sweetheart

20

[swthrtlss]

can anyone recommend me some good new dad!soobin / baby fever!soobin IDK JUST something about soobin wanting a baby/trying for a baby/being a cute dad ANYTHING NSFW BREEDING W/ READER IM BEGGING soobin with baby yoojun is all over my fyp and its so cute !!! thats all thank u mwa

[suga-kookiemonster]

ctrl alt del | jjk

summary⇢ you graduated bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but, to your extreme disappointment, your big girl job isn't turning out to be nearly as exciting as you thought it would be. still, you're holding out hope that your talents will soon be recognized and your coworkers will stop trying to include you in their gossip sessions. enter jungkook, the quiet IT guy who's gradually making your days more bearable. (and if you find him easy on the eyes, that's nobody's business but yours.) pairing⇢ jungkook/reader word count⇢ 19.8k 🤭 genre⇢ smut | humor | office!au warnings⇢ sexual content, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, corporate nonsense, jk is a nerd but he's also really hot 😩 a/n⇢ omg, she's finally here 😭 this fic has been sitting in my drafts partially finished for literal YEARS lmfaoo. as in, jungkook didn't even have tattoos yet years ☠️ in fact, the whole plot for this was spawned from that time namjoon was on a live in his studio and jk visited in this yellow buttonup looking like a hot nerd and namjoon said he looked like he had an interview. it had to be 2018ish...i know my OGs know exactly what i'm talking about, but i'll put it below the cut for reference. ANYWAYS this was fun to imagine, but it's also entirely fiction so please don't attempt anything that happens in this fic lmao. mood for this fic is this. hope you enjoy~ 💜

When you graduated top of your class with a marketing degree and a job already lined up, you weren’t big-headed to assume you would be given a lot in the beginning. No, you knew that you were the new kid on the block and needed to prove yourself first, needed to work your way up from the bottom. But what you definitely didn’t anticipate was working up from the figurative trenches, almost exclusively doing busywork—constantly making coffee runs, catering business lunches, printing out endless spreadsheets.

Eighty-thousand dollars in debt, and you are a glorified intern.

While you’re positively itching to hit the ground running and get your hands dirty, your job isn’t too bad. The people there are all nice and welcoming, the complimentary coffee in the break room is decent enough for your dwindling bank account, and every quarter the company sponsors an employee barbecue where everyone can fraternize and enjoy free food.

“Apparently it fosters unity and teamwork,” your coworker Joy informs you as you both stand in the food line. “Seokjin—that’s our CEO—is really big on unity and teamwork.”

Joy is also a member of your marketing team. Though friendly, she has zero filter and thus always has a lot to say about everything—which has helped you when it comes to learning the ropes about the company, but has also had you clutching your imaginary pearls in certain situations where you found her topic of choice inappropriate. 

Despite only being a year older than you, her title of Marketing Associate instead of your measly Assistant means that she technically outranks you, though she doesn’t usually enforce that fact (unless there was something that needed to be copied or filed, of course). Still, she immediately took you under her wing when you first started and is the closest person to a friend you have at work (even though her daily coffee order is always so ridiculous, you are convinced that she has to be fucking with you—or at least engaging in some form of mild hazing).

“I think it’s nice,” you reply truthfully. “I’ll never say no to free food, and they let us out early and everything.”

“I mean, pretty sure you can get the hotdogs twelve in a pack at the dollar store,” Joy quips, raising her eyebrows at you pointedly. “But sometimes the boys from Sales take their shirts off and play soccer, so there’s that.”

Your eyes dart to said Sales Boys against your will, gaze drawn to Jung Hoseok as he chats animatedly with his teammates by the tables. You’ve only spoken to him once or twice, but his fiery red hair and even brighter smile caught your attention immediately, your heart rate accelerating at the sight of him in hallways mere days into starting your new position. Who better to have a mild work crush on than a sweet-talking salesman who winks at you sometimes in passing?

An appreciative noise has you turning back around, embarrassed at being caught ogling how shapely Hoseok’s butt looks in his dress pants today, but it’s just Wendy from Accounting, Joy’s best friend and thus a harmless, familiar face. Wendy has cut in front of a few editors to join you and Joy, and the way that she smiles at you lets you know she’s up to no good. “He’s cute, huh?” she asks, leaning towards you conspiratorially. “I would definitely give him the good ol’ suck behind the dumpsters over there, if you catch my drift.”

“Err…yeah, I do,” you reply awkwardly. She had been explicitly clear—keyword explicit—so there definitely isn’t any room for misunderstandings. Is this truly appropriate work function conversation? From the way the editors behind you are politely clearing their throats, you think not.

“Behind the dumpster?” Joy asks curiously. “That sounds unnecessarily smelly. He’s standing right next to some sturdy tables that I, for one, would take great advantage of—”

“I’m gonna go get us some drinks,” you announce loudly, your neck heating up. “Can you grab me a hot dog, Joy?”

“Sure,” she says dismissively, already distracted by her sudden debate with Wendy about the most convenient place to suck off salesman Jung.

The whole conversation is making you uncomfortable. You are not a prude—far from it—but there is a time and place for everything, and your coworkers’ blasé attitude towards inappropriate topics at company functions on company time rattles you a bit. So instead of engaging in the risqué discussion further, you make your way to the cluster of brightly-colored coolers that presumably hold beverages, sidling up to the only other person lingering the area.

“Anything good?” you ask cordially, making your coworker, who had apparently been deep in thought while considering his beverage options, startle a bit.

He’s tall, his large frame covered in the appropriate business casual attire of nice jeans and a powder-blue button-up. When he turns his head to look at you, you’re met with large, dark eyes blinking in surprise from behind wire-rimmed glasses. Said eyes dart around for a moment before determining that you were, in fact, speaking to him.

The man clears his throat. “Just the usual,” he says, voice soft. Timid.

“The usual?” you repeat. There are little hoops dangling from his earlobes, and you brush off your surprise at seeing them, returning your gaze to the coolers. Water, a clear soda, a cola. “The basics, you mean. Well, can’t really complain, right? Seeing as it’s all free. I think it’s really nice of them.”

Your companion seems surprised at your words. “It is,” he agrees softly, eyes meeting yours for a second before dropping back down to the cooler. “Um, are you...are you new?”

“Damn, I guess my cover’s blown.” You shoot him a wry smile. “Yeah, I just started a couple of weeks ago. What gave it away?”

“It’s just—no one else here really cares about these barbecues anymore,” he admits, looking at you, but not quite. More like, in your direction. “Everyone has forgotten to appreciate the little things.”

“Nothing is a given,” you shrug. “So you need to appreciate things when you can. And besides, those lots of little things can really add up without you realizing it.”

He finally seems to look at you properly, and the weight of his large, gentle brown eyes throws you off for a second. “They can,” he agrees, lips slowly drifting up. 

“What do we have over here?” a loud voice interrupts, a hand falling to your shoulder. You look up, and are met with the brightness of salesman Jung.

“Ah,” Hoseok says with a wink, reaching into the cooler. “I love Sprite.”

“Me too,” you reply automatically, and then immediately want to smack yourself. Because you don’t—carbonated beverages make you break out. But your mouth had formed the lie without your permission.

Embarrassed, you reach into the cooler, grabbing three water bottles. “See you later,” you squeak, avoiding eye contact as you make your escape.

Joy and Wendy are already watching you when you return to where they have procured a table, and when you hand them their waters, Joy raises an eyebrow. “I was wondering how long you were going to talk to that IT guy.”

“Yeah, and why did you leave when Hoseok showed up?” Wendy pouted. “_____, the universe is only going to give you so many opportunities. If you don’t want the ball, then pass it to me! Goddamn.”

“IT guy?” you prompt, hoping to slide past that last remark.

“Yeah. His name is Jungkook, I think? Mostly works with the printers, started a couple months ago.” Joy shrugs, obviously indifferent to the topic. She reaches for the ketchup bottle in the center of the table and squirts some on her hot dog. “This is the first time I’ve seen him at a barbecue, though. Honestly, I’m surprised he even came out, because the IT dudes generally keep to themselves. They rarely leave their little tower,” she adds with a dismissive wave.

Wendy scoffs in disinterest. “Who cares about Jeremy! Hurry up and eat, I’m sure Sales is gonna start their soccer game soon.”

“Soccer game?” you ask distractedly. A glance back to the coolers shows Jungkook is gone, and you don’t see him in the immediate vicinity.

“The sales department likes to play soccer during these things,” Joy reminds you. Her expression brightens. “Hey, maybe Hoseok will take his shirt off again! Let us pray.”

To your coworkers’ disappointment, Hoseok did not take his shirt off. But they certainly had a good time watching his athletic display across the grass anyway.

Monday morning—the start of the workweek, but also, rather depressingly, the end of the weekend. Everyone tends to be more tired and grumpy on Mondays (yourself included), and this is why your team considers it essential that you always stop by their preferred coffeeshop and bring in their drinks for a morning pick-me-up. You’re the lowest on the ladder, so you weren’t exactly sure how to refuse when you were asked one day if you would mind picking up some drinks for everyone, and then, after that, people kept sending you their orders like it was expected of you. The café is technically on your way to work and everyone always pays you back, but it’s still pretty irritating to have to forgo those extra precious minutes of sleep just so you can beat the long lines and get to work on time.

Today, you’re lucky enough to get ahead of the morning rush, but that means that you end up trudging into the building much earlier than you anticipated. You hope the coffee’s insulated cups do their job properly, because you really don’t have the energy to listen to Joy huff and puff about having to reheat hers.

Your trek to your cubicle slows when you realize that someone is already there, sitting in your chair and typing away on your keyboard. Their back is to you, swathed in an olive button-up, and it’s not until you get close enough to curiously crane your head to see their face that you recognize him. The guy from the barbecue last week—the one by the coolers.

He startles a bit when he sees you approach in his peripheral vision, eyes darting up at you in surprise.

“Hi.” You raise the tray you’re holding in an awkward greeting. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to creep up on you.”

“That’s okay, _____,” he replies softly, wide eyes blinking a little from behind his round glasses. “I can get kind of spacey when I’m focused on something. I was just doing some updates on your machine and didn’t see you.”

“You…” Your head tilts curiously. “You know my name?” 

A small smile touches his lips as he points to your computer. “I’m updating your machine,” he reminds you.

Not to mention the fact that he’s literally sitting in your cubicle, your name tag clearly posted on the frosted glass that separates your space from Joy’s. An embarrassed chuckle leaves you when you realize your dumbass mistake. “Oh. Duh. Wow, that was a stupid question. Let me just get out of your way.”

“No, no, I’m clearly the one in the way!” His head shakes apologetically. “I couldn’t do this update remotely and I thought you didn’t clock in for another half hour—sorry about that.”

“I don’t,” you confirm. “But I tend to get here a little early so I can sort out everyone’s coffee order.”

A brow raises in surprise. “Do they really have you making coffee runs?” he asks incredulously.

You hmm in confirmation, moving to set the coffee on everyone’s desks. “Rite of passage, I guess,” you call over the divider as you work. Joy’s order today isn’t as over the top as you know she can be, but you were still rather embarrassed to order it (vanilla latte with oatmilk—one and a half pumps cinnamon, one pump hazelnut, an extra espresso shot and extra foam with honey drizzle). The barista had looked at you tiredly but hadn’t voiced her obvious judgement when she rung you up. 

“I guess,” you hear him say, but he doesn’t sound too convinced. 

Coffee distributed and hands finally free, you return to lean against your cubicle, hovering as he continues to quickly type and click. You look at him pointedly, a small smile creeping across your face. “Speaking of grunt work, I hear you’re the printer guy.”

His lips quirk. “I’m also the expert at updating Microsoft Word, just so you know.”

You laugh, and his eyes crinkle in amused response. “Oh, well excuse me, sir.”

“I’ll let it slide this once. Since you’re new.”

“And so are you. That’s why you’re the printer guy.”

He just lets out a puff of air that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. This close, you can now see the tiny holes that are trailing up his earlobe—he clearly has multiple ear piercings, not just the ones you saw at the barbecue. There is no jewelry in them now, though. 

“Jungkook, right?”

It’s his turn to look surprised, and you find yourself satisfied by the flush creeping up the back of his neck when he ducks his head in confirmation. 

“Us newbies gotta stick together,” you stage whisper behind a conspiratorial hand before leaning decidedly away. “Anyway, let me stop bothering you and go make some coffee.”

His eyebrows scrunch in clear confusion. “Didn’t you just bring some?”

“…Yeah, I am only just now recognizing just how bizarre this must seem,” you say sheepishly. “But none of those were for me—fancy specialty drinks aren’t really in my budget, so I tend to just brew a cup here.” 

“Did you say drinks?” a voice croaks, and when you turn your head, there’s Joy, walking towards the two of you. If her body’s sluggish movements weren’t enough to clue you in to the fact that she’s exhausted and possibly hungover, the designer sunglasses she’s wearing to tactfully hide half her face certainly do.

“On your desk,” you chirp as she walks past you without another glance. “Good morning!”

There is no response from the other side of the cubicle wall, and Jungkook frowns a bit, but you just give him a small shrug that translates to what can you do? before pushing off the wall to continue your trek to the kitchen. “You want one?” you offer. “I make a mean cafeteria coffee. Trial and error has taught me the exact temperature of tap water to use to make it taste less like sludge.”

His mouth smoothes back out at your joke, and though you wait for him to call you out on your ridiculous declaration, his gaze is already back on your computer. “No thank you,” comes his soft reply.

With a nod to yourself, you move to complete your task and leave Jungkook to work on his. When you return minutes later, newly-filled mug in hand, he’s already gone.

Today starts out pretty typically. After bringing everyone’s coffee, you settle into monitoring the company’s social media accounts. (When Joy first delegated this task to you, you were a bit confused, as social media is so vital to brands nowadays that handling it is technically a whole other full-time job. But it turns out you don’t have to do much above the intern level anyway—just answer customer questions and escalate issues if need be.)

Your manager has been out traveling for a week, but today she finally comes back to the office, and it makes for a nice change of pace when she hands you all of her scattered, hurriedly-scribbled notes and asks you to please transcribe them into something more cohesive and legible. Well, not nice, exactly (because at the end of the day, this is still busywork), but if you have to reply to one more Facebook comment with instructions that are clearly already on the product packaging, there is a pretty likely possibility you will scream. 

This is at least slightly less mind-numbing. Instead of copy-pasting things from a prewritten script, you get to try to make sense of what your boss had been trying to say when she wrote turkey club in the corner of a page filled with random numbers and dates. Was this important? Was it simply her plans for lunch that day? You and your fancy college degree have the pleasure of trying to figure that out while Joy and Alan, the web manager, get to actually do important things that are in their job descriptions.

Still, like every day, you try to dampen your frustration, try to keep a positive attitude. Because ultimately, this is an opportunity to grow your boss’s confidence in you, and that’s exactly what you want. Though you’re a little disheartened by all the busywork, you remind yourself it will all be worth it in the end. Your hope is that if you put in the time, you’ll eventually be trusted with more of the nitty gritty stuff. 

(You know…the stuff you actually got your degree for.)

But no matter how positive you are, things of course don’t go as smoothly as they should. After you’ve done a pretty fantastic job (if you say so yourself) of organizing and typing everything up, you send your manager the digital version. And, because you know the email may accidentally get buried in her inbox, you decide to print a physical copy for good measure.

You give the printer pretty simple, straightforward directions. One copy, double-sided (to do your part to save Mother Earth), the whole document typed in plain old black and white. But when you walk over, there’s nothing waiting for you in the printing tray. No humming to clue you in to the fact that the printer was working on your job. Nope. Instead, the admittedly ancient machine is quiet and still, and it stays that way for long enough for you to walk back to your computer to press the print button again, just in case you forgot to do so the first time. Still no dice. You frown, opening the paper tray to make sure it was full, then opening every other compartment that can possibly be opened to make sure there isn’t a paper jam somewhere.

Nothing.

Irritated, you stalk back to your desk, your first inclination to check with Joy and see if she has been having any of the same issues, but you find her chair empty. Probably got pulled into a meeting that they don’t find it necessary to loop you in on, even though it will ultimately be you who does all the grunt work for any action items the meeting produces.

Positive, you remind yourself, falling back into your chair and drumming your fingertips against your desk in thought. Maybe it’s not the printer at all. Maybe it’s your computer. You search your desk drawer for the introductory employee contact sheet HR had given you when you first started, and there he is—Jeon, Jungkook.

For a second, you consider sending him an email, but the green dot that displays he’s online has you shooting him a message instead. Much less formal, but likely quicker for the both of you.

You Hey Jungkook! Sorry to bother you, but I can’t print for some reason You The printer over here is ignoring me, and I don’t think I’m set up to print by the art directors

Despite what you originally assumed, he doesn’t answer immediately, obviously focused on something else. Still, you only have to wait a few minutes before you hear the soft ding you were waiting for. 

Jungkook Jeon Hi, _____. You mean the large printer by the marketing department, correct?   You Yes! I tried a couple times, but I don’t think the job even went through You Thought it best to just ask the printer guy 🙂

There’s a pause, one long enough that you worry that he’s forgotten about your lighthearted exchange from this morning. Shit. That was stupid of you. You’ve probably offended him. Fuck.

But if Jungkook is upset with you, he’s professional enough that it doesn’t come across at all in his next message. If anything, he just seems a little preoccupied. 

Jungkook Jeon Hmmm, let me check it out for you. Mabel can be a little uncooperative. You Mabel? 

Silence again, this time for a good five minutes. You answer some emails so you’re not just sitting there twiddling your thumbs. 

Jungkook Jeon Sorry, was running some diagnostics in the background to see if I could find the problem  Jungkook Jeon IT kinda calls that printer Mabel because we’re pretty sure she’s worked for the company for longer than all of us combined. Seems fitting

You can’t help but snort at that. Cute, and likely not inaccurate. Mabel, it is.   

Jungkook Jeon One of these days Mabel’ll finally retire, but it won’t be today—looks like she’s running fine. Do you mind checking for me and seeing if you can access the marketing server? 

A few clicks, and when double clicking on the server icon doesn’t bring up the same list of folders it usually does, it confirms the conclusion the both of you have already come to—your computer is the problem, not Mabel.

You No dice 😕 Jungkook Jeon Got it. I think something went weird with your network connection after I updated your machine this morning. I can fix that for you! You Awesome! I appreciate it! Jungkook Jeon Of course! Can’t have my sparkling reputation as the Printer Guy tarnished so easily 😉 You LOL

You allow him remote access to your computer when a pop-up prompts you to, and he gets you up and running before your manager’s meeting is even over.

Lunch has always been an interesting—albeit potentially exhausting—part of your day. You learned early on that attempting to take the break you were legally entitled to at your desk did not stop anyone from continuing to ask you for things. Unfortunately, there weren’t many solutions to this problem—you didn’t get paid enough to be able to consistently eat your lunches out, and you lived too far away from the office to go home for lunch instead. So, you started taking your lunch break a little earlier than most of your other coworkers did, ensuring that the cafeteria was pretty empty and allowing you the space to decompress and eat your bagged lunch in peace. 

And as things usually went with this company, it didn’t take long for that peace to be interrupted. Once she noticed you disappearing from your desk, curiosity had Joy tagging along one day, and after that, it only took a couple weeks before both she and Wendy joined you. 

(Later, you would have the great idea to simply enjoy your bagged lunch in the park a few blocks away, but the weather wasn’t always great and at that point, the other two started to expect you to eat with them.)

So that’s exactly how you’re spending your lunch now—scarfing down the soup you made a few days ago that you’ll eat until it’s completely gone, while Joy and Wendy giggle and gossip to each other. As much as they apparently want to eat lunch with you, they tend to be pretty nonplussed by how you never contribute much to their inane conversations. 

And you’re fine with that. In the time it’s taken them to get comfortable invading your zen time, you’ve learned how to properly tune their tittering out. You’re good at nodding at the right times, at throwing in perfectly placed hums that indicate you’re listening, even when you’re not.

Today, it’s a sudden, uncharacteristic pause in their chatter that prickles against your diverted attention.   “That’s weird,” you hear Wendy mutter, and that officially throws you out of you mentally making your grocery list. The intrigued way she’s looking behind you makes you reflexively turn, and that’s when your eyes set on Jungkook.

He hadn’t been there when you first sat down for lunch, but he is now, sitting alone a couple tables away. He’s the only other person in the cafeteria, but from the AirPods in his ears and the way his eyes are focused on his phone screen, you doubt he’s even noticed this fact.  

Joy’s lips downturn slightly into a puzzled frown. “Hmm. IT guys never come down voluntarily from their tower.” 

Your head tilts as you mull over that. That isn’t exactly true. You have only seen Jungkook in passing a few times over the last couple weeks, but those few times prove IT aren’t exactly the antisocial specters the two women in front of you keep painting them as. You have even exchanged the short pleasantries with him that are socially expected when crossing paths at the coffeepot.  

“Wonder what he’s doing here?” Wendy says, not nearly quietly enough in your opinion. Embarrassment  flashes hot through you, inwardly chastising yourself for continuing to associate with such casually judgmental people. You’re already mentally preparing to apologize for your lunch mates when a covert glance out of the corner of your eye shows that Jungkook’s still paying your group no attention, taking distracted bites from his sandwich as his head bobs slightly to whatever is playing through his headphones.

“Whatever,” Joy says with a dismissive shrug, and then just that easily, the two are back gossiping about Cindy in HR.

From then on, you notice that Jungkook continues to eat lunch in the cafeteria at the same time as you. Sometimes, he beats you there, already at his designated table and munching on whatever he brought that day. If your eyes meet, he’ll send you a small smile in greeting before immediately dropping his focus back to his phone. If you’re there first and throw him a wave of acknowledgment, he always returns it, as is polite and expected of two coworkers who don’t know each other beyond their forced proximity.

And you think nothing of it, too busy being your department’s errand girl, the person who gets assigned all the tasks no one else wants to do. The amount of interaction you and Jungkook have is only marginally higher than what you have with Namjoon in Finance, who periodically reaches out to you for any missing receipts for charges on the Marketing department’s credit card.

This slowly starts changing as you begin to have more and more technical problems. You being assigned to put together multiple PowerPoints and research whatever market trends tickles your boss’s fancy means you constantly have an ungodly amount of tabs and applications open. This means you’re not really surprised when your computer—an older model that is definitely on its last leg—starts freezing and giving you pop up errors. A force restart seems to fix the problem, but a new one emerges—now, no matter how many times you hit the print button and walk over to your designated printer, nothing awaits for you to pick up. Even scrolling through the printer’s print history shows no record of your jobs being in the queue. It’s bizarre—you even make sure to confirm you’re connected to the servers, and that doesn’t seem to be the issue this time.

Frowning, you make your way back to your desk and scroll down your chat messages until a familiar face appears.

You  Hey Jungkook! I can’t seem to print—think something weird is going on with my computer today

A soft sigh of frustration escapes your lips, fingers drumming irritably against your desk. It isn’t even noon, but the day is already looking to be a long one.

Resigned, you settle in to wait for him to answer you in the chat, but the little bubbles that indicate he’s typing never pop up. Instead, you’re surprised when movement in your peripheral produces Jungkook himself, slowing in approach of your desk, though his focus is still on his phone screen. He must have gotten your message in the midst of doing something else. 

“Oh! Hi,” you greet him eagerly. “Just the person I was looking to see.”

He looks up at you from beneath the curtain of his bangs, a small smile touching his lips as he stuffs his phone back into the pocket of his slacks. “Just the person I was looking for,” he returns. “What seems to be the problem?” 

“Mabel is being a bitch again,” you say with an irritated sigh. “Every time I try to print, nothing is happening.” 

Jungkook snorts, amused, and it’s only then that your brain registers exactly what you just said. Swearing at work is unprofessional so you make it a point not do it, but that one slipped out so casually. “Oh—sorry.”

But if Jungkook is offended, it certainly doesn’t show in the responding chuckle he lets out. “That’s definitely on brand. I can fix that—let me take a look.”

You move to relinquish your seat, but he’s already leaning over you before you can do more than shift your weight. So you just let go of your mouse so he can control it instead, scooting to the side a bit and trying your best not to think too hard about how he’s close enough for your clothes to brush. Christ does he smell good.

Jungkook clicks around a bit, no doubt checking to make sure your computer is up to date and connected to everything it’s supposed to. “Is this what you’ve been trying to print?” he finally asks, brows furrowed in concentration.

You blink at the question, realizing with dawning horror that you were accidentally distracted by his proximity. You clear your throat, shaking your head a little at yourself in an attempt to clear it of all thoughts that aren’t solidly on the task at hand. “Yeah.” 

He clicks the print button, just as you have done for the past ten minutes, then straightens with a shrug. “Let’s give our old girl a visit and see what her deal is.”

You stand, following him around the corner to the copy room, where Mabel has proudly taken residence for who knows how many years. The fact that you can already see she’s humming with activity as the two of you approach has your eyebrows knitting in confusion.

Jungkook seems equally confused, reaching in the tray for the stack of paper that was just spit out and turning it over to confirm both of your suspicions. The report you’ve been trying to print for the last twenty minutes sits in his hand, likely still warm from how quickly and easily Mabel completed Jungkook’s request. He holds it up for you to see, his big doe eyes peering at you quizzically through his glasses. “This printer was the one that wouldn’t work for you?” he asks.

“Yeah, I definitely sent it to this one. Repeatedly,” you insist. Embarrassment prickles across your skin. “I swear it wasn’t working two seconds ago!”

Jungkook smiles when he hands you the papers, and it somehow softens his naturally cherubic face even more. “You just wanted to say hi to me, huh?” 

“Clearly Mabel likes you more than me,” you sniff at his teasing. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

“You didn’t,” he says simply. He hovers for a few more moments as you check to make sure all the pages are there. “Let me know if you have any more issues, okay?”

“Will do,” you agree, mind already back on your work as you both turn to part ways. “Thank you so much for your help!”

“Anytime.”

“Didn’t you have a date last night?” Joy asks. 

It’s lunchtime again, early enough that the three of you are still the only ones in the cafeteria. While both Joy and Wendy are munching on some overpriced salads they had delivered from a restaurant a couple blocks away, you’re eating a boring ham and cheese sandwich that you haphazardly slapped together in your rush to get out the door this morning. Vaguely, you do remember Wendy mentioning something about an upcoming hot date, but she was always rambling about a hot date, and frankly, you don’t care enough to keep up with any details. Everything you know about her love life—and her, in all honesty—has been dumped onto you without you having any say in the matter. 

“I did,” Wendy squeals, excited as always to have the opportunity to talk about herself. “His name was Miles. We’ve been talking on Tinder for the past week—he was really sweet and seemed to want to get to know me. Last night he took me to a nice restaurant, really wined and dined me.”

“Wow,” Joy says, eyebrows raised. “That sounds promising. When are you gonna see him again?”

“I’m not,” Wendy scoffed. “He was nice and all, but he’s only 5’7. It’ll never work out.”

“True.”

You’ve been trying your hardest to zone them out, but the longer Wendy prattles on, each sentence more baffling than the last, you can’t help but interject, “Doesn’t the app let you filter out height preferences?”

Wendy pauses, a raise of an eyebrow betraying her surprise at you finally participating in her lunchtime shenanigans. “Not on the free version.”

“So why did you even entertain him if you knew you would never consider him seriously?” 

“..because I wanted to go to dinner?” Wendy replies flatly, the look on her face doing nothing to hide how stupid she thinks your question is. “Besides, he got what he wanted out of the deal. After dinner I took him home and let him fuck.” 

The flippantly casual way she throws out the vulgar word feels like a record scratch, especially since the three of you are, in fact, still very much on company premises. Wendy doesn’t seem to notice just how much she’s scandalized you, continuing to prattle on at full volume about how the sex was pretty good for a Tinder date, even though he refused to eat her out. 

At this point, you’ve long slowed in your chewing, now entirely too incredulous by the absurdity of the situation you’ve found yourself in to eat. 

“You didn’t suck him, did you?” Joy asks.

Wendy scoffs. “Of course not! I’m not giving head to some random anyway, especially if he’s not gonna give me mine first.”

“Can we not talk about this?” you mumble.

They both turn to stare at you, judgement plain on their faces. Wendy snorts. “Wow, _____. I never took you to be a prude.”

“I did,” Joy slides in under her breath.

You let out an agitated huff. This is ridiculous. “I’m not a prude.”

The two of them share a look. After a pause, Wendy finally asks in a way that indicates that it doesn’t really matter what you say because her mind is already made up, “Then what’s the problem?”  

Aside from this conversation being a massive HR violation?

Wendy continues smugly, as if she’s figured you out, “Talking about oral hit a nerve…interesting.”

Yes, Wendy! you think sarcastically, fighting the intense urge to roll your eyes. The whole rest of the convo was good and dandy—oral was definitely the line, though! 

Joy just looks at you, her eyes narrowing the longer she does. Her scrutiny makes your skin prickle in irritation. “You have gotten head before, right?”

“Okay!” you say sharply, stuffing the uneaten half of your sandwich back into the bag. “One, that’s neither of your business, and two, this conversation is completely inappropriate. Let’s change the subject, please.” 

It’s quiet for a moment, both of them visibly surprised by your response. Joy actually looks a tiny bit proud that you stood up for yourself, but Wendy just sniffs and mutters, “That obviously means no.” Ultimately, they both back off, choosing instead to chatter about the newest design of Joy’s nails.

You exhale a tiny sigh of relief. Wendy was hitting the nail too close to the head and you truly didn’t feel like explaining your life story to a nosy coworker who was nothing more than your acquaintance, at best. Now that they’ve finally let you out of the hot seat, you’re fully planning to spend the rest of your lunch hour zoning out in relative peace. 

But before you can properly dissociate, you hear someone cough behind you. 

Your blood runs cold. You already know who it is—no one else tends to eat lunch this early.

“How long has he been sitting there?” you whisper, already dreading the answer.

Joy waves an unbothered hand. “I don’t know, like five minutes?”

Five minutes. Long enough to have heard… 

You’re immediately mortified, and it must show on your face, because Wendy just snorts and says way too loudly for your comfort, “Oh, relax, this is probably the most action he’s gotten in months. I’m doing him a favor.”

What the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK. “Are you serious right now?”

“Calm down,” Joy says, rolling her eyes. “Look, he’s not even listening to us.”

And a slow, discrete turn of your head confirms what she says—Jungkook, in an ugly salmon button-up today, has his earbuds in, eyes downcast to his phone screen, lips soundlessly forming the words to whatever song he’s listening to. You feel a tiny bit of relief, but embarrassment still roils deep in your belly, suddenly making your half-eaten sandwich completely unappetizing.

You stand, grabbing the brown paper bag that contains the remnants of your lunch and hoping against hope that you’ll be able to bolt without him noticing.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” Wendy sighs, annoyance bleeding into her tone. “I told you I didn’t realize you were a prude. We can talk about something else.”

You bristle, but tamp down the urge to defend yourself and point out again that you aren’t a prude, you just don’t want to be the office harlot either. “It’s not that,” you lie. The judgmental look in Joy’s eye only softens when you say, “I just remembered I forgot to print the printouts for the meeting this afternoon. I’ll see you guys later?”

“Sure,” Joy says dismissively, and Wendy says nothing at all. They’ve already moved on, no longer interested in your swift escape, attention eagerly back on the details of Wendy’s weekend. That’s works perfectly fine for you—you’ve had enough of being the center of attention for the day.

Blessedly, Jungkook doesn’t even look up when slink past him and out the door.

It’s hot.

Third quarter is well underway, which means that it’s time again for the quarterly company barbecue. That also means it’s hot as balls. 

You suffer quietly, trying not to add to the stank atmosphere Joy and Wendy are already creating due to the heat. It’s an ambitious goal, especially since you’re already sweltering beneath your blouse—which was reasonable to wear within the chilled walls of the office, but feels rather ridiculous now, under the relentless beat of the sun. Despite being grateful for the free food and break from your maddeningly boring work, you can’t help but mentally yearn for the indoors, where there’s proper shade and air conditioning and decidedly less bitching. 

“I don’t know why they don’t just cater something for us to eat inside,” Joy mopes, dabbing at her brow with what you already know from experience to be a cheap, scratchy napkin. “How is anyone supposed to enjoy themselves if we’re melting?”

“It’s probably a ploy,” Wendy quips. “The more uncomfortable we are, the more likely we are to get back to work.”

“The date’s been on the calendar for months,” you point out wearily. “They had no way of knowing there’d be a heat wave today. Besides, the company’s already paid for the food. I doubt they intended to purposely waste that money.”

Joy scoffs in retort. “The company also knows throwing an outdoor event in July is the same as throwing one in Satan’s asshole.”

Wendy sniggers, but you don’t answer, biting back your response that outdoor barbecues are common during summer, and at least they don’t have you out here in the snow. Because honestly? This is only your second quarter with the company, and who knows what the fourth quarter barbecue looks like. 

All you can do is free some of the buttons on your blouse, undoing as many as you can while still being office-appropriate. As it is, you now have a little cleavage peeking out, but with how hot it is, you figure no one will say anything.

“Look,” Wendy says with an unsubtle tip of her head. “Looks like the soccer game is still on, at least.”

Fluttering the hem of your blouse in an attempt to get some circulation, you reflexively respond to her prompting, eyes following her line of sight. A few tables down, the Sales team has finished their meal and appears to be actively gauging coworker interest in joining their game. From the decently-sized group that’s starting to form by the open field, you think they’re pretty successful, despite the heat. 

Joy groans, lifting her long hair with a hand in an effort to cool off the back of her neck. “I don’t know how they’re doing all that when it feels too hot to breathe.”

Inwardly, you agree with her, but Wendy just gives a lazy shrug and says, “Hey, if we’re gonna roast to death, at least we’ll be properly entertained.”

“True,” Joy muses. “And they’re gonna be sweatier than usual.”

Wendy’s eyes glaze over a bit at the thought. You grimace, amazed that these two always seem to have their heads in the gutter. That’s my cue. “I’ll be right back,” you say, brushing off the back of your slacks as you stand, but they pay you no mind when you walk away.

You’ve already finished your meal, but it can’t hurt to take another look at the coolers. It’s so hot that you’ve already downed your first beverage, so a new one is in order. When you arrive to the area, two people from Customer Service pass, nodding at you in acknowledgment as they make their way back to their table. You’ve only just started to reach for a cooler lid when you hear someone address you again. 

“Hey,” a familiar voice says timidly behind you. “How’s it going?”

You reflexively turn your head, simultaneously surprised and not at all to find Jungkook standing there. He’s got on a long-sleeved button-up despite the heat—grey, checkered with a red and navy plaid—and you can’t help but wonder how he’s not sweltering. Though, the noticeable sheen on his face and the way his damp bangs are starting clump together tells you he just might be. 

“I’ve had better days,” you answer honestly, swiping the back of your hand across your forehead. Before you can catch yourself, that same hand is vaguely gesturing at him, head to toe. “How are you not melting?”

His lips twitch, amused. “I definitely am,” he admits. “I actually hoped no one was over here so I could stuff some of the ice from these coolers down my shirt without being judged.”

You snort. “Hey, who’s judging? Certainly not me. Knock yourself out; just make sure you leave me some.” 

He taps his chin, jokingly in thought, but to be honest, he does mildly look as if he’s actually considering it. “Well, we wouldn’t want the beverages to get cold…”

“Eh, there’s probably not that many in here anyway. They could probably consolidate coolers.” To prove your point, you bend over, cracking open one of the red ones next to you and peering inside. The expected assortment of generic sodas greets you, looking admittedly very refreshing floating in their ice bath. “See, this one isn’t even full.”

You angle your torso a bit so you can meet his eye properly over your shoulder, but as soon as you look up at him, his gaze hurriedly skirts away, color crawling up the back of his neck. You stand with a frown, confused by this, but ultimately brush off his weird behavior when you notice Namjoon from Accounting sidling up to the two of you. 

"Hey guys,"  he greets you, a friendly smile dimpling his cheeks. "We're getting some people together for a soccer game. I know it's really hot, but would either of you want to join?"

You’ve often seen Namjoon chatting with Hoseok in passing, and twice have even seen them leave the building for lunch together, so it doesn’t surprise you that the accountant is helping recruit for the Sales team's traditional barbecue pastime. What does surprise you, however, is that when he casually claps a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, the younger man first responds by blinking owlishly at him behind his glasses, and then, a few seconds later, giving him a nod of assent. 

Obviously you don't know Jungkook very well—not at all, really, outside of your ongoing feud with Mabel. But you didn't take him to be the type to be into playing outdoor sports, particularly in this weather, and you certainly didn't expect him to agree so easily. A smile from Namjoon and suddenly all thoughts of stealing cooler ice are gone. 

Namjoon turns back to you, but you're already shaking your head. "Nope, no thank you! Y'all have fun. I'll just supervise from over there in the shade."

"Fair enough," he chuckles, and then he's leading Jungkook across the open field to meet up with the others.

Mildly more interested in the game now, you take this as your cue to grab the beverage you came for—a can of a Lipton knockoff and a bottle of water for good measure—and return to your table.

Joy and Wendy are still yapping when you approach, though in your absence, Joy has apparently decided to move to Wendy’s side of the table. It only takes you following their line of sight to quickly recognize why—that side of the table has an unobstructed view of the upcoming soccer game. Well, unobstructed, so long as you change your seat too. Awkward about intentionally getting in the way, you pause for only a moment before ultimately reaching for the end seat perpendicular to them instead. 

When you lean over a little to pull your chair out from under the table, Joy finally deigns to acknowledge you, ticking an eyebrow. “I can see down your shirt,” she tells you offhandedly. 

Your head snaps down, and you realize she’s right—undoing those few extra buttons has made the billowy fabric more susceptible to gravity, particularly when you leaned over. You yourself could see your whole chest and the basic bra that supported it, and at this angle, you doubt your blouse covered much of that from Joy’s gaze. A hand immediately snaps up to press the material back in place, but before you can even get properly embarrassed, her attention is ripped from you, eyes wide at something behind you.

“Holy—”

Wendy's jaw drops. Your head reflexively turns in the direction they're gawking at.

And before you can stop it, your jaw drops too.

Your tablemates have been known to be dramatic, and are certainly the type to stretch a fact or two. But it’s only now that you fully understand their fixation on these Sales soccer games, because yes, sometimes they do indeed take their shirts off. Like now.

Other than one girl from Compliance, all of the game’s recruits appear to be men, and as such, the group has chosen to distinguish teams by shirts vs. skins. And while the sudden appearance of skin naturally draws most people’s attention, your attention only gravitates towards one person. Cause what the fuck.

You almost don't recognize him, your brain rapidly shuffling through the information it's collected about him over the past few months and struggling to reconcile with what your eyes are actually seeing. Because the Jungkook you know wears glasses and long sleeves and has an unassuming hairstyle that looks suspiciously like a bowl may have been involved at some point. 

But the person you're looking at now? Glasses have been discarded, apparently no longer needing optical assistance, and he’s ditched the button-up, sweat making the white sleeveless tank he has on underneath spottily transparent and divulging the dusk of his nipples. Now that you can properly see the taper of his slim waist, his shoulders are proportionally more broad than you realized. And, since he clearly has no regard for your rapidly rising blood pressure, Jungkook decides now is the perfect time to reach over said shoulders, grab fistfuls of damp fabric, and pull. The sight of him slipping the shirt over his head—the ink of his hair sinfully mussed, the muscles of his back rippling with the movement—has you reflexively swallowing, mouth dry.

He's absolutely ripped. 

There's no other way to say it. A superior specimen, built and honed in a way that's only possible through years of hard work and discipline. He's still lean enough that you can rationalize how you’ve never picked up on that amount of muscle hiding beneath his unassuming dress shirts, but you're still gobsmacked. 

Your mind spins, struggling to come to terms with the near impossible fact Jungkook actually pulled a Clark Kent on you. Well, pulled a Clark Kent if Clark Kent was also covered in gorgeous ink, pigment swirling up his right arm from wrist to shoulder. From this distance you can’t see the exact designs that make up his intricate sleeve, but you can tell it was composed with a purposeful eye. 

Jungkook is absolutely ripped and tattooed. Jungkook. Printer guy Jungkook.

Flustered and trying not to be, you quickly look away, clanking your jaw shut and trying to focus on the plastic tabletop instead. Dear god, this is embarrassing. You really just gawked at your coworker! He was minding his own business and your jaw just reflexively unhinged like a degenerate. God, you hoped he didn't see that.

But any mortification you have is apparently not shared by the other two at your table.

“Is that Justin?!” Wendy demands rather shrilly, eyes wide, and the volume of her question would embarrass you even more if your brain could process any other reaction right now other than straight static. “Justin from IT?!”

You swallow thickly, your responding correction weak and delayed. “Jungkook.” 

“Finally,” Joy groans, pushing her plate away dramatically. “Some good fucking food!”           

You can’t help it then—your eyes drift back up, lured to the soccer players once more and zeroing in on him immediately. Seemingly unable to stray from his form, the heat already producing a sheen over his golden skin even though the game hasn’t started yet.

Surrounded by a few surprised male coworkers, Jungkook’s slightly hunched into himself, shy at the sudden attention. Even with the distance, you can see how Hoseok claps Jungkook on the back, just as animated over his newly revealed physique as the members of your table. But while everyone else is excited by this revelation…

Across the field, Jungkook innocuously turns his head in your direction. Like magnets, his eyes hone in on yours, your gaze locked for a few seconds until another loud What the fuck?! from Wendy frees you from the spell and you hurriedly look away again, a completely different kind of heat washing over you.

Jesus, you need to get ahold of yourself. There’s no way he was actually looking at you—it’s too sunny, and he’s not even wearing his glasses! He probably can’t even see that far.

But when you brave another peek in that direction and realize you can literally count his abs from here—

What the fuck, indeed.

Mutely, you watch the game unfold, not as self-conscious when it becomes clear that the whole office is doing the same. Though Joy and Wendy have been very salacious in their excitement for it, the soccer game is evidently a company barbecue highlight for others as well. And you’re sure Jungkook joining the fray has only added to the interest, as he’s a completely new addition to the equation.

And to your continued astonishment, Jungkook is good. He’s fast and lithe and brazen. He proves to you, again and again, that he can kick the ball with such ferocious accuracy that the other team’s goalie eventually stops trying to get in his way and simply resorts to trying to protect their vulnerable body parts instead. His intensity only entices reciprocal energy from everyone else, and what has traditionally been a lighthearted game between coworkers has now transformed into a group of competitive men who feel they now have something to prove. 

Joy and Wendy are delighted by this development, squealing and cheering and tittering amongst themselves. You sit quietly, still trying to mentally process this new development, but when you start to feel embarrassed by just how much you’re staring, you decide to call it a day. No one really notices when you stand and gather your trash, and luckily the distraction of the game means you’re able to slip out without any fanfare.

This quarter’s barbecue being on a Friday means you’re blessed with a weekend to decompress and regroup. Unfortunately for you, the office doesn’t just…move on from the event like it has in the past. Instead, this particular barbecue was apparently such a success that you continue to hear chatter about it for the next week, mostly in passing. But while everyone else makes small talk about how much fun they had, Joy and Wendy choose to hone in on the only thing they truly consider worthy of discussion—Jungkook. 

Today, just as they have every day for the past few months, they join your table when you take your early lunch. However, to their increasing irritation, the object of their current fixation isn’t here. In fact, Jungkook hasn’t showed up to the cafeteria during your lunch time since before the barbecue, and you inwardly have to admit it’s a little strange without him. You sat at different tables and the two of you never really said much to each other beyond the expected niceties, but you’ve gotten used to his presence all the same. 

You actually have barely seen him at all, with Mabel on her best behavior this week and Jungkook seemingly busy with something that has kept him mostly out of common areas. Still, with your embarrassingly strong reaction to him at the barbecue, it’s probably for the best. You’re a little wary of what your first proper interaction is going to be like, and you’ve been mentally preparing yourself to be as normal as possible. 

Your female lunchmates don’t seem to have that same mindset.

“Does he just not eat anymore?” Joy huffs. “I literally haven’t seen him all week!”

Wendy picks at her salad, lips twisted in a displeased grimace. “I actually saw him yesterday.”

Joy’s head snaps to her. “What?! You didn’t tell me that. What happened?”

“Since casually running into him doesn’t seem to be working, I figured I’d try getting him to come to me. So I unplugged my keyboard and messaged him, but he didn’t show up for like 40 minutes,” Wendy sighs irritably. “And when he did, he looked at me like I was a moron.”

Your lips twitch in amusement before you can stop them. Joy immediately says exactly what you’re thinking. “Well, you are a moron. You sat there for 40 minutes with your keyboard unplugged!”

Wendy soldiers on like she didn't hear her, undeterred from her gossiping. “So he came over in his ugly button-up and judged me! Plugged the keyboard back in and walked away without even saying anything.”

Despite not properly running into him all week, you actually did see Jungkook’s shirt in passing yesterday as he was turning down a hallway at the far end of the office. Wendy’s right—it had been an ugly puce. You found it endearing.

“He didn’t even roll up his sleeves,” Wendy mourned. “The least Jamal could have done was give me that.”

You pause in the chewing of the tuna sandwich you brought from home, exasperated. “Jamal,” you repeat flatly. “Really?”

Wendy waves her hand at you dismissively. “You know who I mean!”

“I mean, he’ll probably be more willing to talk to you if you treat him like an actual person.” Your quip is reflexive and indignant, and it kind of throws all three of you off guard. Joy raises an eyebrow at you and your sudden vexation, but you still add, though more subdued, “You know. Making an effort to remember his name is a good start.”

“Damn, who pissed in your Cheerios?” Wendy sniffs, though she doesn’t seem very offended by your callout. Over the months you’ve superficially gotten to know her, you’ve come to notice that she doesn’t really take much seriously—a simultaneously admirable and frustrating trait. “If you wanted dibs, you could have just said that.”

You feel heat flush up your neck, denial attempting to sputter from your lips, but true to form, Wendy has already moved on, tittering about how it’s about time the office had some proper excitement that wasn’t just meetings and spreadsheets.

“And speaking of meetings,” Joy pipes up, passing you a nonchalant look, “don’t forget to order those sandwiches for the client meeting tomorrow.”

“Sandwiches?” Your mind blanks. You knew your boss was hosting some clients in the office—had even been working on a lot of grunt work to prepare for it—but no one had mentioned anything to you about any sandwiches. “I thought she was wining and dining them?”

Joy let out a mildly irritated huff. “No, they have to catch an early flight home, so the plan has changed to a working lunch. Weren’t you listening in Monday’s meeting?”

No, you hadn’t been listening, because you weren’t invited to the Monday’s meeting. So it looks like a plan had been made and tasks assigned to you…without anyone bothering to communicate that. Typical.

You close your eyes for a second, jaw working as you attempt to tamp down your ever-brewing frustration. If they intend on you ordering from the usual place, it may be too late to cater for delivery, which means you’ll probably be stuck figuring out how to transport multiple giant platters from a restaurant five blocks away. 

“Do you mind forwarding me the request you sent? I must have missed it,” you respond neutrally, knowing full well the original email had never been sent to you. You stand to leave, the rest of your lunch break instantly soured by the revelation that you apparently have time-sensitive action items that are encroaching dangerous territory. “Just want to make sure I get the order correct.”

Joy nods, attention already back on Wendy and only half-listening. In the meantime, you’ll have to research alternatives, just in case.

While you’re lucky enough to find an acceptable last-minute catering option that will also, blessedly, deliver, that doesn’t mean you’re free to take a breather. 

It’s now the end of the day, and one by one, you see everyone around you log out and head for the elevator. Even Joy, who leaves right on time, despite knowing just how many tasks your small team still needs to complete for the big meeting tomorrow. What’s left is mostly grunt work, and while you are undoubtedly a grunt, it’s been clear for a while now that Joy no longer sees herself to be included in that category. So even though having more hands on deck would speed things along considerably, she still gathers her purse and gives you a cheeky finger wave on her way out.

At some point, the cleaning lady makes her rounds, scooting past you with a murmured apology to empty your trash can, but eventually even she disappears. Hell, even the sun abandons you, the soft glow fading from all the windows and stranding you with the cold fluorescent lighting that only remains on in your part of the office, because the lights have motion detectors. 

And so it’s just you, kneeling on the carpet and surrounded by a gazillion binders. Ensuring relevant reports and Powerpoint presentations are accurate and sending digital copies to your boss for her to have on-hand. Attempting to print physical copies and assemble them into binder portfolios your clients will be able to follow along with during the meeting. 

Attempting, because Mabel is, of course, choosing now to live up to her bitchy reputation. She won’t print on the right-sized paper. She won’t collate. She won’t be cooperative at all, and you’re too exhausted for this shit. Physically and mentally exhausted, trying your hardest to rein in the frustration that’s slowly expanding in your chest, crawling up your throat and triggering a familiar burning behind your eyes. It’s not fair. 

An exasperated noise escapes you without thinking, a loud, guttural thing. None of this is fair.

“_____?”

Your head snaps over your shoulder in surprise, not at all expecting anyone else to still be in the building. It’s Jungkook, because of course it is. Brows knitted in confusion, a black leather jacket thrown over his marigold button-up for some reason. He’s standing near the doors that exit into the lobby, evidently about to begin his trek home before you unwittingly paused his endeavor.

“What are you still doing here?” he asks, but before you can even deign to answer, he’s already taken a few steps towards you and followed up with a clearly concerned, “Are you okay?”

You take a breath, struggling to calm the storm within you. None of this is his fault, nor his problem, and you should just force a smile on your face so he can be on his way and leave you to your self-pity. But you’re tired, so tired, and simply don’t have the capacity to pretend anymore. You swallow around the lump in your throat, and when you do speak, the thickness of your voice betrays the tears that you’re fighting to keep at bay. “No.”

This only seems to alarm him more. He’s standing next to you now, as close as he can get with the array of binders and papers you have scattered on the floor around you like a fortress not meant to keep anyone out, but rather, to keep you inside.

“What’s the matter?” he asks gently.

“Oh, nothing,” you snort derisively, blinking rapidly at the ceiling in an effort to try to stop the inevitable. “Nothing. It’s just well past 7pm and I’m still here in this godforsaken building attempting to print out and hole punch and assemble twenty copies of this presentation. I can’t even get the printer to do what I’m asking it to! And there’s no fucking reason I should still be here because this all could have been done last week if my boss didn’t keep making nonsensical changes based solely on vibes. And tell me why there are six people on my team but no one thought to help me or take any sort of ownership of this at all—as per usual—or even buy me a fucking coffee for once! I haven’t eaten a proper meal all day but everybody just assumes they can go home because things will magically get done like they always do because they will! I will always make sure that they will! Every day it becomes increasingly clear that nobody in this fucking company gives a flying FUCK about me or my free time or my sanity—”

If he’s put off by your potty mouth, Jungkook certainly doesn’t show it. He just manages to catch your gaze from behind his glasses and simply replies, “I do.” 

Your never-ending rant rapidly dissipates on your tongue, brain struggling to comprehend what he just said. “…What?”

“I care,” he repeats softly. “How can I help?”

The sincerity in his tone renders you mute, too stunned to do anything more than watch as Jungkook drops the backpack he’s had slung over a shoulder onto the floor, tossing his newly removed jacket on top of it without much thought. He’s unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, the reemergence of an ink-covered forearm making your brain stutter even more. Now that there’s much less distance between you, you can more accurately make out the shape of a delicate tiger lily, the languid form of a snake.

Jungkook clears his throat, the noise snapping you out of your stupor and making you realize you were just staring at him in silence, for who knows how long. Dammit. “What do you need?” he tries again. 

“Um, first we can start with Mabel,” you croak, mouth now embarrassingly dry. “No matter what I do, she refuses to collate.”

Jungkook shoots you a smile that softens his whole face. “Lucky for you, I’m the printer expert, remember? Don’t worry. We’ll get this fixed and be out of here in no time.”

He holds out a hand and you reflexively grab it, allowing him to guide you to your feet. Together, you make your way to the copy room, where Mabel has stubbornly been giving you hell all night. Jungkook gets right to work pushing buttons while you stand to the side, awkwardly shifting your weight a little from foot to foot.

“So why are you still here?” you ask, curiosity finally forcing you to voice the question that’s been looping in your mind since he first appeared. “It’s late.”

“It is,” he agrees, focus still on the printer. He kneels down, opening the paper tray. “There’s this huge system update that’s set to roll out next week. My whole team has been hunkering down and pulling late nights.”

Oh. That explains why you haven’t seen him around much since the barbecue. “That’s tough.”

“We’re finally almost done,” he shrugs. “And I’m clearly not the only one working overtime.”

You don’t say anything when he looks up at you pointedly, so he turns back to the printer, pulling a stack of paper out of one of the trays.

“I think this may be part of the problem. Someone put the wrong-sized paper in here. Or, at least, Mabel thinks it’s wrong. She’s confused.”

“Well, she can join the club,” you mutter, and he puffs out a laugh, shutting the drawer and pressing some more buttons.

“Come on, let’s try again.”

Something touches your elbow, and though it shocks through you like he electrocuted you, you have the good sense suppress any embarrassing reaction to what you quickly realize is just his hand. Instead, you let him guide you back to your desk, trying not to focus too intently on the heat of his skin on yours. 

Jungkook waits for you to login to your computer, clicking around and changing some settings once you step back and allow him free rein. Then, you can hear a distant hum coming from the copier room, and you know immediately that he’s succeeded. Dutifully, he goes to check anyway, returning to you with a stack of perfectly collated paper.

“Thank god,” you groan. “Now let me just print fifty more of those so I can start organizing these binders.”

With the crisis averted and his job done, you fully expect him to gather his pile of stuff and hustle to the elevator before you can trap him into doing anything else. Instead, Jungkook goes to pick up the additional copies from the printer for you, and he actually gets down on the floor next to you to start putting everything together. He watches you assemble one binder for reference, but then he’s easily doing the same and doubling your completion speed. 

And slowly, gradually, your nervous system calms. The two of you work like a well-oiled machine in what would be comfortable silence, if your brain wasn’t so loud. Now that you’re not actively panicking, a completely different feeling starts to seep into you—embarrassment.  You can’t believe that Jungkook actually caught you on the cusp of a breakdown, during which you looked so pitiful, he felt morally obligated to stop what he was doing and help you.

“I’m sure you have somewhere to be,” you say after a while with a grimace. He’s way too nice and you’re way too pathetic. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night—I promise you don’t have to stay with me. Now that everything’s printed and organized, most of the work’s done. I should be out of here in no time.”

“Well, I promise you didn’t ruin anything. And with two of us, you can be out of here in less time than that.” He looks up with a soft smile from where he’s hole punching a stack of paper, the muffled ka-chunk of the device punctuating his point. “I don’t mind, _____. Really.”

“But I do,” you murmur, looking away. Unable to meet his eyes. “I really appreciate your help, but I feel bad taking up so much of your time.”

“Well, don’t. I didn’t really have plans tonight anyway, and I’ve been working so much that it’s probably better that I get in some socializing time.”

“Not that I’m very good company,” you snort derisively.

There’s a pause, one long enough that you wonder if he heard you. But then he’s moving a little closer to you, tipping slightly sideways to tap his shoulder against yours. Reflexively, you turn back to him, finding his eyes kind.  

“We all have our off days, and that’s okay. But they’ll dull your shine if you let them. Don’t.” He bumps your shoulder again. “Besides, you and I have to stick together, remember? Or did you not really mean it when you told me that?”

You did tell him that, didn’t you? Months and months ago. You're surprised that he even remembers that.

There's an amused quirk to his lip, one that you can't help but feel yourself soften to, even as his focus turns back to the task at hand. And all at once, you feel yourself flooded with gratitude. You've been thankful for his help this whole time, of course, but now you almost sag with it, the relief at knowing someone is finally in your corner, the sudden sense of security and support visceral and a little overwhelming.

Before you fully realize what you're doing, it's you who leans closer, aiming to give a him a grateful kiss on the cheek. But your lips don't quite land on their intended target, because just before you succeed, Jungkook unconsciously senses your increasing proximity and reflexively turns his head back to you.

It's his lips yours coincidentally brush against, the accidental kiss timid due to his surprise and your chaste intentions. But the kiss is also soft, his lips plush and rather easily yielding to yours. 

Quickly realizing your mistake, you pull back, eyes as big as saucers. You stare at him in stunned silence and he stares back, eyes all pupil.

A horrified apology is immediately crowding the back of your throat, but right before you set it free, Jungkook's Adam's apple bobs, an errant tongue absently swiping across his lips. 

Huh. This isn’t exactly the reaction of someone repulsed by an unwanted kiss. He still hasn't said anything, but he hasn't moved away from you either. He's just watching you. Waiting. 

...Waiting?

With caution but with clear intent, you lean back in, and to your surprise, he meets you halfway, noses bumping a little before he tilts his head and your lips slot perfectly together. 

This kiss is immediately different from the last. Jungkook mindlessly drops he binder he's holding, body angling more solidly towards you so he can properly meet the rapidly rising intensity. Well, meet may be the wrong word, because he's the one whose hand quickly reaches up to cradle your chin, gentle pressure a silent request for you to tilt your head a bit more. And when you comply with the change in angle, it's him who deepens the kiss, the slow lave of his tongue coaxing your lips to part, open and wet.

You pant hot into his mouth and he breathes you in, offering no resistance when you push even closer, hands wandering across his shoulders, fingers ghosting up the back of his neck before drifting to idly toy with the hair at his nape. He hums contentedly, not unlike a purring cat, and does it again when your tongue joins his in a slow glide. 

You lose yourself in the sensation of it all, unable to notice anything beyond the heat that is rapidly building between you like fireworks ready to explode. Your head spins, swimming with endorphins and high off the smell of him. The taste.

A playful nibble of your lip unexpectedly has a rather desperate keen escaping your throat. You pause, making to pull back in your embarrassment, but the sound only seems to activate Jungkook, who follows you in your attempted retreat, mouth chasing yours in its reluctance to part. It's only when your back finally touches the floor that you realize he's slowly guided you there. You've been in a haze, too swept into the plot of the movie you've somehow found yourself in to do anything but be pulled along.  

As naturally as breathing, your find your knees have parted, and Jungkook easily slips into the space you've created for him, almost trancelike. As if he doesn't even realize he's doing it, too focused on exploring the fever of your mouth. He's leaning most of his weight on the hands he has posted on either side of your head; even still, every single millimeter of you that does touch him is sparking like live wires, euphoric goosebumps rippling across your skin. You let out a shaky breath that fogs his glasses, but even that doesn't stop him, just makes him pull back from you just enough to be able to whip them off and toss them somewhere, wholly unconcerned.

Emboldened by this, you sling a leg over his hip, and he eagerly accepts your invitation, settling on you properly. You're covered in him now, pelvises properly flush, and now that he's caged you in, Jungkook takes the opportunity to glide his lips away from yours and trail across your jawline instead. You shiver, every atom of you buzzing at his touch, and his mouth continues its trek, sucking hot down the column of your throat with just enough pressure that you know color will bloom there later. 

Your hips reflexively jump at his ministrations, your skirt riding further up your thighs, and the hard press of him against your panties has you swallowing down a moan. He freezes for a fraction of a second, but then his hips respond to the lure of yours with a more intentional roll. A contented sound rumbles in the back of his throat, tongue dipping to meander across your collarbone.

This is crazy. This is crazy. But you can't quite find it in yourself to care much as the two of you rut against each other on the office floor, your hand gliding up his back to root in the hair at his nape. 

Your hips undulate restlessly, eager to meet the crest of his wave, and Jungkook matches your intensity, catching your earlobe between his teeth. Your shared grind is measured but deliberate, and even through his pants you can feel the hard shape of him pressing right against your aching core. A particularly pointed roll has Jungkook shuddering hot into the shell of your ear, and that is what finally tamps down the last of your restraint and triggers something much more primal.

Dizzy with want, your hands scrabble between you and aim for the button of his slacks, eager to be properly introduced to what’s underneath. But to your slow horror, Jungkook freezes at the touch, motionless for a few breathless seconds before he actually starts lifting off of you and pulling back. It’s only when he’s completely sat up and is staring at you that the full weight of what you’ve just done hits you like a freight train.

Holy shit. Holy shit. 

You really were just dry humping. A coworker. And you were doing it on the premises of the place that pays your fucking bills! Making out, dry humping, and you were actively aiming to do much more if he hadn't stopped you. 

What the fuck has gotten into you? 

You scrabble upright, dizzy with the mortification rapidly seeping deep into your bones. Stupidly, you blink at him, paralyzed with embarrassment but unable to look away. A deer in headlights.

Jungkook stares right back, eyes dark and all pupil. Dazedly, you wonder if you look as fucked out as he does—there’s a smattering of red across his cheeks, and his hair has been thoroughly mussed by your own hands. A tongue dips out to swipe over kiss-swollen lips, stealing your attention away from the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

And suddenly, you’re able to kickstart into gear.

“I am so sorry,” you burst out, panic nearly choking you. “That was highly inappropriate and I seriously don’t know what came over me—”

It takes you a few moments to register that he’s moved back in, and that it’s the returned press of his lips that interrupts your babbling apology before it can properly catch its stride. You’re almost too afraid to respond in kind, as if you’ll somehow scare him away again, but the insistence in his kiss practically knocks the breath from your lungs. Patiently, he coaxes your rigid lips back pliant. And only when it’s clear you won’t try to run away does he lean back a second time, but only enough to see your eyes properly.

“No,” he murmurs, breath fanning hot over you. “That was very much appropriate.” 

You’re not quite sure how to respond to that, too shell-shocked by this turn of events and actively battling your triggered fight or flight response. “Um. Then…then why did you…”

Jungkook’s eyes flutter closed, as if he’s gathering himself. “I want to,” he mumbles, seemingly to himself, but then he’s looking right at you again, gaze heavy with resolve. “It’s just…do you mind if I try something first?”

That throws you for a loop. Your jaw opens then shuts again while you contemplate his question, as well as your answer. “I mean, I guess? It depends on what it is.”

That you don't instantly reject him visibly unwinds a tension in his body that you only now realize was there. A rather feral look crosses his face, immediately inciting goosebumps to ripple across your skin in anticipation. But then the intensity of his expression dims, edged with something more contemplative. Jungkook gives you a pensive nod then stands, looking around curiously. “Hey, where does that viper sit?”

You blink, bewildered. “…The who?”

“The one who’s always with you at lunch.” He locks eyes with you, tongue poking through his cheek. “You know. The one who’s on your team but still had no second thoughts about leaving you here tonight by yourself.”

Joy. He’s talking about Joy. 

The question makes you pause in suspicion, but you still hook a thumb towards the cubicle next to yours, on the other side of your shared wall. “There. Why?”

“No reason,” he says with a sly grin, holding out a hand to you. You take it without question and he easily helps you to your feet. But then before you can process it, he’s slid both hands around your waist and easily lifted you off the ground, already in route to the exact cubicle you called out. You yelp in surprise, your arms reflexively circling his neck—your legs, his middle—in your body’s scramble for balance. But Jungkook’s hold on you is secure, grip moving down to the back of your thighs instead, and now that your chests are once again flush, you can actually feel his chuckle. His amusement provokes yours, and you can’t help but giggle as he carries you over to Joy’s cube as easily as if you weigh nothing.

Clearly, his exercise routine is working out for him.

After using a hand to sweep some objects out of the way, Jungkook carefully sets you down on Joy’s desk, right next to her monitor. Your mirth only grows at the feeling of whatever printouts she left for later review crinkling under your weight, at the sight of displaced pens rolling off the edge and disappearing to the ether that is the floor.

Jungkook has set you down, but he doesn’t pull away, just leans down and recaptures your eager lips. He’s tall enough that he’s kind of hunching over to kiss you, neck really craned, but he doesn’t seem to care much about that, kissing you with the same ferocity as moments before, when the two of you were entangled on the carpet. And you can’t help but match his fervor, hands reaching to guide his slim hips even closer, into the widening gap you naturally create for him between your legs. 

Time constricts and expands, an endless and meaningless concept. Because all that matters now is the tongue he slips past your lips to slide against yours, slowly, like he’s savoring the taste of you. All that matters is how fucking great he smells—like clean laundry and smoke and warm skin speckled with sweat—something you’ve always caught whiffs of, but now completely surrounds you, invading all your senses and sending your lust into overdrive. 

“Is this what you wanted to try?” you pant hotly when your lips finally separate for a moment in your quest for air. “Defiling Joy’s desk?”

He’s leaning his forehead against yours while he also attempts to catch his breath, and he’s so close that it would be hard for you to miss his amused flash of teeth. “Sort of. I’d like to defile it more thoroughly, though. Starting with this.” 

Jungkook leans in for one last kiss, one that starts at your mouth, moves to your neck, and to your surprise, continues down the line of your body. Over your collarbone, careful hands popping open a few buttons of your blouse so he can nestle more surely into the curve of your breasts, warm lips skating across eager skin. For a few moments, he actually nuzzles his face into your middle, a gesture you find rather sweet before he incites a shiver through your body by licking against your clothed navel. And before you can fully realize what’s happening, he’s slipped to his knees.

You look down at him in surprise, body still slotted between your legs, but this time more eye-level with the secret, needy part of you that has been thrumming excitedly with every beat of your heart. “What are you…”

“You’re always doing everything for everyone else,” comes his murmured reply. “Will you allow me to do something for you?”

Your brain is still so hazy from the spell of his mouth that it takes you a moment to recognize what’s happening. What he’s asking for. But when his large palms are hot against the naked skin of your thighs, gentle pressure urging them to part even more, it all hits you like a truck. Your eyes dart around, paranoid. “Jungkook,” you hiss. “…Here?”

“They’re too cheap to put cameras anywhere other than the lobby.” He turns his head, lips pressing reassurance into the side of your knee. “And no one’s here.” His reminder as gentle as the kisses he continues to adorn you with. “Just you.” Kiss. “And me.”

He’s right, you know. No one else is here to witness the series of bad decisions you’ve just made—to witness the ones you’re still seriously considering. 

Still, you hesitate.

Jungkook’s staring intently at you, doe-eyed and cherry-lipped and deceptively innocent despite what he’s requesting of you. “Please?” he asks again, oh-so-sweetly. Reverently prostrating before your altar, praying for the blessing of an ambivalent goddess. You. “I just…I really want to. Ever since that day, I can’t stop thinking about it and I—please?”

Your brows furrow as you try to make sense of what he’s saying, still scrambling to keep up with this current turn of events. What day? Your mind whirrs, jumping around before finally settling on an embarrassing memory you’ve willed yourself to forget. 

Lunch, where Wendy somehow got you to admit you’ve never gotten head, and Jungkook, purportedly oblivious, too busy on his phone to ever pay your table any attention. 

…Except from what he’s saying right now, he had heard every word. Heard, and filed it away for safekeeping, only revealing to you now, when he can possibly do something about it.

Absently, your tongue dips out to swipe across your lips, and Jungkook’s attention visibly strays towards the action, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your thighs and sending electricity straight to your core. God, do you want to say yes. Even though you’ve never done this before, your inexperience is not at all the reason for your reluctance. It’s the optics. You’re at work.

Your head tilts as you try to accurately take stock of the situation. You’re at work. But technically, you should have clocked out hours ago. Technically, this job has been stealing a lot of time that should have been yours to choose what to do with. Case in point—you’re the only person on your team still within a five-mile radius of this godforsaken building. Because everyone else deserted you without a second thought, designating you to be the one who struggles to print presentations for a meeting that has been on the calendar for literal months.

But. 

While it’s easy to assume they forced this fate upon you, Fate is not one easily compelled to do another’s bidding. And, trapped in the gaze of the sweet man still patiently awaiting permission to ruin you, you can’t help but wonder if this has been Her plan all along. 

For months you’ve been doing everything for everyone else, so unhappy and stressed that each day in this place only wound you tighter and tighter. So…what if you finally just let yourself snap? Did what you wanted for once? Stopped following the rules that nobody else ever seemed to and just let go? 

You exhale. Fuck it.

“Okay.”

Jungkook grins, boyishly innocuous at first, but rapidly morphing into something much more devilish as you watch. He turns to kiss your knee again, and you startle a little at the action, newly on edge. “Don’t be nervous,” he says, still holding your gaze. Making sure you can see his resolve. “I got you.” 

“Okay,” you say again, but that’s easier said than done, especially when he takes the opportunity to gently push your knees even further apart. Naturally, your skirt rides further up, and you can’t help the apprehension that washes over you at your increasing lack of modesty. Still, you hold true to your word, aggressively tamping down the urge to scramble off the desk and pretend this all never happened. But though you brace yourself for what comes next…

Jungkook doesn’t move.

Long moments pass before you can’t help but say something. “Are you just gonna look?” Because that’s all he seems to be doing, laser-focused on the juncture of your thighs.

He visibly stirs at the sound of your voice, but still doesn’t do much more than tsk at you. “Don’t rush me,” comes his light reprimand, eyes still locked on what you’re sure at this point is a growing dark spot on your panties. “I don’t half-ass things and I definitely won’t rush this. No one’s here, so just relax and enjoy the ride.”

Your jittery nerves have you reflexively mouthy, but your retort swiftly dies on your tongue when his hand finally moves further up your skirt—further inward—and two fingers pointedly press right against that dark spot and glide over your clothed lips. You gasp, fighting against the urge to snap your legs shut when he slowly circles your clit and sends sparks dancing down your legs. 

“Better?” he murmurs.

“Much,” you squeak.

“Good,” he says, eyebrows knitted in thought as he circles and circles. Your thighs twitch, and he leans forward like he can’t help himself, nose pressing solidly against you with a long, audible inhale.

A fascinated oh falls from your lips, heartbeat accelerating excitedly in your ears, but Jungkook only responds by nestling further against your pussy, tracing the length of your lips with a slow, wet swipe of his tongue through the fabric. He breathes hot against your clit and you inadvertently buck at the stimulation, only inciting the wicked curl of his lips. He looks up at you darkly through the curtain of his bangs, and something unexpected and primal simmers beneath your skin.

“Can I have these?” he asks huskily, lightly snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin. 

You clear your throat, suddenly wishing you had the foresight to put on something more interesting today than your unassuming cotton undies. “Have as in you won’t give them back?”

He lets out an amused puff of air, tilts his head. “I haven’t decided yet.”

You nod your assent. You’re now impossibly invested in where he plans to take this, and it’s not like you don’t have more pairs at home. “Knock yourself out.”

Immediately, his hands are up your skirt. They’re big, but they’re also gentle, caressing your thighs and even taking a slight detour to the meat of your ass before continuing their mission to the band of your underwear. When he starts to pull, you help him, shifting your weight so he can slip the fabric over your hips and down your legs.

Jungkook’s Adam’s apple dips when his eyes are finally able to feast on you without a barrier. “So fucking hot,” he mutters, almost to himself, and then without further warning, his mouth seals around your sex.

You whimper in surprise, not at all used to the sensation of someone kissing you there. And kiss you he does, carefully at first, judging your reaction. But when you do nothing but grip the edge of the desk, biting your lip in an attempt to stifle the rather desperate sounds crawling up your throat, he swiftly devolves into kissing you with the same passion as he had the lips on your face. His tongue laps at you with sure, even strokes, dragging across the seam of you and then through it, making sure to slide along your clit on every upstroke. 

Your breath quickens, jaw falling slack. You weren’t sure what you imagined oral sex to be like before this, but you never expected how easily your body submits to his ministrations. Almost without you realizing it, your thighs part even more, hips automatically canting down to meet his eager mouth. A hand reaches for him, fingers winding through his hair and rooting there, and Jungkook hums in approval, his own hands wrapping securely around your thighs, your ass. His fingers sinking into the yielding softness of you, gently holding you steady against his face while you start to gyrate and moan.

God, does he look good down there. He’s always looked good, even before you knew what he was hiding behind those shy smiles and nerdy glasses, but something about the sight of him, jaw working as he sucks on you, lashes fluttering in pleasure in his quest to please you—

Without warning, he detaches with an audible pop, and a disgruntled sound reflexively leaves you. Breathless, you start to ask him why he stopped, but the words die on your tongue when you realize he’s staring at you again. That he pulled back for a moment just so he can get a good look at the mess he’s making of you. So he can properly see how your pussy aches and drools for him.

“Good?” he asks, voice deep and thick.

“So fucking good,” you sigh. What you know he wants to hear, but also 1000% the truth. You’re starting to understand what Wendy has been blathering about, but is it always like this? Or is it Jungkook in particular who is making you so unbelievably aroused? Is your rapidly snowballing crush on him that strong, or does pussy eating simply rank high on his skillset?

As if he can hear your thoughts, Jungkook moves to slip a finger into you, and you can’t help but moan when he breaches you, the digit sliding in so easily that he quickly adds another, thumb pressing surely into your clit as he starts a slow drag in and out. 

“Shit,” you shudder, eyes rolling back into your head. Hips sliding further off the desk, reflexively seeking the delicious stimulation. One of your hands scrabbles across the desk, unconsciously trying to root you, and you’re much too preoccupied with how good he’s making you feel to notice when you accidentally knock over a mug full of pens. A stapler clanks to the ground. “Fuck.” 

“Look, baby,” he breathes, moaning along with you when the pet name immediately makes your pussy flutter. “Look.”

At his encouragement, you do. You watch the flex of his tattooed arm as his fingers continue to disappear within you, a lewd squelch coinciding with his movements. You watch as he adds another finger, the additional stretch immediately noticeable but even more delicious. You watch him watch you, eyes all pupil, lips swollen and slick with your desire.

“More,” you whine, frenzied and greedy. And Jungkook immediately heeds your call, leaning back in. He sucks on your clit with three fingers sunk in you, expertly crooked towards your pelvic bone, and you jolt, accidentally knocking something else off the desk. Neither of you pays the resulting clattering any attention, too wrapped up in the way you writhe at his ministrations. He hums in approval, the vibrations only intensifying your ecstasy. He flattens his tongue as your hips desperately circle, letting you control the stimulation. And when it’s clear you still need more, he changes tactics and rapidly laps at you instead, as if you’re a melting ice cream cone, while he beckons, beckons. 

Your blood is volcanic, hot pressure bubbling beneath the prison of your skin, building and building within your core. The higher he takes you, the more the grip you have on his hair unintentionally tightens, but that only seems to urge him on, locking eyes with you as the thrust of his fingers turns harder and more calculated. Giving you no other choice but to finally erupt.    

You cum with a loud groan, gasping through it while your cunt rhythmically clamps down on his digits, hard. Jungkook talks you through it, murmuring encouraging words your buzzing brain has trouble deciphering because his hand still doesn’t stop, pounding right into your g-spot and making your eyes cross and toes curl with the force of it. And when you finally can’t take anymore, jerking with oversensitivity, you grab him by the wrist in a wordless plea for mercy.

And Jungkook grants it. You can tell that he wants to play with you more—wants to guide you over and over to the precipice just see the look on your face when he shoves you off—but ever the gentleman, he reins in his enthusiasm and obediently slips his fingers out of you. He takes a few seconds to admire his handiwork, eyes shining in reverence as he marvels in the dripping, throbbing, panting aftermath that is you.

“Wow,” you say, still dizzy with endorphins. Never in a million years did you think it would feel like that.

“Yeah,” he agrees, voice thick. “Wow.” He lifts his hand, remnants of you visibly slicking his fingers and webbing between the digits, and without a second thought, sticks them in his mouth and sucks. The resulting slurping of his errant tongue is nothing short of obscene, but your cunt flutters again anyway, interest clear despite being thoroughly satisfied only moments before. And when line of your essence starts to drip down your thigh, Jungkook makes sure to lean in and catch it with his tongue.

You shiver with the feeling of him on you again, mouth hot and wet, thighs still trembling. He’s taking his time, tongue dragging a slow path back up to the source, determined to feast upon the rewards of his efforts. But you can’t take it anymore. God, he’s so hot. He’s so fucking hot and you want him so fucking bad.

You need him. Biblically. 

Near delirious, you reach for him, hands scrabbling across his shoulders, fingers trailing the back of his neck and guiding him to stand. Arms circling his waist and pulling him closer to you—close, close—Jungkook easily slotting into spread of your thighs.

He follows your unspoken commands easily and without question, looking down at you with a rather pleased smile that crinkles his eyes in the corners. Determined to steal the breath from his lungs, just as he just did to you, you lean in to lick that smile pliant and open. There’s a curious taste on his tongue that it doesn’t take long to deduce is you, and that’s only even more of an aphrodisiac, revving you up further. 

Your hands continue to roam, sliding down a little to grope his backside, startling a laugh out of him. But when your fingers tease the waistband of his slacks, his delight visibly shutters away into something else entirely.

“You don’t have to do that,” he breathes, even as he reflexively bucks into the hand you’re using to palm him over his pants. “This was about you.”

“Then let it be about me,” you counter, a mischievous smile curling your lips. Even through his pants you can tell he's hard. That he wants this just as badly as you do.  Still, when he gasps out a wait, you obediently stop your ministrations and move to take your hand back. 

He doesn't let you get far, lacing his fingers through yours and visibly considering his next words for a few moments before settling on, “What do you need?” 

It’s a simple enough question, but you can't help but be immediately reminded of him saying these exact words to you, a little over an hour ago. Now, however, they sit heavy on his tongue, heady and syrupy in hushed invitations. 

The revelation hits you all at once, heart pounding excitedly in your ears.

You need only ask. You’ve only ever needed to ask.

And since all caution was thrown to the wind the moment you agreed to let him suck your soul out through your pussy...

“You said you’ve been thinking about me? Well, I’ve been thinking about you too. For a while, even though I’ve been trying not to.” 

You’ve had his attention this whole time, but the way Jungkook's regarding you now, now that you’ve said that? He's hanging onto every word, so hyper-focused that it would unnerve you if this wasn’t exactly what you were looking for. 

“So…” Adrenaline has your fingers restless against his, but you still dive headfirst. “What I need is for you to fuck me and finish what you started.”

A beat. One where he holds your gaze, the space between you so electrified that you’re surprised you don’t see sparks. But then he’s on you again, mouth meeting yours in a frenzied clash of lips and teeth, and this time he doesn’t stop you when your hands scrabble for his fly.

Jungkook wastes no time, smoothing his hands up your legs and pushing your skirt out of the way. He lets out a shuddered breath when you stroke him through his underwear, when you reach down the waistband and grip him properly.

He’s warm and thick in your hand, and the thought of him finally in your guts damn near has you vibrating. Just like you thought before, he’s already nice and hard, but you still pump him a few times just to revel in the proof of what you’ve done to him. Velvet over stone.

And despite having all the time in the world when the foreplay is for you, Jungkook doesn’t seem to have any patience for himself. You’re only able to enjoy the weight of him in your grip for a few passes before he’s surging into action. Strategically, he grabs you by the knees and lifts, maneuvering your legs into the crooks of his elbows. The move opens you up to him further and forces you more horizontal, leaning back on your forearms, nearly pressed against the cubicle wall.  

The way he ate you out moments before ensured you’d be primed for him, your pussy soft and slick and just begging to be filled. When he finally lines himself up and begins the slow press in, your jaw immediately falls open, tongue going lax at the intense pleasure. “Oh my god,” you manage to whine, eyes threatening to roll shut.

The unhurried way he’s sinking into you is likely in effort not to unintentionally hurt you. Because after everything else, why not add another thing to the ever growing list of surprises you’re learning about your unassuming coworker—not only has he been tatted and muscular this whole time, but his dick is also fucking huge. Without even realizing it, you’ve stopped breathing, the pressure of him nudging your walls apart too much stimulation for your body to continue even subconscious functioning. 

As if he can tell your brain is actively short-circuiting, Jungkook’s hands circle your thighs, thumbs kneading the flesh in mild distraction for when he finally bottoms out. It’s only now that you can properly notice the effect you’re having on him—hair starting to stick to his forehead from perspiration, teeth grit as he struggles to stay still for you.  But you don’t want him to be still.

“Fuck me,” you whimper, wiggling in your impatience and making him suck in a breath. “Please. Give it to me.”

The resulting roll of his hips has him swearing and you seeing stars. “Fuck. You can have whatever you want,” he says, already making good on his promise with a slow grid. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

It’s good, so good, especially because Jungkook uses his grip on your thighs as leverage to ramp up his thrusts, easily maneuvering you over his cock in a way that has your toes curling. By the time he’s really fucking you—jaw set, brows furrowed in concentration—you’re crosseyed and mewling incoherently. You should be embarrassed by the sounds he’s pounding out of you, but you’re so focused on the overwhelming pleasure that you can’t find it in yourself to care very much. 

Chasing the high you already feel him leading you towards, you lift one of your legs to change the angle, and he catches on immediately, helping guide your ankle to hook over his shoulder with a distracted kiss against the bone. And it’s deeper this way, the angle ensuring he brushes against your spongy nerves with every stroke, only making you spiral faster. 

He notices, of course. Notices how quickly he’s taking you to your end and revels in it, sliding a hand inward and thumbing your clit, fast and hard.

You jolt at the extra stimulation, gasping and overwhelmed. “Oh my goddd…”  

“Come on,” he croons, his dulcet tone at odds with the wickedness of his hand. His dick. “Don’t you want to cum for me?”

“I…” you choke out, struggling to form any sort of coherent thought as you feel everything get tighter. “I…”

You see his lips moving as he presumably says something else. But you can’t understand anything other than your own moaning when your pussy finally locks down. This orgasm is somehow more intense than the last one, your thighs rippling with the force of it, your hands desperately scrabbling over the desk in an effort to find something to ground you. 

And Jungkook fucks you through it, still talking, and it’s only when the whooshing in your ears starts to subside that you can finally decipher what he’s saying in between his own moaning. “There you go. Being so good for me. So good.”

Your only reply is your gasping breath as your orgasm slowly fades, replaced with oversensitivity. But you don’t want him to stop. You don’t want this to stop, reveling in the feel of him on you, in you. And Jungkook doesn’t, instead sliding your leg off his shoulder so he can grab you by the waist with both hands and properly yank you forward, moving you over his cock to his liking. 

The desk creaks with your effort, a rhythmic cacophony with the harsh smacking of his balls against your ass. You mewl, needing him closer still, and curl your legs around his hips, locking your ankles. He’s now trapped against you, but he groans like that’s exactly what he wanted, both hands gliding up the length of your body to grasp the back of your neck instead, giving him even better leverage to plunge into you, deep, deep. He leans down and rests his forehead against yours, licks into your panting mouth. 

At this point, his thrusts are turning manic, but you’re meeting every one of them, deliriously following him in his descent into madness. But when he catches your lower lip with his teeth, your breath hollows, and then, quicker than you can register it’s happening, you cum again, spasming around him with a long, high-pitched whine.

Jungkook lets you ride it out, but this time, his thrusts slow while you thrash. And it’s not until your soul finally floats back into your body that you realize he’s already pulled out of you and is bucking into his own fist instead.  

You almost took him over the edge with you, you realize. Though he clearly has incredible stamina, you have finally brought him to his limit, and everything inside you glows at the knowledge that he’s here, roughly pumping himself, moans falling freely from his lips because of you. 

Entranced, you reach for him, delighting in the whimper he lets out when your fingers wrap around his base. His own hand immediately falls to grip the edge of the desk instead, and you glide your fist up, finding his cock sticky with your juices. Jungkook just rests his head in the crook of your neck and lets you jack him off, whining through it when you match his previously punishing pace. And it doesn’t take long before he finally, finally splashes hot over your hand. Against your thigh. 

Your hand slows, twisting your wrist and milking him for every drop. Intent on extending his pleasure, just like he made sure to do for you. And you only stop when he flinches away from your touch, twitchy and shivering as he leans against you. 

Reluctantly, you let go. The two of you share the same balmy breath, struggling to calm your racing hearts. And when Jungkook finally backs away from you, unhurried in the way he gathers himself back into his slacks, there is a wildly satisfied grin on his face.

You’re satisfied too, though you try to have some sense of propriety and use a tissue from the box next to Joy’s monitor to wipe off the sticky remains of his pleasure. Throwing away the evidence, you hop off the desk, locating your long-discarded panties and slipping them back on, smoothing down your skirt.

“So,” you tease lightly. Your head swims a little with the knowledge of what you just did, but you’re surprised to realize you feel zero guilt about it. “Is your plan to stick it to everyone who’s wronged me? If so, we should do it on Mabel next. That’ll show her.”

Jungkook laughs, a giddy, giggly thing. He’s now doing his best to pick up and replace everything that fell from Joy’s desk during your romp. “Nah, I could never disrespect her like that. That ol’ girl’s been such a great wingman these past few months.”

That’s a rather curious statement to make. You frown a little, shoot him an inquisitive sound.

“You always call me when Mabel’s not working,” he shrugs. “So when I wanted to see you, she was nice enough help.” 

You can’t help it—a smile creeps across your face, equally bashful and flattered. He wanted to see you! For months, by his open admission. “And the printer knew exactly when you wanted to see me?" you joke. “Sounds like dark magic to me.”

Jungkook’s valiantly trying to straighten and smooth out some of the papers the two of you disturbed. “Deleted some print jobs,” he replies offhandedly, clearly distracted by the task at hand. 

Record scratch. 

There’s an extended silence as your brain shuffles through different iterations of his sentence, trying to decipher exactly he meant by that. Because there's no way he just admitted to what you think he just did. “Did…did you just say you've been deleting my print jobs?” you ask incredulously. Because there’s no way.

There’s no way, yet at your words, Jungkook immediately stiffens. His lips part, but he doesn't defend himself. Doesn't say anything at all—just drops the pen he’s holding and stares at you with wide eyes.

Holy shit. Holy shit. He really has been doing it! He obviously hadn't meant to tell you that, but the relaxation of afterglow has clearly removed the filter between his brain and his mouth. 

The weight of his revelation hits you, seemingly happenstance events connecting in your mind and starting to fall into place. All the hassle and irritation that stupid printer has been giving you, and it turns out Mabel has been working just fine?! 

“Please don't be mad,” he pleads, finally finding his voice.  

“Are you seriously saying that all this time—”   

“No! No, I only did it a few times,” he sheepishly rushes to correct you. “And I promise, I haven’t done it in weeks.”

“Seriously?” 

“I just...wanted an excuse to talk to you!”

“Jungkook, you literally talk to me all the time!”

“About work! Not—” he averts his eyes, lets out an irritated breath. “It’s just. I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out.”

You blink, gaping slightly as your whirring mind tries to process what he’s just told you. “Ask me…out?” 

“I didn’t mean to do…all this.” He waves a hand over the mess the two of you are still cleaning up, clearly embarrassed. “I mean, at least not before buying you dinner first.”

Moments pass as you stare at him in stunned, disbelieving silence. Then, like a volcano erupting, laughter bursts from you, loud and sudden. Because what the fuck? You can’t believe all of this is actually happening to you. In real life. “You jackass,” you cackle. “Do you have any idea how much grief that printer has been giving me? I’m over here stressed and you’ve been gaslighting me and doing it on purpose?”

“Just a few times,” he repeats, visibly confused by the juxtaposition of the mirth in your voice and the actual words you’re saying. 

“And that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still a jackass,” you laugh. “But…” You clear your throat, suddenly somehow shy, despite everything that has occurred and been said. “…I suppose you can still take me out to dinner.”  

“Yeah?” His lips stretch into a slow, hopeful smile.

“Yeah. Now, if you want. I think we’re pretty much done here.” You smile back, quickly taking stock of the binders still scattered across the floor. Most of them are completed, but whatever else you need to do can be done tomorrow morning. “Besides, I seem to have worked up an appetite.” 

Jungkook looks nothing short of smug, but you suppose you can’t fault him that. “Well then,” he practically purrs, “Let’s hurry up and feed you.” 

Moving in comfortable silence, the two of you finish putting everything you’ve disturbed back in their original spots, gathering the last of the binders and stacking them neatly on your desk. You reach for your purse while Jungkook goes to collect his hastily discarded belongings.

“So,” you start. “Where are you taking me? It’s kind of late.” This late on a weeknight, kitchens would be shutting down soon.

He pauses in sliding his leather jacket back on, frowning a little as he realizes you’re right. “Shit,” he mutters. “I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”

“You can,” you say with an unbothered wave of your hand. “That can be next time. Let’s just find something quick now.”

“So you’re saying I get a second date?” he grins.

Oh. That is what you just implied, isn’t it? You would be embarrassed by how forward you were being if Jungkook wasn’t visibly delighted by it. Wow, he really does like you. And since the feeling is mutual, you just look away coyly and say, “If you play your cards right.”

Jungkook hoists his backpack over a shoulder, and it’s only then that you see what else he happened to be carrying in his hands when he dropped everything for you. A helmet.

You gesture towards the object with a curious incline of your head. “What’s that for?”

“My bike,” comes his easy answer, but that’s not the kind of helmet that one wears for bicycle rides. No, this one is made for something much faster. 

Now that you think about it, you’ve seen the motorcycle in the parking lot before—you’ve just never really given it a second thought. And now you can’t stop thinking about it, because the unassuming vehicle you’ve often passed on your way into the building has been Jungkook’s the whole time. Your mind is blown. How many more times is he going to surprise you tonight?  

“…Do you always drive a motorcycle?” you ask incredulously.

“Depends on the day,” he shrugs with grin. “Sometimes I take the bus, but I like to ride my bike when the weather’s nice.” His eyes are bright with pride, visibly happy to have impressed you. 

Your mouth opens and closes, thoughts racing so fast your tongue struggles to hold onto any of them. Before you realize you’re doing it, you blurt, “Alright. Are you even real?”

Jungkook blinks owlishly at you, clearly not expecting that question. “What?” 

“I thought I’ve known you for months. But was any of that real?” you repeat. “Hell, do you even need glasses?”

“Of course,” he rushes to say. “It’s all me. I can just be a little shy, is all.” Wow, he actually said shy with a straight face, as if he didn’t just finish ravaging you over multiple surfaces. “And I like to be professional, so this place doesn’t get to have all facets of me. I know you can relate.”

You can. Your constant struggle to not complain? To be professional and work hard and hope you’ll be rewarded for your efforts? Obviously that’s a reason why the two of you ended up in this situation in the first place.

He ducks his head a little, tapping the glasses he picked up off the floor in petition for their validity. “And these really are prescription. I mean, I can mostly see without them, but since I stare at computer screens all day, it’s less strain on my eyes.”

“Oh,” you say quietly, feeling silly to have even asked. But who knew the quiet IT guy who kept mostly to himself was also this? Buff and tatted with a wicked tongue that you’re now intimately acquainted with. 

Shyly, he holds his helmet out to you. He hesitates before speaking again, almost like he’s afraid of spooking you. “Wanna go for a ride?” And from the way color lightly blooms across his cheeks, you get the sense that he’s offering you more than just protective gear.

You take it without second thought.

The next day you and Jungkook get off the elevator together, a respectable distance between you, but arms still brushing too often to be casual. When you come to the hallway that will force you in separate directions, you pause.

“Have a good day,” you say. Jungkook grins, the delighted brightness of it baring too much teeth and crinkling his eyes in the corners.

“You too,” he winks. “Let me know if Mabel gives you any more issues.”

You snort at his brazenness, biting down a smile as you head to your cubicle. Your whole body buzzes, glowing from inside out.

You’re technically right on time, but you’ve definitely arrived later than usual, and that’s obvious when you head over to your department and find Joy already there waiting for you. She frowns as you approach, no doubt clocking your empty hands and wondering how she’s going to make it through the morning without her expected syrupy caffeine fix. 

To her credit, she doesn’t call you out on it, but you don’t really care if she does. You’re done playing errand boy. From now on, everyone else will have to stop before work and get their own shit, if they want it so bad.

Because it’s all so clear to you now. You’re here, and you’re going to do your best, but you’re not going to let this place wear you down to jaded slivers. You’re going to work hard and learn all that you can, but you refuse to be anyone’s lapdog. 

They will respect you. And your value will be recognized and rewarded—or you’ll simply find somewhere else where it will. 

Joy must sense your new resolve, because she simply hovers by your desk and chirps, “Good morning.”

“Morning.” 

“Did you have a good night?”

Your lips quirk. “You could say that. What about you?”

“Eh, it was okay,” she sighs. “Met a guy for dinner, but I don’t think that’s going anywhere.” 

So while you were stuck here last night, having a grade-A meltdown, she was on a date. That tracks.

Joy chatters on while you put your things away, not seeming to notice or care that you’re not particularly interested in what she’s saying. And while this would normally irritate the living shit out of you, today, it doesn’t. 

Today, your eyes can’t help but glaze over as your mind drifts back to how your night went. Today, you just hum agreeably until she gets bored with you and decides to go back to her own cubicle.

And when you hear her ask over the wall if you’ve seen her stapler, you just smile and smile.   

⇢ my masterlist

[sincerelyneo]

i’m not gonna teach your boyfriend how to fuck you | l.mk

“you are the girl that i’ve been dreaming of”

📀now playing: i’m not gonna teach your boyfriend how to dance with you by black kids

❯ summary: Asking your best friend to take your virginity because you have a crush on someone else and want experience is totally normal, right? Mark doesn’t think so. If he’s taking your virginity, it’s not for practice—it’s for him. He’s nobody’s wingman—especially not when it comes to you.

❯ pairings: mark x virgin fem!reader

❯ genre: smut, friends to lovers

❯ words: 5.6k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, corruption kink, loss of virginity, nipple play, fingering, hand jobs, praising, body worship, protected sex, back scratching, brief possessiveness, pet names, reader uses she/her pronouns, swearing, love confessions, just fluffy smut because it’s what i do best lol.

Mark swears he’s a good listener. Considering he’s been friends with Zhong Chenle for years, the world’s most dedicated yapper, he doesn’t really have a choice. He has to be a good listener. But Mark almost does a double take when he hears the words ‘my virginity’ and ‘you’ come out of your mouth.

His best friend. With the biggest, prettiest, most innocent eyes and sweet little mouth that could barely stammer through conversations about flirting—asking him about sex. No. Not just asking. Wanting him.

After nearly choking on his own spit, Mark tries to regain his composure—but fails miserably. Especially when your cheeks flush, and you start chewing on your bottom lip. It’s a crime. No, worse. It’s sin in human form. You’re sin in human form. Looking this cute, blushing like a maniac, like you didn’t just drop that question on him.

“You want me to take your virginity, Y/N?”

You cringe the second he repeats your question back to you. It sounded a lot better in your head—practical, reasonable, totally fine. But now, with his brows furrowed and that ‘are you insane?’ look on his face, you’re starting to think maybe you are insane.

But when you came up with this plan last night, none of that crossed your mind. All you knew was that Mark never says no to you. Ever. Not when you asked him to be your first kiss in middle school. Not when you made him take you to your first frat party. Not even when you guilt-tripped him into helping with your dissertation.

"Look, forget it—" you say, pushing to your feet, desperate to escape your shared living room that suddenly feels way too hot under Mark’s stare. "I totally crossed a line by asking. I’m sure I can find someone on Tinder—"

"No."

You blink. "No?"

Mark wants to curse himself for the hasty reply, but who could blame him? There’s just no way he’s letting you swipe right on some douche bag looking for a quick fuck—some guy who’ll take you to a lousy bar, probably make you pay for your own drinks, and then expect to take your virginity like it’s nothing.

It’s ridiculous. It’s not happening.

Not when you just handed him the opportunity on a silver platter.

“What I meant to say was,” Mark rubs the back of his neck, “Don’t you want to lose your virginity to someone you trust—someone you love?”

You nod without hesitation. “That’s why I asked you. There’s not a single man I trust more than you. And I love you—platonically, yeah, but it’s still love.”

Platonic. 

If Mark could rip that word out of the dictionary, set it on fire, and launch the ashes into space, he would. Anything to stop you from thinking whatever he feels towards you is platonic. Was it platonic when he kissed you when you were eleven? No. Was it platonic when he drove ten miles just for your favourite snack on your birthday? No. Was it platonic when he worked on your final thesis at the same time as his own? No.

And if he’s going to be the first one to have you, it sure as hell won’t be platonic. That’s for damn sure.

His eyes squeeze shut as he sits forward, clammy hands rubbing up and down his jeans. "Okay, so you want me, your best friend, to take your virginity? Why?"

You chew your lip. This was the part of the scenario that kept you up at night—explaining why. How the hell are you supposed to tell someone you want them to take your virginity just so you can be ready for someone else? There’s no handbook, no online forum, for this kind of thing.

So you settle for:

“It’s stupid. A dumb reason. Don’t even worry about it. Will you do it or not?”

Mark gives you a knowing look, exactly like you knew he would. He’s one of those perspective fuckers, especially when it comes to you. Normally, you love it. Right now, not so much.

“Y/N,” he draws out your name, “What happened to me being one of the most trusted men you know? Tell me.” 

You suck in a breath, trying to steady yourself. After all, it’s just Mark. Sweet, kind, nonjudgmental, Mark. 

“I have a crush on my co-worker, Xiaojun,” you blurt out. Mark just blinks, completely still, like he’s trying to process. You, on the other hand, keep rambling. “And there’s rumours that he’s amazing in bed, and he asked me out for drinks this Friday, and I just feel really…unprepared.”

Mark feels his blood pressure spike—because fuck your co-worker, fuck those rumours and fuck that little date your planning to gone on this Friday night. Look, he’s not a prude or anything. Mark knows people fuck on a first date—but not you. At least not you with some asshole making you think you need to be prepared for him.

"If that asshole makes you feel less than just because you're a virgin, Y/N, he’s not worth your time."

You narrow your eyes. "I don’t think your opinion holds any weight here, considering you don’t think any guy is worth my time."

Mark relaxes slightly and smiles at that—because it’s true. No man deserves to talk to you, touch you, kiss you—no one but him.

“Besides,” you perk up again, trying to sound more confident. “This isn’t about what Xiaojun or any other guy thinks. This is about me… being comfortable having sex with someone that isn’t myself.” You chew your lower lip. “I want to be comfortable having sex with other men.”

Mark almost growls, a caveman-like urge pounding in his chest at the thought of you wanting to be comfortable with other men. He’s changed his mind. He’d take the word platonic any day over hearing other men leave your mouth.

“Let me get this straight—you want me to teach you how to fuck, to please other men?”

Your cheeks flush, not just because the idea sounds so ridiculous when he puts it like that, but because it’s the first time you've ever heard him talk like that. Mark is always so careful, so delicate with you, keeping his foul mouth and sex life locked away. But hearing the phrase "how to fuck" leave his mouth in that deep, husky drawl,  sends a pulse right through you, straight to your clit.

You chew your lip again, hesitating. “I don’t know… I just wanna be good... at it… at sex.”

Mark’s head tilts back as he stares at the ceiling, a string of mumbled curses slipping out before his Adam’s apple starts bobbing against his throat. He pauses to think—and so do you. You can’t figure out why he’s interrogating you like this. The proposition is a lot, yes, but if you’d crossed a line and made him uncomfortable, he could’ve just said so, you wouldn’t have taken it personally. There’s no reason for him to poke and prod like this.

Just as you're about to squash this whole thing, Mark speaks again. He looks up at you from his spot on the couch, his brows furrowed like he's still deep in thought, but his eyes, dark and blown wide, pin you in place.

"I'll teach you, Y/N," he says, standing up slowly. "I'll fuck you if that's what you want and if that’s what you're asking me for," he continues, moving closer until he's right in your personal space. "But I won't fuck you just to get you ready for someone else."

"Mark—"

"No, Y/N, I’m talking," he cuts you off, his long, tantalizing finger tracing from your cheek down to your neck before he whispers, "I don’t mind teaching you how to be good at sex with me, angel, but I’m sure as fuck not teaching you how to be good at it for someone else. If I finally get to fuck you, I’m gonna teach you how to be good for me."

Your mouth parts in a soft gasp, just from his words and that innocent touch alone. Mark’s eyes track the movement, and his irises darken with something you can’t quite name—want, lust, need... you don’t know. All you know is that it’s fucking hot, and it almost makes you miss what he just said.

"Finally?" you breathe out.

The corner of Mark's mouth twitches into a smile, and a low, silky laugh slips from him. "Don't pretend like you don't know I want you." His finger slides to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re too fucking smart to be playing dumb with me, Y/N. You know you could have me on my knees if you just asked. I’d do anything if you just asked.”

You always knew you had Mark wrapped around your little finger, but you never realized it was because he wanted you the same way you’ve wanted him. Yes, you’d only asked him to help you with this plan because you know he struggles to say no to you; but a small, twisted part of you wanted Mark to be the one to take your virginity. Because he’s him—hot, lean, experienced, sweet, loyal Mark. Your Mark. 

It’s all too much. His breath is too warm on your skin, his words too heated, his proximity too hot—he’s too hot. You whimper, and you watch as his pupils soften in response.

“Y/N,” he says softly now. “I need you to use your words to tell me what you want. If you don’t want to do this anymore—because, to me, it’s more than just practice—that’s fine. But if we do... this, us, it becomes real.”

Your mind goes fuzzy. Words? He thinks you have words after just confessing that this—that you—are something he wants? Almost like he senses your hesitation, he nuzzles deeper into your neck, his lips feather-light, dusting over your skin in a way that sets your nerves alight. It’s erotic, it’s intimate, it’s so damn sexy. 

“I’m serious, Y/N.” His voice is soft, breath scorching against your skin, thumb grazing over your collarbone like he’s memorizing you. “I’ve imagined you—craved you—for years. If you want me to take your virginity, I’ll do it. Happily. But I’ll be your first and your last—not Xiaojun.”

The mention of your coworker feels irrelevant now—a distant, meaningless fantasy compared to this. The stupid office daydream you’d clung to seems laughable because the man you thought only saw you as a friend is standing right here, offering himself to you. Completely. Utterly asking to be yours. And who are you to deny him?

“I want this—”

Mark doesn’t waste another second, doesn’t let you finish your sentence—because he’s wasted too much damn time already. Too much time waiting, hoping, aching to hear you want him. Not just need him for something, but actually want him. Crave him. Desire him.

He has to kiss you. Now.

It starts slow, soft, and sweet. Both your mouths take their time exploring one another as his hand tenderly cups your face, holding you to him. But in no time at all, the heat builds, kisses stretching longer, deeper, until it’s not enough for him. Not nearly enough for you. A hum of approval slips from you the moment his tongue grazes yours, and he takes it as permission, sweeping in and taking control.

“I have fucking dreamed about this,” he pants against your lips. “About kissing you. About touching you. Tell me to stop if it’s too much, Y/N.”

Stop? He’s out of his damn mind if he thinks you want to stop. You shake your head against his lips, legs winding around his, and he takes the hint without hesitation. His hands find your waist, lifting you with ease until you’re resting around his hips. His eyes are fully dark now, black, and locked onto you. They never waver as he carries you both to his bedroom.

Mark lays you down carefully, like you’d break if he was any rougher, but his gaze tells a different story—intense, burning, desperate. You prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, and he just stares, eyes roaming every inch of you like he’s savouring the moment before he ruins you completely. 

You’ve never been this intimate with a man before. Sure, you’re no stranger to your own fingers, to vibrators, and okay—maybe you don’t mind the occasional steamy make out session at a party. But this? In his room, under his stare, is different. You’re not even naked yet, and somehow, you already feel so bare, so exposed. 

“I want to take my time with you, Y/N,” Mark murmurs, as he climbs onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. He gently pushes you back so you’re lying flat, his body hovering over yours. “I want to savour every inch of this pretty little body of yours... and you’re going to let me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you pant, nodding at the same time, and Mark smiles, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips.

His hands slide up your legs, gliding over the fabric of your sweatpants, until they reach the hem. His eyes search yours, silently asking for confirmation, and you nod, breath catching in your throat. He tugs at your pants, so slow, so deliberate, and when they finally slip off, he lets out a low, groggy "fuck" at the sight of the pink lacy panties you’d chosen for this—for him.

You suddenly feel self-conscious, heat creeping up your chest.

"Knew I'd say yes, huh?" Mark coos, his hand tracing the band of your panties as he looks over your body, studying it because it's the first time he’s seeing you like this. Displayed for him.

You blush, squirming beneath him, overwhelmed by how new, how unfamiliar this all feels. Mark senses your discomfort and smiles softly.

"Don’t go shy on me now, pretty girl," he murmurs, "I’m losing my shit knowing you wore this with me."

His hands graze over your hip bone, fingers brushing gently, soothing as they explore the small hint of flesh you're revealing to him. The softness of his touch, of him, makes you ease up just a little.

“I wore the matching bra too,” you say on an exhaled breath.

Mark groans, his eyes closing as he takes in a slow, intentional breath of his own, nostrils flaring slightly. “Did you? Can I see, baby? Please?”

You nod, and those exploring hands of his glide up your stomach, fingers brush over your skin as he tugs the tight fabric of your tank top over your head. When it falls away, you're left in nothing but the matching set. The pink bralette, almost see-through, giving him a clear, vivid view of your pebbled nipples.

"So fucking beautiful, Y/N," he says, his voice strained, almost painfully. "Can you take it off for me?"

You smile, teasing, as your hands find the clasp at the back. "After I went through all this effort to put it on for you?"

He shakes his head with a small scoff of laughter, the sound easing your nerves a bit. That familiar banter, the playful back-and-forth, reminds you why you asked him—why you wanted him to do this in the first place. You trust him. 

“Is this the part where I learn that you’re a fucking brat?” he mutters, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“I can be, if you want me to be.”

Something flashes in his eyes—dark, predatory—and he leans in closer, his tone dropping an octave. “Take the bra off. Now, Y/N.”

And you do, the flimsy fabric slipping from your breasts and meeting the same fate as your sweats and tank. You feel so exposed, which is ridiculous considering how little modesty the bralette was offering in the first place. Still, your hands instinctively cross over your chest. 

"Hey, don’t," Mark murmurs, his hand gently reaching up to move yours, his thumb rubbing soft, soothing circles around your wrist to reassure you. "You don’t ever have to be embarrassed with me, Y/N. If you want to stop—”

"No," you interrupt. "I mean, please... I want this... I want you, Mark. I’m just nervous."

His eyes soften at your words, and he licks his lips. "Can I touch you?"

You nod, and his hands steadily, gently travel up and down your stomach, hovering around your sternum before they rest beneath your breasts. You suck in a breath as his touch lingers. "Can I touch you here?" he asks, and again, you nod. 

Mark’s hands gently cup your chest, the softness and weight of your tits filling his palms. The pad of his thumb teases over one of your nipples (pretty peaked nipples that are practically begging for his mouth) in a steady rhythm that has you arching into him. He continues, flicking over the sensitive bud until he elicits the reaction he wants: quiet, breathless whimpers and tiny darling moans from your mouth.

“You’re so damn perfect, Y/N,” he mutters, his eyes glued to your body as he tests his touches, watching in awe as your eyes flutter, roll, or widen. “So damn perfect for me.”

You moan, and his head dips to the valley between your breasts, his tongue flicking out to trail a slow, heated path up your skin. His mouth, warm and wet, captures your pebbled nipple, sucking and licking with a hunger that makes your body shiver. It’s then that you remember why Mark is perfect for this—he’s experienced. 

“Pretty fucking tits,” he groans, “I’ll fuck these one day. Promise.”

He focuses entirely on your nipples, squeezing your breasts, and you swear you're already on the verge of coming undone for him, writhing beneath him. Terrified it’ll end too soon, your hands cup his cheeks, pulling him away from your chest to capture his lips in a desperate kiss. 

His chest hovers over you, so close to you, but still hidden beneath layers of fabric. His jeans, too tight, too impeding. You want to feel him—skin to skin. It’s not fair. You’re lying here in nothing but your underwear, exposed and vulnerable, while he’s still fully dressed—his clothes a frustrating barrier that keeps you from feeling him the way you need to. You can’t stand it anymore.

Your fingers dig into his shirt, tugging at the fabric, desperate to rip it off and close the damn distance. "Mark," you breathe. "Take it off. Please."

“You want it off, huh?” He teases. 

You’re beyond patience now, body aching for him. “Yes. I do.”

Mark’s eyes darken at the desperation in your voice. He sits up slightly, pulling away from you just enough to shed his shirt, the fabric tugging over his head and revealing the toned muscles of his chest. You can’t help but watch, your eyes glued to the way his hands move, but he’s taking his damn time. Frustrated, you reach for his belt, but he stops you, his hand brushing yours as he undoes it himself. The sound of it unbuckling makes your breath hitch. 

Finally, his jeans slip down, revealing the taut curve of his thighs before he kicks them aside, leaving him in nothing but his black boxers. His bulge is prominent, straining against the tight material, and you swear you can’t take it any longer.

But before you can pounce, before you can touch him and feel him the way you want to, he’s hovering back over you, his body pinning you down, forcing your back flat against the bed.

“So eager, pretty girl,” he muses with a teasing smirk. “But you asked me to teach you, didn’t you? I’m in charge.”

He’s so controlled, so assertive, it sends a flood of need coursing through your body. His hands are back on you, gliding over your now fully exposed body. Well, not entirely exposed—his fingers toy at the edge of your panties, tracing, testing, taunting, as if waiting for your permission. And you’d give him it immediately, only he wants to ride this out, prolong it. 

His fingers move to dip just beneath the fabric, but then he stops.

“I know you said you wanted to be good at this, Y/N,” he hums. “But I want to be good for you. Tell me what you like. Tell me how to touch this pretty pussy.”

Heat floods your cheeks and pools between your legs. From the way Mark smiles, and the fact that he’s cupping you through your underwear, you know he can feel it too.

“I-um—”

“I already told you to stop being shy with me, Y/N,” he says. “Don’t think I overlooked that comment about you getting yourself off. You wanna learn, so do I. Let me be a good boy for you.”

Your eyes lock onto his, and you can see the seriousness. He wants to know what makes you tick, what works for you, what gets you off—wants to be the one to do it. His breath hitches as he studies you, chest contracting with focus. 

“I-I start with my clit,” you instruct, and his fingers follow suit, finally dipping under the fabric he’s been teasing for the last ten minutes right to the spot. You want to feel embarrassed telling him all the dirty ways you play with yourself, but you can’t. He won’t let you feel that way, because, like you said, he’s him—sweet, loyal Mark.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re dripping for me,” he groans, voice thick with need. “Aching for me, aren’t you, baby?” You nod pathetically. “Then tell me, what do you do to your clit? Teach me.”

“I like small circles,” you whisper, your breath shaky.

“Like this?” he asks, his voice low as he carefully follows your instructions. It’s almost too careful. Too slow. You need more—so much more.

“Faster, Mark.”

His fingers speed up, the circles on your clit growing faster, the pressure he applies intensifies with each stroke. You moan, squirming beneath him, your hips shifting in desperate need for more—more of him.

"Can I try a finger, baby?" he asks, and you nod, wanting everything he has to give right now.

Mark shifts his gaze from your face down to where his hands are stuffed inside your panties. He watches as he trails his index finger up and down your slit slowly until it’s circling around your entrance before finally easing it inside. You gasp, feeling the initial stretch, and his eyes lock back onto yours, waiting for the sting to fade and the lust to take its place again. Once it does, he begins to move, his finger sliding in and out, in and out, faster and faster until your breaths come heavier. 

“Mark,” you gasp on a moan, a thrill coursing through you as he picks up the pace. 

Mark adds his thumb back to your clit, the combination of his fingers easing in and out of your drenched pussy and the attention to your sensitive nerves send waves of pleasure crashing over you. Because cumming has never felt like this—so close, so quick, so desperately needed. Mark must sense your closeness too because his lips quirk, devilish and taunting.

“You gonna cum on my fingers, pretty girl?” he asks, but it’s clearly not a question. The cocky bastard knows you are. “Or should I say finger? Think you could handle two?”

Your mind is incoherent from the pleasure, the foreign stretch of his fingers. Any thoughts you have dissolve into a haze of need, only capable of a frantic nodding at him because you want more, need more, need to cum. He eases in his middle finger, both digits slowing down as you adjust to him. Then, the world around you blurs; all that matters is the rhythm of his fingers and the growing knot forming in your stomach as his pace picks up. Each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, and you can feel the waves of your orgasms building, until it finally, deliciously, crashes over you. 

Your vision blurs, and sounds you didn't even know you could make slip from your lips. All you can hear is Mark's incoherent, muffled praise—telling you how pretty, how perfect, how good you are for him.

When you come down from your high, he’s watching you intently, his hand running through your hair as you refocus back on him with hazy eyes. You’ve never experienced an orgasm like that, and as you notice the strained bulge in his pants, a surge of eagerness wells up in you. You want to return the favour, to please him, to learn how to be good the way you asked him to twach you.

You reach for his boxers, fingers trembling as you strip them off, revealing the thick hard length of him. Your breath catches at the sight of his cock, angry and needy and desperate. Mark looks down at you with his own haze-induced eyes. 

“Please, Y/N.”

The heat radiating from him ignites a fire within you. You take a moment to admire the way he looks at you—hungry, eager. With a newfound confidence, you lean closer, your lips brushing against his skin, ready to give him the pleasure he’s so generously given you. You press soft, delicate kisses to his abdomen, watching as his stomach flexes in response.

You know you probably should suck his cock right now; that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Almost as if he can sense your hesitation, Mark’s fingers clamp around your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You don’t have to, not yet, not ever if you don’t want to,” he says softly. “But you can touch it. Touch me, Y/N, please.”

That feels more like your speed, so you wrap a firm hand around his cock, giving it a slow, steady long tug. Mark's head rolls back from where he sits on the bed. Your hands tremble with nerves, this is all so new to you, and you desperately want to please him. But before you can overthink it, Mark’s words soothe your insecurities.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, “Just like that... so fucking good, Y/N.”

He's like a fucking mind reader, because that one comment, that small ounce of reassurance, has you stroking him faster. Your hand moves in a messy rhythm, feeling the weight of his cock in your palm. 

As you continue to stroke him, you start to experiment with different techniques, trying out gentler touches and firmer grips. Mark's reactions are your guide, and you watch as his face contorts in pleasure, his eyes screwing shut as he lets out low groans. He sounds so sexy, you like it, you want more of him like this. 

You feel a sense of power, knowing that you're the one bringing him to the edge. Your strokes become more insistent, your hand moving faster as Mark's breathing quickens. You can feel his cock throbbing in your hand, the veins standing out as he gets closer.  Mark's body tenses, his muscles straining and that’s when suddenly, his eyes snap open. 

“You gotta stop, Y/N,” he growls, his voice low and husky as he pulls your hands off his length. For a moment, you almost feel scorned, but then he adds, “I want to last until I’m at least inside of you...”

You both laugh, Mark's eyes crinkling at the corners as he chuckles, and you feel a flutter in your chest. He gently lies you back on his bed, grabbing a pillow and placing it underneath your hips. As he fumbles with his nightstand, he rips open a condom and slides it along his cock. You can't help but watch, mesmerized by the sight. It’s oddly sexy. Your body responds instinctively, your hips arching upwards as if seeking him out. 

As Mark positions himself between your legs, his head dips down to kiss you. It’s sweet, like the first time, and you think you could get used to them—you want to get used to them. The feeling of his lips on yours, on your cheek, the top of your head. 

When your lips finally break apart, he holds eye contact with you, aligning himself with your pussy. He teases you, brushing against your folds, occasionally grazing your clit—his eyes watching your reaction, a smirk on his lips. Sensitive, he notes. And he has to note because there will be a time for more, a time where he’ll make you work for it. But today isn’t that day. Today is about you and him—together.

“Tap my arm if it’s too much. If you want to stop—”

“Mark,” it’s your turn to be stern now. “Please, just fuck me.”

He smirks, liking this side of you—the impatience, the newfound dirty mouth of yours. Something else to note for next time, he thinks.

Rubbing himself up and down your slit for a final time, Mark presses the head of his cock to your entrance, hips shifting forward to slowly push into you. His nostrils flare, and his teeth clench because he has to be careful, he has to be in control. He cannot—he will not—hurt you any more than he has to. 

So, slowly. Torturously slowly. Mark eases into you, inch by tantalizing inch, until his tip coaxes past the small ring of resistance. You’re so tight—so impossibly tight—that he almost regrets letting you jerk him off before hand,  because he’s already teetering on the edge of cumming from merely the first few inches. He’s waited far too long for this moment; the last thing he wants is to blow his load before he’s even begun to move.

He shifts his focus from his own pleasure to your face, keenly observing for any signs of discomfort. When he catches the slight scrunch of your nose, he leans down to kiss you, wanting to distract you from the sting of you stretching around his cock for the first time.

“You’re doing so good, pretty girl. You were made for me.”

He feels your body relax into the mattress at the praise and your hands wrap around his back, pulling him closer. It’s a silent invitation, a clear signal that you’re okay with more—that you need more.

His hips finally press flush against yours, your legs spreading wider to accommodate him, all of him. Your fingers dust up and down his spine as you get used to this, how full you feel, how complete. 

“Move, Mark,” you whisper barely above a whisper. “Please.”

And he does. He rolls his hips, pulling out of you completely before sinking back in, slow and sensual. You moan—right into his ear, because he’s buried in your neck—and he nearly loses the last thread of control he’s holding onto. Mark quickens his pace, keeping his body flush against yours—like he needs to be as close as possible. Needs to consume you the same way you’ve consumed him for years.

“Yes, Mark,” you cry, your nails raking down his back, scratching, digging, marking into his skin.

“Fuck, Y/N. You feel so good. You have no idea how fucking perfect you are.”

He reaches for your hand, prying it from his back to lace his fingers with yours, pinning them to the mattress. It’s gentle, it’s sweet—it’s so Mark. He fucks you slowly, his hands holding yours as he kisses you. Intimate, tender, and so fucking hot.

You tighten around him, and the squeeze makes something flicker in Mark’s eyes—something determined, something feral.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper between ragged breaths.

“Fuck, yes—please,” he groans. “Cum around my cock, pretty girl. I need it. I want it.”

Hearing him just as desperate, just as needy as you, sends you over the edge. Your lip trembles, your lashes flutter, and then—your second orgasm takes over you, ripping a scream of his name from your throat.

It’s the prettiest thing Mark’s ever seen, ever heard—the best thing he’s ever felt. And he swears this moment will be etched into his memory until the day he dies. He holds you close to his chest as you ride your high, feeling every desperate breath you take, swallowing every moan with wet open mouth kisses. And when he senses you’ve finally come down, he chases his own orgasm—greedy for it, for you.

He becomes ravenous for his own release, his hips pistoning faster, harder, as he drives deeper into you. His breaths come in ragged gasps, his chest contracting as his fingertips anchor your hips in place. With every thrust his cock throbs with an almost unbearable intensity until he lets out a low, guttural groan, his body shuddering with pleasure. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he whispers your name, over and over again, like a mantra and he spills inside of the condom. 

The room fills with a silence, punctuated only by the sound of your mingled breaths as he comes down. Your hands are still entwined, hearts still racing, and you both can’t do anything but look at each other. Eventually, Mark leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away. He eases out of you, removes the condom, and tosses it into the nearby trash can.

You watch him as he moves, and when he turns back to you—his gaze a mix of awe and satisfaction—you can’t help but smile.

“You know when I said I loved you platonically?” you ask, and his brows knit together. He looks like he’s about to have a full-blown panic attack, so you quickly put him at ease. “I lied. I actually just love you.”

Relief washes over his face before it melts into a smile. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Good. Because, I love you too. Always have.”

[leeknowlore]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ where i land.

: ̗̀➛ pairing — volleyball player!hyunjin x reader, university au : ̗̀➛ word count — 19k : ̗̀➛ content — angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, MDNI due to very mature themes (smut warnings below the cut), underaged blogs will be blocked, mentions of an injury, grief over identity loss, lots of crying and kisses, they're in love your honour

you’re dating the university’s best right-side hitter—hyunjin, best of the court, all instinct and fire. volleyball is everything to him. has been since before you met. but when an injury cuts his season short, hyunjin’s forced to face something he’s never had to before: a future without the one thing that’s always defined him. now, with his knee and his heart barely holding together, he has to figure out who he is off the court—and what it means to still be worthy of love, purpose, and you.

author's note: i had way too many of these long fics collecting dust in my drafts so i figured… might as well post this one! volleyball is everything to me so this one’s super self indulgent and written straight from the heart 💔🏐 i hope you enjoy it <3

: ̗̀➛ smut warnings: two sex scenes, oral (m. receiving), cw! safeword (used, respected but late; very very mild nonconsensual elements, not glamorized), piv, protected sex, dirty talk

volleyball was everything to hyunjin.

not just a sport. not just a hobby. it was the pulse in his fingertips, the reason he got up in the morning, the way he measured time—not in months, but in seasons. you met him at one of those tournaments, back in high school, when your team had already been knocked out and your friend dragged you to the other gym to “watch the boys play.”

you’d rolled your eyes. “what, like for fun?”

but then you saw him.

and suddenly, it was fun.

you’d never seen a guy move like that before. there was something different in the way he played—like every step was instinct, like he knew where the ball was going to be before it even left the setter’s hands. he played right side, but there was nothing “side” about the way he commanded attention. his hits were vicious. his blocks were surgical. and when he smiled—after a perfect kill that sent the crowd erupting—you felt it all the way in your ribs.

you’d played too, but never like that. never with that fire. you had enjoyed the sport. he loved it.

somehow, he noticed you that day.

maybe it was because you were still in your jersey. maybe because your friend was not-so-subtly pointing at you while whispering. maybe—he’d later tease—it was because you didn’t look impressed, and that irritated him just enough to want to change your mind.

from there, things moved fast—faster than either of you expected. a few exchanged dms turned into late-night facetime calls, which turned into weekend meetups halfway between your schools. it didn’t take long for hyunjin to ask you out officially, nervously gripping the edge of his gym bag like it might shield him from rejection. you’d said yes before he could finish the sentence.

after graduation, the decision was easy. he got a scholarship for volleyball—a full ride, no surprise—and you got accepted into the same university for a program that made your high school guidance counselor say, “you sure about this?” you were. you always had been. smart, focused, maybe a little stubborn—your idea of a challenge was enrolling in the hardest courses they offered, just to see if you could survive.

so there you were. two years into university. him, chasing championships. you, chasing equations, reports, exams you barely had time to breathe through. but somehow, it worked. you studied while he practiced. he came to your presentations in a hoodie and brought you bubble tea after midterms. you helped him stretch when he was sore. he held you when you broke down from stress.

you both had it all sorted out.

the alarm blared at 7:00 am, dragging you out of a dream you barely remembered. you groaned, buried under a mess of tangled blankets and limbs. hyunjin mumbled something incoherent beside you and flopped onto his stomach, arm stretching across your waist, pulling you closer without even opening his eyes.

you lay there a second longer, eyes still shut, nose tucked against the side of his neck. he smelled like laundry detergent and sleep and something warmer underneath—something you’d learned to associate with safety.

“i have weights in forty minutes,” he muttered, voice thick with sleep.

“and i have a chem lecture in thirty,” you mumbled back.

“skip.”

“you skip.”

a pause.

he peeked one eye open. “can’t. game tonight.”

that made you smile. because even now, even half-asleep, his entire face changed at the mention of it. his mouth curved up automatically. his eyes lit up, even through the haze of grogginess.

tonight’s game was big.

hyunjin had been talking about it all week—hell, for the past month. their rivals from the west coast were flying in. undefeated so far, just like his team. he’d been studying footage of their right side like he was prepping for an exam.

“it’s gonna be a bloodbath,” he’d said last night, lying back on the dorm floor, tossing a stress ball in the air while you highlighted your textbook. “in a good way.”

“is there a good way for a bloodbath?” you’d asked without looking up.

“for the winners, yeah.”

he was so ready. sharpest he’d ever been. his vertical had improved, his timing was better, and he’d finally stopped complaining about the weird new brace he had to wear on his ankle. every time you saw him walk out onto the court, you swore he looked taller. like something about it gave him a new center of gravity.

and now? now the alarm was screaming, and still—neither of you moved.

“five more minutes,” you muttered, curling into him.

hyunjin groaned into your hair. “ten.”

“we’re going to be late.”

he exhaled heavily, like the weight of responsibility was something he could blow off with enough dramatic flair. but he didn’t let go. his leg was tangled with yours. his hand slid under the hem of your shirt, just resting there, warm against your skin.

“i can never get up when you sleep over,” you murmured, voice still scratchy with sleep.

your hand found the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair—soft and messy from the pillow, a little damp at the nape from how warm it had gotten under the covers. he sighed, melting a little under your touch, his whole body relaxing like you’d pressed a switch.

hyunjin shifted slightly, his nose brushing your neck as he spoke, voice muffled and boyishly whiny. “well your bed’s comfier than mine.”

you smiled, still playing with his hair. “it’s the same mattress, genius. university-issued.”

“yeah, but yours also smells like vanilla and detergent.” he tilted his head just enough to nuzzle under your chin. “mine smells—not like this.”

you groaned, the alarm still blaring beside you like an obnoxious countdown to responsibility.

“okay, that’s it,” you muttered, reaching out with one arm and slapping the snooze button harder than necessary. silence, blessed and brief, fell over the room.

then you turned back to hyunjin and gave him a shove. “up. seriously. we’re gonna be late.”

he grunted dramatically, refusing to budge. “just a few more—”

“no,” you said, already halfway untangling yourself from the sheets. “we're not doing this again, hwang hyunjin.”

but before you could escape, he hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you back in with one quick tug, your back flush to his chest.

“hyun—!”

he was already on the attack, pressing quick, fluttery kisses against your cheek. “you’re so mean to me in the mornings,” he whined between kisses.

you squealed, squirming as his lips trailed toward your jaw, tickling your skin with every dramatic pout he planted there. “hyune—stop, i’m gonna be late—!”

“you say that every time,” he said, voice smug now, lips brushing just under your ear. “and you’re always exactly on time.”

you were laughing now, full and unfiltered, even as you tried to wriggle free. “that’s because i sprint across campus!”

“good cardio,” he said, kissing the corner of your mouth like punctuation. “you’re welcome.”

you turned your head just enough to meet his eyes, grinning as you pushed at his chest.

“dick,” you whispered under your breath, eyes narrowed but your mouth twitching with a smile.

his jaw dropped. “me?”

you shook your head, biting back another laugh as you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up, stretching with a small groan before grabbing the t-shirt draped over your desk chair. you tugged it down over your sleep shorts and ran a hand through your hair, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

“i swear,” you muttered, turning toward the door, “when i come back, you better be gone.”

hyunjin was already spreading himself out dramatically across your bed, arms tucked behind his head, hair fanned out against your pillow like he lived there. he rolled his eyes with the laziest grin.

“yeah, yeah. kick me out of my own second home, why don’t you.”

you chuckled, shaking your head as you opened the door. “i’ll see you tonight.”

“six p.m.,” he said immediately, eyes flicking toward you like he’d already counted the hours in his head. “stadium.”

you nodded, one hand still on the knob. “wouldn’t miss it.”

a pause, just long enough to make the next part soft.

“love you,” you said.

hyunjin didn’t even hesitate. “love you too.”

you smiled, small and real, before pulling the door shut behind you.

the hallway was already buzzing—dorm doors cracking open, slippers shuffling against linoleum, the distant hiss of a kettle in someone’s shared kitchen. you padded down toward the shared bathroom, toothbrush in hand, weaving past two girls arguing over whose towel was dripping onto the floor.

the mirror was still a little foggy from someone’s shower, but you wiped a stripe clear with your palm and leaned in.

you knew today would be a good day.

it always was when it started with him.

the sky had started to dip into that golden haze that only showed up right before sunset, warm and honey-colored, stretching long shadows across campus as you and your friends made your way toward the stadium.

you were ready, as always.

university tee half-tucked into your jeans, a hoodie tied around your waist just in case it got cold later, and two neat stripes of your school’s colors painted on your cheeks. your friends had done them for you in the dorm bathroom twenty minutes ago, giggling the whole time and arguing over whether the stripes should be angled or horizontal.

they settled on angled—“for spice,” someone said.

now, the group of you walked in a loose formation down the path that led toward the stadium, sneakers scuffing pavement, laughter bouncing off the brick walls of nearby buildings.

hyunjin had texted you an hour ago: you better be loud.

you chuckled to yourself, tucking your phone back into your pocket as your friends kept chatting, loud in that way they always were before a big game.

“i can’t believe the season’s only just started and we’re already undefeated,” one of them said, adjusting her hair in a compact mirror before snapping it shut. “like, they’re actually insane this year.”

“did you see the last match? they crushed them. that one guy on the other team literally fell over trying to block hyunjin.”

you bit back a smile. “he just… misjudged the angle.”

“mmhmm,” another friend teased, bumping her shoulder against yours. “downplaying your man like he doesn’t hit like a cannon.”

you rolled your eyes, cheeks warming just a bit under the paint. “i’m just saying. he doesn’t try to humiliate people.”

“sure, but he still does,” someone laughed. “he’s too good. honestly, the whole team is stacked this year. if they keep this up, they’re gonna make playoffs easy.”

“maybe,” another added cautiously, “but tonight’s gonna be rough. the other team’s no joke.”

you glanced over as she pulled up a screenshot from their athletics page, stats already loaded. “their outside hits like a monster, and their libero—what’s his name again?”

“bang chan.”

everyone groaned in unison.

“that guy’s insane,” someone muttered. “like, literally everywhere at once. how does someone cover that much court?”

“i know,” your friend said, squinting at the screen. “his defense is gonna be annoying as hell. they’re never letting the ball drop.”

“but hyunjin’s a smart hitter,” one of your friends chimed in, shifting her tote bag higher up her shoulder.

“he’s been studying chan for weeks,” you said, a little proud, a little breathless just thinking about it. “like, frame-by-frame footage. movement patterns, positioning, even how he transitions between zones.”

“god,” someone groaned, “that sounds exhausting.”

you shrugged. “not to him. he actually gets excited about it.”

“of course he does,” another one laughed. “i swear hyunjin would analyze a toddler’s footwork if it helped him.”

“we shouldn’t even be worried,” one of them said, pushing open the stadium door as the music grew louder, brighter. “this is our court. we got this.”

you stepped into the arena, and the atmosphere hit you all at once—bright lights, echoing shoes squeaking across the court, the rhythmic thud of volleyballs being peppered back and forth. the crowd was already buzzing, rows of students and alumni piling in, decked out in school colors and face paint, waving foam fingers and handmade signs.

your eyes found him almost instantly.

he was across the court in his warmup jersey, sleeves pushed up, hair tied back loosely. he looked focused but relaxed, like his entire body was vibrating with anticipation. his approach was clean even during warm-ups, like he didn’t know how to give less than everything. you watched him leap—effortless, practiced, beautiful—and send the ball flying just inside the corner line.

you smiled, already feeling your chest tighten.

“seats there!” one of your friends pointed, already heading toward a row just off center court, a perfect view of hyunjin’s side.

you all squeezed in, tossing bags under the bench and adjusting your hoodies as you settled. 

hyunjin was locked in.

even from the stands, you could see it—that razor-sharp concentration that settled over him like armor. he moved with precision, muscles coiled and ready, every jump timed to the millisecond, every swing calculated. he jogged to the sideline to grab a water bottle, tilting his head back for a quick sip. his coach leaned in, already pointing toward a clipboard, going over rotation tweaks. hyunjin nodded, jaw tight, eyes flicking between the notes and the court.

then, just for a second—his gaze lifted.

he scanned the crowd like he was looking for something he already knew would be there.

and when he found you, his lips curved, small but unmistakable. the kind of smile meant for one person only. quick, careful, just enough to say hi.

your heart did a little flip.

you raised your hand in a tiny wave, fingers wiggling, trying not to grin too hard.

he held your gaze for just a beat longer, then dropped his eyes back to the clipboard, nodding again as his coach spoke.

“gag, you two are so gross.” your friend beside you muttered.

you rolled your eyes, leaning on her dramatically. “shut up.”

the other team began filing in from the opposite tunnel.

their uniforms were sleek, crisp white and navy. they looked good—annoyingly good. confident. sharp. a few of them glanced toward your team’s side of the court as if sizing them up before the first whistle.

your heart was racing.

it wasn’t nerves—not exactly. more like adrenaline, like your body already knew something big was coming and was bracing for it. you crossed your arms loosely over your chest, trying to play it cool, but your knee bounced under your seat.

on the court, the other team began their warm-up routine.

clean, practiced, ruthless.

their libero—bang chan—moved like he was born there, gliding from one end of the court to the other, dropping into receive like it cost him nothing. the way he read every toss, every angle, every fake-out—it was unreal. you watched him dive for a pancake save that should’ve been impossible, only to bounce back up like it hadn’t even winded him.

their outside’s swing was vicious. quick wrist, sharp cross. every hit landed with a smack loud enough to echo through the gym.

your friends went quiet. no more teasing.

“okay… they’re kind of terrifying,” someone finally whispered.

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. not with how your chest had gone tight.

across the court, your team was finishing their own lines of warm-ups—hyunjin among them, focused, shoulders rolled back with that quiet confidence he always carried on game days. but even so, you could see it in the way his brows furrowed for just a second after the opposing outside hit another brutal cross.

he saw it too.

the competition was real.

ten minutes later, the buzzer rang. the music cut.

a few quick announcements echoed through the gym—rosters, school chants, the referee’s name, the starting rotations—but it all blurred in the noise, the kind that made your chest vibrate from the inside out.

then the whistle blew for real.

first serve: one of your team’s middles. he bounced the ball twice, exhaled, and sent it clean over the net.

the other team received it smoothly, the pass was perfect. set. attack. your team scrambled into defense. a diving dig from the back row saved it just in time.

quick set on your side. middle hits—blocked, but avoids it.

the rally built fast, back and forth, clean hits and sharper recoveries. you were already on the edge of your seat, watching the ball blur between teams like it had a mind of its own.

and then—finally.

another pass. another set. this one floated just high enough, just fast enough.

hyunjin’s.

he was already moving, feet thudding against the court in three quick steps, arms swinging back. you knew that approach—the precise angles of it, the sheer snap in his body as he launched into the air.

once he hit it, the ball shot across the net, slicing through space and aiming dead for the back corner, right where he mastered it.

“mine!” someone from the other team yelled—too late.

the ball hit the floor with a smack so loud it echoed in tangible vibrations.

the stadium exploded.

cheers erupted around you—students jumping to their feet, fists thrown into the air, stomping and shouting. the first point was yours.

you and your friends jumped up instantly, yelling over the chaos.

“let’s go!” one of them screamed, cupping her hands around her mouth..

you clapped hard, heart pounding, adrenaline syncing with the rhythm of the chants echoing through the stadium.

then the next serve from your team came—and the other team answered.

quick pass, faster tempo. a sharp hit split the seam between your blockers. the ball slammed into the floor with just as much force, just as much precision.

point: theirs.

a collective groan rippled through your side of the gym, but no one sat down.

and your team didn’t back down.

the pace picked up fast, every point earned with blood and sweat. it was a tug-of-war. one point for you, one point for them. hyunjin hit clean again. bang chan dug it up like it was nothing. then another rally—your setter faked to the middle, backset to hyunjin again, and he threaded the ball through hands that never even touched it.

then they answered with a kill off the block.

it was a beautiful game.

terrifying game.

every serve, every swing, every dive left you holding your breath. you could feel the pressure mounting with every passing minute, the margin for error shrinking. both teams were reading each other too well.

before you knew it…

your server missed. an ace from the other side. another tight roll shot that just barely dropped over the net. and all of the sudden—

they were pulling ahead. by four. and not fluke points—smart ones. high digs. strategic hits. they were pulling ahead with control, and you could see the frustration start to creep into your team’s side like a slow leak. a few mistimed passes. a block that wasn’t there fast enough. a shake of someone’s head. it was all piling.

your friends tried to keep the energy up—clapping, chanting, yelling encouragement—but you could feel it. the shift.

and suddenly to you, it wasn’t just about the game anymore.

it wasn’t about the scoreboard or the rally count.

it was about him.

when hyunjin played well—really well—it was electric. he’d leave the court flushed and buzzing, body thrumming with victory, adrenaline humming through every cell. he’d throw his arms around you in the hallway after and talk a mile a minute about everything—the timing, the blocks, the play he almost fumbled but didn’t. he’d be unstoppable.

and sometimes—more than once—those were the nights you’d end up in his dorm room, down on your knees before he even got his jersey off, just because you were both so high on the win it didn’t make sense to stop. you loved seeing him like that. weightless.

when he lost, you also knew him. sometimes, sure, he’d shake it off. crack jokes in the locker room, say stuff like we’ll get them next time, tug you close and act like nothing had ever gone wrong.

but other times…other times it hit him like a brick wall. you’d seen it. after certain games, he’d shut down completely. he wouldn’t want to talk. wouldn’t want to eat. wouldn’t even want to be touched—not even by you. and not out of anger, but out of guilt. out of this impossible pressure he carried like it was stitched into his skin.

tonight felt like one of those times. you could already feel it closing in around you.

he was playing well. that was the worst part. he was moving sharp, hitting smart, putting everything he had into every point—but it wasn’t enough. not yet. and you knew exactly how much harder that would be for him to swallow.

the whistle blew, cutting you from your thoughts. timeout—your side.

your team gathered near the bench, forming a loose huddle around the coach, towels slung over shoulders, water bottles passed down the line. from the stands, it was hard to hear what was being said, but you could see it all in their faces—tight jaws, shallow breathing, sweat glistening down temples.

hyunjin was the last to step into the circle.

he ran a hand through his hair, pulling the tie loose as if he couldn’t stand it anymore. it flopped down messily over his forehead, but he didn’t bother fixing it. he leaned forward with his hands on his knees, listening, nodding occasionally.

the coach was gesturing rapidly now, drawing imaginary lines in the air, shifting pieces they couldn’t afford to lose. you could practically hear the urgency just from the way he moved—faster than usual, clipped and sharp.

one of the middles clapped his hands, trying to hype the group up. another player tapped his chest twice, mouthing something. the timeout ended with one last sharp clap from the coach, and just like that—they were moving again.

your team filed back onto the court, more focused now, like something had shifted in those sixty seconds. you leaned forward in your seat, hands curled tightly in your lap as your friends whispered around you.

“what do you think they’re trying?”

“i don’t know—but they’ve switched completely.”

and they were.

it wasn’t obvious at first, but then you saw it—hyunjin wasn’t starting from his usual position. the setter had shifted too. your middle blocker was crouched lower than usual, almost like he was prepping for a sprint, not a block.

and then the whistle blew.

the serve flew over—clean, controlled.

your team received it smoothly, but instead of setting to the outside or middle, the setter jump set backwards across the court—a full-speed, cross-body set with almost no telegraphing.

it landed perfectly in hyunjin’s zone.

he wasn’t even fully visible to the blockers until the last second—disguised behind the rotation shift. he came flying in from the back row, not where they expected him, soaring with his body stretched out like a missile.

the crowd gasped before the ball even touched his hands.

you sat up straighter, brows furrowed. “wait—what are they—?”

hyunjin launched from the back row like it was second nature, legs slicing through the air, body twisting mid-air to angle the hit just right. and then—

crack.

he didn’t go cross. he didn’t go down the line.

he hit straight into the softest, most empty pocket on the entire court—dead center, back row, right behind their setter. not even bang chan could cover it.

the ball smacked the floor.

perfect. no touch. clean.

you didn’t even have to wait for the whistle.

point. yours.

you were on your feet in an instant, mouth wide open, cheering at the top of your lungs, barely hearing yourself over the roar around you. your friends were jumping, grabbing each other, laughing in total disbelief.

“holy shit!” someone yelled beside you. “that was insane!”

but just as quickly as it started—the noise stopped.

like someone hit mute.

a chill crawled up your spine.

you turned back to the court—confused, heart already thudding for a different reason—and your eyes locked on the place where hyunjin should’ve been standing.

he wasn’t.

he was on the floor.

no.

he was clutching his knee. his fingers were digging into it, and his face was twisted in something you’d never seen on him before.

not pain from a cramp or a bruise.

something deeper. sharper.

you felt the blood drain from your face.

his teammates were already moving—rushing to him from every side, their celebration cut off mid-cheer like someone had yanked the breath out of the room.

the setter dropped to his knees beside him. the middle crouched low, hands hovering like he didn’t know what to touch. 

and hyunjin wasn’t getting up.

you couldn’t even hear the crowd anymore.

just the dull ringing in your ears and your heartbeat thudding somewhere too high in your chest.

“no,” one of your friends whispered beside you, voice tight. “no, no, no…”

you couldn’t move.

you were frozen in place, staring at him through the blinding white of the stadium lights, through the sea of players gathering like a wall between him and the rest of the world. you could barely see his face anymore—but you remembered the way it looked.

like he knew.

like in that one second—he knew something was wrong. something bad. something he couldn’t walk off.

suddenly, the crowd shifted, murmurs rising like smoke. they were carrying him.

two staff members on either side, arms looped under his shoulders, another holding his leg steady as they carefully lifted him off the court. hyunjin’s face was buried in the crook of his elbow, jaw clenched so tight you could see the tension from where you sat.

you stood halfway out of instinct, trying to follow him with your eyes, but the mass of movement on the court swallowed him up. the trainers led him to the far corner near the benches, behind a curtain.

and just like that, he was gone from view.

your stomach dropped.

on the court, your coach looked stunned—frozen for a second too long, his clipboard limp in his hands. he blinked hard, almost like shaking himself out of a daze, and then turned, his voice barely carrying over the now-muted stadium.

a sub scrambled to his feet, face pale as he stripped off his warm-up jersey and jogged toward the line. no one looked ready. no one was ready. the rotation was lopsided now. the rhythm shattered.

they had to play without him.

your team returned to their positions like ghosts, stiff and quiet, eyes flicking toward the sideline every few seconds.

you didn’t even realize you were walking until your feet hit the concrete stairs of the bleachers.

one step. then another.

the sound of the game behind you dulled into nothing. cheers, squeaks of sneakers, whistles—it all faded into a low hum, like your ears were full of cotton. you pushed past people in the aisle without meeting their eyes, murmuring apologies you didn’t really mean.

you couldn’t stay in there.

not with the scoreboard still ticking. not with them still playing like everything was normal.

you slipped out the side exit of the stadium, the heavy doors swinging shut behind you with a thud that echoed down the hallway.

the air out here was colder. sterile. the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead as you moved past storage closets and empty water coolers, the polished floors squeaking under your shoes. no signs. no directions. just your gut pulling you forward.

you passed the locker rooms. the hallway turned narrower, less familiar, walls a little grimier, like you weren’t meant to be here without a staff badge. but you kept going. past laundry carts and low murmurs behind closed doors.

and then—around a final corner—you saw it.

the door leading to the first-aid clinic. you moved closer, careful, heart hammering so hard you thought it might bruise your ribs.

you reached for the handle.

it didn’t budge.

locked.

from inside, you could hear muffled voices—the medic speaking low and even, someone voice barely audible in return. you leaned in instinctively, trying to catch a word, a phrase, anything that would make this feel less terrifying.

but you couldn’t make anything out.

your fingers stayed wrapped around the doorknob for a second longer, trembling slightly, and then finally dropped to your side.

you backed up a step. then another.

your back hit the cold concrete wall behind you, and you slid down slowly, knees folding until you were crouched there in the hallway like you’d forgotten how to stand.

you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes.

everything felt warped, like the fluorescent lights above you were humming louder than they should, like the cold of the floor had sunk all the way into your bones.

you didn’t hear the door open. you only saw it move.

a creak. a shift. then a sliver of light spilled into the hallway.

someone—one of the medics, probably a student trainer—poked his head out. young. clipboard in hand. his brows knit as he glanced down and saw you there, curled up in your hoodie and university tee, the stripes of face paint still smudged across your cheeks.

you blinked up at him, dry-mouthed.

“hi,” you said.

it came out too soft. like a question you weren’t sure how to ask.

he stared for a second, taking in your whole mess of a posture and game-day colors, your trembling hands and your knees drawn up to your chest. his eyes flicked to the crest on your shirt, the one that matched the jersey hyunjin had been wearing.

“were you trying to open the door?” he cleared his throat. “can i help you?”

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. you looked down at yourself—still dressed like you were going to war for school spirit, like this was just a fun night out.

you felt ridiculous.

you looked up at him, throat tight. “is hwang hyunjin in there?”

the man nodded slowly, shifting awkwardly in the doorway. “yeah. he is.”

something in you relaxed at the confirmation, just for a second—but it didn’t last.

the guy looked over his shoulder, then back at you, rubbing the back of his neck. “look, i get it. i do. but you shouldn’t be here.”

your stomach twisted.

you nodded, more out of instinct than agreement. “i know,” you whispered.

“it's nothing personal. he's just not in great shape right now,” he said, more gently this time. “they’re still figuring out the damage. trying to keep things quiet. we don’t want anyone back here yet.”

you nodded again, this time more shakily, pressing your fingers into the hem of your sleeve just to feel something solid. the man lingered for a moment, still halfway in the doorway, like he didn’t want to be the one to push you away completely.

then, after a beat, he sighed. “but i can check.”

your head snapped up.

“really?” you breathed, eyes wide.

he hesitated—then gave you a look that said don’t make me regret this before slipping back inside and gently shutting the door behind him.

you stayed frozen in place, heart in your throat, chest rising and falling way too fast. you stared at the door like you could see through it, like if you just focused hard enough, it would let you in.

seconds passed. maybe a minute. it felt like an hour.

then the door creaked open again.

the man leaned out and gave a slight tilt of his head. “come in,” he said quietly.

you didn’t even hesitate.

you scrambled to your feet, legs still shaky, and followed him inside.

the room was colder than you expected. colder and too bright.

it smelled like antiseptic and old sweat and something metallic, like the sharp edge of panic that hadn’t quite left the air. you stepped inside slowly, eyes adjusting to the stark contrast between this place and the roaring stadium just minutes ago. the walls were a dull gray, the floor scuffed with years of cleats and court shoes. it didn’t feel like a place where someone like hyunjin should be.

he sat on the padded table, jersey still on. his left knee was wrapped, elevated on a foam wedge. his face was pale, damp with sweat, lips parted like he’d been breathing through pain for too long.

the doctor stood beside him, glancing at a clipboard. “alright, hang tight,” she said gently. “we’ll be back in a few with imaging details, okay?”

hyunjin nodded slowly, not quite meeting her eyes.

then she turned to leave, pausing only to give the trainer a quiet nod. they both slipped past you, closing the door behind them with a quiet click.

you stood there.

for a second, hyunjin didn’t move.

then his head turned toward you, slow and heavy like it took effort just to look.

his eyes found yours—and they weren’t the ones you knew.

this was something else entirely. empty. distant. like he was still falling, even now.

he didn’t say anything.

his jaw was tight. his hands rested stiffly at his sides, like he didn’t trust them to hold anything—not even his own weight. his shoulders were tense, his posture too upright, like the pain was the only thing anchoring him.

you took a few slow steps forward, hesitant like you were approaching a stranger.

“hyune,” you said softly.

nothing.

just the faintest twitch of his fingers.

you could see the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, the way his lip wobbled for a half-second before he caught it. he blinked—once, then again—and looked away, back down to his knee like if he stared at it hard enough, it might undo whatever had just happened.

you took another cautious step toward him, watching him crumble in slow motion.

your voice came out quiet, barely more than a breath. “one to ten?”

it was a thing you always did—after tough practices, late-night cramps, bruises from blocked spikes. you’d ask it with a smile, even when he was clearly hurting, and he’d roll his eyes and say two or four, just to seem tough. sometimes he’d lie and say ten, just to make you laugh.

but this time, he didn’t answer right away.

he let out a sharp breath through his nose, almost like a laugh—but there was nothing funny in it. his hands finally clenched into fists at his sides.

then he looked at you, and something behind his eyes snapped.

“it doesn’t matter.”

his voice was flat. cold. shaky with everything he was trying not to feel.

you froze.

“i’ve seen this,” he said, more to himself now. “i’ve seen guys go down just like this. same way. and just like that—” he snapped his fingers harshly. “they’re done.”

you shook your head instinctively. “no, hyun—”

“it’s over,” he said, cutting you off, voice cracking around the edges. “do you get that? and i felt it the second i landed.”

he paused, shoulders rising like he was trying to hold himself together with just breath. you stepped closer, barely breathing, your hands aching to reach for him—but still unsure if he’d even let you.

“i know,” you said gently. “i know it feels like that right now. like everything’s ending. but it’s not—hyunjin, it’s not over.”

“no,” he said sharply, voice rising, fraying. “y/n, don’t—don’t say that.”

your heart splintered.

his hands trembled on the edge of the table, clutching the vinyl padding like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

“you don’t get it,” he said, turning his face away from you, eyes glistening. “you’re brilliant. you’ve always known what you’re doing. everyone on my team does too,” he kept going, his voice shaking harder now, barely holding together. “they’ve got degrees lined up. internships. backup plans.”

his chest rose and fell faster, his breath uneven. he finally looked at you, and the heartbreak in his face knocked the wind from your lungs.

“i don’t,” he said, quietly, helplessly. “i don’t have anything else.”

his chin trembled. and then—just like that—he broke.

tears welled in his eyes too fast to stop, slipping down his cheeks before he could even wipe them away. he tried—he really tried—to hold it in. but it was no use.

“this sport is all i have,” he whispered again, voice barely there, shattered between sobs.

you didn’t say anything.

you couldn’t. there was no fixing this with words. no comforting lie that would make him believe it wasn’t happening. so instead, you stepped closer, so gently, and reached a hand toward him.

fingers threading through his hair—slow, steady, soft.

he flinched at first, like touch would be too much, but the second your hand settled there, something in him caved. his shoulders dropped. his head tilted forward into your palm like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

your other hand came up to cradle the back of his head, guiding him forward.

he leaned in, pressing his forehead gently into your stomach, his whole body folding inward. you wrapped your arms around him, holding his head like something precious—like you were trying to shield him from the weight of what was happening.

and for the first time since the fall, he let himself be held.

it had been a few days. to no one’s surprise, the other team took the win home.

the official word came down two mornings after the game: full acl tear, grade three. complete rupture. months of rehab. no return this season. no guarantees beyond that.

you’d been there when they told him. sat beside him in the tiny office with the blinds drawn, the doctor’s voice steady and clinical as she read off the report. hyunjin hadn’t said a word the entire time. just stared down at his hands, jaw locked, expression unreadable in that terrifying way it gets when he's not okay but refuses to show it.

since then, everything had been... quieter.

the news spread fast, of course. the university’s athletic account posted an official update—“wishing a full recovery.” his teammates rallied around him publicly, reposted the announcement with hearts and strength emojis. but under all that noise, in the places that mattered, it was like someone had pressed pause on hyunjin’s whole world.

and your friends never asked either.

not really.

they gave you the space to bring it up first, which you hadn’t. a few of them texted to say they were sorry, or that they’d heard and were thinking of you both. but no one asked how he was holding up. no one pushed.

you appreciated it more than you could say.

because honestly, you didn’t even know what to tell them.

he’d texted earlier this morning to let you know he was in his dorm room when you asked him where he was.

he hadn’t wanted to talk volleyball. at all. the day after the diagnosis, he shoved his gear into a box and pushed it into the back of his closet. he didn’t even watch the next game. 

so he tried something else.

a distraction. something that didn’t involve courts or rosters. something that felt like anything but the thing he loved most.

you found him in the corner of his dorm room, tucked beside his desk where the late afternoon light streamed in from the window. his crutches leaned against the wall beside him, forgotten for the moment. he was sitting on a low stool, hunched over a sketchpad with a charcoal pencil in hand, his left leg extended stiffly in front of him in its brace.

you paused in the doorway for a second, just watching.

there was smudge on his cheek. a little streak of black where he must’ve rubbed his face without realizing. his hair was pulled back in a messy bun. there were shadows under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping well—not that he ever said it out loud.

he lifted his head when he heard your footsteps.

you softened instantly. “hi, hyunjin.”

he gave you a small smile—barely there, but real. “hey.”

you made your way over, sliding onto the empty stool next to him, careful not to bump his leg. up close, you could see more of the charcoal dust on his fingers, the soft curve of concentration still lingering in his brows.

“whatcha working on?” you asked gently, nodding toward the sketchpad in his lap.

he looked down at it, then tilted it slightly so you could see.

it was a portrait—stunning, honestly. still unfinished, but already detailed enough to recognize the profile, the emotion, the shadow work. you blinked at it, impressed.

“is that…?” you started.

“one of my favorite movies,” he said, lips twitching up just a little. “it’s the scene i always liked.”

“it’s really good,” you said honestly. “like… really good.”

he gave a little shrug, wiping his thumb along the side of the paper to soften a line. “i still remember a bit from when i used to do art. a few years ago. took a class once. my teacher said i had a gift.” then he smiled again, sheepish this time, “and i ignored her and spent all my time elsewhere.”

you knew what elsewhere meant.

volleyball. always volleyball. 

but you didn’t push.

instead, you just nodded softly, watching the way he blended the shadow near the jawline with a precision that felt both practiced and instinctive.

“how’s your knee?” you asked after a quiet moment.

without looking up, he murmured, “honestly? it hurts pretty bad.”

your chest tightened.

he shifted a little on the stool, trying to get more comfortable, but winced when his brace caught against the edge of the table leg. “the meds help a little, but the brace is stiff as hell. and i keep waking up at night.”

he rubbed his palm over his knee gently, not like it helped, more like it was habit. a quiet frustration simmered beneath his words—one you’d come to recognize too well. the kind that wasn’t about pain alone.

you reached over and brushed some charcoal dust from his wrist.

“i'm sorry,” you said, softly.

he looked at you, then—not just glanced, but really looked. eyes a little red, a little tired.

but grateful.

you let your fingers linger just a moment longer against his wrist, feeling the faint tremble in it even as he tried to keep his hand steady over the page.

“when’s surgery, again?” you asked gently.

he looked down at his knee again, then exhaled slowly through his nose. “this weekend.”

you nodded, the word settling heavy in your chest even though you’d known it was coming.

“saturday morning,” he added. “they want me there by seven. it’s at the ortho clinic just off campus.”

“are you nervous?” you asked.

he didn’t answer right away.

then, with a voice so quiet it barely made it to your ears, he said, “yeah.”

you nodded gently, already a step ahead of him.

“i’ll borrow my friend’s car,” you said. “to come get you that morning.”

hyunjin looked up, surprised.

“i talked to her about it already,” you added with a soft smile. “it’s all set. i’ll drop you off and take you home after. whatever you need.”

his eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders melting just slightly. “thank you, really.”

you didn’t look away.

“of course,” you whispered.

there was a pause, a quiet beat that hung between you like a thread.

his eyes flickered to your mouth—slowly, deliberately.

and before you could even catch your breath, he leaned in.

the kiss wasn’t rushed. it was careful, like he was trying not to break something fragile—like you were the only solid thing left in a world that had suddenly become unsteady.

his lips lingered on yours for a breath longer, then another—like he didn’t want to let go. when he finally pulled back, it was just far enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes still closed, breath brushing softly against your skin.

he didn’t say it. just stayed there, breathing quietly, forehead against yours.

trying not to think about how it used to feel to have you underneath him. or how badly he missed it.

because this wasn’t how it used to be.

whenever you two made out, i would get…physical. you used to kiss like you couldn’t get enough. tangled limbs, rushed hands, mouths colliding again and again between laughs and gasps. he used to grab you by the waist and lift you right into his lap, pin you to the bed. you’d end up flushed and breathless, clothes half-off, his hands under your shirt, yours in his hair.

but now…

now there was no way he could move like that. couldn’t let things get wild or fast or messy. his knee wouldn’t let him. the brace made everything stiff, every shift a risk. he couldn’t even kiss you too hard without pain flaring through his leg.

his breath hitched.

still close, still barely touching, but something in him had started to tremble. not from pain—at least not just pain. his skin had gone hot. your mouth had been so soft against his. your fingers, gentle on his wrist. the warmth of your breath, the kindness in your voice—it stirred something in him that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with need.

real, aching, quiet need.

and you hadn’t noticed yet. you pulled back just slightly, blinking at the way his face had tensed, how a sheen of sweat had started to rise along his brow.

“hyunjin?” you asked softly, brows drawing together. “are you okay?”

he didn’t answer. just closed his eyes for a second, jaw tightening as he breathed out slow through his nose, like maybe he could will the heat in his body to disappear.

you leaned in, frowning, thumb brushing a bead of sweat off his cheekbone. “what’s wrong?” you whispered, more worried now. “what do you need?”

you started to move—maybe to grab water, maybe just to give him space—but his hand shot out and caught your wrist before you could stand. not rough, but firm. stronger than he’d touched you all week. his eyes met yours then, wide, dark, burning in a way you hadn’t seen since before the injury.

“you,” he breathed.

you blinked, breath caught somewhere in your throat. “what?” you asked, voice small, barely more than a puff of air.

hyunjin didn’t answer right away.

instead, his gaze held yours and then he guided your hand down, slow, deliberate, until your palm met the heat between his legs. his fingers curled lightly around your wrist, pressing, just enough for you to feel it.

hard.

you froze.

he was already so hard it pulsed beneath your touch, straining against the soft fabric of his shorts, hot through the cotton. your lips parted in a quiet, startled breath—eyes flicking up to meet his again, searching, questioning, caught between confusion and something much heavier.

he swallowed.

and then he was looking at you differently—like he couldn’t stop. like he’d forgotten everything else. the pain. the brace. the sterile clinic room with its sharp fluorescent lights. all of it faded as he stared at your face now, your wide eyes and parted lips, your fingers still resting right over his cock, uncertain but not pulling away.

you looked so soft. so concerned. so painfully beautiful.

too good for him.

too gentle to be caught up in whatever this was trying to turn into.

the image of how you used to look beneath him—hair spread out on the pillow, flushed cheeks, that gasp you’d make when he kissed your neck just right—it slammed into his chest so hard it almost knocked the air out of him.

and still, your hand stayed

you didn’t even realize your thumb had shifted slightly, tracing the heat through the fabric without thinking. you could feel how hard he was now, pulsing against your palm like his body was begging without him having to say a word.

but your heart was racing, chest tight, torn between the rush building in your core and the sting of guilt that came with it.

“i…” you started, voice catching, eyes flicking down, then back to his. “i can’t—hyunjin, you’re hurt…”

the words felt wrong even as you said them. his leg. his knee. the brace locked stiff across the line of his thigh. he couldn’t move the way he used to, couldn’t roll you under him, couldn’t press his weight into you like before. and part of you was terrified of doing anything that might make it worse.

but hyunjin didn’t flinch. didn’t let go.

his fingers tightened around your wrist, just a little. his throat worked around a thick swallow, adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to speak.

“we don’t have to…” he started, voice hoarse. “go all out,” then he exhaled—long and slow, jaw clenched like it physically hurt to hold the words back—and the sound that came with it wasn’t just breath. 

it was a moan.

and it hit you somewhere deep.

your body reacted before your thoughts could catch up—heat blooming between your legs. his voice always did that to you, but hearing it like this—like he couldn’t even help it—made something tighten hard in your belly.

“just…” he breathed again, eyes dragging across your face like he couldn’t get enough, “just something.”

his gaze dipped lower. to your mouth. the flush climbing your throat. the way your thighs had pressed together just slightly as you sat.

and still, you looked at him with that soft concern. the look in your eyes that made his cock twitch painfully inside his shorts.

for a second, you didn’t say anything—just stared at him, fingers still resting on the thick heat of him, heart hammering so loud it drowned out everything else. the room felt too small, too quiet. you were straddling the edge of something, dizzy with want but scared to fall all the way in.

then—slowly—you reached behind you.

your hand found the door handle, turned it, and you heard the soft click of the lock sliding into place.

hyunjin’s eyes tracked every movement.

you still didn’t look at him as you pulled your hand back, settling it in your lap. “i’m scared,” you whispered.

it wasn’t a plea. it was just the truth. raw. honest. the way your voice only got when you couldn’t hide what you were feeling anymore.

and he softened immediately.

not in his body—he was still hard, still aching—but in his face, in his eyes, in the way his hand slowly loosened its grip on your wrist and slid up to cup your waist instead. “don’t be,” he said quietly, thumb brushing over your shirt. “you’re with me.”

you swallowed hard, then reached up and gathered your hair in both hands. twisting it quickly, you tied it into a loose knot at the top of your head—out of the way. practical. familiar.

his breath caught.

you didn’t have to say anything. he understood.

his cheeks flushed, mouth falling open slightly as he watched, and then—careful, slow—he rolled his chair back a few inches. the wheels squeaked softly against the floor, giving you more space, clearing the narrow strip between him and the edge of the desk.

then he hooked his thumb under the waistband of his sweatpants.

the fabric caught for a second on his brace, but he tugged gently, shifting the good leg first, inch by inch. down past his hips, baring the tight line of his stomach, then the hard length of him straining up against his briefs, thick and flushed and twitching where it pressed into the cotton. he pushed them down too, just enough, cock springing free with a soft thud against his lower belly.

he watched you the whole time.

like you were the only thing in the room. like every breath he took depended on what you would do next.

it took you a second to breathe.

the way he looked sitting there—back against the chair, legs parted carefully around the brace, chest rising and falling under his t-shirt, flushed and exposed and completely still except for the twitch of his cock—was enough to make your knees feel unsteady even though you weren’t standing.

he was beautiful.

long and thick, flushed at the tip, a bead of slick already welling there as if his body was just as impatient as his eyes. his body tensed when you leaned in, gaze flicking between his face and the heavy line of him resting against his lower stomach.

you reached out with your hand—no hesitation this time—and wrapped your fingers gently around the base.

he hissed through his teeth.

“fuck—” he breathed, head tipping back against the edge of the chair.

you stroked once, slow and curious, thumb brushing just beneath the tip. he twitched again, harder, a tremble running down his thighs as he tried to hold still. his hands gripped the arms of the chair, knuckles white.

“is this okay?” you asked, voice low, thumb circling now.

he nodded, eyes half-lidded. “yeah. yeah, that’s—” he couldn’t finish. his head rolled back, dark hair threatening to slip free from the messy bun. it spilled around his shoulders as he exhaled, a shuddering breath that turned into a soft moan when your grip tightened just a little.

you did it again. squeezed at the top, slow twist of your wrist, then slid your hand back down. you couldn’t stop watching his face—the way it tensed, the way his mouth parted just slightly, the sheer effort it took for him to stay still in that chair.

and he was so warm in your grip. so hard. so desperately full.

you leaned in.

hyunjin’s eyes snapped down to you, breath hitching audibly. his fingers twitched at the edge of the chair arm, and then your mouth was on him.

he let out a sound—half-moan, half-gasp—as your lips slid over the head of his cock, tongue swirling to catch the taste of him. you moaned around him, soft and quiet, and the vibration made him groan aloud.

“ah, fuck—baby—”

you took him deeper, slowly, carefully, easing your lips down his length while your hand stroked what your mouth couldn’t reach. 

hyunjin’s breathing turned ragged, each inhale sharper than the last, his chest rising fast beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. you could feel him throbbing on your tongue, as your lips slid down again—deeper this time, slower, letting the stretch of him fill your mouth.

his moans were coming more freely now.

soft, broken things that fell from his lips with no control. his hand finally let go of the chair arm, trembling as it hovered in the air for a second before he reached out and touched you.

fingertips to your temple first. featherlight. like he was afraid he’d shatter if he took more than that.

then his palm curved behind your head. but it didn’t stay gentle. the longer your mouth worked around him, the more his grip tightened, his breath falling faster.

and then he started pushing.

harsh and mindless.

each time you tried to ease back, his hand would push forward again, holding you there longer, deeper, chasing the heat of you without any thought. his hips couldn't do what they used to—his knee locked him in place—but his hand compensated for everything his body couldn’t. and it kept pushing, guiding, pressing you down until you couldn’t take more without your throat burning and your breath catching.

you let out a muffled noise, hands bracing against his thighs, trying to signal to him to slow down—but he didn’t hear it. didn’t see. his head had dropped back, hair falling loose around his flushed face, lips parted in a moan that sounded more like a sob.

he wasn’t with you.

he was inside himself—somewhere dark, somewhere drowning—and using your mouth like it was the only way to claw back toward the surface.

you choked softly, eyes stinging, unable to pull back. your throat ached.

every push of his hand kept you down longer than the last—too deep, too fast. your jaw was sore, your eyes blurred, your lungs clawing for space that wouldn’t come. the weight of him, the pressure, the heat—it wasn’t pleasure anymore.

not for you.

it didn’t feel like him.

not the way he usually was. not your hyunjin, who used to check on you between every kiss, who held your face like it was something sacred, who used to stop even if you blinked too fast.

now it felt like he didn’t see you at all.

like you weren’t a person anymore—just something to forget the pain in his knee and the fear in his chest. he wasn’t here. not really. his head was thrown back, hair falling wild around his face, mouth parted like he was dreaming. his hips twitched and his grip only tightened.

and you couldn’t breathe.

you reached up blindly, panic crawling up your spine, and your fingers found his wrist. you squeezed—hard—nails digging in, not gentle. you tugged, sharp and clear, trying to break through the fog he’d sunk into.

he didn’t respond.

you let out a sound around him—muffled, choked—desperate, strained. the shape of your safe word barely formed against his skin, but you tried. a soft, garbled syllable that wasn’t a word but should’ve been enough.

he finally stilled.

right on the edge of another thrust, his body went stiff, lips parting like he was about to say something—maybe your name, maybe nothing at all—but you beat him to it.

you yanked your head back with what little leverage you had left, slipping free from his grip, from his cock, from everything.

you coughed, choked, gasping as cool air hit your throat again, and then the tears came—hot, sudden, uncontainable.

“red,” you managed to say, voice cracked and hoarse. “red—red—”

the word hit like a gunshot.

hyunjin froze.

his whole face changed in an instant. every bit of color drained from his cheeks, and his hands, which had just been gripping the arms of the chair like a lifeline, fell limp.

“oh my gosh.”

you were already sliding backward, falling to the floor, knees knocking the desk leg as you curled in on yourself. your hands shook where they braced against the tile, and your chest heaved as you tried to pull in air that wouldn’t come smooth. you were crying now—no sound at first, just tears streaking hot down your cheeks, lips parted in a silent sob, your throat too raw to speak.

he scrambled, clumsy, heart in his throat. one hand yanked his sweatpants back up, barely getting them over his hips.

“hey, baby, i didn’t fuck, i didn’t know—i wasn’t thinking, i’m so—” his voice broke, and he reached for you with trembling hands. “i’m so fucking sorry—”

he touched your face, barely.

fingertips to your temple, your jaw, trying to check if you were okay, trying to wipe the tears that kept coming. his touch was gentle now. so different from how it had been minutes before, like the realization had shattered something inside him.

but you couldn’t look at him.

you were shaking too hard, too fast, every breath coming short, sharp, uneven. you curled further into yourself, arms hugging your sides, forehead pressed to your knees. you didn’t push him away—but you didn’t answer him either.

your skin recoiled under his fingertips.

even though his hands were soft now—so soft, barely brushing along your jaw like he was scared to break you—you still flinched. a subtle twitch at first, then a shiver so full-body it knocked your balance as you tried to push upright.

“don’t,” you rasped, voice raw and shaking. you didn’t mean to sound so small. so scared. but you were.

he froze.

you didn’t even look at him. you couldn’t.

your hands scraped the floor as you stood—clumsy, uneven, like your legs weren’t steady under you. you grabbed for your bag, for your phone, for something solid to hold onto. everything in your chest felt like it was spinning, tearing, trying to collapse into itself.

“i need to go,” you whispered, backing toward the door.

hyunjin’s mouth opened, but no words came. just a broken sound, breath catching, shoulders shaking like his whole body had stopped working.

“i didn’t know,” he finally said, voice cracking. “i didn’t mean to—i wasn’t—”

he was crying now. not quietly. not the kind of tears you hide.

they poured down his cheeks, one after the other, lips trembling, eyes wide and full of everything he couldn’t fix. “i’m so sorry,” he choked out, curling forward like the words hurt. “please, i didn’t mean to hurt you, baby—”

but you were already reaching for the door handle.

your hand shook as you unlocked it, chest tight, the cool metal grounding you even as the room blurred with tears. you still couldn’t look at him. not with how scared you still were.

the door clicked open beneath your trembling fingers, and cold air spilled in from the hallway—but it didn’t clear your head.

it didn’t make anything better.

you stood there for a second, caught in the threshold, chest still heaving, heart still slamming like it didn’t know how to stop. you didn’t look back. couldn’t. you could hear him behind you though, curled forward on the floor, gasping through sobs he couldn’t swallow down.

but that wasn’t him.

that wasn’t hyunjin.

not the one you knew. not the one who used to cradle your face between kisses, who used to hold your hand in the dark just because he liked the way your fingers fit his. not the one who used to whisper how much he loved your voice, even when you were only reading out loud from your textbook.

this wasn’t him.

and whatever this injury had done to him… it went deeper than you thought.

it had eaten something. hollowed him out.

left behind someone who could shut his eyes and chase comfort in your body without even hearing you cry.

you wiped at your face with the back of your sleeve, but more tears came.

because you knew him. you knew his heart. you’d seen every soft piece of it. you’d held it. and even now, you wanted to believe that he didn’t mean it—that the real hyunjin was buried under all that pain and grief and fear of losing the one thing he’d built his life around.

but wanting to believe wasn’t enough. not tonight.

you stepped out into the hall. the door clicked shut behind you.

and for the first time since you’d met him, you didn’t feel safe with him.

it was still dark when you parked outside his dorm.

the campus was quiet—too quiet for 6:30 a.m., the sky barely touched with light, the windshield misting over with the last traces of night. you sat there in your friend’s borrowed car, engine idling low, hands resting on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the front door.

a minute passed. then two.

and then—you saw him.

hyunjin came down the steps slowly, crutches under each arm, hood pulled up, sweatpants hanging loose over the bulky brace on his leg. his pace was careful, uneven, but steady. he moved like he didn’t want anyone to look at him too long.

you got out immediately, door creaking in the quiet. “do you need help?”

he looked up and gave you a small smile—gentle, so much softer than you expected. “no i’m okay,” he said, voice just above a whisper. “thank you.”

you stepped back as he opened the passenger door and climbed in, easing himself down. he slid the crutches into the backseat, shut the door, and settled in without a sound.

you walked around to the driver’s side, climbed in, and pulled your seatbelt over your shoulder.

as you started the drive, the streets still empty and blue-tinted with morning, he turned to you.

“you really didn’t have to do this,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something heavy.

and maybe he was right.

you shouldn’t be here. not after what happened. not after how he hurt you—physically, emotionally, in a way you still hadn’t figured out how to name. but you were here. because you loved him. because no matter how much pain there was, you couldn’t stand the thought of him going through this alone.

so you just said, “it’s okay. i didn’t want you to be alone after surgery.” you glanced at him, voice soft. “i know anesthesia can make you dizzy.”

he didn’t say anything for a moment. but when you stopped at the red light and looked over, you saw the way he was staring at you—like your care was something he couldn’t quite believe was still his to receive.

his eyes stayed on you, searching. you could feel the weight of it even in the stillness.

then, his voice broke through the quiet. fragile. raw.

“i’m sorry, baby.”

you didn’t respond right away. your fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel, your throat catching.

“what i did… that day…” he shook his head, gaze dropping to his lap like he couldn’t even look at you. “it was unforgivable.”

you opened your mouth to say something, anything—but he kept going.

“are you okay?” his voice cracked. “did i hurt you?”

you didn’t answer immediately, and that silence alone made his breath hitch.

you wanted to say no. wanted to take his pain and carry it for him, like you always did. but you couldn’t lie—not about this.

so you whispered, barely audible, “a little.”

he flinched. your hands were still on the wheel, eyes locked on the road, but you could feel him unravel beside you.

you swallowed hard. “you didn’t mean to. i know that.”

“but i did,” he said, almost to himself. “i was so far gone i didn’t even see it.”

the pain in his voice made your chest ache.

and still, the car kept moving forward—two people in the same space, carrying wounds too fresh to fully name, but still choosing not to let go.

the clinic came into view faster than you expected—just a few more turns, a quiet lot, and a small sign out front that read orthopedics in clean, neutral lettering.

you pulled into a space near the entrance, engine humming to a stop. the sky was still a soft gray, the sun just beginning to push up over the horizon, casting a pale gold light across the windshield.

neither of you moved.

there was still time. maybe ten minutes before they’d call him in. enough to sit in the quiet. enough to say the things that hadn’t found a place yet.

hyunjin stared out the window for a moment, then turned toward you slowly. his face was pale in the early light, eyes heavy with everything he’d been holding back.

“i don’t even know how to start,” he said softly.

you glanced at him, your heart twisting. 

he leaned his head back against the seat, staring up at the ceiling of the car like maybe it would offer answers. “i’ve never felt so… lost. i thought i could just push it all away. pretend like it didn’t matter if i played again. pretend like i didn’t care.”

“but you do,” you said.

he nodded slowly, eyes closing. “i do. i care so much it’s eating me alive. and i used you to make it stop for a second.”

you looked down at your hands, folded in your lap

“i don’t know what i’ve become,” he whispered, voice cracking like the words hurt more coming out than staying in. “i look at myself and i don’t… recognize it. the way i think. the way i treat you. the way i can’t stop being angry.”

he stopped, swallowing hard. 

“and even after everything,” he went on, quieter now, shaking his head in disbelief, “you still show up. at ass o’clock in the morning, no less.” he gave a broken laugh. “still with that look on your face like you don’t hate me.”

you looked up at him then, and he met your eyes, raw and stunned and aching.

“you’re still the sweetest damn thing,” he said. “and i feel terrible.”

he meant it. every word. you could hear it in the way his voice faltered, in the way he couldn’t even look at you too long without blinking hard, like he was afraid he’d cry all over again.

and in that moment, it wasn’t just guilt.

it was grief—for the person he used to be. for the person he thought he ruined. and for the fact that you stayed anyway. you reached over, gently placing your hand on his arm—warm, steady, grounding him in the silence between you.

“you’re going through so much right now,” you said softly. “more than i can imagine. and… i get it. i do.”

he didn’t look at you right away, but you felt the way his muscles tensed under your palm. like the weight of your understanding was heavier than blame.

“i’m not saying it’s okay,” you continued. “it’s not. what happened scared me. and i’ll admit that—because i can’t lie to you. it was scary.”

he flinched, but you squeezed his arm gently.

“but i still want to be here,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “because i know your heart and what happened that day wasn’t you.”

he turned to you, eyes glassy. “i don’t deserve you.”

“that’s not for you to decide.”

he exhaled shakily, dropping his forehead for a moment like he needed to gather every ounce of control he had left. then, with his voice low and sure, he looked up and said:

“i promise… nothing like that will ever happen again.”

you watched him, holding your breath.

“i swear, y/n,” he said. “i’ll never put you in that place again. you’ve never had to say our safe word before that day, not once. and from now on… you won’t. you never will.”

you saw the guilt in his eyes. but more than that—you saw the intent. the need to mean it. to prove it.

you nodded slowly, your chest tight with everything you hadn’t said but still felt. and then, without overthinking it, without needing to say another word—you leaned in.

you kissed him.

his lips moved against yours with the same softness, like he understood exactly what you were offering. like he was afraid to take too much. one of his hands moved to your jaw, barely brushing your skin, his thumb trembling just slightly as it hovered near your cheek.

he kissed you like he wanted to be better. like he needed to show you that he could be.

you pulled back slowly, your forehead resting gently against his.

there was a beat of silence.

then you whispered, “ready to get cut open?”

a huff of air left his nose, and he actually chuckled. a real one, small and hoarse, but real. “god, you really know how to set the mood.”

you smiled, the corners of your mouth lifting just enough to feel like hope.

without another word, you unbuckled your seatbelt and opened your door, the early morning air spilling in, cool and crisp.

hyunjin followed, slowly shifting forward and carefully maneuvering his crutches. you circled around the car as he swung the door closed behind him, crutches tucked under his arms, his weight shifting just slightly as he adjusted. you could tell it still hurt.

still, he looked at you—and you both started toward the entrance together.

click. you locked the car behind you, the sound echoing in the quiet lot.

the automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and the two of you stepped into the quiet sterility of the clinic lobby. the floors gleamed under fluorescent lights. 

hyunjin made his way to the front desk while you hovered just behind him. he gave his name, confirmed the time, signed a clipboard with a hand that trembled more than he probably meant it to.

the nurse behind the counter offered a polite smile. “we’ll call you when he’s in recovery.”

you nodded, lips pressed into a thin line.

hyunjin turned to look at you then—nervous, but trying not to show it.

you reached out and gently brushed your fingers down his sleeve. “i’ll be right here when you wake up,” you said softly.

his eyes lingered on yours like he wanted to say something more, but instead, he just nodded.

and that was enough.

the room was dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of a monitor and the pale light bleeding in from the hallway. hyunjin lay asleep in the recovery bed, his face slack with exhaustion, an oxygen clip on his finger and a thin hospital blanket draped up to his waist. one arm rested loosely at his side, the other still bandaged from the iv.

you sat quietly in the chair next to him, one leg pulled up to your chest, your phone dimmed low in your hand.

you hadn’t meant to look it up. you weren’t sure what made you do it—curiosity, maybe. restlessness. you didn’t want to call it masochism.

but there it was. the clip.

posted on some account. zoomed in.

you watched it with your stomach in knots, biting the inside of your cheek as the moment played out on repeat. the set. hyunjin’s approach. the jump. you already knew what was coming, but even bracing for it didn’t soften the blow.

then the landing.

your eyes flinched before your body could.

the twist of his knee was subtle—too fast, almost invisible if you weren’t looking for it. you hadn’t even noticed it that night in the stands. not like this. not with the slowed frame-by-frame and the awful, perfect clarity.

and then the collapse.

he went down like someone had pulled the ground out from under him. you winced, lowering the phone, suddenly too aware of the weight in your chest. 

you slammed your phone down onto your thigh, a little harder than you meant to. the sharp sound cracked through the stillness of the room like a drop of glass, and the screen went dark in an instant.

you exhaled shakily, your eyes finding him again—hyunjin, pale and quiet, the blanket pulled up to his waist, the brace peeking out from underneath. he looked fragile in a way that didn’t suit him. too still. too quiet.

and then—his fingers twitched.

you sat up straighter.

he stirred, eyelids fluttering once, twice. slowly, he blinked open one eye, unfocused and hazy.

“hi,” he murmured, voice low and rasped and soft as crushed velvet.

your chest squeezed.

“hi, hyunjin,” you whispered back, immediately leaning in.

you kissed his forehead gently, your hand brushing through the strands of hair damp against his temple. he smelled like antiseptic and warmth and something familiar underneath.

“how are you feeling?”

he blinked again, a tiny, tired breath escaping his lips. “fine.”

you smiled, brushing your thumb across his cheek.

“i’ll get someone,” you said. “let them know you’re awake.” you said softly, and reached for the small remote clipped to the side of his bed. you pressed the call button, the little light blinking red.

you sat back a little, still holding his hand, your thumb moving in slow, absent circles against his skin. he was drifting in and out—still groggy, but awake enough to keep his eyes on you, like you were the only thing anchoring him.

there was something else you had to say. something you'd been told in the hallway an hour ago by a nurse with an apologetic smile and a quiet voice.

you waited, watching him breathe, steady and slow.

then finally—quietly—you said, “there’s something i should probably tell you.”

his eyelids lifted slightly, still heavy from the meds. “hm?”

you hesitated.

“i don’t think you’ll want to hear it,” you admitted, giving his hand a soft squeeze. “but… your coach is coming here.”

that got through.

his expression didn’t change much, but you felt the shift. a tension curled through his body—subtle, but there. like something bracing underneath the surface. his fingers tensed under yours.

“he called while you were in surgery,” you continued gently. “said he wanted to see you himself.”

hyunjin stared at the ceiling, his jaw tightening just a little.

you didn’t push him to respond.

you just kept holding his hand.

you were here. no matter who else came through that door.

hyunjin stayed quiet for a moment longer, eyes still on the ceiling like he was searching for something in the sterile white above him. then his grip on your hand loosened—not letting go, just… relaxing.

“it’s okay,” he murmured. “i need to talk to him at some point.”

you gave him a small smile, brushing your thumb along his knuckles.

a few moments passed in comfortable silence before the door creaked open and a nurse stepped inside, clipboard in hand. she offered you both a warm smile as she crossed to hyunjin’s side.

“hey there,” she said gently. “how are we feeling?”

“numb,” hyunjin deadpanned before breaking into a smile.

the nurse chuckled. “fair enough. let’s run some vitals, make sure you’re tolerating everything okay.”

he nodded, letting her work. blood pressure. pulse. pain scale. you watched as he cooperated without complaint, quiet and steady, his expression unreadable but calm.

just as she finished scribbling the last of her notes, she looked up. “by the way,” she said lightly, “your visitor is here.”

hyunjin stiffened for a half second. then he adjusted his posture slightly, pulling the blanket up a little higher, straightening in the bed as best he could.

“he can come in,” he said quietly.

the nurse nodded and stepped out.

the door opened again, and this time a tall man stepped in—mid-forties maybe, graying at the temples, weathered face, windbreaker zipped up halfway with your school’s logo printed over the chest. he paused inside the doorway, eyes scanning the room until they landed on hyunjin.

you started to rise, hand slipping from hyunjin’s as you moved toward the door, ready to give them privacy—space for whatever this conversation was going to be. but before you could even take a full step, his fingers tightened around yours.

you stopped.

his grip wasn’t firm, but it was certain. quietly asking you to stay with him.

so you stayed.

you eased back into your seat beside the bed, glancing up as the coach stepped further into the room. he was tall, broad-shouldered in a way that made the space feel smaller, more serious. but his eyes weren’t cold—just tired. like someone who’d been doing a lot of thinking.

you cleared your throat gently. “hi, sir.”

he looked over at you and gave a small nod, his voice low but familiar. “y/n.”

then his eyes returned to hyunjin.

“hi, coach,” hyunjin said, his tone polite, quiet. measured.

the man stepped closer, stopping just at the foot of the bed. “how’re you holding up?” he asked.

and somehow, the question felt heavier than it sounded. not just about recovery. not just about the knee. it was everything.

hyunjin didn’t answer the question at first. he just sighed—long and slow—his eyes falling to the edge of the blanket draped over his brace. the weight of it all was written in the slump of his shoulders, the way his fingers idly traced the seam in the bedsheet like he needed something to do with his hands.

the coach watched him for a beat, then took a breath. “i’ve been thinking about that last rotation,” he said, voice even but laced with something deeper—guilt, maybe. “i pushed for the shift. pulled you from front to back too fast. you were approaching from the wrong angle and i knew it. that back-row pipe—” he stopped himself, rubbed his jaw, “—that’s a brutal landing when your momentum’s off. you were running too shallow and i let it happen.”

hyunjin’s eyes lifted slowly.

“you’ve done it in practice, yeah. but not like that. not with the pressure we had. i was thinking strategy, not bodies. and yours paid for it.”

“it’s not on you,” hyunjin said, almost too fast.

the coach didn’t argue. he just gave a quiet nod and said, “things like this happen.”

but there was no ease in the way he said it. no comfort.

hyunjin went quiet again, his gaze flickering back to the ceiling, and you stayed still in your chair beside him, fingers curled lightly in your lap, unsure if you should say something or just keep breathing.

then, the coach glanced at you—kindly, not harsh—and said, “y/n, could we have a minute? just the two of us?”

you turned immediately to hyunjin.

his eyes met yours, unreadable at first… then, after a moment’s hesitation, he gave the faintest nod.

you nodded back, slowly rising to your feet. “i’ll just be outside,” you said gently, the words meant more for him than anyone else.

you gave the coach a polite bow before slipping out of the room, leaving the door to click softly shut behind you.

the hallway was quiet, cold, the kind of sterile stillness that made every sound feel sharper. you lowered yourself into the nearest chair just outside his room.

their conversation carried on—quieter now, more personal. you couldn’t hear the words anymore. just tone.

and then—silence.

you sat back against the wall, letting out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, eyes drifting closed for just a moment.

whatever was being said inside that room… you hoped it was enough.

it had been a few weeks since the surgery.

the brace was still on, the crutches were still with him, and the follow-up appointments had become part of your shared routine. you’d bring him snacks while he iced his leg. he’d quietly wait for you outside your lectures, scrolling through his phone without really reading anything.

but something had shifted.

not physically—he was healing fine. but emotionally? that was harder to track. harder to measure.

because he hadn’t told you what his coach said that day in the hospital room. not once. you never asked. not because you didn’t want to know, but because part of you was afraid of what it would mean if he told you.

still, you noticed the change.

he’d started talking to his teammates again. slowly at first. then it was late-night facetimes, low conversations on speakerphone while you worked next to him, laughter that didn’t sound forced.

and with you? he was closer.

he reached for you more now—your hand, your waist, your sleeve as you walked beside him. he asked you to stay longer, hang out more, nap in his room, sit in silence and just be. you figured it was because he wasn’t practicing anymore—because the hours he used to fill with drills and reps now echoed open and unstructured.

but still… there was something.

something you couldn’t name. like he was hugging you a little tighter for reasons you didn’t understand. like he was grateful in a way that didn’t quite match the moment. like every time you kissed him, he wasn’t just kissing you back—he was holding onto something.

right now, you were walking beside him through one of the quieter buildings on campus, the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the tile. the hallway was nearly empty—just the occasional distant echo of footsteps and the buzz of old overhead lights.

hyunjin moved slowly, carefully, but smoother than he had in weeks. he only needed one crutch now, swinging it lightly with each step like he was getting used to the rhythm. his other hand was in yours, fingers laced together, warm and easy.

you were telling him something ridiculous—some story about your friend’s disastrous attempt at making microwavable dumplings and accidentally melting the lid of a tupperware container into something that looked like abstract art.

hyunjin laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “how is she still alive?”

“honestly?” you said, grinning, “i ask myself that every day.”

he smirked, then glanced down the hallway, squinting at a door at the end of the corridor.

“oh, hey—look,” he said, nodding toward the wide windows. “that’s the gym.”

you followed his gaze, eyebrows lifting. “huh. i didn’t realize we were near here.”

he leaned a little toward the glass, cupping a hand around his eyes. “looks empty.”

you looked in too—big open court, polished floor, no lights on but the sun slanting in through the high windows gave everything a golden glow.

“let’s go in,” you said, nudging him playfully.

hyunjin moved to the edge of the court, leaning lightly against the wall, one crutch tucked under his arm.

you peeled off toward the storage room, curiosity tugging at you, and came back a moment later holding a volleyball. scuffed, slightly deflated, but good enough. you dropped it to the ground and gave it a bounce.

thud.

it echoed through the empty gym, and hyunjin’s head snapped toward you, eyes lighting up with something close to amusement—maybe even delight.

he laughed, short and warm. “do you even remember how to play?”

you raised a brow, spinning the ball in your hands. “um, of course.”

he gave you a look. “you wore your kneepads under your knees.”

you gasped dramatically. “because all the girls did that! all the time!”

“yeah, and none of you could walk straight after practice.”

you grinned, bouncing the ball again. “listen, it was about the aesthetic, not the function.”

he shook his head, biting back another smile, and for a moment—just a flicker—something in his posture loosened. like this place didn’t just hold what he lost… but also what he loved.

you caught the ball, turning it over once in your hands, then glanced up at him with a little smirk.

“ready?”

without waiting for a response, you tossed the ball gently in his direction—a soft arc, easy and slow, aimed straight for the area in front of him.

he didn’t even shift his weight.

just lifted his hands, angled his forearms, and bumped it back with a crisp pop, so clean and precise it floated right back into your arms without even spinning.

you caught it, eyes wide. “okay, show-off.” you bounced the ball again, the sound echoing lightly off the gym walls. “wanna pepper?”

hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “you sure?”

you grinned. “i’m not that out of practice.”

he chuckled, pushing off the wall a little. “alright, but if you hit it like, way over there—” he gestured loosely to the far side of the court—“i’m not hobbling after it. i’m on injury probation, remember?”

you nodded solemnly. “deal.”

and then you tossed the ball up and bumped it gently, the pass floating toward him with enough air for him to set it.

he caught it with his fingertips and flicked it up with practiced ease—smooth, clean, almost too perfect. it dropped right above you, and you popped it back over with the heel of your hand.

he bumped it again—still sharp despite barely shifting his feet—and this time, you set it back high and slow.

and then—he slammed it.

not full power, but with that controlled snap of the wrist that made it drop out of the air like it’d been yanked by gravity itself.

you squealed, lunging forward with both hands out, managing to dig it just before it hit the floor. the momentum tipped you over and you rolled, laughing as you landed flat on your back, arms outstretched.

at least the ball floated back toward him.

he tucked it casually into the crook of his arm and grinned down at you.

“you’re mean,” you said breathlessly, still grinning, hair a mess, pride only slightly bruised.

he laughed, eyes crinkling as he looked down at you sprawled across the court.

“you’ve still got it in you, baby,” he said.

you chuckled, brushing hair out of your face as you pushed yourself up to stand, brushing your hands against your jeans. “you’re just saying that because i nearly sacrificed my knees for your hit.”

“hey,” he said, the ball still tucked in one arm. “don’t complain about your knees to me.”

you rolled your eyes, walking toward him with a dramatic limp. “oh, i’m sorry. want me to tear the other one so we match?”

his eyes widened in mock horror. “you wouldn’t.”

you smirked. “i might.”

he shook his head, biting back a grin. “you’re evil.”

you chuckled, that warm kind that came from somewhere deeper, and leaned in before he could say anything else—pressing a kiss to his mouth, soft and sure.

he kissed you back instantly, instinctively. like it was muscle memory. like you were the one thing he never had to think twice about.

his hand slid up your waist, slow and careful, fingers curling around your side as if he needed to hold on to something real. you melted into him—every part of you relaxing, sighing against his lips like this was home, like he was.

when you pulled back just enough to speak, your voice was quiet, steady.

“i love you, hyune.”

his eyes searched yours for a moment, wide and open and impossibly full.

“i love you too,” he whispered, his thumb brushing against your side.

you stayed close, your forehead resting gently against his, his breath still warm against your lips.

but then he shifted—just slightly. his hand lingered at your waist, but something in the way his fingers curled changed. slower. hesitant.

“y/n…” he said softly.

you pulled back just a little to look at him.

your eyes searched his, waiting, sensing it.

he was about to tell you something.

you could feel it in the silence that stretched after your name.

but then he blinked, looked away for a second too long, and his hand dropped back to his side.

“never mind,” he murmured, shaking his head. “it’s nothing.”

you turned your gaze forward, toward the far wall of the gym, swallowing the ache in your throat.

because it wasn’t nothing. you knew it wasn’t. but you also knew he wasn’t ready.

not yet.

the room was dim, lit only by the warm spill of the bedside lamp. the sheets were bunched at the foot of the bed like they’d been pushed down in your hurry to get close.

hyunjin lay propped against the headboard, pillows stacked behind his back, his bad leg stretched out carefully. his other knee was bent slightly, his chest bare, skin flushed, eyes half-lidded as he looked at you—like you were something he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch again.

you were straddling his hips, thighs braced on either side of his waist, your palms resting gently on his chest. the stretch of you around him made your breath catch, and his hands trembled slightly as they found your hips, grounding himself in the heat of your skin.

his hands, still trembling slightly, smoothed up your sides beneath the hem of your soft cami, the thin cotton clinging damply to your back with sweat. you rocked your hips down again with a muted gasp, the motion achingly slow, the stretch deep and languid.

“ah fuck,” hyunjin hissed through his teeth, his head tipping back, exposing the long line of his throat. his fingers dug into your hips, but not hard enough to hurt. just enough to keep himself tethered to the moment. “you feel so fucking good like this.”

your breath caught on a tiny whimper as you lifted again, the slick sound of him leaving you wet and open echoing faintly in the quiet room. you were trying to be gentle, mindful of the way his injured leg stretched out beside you, but each time you rocked down again, that careful rhythm unraveled a little more.

“hyune,” you breathed, voice shaking as you bent forward and braced your hands on either side of his chest. the motion pressed your cami tighter across your breasts, the thin fabric straining where your nipples peaked, soaked slightly where sweat clung. he looked up at you like you were something divine, dazed and reverent, his lips parted in awe.

“you’re killin’ me, baby,” he rasped, one hand sliding from your hip up to the curve of your waist, fingers splaying under the hem of your shirt. he dragged it a little higher but didn’t take it off. “you’re gonna make me come just like this, fuck—”

you clenched around him, involuntarily, your thighs trembling. his voice cracked when he spoke again, rough and ruined and soft all at once.

“when my leg is healed” he started, mouth moving against your skin, teeth grazing lightly, “i’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you. i swear to god. gonna make up for every time i made you do the work. every single one.”

you whimpered, your whole body twitching in response, overwhelmed by the promise laced in every word. “y-yeah?” you managed to breathe, rocking into him again, the angle shifting just enough to brush something electric deep inside you. your legs shook harder.

he nodded, his hands gripping your waist now, steadying you. his eyes burned up into yours, pupils blown wide. “yeah. gonna have you under me, bent over. won’t let you move without feelin’ me deep. gonna fuck you ‘til you cry.”

his eyes, dark and glistening under the low light, locked onto yours like you were the only real thing in the world. his breath stuttered as he watched the way your face contorted, trembling with need, sweat beading at your temple, your thighs trembling against his hips. you rocked into him again, slow and deep, and he felt it—felt that flutter around his cock, the tight drag of your walls clenching just a little harder as the friction built.

“i love you,” he said suddenly, voice raw, breaking like a wave against your skin. his forehead pressed to yours, lips brushing your cheekbone. “fuck, i love you so much—”

your breath caught, your entire body jerking with the force of it, the sweetness cutting right through the heat and making your chest ache.

“i—i love you too,” you whispered, voice cracking, every word ragged with pleasure and emotion. “i love you, hyun—i’m so close, i can’t, i need—”

he didn’t wait. his right hand slid down from your waist, fingers skimming over the curve of your stomach before settling between your thighs. the pad of his middle finger found your clit, slick and swollen, and began to rub slow, tight circles with practiced pressure.

“right here?” he murmured against your mouth, his voice shaking with restraint as he moved in rhythm with your hips. “right here, baby? gonna come for me like this?”

you moaned helplessly, louder now, no longer trying to hold anything back. “oh gosh—hyun, please—right there, don’t stop—”

his hips jerked beneath you, his control unraveling. “fuck, i’m close too—so close,” he gasped, his cock throbbing inside the condom, still buried deep, pulsing with every clench of your cunt around him. the way your walls squeezed him each time he rubbed over that spot—it was too much, too perfect.

you clung to his shoulders, nails pressing half-moon imprints into his skin as your thighs began to shake uncontrollably. you rolled your hips forward, just a little, and his finger pressed harder to your clit as he gasped out your name.

that was it.

your orgasm hit like lightning, white-hot and overwhelming. you cried out, your voice a broken sob of his name, your body locking tight around him. he felt every twitch, every contraction as you fell apart in his arms.

his hips bucked once, twice, and he buried himself as deep as he could, cock swelling, spurting into the condom as he came with a low, guttural groan against your neck. 

his hands clutched your waist as you both trembled through the aftershocks, breath mingling in broken pants and gasps, bodies locked together in a perfect, trembling knot.

you were still pulsing around him, thighs twitching, mouth open and eyes glazed, his cock softening slowly inside you. his hand lingered between your legs, rubbing you gently through the afterglow until you whined and squirmed from the sensitivity.

“hey,” hyunjin whispered, brushing your hair back with a hand. his other arm stayed wrapped around your waist, holding you close, eyes soft. “you did so well, baby. so, so good for me.”

you shifted slightly, thighs sore, core still pulsing. with care, you lifted yourself off of him, wincing just a little at the sensitivity. hyunjin’s hands steadied you as you moved, his eyes never leaving your face.

“i got it,” he said, sitting up slightly despite the stiffness in his brace. he pulled the condom off, tying it quickly before tossing it into the small trash bin beside his bed. then he reached for the tissue box on the nightstand.

his touch was gentle as he wiped between your thighs—tender, almost reverent, like you were something sacred. “still okay?” he asked, voice low and sweet.

you nodded, cheeks flushed. “yeah. i promise.”

he nodded too, lips pressed together like he was holding back something bigger than a smile. he cleaned himself next, wincing slightly as he adjusted his leg again, then tossed the tissues away and reached out for you.

“c’mere.”

you didn’t hesitate. you crawled back into his arms, your body folding against his like you belonged there—because you did. he pulled the blanket up over you both, tucking it behind your shoulders, then tucked your head under his chin.

he exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that let everything finally settle. his hand found your back again, drawing lazy circles as your breathing began to match his.

you yawned softly, the kind that made your whole body rise and fall with it, head burrowing a little deeper into his chest. the sound made hyunjin smile—tired, full, quiet.

he kissed the top of your head gently.

“y/n,” he murmured, his voice barely above the hum of the bedside lamp.

“mhm?” you replied, eyes still closed, voice muffled into his skin.

he paused. you could feel it in the way his chest stilled under your cheek—like something shifted. his fingers stilled too, resting softly against your spine.

“what would you say,” he said slowly, “if i told you volleyball isn’t my life anymore?”

your eyes opened at that, the sentence settling slowly into your sleep-fogged mind. you tilted your head slightly, just enough to see him. “what?”

hyunjin didn’t answer right away.

his eyes flicked toward the ceiling again, lips parted like the words were there, just stuck somewhere behind his teeth. you waited, watching the way his throat bobbed in a slow swallow, the way his arm tightened just slightly around your waist.

you blinked, still half-draped over him, heart starting to thud with a dull ache. “what do you mean?” you asked, your voice quieter now. “it’s always been your life.”

“i know,” he murmured. his voice was low—like he didn’t want to scare the words away.

his hand drifted slowly along your back, thumb brushing the curve of your spine. “it always was. volleyball… it used to be everything. but ever since this injury…” he paused, inhaling shakily. “i’ve come to learn things. about myself. about life.”

you looked up at him then, brows drawing together, curiosity flickering behind the sleep still clinging to your eyes. “like what?”

he didn’t answer right away. just stared up at the ceiling, as if the words were etched into the plaster and he was tracing them with his eyes.

“i’ve learned that it’s always been something else,” he said, so quietly you almost missed it.

you blinked. “something else?”

his eyes stayed on the ceiling, but you felt the way his fingers flexed gently against your waist, like he was anchoring himself in the feel of you.

“over the sport,” he continued, voice barely above a whisper. “even when i didn’t realize it. even when i said volleyball was my whole world.”

you shifted slightly, propping yourself up on your elbow now, your gaze searching his face. “hyun… what could possibly mean more to you than volleyball?”

his eyes flicked down to meet yours.

he didn’t say anything.

not a word.

just looked at you—really looked—like you were the only thing that made sense in a world that had stopped making any. his lips parted like he might speak, but nothing came out. no dramatic confession. no flourish of words.

just silence.

and then, softly—so soft you barely heard yourself—you said, “oh.”

it hit you all at once.

you.

it was you.

you were the something else.

the thing bigger than the game. you were the only thing he was holding onto when everything else had slipped.

you laid your hand over his heart, feeling it thump unevenly beneath your palm.

you blinked hard, the weight of it pressing into your chest. “where is this coming from?” you asked quietly, eyes never leaving his.

hyunjin’s gaze dropped again, drifting toward the edge of the blanket between you. he swallowed.

“that day,” he said slowly, “when my coach came to see me after the surgery.”

you waited, heartbeat skipping.

“he told me something.”

you sat up a little straighter, heart inching into your throat. “what is it?”

he hesitated, like saying it out loud might split something wide open all over again. his fingers found the hem of your shirt and tugged at it absentmindedly, grounding himself in the soft cotton and your even softer skin beneath it.

“i was scouted,” he said finally. “before the injury.”

your breath caught.

his voice was steady, but quiet. “there was a team. a higher league. semi-pro. they were gonna offer me a spot.”

your lips parted, but nothing came out.

“i didn’t know,” he added. “he was going to tell me after the game. but after i got hurt… they pulled the offer. said they couldn’t take the risk.”

you felt your heart twist, like something inside you folded over on itself.

“i would’ve said yes,” he admitted, eyes fixed somewhere far away. “if i hadn’t gotten injured, i would’ve gone. even if it was across the country”

the silence pressed in around you again—thick and heavy.

“but after everything that happened,” he continued, voice thinner now, like he was peeling something vulnerable straight off his ribs, “i don’t know if that choice would have been the same.”

you stared at him, your fingers tightening slightly where they rested on his chest. “what do you mean?”

hyunjin’s gaze stayed distant for a moment, somewhere just past your shoulder, like he was still watching a version of himself walk away without looking back.

“i mean…” he exhaled, slow and unsteady, “i used to think i’d drop everything if the opportunity came. no questions. i thought that was the only path that mattered. that if i didn’t take it, i’d be nothing.”

he looked at you again, and the rawness in his eyes almost knocked the breath out of you.

“but then i got hurt. and everything stopped. and you were still there.”

you didn’t speak—you just waited, the knot in your throat growing tighter by the second.

“and for the first time,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “i had to sit in the stillness. in the silence. and all i could think about was you. not the scouts. not the stats. not the path i’d worked my whole life for. just… you.”

his thumb brushed absentmindedly along your hip.

your chest ached.

not in the way it used to when he was on the court and you were in the stands, watching him soar.

this ache was deeper. heavier. like your heart finally understood the cost of everything he’d carried—and everything he was letting go of.

you leaned in slowly, your forehead pressing gently to his, your breaths mingling in the soft space between words.

“you’re everything to me as well,” you whispered, voice trembling slightly, “but… i prepared myself for anything, hyun. i always knew volleyball came first. i knew it was your number one. and i never wanted to be the thing that got in the way.”

his hands found your face, cupping your cheeks like he couldn’t believe you were even saying that.

“but it’s not,” he said, firm now. immediate. like the words had been waiting just beneath his ribs. “it’s not anymore.”

you blinked, lips parting, but he kept going— his eyes locked on yours.

“it used to be. it used to be everything. but that version of me…” he exhaled, shaky but sure, “he didn’t know what it felt like to almost lose you. to really see what we have. what we built. that version of me didn’t know how much this” his thumb brushed beneath your eye “could wreck me in the best way.”

he leaned his forehead harder into yours now, eyes fluttering closed.

“you’re not in the way,” he murmured. “you’re the way forward.”

you let out a sound between a breath and a sob, something quiet and broken and whole at the same time. your hands slid up to hold his wrists, grounding him just as much as he was grounding you.

“i didn’t want you to have to choose,” you whispered. “but i’m so glad you did.”

“i didn’t choose because i had to,” he said.

“i chose because i finally saw what mattered the most.”

you breathe in.

let it out.

all you can focus on is the ball.

the sun’s high, white-hot above you, and the roar of the ocean fades into a blur behind the thud of your heart and the beat of your bare feet in the sand. everything else—voices, heat, even the sting of sunscreen in your eyes—melts away. you watch the opposing server toss the ball up. perfect arc. sharp spin.

and then—smack. it’s coming.

you move, knees bend, arms out. you bump it up to your teammate, the ball floating clean and high. she’s already there, ready. you sprint toward the net, muscles burning, the sand pulling at your ankles like it’s trying to slow you down but it won’t—not this time.

your friend sets. high. wide. just how you like it.

you jump.

arms raised, eyes locked on the ball as it hangs in that slow-motion drop of gravity.

and then—

hands.

fast ones.

hyunjin.

he’s already there. tall and smug and laughing as he blocks your spike like he was born to ruin your day. the ball ricochets off his hands with a satisfying smack, straight back into your side of the court.

point: him.

you groan, letting yourself fall dramatically into the sand.

“are you serious?” you yell, spitting a bit of hair from your mouth as you push yourself back up. “you couldn’t let me have one?”

he’s already on the other side of the net, grinning so hard his eyes crinkle.

you narrow your eyes. “oh, that’s it.”

he sees it—your posture, the way you start dusting sand off your knees with purpose—and his grin widens into something almost nervous.

“y/n,” he warns, backing up a step. “let’s not do this—”

you duck under the net without a word.

he yelps.

“you’re insane!” he shouts, already turning, already running—feet kicking up clouds of sand as you sprint after him.

“you’re dead!” you call back, laughter bubbling in your throat as your feet pound across the beach.

he’s fast, but you’re faster.

he bolts for the shoreline like it’s his last line of defense, chest heaving, arms flailing a little as he yells back, “you’re gonna ruin my hair!”

“i’m gonna ruin your whole life!”

by the time he reaches the water, it’s too late. you’re right behind him, and he dives into the shallows with a splash, trying to put distance between you like the ocean’s suddenly his new home turf.

you charge in after him without hesitation. the cold water smacks against your legs, but you don’t stop. 

you launch yourself forward, leaping onto his back with a triumphant shout. he staggers, arms pinwheeling as he lets out a loud, delighted, “agh!” before catching your legs instinctively.

“you menace!” he laughs, gripping your thighs to keep you from sliding off. “you were actually trying to take me down!”

“i succeeded,” you declare proudly, clinging to him like a backpack as he spins in a slow, splashing circle. “it’s justice for that block.”

“justice my ass,” he grumbles, but he’s grinning too wide to mean it.

you wriggle off his back and drop into the water beside him with a splash, waves slapping against your sides as you gather both hands full of seawater.

“don’t you dare—”

splash.

right in his face.

you’re already sticking your tongue out at him, playful and smug. “oops.”

he shakes his head, then tips it forward sharply, water flying off his hair like a wet golden retriever.

“ugh,” he says through the dripping mess, “i hate you.”

you raise a brow, wading back a step, hands spread in mock offense. “you do not.”

he glares at you—then ruins it with a grin.

“no,” he says, stepping closer, sloshing through the surf until he’s right in front of you. “i really, really don’t.”

you barely have time to breathe before he leans in and kisses you—warm and smiling against your mouth like he can’t help himself. you break the kiss with a grin, breathless and glowing, then splash one last bit of water onto his chest before turning to wade out of the surf.

“c’mon,” you call over your shoulder. “i need a towel before i start growing gills.”

hyunjin jogs after you, still dripping, grabbing your hand just as you hit the edge of the beach. the sun’s warm against your skin now, sticky with salt and laughter, and your friends are scattered across the sand—some sprawled out tanning, others still bickering over who’s winning the volleyball rematch.

you find your towel half-buried under a tote bag and collapse onto it with a happy sigh. hyunjin flops beside you with the grace of a man who has zero shame about tracking wet sand onto everything.

he starts towel-drying his hair while you lean back on your elbows. that’s when you notice the sketchbook tucked beside his bag, its pages curling a little in the heat.

“oooh,” you hum, reaching for it. “whatcha working on?”

he lifts his head, a little surprised, then wipes his hands on the towel and scoots closer. “you can look,” he says, reaching out to open it to the latest page.

you blink.

it’s the beach. this exact beach—down to the curve of the shoreline and the way the volleyball net leans slightly in the wind. but what gets you is the color. the emotion in it. the tiny splash of a figure in the water, mid-jump, arms outstretched like she’s flying.

“hyun…” you say, voice soft, awed. “this is beautiful.”

he shrugs, ducking his head a little. “just messing around.”

you look at him, fully. “don’t do that. don’t downplay it. this is crazy good.”

his cheeks flush, but he smiles as he flips to the next page—another sketch, this one of his teammates gathered around a bench.

“y/n,” he says, leaning back on one arm, gaze drifting out toward the water, “i’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

you glance at him, curious. “what is it?”

he bites his bottom lip, then says, “the university’s letting me switch my major. i’m going into kinesiology.”

your mouth drops open. “what?”

he grins. “yeah. like, officially. rehab sciences. sports performance. biomechanics. they even said i could tailor a track toward athletic recovery and art-based therapy if i submit a proposal.”

you blink rapidly, heart swelling so fast it nearly bursts. “hyunjin, that’s… that’s amazing. that’s so you.”

his gaze flicks to yours. “you think?”

“i know.” you reach out and squeeze his hand. “i’m so proud of you.”

his fingers curl around yours, warm and a little sandy.

“thanks,” he murmurs, eyes soft. “i didn’t think i’d ever get excited about a future that didn’t have a court in it.”

“you don’t need a court to make an impact,” you say, nudging him gently. “you just need a place to land.”

he smiles at that.

then he kisses the back of your hand, quick and bashful, like he’s still getting used to this version of life—one where he’s building something new, with you beside him.

you let the moment sit there, warm and full, before you smirk.

“a place to land,” you repeat. “y’know… preferably without tearing anything this time.”

before you can blink, his fingers are at your sides.

“hyun—” you shriek, twisting away as he pounces. “don’t you—ah!”

he tickles you mercilessly, fingers digging into all your worst spots as you writhe and kick, laughing so hard you can barely breathe.

“say sorry!” he demands, grinning like a madman.

“never!”

he wiggles his fingers harder. “say it!”

“fine—fine!” you gasp, tears streaming down your cheeks from laughter. “i’m sorry! you’re a graceful athlete with good landing skills!”

he finally stops, letting you collapse against the towel in a breathless heap. you’re flushed, still giggling, your hand swatting weakly at his arm.

“you’re evil,” you mumble.

he stretches out beside you, completely at peace. “you started it.”

you glance over at him, watching the way the sunlight catches the curve of his smile, the softness in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing he wants to see today—or maybe ever.

and somehow, with your hair a mess and your clothes damp and your skin covered in sand, it hits you all at once.

you’ve got it all figured out.

this boy. this life. this love.

you didn’t know if the pieces would fit—through injuries and arguments and fear—but they did.

they do.

hyunjin nudges you gently with his foot, still smiling. “what are you staring at?”

you hum, scooting a little closer. “just the rest of my life.”

he blinks.

then grins.

and says, “looks good from here.”

[floralseokjin]

hooking up with the guy you’re neutral towards isn’t how you expected your night to go, especially dressed as a pumpkin…

pairing | jeon jungkook x reader  genre/warnings | halloween costumes gone wrong, smut, FLUFF SOMEHOW IDEK ANYMORE words | 6,406

author’s note | lowkey am questioning myself after this one… but thank you @keehyung for giving me the idea—although I warped it so much haha. For reference, Jungkook is wearing this…hot, right? 

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[mimisitaugu]

The Weight of the Crown

pairing: King!Jungkook x Queen!Reader (Y/N)

tags: enemies to lovers, royalty au, arranged marriage, childhood acquaintances to lovers, forced proximity, smut, angst with happy ending, virginity, possessive jungkook, shared bed, first time.

tropes: "we grew up together but we hate each other", "only one bed", "marriage of convenience", "i lied to protect you", wedding night protocol, "you are mine by contract and by blood".

warnings: 18+, explicit smut, virgin!reader, deflowering / loss of virginity, blood (from deflowering), finger fucking, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex (f. receiving), heavy praise kink, body worship, stretching, deep penetration, size difference, slow and deliberate pace, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, internal ejaculation / creampie, marking, bed creaking, rubbing, wet sounds, overstimulation, post-orgasm aftercare, dominant but gentle jungkook, submissive reader, mutual pining, contract marriage consummation.

word count: 11.6k

summary: Jungkook is the stoic and ruthless heir to the powerful Jeon Kingdom, and you are the princess of a realm forced into an alliance to secure borders. Bound by a political contract designed to prevent further blood, you are forced into a marriage with the boy you once loved in the gardens—and the man you’ve spent the last five years hating with every fiber of your being after an unforgivable betrayal.

As the court demands proof of your union and the crown weighs heavy on your brows, you must navigate a single night behind locked doors where the armor of your pride completely disappears. You thought you were just a duty to him, but as the masks fall in the wedding chamber, you'll soon discover that Jungkook has been playing a much longer game to keep you safe... and he has no intention of letting his queen go.

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The rattle of the carriage was a rhythmic torture that stuck at the base of your skull. Every bump on the road to the capital of the Jeon Kingdom reminded you that, with each meter advanced, your freedom was a little further behind, blurred on the horizon by the borders of your own home. 

You wore the heaviest traveling dress your maids could find, armor of dark blue velvet and lace that protected you, at least symbolically, from the outside world. Your fingers, gloved, sank into the upholstery of the seat. You hadn't looked at Jungkook in the last three hours. You knew exactly what he was doing without having to see him: he would be leaning against the opposite backrest, with one leg crossed over the other, looking at the map of his new lands, or, worse, watching you with that silent smugness that had always driven you crazy. 

"You can stop smashing the seat, Y/N," his voice cut through the air, deep and charged with an indifference you knew was feigned. "The silk of this carriage costs more than the dowry that your father bargained for until the last minute. You don't want to start your life here by owing repairs."

You tensed up. There it was. The same tone of superiority that he used when you were ten years old and he managed to knock you off the wooden horse. You forced yourself to let go of the upholstery and crossed your hands on your lap, turning your head to fix an icy gaze on him. 

"If you think my dowry is scarce, you could have left me at the border," you replied with venom. " I'm sure we would both have been much happier. But of course, the Crown Prince always gets what he wants, even if what he gets is a wife who can't even stand the air you breathe." 

Jungkook let out a dry laugh, a sound without a trace of humor. He slammed the map shut and leaned forward, invading your personal space. He smelled of leather, old paper and that aroma of cedar wood that always identified him.

"Make no mistake. I didn't "want" this. I wanted a secure border and an end to the skirmishes in the north. You are only the wax seal on the contract, Y/N. Nothing else."

Those words should have hurt, but they only fueled the fire of your contempt. The wedding had been an obscene display of wealth: white flowers that smelled of death, songs that sounded like elegy, and that moment in the cathedral where, in front of the archbishop, you had to put your hand on his. You felt his pulse, firm and steady, while yours galloped wildly. At that moment, as the village cheered a union you hated, you realized that Jungkook was no longer the kid you used to hide with in kitchens to steal cakes. He was a stranger made of stone and duty.

The carriage finally stopped. The sound of trumpets announced their arrival at the Jeon Grand Castle. The doors opened and royal protocol took over. You were forced to accept his hand to come down. His fingers squeezed yours with unnecessary firmness, a silent warning before you both had to pretend to court.

The reception was eternal. Bows, empty speeches and the scrutinizing gaze of your father-in-law, the King, who analyzed you as if you were a purebred horse that should give good heirs. During the entire welcome dinner, you barely had a bite. Jungkook, sitting next to you on your rightful throne, fulfilled his role perfectly: he poured you wine, commented on trifles about the weather, and occasionally brushed your hand with his just to let the nobles see how "lucky" they were. Every touch burned you with rage.

Finally, the ordeal ended. The official "Wedding Night", the one that everyone was waiting for with morbid curiosity, had arrived. 

You were escorted to the royal apartments by your ladies. It was a huge room, lit only by the fire in the fireplace. And there, in the center, the bed. A monster of carved wood and linen sheets that seemed to mock you. 

The door opened and Jungkook walked in. He looked tired, but his eyes shone with an intensity you hadn't seen all day. He locked the door and the sound of the bolt snapping in was like a shot in the silence. 

You stood motionless in the center of the room, your feet sunk into the thick crimson carpet. Your shoulders were heavy; The wire structure and jewels of your wedding dress made you feel like a puppet that had its threads cut. You didn't dare turn around. You didn't want to see Jungkook, you didn't want to confirm that the boy who once challenged you to a race for the stables was the same man who now shared your breath in the gloom of a royal bedroom. 

"Are you going to stay there all night, Y/N?" His voice came from behind, loaded with a tiredness that seemed to come from years, not hours. "The dinner ended an hour ago. Protocol is dead for today. You can stop pretending that you are a marble statue. "

You closed your eyes tightly. That tone. That quiet arrogance that always made you want to scream. You turned around slowly. Jungkook was taking off his white dress gloves, throwing them on a velvet chair with a blood-boiling nonchalance. His hair was slightly tousled and the first buttons of his jacket were unbuttoned. 

"I'm not pretending," you said, and your voice sounded more broken than you would have liked. "I'm trying to assimilate how we ended up here. You and me. It's a joke in bad taste, Jungkook. "

He let out a dry laugh, without a trace of joy, as he approached the table where a glass jug of wine rested. A drink was poured, the sound of liquid falling down was the only thing that filled the void between you. 

"A joke?" "No, it's politics," he replied, turning his back on you. "This is what we were told would happen since we were ten years old and we were forced to hold hands in the garden. "Someday, Jungkook, she will be your queen. Someday, Y/N, he will be your lord." You knew it. Don't pretend to be surprised now that the bill has arrived to be collected. "

"I knew it would happen, but I didn't think you'd be so..." You fell silent, looking for the word. 

"So what?" He turned, glass in hand, fixing his dark eyes on yours. " So cold? So distant? What did you expect, Y/N? That after five years without speaking to each other, since that last argument in the lake, I received you with open arms and promises of eternal love? We know each other too well to lie to each other like that." 

You walked to the dresser, needing something to do with your hands so they wouldn't shake. You began to unhook the heavy veil of your hairstyle, but your fingers, numb with nerves, became entangled in the silver hairpins. You grunted in frustration, tugging at your own hair. 

Suddenly, you felt his presence. Jungkook had moved with that quiet speed he had always had. His hands were positioned over yours, stopping you. The contact was electric, a heat shock that made you hold your breath. It's been years since you've had it so close. 

"You're going to pull your hair out," he whispered. His breath brushed the back of your neck, sending a violent shiver down your spine. Leave me. 

"I can do it alone," you insisted, trying to push you away, but he gently squeezed your wrists.

"No, you can't. This hairstyle requires three maidens and you are alone with me. Stay put. It's an order, if that is of any use to you now. "

You stiffened as his long, skillful fingers began to work on your hair. You could see it in the reflection in the mirror: the Crown Prince, the warrior everyone was talking about, focused on removing diamond hairpins with a delicacy that didn't match the tension emanating from his body. Your eyes met on the glass, and for a second, the hatred dissipated to give way to raw melancholy. 

"I remember when you fell off the cherry tree," he said suddenly, his voice barely a whisper as he pulled out the last piece of silver. "You had flowers in your hair and you were crying because you had torn your favorite dress. I helped you remove them all before your mother saw you. "

"And then you told me I was a fool for climbing so high," you remembered, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "You always had to have the last word, Jungkook. You always had to be the one who knew the most. "

"And you always had to be the one who didn't listen," he replied. 

The veil finally fell to the ground, like dead skin. Your hair cascaded over your shoulders, and Jungkook didn't immediately withdraw his hands. His fingers brushed the skin of your neck, a minimal, almost accidental contact, but one that weighed tons. 

"We're not those kids anymore, Y/N," he said, and his voice changed, deeper, more dangerous. "Outside this room, we are two strangers who must rule. But inside—" His hands went down to your shoulders, squeezing them with a firmness that forced you to stare at him in the mirror—... "Inside we are two people bound by a contract that demands blood and heirs. "

He let go of you abruptly, as if you were burning, and returned to his glass of wine. The silence fell again, denser than before. You sat on the dresser bench, feeling exhausted. 

"Why didn't you look at me during the ceremony?" You asked, breaking your calm. Not once. "You made me feel like you were marrying a piece of furniture from the cathedral. "

Jungkook drank the rest of his wine in one gulp and put the glass down on the table with a thud. He turned to you, and this time, the mask of indifference had cracked. There was fire in his eyes, a mixture of rage and something that looked like pent-up hunger. 

"Because if I looked at you, Y/N, it would have reminded me why I hated this arrangement so much," he blurted out, beginning to walk toward you with slow, heavy steps. "If I looked at you, I would see the woman who despises me and remember that I am going to spend the rest of my days tied to someone who would rather be anywhere else in the world. Do you think it's easy for me? Do you think I like knowing that the only reason you're in my bed tonight is because a piece of paper says so? "

He stopped in front of you, forcing you to lift your head to hold his gaze. 

"I know there are guards at the door," you continued, ignoring the lump in your throat. "I know the bridesmaids will come at dawn. I know what has to be in those sheets, Jungkook. I'm not naïve. I have grown in this court as much as you have. "

"Then stop looking at me like I'm the executioner," he snapped, leaning over you, resting his hands on the dressing table on either side of your body, locking you in. 

The space between you shrank until there was only a sigh away. You could smell the red wine and the metallic aroma of its armor. The hatred was there, palpable, but beneath it, an electric current of mutual recognition was beginning to boil. They knew each other too well; You knew the twitch in his jaw when he was nervous, and he knew the way your pulse quickened at the base of your throat when you were afraid. 

"It's five hours before dawn," Jungkook whispered, and his gaze dropped to your lips before returning to your eyes. "We can spend them yelling at each other or remembering how much we hate each other... Or we can accept that, for one night, duty is the only thing we have left. "

He brought a hand behind your back, looking for the start of the endless row of buttons on your dress. His fingers brushed against the exposed skin of your neck and you closed your eyes, letting out a gasp you couldn't contain.

"This is not love, Jungkook," you warned, although your hands, of their own volition, rose to rest on his chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart under the silk of his shirt. 

"I know," he replied, and for the first time all night, his voice sounded almost human, almost vulnerable. "It's just the truth. And the truth is, even if we hate each other, tonight there is no one else in the world for us but the other. "

He began to undo the first button, very slowly, as if he wanted every second of that humiliation—or that surrender—to last forever. 

You felt the first tug on your back, a dry movement as Jungkook's fingers struggled against the first mother-of-pearl button. The silence in the room was so absolute that you could swear you heard the pendulum clock mechanism in the hallway, marking every second of your fall. 

"Your father was always an exaggerated man," he growled. His voice was so close to your ear that you felt the warm air moisten your skin. "Fifty buttons for a dress that only serves to be torn. It's a perfect metaphor for your kingdom, Y/N: a flawless façade to hide a crumbling structure. "

You tensed at the insult to your home, turning your head slightly to try to look over your shoulder, but he clenched his free hand on your waist to keep you in place. 

"Don't talk about my father as if you knew him," you snapped, feeling contempt rise up your throat. "He did what he had to do to save his people from your ambition. If we're here, it's because the Jeons don't know what the word "border" means. You only understand "conquest". "

Jungkook let out a snort, and you heard the click of the fifth button giving way. His fingers brushed the skin of your upper back, and a shiver you couldn't control ran through you. It was a contradictory feeling: his hands were rough, callused from years of wielding the sword, but they moved with surgical precision over your spine. 

"Conquest?" he repeated bitterly. My father wanted this marriage since you were born. "I remember that he took me to his office when I was seven years old. He showed me a portrait of you and said, "That girl is half of your future kingdom. Learn how to handle it or she'll handle you." I spent my entire childhood seeing you not as a friend, but as a chess piece that I had to learn to move. "

"And did you succeed?" You asked, a trace of poison in your voice. "Do you feel like you're "managing" me now, Jungkook? While you take off this dress like you're my maid? "

You felt his fingers stop halfway down your back. The pressure of his hand on your waist increased, burying itself a little in the thin fabric of the corset you were wearing underneath. In the mirror, you saw how his jaw tensed and his eyes darkened. 

"I feel like we're both dogs in chains, told to bite to amuse the court," he replied, his voice becoming dangerously low. "Don't be fooled, Y/N. My father gave me this castle and this crown, but in exchange he took away my ability to choose who I want in my bed. Do you think it's an honor for me to have to convince a woman who looks at me with disgust to give me an heir? "

He continued with his task. The dress began to sag, slowly opening up and exposing your spine line. The cold air in the room hit your bare skin, making you shiver. Jungkook paused for a second, his eyes sweeping over the expanse of your back with an intensity that made you feel more naked than you really were. 

"I remember," he began, and this time his tone was different, less aggressive, almost nostalgic. "the summer of fourteen. When we escape to the river and your brother almost drowns trying to follow us. You stayed in your underwear to jump into the water to get it out. You were so reckless. So full of life. "

"And you scolded me for an hour as we drove back to the castle," you added, letting out an involuntary sigh. "You said that a princess should not show herself like this to anyone. Not even before you. "

"I said it because I didn't want anyone else to see you," he confessed, and the honesty of his words struck you like a slap. "Even then you drove me crazy, Y/N. With your pride and your mania for defying every rule. I knew that one day you would be mine and the thought that others might have seen what belonged to me by contract burned me inside."

You turned sharply, even though the dress wasn't quite unbuttoned yet, forcing him to let go. The fabric fell over your shoulders, revealing the start of your white silk corset. You looked him in the eye, looking for the boy you knew, but you only found the man who bullied you. 

"I don't belong to you, Jungkook," you said firmly, although your voice trembled. "This contract says that we will share a kingdom and a bed, but my mind and my will are still mine. Don't try to convince me that this is something you wanted for "us." You wanted it for power. 

Jungkook took a step towards you, invading your space, forcing you to back away until your thighs collided with the edge of the dresser bench. He leaned over you, resting one hand on either side of your hips.

"Power?" He whispered, his face so close you could count his eyelashes. "I have had power since I was born. What I don't have is peace. And you... You are the only person in this world who dares to look me in the eye and tell me that I am worthless. Do you have any idea what that does to a man like me?" 

His eyes went down to your mouth and then to the neckline of your corset, where your chest rose and fell agitatedly. The sexual tension in the room became almost physical, a pressure on your chest that made it difficult for you to breathe. 

"I have to finish with these buttons," he said, his voice now a hoarse murmur, laden with a need he was trying to hide under duty. " And then, Y/N, we're going to have to decide whether we spend tonight as enemies destroying each other or as two people who, despite everything, know each other better than anyone else on this earth. " 

He brought his hand to your shoulder, slowly pulling the drooping sleeve of your dress aside, his skin brushing against yours in a contact that lasted longer than necessary. 

You fell silent, gasping for breath, as Jungkook's words floated through the dense air of the room. Your mask of coldness, the one you had built so carefully over the past five years, began to crack. You looked him in the eye, and for an instant, you didn't see the arrogant heir who had just insulted your kingdom, but the boy who used to climb up your balcony just to show you a bird's nest he'd found. 

All that rage, that sharp edge with which you responded to him, was nothing more than armor. Because the truth, the one that burned your chest more than the corset, was that you loved it. You'd loved him since you were six years old, and he gave you his first wooden soldier. But then, that winter came. That night at the winter ball where you heard him talking to his father, the King, and something inside you broke. 

"You don't have to go on with this, Jungkook," you whispered suddenly. Your voice was no longer poisonous, only a deep fatigue. " You don't have to pretend you care about my pride. I know what you think of me. I heard you, you know? Five years ago, in the library in the west wing. "

Jungkook froze. His hands, which were directed at the loops of your corset, stopped in midair. His eyes widened a little wider, reflecting the light from the embers. 

"You heard—what?" His voice dropped an octave, becoming a hoarse murmur. 

"You told your father that I was just a 'necessary obligation,'" you said, and you felt the lump in your throat close. " That you had no feelings for the girl you had grown up with and that you would marry me just to secure the northern border. I spent my entire adolescence hoping that this "contract" would be something more for you... And that night I understood that I was the only stupid one who was in love. "

You looked down, unable to continue to hold his eyes up. The silence that followed was suffocating. You expected him to laugh, confirm his words, or just walk away nonchalantly. But he did nothing of the sort. 

You felt his fingers, warm and trembling, brush against your chin to force you to lift your head. When your eyes met his again, you saw no mockery. You saw a raw pain, a desperation that he had never allowed himself to show before. 

"Y/N..." He let out a long sigh, almost a wail. "You're a fool. You really are. "

"Now you insult me?" You tried to regain your borderline tone, but your voice broke.

"I told you because you were pressuring me to send you away," he confessed, getting so close that his forehead brushed against yours. "He was telling me that you were a distraction, that my feelings for you made me weak, and that if I couldn't prove that I saw you as a political object, I would marry you off to a duke of the southern lands to get you out of my way. I had to lie. I had to say the cruelest thing I could think of to get him to leave you alone, to allow you to stay close to me, even if it was as an "obligation". "

You froze. Years of accumulated hatred, silent weeping nights, and curt answers in the halls of the courtroom began to falter. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" You called out in a whisper, tapping weakly on his chest with your hands. "You made me hate you, Jungkook. You made me hate every memory I had of us."

"Because if I told you, you couldn't have pretended," he replied, catching your hands in his and bringing them to his mouth to kiss your knuckles with a devotion that took your breath away. "My father is an expert at reading people. I needed you to hate me so that he would believe that I had no power over you. But look at me, Y/N... really look at me. "

He forced you to let go of your hands and put his hands in the loops of your corset, but this time there was no aggression. His fingers moved with a torturous slowness, undoing the first knot in front of you. You were face to face, so close that you could feel the gallop of his heart crashing against yours. 

"I've spent five years watching you walk away, watching you throw daggers at me with your eyes while I was dying to apologize to you," he continued, undoing the second lasso. "The pressure of the corset on your lungs began to ease, allowing you to breathe for the first time all night. Do you think I like this contract? I hate him. Because you deserved to be courted, you deserved to be brought you flowers and to write you ridiculous verses like the ones I read to you when we were children. You didn't deserve to be handed over as a war trophy. "

The corset loosened enough that he could tuck his hands under the silk, caressing the skin of your ribs. The contact made you let out a gasp that this time was not from fear, but from a need that you had repressed for too long. 

"Jungkook..." His name came out of your lips like a plea. 

"Don't hate me tonight, Y/N," he begged, his voice breaking. "Please. I know that the world wants us to be kings, to be enemies or political allies... But here, behind this lock, I just want to be the guy who loved you before it all got so complicated." 

Your hands, which had once been clenched into fists, relaxed and climbed up his shoulders until they became entangled in his dark hair. You pulled it gently, forcing it to shorten the last millimeter that separated them. 

"I've been so lonely," you confessed against his lips, finally dropping all your defenses. 

"Not anymore," he said before capturing your mouth in a kiss that was nothing like the one in the cathedral. 

This kiss tasted like years of silence, shared secrets and a desperate urgency. There was no protocol, there were no princes or crowns. There were just the two of you, rediscovering yourselves under the candlelight as the corset finished falling to the floor, letting the vulnerability of both of you meet in the gloom of the room. 

The kiss dragged on, not with the urgency of a stranger, but with the painful familiarity of someone who recovers something he thought was lost forever. You felt your fingers sink into the hair on the back of Jungkook's neck, tugging at it with a mixture of relief and reproach. The taste of his mouth, mixed with the trail of red wine, transported you back to the summers when they shared fruit stolen from the royal orchard, before the crowns weighed so heavily on their temples. 

When they finally separated, their fronts were united. You were both gasping, the air between you charged with an electricity that was no longer just hate, but a spark of hope that you were afraid to acknowledge. 

"I'm afraid to believe you," you whispered, your eyes fixed on his, which shone with an almost feverish intensity. "I've spent five years hating you to survive, Jungkook. If this is another of your political strategies, I swear I won't stand it. "

He didn't respond with words right away. Instead, he lowered her hands to the end loops of your corset, which was now only hanging from your hips. His fingers, expert and slow, undid the last knot. You felt the weight of the garment fall at your feet, leaving your body covered only by the very fine white silk camisole, almost translucent under the candlelight. 

You felt exposed, not only physically, but emotionally. You had run out of armor. 

"Look at me, Y/N," he asked you, his voice a silk thread. "There are no ministers here. There are no spies behind the curtains. There's just the boy who taught you to ride and the girl who swore to me that one day we'd be the greatest kings in history. "

He took a step back, but only to take off his own military coat. He threw it to the ground without looking at her, a gesture of contempt for the uniform that represented his duty. Then, he put his hands to the buttons of his white shirt. His eyes didn't leave yours for a second, as if he feared that if he blinked, you'd put back on that mask of indifference that had tormented him so much. 

"Help me," he said, stopping his hands halfway across his chest. "If we're going to do this, if we're going to be one tonight, I want you to claim what's yours too."

Your hands were shaking when you raised them. Your fingers brushed the fabric of his shirt, feeling the scorching heat emanating from his skin. You began to undo the buttons, one by one, with a torturous slowness. With each button you released, you discovered more about him: the curve of his shoulders, the firmness of his chest, the scars you didn't know about—records of training and battles he'd earned while you were away, hating him. 

"This scar..." you whispered, brushing your fingertip against a pale mark near his shoulder. "It wasn't there before. "

"It was two years ago," he answered, closing his eyes to your touch. "An ambush in the north. I was just thinking that if I died there, I would never have a chance to tell you the truth. That I would die being your enemy and that hurt me more than steel in the flesh. "

You finished with the last button and opened his shirt, letting it fall off his shoulders. Jungkook looked imposing in the gloom; The light from the fireplace cast shadows on his defined muscles and tanned skin. He was a man now, a potential king, but when he looked at you, you saw the same Jungkook who stayed awake with you when you had nightmares. 

He shortened the distance again, wrapping his bare arms around your waist. The contact of his skin against the silk of your nightgown, and yours underneath, made you let out a trembling sigh. He glued you to his body, forcing you to feel the strength of his muscles and the unbridled beating of his heart. 

"Outside, the world awaits a perfect queen and a ruthless king," he whispered against your neck, his nose brushing your skin, inhaling your scent of roses and jasmine. "They hope that our union will be a formality to sign maps. But in here... here I want you to be just Y/N. My Y/N. The one who insults me, the one who challenges me and the one who, in spite of everything, loves me as much as I love her. "

He brought his hands to the straps of your nightgown, pulling them down with a delicacy that made you tear. The silk slid down your body, falling in a soft whisper on the carpet. Now there was nothing left to hide. In front of him, stripped of all clothes and of your last defenses, you gave yourself completely; There were no more secrets or lies between the two. Only the raw and beautiful reality of your body exposed before his gaze, and the certainty of two souls who had searched for each other for half a decade. 

You hugged him, burying your face in his chest, feeling the scent of sandalwood and man that was so intoxicating to you. Jungkook wrapped his arms around you, protecting you from the cold and loneliness you had felt for so long. 

"Five years, Jungkook," you muttered against his skin, your hands caressing his back. "Five lost years."

"We have the rest of our lives to get them back," he assured you, lifting you into his arms effortlessly. "But tonight is just for us. There is no crown that weighs more than this desire."

He walked to the large four-poster bed. The linen sheets were cold, but the heat they both gave off was enough to set the room on fire. He left you on the mattress with infinite softness, as if you were made of glass, before positioning himself on you, resting his weight on his forearms so as not to crush you. 

"I love you, Y/N," he said, and it was the first time you heard those words in a man's voice. "I have loved you in every letter I didn't send, in every toast I made in your honor when you were away, and in every battle I won just to make this kingdom worthy of you."

Your eyes misted up, and for the first time in years, you smiled for real. A smile that was just for him. 

"Then show me," you asked, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him toward you. "Prove me that the contract is wrong and that you don't own me... but my other half."

Jungkook lowered his head and kissed you, with a devout tenderness that made you understand that, even if the sun came out in a few hours and you had to face the court, in that bed you had already won the most important battle of your life. 

Jungkook didn't rush. He stood on his elbows, watching you with an intensity that made you feel like he was reading your soul, not just looking at your body. His eyes swept over every inch of your skin with a reverence you'd never seen in him.

"You're shaking," he whispered, and his hand reached down to intertwine his fingers with yours, pressing them against the mattress. 

"It's not because of the cold," you admitted in a thin voice. 

It was the truth. It was the adrenaline, the relief, and the weight of five years of loneliness crumbling all at once. Jungkook let go of one of your hands and began to draw invisible lines on your belly, slowly rising towards your ribs. His fingers were warm and a little rough, and every place he touched seemed to light up in his wake. 

"I spent so many nights imagining this," he confessed, lowering his head to kiss the crook of your shoulder. "In the northern campaigns, when the cold was so intense that my bones hurt, I would close my eyes and try to remember the sound of your laughter or the way you frowned when I beat you at chess. It was the only thing that kept me sane. "

You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his lips against your skin. Your hand went up his arm, marveling at the firmness of his muscles. He was no longer the skinny boy you used to run with; He was a solid man, forged by duty and war. 

"I thought you had forgotten me," you said, your voice charged with an honesty you would have been ashamed to show before. "At every dance, at every official dinner, you looked at me as if I were a stranger. I convinced myself that you had erased everything we were."

Jungkook stopped and looked up to meet yours. There was a deep sadness in his dark eyes. 

"Never," he said. "Every time I ignored you, it was a battle with myself not to cross the room, hold your hand, and get you out of there. I had to learn to be an outsider to protect you from my own feelings. My father... He knew you were my weak point. If he found out that I still loved you like this, he would have used you as a bargaining chip much sooner. "

He came down again, this time looking for your neck. His kisses were slow, almost lazy, as if he wanted to memorize the taste of your skin. You felt his warm breath against your ear as his hands continued to explore your figure, recognizing the curves that time and maturity had molded in you. 

"You're so beautiful, Y/N," he murmured against your skin, and the tone of his voice, so filled with genuine admiration, made you feel a lump in your throat.

You forced yourself to move, seeking to be closer to him. You entangled your legs with his, feeling the rubbing of his hairy, firm skin against yours, soft and delicate. The touch caused you to gasp, and your body, which had been tense all day, finally began to relax, asking for more. 

"Jungkook..." you whispered, arching your back as his hand circled one of your breasts, caressing the nipple with his thumb with a delicacy that made you burn. "I don't want to talk about the past anymore. I don't want to think about the sunrise or the sheets. I just want you to be here. With me. "

He pulled away enough to look at you, a small, painful smile pouring across his lips. 

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere," he promised. 

He brought his hand to your cheek, stroking it with his thumb before tilting his face to kiss you again. This kiss was different; It was deeper, more needy, as if he was trying to seal a promise that neither of them dared to say out loud. Their tongues met, dancing in a rhythm they had always known but now felt new, charged with a passion that no longer had to be hidden. 

You felt the emotional tension slowly transform into a much more powerful physical need. Your hands went down his back, running down Jungkook's spine until they reached his hips, urging him to stick closer to you. He responded with a low growl, pressing his erection against your thigh, and the discharge of desire that ran through your belly took your breath away. 

"I've missed you so much," you confessed between kisses, your nails digging lightly into his shoulders. 

"And I to you, my queen," he answered, his voice growing hoarser. "My only queen. "

Jungkook started to go down again, but this time his kisses didn't stay on your neck. They followed the path of his caress, down your chest, stopping at every inch as if he were worshipping a temple. The slowness with which he did it was a delicious torture; It made you wish that he would hurry up, but at the same time, you wanted that moment of mutual discovery to last forever. 

Jungkook moved away just a few centimeters, just enough for you to see the glow of adoration in his eyes, but not enough for you to stop feeling his warmth. His hand, firm and warm, went down your belly, leaving a trail of small spasms in its wake, until it stopped just above the junction of your thighs, where fine hair and sensitive skin made you feel more vulnerable than ever. 

"Are you sure?" he whispered. His voice was a hoarse caress, charged with a restraint that made the muscles in his arms tense. "Once we cross this line, Y/N, there will be no turning back. Not only will you be my wife before the law, but... You will have entrusted me with the most sacred thing you have. "

You swallowed, feeling your heart hammer against your ribs. You looked at him, seeing the man who had spent years hiding his love under an iron mask just to keep you safe. You were no longer afraid of the contract, you were afraid of the intensity of how you felt about it. 

"I'm sure, Jungkook," you replied, your voice steady despite the nerves. "I want it to be you."

He let out a long sigh, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and leaned over to leave a chaste kiss on your forehead. Then, with a slowness that made you want to scream in anticipation, it began to come down your body. It didn't position itself between your legs right away; Instead, he dedicated herself to worshipping every corner of your skin with his lips and tongue. 

He kissed your ribs, stopping to listen to your frantic heartbeat. He went down to your navel, tracing circles with the wet tip of his tongue that made your toes shrink and your belly contract. Jungkook moved with the patience of a craftsman, as if he was discovering a treasure that had been buried for centuries. 

"You're perfect," he murmured against your skin, his warm breath sending electric shocks straight into your pelvis. "All this time, imagining what you would be like... And reality takes my breath away. "

His hands went down to spread your legs apart with extreme delicacy. You felt yourself dying of shame for a second, the diffused light of the candles bathing your intimacy completely exposed before his expert eyes, but he didn't give you time to hide. Jungkook knelt between your thighs and rested his large hands on the inside of your knees, keeping them wide open. 

His gaze swept over your femininity with an almost religious reverence. There was no vulgar lust in his expression, but a pure, hungry fascination with the center of your crotch, which was already beginning to glow subtly. 

"Jungkook..." you gasped, covering your eyes with your arm, feeling the heat rise up your cheeks at the intensity of his scrutiny. 

"Look at me, Y/N," he asked you, his voice vibrating with a soft but undeniable command. You slowly pulled your arm away and looked at him; He was there, the future king of an empire, kneeling before you as if you were his only deity. "Don't hide from me. There is nothing in you that is not worthy of worship."

He brought his hand to you, and you felt the first direct contact. His long fingers brushed your with the softness of a petal, barely a touch, but it was enough to make you let out a high-pitched moan that echoed throughout the room. It was the first time someone touched you like that, the first time you felt that pang of pleasure so clear, electric and overwhelming. 

"Shh, don't worry," he whispered, watching your reaction intently as his eyes darkened. "Just feel."

He began to move his fingertips in slow circles, discovering your sensitivity, learning the exact rhythm that made your breath choppy. I was in no hurry to penetrate you; He seemed to enjoy endlessly watching your eyes glaze over and your hips rise unconsciously seeking more of his touch. His fingers slid down, finding the thick moisture that was already beginning to gush out of your canal, and he let out a low growl, a hoarse sound of pure satisfaction. 

"You're so ready for me..." he muttered, and before you could process his words, he lowered his head completely. 

The first contact of his hot, moist tongue against your center was like a burst of white light behind your eyelids. You shouted his name, sinking your hands in despair into the linen sheets, as he gave himself to the task of worshipping you with his mouth. Jungkook was not careless; He used his tongue with a precision that made you lose your sense of reality. It alternated long, firm licks from bottom to top with soft suctions directly at your most sensitive point, crushing your button and bringing you to an edge you didn't know existed. 

You felt the rubbing of his nose against your pubis, the suffocating heat of his breath and the obscene wetness of his mouth consuming you completely. It was an absolute sensory discovery. Every time you tried to close your legs, overwhelmed by the intensity of the stimulus, his firm hands on the inside of your thighs reminded you that he was in charge and that he wasn't done with you. 

"Jungkook, please... I don't know what this is..." You cried, your head moving back and forth on the pillow, losing control of your own body. 

He paused for a second, only to look down at you, his lips shining with your own wetness and his eyes completely darkened with desire. 

"It's the pleasure that belongs to you, Y/N," he said in a thick voice that seemed to come from the depths of his chest. "And only I am going to give it to you. Always me."

He went down again, this time deeper, exploring with his fingers the entrance to your canal while his tongue continued to work relentlessly on your clitoris. He inserted a finger, very slowly, feeling the natural resistance of your virginity. You immediately tensed up under the new pressure, but he stopped, kissing your inner thighs parsimonously to relax before continuing. He was preparing you, widening you with infinite patience, lubricating you with his own fingers, making sure that when the time came for real union, you would only feel love and not pain. 

The sensation of his fingers moving inside you, in unison with the wet strokes of his tongue, pushed you to the absolute limit. You felt a growing pressure in your belly, an addictive tension that was crying out to be released. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he picked up the pace, his fingers moving more firmly and deeply, mimicking what would soon be his own penetration. 

"Jungkook! You exclaimed in a broken cry, and suddenly the world exploded. 

Your body arched violently upward as the first orgasm of your life shook you from head to toe in uncontrollable spasms. It was such a powerful release that you felt your lungs forgetting to breathe, your vaginal walls squeezing hard. Jungkook stood there, holding your thighs, receiving every contraction of your body directly against his face and fingers, drinking from your flow as if it were the most precious elixir of his kingdom. 

When the tremors finally stopped and you collapsed against the mattress, exhausted and with your heart pounding, Jungkook immediately climbed up to cover you with his body. He kissed you with demented tenderness, savoring you on your own lips, mixing his juices, while his hands caressed your tousled hair. 

"We're not done yet, my queen," he whispered against your mouth, and you could feel his erection, huge, hard, throbbing, pressing hard against your thigh. " This has been just for you. Now... Now I want you to know what it means to be one flesh. " 

You stood there, sunk in the silk mattress, your lungs burning from the effort to catch your breath after that burst of pleasure you never imagined possible. Your body felt light, almost ethereal, but at the same time strangely aware of every inch of skin. Jungkook slowly squeezed in, coming out from between your legs, and you saw him stand next to the bed. 

The light of the candles, which were already beginning to burn out, bathed his figure in a golden halo. You watched him in silence, with half-open eyes, as he brought his hands to the zippers of his ball pants. The sound of leather and fabric slipping was the only thing that broke the sacred silence of the bedroom. When he finally got rid of the last thing covering him, standing completely naked before you, the air escaped from your lungs for a very different reason than the previous orgasm. 

It was imposing. Jungkook had always been athletic, but the man in front of you was a work of art carved in stone and desire. His legs were strong, marked by years of military training, and his belly was defined by muscles that tensed with his every move. But your eyes couldn't help but go down to his crotch, and that's when you felt your face burn as if an ember had been brought to you. 

You let out a brief, nervous laugh, a mixture of disbelief and modesty that you could not contain. You covered your face with both hands, sinking your fingers into your hot cheeks, as the echo of your own laughter echoed through the canopy of the bed. 

"What are you laughing at, little queen?" His voice went deep, charged with a playful but intense vibration. You heard the mattress give way again under his weight as he knelt on the bed. 

"It's just that..." you murmured between your fingers, sticking out only one eye to look at him—... "Jungkook, that's impossible. "

"Impossible?" 

"You're not going to fit," you blurted out, and this time the laughter was pure nervousness. "You're going to... You're going to break me. I've known you forever, but I never imagined you'd be... like this. It's too much."

Jungkook let out a low growl, one that wasn't anger, but a masculine satisfaction that made him smile halfway. He didn't immediately come over to possess you. Instead, he sat on his heels in front of you, allowing you to process the vision of his manhood. His long fingers surrounded his own erection, which pulsed with a force that intimidated and fascinated you in equal measure. In a slow, deliberate motion, he began to move his hand up and down, spreading the pre-cum that glistened at the tip along the entire length of his member, preparing to ease the way for you. 

The wet sound of his own hand against his skin made you close your eyes again, but you couldn't help but imagine it. You knew I was doing that for you, so that the transition from virgin to wife would be as painless as possible. 

"Look at me, Y/N," he said, and his tone was no longer joking. It was a royal order, but charged with a tenderness that disarmed you. You pulled your hands away from your face little by little. "The human body is wise, and mine has been waiting for years to fit into yours. I'm not going to break you. I'm going to complete you."

He moved closer, crawling on the bed until his body was back on top of yours. The contrast between his size and your delicate figure has never been so apparent. His thighs, wide and firm, positioned themselves on the outside of yours, forcing you to open again. This time, you felt the tip of his erection, wet and hot, brushing your entrance, right where you still felt the throb of your recent orgasm. 

"Jungkook, wait..." you gasped, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, looking for an anchor. 

"Shhh... Look me in the eye," he whispered, lowering himself to capture your lips in a deep kiss, a kiss that tasted like promise. "I'm not going to move if you don't ask me. We are going to go millimeter by millimeter. I want you to feel every part of me coming into your life."

You felt how he rested all his weight in his hands at the sides of your head, hovering over you like a protective shadow. He started pushing, very slowly, with a constant and massive pressure that forced you to arch your back against the silk mattress. The feeling of fulfillment was immediate, overwhelming; You felt the raw texture of its veins and the scorching heat of its thickness stretching your skin millimeter by millimeter, forcing your vaginal walls to adapt to it. A groan of surprise and involuntary submission escaped from your throat. It was an experience that overwhelmed you, as if you were being claimed not only by the man you loved, but by an indomitable force of nature. 

"It hurts a little," you admitted in a thin voice, pressing your nails into the bare skin of his back, feeling the physical barrier of your innocence firmly oppose his advance. 

Jungkook stopped immediately, freezing the thrust. His forehead rested against yours, and you could see the beads of sweat running down his temples, glistening in the candlelight from the superhuman effort he was making to contain his own instincts and not lose control. His eyes were darkened, almost black with dilation, fixed on yours with an absolute, possessive devotion. 

"I know, love. "I know," he murmured against your lips, giving you small wet kisses to draw your attention away from the sting. "Breathe with me. Just a little more and we'll be one forever. There will be no more contracts, no fathers, no kingdoms between us. Just you and me."

He waited with infinite patience for your muscles to give way, for your breathing to match his in the midst of that intimate invasion. Only when he felt that you had stopped tensing up and that your femininity was beginning to soften from the heat, did he push again. With a firm, slow, vertical thrust, he finally broke the last vestige of your childhood. 

You let out a muffled sob, a mixture of sharp pain and emotional satisfaction so deep it brought tears to your eyes, as you felt him bury himself deep to the root, filling the void you had endured during those five years of solitude. Your insides contracted violently around his member, trapping him in a suffocating grip. 

Jungkook stood completely motionless inside you, united at the deepest point possible, allowing the bloodstain that tomorrow the court would see to spread beneath you on the linen sheets as the final, irrevocable seal of your destiny. He put his arms around you, pressing you to his beating chest, and for the first time all night, you felt that the crown was no longer weighing anything. 

"That's it," he whispered in your ear, his voice completely broken with emotion and desire. "You're mine, Y/N. And I am, at last, completely yours."

Time seemed to freeze the instant Jungkook finished reclaiming that space that, by right of love and contract, now belonged to him. You gasped, your eyes misty and your nails stuck in his shoulders, feeling that immense pressure that seemed to expand you from within, the pulse of his erection beating directly against your cervix. Jungkook didn't move; He stood there, buried in you, his arm muscles trembling from the effort of holding his weight so as not to crush you as he waited for your body to accept the anatomy of a warrior. 

"Breathe, my life... Look at me and breathe," he whispered. His voice was a hoarse thread of pure agony and devotion. 

You felt the piercing sting of your lost innocence, but above all, you felt that scorching fullness. Jungkook was too big, a presence that filled you completely, making you feel small and fragile under his body. Every time you tried to relax, the throbbing of his own cock inside you, releasing the first few drops of pre-cum, reminded you how real and carnal this all was. 

He lowered his head and began to kiss your tears, sweeping the salt from your cheeks with a tenderness that contrasted with the brute strength of his hips wedged between your thighs. His lips sought yours in a slow, deep kiss, giving you time to process the burning feeling of being one flesh with him. 

"Tell me when you're ready," he murmured against your lips, brushing them. I won't move until the pain turns into something else. I don't want you to remember me in pain, Y/N. Never again. 

What seemed like hours passed, although they were only minutes of sacred silence where only the crackling of the embers and their rhythmic breaths could be heard. Gradually, the burning began to transform into a dull heat, an addictive electric pulsation that was born right where their bodies came together. Your body, traitor and in love, began to give way, lubricating itself naturally, wrapping around it and finally recognizing the owner of its sighs. 

You nodded slightly against his shoulder, letting out a trembling sigh that hit his neck. Jungkook closed his eyes, letting out a low growl, a purely animal sound, and began to move. 

It was an almost imperceptible movement at first. A slow rock, a retreat of just a few inches that dragged your inner walls before sinking back down with extreme delicacy. You gasped, your mouth half-open, feeling your skin stretch to accommodate each thrust. It was a beautiful and terrifying sensation at the same time; You felt completely invaded, but in a way that made you feel whole for the first time in five years. 

"Damn it... you're so tight... so perfect," Jungkook gasped. His jaw was so tense that you could see the veins in his neck tick under the candlelight. 

He increased the pace, but only a little, maintaining that deliberate and deep cadence that allowed you to enjoy every millimeter of his entrance. The wet sound of friction began to mix with the rubbing of the sheets. Every time he slipped out, you felt an unbearable emptiness, and every time he went back in, a burst of heat ran down your spine. His hands came down from your shoulders to intertwine with yours on the pillow, squeezing them tightly, anchoring you to him in this mutual discovery. 

"Does it still hurt?" He asked, pausing for a second to look at you. His eyes were injected with desire, fixed on your blushing face, but his worry was what dominated his expression. 

"A little... But don't stop," you whispered, arching your back up unconsciously, looking for it to go deeper. "I want to feel you, Jungkook. I want you to erase all this time that we were away." 

Those words were the trigger that ended his last trace of self-control. Jungkook let out a heavy sigh, a snort full of lust, and began to charge more firmly, with drier and deeper punches, although without losing the elegance of his movements. The four-poster bed creaked gently to the rhythm of his passion, a sound that mingled with your unbridled gasps and hoarse growls from him. With each movement, fullness became pleasure; a dark, dense, moist and deep pleasure that clouded your judgment completely. 

You felt him hit points inside you that you had never explored, sending electric shocks straight into your belly. The pain was completely gone, replaced by a voracious need for me to never let go of you. Your legs wrapped around his waist unconsciously, drawing him in more, wanting to remove any atom of air between their bodies, forcing him to sink to bottom. 

"You're mine... My wife, my queen..." he whispered against your lips, each word punctuated by a hard thrust that made you see stars and lose track of reality. 

Jungkook raised one of his hands to caress your face, brushing the sweaty hair away from your forehead as he moved with an increasing and uncontrolled intensity. His sweaty body shone in the gloom, a vision of power and absolute dedication. He was giving you everything: his strength, his vulnerability, and the secret of his eternal love. 

You reached the edge of the abyss almost without realizing it. Pleasure built up in your belly like a storm about to burst, making you emit wet, broken sounds. Jungkook noticed it instantly; He felt the first contractions of your canal hugging him tightly, he saw how your eyes rolled and how your body began to tremble under his. He picked up the pace, his movements becoming a little more erratic, more urgent, taking you by the hand toward that climax you both shared. 

"Jungkook! You shouted his name, your voice broken with emotion, as the world crumbled into a thousand pieces of light and heat. 

Your orgasm shook you with a force that left you breathless, your vaginal walls squeezing his member into violent spasms. Jungkook was not far behind. Feeling the emptiness of your liberation sucking it in, it let out a guttural roar that seemed to be born from its bowels, sank for the last time in a brutal way, as deep as it could, and poured into you with an intensity that made you vibrate. Waves of thick, burning semen filled your insides, mixing with your own moisture and the trace of your innocence. He stood there, trembling over you, burying his face in the hollow of your neck as his seed sealed the contract of their lives for good. 

Silence returned to the room, but it was a different silence. It was no longer hostile, nor annoying. It was a silence full of peace and a satisfaction that can only be found after a war won. 

Jungkook slumped down next to you carefully, but he didn't allow you to walk away. He pulled you into his chest, wrapping you in a protective embrace as you both caught your breath. The sheets were scrambled, stained with proof of their union, but at the time, none of that mattered. 

"I love you, Y/N," he whispered, kissing the crown of your head. Now and for all the winters we have left. 

You snuggled up against him, feeling his heartbeat against your ear. The prince and princess who hated each other had died that night in that bed, and in their place, two lovers were born who, at last, no longer had to pretend. 

(...) 

The sun began to filter timidly through the heavy velvet curtains, drawing lines of golden dust in the dense air of the room. It wasn't the sudden awakening you'd imagined for years of nightmares about this day; It was a slow awakening, enveloped in the warmth of a body that no longer felt like that of an enemy, but as your safe harbor. 

You opened your eyes heavily, your body feeling strangely sore but light, as if you had taken off an armor you had been wearing for centuries. The first thing you saw was Jungkook's face, a few centimeters from yours. He was not asleep. He watched you with infinite calm, his dark hair tousled on the pillow and an expression of peace that you had never seen him wear in court. 

"Good morning, my queen," he whispered, and his voice, hoarse with sleep, sent a delicious shiver down your spine. 

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you recalled the details of the night: the confessions, the urgency of his hands, and the way he called you his over and over again. You shifted under the linen sheets, feeling the rubbing of his bare skin against yours, and you looked down at the bed. There, between the two of you, the stain of dried crimson on the immaculate white was the silent testimony of your surrender and of the sealed covenant. 

"They're coming soon," you said in a whisper, feeling a knot of nervousness at the thought of the maidens and counselors waiting behind the door. 

"Let them come," Jungkook replied with a calm smugness. He moved closer, wrapping his arm around your waist and pressing you to his chest. "They already have what they wanted." 

Three sharp and ceremonious knocks echoed through the wooden door. It was the warning of the protocol. The time for intimacy was over; The time of kings was beginning. 

Jungkook sat up, giving you one last quick and possessive kiss on the lips before reaching for his silk robe. You did the same, covering yourself in a thin robe, trying to keep your composure as he walked to the door and turned the key that last night looked like the lock of a cell and today felt like the key to a shelter. 

The doors opened wide. The ladies-in-waiting entered with their heads bowed, carrying basins of warm water and perfumed oils, followed by the eldest housekeeper, whose only mission was to pick up the central sheet. You saw the woman approach the bed with professional coldness, removing the stained linen with a bow directed at both of them. 

You looked at Jungkook. He was standing by the window, the daylight highlighting his aristocratic profile. For a second, his iron mask was back in place: the tense jaw, the icy gaze, the crown prince no one dared to challenge. But before the housekeeper left the room to show the "proof" to the King and the council, Jungkook looked for you with his eyes. 

In that brief moment, he gave you an almost imperceptible smile, a spark of complicity that said: "This is our secret. The rest is just theater." 

Hours later, you were walking alongside him through the great throne room. The weight of your new gold and sapphire crown was real, and the cheers of the court echoed through the stone vaults. Everyone celebrated peace, the union of two kingdoms and political victory. But you, while holding your head high and the serene expression of a perfect princess, felt Jungkook's hand seek yours under the wide folds of his royal cloaks. 

His fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing them with a firmness that reminded you of the heat of the night before. You were no longer the girl who climbed the cherry trees, nor was he the boy who scolded you for being reckless. They were the sovereigns of an empire, yes, but above all, they were two people who had survived hatred to find themselves in the truth. 

"Are you ready, Y/N?" He asked you in a low voice, still looking straight ahead at the thrones that awaited them. 

"With you, always," you replied, squeezing his hand with the same intensity. 

They walked together to their seats, echoing their footsteps ushering in an era. You knew there would be more wars, more intrigues, and more pressures, but you were no longer afraid. For that night, amid the scent of sandalwood and the ashes of the fireplace, you had learned that there was no contract stronger than that which is signed with the soul, nor a crown more valuable than the love of him whom you once called the enemy. 

(...) 

Five years had passed since that night when the lock of the royal room dictated the beginning of your new life. Five years since the bloodstains and the truths shouted between sighs sealed a pact that no minister would have been able to draft. 

You walked along the marble balcony of the east wing, the same one that overlooked the gardens where, in another life, Jungkook chased you through the rose bushes. The afternoon air was crisp, but you no longer felt that constant chill in your bones that used to accompany you when you were alone. The weight of your crown no longer caused migraines; now it was simply a part of you, as natural as the surname Jeon you proudly carried. 

"I knew I'd find you here," Jungkook's voice, now deeper and charged with the authority of a King who has won a thousand political battles, echoed behind you. 

You turned around with a soft smile, watching as he walked towards you. He no longer wore the rigid dress uniform; He wore a dark silk shirt unbuttoned at the collar and an expression of utter relaxation that he only showed when the doors of the great hall closed. 

You watched him approach, noticing how time had only served to polish his beauty. He had some new frown lines around his eyes, the product of sleepless nights studying maps and tracts, but when his eyes met yours, you kept seeing the boy who gave you a wooden soldier. 

"The southern emissaries are gone," he said, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you to his chest with that possessive familiarity that had never diminished. "They say they've never seen a kingdom so prosperous, or a couple so prosperous... "synchronized". "

"If they only knew we spent half our time arguing over grain taxes," you chuckled, resting your head on his shoulder. 

"Arguing with you is my favorite activity, Y/N," he murmured, kissing your temple. It keeps me on my toes. "It reminds me that my Queen is still the most stubborn and brilliant woman in the entire alliance." 

You looked down at the lower garden, where a small three-year-old boy was running after a hunting cub, closely followed by two guards trying to hide their smiles. The little heir of the Jeons had his father's dark, messy hair and your same spark of rebellion in his eyes. 

"Look at Minjun," you said, feeling a sweet warmth in your chest. "He's trying to climb the cherry tree." 

Jungkook let out a low laugh, a vibration you felt against your own back. 

"Like mother, like son. I remember a certain princess who almost broke her leg doing exactly the same thing. I had to rescue her and endure her insults all the way back."

"You rescued me because you wanted to be the hero, Jungkook," you reminded him, turning in his arms to hang from his neck. "Admit it." 

"I admit that I have always been at your feet, even if I tried very hard to look like an arrogant prince," he confessed, looking at you with a devotion that had not died down a single day in these five years. "Sometimes I stop to think about that first night... in how close we were to letting ourselves be consumed by pride."

You felt a chill as you remembered the tension back then, the way feigned hatred almost robbed them of happiness. Jungkook lowered his hand to your belly, still flat under the silk of your dress, but where you both knew that a new life was starting to grow again. His touch was soft, protective, loaded with a promise of the future. 

"We fulfilled the contract, Y/N," he whispered, lowering his voice until it became a secret only to your ears. "We gave them peace, we gave them the heirs, we gave them the stability they wanted. But what they can never take away from us is that this... This was not because of them." 

"It was for us," you added, searching for his lips. 

The kiss was slow, loaded with the history they had built together. It was no longer the desperate kiss of two strangers forced together; It was the kiss of two battle buddies who had turned a forced marriage into an empire of love. 

As the sun set behind the mountains of your former home, illuminating the horizon with orange and violet hues, you understood that "happily ever after" was not a gift of fate, but something you had both fought and won, millimeter by millimeter, in the privacy of your bedroom and in the coldness of your throne. 

Jungkook pressed you tighter against him, looking towards his kingdom, but with his heart set only on the woman in his arms. 

"I love you, my Queen," he said, and you knew he would say it every night until the crowns were dust again. 

"And I to you, my King," you replied, knowing that, at last, the story of the princess and prince who hated each other was over, giving way to the legend of the kings who loved each other against all odds. 

END 

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A/N: So, this is officially my very first OS and I’m not gonna lie, I'm absolute wreck of nerves right now lmao. I really hope you guys like it and enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Any thoughts or feedback are more than welcome! ❤️

[jiminrings]

how long will we fall

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 14k

glimpse: if it’s fate, it should already be set onto your skin — that’s why jungkook’s initials are already on your finger. he’s always there for you, but not only for you. if you’re his fate, he’d rather not have it.

alternatively, jungkook’s your soulmate, but he doesn’t want to be.

[ soulmate au, painful f2l, unrequited love (at first), a lot of angst, more fluff n wholesome moments, emotional constipation, yearning, jealousy, swearing, reverse cards that make u cheer, redemption arc, i swear to u that this does not hurt as much as heartburn did ]

notes: i’m back with a big fic!!! :D this was originally supposed to be named something else but i realized that the title was Too Serious and u know what,,, ten listens later as i write this, i realized that i’m obsessed with this song that i received from this ask and wow thank u so much anon <33 although the rec isn’t originally for this fic, it fits perfectly and i can’t thank u enough <33

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even replying to this post sends me over the moon :)

Keep reading

[neochan]

breeze (m).

pairing: study buddy!mark x afab!reader

word count: 2.6k

summary: whatever was in the air, it left mark desperate, and you were the only one close enough to help

warnings: sex pollen, needy!mark, fingering, creampie, breeding, mark finishes like four times or something crazy like that, by far the worst paced fic you've probably ever read

a.n: welcome to the first fic of kinktober. yes, this is supposed to read as fast and desperate because that's exactly what mark is. leave a like or a comment if you enjoy <3

You and Mark had been cramming in the back corner of the library for hours. His laptop was open, highlighter caps littered the table, and your notes were a mess. College sucked.

“Another chapter?” he asked, already yawning.

“Sure,” you muttered, dragging your pen across the page.

It should’ve been normal — just another late-night study grind — except for the weird little potted plant his biology professor had shoved into his hands earlier. “Keep an eye on this until the lab’s open tomorrow.”

Neither of you noticed when the plant bloomed. The faint sweet scent that filled the air seemed harmless enough at first.But then Mark shifted in his chair, tugging at the collar of his hoodie. His cheeks flushed bright pink.

“You hot?” you asked, frowning.

He laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. “Kinda. I dunno, I just—fuck, I feel weird.”

────୨ৎ────

It didn’t take long before weird turned into desperate.

Mark couldn’t sit still anymore. His leg bounced hard under the table, his jaw tight, fingers digging into his thigh. His hoodie was already shoved off, and sweat clung to the back of his neck, dampening the collar of his t-shirt. A vein stood out in his temple, pulsing fast.

“Mark?” you whispered, worried. “Are you okay?”

He looked up, and his eyes were blown wide, pupils dark, chest rising and falling too fast. His lips parted like he was about to answer, but nothing came out.

“I can’t—” He shoved his chair back with a screech, running a shaky hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. “Fuck, I can’t think. I just—” His gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there like he’d never seen them before, hunger sparking in his expression. “It’s not my fault.”

“Mark—”

He didn’t let you finish. He grabbed your wrist and yanked you up, pulling you down the rows of bookcases with quick, frantic steps. You tried to protest, but he was too strong, too desperate. His body practically radiated heat, palm slick against yours.

“Mark, where are we—”

He slammed into the bathroom, locking the door behind you with a shaky hand. The second the lock clicked, he shoved you against the wall, his mouth crashing onto yours. The kiss was hot, sloppy, teeth clashing, his tongue forcing past your lips like he was starving. His breath was harsh, almost animal.

You gasped into his mouth, hands pushing at his chest, but he just groaned, grinding against you. His cock was hard, pressing thick and urgent against your thigh, the weight of it unmistakable.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, eyes wild and glassy. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I need you so bad, I can’t think...”

His hands tugged at your clothes, fumbling with your jeans, yanking them down just enough to shove his hand between your thighs. His fingers pressed against your underwear, rubbing hard over your clit, his knuckles rough.

“Look at you,” he gasped, forehead pressed to yours, his hand working faster, thumb circling harder until he could feel the wetness dampen your panties. “Already wet—fuck, maybe you need this too.”

Your knees buckled, a moan tearing from your throat, and if he wasn't pressing you against the door, you would have fallen to the floor. His grin was shaky, desperate, more unhinged than cocky.

“Yeah, that’s it. Let me hear you.”

He yanked your underwear aside, plunging two fingers into you without warning. You choked on a cry, your hands grabbing at his shoulders as his pace turned frantic, fingers fucking into you fast and messy, curling just right to make your eyes roll back.

“Mark—” you gasped, back arching, walls fluttering around his fingers.

“I can’t stop,” he groaned, rutting against your hip, cock straining painfully against his sweats. “I’m gonna lose my mind if I’m not inside you.”

He pulled his fingers out and spun you around, bending you over the sink. The mirror reflected your wide eyes, your lips parted as you watched him shove his sweats down, cock springing free, flushed and leaking as he lined himself up behind you.

“Please,” he begged, his voice breaking, guttural. “Please, I’ll die if I don’t...just let me.”

And then he pushed in.

The stretch was brutal, your walls clenching tight around his cock as he bottomed out with a strangled moan. His hands gripped your hips hard, holding you in place as he started thrusting, fast and sloppy, the sound of wet skin echoing in the bathroom.

“Shit—fuck...y-you’re so tight,” he groaned, head dropping onto your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin. His cock drove deep, hitting the perfect spot over and over until your vision blurred. “I can’t... I can’t stop.”

Every thrust rocked you against the sink, your palms flat on the counter, eyes fixed on his reflection behind you. His face was flushed scarlet, sweat dripping down his temple, jaw clenched like he was in pain.

“Say you want it too,” he gasped, hips pounding into you. “Please—say it.”

Your moan broke into a cry, legs trembling. “I—I want it—”

Mark let out a choked sound, fucking you harder, his cock dragging deep inside you. The heat, the desperation, the way his body pressed heavy against yours—it was too much. You came hard, sobbing into the mirror, your cunt squeezing him tight.

He groaned loud, thrusts turning messy, desperate. “Fuck—I’m gonna cum—shit, I can’t—”

Mark’s first orgasm hit so hard he almost collapsed over you. His cock twitched inside, pumping hot cum deep while he groaned against your shoulder, sweat dripping down his face, his hips jerking helplessly.

Normally, he’d have pulled out, slumped against the wall, embarrassed as hell. His cheeks would’ve gone scarlet, his stammered apologies tripping over each other, and you would’ve had time to catch your breath.

But not this time.

He was still hard. Rock hard.

Mark froze for a second, his chest heaving against your back, breath ragged and broken. His cock twitched inside you, too heavy, too stiff, like it hadn’t just spent itself. He swallowed hard, sweat dripping down his temple, the sound of it hitting the porcelain sink sharp in the silence.

“What the fuck…” His voice cracked, half a whisper, half a groan. He lifted his head, looking down at where your bodies were still joined—your swollen, slick cunt stretched around him, his cum already dripping out to coat the base of his cock. The sight made his stomach clench, made his hips twitch forward before he could stop himself.

Then his gaze flicked up, catching the reflection in the mirror. The two of you—wrecked, panting, pressed together, skin flushed and glistening. Your hair stuck damply to your cheek, your lips parted, eyes hazy with overstimulation. He looked unrecognizable too; jaw tight, eyes blown wide, chest rising and falling like he’d run a marathon.

His eyes went wild.

His hips started moving again before he even finished the thought.

The slow grind turned into a thrust, then another, until he was driving back into you, groaning like the need was tearing him apart from the inside. Cum leaked down your thighs, sticky and hot, and he groaned at the way his cock dragged it back inside, making everything messier, wetter, louder.

“I’m still hard,” he muttered, almost disbelieving, his words breaking on each thrust. His hands clamped on your hips, bruising, anchoring himself. “I never—god, it’s like I can’t—” His words cut off in a strangled moan, his head dropping against your shoulder. “I need to cum again. I have to.”

You whimpered, the force of it making your body jolt against the sink. Each thrust drove you forward, your palms slipping against the counter with how slick your skin had become. His chest pressed heavy to your back, suffocating in the best way, cock pistoning into you like he had zero control.

“Mark—” you gasped, voice catching, your thighs trembling. His name became a mantra, echoing throughout the empty bathroom.

“You too,” he rasped, his tone cracking. His hips snapped faster, dragging out broken sounds from your throat. “Please cum with me again. I can’t—fuck, I can’t hold it.”

Your orgasm tore through you, ripping a sob from your lips as your cunt squeezed him mercilessly. The mirror blurred in front of you, stars sparking behind your eyes, your body shaking as you collapsed against the counter.

Mark’s own release followed instantly. His cock jerked deep inside you, spilling another hot flood, his hips grinding desperately, as if he could force every drop deeper. His groan was guttural, broken, echoing off the bathroom tiles like he’d been split open. His whole body trembled, muscles twitching as he collapsed forward.

For a moment, he went still; panting, lips pressed to your shoulder, his chest slick with sweat against your back. His eyes squeezed shut, his knuckles white where they clutched your hips.

Then it hit him.

He was still fucking hard.

Mark let out a shaky laugh, half-delirious, almost hysterical. “No way. No fucking way…You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He pulled your body up, turning you around and hoisting you onto the sink. “One more?”

His mouth crashed onto yours, sloppy and feverish, his cock already pushing back inside your sore pussy. He moaned into your mouth as he bottomed out, grinding hard, sweat dripping down his temples, the counter rattling beneath you.

“God, you’re taking me so good,” he panted, thrusting deep. “I don’t even care if this kills me—I’ll die fucking you.”

Your nails clawed down his back as he fucked you harder, hips snapping between your thighs. Your cunt fluttered around him, overstimulated, slick dripping down your thighs and onto the floor.

He buried his face in your neck, groaning, “I’m gonna cum again—fuck, I’m gonna—”

His third orgasm hit like a wave, hot cum spilling out of you and over the counter, his whole body shaking as he ground deep inside, cock jerking until you were sure he had nothing left to give.

But even as he panted, sweat-soaked and trembling, he stayed buried in you. His cock was still hard, twitching, ready.

Mark pulled back, dazed, eyes glazed over. “What the hell is happening to me…” He looked down at you, completely wrecked under him, your thighs shaking, your lips swollen. His breath hitched.

He should’ve been done. He should’ve slumped to the ground, out cold.

Instead, he lifted his head, dazed, panting. His cock was still hard.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, looking between your bodies. “I just—three times? I’ve never—” His words cut off in a ragged groan as his hips twitched forward again, grinding into you.

You whimpered, sore and overstimulated, but he caught your face in his hands, eyes blown wide and frantic.

“I can’t stop,” he whispered, almost panicked.

Before you could answer, he pulled out, spun you around, and bent you over the sink again. His cum dripped down your thighs as he shoved his cock back inside with one brutal thrust. Both of you cried out—him in disbelief, you in overwhelmed pleasure.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, hips snapping fast, desperate. “It’s like my body won’t stop until I ruin you.”

Every thrust was harder than the last, your reflection in the mirror showing your wrecked expression, hair sticking to your damp forehead. Mark’s hands dug into your hips, his nails leaving crescents on your skin.

Your cunt clamped down hard, another orgasm ripping through you without warning. You sobbed into the mirror, shaking as your legs gave out.

Mark lost it. His cock jerked inside you, another orgasm tearing out of him with a guttural groan, hot cum spilling into you for the nth time. He pressed his chest to your back, grinding deep, shuddering as he filled you.

But he was still hard.

Mark’s laugh was broken, disbelieving. “No way. No fucking way.” He pulled you up against his chest, lips dragging over your shoulder, your neck. “I’m gonna break you.”

He dragged you off the counter and onto the floor tiles, laying you on your back before crawling over you, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. His body hovered above yours, heavy and trembling, cock still leaking and hard as steel.

“Look at me,” he begged, eyes glassy. “Please, don’t look away. I don’t know how many times I can do this, but I need every single one inside you.”

He pushed back in, slower this time, groaning as he bottomed out again. His thrusts started sloppy, overstimulated moans leaving his mouth with every movement. His whole body shuddered with the sensitivity, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

“Fuck—too much—but it feels so good,” he gasped, forehead pressing to yours. “You’re gonna kill me, I swear.”

You cried out, nails raking down his back, and he kissed you through the mess of it—desperate, wet, panting.

When he came the fourth time, it was almost painful, his cock jerking hard as cum spilled deep inside you again, dripping out immediately to pool on the floor beneath you. His whole body trembled, muscles twitching, his voice breaking on a hoarse groan.

He collapsed against you, chest heaving, sweat-slick and trembling. His cock twitched inside you, still hard, refusing to soften.

Mark laughed weakly, almost hysterical, his lips brushing your ear.

“…fuck. I think I could go again.”

────୨ৎ────

Mark looked like death warmed over.

His hoodie was wrinkled, his hair stuck up in every direction, and there were dark smudges under his eyes from getting absolutely no sleep. Not because he didn’t try—he did try—but every time he shut his eyes, his cock twitched, his body remembered, and he was hard all over again. He lost count of how many times he came after dragging you back to your apartment, how many times he swore that was the last round only for his body to betray him.

Now, the stupid little potted plant sat in his hands, looking perfectly innocent. A neat bloom of white petals, fragrant and harmless.

Mark marched into the biology lab like a man going to his own execution. He set the plant on his professor’s desk a little harder than he meant to, the pot clinking against the wood.

“Here,” Mark croaked, his voice shot, like he’d spent all night screaming. “Your, uh… project.”

Professor Han, a lean man with glasses sliding down his nose, looked up from his laptop. He peered at the plant, then at Mark. His brows lifted.

“You kept this in your dorm?”

Mark shifted uneasily. “Library.” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing everywhere but the professor’s eyes. “Why?”

Professor Han smirked faintly, like he knew something Mark didn’t. “That species isn’t exactly… stable. The pollen tends to have a very specific effect on mammals.”

Mark froze. “Effect?”

Professor Han leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Let’s just say it enhances reproductive drive. Unethical to test on humans, of course.” His gaze slid over Mark, taking in the disheveled hair, the hoodie, the way Mark couldn’t stand still. “But you look like you might’ve had firsthand exposure.”

Heat flooded Mark’s face. “I—what—no!” His laugh came out too loud, too forced. “I mean, I was just—studying, and—”

Professor Han cut him off smoothly. “Be thankful it burns itself out after a day.” His eyes glinted behind the lenses. “Otherwise, you’d be in real trouble.”

Mark’s mouth opened, then shut again. He grabbed his backpack, muttered something that could’ve been “thanks,” and bolted out of the lab as fast as he could without breaking into a sprint.

Behind him, the professor chuckled under his breath, jotting something in his notebook.

“Always the library,” he murmured. “Those poor girls never see it coming.”

[kurapikaenia]

𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙡 & 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙠.︱ᴊᴇᴏɴ ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ oneshot.

when the stoic and devastatingly handsome sir jeon jungkook is appointed as your personal knight, sworn to guard your royal highness with a will forged from steel, you quickly discover that his greatest strength may also be his most infuriating trait, he is utterly immune to you. no matter how tightly you lace your corset, he remains the perfect knight, eyes respectfully averted, jaw set like stone. but while sir jungkook may be a man of steel, you are a princess accustomed to getting what you want, and with every sinful intention of discovering whether even the realm’s most loyal knight could be brought to his knees for you.

⎯⎯ pairing: knight jungkook x princess y/n

warnings: erotica, forbidden medieval fantasy au, porn with plot, age gap, yearning, size difference, oral fixation (f.), unprotected sex, the princess is very horny, cold,dom!knight, bigdick!knight, breeding, pregnancy trope, war brutality, motherhood, subtle angst

word count: 20.5k

The great hall of the royal palace echoed with the murmurs of the assembled court. The King sat upon his throne, his stern gaze sweeping over the line of elite knights who had come to compete for the highest honor in the realm, becoming the personal protector of his only daughter, the princess, you.

The position was coveted for many reasons, but none more obvious than the princess herself.

Beauty had always been your burden as much as your blessing. Tales of it traveled farther than merchants and faster than ravens, crossing borders until even distant courts spoke your name with a mixture of admiration and longing. Princes penned verses in your honor without ever meeting you. Even seasoned knights, men hardened by war and duty, often found themselves disarmed by nothing more than a smile.

With your coronation fast approaching, the kingdom stood on the brink of celebration. It would be the grandest event seen in decades, drawing princes, dignitaries from every corner of the continent. Some would arrive seeking alliances. Most would arrive seeking you.

The prospect amused you more than it excited you.

“Protecting my daughter is not merely a matter of strength,” your father’s voice boomed through the hall. “It demands unyielding discipline and absolute loyalty. You will each face three trials. The princess herself will accompany you, so that you may prove your worth in her presence.”

Your eyes swept slowly across the line of knights standing before the throne, a faint mask of boredom kissing your beautiful face, certain that none of them would truly be able to handle you.

For years, entertaining yourself at the expense of knights had become something of a pastime. A lingering touch against a gauntleted hand, a mere whispered compliment that left disciplined warriors suddenly forgetting their own names. Watching them struggle to maintain their composure was endlessly amusing.

You had notoriously toyed with men like this, living wildly beneath the weight of your royal title, and your father knew this better than anyone. That was precisely why he had designed these trials.

He wasn’t simply looking for the strongest sword arm. He wanted a knight with sharp intellect and the rare ability to withstand your constant attempts to live life on your terms rather than as a perfectly mannered princess.

A small, intrigued smile played on your lips when the first few knights stepped forward. They were impressive in brute force, but you could already tell they would crumble the moment you decided to play.

Then he stepped forward.

Sir Jeon Jungkook.

Even fully armored, with only his dark, piercing eyes visible through the narrow slit of his helmet, once his unflinching gaze met yours for a brief second, a strange spark ignited low in your belly. You tilted your head, studying those dark eyes with growing interest.

The first trial took place that very evening in the smaller banquet hall. Only a select few courtiers were present. You sat at the high table beside your father, sipping from a jeweled goblet.

Unknown to the competing knights, the King had arranged for one of the wine pitchers to be laced with a powerful sleeping draught. Harmless, but potent enough to leave the princess disoriented and vulnerable. Only the King, a few trusted advisors, and the princess herself knew of the plan.

The knights had been given only one instruction: protect the princess. No further details.

As the evening progressed, the effects of the draught began to take hold. Your thoughts grew pleasantly hazy, movements slower. The jeweled goblet nearly slipped from your grasp once before you caught it. A second time, you laughed at something that had not been particularly funny.

Several knights noticed. Some were too busy trying to appear vigilant, eyes constantly scanning the room for imaginary assassins.

A few noticed your condition and drew dangerously close. One insisted on helping you stand despite the fact that you had not asked for assistance. Another rested a hand against your lower back almost inappropriately while guiding you through the room. One knight even smiled when he realized how heavily you leaned upon him after stumbling.

The courtiers watched everything. So did the King.

You were beginning to feel genuinely annoyed when a tall figure stepped silently between you and yet another overeager knight.

Sir Jeon Jungkook.

Unlike the others, he had not hovered around you all evening. He had remained where a royal protector belonged, close enough to intervene, distant enough to respect your space.

Dark eyes studied your face through the narrow opening of his helmet. “The princess has had enough wine,” he declared.

The knight beside you scoffed. “She seems perfectly fin—”

“She does not.”

You watched surprise flicker across the other knight’s face.

Sir Jungkook’s hand briefly closed around your forearm as you swayed, steadying you before immediately letting go the moment your balance returned.

Within moments he had summoned two ladies-in-waiting to accompany you back to your chambers. When another knight offered to carry you himself, Sir Jungkook declined on your behalf before you could even answer.

“Her reputation is as important as her safety.”

For the first time all evening, genuine curiosity stirred within you.

Most men saw opportunity when they looked at you. Some saw beauty, a few saw a future crown. Yet somehow, Sir Jeon Jungkook seemed to see only his duty.

As the ladies guided you toward the doorway, you glanced back over your shoulder.

“How noble of you, Sir Jungkook,” you teased, voice softened by the draught. “Are you always so resistant to temptation?”

His gaze never wavered. “My duty is to protect Your Highness.”

For reasons you could not quite explain, that response lingered in your thoughts far longer than any flirtatious remark ever had.

The final trial was, by all appearances, the simplest.

After weeks of staged attacks, hidden tests, the remaining candidates expected one final demonstration of skill. Some anticipated a duel. Others believed they would be sent to defend the princess from another fabricated threat. Instead, the King announced that the last trial would consist of a single week of personal duty beside the princess. No further explanation was offered.

The knights were disappointed.

You, however, knew exactly what your father was doing.

The trial was not designed to test strength or intelligence. It was designed to test restraint.

Most of the candidates failed within days. Some became overly eager whenever you requested their company.

Others ignored palace protocol the moment you suggested bending the rules. One knight allowed you to wander through the city market without informing the royal guard because he was too eager to please you. Another accepted an invitation to share wine in one of the palace balconies despite knowing perfectly well how improper it appeared. Every failure was carefully observed and quietly recorded.

Only one knight remained infuriatingly impossible.

Sir Jeon Jungkook.

The more you watched him, the more determined you became to discover his weakness. Surely he had one. Everyone did.

At first, your attempts were harmless. During walks through the palace gardens, you lingered beside him instead of remaining ahead as protocol dictated. During meals, you directed most of your conversation toward him. More than once, you deliberately brushed your fingers against the steel of his gauntlet while speaking. Other knights would have turned crimson. Some would have stumbled over their own words.

Sir Jungkook merely stepped aside and continued his duties as though nothing had happened.

Perhaps it was the way every other knight had spent the past weeks attempting to impress you, the King, or the court.

Where others sought favor, he sought only to fulfill his duty. And thus, when the day of the final judgment arrived, the outcome surprised absolutely no one.

Your father rose slowly from his seat.

“Sir Jeon Jungkook,” he declared, voice echoing through the hall. “You have successfully completed all trials. You have shown not only strength and intellect, but the rare ability to anticipate danger and resist… temptation.” His gaze flicked briefly to you. “From this day forward, you are hereby appointed as the princess’s personal royal knight and protector. Guard her with your life. And may the gods help you.”

A murmur rippled through the court.

You turned toward Sir Jeon Jungkook, stepping just close enough that your crimson gown brushed his armor.

“Welcome to my service, Sir Jungkook,” you whispered so only he could hear. “I do hope you’re prepared. Resisting me may prove to be your greatest trial yet.”

His dark eyes held yours with unshakable strength. “I was under the impression I had already passed that one, Your Highness.”

—

Having Sir Jeon Jungkook follow you around all day wasn’t ideal.

It had not even been three months since his appointment as your royal knight, yet his constant, silent presence had already begun to grate on your nerves. He was always a towering shadow in dark armor, never more than a few steps behind. What annoyed you most was his utter lack of reaction.

No matter how boldly you flirted, no matter how you tightened your corset in front of him until your breasts nearly spilled over, no matter how many times you “accidentally” brushed against him, he remained perfectly composed.

What bothered you most of all was that you still had no idea what he looked like. Only those dark, intense eyes visible through the narrow slit of his helmet. The rest of him remained hidden behind steel, a constant, frustrating mystery.

The journey to the neighboring kingdom for the grand alliance celebration had been long and stifling. You rode in the royal ornate covered carriage borne by four strong horses and guarded on all sides. The extravagant gown you wore was beautiful but suffocating, the tight corset pressing against your ribs and making every breath feel like a struggle. Boredom weighed on you like lead.

Your dearest friend, Lady Isolde rode beside you in her own litter. She was to be wed in a month, and the two of you had spent the journey giggling like girls again, whispering behind silk curtains.

“He’s so tall,” Isolde teased, peeking through the gap toward where Sir Jeon Jungkook rode steadily beside your litter. “And those eyes… I wonder what the rest of him looks like under all that steel. Do you think he’s handsome, or just another brute?”

You laughed softly, though your gaze lingered on the narrow slit of Jungkook’s helmet, where those dark, intense eyes remained fixed forward.

“As if,” you replied, laced with mock boredom. “He’s far too proper. I could tighten my corset until my breasts nearly spill, and he wouldn’t even glance.”

Isolde giggled. “You should try. For science.”

Sir Jungkook’s eyes flicked toward the litter for the briefest second before returning forward. You smirked. Annoyed as you were by his constant, unflinching presence… you were also undeniably intrigued.

That night, after the feasting and music had died down and the royal party made camp near the forest’s edge, you slipped away, desperate for even a moment of peace, and determined to test just how far his restraint could stretch.

The air had grown chilly, carrying the faint bite of early autumn as you made your way to the forbidden stretch of the deep bend where the river water ran swift and dangerously deep. No one was permitted here after dark, especially not the princess.

You knew he would follow.

The heavy footsteps of armor soon echoed behind you on the rocky bank.

“Your Highness,” Sir Jungkook’s deep voice rang out, firm. “This area is strictly prohibited at night. The currents are treacherous and the water is far too cold. We must return to the palace at once.”

You barely looked at him. Your eyes were fastened upon the vast expanse of the river, moonlight dancing across its dark surface like scattered diamonds. You wanted nothing more than to feel the cool waves kissing your bare skin, to swim freely under the moon with no eyes judging you in, except his.

A small, unusually kind smile touched your lips as you turned toward him.

“Why don’t you join me, Sir Jungkook?” you asked softly, your voice carrying on the gentle night breeze. “Just for a little while. The water looks so peaceful tonight.”

Sir Jungkook stood like a statue in his dark armor. “Your Highness… that would be highly improper,” he replied, voice low. “I am here to protect you, not to… bathe with you.”

You let out a soft, melodic laugh and began walking toward the river’s edge, the hem of your gown brushing the grass.

“Well, I suppose then…” you bit your lip, your fingers moving to the laces of your gown with aching slowness. “I shall swim, and you will stand guard like the loyal knight you are.”

You could feel his intense eyes watching through the narrow slit of his helmet as you loosened the ties. The rich fabric slid from your shoulders like liquid silk, pooling at your feet.

Completely bare under the moonlight, you wore nothing beneath. Your skin glowed luminous and your full breasts rose and fell with each breath, nipples already stiff from the cold night air. The curve of your waist flared into soft hips, and the smooth, delicate skin between your thighs was on full display.

Sir Jungkook immediately turned his head sharply away, staring fixedly into the dark trees.

“Your Highness!” His voice was strained. “This is highly inappropriate. I cannot allow—”

“You don’t have to allow anything,” you cut him off, dripping with defiance. “You’re not permitted to touch me while I’m bare. So you’ll just have to stand there.”

You waded into the river with a soft gasp. The icy water bit into your skin, but the thrill of rebellion pushed you forward. You swam out deeper, the cold making your body hypersensitive.

You glanced back at the bank. Sir Jungkook stood like a statue, head turned away, refusing to look at your naked form even once. His armored fists were clenched tightly at his sides.

A thrill of satisfaction ran through you.

You felt exhilarated. Free. And wickedly aware that the most disciplined man in the kingdom was standing on the bank, fighting not to look at you.

“Are you really going to stand there all night, Sir Jungkook? The water feels wonderful… and I’m all alone out here.” You swam further out, the cold water caressing every inch of your bare skin. A soft, content sigh escaped your lips.

It would be a plain lie if you said you weren’t at least a little relieved that he had followed you. The deep bend was no joke. its treacherous currents and deadly depth were feared even by The King. Yet here you were, aching to tear down the walls of the knight who refused to bend to your charms.

You floated lazily on your back, letting the moonlight kiss your bare skin. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you took your chance.

Once a subtle current tugged at your legs, you gasped dramatically, flailing your arms and letting out a soft, helpless cry. “Oh—!”

You fought back a giggle, pretending to be a damsel in distress, knowing the current wasn’t strong enough to truly endanger you. You wanted to see if you could finally crack his composure.

But the gods had other plans.

Without warning, a far more treacherous undercurrent slammed into you like a living beast. It dragged you under violently, twisting your body, filling your mouth and nose with icy water. Real panic surged through you as you lost your breath and sight in the black depths.

“Jungkook!” you screamed, the sound barely coherent as water rushed into your lungs. This time, it was no act.

Sir Jeon Jungkook did not hesitate for even a fraction of a second. He plunged into the river fully armored, cutting through the violent current with powerful strokes. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, yanking your naked body against his steel chest as he fought the river with raw, expert strength. You clung to him desperately, coughing and gasping as he dragged you back to the rocky bank.

The moment he pulled you ashore, his helmet caught on a low hanging branch and was ripped clean off.

You lay on the grass, gasping for air, when your eyes finally focused on the man hovering above you.

And you forgot how to breathe.

Sir Jeon Jungkook was devastatingly, unfairly handsome.

Wet raven black hair clung to his forehead and sharp, sculpted cheekbones. Water droplets traced the strong line of his jaw and dripped from sensual lips. His dark eyes, now fully exposed, were intense and beautiful, framed by long lashes and thick brows. A faint scar graced his left eyebrow, adding a rugged edge to his otherwise perfect masculine beauty.

Before you could speak, he swiftly grabbed his crimson cloak and draped it over your naked body, covering you completely with careful reverence. His gaze remained locked strictly on your face, never once drifting to your exposed skin.

“Are you okay, Your Highness?” he asked, voice rough with concern. A faint blush colored his cheeks as he noticed the way you were staring at his now-bare face.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The combination of the dangerous current, the shock of nearly drowning, and the overwhelming sight of your knight’s true face left you dizzy and speechless.

Your vision blurred. You passed out in his arms.

Sir Jungkook pulled you closer against his armored chest, one large hand gently brushed your wet hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly tender. He lifted you effortlessly, cradling you like a warrior carrying his lady, your head resting against his broad shoulder, body wrapped securely in his cloak, legs draped over his arm as he carried you back to his mare.

He mounted carefully, keeping you nestled safely against him as the horse began the journey back to the palace through secret paths.

You woke briefly as he laid you down on the thick rug before the hearth in your royal chambers. The fire was already roaring. You were still wrapped in his cloak, beneath it only a thin silk bandeau now clung to your body, the delicate material barely containing your breasts, pressing them together in a deep, soft cleavage that rose and fell with each shaky breath.

You trembled from the cold and the lingering shock of the river.

Sir Jeon Jungkook remained kneeling by the fire, his movements precise as he stoked the flames. Water dripped from his raven hair onto his armoured shoulders. Then he rose to his full, imposing height, towering, broad shouldered.

Without a word, he reached for his helmet, which rested upon a nearby oak chest, clearly intending to conceal his face once more.

“No,” you whispered, your voice soft yet commanding as you pushed yourself up on one elbow. “Do not put it back on.”

The knight paused, gloved hand hovering above the helm. His dark eyes met yours, intense and conflicted.

“Your Highness… it is not fitting for me to stand before you unveiled,” he said, his voice carrying the formal cadence of a sworn knight. “I must maintain the dignity of my position.”

You sat up fully, the cloak slipping slightly from one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your skin and the edge of the silk bandeau. Despite the cold still clinging to your bones, warmth bloomed low in your belly as you gazed upon his face, truly beheld it for the first time.

“Come closer,” You rose to your knees on the rug, the cloak parting further as you reached for him. “Let me see you properly.”

He hesitated, every line of his powerful frame taut with restraint. Yet he obeyed, lowering himself once more to kneel before you. Even on his knees, he remained nearly at your eye level, so tall and broad was he.

You lifted a delicate hand and brushed your fingers through his damp raven locks, pushing them back from his forehead. A contented sigh escaped your lips.

“You are far too pleasing to look upon, Sir Jungkook,” you whispered, almost in awe. “I had wondered what lay beneath that steel. Never did I imagine such a face.”

Sir Jungkook remained perfectly still on his knees before you. His hands rested tensely on his armoured thighs as he fought to keep his gaze fixed on your face and not the way your breasts strained against the thin silk bandeau.

“You flatter me, Your Highness,” he replied, voice low. “But I am your knight. Nothing more. Please allow me to restore my helmet.”

You shook your head slowly, refusing to let him hide again. Instead, you leaned closer, your fingers still buried in his damp raven hair.

A new, overwhelming wave of admiration and obsession washed over you. This man... this mature, hardened, breathtakingly handsome knight was kneeling before you like a devotee. The realization sent a fresh rush of heat between your thighs.

“You’re older than me, aren’t you?” you murmured softly, continuing to caress his hair with gentle strokes. “Hardened by battles and years I haven’t yet seen.”

You wondered how many more scars he carried beneath that heavy armor hidden across his broad chest, his strong back.

“I am twenty eight, Your Highness,” he answered quietly, his deep voice carrying that disciplined tone you were growing addicted to.

“Tell me something personal,” you said, your voice turning playful yet curious. Your fingers trailed from his hair down to trace his cheekbone once more. “Have you ever been with a woman, Sir Jeon? Truly been with one?”

His jaw tightened visibly. The question crossed every boundary a knight was sworn to respect.

“Your Highness… such questions are not appropriate for me to answer,” he replied. You leaned in even closer, still stroking his hair tenderly, your breath brushing against his skin.

“But I want to know,” you whispered. “Have you ever touched a woman the way a man touches a lover? Ever kissed one?”

Jungkook’s breathing grew slightly heavier. His dark eyes stayed locked on yours with iron discipline, though you could clearly see the storm brewing behind them.

“I have not, Your Highness,” he finally answered, voice low and honest. “My duty has always come first.”

A thrill ran through you at his confession. You let your fingers drift lower, brushing along his sharp jawline. “And if a woman wanted you… desperately?” your voice dropped to a near whisper. “If she wanted your mouth between her thighs… your tongue tasting her, would you deny her?”

The impure question hung heavy in the air between you. You shocked even yourself with how boldly it slipped out, but the vivid image, his devastatingly handsome face trapped between your legs, mouth glistening with your arousal made the heat bloom even more slick between your thighs.

Sir Jungkook’s hands clenched tighter on his armored thighs. A faint flush colored the tips of his ears and neck, but he remained on his knees.

“Your Highness,” he said, reverently, “I am sworn to protect you. Not to… indulge in such thoughts.”

You smiled softly. Then you leaned back on the bed, letting the crimson cloak fall open completely. The thin silk bandeau was the only thing left covering you, and even that felt too much now.

“Then I command you,” You looked down at him, this powerful knight on his knees before you, and felt a rush of pure need. “I want your mouth on me, Jungkook. Right now.”

“Your Highness, I—”

“Touch me,” you breathed, cutting him off. “Please, Jungkook…”

You reached down and grabbed his gloved hand, bringing it to your chest. Slowly, you pressed his large palm over the thin silk bandeau, letting him feel the soft, heavy weight of your breast. Your nipple was already painfully hard beneath the fabric.

Sir Jungkook’s breath hitched sharply. His entire body tensed, the muscles in his arm flexing under the armor as he fought against every instinct.

You didn’t stop there, dragging his hand lower, sliding it down your stomach until his fingers rested between your thighs. You were soaked. your petals slick and hot against his gloved fingers.

“Feel how damp you make me,” you whispered, voice shaking with need.

Sir Jungkook let out a low, strained groan. His dark eyes were fixed on your face, but you could see the violent war happening behind them.

The most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on — the princess, the future queen, was laid out before him in nothing but a flimsy silk bandeau, legs spread, pressing his hand against her dripping cunt.

“Your Highness…” he rasped, albeit desperate. “This is beyond forbidden. You are royalty. I am sworn—”

“I don’t care,” you whimpered, grinding slowly against his gloved fingers. “I need you. I’ve never felt this way before. Touch me now, my knight. Please.”

His hand trembled. For a long moment, he simply rested there, feeling your wetness soak through the leather of his glove. Then, with a broken exhale that sounded like surrender, his fingers moved.

He stroked along your soaked folds, parting the delicate petals of your most secret flower. And what a flower it was... a lush, glistening rosebud blooming only for him. Your outer lips were soft and swollen with need, flushed deep, delicate like the first blush of dawn.

As he gently spread you open, the inner petals revealed themselves: silky, and impossibly tender, layered like the finest rose in full bloom after a summer rain. At the center lay your sweetest nectar, dripping and honeyed, flowing abundantly from your aching entrance.

The knight didn’t know what came over him, but your pulsing heat and slick, puckering folds had him utterly entranced. His breathing grew ragged. You could see the way his throat worked, the way his tongue unconsciously darted out to wet his lips. He was drooling.

“May I lick you, Your Highness?” he asked hoarsely, voice thick with barely contained hunger. “Please… allow me to taste you.”

The desperate plea from such a disciplined man sent a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you.

“Yes,” you breathed, spreading your thighs wider for him, your voice trembling with raw need. “Use your mouth on me, Jungkook. Lick your princess until she cannot think.”

The moment the words left your lips, something in him broke. Sir Jungkook leaned in and dragged his hot, wet tongue slowly up your soaked slit. The first full taste of you pulled a deep, guttural groan from his chest. You were intoxicatingly sweet and dripping with arousal. He licked you again, slower this time, savoring every slick fold as if he were drinking the finest wine in the kingdom.

You cried out sharply, back arching off the bed as overwhelming pleasure flooded your body. The sensation was brand new, so intense it made your legs twitch violently.

“Oh... Jungkook!” you moaned, fingers digging into his raven hair.

The knight’s tongue circled your swollen clit before sucking it gently into his mouth, then plunged inside your tight heat, ravishing you with slow, deep strokes. The wet, filthy sounds of his mouth eagerly eating you echoed through the chamber, obscene, and shameless.

The most beautiful woman he had ever known, the future queen, was thrashing beneath him, legs shaking uncontrollably around his head, soft whimpers and loud moans spilling from her pretty lips.

Your hips rolled desperately against his face, coating his tongue, lips, and chin with your sweet release. Sir Jungkook drank every drop you gave him, groaning against your cunt as his own cock strained painfully against his armor.

He had never tasted anything so addictive.

You were already twitching, gasping, legs trembling so hard they threatened to close around his head. The pleasure was too much, too new, too overwhelming for your body.

Suddenly, Sir Jungkook pulled back slightly, his lips glistening with your juices. His dark eyes looked up at you, breathing ragged.

“Should I continue, Your Highness?” he asked hoarsely, voice thick with lust and devotion. “Tell me… do you want more?”

You could barely form words. Your body was shaking, pussy throbbing, dripping onto the mattress beneath you.

“Please don’t stop,” you whimpered desperately. “Keep licking me... please...”

The knight obeyed instantly. He buried his face back between your thighs and attacked your clit with relentless strokes of his tongue. Two thick fingers pushed inside you, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot while he sucked hard on your swollen pearl.

The pleasure hit you like a storm.

Your entire body seized up. A loud, broken scream tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you violently. Your thighs clamped around his head, hips bucking wildly against his mouth as you gushed on his tongue. Wave after wave of intense pleasure ripped through you, leaving you shaking uncontrollably, vision blurring at the edges.

You nearly passed out from the sheer intensity of it. body twitching, chest heaving, soft cries still falling from your lips as the pleasure refused to let go.

Sir Jungkook stayed between your thighs through every tremor, drinking down every last drop of your release like a man who had finally found salvation.

When your body finally went limp, trembling and oversensitive, he gently kissed your inner thigh before pulling back, his handsome face flushed and glistening with your arousal.

You could barely speak, still catching your breath as you stared at the sight of your proud, disciplined knight with your release shining on his lips.

—

“The Princess requires her knight’s escort to the eastern tower for stargazing.”

The message was innocent enough on paper. But the court had begun to notice how often you summoned Sir Jeon Jungkook for these private “duties.” Some whispered that the Princess trusted no one else. Others envied the knight who had earned such unwavering favor from the realm’s greatest beauty.

They had no idea what really happened once the tower door was bolted.

In the eastern tower under the stars, you would push Sir Jungkook against the cold stone wall and demand his mouth on you again. He always hesitated at first, “Your Highness, we mustn’t…” but the moment you looked at him with those wide, needy eyes and whispered “Please, Jungkook… I ache for you,” his resolve crumbled.

He would drop to his knees in full armor, push your skirts up to your waist, and bury his face between your thighs. The sounds he made while devouring you were filthy and desperately loud. wet slurps and deep groans as he drank every drop of your arousal. You quickly learned to muffle your loud moans against your own arm or his shoulder, thighs shaking violently around his head as he brought you to shattering orgasm after orgasm.

He never asked for anything in return at first. But one night, after he had made you come so hard you saw stars, you dropped to your knees in front of him, hands trembling as you freed his thick, aching cock from his breeches.

You had never seen the knight fully bare, but you had tasted him.

You took him into your mouth with clumsy but eager hunger, sucking and licking until he was groaning your name like a prayer, his gloved hand gently cradling the back of your head. When he spilled down your throat, you swallowed every drop, looking up at him with wide, adoring eyes.

The tension between you only grew hotter, more forbidden.

You began creating excuses just to be close to him.

You “accidentally” wandered into dangerous parts of the forest during hunts. You “lost” your way in the palace corridors at night. You deliberately teased foreign dignitaries until they grew too bold, all so Sir Jungkook would have to step in, pull you protectively against his armored chest, and hold you there while scolding you with his low voice.

Each time, you nestled your head against his chest plate, breathing in his scent, feeling safe in a way you had never felt with anyone else.

One quiet afternoon in the royal rose gardens, while the other knights kept their distance. The summer blooms were at their peak, rows upon rows of crimson roses spilling over marble trellises in a riot of color and fragrance. Courtiers often compared them to you. You had heard the comparison so many times throughout your life that it had long since lost all meaning.

Your attention was elsewhere when Sir Jungkook paused beside a rose bush heavy with crimson blooms. Reaching out, he selected a single flower and turned it thoughtfully between his fingers before approaching.

“A gift?” you asked.

“If Your Highness would accept it.”

The answer surprised a smile from you.

He stepped forward and tucked the rose behind your ear. His gloved fingers lingered only for a second before withdrawing, but even that brief touch seemed to affect him more than he wished to admit.

When you looked up, his gaze was fixed upon the flower. “Beautiful things are dangerous,” he said quietly.

You laughed. “I believe roses are dangerous for everyone except gardeners.”

His expression didn’t change.

“I wasn’t speaking about the rose.”

Your heart fluttered so violently you had to look away. it was becoming impossible to deny how deeply you were falling for him.

The kisses grew sloppier, more desperate with every stolen moment.

In the abandoned library, your knight would press you against the bookshelves, helmet removed, and kiss you like he was drowning, tongue sliding against yours, hands gripping your waist as if afraid you might vanish. You kissed him back just as hungrily, tugging at his hair, moaning softly into his mouth while your hand palmed the hard bulge in his breeches.

Your hunger for him was insatiable. You ached for his presence constantly. The court noticed how you lit up when he entered a room, how you instinctively moved closer to him during gatherings. They saw devotion, they saw trust.

They never saw the way you both held each other’s eyes like lovers who knew their time was stolen.

The relationship was utterly forbidden. Your father would banish him, or worse, if he ever discovered the truth. But neither of you could stop. Something real was blossoming between you.

The knight admired your wild, rebellious spirit. You admired his quiet strength and unwavering honor. In the darkness, you were no longer just princess and knight. You were becoming each other’s secret salvation. And it was only a matter of time before the tension finally snapped.

—

The Coronation.

The kingdom was in full celebration. Banners of the finest gold flew from every tower. The greatest event in decades had arrived, your coronation as Queen.

Princes from across the realms had come in droves, each more eager than the last to win your hand and the throne beside you. They brought lavish gifts, performed in grand tournaments, and showered you with compliments. The entire court watched with bated breath, waiting for you to choose.

You sat upon the raised dais in a breathtaking gown of white, looking every bit the ethereal queen-to-be. But your eyes kept drifting to the tall, armored figure standing silently behind your throne, Sir Jeon Jungkook.

He had become even more composed in public, yet you could feel the storm raging beneath his helmet. Especially when you decided to play your cruel little game.

Prince Min of Veina leaned close during the feast, whispering sweet nothings about your beauty. You laughed brightly, placing a hand on his arm, letting your fingers linger, leaning in just enough for your neckline to offer him a generous view of your breasts.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Sir Jungkook’s gloved hand tighten around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white.

Another prince, a golden haired lord from the eastern isles, offered you a rose during the garden promenade. You accepted it with a coy smile, twirling it between your fingers while glancing toward your knight.

Sir Jungkook’s dark eyes burned behind the helmet. You could feel his jealousy like a living thing, hot and barely contained.

That night, after the feasting and dancing, you summoned him to the eastern tower under the usual pretense.

The moment the door closed, he was on you.

The knight pinned you against the cold stone wall. The single rose you’d been idly twirling between your fingers, a gift from one of the many princes, fell forgotten to the floor.

Sir Jungkook’s dark eyes burned with something almost feral.

“You will be wed off soon?” he growled dangerously, breath hot against your ear.

You looked up at him, heart racing. Your long, wavy hair had finally been let down after the long day, cascading over your shoulders and hips like dark silk. The tight corset of your white coronation gown was already loosened, the fabric slipping slightly off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your skin.

“What do you think about Prince Min?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head. “I think he’s quite lovely. So charming. He even said he would worship me every night once we’re wed.”

Sir Jungkook’s jaw clenched so hard you heard it crack. The jealousy that had been simmering all day threatening to explode.

“Doesn’t it drive you mad, Sir Jeon?” You leaned in closer, letting your breasts brush against his armored chest. “Knowing your princess, the one you’ve been secretly devouring every night, is wanted by so many powerful men? That they all dream of putting a ring on my finger and taking me to their beds?”

“It is exquisite torture, Your Highness,” he growled, eyes burning. “Watching them look at you like they have any right to you. Knowing I’m the only one who’s ever tasted you, the only one who’s ever made you scream.”

His raw honesty sent a sharp thrill through you. You bit your lip, loving the way jealousy sharpened his features, making his dark eyes appear even more intense. He was possessive and barely holding himself back. And you wanted to push him further.

You stepped away from the wall with a teasing smile, walking over to the tall, gilded mirror that stood near the fireplace. The white gown still clung to your body, hair cascading in long, wild waves down your back. You picked up a silver brush and began slowly running it through it, watching him in the reflection.

Sir Jungkook followed you like a shadow, stopping just behind you. His tall, powerful frame loomed in the mirror, twice your size, radiating heat and restrained fury.

“Does that bother you, my knight?” A teasing smile played on your lips. “Knowing that soon I might have to let another man—”

You didn’t get to finish. Sir Jungkook’s large hand closed around your wrist, stopping the brush mid stroke. He plucked it from your fingers and set it down with a deliberate clack. His other hand gripped your hip, pulling your back flush against his armored chest.

Your breath hitched. The playful boldness you’d been wielding all night vanished in an instant.

“Enough,” he growled low against your ear, “You’ve teased me enough tonight, Your Highness.”

His dark eyes burned into yours through the mirror. The intensity there made your knees weak. This wasn’t the restrained, obedient knight anymore. This was a man who had finally reached his limit.

He reached around you and slowly began unlacing the rest of your corset. The white gown loosened further, slipping down your shoulders. You watched in the mirror as he tugged it lower, exposing your full breasts to the cool air and the warm firelight. Your nipples were hard, flushed, and sensitive.

Sir Jungkook’s hand cupped one breast possessively, squeezing it as his thumb brushed over the stiff peak. You gasped, arching into his touch.

“Look at yourself,” he ordered quietly, voice rough. “Look how beautiful you are. How perfect. And yet you let them think they could ever have this.”

He pinched your nipple, rolling it between his fingers until you whimpered. His other hand slid down, gathering the fabric of your gown and pulling it up to your waist, fully exposing your bare cunt in the mirror.

Your face bloomed bright red as you instinctively tried to close your legs, suddenly overwhelmed with shyness at the sight of yourself so lewdly displayed, flushed and completely bare in the golden firelight.

But Sir Jungkook wouldn’t allow it. His large hand gripped your thigh firmly, spreading you open again as he pressed his body harder against your back.

“Don’t hide,” His dark eyes met yours in the mirror, intense and commanding. “Look how filthy and wet you are for me.”

You shivered, unable to tear your eyes away from the reflection. The contrast was obscene, your ethereal white gown bunched around your waist, breasts exposed and heaving, legs spread wide while his armored body loomed behind you like a dark, possessive shadow.

Sir Jungkook’s hand returned between your thighs. Two thick fingers slid through your slick folds, parting them slowly so you could see everything in the mirror. You whimpered at the sight, embarrassed yet unbearably aroused.

“So beautiful,” he breathed as he circled your swollen clit with his fingertip. “This is what belongs to me. Not to any prince. Not to anyone else.”

He pushed two fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as he began ravishing you with slow, deliberate strokes that made wet, obscene sounds echo in the quiet tower.

You tried to close your legs again, overwhelmed, but he held them open with ease, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Watch,” he ordered softly, voice dark with lust. “Watch how easily I can make my princess fall apart.”

Your eyes stayed glued to the mirror as his fingers plunged in and out of your soaked cunt, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. Your cheeks were flushed deep crimson, lips parted in shameless moans, breasts bouncing slightly with every thrust of his hand.

The pleasure built fast and merciless. Your legs started shaking, thighs trembling violently as you fought to stay upright.

Sir Jungkook’s fingers curled deeper, stroking that perfect spot inside you while his thumb pressed firm circles on your swollen clit.

You came hard with a broken cry, arousal gushing down his wrist and dripping onto the stone floor beneath you. Your head fell back against his armored shoulder, body convulsing as wave after wave of intense pleasure tore through right after.

The knight dragged his arousal coated fingers from your pulsing heat and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean while his dark eyes stayed locked on yours in the mirror. The obscene sight made you whimper, legs pressing together instinctively. This time, he allowed it.

You pulled away from him shyly, legs unsteady as you walked toward the wide couch near the fireplace. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover your bare breasts, suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment.

Sir Jungkook approached you ever so slowly. His heart was pounding. you could see it in the rise and fall of his broad chest. The way your flushed cheeks and shy posture made you look so adorable only made his desire burn hotter.

He stopped in front of you, towering over your smaller frame. Without a word, he gently uncrossed your arms, exposing your breasts again. You tried to cover them once more, but he caught your wrists softly.

“You’re too beautiful to hide, my love.” he murmured, voice low.

He leaned down and took one sensitive nipple into his hot mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder. You gasped sharply, hands flying to his shoulders as overwhelming sensitivity shot through you.

“Jungkook... it’s too much...” you whimpered, lightly pushing at his shoulders, cheeks burning with shyness.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark with lust and affection. “You’re so sensitive here,” he whispered, almost in awe. He flicked his tongue over your nipple again, watching your reaction closely. “So angelic when you tremble like this.”

He sucked harder, alternating between your breasts, licking and biting softly until you were a whimpering mess, pushing at him weakly while your body arched into his mouth.

You grew frustrated at the unfairness, nearly naked while he was still fully armored. With a small, determined huff, you pushed him back slightly and began tugging at the straps of his armor.

“It is not fair,” you muttered, cheeks still flushed. “You get to see all of me, but I still haven’t seen you.”

The knight let you undress him, helping you remove piece after piece until he stood completely bare before you for the first time.

Your breath caught.

He was magnificent. Broad shoulders, powerfully sculpted chest marked with old scars, some long and faded, others newer. A few dark tattoos adorned his left pectoral and ribs. His abdomen was ridged with muscle, leading down to narrow hips. His cock hung heavy between his legs, thick and already hard.

You stepped closer, running your hands over his bare chest, tracing every scar with reverent fingers, exploring the strong lines of his back, more scars mapping his battles. He stood perfectly still, letting you admire him, though his breathing had grown heavier.

“You are… so manly, my knight,” you breathed, barely coherent, as your hands returned to his chest, sliding down the hard ridges of his abdomen. “So big… so perfect.”

The room had grown hotter, heavier. The air between you felt charged with months of suppressed longing. Your breaths mingled as you stared into each other’s eyes... yours wide with awe and desire, his dark with barely restrained hunger.

Sir Jungkook’s control finally snapped. He lifted you and laid you down on the wide couch near the fireplace, pinning your exploring hands above your head with one large hand, holding them there firmly before his body hovered over yours, powerful and imposing, thick cock resting heavy against your inner thigh.

“Look at me,” he commanded, voice low and rough.

You did, heart hammering.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, eyes burning into yours.

You squirmed beneath him, aching and desperate. “Take me,” you pleaded, trembling. “Please, Jungkook… give it to me. I need you inside me.”

Sir Jungkook let out a low groan at your words. He positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against your soaked folds. He was big, almost intimidatingly so. You felt the stretch even before he pushed in.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Your Highness,” he whispered, voice strained with worry and barely contained lust. His dark eyes searched yours, torn between desire and restraint. “You’re so tight...”

You trembled beneath him, legs parted wide around his hips. “Please,” you begged softly, cupping his face. “Don’t hold back. I need you. All of you.”

The knight exhaled shakily and began to push inside.

The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply as the thick head of his cock breached you, slowly forcing your walls open. Inch by thick inch, he sank deeper, filling you in a way you had never experienced before. It burned sweetly, bordering on too much, making your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Ah... Jungkook…” you whimpered, tears pricking your eyes at the overwhelming fullness.

He paused halfway, breathing hard, jaw clenched tight. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, rough. “I’ll stop. I swear it.”

But you shook your head, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, voice breaking. “I need you deeper… please.”

With a low groan, he pushed the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt. The fullness was devastating. You felt so stretched, so completely claimed, that for a moment you could barely breathe.

Sir Jungkook stayed still, letting you adjust, pressing soft kisses to your tear stained cheeks.

“You’re taking me so well,” he murmured, voice filled with awe and lust. “Such a good girl for me.”

When the burn finally melted into aching pleasure, you rolled your hips experimentally.

“Move,” you whispered. “Please… ruin me.”

That was all it took.

Sir Jungkook’s control snapped completely. He pulled back and thrust into you hard, setting a deep, punishing rhythm. Jealousy and months of pent up desire fueled every powerful stroke. The wet, filthy sound of his thick cock slamming into your soaked cunt filled the tower, mixing with your loud, broken moans.

He was a knight sworn to protect the crown, now utterly ruining the very sovereign he had pledged his life to shield.

“Mine,” Sir Jungkook growled, biting down on your neck hard enough to leave a dark mark. “Not theirs. Never theirs.”

He ravished you relentlessly, claiming you, marking you. His mouth was everywhere: sucking bruises into your breasts, biting your collarbone, licking the tears from your cheeks. He pinned your wrists above your head again, hips snapping against yours with raw need.

You came hard the first time, screaming his name as your walls clenched violently around his thick length. But he didn’t stop. He took you through it, then flipped you onto your hands and knees, on the wide couch.

First, he worshipped.

The knight dropped to his knees behind you, his large hands spreading your cheeks reverently. He leaned in and pressed slow, open mouthed kisses along the curve of your royal backside, lingering presses of his lips that made your breath hitch. He kissed lower, then lower still, until his tongue dragged hot and wet over your soaked folds from behind.

“So beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot and heavy. “So divine. And yet I am going to ruin every sacred inch of you.”

Then the worship turned into ruin.

He rose, gripping your hips with white knuckled force, and thrust into you from behind in one deep, devastating stroke. You cried out sharply at the stretch, the thick length of his cock forcing your walls open, filling you so completely it stole your breath.

You sobbed in pleasure, fingers clawing at the cushions as he drove into you relentlessly. The power he exerted over you was intoxicating. this hardened warrior, dominating you utterly while still worshipping every tremble of your body.

“You belong to me,” he rasped, ruining you with slow, devastating strokes now. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whimpered, voice breaking. “Only yours, Jungkook... ahh!”

By the third round, you were a sobbing, whimpering mess, tears streaming down your face from overwhelming pleasure, body covered in his marks, cunt swollen and dripping with your combined release.

He took you in every way he could: against the wall, bent over the couch, riding him as he sat on the edge of the seat, then finally on your back again with your legs over his shoulders as he drove impossibly deep.

All night long, the tower echoed with your moans, his deep groans, the obscene wet sounds of your bodies joining. He claimed you utterly and completely devoted.

When he finally came for the last time, buried deep inside you, he held you tight, spilling pulse after pulse of hot seed into your womb, filling you until you felt impossibly full, claimed from the inside out.

Sir Jeon Jungkook pressed his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against yours with every word.

“You command the entire kingdom, my lady,” he whispered reverently, “but here in this hidden place… you are mine to ruin.”

You could only tremble in his arms, utterly spent, legs wrapped around his waist, heart pounding wildly as the fire crackled beside you.

The weight of what you had just done, and what it meant for both of you settled uncomfortably in the air. But in that moment, wrapped in his powerful arms, marked and filled by your knight, nothing else in the kingdom mattered.

The days that followed were a delicate illusion of peace.

It was late morning when you found yourself in the secluded royal bathing pool fed by a gentle river, surrounded by floating lily pads and white blossoms that drifted lazily on the current. The water was warm, scented with rose and lavender oils poured in by your maids. Sunlight filtered through the overhanging willow branches, casting soft, dappled light across the surface.

You leaned back against the smooth stone edge, your long dark hair floating around you like ink in water. Your body still carried the secret marks of the previous night, faint bruises on your hips, love bites hidden beneath the waterline, and a persistent, delicious ache between your thighs that reminded you with every shift who had claimed you so thoroughly.

Your maids, Elara, Verra, and old, wise Selyse moved around you carefully. They had raised you since you were a babe, more mothers than servants. They knew you better than anyone.

Elara poured another stream of warm water over your shoulders, her sharp eyes catching the faint flush that still lingered on your cheeks.

“You are glowing again this morning, my lady,” she said lightly, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “One might think the moon itself had kissed your skin.”

Verra, younger and bolder, laughed softly as she massaged oil into your scalp. “Or perhaps a certain tall, dark eyed knight has been keeping you… well attended.”

You felt your face heat, but you couldn’t stop the small, secret smile that curved your lips.

Selyse, the eldest, clicked her tongue but her eyes were soft with affection. “Hush, you two. Our princess has always been radiant. Though…” she tilted her head, studying you, “there is a new light in her eyes these days. And a certain weariness in her step that speaks of long nights.”

You bit your lip, sinking a little lower into the water as lily pads brushed against your skin.

“It is nothing,” you murmured, though the flush in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Nothing?” Vera teased, wading closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially.

“We have seen you grow from a wild little girl into this breathtaking woman. We know your heart. And we know it does not belong to any of those puffed up princes parading through the halls.”

You reached out, squeezing Elara’s hand, then Verra’s, your voice dropping to a shy, trembling whisper.

“It is true,” you confessed, cheeks burning hotter than the midday sun. “I have given myself to Sir Jeon. Body and heart. He is the only man I have ever wanted. The only one who has ever touched me.”

For a heartbeat, silence fell over the bathing pool. Then came the gasps.

Elara’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth. Verra let out a delighted little squeak, nearly dropping the oil vial. Even old Selyse, usually so composed, looked momentarily stunned before her face broke into a warm, knowing smile.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Elara breathed, scandalized, thrilled. “You wicked little thing! With your own knight? Right under the King’s nose?”

Verra giggled uncontrollably, splashing water playfully in your direction. “And here we thought you were simply fond of him! All those late night ‘stargazing’ trips… you minx! Was he gentle? Was he… big?”

“Verra!” Selyse scolded, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. She turned to you with motherly affection. “Though I must admit, we have suspected for some time. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching… that man is utterly gone for you, my lady.”

You buried your face in your hands, mortified but unable to stop the shy, giddy smile spreading across your lips. Your gaze drifted across the river to where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard a respectful distance away, half hidden among the willow trees.

Even from here, you could feel the weight of his stare. He stood tall and imposing in his armor, but his dark eyes were fixed on you with a quiet, burning intensity that always made your stomach flutter.

You bit your lip, still flushed from both the warm water and the memory of his mouth, his hands, his body claiming you so thoroughly the night before.

“He is… everything,” you whispered dreamily, more to yourself than the maids. “Strong. Honorable. And when we are alone… he worships me like I am his entire world.”

Verra let out another delighted laugh. “As he should! Our princess deserves nothing less. Though if the King ever finds out…”

Selyse gently squeezed your shoulder, her voice softening with both love and concern.

“Then we will protect your secret as fiercely as we have protected you all these years,” she said. “You deserve to love who you love, my dear. Crown or no crown.”

You looked back at Sir Jungkook again. He hadn’t moved from his post among the willow trees, tall and steadfast in his armor, but your heart ached with a sharp mix of fear and wonder.

If The King ever discovered the truth, he would not spare your knight. Sir Jungkook would be banished, or worse. And you… you would be married off immediately to seal the wound.

The thought disturbed you deeply.

You turned back to the water, forcing a smile for your maids, but the warmth of the bath could no longer chase away the chill settling in your chest.

—

The rumors had begun to spread like fire through the palace corridors.

A lesser knight claimed he had seen “suspicious movement” near the eastern tower. One of the visiting princes mentioned, with a sly smile, that the Princess seemed unusually attached to her personal guard. Nothing concrete, nor proven. But the whispers were growing louder.

Your maids noticed your distraction immediately. During your morning dressing, Verra fastened the laces of your gown with unusually tight pulls, her voice urgent.

“My lady… you must be more careful,” she whispered. “Some of the king’s men have been asking questions about Sir Jeon. They say he spends too many nights away from the barracks. And one of Prince Min’s retainers swears he saw a tall figure slipping into your wing after midnight.”

Elara’s hands paused on your hair. “The knight is being cautious now. He avoids being seen with you as much. But you… you still look at him like he hung the moon. It is only a matter of time before the King hears something he cannot ignore.”

Selyse placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her eyes full of love and worry. “You are playing with fire, sweet girl. And fire does not care how much you love it.”

Your heart clenched with fear. You hadn’t seen your knight alone in a week. He had been deliberately distant, protecting you both by keeping his distance. The absence gnawed at you like hunger.

That night, you sent for him under the pretense of needing extra security for a private walk in the inner courtyard.

The moment the hidden door to your chambers closed behind him, you were on him.

You pushed Sir Jungkook against the wall, frustration and fear pouring out of you in a desperate kiss. Your hands fisted in his tunic, tugging him closer.

“Where have you been?” you demanded between kisses, voice shaking. “I was scared. I thought something had happened to you. I thought my father had already—”

“I’m here,” he whispered against your lips, rough with emotion. He pulled you closer, arms wrapping around you. “I’m right here, my love.”

But then he pulled back slightly, forehead pressed to yours. His dark eyes were filled with pain.

“I cannot stay,” he said quietly. The words hit you like a blow. “Your father has ordered me to lead a company to the western borders. There have been reports of raiders. He says it is to prove my devotion to protecting the realm… and you. He also made it clear I can no longer linger so closely around you. The rumors are growing too loud.”

You stared at him, heart shattering.

“No,” you whispered, then louder, “No. You cannot leave me. Not now. Not after everything.”

Tears stung your eyes as the hurt poured out.

“After our first night, you pulled away. You kept your distance like I was poison. And now you’re leaving entirely? What if something happens to you out there? What if I lose you forever? I can’t take it, Jungkook. I won’t survive it.”

Your hands moved frantically, tugging at the straps of his armor with desperate, angry fingers.

“I don’t care about the king. I don’t care about the borders. I only care about you.”

Piece by piece, you stripped him. The armor fell to the floor with heavy clangs until he stood completely bare before you, broad chest, scarred skin, powerful frame looking every bit of the warrior he was. You shoved him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.

Sir Jungkook’s hands moved instinctively to the laces of your corset, trying to free you fully, but you slapped his hand away, tears already glistening in your eyes.

But the knight was patient. He sat up slowly, your legs still wrapped tightly around his waist, and gently cupped your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed away the tears on your cheeks with heartbreaking tenderness.

“My love,” he whispered, voice soothing, “Let me worship you. Let me take care of you tonight. Please.”

He leaned in and captured one of your sensitive breasts in his mouth, sucking slowly. His tongue swirled around your stiff nipple, drawing a shaky moan from you. He moved to the other, giving it the same devoted attention, sucking and licking until your back arched and fresh tears slipped down your cheeks, this time from overwhelming sensation and emotion.

Holding you close, then gently but firmly, Sir Jungkook leaned back, gripping your hips and guiding you upward. In one rapid motion, he pulled you over his face, settling you directly onto his waiting mouth. Your soaked folds pressed flush against his lips and tongue, your thighs framing his head as he looked up at you with pure hunger.

“Use me,” he growled against your dripping folds, the vibration sending sparks through your core. “Pleasure yourself on my tongue love. I want to drown in you.”

You hesitated for half a second, still shy and nervous, cheeks burning hot even as your body screamed for more. But the frantic ache between your legs won out. You lowered yourself more fully, your slick cunt sliding over his mouth, his nose buried against your clit. He groaned loudly, the sound muffled and obscene as he immediately speared his tongue deep inside you, licking and sucking at your juices like a man starved.

You started moving almost desperately, grinding down with frantic little rocks of your hips. Shyness still flickered in your chest, making you whimper and bite your lip, but the pleasure overrode everything. Your hands braced on the headboard as wet, filthy sounds filled the room, the slick slide of your cunt over his tongue, his eager slurping and moaning, the way he sucked your swollen clit between his lips and flicked it mercilessly.

“Oh gods...” you gasped. Your thighs trembled around his head as you grew bolder, grinding harder, smearing your arousal all over his face. He gripped your cheeks, spreading them, holding you down so you could use him exactly how you needed. His tongue ravished in and out of your dripping hole, then flattened to lap broad strokes from your entrance to your clit, devouring every drop.

But it wasn’t enough.

You lifted off his face with a wet pop, strings of your arousal connecting you to his glistening mouth. His eyes were dark, lips swollen and shiny with your juices. Before he could speak, you slid down his body impatiently.

You straddled his hips, wrapped your hand around his thick, throbbing cock, and sank down onto him in one frantic motion.

The stretch made you cry out, but you didn’t stop. You rode him hard, bouncing on his length with frantic, emotional need, your breasts bouncing heavily with every harsh drop of your hips.

“Don’t leave me,” you sobbed, riding him faster, tears falling onto his chest. “Please, Jungkook… I can’t lose you. Not after this. Not after you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

He thrust up to meet you, matching your desperate rhythm, his strong hands gripping your hips to guide you deeper.

“I don’t want to go,” he rasped, voice breaking with the same pain. “But I must. Your father commands it. I have to prove my loyalty… so I can stay by your side.”

You leaned down, kissing him messily through your tears, riding him like you could keep him here forever if you just moved fast enough.

“Then stay inside me,” you begged, voice cracking. “Fill me up. So deep that a part of you stays with me even when you’re gone. I want to carry you with me when they try to take you away.”

Sir Jungkook groaned deeply. His hands tightened on your hips as he suddenly flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath his powerful body.

He made love to you then, with deep, devastating strokes that reached the very core of you. His mouth never left your skin, sucking marks into your neck, whispering promises between every thrust.

“You are mine,” he breathed against your lips, hips rolling deeply. “I will come back to you. I will fill you again and again until you swell with our future.”

You wrapped your arms and legs around him, clinging desperately as another orgasm built inside you. When it finally crashed over you, you sobbed his name, walls pulsing tightly around his thick cock.

Sir Jungkook followed right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a low, guttural groan. He came hard, flooding your womb with thick, pulsing ropes of his seed, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to merge your souls together.

Even after, he stayed buried inside you, pressing soft kisses to your damp forehead, your cheeks, your trembling lips.

“I don’t want you to go,” you whispered, small and broken. “I love you too much.”

Sir Jungkook pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his arms never loosening. “I know, my love,” he murmured. “And that is why I must return to you. No matter what.”

The weeks following Sir Jungkook’s departure had stretched into an endless gray fog.

You moved through your royal duties like a ghost wearing a crown. You sat through council meetings with a straight spine and a hollow smile, listening to nobles bicker about alliances, trade routes while your mind wandered back to your knight’s strong arms. Every night since, your bed felt too large, too cold. You would press your face into the pillow he had once used and fight the ache in your chest.

You missed him with a desperation that bordered on madness.

This morning was no different. You had barely kept your breakfast down before the maids helped you into a heavy velvet gown the color of deep wine for yet another assembly with potential suitors. The princes and lords from neighboring kingdoms were growing impatient. Your coronation was only a month away, and the pressure to choose a consort was mounting like a noose around your throat.

By midday, the nausea returned with a vengeance. You barely made it through the formal greetings before excusing yourself to the private solar, hand pressed to your mouth.

Elara followed quickly with a basin. You retched violently into it, eyes watering.

“Your Highness…” she whispered, rubbing gentle circles on your back.

“I’m fine,” you rasped, waving her away. “Just… something I ate.”

But it wasn’t.

Later that evening, after the day’s obligations were finally over, Vera and Selyse insisted on the usual massage to ease the tension in your shoulders. They helped you out of your gown until you lay on the wide cushioned table in nothing but a thin silk shift.

The moment Selyse’s skilled hands moved over your breasts, the older maid froze.

Verra, who was working on your legs, also stilled.

“…Your Highness,” Selyse said carefully, “Your breasts… they are fuller. Tender, yes?”

Your breath hitched. You had noticed it days ago but had tried to ignore the swelling, the sensitivity. The way even the softest fabric sometimes made you wince.

Verra’s hands gently pressed against your lower belly, not quite a touch, more an assessment. “And the sickness every morning… the fatigue… the way you’ve been crying in your chambers…”

Your eyes filled with tears. You turned your face into your folded arms, shoulders shaking.

Selyse knelt beside the table, taking your hand gently. “My lady… are you with a child?”

You didn’t answer at first. Then a broken sob escaped you.

“I think so,” you whispered. “I… I don’t know for certain, but the timing…” Your voice cracked. “It would be his. Sir Jungkook’s.”

Both maids exchanged a heavy glance. This changed everything.

Verra spoke softly, “My lady... with your coronation approaching. The lords are already circling like vultures, pushing their sons at you. If this comes out before you choose a prince…”

“I know,” you said, voice muffled. Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks. “I know what it means. But I can’t… I can’t just marry one of them. Not when I’m carrying the child of the only man I’ve ever loved.”

You sat up slowly, clutching the silk shift to your chest, arms wrapped protectively around your still flat stomach.

“My dear knight...” you sniffled. “He is out there fighting gods-know-what, and I’m here pretending to be the perfect princess while my body betrays our secret.”

Selyse brushed a strand of hair from your face with motherly tenderness. “We can hide it a little longer, Highness. Looser gowns. Ginger tea for the sickness. But you must decide soon what path you will take. The child… it will not stay hidden forever.”

You nodded, but your heart was breaking all over again. The thought of choosing one of those cold, ambitious princes while carrying Sir Jungkook’s child made you feel ill all over again.

Selyse pressed a kiss to the top of your head, her voice firm with loyalty. “We pray he returns soon, my lady. And until then, we will guard you and this little one with our lives.”

—

The weeks blurred into months as winter settled over the kingdom like a heavy white shroud. Snow blanketed the towers and gardens, turning the world soft and silent, yet inside your chest, the storm only grew louder.

Sir Jeon Jungkook had not returned.

Your belly had swelled noticeably now, a gentle but undeniable curve that marked the life growing within you. With the help of Elara, Verra, and Selyse, you hid it beneath layers of loose, flowing gowns and heavy cloaks lined with fur.

The rich fabrics concealed the truth for now, but you could no longer ignore the way your body changed, the tender fullness of your breasts, the occasional flutter of movement beneath your skin, and the constant, bone deep exhaustion.

You had begun excusing yourself from the suitors’ assemblies more frequently, claiming headaches or matters of state. But the King, grew increasingly impatient.

In the grand throne room one frost laced afternoon, he fixed you with a stern gaze as snow fell outside the tall windows. “You cannot delay any longer, daughter,” he spoke, heavy with royal command. “Prince Min of Viena is a strong candidate. The coronation is weeks away. You must choose a consort soon. The realm needs stability.”

You bowed your head, hands clasped tightly over your hidden belly beneath the voluminous velvet. “Yes, Father,” you murmured, the lie tasting like ash. Inside, your heart screamed for the only man you wanted.

Every few days, with your maids’ help, you sent letters. Verra would sneak them to a trusted rider, sealed with your private wax. You poured your soul onto the parchment; how much you missed him, the way your body was changing, the secret you carried, your love that only deepened with every passing day. Yet no responses ever came. The silence gnawed at you, feeding nightmares of him lying wounded on some distant battlefield or worse.

The worry became unbearable.

One bitter winter morning, wrapped in a thick hooded cloak that concealed your swollen middle, you slipped away from the castle with only Elara and Selyse accompanying you. The three of you rode through the snow dusted forest to a modest stone cottage on the outskirts of the kingdom, the home where Sir Jungkook had grown up.

When the door opened, an older woman with kind eyes and streaks of silver in her dark hair stood before you. Sir Jungkook’s mother. She froze at the sight of the princess on her doorstep, her hand flying to her chest.

“Your Highness…?” she whispered, stunned. “Surely I do not deserve to be blessed with your presence at my humble door. Please, come inside before the cold takes you.”

She ushered you, Elara, and Selyse quickly into the warm cottage, the scent of pinewood and baking bread wrapping around you like an embrace. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth as she helped you remove your snow dusted cloak. Only when you were seated by the fire did her gaze drop to the unmistakable swell of your belly beneath the loose gown.

You took a steadying breath, your hands resting protectively over your rounded stomach.

“I carry his child,” you said softly, trembling with emotion. “Your son’s. Sir Jungkook’s. He does not know yet… he has not returned, and I… I needed to feel close to him somehow.”

Jungkook’s mother, Maera, stood completely still for a long moment, her eyes wide with shock. Then her hand flew to her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes.

“Oh… gods above,” she breathed, her voice cracking. “A grandchild…? From my Jungkook?” Fresh tears flowed freely as she dropped to her knees in front of you, taking your hands in hers with deep reverence. “My lady… my princess. You honor me beyond words. You honor my son. To think that you, a royal daughter, would carry his child… I am stunned. Truly stunned. And so deeply moved.”

She pressed her forehead to your knuckles, weeping quietly with pure joy and emotion. When she lifted her head again, her eyes shone with fierce affection.

“You are already family to me,” she whispered. “Come here, sweet child.” She rose and pulled you into a warm embrace, cradling you gently as if you were made of glass. “You must be so frightened, carrying this secret alone while he is away. But you are not alone anymore. Not while I draw breath.”

You felt safe in her arms, the weight on your heart easing just a little as winter wind howled softly outside the cottage walls.

After composing herself, Maera wiped her tears and fetched a small wooden chest from a shelf. She sat beside you, opening it with trembling hands.

“Look,” she said tenderly, pulling out several treasured items. She showed you a faded sketch of a chubby baby with dark, serious eyes —Sir Jungkook as an infant. Another portrait showed him as a sturdy little boy of four, holding a wooden sword with determination. There was even a lock of his soft baby hair tied with a ribbon.

“He was always so intense, even as a babe,” she said with a watery laugh. “Strong and quiet… but when he smiled, the whole world lit up. Just like I imagine your little one will.”

You traced the portraits with gentle fingers, tears slipping down your own cheeks. Seeing these glimpses of him as a child made your love for the knight swell even deeper. You could so clearly picture your baby with his eyes, his strength, his rare smile. The thought made your heart ache with both joy and longing.

Maera kept one hand over yours, cherishing you openly. “Thank you for coming to me,” she murmured. “For trusting me with this precious news. We will wait for him together, my daughter. And when he returns, he will be the happiest man alive.”

The two of you sat by the fire for a long while — his mother and the mother of his child, talking softly as snow continued to fall outside, bound by love for the same man.

The days after your visit to Maera’s cottage only deepened the ache in your soul. Winter grew harsher, and so did your impatience. Every morning you woke with your hands on your swelling belly, feeling the strong kicks of his child, and the longing became unbearable.

One evening in the royal chambers, you fell to your knees before the King, tears streaming down your face. “Father, please… I beg you. Bring Sir Jungkook back. I need him. I cannot do this without him.”

The King frowned, confused by your desperation. “Daughter, he is leading my forces on the border. The realm needs him there. Why this sudden insistence on one knight?”

You could not tell him the truth. “I just… need him,” you whispered brokenly. “Please.”

He did not relent. The pressure to choose a suitor only intensified.

And then the sickness took hold.

Your body ached constantly. deep soreness in your back, hips, and breasts that made every movement painful. The baby’s kicks, once a comfort, now left you breathless. You grew feverish and weak.

Elara, Verra, and Selyse rarely left your side, forcing herbal teas and bitter medicines down your throat while piling warm blankets over you. For nearly a week you were bedridden, barely able to leave your chambers, hidden away from the court under the excuse of a winter chill.

One cold, silent night, as snow tapped gently against the window panes, you drifted in and out of a fevered haze. The herbs made the world soft and blurry around the edges.

You thought it was a dream when the heavy door to your chambers opened with a quiet creak and a tall, familiar figure stepped inside, shedding his snow dusted cloak. The firelight caught on his sharp jawline and those intense dark eyes.

Strong arms slipped beneath you, lifting you carefully as he climbed into your grand bed. A warm, calloused hand gently cradled your swollen belly. You felt the press of soft, reverent lips against the curve of your stomach.

“My love…” The knight’s deep voice whispered against your skin, rough with emotion. “I’m here. I finally came back to you.”

“Jungkook…?” you murmured drowsily, eyelids heavy, unsure if this was real or another cruel dream born of longing and medicine.

“It’s me,” he breathed, pulling your body flush against his solid chest. He was real. warm, solid, smelling of snow, leather, and the faint scent of campfires. “I’ve been aching for you every single day. Your touch, your voice… it kept me alive out there.”

His large hand stroked slow, soothing circles over your rounded belly, feeling the baby shift and kick beneath his palm. He lowered his head, pressing his lips directly to the taut skin.

You let out a tired, broken sound. “You left me… You promised you’d come back sooner. Look at me… I’m so sore, so heavy with your child, and you weren’t here…”

Sir Jungkook chuckled softly, the sound warm against your skin, even as his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I know, my princess. I deserve your scolding. I’m deeply sorry.” He kissed your belly again and again, soft open mouthed presses wherever he could reach. Then he trailed his lips higher, attaching his mouth gently to the swollen, aching curve of your breasts, sucking lightly and kissing away the soreness with such care that you whimpered in relief.

His hands never stopped moving, massaging the deep ache in your lower back, cupping and gently holding your heavy breasts to ease their weight, stroking your hips and thighs. He intertwined his fingers with yours, holding your hand tightly as if afraid you might vanish.

“You are unreal, my love.” he murmured, voice hoarse with awe as he looked at you. “Your glow… it’s deeper now. The way pregnancy has changed you… you’re beyond anything I could have imagined. You shine like starlight. Carrying our child has only made you more radiant, more mine.”

You clung to him weakly, drowsy but desperate for his touch. “The baby… it kicks so much. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl… but it feels like you. Strong and stubborn.”

Jungkook smiled against your temple, one hand still resting warmly over your belly. “This child is the product of our love. A piece of both of us. I already love them more than life.” He kissed you deeply, slowly, pouring months of aching into it. “Every battle, every cold night, I thought only of coming home to you like this… holding you, feeling our baby move, worshipping the body that’s creating our future.”

He continued kissing every place that ached... the sides of your breasts, the curve of your belly, the inside of your wrist, his mouth soft and devoted. You melted into him, the pain easing under his gentle care as he held you close.

“Stay…” you whispered tiredly, already slipping back into sleep.

“I’m here right now,” he promised, lips brushing your ear. “Sleep, my love. I’ve got you both.”

When morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, you woke slowly, body still aching but strangely comforted.

The bed beside you was cold. No warmth lingered. No cloak on the chair. No scent of him on the pillows. Only the faint memory of strong hands, whispered words to your belly, and soft kisses remained.

You touched your swollen stomach, feeling another firm kick, and tears filled your eyes.

Was it a dream? A fevered hallucination woven from medicine, longing, and love? Or had Sir Jungkook truly returned to you in the dead of night… only to disappear again before dawn?

The herbs and medicines your maids prepared worked their magic. The fever finally broke, the deep soreness in your body eased into a manageable ache, and the constant nausea faded. Though you were still tired, your strength slowly returned. Your belly continued to grow rounder and heavier, the baby’s kicks becoming more insistent and lively.

One quiet winter evening, when the moon hung full over the snow covered palace, your maids turned your chambers into a secret sanctuary.

Accompanied by Sir Jungkook’s mother, they had worked together in absolute secrecy. No one outside your trusted circle knew. They had decorated the large private solar adjacent to your bedroom with soft candlelight, evergreen boughs, and winter white roses. Warm furs and silk pillows were arranged in a luxurious nest near the hearth. Incense of myrrh filled the air, and a small table held gifts wrapped in fine cloth.

They helped you into a loose, flowing gown of the softest ivory silk that draped beautifully over your swollen belly, leaving your shoulders bare. When you stepped into the room, all four women bowed their heads in reverence.

Selyse took your hand and guided you to the center of the soft pillows. “Tonight we celebrate you, my lady. And the precious life you carry. No one else will know of this blessing. It is ours alone.”

They treated you with deep adoration, as though you were sacred.

Elara gently massaged your feet with warm scented oil while Maera brushed your hair until it shone. Verra offered you sweet honeyed fruits and warm spiced milk, foods meant to nourish both you and the baby. Selyse laid her hands lightly on your rounded belly and spoke soft blessings for a safe birth and a strong child.

Selyse, ever wise, placed a small crown of dried herbs and winter berries on your head. “You are the vessel of love and life,” she murmured. “Even in these uncertain times, you bloom. We honor you as our princess… and as the mother of Sir Jungkook’s heir.”

You felt tears prick your eyes as they presented their secret gifts: tiny embroidered blankets, a soft knitted cap in deep green, a small silver pendant shaped like a blooming rose, a symbol of motherhood.

Vera leaned her cheek against your belly for a moment, grinning when the baby kicked in response. “He or she is strong already. Just like their father.”

You placed both hands over your swollen stomach, feeling another firm flutter. The warmth of their love and the secret celebration soothed the constant ache of missing your knight.

“Thank you,” you whispered, “All of you. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Elara kissed your temple. “We will keep you and this little one safe until Sir Jungkook returns. And he will return.”

The warmth of the secret celebration lingered on your skin as you returned to your chambers that night. The maids had just helped you out of the ivory silk gown when a royal messenger knocked urgently.

“The King demands your presence immediately, Your Highness. In his private study.”

You had no time to prepare. Still glowing from the love and blessings of your maids, you wrapped yourself in a heavy velvet robe that concealed your very swollen belly and followed the messenger.

The moment you entered the study, the atmosphere turned icy. Your father stood behind his desk, several of your letters spread before him.

“Daughter,” he spoke, controlled. “I have given you time to come to me yourself. I know you have been sending letters to the front lines. To Sir Jungkook, specifically.” He turned to face you, his expression stern but not yet furious. “I know of your… admiration for him. Speak truthfully now. What is this attachment?”

Your throat tightened. This was the moment. With your belly heavy with his child and your heart aching, you could no longer hide everything.

“Father…” you began, voice trembling as you stepped closer. “It is more than admiration. I love him. Sir Jungkook is the only man I want.” Your hands instinctively moved to cradle your stomach. “And I… I am carrying his child.”

Silence crashed over the room.

The King’s eyes widened, then narrowed sharply as his gaze dropped to the unmistakable swell beneath your gown. His face darkened with shock, then rage.

“You what?” he hissed. “A knight’s bastard? While I have been parading princes before you? While the entire realm waits for you to secure the throne with a proper alliance?”

“Father, please,” you begged, tears filling your eyes. “It is his. Our love is real. If you would only let him return, we could—”

The King’s face twisted with fury. “You dare speak such filth to me? A royal princess swollen with a common knight’s bastard?”

You rebelled, voice shaking but defiant. “It is not filth. It is love. I will not marry Prince Min. I will not let you use me as a pawn for alliances while I carry the man I love’s child.”

“Enough!” The King slammed his fist on the table, making you flinch. “I have been patient with your childish infatuation, but this is treason against your bloodline. You will do as you are told! Your fate is sealed. You will marry Prince Min before the month ends.”

Later that same night, before your maids could even calm you, you found your most trusted rider in the stables. With tears streaming down your face and snow falling around you, you whispered your final message: “Tell him… tell Sir Jungkook that I will wait for him. No matter how long it takes. My heart is his alone. I will wait.”

The rider bowed and galloped into the night. No response ever came.

The next weeks were a nightmare.

Prince Min visited often, his eyes raking over your body with open lust and infatuation. He complimented your “ethereal glow”, clearly aroused by your pregnant form, but his arrogance disgusted you. He spoke openly of claiming the throne through you, of bedding you the moment you were his. You hated him with every fiber of your being.

You fought your father harder than ever, refusing to attend meetings with Prince Min, screaming that you would rather die than marry him. But the King had reached his limit.

One brutal afternoon, he summoned you again and placed a bloodied cloak and a forged letter before you.

“Sir Jeon Jungkook is dead,” he said flatly. “He fell in battle two weeks ago. This is proof.”

The world shattered.

You collapsed to the floor, a guttural sob tearing from your throat. The baby inside you kicked as if sensing your pain. From that moment, you broke completely.

You refused to eat. You barely slept. You stopped speaking, even to Elara, Verra, and Selyse who begged you through tears to think of the child. You lay in bed for days, staring at nothing, your once radiant glow fading into pale exhaustion. Your maids feared for both your life and the baby’s.

Despite how numb you had become, when your maids gently suggested taking you to Maera’s quiet home on the edge of the forest, you agreed without protest. You were taken there in secret under the cover of night.

Maera, a strong but grieving woman with the same dark eyes as her son, took you in without question. She cared for you with quiet hands and even quieter words. You didn’t speak much to her either, but you accepted her care wholeheartedly. After all, she was mourning the loss of her son, and you were mourning the loss of your lover and the father of your child.

The King, despite his fury, still sent guards to watch over you from a distance. You were still royalty, still carrying what he believed might be his grandchild. But you could only think of the protection you once had... the strongest, safest pair of arms that had ever wrapped around you.

You mourned deeply. But you couldn’t be completely selfish with a baby on the way, restless and eager to come into the world.

The labor came on a stormy night.

The pains started suddenly and violently. Maera and your maids worked frantically around you as you screamed and cried, gripping the sheets until your knuckles turned white. The King himself had ridden out in secret when he heard you had gone into labor, standing outside the cottage with a face pale with rare fear.

He didn’t know how to comfort you. He only knew one thing, his daughter was calling for her knight in her delirium.

Even though he viewed the child as the product of a sinful affair, something in him softened at the sound of your broken sobs. He could not lose you.

Inside the cottage, you gave birth to a baby girl.

She was small, chubby, with a shock of raven hair and big, dark eyes that looked exactly like her father’s. The moment the midwife placed her on your chest, fresh tears streamed down your face.

“She looks like him…” you whispered, hoarse and broken. “My little love… she has his eyes.”

You held her close, sobbing softly as the pain and grief mixed with a fragile, overwhelming love. Even in your exhaustion, you couldn’t stop crying. You believed Sir Jungkook was dead. The thought that your daughter would never know her father tore you apart.

Maera wept beside you, gently stroking your hair. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Just like her mother.”

Outside, the King stood in the rain, waiting.

When the door finally opened and the midwife stepped out, he demanded to know if you and the child were alive. Upon hearing they both were, something in his hardened heart shifted.

He turned to his captain without a word and gave the order.

“Send riders to the western borders at once. Bring Sir Jeon Jungkook back. Tell him… his princess has need of him.”

It would take time. The borders were far, and the roads were muddy from the storms. A week, perhaps a month.

In the quiet warmth of the cottage, you held your newborn daughter against your chest, wrapped in soft linen.

You rocked her gently as she fussed against your breast, nursing hungrily. Your maids and Maera moved around you, bringing broth, fresh cloths, and ever soft words. But you barely spoke. The grief had hollowed you out.

“I wish you could meet your father,” you whispered to the baby one quiet night, voice cracking. Tears slipped down your cheeks as she latched on again. “He would have held you so carefully. He would have loved you more than anything in this world. He would have protected us both…”

Maera sat beside you, her own eyes red from mourning. She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He would have been so proud,” she said softly. “Of both of you.”

You could only nod, throat too tight to speak. The emptiness inside you felt endless. Every time the baby cried, every time she looked up at you with those familiar dark eyes, the pain returned like a fresh wound.

The King demanded your return to the palace, as you were still royalty, still bound to your father’s will despite carrying a child out of wedlock. He wrote letter after letter insisting you resume your duties and prepare for the inevitable marriage to Prince Min. You refused to answer most of them.

Your maids tried their best to comfort you, but even they could not reach the depths of your sorrow. The only light in your world was your daughter. Tiny, perfect, with Jungkook’s dark eyes and a tuft of raven hair. You held her constantly, whispering stories about her father, singing lullabies with a voice that often broke halfway through.

You mourned him deeply. The King had not even granted him a proper funeral. No rites. No chance to say goodbye. Just a bloodied cloak and a cold declaration.

One quiet evening, Maera left the cottage to fetch groceries from the nearby village. Your maids had been called back to the palace on the King’s orders, duties they could not refuse. For the first time in weeks, it was just you and your baby in the small, warm cottage.

You sat by the window, cradling her in your arms. She cooed softly, tiny fingers wrapping around yours as you gently rocked her. For a few precious minutes, you allowed yourself to smile a real, soft smile as you played with her little hands and kissed her forehead.

“My baby,” you whispered, “The loveliest babe. Don’t tell the queens and princesses, I think they’d be terribly jealous.”

The baby blinked up at you. “Oh, yes,” you continued solemnly. “Especially of those cheeks.”

You leaned back in the chair as exhaustion eventually won over you, your eyes growing heavy. With your daughter nestled safely against your chest, sleep claimed you quickly.

When you woke, the cottage was awfully quiet.

Your arms were empty.

Panic slammed into you like a physical blow. You shot upright, heart hammering wildly as you looked around the room.

The baby was gone.

“No… no, no, no...” you gasped, stumbling to your feet, voice rising into a broken sob. “Where is my baby?!”

You searched frantically, under the blankets, behind the chairs, near the hearth, terror clawing at your throat. Your mind spun with nightmarish possibilities. Had someone taken her? Had the King sent men to steal her away?

Then you saw him.

A tall figure standing near the doorway, cradling your daughter gently in his strong arms. She was sleeping peacefully against his chest, tiny fist curled into his tunic.

Your knees buckled.

It was Sir Jungkook.

He looked exhausted, travel worn, mud on his boots, shadows under his eyes, but he was alive. Real. His dark eyes met yours, filled with unbearable love and pain.

You stared at him, trembling violently, refusing to believe what you were seeing.

“No…” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, no, this isn’t real. You’re dead. They told me you were dead. This is another dream. You always come in my dreams and then you leave me again—”

Your voice cracked into a sob as you backed away, hands clutching your chest.

“You left me,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “You left me and our child. I mourned you. I almost died mourning you. Please… don’t do this to me again. I can’t take another dream. I can’t wake up to find you gone again.”

Sir Jungkook’s face crumpled with anguish. He took one careful step forward, still cradling your daughter like the most precious thing in the world.

“My love,” he said hoarsely, voice breaking. “It’s not a dream. I’m here. I’m real. Your father… he lied. He sent me away to the borders to keep me from you. But I came back the moment he allowed it. I rode without stopping.”

You shook your head harder, tears falling faster, refusing to believe it even as your heart screamed at you to run to him.

“You’re dead,” you repeated, voice small and shattered. “You have to be dead… because if you’re not, then you let me believe it. You never answered my letters. Not one. I wrote to you every single day, pouring my heart out, begging you to come back to me, to our child… and you never...”

Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks as the pain twisted deeper.

“You were in on it, weren’t you?” you whispered, voice breaking. “You let my father tell me you were gone. You left me here to rot in grief while I carried your child alone. How could you?”

The knight’s face crumpled with agony. He took a step forward, but you flinched, and he stopped immediately, hands trembling at his sides.

Before he could speak, your daughter stirred in his arms. As if sensing the suffocating tension in the room, she let out a sharp, hungry cry, her little lips puckering, tiny fists waving.

You moved without thinking, reaching for her. Sir Jungkook gently handed her over, his hands lingering for a moment as if afraid to let go. You turned away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed and loosening your dress to feed her. The baby latched on eagerly, her cries softening into small, contented sounds.

The knight stood there, watching you in silence. He looked lost, this battle-hardened soldier, returned from war, now completely unsure how to comfort the woman he loved. He slowly lowered himself to his knees in the middle of the room, head bowed.

“I wrote to you,” he admitted hoarsely. “Every chance I had. Your father… he made sure none of my letters reached you. He wanted you to believe I was gone. I fought every day to come back to you. I almost died trying to get word to you.”

You didn’t look at him. You kept your eyes on your daughter, tears falling silently onto her soft hair.

“I mourned you like a widow,” you whispered, voice thick with pain. “I almost died. And now you’re here… acting like you didn’t abandon me when I needed you most.”

The words cut awfully deep. Sir Jungkook’s shoulders slumped, but he stayed on his knees, silent and respectful, giving you the space your wounded heart demanded.

Your daughter stirred in your arms, letting out a small, distressed whimper as if she could sense the storm raging between her parents. You rocked her gently, pressing a kiss to her soft raven hair.

“Shh, my sweet one,” you cooed softly, “Mama’s here. You’re safe.”

Sir Jungkook’s hands twitched at his sides, aching to reach out, to touch you, to hold both of you, but he remained still, jaw clenched tight. He was no longer in full armor, only a worn tunic and breeches, his appearance shambled from the long ride, fresh bruises blooming across his knuckles and jaw.

You turned away from him, focusing on the small tasks that had become your life in the cottage. The rain outside grew heavier, pounding against the roof like a relentless drum.

You moved about the space, stirring the pot of stew over the fire, folding fresh linens, anything to keep your hands busy and your mind from breaking completely.

Hours passed in heavy silence. When your daughter finally grew fussy again, you nursed her by the hearth until her little eyes fluttered shut. You laid her gently in the wooden cradle Maera had prepared, stroking her cheek one last time before covering her with a soft blanket.

Only then did you notice movement near the door.

Sir Jungkook was standing there, cloak in hand, quietly preparing to leave.

Something inside you fractured. You stepped toward him, voice cracking. “You’re leaving again?”

He turned slowly, eyes filled with torment. “I was only going to check the perimeter. The rain is heavy, and I… I didn’t want to burden you further.”

You stared at him, this warrior who had survived hell just to return to you, and the dam finally broke.

“Come here,” you whispered.

He obeyed without hesitation.

You led him to your bed and with trembling hands, you began removing his tunic, revealing the damage the war had left behind.

New bruises painted his ribs and shoulders in shades of purple and blue. Fresh scars, still healing, cut across his chest and abdomen. He looked harder, a man who had walked through fire and barely returned.

Your lips trembled, but you forced yourself to stay steady. You turned away briefly, gathering clean linen strips, salve, and a bowl of warm water. When you returned, the knight stood perfectly still, letting you see all of him, the bruises, the brutal evidence of everything he had endured just to return to you.

You began tending to him in silence, your hands gentle as you cleaned a particularly nasty cut along his side. But the more you looked, the more the dam inside you cracked.

“What have they done to you, Jungkook?” you whispered, voice breaking. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you carefully wrapped a bandage around his ribs. “You’re… you’re covered in pain. All of this… just to come back to me?”

He stood motionless, letting you care for him, but his dark eyes never left your face.

“I would go through it a thousand times more,” he said softly, “if it meant coming back to you and our daughter.”

You shook your head, fresh tears falling as you pressed a bandage over another wound. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that. I can’t bear thinking of you suffering like this. I thought you were dead. I thought I would never see you again, and now you’re here… broken because of me.”

Sir Jungkook slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of you, even though you were still trying to tend to him. The powerful knight, the man who had survived war, knelt before you like the loyal protector he had always been.

“Your Highness,” he murmured, head slightly bowed, voice thick with emotion. “I failed you. I wasn’t here when you needed me most. I wasn’t here when you carried our child. I wasn’t here when you gave birth. I wasn’t here when they told you I was gone. Forgive me.”

You dropped the bandages and pulled him into your arms, holding his head to your chest. His arms wrapped around your waist instantly, clinging to you like a man who had almost lost everything.

A broken sob tore from his throat.

Your knight, your warrior, the strongest person you had ever known, cried against your chest like a child. Deep, shuddering sobs that shook his powerful frame as his arms tightened around you.

“I thought I lost you,” he choked out, voice muffled against your skin. “Every night on the border, I prayed I would make it back to you. To both of you.”

You held him tighter, fingers threading through his raven hair, your own tears falling onto his head.

“You’re here now,” you whispered, rocking him gently. “You’re here. You came back to us. That’s all that matters.”

For a long time, the only sounds in the cottage were the rain outside, the crackling fire, and the quiet, heartbroken sobs of a knight who had finally returned to his princess.

—

The rain had not eased by the middle of the night. It hammered against the thatched roof like an impatient army. You had fallen asleep in Jungkook’s arms on the narrow bed, your daughter nestled safely in her cradle beside you. For the first time in months, your sleep was deep and dreamless.

A sharp knock on the cottage door shattered the peace.

Sir Jungkook was awake in an instant. He slipped from the bed silently, pulling on his tunic and reaching for the sword he had left by the door. His body was still tense from war, every muscle ready for threat.

“Stay here,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “I will see who it is.”

But you already knew.

A cold certainty settled in your chest. You rose, wrapping a shawl around your shoulders, and followed him despite his warning. Your daughter stirred but remained asleep.

Sir Jungkook opened the door, sword half drawn, rain pouring behind the figure standing outside.

It was the King.

Your father stood in the downpour, cloak heavy with water, face pale and drawn. Guards waited at a respectful distance, torches flickering weakly in the storm. His eyes moved past your knight and landed on you.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then the King stepped inside without invitation, water dripping onto the wooden floor. His gaze softened when it fell on you — his only daughter, still pale from childbirth, carrying the weight of grief and motherhood.

“My child,” he said, voice rough. “You must return to the palace. You are still royalty. Still my blood. You do not belong in a cottage like this.”

You stood straighter, even as exhaustion and lingering pain made your body ache.

“I belong where I choose,” you replied quietly, but firmly. “And I will not return without Sir Jeon. He is my knight. He is the father of my daughter. He stays with me.”

The King’s jaw tightened. He glanced at Jungkook, who stood tall and silent beside you, sword now lowered but ready.

“I know what you are to each other,” the King said heavily. “I have known for some time. Prince Min is a fool and a coward, but his bloodline is strong. The alliance—”

“I will not marry him,” you cut in, voice steady despite the tears gathering in your eyes. “I will return to the palace. I will perform my duties as princess, as future queen. I will be the ruler this kingdom needs. But only if Sir Jungkook remains at my side. As my knight. As the man I have chosen. As the only man with any right to me.”

The King looked at you for a long time. He saw the woman you had become, not just his rebellious daughter, but a figure of quiet strength. The people in the surrounding villages spoke of you with reverence. They told stories of the princess who helped common women, shared food during hard winters, who listened to their troubles as if they mattered as much as any noble’s.

The King exhaled slowly, defeated but not broken.

“Very well,” he said at last. “Sir Jeon will return with you. He will remain your personal knight. But this… affair… must remain hidden from the court. For now.”

You nodded once, relief flooding through you.

The King’s gaze drifted to the cradle where your daughter slept. He had not yet seen her. You had kept her away from him, protecting her with every fiber of your being.

He took one hesitant step toward the cradle, then stopped, as if afraid.

The King’s shoulders sagged. For the first time in years, he looked truly old.

“Bring her home,” he said quietly. “Both of you. We will find a way.”

When the heavy door of the cottage finally closed behind your father, you let out a huge, shaky sigh. The weight of the conversation pressed on your chest like a stone. You turned and walked to the cradle, gently lifting your daughter into your arms. She stirred but settled quickly against your chest.

Sir Jungkook followed silently behind you, his presence warm.

“I would not trust him,” you whispered, voice laced with bitterness. “My father lied. He did all of this, told me you were dead, kept us apart, made me believe I had lost you forever. How can I believe a single word he says now?”

Jungkook stepped closer. He gently wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on the top of your head as you held your daughter.

“Petal,” he murmured softly, the old endearment slipping out like a balm. “Your father is a hard man, but he is not as cold as he pretends to be. He sent for me the moment he learned you had gone into labor. He could have kept me away forever. But he didn’t.”

You turned slightly in his arms, eyes wide with disbelief.

The knight continued, low and calm.

“There was one night… when you were still heavy with our child and very sick. I rode through a storm to reach you. Your father allowed it. He let me see you. I held you while you slept, fevered and restless. I whispered to you. I kissed your forehead and promised I would return. But I had to leave before dawn. He made me swear not to wake you. He said it would only make the pain worse when I had to go back to the borders.”

You stared at him, stunned. Tears welled up again.

“That night… it was real?” you whispered. “I thought it was a dream. I thought I imagined your arms around me.”

“It was real,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I was there. And I have regretted leaving you every single day since.”

You turned fully toward him, still cradling your daughter. The baby had woken and was fussing softly. You loosened your dress and began to feed her.

Sir Jungkook watched the two of you with such open love and longing that it made your chest ache.

“She has your eyes,” you said softly, brushing a finger over your daughter’s cheek. “So dark and beautiful. Just like yours.”

Sir Jungkook’s expression softened further. He reached out, gently stroking the baby’s tiny hand.

“And she is as beautiful as her mother,” he murmured. “I hope she grows to be as strong as her. As kind. As full of fire and love.”

For a while, the only sounds were the soft suckling of your daughter and the rain pattering against the roof. Sir Jungkook stayed close, one arm around your waist, the other lightly resting near the baby.

Eventually, after your daughter had fallen asleep again, you made the decision.

“We will return to the palace,” you said quietly. “Together. As a family. I will not hide anymore.”

The next morning, after tender farewells to Maera, who hugged you both tightly and kissed her granddaughter’s forehead with tears in her eyes, you left the cottage.

—

Three Months Later,

The palace had transformed around you.

After your return, the finest healers in the realm were summoned, learned men and women versed in herbs and ancient remedies. They tended to you with the utmost care, restoring the strength you had lost in grief and childbirth. Slowly, the hollow exhaustion faded. Color returned to your cheeks. Your body healed, and with it, your spirit bloomed once more.

You were treated not merely as royalty, but as something sacred. The people whispered that the Princess had returned more radiant than before, as if the earth itself had blessed her.

Your maids, Elara, Verra, and Selyse, were beyond ecstatic to have you back. They fussed over you constantly, brushing your long hair until it shone, dressing you in the finest silks, and whispering prayers of gratitude for your safe return.

The kingdom now knew the truth: the child was Sir Jeon Jungkook’s. The scandal had spread like wildfire, but instead of outrage, most of the people embraced it. They saw their princess glowing, and fiercely protected.

Prince Min had tried to slander you upon his return, calling you impure, unfit, a disgrace for bearing a knight’s child out of wedlock. Sir Jungkook had nearly killed him in the great hall before the King’s guards pulled him back. Prince Min was expelled from the kingdom that very day, the alliance shattered. No one mourned his departure.

It was a warm evening when you returned to the royal bathing pool, surrounded by floating lily pads and fragrant white blossoms. The water shimmered under the sunlight as your maids helped you undress. Your daughter, now three months old and full of life, babbled happily in Elara’s arms, reaching for you with chubby little hands.

“Come here, my sweet,” you cooed, taking her into the warm water with you. She immediately nestled against your bare chest, tiny fingers grasping at your long, wavy hair as you gently rocked her. She was a needy little thing, always wanting her mother’s warmth, her scent, her voice.

Verra smiled as she poured scented oil over your shoulders. “She adores you, my lady. Look at those big, bejeweled eyes.”

You glanced toward the far bank where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard, as always. He was no longer forced to hide. He remained your personal knight, ever watchful and devoted. His gaze met yours across the water, soft with love and quiet pride. He had become even more protective since your return, rarely leaving your side unless duty demanded it.

The King had grown strangely silent on the matter of your relationship. Seeing you flourish and beloved by the people, had turned him into something of a coward when it came to opposing you.

He doted on his granddaughter in private, though he still struggled to fully accept the circumstances. Yet he no longer pushed for any other marriage. He had seen what happened when he tried to separate you from your knight.

Bit by bit, your beauty had deepened into something almost otherworldly, skin luminous, eyes bright with life, a gentle fullness to your figure from motherhood that only made you more captivating. You moved through the palace performing your duties with grace while still finding time to help the common women who came to the gates seeking aid. You had become more than a princess.

At night, when the palace slept, Sir Jungkook was yours completely.

He would slip into your chambers, shed his armor, and worship you with slow hands and mouth. He made love to you like a man who had walked through hell and returned only for this. You clung to him every night, whispering how much you loved him, how you had chosen him long before the crown ever mattered.

Your daughter babbled softly, pulling at your long hair again with her tiny fist, drawing a soft, delighted laugh from you.

“Oh, my little one,” you cooed, gently untangling her fingers from your waves before pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. “You are going to pull Mama’s hair right off if you keep that up, aren’t you? Such a strong little flower.”

She giggled in your arms, reaching up to pat your face with her small, uncoordinated hand, her big dark eyes, exact replicas of her father’s, sparkling with pure joy. The resemblance was almost startling even at such a young age. She was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

Elara sighed dreamily as she poured warm water over your shoulders. “Look at her, my lady. She is perfection. She already has the whole palace wrapped around her tiny finger.”

Verra nodded, gently massaging oil into your hair. “And you, my princess. You glow like the sun itself these days. Motherhood suits you more than any crown ever could.”

Selyse, ever the wise one, glanced toward the bank where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard, fully armored but with his helmet removed today. A small, teasing smile tugged at her lips.

“And that one over there… he can’t take his eyes off the two of you. Look at him, standing there like a lovesick fool in steel. Our fierce knight, brought to his knees by a baby and her mother.”

The knight’s ears turned faintly red, but he didn’t deny it. His gaze remained soft, locked on you and your daughter with quiet awe and devotion.

Later that evening, in the royal rose gardens where he had once walked beside you as your new knight, Sir Jungkook carried your daughter in his arms.

He was still in full armor, crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders, but he held her with such careful gentleness it made your heart melt. The baby was dressed in the softest cream colored gown embroidered with tiny golden flowers, a little bonnet tied under her chin. She looked like a living doll against his armored chest.

She reached up with both hands, grabbing at the edge of his armor, babbling excitedly as she tried to pull herself closer to his face. When he leaned down, she patted his cheek with a wet, sloppy kiss.

Sir Jungkook’s entire expression softened into something almost boyish. He smiled, genuine and devastatingly handsome.

“My little love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

You walked beside them, heart full as you watched your daughter play with the buckles on his armor. Every time he lowered his head to let her see his face, she lit up. But when he playfully put his helmet back on for a moment to tease her, she immediately fussed, letting out a small, indignant cry and reaching for him with both arms.

“No helmet,” you laughed softly. “She hates it. She wants to see her father’s face.”

Sir Jungkook removed it immediately, tucking it under one arm while cradling her with the other. He leaned down so she could press her tiny palms against his cheeks and give him another sloppy kiss on the jaw.

The maids watching from a distance cooed and teased him lightly.

“Look at that,” Verra whispered loudly enough for him to hear. “Who would have thought the man who survived the western borders would be brought down by tiny hands and gummy smiles?”

Later that night, the heavy oak door to your royal chambers was barred, only the soft glow of candles and the low fire in the hearth illuminated the room.

You stood before the tall mirror, slowly changing into your nightgown. The fabric whispered against your skin as it slid down your body. Your gaze caught on the beautiful ring on your finger, the one Sir Jungkook had slipped onto your hand in secret weeks ago, a quiet promise between the two of you. You turned it gently, a small, private smile touching your lips.

Your daughter lay nestled against your bare chest, warm and content, her tiny fingers curled around the edge of your loosened gown. She babbled softly, her big dark eyes full of adoration for her mother.

Sir Jungkook stood a few steps behind you, fully armored except for his helmet, watching the two of you with quiet awe. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting every healed scar and the lingering shadows of war that still clung to him.

You gently laid your daughter in her ornate cradle, pressing one last kiss to her forehead as she drifted into sleep. Then you returned to the mirror, picking up the silver brush to run it through your long, wavy hair.

Sir Jungkook followed without a word. He stopped behind you, his large hands resting lightly on your waist. Slowly, he leaned down and began pressing soft kisses along your bare arms, from shoulder to wrist, as you continued brushing your hair.

You giggled softly, cheeks flushing with that familiar shyness even after all this time.

“Jungkook…” you murmured, breathy. “You ought to distract me.”

“Good,” he whispered against your skin, kissing the curve of your shoulder. “I have missed you all day. I need my darling.”

He dropped to his knees behind you with a quiet clink of armor, bowing his head in his familiar, devoted way. You turned to face him, running your fingers through his raven hair, then tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the faint scars that remained on his face.

You saddened for a moment, remembering the brutality he had endured.

But he looked up at you with such pure worship that it took your breath away. To him, you were more than a princess. you were his salvation, the very source of life that had healed him.

You pulled him closer, and he rose, lifting you effortlessly into his arms and carrying you to the grand bed.

The knight laid you down gently, then began to worship you with slow, reverent hands. He unlaced your nightgown with painstaking care, peeling the silk away until you were bare before him. His mouth found your breasts immediately, sucking softly on one sensitive nipple, then the other, drinking the sweet milk that flowed for him with deep, grateful groans.

You moaned softly, fingers threading through his hair as he fed from you, his tongue swirling, lips sealed tight around your peak. He drank like a man who had been starving for you, savoring every drop as if it were the very essence of life itself.

Sir Jungkook groaned deeply against your breast, the sound vibrating through your chest as he drank almost desperately. His large hand cradled the soft weight of your breast, squeezing gently to draw more from you while his other hand stroked your side with reverent tenderness.

“So sweet,” he whispered against your skin, voice hoarse and worshipful. “You give me life, my petal. You heal what war tried to break.”

You whimpered, arching into his mouth, overwhelmed by the intimate, sacred act, fresh heat blooming between your thighs.

When he finally released your nipple with a wet pop, his lips glistening, he looked up at you with dark, adoring eyes.

“You are my salvation,” he murmured, kissing the valley between your breasts before moving lower. “The mother of my child. The light that brought me home.”

When he finally moved lower, he spread your thighs with firm hands and settled between them. He looked up at you once, eyes dark with devotion, before lowering his mouth to your core.

He worshipped your flower, seeking nectar with slow, deep licks that made your back arch, followed by gentle suction on your swollen clit. His tongue delved inside you, tasting every inch, groaning at your sweetness as if it were the most sacred thing he had ever known.

You whimpered and moaned, hips rolling against his handsome face as pleasure built in waves. He was relentless yet tender, bringing you to the edge again and again before letting you tip over.

When you finally begged for him, voice trembling with need, Sir Jungkook rose above you like a knight before his altar.

He did not rush. Instead, he sat back on his heels, dark eyes drinking in every inch of your bare, flushed body with such raw hunger that it made your skin burn. You felt vulnerable and impossibly desired under that gaze. A shy, breathless giggle escaped your lips as heat flooded your cheeks.

Sir Jungkook reached out with one large, calloused hand and traced a single finger slowly down your body, from the delicate line of your throat, between your heaving breasts, over the soft curve of your belly, and down to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The touch ever so feather light, yet it left fire in its wake.

“You are a goddess made flesh,” he whispered, voice hoarse with awe. “And I am but a mortal who has been granted the honor of kneeling at your feet.”

He leaned down and pressed his forehead to your thigh in a gesture of pure worship, eyes closed, breath warm against your skin as if he were praying to the only deity he had ever believed in.

Then he moved over you, settling between your spread thighs. His thick cock pressed against your entrance, hot and heavy. He looked into your eyes as he slowly pushed inside, inch by thick, stretching inch, filling you so completely that your mouth fell open in a silent cry.

You dug your nails into his back as he began to move, first slow and loving, then harder, deeper, claiming you with every thrust.

“I love you,” he groaned against your neck, hips snapping forward. “I love you more than life itself.”

When you came, it was with his name on your lips and tears of overwhelming pleasure in your eyes. Jungkook followed moments later, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a low, broken groan, filling you with pulse after pulse of his release.

In the quiet that followed, with the knight’s arms still wrapped around you and the weight of the world momentarily forgotten, it was strangely easy to remember the day he had first knelt before the throne.

The impenetrable knight clad in steel, sworn to protect a princess draped in silk. and protect you he would, as though it had been carved into the marrow of every breath he would draw, for eternity.

editing thid in a few hours. thankyou so much for reading!! comments and reblogs are very much appreciated mwah love you all 🫶💋

[suunani]

orgasm.exe [ choi soobin ]

who knew that soobin had a big brain and an even bigger surprise?

❛ content 3.8k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, power bottom! male reader, big dick virgin! soobin, nerdy dirty talk, pathetic nerd! soobin, unprotected sex (p in a), praise kink, size kink, soobin talks a looot during it, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, riding, creampie, aftercare, requested here!

you didn’t expect the campus library’s most reclusive, awkward math genius to have a voice that soft.

“i brought the notes,” he mumbled, holding up a neat binder like a peace offering. his long fingers gripped it too tightly, knuckles pale. “sorry i’m late. i—i was recalculating the sample sizes in the… ah, anyway. hi.”

choi soobin.

the guy who never made eye contact with anyone unless forced. always sitting in the back row, muttering answers under his breath that were always annoyingly right. you’d caught him staring at you in lectures a few times — like full on, wide eyed, glasses slipping down his nose, inhaling your soul kind of staring — but he always looked away like he’d been caught watching porn in public.

and now, here he was. standing in the doorway of your dorm room, two textbooks under one arm, a thick bulge in his jeans he clearly didn’t know how to hide, and that same look on his face.

like his body couldn’t decide if it was devotion or panic making his stomach flip.

you stepped aside to let him in.

“make yourself comfortable.”

soobin hesitated.

his eyes did a full scan of your room — bookshelf, unmade bed, pair of briefs on the floor — and his ears immediately flushed pink. still, he nodded, set his things on your desk, and sat in the desk chair like it was a job interview. posture rigid. shoulders hunched to make himself smaller. legs spread too wide because… well. because he was too tall to sit normally in anything.

you couldn’t help it — you smiled.

“you ever been in someone else’s dorm before?” you teased lightly.

he blinked behind his glasses. “no.”

“no?”

he shook his head. “never got invited.”

you leaned against the edge of the desk, close enough that your thigh nearly brushed his knee.

“so i’m your first?”

soobin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“in… in a way, yes.”

that look was back again — staring up at you like you were made of fire. like he couldn’t decide whether to run or reach out and touch.

god, he was so awkward. and sweet. and kind of unbelievably hot in that tall, twitchy, no social skills kind of way. you let the silence stretch for a moment. watched how his eyes kept flicking to your mouth, then down, then back up like he was doing mental calculations.

you decided to cut the tension. “you really been staring at me all semester just to help me pass stats?”

soobin looked mortified.

“i—what?! i wasn’t—i mean, i was, but not like—it’s not just that, i just—”

you raised a brow, smirking. “relax, genius. i’m flattered.”

“…you are?”

“mmh,” you leaned in, voice dropping just a little. “you’re cute when you’re nervous.”

his breath hitched. visibly. like his brain short-circuited.

“i—you’re extremely—i mean statistically—wait no, i meant subjectively—” he stopped himself, cheeks going pink. “sorry. i talk too much when i’m… you know.”

“turned on?”

soobin looked like his bones had given up and the chair was the only thing keeping him upright.

“i think i like when you talk too much.”

he didn’t move. just watched, pupils dilated, chest rising and falling shallowly beneath his sweater vest. he had no idea what to do with his hands, which made you grin as you stepped between his knees.

he froze when your hand touched his thigh.

“wait—” he breathed.

“you okay?” you asked, instantly softening. “i can stop. i want you to tell me if anything feels off.”

“no! i mean—no, don’t stop,” soobin said quickly, voice high and cracking. “i’ve just… i’ve never… i haven’t—ever done anything.”

you nodded. “i figured.”

“is that—bad?”

you tilted your head, brushing your fingers along the edge of his jaw. “why would that be bad?”

“i don’t know,” he said quietly. “you’re… you seem like you know what you’re doing. and i—i don’t. not even a little bit. i’m probably gonna be terrible and come in like thirty seconds and say something stupid about newton’s laws of motion and ruin the whole thing.”

you huffed a laugh. “well, now i kind of want you to say something about newton’s laws of motion while you’re inside me.”

soobin’s whole soul left his body.

you stepped closer, gently guiding his hand to your waist. “you’re not going to ruin anything. you’re adorable. you’re hot. and i want you.”

he blinked up at you like he couldn’t believe this was real. like any moment, he was going to wake up alone in his bed with a hard-on and the smell of his own hand lotion.

but it was real. you were straddling his lap now, and you could feel it — so thick, so hot, so big under his jeans, pressing between your legs like a damn secret weapon. you gasped a little as it shifted under you.

“…god,” you whispered.

“i’m—sorry?”

you leaned in close, lips just at his ear. “why didn’t you tell me you were big?”

“i—what?” he squeaked.

you rolled your hips slowly against it. “that’s not normal big. that’s fuck-me-up big.”

soobin whimpered. whimpered.

“i read online that size doesn’t correlate with pleasure,” he blurted, voice desperate. “but i—i can do angles! i’ve read about—about pressure points! i know about the anterior wall, and—and—”

you kissed him.

not just to shut him up. though that was part of it.

you kissed him because his lips were full and trembling and begging for it. because he deserved to feel something other than nerves buzzing through him. because no one had ever kissed him like he was worth losing control over, and fuck, he was.

soobin gasped against your mouth like it shorted his circuits. like he’d only ever imagined this behind closed doors, in the quiet dark, with his hand on his cock and your name on his tongue.

his hands finally settled on your hips. gentle. awkward. like he was afraid of squeezing too hard, like you’d shatter. you deepened the kiss, rocking into him a little more, grinding deliberately on that massive bulge straining against his jeans.

he groaned into your mouth.

“i—” soobin gasped, breaking the kiss, his lips already flushed and wet. “i need to—oh my god—i think i’m gonna come—”

you smiled, panting softly against his mouth. “not yet. you’re gonna come inside me.”

his head dropped back against the chair like he’d been electrocuted. just that. just the promise of being inside you. his hips twitched involuntarily and the moan that left him was so guttural it made your stomach clench.

you leaned in close, whispering right against his throat.

“i’m gonna ride you until your brain falls out of your ears, soobin.”

he whimpered again. actually whimpered. arms limp at his sides like he couldn’t figure out how to move his own body. you kissed his jaw, then the corner of his mouth, slow and sweet.

“but you need to give me a second. gotta get myself ready for this.”

“r-ready?”

you moved off his lap, grabbing your lube from the drawer like it was just another night. but it wasn’t.

soobin was still panting, hard as fuck in his jeans, eyes locked to you like you were pulling the sun out of the sky. you climbed up onto your bed, knees spread as you pushed down your sweats and underwear in one single movement, letting your bare skin meet the cold sheets.

you met his gaze as you slicked your fingers.

he made a broken sound in his chest.

you smirked. “watch.”

and fuck, he did.

he watched like he’d never seen anything before. wide eyes, mouth open, fists clenched on his thighs.

you brought your fingers to your entrance, slow, teasing the rim with gentle pressure. a soft sigh slipped from you as you eased in the first knuckle. the burn was familiar, the stretch routine — but the way soobin was staring like you’d just parted the gates of heaven?

that was new.

“s-should i be helping?” he whispered, breathless.

“just sit there,” you breathed, adding more lube. “and think about how lucky you are.”

soobin made a sound like a gasped prayer. “i’m the luckiest man alive.”

you snorted, pressing the second finger in.

“holy—fuck, that’s so—beautiful,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “you’re stretching yourself open for me—me—”

you moaned, rolling your hips just slightly against your fingers, and his breath hitched like he’d been punched.

“i don’t—i don’t think i can—” soobin choked, grabbing at himself over his jeans with an urgency that was almost painful. “i’m gonna—oh god, fuck, i’m gonna come—”

you looked over just in time to see him jerk violently in the chair, hips snapping once, jaw going slack as he came untouched in his pants — loud, like something sacred had been ripped out of him. he moaned your name like he needed it to stay alive, biting down on his fist to muffle it, his thighs trembling under him.

you couldn’t stop the slow smirk that curled on your lips.

“wow.”

“i—” he gasped, face flushed, hair a mess, glasses skewed on his nose. “i’m—i’m so sorry—i didn’t mean to, i just—”

“you came just from watching me prep?” you tilted your head, biting your lip. “that’s hot.”

he looked like he was suffering. “but i—i wanted to—inside—i didn’t mean to—”

“relax, baby,” you murmured, reaching for him again. “you’ve got more in you. right?”

soobin moaned just from the nickname. moaned. and when you knelt between his knees again and started undoing his jeans, he looked like he was about to cry from gratitude.

you tugged them down, and your breath caught.

“…holy shit.”

soobin’s cock flopped free, half-soft and already twitching to get hard again.

it was big. way too big. heavy and flushed and thick even while soft. thick enough that you weren’t sure how the hell you were going to take all of it, even after prepping.

“no way you were walking around campus with this monster between your legs,” you muttered, almost reverently. “no wonder you’re so awkward. you’ve been hiding a weapon.”

soobin flushed all the way down to his collarbones. “i—it’s not— is it bad?”

“bad? soobin, it’s a miracle i’m not on my knees worshipping it right now.”

“i—i wouldn’t mind— i mean—”

you shot him a look, and he let out a tiny squeak, abruptly silencing himself.

“lay down,” you said, voice low, eyes never leaving his cock. “on the bed. i need to ride this thing before i lose my mind.”

he moved like his limbs didn’t belong to him, clambering up onto your bed with shaky hands and eyes wide, like he didn’t believe any of this was real.

his cock bobbed up fully hard again, heavy against his stomach. your mouth actually watered.

you climbed over him, settling with your knees on either side of his hips, and reached between you to guide the tip to your entrance. just resting it there was enough to make you gasp. soobin was shaking.

“w-wait,” he stammered. “what if i hurt you?”

you leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to his lips. “you won’t. i want this. i want you.”

he moaned into the kiss, hands already grasping your hips like he couldn’t stop himself. you braced yourself, breathed deep, and started to sink down.

the stretch was unreal.

your mouth fell open, a strangled sound coming out as the blunt head of his cock pushed past your rim. the burn was immediate, intense. your body strained, trembling, trying to take him.

soobin was already gasping under you. “oh—fuck—you’re—you’re so—tight—are you okay?”

you nodded through gritted teeth. “y-yeah—just give me—fuck, soobin, you’re huge—”

“i’m sorry!”

“no—don’t you dare apologize.”

you forced yourself to breathe through it, relaxing bit by bit as you slid down inch by inch. his cock felt like it was punching up into your guts, thick and hot and impossible. you swore you could feel every vein, every twitch of his nerves through your walls.

soobin was losing his mind.

“y-you’re—taking me so well—how are you—god, you’re so perfect—you’re squeezing me so tight—i can’t—i can’t think—”

“you’re in so deep already—fuck, you’re ruining me—” you gasped, dropping lower with each word. “no one’s ever filled me like this—”

that set something off in him.

his grip on your hips tightened as he moaned, desperate and overwhelmed. “no one? no one’s ever—been this deep? you—you’re mine—mine—i’m the first to touch you like this?”

you were fully seated now, chest heaving, your walls fluttering around him, clenching hard as your body adjusted to the pressure. you leaned forward, palms flat on his chest, eyes fluttering.

“you’re fucking perfect,” you whispered. “so big, soobin, you’re stretching me open, you’re in my stomach—”

soobin let out a raw, high-pitched sound.

“i’m gonna die,” he whimpered. “i’m gonna die, and this is how i want to go—inside you—buried in you—”

you laughed breathlessly, rolling your hips experimentally. he arched off the bed, cock hitting something inside you that made your whole body spasm.

“oh—fuck—do that again,” you gasped.

“i—what did i do?—i need to do it again—i want to make you feel good—so good—”

you started to move, grinding slow and deep, dragging yourself up his length and then dropping down again, watching his jaw fall open, watching his whole face twist in pleasure.

“f-fuck—you’re so sensitive,” you moaned, bouncing slowly. “every little squeeze makes you whimper like a fucking virgin—”

“i am—” he gasped. “you’re my first—only— i never wanted anyone else—only you—”

god. his voice. the way he talked during sex — fast and nerdy and desperate, like he was rattling off theorems while losing his mind.

“i’m gonna make you feel so good,” he panted. “i know the angles—oh my god— i studied. watched videos—i read so many—so many forums. i wanted to be good for you—just for you—”

you moaned out loud, hips snapping faster, your cock bobbing untouched between you. the rhythm was too perfect. every time you came down, he bottomed out inside you, hitting so deep it felt like you were going to see stars.

“soobin,” you gasped. “you’re—fucking me so good—this is insane—you’re a goddamn natural—”

soobin whimpered so loud, like he’d just been told he won a nobel prize.

“i—i am?” he breathed.

“you’re splitting me open with this monster cock—fucking me so deep—you’re so good, soobin, fuck, you’re so good at this—”

“i love you,” he blurted.

you froze, breath caught in your throat, your thighs trembling around his hips, still so full of his cock you could feel it in your chest.

soobin’s face went pale like he’d just told a calculus joke in the wrong room. “i—i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to say it—i mean i did—but i wasn’t trying to pressure you or ruin this or make it weird, it just—came out—”

you grabbed his jaw with both hands, kissed him hard, and whispered against his lips :

“say it again while i come on your cock.”

he gasped like he couldn’t breathe. “i love you.”

you started to ride him again — so hard, so fast, now reckless — and the noise he made was somewhere between a sob and a scream.

“i love you,” he choked. “i love you, you’re so perfect, you’re—god, you feel so good—i wanna live in you—”

you moaned, grinding deep, his cock hitting your prostate so perfectly that your vision blurred.

“i’ve never—fuck—never felt this before,” you whimpered, bracing your hands on his chest. “you’re fucking ruining me, soobin—your cock is splitting me open—i can’t—”

soobin looked like he was about to cry. “y-you’re gonna make me cum again—please—please let me cum inside, i need to, i need to—”

you slammed down hard, clenching tight around him.

“do it—fill me up, soobin—wanna feel you spill inside me—wanna feel your cum drip out while you keep me full—”

he lost it.

with a sound like his entire soul ripped free of his body, soobin thrust up into you — so hard — hands locking around your waist, finally taking the rhythm for himself. and just like that, he was fucking you.

messy. desperate. and so, so deep.

“oh my god—” you cried out, body jolting with every sharp thrust. “soobin—fuck—what are you—”

“i’m sorry—i have to—i have to—” he gasped, voice breaking. “you feel so good—i can’t hold back—you’re letting me inside—i can’t stop—”

the dorm room filled with the sound of your bodies meeting — slick, obscene, overwhelming — the wet slap of skin on skin as he drove into you with trembling strength. he wasn’t graceful, wasn’t practiced either, but somehow it didn’t matter. he hit every spot. every time. like he’d mapped your body in his dreams.

his eyes were locked on your face, glasses still somehow halfway on, slipping down his nose with every thrust. you couldn’t look away. he looked like something primal had taken over — lips parted, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide with need.

and the things he was saying—

“you’re so tight, i can feel you everywhere, every inch—i want to memorize this—i want to study you—i want to write theses about how perfect your body feels—”

you were shaking. open and gone.

your legs were jelly around him now, your arms shaking too much to hold you up. soobin noticed, and with a sudden strength you didn’t expect, he grabbed you around the waist and flipped you, pressing you down to the mattress and staying buried inside you with one deep, dizzying thrust.

you gasped, arching under him.

“soobin—!”

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, hovering above you, looking destroyed. “i—i need to stay inside. just for a little—just a little longer—i can’t let go yet—”

“then don’t,” you begged. “stay inside. fuck me, soobin—fuck me harder—”

and damn, he did.

he snapped his hips into you, relentless now, cock stretching you to the limit, his voice unraveling right in your ear as he chased the edge.

“i love you—i love you so much—i’ve loved you since the first lecture—i used to touch myself thinking about this—you—i didn’t even know what to do with my hands, i just knew i wanted you—”

your hand slid between your legs, desperate, stroking your own cock as he pounded you, your body singing from the inside out.

“don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—soobin, i’m gonna—fuck, i’m gonna—”

“come,” he gasped. “please, please come—want you to cum on my cock, want you to milk it—make me fill you—make me stay inside forever—”

and you did.

your whole body convulsed, cock pulsing in your hand, white-hot release spilling across your stomach and chest as your walls clenched down tight around him. you sobbed his name, legs shaking violently as you came harder than you had in years.

that was all it took.

soobin’s hands gripped your hips so tight you knew you’d bruise later. he slammed in once, twice, and then he was spilling inside you with a loud scream, cock throbbing so deep, filling you with so much cum you could feel it leaking already.

“i’m cumming—i’m cumming—i’m inside you—fuck, i love you—i love you i love you—”

soobin didn’t pull out.

he didn’t even move. he collapsed on top of you, trembling, still buried to the hilt, still moaning under his breath like he didn’t want it to end.

you lay there together — shaking, sweaty, breathless — and felt him press one soft, desperate kiss to your throat.

“can we…” he mumbled, voice small. “can we stay like this? just for a little while?”

you smiled, completely fucked out, one hand sliding into his damp hair.

“baby,” you whispered. “you can stay inside me as long as you want.”

soobin made a small, crushed noise against your throat. something between a whimper and a sigh of absolute, stupid bliss.

you could feel his cock twitch one last time inside you, still half-hard, still locked so deep it made your legs twitch again just from the memory. he didn’t move — he wouldn’t move. you’d melted into the mattress beneath him, boneless, body sticky with sweat and cum and love.

“…you okay?” you asked softly, fingers brushing through the damp hair at the back of his neck.

he nodded against your skin, barely moving. then a soft, muffled : “i can’t believe that happened.”

you laughed, shaky and hoarse. “you mean the part where you absolutely destroyed me?”

soobin groaned in embarrassment, shifting just slightly. his cock moved inside you and both of you gasped at the hypersensitivity. he stopped immediately, whimpering.

“i’m sorry—i don’t want to hurt you, i just— i don’t know what to do now. i—uh—do we need to clean up? should i get you water? or—wait, should i get a towel? are you cramping? oh my god, i think i’m still hard—”

“soobin,” you whispered, smile tugging at your lips until it almost hurt. “breathe.”

he paused, blinking down at you like a deer caught in your bedroom lamp.

you cupped his flushed cheek. “you did so good. i’m not dying. i’m just… full. of you. in every way.”

soobin’s eyes got glassy again.

“i made you feel good?”

“baby,” you whispered, pulling him down so your foreheads touched. “that was the best fuck of my life.”

he made a broken, overwhelmed sound and kissed you. messy, still desperate, but sweet. the kind of kiss that tasted like someone who couldn’t believe they were allowed to love you like this.

eventually, he softened inside you with a small whine and pulled out carefully. you hissed from the sensitivity, but he was so gentle — like you were glass.

he tried to get up to clean you, but you yanked him back by the wrist.

“later. just lie down with me.”

he slid in beside you, glasses crooked and slipping down his nose, wrapping those long arms around you like he didn’t ever want to let go. you curled against his chest, still sticky and sweaty, and neither of you cared.

soobin was quiet for a while. then :

“i didn’t even know it could feel like that,” he whispered. “i thought—i was scared i wouldn’t be good at it. that i’d mess it up. but you just…”

you kissed the center of his chest.

“i felt safe. and wanted. and i wanted you,” he said, voice cracking at the edges. “i’ve wanted you since forever. i just never thought i’d get to have this. to have you.”

you pressed your face into his collarbone, eyes fluttering closed.

“you have me now,” you murmured. “all of me, soobin.”

he held you tighter.

“…are you okay? like, physically?” he added in a panicked whisper after a beat. “i came a lot. like, a lot—”

you laughed so hard you wheezed. “soobin.”

“sorry! i just—i don’t want to give you, like, some weird cum-induced stomach cramp—”

“i am gloriously ruined,” you said, shifting closer. “and if you apologize for doing too good of a job one more time, i’m gonna make you fuck me again.”

soobin blushed deep red.

“…noted.”

[luvyeni]

⠀ ( drabble ) such a bitch ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 김선우 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ sunoo getting tired of your attitude ヾ

nerd!sunoo・ meangirl!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ rough sex , degradation, unprotected sex‎ ‎ wc ・ ‎0.8k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. popular mean girl and is partnered with sunoo. realizes sun is hot af and tries to make a move on him thinking he's sub/innocent. plot twist: He's not and he ended up being the dom when they slept together.

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 i hope you like it , mean dom noo is my favorite 😋

he tried barging with the other students; pleading to do their homework for them, hell he even offered money to anyone— anyone who would take you as their partner, but as he walked up to your huge house , ringing the doorbell , he wondered what he did in his past life to deserve this.

“she's upstairs.” your maid said; sunoo nodded. “careful , she's in a bit of of mood.” when are you ever not in a mood? he made his way up to your room, your door was open. “don't just stand there and look stupid , come in.” he came in , holding his bag. “sit.”

you pointed to your bed; he sat down. “you're late.” he lowered his head. “i-im sorry i got caught up.” you scoffed. “i didn't ask , let's just get this over with so you can leave.” he wanted nothing more than to leave. “o-okay.”

you sat back watching him do the work , picking at your fingernails , texting the idiot you called you once called your boyfriend. “fucking dumbass!” sunoo jumped , hearing you toss your phone across the room , that motivated him to go faster with the project.

you watched him work , taking in his features, he wasn't bad to look at. “you a virgin?” you spoke up. “h-huh?” he stuttered at the sudden inappropriate question; you smirked , dry laughing. “of course you are , who'd fuck you?” he gulped , still trying to focus on the work. “you're not that bad if you look past the shabby close and the glasses.” you said running your fingers through his hair. “st-stop please.”

“why? don't tell me this turning you on little mouse?” your red paint bottom lip caught in between your teeth as you tease him. “please don't call me that,” he said. “i guess it is.” you smirked , running your manicure nails down the back of his neck , you saw him shift. “i'll fuck you.” you said so directly. “i-im okay.” he said , slowly losing his composure. “why not , it's not like anyone else is willing to fuck you.”

his finally straw is when you reached for his pants button. “i said stop.” he grabbed your hand. “let my hand go.” you gritted through your teeth , “i swear i will kill you loser.” throwing his stuff to the floor , pushing you on the bed, grabbing your hand pinning them above your head. “why are you such a bitch?”

he was straddling your waist , pinning your legs down. “i didn't want to be here in the first place , just wanted to get this stupid project done and get out of this house but i can't because you're too busy being a slut to pay attention.” he spat at you. “fuck you.” you hissed. “yeah i bet you do.”

you had to admit the way he was talking to you turned you on , the wetness in between your legs becoming unbearable. “you want me to fuck you?” he said. “i'll fuck you , and then afterwards you sit the fuck down and help me finish this project so i can leave.” he grabbed your cheeks. “understand.”

you nodded , and he got off of you , taking his pants down , pulling your shorts down. “spread your legs.” slotting himself in between your legs , dragging his cock along your folds. “so wet.” you were surprised at how big he was , he was full of surprises. “so desperate, it's embarrassing.” he pushed himself inside. “fuck!”

he wasn't gentle either; in fact his pace was rather brutal , holding your neck as he plunged into you. “fuck!” he hissed. “for a whore , you're pretty right.” you whined. “n-not a whore.” hia grip on your neck tightening. “yeah?” he said. “then why are you begging for my dick while you're in a suppos relationship? only a whore would do that.” he pounded into you. “such a bitch to everyone.” he cursed , slapping your already abused cunt.

pulling out of you , flipping you on your stomach , lifting your lower half up into a arch , before pushing back into you , slapping your ass. “fuck! gonna cum.” you screamed , he kept pounding into you. “i shouldn't even let you cum.” you cried out. “no please , please.” you begged. “shut the fuck up.” he slapped your ass again. “i'll let you cum , but you better hurry -fuck- because im about to cum all over your back , after i cum i don't care if you don't.”

you felt the knot in your stomach snapping legs shaking as you came , yelling his name as he continued to fuck you. “fuck im cumming.” he pulled out of you, stroking his cock until he came on your ass. “sh-shit.” your body worn out on the bed as he got dressed. “look at you fucked out.” he scoffed.

“clearly we aren't gonna get anything done , we'll continue tomorrow , and this time you come to my house and without the attitude.”

©LUVYENI

[hoonalt]

6:14 - . ۫ ꣑ৎ . ˖ nrk‎ꫂ᭪݁ . ۫

Just loser ki making love with his pretty hot gf!

敗者!西村力×y/n˖ ࣪ . 🦢 ࿐ ♡ ˚ .

Content+Warnings: smut, pwop,soft dom , he rambles about anime & physics when he’s nervous or turned on, pure filth,kinda cute ki.

MNDI.

Note: likes+reblogs r appreciated,first time posting here lwk nervous˖ ࣪ . ࿐ ⊹ ࣪ ˖‎ꫂ᭪݁

The scene no one at uni gets.

how did the quiet, lanky, glasses-wearing game-dev major with the messy black hair and perpetual hoodie pull you? he still doesn’t believe it half the time. but when the door closes, the shy boy disappears and the one who knows exactly how to ruin you takes over. he just can’t stop talking through it.

You never planned on falling this hard for someone like Ni-ki.

He was the guy who sat three rows behind you in Advanced Calculus, always doodling mech designs in the margins of his notes, earphones in, hood up even indoors. The kind of boy people called “cute in a pathetic way” when they thought he couldn’t hear. You were the one everyone noticed — confident, sharp tongue, the kind of pretty that made people stare a second too long.

Yet here you were, three months into whatever this was, heart doing stupid flips every time he pushed his glasses up and gave you that small, crooked smile like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

Tonight started innocently enough.

You’d dragged him back to your dorm after he spent the entire study session quietly losing his mind because you kept brushing your leg against his under the library table (accidentally¿)but he wasn't having any of that. The second the door clicked shut he was on you — not rough, never rough with you — but desperate. Hands trembling as they slid under your shirt, mouth clumsy and hot against your neck fondling and squeezing the squishy fat of ur breasts through the thin materialof your top.

“Fuck… I thought about this all day,” he mumbled, voice already hoarse trailing hot kisses from neck to ur shoulders.“You in that skirt… sitting there like you weren’t trying to kill me.”

You laughed softly, tugging his hoodie off. “You’re such a loser, Riki.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, pushing you gently onto the bed, “but I’m your loser.”

Clothes came off in a messy trail. His long fingers — the same ones that could code for eight hours straight without breaking — traced every inch of you like he was memorizing a new map. When he finally pushed inside you, slow and deep, both of you let out shaky sounds that didn’t even sound human.

He bottomed out and stilled, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

“God… you feel— you always feel so fucking perfect,” he whispered. His voice cracked a little. “Like… like you were made exactly for me. I don’t deserve this. I don’t —”

“Riki,” you cut him off gently, cupping his face. His glasses were slightly fogged. “Shut up and move.”

He let out a broken laugh, moving painfully slow.The first few thrusts were careful, almost reverent. Then something shifted. His hips snapped harder, the shy nerd melting away as he found that spot that made your back arch clean off the bed.

“You’re so tight… every time, fuck” he groaned, voice dropping lower. “It’s like you’re trying to keep me inside forever. Physics doesn’t even explain this— how you can feel this good. I swear I could stay here for hours.”

You moaned his name, nails digging into his shoulders. He was big — unfairly so for someone who looked like he’d never seen a gym — and he knew exactly how to use every inch once he stopped overthinking.

He hooked one of your legs higher, angling deeper, and suddenly the rambling started for real.

“Remember that scene in Neon Genesis where— fuck— where Shinji finally stops running? That’s how I feel when I’m inside you. Like everything else disappears and it’s just… this. Just us.” His thrusts grew messier, more urgent. “I love you. I love you so much it scares me sometimes. Like what if you wake up one day and realize you could do so much better than some dork who builds Gundam models at 3 a.m.?”

Tears pricked your eyes — not from the overwhelming pleasure (though that was definitely part of it), but from the raw honesty in his voice. He always got like this when he was close: vulnerable and filthy at the same time.

“Riki… baby, stop saying nonsense and look at me.”

He did, dark eyes glassy behind his crooked glasses, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.

“I chose you,” you gasped between moans. “I want you. The nerd who explains orbital mechanics during foreplay. The one who blushes when I call him pretty boy . All of you.”

That seemed to snap something in him.

His pace turned punishing in the best way, one hand sliding between your bodies to rub tight circles over your clit while he drove into you. The wet sounds filled the small room, mixed with his low, broken whimpers and your desperate cries.

“You’re gonna cum for me, right?” he panted, voice wrecked. “Please— I need to feel it. Need to feel you squeezing me while I’m still inside you. I want to fill you up so deep you’ll still feel me tomorrow when you’re sitting in lecture pretending you’re not thinking about this.”

You came hard, vision whiting out, thighs shaking around his waist. He followed right after with a choked moan of your name, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you, hot and endless.

But he didn’t pull out.

Instead he collapsed carefully on top of you, still buried to the hilt, arms wrapping around your waist like you might disappear if he let go. His face pressed into the crook of your neck, breathing ragged.

You could feel him twitching inside you, oversensitive and spent, yet he stayed there, cockwarming you through the aftershocks.

“Stay like this… just a little longer,” he whispered, voice small again. “I like feeling close. Like I’m still part of you.”

You ran your fingers through his damp hair, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

He let out a quiet, shy laugh against your skin, then mumbled, “You know… if we calculate the average time it takes for my heart rate to return to normal after you wreck me like that, it’s statistically impossible because it never really does. Not when it’s you.”

You smiled, heart so full it almost hurt.

“Shut up, Riki.”

“Make me.”

So you kissed him again — slow, deep, full of everything neither of you could quite say out loud yet.

And in the quiet glow of your desk lamp, with his long body draped over yours and his heartbeat steady against your chest, the rest of the world and all its confusion about how you two fit together faded away.

He was yours.

Loser glasses, rambling mouth, secret confidence, and all.

[younithv]

── while you sleep | kth

you and your husband haven't had sex in days. both sexually frustrated, taehyung had enough of this stress pent up in him and decides to take it out on you while you sleep.

pairing ─ husband!taehyung x wife!reader

genre ─ smut, one shot, no plot tbh, fluff at the end

warning ─ mdni pls, 18+, begging, somno (tae fucking reader in her sleep), clit stimulation, tae being a pervert, dry humping, jerking off, cock warming, please do not read if youre sensitive, this is all fake, FICTIONAL!! no one is forcing you to read this so please relax.

wc ─ 2.1k

a/n ─ wrote this literally right now, erm.. i didn't reread it so some parts may not make sense but i still like the way this came out. send request of anything! i write about tae mostly but i can write about other bts members and also animes like aot or jjk. hope you enjoy this one though!

you assumed your husband was coming home late, again, for the fifth night in a row. you were sexually frustrated, you can't remember the last time you felt this way. 

constantly craving your man on you, craving the warmth his arms would give you when he’d wrap them around your curvy body, yearning for just a simple kiss on the lips from him. 

you both had been working your asses off at work recently, you were never home during the day, same with him, leaving you both with only seeing each other at night, and even then you would wake up around the time he would go to sleep. 

and of course even though you were so horny for him, you couldn't wake him up, not when hes already snoring like a bear all curled up in bed, with his cheek pressed up against his pillow, lips parted and his front hair moving with the waves of the AC that would hit him oh so perfectly. 

knowing that tae was coming home late because of the time on the clock that read ‘12:48am’, you naturally fell asleep, you fought hard to keep your eyes open, you wanted to at least kiss him goodnight before he slept. 

but your body betrayed you, you hadn't even realized your eyes had closed and you were long gone into your dream, long gone into your abyss of images and voices your mind puts you through every night while you rested.

on the other hand, your husband came home at around 1:35am, yeah no way in hell were you going to be able to stay up for another hour waiting for your precious boy to come home after yet another long day of work.

the front door opens, heavy footsteps are heard from downstairs beneath the room. but of course you don't hear anything, not a single peep could wake you up from your blissful dreams. his routine would be to make himself a quick snack, watch tv while munching loudly, and then come upstairs to lay right next to you.

you don't know this but he would always make sure to kiss your forehead before he drifted off to his own blissful dream. but tonight was different, he didn't make himself a snack or a quick meal. he was hungry for something else.

you.

you weren't aware of how sexually frustrated your husband had gotten the last few days, weeks even. so caught up on your own frustration, not realizing that tae was going through the same thing as you, if not worse.

he lets his bags drop on the floor beneath him, he takes his shoes off before walking up the stairs, making sure to not wake you even though he knew you were a heavy sleepier. more recently at least.

he opens the door to the room and there you are, so cozy in bed, the comfy blanket draped over your perfect body, the curve of your ass visible even when its covered in layers of fabric. he cant help but just stare at your sleeping body, watching your back move up and down against the blanket, your left leg folded upwards and your other leg laid straight beneath you.

he sighs at the sight of you, you're so beautiful to him, so precious, it makes him mad almost, to where he just wants to ruin your perfect body. mark it all up to let everyone know who exactly you belong to. 

but he knew he couldn't do that, at least not tonight. he finally steps into the room fully, closing and locking the door behind him ever so gently as he walks up to his side of the bed. your ass is more visible now, basically asking to be spanked and grabbed. he bites his bottom lip, thinking about all the things he wants to do to you at this exact moment.

he slides into bed next to you, going under the blankets despite still being in his sweaty, sticky smelling work clothes. he pulls you close to him, holding you tightly against his chest, that feminine smell of you hits his nose and oh does that make him hard.

you smell like a woman, his woman.

you're still so sound asleep, so deep into your slumber that you don't even feel your husbands clothed hard cock pushing up against your ass. hes hungry, starving, he needs you so bad but he cant do too much.

he lets out quiet “mmm” and “fuck”s behind your ear, still rutting against you, his dick twitches inside of his pants, he grips you harder, “fuck baby..” he whispers as hes cumming inside of his boxers. 

hes so fucking dirty, dry humping your body while youre innocently sleeping, so unaware of the male getting off behind you. but hes still not satisfied, he wants, no, he needs to be inside of you so badly. 

he lets his grip off of you gently, he pulls down his pants along with his boxers. he reaches forward to your sweetest, neediest spot, rubbing soft small circles around your bud. you don't feel it at first, still so dozed off, dreaming about who knows what.

after a few seconds, hes getting hard all over again. fuck hes such a pervert, using your body while youre sleeping. touching you in your most precious spots while you're in your most vulnerable state.

your coating his fingers at this point, hes reaching down rubbing your slit that is covered in your slick. your body reacts faster than you do, still peacefully sleeping but you're all wet for him? you're just as perverted as he is and he knew it. 

he smirks at the feeling of his fingers getting coated in your juices, and he slowly slides his finger in. he looks at your facial expression to see if you’d finally wake up but, nothing, not yet at least. 

he pulls back out, using your slick as lube while he pumps himself up and down, his own cum smearing all over his tip, shaft and everywhere else. he slides down your panties, enough to where your ass is out, enough to where he can slide in his length into your hole that has no idea what's coming. 

he holds you again, close, secured against his chest, and he lines himself up, slowly sliding into your warm tight walls. he groans at the feeling of you clamping down on him, at this point you started shifting in your sleep but he held you still.

your eyes flutter open, you feel full but from where? you're confused, you're horny, wet, you feel warmth against your back. you rub your eyes, “tae? whatre you doing?” you ask with a whine following after your words.

you whine more as he's now pushing himself in and out of your wet dripping cunt. “shh baby, you looked so cute- fuck.. had a rough day at work yknow? mm fuck- just needed to be inside you okay?” hes thrusting faster, deeper, you feel every inch of his hard cock pumping in and out of your needy hole.

“mmm tae” you whine, you grip the blanket, you're still so tired to even move much so you lay there, taking it. he kisses your shoulder, soothing you as hes fucking you. 

“shh i know honey, i know..” 

your quiet whimpers and whines get tae going even more, not only are you not pushing him away but you're enjoying this just as much as he is. you both needed this, and you two knew it. 

your walls flutter against his cock, you're close, you feel that familiar feeling in your stomach. he feels it too, he groans into your ear, “fuck baby, you close?”

“mhmmm”

“yeah? cum all over this dick baby.. fuck- please.”

thats all it took for you, your pussy hugs your husbands length and gushes all over it, he paints your warm walls white as he pumps his cum in and out of your hole. filling you up to the brim, your juices and his cum dripping down your thigh and down his dick.

you both lay there, heavy breathing filling up the emptiness of the room that was once filled with squelching noises. his chest pressed up against your back, heaving up and down as you both catch your breaths. 

you go to pull away from him but he only holds you tighter. “stay..please..” he begs quietly. his eyes already closing up as his dick softens inside of you. 

you bite your bottom lip at the feeling of your hole still being full of his cum and cock. you stay there, in his warm comforting arms. thats when it hit you, he needed this just as much as you did. you knew he was just as sexually frustrated. 

that warm, cozy feeling of finally being in your husbands embrace filled your body with so much bliss, so much love, you wanted to stay like this forever. 

-

in the morning, turns out he actually called off of work just so he can finally spend time with you, and well you had your day off so it worked perfect. hes not inside of you anymore, hes actually on your side of the bed, crouched down shaking your shoulder to wake you up.

“hmm?”

“cmon baby lets get you cleaned up.”

your eyes flutter open, squinting at the bright sun beaming inside the room, you see your beautiful husband in front of you, flashing that sweet smile of his. tae rubs soft circles on your cheek and stares at you, “i prepared the bath with bubbles and everything.”

you sniffle, hair messy, sticking to your neck and forehead and look over at the restroom where the bath was filled with bubbles. you look back at him and sigh, “pick me up.” you say in a pout and reach your arms forward.

he chuckles, standing up correctly and carries you bridal style to the bathroom, he sets you down on the counter and takes your clothes off since he didnt even get past that part before he started fucking you last night.

he stands between your legs, taking your face in between your hands so you can look up at him, your right cheek a light shade of red from the pressure of it being against the pillow, your puffy eyes and lips, oh you looked so precious to him, you are so precious to him. 

“my pretty girl, how did i get so lucky? hm?” hes caressing your face, planting a soft kiss on your forehead when he moved your hair away from it. 

you blush at his words and hug him close, wrapping your legs around his waist, his body wraps around your bare skin. his hand going up and down your back as your ear is pushed against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

you both stay like this for a while, the sound of the bubbles in the bath sizzling as the seconds went by, he kisses the top of your head and hes picking you up again. your body already wrapped around him.

hes hovering over the tub now, “set your feet down honey.” you do, and he gently places you in the bathtub. the warm water hugs your skin so perfectly, you hum in satisfaction as you lean back against the wall. your eyes close, you almost feel like you can sleep again.

taehyung chuckles while watching your reaction, “feel good?” 

“mhm.. so good.”

you open your eyes to look at your husband who happened to still be in his clothes, you pout at him and he notices the look on your face. “whats wrong?” 

“why aren't you in here with me?” you nudge his arm and he laughs shaking his head. “i was about to get in with you silly girl.” he pinches your cheek before removing his clothes, you scoot forward in the bathtub, some of the water and bubbles leaking out.

he gets in behind you, wrapping his hands on your waist to pull you close to him. youre now leaning your head back against his chest as he's leaning his head back against the cold tile behind him. eyes closed, both savoring this amazing moment.

he brushes his finger tips up and down your arms that were covered in goosebumps, leaning down to kiss your cheek, jaw line and neck as he nuzzles into you. you melt against his touch and grab his hands so they can wrap around your stomach. 

“mmm this is the life.” you giggle and he hums in agreement against your neck.

he plants another kiss on your neck and bites it gently, “lets use our vacation days.”

you giggle and nod, “yes i agree.”

─ younithv est 2026.

[heetaki]

a girls amateur guide to chemistry

‧₊˚ ౨ৎ -- park sunghoon x fem!reader

synopsis: It was supposed to be a joke. a simple experiment after one too many 'but what if we could' questions. but now the college golden boy is convinced he's in love with you, and you have to figure out a way to remind him he's not. unless, of course, the experiment isn't the reason he can't seem to leave you alone.

wc: 22.1k

warnings: romcom, fluff, humor, hockey captain!sunghoon, a lot of chemistry nonsense that is not realistic or accurate, slow-burn (i did not mean for that to happen but it did so sorry), love potion (?), severe yearning, reader is a bit oblivious, reader is a woman in stem, reader AND sunghoon are down baddd, one scene inspired by “better then the movies” // p in v, fingering, oral f!receiving, multiple orgasms, soft dom!sunghoon, super sweet and giggly sex (they’re in love your honor), praise kink

ab thinks... i rewatched descendants and this came to me...so thank ben's rendition of "ridiculous" for this LOL. also the chemistry plot kind of got away from me towards the end but i promise the concept is there! this fic meant so much to me to write. it's one of the longest I've ever wrote, and i seriously think that despite how much i complained about writing this, it helped me fall back in love with writing. special thanks to @arischacco @ickbite @ewstain @heedimples and @clearlyhoonie for listening to me complain while also supporting all my ideas. ily guys ok?

the playlist: "black magic" - little mix / "if only" - dove cameron / "slut" - taylor swift / "supernatural" - ariana grande / "ready to love" - seventeen / “too close” - enhypen

It’d sounded like a good idea at the time.

But now, as you watch Park Sunghoon–campus golden boy and the boy you’ve been (secretly) in love with for three years–literally drink your experiment, you’re starting to think you might have messed up somewhere.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

“Okay, but, like, what are the odds a person could make a real life potion? Or something like it?” Jungwon asks, eyes racing back and forth on the screen as Harry Potter brings back Cedric's dead body.

Yunjin shoots him a glare, her eyes brimming with tears. “Are you seriously asking that right now? Cedric just died!”

He blinks, eyebrows knitting in confusion. "We’ve seen this movie, like, a hundred times.”

“That doesn’t make it any less sad!” She scoffs, reaching for the throw pillow behind her head and tossing it at him.

It hits him square in the chest, but he barely reacts. Just lets it fall into his lap like it'd always been there. “I’m being serious, though!”

Beomgyu hums, popping another pretzel in his mouth. “I’m pretty sure you’re just thinking of chemistry.” 

Jungwon rolls his eyes, shifting in his seat so he can better face the three of you. “I mean like an actual potion. Like ones that make you fall in love or something dumb like that.”

You finally decide to speak up, tucking your feet under yourself and pulling your gaze away from the glowing screen. “You want to know if it’s possible to make a love potion?” You ask, voice laced with disbelief.

But Jungwon doesn’t laugh. If anything, he just looks ten times more serious. “Exactly.”

The three of you go silent, glancing between eachother like Jungwon might reveal he’s joking and he knows something like that isn’t possible. 

Right?

See, there's a lot of issues with being a Biochemistry major. Some of the more obvious being that you’re a woman in a male-dominated field–which is a problem in and of itself–and the other being that it’s extremely difficult.

But the one people don’t talk about is your extreme crave for knowledge. Even if that knowledge has to do with finding out whether or not it’s possible to make a fucking love potion.

And you should shoot the idea down as soon as it comes to your head, really, you should. But there’s that little flicker in the back of your mind, the one that usually gets you into trouble, that has you saying: “It wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”

(Newsflash: it really, really would.)

Three weeks. That’s how long it takes the four of you to work out numerous formulas, some which nearly exploded in your face, others that did nothing at all. It wasn’t until you suggested using a bit less magnesium does the whole thing seem to be less far-fetched.

Despite her initial scepticism, Yunjin was insistent on finishing it as soon as possible so that she could make Jay–her second situationship of the month–realize he was in love with her and finally ask her on a proper date. You couldn’t help but feel like maybe that was a little unethical.

Besides, you’d already agreed you weren’t actually going to use the substance on real people. You’d test it on rats, see if it worked, and then go to sleep feeling completely and utterly satisfied.

That was the plan, anyway.

You crossed your legs, pencil tapping against your chin as you read over the equations in your notebook. The experiment was nearly completed–but you just couldn’t figure out how to make sure its effects wore off. Beomgyu had suggested maybe substituting the sodium for something else, but you just weren’t sure what.

Jungwon groans next to you, letting his forehead rest against the desk. “Remind me again why electives insist on giving more work than necessary? Like, why do I have to write a 15,000 word essay on the history of the internet?”

You snort, shaking your head slightly as the eraser of your pencil rubs furiously against your paper. “Remind me again why you chose to take a class on the internet?”

He lifts his head up, glaring at you the entire time. “I wasn’t aware the curriculum included 15 page long think pieces on the significance of Damn Daniel.”

You really laugh at that, lips curling up in a cheeky smile. 

You and Jungwon usually had nightly study sessions at the campus library. It was a good way to unwind while also getting some work done. Well, more like you were getting work done and he was decoding Vine’s cultural significance. 

It’s hard for you to focus though.

Park Sunghoon is considerably the most beautiful man you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing, with raven hair and a smile that stops girls in their tracks, he has officially claimed the title of Campus Golden Boy and local heartthrob.

So how can you be expected to focus when he’s sitting in front of you, looking like that? 

He’s wearing glasses, something you weren’t even aware he needed, slightly hunched over his glowing computer screen with an adorable knit in his brow. The sight should be illegal, honestly. 

You don’t even notice you’re staring until Jungwon nudges your foot with his, a knowing smirk on his face. “If you keep staring at him like that he might think there’s something wrong with you.”

You immediately flush, forcing your gaze back onto your notebook and trying to ignore the fact that your ears have begun to burn something mean.

“I hate you.” You mumble, fully expecting Jungwon to reply with something witty, but it never comes. Instead, when you lift your gaze up, Sunghoon has left his table and begun to make a beeline for you.

Your eyes widen, throat already closing up and panic swelling deep in your chest. You’d definitely been caught and now he was going to confront you about your stalker-like behavior. You briefly wonder how long it takes for the police to arrive when they’re called, because he was definitely coming over to inform you that he’d done just that.

“Stop looking like your five seconds away from combusting.” Jungwon whispers, tone strangely serious.

You do your best to straighten your posture and make it look like there weren’t three-week-old eye bags under your eyes or a mysterious stain on your sweats, but it’s all futile when he flashes you that smile. The one he gave everyone when he was being friendly, something you’d been on the receiving end of before. But, for some reason, this time it feels different.

This time it feels like the start of something new.

He stops at the other end of your table, hand shooting up in a brief wave. “Hi,” He breathes out, “We have chemistry together.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Jungwon kicks your shin and you remember that you should probably reply. ‘Uh–Yeah!” Your voice cracks, tone pitching up higher than you meant it too. You clear your throat with a slight wince, doing your best to give him a smile. “Yes. Yeah. We do.”

He chuckles, bringing a hand up to run through his hair. And, wow, maybe Jungwon was right–you really are about to explode.

“I was having trouble with this last assignment,” He sighs, clearly exasperated, pointing a thumb back at his computer. “What are the chances you might be able to help me?”

Okay. This is fine. Amazing, actually. You’d finished that assignment the other night and you understood it pretty well, so helping him should be a piece of cake.

At least it would be if you didn’t seem to forget everything in his presence. Because you can definitely smell a bit of his cologne right now, sharp and clean, and you think you’re going to die. Yep. You’re going to pass away from cologne.

“Yes,” Jungwon answers for you, already ushering you out of your chair. “She can help you. Trust me, she’s crazy smart.”

Your eyes widen, staring at your friend in horror as he practically pushes you out of your chair and closer to Sunghoon.

“I know.” Sunghoon replies easily, tone light. Two words, but they’re enough to nearly send you melting into the floor.

You do your best to stay composed as Sunghoon leads you back to his table, but you aren’t entirely sure you’re even going to be able to think next to him. Which is definitely a little pathetic when you think about it, but seriously, look at the man. You are not ashamed in the least.

Jungwon shoots you two thumbs up, dimples showing as he smiles like he’s just won the fucking lottery. You don’t return the sentiment, instead shooting him a harsh glare. 

Sunghoon pulls out the chair next to his computer for you, and you sit down shakily. Your nerves feel completely shot, face on fire and your palms becoming uncomfortably moist.

He gestures to the problem on his screen, murmuring something about how he’d been stuck on it for the last hour.

You nod along, chewing on your bottom lip. The equation he was stuck on was thankfully something you knew how to do, so after taking a breath and reminding yourself that he is simply a boy and you are a very smart woman, you manage to explain it to him.

“You put a negative there, but the equations actually positive,” You explain, voice still shaking the tiniest bit, but stronger than it was earlier as you gain back some confidence. “You also wrote the wrong unit over here.”

Sunghoon listens as you explain everything to him, your hands gesturing wildly and words going a mile-a-minute. It’s obvious to anyone watching you that you’re passionate about the subject.

By the time you finish, he’s already fixing his mistakes and taking the steps needed to get the right answer.

He shifts closer to you, finger dragging over the paper with a light touch, “Is this right?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper. He says it loud enough that only you hear, eyes flickering over the side of your face.

You feel that familiar flush building when his knee brushes yours under the table, but do your best to swallow it down. “Uh, yeah. All you have to do now is figure out the correct configuration, which you’re pretty close to doing, and you’ll be good to go.”

He hums, leaning back in his seat and flexing his palms. “How are you so good at this stuff?” He asks with a laugh, eyes raking over yours like he’s trying to fully understand you.

You swallow, playing with your fingers in your lap. “It’s just always interested me, I guess. Like, the fact that we breathe in air and breathe out carbon? And the earth needs carbon to survive, so really we’re helping power the world. It’s all just so fascinating to me!” You’re smiling now, talking animatedly, “It’s difficult, yeah, but it’s also rewarding. Like, watching your experiment work is such a rush and I–”

You cut yourself off, realizing you’re rambling about fucking chemistry like you’re in love with it. He must seriously regret even asking.

“Sorry,” You mumble, nervous laughter bubbling out of you like a defense mechanism.

He shifts, leaning forward onto the table now, face turned so he’s still looking at you. “Don’t be sorry,” He reassures, eyebrows lifting slightly. “I was listening.”

Okay, wow. You are seriously either about to throw up and die or…yeah that’s it. There aren’t any other options.

By the time you make your way back to your table you’re practically shaking, breaths coming in shallow and rushed, your entire body on fire. You feel like you’re in some weird kind of fight or flight.

Jungwons bouncing in his seat, bottom lip sucked into his teeth. He practically pulls you down next to him, beginning to ask you a million questions, but you can’t see him.

All you can focus on is the subtle glance Sunghoon gives you when he leaves.

You should’ve known something was going to go wrong the moment Beomgyu called you. 

“I swear I’ve almost figured it out,” He sighs into the phone. You can’t see him, but you can tell his nose is scrunched up the way it always is when he’s thinking too hard about something. “I think we got the units wrong, but if we can figure out the correct ones it should work.”

You kiss your teeth, bumping your silverware drawer with your hip and letting it slide shut. Your phone rests snugly between your shoulder and ear, your head tilted uncomfortably to accommodate it. “Are you in the lab right now?” You ask.

Beomgyu hums, “Jungwon and Yunjin are here too, but I don’t really know why considering neither of them are doing anything to help.” He says sharply, and you can hear the subtle cries of retaliation from your two friends in the background.

You snort, rolling your eyes slightly. “Okay, well,” You sit on your couch, attempting to get comfortable and placing your plate of food in your lap. “I’m gonna eat this and then I’ll be over, okay? Try not to blow anything up before I get there.”

“No promises.” He groans, tone laced with annoyance, but you know it’s all out of love.

You get there twenty minutes later, hair thrown up and sweats hanging off your body. Very professional, you know.

When you push the metal doors open the first sight that greets you is one you’re quite familiar with. Jungwon and Yunjin fighting with each other over something stupid, and Beomgyu ignoring them like they're his children. Nothing says friendship quite like that.

Yunjin immediately shoots up when you enter, her eyes narrowed with anger. “Can you please tell him that Jay is in love with me before I kill him?”

Jungwon’s quick to follow her, knocking his shoulder with hers so that his frame blocks her from your view. “Can you please tell her she’s known him for a week?"

You roll your eyes and scoot past them, making your way over to Beomgyu. He’s diligently writing down formulas; bottom lip sucked between his teeth. He's giving off a mad scientist vibe right now. Or maybe just a stressed-out university student vibe. Both are interchangeable.

You nudge his shoulder to get his attention, but he barely even glances at you. Just continues mumbling out questions like he's expecting the universe to answer him.

“What can I help with?” You ask, throwing on your lab coat and snapping on a pair of medical gloves.

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He gestures lazily to the counter top, where a small gatorade bottle is sitting where the glass test tubes usually do. “Those two idiots broke the glass tubes I was holding the liquid in so now I have to use this janky bottle,” He mutters, throwing a glare at Yunjin and Jungwon.

Your experiment was currently sitting in a Blue Crush Gatorade bottle, floating around the bottom unsuspectingly. You snort at the sight, rolling your eyes slightly. “I think they have some extra next door,” You sigh, turning on your heel to go grab them.

But before you can even think about pushing the door open, Sunghoon reveals himself on the other side.

He’s still in his hockey uniform, helmet hanging from his hand and cheeks flushed a lively pink. You both stand there for a moment, blinking like you’re waiting for each other to make the first move. Jungwon and Yunjin even stop bickering, the both of them staring at you with wide eyes and cunning smiles.

Sunghoon clears his throat, gripping his helmet just the tiniest bit tighter. “Sorry for bothering you,” He murmurs, “I, uh, forgot something in here. Just stopping by to grab it.”

You’re silent for a moment too long, trying to string together a sentence without sounding it’s your first day on earth. It turns out, it’s a bit difficult to do that when Sunghoon is staring at you like that.

Like he’s trying just as hard as you are to not burst at the seams. 

“Can I scoot past?” he asks, tone small and light, a shy smile playing on his lips.

You swallow, managing a small nod and moving to the side weakly. His fingers brush yours when he scoots past, sending a cool shiver down your spine, one that shouldn’t feel as electric as it does.

He waves at Jungwon and Yunjin, who both give him polite smiles, but you can see the way their eyes shine at him. Like they know something he doesn’t–which they do–but still.

Yunjin hurries over to your side as soon as his back is to you, giving you the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen. She grabs your bicep with her manicured hand, squeezing it so tightly you have half the mind to think it’ll bruise.

“Oh my God,” She whispers, eyes flickering between you and Sunghoon, whose eyebrows seem to be narrowed in confusion as he looks for whatever it is he left. “Did you see the way he looked at you?”

You immediately flush, smacking her lightly on the shoulder. “Shut up.” You grumble.

“I’m being serious!” She defends, wiggling her eyebrows. “Even I got butterflies.”

You run a hand over your face, head shaking slightly. “Yunjin, seriously, stop talking.”

She laughs, but you can’t find it in yourself to laugh with her. Even if Sunghoon was looking at you a certain way, it didn’t mean anything. Not when Sophia was still around.

Sophia was the complete opposite of Sunghoon. A rude party girl who assumed the world revolved around her and her perfectly blown-out hair. And somehow, someway, she’d gotten the dark-haired man wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger.

Their relationship was constantly off and on, mostly because Sophia could never seem to make up her mind on what man she was interested in that week. And Sunghoon, poor, beautiful Sunghoon, always went back to her. Sometimes you wondered if she had some kind of blackmail on him. Or maybe he was just a secret masochist. Both answers were equally concerning.

They seemed to be on one of their breaks right now, but everyone knows it's only a matter of time before she's showing up at his games again. You hate that the thought of it fills your chest with green smoke.

You turn around on your heel to continue your walk to the classroom next door, but the sound of Beomgyu shrieking stops you.

You whip around, half expecting something to have exploded, but instead the sight you’re met with is worlds more alarming. 

Sunghoon, the campus golden boy and secret love of your life, is drinking your experiment. Literally. Lid to mouth, chugging it like it's water.

Beomgyu rips it from him, but it’s too late. Almost all of the liquid, aside from a few measly drops in the bottom, is gone.

The four of you freeze, watching Sunghoon like he’s grown three heads. But the boy in question just blinks at you with confusion. His tongue flicks out to lick a drop off his bottom lip, eyes flickering between the three of you. “What?

Beomgyu takes a cautious step towards him, arm held out like he’s worried Sunghoon might go rabid and lunge at him. “Do you feel anything…strange?”

Sunghoon swallows awkwardly, lips curving into a concerned smile. “Um,” he murmurs, letting out a nervous laugh. “Should I?”

You share a glance with Jungwon, who just shrugs his shoulders. The four of you are in different stages of shock, because why would somebody drink a mysterious liquid in a lab? What is the thought process behind that?

Yunjin looks like she's holding back a laugh, which isn't that shocking since she always laughs at the most inappropriate times. Meanwhile Jungwon looks nearly amused, like he'd known this would happen, and Beomgyu just looks pissed.

“Sunghoon,” Jungwon murmurs, circling the ravenette like he’s studying him, a hand on his chin. “Why did you drink out of that bottle?”

Sunghoon watches him, head twisting around his shoulder every time Jungwon makes his way out of his line of sight. “Because it’s mine? I left it here last night.” He answers casually.

Your eyes snap to Beomgyu, watching as his eyes trail down to the bottle in his hand. 

“You guys alright?” Sunghoon asks, tone laced with suspicion. Not that you can really blame him.

Yunjin’s the first to answer, a honey-sweet smile on her face. “Oh, yeah, we’re good! Just…deadlines. You know how people get.” 

Sunghoon nods, eyebrows knit together. “Right,” He mumbles, pursing his lips slightly. His eyes flicker between all of you once more, like if he stares at you long enough one of you might break. 

When his eyes land on you, he pauses. It’s just a moment, something you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t paying attention, but something you aren’t quite sure how to place flashes in his gaze. Something far too real and confusing.

“I should, uh,” He swallows, gesturing lazily towards the door. “I should go.”

You nod, lips parted slightly as he slips past you. 

Beomgyu clearly wants to stop him and ask more questions, maybe try and keep him for observation, but you shoot him a look that tells him to let it go. Your experiment being gone sucks, yes, but if he seems fine then there isn’t any reason to scare him. And if he isn’t fine later then you can deal with it then.

Sunghoon glances back at you before he leaves, lips parting like he wants to say something more, but he decides against it. Instead, he pushes the door open and steps back outside, leaving the four of you to try and come to terms with what happened.

Theres a pregnant pause, mostly because you think nobody really knows how to approach the situation. How do you move on with your day after your personal campus celebrity drank your fucking experiment? It's seriously a valid question.

Yunjin clears her throat, arms crossing over her chest. “So... does this mean I can’t use it on Joshua?" She asks, expression completley serious.

Beomgyu lets out a large sigh, fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose like it might ground him. “Yunjin,” He murmurs, “Shut up.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "It was a genuine question."

Your lips tighten, hand reaching out to give her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "You weren't going to be able to use it on him anyway."

"You don't know that!"

You can’t help but feel on edge when you walk into your Chemistry lecture the next day, hands gripping your computer tighter than necessary.

Would Sunghoon be here? Would he be okay? Did he die sometime in the night and the campus just wasn’t aware? What if the police were waiting for you so they could question you?

What would you even say? Well, you see officer, he kind of drank my experiment. So sorry it killed him! Yeah, no. That wasn’t gonna work.

To your relief, there aren’t any police officers waiting for you in the lecture hall, and Sunghoon seems to be perfectly fine.

Except, he’s sitting in Yunjin’s usual seat right next to yours.

You immediately pause, heart dropping to your stomach. This has never happened, ever, and you already know it must mean bad news.

He’s writing something in his notebook casually, hair curling over his forehead in a way that makes him look hand-sculpted by the Gods themselves. Your mouth goes dry, eyes flickering across the room until they land on a sly looking Yunjin. She curls her fingers at you in a sultry wave, like she knows exactly what she’s done–which you’re sure she does.

And, conveniently, every other seat in the room is full. Which means you have no other choice than to sit by Sunghoon.

Which is perfectly fine. Yep. It’s fine.

You force yourself to make your way to your seat, feet dragging the entire way, head hanging so that your hair covers your face. Is it a little pathetic? Yeah, definitely. But you’re way past caring.

You try to sit down as incredulously as possible, making sure your body is conveniently facing away from him. And for the first few minutes it works! Sunghoon doesn’t glance at you when you open your computer and pull up the assignment, doesn’t even blink when you sneeze right next to his ear.

And when you think you’re finally in the safe–finally feel like you can let yourself relax–it happens.

Sunghoon turns to you, his cheeks flushed a strange shade of pink, eyes strangely bright and pupils blown, and says in a scarily serious tone, “How are you, beautiful?”

You don’t even register it at first. It feels so absurd, so out of reach that he could even be thinking about saying that to you, that you completely ignore him. You assume he must be on the phone with Sophia, because there is absolutely no way Park Sunghoon just called you beautiful. It just wasn’t possible.

But then his foot finds yours under the table, and he starts trying to play fucking footsie with you. You freeze momentarily, brain trying it’s very hardest to catch up with whatever the hell it is that’s going on right now.

You swallow, finally forcing yourself to look at him. For a moment you really wish you hadn’t, because he’s got this cheeky smile going on, like he’s content just being in your presence.

You clear your throat, looking around once more for confirmation that he isn’t talking to anyone else. Your pointer finger comes up to point at yourself hesitantly, voice coming out in a small whisper when you say, “Are you talking to me?”

His foot stops nudging against yours now that you’ve finally answered him, and his smile widens. “Who else would I be calling beautiful?”

You nearly choke on your own spit, hand flying up to your mouth as you fall into a coughing fit. Sunghoons hand comes up to rub soothingly on your back like he’s done it a million times.

“What are you talking about?” You manage between coughs, eyes wide like you’ve just seen a bomb go off. 

Well, this certainly feels like one has.

Your mind can't even make sense of what he's saying. It almost feels like he's speaking another language and you're using google translate to try and communicate with him.

Sunghoon laughs, head shaking as his hand travels up to ruffle your hair. “You’re so funny sometimes, really. Did you know that? Honestly, I’ve always thought you were the funniest girl I’d ever met. And the prettiest.” His eyelashes flutter, leaning his cheek onto his hand like he’s got some type of school-girl crush. “I want the whole world to know just how perfect you are.”

You’re too shocked to even respond, lips opening and closing while you rack your brain for anything to say. This is so out of character for Sunghoon. Not just because his admiration is aimed at you, but because you’ve gone to university with him long enough to know he doesn’t act like this.

And then it hits you.

The fucking experiment.

You are so screwed.

You clear your throat, glancing around warily. Your professor started lecturing a few minutes ago, but you were so busy with Sunghoon you had no idea what it was he was even talking about.

You suck in a shaky breath, “Okay, listen, I know you’re probably confused right now." You attempt, voice quiet as to not draw any attention to what’s going on. “But you drank something you shouldn’t have yesterday, which isn’t your fault! Me and Beomgyu just have to figure out how to reverse its effects! Unless, of course, it wears off by itself. That would definitely be ideal.” You mumble the last part, bottom lip finding its way between your teeth just like it always does when you’re thinking too hard.

Sunghoon watches you with a dopey smile on his face, clearly not caring about anything that you’re saying. The sight makes your heart stutter, which you know shouldn’t happen. Personal feelings about Sunghoon aside, he doesn’t actually feel anything for you. He just thinks he does.

“You’re so cute when you’re focused.” He murmurs, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath catches when the tips of his fingers brush against your cheek, the touch soft and intentional. He's gazing at you with so much love, so much genuine feeling, it breaks your heart the tiniest bit.

And you wonder for the briefest moment what would happen if you let yourself indulge in this. Even if just for a day. Would it be so bad?

He pulls away from you slowly, the tips of his ears pink and his lips curled into a shy smile. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs again.

You sigh, letting your head fall into your hands. “Sunghoon–”

He stands from his seat abruptly, his chair scratching against the floor obnoxiously. You wince, head whipping up to figure out what the hell it is he’s doing.

“Everyone!” He announces, voice booming through the lecture hall. You immediately scramble to stop him, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt to try and pull him back down. He just ignores you, instead choosing to continue to address the whole class like he’s giving some big speech.

“I’m in love–!”

Yeah, no.

You practically wrestle him into his chair, pulling on his arm so hard he nearly collapses into your lap. You push him into his chair, a shaky smile on your face.

The class stares at you with unamused frowns, all clearly annoyed at having the lecture interrupted by Sunghoons near-declaration.

You clear your throat, hands waving in front of you. “He’s just not feeling well,” You attempt nervously, a humorless laugh bubbling out of your lips like it might save you from embarrassment. It doesn’t.

Your professor fixes you with a stern look, one that you’d never been on the receiving end of until this moment. Now, you’re starting to understand why people say she’s so icy.

You murmur out apologies to the room, hoping to ease at least some ofthe growing tension between you and your peers. Yunjins looking at you with genuine shock, her hand covering her mouth like she’s hoping to spare you any kind of embarrassment. It doesn’t work.

You turn your attention back to Sunghoon, who’s giggling in his chair like he’d just witnessed the funniest thing ever.

“What is wrong with you?” You hiss, beginning to pack your stuff as well as his. You’d thought you’d wait until class was over to go find Beomgyu, but after that stunt you’re starting to think your social life might go down if you don’t figureout how to fix this ASAP.

Sunghoon shrugs, fingertips tapping against his thigh. “Is it a crime to tell people about the girl I love?”

You tense for a moment, but don’t stop gathering the rest of your things. “You don’t love me.” You manage out, voice cracking slightly. “You’re just confused.”

Sunghoon grabs your wrist and stops you from closing his notebook, his thumb hovering over your pulse point. “I’m not confused.” He insists, and, God, for a second you almost believe him. It’d definitely be easier to.

But you know he doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s confusing his emotions for you with something else—something that isn’t there.

Something that will never be there.

You pull your wrist out of his grip, a sad smile on your face. “C’mon,” You manage, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “Let's go talk to Beomgyu.”

The walk to Beomgyu’s apartment is filled with endless yapping from Sunghoon and mostly silence from you. You aren’t sure how you should reply to his advances considering he doesn’t actually know what he’s saying. You keep telling yourself to imagine he’s on some weird drug that makes him more open than normal. And ten times more flirty.

Beomgyus apartment is just on the cusp of campus, close enough that it wasn’t a long walk, but far enough to get some sense of individualism. You’d been there a thousand times, whether it was for a casual hangout or to catch up on homework, but never in a million years did you imagine you’d be knocking on the door with Park Sunghoon staring at you like you’d hung the moon and the stars.

“Stop,” You mumble, fist rapping onto the door again. You know Beomgyu’s home right now.

Sunghoon raises a brow, arms crossed as he leans against the wall next to you. “Stop what?” He asks, maintaining his false facade of innocence.

You shoot him a glare, hands gesturing at him wildly. “Stop looking at me like that!”

He just hums, like he’s amused at your reaction. And you know none of this is technically his fault–well, it is but it isn’t–but there’s a growing annoyance in your chest that you can’t seem to get rid of. If you were going to be subjected to another public embarrassment like what he’d pulled in your lecture you think you’ll die.

You huff, fist tapping against the door again. “I know you’re in there, Beomgyu! Stop trying to pretend you aren’t there so I’ll leave!”

There’s a momentary silence, and then the door clicks open and an unamused Beomgyu stares at you from the other side. He’s wearing a white stained shirt, hair sticking up in numerous places. 

He’s a sight for sore eyes, honestly.

“What?” He sighs, staring at you like you’ve interrupted his very busy schedule.

You point over at Sunghoon with your thumb, “We’ve got a massive issue.”

Beomgyu’s eyes trail towards where you’re pointing lazily, like you’re somehow inconveniencing him. He looks Sunghoon up and down, lips twisting into a frown. “I don’t see the problem.” He mumbles.

You sigh, running a hand over your face and letting it slap back down to your thigh. “It worked.” 

Beomgyu raises a brow. “What worked?”

You groan, “The experiment worked.” You hiss, nodding towards Sunghoon slightly. “And now he’s convinced he’s in love with me.”

Beomgyu blinks, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he processes what you said. He’s been your closest friend for long enough to know that under different circumstances, Sunghoon confessing his love to you would’ve had you over the moon. He knows you would’ve had a much different reaction to the one you’re giving now, at least.

He licks his lips, glancing around the hallway like he’s expecting someone to jump out at you, and then ushers the both of you into your apartment. Sunghoon tries to grab your hand when you go inside, but you pull away and shoot him a sharp glare. He just smiles back, like your annoyance is the most amusing thing in the world to him.

Beomgyu gestures to the couch, mumbling out a hasty sit before disappearing into his room. You sigh when you plop down onto it, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursued. 

You know it’s not Sunghoons fault. This whole thing was a complete accident. But…some part of you couldn’t help but feel like this entire thing was only going to end one way–with you getting hurt. Sunghoon doesn’t love you like he seems to think. The issue is, you aren’t sure just how long you’ll be able to resist him before you finally start believing him.

That’s why you need to figure out how to reverse this before it gets to that point.

And what about the effects it must be having on Sunghoon? Sure, you were taking emotional hits, but what if you had accidentally seriously messed him up mentally or physically? What if he never recovered and then you’d have to live with the fact that you’d indirectly messed him up for life?

Sunghoon sits down next to you wordlessly, hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes trail over the living room, eyes pausing on a framed picture of you and Beomgyu from highschool. In it, the both of you are laughing at something on the other side of the camera, your hands clenching your stomachs and wide smiles on your faces. You don’t remember what exactly had been so funny at the time, but your heart still melts all the same every time you look at it.

Sunghoon hums, nodding towards the picture. “You look happy.”

Even though you don’t mean to, and there's definitely no reason to do so right now, you crack a small smile. “Yeah,” You mumble, “That was a good day.”

The space between you isn’t uncomfortable, it never really has been despite everything, but it’s tense. Like there’s some sort of gravitational force pushing you towards him, and the harder you resist, the more it wants to persist. 

Sunghoon must feel it to, because his tongue darts out to wet his lips, his adams apple bobbing slightly. For the first time since this entire fiasco started, he looks almost unsure, like there’s something he wants to do or say, but he can’t.

You frown, hand instinctively coming up to rest on his bicep, “Sunghoon,” You murmur, eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Are you alright–”

“Okay, here's the plan,” Beomgyu interrupts, finally emerging from his room. He looks much more put together now and not like he’d just rolled out of bed. He points to himself, “I’m going to figure out how to fix…” He gestures to Sunghoon warily, “This as soon as possible. You,” He points to you next, “Are going to watch him while I do.”

Immediately, alarms go off in your head. You can’t watch over Sunghoon. You just can’t.

You sit up straighter, arms crossing in an X over your chest. “I can’t,” You blurt, heat rising to your cheeks. You slowly lean back again, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I have…plans.”

It’s a lame excuse, you know. And you know neither of them believe you. (Honestly, does Sunghoon even understand what’s going on?)

Beomgyu rolls his eyes, “Okay, first off, no you don’t. And if this is like, a one in a million time in which you actually do have something going on, cancel it.” He lowers his voice slightly, hand covering his mouth so Sunghoon can’t see what he’s saying. “He can’t be alone right now, and I’m guessing you’re the only person he’ll willingly go with. So, either take him or deal with the repercussions.”

You hate that he’s right. 

Maybe, if you had any energy left in you you’d fight with him on it. Or maybe you’d just deal with the consequences of sending Sunghoon out there on his own. But one glance at the man in question, and you immediately cave.

He’s gazing at you with hopeful eyes, his head tilted slightly to the side, like he’s hanging onto every word you say. It really shouldn’t tug at your heart strings like it does. It shouldn’t make you want to say yes until the word doesn’t sound like a word anymore.

You sigh, forcing your gaze to the ground. “Fine,” You huff, “I’ll watch him. Whatever that means.”

Beomgyu grins, glancing between you and Sunghoon cheekily, like he knows something you don’t. “Great,” He rolls his neck, letting it pop once. “Now get out so I can get to work.”

Campus is never busy on Mondays. You think it’s because most people don’t like the idea of morning classes on the first day of the week, which you can’t really blame them for. But that also means that it’s just you and Sunghoon on the street, and while it feels completely awkward for you—he looks like he just won a million bucks.

He’s smiling, as if the harsh winds blowing across your faces is anything to smile about. As if anything about this situation is something to smile about. 

And you know you shouldn’t be upset. Anyone in your situation right now would probably be ecstatic. The man you’ve been secretly in love with for the past three years is finally returning your feelings, even if they aren’t completely genuine.

But that’s the issue, isn’t it? He doesn’t really feel this way towards you, he just thinks he does. And it would be so easy to let yourself indulge in it–to let yourself forget that none of this is actually real.

But you can’t. You know you can’t.

Sunghoons arm brushes against yours, a complete accident, but you still flinch and pull away like he’s burned you.

He glances at you, eyebrows furrowing. His breaths coming out in uneven puffs of white fog. “Everything okay?”

You clear your throat, trying to act like the shiver that goes down your spine is from the frosted air and not because his smooth voice makes your body flush with heat. “I’m fine,” You murmur, “Just…hungry. Tired.”

He hums, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “You know,” He drawls, trying to keep up a nonchalant front. “We could go eat. Together. Just me and you.”

You blink, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. Is he asking you on a date right now? If the past two hours hadn't happened, you probably would've been more surprised.

You sigh, shaking your head slightly, “I’m not going on a date with you Sunghoon.” The words nearly don't make it out of your throat, feeling more artificial and practiced than anything else. If you would've told yourself a week ago you'd be rejecting Sunghoon, you probably would've slapped yourself for even thinking about it.

He shrugs, eyes glinting with mischief. “Who said anything about a date?” He asks, looking at you like you've just uggested the craziest thing he's ever heard. “We're just two friends eating lunch together, right? Even if I am irrevocably in love with you.”

He throws the word love out like he's saying hello, not like he's pulling at the strings of your heart every time it leaves his lips. It almost sounds fucking natural, like he'd been saying it to you for years, which makes it even worse.

You pause in the street, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Okay, I get that your brain isn’t in the right place right now, but stop saying things like that.”

His head tilts slightly to the side, eyebrows raising in amusement. “Why?” He asks, tone innocent, but you know better. You know he’s finding this funny. It’s frustrating and annoying and your heart fucking stutters every time he looks at you like he knows exactly what makes you tick.

You stumble over your words, hands gesturing wildly in front of you. “Because It’s annoying! And weird! How would Sophia feel if she knew you were saying all of this?”

The air goes still at the mention of Sophia, like the thought of her is enough to push away the sun. Sunghoons expression hardens, his jaw tightening for a moment before he releases it. It’s almost like the sound of her name has sucked all of the joy out of him. “Why would I care what she thinks?” He mutters.

You blank, unsure of how to respond to that. You know the two have always had a more than toxic relationship, but you’ve never seen him have so much distaste towards her before. You’ve never seen him have so much distaste towards anyone before.

“I don't know, maybe because she’s your girlfriend?” You attempt.

His eyes harden as he looks away from you, like he doesn't want to point his annoyance towards you. “She’s not my girlfriend.” He mumbles.

Your neck cranes up so you can look at him, arms crossing over your chest in a silent defense. “Besides,” He continues, taking a small step closer. “Why would I care about her when you’re right in front of me?”

You feel that familiar heat rush up your neck, the one you know you have no right to feel. And it’s strange how something good on the surface can cut you so deeply. How something you hoped to hear from him for years can suddenly feel like the biggest insult.

But, you are hungry–you weren’t lying about that, and Beomgyu has already assigned you to practically be his babysitter anyway, so might as well get something out of it, right?

You let out a breath, kissing your teeth as you do. This is a very bad idea, and you know it. “We can go to lunch as friends, but that’s it, okay? And no more flirting.”

His lips curl into a grin, eyes flashing like he’s just won a prize. “Perfect, because I already made a reservation for us off campus.”

Of course he did. 

You open your mouth to argue, or really say anything, but his hand makes its way onto your lower back so he can lead you away and you suddenly forget how to speak. Because, yes, you’re still a strong woman who would rather die than ever be rendered speechless by a man–but Park Sunghoon is an exception. One that you know you shouldn’t indulge, but doesn’t it feel oh, so good when you do?

That’s how you find yourself thirty minutes later in the nicest restaurant in a fifteen mile radius, wearing jeans and an old ratty t-shirt. You cross your legs, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in your stomach at being so underdressed.

Sunghoon doesn’t look the least bothered by it though, reading over the menu with sharp eyes and a slight furrow to his brows. He asks you your opinion occasionally, mumbles about calories and his protein intake. All things you’d never really felt the need to look at yourself before. Maybe hockey people have to worry about that stuff? You’d always assumed it was just wrestlers and weightlifters.

“Do you like Alfredo sauce or marinara? I like both, but I want you to be able to pick off my plate.” He mutters, saying it so casually. Like ordering his own food based on what you like is just common sense. If any of this was real, he would make the perfect boyfriend.

It makes you wonder again how Sophia could just let him go so easily.

Your eyes flicker up from your own menu, heart stuttering in your chest. “Just get whatever you want,” You sigh, “You don’t need to ask me.”

He’s silent for a moment, the gears in his head turning. He slowly sets his menu down, and then plucks your own from your fingers.

Your eyebrows furrow as you go to reach for it, “Sunghoon—“

“Why are you so set on rejecting me?” He asks, keeping his eyes on yours. The eye-contact nearly makes your throat close up from how intense it is. “I know you think none of this is real or whatever—“

"Because it isn’t.” You interrupt. You wish you understood how this experiment worked, because then maybe you'd know how to get it through his thick skull that none of this was real. You run a hand through your hair before continuing, “You drank an experiment, Sunghoon. Everything you’re feeling—everything you think you’re feeling—it isn’t real.” Your voice cracks slightly, like it’s a manifestation of your own hurt. 

Sunghoon, for the first time since this entire thing started, goes silent. His jaw ticks, breathing going slightly uneven. The air crackles between you, tension that neither of you really want to admit is there.

And then, without even so much as a stutter, he says, “I’ll prove it then.”

You falter, lips parting as a laugh bubbles out of your throat. You don’t mean to laugh, really, you don’t, but Sunghoon's insistence is almost admirable. And, unfortunately for you, his stubbornness only makes you fall for him the tiniest bit more.

“Why are you so set on this?” You ask, mimicking his question from earlier. 

He shrugs, leaning forward and placing his chin in his hand. “Does it matter?”

Yes, it does matter. But you know there’s no way you’re going to get an actual answer from him, so you won’t push anymore. So, instead you just shrug, fingers tapping against the table. “I guess not.”

Sunghoon grins, his tongue poking against his cheek slightly. “Atta girl.”

You should drag him out of the restaurant and back to Beomgyu’s apartment after that. Should refuse to even speak to him until Beomgyu figures out how to reverse this whole thing. Should protect your heart from the hurt that you know is coming.

But you don’t do any of that. Instead, you laugh along to his jokes. You don’t protest when he pays for your food. You let him walk you home like he’s your boyfriend and try to ignore the deep ache beginning to bloom in your chest every time he looks at you like he loves you.

And when you lay in bed that night, sheets tucked to your chin and green glowing stars shining on your ceiling, you let yourself believe that all of it was real. That all of it meant something.

Even if that was only true for one of you.

You aren’t sure what you’re expecting the next morning, but it certainly isn’t sunghoon at your door with a jersey in one hand and hockey stick in the other.

You blink at him, still in your pajamas with leftover mascara flakes covering your cheeks. You’re sure you look the picture of attractiveness right now. You sigh, rubbing your eyes with your knuckles. “What are you doing here?”

Sunghoon holds the jersey out to you, and it’s then that you realize it’s his. Or, at least, one with his number and name on it. “This is for tonight.” He says casually, like you’re supposed to know what that means.

Your eyebrows furrow as you cautiously take it from him, inspecting it like it was a bomb and not a piece of fabric. “Uh,” You chuckle humorlessly, “What’s tonight?”

The jersey is your size, but the only other people you can think of who wear these are family members, die-hard fans, and…girlfriends. 

But there’s no way that’s why he’s giving this to you. Besides, you’d seen Sophia wear the same exact thing enough times to know what wearing it would mean--to know what it would make you, as well as everyone else on the campus, aware of. 

That you were Sunghoons.

That is not happening.

He leans against your doorframe, arms crossed against his chest. His hockey stick pokes out from under his armpit awkwardly, and the sight nearly makes you crack a smile.

“For the game,” He says, “You’re coming.”

You immediately shake your head and attempt to shove the jersey back into his arms. “Yeah, no, I’m not going to that. Thanks for the offer though.”

You turn on your heel after forcing him to take back the shirt, and while you know you should tell him to leave, you let him follow you into your apartment.

He trails behind you like a lost puppy, a slight pout twisted onto his features. “You have to go,” He insists, “You’re my girlfriend–”

You whip around and glare at him, “I am not your girlfriend.”

His lips curl up into a shy smile, a hand coming up to brace the back of his neck. “That’s a technicality.”

You give him a look before finally turning back around and continuing your walk to your bathroom. He tries to follow you in, but you quickly shut the door in his face. You half expect that to finally be the hint he needs, but of course it isn't. Instead, he just keeps talking to you through the door. “Okay, fine, you’re not my girlfriend.” He sighs, voice slightly muffled. You just roll your eyes and throw your hair up, grabbing your toothbrush from its place in the barbie cup on your sink.

“But you said I could prove to you how serious I was,” He continues. You can hear his body slide down to the floor, and you assume he’s sitting with his back against the door. He’s silent for a moment, before mumbling out so quietly you nearly don’t hear him, “Let me do what I said I would. Please.”

You are a weak, weak woman. You’ve always known this. When it comes to school and things of that nature you’d always known you excelled. But, people? That was something that was way out of your league.

Your mom used to call you a people-pleaser. Said it’d end up in you getting hurt if you didn’t learn how to step away from things before they got out of hand. And you thought you had.

But maybe you hadn’t.

You sigh, finishing up brushing your teeth and washing your face. By the time you're finished the ends of your hair and the sleeves of your shirt are soaked, but you don’t care. He wouldn’t care what you looked like right now anyway. His brain is all jumbled up and you doubt you looking like a hot mess is the thing that'll fix it.

You open the door cautiously, and just as you’d expected he’s sat on the other side with his knees tucked into his chest. He looks so small here, so boyish. Not like the Park Sunghoon you’d seen from the spotlight, not like the school's star player and pride and joy. From here, he looks like a boy trying to find himself in a world too big for him.

You tug your bottom lip into your teeth, eyes choosing to look everywhere but at him. “I’ll go,” You finally mumble, voice smaller than you wanted it to be. “But I’m not wearing the jersey.”

He smiles, shoulders sagging in relief. He tilts his head up so he can see you. “Jersey?” He smirks, crumbling up the fabric and shoving it behind his back. “What jersey?”

You grin despite yourself and nudge your foot into his lower back. “Whatever. Go home so I can get ready.”

He stands, knees popping as he does. He grabs his hockey stick from where it leans against your wall, fingers wrapping around it and giving it a firm squeeze. “Six pm, alright? I’ll get you and your friends a spot up front.”

You shake your head, “You don’t have to do that–”

He grins, and before you can even think about swerving him, leans in and places a gentle kiss at the crown of your head. You freeze, body flushing and eyes going wide.

His lips are softer than you thought they’d be, coated with a scentless chapstick that you’d seen him carry around with him for years. He pauses for a moment, his spare hand lingering at your waist. He never touches you directly, doesn’t even attempt to. But you can still feel the slight heat emitting from his hand, and it almost feels more intimate than if he'd just taken that final leap.

He swallows, taking a step away from you. There’s a slight pink blush dusting his cheeks, like he’s shocked by his own actions, but he’s quick to clear his throat and pretend like there was nothing out of the ordinary about what he’d just done. Like the entire thing was a regular occasion for the both of you.

“I’ll see you there, okay?” He mutters, raising a brow. Like he needs more reassurance that you’ll stick to your word and show up.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips for a moment, eyes searching for any indication that maybe he understands what he did. That maybe the experiment's effects are starting to wear off. But when you look at him, you see the same exact thing you’ve been seeing since yesterday morning.

Pure, unbridled, love.

You suck in a breath, nodding your head slightly. “Yeah,” You manage, though your voice comes out low and breathless. “I’ll be there.”

He smiles, mumbles out a soft goodbye, and then leaves you in the middle of your hallway, body flushed and mind jumbled.

Yunjin, to your dismay, comes over as soon as you ask her too.

She looks ecstatic. You’d called her last night and explained the entire situation, but she, of course, couldn’t see how it was a very bad thing.

“Why are you so upset?” She’d asked over the phone. You didn’t have to see her face to know she was practically beaming. “The guy you’ve been secreltey obsessing over like some kind of stalker is in love with you! That sounds like a complete win to me!”

You’d winced, bottom lip tugged between your teeth. “Yeah, It sounds great! But he doesn’t…” You swallowed uncomfortably, “He doesn’t actually feel that way for me. He just thinks he does.”

You heard her take a drink of something before she sighed out, “How do you know that?”

You went silent, unsure of how to answer. What did she mean how did you know? It was obvious. Sunghoon accidentally drinks a love potion and now thinks he’s in love with you. That’s what had happened.

You tucked your legs under you and adjusted your phone against your ear. “I think that’s obvious, Yunjin.” You murmured.

She hummed, “I don’t know, [Y/N].” She said, tone strangely teasing. “Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

So, when you’d called her and asked her to help you get ready for tonight’s match, she was ecstatic. And you appreciated her support, of course, but you weren’t sure she really understood what was happening here.

You and Sunghoon are nothing. When all of this was over, you’d go back to being two strangers who sometimes smiled awkwardly at each other out of obligation. And you needed to be able to be okay with that. You had to be.

“Okay, I think you should wear something super sexy so that Sunghoon’s knocked on his ass.” Yunjin quips, scouring through your closet and inspecting everything you own like it owes her something.

You sigh from where you lay on your bed, staring up at the stars on your ceiling like maybe they’ll save you. “We’re going to his game, Yun. I don’t want him to fall on his ass.” You chuckle, throwing up air quotes around the end of your sentence.

Yunjin rolls her eyes and throws another pair of jeans onto your desk chair. “I don’t mean literally. I just mean maybe it wouldn’t hurt to wear something different."

You sit up, bracing yourself against your elbows. “What's wrong with my usual clothes?” You ask, eyebrows raising teasingly.

Yunjin pauses, cautiously turning around so you’re face to face. “There’s nothing wrong with it," She attempts, lips twisting thoughtfully as she tries to come up with the softest way to say it. “But I don’t think a pair of sweatpants and some random shirt you got in middle school is quite the look we’re going for.”

You scoff, flopping back down onto your bed and pushing the palm of your hands into your eyes until white dots fill your vision. You don’t think there’s anything wrong with what you usually wear, even if it isn’t the nicest clothes ever.

But you can’t lie and say there isn’t a part of you that wonders how Sunghoon would react. Would he even care? If he did, would it even be real?

“I think that you’re blowing this way out of proportion.” You mutter, letting your arms wrap around yourself.

Yunjin snorts and tosses a shirt at you. You cautiously inspect the fabric–a blue long sleeved top with a deep neckline that you’d bought to make your ex-boyfriend jealous and then never wore. You scrunch your nose slightly at it and then toss it back at her. 

“There’s no way I’m wearing that.” You snort.

Yunjin nods, grabbing a pair of dark jeans from your closet. “That’s what you think.”

The hockey arena, to no one's surprise, is full to the brim with die hard fans and half-way drunk college students. You, personally, have never been to a game before. Mostly because you know what they consist of, and you’d rather skip watching men fight over a puck on ice when you could be doing much more important things. Like rewatching New Girl.

But, alas, you, Yunjin, and Jungwon all find your seats right at the barricade. Beomgyu had chosen to skip so that he could keep working on some kind of fix for your current situation, but you had half the mind to believe it was because he simply didn’t want to come.

Jungwon takes a sip of his fountain drink, letting the red straw rest on his lip. “So, you’re telling me that Sunghoon drank the experiment, thinks he’s in love with you, and invited you here because he wants to prove to you that it’s real?”

You nod, shrugging your jacket off and laying it across the back of your seat. The players are warming up in front of you, their skates scratching against the ice as they yell instructions at each other. You can see Sunghoon talking to another boy with a serious expression, his hands moving admittedly as he does. You can tell he’s being stern with him, but the boy doesn’t look upset or scared in the least. If anything, he’s taking his lecture with pride–like getting told off by Park Sunghoon is a privilege.

And you think that goes into show just the kind of person that he is. He's kind, and funny, and defientley doesn't deserve what you're putting him through.

"Um," You sniff, adjusting yourself in your seat. “That’s pretty much it, yeah.”

Jungwon hums, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “Is it weird that that isn’t the strangest thing that’s happened to us?” He asks.

You furrow your brows, “What could possibly be weirder then that?”

“Remember freshman year?” Yunjin chimes in, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “There was that full two weeks where Beomgyu was stained pink.”

“Oh,” You draw out, chuckling at the memory. “I do remember that.”

You giggle at the memory. Beomgyu had had a rouge experiment blow up in his face--literally--and spent two weeks looking like he'd just stepped out of the Barbie movie.

Jungwon shrugs, “I would argue that seeing Beomgyu walk around campus like a real-life monster high doll was definitely weirder than this.”

You don’t respond, instead turning your attention back towards Sunghoon. He still hasn’t noticed you–which you’re mostly grateful for, but it also makes you anxious for when he does.

While you’ve never been to one of the matches in person, you have seen them online. You know that they can get heated and violent. You’ve seen Sunghoon walk into class with the occasional black eye or scabbed over knuckles.

It makes worry build in your stomach, thick and strong and nearly overwhelming. And you know you shouldn’t care. Sunghoon isn’t your boyfriend, even if he seems to think he is. But, still, the thought of him getting hurt makes you want to throw up.

You lean back in your chair, leg bouncing anxiously, and then you see it. It’s a subtle movement from the corner of your eye, but you catch it nonetheless.

Two seats down from you, Sophia sits down with her friends, all of them looking like they just stepped out of fucking vogue. And Sophia, with her perfectly blown-out hair and sickly sweet smile, is wearing Sunghoons jersey.

Your heart drops, stomach becoming an endless pit as you stare at her. You’d assumed they broke up, but what if they hadn’t? That was the only explanation you could think of for why she was here wearing that. What if you had accidentally ruined her relationship with Sunghoon?

Not to say that their relationship wasn’t already on the brink of disaster, but still.

You nudge Jungwon with your elbow, forcing your gaze onto the rink. The other team has come onto the ice now, and you can see Sunghoon's jaw tick. But he isn’t watching the other team, no, he’s searching the stands.

Searching them for you.

You suddenly feel a wave of guilt at what you’ve done, even if it was an accident. You’ve inadvertently forced yourself into the middle of a relationship that was never any of your business. Does this make you a homewrecker?

“Jungwon,” You mumble, “Tell Yunjin we’re leaving.”

“What?” He asks, eyebrows knitting together. “The game hasn’t even started.”

You sink into your seat as you watch Sunghoons gaze get closer and closer to you. “Sophia’s here.” You say through your teeth, “And she’s wearing his jersey.”

Jungwons gaze shifts past you, lips parting when he spots her. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” You murmur, “Oh.”

Jungwon turns and tells Yunjin, and you watch as her head pops out from behind him, her lips pulled into a frown. “Oh, this is so fucked.”

You cover your face with your hands and groan, “I’m a homewrecker!”

“Okay, no,” Yunjin scoffs, still eyeing Sophia like maybe if she stares at her long enough she’ll disappear, “This is all just a really small misunderstanding.”

You groan again, dropping your hands to your lap and looking back onto the rink. Sunghoon finally spots you then, a smile curling onto his lips as he skates over. Your stomach churns, letting yourself steal a glance to Sophia, who is also smiling at Sunghoon. 

You sink further into your seat.

“Y/N!” He calls once he approaches, placing a hand in the glass separating you. You can practically feel Sophia’s gaze burning into your skull, and for once, you can’t even be mad that you’re on the other side of her icy glare.

“Um,” You manage, clearing your throat and cocking your head as subtly as possible towards Sophia. “Sunghoon, you should probably go say hi to your girlfriend before you say hi to me.”

You can feel Jungwon and Yunjin holding their breaths, like they’re scared any sudden movement will set off some kind of bomb. But Sunghoon either doesn't notice the tension, or he’s actively choosing to ignore it.

He cocks his head to the side, smile faltering a bit. “What are you talking about—”

“Hoonie!”

There’s something very distinct about Sophia’s voice—just the right amount of feminine to be cutsey, but still bordering on the edge of nails on a chalkboard. Normally, the sound of it would make you roll your eyes and resist the urge to pull your hair out, but now it just makes you feel sick with guilt.

Sunghoons expression immediately shifts, his smile curling downwards, eyes narrowing slightly. When he spots Sophia, he almost looks bored. Like the sight of her is nothing special.

She climbs over the people next to you, a mom and her toddler, both of whom she doesn’t apologize to when she steps on the tips of their shoes.

“Hoon,” She sighs, adjusting her skirt. “I missed you.”

She doesn’t even spare you a glance, which you’re partially thankful for. But, you also can’t help but wonder if it’s because she doesn’t even see you as a threat.

Which, you’re not—but still. It’d at least be nice to be considered one.

Sunghoons jaw ripples, gaze icy and nearly angry. “What’re you doing here Sophia?” He asks. His gaze falls downwards, onto the blue jersey she wears proudly across her chest, and scoffs. “And why are you wearing that?”

Sophia doesn’t even flinch at his tone, if anything she seems to revel in it. “Why wouldn’t I be here, silly?” She giggles, “I’m supporting my boyfriend!”

Jungwon glances over at you, but your eyes stay on the floor. What are you supposed to say? Actually, you’re boyfriend thinks he’s in love with me, so sorry! You’d just sound crazy.

Sunghoon leans closer, voice lowering an octave. “Are you forgetting that I caught you fucking my roomate last weekend?” He spits, gripping his hockey stick so hard you’re convinced it’ll break. “Or am I supposed to just get over that like everything else?”

You can’t help the gasp that leaves you. A small sound, but it’s enough to catch her attention. She whips her head around, dark eyes catch yours, nose scrunched like she’s staring at the trash on the side of the sidewalk and not a person.

You half expect her to apologize for having such a private conversation in front of you, but she doesn’t do that. Why would she? Instead, she barks, “Can’t you see we’re having a conversation? Go somewhere else.”

You blink, lips parting as you try to come up with something to say. But, Sunghoon beats you to it.

“Don’t talk to her like that.” He defends, eyes blazing something nearly protective. It makes your heart flutter and heat fill your stomach for all the wrong reasons.

Sophia takes a moment to process, but when she does, you would’ve thought Sunghoon had just told her he’d made out with her mom.

“Why are you defending her?” She asks, letting out a humorless laugh. She really takes you in then, eyeing you up and down. You sink into yourself instinctually, arms wrapping around your stomach like a shield. “Don’t tell me this is my replacement?” She chuckles, like the thought of you even being near Sunghoon is amusing.

You shake your head, hands shooting out in front of you. Even though she doesn't deserve it, you don't want to be the other woman. “No, no, that’s not—”

But Sunghoon doesn't let you finish. “She can’t be a replacement when there’s nothing to replace.” He mutters, tongue leaking venom.

Sophia, for what you’re sure is the first time in her life, is rendered speechless. Her glossy lips part, eyes widening a fraction. “Sunghoon—”

He turns to you then, completely ignoring her like her prescense isn’t even a blip on his radar. His eyes soften, cheeks flushing the lightest shade of pink. “Meet me after the game, okay?” He mumbles.

A buzzer sounds, and both teams on the ice skate over to their respective coaches to get ready for the game. Your lips part as you wrack your brain for a response, but it’s hard when Sophia is sneering at you like you’d just said the dumbest thing she’d ever heard.

Sunghoon sighs, throwing you a final glance before pushing off the glass and beginning to skate towards the rest of his teammates.

His jaw ticks once, throwing Sophia an icy look over his shoulder. “Go home, Sophia.” He mumbles.

Sophia doesn’t say anything else, just shoots you a glare and then stomps back to her waiting friends. They all look sympathetic when she tells them what happened, shooting you not-so-subtle death glares. As if you did something. Well, you did—you unintentionally home wrecked her relationship, but still, it was all accidental!

Yunjin lets out a low whistle, crossing her leg over her knee and clasping her hands around it. “Can we make more of those love potion things?” She asks with a chuckle. “This is reality tv kind of entertainment.”

Jungwon nods, “Rivals love island, honestly.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and squeeze your eyes shut, “This isn’t a reality tv show.” You mumble.

Yunjin shrugs, popping a piece of candy into her mouth. “We know, but it might as well be. Or maybe the plot of some super bad fanfiction.”

And, well, you can’t really argue with that.

But you’d never been good at confrontation, and Sophia keeps looking at you like you’d owe her something. Her lips pulled tightly together, friend whispering in her ear like she knows your deepest darkest secrets.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, there’s a subtle prick of insecurity. One that forces you deeper into your seat and into your own head.

The game goes by in a blur, one that you barely pay attention to. It’s not that you don’t want to, but it’s a little difficult when Sophia keeps glancing over at you and laughing with her friends.

You aren’t stupid. You’ve been laughed at before--been the victim of bullies who thought they had the upper hand for whatever reason. But that had been in high school, never in college. And even though you try to push it away—try to block it out—those awful thoughts still crawl their way from the depths of your mind. Thoughts that you hadn’t had since you’d sat alone in a chemistry classroom in tenth grade, back before you’d met Beomgyu.

So, when the game is over (Sunghoon led the team to victory of course, because why wouldn’t he?), you don’t hesitate shrugging your jacket back on and climbing your way over people to get to the exit.

Yunjin and Jungwon stumble behind you, calling your name in an attempt to get you to slow down, but you don’t. Can’t, really.

You didn’t sign up for any of this. Didn’t sign up to be the target of Sophia’s stares, didn’t sign up to be the girl Sunghoons convinced he’s in love with.

You just wanted to go back to your life before. When you were still just in the background with your select circle. You wanted to go back to watching Sunghoon from afar—to being the girl he’d never look twice at.

Because this? This was too much for you.

And you know none of it is his fault, but that almost just makes it worse. He has no idea how much all of this is really hurting you. How much it breaks your heart every time he looks at you like you mean something to him.

The wind hits your face when you step outside, neon lights of the stadium lighting up the parking lot around you. You finally let out a breath, eyes glassy and lips chapped. Maybe you’re being dramatic, but you really don’t care.

“[Y/N]!” Yunjin calls, jogging slightly to catch up with you. Her jackets hanging off her arms awkwardly, purse dangling from her elbow. “Where are you going?” She presses, grabbing your bicep gently and forcing you to a stop. “What’s going on?”

You force your gaze to the ground, shoving your hands in your pockets. “I’m going home,” You tell her, voice raw. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come. If I had known he was still with Sophia—”

“Woah, hold on,” Yunjin interrupts you. Jungwon approaches then, his blonde hair blowing over his forehead awkwardly. “Did you not hear Sunghoon? They’re broken up.” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “They’re always broken up.”

Yunjins lips pull in tight, annoyance flashing in her eyes. “Is this because she was here?” She asks you, tone serious and deadly. "You know you don't need to care about whatever it is her and her friends think."

It’s rare for her to speak to you so seriously, always the one looking towards humor to lighten up situations. So when she does, you tend to listen.

“Sophia is a bitch, plain and simple. Sunghoon is not. And he’s actively trying to prove to you that he wants you, and you’re not letting him.” She insists.

You pull your arm from her grip at that, eyebrows knitting together. Does she seriously think anything Sunghoon is doing he actually means? If that were the case, you wouldn't even be in this situation.

“Yunjin, he doesn’t know what he’s doing!” You spit, tone harsher then you mean it. You don’t mean to aim your anger towards her, but she just keeps pushing and pushing until you finally explode. “Don’t you get it? He doesn’t feel like that towards me.” Your voice breaks, eyes brimming with tears. “He doesn’t feel anything towards me.”

Jungwon swallows, his eyes downcast. He was usually good in situations like this, usually the one to take the lead and get you laughing again, but now he can’t even meet your eyes.

Yunjin reaches for you again, sympathy written all over her face, but you pull away. You don’t want her comfort right now, even though you know it comes from a place of love.

You suck in a shaky breath, forcing your gaze onto the sidewalk in front of you. The pavement is wet from rain earlier in the day, collecting in small puddles below your feet. “I’m just going to go home, okay? Tell Sunghoon I’m sorry.”

“[Y/N]…” Yunjin mumbles, but you’re already walking away, arms wrapped around yourself and bottom lip trembling.

Is it pathetic to be crying over a stupid boy and a mean girl? Maybe. But you also know that having feelings is human, and sometimes, when the time is right, it’s okay to cry.

And you think right now is one of those times.

You don’t cry hard. Not full, chest-heaving sobs, just occasional hiccups—a steady stream of tears flowing down your cheeks that you stain your sleeves with every time you wipe at them.

Your apartment is cold when you enter, the air brushing harshly against your face. You shrug your jacket off and toss it onto the couch, padding over to your room with exhaustion sinking into your bones.

You peel off your clothes–the top Yunjin had insisted you wear for Sunghoon suddenly feeling suffocating and tight. It isn’t often you let yourself wallow in self-pity like this, but tonight was going to have to be an exception.

You change into a stained t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants with a rip in the knees and collapse onto your couch. You wonder if Sunghoon said anything when he noticed you weren’t there. Was he disappointed? Or had he finally realized it wasn’t you he should be chasing after?

Your heart hurts at the thought, aching and heavy in your chest.

It isn't fair to him that you feel like this. It isn't fair to you that he's unknowingly playing with your heart. The entire thing is a bad dream you wish you could just wake up from.

You barely register the knock at your door at first, too stuck in your head while trying to pretend you’re paying attention to whatever sitcom’s playing on the TV.

But then it comes again, not harsh, just louder. More insistent. Like whoever’s on the other side is desperate to see you.

You roll your eyes, wrapping your blanket around your shoulders and forcing yourself to pad over. “Yunjin,” You sigh, clicking the lock and swinging the door open. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

But it isn’t Yunjin standing on the other side. It’s Sunghoon.

His black hair is a mess, bangs covering his eyes in a way you know can’t be comfortable, a pair of black-rimmed glasses resting against his nose. He’s not wearing his jersey anymore, but the black compression shirt he wears under it is still there, a pair of gray sweatpants laying dangerously low on his hips.

He looks dangerously handsome without even trying.

Your breath catches before you can stop it, gaze falling down his body like you’re commiting it to memory. You’re both silent, just staring at eachother, waiting for the other to cut through the tension first.

It shouldn’t hurt seeing him right now as much as it does. You don’t have any claim on him. He loves Sophia, you’ve known that from the start.

So why does it feel like tonight was just one big slap in the face? Like the universe was reminding you of exactly what your place with him really is?

Sunghoon swallows, eyes shaky as they try to search your own. You don’t let him though. You know if you look him in the eye right now, you’ll break, and that’s the last thing you want him to see.

“You left,” He whispers, tone low. You can hear the hurt seeping through his voice, but it’s masked by a weird kind of warmth. Like even though you hurt him, he can’t physically be mad at you.

You think that’s probably a side effect.

You shift your weight uncomfortably, twiddling your thumbs in front of you. You can’t look at him—too scared of what you’ll find if you do.

“Sunghoon,” You start, voice trembling. “You don’t want me.” You don't say it like a question, instead it's a statement.

His fingers tighten into fists at his sides, knuckles going pale. “Why do you keep assuming you know what I want?” He asks.

You shake your head, “You’re just confused—”

“Stop,” He interrupts, taking a small step towards you. “Stop saying that when I know I've never been more clear headed in my life.”

You stiffen, unsure of how to respond. You know for a fact he has no idea what he’s doing or talking about. And that’s what makes it hurt the most. He genuinely believes he loves you, and fuck, you’d give anything for it to be real.

His hand reaches out, but he hesitates and drops it back to his side. "Let me prove it to you, okay? Just like I said I would. No games. No Sophia. Just me and you.”

You force your gaze up then, eyes narrowed. You shouldn’t say yes, not when your heart is already on the brink of collapse. But Sunghoons staring at you like he’ll break into pieces if you say no—like the thought of you rejecting him is too much to handle.

You lean against the doorframe, lips twisting slightly. “I don't know,” You attempt, “it’s already so late and I look a mess—”

“Please,” he breathes out, voice wrecked. “Stop thinking so hard and let me show you how much you mean to me.”

Your knuckles tighten until your fingernails dig into your palms, forming little crescent-shaped marks into the soft skin. Everything inside of you is telling you to say no. To tell him to go home and lock himself in his room until Beomgyu figures out how to fix this.

But there’s still that small part of you—the part that wonders if maybe he really did mean every sweet word that fell from his perfect lips. If maybe, just maybe, all of this was real.

And that part of you wins.

Sunghoon doesn’t let you change—just ushers you into your jacket and leads you with a hand on your lower back out of your apartment and back towards the rink.

You don’t notice that’s where you’re heading at first, not until the lights outside the parking lot come into view. Your stomach twists at the memory of your last conversation with Yunjin and Jungwon, but you push it away. You’d fix things tomorrow.

“Why are we here?” You ask, glancing up at the raven-haired boy. His palm hasn’t left your back since you started walking, almost like he was staking his claim there. Imprinting the shape of him into your skin like it’s second nature.

He shrugs, mischief flashing in his smile. “You’ll see.”

You’ve never seen the stadium empty before, but now that you are, it makes you realize just how daunting it really is. The lights pointed at the rink are still on, reflecting off of the ice and glinting across its surface. You can see the slight scuff marks and dents from numerous skates, small puddles forming in their wake.

Sunghoon jogs in front of you, pulling out a set of keys and opening the gate that the hockey players use to get onto the rink. He holds an arm out to you, gesturing for you to come over to him.

You do so cautiously, arms wrapped around yourself. The ice from the rink makes the air frigid, crawling up your spine like a garden snake. Menacing, but not dangerous.

“I don’t have any skates.” You mumble.

Sunghoon smiles, reaching out and wiggling your hand out from where it rests under your arm, “That’s okay,” He says softly, intertwining your fingers. His hands are large, this is something you’ve always known. It’s hard not to notice when he makes his pencil look like a fucking mini-brand every time he writes down his notes—but now you realize just how much they dwarf your own. “We don't need them.”

He pulls you onto the rink then, and feet immediately slip on the slick ice. You yelp when you feel your foot begin to slide from beneath you, back arching and spare arm flinging to your side, but Sunghoon grips your hand and pulls you to his chest like he’d been expecting it.

You huff when your face meets his chest, heat crawling viciously up your neck from embarrassment. Sunghoons chest vibrates with laughter against your cheek, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your head and pull you closer to him.

“Finally falling for me?” He teases.

If only he knew.

You scoff and cautiously step away from him, tightening the muscles in your legs so you don’t slip again. “You wish.” You say, meaning for it to come out harsh, but instead it sounds soft. Playful. Everything it shouldn’t be.

He rolls his eyes and drags you to the middle of the ice, careful not to tug too hard or walk too fast, instead matching his pace with yours.

You look around at the thousands of seats surrounding you, the blinding lights on the ice. There isn’t even anyone here, and you still feel slightly intimidated. It makes you wonder how he’s able to deal with all of it so efficiently.

He stops suddenly, forcing you to as well. For a split second, you think he almost looks nervous. 

He sucks in a breath, brown eyes finding your own. You just raise your brows, staring at him expectantly. You assume he must’ve brought you here for something—it’s just whatever that is that puts you slightly on edge.

“Do you remember that glass duck you carried around at the beginning of the year? The one with the weird monocle and pink jacket?” He asks, releasing your hand and shoving it into his coat pocket. You can see something round in there, you just have no idea what it is.

You frown. You do remember that duck. You’d found it on your trip with Yunjin to Europe over the summer in some rundown antique shop. It was stupidly overpriced and honestly kind of ugly, but you’d fallen in love with it for whatever reason. Maybe because it was a little different then the other ducks, with a weirdly shaped beak and slightly bigger beady eyes. But it was perfect to you.

At least, it was until Jungwon accidently broke it on Halloween weekend. He’d drunkenly slammed into you and knocked it loose from its place on your bag, and it ultimately shattered as soon as it hit the floor. You remember you’d been devastated and refused to talk to Jungwon for a week after, but that was it. You hadn't really thought twice about it for a while now.

But, how did Sunghoon know about it? Why was he asking you? You’d never talked about it with him—hell, you barely said two words to him back then.

Your chin lowers slightly in suspicion, “I do, yes. Why?”

He swallows, and you can see his free hand twitch. “Well, I saw it break at that party on Halloween. And you looked so sad. And…I really hated it. So,” He takes a breath, finally revealing whatever it was he had in his pocket. “I fixed it.”

You blink. Once. Twice. He’s holding out the duck to you, cracks from where it'd shattered all over its little glass body but ultimately put back together.

It takes you a second to fully process what’s going on, but once you do your lips part in a gasp and you take it from him. You hold it up to your face, cradling it in your hands. “How did you—what? Why? I-I don’t understand—” You’re talking so fast you barely even understand yourself, but Sunghoon just laughs, and you notice the way his shoulders slowly relax in relief.

He shrugs, like this is any other day and he didn’t just reveal to you he’d fixed your most prized possession. “I didn't want you to lose it,” He admits, taking a careful step towards you. “You don’t deserve to lose things you love.”

You glance up at him then, and you realize just how close he really is. The last time you’d been in this position he’d placed a soft kiss on your hairline, and although your heart feels like it’s skipping a beat, it’s not out of fear this time.

It’s something more dangerous, something you shouldn’t be allowing yourself to feel. Not with his condition. You glance back down to the glass duck, hesitation gnawing at your stomach. 

Ultimately, you know that what you feel for Sunghoon is not returned. But this... this changes things. He’d taken the time all those months ago, before the experiment was even thought of, and fixed something you’d deemed unfixable simply because he didn’t want you to be sad. Usually, you’d think that meant something.

But isn’t that also just the kind of boy he is? Kind, golden-hearted Park Sunghoon. Campus golden boy. Star hockey player. Everything you could never have.

“Sunghoon,” You breathe out shakily, still holding the duck in your palm. “Thank you.”

Although you're feeling conflicted about where he really stands with you, you know you're overall grateful. You've never had someone do something so kind for you simply because they can.

He doesn’t respond, just gives you a shy smile. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look so bashful. It’s cute. “It wasn’t any problem.”

You hum, tapping your nails against the duck's glass tail. “Can I ask why you needed to bring me here to give me this?” You question, a teasing lilt to your voice.

He shrugs, “It’s more romantic here then in the middle of your living room.”

You laugh aloud at that. For once, the mention of romance with him doesn’t make you want to throw up and die all at the same time. Instead, it leaves you feeling warm and fuzzy and all the things you know are going to hurt you in the end.

Because while this entire illusion is going to be over at some point, right now, in this moment, Sunghoon is in love with you. And you’re starting to wonder just how wrong it’d be to let him.

Your heart is heavy in the morning as you fidget with the duck. It’s hanging off your purse again, safely locked into place with a keychain. You’d asked Jungwon and Yunjin to meet you for coffee so you could talk, and both had agreed easily.

You guys never really did well with bad blood. Any arguments you had were always resolved fairly quickly, because otherwise it would simmer until you thought too hard about it and ended up doing something you regretted.

And you know you owe them an apology–Yunjin, especially. She’d only been trying to help, and you’d spat venom at her like she’d done something wrong. You didn’t want to be like that, and it was important to you that she knew how sorry you were. That they both knew.

They arrive together, steps slow as they approach the table you’d saved. You shoot them a sad smile, unsure of just how angry they were.

They sit next to each other across from you, sharing a glance that makes your stomach churn. You suck in a breath, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry,” You start, choosing to skip the awkward pleasantries and getting straight to the point. “You guys didn’t deserve that. At all. And I–”

“Stop,” Yunjin sighs, not letting you finish. Your heart drops, immediately assuming she's about to end your friendship. But she doesn't--instead, she points between herself and Jungwon and says with a quiet finality, “We should be the ones apologizing.”

You raise a brow at that, spine straightening in your seat. “What? No–”

“Yes,” Jungwon interrupts now, his eyes full of concern. “You were rightfully upset with everything going on, and we pushed it aside simply because we didn’t understand how you were feeling.” He sniffs, head tilting to the side slightly. “I didn’t realize how hard this must all be for you. Having the guy you like constantly telling you he’s in love with you, and then not even know if he means it? It’s unfair to you.”

You’re silent, a wave of relief and guilt crashing over you at once. You’re relieved that your emotions are being validated, but you also feel guilty that they think they need to apologize to you when you yourself are struggling with what you should feel. Before last night, you would've agreed with them wholeheartedly, but now you weren’t sure. You glance down at the figurine hanging from your bag once, heart filling with so much warmth you think it may burst. 

“You’re right,” You murmur, leaning back in your chair. “It is unfair, but I’m starting to wonder if maybe…maybe I was wrong.”

Yunjin’s eyes widen, confusion written all over her face. “What?”

You smile softly, reaching for your purse and spinning it around so they can see the once-broken glass duck. They both study it for a moment, and you watch as recognition flashes in their eyes.

Jungwon frowns and looks back at you. “I thought I broke that ugly thing?”

“It’s not ugly,” You scoff, snatching your bag back and carefully unclipping the little duck from where it hangs. You place it in the middle of the table with a small shrug. “He fixed it.”

The three of you stare at it, studying the cracks the run along it’s surface.

“What do you mean he fixed it?” Yunjin asks.

“I mean,” You sigh, “He saw it break on Halloweekend, and took it upon himself to fucking glue it back together.”

A beat. And then, “Are you serious?”

You don’t laugh, even though you want to. It is entirely ridiculous, but it happened. You’ve spent the last twelve hours mulling it over in your mind, and you can only come to one conclusion. 

Maybe Sunghoon noticed you more than you thought.

And if that were true, what did it mean now?

You manage a soft smile, picking at the skin around your fingers mindlessly. “Yep,” You hum, popping the P. “Gave it to me last night.”

Yunjin squeals, gripping Jungwon's bicep and shaking him. He huffs and rips his arm from her grip. “Quit!” He hisses.

Yunjin just ignores him, her full attention on you. “I know I shouldn’t be feeding into this anymore, but that,” She gestures towards the duck, “That is more than some stupid experiment.”

You sigh, voice small when you say, “I know. I just…I don’t know what the right thing to do is anymore.” 

And for the first time, you’re starting to feel like you’re finally being honest with yourself.

“Well,” Jungwon shrugs, leaning back in the booth. The waitress comes around and drops off three milkshakes, vanilla for yourself, and chocolate for Jungwon and Yunjin. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try it out.”

Your eyebrows furrow, “Test it out?” You repeat, taking a small spoonful of whipped cream and stuffing it into your mouth. You'd always been a sucker for ice cream.

Jungwon nods, “There’s a party tomorrow night to celebrate the hockey team's win last night. Sunghoon will obviously be there, and maybe you can test out what he does when it’s not just the two of you.”

Yunjin sucks in a sharp breath, “But,” She draws, “Sophia will be there too.”

Jungwon snaps his fingers, “My point exactly.”

You aren’t really understanding where he’s trying to go with this. “So what?”

Jungwon continues, “We don’t really know if he’s still under the influence of the experiment,” He explains, nodding towards the duck, “that changes things. So, I think we should see if his feelings are real or not at the party.”

Your lips twist in thought, “How do you plan to do that?” You push. It's not that you don't understand what he's trying to say, it's just hard for your head to fully wrap around it.

He smiles then, that same mischievous smile he’d given you all those weeks ago when he’d initially suggested this whole disaster, and it’s then that you know you shouldn’t listen to anything that comes out of his mouth. 

“Simple,” He shrugs, taking a sip of his milkshake. “We ask.”

Your lips part to respond, but your phone ringing in your pocket interrupts you. Beomgyu’s name flashes across the screen, bold white letters that usually bring you comfort, but strangely are now doing the opposite.

You clear your throat, “Hello?”

Beomgyu’s voice sounds from the other side, exhausted and groggy, but he’s got that spark he always does when he says, “I did it.”

You glance up at Yunjin and Jungwon, stomach twisting low. “Did what?”

“I figured it out,” He swallows, “I’ve got the cure or whatever we’re calling it.”

And while it should be relief that floods your chest, instead what you’re met with is a cold pinch of disappointment.

You’d never been one for parties. Even now, dressed in some slim black dress Yunjin picked for you, a vial of something you aren’t even sure works in your purse, you’re reminded just why you don’t like them.

They’re overcrowded, filled with college students all looking to either pass out drunk or find someone to fuck until they forget why they were even there in the first place. It wasn’t your crowd, and you’d found peace with that a long time ago.

And yet, you're still here.

Beomgyu nudges your shoulder, eyes searching around the crowd of sweaty bodies. He wasn’t one for parties either, but when you explained to him just why you were coming, he insisted on joining. Of course, Yunjin and Jungwon had been ecstatic and you had to explain to them that you were not coming just to have a good time.

You were coming to find out the truth, and that was it. 

“Are you sure he’s here?” Beomgyu asks.

You nod, “He texted me earlier and invited me. Said he’d meet us here.”

Sunghoon had been slightly surprised but happy when you confirmed you already planned to come. He’d told you he might get a little busy with people trying to talk to him, but he’d make sure to try and come find you at some point. You'd scoffed, in disbelief that you seemed to have to schedule a time to talk to him. You knew he was popular, but people here seriously treated him like some celebrity and not a normal college student.

Yunjin smiles next to you, plucking a drink from the countertop. She tips it back against her mouth and chugs it, wiping off the small droplet that spills from her lips.

Beomgyu makes a disgusted face, “You don’t even know where that came from.”

“Does it matter?” She asks, grabbing another one and shoving it towards you, “It all ends up in someone's stomach.”

You push her hand away and take a cautious step back. “I’m good, thanks.”

She just shrugs like she’d been expecting that and hands it to Jungwon, who happily accepts it. “Suit yourself.”

You don’t respond, instead unknowingly floating closer to Beomgyu. Your eyes rake along the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar head of black hair, but instead you’re met with the one person you didn’t want to see.

Sophia is wearing a soft baby pink skirt and a white top that make her look like the picture of innocence, lips red and tempting. The guy she’s flirting with clearly isn’t immune to her strategy, because his eyes keep falling down to her soft neckline like he’s hoping he’ll suddenly develop x-ray vision.

Normally, the sight of her wouldn’t bother you. It really shouldn’t considering you haven’t interacted with her at all outside of the hockey incident. But, for some reason, all you can see when you look at her is Sunghoon.

Sunghoon looking at her like she’d hung the moon and stars. Sunghoon dragging her to his games. Sunghoon fixing things for her simply because he didn’t want her to be sad. Sunghoon telling her he loves her.

You have no right to feel it, but jealousy curls deep in your stomach. 

You recognize the boy she’s talking to. Jay, The hockey teams co-captain, and Sunghoons roommate. The same roommate who you’re assuming slept with Sophia. 

You don’t know any of the details–never thought it appropriate to ask, really. But you do know that if Sunghoon saw this, he’d probably be pissed. You wonder if that’s why she’s flirting with him so openly, because she wants Sunghoon to see. You wouldn’t put it beneath her.

The night continues like that, with you and Beomgyu hanging around awkwardly while Yunjin and Jungwon drink until their vision goes blurry. You keep catching glimpses of Sophia, and each time she’s talking to a different guy. A different pawn, actually.

You haven't even seen Sunghoon once, which is kind of strange considering this party is kind of for him. You’d even texted him, a quick "you here?" and had gotten no reply. 

The antidote feels heavy in your purse for reasons you can’t exactly explain. You were going to give it to him tonight no matter what, you’d already decided that. Even if you found out that this entire thing meant more to him then you thought it did, you were going to give it to him. Your heart flutters in your chest at the thought, forcing yourself to bite back a smile.

You know you shouldn’t get your hopes up, but it’s hard. The duck had to be proof that this whole thing wasn’t just a massive fuck up–maybe it was exactly what you’d needed to finally lead the both of you to each other.

And then, as if it’s fate throwing it in your face, you see Sunghoon.

He’s laughing at something someone's saying, his cheeks flushed and hair falling over his forehead like he’d deliberately placed it there. He looks good–but when does he not? 

You nudge Beomgyu (Yunjin and Jungwon are too busy on the dance floor) and nod your head towards the black-haired man.

Beomgyu exhales lowly and grips the strap of your bag. “No matter what he says, he has to drink this.” He insists, “I know it might be easier to keep up with the lie–”

“I know,” You interrupt, placing your hand atop his. You give it a light squeeze, “No matter the outcome, he has to drink it.”

Beomgyu physically exhales and then shoots you a small smile, “For what it’s worth,” He murmurs, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Yeah,” You reply, “Neither do I.” And you really mean it.

Sunghoon doesn’t notice you approach at first, not until you push past one of his friends—Heeseung, you think his name is—and his attention snaps to you.

The look he gives you isn’t one you’re used to seeing from him. It’s softer. Like light rain on a warm day. Like the beginning stages of a love that lasts a lifetime.

Every other time it’s been strong. Fierce. Like a house fire at its peak. But now…now it makes your heart melt just like it did when you’d seen him for the first time three years ago.

“Hi,” You breathe.

“Hi.” He replies.

His friends have dispersed now, leaving just you and him in the sea of bodies. The moonlight filters through the windows, reflecting across his face in a way that really should be illegal.

“You came,” He says after a moment, but he doesn’t sound surprised.

“I did.” 

The air crackles between you in a way it never has before. Real and raw and entirely strange. It should scare you—it does scare you—but you lean into the feeling. Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned the past couple of weeks, it’s to embrace the fear.

You reach into your purse and pull out the vial. It’s small, with a few drops of a see-through pink liquid that you don’t think anyone should ever be drinking.

“I need you to do something for me,” You tell him, voice shaking slightly. Embrace the fear, you remind yourself. “I need you to drink this.” You say, pushing the vial towards him.

His eyes flicker down to it, and then back up to yours, and for a moment you think he looks guilty.

“Look, [Y/N]—”

“Hoonie!” Your blood feels like it goes cold. Sophia approaches from behind you, shoving past and making her way in front of you like weren’t even there. 

“I got your text,” She grins, voice sweet. But you know she knows what she’s doing. You know she’s doing it on purpose to upset you, but you’re not going to give her that satisfaction. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you came to your senses.”

Oh.

Your eyes widen slightly, something mean twisting in your stomach. Your heart feels heavy in a way that physically hurts. Of course. The experiment must’ve worn off, and he was trying to figure out the best way to tell you that he hadn’t meant anything he’d said. That’s why the air between the two of you had been so different.

You look at the antidote in your hand, and suddenly it feels pointless. Beomgyu did all that work just for it to wear off on its own. But you’d promised that you’d get him to drink it no matter what, and you weren’t planning on breaking that.

Sunghoon shakes his head, “Sophia, that’s not why I texted you.” He practically spits, “Stop trying to spin this into something you know it’s not.”

She looks genuinely taken aback for a moment but recovers swiftly. “I’m not trying to do anything,” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re the one who asked me to meet you, yes?”

His eyes flicker to yours, like he’s begging you to hear him out before you jump to conclusions. “I did, but—”

“Then what else am I supposed to assume? Unless,” She turns back to you then, finally acknowledging the fact that you’re there. The sneer on her face when she looks at you is nearly enough to make you feel small. “You didn’t want to say it in front of your rebound.”

Sunghoon visibly bristles, “She’s not—”

But you've heard enough. “It’s fine,” you say, not letting him finish. You manage a small smile, but it feels like poison against your skin. “I just need you to drink this so we can make sure everything goes back to normal without any hiccups.”

You push it back towards him, but he refuses to take it. “[Y/N], just let me explain.” He begs.

“You don’t need to explain to me.” You reply, and you mean it. You’d done the exact thing you’d been afraid of since the beginning, and that wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault that you’d taken everything too seriously despite knowing it was all manufactured by your own hands. He’d just been an accidental victim. “Just drink it and then we can pretend none of this ever happened.”

When you let your eyes meet his, it hurts so bad you think you’ll collapse right there and then. He looks genuinely devastated, eyebrows pulled taut and lips parted. But you can’t for the life of you understand why. He was getting what he wanted, right? He was getting Sophia back. He was getting his life back. And so were you.

So why does it feel like nothing will ever be the same again?

He looks like he’s going to protest again, but holds back. Whether it’s for his own sake or yours, you aren’t sure.

He takes the vial from you with shaky hands, unscrewing the cap and swallowing it down in one gulp. He doesn’t make a face, even though you’re sure it can’t taste pleasant.

Once it’s done, you don’t bother saying bye. You just nod at him and turn on your heel, ignoring the smirk you can practically feel growing on Sophia’s face.

Sunghoon got what he wanted. So did you. That’s all that should matter.

But you still can’t stop the tears from flooding your eyes.

You don't look for your friends, you just get out of there as fast as possible. You knew this would happen, it was exactly why you'd been so worrued at first. And you did exactly what you said you would, you got too involved. You let his words seep through the cracks in your walls instead of strengthening them.

And now you weren't sure they'd ever be fully put back together again.

You spend the next few days locked away in your dorm. You skip class, even though you know you shouldn’t, and spend your time watching reruns of New Girl and eating bowls of Lucky Charms.

Usually, hiding away for a few days and letting yourself marinate in your ugly helps. But it’s been days since the party, and the ache in your chest hasn’t subsided at all.

Sunghoon tried to text you once, just to check up on you since you hadn’t shown up to class, but you didn’t respond; just shut off your phone and shoved it in between the couch cushions.

You’d known this would happen when it started. Knew you’d end up hurt, and the worst part was that it wasn’t even anyone’s fault. There was no one you could shift blame onto; no one you could justify being angry with.

It’d all just spiraled out of control before you could fix it.

The following Monday you finally decide to suck it up and go to class. You weren’t going to let a boy get in the way of your schooling, even if the thought of seeing him made you sick to your stomach. (Also because Yunjin had threatened to call your mom if you didn’t show up again, and you really didn’t want to have to deal with that.)

Your feet drag when you get there, head hanging low. You’re expecting Sunghoon to have gone back to his spot before, but when you look up, he’s still in the chair next to yours. He looks different. Tired, almost. Like he hasn’t gotten proper sleep in days. You doubt you look any better.

You approach cautiously, hoping and praying that he won’t try and say anything to you. Does he even remember everything that happened? Was memory loss a symptom? You weren’t really sure, and you weren’t that interested in finding out.

You feel his eyes on you when you sit down, pulling out your computer and crossing one leg over the other. You’re hoping you look the picture of casual, not like your heart was just unknowingly crushed by the boy next to you.

Sunghoon, for what its worth, doesn’t talk to you for the majority of the lesson. Just shakes his leg anxiously and sneaks not-so-subtle glances your way. He keeps biting his bottom lip like he wants to say something, but stops himself before he can. Truthfully, it takes everything in you to not look at him. It’d be so easy to look into those brown eyes and remember everything he’d said–to remember every almost-kiss and every i love you that spilled from his lips like oil spilling into an endless clear blue sea.

It’d be so easy to pretend that nothing had changed between you. That the last two weeks had never happened and things were still how they were before–when he was the moon and you were the star blinking just for him, hoping for just a sliver of attention.

But, you know things will never be the same. 

You barely even register the lesson ending, not until you feel Yunjin at your side. She must’ve known you’d need her support right now, and that much you can appreciate.

“You good?” She mumbles, glancing over at Sunghoon. The lecture hall has begun to clear out now, only a few stragglers remaining. Everyone must be ready to get out of this weather.

You nod, but it’s not sincere. “Yeah,” You manage, stuffing your laptop into your bag. It clinks against the glass duck softly, and your heart twists again. “I’m all good.”

Yunjin gives you a look that says she doesn't believe you, but she doesn't push. You stand, starting to make your way down the stairs and finally away from him–but he stops you.

“[Y/N].”

You almost don’t hear him at first, but you’d recognize that tone anywhere. The same one he’d used when he asked you to come to the rink with him. Insistence teetering on the edge of pleading, but there's something that underlines it. Something you’ve been recognizing within yourself a little too much lately.

You make the mistake of turning to look at him, and your breath catches in your throat. That look in his eyes is one you’ve seen before, the same one you’d convinced yourself meant nothing.

Pure, unfiltered, love.

Except now there isn’t any experiment to fall back on.

“Can we…” He glances back at Yunjin and clears his throat. “Can we talk?”

Everything inside of you screams at you to say no–to turn around and ignore the way your body feels like it’s being pulled towards him. Like the world has tilted on its axis and he is your only source of gravity.

Against your own will, you hear yourself say, “Okay.”

You’ve only ever felt genuine fear three times in your life. 

That time in the second grade when your dad thought it’d be funny to take you on a roller-coaster despite your fear of heights, and you’d cried so hard you ended up throwing up onto the lady in front of you. Then, there was the time you’d accidently switched up a water bottle and literal acid your freshman year of college and watched as your professor drank one of the liquids (It’d been the water, thank God). And, of course, the time you watched Sunghoon drink your experiment.

But now, standing in some empty corridor with Park Sunghoon, you think you might have to add this to the list.

Embrace the fear, you remind yourself.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just stares at you with this unreadable look in his eyes. His hands are shoved in his coat pockets, posture slightly slumped. He doesn’t look like the put together golden-boy you’d fallen in love with. He looks more vulnerable; more like a person instead of an idea. 

He sniffles and juts his chin towards the duck hanging off your bag, “You aren’t scared it’ll break again?” He asks softly.

You glance down at the cracked glass, reaching out and holding it between your fingers. “I guess I wasn’t worried,” You mumble, “Because last time it shattered someone put it back together.”

You hear his breath catch at that, and he takes a small step towards you. He’s close enough now that you can smell his cologne, can feel the ghost of his lips on the crown of your head.

“Do you know why I fixed it?” He asks.

You swallow, having to lift your head slightly to see him. “Because you’re a nice person, Sunghoon.” You murmur, forcing yourself to take a small step back. Enough distance that his presence doesn’t feel like it’s consuming your very soul. “You would’ve done it for anyone.”

He breathes out a disbelieving laugh, “That’s not true.”

“What do you mean?”

His eyebrows knit together, “I know you’re smarter than that.” Even though his words are harsh, his tone is soft. Like he can’t even conceptualize the concept of being upset with you. Like it's an emotion he’s never even experienced.

He’s right, you are smarter than that. But last time you let yourself believe, you’d ended up exactly where you knew you would be–with a broken heart and tear-stained cheeks.

“You don’t understand,” You manage, voice breaking slightly. “You don’t feel that for me. I know you don’t.”

“How do you know that?”

You pause, bottom lip finding it’s way between your teeth. “You’ve been with Sophia for so long, and I’m just-just me. She’s beautiful and popular and I spend more time watching fucking Harry Potter with my friends then I do actually socializing and–”

Sunghoon cuts you off, voice level. “Exactly.”

You blink. “What?”

“Sure, Sophia is popular and objectively beautiful, but she isn’t you.”

It takes you a moment to fully process what he’s saying. But still, all you can find in yourself to manage is a quiet, “What?”

He takes another step closer, enclosing in on your personal space like he's always belonged there. “She isn’t you.” He repeats.

You’ve only felt genuine fear four times in your life. But only once has it ever melted into something so genuine–something so raw and real that your heart has felt like it was bursting at the seams.

“That night Jungwon shattered your duck, you said something. Do you remember what it was?”

You shake your head softly. All you remember from that night is how upset you’d been that it’d happened and trying to find it in yourself to forgive Jungwon.

Sunghoon’s lips twitch softly, “You said you loved it because it was different. You said you didn’t care that it was a little strange on the outside, because you knew it had a good heart.”

You don’t even remember those words coming out of your mouth. Honestly, you don’t even remember Sunghoon being close enough to hear them. 

“I think that’s when I fell in love with you,” He admits quietly. “I didn’t know it at first, but it was there. Everytime you sat down in class and tried not to laugh at something Yunjin said, everytime I saw you and Jungwon studying at the library, I felt it.” He sucks in a breath, “And then I drank the experiment.” 

You shudder at the memory, lips twisting slightly in discomfort. You’re expecting him to say that it made him realize his feelings for you weren’t actually there–that this was all just an elaborately cruel way to reject you.

But then, without even blinking, he says, “But it didn’t work.”

Your world stops for a moment. There’s no way that’s possible. You’d seen him with your own two eyes acting like a fool to get your attention. Constantly following you around, texting you late into the night, tucking your hair behind your ear–all things he’d done because the experiment gave him the confidence to. But, if that wasn’t true and the experiment hadn’t worked then that meant that all of it had been real. There’d never been any pretend. There’d never been any accidents. 

It’d all been real.

Your eyes widen, hands gesturing in front of you. “But that doesn’t make any sense.” You insist, “You were acting like you…” Love me. The words linger in the air, like mistletoe teasing you.

You think at first, part of you still didn’t believe that he loved you even with him standing here pouring his heart out to you. It just didn’t make any sense in your head. But now it was undeniable. It was a burning truth that had forced its way into the light without so much as apologizing.

“Because I do,” He murmurs, “And maybe it was stupid to go about it this way. I won’t argue with you on that. But, can you blame me? Do you know how hard it was to approach you?”

You scoff, “Me? What about you? And what about Sophia–”

He shakes his head, “That’s done. Has been for a long time now. That’s why I texted her at the party, I wanted to make sure she finally got it through her head that there was nothing there.”

“Oh.”

Sunghoon chuckles, voice deep and soft. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Oh.”

You look up at him now, into those swimming pools of chestnut. His pupils are slightly dilated, light reflecting off of his irises in a way that looks serene. The air around you fills with a soft tension, one that you’d have to focus on to even really notice.

You don’t miss the way his eyes glance down at your lips, silently asking for a permission you’d given him years ago.

He leans in closer, breath warm against your lips. “I really want to kiss you right now,” He murmurs. Your skin tingles when his fingers brush the apple of your cheek, before cupping it softly.

You lean into him, reaching a hand up to cover his own. “What’s stopping you?”

He smiles, a big toothy grin that shows off his canines, and then leans forward slowly.

It isn’t really a kiss at first, more like he's just lingering there, letting your breaths intermix. His hand travels from your cheek to the side of your neck, gently holding you in place.

And then he surges forward, mouth moving against yours like he’s trying to memorize you. He’s gentle, holding you like you’re something fragile—like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he pushes too hard.

He pulls away slowly, grinning from ear to ear like he’s just won the lottery. “You have no idea how bad I've wanted to do that.”

You giggle, heat crawling up your stomach and swirling around your cheeks. “Maybe you should do it again just to make sure it sticks.”

Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate then. His hand finds your waist and pulls you into him, lips colliding with yours in a way that makes your head spin. You think colors swirl behind your eyes, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“I love you,” Sunghoon murmurs against your lips, “I love the way your nose scrunches when you’re focused,” He kisses the tip of your nose. “I love how kind you are even when people don’t deserve it,” Another one to your cheek. “I love that you’re unapologetically you.”

Your heart stutters, laughter bubbling out of your chest uncontrollably. 

“You sure it isn’t because you accidentally drank a love potion?” You tease, reaching a hand up to tangle in the baby hairs at the nape of his neck.

He huffs, finally pulling away so he can get a good look at you. “I don’t think I’d need a love potion to find my way to you.” He says, voice so sincere it nearly makes tears spring to your eyes.

So, yeah. The thing about Biochemistry is that it’s extremely difficult and sometimes shows you that maybe you should let your curiosity remain exactly that—curiosity.

But sometimes, if you’re lucky, it can lead you to exactly where you’re supposed to go.

Sunghoons hand traces down your arm until it finds your hand, and he easily intertwines your fingers like he was always supposed to fit there. “Let me take you home?”

For the first time, you see no reason to argue. No reason to protect your heart or turn him away. So, without a single protest, you say, “Okay.”

You aren’t sure exactly how it happened. One minute Sunghoons walking you home, smiling like a kid in a candy store, and the next he’s kissing you like he’ll die if he isn’t touching you. Your apartment door shuts softly behind you, leaving just the two of you in your space.

You remember the last time he’d been in here, how he’d kissed the crown of your head with tender care. He’d seemed nervous then, like the action was scandalous. Now, it was nearly the opposite.

He isn’t rough, no, he’s deliberate. Fingertips tracing across the curve of your waist, teasing against the hem of your shirt. He kisses you like you’re the oxygen he needs to survive, like he's an addict and your lips are his fix.

It steals your breath away and breathes the air into your lungs all at once.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He grunts against you, hands tugging at your waist and pulling you closer against him until you’re flush against his body. 

“Sunghoon,” You gasp when you feel the growing bulge in his pants brush against your thigh. “Don’t you ever stop.”

That’s all it takes before he’s tapping your thigh once and lifting you into his arms. His hands take up half your thighs, kneading the skin as he carries you to your bedroom. You’re giggling the whole way there, hearts in your eyes and cheeks flushed.

He places you down on the bed gently, your hair fawning out around you like a halo. He sucks in a breath and crawls over you, eyes trained on your face. His knuckles brush your cheek, and you lean into it on pure instinct.

“You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs, voice tender. “Can’t believe you’re letting me love you.”

You smile, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek. “There’s no one in this world for me except for you, Park Sunghoon.”

He grins, burying his face in the nape of your neck like he’s embarrassed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You answer, not even having to second guess yourself. “I’m so in love with you it hurts.”

He whines at your words, lips tracing across the skin of your neck, the length of your jaw, the space behind your ear, tongue darting out occasionally to mark you as his.

He tugs gently at your shirt and you arch your back so he can pull it over your head and toss it across the room, but it gets stuck on your elbow and he has to tug it loose. You laugh when it finally comes off, your hair falling in places it isn’t supposed to.

Sunghoon giggles and pecks your lips. “You’re making this difficult," he teases.

You just shrug and settle back down, ignoring the way his fingers trail over your bare stomach and pop open the button of your jeans. “I have to make you work for it.”

He smirks, devilish and no longer with any of that boyishness he’d had earlier. “Yeah, baby?” He whispers, voice husky. “Want me to beg you to let me taste you?”

Your breath hitches, bottom lip finding its way in between your teeth. Suddenly, nothing is funny anymore. 

He unzips your jeans and slowly drags them down your legs, tossing them to the floor and out of sight. “Want me to beg you to let me fuck you?” He continues.

You whimper, the sound escaping you without your permission. You’d be lying if you said the idea of Sunghoon on his knees for you doesn’t make something burn deep in your belly, but the thought of admitting that to him make your nerves spike with embarrassment.

He chuckles, sinking down to his knees until his face is level with your cunt. You can’t help but squirm in place, because even though your panties still cover you, you feel completely exposed. If you would’ve known this was going to happen today, you would’ve worn something much cuter. Not your days of the week pantied and an old bra that was a pathetic excuse for lacy. 

Sunghoons breath ghosts against your growing slick, and you know your panties are already damp. “You gonna let me touch you, baby?” He asks.

You nod your head insistently, hips searching for any kind of relief. He just chuckles and places a hand on your tummy to hold you down. “Need to hear you say it.” He murmurs. You can feel his lips brushing against your core, his nose nudging in the junction of your hip. He’s so close to giving you what you want, but he won’t. Not until he hears it coming from your own lips.

“Please,” You gasp. Your own voice sounds so needy, completely foreign to your own ears. “Wan’ you to touch me, Hoon.”

He groans, but immediately obliges. He doesn’t devour you at first, just lets his tongue lick small little kitten licks over your panties. You jump at the feeling, but he uses his spare hand to grip your hip and hold you down. 

He’s messy with it, even when he’s being gentle. He licks you open until you’re teary eyed and your panties are so drenched they look nearly see-through. He just sighs dreamily, like he’s enjoying some five-star meal and not like he’s eating you out like his life depends on it.

Pretty soon though you get over feeling everything without actually feeling it, because yes, it feels fucking insane–but you want to actually feel his lips against your bare folds. Want to feel him suck against your clit while his fingers get you ready to take him. It’s just actually admitting that that’s the hard part.

“Sunghoon,” You whine, hips stuttering slightly. “Stop teasing me.”

He pulls off of you, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “I’m not teasing you, baby.” He chuckles, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the skin of your hip. 

You huff, “You are.”

He raises a brow and begins to stand, and your stomach immediately drops. “You want me to stop then?”

“No!” You cry, shaking your head furiously. “God, no, don’t-don’t stop.”

He nods slowly, finding his place on his knees in front of you once again. “Then be a good girl and tell me what you want.”

It shouldn't be as embarrassing as it is. You’re a twenty-something year old woman with a sparkling GPA and enough experience under your belt that asking for something like this should be easy. But Sunghoons looking at you so tenderly, his hair a slight mess and eyes fucked out without even having been touched, and you’re finding it difficult to get the words out.

“I want…” You suck in a shaky breath, forcing your gaze to the ceiling. “I want you to eat me out. Properly.”

He grins and presses a chaste skin to the inside of your thigh. “See?” He hums, “that wasn’t so hard was it?”

You don't bother giving him a response, because he’s already pulling your panties off your legs and plunging back in like a man starved. His lips wrap around your clit and suck the bud into his mouth, causing your back to arch and a loud moan to fall from your lips.

He doesn’t stop after that, licking and sucking with such expertise you wonder how Sophia could ever want anything else. She had all this and genuinely thought she was going to get better? What a fucking joke.

“S-Sunghoon–” You gasp, fingers tightening into fists in his hair. He groans when you tug lightly, and you swear you see his hips roll against nothing. 

The hand on your belly travels down until he reaches your fluttering hole, gently pushing his middle finger inside of you. The stretch isn’t intense, more like just a subtle pressure between your hips, but it’s drowned out by the stimulation against your clit.

His fingers aren’t abnormally large, but they are long. So long he finds your g-spot with ease and curls his finger against it until you swear you’re seeing stars. You let out a choked whimper, hips stuttering against him.

He seems to take that as a good sign because he’s slipping another finger inside now, intensifying the stretch and making your eyes roll back. His fingers move in tandem with his tongue, licking and thrusting until your vision starts to blur at the corners. You’re close, you know it–can feel it tightening deep in your stomach.

“Gonna-gonna cum, fuck, m’cumming–”

Sunghoon hums, and the vibrations are exactly what you need to reach your peak. Your back bows off the bed, mouth falling open and eyes squeezing shut. You release with a silent cry of his name. He fucks you through it, and you can feel his eyes on you as he does. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, the way your legs shake slightly with aftershocks. He’s studying this image of you, fucked out and empty-headed, like he’s committing it to memory.

When he finally pulls away your vision is slowly starting to come back to you. You barely register him maneuvering to come up next to you until you watch him rid himself of his shirt and you come face-to-face with the hard plains of his chest. His skin is soft and milky, the soft lines of his abs rising and falling as he takes in breaths of air. 

You reach for him and he complies, falling over you until you’re chest to chest. You don’t waste any time before you’re kissing him again. You can taste the saltiness of your own slick on his lips, but you don’t care–instead, you kiss him deeper.

His tongue slips until your mouth, brushing against your own. It’s wet and gross and fucking perfect. “Sunghoon,” You manage between pants, “Fuck me.”

A beat passes as his eyes find yours, “Yeah?”

You nod, and that’s all the answer he needs. He wastes no time ridding himself of his pants and lining himself up with your entrance. He pushes in slowly, taking in every expression you make like he’s scared he’ll hurt you. And, yeah, he’s big. Like, bigger than anything you’ve ever taken. But the stretch is also perfect, filling you so completely your eyes nearly roll back.

“Fuck, you’re warm,” He mumbles, words slurring together. He sounds drunk on you. 

When he bottoms out, you swear you’re seeing soundwaves and hearing colors. His tip nudges against that spot in you perfectly, curved at just the right angle.

He takes a moment to let you adjust, but you can tell he’s holding himself back. His fingers drip the sheets with effort, bottom lips in between his teeth. You roll your hips once, testing the waters, and the pleasure that floods through you forces a moan out of the both of you.

“Don’t do that,” He says breathily, voice on the verge of collapse. “Fuck.”

It takes a second, but his hips slowly start to push into yours. His thrusts are shallow at first, just little pushes that help you to accommodate his size, but it’s not long before they turn rougher.

He pulls out halfway just to slam back in, and your breath actually gets ripped from your lungs. Stars swim behind your eyes as he finds his pace, “Fuck,” You breathe.

Sunghoon gasps, burying his face in your neck. “I love you,” He groans, “Fuck, I love this pussy. I love the way you sound. Love the way you fucking feel. You’re perfect,” He babbles.

You part your lips to reply, but all that comes out is a sob when he thrusts particularly hard. You tighten instinctively around him, and he falters for a split-second before he’s finding his tempo again.

He fucks you like you’ve been denying him for years, like he’s spent every night dreaming of this. Tears of pleasure begin to streak across your cheeks; each he kisses away without so much as a hum.

It’s so intimate, so perfect, so full of love that you don’t even notice you’re approaching your climax until it crashes over you.

“Fuck, just like that,” Sunghoon whimpers, reaching down and rubbing light circles over your clit. “You’re so perfect. Such a good fucking girl. My good girl.” And then he’s releasing inside of you, hot spurts of cum painting your insides.

He stays inside of you after he comes, both of you panting hard, sweat and fluids leaking from your bodies. He eventually pulls out and lays down next to you, his arm across your middle.

You’re silent for a moment, collecting your thoughts. You just had Sex with Park Sunghoon. Not only that, but Park Sunghoon is in love with you. He’d said it enough times tonight for you to finally really believe it.

“You okay?” He asks softly, reaching up and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. The gentleness in which he treats you now is such a stark contrast to the brutalness of which he just fucked you that you nearly laugh.

“Yeah,” You hum, voice a bit raspy. “I’m perfect.”

Sunghoon grins and pulls you into him. He kisses you again, but there aren’t any intentions behind it. Instead, it’s slow and sweet, like he’s hoping to convey every emotion he’s ever felt into the kiss.

“Good,” he says, pulling away slightly. “Because I’m going to remind you of how much I love you as much as I can.”

You laugh, “Are you asking to fuck me again?”

He shakes his head, “No,” He whispers, “I’m asking if I can make love to you again.”

And it doesn’t take much for you to say yes.

You’ve been dating Park Sunghoon for nine months and fourteen days. Nine months of hockey games, late night study session, and weekly dates (all of which he insisted he pay for). Nine months of surprise gifts, of sweet words, and daily reminders of just how lucky you are to have him.

Yunjin groans next to you, typing away furiously on her phone. “I can’t believe this is happening again!” She whines.

“I told you that a man you met on snapchat quick add wasn’t going to end up the love of your life.” Beomgyu sings knowingly, shoveling popcorn in his mouth.

“For what it's worth, he really wasn’t even that cute.” Jungwon adds.

She shoots him a glare, “Shut up, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Jiung was fucking beautiful and now he’s ghosting me!”

You shiver slightly, watching Sunghoon glide on the ice. He’s instructing his teammates to do something; you aren’t really sure. He’d tried to explain the rules of hockey to you months ago, but your brain was very clearly made for science and not sports.

“Try not to worry about it, Yunjin,” you say sympathetically, placing a comforting hand on her back. “You just haven’t met your person yet.”

She scoffs, gesturing at your shirt. “Easy for you to say when you’re already practically married to, like, the most perfect guy on the planet!”

You glance down at what you’re wearing–a blue jersey with the number 23 sprawled in the middle. Sunghoons hockey number.

You would argue with her, maybe try to make her feel better, but your eyes lock with Sunghoons across the rink for just a moment, and you stop yourself.

Because, well, she’s right. You did get lucky. You glance down at the duck hanging off of your bag, the very thing that had unknowingly started this entire thing.

“Yeah,” You shrug, “You’re right.”

And when you go home that night, listening to Sunghoon ramble about scoring the winning goal, you know that there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

thank you guys so much for reading 🥲 this story took everything out of me but i’m mostly happy with how it came out. ily guys <3

taglist: @chyssly @hoonarchives @hearteubeateuxz @yufawnz @areikii @wobblymug @rikipepitos @jk5t4r @somieverse @nishimurasona @psychicdazestrawberry @isa942572 @lawjakesim @mae-f1 @12e45 @wichujunseo @holacsh @vissnipherwifeey @enhypenlovre @karynnoona @yenienha @tessa365 @kristynaaah @min9lam7 @tombraiderjones2505 @livonianmaia @betagalactose @lac4ygal @enhainurheart @tiramisuhn @caratcakemoa @teenagecheesecakereview @filthxyy @dr1diot @mcwilla @jaeyundazed

sorry if i missed anyone in the tag list!

[hausofwoo]

graphic | mark lee

pairing: mark lee x afab reader

word count: 6.6K

summary: stuck in the monotony of your job at the mall, every day feels the same: opening the store, sitting behind the register, and counting the hours til close. you've even memorized the routines of the stores around you. but when a new guy starts at the comic book store across the way, you realize your predictable days may soon change.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, comic book store employee!mark, retail employee!reader, really cute and fluffy until it's not, public sex (public space but no one is there), unprotected piv (DONT DO THIS), mark throws u around like a lil play thing, oral (fem recieving), fingering, use of a petname (baby), lmk if i forgot anything!

author's note: this one took forever yall i know its been a while! been going thru some shit irl but things are settling and i was deadset on finishing this bc it's so cute :'-) thank u to T and @hausofmingi for being my beta readers ( ˘ ³˘)♡

working at a mall can be really tiring, but it’s not so bad when you have a crush.

you’ve been working at a retail store at your local mall for a few months now. it’s boring, there’s too many people on the weekends, and you have the worst hours. you found yourself working open to close for far too many shifts. but at the end of the day, at least it keeps the bills paid.

on slow days during the week, you’re always sat at the register, scrolling through your phone or twiddling your thumbs, counting down the seconds til closing time. sometimes you would even stare off into space, watching people pass by all day long.

you went to work always knowing exactly how the day would go; set up shop, maybe help some customers, and do fucking nothing for 8 to 10 hours. maybe a wave to the employees at the stores surrounding you, but sadly, that was usually the most interesting part of your day. you became accustomed to the monotony though, watching the same employees open up their shops next to yours.

the store directly across from yours is a comic book store. you know the few people that worked there, usually just saying “good morning” and going on with your day. you swear, you have this store memorized, knowing when the employees take their breaks, who’s working, what they’re working on that day. you didn’t really mean to, but when all you have to do is daydream, you kinda picked up on the routine there.

so when you arrive in the morning for yet another brutal open-to-close shift, you expect to just roll up the security shutters and sit back at the register all day. but there’s something different today; or rather, someone different.

sitting at the register at the comic book store is a man you’ve never seen before. his hair is perfectly messy and his glasses framed his eyes, which are focused on reading a comic. he’s working all by himself, which is surprising to you since you’re certain he’s new. you catch yourself staring and try to brush it off. he’s a new guy, so what?

you try your best to go about your day as normal, but you can’t help stealing glances over at the man at the store across from you. he has a captivating energy, and it makes you want to know more about him. he seems charismatic, being friendly with customers and earning smiles, then resuming his doodling once they leave. you notice that when he looks really focused, he bites the corner of his lip gently.

you gotta stop staring, or he will definitely notice. you decide to actually work on something for once, organizing the stock and straightening the shelves. soon enough, closing time creeps up on you. you do all of your closing duties and grab your things from the back. you close the security shutters, looking behind you quickly to see that the man is doing the same. he notices your gaze, so you kindly wave at him. instead of a wave back, blush forms on his face with a shy smile. and with that, he walks away.

the interaction was unreadable. he seemed to be so extroverted with customers, having no issue having casual conversations with them. why is he getting all shy now?

you started to pick up on the new routine at the comic book store. from what you could tell, the man worked similar hours to you, often opening and closing too. he rarely worked with anyone else, so the majority of the time you glanced over, he was reading comics, manga, or doodling in his notepad.

you never really got into comic books like that, and only dabbled with reading manga, but the growing interest in this man made you curious about learning more on what he was reading. maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check out the selection? perhaps get some recommendations? you just finished a short shift today so now was the perfect opportunity.

after grabbing your things and saying goodbye to your coworker, you make your way over to the comic book store. you approach the man, who’s sitting at the register as usual, reading. you see his name tag on his chest; a cute red pin with a spider-man drawing next to his name, “mark.”

“hi,” you say, pulling his attention away from reading.

“oh, hi,” he says, placing his comic down. “sorry, i didn’t see you come in.”

“it’s okay,” you reply, looking around at the goodies at the register. “i was wondering if you have any recommendations for a beginner at reading comics?”

“oh for sure,” he says, eyes lighting up. “marvel has tons of great ones. you could start with an ironman one, or maybe captain america? i personally like spider-man, but i’m definitely biased.”

“i’ll try spider-man,” you say after a beat.

mark gives you a nod with a warm smile before leaving the register to grab your comic. he searches through the spider-man section until he finds the first issue. he returns to the register, ringing you up.

“i think you’ll like it, it’s really good,” mark says, handing your receipt to you.

“i’m definitely looking forward to see what all the hype is about,” you chuckle. the conversation pauses for moment, clearly indicating that the interaction is pretty much over with. but you don’t want the conversation to end there, so you find something to keep talking about. “you’re new here, aren’t you? like you just started working here?”

“yeah, sort of,” he says, sitting back in his seat at the register. “i used to work here a while ago and i just came back ‘cause they needed someone.”

“oh nice,” you reply. “welcome back i guess?”

“haha, i guess,” he smiles, rubbing his hand on his neck. “it’s chill here, but it gets kinda boring.”

“tell me about it,” you chuckle. “it’s so slow during the week. i usually have nothing to do.”

“yeah, i just read or draw to pass the time,” mark says, pointing at his notepad on the counter.

“you like to draw?” you ask, curious.

“yeah,” he places a hand on the notepad, grabbing it. you can tell he’s getting shy again. “it’s just doodles.”

“you’ll have to show me some of those ‘doodles’ sometime,” you say with a sweet smile. you check your phone for the time. it’s getting closer to dinnertime and you’re starved. “i guess i’ll get out of here.”

“okay,” he stands again. “well, let me know what you think of the comic.”

“i will,” you say, turning to leave, then flipping back to look at him. “mark, right?”

he nods, asking for your name as well. he beams at you. “it’s nice to meet you. see you tomorrow?”

“see you tomorrow,” you say with a wave, walking out.

for the next week, you find yourself aching to talk to mark again. you read the comic he gave you, and it provided a little bit of insight into him… that he’s a bit of a nerd. definitely not a bad thing. it’s actually really endearing to you, knowing his life basically revolves around superheroes, free time and work alike. that he probably draws little comics in his notepad, and has sweet dreams about being superhuman. why is that so fucking cute?

you have a reason to talk to him again, of course: the next issue of spider-man. the problem is building up the courage again, which is ridiculous because he’s just a guy. a nerdy one at that, and you know that he would be putty in your hands if you really wanted him to be. but the longing you developed for him during those long hours of your shift, seeing him across the way, looking so cute in his round glasses… it’s making you nervous in a way that is difficult to explain.

you’ve been putting off going back to his store at this point. wouldn’t someone that wanted to get into superhero comics come back for the next edition? why aren’t you using your excuse to talk to him? not only that, but he even said he wanted you to come tell him what you thought of the comic. you’re just overthinking things.

you have another short shift one day, and decide today is the day. you gather your things and walk to the neighboring store, feeling the familiar butterflies you felt the first time you approached mark at the register. he’s drawing this time, crouched down and focused. he hears you walk in, lifting his head to meet your eyes. maybe you’re crazy, but it looks like his eyes light up.

“hey,” he says, closing the notepad in front of him. you present the spider-man comic to him, and he flashes a smile at you. “what’d you think?”

you chuckle, holding the comic close to your chest. “it was good, but too short. there’s another issue, right?” you joke, hoping it lands.

he lets out a giggle, “yeah, there definitely is. i’ll grab the next one for you.”

he walks over to a section near the front of the store, flipping through the excess of papers before he finds the 2nd issue. “if you liked that one, you’ll like this one even more.” he returns to the register with the issue, placing it on the counter for you.

“duel to the death with the vulture?” you read from the page. “i haven’t seen any of the movies recently so correct me if i’m wrong, but i don’t remember there being a vulture.”

“oh yeah, he’s in one of the later movies actually,” mark starts. “but you got a long way to go til you finally meet one of the iconic villians like the green goblin, or even the love interests gwen stacy or mary jane. it’ll be so worth the wait though.”

“how much do i owe you?” you ask, already pulling out your wallet.

“you can borrow it if you want,” he says.

“but this one belongs to the store, won’t you get in trouble?” you ask.

“just bring it back and it’s like it never happened,” he whispers, faking a shhh at you. “let’s just say it’s mall employee perk.”

you smile and accept it.

your new routine feels like a nice change of pace. every second of every day used to drag by, and yet at the same time, when you got home, everything that happened was so unbelievably boring that it all felt like a blur. nothing really significant happened to you. but something about trying something new, learning about a brand new niche interest, and even developing a crush… it’s finally something exciting.

you looked forward to the next time you got a new issue. not just that, but the next time you got to talk to mark. he has this charm about him that piqued your interest. it feels so easy to talk to him, as if you’ve already known each other for a long time and it isn’t just a budding friendship. you’d find yourself stopping by the comic book store a few times a week, anticipating the next comic and the underlying tension between you and mark.

like today, when you finally got off of work after a long shift. you were able to close up shop quickly and now you’re walking over to the comic book store, attempting to run in before mark locked up.

“hey, is it cool if i get the next issue real quick?” you ask, popping your head in the store.

“yeah, one sec,” he says, looking up from counting the cash in the register. “lemme just finish closing up the register.”

“are you implying that you’re gonna let me borrow another comic?” you ask, a flirty tone floating beneath.

“well of course,” he says, swiftly closing the cash drawer. “unless you want to start collecting, which by the way, SUPER expensive.”

“i think i’ll stick to being a casual reader for now,” you joke, approaching mark at the register.

“i don’t know, you might change your mind after this one,” he says, grabbing a comic from his bag. he holds it out to you, you grabbing it with your fingers briefly brushing past his. the motion makes you feel a little dizzy, and you can feel heat rising to your cheeks.

you shake your head, realizing this one doesn’t belong to the store. “wait, is this your own personal comic?”

“yeah, it’s one of my favorites,” he says, half focusing as he’s writing something on a sticky note at the counter. “i brought it in so you can borrow it.” you can see the corner of his mouth turning up, as if he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“you didn’t have to do that—”

“i wanted to,” he says, lifting his head up to hand you the sticky note he was writing on. “just treat it with care.”

you take the note, which is pale blue with a cartoon spider-man in the corner. in the middle of the note is a scrawled out phone number. you look up to see mark rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“if you want to tell me what you think?” he says, almost like a question.

“or maybe when i get bored during my shift?” you ask, chuckling.

“i’d like that a lot actually,” he smiles, his previous nervousness quickly washing away.

“you’ll regret it though,” you say, sticking the note on the front page of the comic. “because i get bored here a lot.”

“don’t worry,” mark laughs, shaking his head. “i don’t think i’ll get sick of you anytime soon.”

you finally reached issue #14 of spider-man, the one mark is lending to you. you grab it out of your bag at the beginning of your shift, sitting back in your chair behind the register and getting comfortable. you realize what it’s about and immediately text mark.

sent 10:17 am omg wait i didn’t realize this issue is the first appearance of the green goblin

you look across the way, seeing mark pick up his phone and smiling.

sent 10:18 am mark: oh yeah, he’s fuckin sick mark: you’re gonna love it

you click your phone off with a soft sigh, flipping back to your comic. you go about your shift switching from helping customers and checking them out, and reading. every once and a while, you’ll message mark with your comments and he would always reply with enthusiasm.

the end of your shift approaches quickly, and soon enough you’re closing the security shutters. you look behind you to see mark locking the doors and then doing the same. he must’ve felt your eyes on him, because he turns and flashes his famous smile to you. you walk over to him with the comic in hand.

“you were right,” you say, handing it him. “green goblin is super sick.”

“i told you,” he says, reaching for it, and your hands momentarily touching like last time. he gets flustered. “uh, i can give you the next one tomorrow if you’re working.”

“i am, yeah,” you reply, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “i am so curious though—when the hell does gwen stacy show up?”

“oh,” he giggles to himself. “you’re like, halfway there to finally seeing her.”

“i didn’t realize how extensive this series is,” you chuckle. “not that i’m complaining. i’m actually surprised by how much i like it.”

“i’m glad,” he says sweetly. “well, just come by tomorrow and i’ll give you the next issue.”

“i will.”

the following weeks, you became overtaken by superhero comics and stupid-fucking-adorable mark. you would read an issue of spider-man at work, and text mark with your reactions to certain scenes. at first you thought it might be annoying to him, but he actually seemed to encourage it, asking for your opinions on the characters and storyline.

it doesn’t help that every time you see mark, you get butterflies in your stomach. and it seemed to only be getting worse; you keep finding yourself smiling when his name pops up on your phone. you wake up excited to go to work, because you know you’ll probably have another interaction with him. sometimes, mark would even catch you staring at him and give a little nod with a smile. but what made things exponentially worse was when you catch him gazing at you too, catching you off guard but making a smile spread across your lips. you are smitten, and if anyone else was concerned, mark is probably smitten too. the issue is getting him to finally take the hint and making a real move on you.

he may get a little flustered around you, but he’s not exactly shy. after all, he did give you his number unprompted. but after weeks of going back and forth strictly talking about comics and work, you started to lose hope. you just want him. he must want you back just as bad.

after another closing shift, you watch the mall-goers pass by and file out of the building. the mall is basically empty now, most of the neighboring stores already closed and employees leaving for the day. you had to stay a little bit late, cleaning up a huge mess in the store from some rude customers. you thought you would have time to stop by to see mark, but with the amount of things you have to put away, your chances are looking slim.

you shuffle around the store, placing items back on the shelves and organizing the tables of merchandise. you eyes shift over to the comic book store, expecting to see it dark and locked up. but it isn’t; mark is still in there, half the lights still on, with him unboxing comics from their latest shipment. you already knew it was restock day for them (god you have way too much free time), but you didn’t realize how many boxes they got in.

you open the front door of your store, whisper-yelling through the security shutters. “mark!”

mark’s head turns to look at you and flashes a grin at you. “yo, you’re still here too?”

you nod, leaning on the glass door. you hold up a few of the displaced items in your hands. “go-backs,” you shrug.

he points at the pile of boxes in front of him, “restock. we got a lot of shit in early for christmas.”

“don’t say christmas please, i don’t want to think about it yet,” you say with a laugh.

you turn away to get back to work, putting all the merchandise back to their assigned spots. you don’t know what the hell got into people today; messing up all your organization you’ve done and putting things in all the wrong places. it didn’t help that you had to deal with some assholes with returns today too. you always theorize it’s from a full moon or mercury retrograde or something; those things must be the reason people start acting up.

after about an hour of cleaning, you finish up and can finally call it a day. you close up shop and turn to see mark still working on stocking at his store. you approach the security gate of the store, with its front door still propped open.

“i still need my next issue by the way,” you say to mark, who stands from his crouching position in front of an open box. he walks up to the gate and pushes it up, just enough for you to come through. you look hesitant.

“come in, it’s okay,” he says, motioning you in. you duck under the security gate, slipping into the store. “how was your day? looks like you had a lot to do.”

“yeah, the store was a mess,” you say, following him to the register. “i’ve never had to stay so late after close.”

“it’s only gonna get worse the closer it gets to christmas,” mark says while weaving around the boxes with you.

“what did i say about christmas?” you joke, nudging his shoulder softly.

“sorry, sorry,” he laugh, putting his hands up. you wait patiently for him as he kneels behind the register, looking for your comic. he pops back up with a stumped look on his face. “i swear i thought i put it up here to give to you but i can’t find it. i’m gonna go check the back.”

he starts walking to the back room, and looks back at you. “feel free to sit if you want. our stockroom is a wreck, this might take a sec.”

you nod to him, squeezing past the tower of boxes to sit in the chair at the register. it feels kinda funny to sit back here, like you’re seeing the store from a different perspective, from mark’s perspective. you look around behind the counter, seeing the little notes and cute super-hero knick knacks gathered around.

there’s a mini batman funko pop positioned in the corner, with a sticky note placed under his feet reading “no drinks at the register.” you look over to see a large iced coffee with mark’s name in sharpie. well, we all bend the rules a bit. his name tag is placed on the counter by a stack of comics. you grab it to take a closer look. it’s a plastic red pin with a white pop-art bubble. in the corner is a small piece of paper stuck on it, attached with office tape. on the paper is a spider-man doodle, made with red and blue marker and pen ink.

you’re sure this must’ve been drawn by mark. you have yet to see any of his drawings (despite your prying), so maybe seeing this one up close will give you a sneak peek into his style. it’s a little messy, with scratchy lines and colors bleeding outside the borders. despite that, it has a distinct style that you’re fond of. it’s not perfect, let alone does it look like the super-heroes you’ve been reading in your comics. but it has a quality to it that feels less polished and flat. it has character. the messiness makes it feel more… real.

you set his name tag down, placing it back next to the large stack of comics. these must be his go-backs. he’s been so wrapped up with his shipment he probably hasn’t had time to put them away. you think maybe it would be nice to help a bit. he’s been nice enough to let you borrow comics from the store, and you’re just waiting around after all.

you pick up the stack of comics, situating them into your arms, when you look down and see that under the stack is mark’s notepad. it’s not closed like you’re used to seeing it, opened to a clean white page with a drawing covering up a majority of it. it’s in a comic book style, you’re not surprised. but it has the same quality that his name tag doodle does; scrawly and messy, with no real precise lines. the colors are splashed across the page, with blotches of scribbled colored marker decorating it. then realize what it is—who it is.

it’s you.

the whole image captures you and a little bit of your surroundings. positioned at your normal spot at the register, you’re looking down at a comic with your fingers playing with the ends of your hair. but it has a dream-like feel to it, with the pages of the comic illuminating your face as if a source of power is emanating from it. and then the best part: the wings. placed behind your shoulders are pair of feathered wings, outstretched in a sketched black ink. it’s beautiful.

it’s beautiful and it’s you. mark drew you.

“yo, sorry that took so long,” mark says while emerging from the back, eyes still focused on the comic in his hands. “i finally found it, but dude i had to do some digging—”

mark’s words are cut short when he notices you holding his notepad, comics that were placed atop abandoned on the counter by you. he visibly gulps.

“mark…” you start, not moving your eyes from the drawing. “what’s this?” without a response for a few moments, you tear your eyes away to see mark with blush on his cheeks, mouth open but unable to let any words out. “did you… did you draw me?”

“look, it gets really slow during the day, i just did a little sketch to pass time—”

“mark, this isn’t just a sketch,” you say, looking back down at the notepad. “this is amazing.”

“y-you like it?” mark says, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“of course i like it,” you say.

“you don’t think it’s weird that i drew you without telling you?” mark asks, nervousness radiating from him.

“i don’t think it’s weird at all,” you say. “i actually love it. i like that you drew me as a superhero too, and one with wings at that.”

mark stays quiet, looking at his feet and probably overthinking everything right now. you look back up at him, tension building in your stomach as you ask what you already know the answer to. “you like me, don’t you?”

mark lifts his head to meet your eyes. he bites his lip anxiously as he nods slowly.

a streak of courage overtakes you as you grab his arm to pull him closer, him tripping over his own feet and crashing into your chest. you’re leaned against the counter, with mark’s arm behind you and hand placed flat on the surface. your faces are close, and you can feel his breath. his eyes are glued onto your lips, and he swallows thickly.

“mark, just kiss me,” you mumble, aching for him.

he wastes no time, leaning in to slot his lips between yours. he snakes an arm around your waist, holding you as close as he can. you melt into him, goosebumps floating across your skin in all-consuming desire. you move your hand to hold his cheek, thumb swiping on his smooth skin and fingers tangled in his soft, messy hair.

he pulls away, breath still shaky. “i’ve been wanting to kiss you for so long…” he trails off before leaning in and kissing you again, this time with more passion. he swipes his tongue between your lips, with you willingly accepting him. his hands trail up and down your sides, then finally places a firm grip on your waist and lifting you to sit on the counter. he slots between your legs, his body pressed close to yours. your fingers card through his hair, earning a sweet hum from him.

his hands trail down to your ass, pushing you closer against him to where you feel the bulge forming in his jeans. he can’t even hold back his moan, it being muffled by your lips. he pulls away again, this time kissing from your cheek down to your neck. he sucks at the expanse of skin while he caresses the other side of your throat. you let out a soft hum in pleasure, savoring every bite and lick—

“fuck, you sound so hot too,” he says in between kisses. he moves a hand down to your breast, kneading it roughly. you throw your head back, soaking in the pleasure from just his hands alone. his beautiful fucking hands, the ones that drew you. his lips feel so good on you, but his hands feel even better. it’s as if he’s been waiting for this moment for eternity and he doesn’t want to let you go. almost as if holding you, touching you is the only thing keeping him grounded in reality. it doesn’t feel real to you either; that mark, the cute boy you’ve had a crush on for weeks and weeks is kissing you, holding you, and yearning for you all the same.

you feel so wrapped up in the moment that you almost forget that you’re in public. sure, there’s no one left in the mall and the only people left are probably mall security, but the risk of being seen is still there. it just feels too good to stop.

“mark,” you say, giving in to the anxiety. “are we really doing this? right here, right now?”

he pulls back to look at you, still holding you close. “it’s just us here, and if it’s okay with you, i don’t think i can wait any longer.”

“i don’t think i can either,” you respond.

suddenly mark is ripping your clothes off, all while pulling you both behind one of the comic display cases. it’s your turn to take his clothes off, and you’re yanking his jacket off and pulling up his graphic tee and discarding them both on the floor. the exchange is a jumbled mess of constant touching of skin and clothes flying in every direction, a true testament to how desperate you both want each other. he’s kissing you all the while, taking every opportunity to peck at you between the tugging of clothes.

he leans you against the display bookshelf full of comics, completely unbothered when an issue or two falls off. your hand travels down into this jeans, feeling him hard and pulsing against your palm. you stroke his length slowly, focusing most of the stimulation on his dripping head. he lifts one of your legs slightly to get better access to you under your skirt, then looks at you as if he’s asking for permission.

you nod your head profusely before leaning in to kiss him deeply. it doesn’t last long, because suddenly he’s pushing inside you and you’re gasping at the stretch—

“you’re so—fuck—so fucking tight,” he hisses, attempting to push in as slowly as he can. your mouth is fully agape in bliss as he finally bottoms out, reaching deep inside of you. he catches your eyes, lust filled in his own as he slowly starts to move.

he’s slow at first, knowing that his size is stretching you out to the point where it’s nearly painful. but it feels so fucking good, his cock dragging in and out of your tight walls. you can tell he wants to pick up the pace, with his breath shuddering with each stroke. you take the opportunity to kiss him again, wanting to taste his soft lips as he gradually begins to pound into you.

he’s groaning against your lips, and your moans are muffled against his. you’re trying to salvage any sort of public decency by holding back your sounds the best you can. it’s when he grabs your legs and lifts you to press you against the display shelf that you realize that that shred of awareness of your surroundings is about to be long fucking gone.

he’s holding you up by gripping your ass, pistoning into you at a pace that you can only describe as brutal. it’s no use trying to stifle your moans anymore, with him hitting your cervix over and over and making you see stars at each stroke—

“mark, it feels so fucking good,” you can only whine out to him, wrapping your arms around his neck tighter, tugging at his hair—

“you feel so fucking good, jesus,” he groans against your neck, heaving breaths tickling at your throat.

his pace is wild, but the force in which he’s pounding into you begins to cause the comic books around you to tumble off the shelves, creating a pile at mark’s feet. he doesn’t seem to care though. that is, until a comic book falls from a shelf above you and hits him on the head.

“ah!” he exclaims, realizing what happened. he stops his movements to look at you, holding back a smile.

you can’t hold back your laugh, giggling profusely at the ridiculousness of the situation. he laughs too, shaking his head and letting out a sigh.

“this is crazy,” he says, resting his forehead on yours.

“i know,” you reply, still giggling. with one last laugh, he leans in and kisses you tenderly, smile still formed on his lips. you melt into him, ruffling your fingers through his hair as he begins to pick back up the roll of his hips into you.

it feels like a sweet moment, the fact that you can be doing such a scandalous act and still giggle with him. the tenderness doesn’t last for long, however, when he hits that perfect spot inside you that forces you to release a sharp moan.

“mark, oh my god,” you whimper, attempting to roll your hips down onto him. “keep doing that, please—”

“fuuuck,” he groans, feeling your core clenching around his length. “you take me so well, baby.”

all you can do now is nod, whimpering and whining on him. you can’t believe that this man that has always been so endearing, so kind and lovable has this completely different side to him that you’re only now getting to experience. it brings a different sort of intrigue to him; that he’s more than just a cute boy that works at a mall. he’s complex. he’s a fucking man. he’s a fucking. sex. god.

his breathing starts to become irregular, and his pace is back to merciless. his groans, fuck, his moaning. he’s bouncing you on his cock in the perfect way to where your moans are matching his. you can feel his dick pulsing inside you—

“i’m gonna cum,” he can only breathe out, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “can i?”

“yes mark, please,” you whine, tugging at the ends of his hair. all the while you’re clenching around his cock, bringing him closer and closer to his release.

with a low groan, his hips stutter and you feel his seed spilling into you, completely filling you up. the rocking of his hips stall, and he’s finally letting you down and kissing you sweetly, caressing your cheek with his hand.

“god, you are fucking perfect,” he whispers to you. you let out a giggle, leaning your forehead against his. “hey, i’m not done with you yet.”

he quickly moves you to the glass display counter, lifting you to sit you on it. he pushes your thighs open, lifting your skirt up to get a better look at you. he looks enamored, like he’s starving and the only thing to appease his hunger is by having you on his mouth.

he dives in, licking a stripe up your core with a groan. he repeats this action, as if he’s savoring every drop of your essence mixed with his release that’s slowly dripping out of you—

“so fucking hot,” he hums, releasing a hand from your thigh to tease at your entrance.

“mark, please,” you beg. “stop teasing—”

he attaches his mouth to your clit, swirling his tongue around in smooth, controlled circles. your hands fly to his head, body already twitching from stimulation. his finger is still prodding at your hole, wanting to enter but not just yet. he instead continues to ravage at your sensitive bud, intentional movements making your head spin. he knows what he’s doing and he knows he’s good, especially with the shaking of your thighs and high pitched moans escaping your lips egging him on.

he looks up at you, flattening his tongue out and doing long, drawn out licks. the eye contact is insane, the lust filled in them only making it that much hotter. he’s enjoying every second of this, seeing you shake and begging him to keep going. he loves the taste of you too, so sweet and almost addictive. he could die like this.

his teasing finger finally starts to deepen inside you, slowly at first. he can feel every pulse of your core around his finger, and it’s so hot that he can feel himself getting hard again. and you’re so wet, oh my god, so fucking wet. your arousal is dripping down his chin and his hand, making a sticky mess. when you start to roll your hips onto his face, he swears he’s in heaven.

he inserts another finger, feeling that tightness grip around them. it’s only getting more erratic now, clenching around him with each grind of your hips. he curls his fingers to prod at that sensitive spot, causing you to moan out his name—

“mark, don’t stop,” you whine, looking down at him basically making out with your pussy.

he continues the same movements, repeatedly hitting your g spot and swirling his dripping tongue on your clit. your back arches and legs unintentionally close around his head, making him push them back open with his free hand.

and then he starts humming against you. the vibrations send a shock wave through your body, that mixed with his fingers, his tongue, his hand gripping tightly against your thigh… it feels so intense and so so good. you cum on his tongue, with him desperately holding your hips down and he helps you ride out your high. he doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, and you have to grab his head and lift it.

“oh my god,” you gasp, slowly coming down.

he smirks up at you with arousal-coated lips. “yeah, oh my god.” he stands up, immediately going to kiss you and you accepting him, wrapping your arms around him. he pulls away and leans his head against yours.

“i can’t believe we just did that,” he says, sighing out an exasperated laugh.

“i know, what the fuck, right?” you giggle.

“are you- are you doing anything right now?” he asks. “like, do you wanna get food or something?”

“are you asking me on a date?” you ask teasingly.

“don’t tell me you decided you’re creeped out by the drawing now,” he laughs.

“yeah. suuuper creeped out,” you joke, leaning in for another kiss. you hear a noise behind you, and look out through the security shutters to see a mall security guard passing by, scrolling through his phone.

“looks like he just missed the show,” mark says, causing you both to try and hold back your fit of giggles.

a/n: thank u guys for reading! i rly enjoyed this one hehe :-) please leave feedback as i'm new to writing, and reblog to support me! it motivates me to write more!

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[chimivx]

roommates to lovers w mark lee 😛

golden hour ⋆˚꩜｡ mark lee 'she looking at me with no patience, so dangerous - - i'm in your brain like ooh-la-la-la'

5.3k, smut, fem!reader is ovulating, feelings are involved (mutual), oral (fem receiving), spit kink, p in v, unprotected (don't do that), mark cums inside, fluffy-ish, not edited at all i'm sorry

“…fuck, fuck, fuck…”

What in the hell did you walk in on?

Closing the door to your apartment behind you, quietly, twisting the knob to not make a single sound, you tip toed toward the kitchen table and set your purse down. Then your keys. Then, you jumped again.

“Fu-huck!”

His whine echoed from his room, out into the tiny hallway, into the kitchen, and up your skirt. Twisting your knees, squeezing your thighs together, you bit down on your bottom lip and cursed the fact you hadn’t gotten laid in months.

Having Mark for a roommate didn’t help.

Not when he sounded like that.

Pressing your hands into the wood, you sucked down a deep breath and shook it off. He was a male within a few feets radius of you, you didn’t want him, especially not right now, at the start of this week when you wanted anything and everything that walked. Just earlier on your walk home a street vendor complimented your legs, a catcall really, but you very well could’ve spun around and shown them to him up close.

You didn’t want Mark. You were ovulating and overstimulated and sensitive. And he’s an attractive guy, you’ve told him that before, he knows it, everyone thinks hes sexy.

His bedroom door swung open and your stomach dropped past your knees. He wore grey sweats only, and his headphones lived around his neck, his hair a mess from where they once sat on his head.

Games. Gaming. Gamer. He was playing games.

Not fucking someone into his mattress. Though it was hard to tell the difference, he sucked air harshly through his teeth just the same, no matter the activity.

Not that you listened. Or paid attention. Or touched yourself when you knew he had his hand wrapped around his cock thinking his sounds were muffled by the low beat of his nighttime playlist full of underground this guy eats, trust me rappers.

“Hey,” he smiled at you, a flash of perfect teeth with a boyish curl of his lips, “Thought I heard you come in.”

“Hi,” you sighed, standing up straight, composing yourself. Your eyes dropped to his toned middle, his perfectly sculpted chest, the silver chain hanging around his neck…

He swaggered for the fridge, coming closer to you, bodies separated by the table in the middle of the kitchen. The expanse of his back, just as honey, just as broad, just as built as his front, as his everything else. Mark wasn’t a big guy, but jesus god almighty did everything on him fit together in perfect harmony.

“How was work?” he asked, pulling a water bottle from a shelf, knobby fingers wrapping around the plastic. Arm flexing as he twisted off the cap and brought the spout to his lips, he turned to you and watched you while he drank.

A slight furrow of his brows beneath his undone hair, a pout in his lips, especially after he pulled the bottle away, the wide innocence in his eyes he wears as a facade, a trick, a ploy, because beneath that purity…

“Did you hear me?”

His smile settled into a smirk.

“Hm?” you hummed, and you watched him drag his eyes up and down your body. Glancing down at yourself you felt your cheeks flush of all color.

Bent over the table like you were, your knees had turned in. Thighs squeezing together, you practically trembled. Embarrassing. Humiliating really. Emitting a horniness reading absolutely off the charts, he could tell.

“Uh, yeah,” your voice almost squeaked. Pushing off the table you brushed your hands together and scooped up your things. “Work was… good.”

Mark leaned against a counter, his abs flexing ever so slightly. He crossed an arm over his chest and sipped his water, eyes narrowing.

“You’re lying,” he said, tongue darting between his lips, pointing at you with the bottle. Eyes glancing to his glistening lips, you withheld a whimper and shook your head.

You’ve got to get out of here.

“Not lying,” you said with the smallest of giggles, forcing some sort of smile onto your face. “I gotta shower.”

Starting for your bedroom that lived at the end of the hall, adjacent to Marks, his laugh paralyzed you. Sarcastic, knowing, sadistic. It bled into your ears, melted over your skin, and you despised what it did to your heart.

“You had your proposal today,” he started, pushing off the counter with his backside, padding over to the hall where you stood begging the bathroom to come closer to you so you wouldn’t have to withstand his presence any longer. “The big one. Your boss would be there, all the guys who think they have big dicks that own the company… Right?”

Turning slowly, very, very slowly, meeting his slightly confused expression, you nodded

“Riiiight,” he sang, voice going low and gravelly. A chill ran down your spine, one you’re hoping he didn’t notice. “I’ve listened to you all month. You’ve been dreading today, ‘cause you knew they weren’t gonna go for your team. They chose that asshole with the money, didn’t they?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, and he tipped his chin up, looking down at you. The ache between your thighs, the heat beneath your skin, grew tenfold under his stare.

You could reach out, grab him, fall onto the floor, yank down his sweatpants, slip your panties aside and sink onto him. It wasn’t even about him, you think, maybe. He’s a guy. A man who chronically oozed sex appeal, who caught the eye of everyone walking down the city streets. He’d be something hot, and hard, to fill yourself with, to relieve yourself upon, getting you through this week so you didn’t have to succumb to your vibrator or your own fingers…

He licked his lips again, the tip of his tongue sliding along his bottom lip dangerously slow.

Back and forth… back and forth… back and-

“You still with me?” he asked within a breath, almost a whisper, pulling you out of a trance.

You needed to leave.

Gulping, you squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. Shook him out of your head. Him and his hot, shirtless self with his grey sweatpants hanging so low on his hips you knew he wasn’t wearing anything beneath them because the definition between his hips, down his pelvis winked at you.

“I’m fine.” Snapping your eyes open, you glared at him. “You’re right. Bad day. Thanks so much for reminding me.” You spun on your heels and stormed down the hall, stepping into your bedroom. He attempted to follow, arms shooting out at his side, eyes going wide, all signs of playing wiped from his cheeks.

“Hey, wait, I didn’t mean to do that, I was only trying to-“

You slammed your door shut.

In his face.

Mark Lee was not allowed in your bedroom, not right now. And probably not anytime in the near future. And then some.

This week sucked. A goddamned reminder that you had the worlds sexiest roommate and couldn’t do a thing about it. That the crush you’ve tried to swallow away for a year now was very much still real, very much still hanging over your head, something you can’t seem to escape. Not when your body quite literally begged you to reproduce with him.

Sighing, eyes falling shut, you threw your head back against the door.

Why Mark Lee???

Why your roommate you’ve grown tumultuously close to, closer than anyone else to you at this point in your life???

The Mark Lee who brings home girls some weekends, who goes out to party with friends he met in college, who works remotely, rarely has to leave the apartment, so he’s always here, always saying hi to you, always quick to greet you and bid you a good day when you leave in the morning…

Criminal really, how domestic it all seemed. How some days he’ll hint toward it, completely destroying weeks of suppression you worked oh so hard to build, only to now have to do it all over again.

You promised yourself you wouldn't get to this point.

That living with someone as attractive as Mark would work.

Guys and girls can be friends, you and Mark, you'd beat the stereotype.

Maybe it was time to move out.

Pushing off of your door to peel your top layers off, leaving a shirt and your skirt on to move to the bathroom with, you pulled pins from your hair and slumped onto your bed to pull your socks off.

Glancing about the space, your cozy bedroom you put together yourself, with Marks help, he really etched himself into every part of your life.

A hoodie of his laid over the back of a chair, a pair of his sunglasses sat on top of your dresser, some of the earrings in your jewelry box were his... For gods sake, you shared the same shampoo and soap.

Digging your hands through your hair, splaying yourself backwards on your bed, you reached for your laptop and pulled it over your stomach. Opening it, you punched Apartments.com in to the search bar and let available places in your area, nearby work, pop up.

Scrolling for about a minute, eyeing the monthly rent in comparison to location and appearance, you squeezed your eyes shut and groaned.

Now was not the time.

Tossing your laptop to your mattress, not bothering to log out or shut it, you snatched your towel and disappeared into the bathroom, allowing the hot water to wash away work stress, ovulating thoughts, and feelings.

Wrapping yourself in your towel, tucking it in so it stayed put, you smoothed lotion over your exposed skin, up your neck, down your chest, around your arms. Making note of where your necklace and earrings were on the counter that you'd have to come back for, you picked up your clothes, flipped off the light, and peeked out into the hallway for any sign of Mark.

Years you've lived here, and yet the act of running from the shower to your bedroom performed like some sort of humiliation ritual.

Not for Mark, of course. He'd wander around in his towel for hours.

The apartment was quiet. No games, no whines, no Mark.

Maybe he left.

Stepping out of the bathroom, leaving the door cracked, you took two giant strides toward your door and spun inside swiftly, turning the knob as you closed your door, just in case he was still here somewhere.

"What are you looking at these for?"

Jumping a mile, grabbing onto the top of your towel, you whirled around with a gasp.

He was sitting on your bed with your laptop on his legs that were folded under him.

"Mark!"

He glanced up at you, his brows furrowed and focused, paying no mind to how your cheeks flushed and your body still dripped. "When were you planning on moving?"

"I wasn't, I-I was just-"

Looking down at the screen, he squinted at something. "Looking for apartments in this building."

Stepping toward your bed, you held up a finger. "Everywhere, not just this building."

He scoffed, his lips perking into the tiniest of smirks. "So, you admit it. You're moving out." The way he looked at you...

Both hands held onto your towel, pressing to your chest for your own sanity and composure.

You were naked.

He was on your bed, half naked.

"I wasn't planning on it," you sighed, eyes wide, hoping to tide him over with your words so that he'd leave and you could continue your search, or, at least put some clothes on. "You saw me when I came in here, I was stressed, so it was the first thing I thought of to do to help my nerves, I guess, I-"

Setting the laptop aside, he rose to his feet, head cocking to the right. All of his accessories were gone, it was just him, his sweats, and that silver chain around his neck.

"How is a new apartment gonna help relieve your stress at work?" he asked, taking small steps toward you. His frame stood bigger than your own. More clothed than you, taller than you, you sunk backward, your body pressing against your door. "I did see you, you were..." His eye flickered to your lips. "Upset."

Five inches separated you.

"Mark," you whispered, and he looked at you. "It's just a bad day."

"Is it?" he asked, closing two more inches, eyeing your parted lips as your breath hitched.

Gulping, you nodded, holding onto the cotton that covered you even tighter. "Bad day."

Narrowing his eyes, you could feel his warm breath trickling over your skin still damp from the shower. "So, you thought a new apartment would cure that bad day?" He didn't let you answer, cutting you off before you started. "Why don't you just tell me what you really need, sweetheart," he whispered, closing the gap between you, pressing himself against you, "And we can stop playing fucking games."

His hands pressed against the wood of the door, his arms caging you in. Chest to chest, his nose nudged yours and he smirked as your eyes fluttered shut.

Intoxicating.

Every siren in your head shot off.

His warmth, his presence, his smell, his words, his lips.

"Look at me," he murmured, and you obeyed, meeting his proud smile. "Good girl," he cooed, nudging your nose with his. Your knees trembled. He let a soft laugh loose. "Yeah, you like that. I knew it."

"Knew it?" you breathed, your heart pounding between your lungs.

Mark licked his lips and popped his brows. "I hear you too, sweetheart." His lips ghosted yours, smiling as your face screwed up in disbelief. "Oh, yeah," he sang, "You're filthy. How many toys you got in that drawer over there? Wanna play?"

Writhing, pressing your legs together, your core slick already, you whined and shook your head. "Mark."

Parting his lips, softening his face, he pouted. "Oh, babe, you're not in trouble." Taking a hand to your chin, he danced his thumb over your cheek, swooning as you melted into his touch. "I'm teasing," he whispered, taking in how you stared up at him, unable to look at anything else since he said look at me.

Swallowing thickly, you took shallow breaths, your mind tuning to the sound of his voice.

Mark pinched your cheek gently, his brows steadying over his deep brown eyes. The way you stared at him, like he hung the stars and held the answer to all of your problems...

"I know what you need," he said just above a whisper, his fingers drawing over your skin gently, dancing down your neck. "As soon as you walked in the door, I could tell." His finger hooked below your chin, lifting it more, your doe eyes deepening. "Fuck," he whispered. "I'll leave you alone, okay, you can get into that drawer-"

He stepped away from you, and you reached for him, hands grabbing onto his bare biceps.

"Mark-"

Your towel slipped.

He didn't look.

His entire being softened.

Waiting.

His eyes never left yours.

Sucking in a shaky breath, he pushed out, "Yeah?"

Clenching your jaw, you gave him the tiniest nod of your head, and he groaned.

"Tell me," he whispered. The feeling of your fingers digging into his skin made his lashes flutter. "Say the words," he shook his head, "Or, you get nothing."

Steadying your breath, breaking through the part of you that longed for him to just give in and swallow you whole, you said, “I need you.”

It was all he needed.

Pushing you up against the door, one hand wrapping around the back of your neck and the other slipping down your body, Mark opened his mouth and pressed his lip to your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin as your arms hooked around his neck. Rocking with him, letting his weight push you to where he wanted you to be, you followed, body lax, under his control.

His fingers slipped between your legs, dragging through your folds, pressing to your clit. Moaning against your neck, grinding himself into you at the sound of your own whimper, he lifted his head and touched his forehead to yours.

“So fucking wet,” he mumbled, leaning in to kiss your lips, heavy yet slowly, his tongue poking through to meet with yours, “You’ve been pent up all day, haven’t you?”

“Three days,” you gasped, clinging to him, the massage of his fingers making you tremble.

His tongue dragged over your lips. “Three days?” Pressing wet kisses to your cheek, he muttered, “You’ve been this horny for three days?” Pulling away from you briefly, watching you writhe with every twist of his fingers, every brush of his thumb over your clit, he started to smile. The hand around your neck tightened, pressing into the sides.

“Mark,” you moaned, and the sound he made lit a spark in your belly.

Screwing your eyes shut, you thrashed against the door, knees going weak as he slid two into you, his thumb in a steady rhythm over your bud. Grinding into his hand, throwing your hips in a circle, his smile fell into a smirk.

“You want it bad,” he muttered, dipping down to nip at your neck. “What can I do to you, baby?”

Feeling your belly tighten every time you became aware that this was Mark doing this to you, touching you, making your toes curl, you couldn’t find it within yourself to hold back. Shame was lost on you.

Clawing at his back, gasping for air, a moaning mess, you babbled, “Anything, anything, y-you can do anything, I don’t… Fuck… Mark.”

“Good fucking girl,” he cooed, tugging at your earlobe with his teeth before his lips were latched to you once more. Pumping his fingers into you, curling them towards him, you shook. Bending at the knees, he pressed hot kisses down your chest, grabbing a handful on the way down, his fingers teasing your nipples. Searing his lips down your middle, over your belly button and below, he pulled his fingers from you on his knees and looked up at you. “You’re beautiful.”

Heaving breaths, your cheeks warmed. Covering your face with your hands, you managed to finally crack some sort of giggle. “Stop,” you whispered.

“Come here,” he breathed, gripping your hips, tugging your lower half toward him. Guiding one leg over his shoulder, he smoothed that hand up the back of your thigh, giving your ass a squeeze with a moan. Dragging his thumb through your slick, he curved his lips into the perfect ‘o’ and gazed up at you as he blew cool air over your core. 

Sucking air in through your teeth, jolting away from him, one hand flew down to lace through his hair, giving him the harshest tug. Proud of himself, he beamed up at you and let his tongue roll through his parted lips. 

“Where do you want me?” he asked, voice an octave lower than usual. He didn’t fight against your hold, but you could feel him start to try to. Letting him go, his smile wiped away. “No, hang on to me.”

“I didn’t wanna-”

He gripped your hip, his other hand sliding up your middle to grab a handful of tit. “Hang on to me,” he said through his teeth, nudging himself into your core, his nose pushing on your clit, his tongue sliding into your hole.

Both of your hands knit into his hair, holding onto him for balance as he held up on one foot.

Lapping at you, his tongue swirling and twisting, the pressure in your belly growing tenfold, you cried out for him and allowed yourself to fall against him, all your composure gone. Mark pressed his fingers into your curves, pinched and toyed with your nipple while he moaned into your pussy soaking his face. Bobbing his head, tongue going flat, he moved with you, your hips circling on his face, riding wherever the pleasure wanted you to go.

Vision blurry, body on fire, you tugged at his hair but it wasn’t enough. You tried to reach down for him, but he wouldn’t move. You wanted to see him, to hold him, hold onto him, kiss him–

“Mark,” you whimpered, trying to pull him off of you. “Mark, please.”

Parting from you once, sucking in a breath, chest heaving, he gazed up at you with lust stricken eyes, his lips and cheeks a mess. “Wanna make you cum,” he groaned, soothing you with a circle of his hand on your thigh, “Doing so good, baby, please?”

“No,” you cried out, pulling him to his feet.

He let you. 

Gently placing you back on the ground, holding you up, he pressed himself to you and cupped your jaw. You gave him a kiss, one small, one soft, one tasting like you. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, giggling as he pulled a hand up to wipe his face clean, he kissed you again, longer this time, your breaths in sync, like the beating of your hearts.

“I’m right here,” he whispered. “You okay?”

Nodding, gazing at him, you licked your lips and gave him the quietest whine.

His thumb pulled at your bottom lip, his eyes flickering to it, and with the gentlest whisper, he asked, “Your bed or mine?”

“Stay here,” you breathed, and he smiled.

Taking his hands to your waist, he pulled you up, wrapping you around his front. Stolen kisses on the way there, a few strides backward toward your bed, he tipped over as you giggled and laid you down on your mattress. Tongue escaping, nasty kisses pushed to your neck, Mark pushed his sweats to the floor and climbed over you, his knees pushing yours open.

Taking both hands to your jaw, he tipped your head backward and coerced your lips open with his thumbs, holding them there. His cheeks sucked in, as his length prodded at your entrance, he pursed his lips and let a ball of spit drip onto your tongue. Moans trapped in the back of your throat, you arched against him. 

Mark, eyes dark as ever, bobbed his head and stuck his thumb in your mouth, spreading his spit on your tongue. “I knew it,” he teased, “Again.” As if you were going to be able to question him, he looked you in the eyes and whispered, “Nasty.”

Eyes rolling, you wiggled your hips, the feeling of his tip not enough. Wrapping your lips around his thumb, giving him a harsh suck, you swore the devil flashed in his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he grumbled, “Don’t get me started. I want you gagging every which way, I’ve pictured it, gotten off to it.” You moaned and he laughed. “But, I wanna fuck your pussy more than I wanna fuck your throat,” he dipped down to press a kiss to your forehead, pushing stray hairs out of the way, whispering, “That okay?”

“Please,” you mumbled around his thumb, digging your teeth into it. “Mark, please.”

He lingered by your ear, lips brushing your lobe. “Please, what?”

“Fuck me,” you cried, writhing under him. He pulled his thumb out of your mouth and gripped your chin. Meeting his gaze, you whimpered. “Please, Mark, fuck me. I need you so bad.”

“Thought you were gonna let me bend you over the kitchen table,” he said, reaching a hand between your bodies to grip himself, “Pictured that before, too.”

“Fuck,” you gasped as he slid his tip into you.

He winced at how you squeezed him already, his brows tipped in the middle, his lips curling under. “Let me in, baby, can’t give you what you want if you don’t breathe.”

Your heart beat in your ears. You could barely get any air in as his length pushed inside of you, the pressure too great. The stretch, too much, the thought, the knowing that it was Mark, this was Mark, your roommate, inside of you, his cock, the pleasure–

A long sigh, laced with a whine, washed over him from your lips. Pushing into the hilt, your thighs touching, his hips on your hips, your clit pushing into his pelvis, he laid on top of you, your chests meshed. Parted lips met yours, the brush of a tongue on yours, the stinging of tears in your eyes as he rocked into you– you could feel him in your throat.

His thumbs pushed into your cheeks, his soft touch keeping you with him, brushing over your bottom lashes as your lips parted and you sighed, gazing up at him. 

A mess, both of you. His hair, pushed around in ways he’d never let you see, his eyes, glazed over with euphoria, his lips, parted and hungry. Teeth baring as he rocked into you, your breath hitching in your chest, you drug your hands down his back, your nails leaving behind plush red love marks as they came back up to his shoulders.

“God, I just wanna stay like this,” he mumbled, burying his head in your neck, moaning into your shoulder. “Feel so good, sweetheart,” he sighed, wrapping his lips in a kiss below your jaw.

One of your hands escaped to his hair, knitting into his locks, holding onto him for clarity. “You’re so… big…” you managed to gasp between snaps of his hips.

Smirking down at you, he pushed himself up to his hands, the silver chain on his neck dangling over your nose. “Yeah?”

Managing a smile with your twisted brows, you breathed through a laugh, “Knew it.”

“Fuck, you’re so cute,” he muttered, suffocating you with a kiss, his hands eager to hold you in anyway they possibly could. “You know what it takes to hold myself back?”

Your tongue wanted to pop out of your lips. Biting down on your lip, moaning without giving yourself permission, you blinked up at him, dazed, ignited with nirvana.

Relief.

Mark pushed up off of you, guiding your legs around his waist as he held onto yours. Picking your hips up off the mattress, he pistoled into you and tipped his head back, his groans echoing off the walls, lingering in the air.

“You know what it feels like… to have you walk around here… like you don’t know how hot you are?” He took a thumb to your clit, pressing down, grinning as you cried out and writhed, your hands gripping onto your sheets. “What it feels like… to hear you moan into your pillows… knowing that I could walk in here… and fuck you dumb?”

“Yes,” you gasped, voice broken, “Mark, yes, you drive me fucking crazy.”

He snickered. “Do I?”

Every twist of his thumb made you tremble, your high barreling toward you as you watched his body move. The arch in his back, the push of his hips, where your bodies met, the sound your bodies made…

“I wanted you as soon as I got home,” you babbled, fucking yourself back onto him as he thrust into you, “Wanted you to fuck me, wanted you to make me cum… Mark.”

His body let loose for a second, his composure dropping, his head lulling back, but then he grabbed your waist and pushed you both up to your pillows. Stretching his legs behind him, putting his hands behind your knees, he folded you in half and lowered himself on top of you. 

Hair stuck to his forehead, your breaths tangled in shared air, his chain kissed your chin, your nose, your neck.

“Mark,” you whispered, your belly tightening, your legs shaking around him. Pulling him closer, landing messy kisses to his cheek, to his jaw, you gasped, right on the edge. “M’fu- Mark!”

“Come on,” he whispered, lazy lips brushing your cheek, “C’mon, babe. I got you.” You squeezed him, your body twitching under him, a tumultuous build up, a crash you needed three days ago. Fueled by his hands, his hips, his tongue, you cried out for him, barely recognizing yourself. “Cum for me, sweetheart, c’mon, you can do it.”

Almost missing your lips with a kiss, he moaned into your mouth as his own belly tensed.

“Need you to cum first,” he groaned, letting his fingers toy with your clit, his speed relentless, but he knew as soon as you went silent, he had you. “Be a good girl,” he whined, nose pressing to your cheek, “C’mon… Cum on my cock, baby, isn’t that what you want? Cum and I’ll fill you up, you want that?”

Nodding, fast, barely breathing, only able to suck air in, unable to push any out, you clung to him as your vision seared white, and you convulsed into him, body ignited with a pleasure brand new. You squeezed him tight, giving him little time to warn you he was cumming, filling you up with half a thrust as he dropped to his elbows and whimpered.

You’re not sure how long you laid in silence, spent bodies pressed together on a mussed up bedspread that now needed a washing. Then, he stirred.

Picking up his head of messed up hair, he looked down at you, eyes heavy, lips swollen. Surprised to see you already looking, he smiled, a flash of his teeth poking between his lips. Pulling out of you, taking his time, watching you closely as he did, he kissed you gently.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, shifting over your body to lay beside you, wrapping an arm around your back to tuck you into his side.

Unable to not look at him, you brushed your lips over his chest and whispered, “You’re incredible.”

Resting an arm behind his head, he looked down at you with a lazy smile. “You feel better?”

“Yes,” you answered quickly, making him laugh. “But, I think…”

He flipped his brows over, reaching his hand out to fix the mess that was your hair. “You think what, sweetheart?” 

Curling up against him, you cowered and hid your face in his arm.

“Tell me,” he said softly, smoothing his hand under your chin, lifting your head. Pursing your lips, as if he could tell by the flutter of your lashes, he poked his cheek with his tongue. “Be a good girl and use your words,” he whispered, and you almost whimpered.

Your heart swelled in your chest, your cheeks heating as you whispered, “I don’t want you to go.”

Mark glanced around your room before looking at you crazy. “Am I… going somewhere?” Smiling as you giggled, he screwed his face up and tried to wiggle away from you. “Oh, wait, actually, that's you. How’s the apartment hunt going?”

“No!” Grabbing onto him, pulling him back into you, he rolled over on his side, hovering over you. Blinking up at him, you took a deep breath and shook your head. “I’m not leaving. You overwhelmed me, I thought I had no other option.”

Mark raised his brows. “Instead of just asking me to fuck, you were going to move out? To a whole new apartment? When this one is just fine?” Your smile faded, and your resolve clouded over. Mark tilted his head, curious. “Talk to me.”

Rolling your eyes, dragging your nails against his back, softer this time, you mumbled, “I… like you… Mark.” He didn’t move. “I was thinking about moving, ‘cause… I have feelings for you. And, after this… I want you. I wanted you before. I want to be yours.”

It took his six whole seconds to break into a toothy grin. “Great,” he huffed, catching your lips in a slow kiss, whispering against them, “Which room do you want to be ours?”

Eyes widening, he shocked you with another kiss.

Nudging your nose with his, he winked. “I wanna be yours.”

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

masterlist | talk to me | ao3

[keonnies]

౨ৎ cherry popsicle ! ft. yang jungwon .✦ ݁˖

in which your sweet best friend!jungwon makes the innocent mistake of watching you eat a sticky popsicle in a bikini at the beach ♡ warnings ;; dry humping , fondling , lowk perv!jungwon , cumming in pants , semi-public ❀ — nsfw !!

coarse grains of sand tickled at your skin as you sprawled your body on the colorful beach towel beneath you. you and your best friend had taken a short drive to visit your favorite beach on the hottest day of summer.

"ahh, the sun feels so nice..." you sighed, feeling the rays of the afternoon sun soothingly heat the back of your thighs. tanning in nothing but a bikini was truly an unmatched feeling.

"no fair, save me some room!” jungwon flopped down next to you, folding his arms underneath his chin as he playfully jostled your shoulder with his. his skin was so warm to the touch. "hmm, i could be here all day with you."

you smiled at his hum of pleasure, carefully adjusting the straps of your bikini for the perfect tan line. "i wish i could just lay here forever, but i'd need someone to protect me."

he let out a bright chuckle as he reached over to help you with your strap. "you don't even need to ask." his gaze lingered on your sunkissed skin, wandering down your body for a respectful duration before meeting your eyes again. "do you need more sunscreen?"

you shook your head, suddenly feeling parched. "no, but i want something refreshing." from your very comfortable position, you raised your head to find an ice cream stand not far away from your spot. you turned to jungwon. "can we go get a sweet treat?"

his eyes crinkled into an adoring grin as he affectionately pinched your cheek. "of course. you stay here and get comfy, i'll get them for us." he patted your head before standing, looking down at you from above. "cherry popsicle?"

you nodded, joy bubbling in your chest at his generous favor for you. "yes please. thank you wonnie, you're the best!"

as you watched him leave to fetch your treats, you admired the toned muscles rippling down his back and arms. his hair was slightly damp from when you splashed him in the water not long ago, and slightly lighter thanks to many hours spent in the sun this summer. god, you really loved to see him walk away…

"y/nnie... y/nnie!" you were awoken by an ice-cold touch on the small of your back, causing you to jolt upright in surprise.

"huh—'won!" you yelped, arms instinctively wrapping around your torso in a makeshift defense mechanism.

jungwon's gaze fluttered down to where your breasts were on the verge of spilling from your bikini top, thanks to your protective stance. he shook his head at you. "you dozed off already? i really tried to be quick..." your heart melted at the pout on his lips as he handed you the unwrapped popsicle.

"it's okay, wonnie, the sun just felt too nice." you gently took the dessert from him with a grateful smile. "thank you, you're soooo the best."

he chuckled at your compliment, licking the dripping scarlet juice from his fingers. "i'd do anything for you." he unwrapped a treat of his own: a strawberry shortcake ice cream bar. "do you wanna try?"

still holding onto your popsicle, you inquisitively examined his treat. "strawberry? hmm... can i try it after i taste my own?"

"sure—oh..." his words trailed off as he quickly noticed the situation in front of him: you, sitting on your knees so innocently as sticky syrup cascaded down from your fingers and conveniently onto your cleavage.

you cocked your head curiously at him. "huh? what is it?"

his gaze never strayed from your chest as he focused on the red rivulet slowwwly traveling between your breasts. his cheeks flushed pink. "the juice, um..."

you looked down, only noticing it then and frowning. "oh, wonnie, can you get it for me?"

his eyes widened at the way you requested something so scandalous so casually. he swallowed thickly. "you... can i touch you?”

you nodded frantically. jungwon acted in an instant, using a gentle touch to wipe away the sugary liquid, carefully dipping a thumb in between your supple breasts to make sure he didn't miss a single drop—because he was just that diligent.

"did you get it all?" you pouted.

shit, even just being this close to your tits was making his dick throb in his swim shorts. he shook his head, leaning in closer to really ensure he got the last of it. being under his studious gaze in the hot sun was beginning to make you quite dizzy.

with a final swipe (and the tiniest squeeze just to satiate his curiosity), he leaned back with a shaky sigh, examining his work. "there, all better."

"you're so sweet to me," you giggled, lifting the popsicle to your lips to finally taste your sweet treat.

and jungwon regretted watching you immediately.

his heated gaze zoned in on the way your pink, glossy lips wrapped around the sticky popsicle, your eyes meeting his with an innocent glimmer that stirred a strange urge within him to corrupt you. he felt the strain in his shorts growing more and more just by imagining that the treat in your hands was his leaking cock.

were you always such a tease?

still making eye contact, you slipped the popsicle further in your mouth, lapping up as much of the dripping juices as you could before releasing it from your lips with a sweet pop. he let out the faintest groan under his breath as you did so, wondering if you would take him just as deep in your throat if he ever got the chance to have you suck him off.

god, he was so fucking horny.

you laughed airily at his dazed expression. "what is it? do you want to taste some?"

all he could muster was a weak shake of his head as he eyed the cherry-colored stain of your lips, thinking about how badly he wanted to make out with you until your lips were swollen just as red. "keep eating it, you need to cool off." his tone was more strained than usual.

you frowned at the sticky state of your fingers. “ah, wonnie, it’s getting so messy…” you looked around for somewhere to wipe your hands off.

“here, let me hold it for you,” jungwon reached out to relieve you of your popsicle-holding duty, watching you slowly lick your fingers clean. “…good girl.”

you blushed at his praise, reaching out to reclaim your treat. to your surprise, he held it away from you. “j-jungwon?”

“nuh uh, i’m going to feed you from now on. can’t have you pouting about getting all sticky, right?” he gave you a warm smile, as though he weren’t partly doing this for his own selfish reasons.

but you simply beamed at him as all your worries melted away, just like how it always was with him. “okay, feed me!”

you crawled towards him, leaning in as he cupped your chin and slowly slid the popsicle in between your lips, admiring the way you blinked in surprise at the sudden coldness intruding your mouth. his gaze was laser-focused on you, admiring the way your lips moved along the dessert, just like how he always imagined they would drag around his cock. “taking it so well…”

your eyes widened as you hummed in surprise, mouth full. you licked down and up the treat one last time before pulling back, tongue darting out to lick your lips clean. “what was that, wonnie?”

he couldn’t speak for a moment, and his cheeks were flushed awfully red. “i want to…” he shifted in place, noticing how his swollen cock was nearly springing free from his shorts. he was so pent up from having to pretend like he didn’t want to just fuck your face right then and there.

your gaze finally traveled down his body to the spot in between his legs, eyes widening in shock at the evidence of his need for you. “oh, jungwon…” you breathed, hand tentatively reaching out on instinct to soothe his ache.

he nearly leapt backwards at your sudden movement. “oh my go—y/n, please don’t touch me right now or i’m going to cum,” he blurted, his face now completely flushed.

your lips parted in awe. all of this was just innocent play to you, but he was… this pent up? “w-won… i’m sorry, i didn’t know…”

he shook his head, bare chest heaving from struggling to control his urges. he examined your sunkissed body with a frantic gaze, clearly torn between whether he should give up or just give in.

you frowned at his condition. “wonnie, let me help you… please? wanna help.” you murmured, crawling to hover over his lap. he placed a hand on your waist protectively, slender fingers playing with the string of your skimpy bikini. your full tits, still slightly sticky with sugar, were so close to his face, he could just lean in and suck on them…

finally coming to a decision, jungwon carefully placed a hand on the small of your back and pushed you down against his lap, causing him to groan in pure bliss as he grinded your pussy against his clothed member. “oh, fuuuuck, baby.” his voice was low and needy, so different from how the breezy tone he always used with you. “you know how bad i wanted this?”

you shook your head, hips riding the wave in a mesmerizing rhythm. “n-nuh uh… but feels s’good,” you slurred.

his grip tightened on your waist, guiding you into a faster pace. “so, so bad, baby,” he panted in your ear, licking a hot stripe underneath it. “your tits are so perfect. i could stare at them all day… can’t believe you let me touch ‘em like that. you wanted that, didn’t you?”

all you could do was bite your lip and nod—even if you weren’t sure what he was saying, everything sounded like a good idea in the tone he was speaking in right now. “touch me, wonnie,” you sighed, pressing harder against his cock.

jungwon's hands immediately darted to fondle your tits, squeezing and pushing them together as he admired how they jiggled and spilled from your top with every bounce. “can i taste them?” he asked, barely waiting for your nod before snapping the cups of your top to the side and latching onto your tits like a man starved. the mingling of his needy grunts and the squelch of his tongue lapping at your nipples had your brain growing hazy.

“w-wonnie! hnn... ohmigod,” you panted, head thrown back in pleasure as you continued to grind against him.

he released your puffy nipple with a pop, focusing on bouncing you on his lap faster, harder, forcing your breasts to jiggle mesmerizingly in front of his face. “ugh, your tits, i’m gonna—ngh, gonna cum…” he snapped the waistband of your bikini before following it with a possessive spank, greedily gripping at the fat of your ass while guiding your hips back and forth. “that’s it.. ride me, baby.”

“j-jungwon, we can’t, we’re in public—!” your feeble warnings were cut off by a squeal as he forcefully bucked his hips upward into yours, his brow furrowing as he fixated on chasing his pleasure and claiming you in front of everyone to see. and all of a sudden, you felt a new warmth pooling between your thighs, looking down to see a wet patch blooming on his shorts. “oh my god, wonnie…”

his cheeks were flushed pink, both from the excitement of having his gorgeous best friend bouncing away on his lap and the embarrassment from nearly cumming in his pants. but his desperation to get you off overshadowed any whisper of shame. “hah, you see that? m’close, keep going for me, show everyone who you belong to.”

you let out a pained whine, rolling your hips with more and more force until you felt his firm cock brush perfectly against your puffy clit, causing you to cry out in ecstasy. “jungwon!” squeezing your eyes shut, you felt your thighs shake violently as your fluttering cunt clenched around nothing, creaming through your skimpy bikini.

he slapped a hand over your mouth, continuing to grind your cunt against his leaking cock, leaning in close to pant your ear as you rode out your orgasm. “look at you, cumming like a dirty girl for everyone to see.” he paused his filthy words to let out a low groan. “oh shit, m’gonna cum, keep bouncing for me baby, ride me—“

palm still planted over your pink lips, he took one last look at your glistening tits and your dazed expression before pistoning his hips upward with force, flexing every muscle in his toned body as though he were fucking his cum deep inside your tight pussy. he let out a string of curses as he held your sunkissed body close, ropes of sticky cum spilling into his shorts as though he hadn’t touched himself for weeks.

"j-jungwon..." you breathed, arms looping around his neck as your eyes drank him in. his brown hair was a mess, broad shoulders rising and falling as he caught his breath, cheeks thoroughly flushed from both the heat and the dreamlike feeling of making his best friend cum on his lap in public. not yet meeting your gaze, he focused on adjusting your bikini straps to make sure you were properly covered up, ever the gentleman even in his drained state.

after making sure the fabric was placed to his liking, his eyes slowly traveled up to meet yours with a mesmerized gaze. "you're so gorgeous," he whispered, his doting touch never leaving your body as he lovingly caressed your warmed skin.

the air between you and your best friend was different now, almost hesitant, as you finally crossed the barrier that you had always fantasized about.

rather than hastily speaking your mind, you thoughtfully stroked the nape of his neck as you tilted your head, simply simmering in your overwhelming happiness. a sweet smile formed on your lips. "you're so cute, jungwon."

his starstruck expression broke into a bright laugh. "and you're so silly." just then, his gaze drifted over to where your cherry popsicle laid forgotten and half-buried in the sand. he held back another laugh. "oh, whoops."

you giggled at the abandoned state of the icy treat that had started it all. "ah, it was too messy anyways." you turned back to him with a thoughtful expression as he watched you with an endearing gaze. "hmm, you deserve a treat...

how about i feed you ice cream this time?" ♡

happy birthday wonnie ♡ ‧₊˚