Finally
ARTMS' Jeong Jin-sol (Jinsoul) x Male Reader
4.8k words
Commissioned Fic
"—and then she's begging me to go harder, like actually begging, so obviously I—"
"Oh my god, shut up." Jinsoul throws a pillow at your head from across the couch. "Seriously. Shut the fuck up."
You catch it, grinning. "What? You asked how my weekend was."
"I asked if you did anything interesting. I didn't ask for a play-by-play of you fucking some random girl." She's glaring at you over her glasses, that annoyed look she gets when you've pushed too far. You've seen it a lot lately.
"It was pretty interesting," you say, because you can't help yourself. "Very interesting, actually. Want me to describe—"
"No." She cuts you off, going back to her phone. "I really, really don't."
This is routine by now. You tell her about your latest hookup, she gets annoyed and tells you to shut up, you tease her about being prudish, she throws something at you. It's been like this for months, ever since you started actually having success with dating apps.
Jinsoul's your best friend. Has been since college, back when you were both awkward and single and spent weekends gaming instead of going out. Difference is, you eventually figured out how to talk to girls. She... didn't. Still hasn't, as far as you know.
Not that she's bad looking. She's hot as hell, objectively. But she's also got this whole nerdy, keeps-to-herself thing that apparently doesn't translate over very well to the dating scene. Oversized hoodies, glasses, constantly has her nose in a book or her laptop.
You watch her scroll for a second, then decide to go for it.
"It was Chuu, by the way."
The scrolling stops.
Not dramatically, she doesn't gasp or drop her phone. Her thumb just... stills. A half-second pause that she covers immediately by scrolling again, slightly too fast now.
"Okay," she says.
"Just thought you'd want to know."
"I really didn't."
"She says hi, actually."
"She does not."
"She didn't," you admit, "but she did ask about you after. Like genuinely asked, not small talk. Wanted to know if you were seeing anyone."
Jinsoul's jaw shifts. Just slightly. "Cool."
"I told her no. That you don't really—"
"Cool," she repeats, louder.
You should stop. You know you should stop—you can read Jinsoul better than anyone and every signal she's giving is the polite version of I will actually get up and leave. But there's a different feeling tonight. Usually her annoyance is surface-level, the kind she shakes off in ten minutes. This is something else. She's not looking at you at all now, which she usually does even when she's pissed, because Jinsoul's the type to maintain eye contact out of sheer stubbornness.
"She's a good time," you say, mostly just to see what happens. "Really good, actually. Very—"
"I know what Chuu is like." Flat. Quiet.
Interesting.
"Do you?"
"She's my friend." She finally looks up, and there it is—not quite anger, something more complicated than that sitting right behind her eyes. "Can you please just talk about literally anything else."
"Sure." You shrug, lean back into the couch cushions. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Anything."
"Okay. Did you finish Horimiya?"
"Yes."
"Was it good?"
"Yes."
"Cool." A pause. "Chuu told me she—"
The second pillow hits you square in the face.
You're laughing before it even falls to your lap, fully delighted, and you hear her exhale hard through her nose—that sound that means she's trying not to smile and winning by the smallest margin.
"You're insufferable," she says.
"You love me."
"Genuinely debatable right now."
The TV's got some cooking competition running on mute, and for a few minutes you actually let it sit quiet. Jinsoul pulls her knees up to her chest, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, and goes back to her phone. Normal. Routine. Except she's sitting a little more coiled than usual, and twice you catch her starting to say something and swallowing it.
The third time, it comes out.
"Was it actually her?"
You glance over. "What?"
"Chuu." She isn't looking at you. "Was it actually her or are you just saying that to be annoying?"
"Would I make that up?"
"Yes."
"Fair. But no. Friday night, after Heejin's thing." You watch her process that—Heejin's party, which Jinsoul left early, which Chuu stayed at. The math is easy and unpleasant and you can see her doing it. "It just kind of happened."
"Mm."
"She's really—"
"If you say really good one more time I'm going to kill you."
"I was going to say really into eye contact," you say, which is somehow worse, you can tell by the way Jinsoul's shoulders climb half an inch toward her ears. "Very intense. Very—"
"Stop." She puts her phone down. Not throws it, not slams it—just sets it face-down on the cushion beside her, which is somehow way more scary. "I'm serious. Stop talking about her."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to hear it."
"You've never wanted to hear it. That's never stopped you from—"
"I really don't want to hear it right now." Her voice has dropped. Different tone than the pillow-throwing, different tone than the eye-rolling. She's looking at you straight-on now, glasses slightly pushed up, jaw clenched. "Okay? Can you just—for once—drop it."
"Okay," you say.
Quiet.
The cooking show flickers. Someone on screen is upset about a soufflé.
"Whatcha gonna do about it?" you say.
You mean it as a joke. Mostly. The same way everything tonight has been mostly a joke. Mostly just pushing because she always shoves back and it's funny, it's always funny, that's the whole routine. Except she goes very still when you say it, and the stillness isn't the same stillness as when the phone-scrolling-stops.
She moves before you fully register it—just closes the distance between you two with absolutely zero hesitation, her hand grabbing a fistful of your shirt, and then she's kissing you.
It's clumsy. She comes in at a slightly wrong angle and her glasses bump your face and she makes this short frustrated sound against your mouth and corrects. The correction is worse, somehow—more direct, her fingers tightening in your shirt like she's worried you're going to pull back.
You are too stunned to do anything for about two full seconds.
She pulls back first. Barely an inch. Her eyes are open and she's watching you with this expression that is trying very hard to look like she does this all the time and failing completely—cheeks already going pink, breathing through her nose, waiting.
"There," she says. "That."
Your brain catches up.
Jinsoul's still watching you with wide eyes behind her glasses, her hand still fisted in your shirt, and you can see the exact moment where she realizes what she's done.
She starts to pull back. "I shouldn't have—"
You don't let her finish.
Your hand comes up to cup the back of her neck, fingers sliding into her hair, you take half a second to reach up and carefully pull those glasses off her face, setting them somewhere on the couch without looking. Then you pull her back in, properly.
"Oh," Jinsoul breathes against your mouth, and then she's kissing you back.
She tastes like the coffee she was drinking earlier, slightly bitter, and her lips are softer than you expected. Softer than Chuu's, softer than any of the girls you've ever mentioned over the last few months. The thought flickers through your mind and then disappears entirely because Jinsoul makes this small sound—not quite a whimper, not quite a gasp—and presses closer.
Her other hand comes up to your chest, not pushing, just resting there like she needs to steady herself.
You pull back just enough to look at her. "Jinsoul—"
"Don't." Her eyes are still closed, her breathing uneven. "Don't ask if I'm sure. Don't ask if this is weird. Just—" She opens her eyes, and there's something almost defiant in her expression, that stubborn way her jaw is set even as her cheeks are flushed pink. "I'm doing something about it. Like you said."
"I didn't think you'd actually—"
"Well I am." She kisses you again, harder this time, with more conviction, and her hand slides from your chest up to your shoulder, gripping tight. "I'm sick of hearing about Chuu. About all of them. I'm sick of you looking at me like I'm—like I'm just—"
She doesn't finish the sentence. Instead she shifts, trying to get closer, but the angle's wrong and she ends up half in your lap, knee digging into your thigh, and she makes a frustrated sound.
"Here," you say, and your hands go to her hips—the skin of her thighs warm under your palms. You guide her properly into your lap, her knees bracketing your hips, and the small pleased sound she makes goes straight to your cock.
She's straddling you now, sitting back slightly, and you can see the way her chest is rising and falling too fast, the way her hands are shaking slightly where they're pressed against your shoulders. She's trying so hard to look confident, to look like she knows what she's doing, but you've known her for years and you can read every tell.
"Have you ever—" you start.
"No," she cuts you off, and there's that defiance again, her chin lifting. "But I know—I'm not stupid, I know how this works, I've—" She fumbles for words. "I've watched porn. I've read things. I know what to do."
The admission is so earnestly Jinsoul—so thoroughly her brand of awkward honesty—that you have to fight back a smile. "That's not the same as—"
"I know it's not the same." Her fingers curl into your shirt. "But I want to try. I want—" She takes a breath. "I want you to stop looking at everyone else."
Oh.
Oh.
"Jinsoul," you say, and your hands tighten on her hips without meaning to. "How long have you—"
"Months." It comes out almost angry. "Months of listening to you talk about fucking other girls. About how good they are, how hot they are, what they let you do to them." Her hips shift, probably unconsciously, and the friction makes you both inhale sharply. "I didn't—I wasn't going to say anything. But then Chuu—"
She cuts herself off, but you can fill in the blanks. Chuu, who's her friend. Chuu, who she's probably compared herself to more than once. Chuu, who you described in vivid detail not twenty minutes ago.
"I'm sorry," you say, and mean it. "I didn't know—"
"Of course you didn't know. I didn't tell you." She's looking at you now, really looking, and her eyes are dark without her glasses. "But I'm telling you now. I want—I want you to f-fuck me. I want you to—" She swallows hard. "I want to know what it's like. What they get to have."
Your cock is fully hard now, and honestly probably has been since she first kissed you. There's no way she can't feel it pressed against her through your jeans. Her eyes widen slightly when she shifts and the angle changes, when she can feel exactly how hard you are.
"Is that—" Her voice is shaky. "Is that because of me?"
"Well," you say, manage. "It's not because of the cooking show."
The smile that crosses her face is small but genuine, pleased in a way that makes your chest tight. Then she's kissing you again, and this time there's less hesitation, more hunger. Her tongue slides against yours and she makes these breathy little sounds that drive you insane, her hips starting to move in small unconscious circles.
You slide your hands under her hoodie, palms flat against her sides, and she gasps into your mouth at the contact. Her skin is impossibly soft, warm, and when you drag your hands higher she arches into the touch.
"Can I—" You tug at the hem of her hoodie.
"Yes," she says immediately, and helps you pull it over her head.
She's wearing a simple cotton bra underneath, gray, nothing fancy. Somehow that makes it hotter—that she wasn't planning this, wasn't dressed for seduction. Just Jinsoul in her comfortable, everyday clothes, finally saying what she's been holding back for months.
You can see her nipples hard through the thin fabric, can see the way her chest is flushed, and when you run your thumb over one she makes a choked sound and her hips jerk.
"Sensitive," you murmur.
"I—yes—" She's breathing hard. "I don't—people don't usually—"
"No one's touched you here before."
She shakes her head, and fuck, the thought of being the first one to touch her like this makes something possessive appear in your gut.
You lean in, press your mouth to her neck, and she tilts her head back with a gasp. Her skin tastes like body wash, something clean and slightly floral, and when you scrape your teeth against her pulse point she whimpers.
"Oh god," she breathes. "Is it—is it supposed to feel like this already?"
"Like what?"
"Like I'm—" She can't seem to finish, her hips rolling against you with more purpose now, seeking friction. "It's too much. I'm already—"
You pull back to look at her, and fuck she's gorgeous like this—hair messed up, lips swollen, eyes half-lidded. "Already what?"
"Close," she admits, and she looks embarrassed about it. "I think—I've never felt like this before, I don't know if I'm—"
"You're turned on," you tell her, and slide one hand down to grip her ass, pulling her harder against you. She moans, full-throated and loud, and her hands scramble for purchase on your shoulders. "Really fucking turned on."
"I've been turned on before," she protests weakly. "This is—this is different."
"Because it's not just your hand this time."
She makes a strangled sound. "Don't—don't say it like that."
"Like what?" You're grinning now, can't help it. "You're the one who started this. You're the one who decided to do something about it."
"I know," she says, and then she's kissing you again, messy and desperate, her hips moving in a rhythm that's completely unconscious now, just chasing sensation.
You can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her shorts, can feel how wet she must be already, and when you rock up to meet her she breaks the kiss to gasp.
"Please," she says, and she sounds wrecked already. "Please, I need—I don't know what I need but—"
"I've got you," you tell her, and mean it. "I've got you."
"Bedroom," Jinsoul says suddenly, pulling back. Her lips are kiss-swollen, her pupils blown wide. "We should—the couch is—"
"Too small," you finish, because she's right, you're already half falling off it with her in your lap.
She climbs off you and immediately seems to second-guess herself, standing there in just her bra and sleep shorts, arms starting to come up before she forces them back down. You stand too, and her eyes track down your body, lingering obviously on the bulge in your jeans.
"Is it—" She swallows. "Does it hurt? Being that hard?"
"Little bit," you admit.
"Oh." She reaches out, hesitates with her hand hovering inches from your belt. "Can I—"
"Yeah."
Her fingers fumble with your belt buckle, shaking slightly, and she makes a frustrated sound when it doesn't immediately cooperate. You're about to help when she gets it, triumph flashing across her face as she yanks the belt free and starts on your button.
"I've got it," she mutters, more to herself than you. "I know how to—it's just a button, I'm not—"
The button pops free. She drags your zipper down and then pauses, staring at the outline of your cock straining against your boxers like she's not sure what to do next.
"You can touch it," you say.
"I know that." But she's biting her lip, hesitating in a way that's so clearly out of her depth that something protective rises in your chest.
You cup her face, tilt it up to kiss her again, softer this time. She melts into it with a small sound, and while she's distracted you slide your hands down her sides to hook your thumbs in the waistband of her shorts.
She breaks the kiss. "Wait—I should—" She takes a breath. "Chuu probably does it better. Takes her clothes off, I mean. She probably knows how to make it—"
"Stop." You cut her off. "I don't want Chuu right now. I want you."
"But you said she was—"
"I was being an asshole." You slide her shorts down and she steps out of them, standing there in just her underwear—plain gray cotton that matches her bra, and somehow that's hotter than any lingerie. "And you're—fuck, look at you."
She glances down at herself like she's not sure what you're seeing, then back up at you. "I'm not—I don't look like—"
"You look perfect." You mean it. She's all soft curves and pale skin, the slight swell of her stomach, the curve of her hips, thighs pressed together. "Absolutely fucking perfect."
Her breath hitches. Then she's pushing at your jeans, trying to shove them down your hips, impatient now. You help her, kicking them off along with your boxers, and your cock springs free.
Jinsoul stares.
"Oh my god," she says, very quietly. "That's—that's supposed to fit inside me?"
You can't help it—you laugh. "We'll make it work."
"How?" She sounds genuinely concerned. "I've used—I have a—but it's not—" She gestures vaguely at your cock. "That's bigger than—"
"We'll go slow."
"You didn't go slow with Chuu." It comes out before she can stop it, and she looks embarrassed immediately. "Sorry, I shouldn't—"
"Chuu isn't a virgin."
"Right." Jinsoul takes a breath, lets it out. Then, with visible determination, she wraps her hand around your cock.
Your hips jerk involuntarily at the contact and she makes a startled sound, almost letting go before her grip tightens. Her hand is smaller than yours, fingers not quite meeting around your girth, and the touch is uncertain, exploratory.
"It's hot," she says, wonder in her voice. "I didn't—it's really hot."
"Yeah." Your voice comes out strained.
She strokes experimentally, base to tip, and you groan. Encouraged, she does it again, twisting slightly on the upstroke like she's remembering something she read, and—
"Fuck," you grit out. "Where did you—"
"Reddit," she admits, and there's a hint of pride in her voice now as she strokes you again. "There were guides. I read—I wanted to know what to—oh."
You've slid your hand between her thighs, cupping her through her underwear, and she's soaked through the fabric. She gasps, her rhythm on your cock faltering as you press against her.
"You're so wet," you murmur, rubbing slow circles. "Fuck, Jinsoul."
"Is that—is that good?" She's trying to keep stroking you but her coordination is failing, her hips rocking into your hand instead.
"So good." You hook your fingers in her underwear. "Can I—"
"Yes, just—please—"
You pull them down and she steps out of them, then reaches behind herself to unclasp her bra with slightly more success than the belt. When it falls away you get your first real look at her tits—small, perfect handfuls with pale pink nipples that are hard and begging for attention.
You lean down and take one in your mouth.
"Oh fuck," Jinsoul gasps, her hand flying to your hair, gripping tight. "Oh fuck, that's—"
You suck harder, let your teeth graze, and her knees actually buckle. You catch her, guide her backward toward your bedroom, reluctant to take your mouth off her but needing somewhere better than the hallway.
She falls back onto your bed with a bounce, sprawling there completely naked, hair fanned out, chest heaving. For a second she just stares up at you standing over her, and you can see thoughts racing across her face—nervousness, want, that stubborn determination.
Then she spreads her legs.
"Okay," she says, and her voice only shakes a little. "I'm ready. Just—you should probably—" She gestures between her legs. "I read you're supposed to—before the actual—"
"You want me to eat you out first."
Her face flushes the brightest red you've ever seen. "If you want. I mean, the guides said it helps with—for virgins—"
You're already kneeling between her legs before she finishes stammering. "Jinsoul."
"Yeah?"
"Stop thinking about guides." You press a kiss to her inner thigh and she shudders. "Just feel."
"Okay," she whispers. "Okay."
You drag your tongue up her slit and she nearly levitates off the bed.
It's heaven between her legs, your face buried in her pussy, tongue working her clit while she makes increasingly desperate sounds above you. Her thighs are trembling on either side of your head, her hands fisted in your sheets, and when you slide one finger inside her she clenches around you so tight it's almost concerning.
"Oh god oh god oh god—" It's all running together, her hips rocking up to meet your mouth. "I'm gonna—I think I'm—"
You curl your finger and she cums with a sharp cry, her whole body going rigid before she's shaking through it, pulsing around your finger. You work her through it until she's pushing weakly at your head, oversensitive.
When you pull back and look up at her, she's staring at the ceiling with wide eyes, chest heaving.
"That was—" She tries to form words. "Holy shit."
"Good?" You're grinning, can't help it.
"I think I blacked out a little." She props herself up on her elbows to look at you. "Is it always—do people always—"
"Not always." You crawl up her body, settling between her legs. Your cock brushes against her and she gasps. "But yeah, it can be."
She reaches down between you, wrapping her hand around your cock again, and guides it to her entrance with more confidence than coordination. "Okay. I'm ready now."
"Jinsoul—"
"I'm ready," she insists. "Just—go slow? Like you said?"
You line yourself up, pressing just the tip against her, and even that has her breathing changing. "If it hurts—"
"I know. I'll tell you." She wraps her legs around your hips, trying to pull you closer. "Please just—I need—"
You push in slowly, just the head, and she makes a sound that's half-gasp, half-whimper. Tight doesn't even begin to cover it—she's gripping you like a vice, her body resisting even as she's trying to relax.
"Breathe," you tell her, holding still. "Just breathe."
She takes a shaky breath, then another, and you feel her relax incrementally. You push in another inch and her nails dig into your shoulders.
"Okay?"
"It's—" She swallows hard. "It's a lot. You're really—fuck, you're really inside me."
"Just a little bit." You kiss her jaw, her neck, trying to help her relax. "We can stop if—"
"Don't you dare." Her legs tighten around you. "Keep going. I want—I want all of it."
You push in further, slow and steady, and she's making these small wounded sounds that you're pretty sure are half-pleasure, half-overwhelmed. When you're about halfway she tenses up again.
"Hurts," she admits quietly.
"Need to stop?"
"No. Just—hold on." She takes a few breaths, adjusts her hips slightly. "Okay. Keep going."
You sink in another inch and she whimpers. "God, is there more? How much—"
"Almost there."
"Jesus christ." But she's trying to relax again, breathing through it. "Chuu took all of it right away, didn't she."
Even now she's thinking about that. "We're not talking about Chuu right now."
"But she did, didn't she? She probably—"
You thrust the rest of the way in and Jinsoul's words cut off in a sharp gasp, her eyes rolling back.
"There," you grit out, because fuck she feels incredible. "That's all of it."
"Oh my god." She's panting, her body stretched tight around you. "Oh my god that's—you're—I can feel you everywhere."
You hold still, letting her adjust, and after a moment she experimentally rolls her hips. The friction makes you both groan.
"Okay," she breathes. "Okay you can—you can move."
You pull out slightly and thrust back in, shallow, testing. She gasps but doesn't tell you to stop, so you do it again. And again. Building a slow rhythm that has her making these breathy little sounds on each thrust.
"Is this—" She can't seem to finish sentences. "Am I doing it right?"
You're not doing anything," you point out, and she makes an indignant sound.
"I'm supposed to—the guides said—" She tries to move her hips to meet your thrusts and the angle goes wrong, making her wince. "Fuck, how do people—"
"Stop thinking," you tell her, pinning her hips down. "Just feel it."
You thrust deeper and she moans, her head falling back. "Oh fuck that's—right there—"
You angle your hips to hit that spot again and she practically sobs, her pussy clenching around you. You can tell she's close again, her body drawn tight, sounds getting higher and more desperate.
"Touch yourself," you tell her. "Your clit."
Her hand slides between your bodies obediently, fingers finding her clit, and the added stimulation has her gasping. You pick up your pace, fucking into her harder now, and she's meeting you as best she can, all awkward enthusiasm.
"I'm—" Her words dissolve into incoherent sounds. "Please don't stop don't stop don't—"
You don't stop. You fuck her through her second orgasm, feeling her tighten and pulse around your cock, and the sensation combined with her wrecked sounds pushes you right to the edge.
"Jinsoul—" It's a warning. "I'm gonna—where—"
"Inside," she gasps. "I'm on—birth control—please—"
That's all you need. You thrust deep and cum hard, spilling inside her while she makes soft satisfied sounds, her hands stroking through your hair.
For a long moment you just stay like that, both breathing hard, sweaty and stuck together.
Then Jinsoul laughs.
It's breathless and a little disbelieving, but genuine. "Holy shit."
"Yeah," you agree.
"That was—" She's still trying to catch her breath. "Way better than the guides made it sound."
You pull out and immediately there's the wet sound of cum leaking out of her onto your sheets. Jinsoul makes a surprised noise, propping herself up to look down.
"Oh gross," she says, but she's still smiling. "It's just—coming out."
"Yeah, that happens."
"The guides didn't mention—" She pokes at your chest. "You couldn't have warned me?"
"You told me to cum inside you!"
"I was caught up in the moment!" She's laughing though, even as she's trying to clench her thighs together to stop the mess spreading. "Oh my god, do you have tissues or—this is going everywhere—"
You grab the box from your nightstand and hand it to her. She immediately stuffs a wad of tissues between her legs, looking completely unself-conscious about it in a way that's so perfectly Jinsoul it makes you grin.
"Stop looking at me like that," she says, but there's no heat in it. "This is your fault."
"You literally asked for it."
"Shut up." She throws a used tissue at you and you dodge, both of you grinning like idiots.
When she's cleaned up enough to move without dripping on everything, she shifts to lie on her side facing you, sheet pulled haphazardly over her waist. Her hair's a complete mess, lips still swollen, and there's a hickey blooming on her neck that you definitely remember making.
"So," she says.
"So."
A pause. Then: "You're not gonna tell me about this one, are you."
You snort. "What, brag to you about fucking you?"
"Would be weird," she admits. She's quiet for a second, then: "Was I better than Chuu?"
"Jinsoul—"
"I'm just asking." But she's biting her lip, trying to look casual about it and failing.
You reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear. "You were perfect."
"That's not an answer."
"Yes it is." You lean in and kiss her, soft and brief. "And I'm not talking about other girls anymore. Kind of ruins the mood when you're right here."
She processes that, and slowly, that pleased smile from earlier returns. "Good."
"Good?"
"Good." She shifts closer, throwing a leg over your hip despite the mess, despite everything. "Because if you do, I'll just have to do something about it again."
You laugh. "Is that a threat?"
"It's a promise."
And when she kisses you this time, there's no hesitation at all.
~~~
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