuno’s setter.’”
You gasp, offended. “Excuse you. I’m academically superior annoying sister of Karasuno’s setter.”
He smirks. “Right. So what, you’re good at exams and being insufferable?”
You lean back, unfazed. “Funny how you’re supposedly the best setter in Miyagi, but somehow you keep losing to my family. On the court, in grades—”
“Don’t start,” he groans.
“Oh, I will,” you sing. “It’s almost impressive how consistent it is.”
Oikawa doesn’t argue this time.
In the following week people congratulated you. You shrug it off like it’s nothing.
Oikawa watches you laugh, animated, alive in a way volleyball makes him feel alive.
And suddenly, it makes sense.
Your devotion. Your stubbornness. Your intensity.
You love fiercely. Completely. Whether it’s track, or your brother, or—apparently—antagonizing him.
The way you never waver, made him see you in a new light.
The next time you insult him, he catches himself smiling a little wider.
The next time you beat him on a test, it doesn’t sting as much.
Because somewhere along the line, Oikawa Tooru—who never lacked attention, never lacked admirers—realized he only wanted it from one girl.
Of course Oikawa doesn’t confess.
That would require emotional maturity, timing, and dignity—three things he refuses to bring to the table.
Instead, he doubles down.
If you’re back, if the rhythm is restored, then he will pretend the hollow week never happened. He’ll pretend he didn’t count the days. Pretend he didn’t ask—casually, too casually—where you’d gone. Pretend the classroom didn’t feel wrong without you in it.
So he does what he does best.
He provokes you.
“You’re late,” he says one morning, leaning back in his chair the moment you slide into your seat.
You blink at him. “I’m on time.”
“For you, that’s late.”
You scoff. “Wow. Obsessed much?”
He grins, easy and practiced. “Please. If I were obsessed, you’d know.”
You roll your eyes, but he catches it—the way your mouth twitches like you’re fighting a smile.
Annoying.
He hates how much he likes that.
Your fights become sharper after that. More frequent but less about Tobio, strangely. Now it’s about everything—about what genre of music is better, about who used the last worksheet, about whether pineapple belongs on pizza.
And Oikawa notices he’s much more careful with you now.
Not in the obvious way. Not in a way anyone else would catch.
But he doesn’t cross certain lines. He watches your face when he jokes. He pulls back if your eyes harden instead of spark. He never mentions your brother the way he used to.
Not since he saw the way your shoulders tense.
He tells himself its strategy.
It’s not.
It’s because he likes the way you look when you’re arguing for fun, not for blood.
The turning point comes quietly.
It’s raining. Of course it is—life loves symbolism when Oikawa is emotionally unprepared.
You’re alone in the hallway after practice, stretching near the lockers, hair damp, expression tired in a way that has nothing to do with school.
He almost walks past you.
Almost.
“You know,” he starts, stopping a few steps away, eyes on the window, rain streaking down the glass, “you’re really annoying when you’re not around.”
You froze for a second and then… You laugh. Actually laugh.
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He huffs. “Don’t get used to it.”
You stretch, then sling your bag over your shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Tooru.”
He watches you walk away.
And it hits him then—sharp and undeniable.
He doesn’t just want your attention.
He wants your presence.
The next weeks are… different.
The fights soften around the edges. There’s more laughter now, less bite. You still one-up him on exams. He still complains loudly. But sometimes your arguments trail off into shared sarcasm, into glances that linger half a second too long.
Iwaizumi notices.
Again.
“You’re smiling at her,” he says one day.
Oikawa scoffs. “I smile at everyone.”
“You smile differently at her.”
“…Shut up.”
Then comes the InterHigh Preliminary match.
Aoba Johsai versus Karasuno.
And there you are—in the stands, loud as ever.
But this time, when you scream, it’s not for him.
It’s for your brother.
“Tobio-chan! NICE SET!”
The gym roars. Kageyama flushes red. You look like you might burst with pride.
And Oikawa—
Oikawa notices you immediately.
He watches the way your joy is unfiltered. The way your love is fearless. The way you don’t hold back, not even for a second.
And something settles in his chest.
He wants to be loved like that.
Not because he’s impressive. Not because he wins.
But because he exists.
After the match, you’re outside. He finds you there, arms crossed, expression bright despite Karasuno’s loss.
“Your brother’s good,” he says.
You narrow your eyes. “That better not be sarcasm.”
“It’s not.”
Another pause.
“…You know,” you say slowly, “you didn’t annoy me today.”
He blinks. “Excuse me?”
“I said what I said.”
That’s it.
That’s the moment he stops running from it.
“Hey,” he says, softer now. “If I asked you out—”
You turn fully toward him.
“—would you fight me about it first?”
You stare.
Then you grin.
“Obviously.”
Oikawa laughs, real and unguarded.
Yeah. This was it. This is exactly it.
Nothing happens.
Not officially. Not dramatically. There’s no confession echoing down the hallway, no sudden hand-holding, no moment that people can point to and say, that’s when it changed.
Because on the surface?
Everything stays the same.
You still fight.
Every exam, every assignment—every time papers are handed back, Oikawa already knows what’s coming. He doesn’t even look at his score first anymore. He looks at yours.
Higher.
Again.
“Tch,” he clicks his tongue. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
You tilt your paper just enough for him to see. “Skill issue.”
When Karasuno is mentioned, it’s even worse.
Someone brings up Kageyama in passing and you’re already sitting up straighter, eyes sharp.
“Oh? Your brother again?” Oikawa says, smirking. “Doesn’t he ever stop being stupid?”
You slam your pen down. “Say that again.”
“Nope.”
And just like that something has shifted.
Oikawa doesn’t cross the line anymore. The jokes stop just short of where they used to cut. He watches your face more carefully now, gauging when you’re having fun and when you’re genuinely pissed.
And you—annoyingly—notice.
You notice when he deflects instead of escalating. When he rolls his eyes instead of pushing. When he glances at you first when Karasuno is mentioned, like he’s checking something.
Like he’s checking you.
The Aoba Johsai team notices too.
It starts small.
Makki leans over during practice, eyes narrowed. “Why does Oikawa look… softer?”
“Might be sick,” Matsukawa offers.
Iwaizumi doesn’t answer. He’s watching the way Oikawa’s attention keeps drifting—not to the court, not to the ball, but to the stands where you sometimes sit, arms crossed, expression fierce.
Later, during a break, you walk past the gym doors and Oikawa’s eyes follow you without thinking.
Makki whistles. “Oh.”
Oikawa snaps back to reality. “What.”
“That,” Makki says. “That was not subtle.”
“I was looking out for a threat,” Oikawa replies automatically.
Matsukawa snorts. “Since when is she a threat?”
Iwaizumi deadpans, “Since forever.”
The biggest tell comes during an exam week.
Everyone’s exhausted. Tempers are short. Oikawa’s already bracing himself for the usual smug commentary when you sit down beside him, tapping your pencil.
“I’m beating you again,” you say casually.
He smiles without thinking. “Wouldn’t be you if you didn’t try.”
You pause.
Just for a second.
Then you scoff. “Wow. So you’ve accepted defeat?”
“In this one specific area,” he says grandly. “Yes.”
Classmates, sitting behind him, chokes.
“Did he just—compliment her?”
Iwaizumi stares at Oikawa like he’s betrayed everything he stands for.
The fights are still there.
Loud. Petty. Competitive.
But now there’s laughter threaded through them. A familiarity that doesn’t feel hostile anymore—more like sparring partners who know exactly where the other stands.
And Oikawa realizes something else, too.
He doesn’t dread losing to you.
He looks forward to it.
Because after every loss comes your grin. Your teasing. Your presence.
And when Karasuno comes up, when Kageyama’s name is said, he catches himself watching you first—gauging your reaction, gauging how fiercely you’ll defend him.
There’s admiration there. Undeniable.
One evening, after practice, Iwaizumi finally says it.
“You’re in love with her.”
Oikawa scoffs immediately. “I am absolutely not.”
“You stop when she looks hurt.”
“That’s called manners.”
“You missed her when she was gone.”
“…Coincidence.”
“You haven’t called Kageyama ‘King of the Court’ in months.”
“I’ve… matured.”
“I haven’t even said her name and you already know who I'm talking about.”
Oikawa opens his mouth.
Closes it.
Clicks his tongue.
“Shut up.”
But later, when he’s walking home and sees you ahead of him—arguing with someone on the phone, animated, alive—his steps slow.
Nothing has happened.
And yet—
Everything has.
Because somewhere between exams and insults, rivalry and respect, Oikawa Tooru fell into something that feels dangerously like wanting.
And for once, he doesn’t know how to set it.
COMMENTS, FEEDBACKS, NOTES, AND REBLOGS ARE ALL APPRECIATED
rewatching haikyuu is making me so emotional, i literally keep crying and screaming each scene. these babies are so cute ilovethemtodeathsomuch. THEY REALLY MAKE ME SO EMOTIONAL. ive been watching and reading the mangas since i was in middle school now im already in college and idk they mean so much to me i love each and every character so much,
SYPNOSIS. To everyone else, Kageyama Tobio is intimidating—the sharp-tongued King of the Court.
To you, he’s just Tobio-chan. Your earnest, brilliant, cute little brother.
You cheer too loud at his matches because you know he cares more than he lets on. And when it comes to protecting him—especially from Oikawa Tooru—you don’t hesitate. From the court to the classroom, you make it your mission to outshine, outscore, and out-annoy anyone who looks down on him.
While Tobio perfects his sets, you make sure he never doubts one thing:
someone is always, loudly, on his side.
PAIRING. older sister!reader x younger bro!kageyama tobio, kageyama's older sis!reader x oikawa toruu
GENRES. fluff, slice of life, sibling life, heavy brother complex, reader LOVES tobio, includes oikawa and iwaizumi, oikawa x reader rivalry, not romance
WORD COUNT. 2.1K
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ Hi againn!! ive been rewatching haikyuu recently and i just LOVEEEE tobio. hes literally my child and i love him smmmm. this is a very self insert story because if i was his older sister omg i would literally combust from cuteness aggression all day, especially that pic of him with oikawa and iwa in middle school, HOLY FRICK SO CUTEUH!! So enjoy or not idc, this one i wrote for myself hehehe ;p
To most people, Kageyama Tobio is intimidating.
Sharp eyes. Sharp Tongue. A setter who demands perfection and looks personally offended when the ball doesn't obey him. Whispers follow him wherever he goes—arrogant, difficult, the King of the Court.
But to you?
To you, he has always been Tobio-chan.
And Tobio-chan is CUTE.
Your baby brother. Your annoying, brilliant, painfully earnest little brother who used to cry when his shoelaces came undone and couldn’t retie them fast enough.
You're a third-year now, busy with exams and college forms, but when you can you still stop by the Karasuno gym. You lean against the wall with your arms crossed, pretending not to stare.
You fail miserably.
Because Tobio is there—jumping, setting, yelling, glowing with effort. Every movement is precise, every breath intentional. He looks so serious it almost hurts.
God, you think fondly, he’s so cute it should be illegal.
You have always loved him too loudly.
When they were younger, you used to squish his cheeks until he yelled. you still do it now, consequences be damned.
“Tobio-chan~” you sing the moment practice ends, swooping in and ruffling his hair.
“STOP THAT,” he snaps, swatting at your hands.
His ears are red.
Victory.
“You worked so hard today,” you say, eyes sparkling. “Did you eat properly? You need carbs. And protein. And sleep.”
“Shut up.” Tobio mutters.
You hum with a slight smile.
Cute, you think.
You know Tobio better than anyone.
You know he doesn’t raise his voice because he wants to hurt people—he raises it because his thoughts run too fast and his mouth can’t keep up. You know he notices everything: missteps, mood shifts, who’s lagging behind, who didn’t eat lunch.
He pretends not to care.
But you’ve seen him stay up late replaying matches in his head. You’ve seen him silently hand over his water bottle. You’ve seen him freeze when he thinks he disappointed someone.
People say he only cares about volleyball.
They’re wrong.
He just doesn’t know how to say things gently.
During matches, Kageyama Tobio stands at the service line, shoulders squared, eyes sharp.
You cheer louder than anyone.
When Tobio was little, he hated sudden noises.
Fireworks. Balloons popping. Doors slamming shut. He would freeze, eyes wide, body locked, like the world had hit him all at once.
You learned early to crouch down, cover his ears.
Now, when the referee’s whistle shrieks, he doesn’t flinch.
He exhales. Focuses. Serves.
“Tobio-chan!” you yell. “NICE SERVE!”
He whips his head around, mortified.
You press your palms together, heart swelling in that familiar way—pride braided with something softer, more fragile.
So cute!
Everyone sees karasuno’s genius setter.
But you see a six-year-old boy gripping your sleeve too tightly afraid of getting lost in a crowd.
When Tobio sets a perfect set.
You SCREAM.
“THAT’S MY BROTHER. DID YOU SEE THAT SET? HE'S REALLY A GENIUS!”
Tobio’s face goes nuclear red.
SO. SO. CUTE!
Watching Tobio during matches always makes you emotional.
It starts as pride—bright and immediate, swelling in your chest the moment he steps onto the court. Then comes happiness, warm and steady, the kind that settles deep in your bones as you watch him move with such certainty, such purpose. And beneath that, there’s something softer, harder to name. A quiet ache. A tenderness that presses against your heart and stays there.
You remember the first time he tossed a ball in the air and served his first ever volleyball.
He stared at his hands like they were magic.
“…Again,” he said, a small voice trembling.
He didn’t stop until his palms were red and his eyes were shining—not with tears, but determination.
You remember when he tripped during a practice game and scraped his knee so badly blood soaked his socks. He refused to cry until we got home.
Then he broke down in the doorway, shaking, furious at himself for “being weak.”
You cleaned his knee while he clenched his teeth, and told him being hurt didn’t mean being weak.
You don’t know if he remembers any of these.
But you see it now—in the way he gets back up every time. The way his focus sharpens until the world disappears. The way his hands never hesitate, even when everything else feels loud and overwhelming. The way he trusts himself now, even if just a little more than before.
You watch him and think of every version of him that led to this moment—the small boy gripping a volleyball like it was a lifeline, the frustrated kid who blamed himself for every mistake, the lonely genius who just wanted to be understood. All of that lives in him still, layered beneath the confident setter everyone sees.
And somehow, seeing all of it at once hurts in the best way.
After Karasuno scores the final point, the gym explodes.
Tobio looks up at the stands again.
You wave.
Just a small one this time.
He rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile.
After the match Tobio tugs on your sleeve.
“We’re leaving,” he mutters.
You immediately soften. “Okay, okay.”
As you walk away, you sling an arm around his shoulders.
“You did amazing,” you say. “You always do your best.”
“…You yelled too much,” he complains.
You grin. “I know you like it.”
“I DO NOT.”
“Do to.”
He goes quiet.
Then: “…Shut up.”
Which, to you, means thank you.
You’ve known Tobio your whole life.
You know the version of him the world sees: unbothered, blunt, seemingly immune to opinions. A boy who looks like he only cares about volleyball and nothing else.
But you know the truth.
You know he listens. Always has.
When Tobio was younger, he used to ask questions he already knew the answer to.
Was that okay?Did I do it right?Was I annoying?
He stopped asking eventually. Not because he stopped caring—but because he learned that caring out loud made people uncomfortable.
So he learned to care silently.
You never did.
That’s why you yell.
That’s why you cheer too loud, clap too hard, scream CUTEEE at things no one else notices.
You do it because you know he hears it.
Even when he pretends he doesn’t.
Especially then.
You’ve watched people talk over him, misunderstand him, label him as difficult and move on. You’ve seen how that makes his shoulders tense, how his words get sharper the more unsure he feels.
So you make sure there’s always one voice he never has to doubt.
Yours.
Loud. Embarrassing. Unapologetic.
If the world is going to be critical, then you will be excessive in the opposite direction.
Tobio shrugs your arm off a little, not enough to escape—just enough to pretend he’s not leaning into you.
“You don’t have to do all that,” he says, quieter now.
You look at him, really look at him.
The boy who works until his hands ache. The boy who feels things too deeply and doesn’t know how to say it gently. The boy who acts like nothing gets to him because it’s easier than admitting that things do.
Because even if everyone else thinks Kageyama Tobio doesn’t care what people think—
You know better.
And you’ll make sure he never has to wonder, not even for a second, whether someone is on his side.
“You’re coming to Nationals too, right?” he asks, eyes still on the road ahead us.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“…Okay.”
That’s all he says.
But his shoulders relax, just a little.
And you think—how strange it is that the boy everyone fears is the same one who feels safest when he knows I’m watching.
Your little brother. Your angry, earnest, brilliant cutie pie.
No matter how tall he gets, or how sharp his gaze becomes, to you he will always be the boy who burns too brightly and doesn’t know how to dim himself.
And you will always adore him for it.
With loving Kageyama Tobio it also meant protecting him from danger known as Oikawa Toruu
You went to Kitagawa Daiichi Junior High.
Same class. Same grade.
Oikawa Tooru sat two seats away, loud and dramatic even back then. Iwaizumi Hajime sat nearby, permanently exasperated. And you—unfortunately for everyone involved—were already known as that girl who loves her little brother.
Back then, Tobio was still small. Serious. Clutching his volleyball like it was oxygen.
And you were already unbearable.
Now, Unfortunately for him, you’re all at Aoba Johsai together, same class, same grade, pretending you’re mature.
You are not.
School hasn’t even started when you spot Oikawa at his desk.
You squint. “Why do you look like that?”
Oikawa gasps. “Wow. Is that how you greet an old friend?”
“You are not my friend,” you reply flatly. “You’re a man who keeps dissing my brother.”
You and Oikawa have had a rivalry ever since you've known him.
Not because Tobio cared about how badly Oikawa treated him.
But because you did.
Oikawa calls Tobio “creepy” one time and suddenly you’re standing there like an angry guard dog.
“Don’t talk about him like that,” you’d said back in middle school. “He’s just focused.”
“He’s rude,” Oikawa replied.
“You’re loud.”
“I’m charismatic.”
“You’re annoying.”
And it’s been like that ever since.
Protecting Kageyama Tobio is not a suggestion.
It is a mission.
Some people shield their siblings gently. Some give quiet encouragement.
You?
You ruin Oikawa Tooru’s life in small, consistent, deeply personal ways.
It starts in class.
Aoba Johsai’s classroom is loud before the bell—Oikawa leaning back in his chair, bragging loudly about volleyball strategies no one asked for, Iwaizumi already done with the day, and you calmly reviewing notes like you’re not about to commit a crime.
Oikawa glances over. “Wow, studying already? You’re so serious.”
You smile sweetly. Dangerously.
“Yeah. I like being good at things outside of volleyball.”
Iwaizumi sighs. He knows what’s coming.
When exam results come back.
Oikawa grabs his paper first, grinning—until his eyes flick sideways.
To yours.
You got a higher score.
Again.
You don’t even look surprised. You just tilt your paper slightly so he can see.
Silence.
Then—
“Huh,” you say. “Turns out the best setter is only knowledgeable about volleyball.”
Oikawa chokes. “HEY—”
Iwaizumi and a couple of other classmates sighed.
Here they go again... They all think
Your rivalry is… famous.
Teachers notice. Classmates whisper. Someone once asked if you and Oikawa used to date.
“I would rather eat chalk,” you said.
Oikawa still hasn’t recovered.
This happens every exam.
Math. History. Japanese. English.
You don’t study harder out of ambition.
You study harder out of spite.
Because somewhere out there is your little brother—quiet, intense, trying so hard—and if Oikawa Tooru thinks he gets to talk down on him?
Absolutely not.
“You know, you don’t have to compete with me in everything.”
You blink. “Oh, I’m not competing.”
You step closer.
“I’m winning.”
He twitches.
“With how narcissistic you are,” you continue thoughtfully, “I really thought your grades would be better.”
Iwaizumi turns away. He has morals. Weak ones, but still.
The best moments are when Tobio is mentioned.
Oikawa complained one afternoon, slumped over his desk.
“Your brother is so persistent. He annoys me.”
You look up slowly.
Smile gone.
“Interesting,” you say. “Coming from someone whose entire personality is being up in everyone’s business.”
Oikawa bristles. “That’s different.”
“Oh?” You tap your pen. “Because from where I’m standing, on and off the court you still lose to my family.”
Silence.
Then—
“DAMN,” someone said too loudly.
Iwaizumi closes his eyes trying to stay out of their petty rivalry
Meanwhile, Tobio has no idea.
He just knows you show up to his matches louder than anyone, scream CUTEEE when he adjusts his jersey, and glare at Oikawa like he personally wronged your bloodline.
“Why do YOU hate that guy so much?” Tobio asks once, genuinely confused.
You beam. “I don’t hate him.”
“…You don’t?”
“I tolerate him,” you correct.
He processes this.
“…Okay.”
And then, quieter: “You don’t have to do that.”
You freeze.
Then you grab his face.
“LOOK AT YOU WORRYING ABOUT ME. CUTEEE.”
“I’M SERIOUS.”
“I KNOW. THAT’S WHY IT’S CUTE.”
The truth is simple.
You’ve seen Tobio struggle. Misunderstood. Labeled arrogant when he was just earnest. Cold when he was overwhelmed. You’ve watched him work himself raw just to be understood.
So if the world won’t defend him—
You will.
And Oikawa Tooru?
He is merely collateral damage.
After another exam, you pass Oikawa in the hallway.
You hold up your paper.
“Oh my,” you say lightly. “Looks like the Kageyama's win again!”
He stares at you, devastated.
“y/n-chan… you're so mean.”
You smile. “HAHA YOU ADMIT DEFEAT!”
And somewhere else, Tobio Kageyama is setting a ball perfectly—unaware that his greatest defender is not on the court, but in a classroom, sharpening her pen.
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ Thank you for readingg!! hope u enjoyed my first ever anime fic, erm i wanna apologize if i made any mistakes, i wrote this while rewatching haikyuu late at night, and i was just having too much fun adding stuff to the story. in the future i will write more anime fics, i'll try to write more consistently hope u enjoy!! <3
COMMENTS, FEEDBACKS, NOTES, AND REBLOGS ARE ALL APPRECIATED
SYPNOSIS. In a forgotten northern tower rumored to house a vampire, a solitary painter finds more than silence.
Sunghoon—ancient, quiet, and convinced he is a monster—has never seen his own reflection, only the fear others project onto him.
As nights pass and companionship grows, he becomes her muse, though he believes himself unworthy of being seen.
When she paints his portrait, Sunghoon is finally forced to look—and discovers a truth the world denied him: that he is not a monster, but something achingly beautiful.
PAIRING. painter!reader x vampire!sunghoon
GENRES. fluff, vampire sunghoon, a lil bit angsty, unrequited love(?)
WORD COUNT. 2.7K
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ HEYYY, its been such a long time since i updated but im back. im so sorry first of all, ive just been so busy with uni and other things as well. BUT IM BACK CAUSE IM ON BREAK. this is just a short one-shot i wrote up a long time ago but never got the chance to post, sorry for any mistakes english isn't my first language. anyways hope everyone enjoys !
In the old stone city where the sun kissed rooftops but never lingered long enough to warm the shadows, Sunghoon lived like a rumor.
They said a vampire haunted the northern tower—one who walked only at dusk, cloaked in silence, eyes like roses. Some feared him. Some prayed he was only a story told to keep children indoors.
But in reality the northern tower had been empty for years.
No one wanted it—not with the lake that swallowed sound at dusk, not with the forest that loomed too close, roots clawing at the stone like it wanted the tower back. Mothers whispered warnings. Children told stories. They said a vampire lived there—one who hunted children who strayed too close to the forest or the lake. A monster with red eyes and bloodstained hands.
A cursed place.
A vampire’s home.
A story to scare children away from the forest.
You however rented the northern tower without hesitation, mainly for three reasons;
First – the view.
The tower overlooked a silver lake that caught the moon like a secret, and beyond it stretched a forest so deep and ancient it felt alive. In the mornings, mist curled through the trees like breath. In the evenings, the sky burned gold and violet over the water.
Second – solitude.
No neighbors. No gossip. No commissions knocking at your door. Just wind through stone corridors and the quiet scratch of your brush against canvas.
And third – the price
Laughably cheap, which was maybe (most definitely) the main reason you rented the tower. As a painter your wages were a comedy that made your stomach ache everyday and a cheap, probably-haunted tower was the only thing you could afford.
So you moved in without hesitation.
You however actually loved it there. You loved the way the tower felt untouched by time, the way the world seemed smaller and calmer from that height. You painted for hours by the open window, sunlight warming your back, birds calling from the trees below.
Your studio took up the highest room, where ivy crept through cracked stone and the sun lingered just long enough to kiss your canvases before disappearing behind the trees. You worked from dawn until your fingers ached, oil and pigment staining your hands, your skirts, the floor.
You were happy.
Until the stories stopped feeling like stories.
The first time you met him, it was nearly dusk.
You were washing brushes by the window when you felt it—that strange pressure, like the air itself had shifted. Not a sound, not a footstep. Just presence.
You turned.
He stood near the doorway.
Tall. Unmoving. Pale as moonstone.
Your breath caught in your throat.
That was your first thought, stupid and immediate and impossible to ignore:
He’s beautiful.
White skin stretched over sharp, elegant bones. Dark black hair fell around his face, framing eyes so deeply red they looked unreal, like garnets soaked in wine. He was elegant in a way that felt ancient, otherworldly.
An angel, your mind supplied, traitorous and awed.
Then fear crashed in.
Vampires weren’t real. They were stories—warnings whispered to children to keep them from wandering too far into the forest, from slipping beneath the lake’s dark surface. You had grown up laughing at them, rolling your eyes at old wives’ tales.
And yet—
Your fingers went numb.
The brush slipped from your hand and clattered against the stone floor, the sound deafening in the quiet tower. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He only watched you, head tilting slightly, as if you were something delicate—something that might break if handled too roughly.
“I—” Your throat tightened. “Who are you?”
For a heartbeat, you expected him to vanish. Or lunge. Or bare his fangs like the monsters in the stories.
Instead, he spoke, voice low and careful.
“You’re in my home.”
You swallowed hard. “I… rented it.”
That seemed to catch him off guard. His brows knit together faintly, as though the thought had never occurred to him.
Silence stretched between you—thick, heavy, suffocating.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he stepped back.
Not away in fear, but in courtesy. Giving you space. Letting you breathe.
“I didn’t know anyone still came here,” he said.
His red eyes traced your trembling hands, the fear written plainly across your face. Something unreadable flickered in his expression.
He hesitated. His gaze drifted to the window, to the moonlit lake beyond, to the forest swallowing the light whole.
“Sunghoon,” he said at last.
Nothing more.
That was all.
And that was the night you learned the stories were true.
He didn’t hunt children, you realized quickly. He hunted deer, boar, things that ran too close to the forest’s edge. The myth had grown teeth over centuries, twisted into something crueler than the truth.
Sunghoon had lived in the tower longer than the stones remembered. He didn’t threaten you. Didn’t ask you to leave.
He simply… stayed.
After that, he appeared often. At first, you were terrified of him. You were wary—of his sharp teeth, his unnatural stillness, the way he loomed without meaning to.
You flinched when he moved too close. You locked your door at night. You slept with a knife under your pillow, ridiculous as it was.
But Sunghoon never crossed your boundaries.
He kept his distance. He never touched you. Never raised his voice. He only watched.
Time softened fear into familiarity.
You eventually learned to expect him standing near the wall, leaning against shadow, watching as you painted.
You grew used to the way he watched your hands move, fascinated. Used to how he never interrupted. Used to the strange comfort of not being alone. Used to the cool air that followed him through the room.
Got used to the way he looked at your work like it mattered.
Sometimes, when you grew tired, you’d speak aloud without looking at him—complaining about the light, about commissions, about how the world beyond the tower felt too loud. He listened. Always.
Sometimes he answered.
Short sentences. Thoughtful ones.
In a weird, unspoken way, you became… something like friends.
You drew him once, when the tower was quiet and he hadn’t come that night. From memory. From absence. It was only a sketch in a notebook crowded with other drawings, but you closed it quickly afterward, unsettled by how easily he had found his way onto the page.
After that night, you told yourself the sketch had been an accident.
A trick of muscle memory. A habit of the hand. Artists drew what lingered in their minds; that was all. It didn’t mean anything.
But then you drew him again.
This time it was the line of his throat, remembered in charcoal while you waited for paint to dry. Another day, the fall of dark hair over pale skin, barely suggested in pencil. You never labeled the pages. Never let the drawings linger too long beneath your gaze.
Still, they multiplied.
Sunghoon began appearing in your work in ways you didn’t intend. A saint with eyes too red. A knight whose posture was unmistakably his. Even landscapes—shadows that curved like his silhouette, light breaking the way it did when he stood near the window.
You told yourself it was a coincidence.
But you started waiting for him.
You noticed the nights he didn’t come, how the tower felt emptier for it. Too quiet. Too still. The air warmer somehow, lacking that cool, calming presence that followed him like a second shadow.
When he did come, your chest loosened.
You didn’t look at him right away anymore. You let him be there. Let the quiet settle between you like something familiar.
Sometimes he stood closer now. Not near enough to touch—but nearer than before.
“You don’t fear me as much,” he said once, voice low, almost unsure.
You kept your eyes on the canvas. “I don’t think I ever feared you,” you admitted. “Just what you were supposed to be.”
That earned a pause.
You glanced at him then, catching the faint curve of something like a smile. It startled you—how rarely he let himself soften.
The more time you spent together, the more you noticed things the stories never mentioned.
How careful he was. How he never startled animals near the tower. How he turned his gaze away when sunlight brushed too close to your skin, as if respecting something sacred. How he listened—truly listened—when you spoke, like your words mattered more than the centuries behind his eyes.
You began to see him not as a creature of myth, but as someone terribly alone.
And that realization settled in your chest like a quiet ache.
You started drawing him openly after that.
Not full portraits—not yet—but studies. His hands, long and elegant, resting loosely at his sides. The way his lashes cast shadows against his cheeks when he looked down. The sharp line of his profile when he watched the lake, distant and thoughtful.
One evening, he noticed.
“You draw me,” he said, not accusing. Just observant.
Your heart jumped. “I—only sometimes.”
“Why?”
The question wasn’t suspicious. It was earnest. Curious.
You hesitated, then answered. “Because I can and you can’t stop me.”
He looked away, something tightening in his expression.
“I don’t know what I look like,” he went on. “Mirrors don’t answer me. But I know what children scream when they see my eyes. I know what priests paint when they warn others about me. I know the stories.”
Something in you broke, soft and sharp all at once.
“I know.”
“Then don’t waste your talent on me.”
You frowned. “It’s not a waste.”
He didn’t argue—but something in his posture closed off, as if the idea unsettled him.
Still, he kept coming.
And you kept drawing.
Slowly, without realizing it, he became your muse.
Your best work came from nights he lingered near your shoulder, watching the canvas like it held answers he was afraid to ask for. Your colors grew deeper. Your lines surer. Patrons praised your work more than ever, though they couldn’t name why your paintings felt so alive.
You could.
Sometimes, when your brush paused, you caught him watching you instead.
Not hungrily. Not like the stories said he would.
But like someone afraid to reach for something beautiful, lest it disappear.
One night, as you packed away your paints, you realized the truth with a kind of quiet terror:
You were falling for him.
Not suddenly. Not dramatically.
But the way ivy claimed the tower walls—slow, persistent, inevitable.
And you wondered, as you looked at him standing in the shadows, pale and timeless and convinced he was unworthy of being seen—
What would happen if you showed him the way you saw him?
To you, he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.
That truth followed you into your work.
You stopped trying not to draw him.
You drew him again and again—not as the stories described, but as he was. Noble. Quiet. Melancholy. You captured the gentleness in his hands, the sadness behind his gaze, the grace he seemed unaware of.
Each sketch felt like a small rebellion against centuries of fear.
Sometimes, he would hover near the doorway, glancing at the pages only when he thought you weren’t looking. Other times, he would turn away entirely, as if the idea of being seen unsettled him.
“You don’t have to pretend,” he said once. “I know I’m not… pleasant to look at.”
You laughed softly—not unkindly, not mockingly. “If you’re unpleasant,” you said, “then the world has no right to call anything beautiful.”
He looked at you then, startled.
And for a brief, fragile moment, you wondered if he almost believed you.
He refused the first time you insisted on painting a proper portrait of him.
“No,” Sunghoon said, almost immediately, eyes flicking away from you. “I won’t.”
You hadn’t expected the sharpness of it. “Why not?”
He stood near the window, moonlight breaking against his back, turning him into a silhouette. “Because I don’t need to see it.”
“That’s not true,” you said gently. “You deserve to know what you look like.”
A bitter smile ghosted across his lips. “I already do.”
You didn’t press him then.
You waited.
Days passed. Then weeks. You painted other things—commissioned saints, half-finished landscapes—but the largest canvas in your studio remained untouched, leaning against the wall like a secret waiting to be spoken aloud.
One night, when the wind rattled the ivy and the lake below was perfectly still, he noticed it.
“That one,” he said quietly. “What is it for?”
You swallowed. “You.”
He went still.
“You keep trying,” he murmured. “Why?”
You set your brush down, heart pounding. “Because every time you look away from your reflection—every time you talk about yourself like you’re something monstrous—it feels wrong. Like the world lied to you and you believed it.”
He turned to face you then, red eyes dark and unreadable. “And if you’re wrong?”
You stepped closer. Close enough to feel the cold of him, close enough that fear should have returned—but didn’t.
“I'm never wrong,” you said.
Silence stretched.
“You don’t understand,” he said finally. “If I see it—if I see what they saw—there’s no unseeing it.”
Your voice softened. “And if you see what I see?”
His breath hitched. You noticed it because it never did.
That night, he said nothing more. But when he returned the next evening, he didn’t stand in the shadows.
He sat.
On the stool by the window. In the light.
Your hands shook as you picked up your brush.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” you said.
“I won’t,” he replied, voice barely above a whisper.
You painted slowly. Reverently. You painted not just his face, but the quiet dignity in the way he held himself, the sadness that had softened him instead of hardening him. Candlelight warmed his pale skin; moonlight threaded silver through his hair.
Hours passed unnoticed.
When you finally stepped back, your throat felt tight.
“It’s done,” you said.
He didn’t move.
“Sunghoon?”
“Let me look,” he said.
You hesitated only a second before turning the canvas toward him.
Sunghoon didn’t step closer right away.
He stood where he was, rigid, as if his body hadn’t yet decided whether it was safe to move. His eyes fixed on the portrait—not darting, not searching—just locked, as though the world beyond it had gone quiet.
The candle beside you sputtered. The lake below remained still.
He took one slow step forward.
Then another.
When he stopped, he was close enough that his breath would have fogged the surface—if he still breathed that way.
His hand lifted.
It hovered, uncertain, fingers trembling just slightly before he seemed to notice and still them. He reached out, not to the eyes first, but to the cheekbone, tracing the painted line with reverent care. As if afraid the image might bruise beneath his touch.
His other hand rose, almost unconsciously, fingers pressing to his own face—mirroring the motion on the canvas.
Touch. Compare. Believe.
His brow furrowed faintly, not in anger, but confusion. His thumb brushed beneath his eye, testing the curve of his cheek, the slope of his jaw. He leaned closer, studying details no mirror had ever granted him.
The softness in the eyes made his throat tighten.
He swallowed.
For a long time, he said nothing.
The room filled with the sound of your heartbeat, the faint crackle of candle flame. You watched as centuries of stories unraveled quietly behind his gaze.
His hand fell to his chest.
Then, slowly, he exhaled—as if releasing a breath he’d been holding for a hundred years.
Only then did he look away from the portrait.
Not from shame.
From overwhelm.
His gaze dropped to the floor, lashes casting shadows across his cheeks. When he finally spoke, it was barely a sound.
“Thank you.”
You nodded with a soft smile, unable to trust your voice.
He looked back at the canvas once more—longer this time. His fingers lingered at the painted mouth, not smiling, just soft. Human.
When he turned to you, his eyes were wet—not with tears, but with something just as dangerous.
He simply reached out, hesitated, and then rested his hand against your head—as if grounding himself in something real.
And for the first time, he stood like someone who knew he existed.
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ Thank you for readingg!! hope u enjoyed, erm i wanna apologize though im sure u can tell by now im not a painter at all and dont know anything about painting but this seemed like a fun concept so please ignore any inaccuracies. i'll try to write more consistently and just write more in general but for now this will do <3
COMMENTS, FEEDBACKS, NOTES, AND REBLOGS ARE ALL APPRECIATED
SYPNOSIS. He wears black and silver, she wears bows and strawberry lotion.
Riki swears he’s not the kind of guy who'd keep a leopard-print Hello Kitty plush on his desk— but then you gave him one, and now his room looks a little more like yours.
You're turning his world pastel, one plushie at a time.
PAIRING. non idol!ni-ki x reader
GENRES. fluff, gamer riki, nonchalant!riki x hyperfeminine!reader, drabble, established relationship
WORD COUNT. 1.0k
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ ˙ฅᨐฅ ̟ !! inspired by this tweet i found a while back, HES SUCH A CUTIE I LOVE HIM!!! and i love me a riki fic with a hyperfem gf, so here we are. I literally RAN to my tumblr to write this after i saw that tweet again. ANYWAYS enjoy!!!
Riki is used to live in a world of black.
Chrome-edged headphones, Chrome Hearts chains, silver rings on every finger, black cargos, black hoodie, and black soul (if you asked him). He smelled like cedarwood and vetiver. His room used to match: matte black speakers, dark gray sheets, and too many energy drink cans cluttering his desk.
But then he started dating you.
A faint scent of strawberries lingered in the air, his sheets had a soft blush-tinted pillow you definitely did not leave on purpose (you did), a pastel green flower claw clip always clipped on to his monochrome bag, a soft-pink hair tie clad on his wrist amongst his silver jewelry, and hanging off the edge of his bedside table was a baby-pink hello kitty headband that he pretended not to notice.
And on his desk?
A Hello Kitty plush.
In a fucking leopard print hoodie.
You drop the plush on his desk with the kind of smug satisfaction only a girlfriend on a mission could have.
Riki doesn’t even turn around. He’s gaming (probably with heeseung), hoodie up, jaw set, the click-clack of his keyboard filling the room. But you wait. Because you know the second he glances down, he’ll react.
“...No,” Riki deadpanned, only looking away for a second.
You blinked at him, glossy lips pursed, sleeves of his black hoodie bunching at your wrists.
“Her name’s Kuma. Be nice.”
Mid-game, his headset slipping slightly off his bleach-blonde hair, brows furrowed in that “what the actual fuck” expression.
Then he paused and turned to you with a deadpan stare for a second before going back to his game.
“…Why is she looking at me like that?”
You grinned, hands clasped behind your back. “Because she’s yours now.”
He blinked. “Absolutely not.”
“She’s for emotional support,” you announced cheerfully, already climbing onto Riki’s lap uninvited, nearly knocking his mouse off the desk in the process.
“Babe—?!” he hissed, jerking slightly in surprise, one hand flying to steady you as you comfortably settled on his thighs, completely unfazed by the intense League of Legends match he was clearly still very much in the middle of.
You held the plush up dramatically in front of his face, dangling it between him and his screen. “Look! Kuma! She’s here to help. You’re always so grumpy when you game—she’ll bring balance to the force.”
Riki leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh, headset askew, giving you a withering look over the top of the plush’s fuzzy ears.
“Are you seriously doing this now?” he muttered, trying (and failing) to peek around the plush and shoot someone. “I’m literally in a 1v3.”
“She believes in you,” you said, voice syrupy sweet. “Unlike me.”
“Wow.”
“She’s also judging your mechanics. Kind of like me.”
He gave you a side-eye so sharp it could cut glass, but his hands never left your waist. Even as he tried to return to the game, he adjusted you gently so you were sitting more comfortably on his lap.
Kuma ended up sitting between your legs, her little beady eyes staring into Riki’s soul every time he glanced down.
Riki gave you a side-eye that was dangerously close to affectionate. “Are you seriously hijacking my game and giving me a judgmental cat?”
You nodded, legs draped over one of his thighs as if this wasn’t a tight fit. “Yes. Accept her. She’s part of the family now.”
“She’s literally staring at me,” he muttered, glancing at the plush propped up on the desk. “I don’t need two of you.”
You gasped. “You mean two adorably soft and supportive girls? You’re welcome.”
He groaned into your shoulder, already wrapping one arm around your waist while his other hand kept playing. You smirked. Mission: Disrupt His Game — complete.
He huffed and leaned forward, nosing into the crook of your neck. You felt his lips curl into a smile. “You’re so annoying.”
You giggled. “You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
But his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, your legs swinging gently over the side of the chair. You leaned back to look at him, all glossy lips and sparkling eyes. His thumb brushed over your cheek instinctively, brushing off a little glitter from your highlighter.
“You’re going to start wearing pink soon,” you teased.
“I’ll set myself on fire.”
“I have pink lighters.”
“Of course you do.”
A few days later, you stopped by his place. The room was dark as always, none of his overhead lights were on (as usual) only his lamps were on giving his room a yellow tinge.
You did a double-take when you saw the plush.
It was now wearing one of Riki’s silver chains, resting around its tiny neck like a statement necklace. He had also clipped a pair of sunglasses over its eyes. Balenciaga, no less.
You stared at it for a solid thirty seconds before whispering, “...What the actual fuck.”
“I gave her drip,” came Riki’s voice behind you.
You turned. “You accessorized her?”
“Shes evolving.” You stared at him: tall, moody, dressed in grey sweats and a white tank, hair still damp from the shower.
“She’s in your chains.”
“She looked cold.”
You blinked at him. Confused.
“She’s a plushie.”
“And now she’s a bad bitch. Just like you.”
Your heart did a stupid little somersault. “You’re so weird."
He shrugged, walking over to loop his arms around you from behind.
“You’re literally the one who gave me a Hello Kitty in a leopard hoodie.”
“She looks like me.”
“And now she looks like me too,” he shrugged. “Couple goals.”
You leaned into his chest, heart full. “You love her.”
“I don’t.”
“You dressed her like your mini-me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You turned to face him, arms around his neck. “You’re so full of shit.”
He grinned and kissed your forehead. “Maybe.”
You tugged him down by his neck. “Say you love her.”
He looked down at you, smirked, and whispered against your lips:
“Only because you gave her to me.”
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ ˙ฅᨐฅ ̟ !! thank you for readinggg!!! ive been into writing alot of fluff lately cause theres so many materials on twt, but im FOR SURE going to write some jake smut after a certain video i saw, so be sure to wait for that if ur interested!!!
COMMENTS, FEEDBACKS, NOTES, AND REBLOGS ARE ALL APPRECIATED
⋆˚꩜｡ CONSUMERISM WILL KILL US ALL ── park jongseong
SYPNOSIS. Jay’s obsessed with viral trends. You’re obsessed with calling them propaganda.
So when he drags you out of bed at 7AM for an overpriced Labubu Dubai Chocolate Crumbl Cookie, you roll your eyes, but go anyway—because you love him.
You don’t like the cookie.
But you love the boy.
And maybe that’s sweet enough.
PAIRING. non idol!jay x reader
GENRES. fluff, uses she/her pronouns, jay falling for propaganda, reluctant reader, drabble, vvv short, established relationship
WORD COUNT. 0.8k
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ ˙ฅᨐฅ ̟ !! heyyy im back, i wrote this when my acc disappeared yesterday and was supposed to post it on my other acc but its back now so im posting it here.
the story is inspired by these tweets i saw: matcha dubai chocolate labubu crumble cookie & jay falling for propaganda, and my friend tweeting about how he would be the boyfriend who always takes his girlfriend to try viral things and makes her queue for hours for it. probably his love language. so i immediately ran to write it
jay is falling for all the propaganda, but ig its ok cause its jay lol. anyways hope yall enjoy!!
Jay had a lot of love languages—quality time, gift-giving, physical touch. But above all, it was making you try things that went viral on TikTok.
And unfortunately for your sleep schedule, that now included waking you up at 6:54 a.m. on a Saturday with the urgency of a man whose house was on fire.
She groaned, burying her face deeper into her pillow. “Jay, unless someone’s on fire or someone’s pregnant, it’s not an emergency.”
He leaned down, grinning like a boy about to reveal a Christmas present. “Babe. Labubu collab. Crumbl. Dubai Chocolate. Today only.”
She cracked one eye open.
“First of all,” she said, voice dry, “Labubu sounds like a scam. Second of all, you need to stop falling for propaganda.”
Jay clutched his phone like it was holy scripture. “It’s not propaganda. It’s dessert.”
“No,” She said, flipping over dramatically. “It’s a capitalist trap in the shape of a cookie. And you’re frothing at the mouth like a sleeper agent.”
He gave her those soft puppy eyes. “But you love sleeper agents.”
She sighed heavily. “Fine. But I’m not putting on real pants.”
She did, in fact, put on real pants. Oversized sweats, to be exact. And Jay rewarded her sacrifice with a hot coffee and a very annoying smile.
By the time they reached the Crumbl store, the line was already spilling down the sidewalk.
“Are you happy?” She muttered, hoodie up, hair in a claw clip, face bare. “I could be in bed. But no. I’m here. In line. Behind three high school girls debating the ethics of skipping class for a cookie.”
Jay, in a puffer vest and beanie, was bouncing excitedly beside you. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Consumerism will kill us both.”
He snorted. “Then we die tasting Dubai.”
“Jay,” She said firmly, “you need to stop falling for propaganda.”
He turned to her with a hand on his heart. “This isn’t propaganda. This is… culture.”
“It’s a chocolate blob with a creepy bunny on the box.”
“Exactly. Labubu’s an icon.”
She sighed and crossed her arms, ignoring him completely.
On the other hand, Jay was practically bouncing. “Rumor is it’s got edible gold.”
“That’s not a flavor,” She muttered, half-asleep. “That’s a tax bracket.”
Jay laughed and wrapped an arm around her. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Cookies and chaos. Our thing.”
She rolled her eyes.
Jay only laughed and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Stop being grumpy. You’ll like it. Probably.”
She didn’t reply. She was cold. Tired. And slowly turning into someone who knew way too much about cookies.
By the time they reached the counter, she was fully in her “whatever” mode—arms limp, face blank, soul gone.
Jay, on the other hand, was in full performance mode.
“Two Labubu Dubai Chocolate Crumbls,” he said with pride, “and can you give hers in the pink box, please? She waited with me.”
The barista giggled. “Aw, you’re a good boyfriend.”
“Tell her that,” Jay said, nudging her.
She blinked. “I’m being held hostage.”
Outside, Jay handed her the pink box reverently, then opened his own like it was a religious artifact.
The cookie was massive—thick, glistening, dark with chocolate, and slightly sparkly with whatever edible gold Jay had been raving about. The Labubu wrapper stared at her with dead eyes. She stared back.
Jay took a bite and visibly melted. “Oh my God,” he moaned. “This might be the best one yet.”
She lifted hers reluctantly. Took a bite.
And immediately wanted to spit it out.
It was way too sweet. Cloying, almost. The texture was dense, like warm fudge trying to be a cake. The gold didn’t taste like anything (of course), and the inside was filled with some kind of gooey chocolate that clung to the roof of her mouth like guilt.
But when she looked up, Jay was watching her with his hopeful, sparkly eyes.
“Well?” he asked.
She swallowed. Forced a smile. “It’s… pretty good. I get the hype.”
Jay’s grin widened. “I knew it!”
He reached for her hand and pulled her closer, offering another bite of his with zero personal space. “Here, try mine—this one has more filling.”
She nodded and let him feed her.
She didn’t like it. Not even a little. But she loved him.
So she chewed and smiled and licked the chocolate off her fingers while he took candid pictures of her laughing under the neon “matcha made in heaven” sign they weren’t even near.
Later, when they were walking back, cookie boxes swinging from their hands, Jay nudged her.
“You know you love it. I saw the sparkle in your eye.”
She scoffed. “That was the sugar crash.”
“Stop falling for propaganda,” she added, teasing.
Jay wrapped an arm around her. “If propaganda tastes this good, I’ll fall again and again.”
She shook her head, but leaned into him.
Because even if the cookie wasn’t sweet—he was.
And maybe, just maybe, that made all the hype worth it.
COMMENTS, FEEDBACKS, NOTES, AND REBLOGS ARE ALL APPRECIATED
second part of 'Little Study Buddy' ─ part 1 // part 2
SYPNOSIS. One hour. That’s all Jungwon gave you.
Now you’re standing at his door—heart racing, lips glossed, lace clinging to your skin. This isn’t just another night. Jungwon isn’t just another guy.
You showed up dressed to tease.
He’s waiting inside, ready to ruin you.
And this time… you’re ready to be ruined.
GENRES. smut!! (mdni), nerdy jungwon x slutty reader, rough sex, dirty talk, jungwon is hella mean, degradation, a lot of name calling (whore, slut, etc.), jungwon is a yapper, reader is shameless, blowjob, messy, hard dom jungwon, brat tamer jungwon, jungwon soft dom(?), reader down bad for jungwon (brat is kinda tamed), strip show, spit play, slapping, lmk if i missed anything
WORD COUNT. 5.5k
WARNINGS. porn with plot, use of she/her, unprotected sex (pls be safe yall!!), profanity, explicit sexual content, NOT PROOFREAD
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ ˙ฅᨐฅ ̟ !! heyyy im back with a part 2, quicker than i thought too lol. i did not expect so many people would love the first part thank u sm!!! ily guys sm!! i made won kinda softie here cause im a sucker for a good aftercare.
honestly, idk where im going with this story. i dont have much to say anymore just hope yall enjoy this as much as the first part!!! ily
"Now, get dressed and meet me back at my dorm room in an hour. I'm not done breaking in my new fucktoy just yet."
Jungwon’s voice was low and commanding, each word laced with dangerous promise, cutting through the haze clouding your mind.
He released your chin with a sharp tug, standing to his full height as he towered over you—completely composed, while you knelt before him, trembling, wrecked, and breathless.
He let go of your chin with a final tug and stood tall, towering over your trembling body like he hadn’t just torn you apart and remade you in the span of a breath.
He turned for the door, the echo of his footsteps was still fading when tried to rise from your knees.
But your legs buckled beneath you, and you collapsed with a soft grunt.
"Wonnie~~ I can’t stand up..." you whimpered, your voice breathy, tinged with desperation and sweetness. You pouted up at the Jungwon's figure where he’d half disappeared behind the door.
Your body slumped in a messy mermaid sprawl. Hair tangled, makeup smeared, lips and cheeks slick from spit and more, clothes disheveled across flushed skin,
But in that moment, you weren’t thinking about the mess. Only him.
Jungwon paused as he heard your whimper, glancing back over his shoulder to take in the debauched sight of you collapsed on the floor. He couldn't help but smirk at the image they presented—like a character straight out of one of the porn videos he frequently enjoyed.
With a reluctant sigh, Jungwon walked back over to you, bending down to scoop you up into his arms. He carried you over to the couch, gently laying you down on the soft cushions.
"Alright, alright. Looks like someone's body can't handle a proper fucking just yet." Jungwon said with a softer, almost indulgent tone. He brushed a few strands of your messy hair out of yout face, his touch surprisingly gentle.
He kneeled down in front of the couch, draping his jacket over their trembling form.
"Rest up for now, sweetheart. You'll need your energy for later when I take you back to my room and really break you in properly." Jungwon murmured, his thumb brushing over your pouty bottom lip.
Leaning in closer, he pressed a surprisingly tender kiss to your forehead before nuzzling into your hair, breathing in the scent of sex and sweat that clung to their skin.
"Such a good girl, taking my cock so well. I'm going to enjoy spoiling you with pleasure and pain, my sweet little slut." He purred, his voice low and full of promise.
You smiled up at him, dazed, like you were floating in a dream.
“Okay…” you whispered, almost trance-like.
When Jungwon finally left, you stayed on the couch, your body still humming from the aftermath. You weren’t new to this—you’d been with plenty of guys before: the cocky jocks, the lanky band boys, even that one cringey weeb (a chapter best forgotten). But none of them ever made you feel the way Jungwon did.
With him, you weren’t bold or bratty. You were quiet—submissive, even. He pulled something out of you no one else ever had. With other guys, it was always about them, quick, messy, and meaningless. They talked big, performed little, and left the moment they were done, reducing you to a story for their friends.
But Jungwon, not only did he perform, he didn’t treat you like a game or a conquest. He was rough, yes—but gentle in all the ways that mattered.
He didn't leave, he stayed. His gestures seemed like nothing to any other sane person, but to you it made you feel seen. So, you knew definitively from then on. Jungwon was different, he's perfection. and you will do anything in your power to make him yours.
"We were made for each other."
As your strength slowly returned, you peeled yourself off the couch and made your way back to your dorm, nerves buzzing just beneath your skin and Jungwon's jacket draped over your arms.
You hopped in the shower, letting the hot water wash away the mess—but not the memory. Jungwon’s voice still echoed in your mind.
One hour.
Back in your room, you stood in front of your closet with a towel wrapped around your body, staring like it was the end of the world.
“I have nothing to wear,” you groaned, even as half your wardrobe lay scattered across the floor minutes later. For once, you actually cared. You weren’t dressing to impress the campus or to turn heads in passing. You were dressing for him.
Eventually, you pulled together the perfect look: something that screamed effortless but still felt undeniably hot.
Lacy black lingerie underneath black hot pants with white stripes that hugged your hips just right—subtle, but enough to tease. You threw on a frilly white and pink tank top with a tiny bow in the center, hugging your chest in all the right ways. Minimal makeup, just enough to enhance the glow in your cheeks, and a touch of strawberry-scented lotion and perfume.
As the hour approached, your heart wouldn’t calm down. You stood in front of Jungwon’s dorm room, fingers twitching slightly, butterflies going wild in your stomach.
And then—you knocked.
Jungwon opened the door, his eyes immediately raking over your form, taking in your outfit. He felt a surge of possessive pride seeing you dolled up like this, knowing it was for him and him alone.
He stepped aside, allowing you to enter his dorm room.
It was a typical college dorm—sparsely furnished, with a mix of textbooks and empty beer bottles scattered about. But Jungwon kept it relatively tidy, a testament to his organized and disciplined nature.
As you walked in, Jungwon couldn't help but admire the way your ass swayed in those tight hot pants. The lace detailing on their lingerie peeked out tantalizingly, hinting at the delights that lay beneath.
And that tank top... God the tank top.
It clung to your tits like a second skin, the little bow sitting right above your cleavage. Fuck, she looked good enough to eat.
Shutting the door behind you, Jungwon stepped closer, backing you up against the wall. He braced one hand next to your head, leaning in to breathe in the sweet scent of strawberries that clung to your skin. His other hand found their hip, squeezing the firm flesh possessively.
"Mmm, don't you look good enough to fuck, you sexy little minx." Jungwon purred, his voice a low, appreciative rumble.
"I like this look on you. It's like you're trying to tempt me into bending you over and fucking you stupid right here, right now."
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, "You're playing with fire, tease. You know what happens when you dress up like a whore for me, don't you? I'm going to ruin you for anyone else. No one else will ever fuck you like I can."
To punctuate his point, Jungwon nipped at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before soothing it with a sensual lick. His hand slid from your hip to cup their ass, giving the firm globe a sharp squeeze as he ground his already hardening cock against your thigh.
"Strip for me, slut. I want to see all of you"
“But I dressed up just for you, Wonnie~” you whined, your voice soft and sweet, still tinged with the ache that lingered in your body—from your ass to the sensitive skin of your earlobe.
The pout on your lips wasn’t an act this time. You meant it. You’d spent longer than you'd ever admit picking out the perfect outfit, even if it was meant to look effortless. The frilly white-and-pink tank top clung just right, the delicate bow at the center drawing his eyes. Your black hot pants hugged your curves perfectly, and the hint of lace from your black lingerie peeked out beneath the hem—just enough to tease, just enough to say this is for you.
You looked like you didn’t care. But God, you did.
Jungwon's eyes softened at the genuine pout on your face, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He found your attempt at brattiness adorable, especially knowing the effort you had put into their appearance just for him.
"Aww, you dressed up all pretty for me? Like a good little slut, you did." Jungwon cooed, his hand coming up to cup aeri's cheek, thumb brushing over their plump bottom lip.
"I appreciate the effort, baby. I really do. And you look so fucking sexy, I can barely control myself around you."
He leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, sensual kiss. His tongue delved into your mouth, tasting the strawberry lip gloss you had applied. Jungwon's hands roamed over your curves, squeezing and caressing every dip and swell.
Breaking the kiss, Jungwon rested his forehead against yours, his voice a low, intimate murmur.
"But I want to see all of you, sweetheart. Want to strip you bare and worship this sexy body you've gifted me. So go on, baby girl. Be a good slut and strip for me."
He stepped back, leaning against the desk behind him, and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes, dark and hungry, raked over your form, waiting and eager to see you bare yourselves to him completely.
The room was filled with a charged tension, the air heavy with the weight of Jungwon's lustful gaze. He wanted to savor every moment of your reveal, wanted to sear the image of your naked body into his mind.
Your pout deepened, around him, resistance felt impossible. You were used to being bold, teasing, in control—but with Jungwon, everything shifted. Suddenly, you were shy. Submissive. Willing to do whatever he asked.
Your fingers moved slowly as you slid one strap of your tank top down, then the other, your eyes flicking up to meet his. The air between you buzzed with tension as you reached for the hem and peeled the top over your head, revealing the delicate black lace underneath—lingerie you chose just for him. You let the top fall to the floor beside you, your lips curling into a small, teasing smile.
Jungwon's eyes darkened with desire as he watched you slowly reveal your lingerie-clad body, the black lace and satin a stunning contrast against their soft skin. He licked his lips, appreciating the tantalizing glimpse of your curves hidden beneath the skimpy undergarments.
“Like what you see, Won?” you purred, voice soft and suggestive. “Want me to keep going with your show?”
You said it intentionally—your show. Because this wasn’t for anyone else. This was a performance all for him.
Jungwon's smirk only grew wider, his gaze smoldering with barely restrained lust.
"Oh, I fucking love it, you sexy little tease. You're playing your part in this show perfectly." He purred, his voice a low, appreciative rumble.
Jungwon pushed off from the desk, taking a step closer to you. He reached out, tracing the delicate lace edge of your bra with a finger, feeling the soft swell of your breast beneath.
"You picked this out just for me, didn't you? Knew how much I'd love to see you prance around in this slutty little lingerie, teasing me with what's mine."
His hand slid around to your back, finding the clasp of your bra. With a deft flick of his fingers, he unhooked it, letting the flimsy material fall open. Jungwon's breath caught as he took in the sight of yout bare tits, nipples already pebbled and straining towards him.
"Fuck, baby... you're exquisite." He breathed, cupping the soft mounds in his large hands. He rolled and squeezed them, thumbs and fingers plucking at the stiff peaks until they hardened even further.
Jungwon leaned down, his tongue flicking out to lave over one nipple, swirling around the sensitive bud before suckling hard. He lavished the same attention on its twin, his mouth hot and hungry as he marked your flesh.
Pulling back, he looked up at you with a wicked grin, his voice a low, commanding growl. "Keep going, sweetheart. I want to see those pants and panties hit the floor. I want to feast my eyes on your sexy little cunt, bare and ready for me to ruin."
As Jungwon stepped back, giving you space to finish your little performance, you met his eyes with a sultry smile.
“Anything for you, Wonnie,” you cooed.
You turned slowly, letting your fingers slip down to the waistband of your shorts. With a soft wiggle of your hips, the fabric slid down your legs, pooling around your ankles with a soft rustle. The sight you revealed wasn’t accidental—black lace and a delicate garter belt that hugged your thighs like a secret waiting to be unwrapped.
You let one finger hook under the strap, giving it a playful tug as you tilted your head, voice light but loaded.
“Wore this just for you,” you said, not breaking eye contact, watching the way his gaze traced your form—lingering on your skin like a touch you could already feel.
Jungwon's eyes darkened with lust as he watched. He licked his lips, his gaze zeroing in on the expanse of their thighs, the skin begging to be marked and claimed.
"Fuck, you sexy little minx... you really did dress up for me, didn't you?" Jungwon growled, his voice rough with desire.
"Wearing that slutty lingerie, just begging for me to bend you over and take what's mine."
He stepped closer, one hand coming up to hook a finger in the delicate lace of your garter belt. He tugged on it sharply, pulling your body flush against his own. Jungwon's other hand slid up your thigh, calloused fingers mapping out the soft contours he found there.
Leaning in, he nipped at your jaw, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before soothing it with a sensual lick.
"You're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart. Teasing me like this, dressing up like my personal fuck doll. You know I'm going to absolutely ruin you, don't you?"
Jungwon's hand slid higher, pushing the lace of your panties aside to expose your bare, glistening folds. He groaned at the feel of your slick heat, fingers delving into your dripping cunt without preamble.
"Already so wet for me, you desperate little slut. You can't wait to have my cock splitting you open, can you?" He purred, his fingers pumping in and out of aeri's tight channel.
"Don't worry, baby. I'll give this greedy cunt exactly what it needs. I'll fuck you so hard and so deep, you'll forget your own fucking name."
With that promise, Jungwon captured your lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth as he fingered your pussy roughly. He swallowed your moans, relishing the taste of your pleasure on his tongue.
"Mmmh- won," you moaned into the kiss as you savored his soft lips on yours.
"Please-," you said, not knowing what you were even begging for.
His fingers going in and out of you so roughly and his kiss assaulting your lips.
"Ah- won please- slow down, hurts." you said in between moans and kisses as you try to pry him away from you with your hands pushing his chest
Jungwon felt your hands pushing weakly at his chest, your breathy pleas and whimpers music to his ears. He pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss to look down at your flushed, dazed face. Seeing the desperation and slight discomfort in your eyes, he forced himself to slow his rough touches, not wanting to truly hurt you.
He gentled his fingers, stroking them languidly along your slick folds, circling your clit with maddening slowness.
"Shh, I've got you, baby. I'm not going to hurt you." Jungwon murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble.
His other hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips.
"I know I can be a bit... intense sometimes. But I promise, I'll make it so good for you. I'll make you feel pleasure you've never felt before."
Jungwon leaned in, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to your racing pulse before trailing his lips down to your collarbone. He sucked on the delicate skin there, determined to leave his mark on your flesh.
As he lavished attention on your neck and chest, Jungwon's fingers continued their steady, sensual assault on your pussy. He stroked and circled your sensitive spots with precise, deliberate motions, coaxing out your pleasure.
His cock throbbed and ached, straining against the confines of his jeans as he touched you. But Jungwon ignored it for now, focused on worshipping your body until you were trembling and mewling with need.
He wanted you crazy with desire, wanted you so desperate for his cock that you would do anything he asked. Only then would he give you what you craved, what you needed so badly.
"Won need ur cock please, want you to ruin me" you said breathless as you looked at him in desperation and started to touch him all over in desperation and want.
The raw desperation and need in your voice sent a dark thrill through Jungwon. Seeing you touch him with such wanton abandon, your hands roaming over his chest and arms, only fueled his own growing hunger.
With a low, approving growl, Jungwon captured your wandering lips in another searing kiss. His tongue delved into your mouth, claiming every inch of the warm, wet cavern. He nipped and sucked at your bottom lip before soothing it with the flat of his tongue.
His hands made quick work of his own clothes, shrugging off his shirt and shoving his jeans down his hips. Jungwon's thick, hard cock sprang free, slapping against his belly as it was finally released from its denim prison.
He grabbed your thighs, hoisting you up to wrap around his waist as he backed you towards the bed. The back of your knees hit the mattress, and Jungwon tumbled you down onto the bed, settling between their spread legs.
Jungwon looked down at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded with lust. He ran the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds, coating himself in your slick arousal.
"This is what you need, isn't it baby? You need me to ruin this tight little cunt, to fuck you so hard and deep you'll be feeling me for days?"
With that, he thrust forward, the bulbous head of his cock popping past your entrance. He paused for just a moment, letting you feel the stretch and pressure of his thick shaft demanding entrance to your body.
Then, with a powerful flex of his hips, Jungwon buried himself to the hilt inside your tight heat. A guttural moan tore from his throat at the exquisite feel of your walls gripping him like a vice.
"Fuck, baby... you feel incredible." He groaned, his voice strained and tight with pleasure.
"So fucking tight and perfect. Made to take my cock, made to be mine."
Jungwon set a hard, driving pace, his hips snapping against yours with each powerful thrust. The room filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin and combined moans and cries of pleasure.
You moaned loudly as you felt him enter you, your back instantly arching and eyes shutting.
Your hands instinctively reached up to his wide back gripping them hard. Jungwon groaned as he felt aeri's nails digging into his back, the sharp points of their decorations likely leaving red lines in his skin. But the slight pain only spurred him on, fueling his lust and desire to claim his lover completely.
"Fuck love it, love it so much." you said drowned in pleasure.
He pistoned his hips harder, the force of his thrusts rocking you back and forth on the bed. The headboard slammed against the wall with each powerful drive of his cock into your needy cunt.
"Yeah, you fucking love it, don't you slut? Love having your tight little pussy stretched and filled by my big dick." Jungwon snarled, his voice a dark, dominating growl.
Panting harshly, he grabbed your chin, forcing your head up to look at him.
"Open your mouth, whore," he commanded, his thumb pushing demandingly against your bottom lip.
"I want to see that pretty mouth open while I fuck this slutty little cunt."
As you obediently parted their lips, Jungwon leaned down to capture you in a filthy kiss, thrusting his tongue into your mouth. He fucked your mouth with his tongue, mimicking the brutal pace of his hips as he pounded into your dripping sex.
He pulled back, a string of saliva connecting their mouths. Jungwon smirked wickedly as he saw your dazed, lust-drunk expression. Without warning, he slapped your cheek lightly, the sound sharp and sudden.
Jungwon thrust harder, angling his hips to hit that special spot deep inside you that made you see stars.
"Take it, fucking whore. Take my cock like you were made for it." He growled, punctuating each word with a sharp snap of his hips.
He slapped your other cheek, watching in satisfaction as they clenched down around him, your velvet walls fluttering and gripping his pistoning length. Jungwon could feel his release building, his heavy balls drawing up tight against his body.
Leaning down to your ear, he bit the lobe sharply before growling,
"I'm going to fill this cunt up, baby. Pump you so full of my cum, you'll be dripping for hours. Would you like that, you dirty little cock sleeve? Want me to mark this pussy as mine with my seed?"
Your pussy clenching down hard at his nibble and words. Jungwon smirked wickedly as he felt your pussy clench down on his cock like a vice,
"Yes won please~ yesh yes yes want it so bad, please want ur cum." you said in a delirious state.
You hugged his neck as you kept moaning loudly, the whole floor could hear it.
Your desperate pleas and wanton moans music to his ears. He loved seeing you so lost in pleasure, so fucking crazy for his cock that you couldn't think straight.
He forced his fingers past your lips, he pumped them in and out of your hot, wet mouth, fucking your face as ruthlessly as he was pounding into your cunt.
Jungwon's thumb pressed down on your tongue, holding your mouth open and exposing your throat.
Suddenly, he pulled his fingers out, a strand of their saliva connecting them to your slack mouth. Without warning, Jungwon spat directly into your open mouth, watching in dark satisfaction as you choked and sputtered around the sudden intrusion.
"That's it, slut. Taste yourself on my fingers. Taste how fucking wet this pussy is for me." Jungwon growled, spitting into your mouth again, marking your insides just as thoroughly as he was claiming your cunt.
His hips never faltered in their brutal pace, each powerful thrust shaking the bed frame and pushing you up the mattress. The obscene slapping of skin on skin echoed through the room, mingling with their desperate cries and wanton moans.
Jungwon could feel his release approaching fast, his heavy balls drawing up tight against his body. With a harsh groan, he slammed into you one last time, grinding his pelvis against theirs as he exploded.
"Fuck, take it you dirty whore! Take my fucking cum!" Jungwon roared, his cock pulsing and jerking as it painted your insides white. Spurt after thick spurt of his hot seed pumped into your spasming pussy, filling you up just like you begged for.
Jungwon felt your body go rigid beneath him, their back arching off the bed as their own intense orgasm crashed over them. He groaned as their pussy clamped down around his cock like a silken vice, the rippling walls milking every last drop of his release.
Just as the wave of pleasure surged through you, your body tensed uncontrollably. Your head fell back, lost in the high—but then came crashing down, hard, against the headboard behind you.
“Ah—!” you gasped, a sharp cry slipping past your lips, equal parts pleasure and pain. The jolt was sudden, enough to pull you out of the haze. Your hand flew up instinctively to cradle the spot where the impact landed, eyes fluttering as you tried to catch your breath.
Jungwon's eyes widened in concern. He saw your head bang harshly against the headboard, the sickening crack of impact filling the air. Acting on pure instinct, he reached up to cup the back of your skull, trying to cushion the blow.
"Fuck, y/n! Shit, baby, are you okay?" Jungwon asked, his voice tight with worry and guilt. He gentled his touch, stroking your hair soothingly as he eased you back from the headboard.
Jungwon carefully rolled you onto their sides, mindful of your sensitive, overstimulated body. He pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he checked you over for any signs of injury.
His hand hovered over the back of your head, feeling a small bump already forming. Jungwon's brow furrowed, his thumb brushing over the tender lump with a feather-light touch.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I got a bit too rough there. I didn't mean to hurt you." He murmured, his voice low and soothing.
Jungwon leaned down to press a soft, careful kiss to the bump, hoping to take away some of the pain. He knew he needed to be more mindful of your comfort and well-being, even in the throes of passion.
"Let me take care of you, baby. I'll make it better, I promise."
You hummed faintly, eyes fluttering closed at the gentle warmth, letting it anchor you in the haze.
Your body trembled, overstimulated and barely holding itself together. Vision still unfocused, you blinked up at him, the single word slipping from your lips in a breathy whisper.
“Hurts.”
You couldn’t control your limbs—your mind foggy, muscles limp, twitching with aftershocks. Wherever he moved you, your body followed, slow and dazed like you were underwater. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your sight—not just from the sharp pulse at the back of your head, but from everything. The weight of it. The feeling of being utterly unraveled.
Your breathing came in short, ragged bursts. Quiet whimpers filled the space between you.
Jungwon’s chest tightened at the sound of your quiet, broken whimper. The tears clinging to your lashes, the way your body trembled in his arms—it hit him all at once. He had pushed too far. The guilt settled heavy in his chest, sharp and unrelenting.
Gently, he cradled you against him, tucking your face into the warm crook of his neck. One hand threaded slowly through your hair while the other rubbed slow, steady circles on your back.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice barely above a breath. “That must've really hurt.”
He pressed soft kisses across your temple and cheek—light, careful, like he was scared to break you further. You clung to him, still shaking, still caught in the aftershocks, and he let you. He held you together when you couldn’t do it yourself.
Carefully, he laid you back down on the pillows, propping your head with gentle hands. After a quick trip to the bathroom, he returned with a cool cloth, pressing it lightly to the back of your head. You winced, just slightly, and his heart sank.
“You did so well,” he murmured as he wiped the tears from your cheeks, brushing damp strands of hair away from your face.
“You didn’t deserve that. I should’ve been more careful.”
He climbed into bed beside you and wrapped his arms around you again, guiding your head to his chest, letting you listen to the steady beat of his heart. One hand rested protectively at your back, the other smoothing over your hair.
“Just rest now, okay?” he whispered. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Sleep took you almost instantly—your body too spent, too overwhelmed to resist the pull of rest. When you woke again, sunlight filtered gently through the curtains, and the first thing you saw was him.
Jungwon, sleeping soundly beside you, his face relaxed in a way you’d never seen before. Peaceful. Unbothered. You watched his steady breathing, the way his lashes brushed his cheeks, and felt something unfamiliar stir in your chest. No one had ever treated you the way he had—with care, with softness, with something that almost felt like… intention.
You reached out, brushing your fingers gently against his cheek. He didn’t stir. You hesitated for a second longer, then carefully slipped out from under the blanket. The soreness in your limbs reminded you of everything that had happened, but you moved quietly, slipping on your panties and grabbing a shirt that was draped over the back of a chair—probably Jungwon’s. It smelled like him: clean, warm, familiar.
In the bathroom, you took a moment to breathe.
When you stepped back into his room, he was still asleep. The quiet made you notice things you hadn’t before—the shelves lined with books and neatly stacked notes, highlighters poking out of the pages. A couple certificates framed on the wall. His calendar filled with deadlines. It was clear in an instant: Jungwon worked hard. He had goals. Direction. A life built on discipline and self-respect.
And then your eyes landed on the Polaroids taped to his mirror—laughing faces, arms slung around shoulders, inside jokes frozen in time. Genuine love. Real friendship. He was surrounded by people who saw him for who he was and loved him deeply.
You’d never had that. Not like this.
The thought hit you like a punch to the gut. He’s a good person. Too good. And suddenly, you weren’t sure where you fit in all this. Guilt crept in beneath your skin, tangled with the ache in your chest. You swallowed hard, fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt as your eyes lingered on those photos a little too long.
What am I doing here?
Then came the sound of sheets shifting, the soft rustle of the bed behind you.
He was waking up.
Jungwon stirred awake, eyes blinking open to find the space beside him empty. The morning light stretched lazily across the room, and for a brief second, he panicked—until he saw you standing by the mirror.
Wearing his shirt.
Your hair was messy, your skin still tinted with warmth from the night before, and the sight of you—bathed in soft sunlight, wrapped in something of his—made something in his chest pull tight.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Jungwon swung his legs over the bed and rose quietly. He crossed the room without a word, stopping behind you. His arms circled your waist, pulling you gently back against him, your body fitting so easily into his.
“Morning, beautiful,” he whispered, his voice still heavy with sleep. He dipped down, brushing a kiss just beneath your ear.
“I missed you. Why’d you sneak off on me?”
You didn’t answer at first. Your eyes were glued to the mirror, to the collage of Polaroids stuck across its surface—snapshots of Jungwon with his friends, all laughter and wide grins. They were ordinary moments, but to you, they looked like something you’d never had.
Jungwon followed your gaze, then slowly turned you in his arms, hands steady on your waist. He tilted your chin up with a finger, his brows drawn together in quiet concern.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured, searching your expression. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
A pause.
“Talk to me, sweetheart. Whatever it is—you can tell me.”
Your body tensed, just slightly, at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you—so warm, so familiar already. The intimacy of it caught you off guard. But when he pressed a soft kiss to your neck, you couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at your lips.
“Didn’t wanna wake you,” you murmured, voice light, almost shy.
He turned you around gently, and you tried to school your features, forcing a casual look on your face despite the storm quietly building inside.
“Nothing,” you said quickly, waving it off with a soft laugh. “Just… tired, that’s all.”
You avoided his eyes.
Then, as if something inside you clicked back into place, your smile faltered. You took a small step back, just enough to create space between your bodies.
“Actually, I should go,” you added, a little too quickly. Your tone wasn’t cold—but it wasn’t natural either.
“I really enjoyed last night. For real.” You looked up at him, offering a smile that was almost too soft, too genuine for the distance you were trying to create.
“Thank you, Jungwon.”
Because deep down, something about him terrified you. The way he was kind without asking for anything. The way he didn’t treat you like a game. The way he made you feel like you were worth staying for.
And that scared you more than anything else.
to be continued...?
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ ˙ฅᨐฅ ̟ !! thank you sm for reading, i hoped u enjoyed it despite my obvious shitty writing i made in the middle of the night. TOODLES!
COMMENTS, FEEDBACKS, NOTES, AND REBLOGS ARE ALL APPRECIATED
SYPNOSIS. everyone warned jungwon about you—the campus slut with a reputation for wrecking hearts and hooking up with half the student body. still, jungwon, ever the responsible and soft-hearted boy he is decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. but he didn’t expect it to turn into a full-blown temptation.
when you show up late, all smirks and wandering hands, something in him snaps. the calm, sweet jungwon turns cold and biting, his patience unraveling fast. he's not just fighting your distractions—he's fighting the urge to put you in your place. because beneath that polite smile is someone who doesn't tolerate games…
and he's about to teach you a lesson you won’t forget.
PAIRING. non idol! yang jungwon x fem! reader
GENRES. smut!! (mdni), sorta public sex, nerdy jungwon x slutty reader, rough sex, dirty talk, jungwon is hella mean, degradation,a lot of name calling (whore, slut, etc.), jungwon is a yapper, reader is kinda shameless, blowjob, messy, hard dom jungwon, brat tamer jungwon lmk if i missed anything
WORD COUNT. 3.6k
WARNINGS. porn with little plot, unprotected sex (pls be safe yall!!), profanity, explicit sexual content, NOT PROOFREAD
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ ˙ฅᨐฅ ̟ !! hey yall!! so this is my first time posting any of my writings so im so sorry if i make any mistakes, english is also not my first language so...lmk if i fuck up. ANYWAYS, i had a lot of fun writing this and i have an idea for a part 2 if this does numbers. ENJOY!!
Jungwon should've known better.
The second you cornered him after class, batting your lashes and asking for “help” with your finals, every red flag in his head waved like hell. But against his better judgment, he agreed to tutor you. He was curious, maybe, or just bored enough to entertain the idea. He figured he could handle you.
You weren’t anything new to him. He’s heard the stories, hell, he’s listened to his friends brag about your mouth more times than he can count. Most of his friends had their own stories—nights tangled in your sheets, mornings forgotten. He didn’t judge you for it, not really.
But he sure as hell didn’t plan on being your next plaything either.
Now here he was, not even a full twenty-four hours later, sitting alone in a quiet, secluded corner of the library, waiting for you. He’d picked the spot hoping it would help you focus.
“Where the hell are they…?” he muttered, eyes flicking to his phone. 4:37. You were almost twenty minutes late. He was halfway through packing up his books when you finally strolled in—nonchalant, like you hadn’t wasted his time at all.
“Took you long enough,” he muttered, shooting you a tight-lipped smile.
You didn’t apologize—just sat down with that same smug look you always wore, like you knew exactly what you were doing.
It hadn’t even been fifteen minutes, and Jungwon already wanted to slam his head into the table. Nothing he explained seemed to stick. Were you even trying?
Your eyes glazed over every time he spoke, lips parted in that deliberately innocent way, and he was starting to realize—this wasn’t about studying at all.
“Look,” he sighed, rubbing his temple. “Are you even getting the idea at all?”
Then his eyes dropped. Your hand—way too close to his lap.
His jaw clenched. “Can you not put your hand there and focus on what I’m trying to teach?” he snapped, voice low and sharp. “Fuck…”
"Why? Don’t you like it?" you asked, your voice dripping with false innocence as your lips curled into a playful smile.
"Come on, Wonnie~ studying’s so boring, don’t you think?"
You leaned in, letting your body dip just enough to meet his gaze—close, intimate, daring.
"I could show you a much better time..." you whispered, your fingers brushing gently along his thigh, caressing slow and deliberate.
Jungwon's eyes narrowed as he gripped your wrist tightly, yanking your hand away from his lap with a harsh tug.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you stupid slut?” Jungwon snarled, his voice sharp and laced with pure contempt.
“I thought you actually wanted to study for once in your miserable life,” he spat, yanking your wrist away from his lap with a harsh grip. “Or was that just some pathetic excuse to get me alone and play your little seduction game—like the desperate whore you are?”
He shoved your hand aside like it disgusted him, his glare burning straight through you.
“Listen closely,” he hissed, voice low and cruel. “I’m not one of your brainless fuck toys you can throw yourself at. I have zero interest in stuffing my cock into your sloppy cunt—no matter how much you beg me for it.”
Every word was brutal, each one meant to slice through your pride like a knife.
Then he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest, eyes narrowing as he looked you over with icy disgust.
“So,” he said slowly, voice calm now—but no less threatening, “are you finally going to shut the fuck up and focus like a decent student? Or do I need to bend you over this table and spank the stupidity out of you until you learn how to behave?”
There was no room left for games. No teasing, no flirting—just a sharp line drawn in the heat between you.
You looked up at Jungwon, then down again—like you couldn’t decide whether to feel ashamed or just pretend to be. Finally, you turned your head away with a frustrated flick, as if his coldness had actually stung.
You knew what you looked like. You were pretty—hot, even. People could call you a slut, a tease, a brainless whore... and maybe some of it wasn’t so far off.
But no one, not even your worst enemies, could say you were ugly. And you’d long since mastered how to use that to your advantage.
Jungwon’s scowl faltered, just for a second, at the sight of your meek little act. The way your eyes welled up, how you glanced away like you were ashamed. But the softness didn’t last.
He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh, spare me the performance,” he sneered. “You really think a pout and some fake tears are enough to convince me you’re anything more than a brainless little slut?”
His eyes dragged over your body slowly, deliberately—taking in every curve with a gaze that felt more dissecting than appreciative. “You’re not the first pretty face who’s tried to seduce me,” he muttered, voice low and cold, “and you sure as hell won’t be the last.”
He leaned back, arms crossed, his expression hard. “So, are you finally going to focus on the damn lesson? Or am I going to have to find a more... motivational way to make you behave?”
His eyebrow arched, the threat in his voice laced with something darker—something dangerous.
You scoffed, the meek little act slipping off like a mask. Your lips curled into a smirk, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“You’re different from the other guys, Wonnie,” you purred, voice low and sultry. “I like that.”
Without hesitation, you climbed onto his lap, straddling him with ease as your gaze raked over his body—slow, hungry, deliberate. Then your eyes met his, locked and daring, lips parted just slightly.
“Okay,” you whispered, your voice dripping with playful defiance. “I’ll pay attention.”
Your long, decorated nails trailed down his chest, slow and teasing, your fingers drawing lazy patterns against the fabric of his shirt.
“So… what kind of motivation method did you have in mind?” you asked, wide-eyed and innocent in the most dangerous way.
Jungwon’s eyes darkened the moment you straddled his lap, your body pressed flush against his. His hands shot up, gripping your wrists firmly—tight enough to make you still, but not enough to hurt. His jaw clenched as he stared into your wide, unblinking eyes.
“Careful,” he muttered, voice low and dangerous. “You’re playing a game you don’t know the rules to.”
His gaze flicked downward, watching your fingers dance along his chest, your decorated nails grazing over the fabric like you knew exactly what you were doing. He squeezed your wrists harder, pulling your hands away from him with a sharp tug, then leaned in—his lips brushing just beside your ear, his breath warm and heavy.
“You really want motivation?” he whispered, almost mockingly. “Because I can give it to you. I’ll bend you over this table and keep you there until you stop acting like a brat and start acting like a student.”
You could feel the tension vibrating off him—controlled, focused, intense. His voice was calm, but it carried weight. Promise. Threat.
“I don’t care how pretty you are. If you can’t sit still and learn, I’ll make sure the only thing you remember from this session is how it felt to be put in your place.”
He pulled back slightly, eyes locked with yours. There was no room left for games—only a challenge, one that made your pulse quicken.
With every harsh word that left Jungwon’s mouth, heat pooled low in your belly—warm, aching, impossible to ignore. You bit your lip, desperately holding back the soft moans threatening to slip out after each sentence. Your body shifted in his lap, restless and needy, reacting to his voice like it was a command carved straight into your skin.
Your breath quickened, shallow and shaky, as your eyes glazed over with a hazy mix of arousal and anticipation. You could barely meet his gaze, not from shame—but from how dizzying the tension had become.
“Wonnie~” you finally whimpered, your voice breathless and soaked in need, high and sweet like a plea.
Jungwon's grip on your wrists tightened as he felt you squirming in his lap, their breathy whimpers filling the air. He leaned back slightly, a wicked smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he took in your flushed cheeks and clouded eyes.
"Listen to you, getting all hot and bothered from me just talking dirty to you. You really are a pathetic slut, aren't you?" He taunted, his voice dripping with disdain.
Jungwon's hands slid up your arms, gripping their shoulders tightly as he pulled them flush against his chest. He could feel the swell of their ample breasts pressing against him, your hardened nipples straining against the thin fabric of your tank top.
"Tell me, you brainless whore, is this what you want? To be manhandled and used like the fuck toy you are?" Jungwon's smirk grew wider as he felt your body trembling with anticipation.
"Because I can give you exactly what you're craving. I can fuck you so hard, so deep, you'll be ruined for any other man. Is that what you need?" He growled, his hips grinding up slightly to press his hardening bulge against your core.
The moment you felt his bulge press against your core, a soft, involuntary moan slipped past your lips, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. Your breath hitched, sharp and shaky, and your fingers dug into his shoulder—tight, almost clawing for something to hold onto.
“Please… Wonnie,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need, barely more than a whimper.
You bit your lip hard as you ground your hips down against him, chasing even the smallest bit of friction. Every movement sent sparks through you, your body trembling with how badly you needed more. The tension was unbearable—thick, hot, and impossible to escape.
You looked up at him, eyes glassy, pleading—wordless, but loud with desire.
Jungwon let out a low, dark chuckle as he felt you grinding desperately against his hardening bulge, your needy moans filling his ears.
"Please what, you brainless whore? Please fuck you stupid until you can't think straight?" He taunted, one hand sliding down to grab your ass roughly, squeezing the plump flesh.
With a sudden, sharp movement, Jungwon stood up, easily lifting you with him. He carried you over to a near empty group study room.
As he suddenly picked you up, you gasped and your arms instinctively went to hug his neck in shock. Your face buried in his neck. i giggled in between my desperate quiet moans.
Before you could react, he threw you down and bent them over the table, pressing your upper body down against the cool surface.
You gasped and moaned even louder as you flung your head to look at him from behind with an anticipating smile.
Jungwon's hand slid under your short short skirt, pushing your panties aside to expose your dripping slit. He ran a finger along their folds, feeling the slick heat coating his digit.
You felt his fingers digging into you and moaned slightly "mmhh... won"
"Fuck, you're already so wet, you desperate whore. You really are gagging for my cock, aren't you?" He growled, pressing a finger inside your tight entrance.
Jungwon quickly undid his pants, freeing his large, veiny cock. It sprang out, slapping against your ass with a lewd thwack. The thick head was already drooling with pre-cum, the shaft pulsing and throbbing with need.
as you felt his hard big dick smacking your ass, your ass squirmed in anticipation and moaned
"Fuck won... Your so big for a nerd" i teased, gasping and giggling.
"Hmmm, yeah you like that? You slut." he growled as his hands found your ass, kneading it harshly. Without warning, Jungwon smacked your ass, a loud noise echoing through the room.
He moved his hands to gripped your hips tightly and thrust forward, burying his massive cock deep inside your soaked cunt with one brutal stroke.
You immediately moaned loudly, almost a scream. Your body tensing up and your eyes instinctively closing in pleasure
"Fuuuckkk..." you said as you felt your body slowly calming down slightly.
He groaned at the tight, wet heat engulfing his shaft, his hips slapping against your ass as he hilted inside them.
"Take it, you cock hungry slut. Fucking take my dick like the whore you are." Jungwon snarled, immediately setting a hard, fast pace as he began to pound into your needy hole.
You barely got used to it he immediate set a hard and fast pace and pounded harshly. You felt your own ass reddening over his hard thrusts.
A loud moan left your lips, you could feel your mind clouding in pleasure
"Yes yes yes" you repeatedly said, "Wonnie... please.. yess- fuck- feels so good, ur soo good" you said delirious, as if you were drunk on his cock.
Jungwon grunted as he felt your tight walls clenching and fluttering around his pistoning cock, your desperate moans and whimpers spurring him on.
He gripped their your hips harder, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he pounded into you with brutal, animalistic fervor.
"That's right, take my fucking cock like the eager little cock sleeve you are. Your hungry cunt is gripping me so fucking tight." Jungwon growled, punctuating his words with a particularly hard thrust that had you seeing stars.
"You love this, don't you slut? Love having your greedy hole stretched out and filled by a real man's dick?"
your eyes going to the back of your head, as you moaned louder and louder in pleasure
"Yes won, I love your cock so much, I'm a slut wonnie, I'm ur slut" you said in a slight mumble. your cunt gripping impossibly more onto his cock.
He slid a hand up your back, gripping their hair and wrenching their head back as he leaned down to snarl in their ear.
Your back arched further and a moan left your lips. You could feel your own release coming,
"Won im gonna cum, im cumming, please, feelsh sho good" You screamed loudly, as your eyes closed instinctively. Your face scrunching, a loud moan rose from your throat from every thrust he gave.
"Yeah, just like that. Scream for me, whore. Let everyone know who this cunt belongs to now. Let them hear what a desperate, cock-drunk slut you are for me." Jungwon's hips never faltered, slamming into aeri with enough force to rattle the table beneath them.
Jungwon's balls slapped obscenely against your clit with every thrust, the wet squelching and slapping sounds of their fucking filling the room.
The musky scent of sex and sweat permeated the air as Jungwon rutted into you like a man possessed, determined to ruin them for anyone else.
He could feel his release approaching, the telltale tingling building at the base of his spine. With a harsh grunt, he slammed into you one last time before burying himself to the hilt, his thick cock pulsing and throbbing as he emptied his heavy load deep inside their spasming cunt.
Your eyes fluttered open, only to roll back as your mouth fell open in a breathless gasp. Cunt gripping and fluttering on his cock as you felt his cum filling your insides. You trembled as you felt your release coming over you and a loud moan escaped your mouth. The noise falling from your mouth, unrestrained and raw.
"Fuck, take my cum you brainless bitch. Fucking take every last drop like the cum dumpster you are." Jungwon groaned, his hips jerking and twitching as spurt after spurt of his hot seed painted your insides white.
Jungwon's chest heaved as he caught his breath, his softening cock still buried deep inside your dripping cunt.
Shivers racked through you as you slowly pulled yourself back together. Your body began to come down, the rush fading into a warm, hazy stillness.
He looked down at their disheveled form, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he took in the sight of them trembling and moaning through their intense orgasm.
"That's it, cum on my fucking cock like the desperate slut you are. Milk my dick with this greedy cunt." He growled, giving a few more shallow thrusts as your walls fluttered and clenched around him.
As you slowly recovered and slid off his cock, Jungwon grunted at the sudden emptiness. But his smirk only grew wider as he watched them eagerly grab his sensitive shaft, stroking and licking at the mix of their combined juices coating his skin.
You licked and stroke his cock as you moaned and whined on it, your eyes closed, basking in the taste of yourself on his softening cock.
He tangled his fingers in your hair, gripping the strands tightly as he pulled their head back, forcing you to look up at him. "Look at you, so fucking eager to clean my cock like the dirty slut you are. You can't get enough, can you?" Jungwon taunted, his voice a low, dark rumble. A groan left his lips as he threw his head back in pleasure.
You took his cock and slapped it on your own cheeks, lulling your tongue, His head lowering down meeting your insatiable gaze and the mess you were underneath him.
"Is this what you wanted, you filthy cock sleeve? To have your face painted with the proof of what a dirty whore you are?"
A breathy giggle left your swollen lips, the feeling of your spit and your combined fluids sticking to your face making you giddy.
Jungwon's eyes flashed with cruel amusement as he watched aeri giggle and moan around his sensitive flesh, their tongue lolling out obscenely.
"Such an obedient little cock warmer, so desperate to please" He purred, the dark promise in his words sending a shiver down aeri's spine.
You felt your cunt fluttering and gripping against nothing as you continued to put his hardening dick back in your mouth and sucking him off.
"Come on wonnie~ u have more right? cum on my face baby." you said as you stroke his cock and continued to deepthroat him
Jungwon's eyes darkened with lust and cruel amusement as he watched you eagerly deepthroating his sensitive cock, their throat convulsing around his thick shaft. He smirked at their teasing words, giving their hair a sharp tug in warning.
"Oh, you want me to cum on your slutty face, you brainless whore? Want me to mark you as my personal fuck toy in front of everyone?" Jungwon growled, his hips starting to piston forward as his cock began to harden and lengthen again inside your hot mouth.
He fucked your face with brutal, animalistic fervor, slamming his thick cock into your throat over and over. The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the room as Jungwon used your mouth like a cheap fleshlight.
You felt his hands gripping your hair impossibly harder and forcing you to swallow his thick cock. You gagged on his cock filling up your throat, restricting your airway. Your eyes rolling back as you tried to pull away from him, But he didn’t loosen his hold—his fingers still tangled tightly in your hair. Pressing you further down his length.
You slapped his thigh repeatedly as you could feel yourself drowning on his cock. With a groan he released your head, you threw yourself off him for a gasp of air and laughed breathlessly
"Fuck, ur so big for a nerd." You teased.
"Shut up." He growled lowly with a harsh grunt, gripping your hair tightly as he stroked his throbbing shaft. He aimed the flared head at yiur face, the angry red flesh pulsing and twitching as he neared his release.
"Open wide, you dirty slut. Stick out that whorish tongue and let me paint your pretty face with my cum." Jungwon snarled, his voice dripping with cruel, degrading lust.
You opened your mouth and closed your eyes anticipating for his cum to hit your face.
With a strangled groan, he erupted, thick ropes of hot, sticky seed erupting from his cock. Jungwon's cum splattered across your cheeks and tongue, the pearly essence dripping down your chin and neck as he marked you as his personal fuck toy.
You moaned at the feeling of his cum hitting your face. Jungwon loomed over your cum-splattered form, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.
As his cum came to a stop, you opened your eyes and looked up at him as you wiped his cum with your finger and pushed it towards your mouth and sucked it off your finger and released it with a pop
"Mmm.. taste so good" you said, breathless and giggling.
He watched with a smug, satisfied smirk as you eagerly sucked his seed off their finger, your breathless giggles music to his ears.
"That's right, taste my cum. Get used it, cause you'll be having a lot more of it from now on." Jungwon said with a dark chuckle, his tone dripping with cruel promise.
He tucked himself back into his pants, not bothering to wipe the lingering remnants of their mixed essence from his softening cock. Jungwon knew he would be using your holes again and again, marking you inside and out as his personal fucktoy.
Leaning down, he gripped your chin tightly, forcing you to meet his intense, piercing gaze.
"You're mine now, understand? This slutty body belongs to me. I'll fuck you whenever and however I want, and you'll take it like the desperate whore you are. Got it?" Jungwon growled, his eyes flashed with possessive lust.
He released your chin with a sharp tug, standing up straight and towering over their smaller form.
"Now, get dressed and meet me back at my dorm room in an hour. I'm not done breaking in my new fucktoy just yet." Jungwon ordered, turning to head for the door.
to be continued...?
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ ˙ฅᨐฅ ̟ !! hey so u made it to the end, congrats!! thank you for reading my shitty writing that i made at 3 in the morning lolz. im thinking of writing a part 2 to this, im also thinking of making a psycho heeseung x nurse reader au or enemies with benefit ni-ki or maybe something fluffy in the future. so if you would like to see that i could make a tag list. ANYWAYS thank you sm for reading, i hoped u enjoyed it , and got off lol. TOODLES!
COMMENTS, FEEDBACKS, NOTES, AND REBLOGS ARE ALL APPRECIATED
⋆🐾⋆ IF ENHYPEN WERE YOUTUBERS ── social media imagines
GENRE. drabble, fluff(?), smau, crack, fake social media, scenarios
WORD COUNT. 0.6k
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ ˙ฅᨐฅ ̟ !! helloo enha nation! heres a little something something i made a while back. basically if enha's yt channels if they weren't idols. i posted it on tiktok and it did well so why not bring it here too yk?
honestly idek if this is considered an imagine or a drabble or even fluff, i just made it for funsies and wanted to share it.
ANYWAYS hope yall enjoy it lolzz!! (if yall enjoy it i have a part 2 that im making rn as well)
WARNING. this is just for fun and is not in any way accurate or based on facts, its just based on my delusions and vibes⭐️🌀
𝜗ৎ HEESEUNG as Game Streamer🎧ྀི♪⋆.
─ he would start of as LOL gamer that catered more to a male audience as he gained more followers someone made an edit of him and it went viral on tiktok then he started gaining hella fangirls and they beg him to play roblox, dti, sims, and minecraft. he would give off reluctant older brother vibes while playing these games but he lowkey enjoys it. GETS BULLIED ON ROBLOX AND BY HIS CHAT LOL.
prob has a separate channel and he would post ramyeon tutorial, showing off his figurines, and song covers, even his own music (this channel is more active rn). new fans are shocked that he has such a good singing voice and how multitalented he is.
𝜗ৎ JAY as Cover Channels 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆
ー he would post covers, sometimes singing while playing the guitar but mostly he posts his guitar covers. sometimes even post guitar tutorials (?idk what its called) or his behind the scenes of shooting his covers. everyone
his second channel would consist of cooking, vlogs (eating), and introducing his guitars.
would be the resident asian boy on social media, everyone and their mothers want to marry him.
𝜗ৎ JAKE as Uni Vlogger/Tutor ✧˚📝 ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
ー imo jake would be the type of youtuber that wouldn't be consistent in posting, like hes purely doing it just for funsies to let off the stress from being an engineering student. he posts vlogs and tutoring sessions, hes the type of niche youtuber that has a tight community and the type that only the "cool kids" watch (i hated typing that)
the type of ytber that everyone begs to post more but he just cant. he barely has a sleeping schedule, his last concern is a youtube schedule.
edit of his tutoring sessions are everywhere, "when he's hot and smart"
𝜗ৎ SUNGHOON as Athlete ⋆⁺₊❅.
ー if he stuck to figure skating he would probably be one of the most known in the industry. he has an official yt channel, where his content is more currated, like practice vids/qna's.
i cant picture him having a sec channel, imo he probably mostly keeps to himself and posts more on ig. hence the "ice prince" nickname, cause he has that mysterious and cold image.
but his content changes people's perspective, hes just a introverted lil boy :D
𝜗ৎ SUNOO as Weekly Vlogger ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡
ー posts vlogs that compiles of his week and posts every sunday. sometimes hes out traveling, some days hes out with his sister, and some days hes just hanging out at home. in between i think he would post like skincare routines/reviews/hauls. sometimes does health and wellbeing content (like vitamins he recommends or tools he uses for his health). even asmr's
"i only believe sunoo", a household name in the skincare community, everyone only believes in his unfiltered and sometimes out of pocket reviews
the inspiration for him was saranghoe, idk i think he would def give off that comforting bright vibes
𝜗ৎ JUNGWON as The Most Random ｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ
ー imo won wouldnt be the consistent type at first, he would post anything that he liked at random times. sometimes rants, sometimes mukbangs. as he grew a bigger audience he would be more consistent in posting.
maybe collabs w/ ddeonggae?
𝜗ৎ NI-KI as Dance Youtuber ★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆
ー would post covers as well as his own choreo, i think if he wasnt an idol he would be a kpop choreographer. he would post dance vids as well as just bts of how he makes up/learn choreos. maybe sometimes do those "Dancer Reacts To" vids. he got even more popular with his series of learning from other dancers from around the world
has a second channel where he does asmr (i miss asmr-ki sm plsss come back)
COMMENTS, FEEDBACKS, NOTES, AND REBLOGS ARE ALL APPRECIATED
first part of 'Little Study Buddy' ─ part 1 // part 2
SYPNOSIS. everyone warned jungwon about you—the campus slut with a reputation for wrecking hearts and hooking up with half the student body. still, jungwon, ever the responsible and soft-hearted boy he is decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. but he didn’t expect it to turn into a full-blown temptation.
when you show up late, all smirks and wandering hands, something in him snaps. the calm, sweet jungwon turns cold and biting, his patience unraveling fast. he's not just fighting your distractions—he's fighting the urge to put you in your place. because beneath that polite smile is someone who doesn't tolerate games…
and he's about to teach you a lesson you won’t forget.
PAIRING. non idol! yang jungwon x fem! reader
GENRES. smut!! (mdni), sorta public sex, nerdy jungwon x slutty reader, rough sex, dirty talk, jungwon is hella mean, degradation,a lot of name calling (whore, slut, etc.), jungwon is a yapper, reader is kinda shameless, blowjob, messy, hard dom jungwon, brat tamer jungwon lmk if i missed anything
WORD COUNT. 3.6k
WARNINGS. porn with little plot, unprotected sex (pls be safe yall!!), profanity, explicit sexual content, NOT PROOFREAD
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ ˙ฅᨐฅ ̟ !! hey yall!! so this is my first time posting any of my writings so im so sorry if i make any mistakes, english is also not my first language so...lmk if i fuck up. ANYWAYS, i had a lot of fun writing this and i have an idea for a part 2 if this does numbers. ENJOY!!
Jungwon should've known better.
The second you cornered him after class, batting your lashes and asking for “help” with your finals, every red flag in his head waved like hell. But against his better judgment, he agreed to tutor you. He was curious, maybe, or just bored enough to entertain the idea.
He figured he could handle you.
You weren’t anything new to him. He’s heard the stories, hell, he’s listened to his friends brag about your mouth more times than he can count. Most of his friends had their own stories—nights tangled in your sheets, mornings forgotten. He didn’t judge you for it, not really.
But he sure as hell didn’t plan on being your next plaything either.
Now here he was, not even a full twenty-four hours later, sitting alone in a quiet, secluded corner of the library, waiting for you. He’d picked the spot hoping it would help you focus.
“Where the hell are they…?” he muttered, eyes flicking to his phone. 4:37. You were almost twenty minutes late. He was halfway through packing up his books when you finally strolled in—nonchalant, like you hadn’t wasted his time at all.
“Took you long enough,” he muttered, shooting you a tight-lipped smile.
You didn’t apologize—just sat down with that same smug look you always wore, like you knew exactly what you were doing.
It hadn’t even been fifteen minutes, and Jungwon already wanted to slam his head into the table. Nothing he explained seemed to stick. Were you even trying?
Your eyes glazed over every time he spoke, lips parted in that deliberately innocent way, and he was starting to realize—this wasn’t about studying at all.
“Look,” he sighed, rubbing his temple. “Are you even getting the idea at all?”
Then his eyes dropped. Your hand—way too close to his lap.
His jaw clenched. “Can you not put your hand there and focus on what I’m trying to teach?” he snapped, voice low and sharp. “Fuck…”
"Why? Don’t you like it?" you asked, your voice dripping with false innocence as your lips curled into a playful smile.
"Come on, Wonnie~ studying’s so boring, don’t you think?"
You leaned in, letting your body dip just enough to meet his gaze—close, intimate, daring.
"I could show you a much better time..." you whispered, your fingers brushing gently along his thigh, caressing slow and deliberate.
Jungwon's eyes narrowed as he gripped your wrist tightly, yanking your hand away from his lap with a harsh tug.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you stupid slut?” Jungwon snarled, his voice sharp and laced with pure contempt.
“I thought you actually wanted to study for once in your miserable life,” he spat, yanking your wrist away from his lap with a harsh grip. “Or was that just some pathetic excuse to get me alone and play your little seduction game—like the desperate whore you are?”
He shoved your hand aside like it disgusted him, his glare burning straight through you.
“Listen closely,” he hissed, voice low and cruel. “I’m not one of your brainless fuck toys you can throw yourself at. I have zero interest in stuffing my cock into your sloppy cunt—no matter how much you beg me for it.”
Every word was brutal, each one meant to slice through your pride like a knife.
Then he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest, eyes narrowing as he looked you over with icy disgust.
“So,” he said slowly, voice calm now—but no less threatening, “are you finally going to shut the fuck up and focus like a decent student? Or do I need to bend you over this table and spank the stupidity out of you until you learn how to behave?”
There was no room left for games. No teasing, no flirting—just a sharp line drawn in the heat between you.
You looked up at Jungwon, then down again—like you couldn’t decide whether to feel ashamed or just pretend to be. Finally, you turned your head away with a frustrated flick, as if his coldness had actually stung.
You knew what you looked like. You were pretty—hot, even. People could call you a slut, a tease, a brainless whore... and maybe some of it wasn’t so far off.
But no one, not even your worst enemies, could say you were ugly. And you’d long since mastered how to use that to your advantage.
Jungwon’s scowl faltered, just for a second, at the sight of your meek little act. The way your eyes welled up, how you glanced away like you were ashamed. But the softness didn’t last.
He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh, spare me the performance,” he sneered. “You really think a pout and some fake tears are enough to convince me you’re anything more than a brainless little slut?”
His eyes dragged over your body slowly, deliberately—taking in every curve with a gaze that felt more dissecting than appreciative. “You’re not the first pretty face who’s tried to seduce me,” he muttered, voice low and cold, “and you sure as hell won’t be the last.”
He leaned back, arms crossed, his expression hard. “So, are you finally going to focus on the damn lesson? Or am I going to have to find a more... motivational way to make you behave?”
His eyebrow arched, the threat in his voice laced with something darker—something dangerous.
You scoffed, the meek little act slipping off like a mask. Your lips curled into a smirk, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“You’re different from the other guys, Wonnie,” you purred, voice low and sultry. “I like that.”
Without hesitation, you climbed onto his lap, straddling him with ease as your gaze raked over his body—slow, hungry, deliberate. Then your eyes met his, locked and daring, lips parted just slightly.
“Okay,” you whispered, your voice dripping with playful defiance. “I’ll pay attention.”
Your long, decorated nails trailed down his chest, slow and teasing, your fingers drawing lazy patterns against the fabric of his shirt.
“So… what kind of motivation method did you have in mind?” you asked, wide-eyed and innocent in the most dangerous way.
Jungwon’s eyes darkened the moment you straddled his lap, your body pressed flush against his. His hands shot up, gripping your wrists firmly—tight enough to make you still, but not enough to hurt. His jaw clenched as he stared into your wide, unblinking eyes.
“Careful,” he muttered, voice low and dangerous. “You’re playing a game you don’t know the rules to.”
His gaze flicked downward, watching your fingers dance along his chest, your decorated nails grazing over the fabric like you knew exactly what you were doing. He squeezed your wrists harder, pulling your hands away from him with a sharp tug, then leaned in—his lips brushing just beside your ear, his breath warm and heavy.
“You really want motivation?” he whispered, almost mockingly. “Because I can give it to you. I’ll bend you over this table and keep you there until you stop acting like a brat and start acting like a student.”
You could feel the tension vibrating off him—controlled, focused, intense. His voice was calm, but it carried weight. Promise. Threat.
“I don’t care how pretty you are. If you can’t sit still and learn, I’ll make sure the only thing you remember from this session is how it felt to be put in your place.”
He pulled back slightly, eyes locked with yours. There was no room left for games—only a challenge, one that made your pulse quicken.
With every harsh word that left Jungwon’s mouth, heat pooled low in your belly—warm, aching, impossible to ignore. You bit your lip, desperately holding back the soft moans threatening to slip out after each sentence. Your body shifted in his lap, restless and needy, reacting to his voice like it was a command carved straight into your skin.
Your breath quickened, shallow and shaky, as your eyes glazed over with a hazy mix of arousal and anticipation. You could barely meet his gaze, not from shame—but from how dizzying the tension had become.
“Wonnie~” you finally whimpered, your voice breathless and soaked in need, high and sweet like a plea.
Jungwon's grip on your wrists tightened as he felt you squirming in his lap, your breathy whimpers filling the air. He leaned back slightly, a wicked smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he took in your flushed cheeks and clouded eyes.
"Listen to you, getting all hot and bothered from me just talking dirty to you. You really are a pathetic slut, aren't you?" He taunted, his voice dripping with disdain.
Jungwon's hands slid up your arms, gripping your shoulders tightly as he pulled you flush against his chest. He could feel the swell of your ample breasts pressing against him, your hardened nipples straining against the thin fabric of your tank top.
"Tell me, you brainless whore, is this what you want? To be manhandled and used like the fuck toy you are?" Jungwon's smirk grew wider as he felt your body trembling with anticipation.
"Because I can give you exactly what you're craving. I can fuck you so hard, so deep, you'll be ruined for any other man. Is that what you need?" He growled, his hips grinding up slightly to press his hardening bulge against your core.
The moment you felt his bulge press against your core, a soft, involuntary moan slipped past your lips, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. Your breath hitched, sharp and shaky, and your fingers dug into his shoulder—tight, almost clawing for something to hold onto.
“Please… Wonnie,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need, barely more than a whimper.
You bit your lip hard as you ground your hips down against him, chasing even the smallest bit of friction. Every movement sent sparks through you, your body trembling with how badly you needed more. The tension was unbearable—thick, hot, and impossible to escape.
You looked up at him, eyes glassy, pleading—wordless, but loud with desire.
Jungwon let out a low, dark chuckle as he felt you grinding desperately against his hardening bulge, your needy moans filling his ears.
"Please what, you brainless whore? Please fuck you stupid until you can't think straight?" He taunted, one hand sliding down to grab your ass roughly, squeezing the plump flesh.
With a sudden, sharp movement, Jungwon stood up, easily lifting you with him. He carried you over to a near empty group study room.
As he suddenly picked you up, you gasped and your arms instinctively went to hug his neck in shock. Your face buried in his neck. You giggled in between my desperate quiet moans.
Before you could react, he threw you down and bent you over the table, pressing your upper body down against the cool surface.
You gasped and moaned even louder as you flung your head to look at him from behind with an anticipating smile.
Jungwon's hand slid under your short short skirt, pushing your panties aside to expose your dripping slit. He ran a finger along your folds, feeling the slick heat coating his digit.
You felt his fingers digging into you and moaned slightly "mmhh... won"
"Fuck, you're already so wet, you desperate whore. You really are gagging for my cock, aren't you?" He growled, pressing a finger inside your tight entrance.
Jungwon quickly undid his pants, freeing his large, veiny cock. It sprang out, slapping against your ass with a lewd thwack. The thick head was already drooling with pre-cum, the shaft pulsing and throbbing with need.
as you felt his hard big dick smacking your ass, your ass squirmed in anticipation and moaned
"Fuck won... Your so big" you teased, gasping and giggling.
"Hmmm, yeah you like that? You slut." he growled as his hands found your ass, kneading it harshly. Without warning, Jungwon smacked your ass, a loud noise echoing through the room.
He moved his hands to gripped your hips tightly and thrust forward, burying his massive cock deep inside your soaked cunt with one brutal stroke.
You immediately moaned loudly, almost a scream. Your body tensing up and your eyes instinctively closing in pleasure
"Fuuuckkk..." you said as you felt your body slowly calming down slightly.
He groaned at the tight, wet heat engulfing his shaft, his hips slapping against your ass as he hilted inside you.
"Take it, you cock hungry slut. Fucking take my dick like the whore you are." Jungwon snarled, immediately setting a hard, fast pace as he began to pound into your needy hole.
You barely got used to it. He immediately set a hard and fast pace and pounded harshly. You felt your own ass reddening over his hard thrusts.
A loud moan left your lips, you could feel your mind clouding in pleasure
"Yes yes yes" you repeatedly said, "Wonnie... please.. yess- fuck- feels so good, ur soo good" you said delirious, as if you were drunk on his cock.
Jungwon grunted as he felt your tight walls clenching and fluttering around his pistoning cock, your desperate moans and whimpers spurring him on.
He gripped your hips harder, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he pounded into you with brutal, animalistic fervor.
"That's right, take my fucking cock like the eager little cock sleeve you are. Your hungry cunt is gripping me so fucking tight." Jungwon growled, punctuating his words with a particularly hard thrust that had you seeing stars.
"You love this, don't you slut? Love having your greedy hole stretched out and filled by a real man's dick?"
your eyes going to the back of your head, as you moaned louder and louder in pleasure
"Yes won, I love your cock so much, I'm a slut wonnie, I'm ur slut" you said in a slight mumble. your cunt gripping impossibly more onto his cock.
He slid a hand up your back, gripping your hair and wrenching your head back as he leaned down to snarl in your ear.
Your back arched further and a moan left your lips. You could feel your own release coming,
"Won im gonna cum, im cumming, please, feelsh sho good" You screamed loudly, as your eyes closed instinctively. Your face scrunching, a loud moan rose from your throat, every thrust he gave.
"Yeah, just like that. Scream for me, whore. Let everyone know who this cunt belongs to now. Let them hear what a desperate, cock-drunk slut you are for me." Jungwon's hips never faltered, slamming into you with enough force to rattle the table beneath you.
Jungwon's balls slapped obscenely against your clit with every thrust, the wet squelching and slapping sounds of their fucking filling the room.
The musky scent of sex and sweat permeated the air as Jungwon rutted into you like a man possessed, determined to ruin you for anyone else.
He could feel his release approaching, the telltale tingling building at the base of his spine. With a harsh grunt, he slammed into you one last time before burying himself to the hilt, his thick cock pulsing and throbbing as he emptied his heavy load deep inside your spasming cunt.
Your eyes fluttered open, only to roll back as your mouth fell open in a breathless gasp. Cunt gripping and fluttering on his cock as you felt his cum filling your insides. You trembled as you felt your release coming over you and a loud moan escaped your mouth. The noise falling from your mouth, unrestrained and raw.
"Fuck, take my cum you brainless bitch. Fucking take every last drop like the cum dumpster you are." Jungwon groaned, his hips jerking and twitching as spurt after spurt of his hot seed painted your insides white.
Jungwon's chest heaved as he caught his breath, his softening cock still buried deep inside your dripping cunt.
Shivers racked through you as you slowly pulled yourself back together. Your body began to come down, the rush fading into a warm, hazy stillness.
He looked down at your disheveled form, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he took in the sight of you trembling and moaning through your intense orgasm.
"That's it, cum on my fucking cock like the desperate slut you are. Milk my dick with this greedy cunt." He growled, giving a few more shallow thrusts as your walls fluttered and clenched around him.
As you slowly recovered and slid off his cock, Jungwon grunted at the sudden emptiness. But his smirk only grew wider as he watched you eagerly grab his sensitive shaft, stroking and licking at the mix of your combined juices coating his skin.
You licked and stroked his cock as you moaned and whined on it, your eyes closed, basking in the taste of yourself on his softening cock.
He tangled his fingers in your hair, gripping the strands tightly as he pulled your head back, forcing you to look up at him.
"Look at you, so fucking eager to clean my cock like the dirty slut you are. You can't get enough, can you?" Jungwon taunted, his voice a low, dark rumble. A groan left his lips as he threw his head back in pleasure.
You took his cock and slapped it on your own cheeks, lulling your tongue, His head lowering down meeting your insatiable gaze and the mess you were underneath him.
"Is this what you wanted, you filthy cock sleeve? To have your face painted with the proof of what a dirty whore you are?"
A breathy giggle left your swollen lips, the feeling of your spit and your combined fluids sticking to your face making you giddy.
Jungwon's eyes flashed with cruel amusement as he watched you giggle and moan around his sensitive flesh, your tongue lolling out obscenely.
"Such an obedient little cock warmer, so desperate to please" He purred, the dark promise in his words sending a shiver down your spine.
You felt your cunt fluttering and gripping against nothing as you continued to put his hardening dick back in your mouth and sucking him off.
"Come on wonnie~ u have more right? cum on my face baby." you said as you stroke his cock and continued to deepthroat him
Jungwon's eyes darkened with lust and cruel amusement as he watched you eagerly deepthroating his sensitive cock, your throat convulsing around his thick shaft. He smirked at your teasing words, giving your hair a sharp tug in warning.
"Oh, you want me to cum on your slutty face, you brainless whore? Want me to mark you as my personal fuck toy in front of everyone?" Jungwon growled, his hips starting to piston forward as his cock began to harden and lengthen again inside your hot mouth.
He fucked your face with brutal, animalistic fervor, slamming his thick cock into your throat over and over. The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the room as Jungwon used your mouth like a cheap fleshlight.
You felt his hands gripping your hair impossibly harder and forcing you to swallow his thick cock. You gagged on his cock filling up your throat, restricting your airway. Your eyes rolling back as you tried to pull away from him, but he didn’t loosen his hold—his fingers still tangled tightly in your hair. Pressing you further down his length.
You slapped his thigh repeatedly as you could feel yourself drowning on his cock. With a groan he released your head, you threw yourself off him for a gasp of air and laughed breathlessly
"Fuck, ur so big for a nerd." You teased.
"Shut up." He growled lowly with a harsh grunt, gripping your hair tightly as he stroked his throbbing shaft. He aimed the flared head at your face, the angry red flesh pulsing and twitching as he neared his release.
"Open wide, you dirty slut. Stick out that whorish tongue and let me paint your pretty face with my cum." Jungwon snarled, his voice dripping with cruel, degrading lust.
You opened your mouth and closed your eyes anticipating for his cum to hit your face.
With a strangled groan, he erupted, thick ropes of hot, sticky seed erupting from his cock. Jungwon's cum splattered across your cheeks and tongue, the pearly essence dripping down your chin and neck as he marked you as his personal fuck toy.
You moaned at the feeling of his cum hitting your face. Jungwon loomed over your cum-splattered form, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.
As his cum came to a stop, you opened your eyes and looked up at him as you wiped his cum with your finger and pushed it towards your mouth and sucked it off your finger and released it with a pop
"Mmm.. taste so good" you said, breathless and giggling.
He watched with a smug, satisfied smirk as you eagerly sucked his seed off your finger, your breathless giggles music to his ears.
"That's right, taste my cum. Get used it, cause you'll be having a lot more of it from now on." Jungwon said with a dark chuckle, his tone dripping with cruel promise.
He tucked himself back into his pants, not bothering to wipe the lingering remnants of your mixed essence from his softening cock. Jungwon knew he would be using your holes again and again, marking you inside and out as his personal fucktoy.
Leaning down, he gripped your chin tightly, forcing you to meet his intense, piercing gaze.
"You're mine now, understand? This slutty body belongs to me. I'll fuck you whenever and however I want, and you'll take it like the desperate whore you are. Got it?" Jungwon growled, his eyes flashed with possessive lust.
He released your chin with a sharp tug, standing up straight and towering over your smaller form.
"Now, get dressed and meet me back at my dorm room in an hour. I'm not done breaking in my new fucktoy just yet." Jungwon ordered, turning to head for the door.
to be continued...?
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ ˙ฅᨐฅ ̟ !! hey so u made it to the end, congrats!! thank you for reading my shitty writing that i made at 3 in the morning lolz. im thinking of writing a part 2 to this, im also thinking of making a psycho heeseung x nurse reader au or enemies with benefit ni-ki or maybe something fluffy in the future. so if you would like to see that i could make a tag list. ANYWAYS thank you sm for reading, i hoped u enjoyed it , and got off lol. TOODLES!
COMMENTS, FEEDBACKS, NOTES, AND REBLOGS ARE ALL APPRECIATED
