cw: smut, breeding kink, degradation, 69ing some real filthy some real sweet im ngl 2 u ENHA HARD HOURS MDNI 18+
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𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠
It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
Yuri’s finally asleep upstairs, her stuffed bear clutched in one tiny hand. The monitor hums on the kitchen counter. Snow’s falling outside the windows, crackling gently against the fire-warmed glass.
And Heeseung?
He’s looking at you like you’re dessert.
The second you bend down to put your mug in the sink—sweatpants sliding just an inch too low, the back of your tank top riding up—he’s behind you.
His palm presses flat to your lower back. His hips grind into your ass, and you feel him already hard.
“Baby,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “You wanna be a mom again that bad?”
You laugh breathlessly. “She just fell asleep.”
He leans down, lips brushing your ear.
“Then you better keep your mouth shut.”
Your heart stutters. Your thighs clench.
Heeseung grabs your hips, bends you gently over the kitchen counter, and pulls your sweats down just far enough to expose your soaked panties.
“Oh, you’re ready already?” he says, one brow raised. “Just from me watching you do dishes like a good little wife?”
He strokes one finger up the seam of your pussy, still covered.
You squirm. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Heeseung—”
“No,” he whispers, kissing your spine. “Say it.”
“Please fuck me.”
He slides your panties aside and pushes in slowly—deep—like he’s savoring it.
You gasp, hands braced on the cold counter, the stretch already making your legs shake.
And he starts moving.
Not gentle.
Not rough.
Just… focused.
Possessive.
Like he’s claiming you all over again.
“Look at you,” he groans. “Tight like it’s the first time. Wet like you were made for me. This pussy’s been mine since day one, huh?”
You whimper, trying not to moan too loud.
The baby monitor glows quietly in the corner.
Heeseung sees you glance at it and smirks.
“You scared she’s gonna hear?” he taunts. “Worried our little girl’s gonna wake up and hear mommy getting bred like she asked for it?”
You moan into your arm. Heeseung growls.
“God, you’re so fucking hot when you’re trying to be quiet.”
He grabs your jaw, pulls you up just enough to hiss into your ear:
“You know what gets me off? Seeing you with her. Watching you tuck her in, feed her, kiss her little cheeks like the perfect mother.”
He thrusts harder.
“And knowing that this is what you need when she’s down for a nap. Knowing I fuck you so good, you leak for an hour after.”
You’re shaking. Crying out now.
There’s slick dripping down your thighs, onto the floor. Heeseung grabs your chin, makes you look at your reflection in the microwave.
“Look at yourself,” he growls. “So messy. So fucked out. You want another one? I’ll fill you up right now. Knock you up again while our daughter’s sleeping upstairs.”
You cum so hard your knees give out.
Heeseung holds you up.
“Good girl,” he breathes. “Now hold still.”
He fucks you through it. Doesn’t pull out.
And when you feel it—that rush of heat, his cum spilling inside you—you moan like it’s your own orgasm.
Heeseung pants against your neck, then presses the softest kiss to your temple.
“That’s how you start a family vacation.”
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠
The baby’s asleep. The monitor’s on. You’re freshly showered, wearing nothing but a robe, leaning against the headboard with your legs tucked up beneath you.
Jay walks in slowly, towel around his neck, hair damp from his own shower. You smile at him, lazy and soft. He looks at you like he’s been starving.
“You shouldn’t sit like that,” he murmurs, climbing onto the bed.
“Like what?”
He crawls toward you, eyes locked on the part of your robe that’s come slightly undone.
“Like your pussy isn’t the only thing I’ve thought about all day.”
You laugh, but your breath catches when he kisses your thigh. Just above the knee. Then higher. Then higher.
“I’m serious,” he whispers, lips dragging against your skin. “Ever since you got pregnant… ever since you gave birth…”
His hands slide under the robe. Push your thighs apart gently.
“You taste different. Sweeter. Thicker. Like wine.”
You stare down at him, stunned. Flushed. “Jay—”
But he’s already kissing your pussy like it’s communion.
Slow, reverent. Like he’s praying.
He moans into you, loud, unashamed. His fingers dig into your thighs, pulling you closer. You feel his lips part—his tongue flatten—and then he’s drinking you like he’s been deprived.
“Fuck,” he groans, breaking away for a second. “You taste like something aged in heaven and bottled for sinners.”
You whimper. Try to close your legs.
He growls. “No. You gave me a child. You really think I’m ever gonna stop tasting you?”
He eats you with slow, devastating focus. Not teasing. Not rushed. Just deep, soft, relentless devotion.
You cum once—twice—he doesn’t stop.
Even when your thighs tremble, even when your hips jerk up, even when your hand grips his hair like a lifeline.
Jay doesn’t stop until you’re crying.
And when he finally comes up, lips shiny, chin wet, eyes dark?
He kisses your stomach.
The stretch marks.
The curve of your softened belly.
The skin he watched stretch around his baby.
“You taste better now,” he murmurs. “Because you’re mine in every way. And I’m never gonna let you forget it.”
𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧
He’s been hard all goddamn day.
You’ve been walking around the house in that little tank top, no bra, nipples brushing the fabric every time you breathe. You keep bending over to pick up your son’s toys, bouncing him on your hip like some sweet little housewife. Jake hasn’t had your pussy in a week, and it shows.
Every time you talk to him, his brain short-circuits.
Every time you smile at him, his cock twitches.
Your son Jacob?
Beautiful. Perfect. The light of his life.
Also ruining his sex life.
It’s not your fault. Jake knows that. But he’s still spiraling.
It’s 9:46pm.
The baby’s finally asleep.
You’re barely in the bedroom before he’s on you.
He locks the door. Turns around. And says it—
“Get your ass on the bed before I fuck you against the wall like a rabid dog.”
You blink. “Jake—”
“No. I’ve been jerking off to the memory of your pussy for six fucking days. I came in the goddamn laundry room this morning like a pervert. The second that kid shuts his eyes, I’m in you.”
You’re already backing up. Jake follows, jaw tight, cock fully hard in his sweats.
“You’ve been teasing me all fucking day. Walking around with your tits out like you don’t know what you’re doing. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
He drags your shorts down. Sees your panties. Laughs, mean and low.
“Oh, these are getting ruined. Hope you weren’t attached.”
He kisses you. Rough. Possessive.
Then drops to his knees and spits on your pussy through the fabric.
“Been dreaming about this cunt. Swear to god, baby. You’ve got the kind of pussy that ruins people.”
You’re gasping. Squirming. Already dripping through the cotton.
Jake groans. “Fuck, you’re soaked. You miss this mouth too, huh? Miss being licked until you cry? Look at you—messy and shaking, and I haven’t even pulled the panties off yet.”
He pulls them aside, tongue already out, devouring you like he’s starving.
He’s loud. Sloppy. Mouth wet and wide and relentless.
“Fuck, I forgot how good this tastes. Like candy. Like fucking syrup. Wanna drown in it. Wanna tonguefuck you until you start babbling, baby. Give me that shit.”
You cum in his mouth in under two minutes.
He doesn’t stop.
“You think I’m done? Nah. Not even close. I’m not pulling my mouth off this pussy till your legs stop working.”
“Mamaaaa?”
Both of you freeze.
“Mama, snack please?”
Jake lifts his face from between your thighs, chin soaked. He blinks once.
Then stands up.
Calm. Still. Murderous.
“I’m gonna drop him off at my mom’s.”
You’re panting. “Jake—”
“I swear to fucking god, I love him, but if he interrupts me one more time, I’m going to lose it. I’m on the edge, baby. Your pussy’s dripping, my balls hurt, and my mouth tastes like heaven.”
He pulls his hoodie on. Wipes his face with the sleeve. Grabs his keys.
“Get ready. Because when I get back, I’m going to come in you until you’re stuffed so full you forget your own name.”
He leans down, kisses your pussy one more time.
Smirks.
“Try not to cum without me.”
And walks out the door.
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧
It’s late.
And Sunghoon’s at his limit.
The boys fought all day—chased each other with brooms, cried over identical socks, tried to body slam each other off the fucking couch. He broke up four WWE reenactments, confiscated two folding chairs, and heard the phrase “Spear him!!”more than a Monday Night Raw announcer.
He didn’t even finish his dinner.
Now you’re on your knees, robe slipped off your shoulders, tits swaying as you crawl between his legs with that look in your eye.
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease.
He just pulls his cock out—already hard—and groans:
“Open your fucking mouth, baby. Daddy needs to forget he’s a parent for ten fucking minutes.”
You moan like you were born for it, lips parting, tongue flat as he feeds it to you inch by inch.
“Goddamn,” he hisses. “That mouth. You’ve been thinking about this all day too, haven’t you? Walking around like my dumb little housewife—cooking for our kids while this tight little throat’s just sitting here. Untouched.”
You gag. Loud. He grins. Dark. Mean.
“That’s it, baby. Fucking slobber on it. I want your spit dripping down to your tits.”
And then—
SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.
“DAAAAAADDDD!!!!!!!”
Sunghoon freezes mid-thrust.
You look up at him—dazed, cock still in your mouth, tears brimming.
He blinks.
Clenches his jaw.
Looks at the door.
“DAD!! JAEWON WON’T TAP OUT—HE’S NOT EVEN SELLING!!”
“HE HIT ME WITH THE PILLOW TOO SOFT!! THAT’S NOT A REAL FINISHER!!”
Sunghoon exhales like he’s in prison.
Stares at you. Then back at the door.
And then he laughs. Quiet. Deranged.
“Let them fight.”
He grabs your head in both hands, forces your face down until you’re choking on his cock again.
“They wanna pretend they’re in the ring?” he growls. “Fine. They can wrestle to the sound of their mother being face-fucked.”
You whimper, throat bulging.
“Yeah. Gag on it, slut. Show me how much you missed this. Bet your pussy’s soaked already.”
You’re dripping. Pathetically.
You can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move—but Sunghoon doesn’t care.
He keeps fucking into your throat like it owes him something, hips snapping rough, deep, relentless.
“Don’t stop. Don’t even think about stopping. They wanna scream through the door? Let them.”
You moan around him—loud. Shaky.
One of your tits bounces against your stomach with each thrust, and he watches it like he’s hypnotized.
“DAAAAAAD!!! CAN YOU COUNT TO THREE?! JAEHYUN’S PINNING ME AND WON’T GET OFF!!”
Sunghoon barks a laugh, head thrown back.
“Yeah, hold on—let me just finish throatfucking my wife so I can come count to three like a fucking WWE ref.”
You gag so hard tears stream down your cheeks.
“That’s it, baby. God, you look so pretty with my cock shoved down your throat. Bet they’ll shut the fuck up if they hear you choking on daddy’s dick.”
You cum untouched.
Right there on your knees, body shaking, soaked down your thighs—just from the way he talks to you. The way you knowhe’s been waiting all fucking day to use you like this.
Sunghoon feels it.
He pulls you off, cock soaked, saliva clinging in strings to your lips. You’re panting, teary-eyed, flushed.
“You done?” he murmurs. “Or you want me to make them wait while I use your pussy next?”
“DAD. I’M GONNA DO A LADDER MATCH OFF THE STAIRS IF YOU DON’T COME OUT.”
Sunghoon sighs.
Looks down at you.
Smiles.
“Five more minutes. Think you can handle it, mommy?”
𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨
It’s past ten. The house is quiet—finally.
And Sunoo is face down in the mattress, one sock still on, his shirt halfway pulled up his back like he got undressed mid-collapse and gave up.
You close the bedroom door softly. Climb in next to him.
“Long day?”
He groans into the pillow.
“She cried because I gave her the green cup instead of the pink one. Then she screamed when I tried to switch it. She said the bubbles in the bath were ‘too round.’”
You smile, brushing his hair off his forehead.
“And then,” he continues, voice muffled, “she fell asleep on me at six-thirty, woke up ten minutes later, and punched me in the nose. I think she might be feral.”
You laugh softly, kissing his cheek.
He rolls over—barely. One eye open. Face flushed from stress and exhaustion and not getting to touch you for four days straight.
“I need you to ride me,” he whispers.
You blink. “Right now?”
“I literally can’t move.” He stretches his arms out uselessly. “My soul left my body around lunchtime. I need you to do everything. Just use me. Treat me like a toy. I’ll whimper, I swear.”
You bite your lip.
He looks so pretty like this.
Messy. Tired. Desperate.
So you peel off your clothes—slowly, deliberately. He watches through heavy lashes, licking his lips when you tug your panties down.
“Please,” he breathes. “Come sit on it. I’m not even kidding. I think I’ll cry if you don’t.”
You crawl into his lap, straddle him gently, and feel how hard he is already—twitching under the waistband of his boxers. You free him with a soft gasp, stroke him once, twice, then sink down slowly onto his cock.
Sunoo whines.
Like, really whines. Head thrown back, hands twitching against the sheets.
“Oh my god,” he whispers. “You’re so wet. Baby, you’re so fucking wet. And warm. You’re gonna kill me.”
You rock your hips slowly, grinding down, pussy clenching around him with each roll. He’s not moving at all—just laying there, fully at your mercy, biting his lip and moaning so sweetly it makes your toes curl.
“You’re such a good boy,” you murmur, leaning forward to kiss his neck. “Letting me use you like this.”
He whimpers. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
You ride him slow and deep, your tits brushing his chest, his cock hitting just right with every movement. He’s flushed, wrecked, totally silent except for the filthy little sounds leaving his throat.
And when you clench around him hard, he gasps and cries out:
“I’m gonna cum—oh my god—don’t stop, please, baby, I need it so bad—”
You fuck him through it. Harder. Deeper.
He cums with his mouth open, eyes wide, hips twitching under you like he’s about to pass out.
He goes still. Completely still.
Eyes closed. Breathing shallow.
You brush his hair back.
“Sunoo?”
He hums, dazed. “You broke me.”
You laugh, kiss his forehead.
“Do you want water?”
He shakes his head, voice barely audible.
“I want Mirae to sleep till she’s eighteen. Then she can move out.”
𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧
You’ve never hated your own child more than you did tonight.
You love Noa—of course you do—but after ninety minutes of pure hell (a tantrum about socks, three fake pees, one real one, and exactly zero full minutes of sleep), you’re about ready to throw yourself out the window.
Jungwon—freshly showered, soft-eyed, hoodie sleeves pushed up, licking the frosting spoon you didn’t get to finish?
You’re gonna ride his fucking face until he can’t speak.
He walks into the bedroom, hair messy, voice raspy. “She’s finally down. I think.”
You’re already pulling your shirt over your head.
He blinks. “You okay?”
“No,” you snap, kicking your shorts off. “I’ve been thinking about 69ing you for three goddamn days and if I don’t sit on your fucking face right now I will cry.”
His jaw drops. “Wait—like, now?”
You crawl onto the bed. “Yes. Backward. Full weight. No mercy.”
He’s stunned for half a second—then his cock jumps in his sweats.
“Oh my god.”
“Lie down,” you growl.
He obeys. Flat on his back, head against the pillows, already hard and leaking by the time you swing a leg over his head. You lower your soaking pussy onto his mouth, facing his cock, and his hands clamp onto your ass like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“Use my face,” he pants. “Fucking sit on it. I can take it.”
And you do.
You drop onto his tongue, grind down hard, moaning when he licks a fat stripe up your pussy and starts sucking like it’s his first meal in weeks.
You wrap a hand around his cock. He gasps into you.
“This nasty little wife,” you mutter, already jerking him off, “riding your face like she’s trying to drown you. Think you’ll pass out, baby?”
He moans. Loud. Unfiltered.
His tongue is everywhere—in your pussy, on your clit, dragging through your folds while you bounce gently on his mouth like it’s your fucking throne.
You spit on his cock. Loud. Filthy.
It lands on the head, stringy and warm, and you spread it down the shaft while you twist your wrist and sink your mouth down on him in one smooth, practiced stroke.
Jungwon chokes.
He jerks once under you—then groans into your pussy, hips stuttering like he’s going to cum already.
“You close?” you giggle, pulling off with a messy pop. “Already? Poor thing. You just want to fill my throat while I cum all over your face, huh?”
He moans. Loud.
You lick a stripe up the underside of his cock and say:
“What if I squirt all over you, baby? Would you drown for me?”
He nods into your cunt. You feel it.
So you bounce harder. Fuck his face faster. Slurp his cock between your lips like it’s your favorite flavor and moan around him when his tongue flicks just right—
You cum first.
Hard.
Your thighs squeeze his head like a death grip as you cry out, leaking into his mouth while he keeps licking, tongue working you through it while his hands pull your ass down, grinding you onto him.
You don’t even give him time to recover.
You suck his cock deep—down your throat, swallowing him whole until he cries out into your pussy and cums down your throat so hard you choke.
You swallow.
Keep sucking.
He whimpers.
When you finally lift off his face, he’s wrecked.
Mouth glazed in your slick, lips swollen, chest heaving.
You wipe your chin, swing around, and lean down to kiss his cheek.
“Next time, you better ask for it. I’m not gonna be the only one begging.”
He blinks. Tries to speak.
Fails.
You smirk.
“Sweet dreams, husband.”
He falls asleep with your taste still on his tongue.
𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢
The house is quiet. Monitor glowing faint on the nightstand. Just the sound of your breathing and the rustle of sheets as you look up.
He’s already shirtless. Grey sweats sitting low, waistband dipping under sharp hips. Hair messy from running his fingers through it, still flushed from cleaning up the kitchen, checking the monitor twice, pretending he wasn’t aching the whole time.
You blink sleepily.
“Come to bed, Riki.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Just walks to the edge of the bed, climbs in behind you, and presses himself against your back—body warm, hard in all the places that count. His hand slides under your shirt and cups your belly. Not your tits. Not between your legs.
Just your belly.
“I miss this,” he murmurs. Quiet. Low. Dangerous.
You pause.
“You miss what?”
He kisses the back of your neck.
“When you were pregnant.”
Your breath catches.
“Riki—”
“You were glowing. Round. Always out of breath. So soft and full and mine.”
You shiver when his hand slides down—slow, reverent—and presses between your legs.
“Your body knew what I wanted before you did,” he whispers. “Now it’s empty. And I want it full again.”
You turn around to face him.
He’s already hard, pressing up against your thigh. His eyes are wild now, lips parted, flushed all the way to his ears.
“You want another baby?” you ask, barely able to breathe.
He nods once.
“I want you pregnant again, baby. I want you leaking, glowing, begging me to slow down because I won’t stop fucking you.”
You moan.
He flips you onto your back without warning, dragging your panties down, pressing his cock against your soaked entrance.
“You’d look so pretty round again. Tired all the time. Needy. Can’t even ride me properly without whining about your hips.”
You gasp as he slides in, slow and deep and possessive.
“Fuck—Riki—”
“Don’t worry,” he grits out. “I’ll fuck it into you slow. Make sure it takes.”
His thrusts are smooth, devastating. One hand gripping your waist, the other sliding under your shirt to palm your tits.
“These got so big when you were carrying,” he whispers, biting his lip. “So heavy. You hated it. I loved it.”
You whine—louder now. He smiles.
“God, you like it too, huh? Getting knocked up? Being so full you can’t think straight?”
“Yes—fuck, yes—”
“You’re so ready for it,” he moans. “Already dripping. Your pussy’s so greedy, baby. She knows what I want.”
He fucks you harder then. Deeper. His pace messy and obsessive.
When he cums—hot and deep and shaking—he doesn’t move.
Just stays buried inside you, breathing ragged, holding your hips like he can will it into happening.
“Keep it,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “Don’t let it go. I wanna see you big again.”
Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him down into another kiss.
He groans.
“I’ll give you as many as you want. Just keep letting me ruin you like this.”
ENHA HARD HOURS 18+ MDNI
okay so there is cockwarming, belly bulging, lots of dirty talk, and a bit of a lactation kink in sunghoons one and a daddy kink in jakes i think maybe sunghoon and jungwon take the cake for making me drip on this one honestly idek what i was thinking writing this one it was brain empty hands typing.
𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠
Heeseung has been on edge all fucking evening.
It starts at dinner—his eyes glued to you the entire time, watching the way your sundress flutters around your thighs, the way you shift in your seat, completely oblivious to how wrecked he already is.
Then at home—the way you walk around the apartment, still wearing that same pretty little dress, still teasing him without even trying.
And now?
Now, you’re bent over to pick something up off the floor, the hem of your sundress lifting just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of soft, bare skin.
And Heeseung snaps.
His hands are on you before you even realize he’s moved—gripping your hips, grinding his cock against your ass, letting out a deep, breathy groan that’s been building inside him all fucking day.
“Fuck, angel,” he hisses, his breath hot against your ear, his fingers gripping tight, keeping you in place. “You have any idea what you’ve been doing to me?”
You gasp, startled, hands clutching at the dresser in front of you for balance.
“Hee—”
“Walking around all day in this little dress,” he murmurs, one hand sliding down your stomach, dipping between your thighs, fingers grazing the soft skin just above your knee. “So short, angel. Barely covering anything. Did you wear this for me? Hm? You trying to make me lose my fucking mind?”
You feel his cock pressing against you, already so hard, already straining against his sweats.
And then—just to tease you, just to hear you whimper.
His fingers inch higher, slipping beneath the hem of your dress, tracing lazy circles up the inside of your thigh.
You shiver, biting your lip, trying to ignore the way your breath shakes beneath his touch.
“Ah, angel,” he breathes, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his fingers curling around the fabric of your dress, slowly, teasingly bunching it up.
Then, voice drenched in something dark, something hungry, something desperate.
“Bend over for me. Right now.”
You do.
Because how could you not?
Your body melts into his touch, your hands gripping the dresser, your back arching slightly as heeseung pushes your dress up around your waist.
And when he sees you like this—your ass bare, your thighs trembling, your slick already coating your inner thighs from how badly you’ve wanted him all day—
He groans, low and deep, head dropping to your shoulder.
“Jesus, baby—”
Then, in one slow, deep movement,
He slides his cock inside you.
You gasp, your body tensing, your fingers gripping the dresser so hard your knuckles turn white.
Because he’s so fucking deep.
Because he doesn’t ease into it.
Because he fills you up all at once, burying himself inside you in one smooth, deliberate thrust, stretching you open, pressing so deep you swear you feel him in your stomach.
Heeseung?
He moans.
Loud. Breathy. Wrecked.
His fingers dig into your hips, his chest heaving, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as he breathes through the feeling of being so deep inside you.
“Fuck,” he groans, his voice shaking, his hands sliding up your back, keeping you pressed firmly against the dresser.
“You’re already sucking me in, angel. You want this that bad? Hm? Want me to fuck you stupid?”
You whimper, nodding desperately, already too lost in the pleasure to answer properly.
That’s all he needs.
Heeseung grins, voice dripping with filth, his hips snapping against yours as he starts fucking into you—deep, slow, grinding thrusts, pressing his cock as far inside as he can go.
His hands slide under your dress, gripping your tits, squeezing, rolling your sensitive nipples between his fingers, making you moan louder, making your body arch for him.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” he breathes, his lips dragging over your shoulder, biting down lightly. “Made for me. Made to take my cum. Gonna breed you, angel. Gonna fill you up so good you won’t need this dress anymore—gonna have my cum dripping down your thighs instead.”
When you clench around him at his words, Heeseung gasps, his pace stuttering, his fingers flexing against your skin.
“Shit—you like that, angel? Like when I talk about stuffing you full?”
He lets out a deep, filthy groan, his hips snapping faster, thrusting into you rougher, his breath ragged against your neck.
And then—his hand slides down, pressing against the bulge in your stomach, feeling the way his cock fills you up.
“Feel that?” His voice is low, husky, wrecked. “That’s me, angel. That’s where I’m gonna fucking fill you up.”
And then—as his thrusts turn erratic, as his breath catches, as his entire body tenses against yours.
He spills inside you.
His moans turn into soft, shaky gasps, his fingers dig into your hips, pressing you back onto him, making sure you take all of it.
And when he finally comes down, when his breath slows, when his forehead rests against the back of your neck,
He still doesn’t move.
He stays there, still deep inside you, still keeping his cum tucked inside where it belongs.
And then, so soft, so teasing, so unbearably filthy,
“Better not let a drop go to waste, angel. That dress was short enough already.”
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠
You’ve been bothering him all week.
You knew exactly what you were doing.
You did it in the kitchen— wrapping your arms around him from behind while he cooked, pressing your cheek to his back, whispering, “Baby, don’t you wanna give me a baby? One with your pretty eyes and my smile?”
You did it on the couch— climbing into his lap while he was watching TV, grinding against his cock through his sweats, murmuring against his lips, “Isn’t that what good husbands do? They give their wife whatever she wants?”
You did it in bed— naked, stretched out on top of him, licking the shell of his ear, dragging your fingers down his stomach, pressing soft, teasing kisses along his jaw.
“Fuck me full, Jay. Please, please, please—right now, right now, right now.”
Jay had been so fucking patient.
Just smiling, shaking his head, gripping your waist and kissing you deep, groaning as he held back.
But now?
Now, you’re doing it again—laying in bed, tangled up in his arms, whispering filth in his ear like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to him.
“Please, baby,” your voice is sweet, breathy, teasing, your fingers trailing down his chest, your nails scraping lightly at his abs. “Please fill me up. I want you to make me a mommy, Jay. I want you to fuck me so deep that it sticks, want you to pump me so full of your cum I can’t even think, wanna be so full I can feel it dripping down my thighs—”
And Jay snaps.
One second, he’s laying there, listening, gritting his teeth, gripping the sheets so tight his knuckles turn white.
The next—he has you flipped onto your stomach, pinned beneath him, his hands grabbing at your hips, yanking them up, shoving a pillow under you, spreading you open for him.
His chest is rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths, his jaw clenched tight, his voice low and wrecked and dangerously strained.
“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”
You whimper, breath catching, fingers clutching at the pillow.
“Nope.”
And then you wiggle your hips back against him, your soaked cunt pressing against his rock-hard cock, teasing, taunting.
Jay loses it.
His hand flies to the back of your neck, pressing you down into the mattress, holding you there as he grinds against you, slow, deliberate, letting you feel exactly how hard you’ve made him.
His voice is low, dark, dripping with something dangerous.
“You’ve been begging for it all fucking week,” he murmurs, dragging the head of his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slick. “You want me to fuck a baby into you that bad, sweetheart?”
You whimper, pressing your ass back against him, nodding frantically.
“Yes—yes, please, Jay.”
And then—without another word, without another second of teasing.
Jay slams into you in one deep, brutal thrust.
You scream.
Your entire body jerks, your fingers claw at the pillow, your eyes go wide as he stretches you open, stuffing you full in one smooth motion, pressing so deep you swear you can feel him in your fucking throat.
Jay moans.
Loud. Deep. Wrecked.
His fingers dig into your hips, his head dropping forward, his chest pressing against your back, his breath shaky and hot against your ear.
“Fuck,” he groans, his voice raw, his grip tightening. “You’re so fucking tight—”
And then he pulls back—just a little,
Before he fucks you.
Hard.
His pace is brutal, unforgiving, every snap of his hips forcing sharp little gasps from your throat, making your body jerk up against him, making you completely fucking helpless beneath him.
“You begged for this, baby,” he pants, his hand slipping under your stomach, pressing against the bulge in your belly, feeling himself inside you. “Begged for me to fuck you stupid, begged for me to breed you—so take it.”
You whimper, moaning brokenly, eyes rolling back as he fucks into you harder, deeper, rougher.
And when you start shaking, when your walls clamp down around him so tight he nearly fucking chokes.
Jay groans, wrecked and desperate, his cock twitching inside you.
His hand slides up, presses down against your stomach again.
“Fuck, baby,” he gasps, pressing harder, his voice shaking. “You’re gonna feel me inside you for fucking days.”
You whimper, body trembling, legs shaking, pleasure ripping through your body so intensely you feel like you might break.
And Jay?
Jay laughs, breathless, teasing, completely obsessed with the way you’re falling apart under him.
“Oh, baby,” his voice is soft now, gentle, dripping with something possessive and tender and absolutely filthy.
“You’re gonna look so fucking pretty carrying my baby.”
And then, with one final, deep thrust, pressing as far inside you as he can go,
He spills inside you.
His moans turn into soft, broken little gasps, his hips still rolling, still grinding, still fucking his cum deep inside you, making sure you take all of it.
But he doesn’t stop.
Because when he feels the way your walls flutter around him, still so tight, still so warm, still sucking him in,
He groans, his hands gripping your waist, keeping you in place.
“Oh, no, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice soft, teasing, completely fucked-out.
Then he pulls back and slams into you again.
“You wanted me to fuck a baby into you, didn’t you?” His voice is wrecked, strained, dripping with lust. “So let me make sure it fucking sticks.”
𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧
Jake has been suffering.
For months.
Maybe even longer.
The obsession started out innocent enough—little thoughts, little fantasies. At first, it was just an idea that curled up inside his brain whenever he looked at you. You, swollen with his baby, glowing, carrying the life he put inside you.
Then, it got worse.
It became a need.
A deep, aching, primal fucking need.
It was in the way he touched you—his hands sliding down to press warm and firm over your lower belly whenever he pulled you against him at night. The way his lips would linger there, soft and reverent, before murmuring “Wouldn’t it be nice, baby?” against your skin.
It was in the way he looked at you—his brown eyes dark and full of something dangerous, something obsessed, something close to unraveling every time you wore one of those tiny little dresses that clung to your body just right.
It was in the way he spoke to you.
Whispered things in public, just loud enough for you to hear.
“You’d be such a pretty mommy, you know that? I’d take such good care of you.”
“Bet you’d look so fucking good carrying my baby. All full of me, round and soft, showing everyone who you belong to.”
“You’d let me, wouldn’t you? Let me put a baby in you, fill you up just right, pump you so full you couldn’t even think about anything else.”
You just laughed.
Ruffled his hair, kissed him deep, tugged him by the belt into the bedroom but never let him finish inside.
Always made him pull out.
Always left him aching, desperate, completely wrecked.
Tonight, you’re done making him wait.
So you plan it.
You wait for him in bed—the room bathed in warm, flickering candlelight, wearing the tiniest, most delicate nightgown you own.
Wine red.
Thin straps barely clinging to your shoulders, the silk soft and sheer, dipping so dangerously low over your chest that your nipples are just barely hidden beneath the lace trim. The hem short enough that it barely covers the curve of your ass.
Your nails are painted the same deep shade, your toes, your lips—all matching, all designed to drive him insane.
And when Jake walks in—tie loosened, dress shirt slightly unbuttoned, hair already messy from running his fingers through it all day.
He stops in his tracks.
Dead fucking silent.
Like his brain just short-circuited.
His eyes drag over every inch of you,from the curve of your thighs, to the lace hanging off your skin, to the way you spread your legs just a little, dragging your fingers up your own thigh like you’re already waiting for him.
And then?
Then, you say the words.
“I stopped taking my birth control.”
Jake physically shudders.
Like a full-body tremor, a violent, wrecked little reaction, his hands clenching into fists, his pupils dilating so fast you swear you see them blow out completely black.
“What?” His voice is already wrecked, already hoarse, already breaking.
You tilt your head, smiling slow, lazy, teasing.
“I stopped taking my birth control, daddy.”
Jake fucking whimpers.
The sound that leaves his mouth is pathetic.
Absolutely wrecked.
His knees actually buckle, his hips twitch forward, his breath leaves him in sharp, ragged gasps like he’s already about to come just from hearing those words.
“Oh my fucking God—baby, please, please.”
He’s on you in seconds.
No hesitation.
His hands are all over you, grabbing at you, pulling you into his lap, grinding against you so hard it’s almost bruising. His mouth is everywhere,your neck, your collarbones, your chest, his breath shaking against your skin as he gasps against your lips.
“Say it again.” His voice is low, rough, dangerous. “Say it again, baby, tell me I can finally fucking breed you.”
You lick into his mouth, slow and teasing, dragging your fingers through his curls, gripping the back of his neck, whispering the words right against his lips.
“I stopped taking my birth control, daddy. Breed me. Fuck a baby into me.”
And Jake fucking breaks.
His hips buck up into yours so hard you feel his cock throbbing through his pants, his moan coming out high and whiny, completely fucking gone.
“Oh, f-fuck, oh my God, baby.”
His fingers fly to his belt, unbuckling it so fast that he nearly fumbles, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
When he finally gets his cock free, when he presses the leaking tip against your folds, dragging it through your slick.
His whole body shudders.
“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re dripping.” His voice breaks. “All for me? Huh? All for daddy’s cock?”
You whimper, shifting against him, rubbing yourself over his length, making him suck in a sharp, ragged breath.
“Fuck, baby, you’re already making a mess. You want it that bad, huh? Want me to pump you so full you’ll be dripping for days—”
And before you can even answer—before you can even fucking breathe, Jake slams into you.
Hard. Fast. Deep. Brutal.
You scream.
Your back arches, your hands claw at his shoulders, your body trembles from the sudden stretch, the overwhelming fullness.
And Jake?
Jake moans.
Loud. Choked. Completely fucking destroyed.
“Oh my God, baby—fuck!”
His hips jerk, his fingers digging into your waist, his forehead pressing against yours as he gasps for air.
And then he starts moving.
Fast.
Rough.
Completely feral.
“Gonna breed you, baby,” he pants, his voice cracking, shaking. “Gonna fill you up so fucking deep you’ll feel it for weeks—”
“Gonna fuck you till you can’t even stand, keep stuffing you with my cum until you can’t take anymore,”
And when you whimper, when your walls flutter around him, when your body shakes with the force of how deep he’s fucking you.
Jake snaps.
His hips stutter, his hands tremble, his moans turn into wrecked little whimpers.
“Oh, f-fuck, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come, baby, take it, take all of it,”
And then, with one final, deep, messy thrust, pressing as far inside you as he can,
He spills inside you.
And it doesn’t stop.
Jake is still moaning, still rutting into you, still grinding his cock as deep as it’ll go, his breath shaky, his whimpers high and needy as he fucks his cum deeper.
And then—his voice, soft, trembling, completely wrecked. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop, baby. Hope you meant it.”
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧 (beware)
Sunghoon always pulls out.
Even when he’s panting against your skin, moaning your name, fucking you so deep and slow that you can feel every inch of him drag along your walls—he never lets himself go completely.
Even now, with you clenching around him, nails scratching down his back, his glasses fogging up from how deep he’s breathing, you know he’s still planning to pull out at the last second.
That’s why you decide to ruin him.
You drag your hands up his back, pulling him closer, pressing your lips to his ear, whispering sweet and filthy.
“Cum inside me.”
Sunghoon’s entire body locks up.
His hips stutter, his breath catches, his hands dig into your waist, holding you so tight you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow.
His voice comes out wrecked, hoarse, completely caught off guard.
“W-what?”
You tilt your head, letting your lips drag along his jaw, teasing, soft, sinful.
“I want you to cum inside me, baby. Fill me up. Give me everything.”
His eyes snap down to your tits immediately.
They’re bouncing every time he thrusts, slick and glistening with sweat, nipples hard and begging for his mouth.
Just like you knew he would,
Sunghoon loses it.
He grabs at them immediately, groaning as his fingers dig into the soft flesh, squeezing, kneading, pushing them together, watching how they spill through the gaps in his hands.
“F-fuck,” he chokes out, palming them roughly, sucking in a sharp breath. “You look so fucking good, baby. So soft,”
His head dips instantly, latching onto one of your nipples without hesitation.
The second his warm tongue flicks against the sensitive peak, you let out a soft moan, arching into his mouth, letting him bury his face between them.
“You love sucking on them, don’t you?” you murmur, fingers tugging his hair, keeping him there. “Bet you’ll love them even more when they’re bigger.”
He groans into your skin, sucking harder, tongue swirling, lips wet and messy.
“Bigger?” His voice is breathless, muffled against your tits, moaning between every word.
“Mmhmm,” you hum, raking your nails down his back, gasping when he nips at you. “They’re gonna get huge when you put a baby in me, Hoonie. Heavy. Sensitive. So full.”
Sunghoon whimpers.
Actually fucking whimpers.
His hips jerk forward on instinct, thrusting into you deeper, his breath getting shakier, more uneven, more desperate.
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” you purr, rolling your hips against him, watching the way his brows furrow, the way his jaw clenches, the way he moans around your nipple. “Watching them get bigger just for you. All full with milk, leaking—”
Sunghoon gasps, moans so deep it vibrates against your skin, sucking harder, needier, sloppier.
“Fuck.” he chokes out, switching to your other nipple, latching on immediately, sucking so hard you swear you feel his tongue everywhere.
“You’d drink it for me, wouldn’t you, baby?” you whisper, watching the way his cock twitches inside you. “When they’re too heavy, when they ache, you’d help me, right? Suck it all out? Just like you’re doing now?”
His hips snap forward so hard you cry out.
His grip on your tits turns bruising, his moans completely fucked, completely broken, completely desperate.
“Oh my fucking God,” he gasps, pulling back just to stare at them, glossy with his spit, flushed and swollen. “You’re trying to fucking kill me,”
You laugh softly, dragging your fingers through his damp hair.
“Not my fault you get so horny for my tits, baby. Just imagine how they’ll look when you fuck a baby into me.”
Sunghoon lets out a wrecked, desperate groan, his eyes glued to your chest, hips moving faster, harder, deeper, his forehead pressing against your shoulder.
“You really fucking want it?” His voice is shaky, breathless, barely even there. “You want me to breed you, baby? Fill you up?”
“Yes, Hoonie,” you whimper, moaning his name, pulling him closer. “Want you to fuck me so full I start leaking. Want you to suck it out when it’s too much. Want you to make sure I stay full of your cum every single fucking night–”
Sunghoon snaps.
His hips slam into you harder, his moans turning high, breathless, broken.
“Oh my God, oh my God—I’m gonna fucking cum!”
His cock twitches, his entire body tenses, and then he’s spilling inside you, deep, hot, thick, endless.
His moans turn into soft, gasping whimpers, his hands trembling against your chest, still cupping your tits, still squeezing, still sucking softly at your flushed, sensitive skin.
You whisper in his ear, wrecked, sweet, teasing.
“You’re still sucking on them, baby,” you murmur, dragging your nails up his spine, making him shudder.
His hips twitch, still pressing into you, still rocking his cum deeper inside you.
“You wanna go again?” you whisper, breathless, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “We still need to make sure it doesn't leak.”
Sunghoon lets out a wrecked, broken moan, his cock already getting hard again.“Fuck—we’re not stopping.”
𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨
Sunoo has been glowing all week.
Ever since you both agreed to start trying for a baby, he’s been softer, more affectionate, more eager to touch you at any given moment. His hands wander constantly—over your stomach, your waist, the dip of your spine, up under your shirt when he thinks you aren’t paying attention. Every night, he holds you just a little tighter, whispers just a little sweeter, kisses you just a little longer.
Tonight, he’s above you, warm and solid, his lips trailing soft, lingering kisses over your cheek, your jaw, the curve of your shoulder. His hips move slow, deep, rocking into you like he’s savoring every second.
“You feel so good,” he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. “Still can’t believe we’re really doing this.”
Your arms wrap around his back, fingers dragging over the smooth expanse of skin. His body shivers beneath your touch, his breath hitching as his rhythm falters for just a second.
“It’s real,” you whisper, pressing your lips against his temple. “You’re gonna fill me up so well, baby.”
A soft moan spills from his lips, a quiet little gasp that has you clenching around him. His hands tighten against your waist, gripping you like you might disappear.
“You really want that?” His voice shakes slightly, like he’s holding himself back.
You nod, brushing your lips against his ear. “Want all of you, Sunoo. Want you to give me everything.”
His movements grow more deliberate, more fluid, more desperate. His forehead presses against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a shaky breath.
“You’re gonna be so pretty carrying my baby,” he whispers. “So full, so soft. I’ll take care of you, you know that, right?”
Your heart clenches, warmth blooming through your chest. You kiss him, slow and deep, letting him feel just how much you want this, how much you want him.
His pace quickens. He’s always been so careful, so sweet, but this is different. He’s lost in you, breath ragged, fingers flexing against your skin. Every thrust has him sinking deeper, pressing harder, like he’s trying to mark you from the inside out.
“I can’t stop,” he gasps, voice trembling, lips brushing over yours with every desperate exhale. “You feel too good, baby. I need—”
His voice breaks into a soft moan, the words fading into nothing as he presses deeper, holding you tight, completely and utterly lost.
Your legs tighten around his waist, keeping him buried inside you. He shudders when he feels it, his whole body tensing, his hips stuttering against yours.
“Give it to me, baby,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Make me full.”
Sunoo chokes on a breath, his moan turning into something high and sweet, completely wrecked. His hands tremble as he grips your thighs, pressing himself as deep as he can. His hips stutter, then still.
Warmth spreads through you as he spills inside, filling you up just like he promised.
But when you shift beneath him, when your walls flutter around him just right, he lets out a soft, helpless little whimper.
His cock twitches. His fingers dig into your skin.
“You’re still hard, baby,” you murmur, brushing your nose against his. “You wanna keep going?”
A small, breathless gasp leaves his lips, his body trembling above you.
“You feel so good,” he whispers. “I don’t think I can stop.”
He shifts slightly, hips pressing forward again, sinking deeper, still so sensitive, still shivering from his last orgasm. A soft, gasping moan spills from his lips, his fingers curling around your waist.
“You said you wanted everything,” he breathes, voice shaking, forehead pressing against yours.
His hips roll forward, slow but insistent.
“Let me give it to you.”
𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧 (BEWAREEEE)
Jungwon was trying to get some work done.
But no—you were being a spoiled little brat, sitting in his lap, cockwarming him like it was nothing, wiggling every few minutes, sighing dramatically while he pretended to ignore the way your walls squeezed around him every single time you shifted.
He tried.
Tried so hard to keep his focus, to type, to pretend that he wasn’t throbbing inside you, to act like he wasn’t just barely holding it together, until you spread your legs.
Until you dragged one of his busy hands off his keyboard, guided it down between your thighs, pressed his fingers against your swollen, needy clit.
His entire body tensed, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his fingers twitching against your heat.
“Baby.” His voice was low, warning, already strained. “What do you think you’re doing?”
You leaned in, lips brushing against his ear, breath hot, desperate, completely ruining him.
“Jungwon, please,” you whined, shifting slightly, feeling his cock press even deeper inside you. “Just give me a baby.”
His fingers tightened on your waist, his breath came out in a slow, sharp exhale, and his laptop screen went black as he slammed it shut.
“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, gripping your hips, pulling you down fully onto him, forcing a gasping moan from your lips.
But you didn’t care.
Didn’t care that he was fed up, that his patience had snapped, that he was trying so hard to stay in control.
Because your brain had already turned to mush, because you were so full, so stretched, so perfectly stuffed with his cock that you could feel him pushing against the walls of your stomach.
You wanted more.
“I wanna get pregnant again as soon as I give you one baby,” you gasped, your fingers trailing down your stomach, pressing against the bulge that was forming there, where his cock was stretching you open so perfectly.
Jungwon’s eyes snapped down to where your hand rested over your belly.
His cock twitched inside you, hard, needy, responding to every single word that fell from your mouth.
“You’re already stuffed full of me, and you’re still talking?” he growled, rolling his hips forward, sharp, deep, making you whimper.
But you wouldn’t stop.
Couldn’t stop.
Didn’t want to stop.
“I wanna be pregnant all the time,” you babbled, completely gone, rocking yourself onto him, feeling every inch drag along your sensitive walls. “I wanna push out quadruplets just so you can fuck me full again right after. Wanna—wanna be dripping with your cum all the time, Jungwon, wanna be permanently wet for you, wanna plug myself up with your cock so none of it leaks out—”
Jungwon sucked in a sharp breath, groaning deep in his chest, pressing his forehead against your shoulder as he gritted his teeth.
“You don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
You shook your head, whining, rolling your hips, your own hand slipping between your legs, pressing against your clit, rubbing messy little circles as you shuddered.
“Won’t stop,” you gasped, tilting your head to whisper against his jaw. “Not until you fuck me hard enough that you push your cum in so deep I'm sticky inside. Not until I’m so full I start leaking just from walking. Not until I have no choice but to plug it back in with my fingers because I can’t let a drop go to waste—”
His hands clamped down on your thighs, locking you in place, his breathing ragged, his entire body trembling beneath you.
“Keep talking,” he ordered, voice rough, barely restrained, something almost unhinged.
His hips snapped up into you, deep, sharp, over and over, your body jerking from the force, from the overstimulation, from the heat building inside you so fast it was making you dizzy.
But you still wouldn’t stop.
Couldn’t stop.
“Jungwon—oh my God, Jungwon, I wanna be pregnant so bad, I want all of your babies, I want to always be full, always be leaking, always— Fuck me so hard you'd turn one baby into triplets wouldn't you?”
His pace turned brutal.
No more teasing. No more patience. No more self-control.
“You wanna be fucked stupid, huh?” he growled, pulling you forward, pressing you flush against his chest, his voice hot and sharp in your ear.
You nodded frantically, sobbing out broken little moans, still rubbing at your clit, still rocking onto him, completely fucking insatiable.
“I’ll make sure it takes,” he muttered, grinding up into you, so deep you could feel him pressing against your stomach again. “I’ll fuck you so full you won’t even be able to think about anything else—”
His hands slid back down to your belly, pressing against the bulge, feeling where he was stretching you open.
“You feel that?” he groaned, digging his fingers into the soft flesh there, pressing against himself inside you.
Your body tensed, toes curling, every muscle trembling.
“That’s where I’m gonna pump you full. Right here, baby. That’s where I’m gonna make you a mommy.”
You let out a shattered cry, body clenching around him, pleasure crashing over you so violently your vision went white.
“Jungwon, oh my God, oh my God, I wanna be breastfeeding to newborns while you’re still fucking a third one right back into me, fuck i wanna be so full with you all the time my pussy permanently tastes like your cum please,” you babbled
He moaned, loud, ragged, desperate.
With one final, deep, ruthless thrust, pressing as far inside you as he could go, he spilled inside you.
Thick. Hot. Filling you completely, just like you begged for.
His fingers dug into your hips, his breath hitched, his body trembled beneath you, his lips parting in a wrecked little gasp.
But you weren’t done.
Couldn’t be done.
Would never be done.
You shuddered against him, whimpering, clenching around his cock, feeling the mess dripping out of you, feeling the heat of his release spreading through your stomach.
But it wasn’t enough.
Never enough.
“You can’t let any of it go to waste,” you panted, brain completely melted, fingers curling against his chest. “Jungwon, please, please.”
His head snapped up, eyes wild, hair damp, chest rising and falling in sharp, heaving breaths.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, shoving his fingers inside you, pushing his cum back in.
Your breath caught, body jerking, a high, wrecked sob escaping your throat.
“You wanted it, baby,” he murmured, voice dark, teasing, dripping with something possessive. “Wanted me to breed you, right? You’re gonna take every last drop.”
His lips brushed against your ear, his fingers sliding deeper.
“I won’t stop until you’re carrying my baby.”
𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢
Riki doesn’t know when to stop.
Or, more accurately—he knows, but he doesn’t care.
He likes pushing you past your limits, watching you squirm, watching your body tremble from the sheer amount of pleasure he’s forcing you to take.
Right now, you’re under him, barely coherent, already so spent, so weak, so fucking wrecked, but he just grins down at you, completely unbothered, completely unaffected.
“You crying already, sweetheart?” His voice is smooth, teasing, so infuriatingly calm despite the way you’re falling apart.
You whimper, shaking your head even though tears are slipping down your cheeks, your entire body trembling beneath him.
Riki just laughs, soft and taunting, dragging his fingers down your stomach, feeling how your muscles twitch under his touch.
“Too bad,” he hums, adjusting his grip on your hips, tilting them up just slightly, making you feel every inch of him. “I’m not done yet.”
You let out a wrecked sob, your fingers clawing at the sheets, your mind too foggy, too overwhelmed, too overstimulated to form words.
His lips curl into a slow, lazy grin, fingers pressing against your trembling thighs, feeling the way they shake beneath his touch.
“You can take more,” he murmurs, his tone mocking, saccharine sweet, but underneath it, there’s something darker, something hungrier.
You try to shake your head, try to beg, try to push him away, but he just tuts, clicking his tongue.
“You say that,” he smirks, dragging a finger down your cheek, wiping away a tear, then bringing it to his lips, sucking it off like he actually enjoys the taste of your desperation. “But your body’s telling me something else.”
His hips snap forward, rough, slow, deep, forcing another gasping cry from your lips.
Your back arches off the bed, your head falling back, your breath leaving you in ragged, broken little sobs.
“Fuck, that’s pretty,” he groans, watching the way your body reacts, watching the way you squirm beneath him.
His fingers trail down, brushing over your sensitive clit, pressing down just slightly.
You flinch violently, a wrecked whimper leaving your lips, your thighs snapping shut on instinct.
Riki just grins, grabbing your legs, forcing them open again.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he murmurs, voice mocking, condescending, so fucking entertained by how wrecked you are. “None of that. You wanted this, remember? You wanted me to fuck you until you couldn’t think straight. How am I meant to fuck a baby into you if you’re behaving this way, honey?”
You shake your head frantically, breath catching, words slurring together as you try to plead with him.
“N-no, Riki—”
He tilts his head, eyes dark, completely unfazed.
“Sweetheart, I don’t remember giving you a choice.”
His fingers rub slow, lazy circles over your clit, his cock pressing even deeper, making your entire body jerk, making you cry out, making you twitch uncontrollably from the overwhelming sensation.
Tears slip down your cheeks, your breath coming in sharp, gasping sobs, your body trembling. He laughs, breathless and taunting, voice dripping with amusement.
“Shit,” he mutters, dragging his tongue along your jaw, pressing hot, teasing kisses against your throat. “You look so fucking good like this. Can’t even fight it anymore, can you?”
Your hands grip at his arms, weak, useless, just barely managing to keep hold of him as your vision goes hazy.
He leans in, lips brushing against your ear, voice low and dark and impossibly cruel.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispers, dragging his tongue along your earlobe, his fingers circling your overstimulated clit with cruel precision. “Give me one more.”
You let out a shattered cry, your body arching, shaking, breaking, pleasure tearing through you so violently it feels like you’re coming apart at the seams.
Your vision blurs, white-hot heat flooding through your veins, waves of ecstasy crashing over you so hard you swear you stop breathing.
Riki just grins, his voice soft, teasing, drenched in satisfaction.
“See? Told you you could take more.”
Your body twitches, trembles, shudders against him, your limbs limp, your mind blank, completely and utterly spent.
Riki clicks his tongue, watching the way you struggle to even keep your eyes open.
“Not passing out on me yet, are you?” His voice is mocking, amused, but underneath it, there’s something almost… affectionate.
synopsis: A Marriage Law was the last thing you expected to dictate your future, let alone shackle you to Park Jongseong. A pureblood heir, painfully composed, infuriatingly good at everything, and—unfortunately—now your husband.
What starts as reluctant cohabitation, filled with awkward silences and sharp words, slowly unravels into something neither of you can ignore. Stolen glances, fleeting touches, and the illusion of normalcy turn into a dangerous game neither of you meant to play. Is it all for show? Or has the line between pretend and real already disappeared?
But love alone isn’t enough to erase the past—or the law that forced you together. As the Ministry looms over your every move, and whispers of rebellion grow louder, you and Jay must decide: fight the law, or fight for each other.
wc: around 20.5K
warnings: Marriage Law AU, Harry Potter AU, forced marriage, government control, slow burn, forced proximity, awkward domesticity, enemies to lovers, bickering, rivalry, mutual annoyance, emotional angst, hurt/comfort, doubt, insecurities, fear of the future, eventual smut, explicit sexual content, sexual tension, intense intimacy, fear of love, conflicted feelings, vulnerability, mentions of pregnancy, future parenthood, domesticity, soft Jay, pining, repressed feelings, denial, yearning, lingering touches, stolen glances, smut, sexual content, F! receiving.
A/N: PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU GUYS THINK I'D REALLY APPRECIATE THE FEEDBACK!!!!!
You woke to the sharp tap, tap, tap against your window, the early morning light bleeding through the tattered curtains of your London flat. Sleep still clung to your body, but the incessant tapping forced you upright, rubbing the remnants of last night’s exhaustion from your eyes. You recognized the Ministry’s wax seal before your fingers even touched the envelope. Your stomach dropped.
It was here.
The letter you had been dreading for months. The whispers of the Marriage Law had been circulating for nearly a year, rumors passed between hushed conversations at pubs, in hidden corners of Diagon Alley, and among former classmates who refused to believe that the government could enforce such a thing. But deep down, you had known it was only a matter of time. The Ministry had already been heading in this direction for years, pushing for more control under the guise of restoration.
With a deep breath, you slid your nail under the seal, breaking it with a snap. The parchment unfurled in your hands, the ink dark against the crisp paper.
Dear Miss Y/N,
By decree of the Magical Unity Act, you have been assigned a partner as part of the Ministry’s initiative to preserve and strengthen magical bloodlines.
Your assigned match: Park Jongseong. Pureblood.
You are required to present yourself at the Ministry within 48 hours for the formalization of your union. Failure to comply will result in consequences deemed necessary by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We trust you will uphold your duty to preserve our magical world.
Sincerely,
Matilda Greengrass
Head of the Magical Unity Office
Park Jongseong. Of all the people in the world, it had to be him.
You weren’t sure what to think. You had never hated Jongseong—not really. He had always been there in the background, a constant presence in your classes, a name that lingered on the top of exam scores just above yours. He was the type of person who excelled quietly, never rubbing his victories in your face, but still managing to be infuriating simply by existing. You had no idea what he thought of you. If he had any feelings about your academic rivalry, he had never shown it.
And now, he was going to be your husband.
You hadn’t even processed the letter properly before you found yourself in a booth at The Leaky Cauldron, sitting across from Riki. You had sent an urgent owl the moment you had read the letter, needing to talk to someone—anyone—who might understand.
Riki was younger than you by only a couple of years, but you had always seen him as something of a younger brother—mischievous, quick-witted, and annoyingly perceptive when it came to your emotions. He was the kind of friend who teased you relentlessly but would hex anyone who dared to cross you. If there was anyone you could turn to in a moment like this, it was him.
“You got him?” Riki’s eyebrows shot up when you showed him the parchment. “That’s...sure, yeah.”
You groaned, letting your head fall into your hands. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Well, I mean—it could be worse, " Riki shrugged, taking a sip of his Butterbeer, “He’s not, like, awful. He’s just...Jongseong. A bit awkward, not much of a talker, but not the worst person to be tied to for life.”
You groaned again. “That’s supposed to be comforting?”
He grinned. “A little,”
You shook your head, trying to focus. “I don’t even know how I’m going to tell my parents. They’re barely involved in my life as it is, and now I have to explain to them that I’ve been legally bound to someone they don’t even know?”
Riki’s face softened. He knew how complicated your relationship with your parents was—how they had never truly accepted the magical world, even after you got your Hogwarts letter. “You don’t have to tell them right away,” he said gently. “Focus on getting through this first.”
The Ministry of Magic smelled like ink, parchment, and old magic. The weight of history pressed down upon you as you walked through its grand halls, flanked by Aurors ensuring that every witch and wizard assigned under the Magical Unity Act appeared for their mandated marriage registrations. The building was colder than you remembered, or maybe it was the weight of what was about to happen that made you shiver.
Jongseong was already waiting when you arrived, standing stiffly in the corridor outside the registration chamber. His posture was impeccable, shoulders squared, his hands buried in the pockets of his finely tailored robes. The deep green fabric complimented his sharp features, accentuating the strong lines of his jaw and the dark intensity of his eyes. There was always something enigmatic about Jongseong—he was the type of person who carried an air of quiet authority, a man who never wasted unnecessary words. He rarely let his emotions show, but now, even beneath his composed expression, you could see the subtle signs of tension—the way his fingers tapped idly against the parchment he held, the way his lips pressed together a little too firmly.
You swallowed hard, gripping your own letter tightly. His eyes flickered toward you, assessing.
“Y/N.” His voice was steady, but there was something unreadable beneath it. He gave you a small nod, nothing overly familiar, yet not entirely cold.
The Ministry official cleared his throat, pulling you both out of the awkward moment.
”Park Jongseong and Y/N L/N,” he announced, his voice devoid of emotion, as if he had done this a hundred times before. He motioned toward the chamber doors. “Step inside. We will begin the legal binding process.”
Your breath hitched as you stepped forward, feeling the heat of Jongseong’s presence beside you.
The chamber was larger than you had expected, with high ceilings adorned with ancient runes glowing faintly in the dim light. At the center of the room stood a grand mahogany desk, where stacks of parchment were neatly arranged. Hovering above it was a blood-binding quill, pulsing faintly, attuned to the magic that would soon seal your fates.
“Please, be seated.”
You and Jongseong sat across from each other, the tension between you thick, though neither of you acknowledged it. The official took his place behind the desk, flipping open a massive leather-bound ledger.
“Before we proceed, it is my duty to inform you of the terms and expectations set forth by the Ministry under the Magical Unity Act. This marriage is legally binding under magical law, and both parties are required to uphold their roles as husband and wife.”
Your stomach twisted. You knew this was coming, but hearing it laid out so plainly made it harder to ignore.
“First, you will be required to cohabitate within the next twenty-four hours. The Ministry has provided accommodations, though should you choose to relocate, you must inform the Department of Magical Law Enforcement within seven days.”
Jongseong’s fingers drummed lightly against the desk, his gaze unreadable. He was listening carefully, though he gave nothing away.
“Second,” the official continued, flipping to another section of the document, “you will be required to consummate the marriage within one year. This will be monitored magically, and failure to do so may result in penalties.”
Your breath caught. You forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, but you couldn’t help the way your fingers curled slightly against your lap.
Jongseong’s face remained calm, though you thought you saw the faintest flicker of tension in his jaw.
“Third,” the official continued, “as part of the act’s goal to maintain the magical bloodline, you are expected to conceive a child within two years. Failure to comply will result in further legal interventions. Exceptions will only be granted under rare circumstances, such as medically confirmed infertility.”
You exhaled slowly, heart pounding. This was the part that had haunted you the most. It wasn’t just about being forced into marriage—it was about being forced to give up control over the future you had always imagined for yourself.
You had wanted children, eventually. You had imagined raising them in a world where they could make choices freely, where they could love and marry without being told when and how. But now, that dream had been reduced to a cold deadline set by the Ministry.
Jongseong finally spoke. “What are our rights in terms of autonomy?” His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it.
The official barely looked up. “You are granted limited autonomy. While you may maintain employment and personal activities, your primary duty remains fulfilling the obligations of the act. Any attempt to break the contract is considered an act of defiance against the Ministry.”
Jongseong gave a slow nod, as if he had expected that answer but wanted it spoken aloud regardless. The official placed two scrolls of parchment in front of you, followed by the hovering blood-binding quill.
“By signing this document, you are agreeing to all conditions and responsibilities dictated by the Magical Unity Act. Once signed, the bond is sealed permanently under wizarding law. Any attempts to nullify it without Ministry approval will result in severe consequences.”
Jongseong’s eyes met yours then, and for the first time, there was something there—a quiet understanding, a shared reluctance. Neither of you wanted this. But there was no choice.
With a deep breath, you reached for the quill. The moment your fingers touched it, a sharp, warm sensation prickled against your skin, and the magic within it stirred in response. You watched as your name etched itself onto the parchment in deep crimson ink.
Across from you, Jongseong did the same.
The moment his signature was completed, the parchment glowed gold, sealing the contract. A faint hum of magic filled the air as the binding took effect.
It was done. You were married.
The official gave a brisk nod, gathering the signed documents. “The bond is sealed. You are now husband and wife under magical law.” He closed the ledger with a dull thud before standing. “Congratulations.”
The word felt hollow.
The moment you stepped into the apartment the Ministry had assigned, the full weight of your situation slammed into you. This wasn’t just a bureaucratic nightmare anymore. It was real. It was your life.
The space was larger than you expected, a sleek, magically expanded flat that felt caught between two worlds—modern and traditional, functional and intimate, impersonal yet unsettlingly designed for romance. It was clear that whoever had designed these living quarters had done so with the idea of a happily married couple in mind.
The open-concept living space had softly enchanted lighting, walls painted in neutral, calming tones that could be adjusted to fit the residents' “mood.” A fireplace sat in the center of the lounge, with a plush sofa curved just enough to suggest cozy nights spent tangled together. The kitchen was fully stocked, fitted with both Muggle and magical appliances, making it impossible to avoid the domestic intimacy the Ministry seemed so determined to impose.
Two bedrooms were set at opposite ends of the flat, though one was clearly meant to be temporary. The master bedroom, which you tried to ignore, was the worst of it. The king-sized bed was too large, too luxurious, the silk sheets far too inviting. The enchanted wardrobes had already been merged, both your belongings stored together, blending lives you hadn’t chosen to entwine.
Even the bathroom was designed for two people meant to share everything. The tub was massive, the type built for indulgent baths, fitted with potion-infused oils meant to relax muscles—meant to encourage closeness. The sinks, the mirrors, the counter space—everything was structured with a life of intimacy in mind.
Jongseong was standing stiffly just inside the doorway, his hands still shoved into the pockets of his dark robes. He looked as out of place as you felt. His eyes flickered over the surroundings, lingering on the details, his expression betraying nothing.
“Well,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “This is… something.”
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Yeah.”
An awkward pause stretched between you. Neither of you moved.
You cleared your throat. “So… Do you want to set some ground rules?”
Jongseong finally looked at you, his head tilting slightly. “Ground rules?”
You shifted uncomfortably. “For… coexisting.”
A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but it disappeared just as quickly. “Fair enough.” He nodded toward the hallway. “You can take the bedroom on the left.”
You hesitated. “The Ministry expects us to share one eventually.”
His jaw tightened slightly, but his voice remained calm. “We don’t have to rush into that.”
You let out a breath of relief. “Good.”
Another silence settled. This was going to be excruciating.
You thought the first night would be easier because you had separate rooms. It wasn’t.
The walls were too thin. Every tiny shift, every creak of the floorboards, every sigh of the bed linens as one of you turned over—it was impossible to forget that you weren’t alone. That there was someone else here, just a few steps away, existing in the same space, adjusting to the same forced reality.
You lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, feeling every inch of the strangeness that had settled into your life. The silence of the apartment was deafening. Somewhere beyond your door, Jongseong was doing the same. Not sleeping. Not moving. Just existing in this same, uncomfortable limbo.
You weren’t sure how long you lay there before you heard it—
A soft, almost hesitant knock on your door.
You sat up immediately, heart stammering in your chest. “…Yeah?”
You moved toward the coffee pot, pretending not to notice how he was gripping his quill a little too tightly. The sight of him already reading the regulations booklet made your stomach twist. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know what new absurdities the Ministry had included.
“What’s that?” you asked warily.
Jongseong turned the booklet toward you so you could see the bold title stamped on the front.
A Guide to Magical Marital Expectations: Understanding the Unity Act.
You stared at him. “You’re actually reading that?”
He shrugged, flipping to the next page. “Figured it might be useful to know what we’re legally bound to.”
You sighed, sinking into the chair across from him. “And? What’s in it?”
Jongseong skimmed a few lines before speaking. “Mostly just reinforcing what we were already told. Cohabitation, marital duties, legal ramifications if we break the contract.” He hesitated, his fingers pausing on the page. His jaw tensed slightly, and that was when you knew whatever he had just read wasn’t going to be pleasant.
A beat of silence.
Bravely, you cleared your throat. “What else are you working on?”
Jongseong’s eyes flickered up briefly before he tapped the page with his quill. “Just organizing my work schedule. Trying to figure out how to balance—” He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “All of this.”
Right. Work. You hadn’t even thought about how this new life would affect your schedules. You needed to figure out yours, his, how to exist in this space without stepping on each other’s toes.
“I have a morning shift at Flourish and Blotts starting tomorrow,” you said after a pause. “And I have an evening class twice a week.”
Jongseong nodded slowly. “I start work at the Ministry at eight every morning. Sometimes later, depending on meetings. But I’m usually back by seven.”
You absorbed that. That meant you’d have the mornings mostly to yourself, but the evenings… “So we’ll see each other mostly at night.”
“Yeah.” His expression didn’t change, but there was something unreadable in his gaze. Maybe he was just as wary of that realization as you were.
You stirred your coffee absentmindedly. “And, uh… weekends?”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t usually work on weekends, but I study. And sometimes I meet up with friends.”
Right. Friends. You almost forgot that, despite everything, he had a life outside of this.
That thought stuck with you longer than it should have. Maybe because you were realizing that your life, your freedom, had been traded in for something else. For something you didn’t get to choose.
“Oh,” he said flatly. “Also.” He looked up at you, his dark eyes unreadable. “The shared bed rule.”
You grimaced. “I was hoping they’d forgotten about that part.”
Jongseong sighed, setting the booklet down with more force than necessary. “Unfortunately, the Ministry doesn’t forget anything.”
The booklet sat between you on the table, the pages filled with carefully worded regulations, all designed to ensure that the couples formed under the Magical Unity Act fulfilled their “duties.” The words seemed too sharp, too final, as if they carried an unspoken command beneath them.
Your fingers curled around the edge of your mug as you read the clause for yourself.
Clause 7.3 - Marital CohabitationIn order to promote a natural and successful union, married partners must reside within a shared living space and engage in consistent physical proximity.
It is required that both parties sleep within the same quarters by the third month of marriage.
Noncompliance will result in Ministry intervention.
You exhaled sharply, closing your eyes for a moment. “They’re really monitoring everything.”
Jongseong tapped his fingers against the table, his expression carefully neutral. “We have three months to figure that part out.”
You rubbed your temples. “Three months is… not a lot of time.”
He looked at you for a long moment before setting the booklet aside. “We’ll deal with it when we have to.”
And for some reason, that stuck with you.
Jongseong—or Jay, as his closest friends called him—was totally unamused by his morning conversation.
He sat at his desk in the Ministry, flipping through paperwork as Jake lounged against the opposite desk, watching him with a knowing look. The blond Auror had a casual ease about him, one leg stretched out, a quill spinning between his fingers as he regarded Jay with mild amusement.
“So,” Jake finally said, dragging out the word. “How’s married life?”
Jay didn’t look up. “It’s fine.”
His friend snorted, adjusting his robes as he leaned in. “Oh, come on. I know you better than that.”
Jay set his quill down with a sigh. “What do you want me to say?”
Jake tilted his head, considering. “I don’t know. That she’s unbearable? That she’s the love of your life? That you’ve realized you actually have a thing for arranged marriages?”
Unamused, Jay shot him a flat look. “None of the above.”
But the blond was relentless, he leaned forward, arms resting on the desk. “So, what? You guys are just awkwardly existing in the same space?”
Jay hesitated, fingers tapping against the parchment in front of him. “…Something like that.”
“Is she at least decent company?”
Jay exhaled, stretching his arms before finally looking up. “She’s normal. It’s awkward. We’re trying to figure out how to coexist without making it worse.”
“Makes sense. I mean, you didn’t exactly get a say in this. Neither of you did.”
Jay appreciated that Jake wasn’t trying to force humor into the situation, not like their other friends probably would. Jake had a way of knowing when to joke and when to actually listen, which was why he was one of the few people Jay actually talked to about things that mattered.
the Australian smirked. “Alright, I’ll leave it alone. But tell me one thing.”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “What?”
The blond's grin was slow and knowing. “Do you find her attractive?”
Jay’s hand froze mid-page turn.
Jake caught it immediately. “Ohhh. That’s interesting.”
rolling his eyes, setting the file aside a little too forcefully, the married man in question responds. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Jay pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re insufferable.”
Jake laughed, standing up and stretching. “Well, I’d say welcome to married life, but…” He gave his friend a mockingly sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve already figured out it’s a mess.”
Jay shoved his hand away. “Get out of my office.”
“See you at lunch, hubby.”
Jay groaned as Jake walked away, already regretting every life decision that had led to this conversation.
Jongseong was a morning person. You learned that quickly.
He was always the first to wake up, moving around the apartment with an effortless ease that was frankly annoying to someone like you, who preferred to cling to sleep for as long as possible. You often woke to the sound of the shower running, the smell of coffee brewing, and the faint rustling of parchment as he read through Ministry documents while waiting for breakfast.
This morning was no different a few weeks later.
By the time you groggily dragged yourself out of bed, Jongseong was already fresh out of the shower, hair still damp, a towel slung low around his waist. His toned chest and broad shoulders glowed slightly in the morning light, water droplets still clinging to his skin as he casually walked toward his dresser, seemingly unaware—or unbothered—by your presence.
You immediately averted your eyes, heart stammering in your chest. But you could still feel him, still sense the heat radiating off his skin, and the way the air seemed thicker in his presence.
“Morning,” he greeted smoothly, voice still slightly hoarse from sleep.
Your throat felt impossibly dry. “Yeah. Morning.”
He smirked slightly, as if noticing your discomfort, and continued dressing—slowly. The deliberate way he pulled his shirt over his head before taking it off again, deciding he wanted a different one, the flex of his muscles, the way he pushed his damp hair back… it was infuriatingly distracting.
You turned toward the kitchen in desperation, fingers gripping the edge of the counter as you tried to steady yourself. You were not going to be affected by this.
But then he walked past you, his bare arm brushing against yours, the heat of his skin searing through the fabric of your sleeve. You felt the breath hitch in your throat, a sudden rush of awareness sparking along your spine.
You had just taken your first sip of coffee, finally feeling somewhat human, when a loud knock echoed through the apartment. You and Jongseong exchanged a glance.
“Expecting someone?” you asked.
He sighed, setting his mug down. “No. But I have a bad feeling about it.”
The moment Jongseong opened the door, a tall, severe-looking woman in a charcoal robe strode in without invitation. She introduced herself as Ms. Alderton, her expression a mixture of polite authority and thinly veiled scrutiny.
“We’re conducting routine compliance inspections under the Magical Unity Act,” she said, flipping through her clipboard. “It’s a simple process, really. Just verifying that the two of you are… adjusting well to married life.”
Your stomach dropped.
Jongseong had not finished dressing.
He was still only wearing a towel around his waist.
You saw the exact moment Ms. Alderton’s eyes flickered downward—not in a scandalized way, but in a very obvious assessment of the situation.
“Oh.” She blinked, arching an eyebrow. “I see I’ve caught you at a… private moment.”
Jongseong’s entire body tensed. You scrambled to grab his shirt off the chair and shove it at him.
“Right, um, we weren’t expecting company,” you said quickly, willing your face not to burn.
Jongseong took the shirt, clearing his throat as he pulled it on, but not before you saw the way his abs tightened under the scrutiny, the way his fingers twitched as he buttoned his shirt with forced composure.
Ms. Alderton hummed, clearly unimpressed. She began the inspection, moving through the apartment with cold efficiency.
She examined your living quarters, asked too many questions about how often you and Jay were together in the same space, and, of course, dropped the expected question:
“And how are you finding the transition into… intimacy?”
You nearly choked on your tea.
Jongseong, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “We’re taking our time with that,” he said evenly. “As I’m sure the Ministry is aware, not all couples move at the same pace.”
Ms. Alderton gave him a knowing look, scribbling something onto her parchment. “Well, as you both know, there are expectations to be met. We’ll check in again soon.”
And with that, she was gone, leaving the weight of her unspoken warnings hanging in the air.
You let out a long breath, still feeling the residual heat of the morning’s tension clinging to your skin.
At work, Jongseong barely had time to sit at his desk before Jake was on him.
“Alright, listen, I’ve been patient, but you’re dodging, man,” the blond Auror said, plopping down in the chair across from Jay’s desk. “We need to meet her.”
Jay sighed, rubbing his temple. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”
Jake gave him a pointed look. “You’ve been married for weeks and we haven’t even met your wife. Sunghoon’s convinced you made her up.”
“We’re fine. We’re adjusting. That’s all you need to know.”
Jake smirked. “See, the more you say it’s fine, the less I believe it.”
“You’re impossible.”
Jake shrugged. “That’s why you love me. So, what do you say? A small get-together. Nothing crazy.”
Jay sighed again, but this time, he hesitated. He knew the Blond wouldn’t let this go.
“I’ll… think about it.”
When Jay got home that evening, you could immediately tell something was on his mind.
“What is it?” you asked, watching as he loosened his tie.
“Jake keeps pushing for us to meet up with him and the guys,” Jay admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I told him we were fine, but he wasn’t buying it.”
You thought about it for a moment before shrugging. “Maybe we should.”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
You nodded. “I mean, we’re supposed to be building a life together, right? It might help to actually know the people in it. And… if something ever happens, it’d be good to have them as a support system.”
Jay studied you for a moment, then sighed. “Alright. But there’s an issue,” You arched your brow in response, “ They think we’re like them, you know, more settled into our married life”
“Ah, I see.”
He chuckled dryly, “And I haven’t had the chance to correct them.”
And that was how you found yourself getting ready to put on a show.
You weren’t sure why you felt so on edge. It was just a night out with his friends—people who, by all accounts, had no real expectations of you beyond existing at Jongseong’s side. But still, as you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your outfit for what felt like the tenth time, something in your chest felt tight.
Jongseong passed by behind you, fastening the cuff of his crisp, navy button-up. The color complemented his complexion unfairly well, the sleeves neatly rolled up to his forearms, just casual enough to look effortless.
His reflection met yours in the mirror. “Are you ready yet?” he asked, smoothing a hand through his hair.
You exhaled through your nose. “You act like getting ready is as simple as putting on a shirt.”
He smirked. “It is, actually.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t push it. Instead, you turned slightly, watching as he undid the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing just the faintest sliver of his collarbone. It wasn’t intentional, but it made something stir deep in your stomach.
The silence stretched between you as you turned back toward the mirror. He lingered behind you, close enough that the warmth of his body made the air feel heavier.
His voice came softer this time. “You look fine.”
Fine. Not breathtaking, not beautiful—just fine.
You scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”
Jongseong’s gaze flickered over you, his brows drawing together slightly like he wanted to say something else but thought better of it. Instead, he just let out a short exhale and reached for his wand. “Let’s go before Jake tracks me down and drags us there himself.”
As he stepped closer, brushing past you to grab his jacket, your breath caught in your throat. The scent of his cologne—clean, warm, just faintly spiced—wrapped around you before you could react. Your skin prickled as he leaned past you, his fingers grazing the dresser beside you.
You didn’t move until he pulled back, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve with practiced ease. Jongseong glanced at you once more, amusement dancing in his dark eyes, before he disappeared into the Floo Network.
You stepped into the Floo Network, watching as Jongseong disappeared in a swirl of green flames before following suit. The familiar tug of magic sent you tumbling through the space between, and in the next moment, you landed just behind him in the bustling pub.
The scent of warm ale, roasted meat, and burning firewood wrapped around you, the low murmur of conversation filling the air. The pub was lively but not overly packed—just busy enough to feel comfortably distracting.
Jongseong placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. His touch was light, but it lingered, a silent reminder that this was part of the act.
Jake spotted you first, grinning. “There they are!” He leaned back in his chair, tilting his glass toward you both. “The happy couple.”
You tried not to stiffen at the word. Happy. That was the goal, right?
Jongseong slipped into the role easily, his arm around your waist a little firmer now. “You make it sound like we’ve been in hiding.”
Jake clapped him on the back as everyone scooted over to make space. “Well, you have! We needed proof you didn’t just run away.”
The conversation flowed smoothly, the group’s laughter blending into the warm, buzzing atmosphere. But you couldn’t help noticing the way Jongseong’s hand lingered on your waist, the way his thumb traced lazy circles over the fabric of your dress. It was subtle—just enough to be convincing, just enough to make your pulse jump.
Sunghoon smirked, raising a brow. “So, how’s married life? Are you two still in the honeymoon phase?”
Jake chuckled. “Yeah, Jay keeps insisting they’re doing just great.”
You felt Jongseong’s hand tighten slightly on your hip as he hummed in agreement. “We are.”
And then, before you could react, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple.
It was brief, chaste, and yet… oddly intimate. His lips lingered just long enough to make your skin prickle with awareness.
The table burst into cheers.
As the night went on, the conversation shifted from teasing to storytelling. Jake leaned back in his seat, shaking his head fondly. “You know, I still don’t know how the hell Jay managed to get through Hogwarts without completely embarrassing himself.”
Sunghoon chuckled. “That’s because he had us covering for him.”
Jongseong scoffed. “You mean causing more problems than helping?”
Jake smirked. “Call it whatever you want, mate. But let’s not forget that one time you tried to impress a girl by showing off on the Quidditch pitch and almost broke your arm.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Now this sounds like a story I need to hear.”
Jake grinned. “See, back in school, Jay was all business, all the time. But one day, some girl in Ravenclaw was watching him practice, and he got it in his head that he should show off—flew higher than necessary, tried a fancy dive, and nearly knocked himself unconscious.”
Heeseung chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, young love.”
Sunghoon leaned in. “Speaking of, we should all introduce our wives one day. Maybe have a proper dinner.”
Jongseong stiffened slightly, and you felt it. But before he could say anything, you jumped in.
“That would be nice,” you said, smiling. “Though, I’ll admit, I’d probably be terrible at hosting.”
Jake waved a hand. “Nah, don’t worry about that. Besides, I heard you’re friends with Riki?”
Your brows lifted. “Yeah, I basically treat him like my little brother.”
Jake laughed. “Figures. We were both in the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. He was a Seeker, I was a Chaser—best duo ever.”
Sunghoon snorted. “And yet, somehow, Jay was the one always getting all the attention.”
Jake groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
The banter continued, light and warm, and despite yourself, you found that you were enjoying it. The illusion of normalcy was beginning to feel real.
Jongseong wasn’t just your forced husband tonight—he was someone who had a past, who had friends that truly cared about him. And maybe, you were starting to see why people cared about him, too.
The moment the Floo Network spit you both out into the apartment, the spell of the night started to break. Gone was the warm, buzzing atmosphere of the pub. Now, there was only quiet, filled with nothing but the ticking of the enchanted clock on the wall and the soft rustle of Jongseong adjusting his sleeves.
You expected him to make some dry remark about the night, maybe joke about Jake’s relentless teasing. But instead, he just stood there, staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
You blinked, taken aback. “I—yeah. Why?”
He exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “You were… different tonight.”
Your throat felt dry. “We were both acting.”
“Yeah.” His voice was quiet, unreadable. “I know.”
Neither of you moved. Neither of you quite knew what to do now.
The next few days were… different. Not drastic, not obvious, but something had changed. You noticed it in the way Jongseong lingered in rooms a little longer than before, the way his gaze flickered to you more often, the way silence between you no longer felt so hostile—just heavy.
Even the small moments carried weight. The way he passed you a cup of coffee in the mornings without needing to ask how you took it. The way he let his hand linger just a fraction longer than necessary when handing you something. The way your name sounded softer when he spoke it.
It was nothing. It was everything.
And then came the first real break in the routine.
You hadn’t expected to see Jongseong standing outside your workplace that evening. His presence was striking against the backdrop of hurried Ministry employees, his sleeves rolled up, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against a lamppost.
For a moment, you just stared, thrown by the sight of him waiting for you.
It felt unnatural—this wasn’t part of your unspoken agreement. You met in shared spaces at home, interacted when necessary, but waiting for each other? That was… different.
You hesitated before approaching. “What are you doing here?”
Jongseong glanced up, his dark eyes flickering over you before he straightened. “Picking you up.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “Since when do we do that?”
Jongseong exhaled, shifting his weight. “Since now.”
You studied him, waiting for an explanation that never came. Instead, he pushed off the lamppost and nodded toward the street. “Come on.”
A flicker of uncertainty settled in your stomach as you fell into step beside him. You weren’t used to this—him reaching out first.
As you walked, the sounds of Diagon Alley surrounded you—shopkeepers closing up for the night, the faint hum of distant chatter, the flickering glow of enchanted street lamps. But the quiet between you was louder.
At some point, he spoke again. “You get along with them.”
You glanced at him. “With who?”
“My friends.”
You hummed. “They’re easy to like.”
Jongseong nodded, his hands tucked into his pockets. His steps were measured, like he was choosing his words carefully.
“They like you too.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around your bag strap. Was that what this was about?
“You fit in well,” he added, his voice lower.
Something warm unfurled in your stomach. “Would it have been a problem if I didn’t?”
Jongseong smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Jake would’ve grilled you until you caved.”
You laughed, and for a moment, things felt effortless.
But as you reached the entrance of your shared home, a thought lingered at the back of your mind.
Why did he come to get you in the first place?
It was well past midnight when you shuffled into the kitchen, craving nothing more than a glass of water. You weren’t expecting to see Jongseong standing there, already by the counter, a mug in his hands.
He turned at the sound of your footsteps, his gaze flickering down your figure.
It wasn’t until you followed his line of sight that you realized exactly what you were wearing.
A nightshirt. Just a nightshirt. One that barely skimmed the tops of your thighs.
You hadn’t thought about it before leaving your room, but now, under his scrutiny, it suddenly felt like the single most scandalous thing you could’ve worn.
Jongseong cleared his throat. “Couldn’t sleep?”
You nodded, stepping closer, reaching for a glass. His presence felt larger in the quiet, like it filled the room in ways you weren’t prepared for. Like he was waiting for something neither of you had the words for.
After a moment, you sighed, staring into your mug as if the swirling liquid inside had all the answers. “I texted my parents about… this,” you finally admitted, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Two weeks ago.”
Jongseong’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t interrupt.
“They never replied,” you continued, voice carefully even. “Not that I was expecting them to.”
Jongseongs fingers tapped lightly against the table, a thoughtful rhythm. “They’re Muggles, right?”
You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I didn’t exactly have the best relationship with them before this. But I thought—” You paused, exhaling sharply. “I thought they’d at least say something.”
He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again, his voice softer than before. “Maybe they just… don’t know how to respond.”
You scoffed, shaking your head. “Or maybe they just don’t care.”
Jongseong shifted in his seat, glancing down at his hands. He looked like he wanted to say something, to reach for the right words, but he hesitated. Instead, he settled for a careful, almost reluctant, “I’m sorry.”
You lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “It’s fine.”
The silence stretched. The air felt thick. Too thick.
He exhaled through his nose, eyes flickering up to yours. And for the first time, you didn’t look away.
His fingers twitched. His jaw tensed. His eyes darkened, just slightly. And then, he took a step back. A deliberate one.
You swallowed. “I should—”
“Yeah.” His voice was lower than before. Rougher. “Me too.”
Neither of you moved for a long moment. And then you did.
The next morning, the reminder came. A letter, crisp and official, waiting for both of you on the breakfast table.
Jongseong opened it first, scanning the words, his jaw tightening. You peered over.
Ministry of Magic Directive 492-B: Cohabitation Progress Assessment
As part of your continued marital integration, you are required to submit a Cohabitation Progress Report detailing shared living arrangements and physical proximity. As per Clause 7.3 of the Unity Act, proof of continued cohabitation will be assessed in the next Ministry visit.
Failure to comply with expectations may result in reassessment and intervention.
You let out a slow breath. “They’re watching us closer now.”
Jongseong scoffed, tossing the letter aside. “Of course they are.”
Your fingers curled around the edge of the table. Something about the wording unsettled you.
“Physical proximity,” you murmured. “They’re pushing for more.”
Jongseong ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you. “Yeah.”
Silence.
The weight of the words hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.
“We need to practice.”
You looked up from your book, momentarily caught off guard. “Practice what?”
He closed his own book, exhaling like he had already anticipated your reaction. “Being more… natural with each other. The Ministry is expecting real signs of a relationship, not just two people coexisting in the same space.”
You swallowed, shifting slightly. “You mean touching, kissing, all of that?”
He nodded, meeting your gaze with a calmness that only made your stomach tighten further. He wasn’t wrong, of course. If anything, you should have expected this conversation to happen sooner. But something about the way he said it—so practical, so unaffected—sent a nervous flicker through your chest.
“How do you want to start?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.
Jongseong hesitated for only a moment before he pushed himself off the couch and extended a hand. “Come here.”
You stared at his outstretched fingers, debating, before finally placing your hand in his. His palm was warm, steady, and as he gently pulled you up, you felt your breath catch slightly at how close he was now.
“Hugging first,” he murmured, like he was giving instructions.
You exhaled softly before stepping forward, wrapping your arms around his waist. It felt awkward at first—stiff, calculated—but then, as his arms circled around you in response, something shifted. He was warm, solid, and despite the tension in your shoulders, there was a comfort in the closeness. You felt the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers rested lightly against your back.
“This isn’t terrible,” he muttered, voice lower than usual.
You huffed a small laugh, eyes still pressed against his chest. “High praise.”
He chuckled, a small vibration against your body. The silence stretched between you, no longer heavy with hesitation but something else—something unspoken. You weren’t sure how long you stood like that before he finally murmured, “Next.”
You swallowed, stepping back slightly. His hands lingered a second longer than necessary before dropping away.
“Kissing?” you asked, trying to sound casual.
Jongseong nodded, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “We should get used to it.”
You inhaled, forcing yourself to meet his gaze head-on. “Alright.”
His fingers reached for your chin, tilting it up slightly, and the air in the room seemed to shift. He didn’t move immediately, as if gauging your reaction, waiting for the tension to settle before he finally leaned in.
The first brush of his lips was light, cautious. Testing.
Your breath caught. It was such a simple touch, barely there, and yet it sent a strange warmth curling in your stomach. His lips were soft, warm, lingering just a moment longer than necessary before he pressed in again—this time firmer, deeper.
A slow, deliberate slide of lips.
Your fingers curled involuntarily into his shirt, as if steadying yourself, as his lips moved against yours with a patience that sent your pulse hammering in your ears. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t merely going through the motions. He was learning you.
There was something unbearably intimate about it, something in the way he lingered, in the way his fingers flexed slightly against your waist. Like he wasn’t sure where to place his hands, but he knew he didn’t want to let go.
Your own breath had turned uneven, the warmth between you making your skin prickle. You weren’t supposed to feel this. It was just practice. Just a test.
And yet, your heart betrayed you with every second he refused to pull away.
Just when you thought he was done, his lips barely parted from yours, he hesitated—and then he pressed a featherlight kiss to the corner of your lips, softer than the first, but somehow infinitely more dangerous.
Your eyes snapped open, breath stalling in your throat.
Jongseong didn’t move for a second, his gaze locked on yours as if waiting for a reaction. Then, he took a small step back, clearing his throat. “See? Not so hard.”
You exhaled shakily, forcing a smirk. “Speak for yourself.”
He smiled slightly, but there was something else there now. Something neither of you were quite ready to address.
That night, long after you had gone to bed, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The feel of his lips hadn’t left you. The warmth of his touch still clung to your skin, lingering in a way that made sleep impossible.
The first morning after the kiss, you had been unsure what to expect. Would he pretend it hadn’t happened? Would the air be awkward between you?
You walked into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and saw him standing by the stove, making coffee like he always did. The difference was how he looked at you.
"Morning," he said, and before you could respond, he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with an ease that made your stomach turn over. The touch was fleeting, barely there, yet entirely intentional.
By the second day, it was a hand at your waist when he passed by you in the hallway, fingers lingering as if testing his boundaries. You weren’t sure when it started feeling natural, but you knew that by the third day, when Jongseong pressed a small peck to your temple as he handed you your morning coffee, you didn’t freeze.
You accepted it.
Maybe even welcomed it.
By then, you had decided that if he could do it so easily, so could you. That morning, before leaving for work, you turned back to him just as you reached the door.
"See you later," you murmured, before pressing a quick peck to his cheek.
It was supposed to be casual, unthinking, but as soon as you stepped back, you caught the slight widening of his eyes before he composed himself. You had caught him off guard.
You swallowed, feigning nonchalance, before leaving quickly. You were the one initiating now.
It was the second evening when Jongseong offered to pick you up from work again.
"If people see us together more often, it might help with the whole convincing thing," he had reasoned.
Logical. Sensible. Everything Jongseong was.
Except when he showed up outside your building, leaning against the stone wall with his hands in his coat pockets, looking entirely unbothered while your coworkers noticed.
"Your husband’s here again," one of them teased as they nudged you.
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the heat crawling up your neck as you stepped outside. He looked good under the streetlights, the cool air turning his skin slightly pink. His gaze met yours, and something flickered in his eyes before he pushed off the wall and walked toward you.
"Long day?" he asked as he fell into step beside you.
"Exhausting," you murmured. "Thanks for picking me up."
He glanced at you, then, as if on impulse, reached for your hand. Not a performance. Just instinct. His fingers laced through yours with the same steadiness he always carried, and even though you told yourself it was just for show, your pulse didn’t get the memo.
Halfway down the street, you spotted a familiar figure across the road—Jake. He caught sight of you at the same time, waving enthusiastically.
Without thinking, you smiled and waved back. "Jake!"
Jongseong’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, just barely noticeable, but he didn’t say anything.
Jake grinned, giving a knowing look before disappearing into the crowd. You cleared your throat, hoping Jongseong didn’t read into anything. But of course, he had noticed.
The morning of the visit felt different. Heavier.
You woke up to the quiet sounds of Jongseong moving around the flat, the faint scent of coffee drifting through the air. The weight of the upcoming meeting sat in your chest like a stone—there was no ignoring the fact that today, the Ministry would scrutinize everything you and Jongseong had been working toward.
You lingered in bed for a moment longer than usual, staring at the ceiling, feeling the heat of your own overactive thoughts. Had you practiced enough? Would they believe you? Would they catch on that some of these moments had started feeling far too real?
You sighed, forcing yourself up, and padded into the kitchen. Jongseong was leaning against the counter, arms crossed as he sipped from his mug. His hair was still damp from his shower, sticking to his forehead slightly, and—
You blinked. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.
Again.
Jongseong barely acknowledged you as he took another sip of coffee, then set the mug down with an exhale. “We should go over a few things before they get here.”
You were still staring at his bare chest, lips slightly parted. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this—Merlin, you lived together now—but something about it felt different today.
“Uh,” you said eloquently. “You’re—”
“I know,” he replied, completely unbothered. “I forgot to grab my shirt from the other room.”
Before you could respond, a loud knock at the door shattered the moment.
Panic seized your chest.
“They’re early?” you hissed.
Jongseong swore under his breath, grabbing for the nearest thing—your cardigan, which had been draped over a chair. He threw it at you before sprinting toward the bedroom, leaving you standing there, gripping the fabric uselessly as another knock sounded.
Forcing down your nerves, you rushed to the door, opening it just enough to see the official standing there, a clipboard in hand.
“Mrs. Park?” the man asked in a clipped tone.
“Yes,” you said, trying to sound composed.
“We’re here for the cohabitation assessment,” he continued, adjusting his glasses as he glanced down at his paperwork. “May we come in?”
You stepped aside, letting them in, just as Jongseong reappeared—this time fully dressed, but slightly breathless. The Ministry official’s gaze flickered between you both, already taking notes.
The official took a seat at the dining table, motioning for both of you to do the same. His assistant, a younger witch with keen eyes, remained standing near the bookshelf, observing.
“We’ll start with some basic questions,” the man said, clicking his quill against the parchment. “How has married life been treating you both?”
Jongseong leaned back slightly, arm draping over the back of your chair in a practiced motion. “It’s been an adjustment,” he said smoothly, glancing at you with what looked like amusement. “But we’re settling in well.”
The official hummed, eyes narrowing. “What would you say has been the biggest change since getting married?”
You hesitated, heart pounding. What was a normal answer?
Jongseong, of course, had no problem answering. “Waking up to each other in the house.”
You nearly choked on air.
The official scribbled something down. “And how do you usually spend your evenings together?”
Your mind raced. Jongseong was the first to respond, again, far too at ease with all of this. “Dinner, talking about our days, sometimes reading together on the couch.”
That was true. But the way he was selling it so smoothly made heat creep up your neck.
The assistant tilted her head. “And your sleeping arrangements?”
The air in the room thickened.
Jongseong barely hesitated. “We have separate rooms for now, but we’re adjusting.”
The official’s quill paused. A bad sign.
“That will need to change,” he said briskly. “As you know, starting next week, it will be mandatory for all married couples under this law to share a bedroom. The Ministry will have enchantments in place to verify compliance. Any deviation from this could result in a reevaluation of your union.”
Your stomach twisted. They were going to monitor your sleeping arrangements?
The assistant added, “It’s a common concern among couples who haven’t previously lived together, but physical closeness is a necessary step toward a successful marriage.”
Your hands clenched beneath the table. Necessary? Successful? What did that even mean in a marriage you hadn’t chosen?
The official leaned forward slightly. “Are you prepared for that transition?”
Jongseong’s grip on the back of your chair tightened just slightly before he nodded. “Of course.”
The official’s gaze flickered between you two, scrutinizing every reaction, every hesitation. “Then we will expect that adjustment to be complete by the next check-in.”
The assistant cleared her throat. “One last thing. We need to verify your comfort with one another.”
You barely had time to process before Jongseong’s fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face toward him.
You should’ve seen it coming.
His lips brushed against yours softly, gently at first. But the moment your breath caught, the moment he felt your fingers instinctively tighten around his, he pressed in just a little more—lingering, deepening, turning what should have been just for show into something you didn’t know how to categorize.
By the time he pulled away, your pulse was hammering.
The official seemed satisfied. “That will do.”
Jongseong didn’t let go of your hand.
The Ministry left shortly after, having seen enough. The moment the door shut behind them, you turned to Jongseong, heart still racing.
“That was—”
“Convincing?” he supplied, arching an eyebrow. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.
You swallowed. “You didn’t have to—”
He cut you off, voice lower. “Would you rather I hadn’t?”
You had no answer to that.
Because the truth was, you weren’t sure anymore.
And, worse still, in just a few days, you wouldn’t be able to avoid the reality of what the Ministry expected from you.
You weren’t just playing house anymore. You were about to start living in it.
You remained standing by the door, arms crossed, still feeling the weight of their scrutiny on your skin. The words lingered between you and Jongseong like an unspoken curse.
You must share a bedroom. You must be physically close. The Ministry will verify.
You turned slowly, eyes meeting Jongseong’s. He was still standing near the table, fingers drumming against the wood. He looked composed—too composed, like he hadn’t just promised the officials something neither of you had fully prepared for.
“You said it so easily,” you muttered.
Jongseong raised a brow. “Would you rather I had hesitated?”
Your arms tightened around yourself. “I don’t know.”
His expression remained impassive, but something in the air shifted—thick, charged with something unspoken.
You swallowed. “We have a week.”
“Six days.”
Your gaze snapped up. “You’re counting?”
He shrugged. “It’s important.”
You exhaled sharply and turned toward the hallway. The flat wasn’t huge, but it had two bedrooms. Your bedroom and his. The safe distance you had clung to was suddenly about to vanish.
You crossed your arms tighter over your chest. “We need to figure out how to do this.”
Jongseong ran a hand through his hair, considering. “We should start by deciding how to—”
“Who’s moving?” you interrupted. “You or me?”
He blinked. You hadn’t even let him finish.
For some reason, the question flustered him more than he expected. He looked toward his room, then toward yours, then back at you. “I… I guess it makes sense for one of us to move into the other’s space.”
You rolled your eyes. “That’s obvious.”
His jaw tensed. “Then why do you sound upset?”
You inhaled sharply. “Because this isn’t normal. None of this is normal.”
Silence. The tension was razor-thin, tight enough to snap, but just as the air felt like it might crack open with unspoken frustration, Jongseong suddenly stepped forward.
Your breath hitched as he reached up, fingers brushing lightly against your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. His touch was barely there—soft, lingering, as if grounding you before the moment could spiral too far.
Your stomach flipped. The anger, the frustration—it melted in an instant, leaving something quieter in its place.
“I know,” he murmured. “But we don’t have a choice.”
He hesitated for a beat before his thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, his fingers barely ghosting your jawline.
“Baby,” he murmured softly, testing the word, letting it hang between you. His eyes searched yours. “Is that okay?”
Your lips parted, but no words came. You weren’t sure what shocked you more—the nickname, or the fact that you didn’t mind it.
You swallowed, heart hammering in your chest, but eventually, you nodded.
Jongseong held your gaze for a second longer before his hand dropped, tension breaking just enough for you to exhale again.
You cleared your throat, stepping back slightly. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“It matters,” he murmured again. His gaze flickered with something unreadable before he turned and walked toward his room. He pushed the door open, revealing a clean and modern space—a bed that somehow seemed too big, a desk neatly arranged, shelves lined with things you hadn’t paid attention to before.
“This will work,” he said simply, like it was nothing. Like moving you into his space wasn’t going to alter everything.
You stepped into the room cautiously, running your fingers along the edge of his desk. This was real now.
Jongseong moved beside you, hands slipping into his pockets. “You’ll take the bed, obviously.”
Your head snapped toward him. “Where are you going to sleep?”
“The couch.”
“No.” The word left you before you could think about it. Because that would be too obvious. Too much space. Too much defiance against what they were expecting.
Jongseong tilted his head. “No?”
You swallowed. “If they’re monitoring, we can’t make it look fake.”
His expression was unreadable. Then, after a long silence, he said, “We’ll take sides.”
You nodded slowly. “Sides.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Neither of you moved.
The weight of the agreement pressed in around you. You would share a bed. You would be inches apart at night. The pretense of distance was officially gone.
Jongseong finally sighed. “I’ll move your things in tomorrow.”
You nodded. Then, after a pause, you took a small step toward him. “This isn’t going to be easy, is it?”
He smirked faintly. “Nothing about this has been.”
You exhaled slowly. “Then we should make it look real.”
Jongseong’s smirk faded slightly. He tilted his head, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. That look. That tension.
Without thinking, you reached for his wrist, fingers curling around it just briefly before pulling away. Something about touching him first felt necessary.
Jongseong didn’t pull back. Instead, he lifted a hand, his fingers brushing against yours before he murmured, “We’ll figure it out.”
You nodded, stepping back. “We have six days.”
His lips quirked. “Five and a half.”
You huffed a laugh despite yourself. Then, before you could change your mind, you turned and left the room, your pulse still unsteady in your chest.
The first night in the same room felt heavier than you had expected. You sat at the edge of the bed, fingers gripping the sheets as the reality of the situation fully settled over you.
Jay was in the bathroom, the faint sound of running water filling the silence of the bedroom. Your bedroom now. Your bed, which was suddenly meant for two.
When he stepped out, towel drying his hair, you didn’t look up immediately. Instead, you focused on the shifting space around you—the way your books now lined part of his shelf, your blanket was folded at the foot of the bed beside his, your perfume lingered in the air now.
The room was no longer just his. It was becoming yours, too.
Jay let out a slow exhale as he tossed his towel over a chair. When you finally looked up, your gaze caught on the fact that he was shirtless. He had no intention of sleeping in one, it seemed.
“I don’t sleep with a shirt on,” he said casually, noticing your stare.
You swallowed and cleared your throat. “Can you—just for tonight?”
Jay’s brows lifted slightly before he let out a quiet chuckle. “You really think a shirt’s gonna make a difference, baby?”
Your stomach flipped at the nickname, the casual way it rolled off his tongue. The second time tonight.
You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “Just for tonight.”
He sighed, but didn’t argue, grabbing a t-shirt from the dresser and slipping it on before climbing into bed. “Happy?”
You ignored the warmth creeping up your neck and nodded.
“You okay?” he asked after a beat, watching you.
You blinked. That was the first time he’d asked you that all night.
“Yeah,” you said, voice quieter than intended. “Just… adjusting.”
He hummed, turning onto his back. “You’ll get used to it.”
Would you?
You inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “We should set some ground rules.”
He nodded, shifting to get comfortable. “Okay. Like what?”
You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip. “No unnecessary touching while sleeping.”
Jay smirked. “You think I’m gonna be all over you in my sleep?”
Your stomach flipped at the teasing edge in his voice. “I think accidents happen,” you countered, narrowing your eyes.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Fine. No unnecessary touching.”
You nodded, though the warmth in your cheeks refused to fade.
“Anything else?” he asked, glancing toward you as he adjusted the pillows.
You hesitated again. “What if, what if one of us wakes up first?”
Jay raised a brow. “Then the other keeps sleeping? That’s usually how waking up works.”
You glared. “I mean, do we pretend to still be asleep? Do we—do we greet each other? What’s the etiquette here?”
Jay let out a soft chuckle, clearly amused. “I dunno. Do you want me to say good morning all soft and sweet? Maybe kiss your forehead while I’m at it?”
You shot him a look, but the mental image sent something warm curling in your stomach.
He grinned. “I’ll just say ‘morning’ and get out of bed. Sound good?”
You nodded. “Okay. That works.”
Jay leaned back against the headboard, watching you for a moment before tilting his head. "By the way," he murmured, "you don’t have to keep calling me Jongseong. Jay is fine."
You hesitated. "Are you sure?"
He smirked slightly. "Yeah. Sounds better when you say it."
Your stomach did an odd little flip at that, but you masked it with a nod. "Alright. Jay."
“You sure you’re comfortable?”
You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah.”
He hummed again, like he didn’t fully believe you, but didn’t push.
Then, just as you were about to shift under the covers, he reached over and brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.
Your breath hitched slightly at the unexpected softness of the gesture. It was casual, like something natural, something instinctive.
“Relax,” he murmured, voice lower now, almost drowsy. “It’s just me.”
Just him.
The realization settled somewhere deep in your chest as you nodded slowly. You lay back, facing the ceiling for a long moment, listening to the quiet rhythm of the room. Eventually, Jay flicked the bedside lamp off, and darkness swallowed the space between you both.
After a long stretch of silence, you swallowed and, almost in a whisper, asked, "Are you already used to it?"
There was a pause before Jay shifted slightly beside you. His voice was softer than before when he finally answered. "Not yet."
Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. You had spilled coffee on your only clean work shirt, and barely made it to your job on time. Meetings ran over, projects piled up, and no matter how much you tried to get ahead, the day kept dragging you down.
Then, to top it all off, the train home was delayed, and your wand flickered weakly when you tried to summon your keys at the door. By the time you finally stepped inside the apartment, exhaustion clung to your bones, irritation simmering beneath your skin.
You kicked off your shoes with more force than necessary, throwing your bag onto the chair with a frustrated huff. Everything sucked. Absolutely everything.
Then you looked toward the bed.
Jay was already there, half-asleep, his head turned toward the door as if he had been waiting for you. His hair was messy, his bare shoulders peeking out from beneath the covers. The dim lighting made his features softer, relaxed in a way that nearly made you forget how awful your day had been.
“Took you long enough,” he mumbled sleepily.
Your frustration flickered, the sharp edges of it dulling almost instantly. You sighed, running a hand over your face. “Yeah. Today was hell.”
Jay hummed, eyes barely open as he shifted, making just enough space for you. “C’mere, baby.”
Your heart clenched at the way he said it, voice thick with sleep, laced with a quiet warmth that had no right making you feel better.
You sighed again, but this time it wasn’t frustration—it was something softer, something that melted under the weight of his tired gaze.
You moved toward the closet to change, but Jay groaned softly, burying his face in the pillow. “No, just talk to me. I wanna hear about your day.”
You shook your head, exhaling as you unbuttoned your shirt. “You’re barely awake.”
“So?” he muttered, voice muffled. “Still wanna hear you.”
His insistence chipped away at whatever was left of your bad mood. As you moved through your night routine, you found yourself telling him everything—the stupid meetings, the unbearable commute, the way your boss kept mispronouncing your name even after working together for months.
Jay hummed occasionally, nodding in half-conscious agreement, eyes drifting shut between your sentences. But every time you stopped, thinking he had finally fallen asleep, his voice would break the silence.
“What happened after that?”
“Did you tell them off?”
“Bet you rolled your eyes at least five times.”
By the time you finally crawled into bed, most of the weight from the day had lifted, replaced by a quiet comfort that settled deep in your bones. As you exhaled, sinking into the sheets, Jay shifted beside you. His eyes were barely open, sleep pressing heavy against him, but he still reached out, fingers brushing against your cheek.
Without thinking, he murmured, "C’mere," and before you could register what was happening, he pulled you in, pressing a firm, lingering kiss against your lips. It was warm, slow, edged with sleep and something softer, something that made your chest tighten.
By the time he pulled away, his lips barely ghosting against yours, he was already halfway asleep again. "Better?" he mumbled, his voice slurred.
You swallowed, your pulse unsteady. "Yeah," you whispered. Jay’s fingers brushed against your arm as he exhaled a long, satisfied sigh. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
You huffed, shaking your head. “Me talking about my day was more for your entertainment than comfort, wasn’t it?”
Jay’s lips curled lazily. “Maybe.”
You rolled your eyes, shifting under the covers. But then Jay mumbled, “No shirt, no pants? I know you don’t like to wear your pants to sleep.”
You exhaled, already feeling the exhaustion tug at your limbs. “Fine.”
His fingers flexed against the sheets, satisfied. “Good. Together, we make one whole pajama set.”
You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
Jay hummed in agreement, already drifting off. Only when you settled beside him, feeling the shared warmth beneath the blankets, did he finally stop fighting sleep. But before he did, his hand found your cheek, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin.
Without thinking, he leaned in again, this time pressing a softer, lingering kiss against your jaw. You exhaled slowly, your hands hesitating for only a moment before one of them lifted, fingers grazing the bare skin of his chest, feeling the warmth beneath your touch. His breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted closer, his lips trailing down to brush a barely-there kiss against the curve of your neck, his hand moving up to cradle the side of your face.
"Sleep," he mumbled against your skin, voice fading into exhaustion, before finally letting go.
You woke up to warmth. A slow, steady heat radiating from beside you, the blankets feeling heavier than usual.
Your eyes blinked open to see him still asleep, lying on his stomach, one arm tucked under his pillow, the other stretched out lazily, fingers grazing your side. His breathing was even, his face completely relaxed in sleep.
You hesitated, watching him for just a moment longer than necessary, before attempting to shift away.
The second you moved, Jay groaned low in his throat. “Stay,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. His fingers flexed against your hip before retracting as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you yet.
You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped at his drowsy tone. “I need coffee.”
Jay cracked one eye open. “You always need coffee.”
You huffed. “And you always wake up in a good mood. How?”
He smirked sleepily, rolling onto his back with a slow stretch, his toned stomach peeking out from under the sheets. “It’s a gift, baby.”
The nickname sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, and you pushed the covers off before he could catch your expression. “I’m making coffee.”
Jay hummed, still blinking away sleep. “You’re really just gonna get up and leave me like this?”
You paused, turning to glance at him. “Like what?”
He grinned lazily. “Cold and abandoned.”
You scoffed but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re so dramatic in the morning.”
Jay only smirked as you made your way to the kitchen, the comfortable ease between you lingering even as you started your morning routine.
Moments later, he joined you, still shirtless, hair a mess, moving to grab a mug from the cupboard. As you handed him his coffee, he leaned in absentmindedly, pressing a soft kiss against your shoulder before taking the cup. The motion was so casual, so natural, that it took you a second to process.
You blinked, turning to face him. "Aren’t you kissing me too much?"
Jay stiffened slightly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. But then his lips quirked, and he leaned back against the counter, sipping his coffee.
You watched him for a beat before setting your mug down. "Fine."
Before he could ask what you meant, you leaned in, arms lifting to loosely wrap around his neck as you pressed a soft kiss just beneath his jaw, your lips grazing the warm skin of his neck. You felt the slight shudder run through him, the way his grip on his coffee mug tightened just a fraction. Jay's breath hitched slightly, his fingers tightening around his mug.
When you pulled back, you smirked at the way his ears had turned red. "Happy now?"
"You should kiss me more," he teased.
You shot him a look, passing him a cup of coffee. “You’re lucky I made extra.”
Jay took a sip, sighing in content. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, baby.”
You pretended not to react to the name, but the warmth stayed with you longer than your coffee did.
As you took another sip of your coffee, the quiet hum of the morning was interrupted by the sound of fluttering wings. An owl swooped in through the open kitchen window, landing gracefully on the counter, a neatly tied envelope clutched in its beak.
Jay sighed, setting his mug down as he reached for the letter. "That'll be from my parents."
You watched as he untied the parchment, unfolding it with a slight frown. The owl hooted softly, waiting for a response.
Jay's eyes scanned the page, his expression unreadable at first. Then, with a small exhale, he muttered, "They want to see us."
Your fingers tightened slightly around your mug. Us.
“You’re staring at it like it’s gonna bite,” he mused, taking a sip of his coffee.
You huffed. “I just don’t know what to expect.”
Jay exhaled through his nose, setting his mug down. “My parents… they’re not bad. Just… traditional. They’ll expect things to look a certain way.”
Your fingers curled around your cup. “And what if they don’t?”
He tilted his head slightly, watching you. “Then we make sure they do.”
There was something unreadable in his expression, something both reassuring and unsettling all at once. He was taking this seriously—not just the Ministry part, but the part where you both had to convince his family, too.
You bit your lip. “One thing at a time?”
Jay smirked slightly, tapping his fingers against the counter. “One thing at a time.”
You weren’t sure why the thought made your stomach twist, but something about meeting Jay’s parents, about having to present this marriage as real to them, felt heavier than anything you had prepared for.
Jay looked at you then, tilting his head slightly. "I can write back later. No rush. Honestly, let’s just get through the last Ministry visit for a while first—then we can deal with my parents."
You swallowed, nodding. "Right. No rush."
The owl flapped its wings, as if impatient, but Jay simply placed the letter aside, returning his focus to his coffee. The weight of the letter lingered in the air between you, unspoken but present.
The morning had started normally enough. Work had been relatively uneventful, save for your coworker Mina pulling you aside as you both sorted through some files in the break room. She leaned against the counter, stirring sugar into her tea with a knowing look in her eyes.
"So," she drawled, "how's married life treating you?"
You blinked. "It’s… an adjustment."
Mina scoffed, taking a sip of her tea. "Adjustment? That’s a diplomatic way of putting it. You barely look married. No ring marks on your fingers, no swooning over your husband’s lunch visits."
You huffed. "He doesn’t visit me at work, but he does pick me up after. And we do kiss and stuff."
Mina’s brows shot up, interest piqued. "Kiss and stuff? So, what, like a peck on the lips? A lingering moment? You making out against the nearest wall?"
Your face burned. "Not making out. Just… normal kissing."
Mina gave you a deadpan look before taking another sip of her tea. "Okay, listen. Make out. Suck his dick. Get laid. In that order."
You nearly choked. "Mina!"
She smirked, unbothered. "What? Jongseong is a total hottie, you’re stressed, and all this weird tension you’re feeling will go away the moment you two start properly acting like husband and wife."
You groaned, rubbing your temples. "You are actually the worst."
Mina shrugged, grinning. "I’m just saying, sweetheart, at some point, you’re gonna have to stop pretending this is a polite roommate situation. Might as well enjoy yourself in the process."
She only laughed, patting your shoulder. "I’m just saying, if you’re already forced to live together, might as well enjoy the perks, right? Bet he’s not bad in bed either."
Mina shrugged, clearly unfazed. "I’m the realist. You’re the one making this more complicated than it needs to be."
You rolled your eyes but couldn't fully shake her words from your mind as the day went on.
Jay had suggested going out for lunch—something about fresh air being good for you, but you had a sneaking suspicion he was trying to get you out of your own head. The tension of the upcoming dinner with his parents had been lingering between you both, and he was trying to shift the focus.
The café was cozy, tucked into a quiet corner of the city, the kind of place that blurred the line between magical and Muggle. Small, levitating candles hovered above each table, but there was also a very prominent espresso machine steaming in the background, giving the place a strange but warm blend of both worlds.
Jay was different today. More touchy.
The first time he reached for your hand, it caught you off guard. You had been gesturing while explaining something, only to have his fingers wrap around yours mid-sentence, lacing them together as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You blinked down at your joined hands, but he only smirked, continuing to listen as if nothing had changed.
Jay tilted his head slightly. "By the way, you always talk about Niki, but what about your other friends? Jungwon, right?"
You blinked. "Yeah. Jungwon and I have been friends for a while now."
Jay hummed. "Funny. I actually tutored him for like a week back in school."
Your eyes widened. "You? Tutoring Jungwon?"
He smirked. "Yeah. He was struggling with Charms. Thought he could figure everything out by himself, but he kept botching the spellwork."
You laughed. "That does sound like him. How did it go?"
Jay shrugged. "He quit after a week. Said he learned better by messing up on his own."
You snorted. "That sounds even more like him."
Jay smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Guess we’ve had more overlapping connections than I thought."
It wasn’t until later that evening, back at the apartment, that you realized just how much more comfortable Jay had gotten with you.
You were sitting on the couch, legs curled up beneath you as you skimmed through a book, when Jay walked in, plopping down beside you with absolutely no regard for personal space. Without hesitation, he reached for your arm and tugged gently, signaling for you to shift.
You raised a brow. “What?”
Jay smirked. “Come here.”
You scoffed. “Why?”
He sighed, as if you were exhausting, before simply pulling you toward him. You barely had time to react before you were settled against his chest, your back pressed against him as he stretched his legs out comfortably. His arms caged you in, warm and steady.
“Jay,” you muttered, stiffening slightly. “What are you doing?”
“Relaxing.” His voice was easy, like this was normal. Like you hadn’t just settled directly into his lap.
You swallowed, unsure of what to do with yourself. “I—”
“You’re warm,” he murmured, voice dropping slightly.
Your heartbeat stuttered.
The worst part was that he was warm too.
After a few seconds, you exhaled, finally allowing yourself to relax into him. Jay hummed in approval, his lips grazing against the shell of your ear as he shifted slightly, adjusting his grip around you. The touch was fleeting but intentional.
“You really don’t mind all this?” you asked quietly.
Jay chuckled, his breath warm against your skin. “Mind it? I’m starting to think I like it too much.”
You sucked in a breath, but before you could respond, he nuzzled against your shoulder, his teeth grazing your ear before closing lightly around it in a teasing nibble. Your breath hitched, and your fingers instinctively gripped his arm.
"Jay—"
He didn't pull back. Instead, his arms tightened around you, and his lips moved lower, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the curve of your neck. The warmth of it sent a sharp jolt through your spine, and before you could second-guess yourself, you turned slightly in his lap, tilting your head toward him.
It happened naturally—his mouth met yours in a kiss that was slower, deeper than either of you had intended. The shift in energy was unmistakable, tension curling between you like an unspoken understanding neither of you wanted to break.
Jay's hands splayed against your back, pulling you closer as your fingers curled into his shirt, anchoring yourself. When he bit at your bottom lip, a quiet noise escaped you, and he responded by deepening the kiss, tilting his head as if he couldn't get enough.
By the time you finally pulled away, breath uneven, his forehead rested against yours, his lips just barely brushing over yours again in a lingering tease. Your heart was still racing, your hands still lightly curled against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
Jay's breath was still uneven against your skin, his hands resting against your lower back, keeping you close. You could still feel the warmth of his lips, the lingering tension settling between you both like an unspoken acknowledgment.
His arms tightened slightly, and he nuzzled against your cheek, pressing a barely-there kiss against your temple. "You feel safe," he murmured, his voice lower, softer.
Your breath hitched. "What?"
Jay exhaled slowly, as if grounding himself in your presence. "With you. I feel safe with you."
The confession sent a warmth through your chest that you weren’t prepared for. Your fingers twitched slightly against his shirt, caught between the instinct to pull away and the need to stay exactly where you were.
Jay tilted his head, his nose brushing against your cheek. "You like taking care of me, don’t you?" he mused, teasing but sincere.
You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. "You’re impossible."
His smirk returned, albeit softer this time. "Maybe. But I think you like me this way."
You huffed, shaking your head, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let yourself sink just a little further into his embrace, knowing—deep down—you weren’t quite ready to let go yet.
"Told you you'd get used to it," he murmured, his voice husky.
“Jay,” you warned, though your voice came out softer than intended.
He only smirked, resting his chin on your shoulder like he hadn’t just sent your heart into overdrive. “You’re overthinking again, baby.”
And you hated that he was right.
You had been dreading the Ministry’s visit from the moment the letter arrived, confirming the final scheduled check-in before a long evaluation period. It was supposed to be a relief—this was the last time, for a while at least, that an official would come snooping around, dissecting your marriage like it was an experiment instead of your actual life.
But relief was the last thing you felt.
There was something suffocating about the expectation of passing. You and Jay had gotten good at playing your roles, good at the casual touches, the familiarity, the easy, teasing back-and-forth that had started feeling more real than pretend. But today, something felt… off.
Maybe it was because the words still echoed in your mind.
You should kiss me more.
You feel safe.
Jay had said it so easily, as if it was second nature to him now, to be comfortable around you. But comfort didn’t mean security, and today, everything felt like it was hanging by a thread.
The Ministry official, a stern-looking woman with wire-rimmed glasses, sat across from you both in the living room. A notepad in her hands, quill poised. Watching. Always watching.
“So,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “We’ve received positive reports so far on your integration as a married couple. How has the transition been?”
Jay, as always, was calm, composed, charming. “It’s been good. We’ve built a routine, settled into daily life together.”
Her eyes flickered to you. “And you?”
You swallowed. “It’s… an adjustment, but I think we’re getting there.”
The Ministry woman nodded, making a note. “Good, good. And the cohabitation aspect? Shared space, sleeping arrangements?”
Jay didn’t even hesitate. “Of course.”
You nodded, feeling the walls close in around you. You wondered if she could sense the strange weight in the air, the tension neither of you had fully addressed.
She glanced down at the file in her lap. “As you know, by the next evaluation period, the Ministry will be monitoring this aspect through magical verification. We must ensure that your union progresses naturally.”
Naturally. As if any of this had been natural from the start.
Her gaze sharpened. “And, of course, I must remind you that by the second year of marriage, procreation is expected. The Ministry understands that adjustments take time, but ultimately, your union is meant to strengthen the magical bloodlines.”
Your stomach clenched. Jay’s jaw tensed.
“Understood,” Jay finally said, his tone even.
You managed a nod, even though your heart was pounding in your ears. The official studied you both for a moment longer before standing, closing her folder.
“I believe that will be all for now,” she said, giving a tight smile. “We will check in again at the next scheduled period. Until then, I suggest you continue settling into your roles as husband and wife.”
And just like that, she was gone. But her words lingered, thick like smoke in the room.
Neither of you spoke for a long moment.
Then, Jay let out a sharp breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, that was fun.”
Your jaw clenched. “Fun.”
He glanced at you, sensing the shift in your tone. “What?”
You stood abruptly, pacing toward the kitchen, needing space. “Nothing.”
Jay sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Come on, baby, just say it.”
And maybe it was the way he said it—so effortlessly, so casually, as if nothing had just happened—that made something in you snap.
“Say what, Jay?” You whirled around, frustration bubbling over. “That I hate this? That I hate how the Ministry talks about children like we’re required to breed for them? That I hate how we have to act like our lives are some scripted performance?”
Jay exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You think I don’t hate it too?”
“Do you?” The words were out before you could stop them, sharp, biting. “Because sometimes it feels like you’re perfectly fine pretending.”
Jay’s expression darkened. "I’m trying to make the best of this, but you act like I’m the enemy. We’re in this together, or have you forgotten that?"
You let out a bitter laugh. "Together? Jay, sometimes it feels like you don't even care. Like you're just rolling with this because it's easier for you."
Jay’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, his posture stiffening. "What do you mean I don't care? Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I wake up every morning thrilled about the fact that my life got rewritten by some Ministry law?"
You exhaled sharply. "I never said that."
"No, but you sure as hell act like I’m the one who forced you into this." His voice was sharper now, frustration laced into every word. "I’ve been trying, okay? Trying to make this livable, trying to make it easier for both of us. But every time I do, you push back like you’d rather pretend I don’t exist."
You crossed your arms, hating the way his words stung. "I don’t pretend you don’t exist, Jay. I just—" You swallowed hard. "I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to balance what’s real and what’s not," Your heart pounded, "I haven’t forgotten that we're in this together. But maybe I wish we weren’t."
Jay’s entire body went rigid. His jaw clenched, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter, but no less sharp. "What do you mean, you wish we weren’t?"
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. "Jay—"
"No, say it," he pressed, his voice laced with something raw. "Has this all just been an inconvenience to you? Have I just been another part of the mess?"
You inhaled shakily. "That’s not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?" His eyes bore into yours, frustration and something else—something closer to hurt—bleeding into his gaze.
You hesitated. "I just meant… I don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore."
Jay’s expression darkened further, his frustration spilling over. "It’s all real, because this is our life now! This isn’t some fantasy, or some nightmare you can wake up from. This is it. We’re here, together, and no amount of wishing it away is going to change that."
Jay let out a harsh breath, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe it isn’t normal, but it’s ours. And if we keep tearing it apart every time something doesn’t go the way we want, then what the hell are we even doing?"
Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Neither of you willing to be the first to break it.
The silence that followed was deafening. Jay’s face didn’t change, but something behind his eyes did. A flicker of something that looked like hurt.
And then, just like that, the moment passed.
His jaw clenched, his voice measured. “We have dinner with my parents tonight.”
You inhaled sharply, your stomach twisting. You had completely forgotten in the middle of the chaos.
“Great,” you muttered. “Can’t wait.”
Jay exhaled, stepping back. “Just… get ready. We’ll deal with this later.”
The carriage ride to Jay’s family estate was quiet, tense. You barely spoke, both still reeling from the heated argument earlier. Jay’s gaze was fixed outside the window, jaw tight, and though you knew this dinner was important, you couldn’t shake the unease crawling under your skin.
By the time you arrived, the grandeur of the Park estate was impossible to ignore. The house—no, the manor—was a striking example of old magic, the kind of wealth that had been passed down for generations.
Tall wrought-iron gates opened with a soft creak, revealing sprawling courtyards lined with lantern-lit pathways, their glow flickering in the cool evening air. The mansion itself was regal, its high stone walls blanketed in ivy, windows aglow with warm golden light.
Jay straightened the moment the carriage stopped, his usual relaxed demeanor replaced by something practiced. Reserved. This was his world, and you were only stepping into it.
A house-elf opened the massive front doors before either of you could knock, ushering you into a vast foyer lined with polished marble floors and an intricately carved staircase leading to the upper levels. The walls were adorned with enchanted portraits, all featuring past generations of the Park family—stoic figures in rich robes watching you with unsettling scrutiny.
Jay’s mother was waiting in the grand entrance hall, regal as ever. Her dark hair was elegantly styled, her robes immaculate, her presence exuding the effortless grace of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
"Jongseong," she greeted, her voice smooth but edged with expectation. "It’s been too long."
Jay nodded, a polite smile barely reaching his eyes. "You know how it is."
His father stood just behind her, taller than Jay, his presence commanding even in silence. His features were sharp, his stare assessing, but there was a flicker of curiosity when he glanced at you.
His mother’s gaze shifted toward you, scanning with the precision of someone accustomed to weighing worth. "And you must be my daughter-in-law."
The title landed heavily. Daughter-in-law. It sounded more binding coming from her than it ever had from a Ministry official.
You dipped your head slightly. "It’s lovely to meet you."
She studied you for a long moment before giving a small nod. "Come in. Dinner is ready."
The dining room was ornate and intimidating, the kind of place where silence held weight. A long, polished table stretched across the room, set with fine china and gleaming silverware. Floating candles hovered overhead, casting a warm but almost oppressive glow on the deep mahogany walls lined with more ancestral portraits.
Dinner was served in meticulously timed courses, each plate appearing at the perfect moment as house-elves moved soundlessly through the space. The food was exquisite, but you barely tasted it—your mind too occupied with the undercurrent of tension between you and Jay.
His parents, though polite, were assessing you, their questions carefully crafted to evaluate rather than genuinely get to know you.
"Tell me," his mother finally said, dabbing her lips with a pristine napkin, "how have you been adjusting to married life?"
You forced a smile. "It’s been an adjustment, but we’re finding our way."
Jay’s father hummed, swirling his wine glass. "Finding your way?" His sharp eyes flickered between the two of you. "That’s an interesting choice of words."
You felt Jay tense beside you. "We’re managing just fine."
His mother tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharper than before. "Did you two have a fight?"
Your breath caught in your throat. The room felt smaller. Had they already noticed?
Jay let out a measured sigh, fingers tightening slightly around his fork. "It’s nothing. Just—" he exhaled, sparing you a quick glance, "a disagreement."
His mother hummed thoughtfully, setting her napkin down beside her plate. "Marriage isn’t about never fighting. It’s about how you handle the fights."
His father nodded, his deep voice breaking the tense silence. "A marriage built on avoidance will always crumble. Disagreements are inevitable, but how you choose to move forward from them is what matters."
The weight of their words settled heavily between you and Jay, a third presence at the table. It wasn’t accusatory, nor was it particularly comforting—it was simply fact. And it left you feeling exposed.
His mother’s gaze lingered on Jay for a moment longer before softening just a fraction as she turned back to you. "It will take time, but if you are both willing to build something real from this, then you must learn to meet each other halfway."
You swallowed, nodding slowly. Halfway.
After dinner, as the plates vanished and the dining room emptied, Jay’s mother turned to you with a calm, knowing expression. "Come," she said, rising gracefully from her seat. "Let’s wash our hands before dessert."
You hesitated for only a moment before following her, feeling Jay’s gaze linger on you as you exited the room. The air in the corridor was cool, laced with the scent of fresh linen and aged parchment. You expected her to lead you directly to the washroom, but instead, after you rinsed your hands, she gestured toward a side door that opened into a moonlit garden.
"A walk will do us both some good," she murmured, stepping outside.
The estate grounds were vast, illuminated by the soft glow of floating lanterns. The paths were lined with perfectly trimmed hedges and arching trellises of enchanted flowers that bloomed faintly in the evening air. It was quiet, serene, the opposite of the tension you had felt all night.
She walked beside you in silence for a few moments before speaking. "I can see the weight you’re carrying, dear. You don’t need to hide it from me."
You exhaled slowly. "It’s just… a lot. Adjusting, trying to understand what all of this means, what’s expected of me… and Jay."
Her lips curled slightly, not unkindly. "My son is… difficult at times. But I know him well."
You glanced at her, uncertain. "You seem to know a lot about us already."
She chuckled. "I know marriage is not easy, especially one like yours. But I also know that my son is not as indifferent as he pretends to be. He may act as though he’s handling everything well, but I see the way he looks at you. And I see the way you look at him, even when you don’t realize it."
You swallowed. "I don’t know how to make this work."
She stopped walking, turning to you. In the dim light, her gaze was softer than before. "Then start by meeting him where he is. And let him meet you there, too."
You nodded slowly, her words settling deep within you.
Then, as if sensing your next question, she offered a small smile. "If I know my son—and I do—he’s waiting for you upstairs. In his old bedroom. He may be stubborn, but he won’t go to sleep without trying to fix things."
The warmth in her voice was unexpected, and when she placed a gentle hand on your arm, she added, "Call me Mom. Family is built over time, but you’re part of ours now."
Something in your chest tightened, but you found yourself nodding, feeling the smallest bit lighter.
"Go to him," she murmured, stepping back toward the house. "The night is long, but love is patient."
The hallways of the Park estate were quiet, dimly lit by sconces casting soft, flickering light. The house smelled like old parchment, polished mahogany, and something herbal—like a potion left brewing long enough to become part of the walls. The weight of history pressed in on you as you followed the familiar path to Jay’s childhood bedroom.
Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as you stood outside his door, slightly ajar, warm lamplight spilling onto the dark floorboards. Your heart was a riot in your chest, each beat slamming against your ribs.
You pushed the door open.
Jay was there. Waiting.
He sat on the edge of his bed, one elbow propped on his knee, fingers pressed to his temple like he had the beginnings of a headache. His sleeves were still rolled up, exposing the lean muscle of his forearms, and his shirt hung loosely over his frame, collar slightly undone like he’d been tugging at it in frustration. His hair was tousled—from his hands, or maybe from the weight of the night.
He looked up as you entered. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders tensed.
The room was suffocatingly personal. The bed, bigger than you expected, was covered in dark gray sheets that had long lost their crispness. The walls, lined with old Quidditch posters and bookshelves crammed with textbooks and novels, spoke of a younger, more ambitious Jay—one you had never known.
Your throat tightened. This was his space. His past. And now you were stepping into it.
You shut the door behind you, your breath unsteady.
“Your mom told me you’d be here,” you said softly.
Jay scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. "Of course, she did."
The silence that stretched between you was thick with unspoken things. You shifted on your feet, nerves crawling up your spine. It shouldn’t be this hard to talk to him.
You exhaled. "She also told me to call her Mom."
That got his attention. His brow furrowed slightly, his gaze flickering over you like he was trying to decide if you were serious. "Yeah?"
You nodded. "She gave me some advice, too. About meeting halfway."
Jay inhaled deeply, rubbing at his temple before looking at you fully. "Sounds like her."
More silence. It wasn’t cold anymore, but it wasn’t comfortable either. Just hesitant. Fragile.
Finally, he sighed. "I don’t like fighting with you."
The words hit you harder than they should have. A lump formed in your throat. "Me neither."
Jay’s eyes softened just slightly, his posture relaxing the smallest bit. "I meant what I said earlier. This… us. It’s real, whether we wanted it to be or not."
You swallowed against the sudden sting behind your eyes. Real. That word lodged itself deep in your chest, making it hard to breathe.
You took a slow step forward. Then another. And another, until you were standing between his knees.
Jay’s hands twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.
"I don’t know how to do this," you whispered, voice tight.
Jay’s throat bobbed as he exhaled, and this time, he didn’t hesitate. His hands slid up your hips, fingers digging into your waist just enough to make you feel it.
“Then let’s figure it out together,” he murmured.
A small, broken sound escaped you before you could stop it. His grip tightened.
Tears slipped past your lashes, and Jay’s entire expression shifted. His fingers brushed up, cradling your face, wiping them away.
"Baby, hey—" his voice dropped lower, raw. "Why are you crying?"
You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t know. I just—" You sucked in a breath. "You call me baby like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like we’re normal. And I don’t know what to do with that."
Jay studied you for a long moment, then tilted his head forward, pressing his forehead to yours.
His warmth seeped into your skin, anchoring you. He smelled like home.
"You don’t have to do anything with it," he murmured. "Just let me hold you."
You let out another shaky breath before you did something you hadn’t done before.
You settled into his lap.
Jay’s entire body stiffened, but he didn’t stop you. His arms came up instinctively, wrapping around your waist, holding you tighter, like he was afraid you’d disappear.
Your fingers toyed with the edges of his collar, trailing along the warm skin just beneath it. His pulse thrummed under your fingertips, fast but steady.
Then, without thinking, you leaned in and kissed him.
It was soft at first, hesitant—a brush of lips meant to test the waters. But when Jay sighed against your mouth and pulled you flush against him, the hesitation melted away.
He kissed you deeper.
You could feel everything in the way he held you—his hands sliding up your spine, his fingers tracing your ribs, the weight of every moment leading up to this one.
By the time you pulled away, you were breathless. Your forehead rested against his, lips still tingling.
Then, in a hushed, teasing voice, you whispered, "I love it when you smother me with yourself. It makes me feel beautiful."
Jay froze.
Then—a deep, rich laugh rumbled in his chest. He tipped his head back, grinning. "What?"
Your cheeks burned. "It sounded better in my head."
Jay’s arms tightened around you, his lips brushing over your temple as he chuckled. "God, you’re ridiculous."
You hummed, tracing absent patterns over his chest. "But you love it."
Jay exhaled, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as if he belonged there. "Yeah, baby," he murmured against your skin. "I do."
For the first time that night, everything felt right.
The morning sun poured through the windows the next morning, casting golden streaks across the bedroom floor. You stirred slightly, feeling warmth wrapped around you—solid, firm, undeniably Jay.
His arm was draped over your waist, his breath hot against the back of your neck, slow and steady. His entire body was flush against yours, the weight of his leg thrown over yours, as if he had unconsciously tangled himself around you in the night.
You froze, hyper-aware of every point of contact. His hand splayed low on your stomach, fingers curled just barely under the hem of your shirt. His breath fanned over the shell of your ear, sending shivers racing down your spine.
Then, he tightened his grip.
You sucked in a breath as his fingers flexed against your skin, pulling you back against him. A low hum rumbled in his chest, deep and sleepy.
"Mmm. Stay," he muttered, voice thick with sleep, gravelly in a way that made your stomach flip.
You should move. You should pull away. But you don’t.
Instead, you let yourself sink into the warmth of him, just for a second. The feel of him—his bare skin against yours, the solid press of his body—had your mind spiraling into dangerous places. He was so warm, so strong, so impossibly close.
Your breath stuttered as you felt his fingers slide just a little lower, his palm pressing just a little firmer.
And then, realization hit.
You jerked away, heart hammering, but Jay barely reacted. He let out a tired groan, stretching his arm over his head before blinking at you through half-lidded eyes.
"What’s wrong?" His voice was hoarse, his gaze still heavy with sleep.
You cleared your throat, forcing your voice to stay even. "Nothing. Just… we should get up."
Jay smirked, lazy and knowing.
"If you say so, baby."
The walk home was silent, but thick. Every brush of your arms, every accidental glance, every moment of quiet between you carried an unbearable weight.
You weren’t sure when it had started—this undercurrent of something more, something dangerous. But you could feel it burning beneath the surface.
When you stepped inside the apartment, the air changed.
Jay lingered near the kitchen, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. He watched you, gaze heavy, unreadable. You could feel it—the tension crackling between you like a live wire.
Finally, he broke the silence. "You’re different."
You glanced at him. "So are you."
His lips quirked. "That a bad thing?"
You didn’t answer. Because no, it wasn’t. And that was the problem.
It started small. A test. A game.
You began pushing his buttons—on purpose.
Brushing past him with too much force. Leaning in just a little too close when speaking. Letting your fingers trail over his wrist absentmindedly, just to see if he’d react.
And Jay? He played back.
His palm ghosting over the small of your back when he passed behind you. His lips brushing your ear as he murmured something teasing. His fingers trailing down your spine for just a second too long.
Then came the moment when he finally called you out.
One night, as you passed him in the hallway, his hand shot out, catching your wrist.
He turned to face you, his eyes dark, smirk sharp.
"What’s this, baby? Trying to get my attention?"
Your breath caught in your throat. You had been. But you weren’t about to admit it.
You scoffed. "In your dreams."
Jay chuckled, but there was something dangerous in his expression now.
"Oh, I think you’ve been in my dreams, too."
Your heart slammed against your ribs. He was winning. And you couldn’t have that.
So, you did something reckless.
As you moved past him, you let your fingers drag over his stomach, just barely skimming the skin exposed by his loose shirt.
Jay stiffened.
For the first time, he looked affected. His jaw clenched, fingers twitching at his sides.
Then, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You keep playing with fire, baby."
You turned, eyes locking onto his. "And what if I am?"
His lips parted. His fingers curled into fists.
He was so, so close to losing it.
It happened in the smallest, most ridiculous way.
You were reaching for something on the top shelf in the kitchen when Jay stepped behind you, his body pressing up against yours, his hand effortlessly grabbing it before you could.
"Let me," he murmured, his voice low and deep in your ear.
You froze. Every inch of him was against you. His chest, his hips, his hands.
Then, you pressed back against him.
Jay let out a quiet, shaky breath. His fingers dug into your waist.
"You don’t know what you’re doing to me," he whispered. His lips brushed your ear, his breath warm.
You turned slightly, your lips just barely grazing his.
"Then show me."
And that was it. That was the moment. Jay grabbed you, spun you, backed you against the counter.
His mouth crashed against yours—needy, desperate, hungry. A gasp escaped you, swallowed instantly by his lips. His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you onto the counter with ease.
You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, so, so close.
Jay broke the kiss, panting, pressing his forehead against yours. His hands shook as they held onto you. "Tell me to stop."
You shook your head. "Don’t you dare.".
The air between you and Jay was electric, charged with unspoken desire that had been simmering for far too long. It was too much now, a weight pressing down on you both, demanding to be released. When his lips finally claimed yours, it was with urgency, with hunger, as if he had been holding back for months.
The kitchen—such a normal, mundane setting—was suddenly transformed into something far more intimate, more dangerous. The cool granite countertop pressed into your back as Jay’s lips crushed against yours, sending shockwaves through your body.
At first, your lips parted in surprise, but the moment you surrendered, it was over. His kiss was hungry, his mouth moving fervently against yours, tasting, exploring, claiming. His tongue swept inside, demanding, possessive, like he was marking you as his own.
A soft moan escaped you, a sound of surrender, of need.
It seemed to unleash something in him.
His hands, which had been resting gently on your thighs, tightened with fierce intensity. His long fingers dug into the soft flesh, leaving imprints as he pushed you further into the counter, molding you against him. Your back arched instinctively, pressing your body closer, craving more of the heat between you.
The kiss deepened, turning hotter, messier. A whimper slipped from your lips, and Jay responded with a deep, primal growl, his mouth leaving yours to trail fire along your jaw, your neck.
“God, baby,” he rasped, his voice hoarse, wrecked. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine, curling in your stomach. “You drive me fucking crazy.”
Your thoughts were incoherent, lost in the sheer intensity of him.
Your hands, which had been resting against his broad shoulders, now tangled in his dark hair, tugging, pulling him closer. You needed more, needed to be consumed by him, needed to drown in the way he was touching, kissing, ruining you.
"Do something about it," you whispered, your voice thick with want, raw with need.
It was a challenge, a dare—one that Jay was more than willing to accept.
With a feral grin, he pulled back, his eyes dark with pure desire. “Oh, I will.” His voice was low, dripping with promise.
In a swift motion, his hands gripped your waist, strong fingers spanning your sides as he lifted you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his hips on instinct, as if you had done this dance with him a thousand times before.
And then, you felt it.
His hardness pressing against you, just enough to make your breath hitch, just enough to send a delicious thrill racing down your spine.
Jay devoured your mouth as he carried you out of the kitchen, his footsteps unsteady, his grip unrelenting. You clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, matching his fervor with your own.
The urgency between you both was palpable, nearly unbearable.
By the time Jay kicked open the bedroom door, his lips never leaving yours, his hands never loosening their grip on you, your entire body felt like it was burning from the inside out.
He stumbled inside, kicked the door shut with his foot, and suddenly, everything blurred.
You barely had time to register the bed before you were falling onto it, your body sinking into the mattress as he followed, covering you, pressing you down, making sure you felt every inch of him.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he growled, his voice thick, rough with need. “Every fucking day, I’ve fantasized about having you, about claiming you like this.”
Your fingers traced the strong lines of his jaw, relishing the roughness of his unshaven skin.
"Then take me," you whispered, a boldness you didn’t even know you possessed. “Make me yours.”
Jay’s response was immediate.
His fingers wrapped around your wrists, pinning them above your head, his grip firm but careful. His free hand roamed, tracing your curves, exploring, memorizing.
His thumb brushed over the peak of your nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp from you, your body arching instinctively.
“I want to see you,” he murmured, his voice like gravel, heavy with restraint. “All of you.”
Your heart pounded as you sat up, pulling your shirt over your head, revealing the delicate black lace beneath.
Jay’s eyes darkened. His breath hitched.
Releasing your wrists, his hands moved to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing the hardened peaks, rolling, stroking, watching you squirm beneath him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his lips finding yours again, a searing, devastating kiss.
His mouth trailed down, down, down, leaving a path of kisses, nipping, sucking, making you tremble beneath him.
His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your pants, and you arched into him, desperate.
"Please, Jay," you begged, your voice a breathless plea. "I need you."
He let out a dark chuckle, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Oh, you’ll have me, baby. But first… I want to taste you."
And then, he did.
His lips, his tongue, his fingers—all of him, taking his time, taking you apart.
You were a trembling, gasping mess beneath him, gripping the sheets, crying out his name.
And when you finally shattered, when he pulled every last moan from your lips, he moved back over you, watching you, waiting, drinking in the sight of you undone beneath him.
You reached for him, pulling him down, wrapping yourself around him, whispering his name.
And when he finally slid into you, deep and slow, filling you in one smooth stroke, you knew. This wasn’t just need. This wasn’t just hunger.
This was everything.
Jay buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning as your body clenched around him, gripping him perfectly. He moved slow, deep, deliberate. Like he wanted to make sure you felt everything. Like he wanted to ruin you.
And he did. He whispered your name against your skin.
And when you both tumbled over the edge together, it wasn’t just ecstasy. It was something more.
Something terrifying, something dangerous, something neither of you were ready to name. Afterward, Jay didn’t move.
He just held you, his lips pressing absentminded kisses against your temple, your jaw.
The sheets were a tangled mess beneath you, the room still thick with the remnants of last night—the heat, the whispered names, the overwhelming need.
But morning had arrived, and with it, clarity.
You lay still, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding, stomach twisting. You could feel him beside you, the warmth of his body still clinging to yours, the weight of his arm draped lazily over your waist.
You should move. You should get up.
Instead, you stayed still, afraid to break the moment. Afraid of what came next.
Then, Jay stirred.
A slow inhale. A shift of weight. Then, his hold on you tightened.
“Baby, you know I'm in love with you right?” he murmured, his voice thick, raspy from sleep.
Your stomach flipped, heat rising to your cheeks at the way the word slipped so effortlessly from his lips.
Then, he pressed a lazy kiss to the back of your shoulder.
Something inside you clenched at the tenderness of it. The way his lips lingered, soft and warm, like he was memorizing you, grounding himself in the feel of you.
It was so different from last night. Last night had been fire, hunger, pure desire. But this? This was something else entirely.
Something terrifying.
You swallowed hard, your body going stiff beneath his touch. He noticed.
Jay let out a quiet exhale, his fingers tracing soothing circles over your hip. Then, finally, he spoke.
“I meant what I said.”
Your breath caught in your throat. His words. The confession you hadn’t acknowledged.
“I know,” you whispered.
He shifted, his grip tightening just slightly, as if afraid you’d slip away. His lips found your bare shoulder again, pressing another slow, lingering kiss.
“My Doll,” he murmured, his voice softer this time, but still weighted with emotion. “You don’t have to say anything. Not yet.”
You turned your head slightly, eyes meeting his for the first time that morning. He looked different.
Softer. More open. But just as intense. Your lips parted, but no words came. Because what could you say? You weren’t ready. You weren’t sure what this was.
But Jay just smiled, small and knowing, like he understood anyway.
“You don’t have to figure it out right now,” he murmured, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just… let me be here with you.”
Your chest tightened. That was the problem. He was already here. Closer than he had ever been. You didn’t know if you had it in you to push him away.
It took days. Maybe longer. But it was always there, lingering between you.
Jay never said it again, but you could feel it in everything he did.
The way he pulled you close when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way he touched you—not just with heat, but with reverence. The way he whispered "Baby" like it was the most natural thing in the world.
But the moment it finally hit you, it was almost embarrassing how obvious it had been all along.
It wasn’t in the quiet nights, or the way he held you in his sleep.
It was something as simple as Jay waiting for you outside of work.
It had been a rough day. One of those days where everything felt heavy. And when you stepped outside, seeing him leaning against the lamppost, hands in his pockets, waiting for you like it was the most natural thing in the world—
It hit you like a train.
He smiled the second he saw you, pushing off the post and walking over like he couldn’t get to you fast enough. “Hey, babe. You okay?”
And instead of answering, you just stood there, staring at him—this man who had somehow become everything.
Jay frowned slightly, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
You let out a breath, and before you could stop yourself, the words just slipped out “I love you.”
Jay stilled. His fingers twitched against your cheek, his expression unreadable.
Then, his lips parted. “Y/N…”
You panicked. “I—I mean it too I-”
But before you could take it back, Jay was already moving, already kissing you like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear you say those words.
And when he finally pulled back, breathless, a little dazed, he just grinned.
“You can say it again, you know.”
You rolled your eyes, but when he leaned in and whispered, “Say it again, baby,” you did.
Because you meant it.
Months later, the apartment felt different. Warmer. More like a home than a place you had been forced into.
The nursery had been Jay’s latest obsession. He had spent the entire day painting the walls, rearranging furniture, making sure everything was perfect. And now, he was sprawled across your bed, half-asleep, waiting for you.
You stood in the doorway, hand resting on your six-months-pregnant belly, watching him with amusement. His shirtless form was stretched across the mattress, hair still messy from the day’s work, an arm thrown over his eyes.
“Babe,” you called softly.
He groaned. “Mmm.”
You stepped forward, nudging his foot with yours. “You’re hogging the bed.”
Jay cracked one eye open, a slow, sleepy grin spreading across his lips. “And you’re glowing, mama.”
You rolled your eyes, crawling into bed beside him, letting out a relieved sigh as you sank into his warmth. Jay turned onto his side, one large hand coming to rest on your belly, thumb rubbing slow circles over the fabric of your shirt.
“Tired?” you asked.
“Exhausted,” he muttered, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “But you’re worth it.”
You smiled, letting your fingers trace the ridges of his forearm. “You’ve been working too hard.”
Jay hummed, shifting closer, his lips grazing your jaw, your cheek. “You’re carrying my kid. I’d build a whole damn castle if you wanted one.”
You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
He nuzzled against your cheek, voice growing drowsy. “Only for you, my Doll”
You turned your head slightly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips.
Jay smiled into it, whispering, “Can’t wait to meet them.”
Your heart squeezed, warmth flooding through you.
“Me too,” you whispered, letting yourself sink into him. “Me too.”
Then, in his half-asleep state, he muttered, “But if they have your stubborn streak, we’re doomed.”
You snorted. “Then you better start preparing now.”
He pulled you in tighter, his lips brushing your forehead. “I already have everything I need.”
You yawned, stretching your fingers along his bare chest before whispering, “Come here, baby.”
Jay let out a pleased hum, shifting fully into your arms, resting his head against your shoulder. His strong arms wrapped around you, careful yet firm, his warmth seeping into your skin as he melted into you.
“Mm, I like it when you call me that,” he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion.
You smirked, running a hand through his messy hair. “Good. Because I’m not stopping.”
As sleep began to claim you both, Jay murmured, “You know, I hated every second of that damn law.”
You sighed, your fingers tightening against his chest. “Me too.”
“But…” he continued, his voice soft and full of something deep, something real, “I’ve loved every second with you.”
You smiled, pressing a final kiss to his skin. “Me too, Jay. Me too."
HARD HOURS - enha reaction when you wont let them sleep because you're too needy.
cw (MDNI): breeding, explicit activity, super filthy, face sitting, spitting, mean language, swearing, squirting, oral m!receiving, oral f!receiving, harmless choking let me know if theres anyth i missed!
AN: i had a stroke brought back to life and produced this.
wc: 10K
Heeseung is dead to the world—or so it seems. He’s sprawled on his stomach, head half-buried in the pillow, blankets barely hanging onto his hips. You can tell by the slow, heavy breaths that he’s on the edge of deep sleep. In other words, the perfect target for your mischief.
You start small: a soft kiss against his ear, teeth gently dragging along the shell. Nothing. Heeseung barely stirs, only letting out a faint groan. You smirk, inching closer until your body is pressed flush to his back.
Then, you whisper your first sinful line:
“God, Hee, I can’t stop thinking about you filling me up… Wanna feel your cum dripping out.”
A slight twitch of his shoulders. Still not enough. You drag your lips lower, biting softly at his earlobe, letting your breath fan over the sensitive skin. This time, you feel his entire body tense, a quiet grunt rumbling in his chest.
“Mm… baby,” he mumbles, voice muffled by the pillow, “why are you so… fucking horny?”
You grin into his ear, hooking your leg over his calf to keep him from rolling away. “Because you’re so goddamn hotwhen you’re half-asleep,” you purr. “And because I know you love the idea of breeding me.”
Heeseung freezes. Then, a soft exhale that sounds suspiciously like a groan. “Shit… not this again,” he complains, though his tone betrays a hint of intrigue.
You trail your hand beneath the blanket, grazing the waistband of his boxers. “Yes, this again. Don’t pretend you don’t get off on the thought of knocking me up.” You can’t help the wicked smile curling at your lips. “Think about it, Hee… I’d be so full with your baby—everyone would know you fucked me so good that—”
“Stop,” he grumbles, face still squished into the pillow, but you hear his breathing pick up. “Don’t talk like that when I’m… trying… to sleep…” His words are disjointed, lazy from exhaustion, but there’s no mistaking the twitch in his boxers.
You press closer, cupping him through the fabric. He’s already half-hard—despite how desperate he is to stay asleep. “Feels like you don’t really want me to stop,” you tease, giving him a firm squeeze. “C’mon, Hee, you can breed me in your sleep if you want. I’ll do all the work. Just fill me up ‘til I’m pregnant with your baby.”
Heeseung lets out a muffled curse, finally rolling onto his side to face you, though his eyes are still lidded with exhaustion. “You’re… so fucking… relentless,” he mutters. “I was literally about to pass out.”
You just tilt your head, giving him your sweetest, most innocent smile. “Well, if you can’t handle it, guess I’ll just—” You start to pull your hand away, as if giving up.
But the second you try, Heeseung catches your wrist, pressing your palm fully against his length. “Shut up,” he mutters, brows furrowed. “You started this. Now you’d better take responsibility.”
You arch a brow. “Responsibility?” The corner of your mouth twitches. “As in… riding you ‘til you pump me full?”
He swallows hard, cock throbbing beneath your hand. “If that’s what it takes to get you to let me sleep afterwards,” he growls, though the sleepy rasp in his voice makes him sound more needy than threatening.
You can’t help the rush of arousal pooling between your thighs. You slip your hand under his waistband, fingers closing around the hot, stiff length of him. He gasps—quietly, but it’s enough to confirm you’ve got him.
“Fuck…” Heeseung’s eyes flutter, half-lidded, teeth sinking into his lower lip. “Fine. But don’t… don’t expect me to do all the work. I’m literally about to pass out.”
You laugh softly, sliding your leg over his hip until you’re straddling him. “I told you,” you purr, leaning in to nibble at his ear again, “I’ll do everything. You just gotta lie there and let me use that gorgeous cock. Let me fuck your baby into me.”
A trembling exhale leaves him, and for a second, you think he might actually fall asleep mid-conversation. But then, he ruts upward, desperate, jaw clenched. “Don’t… say that if you’re not serious,” he warns, voice cracking from both arousal and exhaustion. “You know how I get when you mention… that.”
You smirk, shimmying your sweats off, aligning yourself with him. “Who says I’m not serious?” Another deliberate roll of your hips, letting the tip of his cock slide between your folds. “Wanna see you get all possessive, Hee. Wanna watch your face when you realize you can’t help but fill me up ‘til I’m stuffed with your cum.”
He hisses, fists gripping the sheets as you sink down on him. His eyes squeeze shut, a low groan vibrating in his throat. “You’re… so fucking wet,” he mutters. “God, babe, you’re insane.”
You start a slow grind, rolling your hips to coax him deeper. “Mm, blame yourself,” you tease, leaning in to brush your lips against his ear again. “You’re the one who made me this wet by… existing. By being so fucking adorable even when you’re grumpy.”
He exhales a laugh—somewhere between a scoff and genuine amusement—then clutches your hips, fingers digging in as he tries to thrust up. But you quickly pin him, reminding him of your promise that you’ll do the work. He shudders, letting his head fall back into the pillow, letting out a string of curses when your pace increases.
“Fuck… you’re—” he starts, but the words catch in his throat as you slam down harder. His hands slide up under your shirt, caressing your waist as he tries to hold on to some sense of control. But you can tell he’s close to just letting go.
“You gonna cum already, Hee?” you taunt sweetly, nails scratching lightly along his torso. “Gonna fill me up with your baby while you’re half-asleep?”
He practically growls, eyes fluttering open to glare at you in a haze of lust. “Shut up,” he groans, “you’re the one who started—fuck—this.”
The slide of his cock is delicious, each wet smack of your bodies echoing in the quiet. His face contorts with pleasure, and you can tell from the shaky moans that he’s right on the edge. Suddenly, he grips your thighs, forcing you down until you’re fully impaled, burying himself to the hilt.
A ragged cry leaves him. “Shit, babe—I’m… oh, fuck—” His eyes roll back as he spills inside you, warmth flooding your core. His entire body trembles, half-lidded gaze locked on the sight of you perched on his lap.
Panting, you watch him struggle to stay awake, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “God, you’re so—fucking—difficult,” he gasps out, voice raspy with exhaustion. “But… so good.”
You gently stroke his hair, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Told you you’d like it.”
Heeseung groans again, arms wrapping around your waist. “Yeah, yeah. Now let me sleep,” he mumbles, eyes already fluttering shut. “Unless you want me to… pass out mid-round two.”
You laugh, settling over his chest, feeling the sticky warmth of his release still dripping between your thighs. “Mm, maybe I’ll let you get some rest, big boy.”
He half-smiles, nuzzling into your neck. “Why… are you so… horny… all the time…?”
You just chuckle, letting your fingers trace random patterns along his spine. “Maybe it’s because you’re so fucking irresistible, Hee.”
He makes a small, pleased sound—somewhere between a hum and a sigh—and finally drifts off, still inside you, arms locked around your waist like you might vanish if he loosened his grip.
You won this round—but at least he gets to sleep now… right?
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠
Jay was out cold.
Face half-buried in the pillow, arms stretched above his head, lounge pants slung low around his hips. He’d come home dead tired—only to doze off in that weird position where his eyes stayed half-open, like he was on autopilot even in sleep.
Meanwhile, you were in the bathroom, freshening up… and slipping into a brand-new black lace lingerie set. The bra was sheer enough to flaunt your nipples behind intricate lace, a garter belt hugged your hips, and the star of the show? Crotchless panties that revealed you in all the right places. The plan was to wake him gently—or, well, not so gently.
When you crept back into the bedroom, Jay let out a sleepy grunt, barely stirring. You flicked on the bedside lamp to a dim glow, stepping into his line of sight. He blinked once, confusion painting his features. Then he actually registered the lace.
His half-lidded gaze roamed you from head to toe, lingering on the straps across your thighs and the mouthwatering curve of your hips. “Mmph,” he muttered, voice thick with sleep. “Is that… new?”
You grinned, coming closer. “Wanna see the best part?” Without waiting for an answer, you lifted the edge of the delicate garter belt, letting him notice the open gap between your thighs.
His eyes snapped all the way open. “Fuck, are those… crotchless?”
“Mhm.” You tilted your hips, showing him exactly how very little was covered. The lace was basically framing your folds, leaving you entirely accessible. “Thought you’d like it, babe.”
A soft exhale left him as he tried to push himself upright. Sleep still clung to his movements, but the desire in his eyes was quickly burning away any drowsiness. “You’re so… fucking… I can’t even think.”
You slid onto the bed, hooking a leg over his hip. “So don’t think,” you teased, brushing your lips against his ear. “Just do what you do best… service top, right?”
He let out a quiet laugh, pressing a hand to his eyes. “God, you’re gonna kill me. I’m supposed to be passed out right now.”
Your answer was a playful nibble at his jaw. “But you won’t pass out. Because look at what I’m wearing—for you.”
He parted his fingers, peeking at you through them. “Yeah, well, you know I can’t resist that.” His hand dropped, sliding around to cup your ass, fingertips brushing the lace. “I mean, shit, you’re basically exposed but still so fucking sexy.” He swallowed hard, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. “Okay, okay, I’m awake now.”
Leaning back, you very purposefully let him see the parted crotch of your panties. “Let’s put them to use,” you murmured, your voice low.
Jay bit his lip, half a smirk forming. “You really want me to devour you right now, yeah?”
“You say that like it’s a question.” A single tug at his lounge pants exposed the growing outline of his cock, straining for attention. You pressed a palm over it, feeling him twitch. “I want to feel that mouth of yours first, though.”
He groaned, “Fuck… I can’t say no to you, can I?” Carefully, he pushed himself up, fluffing a pillow behind his head. The faint shadow of a grin on his lips. “Come here, let me see those crotchless panties up close.”
Your stomach fluttered as you crawled forward, positioning yourself above him—straddling his chest. You hovered for a moment, letting him admire the black lace hugging your thighs, the sheen of your arousal already evident.
His gaze flicked from your eyes to that sinful opening. “Christ,” he whispered, “they're so fucking—” He shook his head like he couldn’t find the words.
Taking it as a cue, you moved up, planting your knees on either side of his head. His hands automatically flew to your hips, steadying you. The closeness, the warmth—it was intense. One of his hands slid beneath the lace, and his breath caught when he felt how soaked you were.
“Damn,” he murmured, voice rasping with lust, “already this wet?”
You smirked, “I’ve been thinking about this all night.” Lowering yourself an inch more, you whispered, “You ready for me to ride your face, husband?”
A flash of pure hunger lit his eyes. “Fuck yes.” Then, half-lidded gaze locked on yours, he tugged you down the final distance, pressing his mouth directly to your exposed folds. The first caress of his tongue had you shivering, your entire body drawn tight.
“Jay…” you moaned softly, threading your fingers into his hair. The angle was perfect: he didn’t even have to remove the panties, just push the delicate lace aside with his nose, leaving you completely accessible to that talented mouth.
He started slowly—soft, deliberate licks that explored your folds. Each pass of his tongue was accompanied by a low hum of approval, a subtle roll of your hips. Then, gathering more confidence, he parted you further, letting his tongue delve deeper, swirling around your clit in lazy circles. You inhaled sharply, nails scraping his scalp, which earned a muffled groan from him.
Husband material, indeed.
“Shit…” you gasped, thighs trembling around his face. “God, you’re so— so good at this—“
His only response was a low chuckle, the vibrations making your toes curl. He pressed his tongue flat against your bundle of nerves, flicking it with just enough pressure to make your head spin. Each ragged breath, each swirl of his tongue, coaxed you closer to the edge.
Desperate to balance yourself, you gripped the headboard, half-riding his mouth in a rhythm that matched your ragged moans. The black lace framed his cheeks, reminding you again how easy it was for him to devour you in these crotchless panties. You bit your lip, panting harder.
He seemed to sense you edging near your climax, because he slid one hand up your thigh, hooking around the garter strap. With the other, he reached up to dig into your hips, urging you to bear more weight. And you obliged, pressing down, letting him bury his face fully against your heated core.
Your breath caught. “Jay… I’m gonna— oh fuck—“
He took that as permission, latching onto your clit with suction and a flick of his tongue that ripped a choked sob from your throat. The orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of trembling pleasure, your thighs clamping around his head. He rode it out with you, licking and kissing through each aftershock.
When you finally released him, he gasped for air, lips slick with your arousal. But the grin on his face? Absolutely triumphant.
“Feel better?” he teased, voice still rough with lust. Before you could answer, he reached out, tugging you down for a messy kiss. You tasted yourself on his tongue, a heady mixture of heat and satisfaction.
You pulled away, chest heaving, eyes glazed. “Fuck, Jay… that was—“
“Yeah?” he murmured, half-smiling. “Think you can still handle me inside you, or did I wear you out?”
You let out a breathless laugh, “Oh, I can handle you. Don’t forget who started this.” Sliding off him, you kicked aside the sheets. “Now hurry up, big boy… you’re not going back to sleep until I’ve made you come at least twice.”
A crooked smirk tugged at his lips as he positioned himself over you, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his sweats to shuffle them off. “You’re trying to kill me, huh?” Then, leaning in to nibble your ear, he whispered, “Glad you woke me up for this, wifey.”
Your only response was a blissed-out hum as he lined himself up, the crotchless panties conveniently parting to give him full access. Husband material? Absolutely. Service top? One thousand percent.
And you were about to enjoy every second of it.
𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧
Jake lay on his stomach, hair damp from a rushed shower, half-naked in a pair of boxers that barely clung to his hips. The clock on the nightstand blinked an unholy hour—he had football practice at sunrise, and he’d been moaning for the last hour about how he needed rest. Yet the moment you snuck onto the bed behind him, hooking your fingers under his waistband, his body betrayed all that whining.
“Stop,” he mumbled into the pillow, voice muffled and trembling with fatigue. “I—swear, I’m dying, I can’t do this.” Even as he spoke, you felt him twitch under your touch, a half-muffled groan escaping his lips. His half-lidded eyes flicked open, shooting you a watery glare. “You... you’re so damn pushy.”
With a soft smile, you trailed your nails along his back. “But you’re already half-hard, Jake,” you murmured, pressing a kiss just below his shoulder blade. “Look at you, complaining about sleep when your body obviously wants more.”
He huffed a pitiful laugh, letting his head turn on the pillow so you caught a glimpse of his flushed cheeks. “I—I can’t help it,” he stammered, eyes fluttering shut again. “If you keep going, I’ll... I’ll do something insane. I can’t even stand.”
A surge of excitement twisted in your belly. “Then eat me out from behind,” you suggested, your voice carrying a teasing, sultry note. “It won’t take much movement.”
Jake froze, letting out a ragged exhale. “God, you’re unstoppable. Fine. But if I pass out mid-lick, it’s on you.” He rolled slowly onto his side, hooking his arm around your waist to nudge you into position. His half-dead eyes scanned your body as you shoved your shorts down, arching your back, cheeks aflame. “Jesus,” he muttered, voice shaky, “you’re... so wet already. Are you really that needy?”
A tremor ran through you at his drowsy, borderline mocking tone. “Mhmm,” you breathed. “All yours, baby.”
“Don’t call me that,” he groaned, pushing your thighs apart as he knelt behind you. “I’m too tired for sweet talk.” He tugged your underwear free, letting it drop onto the sheets. The next second, his warm breath ghosted across your folds. “If I say something messed up, it’s your fault for pushing me this far.”
And with that, he latched on, tongue dragging a wet stripe through your slick. The shock tore a sharp moan from your throat. “Oh—Jake,” you gasped, fingers clenching in the sheets. “That’s— oh god—”
“Shut up,” he slurred, half-laugh, half-growl. “You asked for it.” He pressed his mouth tighter, swirling his tongue around your clit in sloppy, uncoordinated but devastating motions. Every time you jerked or whimpered, he let out a whiny grunt, eyes barely open, jaw slack with exhaustion. “Fuck, you taste so good. Hate you for making me do this when I’m half-dead. You— you little whore, waking me up... oh, shit.”
Your cheeks flamed at the nasty name, a sob-laced moan slipping out. “Jake, oh my god—”
He let out a broken giggle, hooking an arm around your hips to pin you in place. “I told you,” he muttered. “No filter. You’re basically my cocksleeve, right? Couldn’t even let me rest.” Another swirl of his tongue, and you felt him bitelightly at the undercurve of your ass.
A startled cry left your lips. “Jake, that hurts—”
“Shit, sorry,” he said, sounding half-dazed. “I— can’t help it.” Then, in a swift, delirious move, he latched onto the same spot, sucking until you knew it’d bruise. “Marking you up. My messy little bitch.”
Tears burned at your eyes from the mix of pleasure and stinging pain. Your nails dug into the mattress, breath coming in short, ragged pants. “N-never heard you talk like that,” you managed, voice trembling with arousal.
Jake half-laughed, half-whined. “Yeah, well, I never let myself go this far. Tired as fuck—makes me nasty.” He sealed his lips around your clit, sending a white-hot spark through your core. The sloppy suction and swirl of his tongue drove you to the brink in record time.
He let out a pitiful moan, half-lidded eyes threatening to shut completely. “Hurry up,” he mumbled, mouth dragging along your folds. “Come on my tongue so I can pass out. You’re so fucking tasty— shit, I love this, but I might die. So hurry.”
That final taunt threw you over the edge. You let out a wail, thighs trembling violently as a wave of ecstasy slammed through you. He groaned, lapping you through every aftershock until you collapsed forward, sweat beading along your spine, tears stinging your eyes from the intensity.
Jake pulled away, panting, chest rising and falling. “God,” he grumbled, pressing his forehead to your lower back, “that was insane. I can’t believe the shit I just said. My brain is mush.”
You gave a shaky little laugh, trying to catch your breath. “I... loved it,” you admitted, cheeks aflame. But a surge of leftover arousal still hummed in your veins. Turning your head, you shot him a pleading look. “Jake... I still want more.”
He stiffened, letting out a half-yell of frustration. “You want more?” he nearly shrieked, voice cracking. “I’m half-dead, woman. What else do you want from me?”
Biting your lip, you shifted around until you were kneeling to face him. “Let me ride you,” you whispered. “Just once. We can finish quick. Please?”
He glared at you with watery eyes, fury warring with raw lust, cheeks flaming. “Ugh, fine,” he snapped, hooking an arm around your waist. “Come on, then.”
He flopped onto his back, yanking down his boxers enough to free his cock. You saw how stiff he was, the tip gleaming with his own arousal. “Do it,” he mumbled, voice slurring. “Ride me. But if I fucking black out, that’s on you.”
Heart racing, you straddled him, letting your knees frame his hips. Leaning down, you murmured a soft “Thank you,” but he just grunted.
“Don’t thank me,” he mumbled, hooking his hands under your thighs. “Use me, you goddamn succubus.” Another delirious laugh, then in a shocking move, he grabbed your chin, tilting your face down. “Open,” he commanded, half-lidded gaze glinting.
You parted your lips in confusion, and he spat lightly into your mouth, the humiliating shock making your entire body jolt. “There,” he slurred, cheeks aflame. “You want filthy? I’m fucking filthy. Now move.”
A stunned moan escaped you. You swallowed reflexively, your mind spinning at the primal gesture. Then, carefully, you aligned yourself and sank onto his length, a gasping cry tearing from your throat as you fully impaled yourself.
He whined, eyes rolling back. “Fuck, that’s— so tight,” he whimpered, nails biting into your hips. “Can’t believe I’m letting you do this. You better ride me well, you slutty— oh god, you see? I can’t shut up.”
You started moving, thighs burning, the angle hitting deeper than you anticipated. He hissed, moaning loudly, half-laughing at how overwhelmed he felt. “Shit, you’re so wet,” he rasped, voice cracking into a higher pitch. “Keep going, keep grinding. I can’t do anything or I’ll collapse.”
Tears clung to your lashes from overstimulation, your earlier orgasm making you extra sensitive. His filthy words poured out in a half-slurred stream: “That’s it, fuck, you ride me so good. My pathetic whore, always wanting more, can’t get enough of my cock, can you? Gonna make me come so fast, oh god—”
Your own breath stuttered, hips rolling faster, each bounce driving you closer to a mind-shattering peak. “Jake,” you sobbed, nails scraping his chest. “I’m gonna— oh fuck— I can’t believe how filthy you are.”
He let out a pitiful yelp, hooking an arm behind your back to pull you down, letting his teeth graze your shoulder. “I’m filthy because of you,” he hissed, voice fracturing. “I— I want you screaming, baby. Scream for me.”
It all came crashing down: your body locked up, a desperate scream tore from your lips, tears streaming as your orgasm blindsided you. Jake moaned brokenly, hips jerking up even in his half-conscious state. He spilled inside you with a ragged cry, arms trembling to keep you close.
For a moment, you both stayed locked together, hearts racing, sweat glistening. Then Jake let out a raw, shuddering breath, hooking his hand around your neck in a softer hold, pressing quick, frantic kisses along your jaw and collarbone.
“Shit,” he whispered, voice still high and whimpery but now laced with guilt. “Oh god, I’m so fucking sorry, my baby,” he stammered, the tears in his eyes no longer just from exhaustion but from sudden remorse. “Did I hurt you? Did I say something awful? Fuck, I bit you, I— spat in your mouth, called you a whore. I’m so sorry, my beautiful wife, fuck, I’m so sorry.”
Your heart flipped at the sudden shift. “Jake,” you breathed, wiping his sweaty bangs aside. His cheeks were glowing, tears threatening to spill. “No, it’s okay,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I liked it, I promise. You didn’t hurt me in a bad way. It was perfect for me.”
He let out a shaky sigh, hooking an arm around your waist to bury his face against your chest. “I can’t believe I said all that. M’ just so tired, I can’t filter. I’m so sorry, my baby, my sweet girl— please forgive me,” he mumbled between kisses to your collarbone, each one almost frantic with guilt. “I love you, I love you— I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
You cradled his head, tears pricking your eyes for a different reason now. “I love you too,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his damp forehead. “It was so intense and raw, but I’m okay, truly.”
He let out another half-sob, half-laugh, relief flooding his features. “Thank god,” he murmured, letting his eyes finally drift shut as he clung to you. “You’re my baby, and I called you all those names— I just— oh my god.”
“Shh,” you soothed, brushing his cheek. “We’ll rest now, okay?”
He gave a small nod, exhaling the last of his tension. “Rest,” he echoed, voice spent. “I can actually sleep.” Another watery chuckle, then he pressed a tender, lingering kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he repeated in a near whisper, arms wrapping around you in a lazy embrace.
You settled against his chest, letting him roll onto his side so you both could fit under the covers. Despite the sticky heat and bruises you’d surely find in the morning, a drowsy peace enveloped you both. He drifted off, still half-mumbling apologies, and you held him close, heart full—knowing that no matter how filthy the night had been, the love that followed was unwavering and sweet.
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧
Sunghoon was drifting in that half-awake, half-asleep realm—eyes heavy-lidded, cheek pressed into the pillow, hair messy from tossing around. He had one arm slung across his stomach, the other dangling off the bed, looking like he might doze off at any second.
You, on the other hand, had far too much energy. And far too many thoughts about your craving for roughness—particularly choking. But rather than just blurt it out, you wanted to theorize, to talk about the deeper psychology behind it… with him, while he was half-asleep.
So you scooted closer, your knee brushing his thigh. He grunted, eyes flickering open to a sliver.
“Sunghoon,” you started, voice low, “can we talk about something? Like, a deep… philosophical something?”
He exhaled, shifting onto his back and letting out a low groan. “Oh my God,” he muttered, obviously not thrilled. “You… want me to have a deep philosophical conversation right now?”
You nodded, biting your lip. “It’s about choking.”
He squinted, brow furrowed. “Choking. As in… me choking you.” His gaze darted to your throat, then back to your eyes.
“Mhm,” you confirmed, pushing a stray hair from his face. “I’ve been thinking about why I want it. Is it about trust? About letting go of control? Or, like, the raw primal side of us—”
He let out a weary groan, rolling his head toward the ceiling. “You’re a psycho,” he mumbled, not even bothering to keep his voice down. “Who the hell sits here and tries to dissect choking kink like it’s some academic thesis when I’m literally about to pass out?”
You tried not to laugh, pressing your palm to his chest. “I just think it’s interesting. I mean, it’s not just ‘I want you to choke me’—it’s why do I want you to choke me? Don’t you ever wonder about the deeper—”
“Shut up,” Sunghoon cut in, eyes pinching shut as if he could block you out. “Seriously. I’m too tired for your ‘fascinating deep dive’ on kinks.”
You arched a brow, half-smiling. “You can’t just bury your head in the sand.”
He let out a sharp exhale, turning onto his side so his back was partially to you. “Yes, I can,” he grumbled. “I can bury my head in this pillow. Then maybe I won’t have to listen to you psychoanalyze choking.”
Undeterred, you scooted closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “But Hoonie, imagine how hot it’d be if you pinned me against the wall, your hand around my throat, talking about how you’ll—”
He jerked away, letting out a soft snarl. “You’re seriously insane. Why the hell are you wanting a full lecture on me choking you? Just—shut up or I’ll… I’ll shut you up.”
You blinked, pulse skipping at the edge in his tone. “That sounds promising,” you teased, eyes glinting with excitement.
“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, half-laughing despite himself. “You want me to choke you so bad?”
You nodded earnestly. “Yeah. And maybe call me your little slut or something—”
He shot you a scandalized look, half-lidded eyes burning with a mixture of exhaustion and sudden arousal. “Jesus,” he breathed, raking a hand through his messy hair. “You seriously don’t know when to quit.”
You grinned. “Nope.”
For a moment, he just stared, seemingly debating whether to actually indulge you or roll over and pass out. Then, with a low grunt, he shifted, turning all the way to face you. His hand came up, fingers wrapping lightly around your throat—not applying pressure yet, just resting there.
“This what you wanted?” he mumbled, gaze flicking over your face.
Your heart thumped as you nodded, pressing your neck into his palm. “Yes. I like it rough, and I trust you to not actually kill me,” you said, half-laughing.
He let out a short, exasperated snort, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “You’re a menace.” Then, without warning, he tightened his grip—not painfully, but enough to send a bolt of arousal straight to your core.
A surprised gasp escaped your lips. “Hoon—”
“Shut up,” he repeated, voice suddenly dripping with that dark amusement you’d been craving. “You talk too damn much.”
Your cheeks flamed, the mixture of slight pressure on your windpipe and his rough tone making your skin prickle. “So you are interested in the ‘philosophy’,” you tried to joke, but he tightened his hold just enough to cut you off.
“I said shut up or I’ll do it for you,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded with sleep but blazing with intent. “Guess the best way to keep you from yapping is by fucking you speechless.”
Your pulse skyrocketed. “Then do it,” you challenged, letting your hand curl around his wrist lightly in a silent sign of both caution and consent. “Show me how you’d shut me up.”
Sunghoon let out a soft grunt, hooking his free arm around your waist to pull you flush against him. You could feel the hardness beneath his boxers pressing into your thigh—so apparently, he wasn’t too tired to get turned on.
“God, you’re so—” he started, but cut himself off, leaning in to capture your mouth in a rough, hungry kiss. The hand at your throat stayed in place, a persistent reminder of his quiet dominance. Every time you tried to speak, he muffled it with his lips, swallowing your protests or giggles.
A muffled moan left you, your body arching into his. He parted from the kiss only to growl, “Turn over,” voice heavy with drowsy impatience. “I can’t choke you properly like this.”
You complied in a heartbeat, flipping to your back. He followed, pinning you underneath him, knee nudging your legs apart. The weight of his hand on your throat never wavering, though it wasn’t enough to cut off your air—just a firm, possessive hold.
“How’s this?” he muttered, half-lidded eyes scanning your face. “Better for your psycho talk?”
You swallowed, breath shaky. “Mmm, yes. Love it,” you whispered, letting your hand cup his cheek. “Now maybe—”
He tightened his grip slightly, a cocky smirk curving his lips. “What part of shut up don’t you understand?”
Heat pooled between your legs, your lips parting in a silent moan. “H-hoon,” you stammered, cut off by a slight squeeze that halted your voice.
“Still talking,” he teased, leaning down to brush his lips over yours. Then, he thrust his hips forward, letting you feel his erection straining through the thin fabric of his boxers. “You want me to fuck you so badly, you can’t stop hammering on about it, huh?”
A strangled whimper escaped you, nodding fervently. The pressure on your neck, the sleepy yet intense glint in his eye—all of it was turning you on beyond belief.
Sunghoon snorted softly, sliding his hand from your throat to grab your jaw instead. “I’ll do it,” he murmured, hooking a thumb under your chin to tilt your head up, “but next time, pick a better moment for your philosophical kink talk. Deal?”
Before you could respond, he lowered his head, kissing along the line of your jaw while his free hand slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts. The chill of his fingers against your heated skin made you gasp, and he smirked at your reaction.
“God, you’re soaked,” he mumbled, eyebrows arching in mild surprise. “You really do get off on this, huh?”
You exhaled shakily, “Mm. Yeah. Hard choking… your rough side… everything.”
Sunghoon let out a quiet chuckle that bordered on an exasperated sigh. “You’re fucking insane,” he repeated, though he pressed a sweet, fleeting kiss to your lips that took the sting out of his words. “But I guess that makes two of us, because I’m into it.”
He parted your thighs, tugging your shorts down enough to expose you. Sliding himself free, he lined up, and in one swift push, sank into you with a low moan that made your toes curl.
He pinned you by the throat again—not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you from speaking easily. The sensation danced on the edge of adrenaline and euphoria, exactly what you’d craved.
“You want me to… slam you so hard you can’t think?” he panted, voice shaky from both fatigue and lust. “‘Cause I can do that.”
Your eyes fluttered, a wave of arousal washing over you. “Yes, please,” you gasped, reaching up to grab his wrist lightly, ensuring you could tap out if it got too intense.
He started thrusting, each roll of his hips pushing you deeper into the mattress. Your breathing stuttered around his hand, and it was glorious. Each stroke fed the craving you’d asked for: that borderline savage, primal taking, balanced by the knowledge he’d never actually harm you.
“Oh God, Hoon,” you moaned, nails raking down his bicep. “This is—”
He cut you off with a tighter squeeze, delivering a sharper thrust that stole any chance of finishing your sentence. “I said shut up,” he teased, though you could see the corners of his mouth tugging in a faint smirk. “Don’t you get it?”
Your retort died in your throat, replaced by a series of moans as he slammed into you harder, faster. The bed creaked with the force, and every breath you managed was ragged, tinted with the exhilarating rush of being pinned at the neck.
It didn’t take long before your body tensed, that coil in your lower belly about to snap. Sunghoon must’ve felt it, too, because he groaned, eyelids drooping with pleasure. “Fuck,” he muttered, “you’re so tight—gonna come too soon.”
You tried to reply, but all you got out was a choked moan as the orgasm washed over you, limbs trembling. He followed in short order, a broken cry escaping his lips as he spilled into you, hips stuttering with each wave of ecstasy. His grip on your throat eased, letting you gulp down air.
Panting and spent, he collapsed half on top of you, one arm bracing him so he didn’t crush you entirely. “You… are a fucking… menace,” he breathed, voice rough. “But God… that was so good.”
You gave him a languid smile, sliding your hand up to brush his damp hair from his forehead. “Thanks for indulging me,” you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.
He closed his eyes, letting out a tired laugh. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled. “Next time, remind me not to call you a psycho or you might bring up a million more kinks.”
You laughed softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Admit it, you love that I’m psycho.”
A half-snort. “Maybe,” he teased, snuggling closer. “But if you ever start another deep philosophical conversation about choking when I’m half-asleep, I might just choke you out of spite.”
“Promise?” you teased, eyes shining with amusement.
He kissed the corner of your mouth, letting his head flop onto your shoulder. “Shut up and go to sleep,” he murmured, voice drowsy again.
You both drifted off in that warm afterglow, your throat bearing the faintest trace of his grip—and your heart absolutely brimming with satisfaction. Because for all his complaints, Sunghoon had given you exactly the intense, borderline savage scene you’d been craving… with all the trust and love behind it.
𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨
Sunoo lay on his back, eyes half-shut, body sinking comfortably into the mattress. He wasn’t completely knocked out, but he was definitely hovering on the edge of slumber—breathing slow, shoulders rising and falling in a steady rhythm. From the dim glow of the bedside lamp, you could see his hair falling softly across his forehead, lips parted in a faint sigh. He looked adorable, all relaxed and unguarded.
A spark of arousal buzzed through you as you took in the sight of him, that subtle line of bare skin where his shirt had ridden up. You really wanted him, but not in the usual way—this time, you wanted your mouth on him. Swallowing the slight nerves, you slipped onto the bed, edging closer until you hovered just above his side.
“Sunoo,” you whispered, running your hand over his chest in gentle circles. “You awake?”
He breathed out a quiet exhale, lids fluttering open a fraction. “Mmh,” he responded, voice thick with sleep. “A little. Why?”
“Well,” you said, letting your palm drift lower toward his stomach, “I was thinking… I really want to take care of you tonight. With my mouth.”
His eyes opened a bit more, revealing that soft, drowsy confusion. “You… want to do that right now?” he murmured, eyebrows lifting slightly. “I’m kinda… half-asleep.”
A smile tugged at your lips. “I know. But just let me do the work, okay? You can lie there and relax.”
Sunoo let out a soft grunt, shifting onto his back more fully. “Alright,” he conceded, the corners of his mouth curving in a faint smirk. “Though I can’t promise I’ll be, like, super talkative or anything.”
You chuckled, leaning in to press a light kiss to his shoulder. “Don’t worry about talking. Just let me make you feel good.”
With that, you lifted the blanket, revealing his waist. He was wearing a loose pair of boxers, and from the slight shape beneath the fabric, you could tell his body was already responding, if only a little. Your hand slipped under the elastic, wrapping around the warm length of him. He inhaled sharply, eyelids falling shut again.
“Oh,” he breathed, biting his lower lip in a subtle show of anticipation. “You’re serious about this, huh?”
“Completely serious,” you teased, stroking him with a gentle motion to coax him fully hard. “Does it feel nice?”
He let out a low hum. “Yeah. Feels… good.” He wasn’t whiny—but the light rasp in his voice suggested a battle between comfort and arousal. “I was, like, thirty seconds away from dozing off, but now… you’re making me want more.”
“Mm, that’s exactly what I’m aiming for,” you murmured. “Lift your hips a bit?”
He complied, letting you slip the boxers down enough to free him. You settled between his legs, the blanket sliding down to pool around your knees, and watched as he dragged in a steadying breath. You couldn’t help but smile at how relaxedhe still seemed, even with the flush creeping into his cheeks.
Slowly, you lowered your head, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his cock. Sunoo’s breathing hitched, and you heard him mutter something too low to catch—possibly your name. Then, you licked a gentle stripe across the head, tasting the faint salt of his skin. His stomach tensed under your palm.
“S-still tired?” you asked, voice quiet, lips ghosting over him.
He opened one eye halfway. “Tired, yeah,” he admitted, “but I’m definitely not complaining.” A lazy grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he let out a calmer breath. “Keep going.”
You did, taking him in deeper, inch by inch, letting your tongue swirl around him. Sunoo parted his lips in a soft moan, not loud, but filled with enough warmth to make your blood race. His hand drifted to your hair, a gentle touch that neither pushed nor pulled—just a sweet sign of appreciation.
“Feels… amazing,” he murmured, breathing more heavily now. “Like I could drift off, but also… can’t, because you feel too good.”
Your heart fluttered at that. You began a slow, steady rhythm—bobbing your head, stroking the base with your hand, letting each motion draw out another quiet moan or short, content sigh from him. He didn’t whimper or whine—he just exhaled in these controlled, hushed groans, the edges of sleep still clinging to his voice.
“God,” he whispered, eyelids flickering shut again. “You’re so good at that.”
Encouraged, you took him deeper, relaxing your throat, letting him feel more of your warmth. His spine arched slightly, and you heard the sheets rustle as he bunched them in one fist.
“Mm,” he hummed, letting out a shaky breath. “You’re… making it hard to stay calm.” Even half-asleep, there was a sweet chuckle layered with arousal in his tone.
You smiled around him, pumping the rest of his length with your hand in time with each bob of your head. The slick sound of your mouth on him filled the quiet bedroom, and he exhaled in something that approached a groan, head lolling to the side.
When you glanced up, you saw that his eyes were still mostly closed, though his mouth formed a small ‘o’ with each ragged breath. “You good?” you asked softly, lifting your head just enough to speak.
He nodded, letting out an unsteady sigh. “Y-yeah, keep going. Please.” Another short laugh. “I can’t… believe how chill this feels”
You took that as your cue to slip him back inside your mouth, swirling your tongue against the underside. This time, he gave a longer, deeper moan, hips pressing up involuntarily—though not forcefully enough to choke you. You found a perfect synergy in that moment: him too sleepy to control everything, and you fully in the driver’s seat.
Eventually, his breath grew more labored, each inhale trembling with need. The subtle push of his thighs told you he was close to the edge. You hollowed your cheeks, moving quicker, coaxing him toward that release.
“Ah— oh, fuck,” he muttered, voice taut, a slight tremor in his thighs. “I’m— I think— yeah, ‘m gonna… oh God—”
His back arched off the bed, a sudden wave of pleasure making him jerk. He came with a few short thrusts, and you stayed with him, swallowing everything he gave you, feeling his entire body shudder beneath your hands. A breathy, almost disbelieving moan escaped him, half-lost in the pillow he’d turned his face into.
The aftershocks lingered, and you eased off him slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. He blinked up at you, eyes drowsy but deeply satisfied.
“That was…” he breathed, a serene smile curving his lips. “God, you’re… incredible. I can’t even form words properly.”
You crawled back up to his side, pressing a gentle kiss to his flushed cheek. “You don’t have to form words. Just rest. I got what I wanted,” you teased softly.
A soft chuckle left him, and he slipped an arm around your waist. “You’re so smug,” he murmured, letting his eyes drift shut again. “But I’m not complaining.” Another quiet breath, and he nuzzled into your hair. “Loved it, truly. Thank you.”
You snuggled closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “Anytime, Sunoo. Sleep well.”
He let out one last contented exhale, drifting back toward that drowsy serenity. Because even if he was exhausted, he’d let you do anything to keep you satisfied—and you both wouldn’t have it any other way.
𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧
Jungwon sprawled on the bed, face half-buried in the pillow, shirt ridden up around his ribcage, one foot sockless. He looked so done with the world—like all he needed was unconsciousness to recharge his soul. The moment you crawled on the mattress, he let out a theatrical groan.
“Don’t,” he muttered, voice thick with fatigue, “just…don’t. I’m literally about to pass out.”
You snickered, resting a palm on his exposed waist. “You always say that, but then two minutes later, you’re losing your mind.”
He nudged your hand away, letting his head roll to the side so he could half-glare at you. “Because you never give me peace,” he grumbled. “You’re always whispering disgusting things until I can’t think straight. I’m exhausted, and you’re about to—”
You silenced him by lifting two fingers to his lips. He blinked, eyebrows arching in confusion, but parted his mouth anyway, letting you slip them in. The instant his tongue met your skin, a tremor of lust sparked in your belly. He sucked lazily, half-lidded eyes drifting shut like he might as well indulge before dozing off.
He popped them out with a soft, wet sound, cheeks noticeably pink. “I can’t believe you,” he groaned, flicking a glance downward. “You see this?” He gestured at his shorts, where a distinct bulge now strained. “I was about to sleep. Now I have a boner. This is your fault.”
A smug grin curled your lips. “Your body can’t resist me,” you teased, trailing your hand to the waistband of his shorts.
He grunted. “No, my body can’t resist your filthy mouth. Big difference.” Then, with a dramatic sigh, he pushed your hand away. “I’m so done. Done.”
You let your palm slip lower, purposely brushing his stiffening cock beneath the fabric. He sucked in a breath, eyes widening. “Stop,” he hissed, half-laughing in exasperation. “God, you’re unbearable. Just say your nasty line about wanting me to ‘fuck you ‘til you cry.’”
You leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I want you to fuck me ‘til I cry, Jungwon. That’s exactly it. And I know you want that too, even if you’re too tired to admit it.”
He twisted, half trying to turn away, half pressing closer. “I swear to God, you’re an actual menace,” he spat. But you felt the twitch under your fingers, proving he couldn’t resist. “Fine,” he mumbled. “If I ruin you, don’t come whining tomorrow.”
In a flash of frustration-laced lust, he flipped you onto your back, pulling down your shorts in one yank. You barely had time to blink before he thrust inside you—harsh, sudden. Your eyes watered from the abrupt stretch. A startled cry tore from your lips.
“Fuck,” you gasped, clinging to his shoulders. “Jungwon—holy—”
He exhaled shakily, setting a pace that felt half-punishment, half-lust. “You asked for rough,” he grumbled, each thrust knocking a breathy sob from your throat. “I was about to conk out, and now I’m pounding you. Don’t whine about it.”
Tears already pricked at your eyes from the intensity, stinging and exquisite all at once. “D-don’t worry,” you whimpered, voice hitching. “I love it—God, you’re so—”
“Shut it,” he murmured, an edge to his tone, though his cheeks flamed red at the sight of tears spilling down your cheeks. “You want to cry? Fine, cry for me.”
The tension built alarmingly fast, each collision of his hips pushing you higher. Tears blurred your vision, your nails biting into his arms. Suddenly, that coil in your belly snapped, a hot rush of fluid spattering out. You let out a raw scream, mortified yet overwhelmed by pleasure.
Jungwon froze mid-thrust, eyes wide. “What the—?” He felt the warmth drenching his thighs, and a flicker of disbelief crossed his face. “You just…did you squirt?”
Fresh tears streamed as you half-sobbed, half-laughed. “I—I think so. Oh my god, I’ve never—”
“Holy shit,” he breathed, blinking down at the slick coating your inner thighs and his stomach. “That’s…” A shaky laugh escaped him. “That’s fucking hot.”
Without warning, he pulled out, ignoring your tremors, and shoved your thighs apart to inspect the wetness. You burned with embarrassment and leftover pleasure, tears still dripping. “Jungwon,” you started, but he was already leaning down, pressing a slow, messy lick to your oversensitive folds.
A gasp wrenched from your chest, oversensitivity slamming into you. “Wait—no—I can’t—”
He groaned against your skin, lapping up the fluid with a low, humming satisfaction. “God,” he muttered, “I was so done with you, but I need to taste this.” His tongue slid in broad, lazy strokes, ignoring your sobs of overstimulation.
You could barely see through the tears, your body twitching. “I—I’m so sensitive, oh my god—”
“Too bad,” he mumbled, pulling back at last, chest heaving. He looked at you with a crazed mix of exhaustion and pure, unhinged lust. “I can’t believe how unbelievably fucking hot that was. I didn’t even know you could do that. Didn’t think I could get so turned on by it.”
Your cheeks flamed, tears still welling. “I—I didn’t know either,” you whispered. “I thought you were tired…”
He snorted, wiping the back of his hand across his chin. “I am tired. But guess what?” He nudged his still half-erect length, letting you see how it bobbed for attention. “You just woke me up. And now, I want more.”
A watery laugh escaped you. “You’re unstoppable,” you teased.
“Apparently,” he said dryly, hooking a hand under your knee. “Now, come here, baby. Sit on my face. Squirt on my face this time.”
Your heart stumbled, adrenaline spiking. “You can’t be serious— I might actually die if I come again.”
He flashed you a half-deranged grin. “Then die. Don’t think you can just do that once and get away scot-free.”
Before you could form a coherent protest, he manhandled you upward, guiding your trembling thighs until you hovered above his mouth. Tears still clung to your lashes, the entire bottom half of your body throbbing. “Careful,” you choked, bracing your arms on the headboard.
Jungwon gripped your hips, ignoring your oversensitivity. “No complaining,” he muttered, eyes gleaming with challenge. “If you squirt again, it better be on my face. Understand?”
You gave a weak nod, tears slipping anew. The moment you lowered yourself, he latched on, mouth devouring your slickness in messy, hungry motions. You let out a wail, overstimulation rocking your core. “Jung— oh God—”
He hummed a response against you, the vibrations almost too much. Your thighs shook, tears dripping off your chin. You felt his tongue swirl around your clit, each motion a jolt of borderline painful pleasure.
Sobs caught in your throat. “It’s— too strong, oh god, please—”
He just pulled you down more firmly, his grip relentless, his own breath ragged. Even from above, you could see him half-rolling his eyes like, This is what you get. “Wanted me so bad, wanted to cry,” he murmured between licks. “Deal with it.”
Surprisingly, you didn’t squirt again this time, but you came dangerously close, tears pouring as you trembled on the edge of blacking out. Finally, he released you, chest heaving, face shining with your fluids. He managed a tired smirk, eyes glazed with leftover adrenaline.
“Look at you,” he said, voice low. “You’re crying, you’re half-dead, and I’m still fucking hard. This is your fault.”
You collapsed to his side, breath stuttering, tears still on your cheeks. “I—I know,” you croaked, adrenaline crashing into exhaustion. “Sorry, guess that means no sleep for either of us.”
He snorted, half-laughing at the absurdity. “Guess so.”
Then, ignoring every complaint he’d had about being done, he buried his face in your neck. “You might’ve awakened something in me,” he muttered, eyes drifting shut with a lazy grin. “So next time, watch your filthy mouth… or maybe don’t.”
Despite everything, warmth spilled through you at his words. “I won’t,” you whispered, resting a shaky hand on his cheek. “I like turning you into this insane version of yourself.”
Jungwon just let out a short laugh, hooking an arm around your waist. “Then don’t blame me when you cry and squirt all over the place again,” he quipped, pressing a small, affectionate kiss to your temple.
Your entire body still hummed with leftover pleasure and oversensitivity, tears drying against your skin. But there, wrapped up in his arms, both of you wide awake and sticky, you couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else. Sleep? That could wait.
Because with Jungwon complaining and you pushing every button, the night had only just begun.
𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢
Riki was sprawled face-down on his bed, still wearing his loose training shorts, hair damp from a quick shower. He looked done for the day—exhausted posture, half-buried face in the pillow, letting out random grunts that signaled just how close he was to passing out. The bedside clock read 10:47, and he had to be up at 4 AM for football practice. Yet here you were, creeping onto his bed, brimming with a plan that definitely wasn’t “sleep.”
He let out a muffled groan the second he felt the mattress dip under your weight. “Don’t,” he mumbled, not even lifting his head. “I’m a dead man walking in six hours if I don’t sleep. Whatever insane idea you have, can it wait?”
You grinned, moving to sit beside him. “But,” you cooed, laying a gentle hand on his back, “I want to try your favorite position.”
He froze for a second, letting out a short laugh that sounded half in disbelief. “My—my favorite position? That’s what this is about?” A resigned sigh left him, and he half-turned his head so one eye peeked out from the pillow. “You pick now, of all times, to bring that up?”
You shrugged, rubbing soft circles over the dip of his lower back. “I can’t help it. You talked it up so much, said it was the best feeling in the world. If it’s your favorite, I’m curious.”
He groaned dramatically, rolling onto his side, blinking up at you like he was the sole survivor of a disaster. “I do love it. But it’s, like, really…involved. And I have to be up at four. If we do this, I’ll get, what, five hours of sleep max?”
“And you’ll be unstoppable on the field,” you teased, sliding your hand up to his waist. “Trust me, you’ll feel amazing.”
He parted his lips to argue—only to draw a sharp breath when your hand brushed dangerously close to the obvious bulge forming beneath his shorts. “You see?” he complained, half-laugh, half-whine. “I was literally about to pass out, but you had to show up with that filthy grin and mention my favorite position. Now I’m awake in the worst possible way.”
Your grin spread wider. “Worst for your sleep schedule, maybe. Best for me.”
He snorted, pushing himself up on one elbow. “Fine,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face in exasperation. “Fine. But I swear if you make me come so hard I can’t function in the morning, it’s on you.” He pressed his lips together, cheeks pink. “And if we do this, you better not bail halfway. My favorite position’s kinda—intense.”
“Deal,” you said sweetly, hooking a finger into the waistband of his shorts. “Show me. Or are you too chicken?”
That got him. “Oh my god, you’re the worst,” he muttered, cheeks burning as he scooted onto his knees, motioning for you to get into place. “You remember how I told you to—yeah, yeah, just turn around.” He gestured for you to face away from him, then pulled at your clothes, yanking them free of your hips. “I still can’t believe I’m doing this. I should be unconscious.”
You bit your lip, a flush creeping up your cheeks as you positioned yourself the way he’d once described—one leg bent, the other extended a bit, letting him fit behind you. “Then don’t think,” you teased softly. “Just do.”
He exhaled a half-laugh, half-groan, hooking one arm around your waist. “Don’t blame me,” he warned, “when you can’t handle how good this is.” Then, in a quick motion, he pushed his shorts down enough to free himself, pressing his cock against you. You shivered at the heat, bracing for the rush.
When he thrust in, it was sudden, deeper than expected, and you let out a shocked moan. He dropped his forehead against your shoulder, letting out a shaky exhale. “See?” he mumbled, voice vibrating with frustrated lust. “This is why it’s my favorite. Angles, control…so good.” A half-smile twitched on his lips, despite his annoyed tone.
You whimpered a bit, arching into him. “Okay, I get it,” you breathed, heart pounding. “It’s—really intense from this angle.”
He let out a breathless laugh. “Told you. You said you wanted to try it.” Carefully, he adjusted his stance, starting a slow, deliberate rhythm that made the muscles in his arms flex as he guided your hips to match him. Each motion was potent, a targeted friction that drew gasps from your throat. His tiredness seemed to fuse into this almost savage focus on the pleasure. “God,” he whispered, voice cracking, “you feel so…holy crap.”
You couldn’t form coherent words, overwhelmed by how every thrust hit that perfect spot. Your nails bit into the sheets, a half-laugh falling from your lips. “You’re sure you’re about to pass out?” you teased, breath hitching.
He grumbled, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Shut up,” he whispered, laughter stirring in his chest. “I’m so tired, but my body’s going insane.” He rolled his hips, hitting even deeper, and you let out a strangled moan that made him smirk. “Mmm, yeah, that’s it,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering. “This is it. Best position for a reason.”
Your body trembled, overwhelmed by the relentless strokes that seemed to find every nerve. It was filthy and comedic all at once—Riki complaining about his schedule yet pounding into you like he had all the time in the world. Overstimulation built quickly, pleasure surging, your cries getting louder.
“R-Riki,” you gasped, voice quivering on the edge. “I’m so close—”
“I can tell,” he muttered, breath ragged. “God, I can barely keep my eyes open, but I can feel you clenching. That’s insane.” He upped the pace, a low moan slipping out when you squeezed tight, your walls fluttering around him. His own voice wobbled with nearing release. “We’re finishing this fast, okay? I can’t do a marathon tonight.”
You nodded frantically, each thrust a jolt to your system. Overstimulation soared, your body threatening to snap. “I’m close, I’m—”
“Me too,” he cut you off, letting out a soft whine of disbelief. “That’s what you get for messing with me right before bed. Gonna—gonna come—” He let out a guttural moan, hips snapping roughly as he lost himself in the final moments.
You fell headlong into orgasm with a cry, your nails scraping the sheets, body seizing around him. He followed you with a broken groan, spilling inside you as his thighs tensed. For a moment, you both froze, locked together, breathing ragged. Then he stumbled back, pulling out with a shaky laugh that wobbled in his chest.
“Damn,” he panted, half-laughing through the haze. “That was—like, the best worst idea. I’m definitely half-dead now, but I can’t even be mad.”
You let out a tired laugh, letting your arms and legs sprawl. “So…worth it,” you managed, face flushed, body still humming from the overstimulation. “Your favorite position is no joke.”
He dropped onto his back next to you, chest heaving as he stared at the ceiling. “I told you,” he murmured, a lazy grin on his lips, “I’m unstoppable in that position. Good thing we went quick, though, ‘cause I can literally feel my eyelids shutting as we speak.” He peeked over at you, cheeks still warm. “You satisfied, demon?”
“Very,” you replied, wiggling closer to press your lips to his damp shoulder. “Now you can sleep, unstoppable football star.”
He chuckled, letting his arm drape over your waist to tug you in. “If I show up tomorrow and pass out mid-drill, it’s on you,” he teased, burying his face in your hair. “But I guess it was worth it.”
As you both settled under the covers, hearts still pounding, you marveled at how he remained half-lidded with exhaustion yet so unbelievably satisfied. Tomorrow’s early morning might be brutal, but neither of you regretted diving into that comedic, filthy chaos for the sake of his favorite position. If anything, it just made the night that much sweeter—and the morning that much more hilariously challenging.
fin.
guys this was insane sorry abt that where did all thsi even come from
You don’t even remember how it started. One second you were teasing him about his playlist, and the next—he was leaning across the console, hand sliding behind your neck, lips brushing yours with that soft, dangerous smile.
The kiss is slow at first. Hot and deep. Like he’s trying to unspool you. His lips are so soft it’s criminal, his tongue flicking teasingly until you gasp—and then he really kisses you. Full pressure. Full tilt. His thumb strokes under your jaw while the other hand grips your waist, dragging you across the console like you weigh nothing.
You end up in his lap, straddling him, knees wedged awkwardly between the steering wheel and the seat—but he doesn’t care. He pulls you in like he’s waited all week for this.
“Fuck,” he groans, licking into your mouth, breathing heavier now. “Why do you always taste so good?”
Your hands fist in the fabric of his hoodie, grounding yourself against the slow roll of his hips. Heeseung kisses like it’s the only language he speaks—fluid, deep, greedy. He bites your bottom lip, then sucks it just to soothe it. He groans when you pull his hair. He whimpers when you moan into his mouth.
Every time you try to pull back, catch your breath—he chases you. Whispering, “C’mere. One more. Just one more.”
You’re flushed, dazed, lips swollen and aching—but he’s not done.
“Everything you do turns me on,” he mutters against your mouth, like it’s killing him. “You’re in my lap, making those noises, pulling at my hoodie like that—what do you expect me to do?”
You try to tease him—“Then do something, Hee.”
But your voice cracks halfway through, and he smirks.
“Say less, baby.”
His hands slide under your hoodie, dragging up your spine, fingertips hot against your skin. You squirm. He groans again, deep and filthy. His mouth finds your neck now, kissing and sucking, tongue flicking over your pulse until you’re gasping his name.
Your hips grind down, and he freezes.
“You wanna keep doing that,” he pants, “we’re gonna have to move to the backseat.”
You blink. “Is that a threat?”
He leans in, kisses you hard—biting, possessive, deliciously desperate.
“It’s a fucking promise.”
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠
The world outside is still. Streetlights casting soft gold through the windshield, low music humming through the speakers. You’re in Jay’s lap, knees on either side of him, your hands tucked into the collar of his sweatshirt.
His palms are warm on your thighs. Steady. Just resting there. His gaze flickers from your lips to your eyes, and he’s smiling. Just a little. That soft, private smile he only gives you when it’s quiet like this.
“You okay?” he murmurs, voice a little raspy, thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin.
You nod. “Yeah.”
“Good.” He leans in, slow, like there’s no rush at all. “Can I kiss you?”
You whisper yes. He was gonna do it anyway—but he always asks.
The kiss is gentle. Warm. Deep, but unhurried. His lips part just enough to pull you in, tongue brushing yours in a slow, quiet rhythm. He’s not trying to overwhelm you. He’s just here, and so are you, and that’s all he needs.
He kisses like someone who could stay like this forever. No urgency. No agenda. Just the feeling of your hands in his hair, the way you sigh into his mouth, the soft sounds you make when he licks a little deeper and you melt against him.
You rock forward a little, accidentally grinding into his lap—and he groans softly, but doesn’t chase it. Doesn’t push it further. Just presses a kiss to your jaw.
Then—softly, with a lazy smile on his lips:
“You don’t have to do anything.”
Not as a warning. Not to stop you. Just… because he means it.
You blink. “What do you mean?”
His fingers trace the outside of your thigh, feather-light. He shrugs a little, still smiling. “I already like this. You. Us. Just like this.”
It’s not that he doesn’t want you. You can feel how much he does. But there’s no pressure behind it. No edge. He just kisses you again, gentle and slow, like there’s no finish line. Like being here, like this, with you in his lap and your fingers in his hair—is already everything.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he repeats, softer this time, thumb brushing your jaw as his eyes flicker down to your lips. “Just be mine.”
He kisses you again—deeper this time, hands firm on your hips now, breath mixing with yours—and it’s the kind of kiss that tells you everything.
He’s not going anywhere.
He’s not expecting anything.
He just wants this.
You.
𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧
You’re barely ten minutes into the drive when you notice it.
Jake’s unusually quiet.
Not teasing. Not humming along to the music. Just… sitting there. Hands tight on the wheel. Glancing at you every few seconds.
You turn your head. “You good?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He’s staring at your mouth.
Your glossy, plump, lip-glossed mouth.
You blink. “Jake?”
He swallows hard. His tongue comes out—just a little—peeking out the corner of his mouth as his eyes lock on your lips.
And stay there.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he finally mumbles, eyes still on your mouth.
“What?”
“That gloss,” he says, voice already shaky. “The peachy one. The one that smells like candy? That tastes like it too?” His jaw flexes. “You know what it does to me.”
You try to hide your smile. “You’re being dramatic.”
He lets out this soft, broken laugh—like he can’t believe you’re gaslighting him in this moment of genuine crisis.
“Baby,” he whispers, biting his lip like it physically hurts to hold back. “You don’t get it. I’ve been thinking about your mouth since you got in the car.”
His tongue comes out again, wetting his bottom lip. His hand lifts, fingers twitching, like he wants to touch your jaw but doesn’t trust himself to stop if he starts.
“You’ve just been sitting there all pretty and giggly and licking your lips like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
You blink. “You’re literally sweating.”
“I am!” he cries, eyes wide, looking genuinely distressed. “You haven’t even kissed me yet and I’m already hard—what is wrong with me?”
You lean in slightly—just a bit—and his breath hitches.
“I’m gonna crash this car,” he says quietly. “I swear to God.”
Your smirk grows. “You want me to kiss you that bad?”
Jake nods, completely unashamed, eyes dropping to your lips again.
“Baby, please,” he breathes. “I’ll be so good. Just—fuck—kiss me before I die.”
When your lips touch his?
He melts.
One hand flies to your cheek, the other to your thigh. He kisses you with tongue, with teeth, with gratitude. He moans into your mouth like he’s being saved, like he’s home.
The second you pull away—giggling, smug, lips wet with his and yours—
He’s already leaning back in, whining, begging softly:
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. I’m so fucked up over you.”
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧
“You’re so annoying,” he snaps, tugging the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over his hands like a child. “You literally ignored me the whole time we were there. You didn’t even look at me when I got in the car.”
You’re trying so hard not to laugh. He’s full-on sulking. Legs pulled up on the seat, arms crossed, bottom lip sticking out in a bratty little pout.
“I didn’t ignore you,” you say, leaning back in your seat.
“Oh really?” he shoots back. “So you weren’t laughing extra hard at what Jay said? You weren’t pretending like I wasn’t there the second someone else gave you attention?”
He sounds like a freshly divorced housewife recounting her worst trauma.
You just blink at him. “Sunghoon.”
“You literally ignored me the whole time—like I was just there, watching you laugh with everyone else and pretend like I didn’t exist. And don’t even get me started on the way you smiled at that guy—like?? Did you see the way he looked at you?!”
You’re perched next to him, holding in laughter, watching him pout like he’s auditioning for a villain monologue.
“I wasn’t even smiling at—”
“Oh my God, YES you were,” he says, dramatically clutching his chest. “You were doing that fake ‘I’m so sweet and cute’ smile that you know drives me insane and—why are you looking at me like that.”
You lean in.
He freezes.
But only for a second.
Lick his nose.
A full, flat-tongue, slow little swipe up the bridge of it. Like a menace.
He freezes. Blink. Blink.
“…EW??” he shrieks, smacking your shoulder. “What the fuck is actually wrong with you?!”
You’re laughing so hard now you’re wheezing, and he looks so offended it’s like you committed a crime. But underneath the rage is the tiniest pink blush crawling up his ears.
He wipes his nose with his sleeve, still glaring. “You’re disgusting. You’re literally an animal. Like what goes on in that freak brain of yours—”
But he doesn’t get to finish.
“Wait no I’m not done, I—mmph—!”
You kiss him. Full and slow. Hand curling around his cheek, thumb stroking just under his eye.
He moans into your mouth for half a second… before pulling back to keep talking.
“Okay no, because seriously, I’m not trying to be annoying, but like—you do this, you always kiss me to distract me—”
You kiss him again.
He’s still talking. Lips moving against yours, voice muffled, pouting into your actual mouth.
You groan and slap a hand over his lips.
“Mmph!!” he protests, wide-eyed.
“You’re so annoying,” you mutter. “Why are you even talking while I’m kissing you.”
He just glares, still muffled behind your palm, mumbling like a brat.
So you do what must be done.
You climb into his lap.
Grab both sides of his stupid pouty face.
And kiss him so hard his entire body goes still.
One sharp inhale. One twitch of his fingers.
Silence.
He melts.
He goes fully boneless.
Hands sliding up your back, mouth parting, his whole body sighing under you like his brain just shut off. You lick into his mouth slow and deep and feel him whimper into it.
When you pull back, finally, finally—he’s flushed. Dazed. Blinking like he’s just seen the face of God.
You smile sweetly. “Are you done now?”
“…No,” he mumbles, but it comes out breathy and wrecked.
So you kiss him again.
And he forgets what he was mad about completely.
𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨
Your face is still wet with tears when he kisses you again.
Slower, deeper this time. His hand cradling your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone like he’s trying to soothe you through every inch of skin.
The kiss is quiet. Messy. Tear-salted and trembling.
But he doesn’t stop.
He kisses you like you’re fragile—not like you’ll break, but like you already have, and he’s gently putting you back together.
You try to pull away, embarrassed, but he shakes his head, forehead resting on yours.
“Don’t go,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut. “Let me stay with you like this.”
And then he kisses you again—sliding his tongue slowly into your mouth, warm and gentle and real. It’s not perfect. Your breathing stutters. His fingers tremble. But it’s soft and tender and so full of love that it makes your chest ache worse.
He pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around your back, the kind of hold that says I’ve got you and I’m not letting go. His lips find yours again. Again. Again.
You’re still sniffling, still raw, but now you’re gasping too—because the kisses are getting longer, deeper. His mouth opens against yours, tongue brushing sweetly, and you can feel him pouring love into you with every movement.
His voice breaks between kisses. “You’re okay,” he whispers. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
You fist your hands into his hoodie. You kiss him back, harder. You melt. You fall.
He lets you.
He kisses your cheeks between breaths. Your nose. Your lips again, slow and soothing, as his hand rubs your back.
Every time you start crying again, he kisses you harder.
Not because he wants anything.
Not because he’s trying to fix it.
Just because he needs you to know you’re not alone.
“You don’t have to be okay right now,” he whispers. “You just have to be here. With me.”
And when he kisses you again—it’s the kind of kiss that says:
Even if it hurts, I’m not going anywhere
𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧
The tension in the car is unbearable.
He’s angled toward the window, jaw tight, hoodie pulled halfway up over his mouth, the way he always hides when he’s not ready to talk.
But his shoulders are tense. His eyes keep blinking too fast.
He’s not mad anymore. He’s hurt.
It’s so much worse.
You slide closer in the seat, your heart pounding. “Jungwon…”
He doesn’t move.
You try again, softer this time. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Still nothing.
So you cup his jaw gently, fingers trembling, and lean in. Your nose brushes his. His lips are parted just slightly, breath shallow, but he doesn’t lean back. He doesn’t stop you either.
You press your mouth to his—slow, careful, trembling.
He doesn’t kiss you back.
But he doesn’t pull away.
That’s how you know how bad it is.
Your heart cracks open.
You kiss him again, your forehead pressing against his, your voice shaking. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please don’t shut me out.”
Then he moves.
His hands slide to your waist. His mouth finally responds.
Not rushed. Not greedy.
Just… broken.
He kisses you like his heart’s still hurting.
Like it aches to forgive you but he can’t help it.
His lips are soft but tight. His breathing is heavy.
And when you deepen it—tilt your head, lick softly into his mouth—he makes the tiniest sound in his throat.
Like he’s been holding back tears.
You pull back, just slightly, resting your forehead against his.
“I know I hurt you.”
His fingers curl into your hoodie, gripping tight.
He kisses you again. Harder this time. Shaky and wet. Still not perfect. Still not even. But full of every unsaid thing.
You feel it in the way he exhales into your mouth like he’s been holding it in.
You feel it in the way his thumb strokes your side like he’s grounding himself.
You feel it in the way he pulls you closer, like he needs your heartbeat to match his again.
You kiss him back like you’re sorry. Like you love him. Like you’ll spend forever making it right.
And when you whisper “I’m still yours,” he kisses you again like
he never stopped hoping you were.
𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢
You haven’t kissed him in like… forty minutes?
Which is, according to Ni-ki, emotional abuse.
He’s in the passenger seat, legs manspreaded like he owns the car, head tilted back in utter despair, hoodie strings in his mouth. He looks wrecked.
“You’re literally torturing me,” he mumbles, voice muffled by fleece. “You’re acting like every time I kiss you, my tongue tastes like battery acid.”
You side-eye him, scrolling on your phone. “Did you not act like you didn’t care the last four times I tried to kiss you?”
He groans like you’ve stabbed him. “Okay, yes. I did. But only because I thought it was funny. I didn’t know you were gonna get all revenge mode on me. I didn’t think you were gonna turn into a sexy little ice queen who punishes me by making me feel like a diseased boy on the street.”
You snort. “Maybe I like diseased boys.”
“I’M SICK BUT I’M CUTE,” he cries dramatically, slapping a hand over his heart. “I’m a treatable disease.”
You keep scrolling. Calm. Untouchable.
He’s spiraling.
“Fine,” he groans. “I get it. I’m sorry. I’m sooo sorry, baby. I’ll never be cool again. I’ll never act like I don’t care. I’ll tattoo your name on my ass and wear a leash with your initials. But please—please stop acting like kissing me is the emotional equivalent of licking a sidewalk. I am BEGGING.”
You shrug. “Dunno what to tell you bro.”
His whole body seizes. “DON’T BRO ME.”
You glance over. He’s fully pouting now, big eyes glossy, lips parted like he’s this close to crying. He looks like a kicked puppy in designer sneakers.
“Bro,” you say, just to be a menace.
“I’m gonna cry,” he whispers. “Y/N, I’m gonna sob in this car and you’ll have to live with that.”
You finally sigh, put your phone down, and tilt your head toward him. “Okay. One kiss.”
His face lights up. Like Christmas. Like salvation.
“Really??”
“One.”
He scrambles over the console like he’s climbing Everest, hands gripping the seat, hoodie riding up. He grabs your face in both hands and immediately crashes his mouth onto yours like he’s been waiting years.
And it’s a MESS.
He’s kissing you like he’s trying to prove something. Like if he kisses hard enough, you’ll forget you were ever mad. His tongue’s already in your mouth, greedy and desperate, lips sliding over yours wet and fast.
He groans—groans—into your mouth when you let him deepen it, fingers sliding into your hair, his whole body shivering.
“I missed your mouth,” he pants between kisses. “I was going insane. I’m so dumb. You’re so hot when you’re mean. I deserve to suffer. But also can you make out with me forever now?”
You pull back, dazed. “You’re literally out of breath.”
“I’m in love,” he wheezes.
You roll your eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”
He’s already kissing you again. Slower this time. Wetter. Deeper.
bf!Enhypen x f!reader - reaction to you getting flustered,
fluff, crack, suggestive.
-
𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠
You’re across the room. Not doing anything wild—just minding your business, maybe sitting on the floor going through something, wearing his hoodie with your legs tucked under you.
Heeseung?
He’s on the couch.
Legs wide open. Hood down. Head tilted. That lazy, heavy-lidded look in his eyes like he’s been thinking about kissing you for the last twenty minutes.
And then—he does it.
He spreads his thighs even wider, leans back with one arm thrown over the top of the couch, and lifts his other hand to do that slow, devastating little “come here” motion with two fingers.
Like you’re a toy he gets to play with.
Like he already knows you’ll obey.
You freeze.
He sees your face twitch, your shoulders stiffen, and he smirks.
“C’mere, baby.”
You swallow. “Why.”
“I just wanna talk,” he says, but he’s biting back a smile. “Promise.”
You shoot him a look, but your legs move before your brain does. You get up, walking over like you’re totally unaffected—even though your heart’s pounding.
And when you’re close enough?
He hooks his fingers in your waistband, pulls you forward till you’re standing between his legs, and tilts his chin up to look at you.
“You get shy so fast,” he murmurs. “It’s cute.”
You open your mouth to argue,
But then he tugs you down into his lap and kisses the side of your neck so slow you whimper.
“Oh,” he grins, “and that sound? That’s mine too.”
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠
It happens while you’re helping him clean up.
It’s chill. Domestic. He’s putting dishes away while you wipe the counter, music playing softly in the background, and everything feels normal until Jay—calmly, with zero awareness—places a hand on your lower back to reach past you.
And you shiver. Just a little.
You hear him chuckle.
“You always make that face when I touch you like that.”
You stop wiping. Blink. Slowly turn to look at him.
You what now.
Your brain replays the sentence like it was just cursed into your ears.
He didn’t say “You always react”.
He didn’t say “You get jumpy.”
No—he said it with his full chest:
“You always make that face when I touch you like that.”
Then continued putting away dishes like he hadn’t just lit your soul on fire.
You’re staring at him, heat blooming up your neck, lips parted in stunned silence.
And Jay—sweet, oblivious Jay—turns around and frowns at you.
“…Are you okay? You’re turning really red.”
You just blink. Speechless.
Now he looks concerned.
“Oh my God,” he says, drying his hands. “Did I say something weird? Wait—are you choking? Are you… blushing?”
You manage a strangled “JAY.”
He’s so confused. “What? What did I do?!”
“Do you even know what you just said?”
He furrows his brows, rewinds the moment in his head—and then his entire face freezes.
“…Oh.”
Your lips are still parted. Your face is burning.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he blurts. “I just—like—it was just a back thing. Like touching your back. Not like a touching you thing. I didn’t mean it like a sexual—oh my god, never mind, please forget I said anything—”
You’re laughing now, hiding your face in your sleeves.
Jay is scarlet. Hands on his hips. Looking up at the ceiling like he’s praying.
“I should be banned from speaking in my own house.”
𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧
It’s 10:04 PM and your boyfriend is already in bed, buried under three blankets, hood pulled up like he’s camping.
You crawl in next to him, chaos in your veins, body fully energized and annoying.
“Jakey,” you whisper. “Don’t sleep. Stay up with me. One more episode. One TikTok. One forehead kiss. One conversation about the philosophical meaning of nipples—”
He groans. Loudly. Pulls the blanket over his face.
“No. I’m weak. I’m dying. I’m elderly.”
You grab his arm. Shake it. Climb halfway on top of him like a gremlin.
He lets out the most dramatic sigh in history. “BABY.”
“What.”
“Please stop,” he whines. “If you keep climbing on me I’m gonna get hard and then cry and then you’re gonna have to rock me to sleep while I’m hard and I’m gonna die and haunt you and you’re gonna have to explain to your next boyfriend why there’s a horny ghost in your bed.”
You go silent.
Frozen. Face on fire.
“…What,” you whisper.
Jake peeks out from under the blanket, blinking slowly.
“Huh?” he says, confused. “What’s wrong with you.”
You just stare at him.
“You’re red,” he says blankly. “Are you overheating? Did I say something??”
He smirks.
“OHHH,” he says, eyes lighting up. “You’re BLUSHING. BECAUSE OF MEEEEE.”
You shove your face into the pillow.
“NO DON’T HIDE—SHE’S RED, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. I DID THAT. IT WAS ME.”
You try to roll away. He grabs you like a koala.
“Nuh-uh. You flustered now. I get cuddles. That’s the law.”
He pulls you on top of him, wraps all his limbs around you like a baby backpack, and whispers:
“Now I’m hard and sleepy. Just like I warned you.”
You scream into the pillow.
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧
It hits at 2:12 AM.
You’re in bed, half-asleep, when Sunghoon rolls over and wraps his arms around you from behind. You assume he’s just getting comfy—until you feel his nose nuzzle into your neck… and then his lips… and then—
He lets out the softest sigh and murmurs,
“My babygirl.”
You freeze.
This is not normal Sunghoon behavior.
Normal Sunghoon behavior includes:
– biting
– teasing
– acting like you annoy him (even though he’s obsessed with you)
So naturally, you go: “What did you just call me?”
He kisses your shoulder. “My babygirl. My angel. My soft emotional support ball.”
You blink. “Are you sleep-talking?”
“No,” he says, voice muffled. “I’m ovulating.”
You choke on your own spit.
He turns you around gently—like you’re made of glass—and cups your face in both hands. His thumbs stroke your cheeks. His eyes are sleepy but weirdly intense.
“You’re the best thing in my whole life,” he whispers. “You’re so pretty. You make me feel like a calm little bunny in a flower field.”
“…Sunghoon.”
“My darling,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. “My emotional comfort bean. My tiny light. My forever babygirl.”
“You have never said any of these words before.”
“I know.” His nose scrunches. “They’re stored inside me. Like a seasonal storm. They come out when I’m soft.”
You’re fully red now, blinking up at him in shock. “Are you high?”
“No,” he says, kissing your nose. “I’m in love.”
Then—he pulls you into his chest like a squishy plush toy and whispers:
“My babygirl sleeps. Would you look at that. Nat Geo Wild.”
You: literally combusting.
Him: already asleep.
𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨
It starts with you doing something harmless.
Like fixing your lip gloss. Or checking your reflection. Or just… existing in front of him in shorts.
Sunoo, sitting on the other end of the couch with his hair up and a facemask on, gasps like he just witnessed something illegal.
“OH MY GOD.”
You jump. “What?”
“YOU’RE—” He waves dramatically. “—you’re LITERALLY being hot. You can’t just walk around with your thighs out and your lips looking like that. I’m feeling attacked.”
I’m literally just sitting here.”
Sunoo fans himself.
“I need to call my therapist. I need holy water. I need you to put on pants right now before I combust into flames and become a pile of glitter.”
You laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”
“No, you’re so dramatic.” He points at you with one perfectly manicured finger. “You’re sitting there looking like a K-drama lead and acting like I’m the problem.”
You roll your eyes, flustered but pretending not to be.
Sunoo notices immediately.
He gasps again—louder.
“WAIT.”
“No.”
“WAIT—”
“Stop.”
“Are you BLUSHING???”
He literally jumps up and points at you like a courtroom lawyer. “SOMEONE WRITE THIS DOWN. March 23rd. 8:42 PM. The queen has been FLUSTERED.”
You grab a pillow and smack him.
He flops dramatically, giggling into the couch, still yelling: “YOU THINK I’M HOT!! YOU THINK I’M HOTTTT!!” before breaking into a little happy dance right there on the rug.
You finally go still. Red-faced. Pouting.
He calms down, flops beside you, and softly grabs your hand.
Then—sincerely, unexpectedly—he goes,
“…You know I only say all that because I really mean it, right?”
You blink.
“I think you’re stunning,” he whispers. “All the time.”
Boom.
Blush level: MAXIMUM.
Your whole body short-circuits. You go so still that he tilts his head, confused.
“Wait why are you all quiet now—”
You squeak. Literally squeak.
He lets out the SMUGGEST giggle, throws himself onto you like a happy cat, and whispers in your ear:
“Y/N thinks I’m hot. Y/N thinks I’m cute. Y/N is so down bad and I win.”
𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧
You’re lying on his chest, warm and full and lazy after dinner. He smells like laundry and mint shampoo. His hand is in your hair. His other one is tracing tiny shapes into your waist.
It’s soft. It’s cozy.
He’s being so good.
So gentle. So sweet.
Until he casually says, in his soft little lullaby voice—
“I like how you whimper when I press my thumb against that spot under your belly.”
Your brain bluescreens.
You lift your head slowly, like you’re rising from the dead, face already burning.
He blinks. Smiles.
“Wait. Are you blushing?”
You smack his chest.
He laughs—genuinely confused. “What? That flustered you?? Babe, I could’ve said worse.”
“Please don’t.”
Him, grinning:
“Like—you know how you always try to run from it but then you push your hips back like you want more? That’s so cute. You don’t even know you’re doing it.”
You slap a pillow over your face.
He keeps petting your head like you’re a little sleeping hamster. “What?? I’m just being honest. I thought we were in our soft era.”
You muffle-scream into the pillow.
He snuggles you closer, literally giggling into your neck.
“I like when your ears get all red like that. Makes me wanna say worse things. Just to see what happens.”
You: dying.
Him: squeezing your waist tighter, still in his soft sleepy tone,
“Don’t be shy, baby. You know I’m right.”
𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢
You’re just sitting on the bed. Literally doing nothing. Wearing his hoodie. Scrolling through your phone like a perfectly normal girlfriend.
And across the room—shirtless, damp hair, stretching like he’s about to walk onto an MMA stage—Riki turns and points at you.
“Oh my God. You want me so bad.”
You blink. “I’m sorry???”
He narrows his eyes and starts marching over like you personally offended him.
“You have that face. The ‘I’m in love with Riki and want to kiss his neck’ face. I’ve seen it. I know the signs.”
You set your phone down slowly. “Riki, I literally haven’t looked at you once—”
“EXACTLY,” he says, climbing onto the bed. “You’re ignoring me. That’s when it’s the worst. That’s when you’re down horrifically bad.”
He flops into your lap and throws one arm over his eyes like he’s in a drama.
“You think I’m so hot it’s actually destroying your life.”
You stare at him. “Do you hear yourself.”
He peeks up with one eye. “You’re blushing.”
You immediately cover your face. “NO I’M NOT—”
“YOU ARE!!” he yells, sitting up so fast the blanket flies off the bed. “STOP BLUSHING. YOU’RE RUINING MY MOMENT. I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE PROBLEM HERE.”
You’re fully red now. Choking on your own laugh. “You’re literally insane.”
“I’m the victim,” he declares, climbing into your lap like a gremlin. “You’re sitting there looking all cute and domestic and perfect, and I’m supposed to just EXIST? In PEACE??”
You try to push him off. He clings harder.
“Don’t act all shy now,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know what goes on in that nasty little brain of yours. You think about me shirtless and sweaty all the time, don’t you?”
You're speechless.
“Ahhhh she’s blinking. She’s stunned. SHE’S FLUSTERED. I WIN.”
You collapse into the pillows with a scream.
Riki follows immediately, flopping on top of you like a weighted blanket and giggling into your neck.
“Admit it,” he mumbles. “You want me so bad it makes you look stupid.”
cw: smut obvs like so much, but also riki's has a lil ass eating at the end so if ur not comfy w that don't read it, i personally think its hot sexy mwah mwah mwahiasd ydgwieudnoedoqwim asf so...
-
HEESEUNG — TITS MAN TO THE POINT OF SPIRITUALITY
He loves them. Loves them.
Big ones, small ones, soft, perky, natural, fake—he’s an equal opportunity worshipper. But yours? YOURS?
He treats them like holy ground. Kneels for them. Sleeps with his face in them. Whines when you wear a bra like it’s a personal attack.
“Why would you trap them like that?”
“They need support.”
“I support them. Every day. Emotionally. Spiritually.”
You’re doing dishes? He’s behind you, groping.
You’re getting dressed? He’s on the bed, hands behind his head, smiling like an idiot while watching them jiggle into your bra.
You take your shirt off? He sighs, like something’s been healed deep in his soul.
He’ll pull your top down mid-makeout just to cup them gently and go:
“Sorry, I needed that. I’m better now.”
In Bed? He’s feral.
Titty-fucking? Yes. Every time you offer. Sometimes when you don’t.
He’s panting the second you squeeze them around his cock, groaning “oh my god—your tits are so fucking perfect—” while leaking all over them. He’ll finish on your chest and just… stare.
Sometimes traces your nipples with his tongue and mutters praise like a man possessed:
“So soft. So pretty. Look at you. Let me suck on you, baby. Let me have you.”
He cums harder when he’s touching them. Moans louder. Cries a little if you let him fuck them and your mouth at the same time.
Soft Hours? Heeseung, Please.
When he’s falling asleep?
Face planted right between them.
Wakes up and kisses them before he kisses your mouth.
If you ever even joke about disliking them?
“Hey. Don’t do that. Not to my favorite girls.”
He holds them during cuddles. Talks to them sometimes. Probably has a little name for them. Definitely has a favorite boob.
If you ever walk in wearing a loose tank top, no bra, all soft and sleepy?
“No. Come here. No, I’m not joking. Get over here. You look like that and expect me to focus? Be serious.”
JAY — ASS MAN TO THE GRAVE.
This man is not okay about it.
He tries to play it cool. He tries to pretend he’s above it. But his eyes? They betray him every. single. time. You bend over in front of him once and he forgets his name, his birth date, his purpose in life.
“What did you say?”
“I said pass me the—”
“No, I’m sorry. I blacked out. Say it again but maybe… don’t arch like that this time?”
You walking around the house?
He’s watching.
Not even subtle. Doesn’t blink.
You turn around and catch him, and he just smirks like—
“I paid for dinner, I get to look.”
If you wear leggings or those tiny shorts he hates but secretly loves? He’s groaning the second you leave the room.
If you wear nothing? He’s hard before you even speak.
In public?
You’re his plus one at a fancy dinner. You lean forward to pick up your bag and his hand is immediately on the small of your back.
“Don’t bend over in that dress. Unless you want me to ruin it.”
He’ll whisper filthy things in your ear just because he knows your thighs will clench.
“Gonna have to remind you who that ass belongs to when we get home.”
You do not make it home.
In bed? Jay doesn’t play.
He lives for taking you from behind.
Spreads your cheeks just to stare. Smacks it once. Then twice. Then again—just because he can.
“Look at this fuckin’ view,” he groans. “Tell me who it’s for.”
He grabs handfuls of your ass while pounding into you, low moans spilling from his lips with every bounce.
“That’s it, baby. Make it clap for me.”
He’ll cum and stay inside, pressing his palm to the curve of your back like he’s still claiming it.
If you’re riding him in reverse? He’s DONE. Gripping your hips, whispering, “that’s it, baby, give me the show,” while he holds your ass open and watches himself disappear inside you over and over.
Soft Hours? He’s down bad.
He walks up behind you when you’re brushing your teeth, wraps his arms around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder just to grind the smallest bit against your ass.
“Just letting you know I’m thinking of your ass.”
Worships it like it’s art. Might kiss it before kissing your lips. If you’re lying face-down on the couch, he’s kneeling beside you and purring.
“This is where I wanna live. Right here. I’ll build a house.”
Bonus Jay Dialogue:
“If I die and come back as anything, I want it to be your ass.”
“You’re unwell.”
“No, baby. I’m obsessed. There’s a difference.”
JAKE SIM AND THE TITTY ERA™
It starts as a joke.
You’re lying on the couch, wearing the tiniest tank top known to mankind—braless, of course. Jake’s head is resting on your chest, dead silent, completely still, until—
“Left one’s Luna,” he mumbles.
“I’m sorry??”
“And the right one’s Veronica. Luna’s a little softer. Veronica’s got attitude.”
You blink.
He looks up, dead serious.
“What? I see them more than I see half my friends. They deserve names.”
From that point on—it’s over for you.
Jake is no longer a man. He is a titty prophet. A chest scholar. A boob poet.
And he has zero shame.
When You’re Just Hanging Out
He’ll be cuddled up next to you, arm around your waist, hand casually resting on Luna like she’s his comfort plushie.
“Veronica’s in a mood today. She keeps poking out.”
“You’re insane.”
“You’re just jealous you don’t have Veronica and Luna.”
He will say good morning to them.
He will say good night to them.
He will literally bow to them when you take your shirt off.
When Things Get Heated
You’re on top of him, tits bouncing in his face, and he’s fully whimpering.
“Oh my god, look at them.”
“They’re literally just—”
“No. No they’re not. Don’t disrespect them in front of me.”
He talks directly to them while fucking you.
“That’s my girl. Look how good you look. You’re stealing the whole show.”
And then moans like he’s being blessed.
He sucks on one, then the other, then goes back and forth like he’s trying to make them jealous of each other.
Titty-fucking? Oh, baby.
It’s not a kink. It’s a calling.
He’s panting, groaning, fully worshipping the view with his cock between them and his fingers gripping your sides like he’s trying to survive it.
“Luna, you’re an angel. Veronica, stop staring at me like that—fuck—fuck.”
He finishes all over them, then kisses the tops like a gentleman.
When He’s Being Soft™
He lays his head between them to fall asleep.
Literally nuzzles like a baby.
If you move, he groans dramatically and pulls you back in.
“You’re squishing them.”
“Good. That’s where I wanna die.”
When you’re feeling insecure?
He gets angry.
“Don’t talk about them like that.”
“Jake, I’m just saying—”
“No. No self-slander. They’re iconic. They’re powerful. They’re literally the best part of my day.”
He’ll kiss your chest over and over until you melt.
Then look up with that soft, sleepy smile and go:
“Tell them I said thank you.”
SUNGHOON — TITS MAN. DEADPAN. UNWELL.
“I wasn’t staring.”
He says.
While blinking at your chest.
Not moving. Not breathing. Just… evaluating. Deep in thought. Like your tits are a visual exam and he’s making sure he gets every answer right.
The Outside: Composed. Cold. Deadpan.
You walk out of the bedroom in a braless tank top? He doesn’t say anything.
Just glances once. Looks away. Then glances again.
“You good?”
“Yeah.”
Stares harder.
You lean forward on the counter. He zones out so hard he doesn’t hear what you said. Eyes locked. Hands twitching.
“Are you even listening?”
“I’m trying not to lose my fucking mind, actually.”
The Inside: Imploding. Exploding. Melting.
Sunghoon’s not dramatic. But your tits?
They undo him.
He acts like he doesn’t care, but you catch him gently adjusting his sweatpants every time they bounce under your shirt.
He tries to make it your problem.
“Why would you wear that?”
“I live here??”
“Okay but you know what that top does to me.”
When you finally take your bra off in front of him?
Silence.
Eyes wide.
Lips parted.
Then:
“…Yeah. Okay. I’m gonna need you to come here right now.”
In Bed? He’s Possessed.
He doesn’t even go for your mouth at first.
Just pulls your shirt up and moans the second he sees your chest.
Stares. Palms. Thumbs your nipples until they harden. Watches you squirm.
“Sensitive?”
“Yes—fuck, Hoon—”
“Good.”
He loves sucking. But not sloppy. Not rushed.
Slow. Purposeful. Alternates between kisses and tongue. Stares at your face while doing it. Groans when you moan.
“Keep making those sounds. It makes them feel appreciated.”
You ride him? His hands are locked behind his head, watching them bounce with that lazy, half-lidded gaze like he’s hypnotized.
“You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“Making them bounce like that. You’re evil.”
Sunghoon’s Tits-Man Greatest Hits:
“You were talking and I heard nothing. They were bouncing and I panicked.”
“I’ve been really good today. Can I put my face in them?”
“They’re prettier than I deserve. But I’ll worship them like I do.”
“If they had their own fanclub, I’d be president, secretary, and treasurer.”
“I come for you. I stay for the tits.”
SUNOO — THE SNEAKIEST ASS MAN ALIVE
He is so unserious about it.
Pretends it’s not that deep.
But if you bend over in front of him, he gasps. Loudly. Like it’s the most disrespectful thing you’ve ever done.
“You can’t just do that while I’m eating!!”
“I dropped my phone!”
“I dropped my soul???”
Around the House? He’s Acting Up.
You’re in shorts? He’s watching.
You walk away? He hums under his breath like he’s rating it.
“Mhm. That’s a solid 9.6 today.”
If you so much as climb onto the bed in front of him, it’s over. He’s crawling after you. Hands out like a cartoon character.
He doesn’t even pretend he’s not obsessed. If you catch him staring?
“Yeah. And? I bought dinner. I get ass privileges.”
Loves pulling you into his lap just to squeeze. Always sits with you facing away so he can rest his head on your back and just hold. The ass. Casually.
“This is therapeutic for me.”
In Bed? He’s OUT OF CONTROL.
Sunoo doesn’t just love your ass.
He performs rituals on it.
Spanks it lovingly. Stares like it’s art. Spreads it slow and dramatic just to whisper:
“This is my happy place.”
Loves when you ride him in reverse so he can watch. Bites his lip, tilts his head, and says the nastiest shit in the softest voice.
“Bounce like that again, baby. Just like that. You’re showing off, aren’t you?”
He’s fully vocal. Gasps. Whines. Might literally sob if he finishes while holding onto your hips.
Loses all composure when he takes you from behind. Like—whimpering, full-body shaking, face buried in your neck groaning “you’re too good to me—”
Sunoo’s Ass-Man Greatest Hits:
“This outfit is so disrespectful and I support it fully.”
“No offense but if I die it better be face-down in that thing.”
“You jiggle when you walk. That’s poetry, actually.”
“Spread your cheeks for me. That’s it. God, look how pretty that is.”
“you’ve always been a lil slutty, haven't you? You’re leaking just from my tongue.”
“You said you wanted soft tonight, but your ass says otherwise.”
“I’m serious. If you keep arching like that, I’m not pulling out.”
“I’ll kiss your ass good night every day if you let me.”
RIKI — UNBOTHERED. UNHOLY. THE MOST CASUAL ASS OBSESSION ON EARTH.
He’s quiet. Chill. Always lounging.
But his eyes?
They never leave your ass.
You turn around and he’s already smirking, legs spread, head tilted back like—
“Damn. Look at her go.”
And by “her,” he means your ass. He says it with his chest.
So casual it’s actually terrifying.
You walk past in sweatpants?
He stares.
You bend over to grab something?
He groans.
You sit in his lap, all soft and cozy, and his hands immediately slide down to squeeze—hard.
“What?” he shrugs. “She said hi.”
He talks to her like she’s got a personality. Blames shit on her.
“I wasn’t trying to get hard. She was grinding.”
“I wasn’t staring. She winked first.”
And in bed? He’s… not normal.
He flips you over. Spreads your cheeks.
And just stares.
Doesn’t even blink.
Tilts his head. Brushes his thumb across your hole.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he says quietly. “She’s so needy. You feel that?”
He lives to fuck you from behind.
Hands on your hips, pulling you back onto him like a toy. Mutters things like:
“Look at her swallowing me. Damn.”
When he pulls out and watches his cum leak out?
He presses your cheeks together and moans.
Takes a picture. Doesn’t ask. Says:
“This one’s for her. She earned it.”
And he eats ass like he’s trying to win a gold medal.
Doesn’t warn you. Doesn’t stop.
He’ll lick everything with slow, lazy circles—palms keeping you wide open, breath warm, tongue deeper than it has any right to be.
