burymewithfluff

[burymewithfluff]

Mama I wanna marry this one 💍🧎🏾‍♀️

⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content, neighbors to lovers, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), reader first orgasm, soft dom Han Jisung, emotional vulnerability, praise kink, mention of toxic relationship, slight exhibitionism (thin walls), slight degradation of ex-boyfriend, aftercare, fluff, soft angst (parental neglect), mdni

notes: in which han jisung hears you faking your orgasms through the walls of your apartment--and things spiral from there.

The walls in this building are a joke.

Half an inch of drywall. That’s all that separates his shitty one-bedroom from yours. He’s counted.

It’s not like he meant to know so much about you. He’s not trying to eavesdrop on every late-night argument, every hungover FaceTime call, every time you drag your heavy Econ textbook across the floor.

He just lives here.

And unfortunately, so do you.

Jisung never asked for the proximity. He never asked to know the way your voice rises when you're tipsy or how you only sing when you thinks no one can hear. But he does. He knows. He knows you eat too many frozen waffles and tha tyour microwave beeps twice before you remember to take shit out. He knows the name of your boyfriend, the sound of your laugh when you’re trying too hard, and worse—

The exact pitch of your moans when you’re faking it.

Because you fake it. Every damn time.

And he would know. He’s had the misfortune of being hard at 2AM with your paper-thin walls pressed against his back and that sorry excuse for sex filtering through his second-hand studio monitors like a mockery of porn.

It’s always the same: breathy gasps, your boyfriend’s awkward grunting, the bed springs squeaking like hell, and then—

“Oh my god, yeah, just like that...”

Flat. Perfunctory. The kind of moan that sounds practiced. Rehearsed. Completely unconvincing.

Jisung rolls his eyes and turns the volume up on his mix.

Not because it bothers him. Not because he cares.

It’s just distracting.

He’s got better things to do than think about the pretty girl next door faking orgasms like it’s a part-time job.

Like finish this track. Like land an actual gig. Like figure out how the fuck he’s going to keep affording rent in a city that eats people alive and doesn’t even burp after.

He’s not interested.

He’s not.

Except—

Sometimes he wonders what it would sound like if you meant it.

What you’d sound like if someone took their time. If someone made you come for real, dragged it out of your with fingers in your hair and lips on your neck and the kind of steady, brutal rhythm that doesn’t stop until you’re shaking.

What you’d sound like if it were him.

Jisung curses under his breath and drags his headphones off.

His eyes are dry. His dick’s half-hard. His track’s going nowhere.

Cool.

Maybe he just needs to… do something. Anything. Something mundane. Something that reminds him he’s a functioning adult with a trash bin and a spine and better things to focus on than the soft moans of the girl next door and the way they don’t sound quite right.

He grabs the overstuffed trash bag by the door, ties it with too much force, and makes a beeline for the hallway before he can talk himself out of it.

The fluorescent lights hum. The elevator’s broken again. Everything smells vaguely like burnt toast and someone’s fruity shampoo.

This building is hell.

He loves it.

Jisung drops the bag down the chute, lingers a second too long just to feel the rush of cold air against his face, then heads back.

He’s barely two doors away from home when he sees you.

You’re standing outside your apartment, arms crossed over your chest, loose sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder like it’s been a long night. Your boyfriend—Jason? Jared? Justin?—is leaning in too close, his mouth moving fast. Jisung can’t make out the words, but the tone’s familiar. Sharp. Defensive.

The boyfriend tries to kiss you.

You turn your face away.

Jisung doesn’t mean to stop walking. His feet just… do.

“I said I’m tired,” you mutter.

“Oh, you’re tired?” the guy snaps, way too loud for this dingy little hallway. “You weren’t tired twenty minutes ago when you were riding my dick, were you?”

Jesus.

Jisung should keep walking. Should disappear into his apartment and mind his business like he always does.

But instead, he just—

“Hey.”

His voice comes out cracked around the edges, like it hasn’t been used in a while. Which is accurate. He hasn’t really spoken to anyone in three days. Not unless you count the talking he does into the mic when he’s laying down verses at 3AM.

You both turn to look at him.

Jisung tries to smile.

It’s more of a grimace.

“You, uh…” he clears his throat, glancing at you instead of the walking ego next to you. “You okay?”

You hesitate.

The boyfriend doesn’t.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Jisung shoves his hands deeper into his hoodie pocket. “Neighbor.”

The guy blinks, then laughs. “Oh. So you’re the one blasting that emo SoundCloud shit through the wall every night?”

Jisung winces. A breath stutters out of him like he’s been lightly slapped.

Then he notices it—you wince, too. The tiniest flicker of guilt flashing across your face, so fast he almost misses it.

And yeah. Okay.

That stings more than it should.

“I didn’t say it was shit,”you mumble under your breath, clearly meant only for your own conscience.

“Don’t worry,” Jisung says quickly, forcing a light tone as he scratches the back of his neck. “It’s fine. Totally fair. Some of my stuff is… uh. Kinda dogshit.”

The boyfriend grins like he’s just won something.

“Glad we agree. Thought I was gonna have to explain how sound works to a wannabe DJ.”

Jisung opens his mouth—then closes it again.

Not worth it.

Definitely not worth it.

Except you’re still looking at him. Still standing there with your arms folded tight, sweatshirt slipping down further. And your face—

There’s something in it. Not pity. Not sympathy.

More like… regret.

He hates that it softens him.

The boyfriend, oblivious, barrels on. “Anyway, next time you feel like giving a concert at four in the morning, maybe wait until someone asks.”

“Next time you feel like giving headboard percussion lessons at two,” Jisung mutters, “maybe make sure she actually comes.”

The words leave his mouth before his brain catches up.

Instant silence.

You gasp. Cover it with your hand, like you’re trying not to laugh—or scream.

The boyfriend just stares at him.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Jisung shrugs, already stepping toward his apartment door. His hands are shaking a little, but he keeps his voice light.

“I mean, the moaning’s impressive. Real Oscar-worthy shit. But you’d think a guy who talks that much would at least know when he’s not doing it right.”

“You little—”

“Hey, man.” Jisung turns back for half a second, nodding at him with a crooked, tired smile. “If I can tell through the wall that she’s faking it, that’s not on her. That’s on you.”

He shuts the door behind him before the guy can even finish winding up his insult.

Click.

Deadbolt.

Silence.

Except for the thundering in his chest.

Jisung exhales hard, forehead thunking against the door. “What the fuck did I just do?”

He sinks down to the floor like his legs have given up. Which, to be fair, they kind of have.

This isn’t him. This isn’t what he does.

He doesn't talk back. Doesn’t mouth off. Doesn’t insert himself into other people’s messy lives—especially not yours. He barely speaks to delivery guys. Half his social life happens through a pop filter.

And yet.

“You’d think a guy who talks that much would at least know when he’s not doing it right.”

God. It was kind of funny.

But still—Jesus.

Jisung scrubs both hands over his face, embarrassment curling in his gut like a hangover.

Across the wall, he hears footsteps. Muffled shouting. The boyfriend’s voice, sharp with wounded ego. And then—

The unmistakable slam of a door.

Silence.

No more voices. No more fake moans. No more anything.

Jisung doesn’t move.

Eventually, when the silence stays long enough to feel safe, he hauls himself up off the floor. Brushes dust from his sweats. Tries not to replay what he said out loud like a greatest hits compilation of shit he absolutely should not have said out loud.

____________________________________________________________________________

He sleeps like shit.

Of course he does.

And when morning comes, it hits in a wave of cheap sunlight and neighborly noise.

He hears your usual routine unfold with near-perfect familiarity: fridge door opening, kettle clicking on, cabinet slam (twice—you always forget which one holds the instant coffee). Muffled cursing. Zipper. Then keys jingling against the lock.

He listens as you step out, lets the door fall shut behind you, and walks down the hall toward the stairs.

Everything is the same.

And none of it is.

Because this time, when you leave,your footsteps pause right outside his door.

Just for a second. A breath.

Then gone.

He groans and pulls the blanket over his face.

The rest of the day moves in its usual haze. Jisung does what he always does: noodles with a half-finished beat, eats instant ramen over the sink, ignores three texts from Chan asking for an update on the mix. His headphones stay around his neck most of the day, never quite getting used.

By sunset, the hallway is quiet again.

The beat he’s working on is shit. He knows it’s shit. He keeps tweaking it anyway.

It’s not even music anymore. Just sound. A bunch of clunky, disjointed loops that won’t glue together no matter how many times he messes with the tempo.

He’s just about to scrap the whole thing when—

Knock knock.

He freezes.

It’s soft. Measured. Hesitant.

He doesn't move right away—just sits there in his desk chair like someone just rang the doorbell in a horror movie. Then he leans back slightly, just far enough to peek over the edge of his laptop.

Another knock.

His heart does something stupid.

He stands. Pads barefoot to the door. Checks the peephole.

Of course it’s you.

You’re standing there in leggings and an oversized hoodie, arms cradling a plastic container like its armor. Your hair's pulled back, face bare. You look—

Small.

Unsure.

You lift one hand and knock again, even softer this time.

He hesitates a second longer, then opens the door.

Not all the way. Just a crack.

Your head jerks up. You blink. “Hi.”

He blinks back. “Uh. Hey.”

You shift your weight. “Can I—uh, are you busy?”

He opens the door a little wider, eyes flicking down to the container you’re holding. “No. I mean. Just… failing at music.”

That gets the faintest smile out of you.

“Right. Yeah. I, um…” You hold out the container. “These are for you.”

He stares. “Cookies?”

“Apology cookies.”

There’s a beat.

Then:

“I didn’t bake them,” You admit. “But I did walk two blocks to the overpriced organic place to get them. So. Effort was made.”

He blinks down at the container again, like it might disappear if he stares hard enough.

“Effort noted,” he mumbles.

You shift again, hugging your arms tighter. “You don’t have to eat them. I just—felt weird not saying thank you. Or sorry. You didn’t have to do what you did last night.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. Felt weird not saying something. So.”

You stand there in the doorway for a second, both of you clearly unsure of what to do now that the thing you came to say has been said. He should probably invite you in. Or take the cookies. Or smile, or make a joke, or something.

Instead, he clears his throat.

You jump in to fill the silence. “Also, just so we’re clear—I didn’t actually mean the SoundCloud thing. That was… low-hanging fruit.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So you’ve listened?”

That earns him a flush, bright and instant. “Not on purpose.”

“Wow.” He presses a hand to his chest. “What a glowing endorsement.”

“I’m just saying—I wasn’t trying to be a bitch. That wasn’t fair.” Your gaze softens. “Your stuff is good. Better than good, actually. The one with the—uh—strings and that lo-fi beat underneath?”

His eyebrows raise. “Track twelve?”

She nods.

His stomach flips. It’s ridiculous. But that track had been sitting unfinished for weeks, like something he wasn’t sure anyone but him would ever care about. And now she’s standing here—face bare, voice quiet—quoting it back to him like it meant something.

He doesn’t know what to say.

For someone who spends hours arranging syllables and syncopation for fun, it’s laughable how words immediately bail on him when they might actually matter.

“You, uh…” He shifts the container to one hand. “You’ve got a good ear.”

You smile. It’s small. A little sheepish. “I’ve got shit walls.”

That makes him laugh—quiet and surprised.

“I should let you hear more sometime,” he says, before he can talk himself out of it.

You tilt your head. “Yeah?”

“I mean—only if you want to. No pressure. I just thought…”

He trails off, scratching at the seam of his sleeve.

“I’d like that,” You say.

And he doesn’t know what to do with the warmth that blooms in his chest. It’s not huge. It’s not loud. But it’s there—steady and unexpected, curling under his ribs.

“Cool,” he says, voice softer now. “I’ll, uh. Let you know next time I make something new.”

You nod, then shift your weight backward—just enough to start retreating. But not before your eyes flick to his again, briefly, like you want to say something else.

He thinks might.

But all you do is smile—small and real—and take one step back towards your door.

“Goodnight, Han.”

His name on your lips feels like something it shouldn’t. Like a secret.

He nods. “Night.”

And then you turn. Cross the narrow hallway back to your apartment, keys already in hand. you hesitate at the door for half a second—he notices that, because of course he notices that—then slides the key in, disappears inside, and lets the door fall shut behind you with a soft click.

He watches the empty hallway for a beat longer.

He stares at his own door for a moment after he closes it, forehead pressed against the wood like the words you left behind are still floating in the air.

Goodnight, Han.

He hadn’t realized how nice his name could sound until you said it like that.

It echoes in his chest. Warms something that’s been cold for a while.

When he finally moves, it’s slow. He sets the cookies on the kitchen counter, grabs a pen, and flips open the nearest notebook—one he’s barely touched in weeks.

And he writes:

Track idea: starts quiet. Voice sample, maybe hers? Lo-fi beat behind it, soft keys. Let it build. Don’t let it rush. Let it breathe.

He underlines let it breathe three times.

Then he puts his headphones on.

And for the first time in a long time—

The music comes easy.

______________________________________________________________

You never planned on being friends with Han.

The boy next door with the quiet mouth and loud headphones. The recluse who only seemed to exist in studio beats and half-heard melodies through the wall. You knew his name before you knew his face—Han, printed on a mailbox slot too narrow.

Now he nods at you in the hallway. Smiles, even. You’ve learned that they’re rare, his smiles—crooked and shy, like they’re still trying to figure themselves out. You’ve started waiting for them.

Some mornings, you catch him in the elevator, hoodie pulled over messy hair, a takeout coffee in one hand and sleep in his eyes. You say hi. He says hey. He always holds the door for you.

It’s nothing. But it’s not nothing.

And then, one night—it’s something.

It starts with your friend’s voice, high and nervous. “I swear I had your keys. I swear they were just—fuck, okay, check your bag again—”

You’re too drunk to care. Or think. Or stand up straight

Your bag is wide open on the hallway floor, a war zone of receipts, gum wrappers, lip glosses with no caps, and an unopened pack of hot sauce packets you swear you didn’t steal from Taco Bell. Your friend is crouched beside it, frantically digging like she’s searching for buried treasure.

And that’s when the elevator dings.

You don’t even bother turning around. You’re too busy trying to balance one heel on top of a rogue pack of gum like it’s a tightrope.

Your friend, however, freezes. Then straightens sharply, whisper-hissing, “Oh shit—it’s your neighbor.”

You blink. “Which one?”

“The hot one.”

That gets your attention.

You turn—wobble—and there he is: Han. Grocery bag in one hand, hood halfway off, hair a little windblown. His eyes flick from your friend to you, then to the scene at your feet: your life in full chaotic display.

He pauses. Then says, with the softest little blink of disbelief,

“Uh… everything okay?”

You blink right back at him.

Then lean toward your friend—not subtly, not gracefully, and definitely not quietly—and whisper at full volume:

“You’re right, he is hot.”

It echoes.

Down the hall. Into the vents. Probably into the next dimension.

Your friend claps a hand over her mouth.

Han stares at you, frozen mid-step, grocery bag dangling like it no longer belongs to him.

You sway slightly. Flash him a winning, drunken grin. “Hi.”

His ears go pink.

He recovers with a cough and a quiet, “Hey.”

Your friend steps in, trying to salvage the moment. “She, um… lost her keys. And maybe her filter. And maybe also her last three brain cells.”

“I have at least five brain cells,” you argue, eyes still locked on Han like you’ve just spotted the last bottle of tequila on Earth. “Maybe six.”

“Okay,” your friend says sharply, grabbing your arm before you can say anything worse. “She’s drunk. She needs to sleep. You’re right next door. I trust you, I think. Will you—can you—?”

“I’ve got her,” Han says, voice gentle. Too gentle. Like he’s trying not to laugh but also trying not to die of second-hand embaressment.

He steps forward, freeing his hand long enough to steady you when you stumble again. His grip is warm, careful. You immediately lean into it like he’s a weighted blanket.

“Wow,” you murmur. “Strong and polite. A dangerous combo.”

He just smiles—shy and crooked, the way he always does when he doesn’t know where to put his face. “You good to walk?”

“No promises.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘maybe,’” he says, easing your arm over his shoulder.

Your friend sighs, already backing toward the stairs. “If she tries to seduce you, just tell her she cries at Disney movies and once got drunk and tried to fistfight a traffic cone.”

“I won, though,” you shout after her.

Han chuckles.

Your friend throws one last suspicious look over her shoulder, mouthing to Han, text me from her phone if she throws up, before disappearing down the stairwell.

And now it’s just you and Han.

And the heat of your skin pressed to his side.

And the wild, buzzing thought in your brain that you’ve never been this close to him before.

He shifts his weight. Glances down at you.

“You seriously okay?”

You nod. “I feel great.”

“You say that while using me as a crutch.”

“Yeah. But like—a sexy crutch.”

He laughs, head ducking slightly like he’s embarrassed for both of you.

But he doesn’t let go.

And he doesn’t stop smiling.

Han’s arm stays steady around you as he unlocks his door, grocery bag still dangling awkwardly from one wrist. He guides you inside carefully, flicking on the lights with his elbow and nudging the door shut behind you.

You blink, taking it in through a haze: tiny apartment, warm lighting, a bunch of wires and gear by the desk, no couch in sight.

He catches you swaying and steers you toward a plain padded chair by the wall. “Here, sit for a sec.”

You plop down like a ragdoll.

Han crouches in front of you instantly, gently tugging your heels off one at a time like he’s afraid you’ll tip over trying. “You good?” he murmurs, setting your shoes aside neatly. “Anything feel weird? Dizzy?”

You grin at him. “You’re so worried.”

He flushes instantly. “I just—yeah. I mean. You’re really drunk.”

“Yeah, but like, in a fun way.”

“Still,” he mutters, already handing you a bottle of water from the counter. “Drink this. Slowly.”

You take it. “You’re like a… a boyfriend. But like, a really responsible one. Like—tax-paying, call-my-mom-for-me energy.”

Han snorts and gets up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, you’re done talking now.”

“I’m not!” you call after him as he sets the grocery bag down. “I’m very interesting!”

He just shakes his head, trying (and failing) to hide his smile.

When you blink again, he’s in front of you, holding out a hand. “C’mon. Bed’s this way.”

You pause. “You only have one bed.”

His ears go pink. “You can take it.”

You squint. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

He shrugs, awkward. “Floor. I’ve got blankets.”

“That’s tragic.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

You pout but don’t argue as he pulls you gently to your feet again. You’re warm, wobbly, still clutching the water bottle like a security blanket, and when he steers you toward the bed, you barely resist at all.

He helps you sit, then hands you a second pillow and adjusts the blanket like he’s not trying to combust over how soft you look there. He’s halfway to standing up again when you tug the edge of the blanket higher and murmur:

“Thanks, Han.”

He’s still standing near the edge of the bed, half in the dark, blinking at you like you’ve just short-circuited every single brain cell in his head.

His voice is a little uneven when he says, “Y-Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

You smile at him, all cozy and soft, limbs draped across his sheets like you belong there.

He doesn’t even know where to put his hands.

“I, uh—” He scratches at the back of his neck. “I still have a bit of work to do. Just mixing something. I’ll, um. Be over here.”

You blink up at him. “What kinda work?”

“Music stuff.” His voice cracks a little, and he clears his throat immediately. “I won’t bother you. You can—yeah, you can just pass out. All good.”

“You don’t mind me on your bed?”

Han stares at you for a second too long.

Then jerks his gaze away. “No. I—I mean. No, definitely not. Like, at all.”

He fumbles over to his desk, nearly knocking over a pair of headphones, and drops into the chair like his legs have forgotten how to bend properly.

You snuggle deeper into the mattress, dragging the blanket over your legs with a dramatic sigh. “This is comfy. You have good taste in sheets.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, clicking around on his laptop even though the track’s already loaded. 

You giggle.

He pretends not to notice.

You don’t see it—but his eyes flick to you constantly. Quick little glances when you shift, or sigh, or tuck your face into the pillow like it’s your new favorite thing. He can’t not look.

You yawn, cheek squished into his pillow. “You smell nice.”

He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a cough and a quiet plea for mercy. “You should, uh. Try to sleep.”

“Mhm.”

You don’t move.

Just keep lying there. All sweet and sleepy and tangled up in his blankets, on his bed, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And even though he should be focusing—he really, really should—

Han can’t stop smiling.

He turns back to his screen and presses play, the familiar beat fills his headphones, looping low and steady.

It’s not done—not even close. The layers are uneven, the bass too soft, the melody still fighting to find its place. But it’s something. And tonight, it’s the only thing keeping his hands busy while his mind refuses to stop thinking about you in his bed.

You’re quiet for a while.

He thinks maybe you’ve finally fallen asleep. You haven’t said anything in minutes, and your breathing’s slow, almost even. He lets himself glance over his shoulder.

You’re still awake.

Eyes open. Watching him.

You shift slightly under the blanket, cheek still pressed into his pillow. Your voice is soft, drowsy. “Can I hear it?”

He blinks. “What?”

“The track you’re working on,” you murmur. “Can I listen?”

Han’s heart does a somersault. Or maybe a backflip. Hard to tell through the static in his chest.

He turns fully in his chair. “Now?”

You nod, slow and lazy. “You promised. You said I could listen next time you made something new.”

Right. He had said that.

But not this one.

Not track twelve.

He fidgets with the headphone wire. “It’s not that one.”

You blink at him, confused.

“The one with the lo-fi strings,” he explains, voice quieter now. “Track twelve. I still haven’t finished it.”

“Oh.”

You don’t sound disappointed. Just curious.

He rubs a hand over his face, then offers a crooked little smile. “But you can hear this one. If you want.”

You nod again, eyes fluttering half-shut like the night is finally catching up to you.

He hesitates.

Then gently unplugs the headphones from the jack, letting the soft sound of the track fill the room.

It’s quiet. Dreamy. Bare bones but beautiful—slow, pulsing synth layered under a simple piano loop. There’s a vocal sample buried under the mix, something wordless and airy, like a breath that never ends.

You close your eyes fully this time, listening.

And Han watches you—watches the way your body relaxes into the sound, how your lips part just slightly, like the music is pulling something from you even in sleep.

He turns back to the screen, fingers hovering over the trackpad.

You speak again, barely above a whisper.

“It’s sad,” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer.

“Not in a bad way,” you add quickly. “Just… it sounds like it’s missing something. Like it’s looking for something.”

Han swallows.

Yeah.

That’s exactly what it is.

He stares at the waveform on his screen and says, very softly, “I think it’s trying to say something I don’t know how to say yet.”

You don’t reply. Not right away.

When you do, your voice is already trailing off into sleep. “You don’t have to say it. It’s already in the music.”

And then you're still.

Breathing even. Eyes shut.

Han doesn’t move for a long time.

Just sits in the soft blue glow of his screen, heartbeat slowing down to match yours, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to finish a song when the thing it’s missing is falling asleep five feet away.

______________________________________________________________

It’s been months since that first night.

Since the couchless sleepover, since the drunken key fiasco, since you fell asleep to the sound of his unfinished song.

And in that time, Han has come out of his shell in the slowest, sweetest way possible.

At first, he was shy. Still the hoodie-wearing recluse with his eyes glued to Ableton and his words tucked somewhere behind clenched teeth.

But then he started showing up more. At your door with takeout. With headphones and half-finished demos. With quiet, tentative smiles that stretched wider the more you smiled back.

You got to know him.

He told you about Malaysia—about sticky summers and midnight noodles and the way his parents still call twice a week even though they’re oceans apart. He told you how he moved to Korea for college, studied for a year, and then dropped out when he realized his brain was wired for sound, not textbooks.

You told him about your life, too—your parents and their ever-shifting conditions for love, the apartment they still pay for, the degree you’re grinding out just to prove something. To who, you’re not even sure.

And Han—turns out he’s kind of a chatterbox. Once he’s comfortable, the boy talks. About anything. About everything. With his hands, with his whole face. About samples and synths and the absolute travesty that is powdered parmesan.

Now, it’s like this: casual, constant, inevitable.

You crash at his place sometimes—not because you're locked out, but just because. Sometimes you bring your laptop and do homework on his floor. Sometimes you nap in his bed while he works. You keep a toothbrush there now. A hoodie of his has quietly migrated to your closet.

You even invited him to your graduation this spring. “It’s not like my parents are coming,” you’d shrugged, and Han had just blinked at you, then said okay, like it wasn’t the biggest fucking deal.

He still blushes when you call him hot. Still won’t take the bed when you stay over. Still treats you like you might disappear if he lets himself want too much.

And today, you’re at your place—your couch this time, legs tangled together on either end, killing time the way only two people who are too comfortable with each other can.

Lazy game of truth or dare. No real stakes. Just soft laughter and shared snacks and the kind of questions that teeter between teasing and tender.

Han’s fingers are brushing against your ankle, casual and unthinking. The popcorn bowl is somewhere on the floor, long forgotten. You’re both half-reclined, cozy and loose, a tangle of limbs and friendship that’s been threatening to become something else for weeks now.

You’ve already dared him to do his worst celebrity impression, and he’d made you sing a jingle from one of your old childhood commercials. The kind of dumb, lazy game that only works when you trust someone enough not to twist the blade when things get close.

Now it’s his turn.

“Truth,” you say, yawning, stretching like a cat in the sun. “I’m feeling vulnerable.”

He gives you a look. One brow raised, fingers tapping thoughtfully against his thigh. “Okay. What was your best orgasm?”

You blink.

Then laugh.

He flushes instantly. “Shit—was that too far? I thought we were in the spicy round.”

“No, no,” you say, waving a hand, trying to keep your smile light. “It’s fair.”

But you don’t answer right away.

You sit there for a second, fiddling with the hem of your oversized sleep shirt. His question settles somewhere low in your stomach—not uncomfortable, just… exposed. Like a truth you’ve learned to laugh off before anyone can look too closely.

You glance at him, then say it—half-teasing, like a joke you’ve told a few times before.

“I wouldn’t know.”

Han blinks. “You wouldn’t—?”

You shrug. “Never had one. Not a good one. Not any, actually.”

There’s a pause. His brows lift, lips parting slightly, but you beat him to it with a raised hand and a crooked grin.

“I know, I know. Tragic. I’m either defective or cursed. It’s a toss-up.”

He doesn’t laugh.

You thought he might—just to lighten the mood. Maybe roll with the joke, keep it casual.

But Han’s expression softens instead. Slowly. Like he’s putting something together.

But Han’s expression softens instead. Slowly. Like he’s putting something together.

“That’s not funny,” he says, voice quiet. Barely a wrinkle of sound between you.

You blink. “It’s kind of funny.”

“No, it’s not.” He leans in a little, eyes searching yours. “And it’s definitely not true.”

You hold his gaze for a beat longer than you mean to. “Tell that to every guy I’ve slept with.”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t flinch. Just says, soft but certain, “They don’t count.”

Something in your chest pulls tight.

You sit back, let out a soft exhale through your nose. Try again, lighter this time. “I mean, at some point, you start to wonder if it’s just you, right? Like maybe I missed a biological memo.”

“You didn’t,” he says, firm now. “You just haven’t been with someone who cared enough to figure you out.”

You snort softly, eyes dropping to his lips before flicking back up. “What, and you do?”

His breath catches, just slightly. But he doesn’t flinch.

“Yeah,” he says. Simple. Sure. “I do.”

You go quiet.

It’s not the answer that surprises you—it’s how steady he is when he says it. Like it’s not even a question in his mind. Like he’s already imagined it, already decided what he’d do if you ever let him.

That steadiness makes your throat go tight.

“Okay,” you say, voice quiet. “Then what would you do?”

Han shifts slightly, eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable. Focused.

“I’d start slow,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like a line—it sounds like a plan. “Let you get used to being touched in a way that’s not… performative.”

You blink.

He leans in, just a little. Not close enough to touch. Not yet.

“I’d watch your face,” he continues, softer now, “and actually pay attention. I’d figure out what makes you squirm. What makes your breath catch. What makes you ask for more.”

Your pulse thrums at your throat, hot and sharp.

“I’d talk to you,” he murmurs. “Tell you what I’m doing. Tell you how fucking good you look while I’m doing it. Make sure you know every second that it’s about you.”

Your pulse thrums at your throat, hot and sharp.

You don’t say anything. You can’t.

Because Han is looking at you like he already has you spread out in his mind. Like he’s memorizing every microreaction, storing them away like he might need them later. Like he’s already tasting the sound you’ll make when he finally breaks you open.

Your voice comes out low. Barely there.

“That’s a lot of attention for one orgasm.”

Han’s mouth twitches. Not a smile. Not quite yet.

“I’m not aiming for one.”

You feel it in your chest—in your spine—the way his voice sinks into you. Low. Purposeful. Like he’s already in your skin, like the words themselves are a touch.

You can’t breathe.

He’s so close now, and still—still—not touching you. He could. He should. Your body is already leaning into the heat of him, legs still curled beneath you, the hem of your sleep shirt brushing high on your thighs. But he doesn’t move.

“Have you… done this before?”

He blinks. “Made someone come?”

You nod, quick, almost shy.

“Yeah.” His mouth lifts at one corner. “Why?”

You hesitate, eyes flicking over his face. “I… thought you were a virgin.”

Han blinks. Then he laughs—a soft, breathy thing that curls low in his throat.

“Wow,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks already going red. “That’s, uh… new.”

You’re not teasing anymore. Not really. Not with the way your eyes keep flicking over him—his mouth, his hands, the pink creeping up the slope of his neck. Not with how you’re sitting up straighter, how your thighs squeeze just slightly together without meaning to.

He notices.

And it flusters him, of course it does—he’s Han, after all. All nervous energy and soft-spoken charm. But there’s something else underneath it too. Something steady. Something you didn’t see before.

“You really think I’ve spent this much time listening to you fake it through the walls and didn’t fantasize about doing it better?”

Your breath catches. Hard.

His gaze doesn’t drop. Doesn’t falter.

And suddenly, you’re seeing him for what he is—really seeing him.

The slightly older boy next door. The dropout with big hands and bigger dreams. The quiet music producer who hides behind humor but notices everything. The same Han who always opened his door, always gave you the bed, always walked on the street side of the sidewalk—but now you realize he’s been wanting you the whole time.

And you missed it.

You look at him now—and you feel it.

The shift.

Because he’s still Han. Still hoodie-clad and sweet and overly cautious.

But he’s also a man.

And god, it’s hitting you all at once.

The way his eyes haven’t left your mouth. The way he says things like I’m not aiming for one with such quiet, devastating confidence. The way he can be so careful with you and still make your skin burn like he’s already touched you everywhere.

You swallow hard.

“So,” you murmur, voice dipping low, “you’ve done this before.”

His fingers twitch where they rest against his thigh. “Yeah.”

“How many girls?”

He blushes harder at that. Clears his throat. “I mean, not a lot.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I’m not—” he fumbles, flustered now, voice high-pitched with embarrassment, “—like, I’m not some sex god, okay?”

You giggle. Can’t help it.

He glares, weakly. “Don’t look at me like that.”

You lean in. Let your voice soften. “Like what?”

He shifts under your gaze, eyes flicking down again before returning to yours. “Like you’re surprised.”

“I am,” you whisper.

And you are.

Surprised by the heat in your belly. Surprised by the tension in his jaw, the way he’s not looking away now. Surprised by the fact that the Han you thought you knew—the one who panicked over burnt rice and once apologized to a houseplant—is sitting in front of you, cheeks flushed, voice low, practically thrumming with restraint.

And the restraint is unraveling. You can see it. You can feel it.

His hand is still resting on his thigh. Tense. Useless.

You want it on you.

He must know, must feel the shift in the air, because he breathes out through his nose—shaky, controlled—and finally moves.

Not to kiss you.

Not yet.

Just slides closer, knees brushing yours. Hands braced on either side of your thighs like he’s holding himself back from climbing into your lap. Like if he gets too close, he won’t be able to stop.

His voice is soft when it comes. Careful.

“I don’t wanna mess this up.”

You blink. “What?”

“This,” he says, eyes darting between yours. “You. Us.”

Your heart kicks.

“I’m serious,” he adds. “If you want me to stop, I will. Even if I’ve already started. Even if you change your mind in the middle. I need you to know that.”

You just look at him.

At his flushed cheeks, his trembling fingers gripping the couch cushion, the way his eyes won’t stay still—darting to your mouth, your thighs, your eyes again.

You don’t know how to say what’s clawing up your throat. Don’t know how to explain that you’ve never felt like this. Like you could fall apart and not have to put yourself back together alone.

So instead, you reach for him.

You thread your fingers through his, bring his hand to your thigh—bare skin under the edge of your sleep shirt—and press it there, warm and waiting.

His breath stutters.

“Okay,” you whisper.

His breath stutters.

That’s all it takes.

His fingers flex against your thigh—just a twitch, nothing urgent. But the heat of them sinks in deep. You can feel how careful he’s being, how tightly he’s holding the leash on himself, like he doesn’t trust what’ll happen if he moves too fast.

You tilt your hips slightly. Just enough.

He moves.

Slides his hand higher, beneath the hem of your sleep shirt. Knuckles grazing soft skin, the inside of your thigh, and you’re already trembling. The anticipation is thick—so much thicker than anything that’s come before it. Your body’s aching and he hasn’t even touched you where you need it yet.

Han breathes out slowly. You can hear the effort it takes not to rush.

His fingers reach your panties.

They’re soaked. Clinging to you. And he makes a sound in the back of his throat when he feels it—somewhere between a sigh and a groan, like it’s hurting him, how wet you already are.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers.

“I’m trying not to.”

“You don’t have to,” he says, and leans in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “You can just let me take care of it.”

And you do.

You sink into the cushions and let his hand keep climbing. Let it trail over skin that’s already too hot, too tight, too aware. The hem of your shirt rides up over your hips as he moves, exposing soft skin and damp fabric.

He touches you through your panties first. Just a single stroke—up and down, slow, deliberate.

You jolt.

Your thighs twitch. Your hips tilt into his hand before you even mean to.

His fingers are steady. Gentle. No fumbling, no testing limits just to say he did. He strokes over the soaked cotton with maddening patience, slow enough that your body’s buzzing before he even slides them aside.

He strokes over the soaked cotton with maddening patience, slow enough that your body’s buzzing before he even slides them aside.

When he does, it’s with a breathless little sound—almost like awe.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice low and tight. “You’re so wet already.”

You shiver.

He doesn’t ask permission again. He doesn’t need to. Your legs fall open on instinct, your body already offering itself up like it’s been waiting for this. For him.

He dips his fingers into you with quiet care—just the first two, slow and unhurried, and it’s so much. Not just the stretch, not just the slick slide of it—it’s the way he groans like he can feel how good you feel around him. Like your body is turning him on just by existing.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “How has no one made you cum?”

You whimper.

“Seriously,” he says, fingers curling slightly inside you, rubbing against that spot that makes your toes curl. “You’ve got the prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen. Wet and warm and just—fuck, baby.”

Your hips jolt when he says it—baby—and he notices. His mouth quirks.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, watching your face like it’s giving him instructions. “You like that. Being talked to while I fuck you with my fingers?”

You moan—helpless, high-pitched—and your hand shoots down to grab his wrist.

He stills immediately. “Too much?”

You shake your head. Or maybe you nod. You don’t even know anymore—your brain’s barely holding on, your body dragging you under, soaking up everything he gives like it’s the first drop of water in a drought.

He watches your reaction like it’s gospel. Like every twitch and gasp is holy.

“Thought so,” he says, and starts to move again—slow, controlled pumps of his fingers, careful not to lose that rhythm now that he’s found what works. The way your walls clench when he curls. The way your hips chase him when he retreats. The way your breath hitches when his palm drags across your clit just a little too hard.

And god, he uses it all.

“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes glued to where he’s working you open. “If this pussy was mine, I wouldn’t be able to leave you alone.”

You gasp.

“I’d keep you like this every night,” he says, voice thick now. “Stuffed, dripping, begging for it. Just like this.”

You keen, head falling back against the cushions, thighs straining around his wrist. Another twist of his fingers, another filthy curl, and you’re spiraling again—clenching, grinding, chasing something you’ve never actually caught before.

But it’s still not enough.

Close, so close. You can feel it in your gut, in the burn behind your eyes, in the way your whole body draws tight like a wire about to snap. But then it slips, slithers away like it always does, leaving you aching and wrung out and panting like you’ve been running in circles.

Han doesn’t stop.

He slows, sure. Eases off that pressure like he knows—like he felt the way you were peaking and watched it fall apart all over again.

Your breath stutters. Your hands tremble where they’re gripping the couch cushions. Your whole body shakes with the frustration of it.

Han looks fucking thrilled.

“Shit,” he whispers, eyes glued to the slick mess between your legs. “You’re gonna be a fucking problem, huh?

You whimper—shaky, half-desperate—and try to pull your legs closed, but his free hand slides up your thigh and keeps them open. He’s still panting, still hard in his sweats, and yet somehow entirely focused on you.

Your voice comes out broken. “I can’t—fuck, Han, I was so close—”

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, leaning over you. His fingers finally slip free, soaked and shining, and he brings them to his mouth like it’s nothing. Like tasting you is just a thing he does between breaths. “You’re so fucking pretty can’t believe no one’s ever made you come.”

He sucks one finger between his lips, humming low in his throat, and your entire body jerks.

He grins around his knuckle. Blushy. Sweet. Still Han, somehow—except his eyes are dark now, slow-burning, locked onto you with intent.

And when he speaks, it’s not teasing. It’s reverent.

“I knew you’d taste good,” he murmurs, dragging his hand down your thigh again. “Didn’t think you’d ruin me this fast, though.”

You squirm, still reeling from the touch of his fingers, still aching from how close you came—how it slipped just out of reach. Your panties are somewhere around your knees now, tangled and damp, and your thighs are trembling despite the warmth of the room.

But Han doesn’t give you time to settle.

He drops back down between your legs like it’s instinct.

Like he belongs there.

You brace for it—his mouth, his tongue—but nothing prepares you for how intentional it is.

Because when he licks you, it’s not just lust. It’s devotion.

The first press of his tongue is slow, hot, drawn out like he’s tasting something forbidden. It drags through your folds, slick and maddening, before he pulls back just slightly and exhales a shaky breath against your cunt like it’s worship.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “You’re so fucking sweet. So wet—dripping for me, baby.”

Your hips jerk. A soft moan tears from your throat, helpless and startled.

He hums at the sound. And then his tongue is on you again—lapping, curling, sliding in lazy circles around your clit, not rushed, not rough. Patient.

But it’s overwhelming.

Too much and somehow still not enough.

You gasp, spine arching. Your thighs twitch against his shoulders again and he presses his hands there—holding you open, keeping you still. His grip is firm, grounding. Gentle only in contrast to the way he eats you.

He groans low when your hips roll, when your slick coats his lips and chin. Like it turns him on more than anything else. Like this is the part he needs.

He devours you like he’s starved for it.

Like he’s been thinking about this—you—for longer than he’s willing to admit. Tongue slow but deliberate, savoring every stroke, every gasp you give him. He doesn’t speak now, doesn’t need to. The sounds alone—your moans, the wet suck of his mouth, the way your breath stutters every time he flattens his tongue against your clit—say enough.

But it’s your reactions that do it. The way your body jumps every time he moves just right. The way your hands scramble for the couch cushions, for him, like you don’t know what else to hold onto. The way your thighs clamp around his head when he groans into your cunt.

That’s when he realizes.

You’ve never been eaten out before.

It hits him all at once—in the way you shiver, in the way your body doesn’t quite know how to take the pleasure he’s giving. There’s something raw about it. Uncharted. Holy.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tease. Just lets the knowledge settle deep in his chest like a vow.

So he slows down. Not to drag it out—to care. To guide you through it.

He pulls back just slightly, presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another one, lower, softer. You can feel his breath against your skin, shaky and uneven, like you are unraveling him just by letting him do this.

He kisses down, worshipful, open-mouthed presses of tongue and lips trailing toward where you’re slick and trembling—until he’s back on you, groaning deep in his chest like he needs this to survive.

He laps at your cunt like a man obsessed. Messy, wet, obscene.

His tongue flicks fast over your clit, sloppy and relentless, and when you whimper—high and panicked—his hands tighten on your thighs, dragging them wider, pushing you open like he can’t get enough. His nose presses into the soft swell of you and his mouth won’t stop.

And god—god, the noises.

The slick suck of his mouth, the soft wet licks between your folds, the broken, wanton moans he keeps letting out like your taste is fucking euphoric.

Your thighs are trembling against his cheeks, toes curling against the cushions, hands fisting in the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this plane of existence. Every time you start to come down, he drags you right back up—tongue flicking, then flattening, then sucking.

You’re soaking him. You know it. Can feel the slick mess coating his lips, his chin, now—but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t even flinch. Just dives in deeper, grinds his mouth against you like it’s the only thing that matters.

And maybe it is.

You’ve never made sounds like this before. Never felt anything like this. It’s a full-body unraveling—pleasure so raw and high-pitched it’s almost unbearable. You can’t even find words anymore. You try—gasp out his name, maybe a plea, maybe a warning—but it’s just breath. Just noise.

He hears it anyway.

Groans in response, and the vibration shoots through you—tightens every nerve, every muscle. You feel it everywhere. In your spine, in your belly, in your fucking teeth.

He licks through your folds like he’s trying to commit the shape of you to memory, tongue dragging over your clit in slow, hard laps now—intentional, devastating. One hand lets go of your thigh to slide underneath you, to lift your hips, tilt you toward his mouth like an offering.

Like you’re his altar and he’s ready to worship.

You don’t even realize you're crying until the tears hit your cheeks—silent and sudden, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it, the depth of it, the relentlessness of him.

Jisung doesn’t notice.

Or maybe he does and just thinks it’s holy.

Because he’s still moaning against your cunt like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Like this is salvation. Like this is his first time, too.

The warmth is unbearable. Sharp and sweet and all-consuming, climbing up your spine in thick, molten waves that won’t stop—won’t let you go. Your muscles are locking up, your breath catching in your throat, your fingers cramping from how tight you're clenching the cushions.

You’re going to break.

You know it.

You want to.

And he just keeps going—tongue pressed flat and firm against your clit now, dragging in slow, filthy circles while his lips suck softly, reverently, like he’s trying to love you apart piece by piece.

You feel it snap somewhere deep inside you.

The heat—the ache—the need—it peaks.

And then it bursts..

Your thighs clamp around his head, your hips jerk off the couch, your moan rips loose from your throat like you’ve been silenced your whole life and this is the only language your body ever needed to speak.

You’re cumming. Hard. Helpless.

Everything pulses—your cunt, your chest, your fingers. Every nerve is alight, every inch of you clenched and shaking, your whole body seized in the grip of something so big you can’t name it.

And Jisung doesn’t stop.

Not when your legs twitch.

Not when your body tries to squirm away.

Not even when you sob his name, high and wrecked, too sensitive to breathe.

He eats it up. Literally.

Groaning low in his throat, nose pressed to your mound, tongue still working your clit like he wants to wring another orgasm out of you before this one’s even ended. You try to stop him, legs trembling, fingers pushing at his hair with barely any strength behind them.

But he just moans again, long and loud and ruined, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

“H-Han—” you gasp, voice cracked and teary.

But he can’t stop. He won’t.

You’ve broken open for him—shattered for him—and it’s like something inside him snapped too. His mouth keeps moving, lapping through your folds like he’s addicted, like he needs the taste of you to live, sucking every drop from your body like he’s trying to memorize it.

You try again to push him off. This time with real effort. A desperate shove, your fingers fisting in his hair and yanking—not hard, not mean, but urgent.

“Han, please—”

He finally pulls back.

Gasps.

His chest is heaving. His mouth is slick and swollen, the lower half of his face soaked in your release, and he blinks up at you like he forgot where he is.

“Shit—fuck, I’m sorry, I—” he pants, voice wrecked, dazed.

Then he looks down.

And groans.

Because you’re still dripping.

Slick pooling out of you, slow and obscene, catching the light as it runs in glistening streaks down the curve of your pussy and the swell of your ass, soaking the couch beneath you.

And he can’t help himself.

His hands slide up your thighs again—possessive, reverent—and before you can stop him, he leans back in.

One long, filthy lick—from your entrance to your clit—slurping up everything you spilled. He moans as it hits his tongue, deep and satisfied, and swirls it around like he’s tasting honey.

He pulls back just far enough to look at you.

Face flushed, lips swollen and slick, chin glossy with your release. His eyes are glassy—fucked-out and starving and soft in a way that shouldn’t match the filth of what he just did to you. But somehow it does.

Somehow, it makes it worse.

He’s panting like he just ran miles. Sweat dampens his curls, his hoodie clings to his chest, and his cock is still straining hard against his sweats—visibly aching. But he doesn’t even look at himself. Doesn’t even care.

He’s still looking at you.

At the mess he made.

At your cunt—pink and soaked and fluttering with aftershocks, spread open on the couch like he carved you out just for him.

And he fucking smiles.

“Jesus,” he breathes, dragging his thumb along your inner thigh, slow and lazy, eyes still locked on the slick between your legs. “You’re unreal.”

You’re still trembling—wrung out, flushed, completely silent now except for the shattered sound of your breath.

But he isn’t done.

Not really.

Because then his thumb moves—trails closer, closer, until it’s swiping through the slick seam of you, collecting it, spreading it.

You flinch, hips twitching, breath hitching on a wrecked little gasp.

He freezes.

“Sorry—shit, sorry,” he murmurs, voice gone soft in the edges. “You’re probably so fucking sensitive right now.”

You nod, dazed. Barely. You’re not even sure you meant to.

But his eyes drop back down—and the sight of your cunt twitching under his touch, the way slick is still dripping out of you, slow and shiny, pooling where your thighs meet—

It short-circuits whatever restraint he had left.

“Can I…” he starts, already leaning in again, lips parted, breath ragged. “Just—one more taste, baby. Please.”

And before you can answer, he’s there again.

Licking into you.

Tongue flat and greedy, slow and deep, sliding through the wreckage he left behind like he needs it to breathe. He moans—loud—when it coats his tongue, when it drips down his chin, when he presses another kiss to your clit like he’s thanking it for everything.

You can’t stop shaking.

From how tender he’s being while still devouring you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. From how overwhelmed your body feels—stretched between too much and not enough, oversensitive but still wanting.

He doesn’t rush now. Doesn’t try to make you cum again.

This is different.

It’s reverent. Like he’s cleaning you up with his mouth, dragging his tongue through every slick drop, pressing soft kisses into the mess like he’s trying to soothe the tremble in your thighs.

You whimper, just once—raw and hoarse.

That’s when he stops for real.

You sigh into his mouth, quiet and trembling, the kind of sound that only comes when everything inside you is raw—peeled back, exposed, open. He swallows it like it’s precious. Like it matters.

His hand at your waist shifts, pulling you gently forward until your chest brushes his. You’re still bare from the waist down—thighs sticky, breath uneven—and he’s still clothed, still hard, still aching beneath his sweats.

But he doesn’t grind against you.

Doesn’t ask for anything.

He just holds you.

Your knees fall around his hips, lazy and loose, and his thumb strokes the hinge of your jaw—slow, absent, like he needs the contact to stay calm.

The kiss deepens. Not with hunger. With heat. With reverence. His lips move against yours like he wants to memorize the shape of your mouth, your breath, the taste of your tongue mixed with your own arousal.

You break first—pulling back just a fraction to breathe, eyes fluttering open.

He’s already looking at you.

And there’s something in his gaze that wasn’t there before. Something stunned. Struck. Soft.

He whispers, “You okay?”

You nod. Maybe too fast. You feel stripped down to something small and shaking, something new—but his hand doesn’t leave you. His thumb still brushes your cheek. His chest still rises and falls like he’s feeling everything with you.

You whisper back, “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

Jisung exhales a laugh—wrecked and wrecking.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning forward again to press a kiss to your cheek, then another to your temple. “Then I guess we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

You don’t even realize you’re smiling until he kisses it. Presses his lips right there, at the corner of your mouth, so gentle it makes your eyes sting all over again.

There’s a beat of silence—thick and golden, warm between the ruined rhythm of your breathing.

Then he asks, quieter this time, “Can I hold you for a while?”

And god. You’ve never wanted anything more.

______________________________________________________________

The crowd pours out of the auditorium like a tide—caps slightly askew, diplomas clutched tight, families gathered in little clusters of congratulations and cameras. Laughter. Shouts. The click of heels and the flutter of gowns. You scan the crowd, heart racing, eyes darting.

And then you see him.

Leaning awkwardly against a tree, holding a slightly crumpled bouquet of grocery store flowers and dressed in the nicest outfit you’ve ever seen him wear. Still a hoodie—because he’s him—but it’s black and clean and zipped halfway up over a plain white tee. His hair’s been pushed back, curls tamed, face soft in the sunlight.

Like he wanted to look good.

For you.

You run.

Full sprint, no hesitation. Laughing, radiant, the hem of your gown flying behind you. And Jisung barely has time to react before you crash into his arms—legs wrapping around his waist, face buried in his neck.

He catches you without thinking. Arms locked tight around your back, holding you like the whole world could fall away and he’d still have you.

“Jesus—hi,” he breathes, stunned, grinning into your shoulder. 

“You came,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to look at him, eyes glassy and sunlit.

“Of course I came,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “I wouldn’t miss this.”

You swallow, smile trembling just a little. You’re still holding your cap too tightly. Still searching the crowd behind him, over his shoulder, behind trees and between cars—hoping.

And Jisung sees it.

Sees the flicker in your expression when you realize no one else is coming. No familiar voices calling your name. No parents weaving through the crowd, late and disheveled but here. Nothing.

Just him.

You try to play it off—force a smile, tilt your head.

But Jisung just exhales, jaw tight, eyes warm and sharp.

“Hey,” he says softly, tipping your chin up. “Fuck ‘em.”

Your breath hitches—more from the way he says it than what he says. No apology. No pity. Just truth, blunt and biting and yours.

“Fuck ‘em,” he says again, firmer this time. “They don’t get to take this from you.”

And something in you cracks. Not the kind that breaks—the kind that lets light in.

Your cap slips from your hand to the pavement. You don’t even notice. You just lean forward and let your forehead rest against his, eyes fluttering shut as the noise of the world fades away.

“I thought it wouldn’t matter,” you whisper. “That I didn’t care.”

He nods like he already knew. Lets his hand fall to the small of your back, thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of your gown.

“But it does,” you admit.

“Of course it does,” he murmurs. “You deserved more than this.”

You pull in a shaky breath. Exhale. Nod against him.

And then you laugh—quiet, almost startled. “God, you look nice.”

He pulls back just enough to give you a crooked smile. “You noticed?”

You sniffle, wiping under your eyes. “You did your hair.”

“I used product and everything,” he says solemnly, and that makes you laugh for real this time. His face lights up at the sound. Then, like he remembers something, his eyes go wide and he fumbles for something in his pocket.

“Wait—here. Got you something.”

You raise a brow as he pulls out a pair of slightly beat-up white AirPods and holds them out like they’re wrapped in silk.

“Your... earwax?” you tease, voice still thick, but lighter now.

Jisung groans, face going red. “Just put them in, smartass.”

You give him a look, lips twitching like you’re holding back another laugh, but you take them. Slip them in with practiced ease, still smirking, still sniffling a little.

And then—

You hear it.

Soft at first. A low, warm hum of synth. That familiar piano progression you’ve heard a hundred times echoing from his bedroom speakers, half-finished and always evolving. A quiet heartbeat of static underneath, the sound of something personal, unfinished—

But not this time.

Now it’s whole.

The bass comes in slow. The melody rises. The rhythm finds its footing like it’s been waiting for you.

Then his voice.

His voice.

Low. Raw. Stripped back and unfiltered, like he recorded it in the middle of the night, barefaced and half asleep. It’s not polished. It’s intimate. Each lyric laid out like a confession, like he’s pressing it directly into your chest.

You freeze.

Your mouth parts, but no words come out. You just stare at him—eyes wide, breath caught, the world suddenly nothing but him and the song in your ears.

Jisung watches you closely, fidgeting, clearly trying to read your face.

“I, uh… I finally finished it,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Track 12. I—kind of stayed up all night working on it. Wanted you to be the first to hear it.”

You swallow hard. “You—wrote this… for me?”

He nods, sheepish. “Well, yeah. Who the fuck else would it be for?”

You blink at him, still stunned, still half-floating somewhere between the melody and his smile.

The music wraps around you like a secret, like sunlight through a window. His voice in your ears. His eyes on your face. His hands fidgeting at his sides, picking at the edge of his hoodie sleeve, suddenly nervous like he didn’t just lay his heart bare in a three-minute track.

And then he says it.

Quiet. Almost like it slips out.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your breath stutters.

He panics a little, eyes going wide, hands gesturing now like he’s trying to physically catch the words and shove them back into his mouth.

“I mean—not in like, a weird, ‘I wrote you a song and now you have to marry me’ way. I just—I’ve been in love with you for a while, and I didn’t know how to say it. And then I kept not saying it, and then you let me eat you out on your couch and I was like, oh cool, guess I’m definitely in love with her—”

You stare at him.

Mouth slightly open. Ears still ringing with his voice from the track. Face flushed from the heat of him and the way he’s unraveling in front of you, hands flailing, words tumbling out too fast, too honest, too him.

“And now I’m saying it,” he rushes on, breath hitching. “And maybe it’s too soon or maybe it’s stupid but—fuck, I don’t care. I love you. And I don’t just mean in the afterglow, post-head, 'wow-she’s-so-pretty-when-she’s-cumming' kind of way—which, like, you are—but I mean in the real way. In the way where I think about you all the time and you’re in my music and my coffee and my fucking laundry detergent because you smell like it now—”

You cut him off with a laugh—soft and stunned, the kind that comes from something blooming too fast in your chest. Your hands reach for him instinctively, palms pressed to his chest like you’re trying to slow his heart down, or maybe match yours to it.

Then lean up and kiss him.

He melts into it—hands landing on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll float off if he doesn’t hold you down. His mouth is soft, a little shaky, like he still can’t believe this is happening. Like he’s kissing you with both hands behind his back, offering up his heart like a truce.

When you pull back, your forehead rests against his.

You’re smiling. He is too, in that breathless, stunned way—like you’ve both finally exhaled.

“I’m in love with you too,” you whisper.

He chokes out a sound. Somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. “No shit?”

You nod. “No shit.”

Jisung blinks, then grins—slow and wide and boyish.

He just stands there, still holding you, like his body hasn’t caught up with what just happened.

Like he's trying to memorize this moment—your smile, your closeness, the soft heat of your hands resting over his heart.

He opens his mouth like he wants to say something else. Closes it again.

Then settles for a quiet, breathless, “...Okay.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Okay?”

He nods, dazed. “Yeah. Just… okay. Everything’s okay now.”

You lean into his chest, let your head fall to his shoulder. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for months. His arms wrap around your waist again, this time more certain. More steady.

And for a moment, neither of you says anything.

The crowd is still bustling in the background. Cameras flashing. Tassels swinging. Parents calling names that don’t belong to you. The sound of it used to sting—but not now. Not with him holding you like this. Not with the song still echoing in your ears, a private chorus written just for you.

You glance up. “So what now?”

He looks down at you, still smiling like he doesn’t know how to stop.

“We go home,” he says. “Order too much food. Fall asleep on the couch. Pretend we’re not both crying during The Office reruns.”

You snort. “That’s your big plan?”

He leans in, nudges your nose with his. “No,” he murmurs, softer now. “My big plan is to love you for a really, really long time.”

Your heart stutters.

And it’s so simple—so quiet, so uncomplicated—but it wraps around you like warmth, settles deep in your bones like something you forgot you were allowed to want.

You tip forward and kiss him again, just once. Just enough.

“Sounds like a good plan,” you whisper.

He grins. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Eventually, your fingers find his, threading together as the crowd begins to thin. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, grounding and sure.

You glance down at the flowers, still clutched in your other hand—slightly crushed, petals soft and folding in from the heat. But they’re yours. Someone showed up. Someone stayed.

You’re walking away with his hand in yours, the sun dipping low behind you, the final track still playing softly in your head.

It ends the way all good songs do.

Quiet.

Certain.

Yours.

[burymewithfluff]

🥺

Bother?

Word Count: 520 Summary: “You’re not sleeping out here by yourself. Either we both squeeze onto this tiny couch, or you come back to bed with me.” Pairing: Ten X reader

Taglist: @sh0dor1

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Ten groggily blinked awake, stretching his arm out to the side, only to find cold sheets where warmth should have been. His brows furrowed as he shifted, the faint hum of the heater filling the silence of their bedroom.

He rolled over and glanced at the clock—2:47 AM. Too late for you to still be up, yet too early for you to already be moving around. His sleepy confusion turned into mild concern as he sat up, rubbing his eyes before swinging his legs off the bed.

Padding out of the bedroom, he followed the dim glow of the living room lamp. His steps faltered when he saw you curled up on the couch, a thin throw blanket barely covering you. Your arm was tucked under your head, body curled in a way that looked anything but comfortable.

Ten sighed quietly, kneeling beside you. His fingers ghosted over your cheek before brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “What are you doing out here?” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

You stirred but didn’t fully wake. He frowned, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of you—your brows slightly furrowed, the way your body seemed tense even in sleep.

Guilt pricked at him. Did something happen? Did he do something?

“Babe,” he whispered, shaking you gently. Your eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused at first until recognition settled in.

“Ten?” your voice was barely above a whisper.

“Why are you sleeping here?” he asked again, softer this time.

You hesitated before mumbling, “I didn’t want to bother you.”

Ten frowned. “Bother me? Love, you never bother me.” He reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. “What’s wrong?”

You sighed, looking away. “You seemed really tired today, and I didn’t want to wake you up with my tossing and turning.”

Ten’s lips parted in realization. “baby… that’s—” he exhaled, shaking his head before shifting to sit on the couch beside you. “Come here,” he murmured, gently tugging at your arm.

You blinked up at him, confused. “Huh?”

“You’re not sleeping out here by yourself. Either we both squeeze onto this tiny couch, or you come back to bed with me.”

You chewed on your lip. “But—”

“No buts,” Ten cut in, wrapping his arms around you and effortlessly lifting you up. A startled squeak left your lips as he carried you bridal-style back to the bedroom. “See? No effort at all. You could never be a bother.”

Setting you down on the bed, he slid in beside you, pulling the covers over both of you before wrapping an arm securely around your waist. His warmth quickly enveloped you, making it impossible to protest.

“You don’t have to sleep somewhere else just because you think I need rest,” he mumbled against your hair. “I sleep better when you’re next to me.”

Your heart softened at his words. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, melting into his embrace.

“Just promise me you won’t do it again.”

You nodded, letting sleep finally take you, this time wrapped in Ten’s warmth where you belonged.

[burymewithfluff]

🥹why am I giddy all of a sudden

Kiss & Tell

Pairing: Lee Minhyuk x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 0.6k

Masterlist

If there was one thing on Y/N’s bucket list she wanted to do before grim reaper opened his arms and took her into his embrace, it was to simply dance in the rain (and kiss the person she loves the most). But there were requirements, of course. The rain had to be coming down full force, like the moment you step outside you’re soaked full force.

Drizzles wouldn’t cut it. Mist? Absolutely not. She wanted the rain that blurred streetlights and flooded the gutters, the kind that made your footsteps splash and your hair cling to your forehead like you were in a slow-motion music video.

So she waited.

Every forecast, every weather app, every twitch of a grey cloud was watched like it was a scheduled miracle. Spring rolled in with teasing breezes and half-hearted showers, and she cursed the universe softly each time a storm fizzled into a drizzle. But today? Today, the sky cracked.

She was standing at the window, arms crossed, when the heavens finally opened. Sheets of water poured from the sky like a dam had snapped loose in the clouds. Thunder rolled low and deep in the distance, and the world outside turned silver. She blinked. Then she ran.

“Minhyuk!” she called, barefoot, already halfway to the front door.

He barely had time to lift his head from the book in his lap before she was tugging his arm like an excited child on Christmas morning. “It’s time.”

“For…?”

She whipped the door open dramatically and turned toward him with all the urgency in the world. “The rain. It’s perfect. Come outside with me. Right now. No umbrella. No jacket. Just us.”

He blinked, confused for a beat. Then his eyes softened as he set the book aside. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” she nodded. “If I die tomorrow and I haven’t done this, I’ll haunt you.”

Minhyuk snorted, already peeling off his sweater. “You’re gonna catch a cold, you know that?”

“Worth it,” she grinned, grabbing his hand and dragging him into the downpour.

The world was cold, wet, and alive. Rain soaked through her clothes instantly, sticking fabric to her skin, making her laugh out loud from the shock of it. Her hair was plastered to her cheeks, her hands slick in his, but her smile was the brightest thing in the storm.

Minhyuk stood still for a moment, watching her spin in circles, arms out like a flower embracing the deluge. And then—he couldn’t help it—he joined her.

They danced like fools, slipping in puddles and laughing so hard it echoed off the rooftops. She lifted her face to the sky and spun until the world blurred, and he watched her like she was the only thing that made sense in the chaos. Her lips were trembling from the cold when she finally turned to face him.

“Well?” she breathed. “Isn’t this the most cinematic thing ever?”

“You’re insane,” he murmured, brushing wet hair from her face.

“And you love it.”

He didn’t argue.

Instead, he stepped closer, one hand cradling her jaw as the rain fell harder. There was a second where the world seemed to still, like even the thunder held its breath—and then he kissed her.

It was slow and aching and soaked through with all the warmth they didn’t have in their shivering bodies. His lips tasted like rainwater and forever. Her hands curled in the fabric of his shirt, clinging to the moment like it might dissolve with the storm.

When they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed.

“You’ve officially crossed it off,” he whispered.

She smiled. “One more thing done before the grim reaper gets here.”

Minhyuk chuckled, wrapping his arms around her as lightning lit up the sky behind them. “Guess I better help you finish the rest, huh?”

“Guess you better.”

And with the storm dancing all around them, so did they.

[burymewithfluff]

🥺 okay tae ❤️

۶ৎ A SYMPHONY OF TOUCH —

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled, his voice shaking with need. “Look at you, falling apart just from this. You’re mine, flower, all fucking mine.”

pairing: husband dom!taehyung x wife sub!femreader

genre: established relationship, slice of life, domestic fluff, passionate love, erotica, smut

warnings: 18+, explicit smut, slight d/s dynamics, oral sex (f. receiving), sensual body massage, oil play, sensory experience, breast play, intense focus on nipple stimulation, clit play, heightened arousal, fingering, light non penetrative anal teasing, making out, hickies/marking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, emphasis on heightened sensitivity due to oil, touch and prolonged foreplay, teasing, begging, intense reactions, crying and screaming in pleasure, dirty talk, passionate and possessive praising dialogues from taehyung, emotional and physical intimacy, vocalizations, oil slicked bodies, slight edging, body worship, emotional intimacy, showering together, loving and soft aftercare

wc: 4.80k

masterlist

۶ৎ

The apartment was a haven, steeped in the amber glow of the setting sun that seeped through gauzy curtains, painting the hardwood floor in warm, honeyed hues. The air was heavy with the delicate scent of lavender from the diffuser, laced with the faint, musky undertone of your perfume, now dulled by the relentless grind of a twelve-hour workday. Your body was a canvas of exhaustion—every muscle taut, your feet screaming from the confines of pointed-toe heels, and a dull, throbbing ache pulsing behind your eyes. You stumbled through the front door, your navy pencil skirt clinging to your thighs like a second skin, your cream silk blouse slightly unbuttoned, revealing the delicate curve of your collarbone. Too drained to even consider changing, you collapsed onto the bed, the downy mattress yielding beneath you, its cool, crisp sheets a fleeting reprieve against your overheated skin. A low, shuddering groan slipped from your lips, the sound swallowed by the quiet hum of the apartment.

Taehyung had returned an hour earlier, his tailored suit jacket slung carelessly over the armchair, his burgundy tie loosened to hang askew. His dark hair was tousled, strands falling into his eyes from the absent-minded habit of raking his fingers through it. He stood in the kitchen, the faint clink of a glass against the marble countertop punctuating the stillness, when he heard your footsteps—slow, dragging, each step a testament to your depletion. His heart twisted, a visceral pang of protectiveness and love. Setting the glass down with a soft clatter, he strode to the bedroom, his tall, lean frame filling the doorway. His eyes, deep and molten, softened as they landed on you, sprawled across the bed in your disheveled work attire, your chest rising and falling with shallow, weary breaths.

“My little flower,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety caress, rich with warmth that seemed to seep into your bones. He crossed the room in three fluid strides, kneeling beside the bed, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. The pads of his fingers, warm and slightly rough, lingered on your cheek, their heat a stark contrast to the cool air. “God, you look utterly wrecked, love. I missed you so fucking much today.”

You cracked open your eyes, meeting his gaze—those dark, expressive pools that seemed to hold galaxies, pinning you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. A faint, tired smile tugged at your lips, though it took effort to muster. “I missed you too, Tae,” you whispered, your voice raw, frayed at the edges from exhaustion. “Today was… brutal. I feel like I’ve been run over, and I can’t even think about moving.”

His chuckle was a deep, resonant rumble, like the crackle of a fire on a winter night, warming you from the inside out. “I can see that, sweetheart. You’re still in those torture devices you call heels.” His eyes flicked to your feet, a flicker of sympathy crossing his features. “Let me take care of you, hmm? You don’t have to lift a finger.” His words were a vow, dripping with adoration, and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in his universe—made your chest ache with love. “How about a massage? I’ll make every ounce of that tension disappear, I swear.”

You nodded, too spent to form a proper response, but the idea of his hands on you, unraveling the knots in your body, was a siren’s call. “Please, Tae,” you breathed, your voice a fragile thread, barely audible.

He rose, retrieving a sleek bottle of massage oil from the nightstand, its amber liquid catching the light as he poured a generous amount into his palm. The air bloomed with the heady scent of jasmine and sandalwood, rich and intoxicating, wrapping around you like a silken veil. He rubbed his hands together, warming the oil, the soft sound of his palms sliding against each other filling the quiet. “Let’s get you out of these clothes first,” he said, his tone gentle but laced with a quiet authority that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

With reverent care, he helped you sit up, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your blouse. The silk whispered against your skin, cool and slick, as it slid off your shoulders, revealing your white lace bra, the delicate fabric clinging to the swell of your breasts. His eyes darkened, a storm brewing in their depths, but his touch remained tender as he unzipped your skirt, easing it down your legs. The fabric pooled on the floor, leaving you in your matching lace panties, the thin material hugging your hips. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking, but he didn’t linger, guiding you to lie on your stomach. “Lie down, love,” he murmured, his voice a soothing command, and you complied, the sheets cool and crisp against your bare skin.

Taehyung straddled your hips, his weight carefully balanced to avoid pressing too heavily, and began with your shoulders. His hands, strong and calloused from years of work, glided over your skin, the warm oil creating a slick, decadent friction. The scent of jasmine enveloped you, mingling with the faint musk of his cologne, grounding you in the moment. He pressed his thumbs into the knots at the base of your neck, working them with slow, deliberate circles, the pressure firm but exquisitely controlled. The tension unraveled, melting under his touch, and you moaned, a soft, throaty sound that vibrated against the pillow. The oil amplified every sensation, his rough palms contrasting with the softness of your skin, sending tingles radiating through your body.

“Fuck, that feel good, flower?” he asked, his voice low, husky, a trace of amusement curling the edges.

“So fucking good,” you slurred, your words thick with relief, your body sinking deeper into the mattress. “Tae, you’re a miracle.”

He laughed, a dark, warm sound that sent a pulse of heat through you. His hands moved lower, tracing the elegant curve of your spine with long, languid strokes. His fingers splayed across your mid-back, kneading the tight muscles with a rhythmic pressure that made you arch slightly, a louder moan spilling from your lips. The oil was warm, slick, and the glide of his hands was hypnotic, each stroke unraveling another layer of tension. He lingered on your lower back, his thumbs pressing into the dimples above your hips, and you whimpered, the sensation teetering on the edge of pleasure, your skin prickling with sensitivity.

“Taehyung,” you gasped, your voice trembling, “you’re killing me.”

“Patience, love,” he murmured, though his own voice was strained, a hint of his own arousal seeping through. “I’m just getting started.”

He moved to your arms, lifting one and starting at your shoulder. His fingers dug into the tight muscles, then slid down to your bicep, his thumbs pressing into the tender flesh with slow, circular motions. The oil made his touch glide, and when he reached your forearm, he massaged the muscles with a gentle intensity that made you gasp, the sensation almost ticklish but deeply soothing. He worked his way to your hand, kneading the palm, then rolling each finger between his own, tugging gently. The relief was so profound you moaned, a needy, high-pitched sound that made him pause, his breath hitching.

“Goddamn, those sounds,” he growled, his voice rough with desire. “You’re making it real hard to focus, flower.”

He repeated the process with your other arm, his touch unhurried, reverent, as if memorizing every inch of you. When he finished, he gently turned you onto your back, his eyes locking onto yours, the intensity in his gaze stealing your breath. He poured more oil into his hands, the liquid glistening, and started on your stomach. His palms glided over your abdomen, fingers splaying wide, the warmth of his hands seeping into your skin. The oil was slick, the scent of sandalwood heavy in the air, and the sensation of his hands moving in slow, deliberate circles was intoxicating. You let out a series of soft, breathy moans, your body trembling under his touch, your skin hypersensitive.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes drinking you in. “I could spend my whole life touching you like this and never get enough.” His hands moved to your thighs, and you tensed, the proximity to your core sending your pulse into overdrive. He kneaded the muscles there, his fingers brushing agonizingly close to the edge of your panties, the oil making every touch glide effortlessly. The roughness of his palms against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs sent sparks through you, and you let out an obscene whimper, your hips twitching involuntarily.

“Tae,” you whined, your voice thick with need, your body aching for more.

“Not yet, my love,” he said, though his voice was taut, and you could see the bulge in his trousers, his cock straining against the fabric. “I want to worship every fucking inch of you first.”

He moved to your calves, lifting one leg and pouring more oil, the liquid dripping onto your skin, warm and slick. His thumbs dug into the tight muscles, working out the knots with a firm, steady pressure, and you moaned, the relief so intense your toes curled. When he reached your feet, he took his time, cradling one in his hands, his thumbs pressing into the arch with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The sensation was exquisite, the pain from hours of standing melting away, and you let out a needy, high-pitched whimper, your body squirming. He moved to your toes, rolling each one between his fingers, tugging gently, the oil making his touch slick and decadent. The sensitivity of your toes sent shivers up your spine, and you couldn’t help the desperate, keening noises spilling from you, each touch making your core clench.

“Fuck, flower, those noises,” he growled, his voice low and rough, his eyes dark with hunger. “You’re driving me fucking insane.” He repeated the process with your other foot, lingering on your toes until you were panting, your body trembling, the oil and his relentless attention making you hypersensitive.

Your bra and panties were now drenched with oil, the white lace clinging to your skin like a second skin, nearly transparent. Your nipples were hard, straining against the fabric, and your pussy throbbed, the ache a pulsing, unbearable need. Every time his hands neared your breasts or inner thighs, you let out a keening, desperate sound, your head spinning with pleasure, your skin so sensitive it felt like you might shatter.

Taehyung’s breathing was ragged, his eyes molten with desire as he watched you writhe beneath him. “Jesus Christ, love,” he rasped, his voice shaking. “You’re a fucking masterpiece, you know that? Those sounds, that body… you’re killing me, and I haven’t even touched you where you want it most.”

“Please, Tae,” you begged, your voice breaking, tears of need pricking your eyes. “I can’t take it anymore. I need you, please.”

His smirk was dark, predatory, but his eyes were soft, full of love. “Oh, flower, I’m gonna give you everything,” he promised, his voice a low growl. He leaned down, his fingers brushing over your lace-covered nipples, the touch light but electrifying. You cried out, your back arching off the bed, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. “So fucking sensitive,” he murmured, his tone reverent. He pinched your nipples through the lace, rolling them between his fingers, and you sobbed, the pleasure-pain sending waves of heat through you. He teased you mercilessly, his fingers circling, tugging, until you were panting, your chest heaving, your body trembling.

Finally, he unclasped your bra, tossing it aside, the cool air hitting your bare skin. He peeled off your panties, the oil-soaked lace leaving you exposed, and held them to his nose, inhaling deeply. A guttural growl rumbled in his chest, his eyes flashing with raw hunger. “You smell like fucking heaven,” he said, his voice thick with lust, his pupils blown wide.

He poured more oil into his hands, the liquid dripping onto your breasts, pooling in the valley between them. His fingers found your nipples, slick and warm, and he cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks. The sensation was overwhelming, the oil making every touch glide, and you screamed, your hips bucking. He pinched and rolled your nipples, his touch firm but precise, and you writhed, your hands clutching the sheets, your voice reduced to sobbing his name. “Tae, oh God, Tae,” you gasped, your body trembling.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled, his voice shaking with need. “Look at you, falling apart just from this. You’re mine, flower, all fucking mine.”

His hand slid lower, cupping your pussy, his fingers sliding through your slick folds, the oil mixing with your arousal. The sensation was decadent, slippery, and he circled your clit with slow, deliberate strokes, making you scream, your hips bucking against his hand. He slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, and you saw stars, your body trembling as he worked you toward the edge. His other hand kneaded your ass, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin, the oil making every touch electric.

Desperate for more, you pushed yourself up, straddling his lap, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him. Your lips crashed against his, the taste of him—mint, salt, and something darkly Taehyung—flooding your senses. The oil on your skin transferred to his, his dress shirt clinging to his chest, the fabric growing slick and transparent. Your breasts pressed against him, the oil making them slide, and you ground against his cock, still trapped in his trousers, the friction making you moan into his mouth. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you, raw and desperate.

“Fuck, flower, you’re gonna ruin me,” he rasped, his voice rough with need. “Grinding on me like that, all slick and needy. You’re so fucking gorgeous, you know that?” He tore off his shirt, buttons scattering across the floor, and you ran your hands over his chest, the oil making his skin gleam, his muscles taut and defined. Your fingers traced the ridges of his abs, the slickness making every touch glide, and he groaned, his head falling back.

You fumbled with his belt, your hands trembling with need, and he helped you, stripping off his trousers and boxers. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip glistening, and you whimpered, the sight making your core clench. He poured more oil over your body, the liquid dripping down your breasts, pooling in the hollows of your collarbone, and he growled, his eyes raking over you. “You’re a fucking vision,” he said, his voice shaking with desire.

He positioned himself between your thighs, his cock sliding through your folds, the oil making every movement slick and decadent. He thrust into you slowly, filling you inch by inch, the stretch exquisite, and you screamed, your nails digging into his shoulders. The oil amplified every sensation, the slide of his cock against your walls almost too much, each nerve ending alight. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, the oil making them glisten, and he growled, his eyes locked onto them, his hands gripping your hips.

“Goddamn, you feel like fucking heaven,” he groaned, his voice trembling, his thrusts deep and deliberate. “So tight, so perfect. Look at those tits bouncing for me, flower. You’re mine, every fucking inch of you.” His words were a litany, raw and possessive, and you moaned, needy and desperate, your body trembling as he fucked you. The oil made every movement slick, the friction both intense and luxurious, and you could feel every inch of him, stretching you, filling you.

“Tae, please,” you sobbed, your voice breaking, your breasts bouncing harder as he picked up the pace, his thrusts growing relentless. “I’m so close, I need you.”

“Come for me, love,” he growled, his thumb finding your clit, circling it with slick, rapid strokes. “Let me feel you, let me hear you scream my name.” Your body convulsed, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, and you screamed, your walls clenching around him, your vision going white. He followed moments later, spilling inside you with a hoarse shout, his body shuddering, his cock pulsing.

As you collapsed, panting and spent, he pulled you into his arms, his lips brushing your forehead, soft and tender. “I love you, flower,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “More than anything.”

“I love you too,” you murmured, your body still humming, wrapped in the tapestry of his touch.

The room was hushed, the air thick with the lingering scent of jasmine and sandalwood, now softened by the musk of sweat and intimacy. The golden glow of the setting sun had faded into a twilight haze, casting the bedroom in a gentle, indigo light that danced across the rumpled sheets. Your body was a languid, sated weight against the mattress, every nerve still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, your skin slick with oil and glistening in the dim light. Your chest rose and fell with deep, uneven breaths, your heart still racing, and a faint, blissful ache pulsed between your thighs. Taehyung lay beside you, his own breathing heavy, his bare chest gleaming with the oil you’d transferred to him, his dark hair damp and clinging to his forehead. His arm was draped possessively over your waist, his fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles on your hip, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the aftermath.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence a tender cocoon that held the weight of what had just transpired. The only sounds were the soft rustle of the sheets beneath you and the distant hum of the city beyond the apartment walls. Taehyung shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, his eyes—deep, molten, and impossibly tender—roaming over your face. His gaze was a caress, drinking in every detail: the flush on your cheeks, the slight sheen of sweat on your brow, the way your lips were still parted, swollen from his kisses. He reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek, their roughness softened by the oil that still coated them.

“God, flower,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, thick with emotion. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. All soft and glowing, like you’re made of starlight.” His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, and the reverence in his touch made your chest tighten. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you. Not in a million years.”

You smiled, a tired but radiant curve of your lips, and leaned into his touch, your voice barely above a whisper. “Tae, you’re too much. I’m a mess right now, and you’re calling me starlight?”

He chuckled, a deep, warm sound that vibrated through you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “A mess? No, love, you’re beautiful. My beautiful girl.” He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and slightly salty from sweat. The gesture was so tender it brought a lump to your throat, and you closed your eyes, savoring the feel of him, the scent of him—oil, musk, and something uniquely Taehyung—that enveloped you.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, his tone gentle but firm, the quiet authority you loved slipping through. He slid off the bed, his movements graceful despite the intensity of what you’d just shared, and disappeared into the bathroom. You heard the faint creak of the faucet, the rush of water, and moments later, he returned with a warm, damp washcloth and a fluffy towel, both folded carefully in his hands. The sight of him—tall, bare, his skin still glistening, his expression so full of care—made your heart swell.

He knelt beside you, his eyes locking onto yours as he gently took your hand, wiping the oil from your fingers with the washcloth. The fabric was plush, the water just warm enough to soothe, and he moved with meticulous care, cleaning each finger, then your palm, his touch as reverent as it had been during the massage. “You worked so hard today, didn’t you?” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with concern. “Tell me about it, flower. What made my girl so exhausted?”

You sighed, the weight of the day resurfacing but softened by his presence. “It was just… endless,” you said, your voice still hoarse from your earlier cries. “Back-to-back meetings, a client who kept changing their mind, and my boss piling on last-minute reports. I was on my feet all day, running between floors, and those heels were a nightmare. I feel like I aged ten years.”

His brow furrowed, a flicker of sympathy crossing his features as he moved the washcloth to your arm, wiping away the oil in long, slow strokes. The warmth of the cloth was heavenly, easing the faint ache in your muscles, and you let out a soft hum of contentment. “That sounds fucking brutal,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl, but tempered with tenderness. “You shouldn’t have to push yourself that hard, love. Makes me want to storm into your office and tell them to back off my girl.”

You laughed, the sound light and airy despite your fatigue. “You’d cause a scene, Tae. My boss would probably faint if you walked in looking like you do now.”

He grinned, a flash of mischief in his eyes as he moved to your other arm, the cloth gliding over your skin, leaving it soft and clean. “Good. Let ‘em faint. No one gets to wear you out like that except me.” His tone was teasing, but there was an edge of possessiveness that sent a warm shiver through you. He leaned closer, his breath fanning across your cheek as he added, “Seriously, though, I hate seeing you this drained. You’re too precious for that shit.”

Your heart fluttered, and you reached up, cupping his face, your thumb brushing over the sharp line of his jaw. “You’re too good to me,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “How was your day? You got home before me, but you looked stressed when you walked in.”

He paused, the washcloth hovering over your collarbone, and his expression softened, a mix of vulnerability and love. “It was a lot,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, more introspective. “Board meetings, budgets, some asshole exec trying to undermine my team. I was ready to lose it by lunch. But the second I heard you come through the door, it all just… melted away. You do that to me, flower. You make everything better, just by being you.”

His words were a balm, soothing the raw edges of your day, and you felt tears prick your eyes, not from sadness but from the overwhelming depth of his love. He resumed his task, the washcloth gliding over your chest, careful to avoid your sensitive nipples, though his eyes lingered there, a flicker of heat in their depths. “Tae,” you murmured, your voice trembling, “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You make everything bearable.”

He smiled, soft and radiant, and leaned down to kiss you, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “You’ll never have to find out, love,” he whispered against your mouth, his breath warm and minty. “I’m yours, always. Gonna take care of you forever, you hear me?”

You nodded, your throat tight, and he continued cleaning you, the washcloth moving to your stomach, then your thighs, his touch gentle but thorough. The warmth of the cloth was soothing, the faint scent of lavender from the towel mingling with the lingering jasmine in the air. When he reached your feet, he took extra care, wiping away the oil from your toes, his fingers brushing over them with a featherlight touch that made you giggle, the sensation ticklish but grounding.

“Still sensitive, huh?” he teased, his voice light, but his eyes were warm, full of adoration. He finished with the washcloth and used the towel to pat you dry, the fluffy fabric absorbing the last traces of moisture, leaving your skin soft and warm. He draped the towel over your lap, then slid back onto the bed, pulling you into his arms, your back against his chest, his legs bracketing yours.

The heat of his body was a cocoon, his skin still faintly slick with oil, and you nestled into him, your head resting against his collarbone. His arms wrapped around you, one hand splaying across your stomach, the other tracing idle patterns on your thigh. The scent of him—musk, oil, and that indefinable essence that was purely Taehyung—enveloped you, and you let out a contented sigh, your body finally relaxing completely.

“Tell me more about your day,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a low rumble that sent a pleasant shiver through you. “What was the worst part?”

You tilted your head, thinking, your fingers playing with his, tracing the veins on the back of his hand. “Probably the client meeting at three,” you said, your voice steadier now, warmed by his closeness. “They kept nitpicking every detail, and I had to redo the presentation on the spot. I thought I was going to scream. What about you? What made you want to lose it?”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your back, and pressed a kiss to your temple. “This prick in a suit who thought he could talk over my team. Took everything in me not to deck him. But I kept picturing you, coming home to you, and it kept me sane. You’re my anchor, flower. Always have been.”

His words wrapped around your heart, and you turned your head, meeting his gaze. His eyes were soft, unguarded, and the love there was so palpable it stole your breath. “You’re mine too,” you whispered, your voice thick. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

He grinned, a boyish, radiant smile that made him look younger, softer. “I’m the lucky one, love. You’re my everything.” He tightened his arms around you, his lips brushing your shoulder, and for a moment, you just sat there, wrapped in each other, the world outside fading to nothing.

He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a glass of water he’d brought earlier, and held it to your lips. “Drink,” he said, his tone gentle but insistent. “You need it after all that.” You obeyed, the cool water sliding down your throat, crisp and refreshing, and he watched you with a satisfied smile, setting the glass down when you finished.

“Better?” he asked, his fingers brushing your hair back, tucking it behind your ear.

“Much,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. “You’re too good at this, you know. Taking care of me.”

He laughed, a low, warm sound, and kissed the crown of your head. “Gotta keep my flower blooming, don’t I? Can’t have you wilting on me.” His tone was playful, but the love in his eyes was fierce, unyielding, and you felt it in every fiber of your being.

He pulled the duvet over you both, the soft, cool fabric settling over your skin, and you curled into him, your legs tangling with his, your head resting on his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat was a lullaby, grounding you, and his fingers continued their lazy dance on your skin, tracing patterns that felt like promises. The room was quiet now, the only sounds your soft breaths and the faint rustle of the duvet, and the world felt small, safe, contained in the circle of his arms.

“I love you, Tae,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you knew he heard you, felt you, in the way his arms tightened around you.

“I love you too, flower,” he murmured, his voice a vow, eternal and unshakable. “More than words can ever say. Sleep now, love. I’ve got you.”

You closed your eyes, a smile curving your lips, and let the warmth of him, the scent of him, the love of him carry you into a deep, dreamless sleep, knowing that no matter how brutal the days might be, you’d always come home to this—to him, to love, to a haven woven from touch and tenderness. The night stretched on, soft and endless, and in his arms, you were whole, cherished, and utterly, irrevocably his.

[burymewithfluff]

🥺 fluffy yug is my love language. Great job flurry!

Royal Quest

Pairing: Kim Yugyeom (GOT7) x GN!Reader; Genre: Royal AU, Shifter AU, Historical AU, Angst, Fluff; Rating: sfw, PG-13; Warnings: mentions of blood, an accident and bandages, mentions of human sacrifices and fights; Wordcount: 2.094

Summary: Yugyeom got gravely hurt on his quest to kill the ferocious dragon. To his fortune you found him and intended to nurse him back to health. Would he accept that though with you being the ferocious dragon?

A/N: This is part of a deal with @daemour and I finally managed to pull off my part of the deal again!!!!

Yugyeom winced in pain from his sudden movement upon hearing pebbles and boulders rolling further down the mountain. He didn’t know how long he laid there, heavily injured from his fall, but it seemed to be enough time for the first animals to approach.

He forced his eyes open, vision blurry and unfocused, yet he saw something colourful a few feet away from him. A stark contrast to the otherwise grey surrounding. 

With his last strength Yugyeom tried to raise his sword, ignoring the pain that shot through his body. The metal clattered against the stone as he was unable to move his arm at all. Yugyeom bit on his lower lip, refusing to show any weakness. 

As the seventh son of the kingdom, with no chance of ascending to the throne and constantly teased by his older brothers, he grew accustomed to swallowing his pain and hiding his true emotions. For the same reason he decided to leave the safety of the castle and made his way into the mountains in search of the dragon that supposedly terrorised the citizens of a nearby town.

The castle had received a lot of complaints, saying they couldn’t mine any further without the dragon attacking them. The kingdom relied on the riches hidden deep inside these mountains and no dragon should prevent the wellbeing of the kingdom.

Yugyeom’s hand trembled as he still tried raising his sword, showing whatever had appeared in front of him that he wasn’t the simple meal it imagined him to be.

A thought crossed his mind, the possibility of a human having found him. “Who are you?” His voice sounded off, way too deep and raspy for his own liking.

He didn’t get an answer and that colourful thing didn’t move either. Yugyeom sighed and dropped the tension from his arm, his whole body relaxing as much as it could with all the pain numbing it. The thought he started hallucinating either from blood loss or from being alone for so long made its way into Yugyeom’s mind.

Despite the blurry vision Yugyeom tried to keep looking at the splotch of colour. Though even that became too much of a burden and his eyes rolled upwards. 

Dark clouds chased each other far up in the sky, giving the illusion there was no distance between the grey mountains and the grey clouds, the only difference being one of them moved around. A raindrop hit Yugyeom’s face. ‘Great’, he thought and closed his eyes. Though it wouldn’t be much of a difference with the coldness of his skin.

~

The scent of blood made you crawl out of your hideout, following your nose towards the source. You desperately hoped it was only the remnants of a wild animal being killed by a mountain lion or eagle. Anything would be okay, as long as the humans didn’t start sacrificing their animals or worse their own kind again.

It had been centuries since that happened but the horror still haunted your dreams from time to time. You had gone deep into the mountains as a result, far away from the humans in hopes of never crossing them again until a few years ago, when you came home to a ransacked bedroom. Seeing it smashed like that, you had gone berserk.

In hindsight you might have overreacted at that time but your instincts had run wild on that night.

You stopped in your movements, seeing an injured person between debris on the ground. Blood oozed out of several wounds all across the body and the human appeared unconscious until your eyes snapped to the shaking hand, taking note of the sword that clattered against the stone. 

You stood a few feet away from the human, not moving an inch while you observed the situation. Even when a deep male voice spoke to you, you kept silent and waited. Waited until the human actually lost consciousness.

Once that happened you changed your form, your scaly body now towering over the small human being. You grabbed the body with one of your mighty claws, careful as to not hurting him any further. You shielded the body with your other claw after you pushed yourself into the air and glided on the back of the wind. 

When you reached your home, you placed the human on your bed, pulling fur and other soft things closer to his body before you turned into your human form again. You stared at him, contemplating why you brought him into your home.

You didn’t know much about humans but he looked like a fighter with the sword and the shiny plates covering most of his body. You definitely didn’t want any of that near him once he woke up again. It felt like walking on eggshells when you removed those plates, questioning why a human would wear something so uncomfortable. They didn’t bend and move along the body like your scales, you couldn’t imagine he had a lot of freedom moving around in that.

Only after you removed them came the whole severity of his wounds to light, making you swallow harshly. You didn’t want to know how much blood he already lost before you even found him. The possibility this human died in your care became threateningly high. You also didn’t want to imagine what kind of reaction other humans would have if they ever found out. For a moment you wondered whether he would be missed, meaning more humans would come to find him.

You shook your head, trying to get rid of your thoughts. There was only one solution: You had to nurse him back to health and then bring him far away from your home but near other humans so he could show everyone that he was in fact still alive and well.

~

The scent of a warm broth pulled Yugyeom from his slumber. He groaned as he stretched his limbs with closed eyes, wincing slightly from the lingering stinging sensation. 

His eyes opened together with his memories of dying in the rain. Yugyeom pushed himself up and looked around, unfamiliar with his surroundings. He blinked several times while he tried processing his own thoughts and what he saw.

His attention shifted from the cave like room to the bright colours that appeared in the corner of his vision. Blue, green, red, yellow - somehow you had matched every colour he knew in your outfit.

“You’re awake.” You carefully moved closer to him, offering him a wooden bowl with a clear, steaming liquid. “You must be hungry. I can bring you some other things to eat as well.”

Yugyeom hesitantly accepted the bowl with a nod, watching how you turned around and left through a narrow hall. He glanced down at the broth, tentatively sniffing it. It was then that he noticed the linen bandages wrapped around several parts of his body. 

“Don’t move too much”, you interrupted him as you brought steamed vegetables and meat in more bowls. “Your wounds just started closing a few days ago.”

“How long was I out?”

You pursed your lips in thought, placing the bowls next to him, and sat down on the ground. “A week? More or less, I think.” You shrugged with your shoulders. “I wasn’t outside that much.” You looked up at him, tilting your head with curiosity. “Are you warm again?”

Yugyeom stared at you with a confused expression, waiting for you to elaborate. 

“You were very cold when I found you. I had to warm you up a lot!” You kept a safe distance from him and observed his every movement, noticing how he appeared to be in distress.

“Warm me?” Yugyeom sputtered, feeling the heat creeping up his neck and tinting his ears a darker shade of red. His eyes darted around the area, making sure his thoughts were justified - and indeed there were barely any blankets around. He glanced back at your form, desperately trying to pull his mind out of the gutter.

“You look like you’re too warm now.”

Yugyeom choked on air and started coughing violently. He never met a person so straightforward. Even though he was only the seventh prince of the kingdom and got teased relentlessly by his older brothers, he still got treated like royalty by anyone else. Though he had to admit, he liked it.

His eyes landed back on your form, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “Who are you?” Seeing how you tensed, Yugyeom let his gaze roam around the room one more time. “Also, where am I and where are my belongings?”

“The metal plates and pointy thing?”

Yugyeom nodded, dumbfounded.

“They’re outside. These things are dangerous and can hurt you,” you explained quietly, avoiding eye contact.

“They’re supposed to help me, so I can defeat the ferocious dragon!”

“Ferocious?” You scoffed, barely able to suppress the smoke rolling out of your nostrils. You quickly got up and walked away from the human. “Maybe if the dragon would be left alone, there would be no need for the attacks.”

“Maybe if my people could peacefully do their work up in the mountains, there would be no need to bother the dragon!” Yugyeom sat up completely, feeling irritated by your behaviour.

You turned back around, chest rising in anger. “If their work wouldn’t include invading my home, I wouldn’t have to defend myself!”

Yugyeom’s jaw dropped to the floor. “Your home?” He pushed himself from the bed and hurried over to you, grabbing your upper arm. “You’re the dragon?” His eyes wandered over your form, searching for the tail or horns or even some scales. “How? Aren’t you human?”

You scoffed and raised an eyebrow, even stepping closer to him until your chests touched. “Am I not looking ferocious enough? Am I too tiny, not beastly enough?” You had to tilt your head back so you could properly look at him. It irked you how he looked at you - not in fear or horror, no, he stared at you in wonder. For a split second you even played with the thought of simply shifting right in front of him.

“You’re messing with me.” Yugyeom let go of your arm and stepped back, running his hands through his hair. “Did my brothers set you up for this? They did, didn’t they?” He turned away, scoffing in disbelief, before he turned back around quickly. “How did you even find me? Did you follow me up here?”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, rolling your eyes and barely holding in the scoff. You closed your eyes and rolled your head from one side of your shoulders to the other, feeling the tingling underneath your skin as you let parts of your body transform.

Yugyeom could feel his mouth drop open again and his eyes widened as two horns grew on your head and a line of scales appeared on your skin along your hairline. He gasped audibly the second you opened your eyes and to vertical slits stared right back at him. 

“I found you because of the stench of blood in what can be considered my front yard,” you hissed out. 

“Why did you help me?” Yugyeom stared at you in awe, his initial quest completely forgotten. “I don’t understand. You knew why I came to the mountains and you still helped me.”

“Because I’m not a monster unlike what your people love to call me.”

Yugyeom absentmindedly rubbed over the bandages on his upper body. “I can see that,” he mumbled, blinking several times as his thoughts raced through his head.

“So”- you walked over to your bed and sat down - “what are you going to do now, little human?” You got caught by surprise when he sat down next to you, hiding his face in his hands.

“I don’t know.” Yugyeom came into the mountains to slay the dragon that drove away the nearby villagers, but instead he got rescued and nurtured by said dragon. How could he possibly slay you now?

You shifted back into your human form completely. You sighed deeply before you got up and walked towards your kitchen. “Maybe we’ll find a solution that doesn’t involve bloodshed over some cookies and tea.”

“And some answers to my questions, please.” Yugyeom immediately followed you like a lost puppy, thanking you the second he got a cookie. “I think I’ll have some more time before anyone actually searches for me.”

“Because a quest to slay a dragon is quite time consuming,” you joked but nodded nonetheless. “Well, then let us have a heart to heart.” 

© all rights reserved

Taglist: @xavi-in-kpopland

[burymewithfluff]

MOTHER I LOVE THIS MAN AND I'LL DIE FOR HIM ON THIS HILL THAT HE IS THE GREATEST EMOTIONAL SUPPORT QUOKKA ON THIS FUCKED UP PLANET.

My favorite person

pairing: han jisung x afab!reader

genre: fluff, smut, neighbors/(fake) enemies to lovers au

word count: 6.7k

warnings: alcohol, swearing, smoking weed, cheesy flirting, handjob, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it up pls), squirting, cumshots, spanking, they're both desperate for each other and completely in love

a/n: had so much fun writing this omg! i love playful hannie sm and i hope y'all enjoy this too, consider a reblog if you did🩷

~check out my: Masterlist

It's almost midnight when Jisung's tired and aching legs slowly carry him towards his house. He has music in his ears and he's whistling lowly in the empty street.

It's still warm, the summer sun is unforgiving during the day, burning every surface up, stealing the freshness of the night.

Jisung can't wait to take all his greasy clothes off (courtesy of working in a fast food restaurant) and hop in the shower to wash the day off.

As he nears his house, he sees you sitting on your porch, wearing an oversized shirt, your hair in a messy bun, your sandals thrown aside and a can of beer in your hand.

He waves and you roll your eyes as you take another sip of your beverage.

"Came to bother me?"- you ask as he lowers his headphones to rest them around his neck.

"Ofcourse, you know that's my favorite hobby."- he smirks, leaning on the railing in front of you.

"You're blocking my view."- you lean to the left, trying to look behind him.

"Of what?"- he turns to look.

"The street."

"There's nothing on the street."- Jisung pouts.

"Still more interesting than you."- you quip.

"Wow, hostile much?"

"You know me."- you shrug with a smirk and he chuckles.

"You got another one of those?"- Jisung points at the beer in your hand.

"For you? No."- you continue smirking.

"Liar."- he smirks back at you. "I know for a fact your fridge is full of that crap."

"You know, it was nice and quiet before you came around."- you sigh.

"Well, I'm here to disrupt your peace."- he says and you groan with a smile as he sits next to you.

"You stink for real."- your face scrunches up as you scoot away from him.

"Mm, the smell of a working man."- Jisung leans towards you, draping his arm on your shoulders and you shake him off with a look of disgust.

"Ew, go shower."- you shove him away and he laughs.

"Alright I was going to anyways. I'll be done in 10."- he gets up before you can answer and you watch his silly little legs walking away from you.

Most of the time you want to smack Jisung, but sometimes he's a nice distraction from the thoughts swirling in your mind and the shitty world around you.

You don't wait for him though, throwing the empty beer can in the trash and padding back to your house. You close the door with a thud and sit in your living room, your fan is placed right in front of your face as you exhale.

"Fuck this heat."- you mutter to yourself, the sound of that annoying commercial voice from the TV blending into the background, behind the droning noise of the fan.

You almost fall asleep sitting like that but your door swings open suddenly and it jolts you awake. You don't have to look to know whose footsteps are echoing in your house.

"Finally refreshed."- it's Jisung and he grabs a beer from your fridge and then sits on your couch like it's his house.

His hair is still wet and messy, droplets of water sliding down his neck towards the white Sonic Youth shirt he's wearing.

You don't mean to stare but you do for a moment until the sound of him opening the can of beer snaps you out of your thoughts.

"That's my shirt, you thief!"- you point your finger at him and he laughs annoyingly.

"Doesn't have your name written anywhere on it."- he shrugs and you roll your eyes, smacking his arm.

"Obnoxious."- you mutter but he ignores your little quips as always.

"I'm not stinky anymore."- he smirks at you, his arm around your shoulders again and you whine, moving his arm away.

"All boys are stinky. And why are you drinking beer? I'm not gonna hold back your hair when you start puking, you lightweight."- you shove him playfully and he almost chokes on the sip he's taking.

"I'm not gonna puke, okay? I will be completely fine and sober after this."- he says matter-of-factly as he brings the can up.

"You would've been better off drinking some milk, baby."- you tease him and he chuckles.

"Baby, huh?"- he smirks, his face closer to yours.

"Yes baby, like an infant. A child. Now get out of my personal space."- you press your fingertips into his forehead and push him away.

"Damn, keep being mean to me and you won't get any of this."- Jisung waves a baggy in front of your face.

"Oh, now you're talking."- you smirk and he laughs at you.

"I'm not so stinky anymore, am I?"- he wiggles his eyebrows.

"You're still stinky."- you say, reaching for the baggy but he snatches it away.

"Give it here!"- you yell out and he giggles as he keeps moving the baggy away from you while you try to catch it.

You kneel on the couch, trying to grab it with your flailing hands but he moves his arm away again, making you lose your balance as you basically fall into his lap.

"Hello there."- Jisung smirks, his arm wrapping around your waist.

"Ew."- you scramble to get off him, crossing your arms over your chest and looking away from him.

"Okay, okay, you can roll."- he reaches the baggy towards you and you grab it but he keeps holding onto it.

"Jisung."- you warn.

"Give me a kiss and I'll give you the baggy."

"Quit blackmailing me with kisses. Never gonna happen."- you say as he chuckles, the little bastard.

"Yeah, yeah. Anyways, here. For real now."- he gives you the baggy and you get to work.

Jisung watches you as you concentrate, your brows slightly furrowed and your tongue poking out between your lips.

He licks his lips unconsciously, thoughts of tasting you have been on his mind ever since he first saw you when he moved next door.

You were a mess back then and sometimes you still are but Jisung loves the mess you are, he loves that you don't try to pretend to be okay when you're not, he loves that you don't take anyone's shit and always fight for yourself, he loves the fact that you're just so unapologetically yourself that you don't mind crying in front of him.

"Earth to stinky. Give me your lighter."- your voice breaks his daydreaming and he rolls his eyes playfully at the nickname before handing you the lighter.

The first two inhales already make you a little floaty, waves of relaxation slowly traveling through your body. Just what you needed after the day you had.

Your music plays in the background, the shared playlist Jisung and you have on spotify. The two of you are sprawled on the couch in front of your fan, the smoke from the blunt swirling in different patterns as Jisung drapes his leg over your lap.

"You wanna do shotgun?"- he asks, looking at you with his eyelids droopy and eyes red and you mirror his expression.

"It's gonna have to be a no."- you say with a snicker.

"Whyyyy?"- he whines, bringing his other leg up to rest it on your lap too.

"Because I know it's another one of your ways to try and kiss me."- you say with a dopey smile, your mind floaty and cloudy as you stare at Jisung's face, a goofy smile on his lips, his puffy cheeks looking extra squishy. You want to bite him.

"You're not getting in my pants."- you add and he laughs at you.

"We'll see about that."- he wiggles his eyebrows and the expression on his face just makes you laugh.

It's dumb but both of you have a fit of laughter and you forget all your worries, and Jisung scoots closer to you, he leans his head on your shoulder and plays with your fingers.

You want to protest and tell him to get his stinky self away from you but the weight of his legs on you and the way he gently touches your hand coupled with the effects of the weed bring you closer to the sleep you so badly crave.

-

"Ouch."- is the first thing that comes out of your mouth the next morning, the sunlight blinding you as soon as you open your eyes.

You feel dehydrated, sweaty and disoriented as you blink slowly, squinting your eyes as you look around. Somehow you ended up in your room, and judging by the snoring and the warm body attached to you, it was probably Jisung's doing.

You groan and try to escape his grasp but he wrapped both his arms and legs around you, clinging onto you like he never wants to let go.

You pinch his arm slightly and he stirs awake.

"What'd you do that for?"- his voice is deep and laced with sleep.

"Don't you have your own house?"- you ask.

"I like yours better."- he mutters, nuzzling into your neck. Goosebumps rise on your skin as he tightens his hold around you, his breath constantly tickling your skin.

"You're a pest."- you chuckle, wiggling away from him but you can't move at all.

"A pest who washes your dishes and brings you food. Hm, maybe you should consider being nice to me."- he lifts his upper body suddenly, staring down at you and you turn in his arms and look up at him.

You hate that your heart skips a beat when you see him first thing in the morning, his hair a mess of curls, eyes laced with sleep, his cute puffy cheeks and pouty lips, the shirt he stole from you messed up from sleeping, sliding down and revealing his skin.

"Get out of my bed."- you groan, wanting to run away far from him so you don't keep having these thoughts.

"That's not what you were saying last night."- he smirks.

"W-what do you mean?"- you stutter.

"Well, last night you were literally falling asleep on the couch and I asked if you want me to carry you to bed. You said yes so I did."- he keeps smirking. "And I was actually about to leave to sleep on your couch but you pulled me down and told me to stay here."

"Ugh. What did you put in that weed?"- your face is scrunched up as you finally free yourself from his hold.

"A love potion."- he narrows his eyes at you.

"I'm gonna go throw up."- you get up and Jisung's laughter echoes behind you as you make your way to the bathroom.

-

Working at the convenience store had you run into all sorts of people but it seemed that today every single annoying and rude person decided to shop.

You were this close to biting someone's head off, fuming as you stomped your feet to the bus station, some angry metal songs screaming into your ears.

The bus was also especially disgusting today, the smell of it making your stomach rise contantly coupled with a creepy old man staring at you the whole time made for a horrible ride home.

You practically ran from the station to your house, barging in as you opened the door. Forgot to lock up again, you think and shrug.

You almost trip over someone's legs and you're about to scream but the owner of the legs beats you to it.

"Jisung!"- you yell out, grabbing at your chest as he looks up at you, blinking innocently as he lays next to your couch on his stomach.

"You scared me so bad!"- he says and you shove his leg with your foot. The audacity.

"I scared you? You're in my house."- you put your hands on your hips, your eyebrows raising.

"You left it unlocked like always."- he says, his hands roaming under your couch.

"What the hell are you even doing?"- you ask confusedly.

"I'm looking for my lighter from last night! It's my favorite and I couldn't find it anywhere this morning so it has to be here somewhere."- he explains as he continues looking.

"We'll find it, no need to cry."- you chuckle, teasing him.

"I'm not crying. Yet."- he jokes and you laugh as he stands up, brushing off his pants.

"Oh, you look like shit."- he says as he finally looks at you closely.

"Wow, thanks."- you smack his arm and he squeals dramatically, grabbing at it.

"Sorry, I meant you look like you've had a bad day."- he says.

"I'm still having it."

"Not even my cute face makes it better?"- he pouts at you, batting his eyelashes.

"That makes it even worse."- you say, making a disgusted face. "Go to work Jisung and stop bothering me, I need to have the afternoon to myself."- you add, whining.

"So that means I'll come back after my shift."- he smirks.

"Only if you shower first."- you joke and he chuckles.

"Ofcourse. Now come here and let me give you a hug, you need one."- Jisung opens his arms.

"I really don't."- you shake your head at him.

"Yes, you really do."

"If you hug me I'll smack you!"

"Is that a promise?"- he smirks and you give in with a groan and let him wrap his arms around you.

You can truly never win, you always end up giving into his hugs and cuddles, knowing somewhere in the back of your mind that you crave to be close to him.

-

You had the whole afternoon planned out, cleaning up, doing some self care, taking a nap and then cooking dinner.

You ended up feeling sad and deflated, so you just stood under the shower, hoping that the water will somehow wash out the shitty day you had.

Fatigue got the better of you and you ended up falling asleep on your couch.

You stir awake, hearing the rustling of plastic bags and then a thud followed by Jisung cursing under his breath.

You lift your head up, squinting at him as he slowly walks towards you.

"Oh hey, did I wake you up?"- he asks gently.

"Yeah, kinda."- you say, feeling dizzy from the heat as you slowly sit up, wondering what day it is.

"I'm sorry."- he says as he puts the bags down.

"I hope this makes up for it. I brought you your favorite from work and I put extra love in it."- he smiles cutely and you really want to smack him in that moment, but in a good way.

"I'll think about forgiving you."- you tease and he chuckles.

"I'm gonna go shower and then I'll come hang with you."- he says.

"You mean annoy me?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say."- he smirks.

You open up the bags and dig in immediately, your stomach growling at the sight of food.

Jisung comes back some 15 minutes later, practically skipping to you and throwing himself on the couch next to you, making you bounce a little.

"I left you some fries."- you say as you sip on your Coke.

"No, no, eat it all. I already ate at work."- he quickly shakes his head.

"Okay, don't need to tell me twice."- you start eating again and Jisung smiles at you adoringly.

"You won't believe the day I had."- he says when he snaps out of his trance.

"Tell me about it, I was this close to murdering someone."- you grumble.

"This woman came in and she returned her order 3 times, telling us it's not what she ordered when we clearly heard her say the order. Like we're some kind of five star restaurant not a freaking burger joint."

"Did she ask to talk to the manager?"- you snicker as you finish eating and lean back.

"Ofcourse she did, fucking Karen."- Jisung rolls his eyes and you laugh.

"The amount of those I had in the shop today. Not people making a fuss over yoghurt and milk, like I can't deal with them anymore. They wanna make petty drama where there is none. I wish I could just take a vacation away from everything."- you sigh and Jisung scoots closer to you, turning his body towards yours.

"Me too. I need a break."- he says and you turn to look at him, your heart skipping a beat when you realize how close his face is to yours.

"Let's run away."- he says suddenly and you laugh.

"We don't have any money to do that."- you say as you both lean on the headrest of your couch.

"We'll find a way. We can... juggle! Or sing on the street! Or you can read tarot cards!"- he flails his arms and you laugh, your giggles making Jisung's stomach swarm with butterflies.

"Keep pulling suggestions out of your ass."- you shake your head and he chuckles. "It's entertaining."

"But I'm for real. I would run away with you any time you asked. Like I'd pack my bags right now if you just said the word."- he says, his hand somehow finding yours.

"Where would we go?"- you ask, your fingers slotting between his.

"Anywhere we want. We would never stay in one place, we'd always look for new adventures. It would be me and you against the world."- he smiles, his boba eyes shiny as he looks at you.

"That sounds so nice."- your eyes fall to his lips. He's so close and it's so tempting but something inside you never lets you close that gap, mentally or physically.

Jisung's cheeks heat up as he catches you staring at his lips.

"But, it's just a fantasy."- you move away suddenly. "Real life is not like that. Real life is rude customers, exploitative bosses, barely making ends meet and this stupid heat that's making me feel even more disgusting."

"Way to bring the mood down."- Jisung snickers, squeezing your hand.

"You know me, y/n the party pooper."- you chuckle and he laughs.

"Oh but the party didn't even start yet!"- Jisung smirks and grabs the remote, turning the channels until he finds the commercial one, you always watch it together after midnight if you can't sleep, laughing at stupid stuff people sell.

"Oh my god!"- you chuckle. "This requires beer."

You go to get up but Jisung stops you.

"Let me."

"Damn, is Han Jisung actually a gentleman?"- you tease, wiggling your eyebrows.

"I'll have you know that I'm a perfect gentleman."

"Mhm, right. I'll see about that."- you say as he brings two cans of beer.

"Yes you will."- he smirks, sitting down next to you.

Someone is selling a gilded statue of a peacock, complete with different colored jewels all over it.

"So kitschy. Like who'd want that staring at them at their house? My eyes would hurt."- you say with disgust on your face.

"It would be funny to get it though."- Jisung says and you laugh.

"They still didn't reveal the price. How much do you think it costs?"- you ask as the woman on the tv describes the kitschy statue and the materials it's made of.

"Why don't you take a guess? If you guess right, I'll do anything you ask of me and if you're way off you have to kiss me."- Jisung smirks and you smack his thigh.

"Again with the kissing! Fine! Let's do it. I guess 200 dollars."- you say annoyed and he laughs at you as he rubs his thigh.

"Alright, I guess 300 dollars."- he says.

You wait for the reveal in anticipation, and when the woman says 350 dollars, you freeze.

"Guess I owe you a kiss."- you sigh and turn towards Jisung.

He lookes completely and utterly bamboozled, his lips falling open as he stares at you, not blinking.

"Jisung?"- you wave a hand in front of his face.

"Right."- Jisung laughs, thinking you're joking around so he puckers his lips towards you, exaggerating for the effect, his eyes closed.

"Ji, please be normal about this."- you warn him, your hand on his and his eyes snap open.

"W-we're actually gonna kiss?! You're actually gonna kiss me?!"- he freaks out suddenly, his eyes widdened.

"A bet is a bet."- you shrug with a smirk, but on the inside you're freaking out the same way Jisung is.

"I'll take it."- he nods quickly.

"Why don't you start breathing first?"- you laugh, scooting closer to him so your knees are touching.

"Right, breathing, that's like important."- he says and takes a deep breath in as you giggle at him.

It's almost 2am and you decide to throw everything out the window as you lean in closer to Jisung's face. You can hear his breath hitch as you gently brush your lips on his.

Without any more stalling, you finally close the gap and press your lips into his. Your mind feels dizzy instantly, his lips are so soft and pliant against yours as he kisses you back eagerly.

You can feel the relief in his movements, like he was waiting for this for so long, and frankly so were you.

His hand ends up on your waist and you cup his face, some kind of hunger brewing inside you as you deepen the kiss, your tongue prying his lips open, making him moan.

His arms wrap around you as your tongues fight for dominance, making the kiss needy and messy, your teeth clashing and spit dribbling down your chin.

When you part for air both of you look dazed and Jisung squirms uncomfortably as he looks down. Your eyes follow his gaze and you chuckle at the prominent bulge in his sweatpants.

"Really, Ji? One kiss is all it takes to have you this turned on?"- you grab his thigh and he jolts, gasping as he looks up at you.

"Don't make fun of me! It's your fault anyways."

"Oh it is, hm?"- you smirk, massaging his inner thigh, making his hips lift up for some kind of friction.

"Yeah, so help me get rid of it?"- he blinks at you with those puppy eyes of his, a cute pout on his lips for added effect.

The little manipulator.

"You're a horny little boy, Ji."- you chuckle, hooking your fingers in his pants and he gasps.

"Woah, you're going straight for it?!"- he panicks.

"What, do you want me to introduce myself to it first? State my name and business?"- you snicker and he laughs, smacking your arm.

"You make me feel so self-conscious just so you know."- Jisung groans as his head falls back and he covers his eyes with his arm.

"Aw, baby is shy."- you coo and pull his pants down in one swift move.

Jisung whines as his cock smacks against his stomach and your mouth waters at the sight.

"Damn, didn't know you were packing this much."- you say, your hand instantly wrapping around his throbbing member, the pre-cum already lubing your hand up as it dribbles down.

"Ahh, don't say shit like that. I'm gonna cum."- he whimpers and you laugh as you squeeze his cock, making his hips jolt upwards into your hand.

"Already? I didn't even do anything."- you smirk, running your thumb through his slit, playing with the pre-cum oozing out of it.

"Yes you did. You're... you."- he says.

"What does that mean?"- you chuckle, playing with the sensitive underside of his head, making his cock twitch in your hold.

"Means anything you do gets me hot."- he whines.

"Oh yeah? Is that why you can't look at me, Ji?"- you tease, grabbing his arm and trying to pry it off of his face.

He just whines and doesn't budge.

"Look at me, Jisung."- you say sternly, squeezing his cock again.

"Ah, fuck!"- he whines and finally looks at you.

His face is red in arousal and embarassment and you chuckle at the state of him.

"Keep your eyes on me."- you order, moving your hand up and down.

"Oh my god, y/n."- he whimpers, instantly looking down at your hand pleasuring him.

"Eyes on me, baby."- you warn again and he looks at you quickly.

You manage to slide your tank top down and Jisung's eyes are as wide as saucers.

"I see you always staring at my breasts."- you smirk, your free hand coming up to play with your nipple. "Would you like to touch them?"

"Y-yes, yes I would!"- he whimpers as you speed up your movement on his painfully hard cock, the squelching sounds going straight to your core.

"Say please."- you smirk, leaning closer to him.

"Please! Please!"- he looks desperate as you tease him, your breasts almost on his face.

"Okay, you can touch."- you say and his hands are instantly squeezing your flesh, thumbs running over your nipples.

He looks fixated so you change up the rhythm of your hand, cupping his balls with your other hand.

"S-shit!"- Jisung moans loudly as his cock twitches hard in your hand, and he cums, ropes of white cum painting your hand and his thighs.

Both of you gasp and he whines, his hands coming up to cover his face.

"Well, that was quick."- you chuckle.

"Oh my god, that's so embarassing. Please don't laugh at me."- he mumbles behind his hands as you wipe yours clean.

"Hey, don't be embarassed."- you quickly grab his hands, moving them away from his face. "I think that was so fucking hot."

"R-really?"- he pouts.

"Well, yeah. Shows me how much you want me."- you say, your eyes full of lust.

"I do, I want you so bad. I-I can go for more rounds if you're down."- he says almost timidly and you really want to eat him up.

"Ofcourse. I hate unfinished business."- you waste no time as you take off your pants and Jisung is quick to take his shirt off.

"Stay like that. I wanna ride your pretty cock."- you narrow your eyes at him and he whimpers.

"God, please do!"- he says, his voice strained as you grab his sensitive cock.

You throw your leg over him and hover above him as you start jerking him off again.

"Touch me."- you grab his wrist and pull his hand towards your pussy, dripping with arousal and begging to be filled up.

He runs his fingers on your wet folds, rubbing your pussy and you let out a needy moan as you grind against his fingers.

"Look who else is desperate."- Jisung smirks, feeling his chest swell with pride that he's the one making you feel like this.

"Shut up and put them in."- you groan, landing a light slap on his cock and he moans loudly, pushing his fingers inside your wetness as he squirms under your touch.

"D-don't make me cum yet."- he whimpers as you keep a steady pace on his cock while he starts fucking his fingers in and out of you, matching the speed of your hand.

"Ah, Jisung!"- you whine when he hits the spot inside you, making your legs shake.

The way you moaned his name got him twitching in your hand again. He speeds up and you grab his hand suddenly, stopping him.

"I don't want to fuck around anymore. I'm gonna fuck you now."- you smirk and he gulps, pulling his fingers out of your pussy and you aim his dick towards your entrance, sliding the wet head against your warmness.

Jisung plops his fingers in his mouth sucking on them and tasting your juices and you whine at the sight, sinking on his cock at the same time.

Jisung's head falls back as he pulls his fingers out with a pop, letting out a strained moan at the feeling of your velvety walls sliding down on his hard cock.

He grips your hips as you wrap your arms around his neck and start bouncing on him fast immediately, your thighs smacking down on his, your titties bouncing in his face.

Jisung starts whining desperately, he can't wrap his head around the fact that you're fucking on him so desperately, your nails digging into his back.

"Fuck me harder!"- he whines, pushing his hips up and you whimper as you fuck on him as fast and hard as you can. He follows your pace and meets your movements with his thrusts, pushing his cock so deep inside you that the tip presses into your cervix, making you see stars.

"Ah, Ji, you feel so good!"- you moan as you grip his shoulders, the couch creaking under the two of you fucking like some kind of feral animals.

"Mm you feel so good too. So tight around me."

Jisung digs his heels into your carpet and fucks you even harder, his hand landing a smack on your ass.

"Ow!"- you whimper and Jisung apologizes immediately, caressing your ass but he felt the way your pussy clenched around him when he spanked you.

"No, it's okay. Do it again."- you groan, barely catching a breath, your thighs are burning from all the exertion but the way his cock feels inside you beats the need to give your legs a rest.

Jisung's eyes are glazed over as he smacks you hard again, your hand tangles in his hair as you moan his name loudly. He leans in and captures your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it as he grips your ass, plummeting into your clenching hole.

You feel crazy as your orgasm hits you harder than ever before and you lift off of his dick just to squirt all over him.

"Jisung!"- you whimper and then look down realizing he's cumming too, just from the sight of you squirting and you grab his cock and help him get to his high.

"Ahh, y/n..."- he keeps moaning your name as you milk him dry, sweat covering both of your bodies, the fan behind you helping you cool down as goosebumps rise on your skin.

"Fuck that was so hot."- Jisung groans as the two of you cling to each other, not caring about the stickiness.

"Mhm."- you try to breathe as you lean your forehead on his shoulder.

"Can't believe I made you squirt."- he smirks and you lift up to look at him.

"Are you hard again?"- you chuckle in disbelief as you feel him grow beneath you.

"I told you I could go for more rounds."- he wiggles his eyebrows.

"Fine, let's go upstairs."- you stand up, wobbling on your feet a little and he helps you get steady.

"Really?"- he looks up at you cutely.

"Well, I'm not sleeping tonight."- you chuckle and he giggles as he lets you pull him up.

As soon as you get to your room, both of you fall into your bed and between the mess of sheets Jisung and you spend the night indulging in each other.

"I feel disgusting."- you whine 3 more rounds later as the two of you lay on your back and try to catch some breaths.

"Hey!"- he whines, smacking your thigh lightly and you laugh.

"Not like that. I mean the heat is disgusting. This really didn't help with that."- you look at him and he chuckles.

"I'd say it was worth it."- he smiles, his eyes hopeful and sparkly.

"I agree."- you nod and Jisung lifts up to give you a gentle kiss, contrast to the hungry and passionate kisses the two of you spent the night sharing.

It's almost 6am when the two of you are done cleaning up and changing the sheets.

"Are you gonna throw me out now?"- Jisung jokes as you lay down and he sits on your bed.

"Like that would work on you."- you chuckle and he laughs as he lays down.

"You know, my shift starts in two hours."- he says as he holds your hand.

"What?!"- you gasp and flick his forehead as he whines. "Why didn't you tell me you had the morning shift, you fool?"

"Well, I didn't want to lose what might've been my only chance."- he says quietly and you lean in and bite into his bicep making him yelp.

"What's that for?"- Jisung whimpers, grabbing at his arm.

"Nothing, you're just dumb and adorable. Now go to sleep."

-

You wake up around 11, the spot beside you empty and everything floods back into your mind, you can't believe you did all that sober.

A part of you feels embarassed but you know it was bound to happen sooner or later. Deep inside, you know you cared about Jisung a lot and you hoped he felt the same.

Losing him is unimaginable and even though he annoys you, you know you enjoy him 'bothering' you every day more than you would like to admit.

You're off work today so you finally gather the strength to clean up your whole house, and when you move your couch to vacuum, you see a little shiny lighter behind it.

You chuckle as you pick it up, it's Jisung's favorite lighter, one you covered with shiny stickers and heart doodles when both of you were high. You sigh and put it aside, wondering how Jisung will act today with you after everything that happened between the two of you last night.

You take a shower and a nap, and before long it's 5pm and your door swings open.

You're in the kitchen, finishing up on dinner as Jisung strolls in with a big smile on his face.

"Hey."- you say and he laughs as he pulls you into his arms.

"I missed you all day."- he says into your hair as he holds you tight and you wrap your arms around his dainty waist.

"Oh yeah?"- you smirk.

"Mhm."- he nuzzles into you. "I know you missed me too, admit it."- he adds and you chuckle as you both lean back to look at each other.

"Yeah, sure."- you tease him.

"I was gonna text you but um... my phone fell into the hot oil in our fryer."

"Oh my god Jisung! Stuff like that only happens to you."- you laugh and he shakes his head.

"Don't mock my troubles. I have to buy a new phone now."- he pouts.

"Why were you even looking at your phone near the hot oil?"- you chuckle, turning off the stove.

"I was... looking at your pics."- he says, his puffy cheeks rosy as he looks away.

"Ofcourse you were, you stalker."- you smack his arm. "Don't act all shy now, we're way pass that."- you add and he groans.

"You ruin every cute moment on purpose."- he pouts.

"And you bother me 24/7 but you don't hear me complain."- you tease.

"You complain all the time."- he snickers and you laugh.

"You don't mind, do you?"- you ask, hating that you feel vunerable in that moment but it's Jisung, your Jisung.

"Ofcourse I don't."- he says gently, sensing the shift in the tone and he leans closer to you, cupping your face.

"Can I kiss you?"

"I think we're way pass that too."- both of you chuckle as your lips collide in a sweet, gentle kiss.

It doesn't take much time for the kiss to get heated, and for Jisung to push you against the kitchen elements.

"Woah, calm down big boy. Dinner first."- you smirk and he laughs.

"Alright, but just because you cooked. You even cleaned up, what gives? I made you so happy last night that you were on cloud 9 today?"- he teases you and you narrow your eyes at him.

"What if I was?"- you tease back, pinching his cheek and he whines, grabbing at it dramatically.

"I was too. That's why I put my phone into the fryer instead of the fries."- he confesses and you laugh loudly, grabbing at your stomach.

"Go ahead, laugh at my misery."- Jisung says, but he's smiling too.

"Sorry, that's just such a Jisung thing to do. Like somehow your lighter ending up behind the couch."- you add, pulling the lighter out of your pocket and showing it to him.

"Oh, you found it! I knew it was somewhere around here."- he smiles as he takes it from your open palm and you can't help but wonder why he loves it so much.

"Why is it your favorite?"- you ask and he looks up at you, his eyes wide before they soften.

"Remember when I got it? Both of us had a bad day and it was raining like hell. I came to you with a baggy and you rolled a perfect joint like you always do. But, we couldn't find a lighter that was working so we had to run to the gas station in the rain like two idiots. And when we came back you let me shower here and you gave me your Sonic Youth shirt, which I know is your favorite so that was a great honor to me. To get to wear your favorite shirt that smells like you. And then you decorated the lighter when we finished smoking and you gave it to me and threatened that if I ever lost it you would kick me."- he laughs and you chuckle, your face burning and heart beating fast at the way he talked about you and that evening.

Ofcourse you remember, you remember every night with him.

"That was such a y/n thing to do."- he adds and you laugh as he grabs your hand.

"I guess it was."- you squeeze his hand lightly as you stare at each other.

"I told you I'd get in your pants."- he smirks suddenly and you roll your eyes, groaning at him.

"Ruining the moment. And it wasn't me this time."- you point at him and he laughs.

"Okay, how about this for the moment?"- he swallows and leans in closer.

"I love you, y/n. And I'm in love with you. Like so desperately. I can't stop thinking about you 24/7 and my favorite parts of the day are the parts I share with you. I know I bother you a lot and cling to you but I don't know how to stop. You're my favorite person ever. You're my person."- Jisung says and you almost melt down into a puddle.

"Don't stop bothering me ever, Ji. Because I... I love you too. And you're my favorite person in the whole world too."- you confess finally, feeling like a burden was lifted off of your heart.

"Good, because you can't get rid of me that easily."- he smirks, his lips on yours.

"Mhm."- you mutter against him, wanting to throw a witty comment back at him but he kisses you with so much emotion that any word lingering on your lips dies and you kiss back, grabbing at his shirt and pulling him closer to you.

"Hope you know I'll be spending even more time at your house now."- he smirks when you pull away.

"Ugh, I might start locking my door finally."- you joke and Jisung snorts.

"You'd forget to do it after one time."

"But you'll be there to remind me?"

"Ofcourse."

And he stays with you as he promised, selling his house a few months later and moving in with you even though it seemed like he was living there already.

More than half of his stuff was already in your house so the move in was easy. He remembered the night you talked about needing a break from everything and as soon as fall brought colder weather and less customers, the two of you planned a little trip.

You always heard that it can't get more better than having that one in a million chance to love and be loved by your favorite person in the whole world.

And you have that, you think as you smile at Jisung's silly cute face, and he looks at you mirroring your smile, making you feel like you're home with him, no matter where you are.

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny

[burymewithfluff]

I'M SOFF 😭 GIVE THIS MAN THE WORLD

Be My Groupie | hjs

❝𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞.❞

↳ You'll be there for him until the day he forgets you, his biggest and most dedicated fan. Only he'll never forget you. He just needs to tell you.

↳ Han Jisung x female reader

↳ Best friends to lovers romance trope. Established relationship, rockstar Jisung, essentially pwp, angst and tension, references to imposter syndrome and generalised anxiety, a deliciously smutty end.

! Explicit content, adult themes, 4.2k, suitable for 18+ readers only !

「Part of the skz tropes collab w @yoongihan」 「main contents list」 「© February 2024 by jl-micasea-fics」

The strikes across your calendar had all counted down to this.

A single night that would not only shape your best friend’s future, but that would validate the years of hard work he had dedicated to the pursuit of his music. You knew well of those, for you were there for all of them. The tears and the frustration, the euphoria in between; Jisung had poured so much of himself that was both emotional and physical into what he loved, and now, it was to come to a glorious head.

The hype around this concert had been your sole source of energy since Jisung excitedly informed you of it.

“I’ve struck fucking gold, baby!” he’d exclaimed, too giddy to catch his breath. “We’re playing Liberty!”

To tackle the biggest music venue in the city where the famed of the industry had played was no small achievement; a genuine concert hall, so far removed from the dive bars and pubs he was used to and that you were so accustomed to watching him in. Long hours you’d spent talking of his ‘big break’— when it would happen (because the likelihood was surely no question), what it would look like. Indeed, it was fair to say you wished for nothing more than your best friend to taste the rich delight of success and happiness. It was only what he deserved. Him, so giving and dedicated. Him, so stuck to you for so long. Him; so endearingly oblivious.

The nature of your friendship was such that, when you thought about it, you suppose you stood no chance of not falling in love. You were so close to him as to fail to picture life without him, and it had been that way since high school. Jisung was everything you looked for in a man, and whether the standards came before him or not, you had struggled to much compromise on them with others, and you’d tried more than once. He was so beautiful as to break your heart in the right light, so kind as to remind you what it meant to be a good person. So sweet and without a truly cruel bone in his body. So wildly unable to balance his moods, the peaks of his joy and depths of his despair as interchangeable as the weather. Though the time spent with him was done so with no ulterior motive, for you had made your peace with unrequited infatuation long ago, there was an inherent romance to the dark hours you spent with him, locked in his garage and much later, his studio, listening contently to the tracks he shared first and foremost with you, for your ears and opinion meant more to him than those of his own manager. Much privileged were you to be in such a position, and the joy of exclusivity threatened more than once to tip the scales of your self-control. To be allowed to see into the soul of the man before any other person alive; to witness his arms curl about his guitar and his lips part in sweet song and his eyes flash with all spectrums of emotion was one of the greatest delights of life. The strongest, if you were to admit it.

And you so see; you never stood a chance.

*

Maybe it was overkill to listen to his music as you got ready for the concert.

Maybe it made you feel like he was here with you, singing as he often did in your company, and not miles away in the green room of a concert hall preparing for the biggest night of his life. A part of you resented that you weren’t able to be with him; it didn’t feel quite right to be a bystander, no more involved than any other person that would see him tonight, but it seemed there was no accounting for friends when the professionals stepped in. You would support him all the same.

A final glance spared at yourself in the mirror brought satisfaction; you’d done your best with what little fancy wardrobe you possessed, settling on a black dress that Jisung had once complimented. A choker added to the look, and in a bid to complete it, you searched through your dressing table drawers for the birthday gift Jisung had bought you this year— a tube of high-end crimson lipstick. You’d thought it an odd gift at the time, never much being one for makeup or any such extravagance, but he’d insisted on the colour being his favourite, and made a wish to see it on you.

“It’ll bring out your eyes,” he’d said. “If you don’t like it, just toss it.”

He had been right, you supposed. It certainly did something to accentuate your pout, adding a flare of the dramatic to your otherwise perfectly plain appearance. And if Jisung liked it...

As you contemplated taking it with you, the shrill honk of a taxi’s horn sounded from outside. Grabbing all you needed in a rush, you made for the vehicle, relieved to find it warm inside against the chill of the autumn night.

Moments into the drive, your phone rang.

“What’s up?”

“Hey, you.”

Your smile was most immediate— he was wired, and rightly so.

“You on your way?” he asked.

“Just got in the cab. I won’t be long.”

“Cool. Come to the back entrance when you get here. There’s hell of a queue out front.”

“I can queue with the rest of the muggles, Ji,” you laughed.

“No way, man. It’s too cold out. I bet you’re wearing next to nothing.”

You glanced down at your bare legs.

“Right?” he pressed.

“I can handle a bit of wind. See you soon.”

“Yo, don’t you—”

It wasn’t your fault his penchant for overprotection warmed the basest parts of you, and it was with that justification that you nursed your glow of smug content. Not that it would last long, for it eventually always gave way to bleak reality, where you questioned the boundaries of friendship and wondered if he simply went out of his way to ensure everyone in his life was well fed and well cared for. On occasion the things he did felt to step beyond platonic realms—wrapping you in his hoodie when the cold became you, dragging you into hugs that lasted a second too long, kissing your temple or forehead with surely no more thought than he gave which socks to put on in the morning. All of this brought about more confusion, another bout of repression and a need to calm the heart, such as you now experienced, for you’d run away with yourself yet again.

You took a slow, deep breath. This was Jisung’s night, and you’d support him as you always did. As you did best.

As his friend.

*

When eventually the taxi arrived at Liberty, you had real trouble comprehending what it was you saw. A winding queue of people clustered tightly that stretched the length of the venue and down the street like a great, colourful snake.

Jisung hadn’t been joking, you supposed. He must be climbing the walls with excitement; seeing the thousands of people that streamed your music in person take up a great space must bring about a far superior hit of dopamine.

With jacket wound tightly around yourself, you made for the back of the queue, the walk so long that you cursed yourself for not thinking to leave a little earlier, though that would have required forethought that you simply did not possess. Standing in line, you shifted from sole to sole as the ache began to permeate your feet, the line shuffling along with all the haste of a snail in danger.

The sudden grip on your wrist that yanked you out of place would have had you shrieking if not for the speed of it. Jisung, ever stealthy, dragged you through a fire exit that he had opened part way, slamming it shut behind him before detection spoiled it all. He released you quickly, irritation about his features.

“Didn’t I tell you to go around the back?” he huffed.

“Didn’t I tell you I could queue with everyone else?”

His brown eyes softened and narrowed, a smirk of amusement playing on his lips. His gaze fell over you slowly, then swiftly back up, where it lingered on your mouth. Perhaps you imagined the blush that coloured his cheeks— he was in stage makeup, after all. Glitter around his eyes and smoked-out black liner made it difficult to know for sure. The red flannel he wore over black tank top and tight leather trousers, complete with gold around his neck and in his ears, also made it difficult to do much more than stare like a dumbfounded fool.

“You should get a good spot,” he said, voice hoarse. “We’re on soon.”

“I’ll be right in front,” you smiled.

He nodded, swallowing hard, the confidence you knew him capable of just shy of surfacing.

“Hey.” You took his slim, warm hand. “You’ll smash this. It’s all yours.”

He forced a smile. “Yeah. I know.”

“It’s your big break. Just like we always talked about.”

“Right.”

“Clutch it with both hands and suffocate the shit out of it. Got it?”

He huffed a gentle laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”

A soft squeeze of your hand willed your heart to misbehave, as did the sweep of his thumb over your knuckles. Hardly a touch, and yet you afforded so much meaning to it. So much attention.

“I’ll, uh, see you after the show?” You slipped your hand away.

Jisung nodded. “Yeah. After the show.”

A beat of silence settled, uncharacteristic of the both of you to be so awkward, and yet you couldn’t alight the tension to anything else. His stage nerves, your uncertainty, the magnitude of what was to come. All of it set the air to shimmer.

“I’ll go and get that good spot then,” you said, and with a few steps, began away from him.

“Hey,” he called.

You turned back.

“You look great. Just, you know, so you know.”

He hurried off down the corridor before another word could be said, leaving you to wander the wreckage of your dignity. You touched your painted lips gently.

*

How you’d dreamt of seeing him like this.

Presented before a few thousand people that chanted his name in adoring unison, bathed in strobe light and stage smoke, propelled into his fourth song of the night by applause and whistles and the eager eyes of all who watched him. The stage may well have been built for him, so comfortable was he in voice and demeanour; just for him.

You stood as close to the stage as reasonable limits would allow, none ashamed of the elbows and well-placed crushing of toes it had taken you to get there. To compromise even an inch of your line of sight was out of the question— you had to see him. You had to see this.

The flannel long abandoned, Jisung strummed his sleek, red guitar with the accompaniment of the band behind him, his black tank doing little to conceal the honey tone of his skin that, under the spotlights, appeared as though iridescent. With one arm raised he played to the hype of the crowd, the other flexing under the weight of his beloved instrument. Engorged veins decorated his tensed throat as he sang with all he possessed, his dark hair sodden with sweat that trickled in rivulets to the hollows of his throat and down his temples, from his chin. Only when his voice abated did you realise the screams of the crowd you stood in, and so vehemently did it feel like just reward for all the tears and endless worries the man had bled out before this night, it was enough to bring you to emotion. He deserved this. There was none more deserving. This would be the start of a long, wonderful journey for him.

What then, would that mean for you? Selfish to even consider it on a night such as this, but being only human you were hardly able to prevent such thoughts surfacing. You had always known that talent like his would not go undiscovered for long, but had not given much consideration to the aftermath.  Around you stood thousands of adoring fans, every one of them vying for a scrap of attention that would evermore vindicate their affection for him and make of them lifelong followers. Devotion like theirs would propel him to stardom quicker than any of your well-intended words ever could; would it be that he’d reach such lofty heights as to remain out of your grasp? Would he soon forget the girl that, in her small and quiet way—indeed, the only way she knew how—devoted herself to him when nobody else knew of how brightly he smiled or how angelically he sang? To brand the feeling that tightened your chest ‘insignificance’ felt too dramatic, but you could not well dispute that for as long as he stood up there, and you down here, you constituted just another face in the crowd.

Just another hopeless fool that loved him.

*

Outside the venue, where the chill of the night had turned to biting cold, you waited on the stone steps and watched the great masses of people leave with spirits so high they would surely reach heaven.

The pit in your stomach had not so much abated, and if anything now brought upon you a wave of nausea that spiked hot irritation— how could you be so miserable on the most special night of Jisung’s life? He looked to you as a pillar of support, and yet here you were, wallowing in lanes of bleak possibility and lamenting that which you had not even lost, for you never had it to begin with.

A vibration from your jacket pulled you from the thoughts, and you quickly moved to answer it, plugging your free ear to relieve yourself of the noise.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“Outside. Needed some air.”

“Come to the fire exit, I’ll let you back in.”

Supposing compliance would be less testing than arguing with him, you trudged about the venue to the door he had dragged you through prior, surprised to see him already there, delight lighting his face.

“Quick, come in!”

He swiftly closed the door after you slipped inside, yet before you were allowed to congratulate or praise him as his performance so deserved, you were caught in an embrace. Held to his chest tightly, he curled around you with no effort, the strong and steady thump of his heart based beneath your ear, for he wore nothing but the black tank he had performed in. Everything about him radiated adrenal heat, so fierce as to warm you through.

“Ji?”

“Just let me have this,” he muttered. “Just a minute.”

Able to say nothing against that, though still fearful of what being in his arms would later mean for you, you acquiesced.

“I’m so fucking happy,” he said.

You smiled, hand curling around his bicep. “You did amazing. I’ve never seen you so in your element. It was incredible.”

He squeezed you gently. “Thank you for coming.”

“Come on. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Moments longer you stood in silence, his arms locked about you as though they might never let go. Despite yourself and reasoning that he simply wanted to rejoice in the glow of his triumph, you could not help but silently yearn for the embrace to last forever. Who knew when the next might come?

When eventually it did break, Jisung did so with a sigh. At arm's length he examined you, his large eyes still rimmed with black searching for something you couldn’t be certain of. His gaze, once more and with intent, dropped to your lips. Heat flushed your nape and cheeks, self-consciousness becoming you.

“W— What?” you stammered.

“You’re wearing the lipstick.”

You nodded. “Well. Yeah. Special occasion and all.”

Whether your attempt at nonchalance bore success or not, you couldn’t well determine, for Jisung’s stare did not relent.

“It suits you,” he whispered, and in the next breath reached to sweep the pad of his thumb across the full swell of your bottom lip. Lit from within with a resurgence of desire and want, your knees near threatened to give out. Jisung blinked as though back in the room, his cheeks rosing over.

“I... uh...”

Unable to find the words, he sighed once more. He held your wrists and stepped close, the resigned apology in his eyes warping to a determination you most usually associated with his pursuit of music.

“Fuck it.”

With a gentle pull he brought you towards him, meeting your step with that of his own and in the motion, he caught your lips. If the rush of emotion that seized you with shock did not force you to keep your eyes open, you might have believed it a dream, for it did not simply end with a brushing of lips. He wound an arm around your waist, backed you up with guiding steps until flush with the corridor wall. Engulfed with his heat that seemed with the proximity only to exacerbate, you were helpless but to curl a grip into his shirt, to surrender to the careful kisses he alighted on your crimson lips. A gasp escaped you as he held your neck with both hands, gentle thumbs under your chin kept your head tilted such that he could taste you at all angles with slow, measured nudges. When too swollen with desire to contain your want to have him firmer, you grasped at him desperately; he broke the kiss with a lazy grin.

“That was just about the scariest thing I’ve ever done,” he mumbled.

“You just performed in front of thousands of people for the first time.”

“Yeah. I did.” Another soft kiss and he whispered to your lips, “Come to the green room with me?”

With a tentative nod, he led you on jellylike legs down the hallway and through another, approaching a door that he peeked around and, seemingly satisfied, pulled you into. No smaller than a particularly large closet, the room was furnished with a single dressing table framed by lit vanity lights and a mirror, with a two-seater sofa pushed up to the wall. The only light came from said vanity mirror, the white bulbs glowing softly enough that Jisung’s shadow cast over the door as he flicked the lock and stepped towards you.

“This isn’t just a concert high,” he said, voice laced with a rasp. “I need you to know that.”

You swallowed, pulse rabbiting with anticipation. “What is it, then?”

“It’s giving up. I’m giving up.”

He wound his arms around you, took you into them again.

“I’m done fighting how I feel about you,” he said. “You’re the only constant I’ve ever had. The only thing that makes me want to sing and write music. You’re my muse— my everything.”

“Jisung...”

“You kissed me back,” he whispered. “I know I’m not crazy about us.”

You nodded, quite unable to catch your breath. “You’re not.” You held his cheek. “You’re not, Jisung.”

Contrary to your first kiss, the passion in the second was tenfold. A release of all that you’d kept so far from the surface of everything; a volcano spilling over to scald all who stood in its way. In his fervour he walked you back to the dressing table, and quite suddenly, spun you in his arms to face it.

“Watch me,” he instructed, and with eyes so dark as to make your core throb, began to alight on your throat open-mouthed affection that made you shiver and tremble. His hands slid around you, over your stomach where they held a moment, then to your thighs, where he hitched the material of your dress with painful slowness.

When underwear was revealed, Jisung seemed as though to lose what remained of his fragile tether of restraint, groaning against your neck and lifting your leg, guiding your foot to prop the dressing table, thus revealing all of you in the mirror, much to Jisung’s pleasure.

“God, baby—” He stared unabashedly, and with gentle fingers, slipped your underwear aside. “Show me what you’ve been craving from me all these years.”

Too drowned in his heat to be much embarrassed, though mortification most certainly did something to propel your compliance, it was with a shaky breath that you brought your own uncertain hand to where you ached. Jisung’s eyes burned, anticipation shimmering the air.

“Touch yourself,” he whispered. “Perform for me, baby.”

With a groan you slid your wanting fingers through your wetness, unable to look away from the intensity of the man that watched you as illicit entertainment. Soft, slow stimulation over your throbbing clit eased you into delight, each spark of pleasure felt by the man at your back.

“More,” he instructed, and in so doing wrapped a gentle hand about your throat, no pressure offered but the weight of his touch that, in itself, rendered you lightheaded. You quickened the pace of your touching, fearful that you would not be long for orgasm at this rate. So it was that you reached the very peak of it, trembling seconds away from falling into euphoria, when he tore your hand away from your touching and closed his mouth around your slick digits, tongue hot and wet.

“Need to feel you,” he groaned when his oral worship was done, and turned you in his embrace. He lifted you to the surface of the dressing table and pushed your dress up to where it would not pose a nuisance, all the while allowing you the frantic task of unzipping his trousers, and frantic it was, for only when you freed his throbbing length and held him in palm did the reality of all you’d done sink in— This was happening. It was real. Jisung wanted you, and would allow you not even a second of breath now that he had you, for his lips were on yours and his hands were spreading you and his thickness was breaching you with slick ease and slowness and—

“Fuck, fuck—” he sighed, taking your hand and curling it into the mop of his dark hair where he encouraged your grip. “Hold on.”

His instruction not without reason, Jisung’s first thrusts were experimental; a consideration of your state in respect of the train he was promptly to run on you. So drunk on the heat of you, his pace was that of carnality, the slamming of desire wrecking the legs of the dressing table and the paintwork of the wall behind it, for the thump of furniture matched that of his rhythm. Each delicious plunge brought you to near tears, the pleasure such that you were unable to breathe or think or hear anything over the pounding of your heart. Lit by the white glow of bulbs, his flawless complexion burned with deep heat, his efforts and exertion seen in the tense draw of his body— you tore his tank from his head, keen to feel him under your hands, the soft planes of his middle and curved firmness of his chest.

“J— Jisung, I—”

“Yeah, baby.”

“Fuck, I can’t—”

He kissed your complaint away, and consistent with his thrusts, held through the violent onslaught of your toe-curling, earth-shattering, blinding orgasm. So snug and wet around him, what strength he had in reserve appeared to fade, his curses and the burying of his head in your neck preceding his tremors of release, his hips stilling and his cock leaking, throbbing inside you. You held him, kissed his temple, revelled in the afterglow.

“Holy shit,” he panted when the violence had passed. “Fuck, that was intense—”

As inclined to agree as you were, you found you could not say much of anything. Doubt had begun to gather as content subsided, and in his fucked-out state, Jisung would have been forgiven for failing to notice your dip of mood.

Still; this was Jisung.

“I meant it all,” he said, still catching his breath. “Everything.”

“Everything?”

He grinned lazily, kissed you softly. “You’re my muse, baby. Always have been. Kind of thought you already knew that.”

“I’m not that presumptuous, Ji.”

“You should be. You’re the best person I know. It might be selfish of me to ask this, but...”

“But what?”

“I want you by my side, through whatever comes next.” He took your clammy hands, put them on his chest. “Yours is the only face I ever want to see in the crowd. You’re the only groupie I want.”

You scoffed a laugh though forming tears, slapping him gently. “Fuck off. I’m not your groupie.”

“You know you want to be, though.”

“Shut up.”

“Never.” He chuckled, and as the moment passed, once more drew his thumb over your bottom lip, stained with the residue of faded crimson. “Loved that lipstick,” he sighed.

You hummed. “That lipstick loved you.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. So do I, actually.”

A smile as bright as the spotlights that famed him alighted his face. He was so beautiful as to break your heart. So kind as to make you a good person. So sweet and so wildly unable to regulate his moods. So utterly perfect in most every way that mattered.

Perhaps you were his biggest groupie, after all.

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙠𝙯 𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 ♡ >

[burymewithfluff]

🥹 sweet fluffy Jacks is always a win

nightmares

“Don’t you ever come back here; you hear me? No one wants you here. Of course, you’re going to be alone forever. Get lost!”

Your eyes quickly darted upward in a state of panic. It was the middle of the night as you arose from your nightmare. Your entire body trembled, beads of sweat streaming down your temples.

You inhaled deeply, trying to control yourself but failed. Tears started flowing down your cheeks. Despite your efforts to wipe them away and sob quietly, your boyfriend would sense your discomfort even in his sleep.

“Baby?” His raspy voice sounded even deeper, tinted with sleep and concern. “Baby, are you crying?”

Jackson shot up and enveloped you in the tightest embrace known to mankind. “It’s fine. Go back to sleep, Sunni”, you sniffed heavily. “Are you kidding? It’s not fine. What’s wrong, y/n?” He hugged you even tighter and placed a safe kiss on your forehead. Being in Jackson’s embrace felt like a sweet relief, a place of salvation even. Having his strong arms around you made you feel safe; putting the horrors of your dreadful dream past you.

Jackson didn’t push – he himself knew how nerve-wracking it was to talk about your feelings. He never wanted to pressure you, but he had to make sure you knew he was there for you.

Almost inaudibly, he whispered softly: “I know talking about this is hard but bearing it all on your own is even harder. You can always lean on me, baby. I promise.”

“I had that dream again”, you mumbled against his broad chest. “The one with the bouncer?”

You smiled warmly. Even though this dream had haunted you for decades, you only talked about it once briefly – and Jackson remembered. Indeed, he was the most attentive man you had ever dated. Jackson possessed an innate ability to understand your actions, discern your emotions, and anticipate your needs. It felt as though the two of you shared a profound and intimate connection. Unbeknownst to you, he had become your steadfast support and sanctuary, your rock, and ultimately, your home.

You nodded your head.

This dream of yours wasn’t just an ordinary dream. It was a haunting memory that your brain kept replaying over the years.

“Do you want to tell me what you remember?”

By now your tears had stopped falling, but you were afraid they might come back any minute. As if he could read your mind Jackson patted your back and whispered softly: “I’ll dry your tears, baby. Don’t worry. You’re here with me, safe and sound. You can let it out. I got you, y/n.”

The situation was serious, yet you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Get out of my head, Wang”, you teased lovingly. Jackson assaulted your head with sweet, little kisses. “No way, babe. I plan on staying in there forever.”

Forever.

That word startled you, making you feel panicked again. “You’re going to be alone forever!” You took a deep breath and started to pour your heart out. “I know it’s stupid, but I can’t shake off that memory. I was out with friends, and we wanted to visit a club that we were too young for and the bouncer denied us access. We were a bit drunk, and he was a shitty dickhead or whatever but his words never left me.”

You paused.

Re-living that traumatic experience made you tear up. “What did he say exactly?” Jackson’s voice was full of compassion for you. “He said that we should get lost because no one wants us here. But then he said something to me specifically.” You felt Jackson’s thumb on your cheek, wiping away the salty tears. “He said that I’m going to be alone forever. And that hasn’t left me ever since.”

For a while you just laid there, not saying a word to each other. Jackson let go of you and turned on his side, now facing you directly. He took your fragile hand into his and drew small circles on it. “Baby, did you believe him?” You looked at him surprised. “Huh?”

“Do you think you’re having this nightmare over and over again because you believe it’s true? That he was right back then?”

You looked down, too ashamed to face him. Of course, you did. You were aware of the universe mirroring back your insecurities at you, but you weren’t ready to face them yet. Jackson’s eyes saddened even more as he realized that he had been right. His girlfriend, the love of his life, thought she was unlovable.

In the past, he might have been disheartened, internalizing a sense of failure for not making his girl feel loved. However, with time and personal growth from his own challenges, he gained wisdom. Though he loved you wholeheartedly, he now understood the importance of you recognizing your own inherent lovability.

“Baby? Can you look at me?”

You raised your head and looked at him, eyes glistening with a mixture of sadness and shame.

“Tell me, baby. What makes a person lovable?”

Caught off guard, you stumbled for words, failing to find any.

“What makes you lovable, baby? The way you look? Your body? Your pussy? Your job? Your IG followers? Tell me, baby.”

Putting it into words was hard but he was right. You always attached your worth and ability to be loved to something external. And when the external started to crumble, so did you.

“Do you think I love you for any of these things?”

You did which only made you feel worse. Jackson noticed the tears falling and put you right back into his strong embrace. “Oh baby, do you take me for the superficial kind?”

He placed another reassuring kiss on the crown of your head.

“Listen to me. You don’t have to say a single thing. Just listen. Can you do that, baby?” You nodded, gripping his shirt even harder.

“I don’t love you for any of that. Sure, it’s nice to have but that’s not what I fell in love with. I fell in love with your essence, with your whole being. I fell in love with how you care about me and the people you love. I fell in love with your positive outlook on life. I fell in love with the way you gush at dogs and run away from spiders. I love you for all that you are and all that you’re not. I’m sorry you took his words to heart back then, but he was wrong. You’re not going to be alone forever, because you got me. You are amazing, y/n. And lovable. God damn, baby, you are worthy of all the love in the world. I will love you even if your teeth fall out and your hair turns grey. I will love you even if you're broke and banned from social media. To me you’re not a body or an accomplishment – to me you are the most beautiful soul in this plane of existence. Got it?”

Tears of sadness turned into tears of joy – Jackson was saying all the things you needed to hear back then. Or needed to hear even more now. You looked up at him, eyes all puffy and red but still smiling. “I hate it when you cry but you kinda look like a cute red racoon while doing so, baby”, he laughed.

You joined in and shared this heartfelt moment with him. He pressed his forehead to yours and whispered softly: “I really mean what I said, y/n. I love you with all of my heart. So please try to do the same.”

[burymewithfluff]

This is so cute 🥺 he cares so much and I just 🫂

hopelessly devote

featuring: werewolf han jisung x f. reader

synopsis: his life changed unexpectedly and he’s attempting to cope with the inner turmoil he faces as he accepts the beast living inside him.

genre: wolf au, college au, smut, angst, mutual pining, friends to lovers, roommates to lovers

warnings: angst, talks about being a werewolf, and explicit sexual content (smut warnings below the cut)

word count: 5.7k

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

an: I’m reworking and old story and starting a connecting series with skz as werewolves. Thank you @therhythmafterthesummer for helping me edit and figure out this story.

warnings: protected sex, fingering, soft dom jisung, mentions of marking and bruising, knotting

It’s a quiet night, but it’s one of those nights where you haven’t been able to fall asleep. You have too much on your mind to actually fall asleep. The sound of your roommate knocking on your bedroom door catches you attention, before it slowly opens.

“Can I come in?”

Rolling over so you’re looking at the door, “yeah.” Jisung stares at you with sad eyes. Patting the bed next to you he joins you

He seems tense as he lies next to you. There’s a worried look that’s painted across his face. Laying on your side you stare at him.

“Jisung what’s wrong?”

A heavy sigh passes his lips as he turns on his side to stare at you. “The full moon is in two days.”

You can’t help but feel sorry for him. This is only going to be his second full moon and from what he’s told you the first one was very painful. He was a complete mess the following day.

“Has Chan or Changbin mentioned if it will get easier?”

“Chan said as soon as I start changing freely without the full moon it will start to barely hurt,” he doesn’t sound confident at all as he speaks to you.

“Why don’t you try changing without the moon?” You reach out, taking his hand in yours.

“YN, I’m afraid of losing control each time I change,” another heavy sigh passes his lips as he gently squeezes your hand. You’ve been by his side from the moment he got bit. You took him out to the forest the first full moon he changed. You stood by his side as he screamed in pain changing for the first time. You stayed there until he begged you to drive away. His number one fear has always been hurting you.

“There’s so many things I’m not ready for. First I have to learn how to change on command. So that each time I change it doesn’t feel like I’m dying and then I need to figure out how I even get through my first rut.”

Your cheeks burn at the thought of Jisung having to go through a rut. When he first changed Chan and Changbin came over to let him know the ups and downs of his new life. Jisung was so overwhelmed by all the information he started rambling on about it and mentioned how bad his rut will be at first.

“Do you have an idea on what you’re gonna do about your rut?” You aren’t sure why you ask. Maybe it’s because Jisung is your best friend and roommate and you’re just worried about him, or maybe it’s because you have a crush on him and part of you can’t seem to push it away.

“I’m not sure. I might have Chan and Changbin lock me up. They said the first time will be by far the worst and that afterwards I’m just gonna be,” he pauses and looks at you with his cheeks flushed. “I’m just going to be pretty horny.” He swallows loudly and stares at you awkwardly, “Chan said I’m just gonna be on edge a lot.”

“Does anything help?” you’re playing with fire by asking this but you can’t seem to stop.

“Chan said I just should act on my urges. That relieving it makes everything better.” The tips of his ears are bright red.

“I guess having a girlfriend would help,” you let out an awkward laugh.

“Yeah probably,” he drags his thumb across your skin catching your attention.

“Did you want to sleep in here tonight” it’s not the first time you would share a bed with him. Jisung has always been a person who loves skinship and often loves cuddling with you.

“Yeah I don’t exactly want to be alone. If I go to my room I’m just going to lay there and overthink everything.”

He moves so he’s laying on his back staring at the ceiling. A heavy sigh passes his lips as he looks so torn up. Without thinking you move closer to him resting your head on his chest and putting your arm across his stomach holding yourself closer to him.

“You're not alone Jisung. You never have been,” you listen to his heart and snuggle up closer to him.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” his hand gently runs up your side. “My greatest fear is doing something that would hurt you.” His voice is shaky as he speaks to you. “I need to learn to control this so I don’t have to worry about something snapping inside me.”

You look up at him to see his eyes are glassy, “Jisung I’ve never been afraid of you. Even that night in the forest, I wasn’t afraid of you. I was just worried about you being hurt.”

You hold him tighter wanting to let him know that he's safe with you. You love him so much, and it hurts to watch him suffer through everything he’s going through.

“What happens if I hurt you?”

“It’s not going to happen, so stop worrying about it,” you know that even when he gets frustrated with you there’s never been an ounce of malice towards you. Everything with the beast inside him heightens all his emotions at one point or another but he wouldn’t ever hurt you.

“If it makes you feel better this full moon I’ll stay far away,” you know he regretted letting you go to the forest with him the first time he changed.

“Yeah that’s probably for the best,” he sighs.

“Will you be alone?” Your stomach twists just thinking about the thought of him being alone out there suffering.

“No Chan will be there, and he said Minho will come along too.”

“Okay as long as you’re not alone.”

You lay there in his arms until you both fall asleep. Your dreams consist of your best friend who is holding you close. You dream of a lazy summer afternoon where you’re both laying on your bedroom floor as teenagers laughing. Things were easier back then. You crave the normalcy of your teenage years, but you wouldn’t give up how things are now. Even though Jisung is a wolf and you wish more than anything you could take his curse away from him, you would stand by his side until the end of the world.

The morning light shines through your curtains waking you slowly. You nuzzle closer into the chest of your best friend. A soft yawn passes your lips as you close your eyes.

“Good morning,” he says softly.

“Good morning,” you slowly pull away, stretching your body.

-

The day of the full moon Jisung is on edge. He paces around your apartment for most of the morning. In the afternoon he starts telling you about his plan for attempting to work on learning to change at will.

You want nothing more than to just hold him and tell him he’ll be okay, but you know you can’t do that.

Around sunset he grabs his backpack and starts to head out. He gives you one final goodbye and holds you tight for a long moment before pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“I’ll be back after sunrise. Please stay here, and please be safe,” he says softly.

“I’ll be okay Jisung, I need you to stay safe and not worry about me.”

As he walks out the door you lock it and press your back to the door. You take a deep breath trying to hold yourself together but you can’t help the sob that breaks as you start to worry about your best friend. You know the pain he’s going to suffer through tonight is going to be excruciating. You cry for too long before you force yourself to pull it together.

You try your hardest to keep yourself distracted as the sun fully sets and the full moon rises. Looking out the window that looks onto the city, there’s an aching in your chest as you worry about Jisung.

As night comes you lay in bed barely able to sleep. You get maybe two hours of sleep as you wait for Jisung to return home. The alarm clock on your nightstand reads six in the morning. You listen carefully hearing the front door open. Leaping out of bed, you run to the living area to find an exhausted Jisung walking in. He’s dressed in a pair of sweats and a shirt. His hair looks a mess and his eyes are red like he’s been crying. Without a second thought you throw your body into his and hold him tight.

“Are you okay?” you ask, holding on.

“Yeah I’m gonna be okay,” he says as tears slowly slide down his cheeks. “It was just as hard as last time.”

Pulling away from him you reach up and wipe his tears away. He looks completely defeated as he stands there in front of you. Your heart breaks at how sad he looks. “How do I keep doing this?”

“Chan says it gets easier,” you try to remain positive as you try to hold yourself together.

“When is it gonna get easier?” He drops his head as the tears continue to slide down his cheek.

“Unfortunately I don’t know, but trust what Chan and Changbin say,” you brush away his tears gently. “Maybe before the next moon you should try to change on your own?”

“Okay,” he sighs. “Can we please nap together? I just need to be held.”

“Of course.”

Laying in his bed he lays on his side with you pressed right behind him holding him tight.

-

Over the next three weeks Jisung is gone often. Whenever he’s not in school he’s with Chan, Changbin and Minho attempting to learn to change at will. They’re doing everything in their power to help Jisung cope with how his life is now.

The first few days he comes home he’s just as emotionally drained as he was the last full moon. About a week in he just seems dazed and tired. You haven’t had to hold him as he falls asleep.

He’s got a few days until his next full moon and he’s a ball of nervous energy.

Sitting on the couch next to you a heavy sigh passes his lips. You look over at him raising your eyebrow curious to what’s on his mind.

“Jisung?”

“My first rut is near,” he spats out, out of nowhere.

Your eyes go wide knowing that his first rut is going to be intense.

“Minho says that from when I got turned the timeline lines up that it’s going to happen shortly after this full moon.”

“Okay you can get through this. What’s the plan?” You assume Jisung and the small pack of boys have already made up a plan.

“I need to stay far away from you, so I won’t hurt you,” his voice is laced with worry as you stare at him.

“I’m not afraid of you hurting me,” you can’t understand why he’s so worried about hurting you.

“The boys said I’m going to have this hunger inside me that will make it where my brain will only want one thing. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

You know exactly what the one thing he’s going to need is. There’s this little part in your brain that wonders what it would be like to let him have his way with you. What it would be like to feed the beast.

“Okay. I’ll do whatever you want. Where are you going? I’m assuming you won’t be anywhere near me.”

“They said that even the scent of you could push me over the edge. I’m going to stay at Chan’s. He said most of the pack will be there to watch over me. Hyunjin just finished his first rut and he said it was intense.”

“What did Hyunjin do to get through it?” You probably shouldn’t ask but you want to know.

“Hyunjin has a girlfriend,” Jisung says with his eyes trained on you. “Hyunjin said it got to be too much and she had to help.”

“Are you going to have someone help you?” The thought of a random girl being with him intimately makes you feel sick to your stomach but you won’t ever admit that to him.

“No I can’t risk hurting anyone, and we both know I can’t just hook up with a random person.”

-

It’s the day of another full moon and Jisung is just as nervous as ever. The boys have taught him to change on command but he’s still scared. Every time he’s been out with the boys he’s come back slightly dazed and exhausted. He says it doesn’t hurt like it used to, that his body has adjusted to it. He says it still hurts but it doesn’t feel like every single bone in his body is breaking.

Sitting on his bed you watch as he packs his backpack for his night. A heavy sigh passes his lips as he stops and turns to face you. He pushes his fingers through his hair and drops his head.

“What’s wrong Jisung?”

“I feel like I had so many plans with my life. Between school, a career and wanting a relationship and this curse ruined everything.” He sounds completely frustrated by the cards he has been dealt.

“You can still finish school, and find the job you want. This isn’t something that is gonna stop someone from loving you,” reach for his hand and pull him down so he’s sitting on the bed next to you.

“How can someone love me when I’m a monster who could hurt them?” He can’t look at you as he speaks.

You wish you were more brave enough to tell him you were in love with him, helping him go through this has done nothing but make you love him even more.

“Does Hyunjin’s girlfriend love him?”

“Yeah they’ve been together a year or so.”

“Do any of the other boys have partners?” You reach over taking his hand in yours.

“Minho has a girl he refers to as his mate.” You can’t help but be stuck on the thought of them having mates. What does being a mate exactly entail?

“What does being a mate mean?”

“They haven’t told me all the details about it, but Minho mentioned that you feel an intense connection with someone. You also mark them,” his cheeks burn bright red, mentioning marking.

“What’s marking?” You can’t help but be curious.

“Um,” he’s clearly embarrassed now. “You bite the spot between their shoulder and their neck and it marks their partner as theirs. It tells other wolves to stay away.”

“Oh,” you can’t help the burning feeling that takes over your cheeks.

He stands up and looks out the window to see the sun is starting to go down. “I need to meet the boys in the forest.” He leans down and gently presses a kiss to your forehead gently. “Stay safe please. I’ll be back after sunrise.” Your conversation you just shared has left you with the feeling of your head swimming.

You follow him through your shared apartment and stop at the front door.

He stops at the door and gives you a sad smile, “Jisung, before you go I just want you to know that you can have a future with someone. That this curse doesn’t make you unloveable. Believe me someone will love and care for you.”

“I hope so because I want to love someone in return. I want to have a mate who isn’t afraid of the monster that’s in their bed.”

Stepping closer to him you rest your hand on cheek staring into his warm eyes, “you’ve never been a monster. There is absolutely nothing to be afraid of.”

-

Laying in bed at sunrise, you wait for Jisung to return home. The front door opens and you walk into the living room to find him standing there looking dazed. A heavy sigh passes his lips as he pushes his fingers through his messy hair.

He stands there staring at you with his warm eyes. He gives you a half smile and drops his backpack on the floor.

“How was it?” you ask, stepping towards him.

“It hurt, but not like it used to. I’m just really tired,” he says.

“Let’s go to bed,” you reach down, taking his hand in yours.

“I don’t deserve you,” he practically whispers.

“I’m always going to be here for you,” you pull him into your bed. Holding him close to you.

-

The last two days Jisung has been locked in his room. He’s even more easily frustrated than he normally is. Standing in the kitchen you listen carefully as Jisung’s bedroom door is open. He walks into the kitchen carrying a backpack.

“YN,” he sighs.

“Is it time?”

He nods as a sigh passes his lips, “I’m on edge and my brain is fogged. I need to leave. My brain wants to do things that it shouldn’t.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be safe please don’t worry about me,” turns on his heels to walk out the door.

“Do I not get a hug goodbye?” He’s never left without saying goodbye.

“In all honesty your scent is sending me into overdrive. I think it’s best if we don’t.”

You can’t help the feeling of rejection that takes over you. He walks out the door and you can’t help but feel worried about him. You know how much he’s been dreading this.

The whole day you attempt to distract yourself by doing homework, but you can’t help but be worried about your best friend. At night you lay awake hoping to receive at least a text from Jisung letting you know he’s okay.

It’s ten in the morning when your phone starts ringing. Unfamiliar number is on your screen and you waste no time answering the phone quickly.

“Hello?”

“YN?” You immediately recognize the voice on the other side as Chan.

“Chan, is Jisung okay?” You’re suddenly worried your best friend is hurt or something is wrong.

“Jisung is in pain,” he sighs. “His first rut isn’t easy. We told him he needs to act on his needs somehow but he won’t listen. He just keeps moaning your name,” he pauses, giving you a moment to process everything he’s saying. “I don’t know much about your friendship or relationship with Jisung. But I haven’t ever heard him mention another girl other than you.”

“Is there anything I can do?” You don’t know what you can do to help but you don’t want him in pain.

“He’s gonna kill me for even calling you, but he needs someone to help him relieve himself.”

You swallow attempting to process what he just said. “Are you asking me to have sex with him?”

“YN I’m really sorry, but yes.”

“Okay, text me your address.”

Hanging up the photo you took a moment to gather yourself. This was absolutely insane and you probably shouldn’t be so willing to do this. Looking in the mirror you push your fingers through your hair and take a deep breath. Roaming around your room you start packing up an overnight bag. You aren’t exactly sure what you’ll need or how long you’ll be gone but you start packing some clothes to change into and some hygiene essentials.

The drive to Chan’s place feels like it's taking a lifetime. Your head is swimming as you drive there. Pulling up to a house on the edge of the forest you find Chan sitting outside with a blonde boy you’ve seen a few times.

“Thank you for coming,” Chan says, walking towards you. “This is Hyunjin by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” Hyunjin says, giving you a little smile.

“Where’s Jisung?” you ask.

“Follow me,” Chan says.

He leads you into the busy house. Walking inside you see a few of boys you’ve seen before. He leads you up stairs to a room down the hall.

“He’s in there.”

You hear a loud moan that sounds a mixture of pain and pleasure.

Opening the door you step inside and find Jisung shirtless laying in bed in nothing but a pair of boxers. You can’t help stare at his toned body on display.

His eyes snap to you and he jumps out of bed quickly. “YN?” He stands there staring at you with lust blown eyes. “Why are you here?”

You drop your bag on the floor by the bag as you stare at him. “Chan said you were in pain,” you take your sweater off sitting it on top of the dresser next to you.

“I’m here to help,” you’re absolutely insane and you know it. You literally came across town to have sex with your best friend because he’s in the middle of his first rut.

“Do you have any idea what you’re offering?” He swallows loudly and steps back. “Medicine doesn’t fix this.”

“Jisung I know what I’m offering,” you take a step towards him.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he shakes his head.

There is a stinging feeling in your chest, a feeling of rejection. “It’s okay if you don’t like me like that or you’re not attracted to me. I just thought it might be nicer than some random girl.”

“YN it’s not because I’m not attracted to you or I don’t like you. I’m just worried I’m gonna hurt you. I want to knot you so bad,” he practically growls. You blush at the mention of him knotting you. This isn’t the first time you’ve heard of knotting. Early on after he was changed he mentioned it when he was rambling on one day nervously, and when you asked questions be awkwardly explained his new anatomy.

There’s a warmth that washes over your body at the thought of Jisung being rough with you and you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like for him to stretch you open with his knot.

His breathing is heavy as he steps towards you with dark eyes. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing the world.

“You need to leave now,” he growls.

“Jisung, I don’t want to. I want to help.”

He inhales deeply, stopping right in front of you, “oh my god you smell intoxicating.”

“I can do whatever you need me to.”

He steps closer to you. There’s barely any room between you as he puts his hand on your cheek tilting your head back. He swallows loudly looking at you with a hunger in his eyes.

“I might say some stuff I don’t mean. I’m really sorry if I make you feel uncomfortable.”

“What could you possibly say that makes me uncomfortable? Jisung it’s me, I’m your best friend.”

He leans his head back taking a deep breath, “my body burns thinking about what I want to do to you. The thought of knotting you makes me feel like I’m going insane.”

You look down between you to see his hardened length straining against his boxers.

“Jisung do whatever you want,” you say softly.

His eyes snap down to yours with blown pupils. He practically growls staring at you. “Don’t say shit like that. I need you to keep me in check. Tell me I can’t be rough. Tell me I’m just your friend.”

His last sentence catches you off guard, you’re taken out of the moment as you knit your eyebrows together, “Jisung why do I have to tell you you’re just my friend?”

He swallows, stepping back shaking his head, “because if that’s not burned into my mind I could do something stupid.”

“What could you possibly do?”

“I could mark you.”

Your eyes go wide as you process what that means, “do wolves mark their friends?”

“Wolves don’t feel a need to mark someone unless they’re in love with them,” he shakes his head and moves away from you.

Reaching down grabbing his hand you stop him from walking away from you, “are you in love with me?”

“Please don’t make me answer that,” he sighs.

“Jisung tell me if you love me or not,” you demand as a sea of emotions starts to take over you. Your eyes start to brim with tears.

“I’m a monster. YN I can’t hurt you, there’s literally something inside me right now screaming at me to shove you against the wall and take you right now. It’s taking everything in me not to rip your clothes off with my teeth, shove my knot deep inside you.”

You can’t help but rub your thighs together at the mention of him ripping your clothes off with his teeth. You try to push away the inappropriate thought, “that doesn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he steps closer to you again.

“You’re hurting me right by not telling me if you love me or not.”

There’s a long moment of silence between you as Jisung stares at you. The room feels small and an aching feeling is starting in your chest. “Han Jisung, if you're too afraid to admit how you’re feeling I’ll tell you how I feel. I’m hopelessly in love with you. I loved you before you turned and I’m pretty sure I fell even more in love with being by your side during this.”

“YN I’m so afraid, I love you so much and I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t ever lose me,” you know his rut is heightening all his senses. You stand right in front of him and smile at him softly. “Let me help you through this. Not as your friend but as someone who is head over heels in love with you.”

He nods his head, putting his hands on your hips and moving you closer to him. “Please don’t let me get too rough with you. I’ll try my hardest not to hurt you with my knot.”

“Okay.”

He leans down, crashing his lips into yours for a heated kiss. Your fingers tangle in his hair holding him close to you. There’s a warmth that washes over you as your lips move together.

Stepping away from you with a wild look in his eyes he practically growls, “I need you naked.”

You can’t help but smile stepping away from him. You waste no time stripping down to just your underwear. You’re completely bare from the waist up staring at him.

“You’re stunning,” he says, reaching out and taking your breast in one hand. “I can’t even say all the things I want to do to you.”

His lips crash into yours like a wave crashing on the shoreline. His hands grip your sides holding you close to him. You can’t help but moan as his hand moves down to grip your butt pulling you close.

Tilting your head back, his lips trail down your neck gently nipping at the skin.

“Jisung,” you moan loudly.

“I never thought I would hear you moan my name,” he groans with his lips against your skin.

“Please get fully naked and lay on the bed so I don’t manhandle you,” he steps away from you.

“Okay,” he’s trying his hardest not to hurt you.

Stripping away your last layer of clothes you lay down on the full size bed under the window. He strips away his own clothes and his hardened length slaps against his stomach catching your attention.

He crawls on the bed and sits on his hunches between your legs. His hands rub and down your sensitive skin on your inner thighs.

“I’ve wanted this forever for so long. Even before I turned, but when I turned I just craved you even more,” he groans. He presses his lips on your stomach. “There’s this voice inside my head that just keeps telling me all things I want to do to you. You turn me on so much it’s hard to control myself.”

“Jisung do whatever you want to me,” you can’t help but wonder about all the dirty things he’s thought about doing to you.

“I can’t lose control, no matter how much I want to lose myself in you,” he runs his finger through your already wet folds. “I can’t hurt you.”

His index finger does lazy circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves as his other hand rubs your thigh. You moan softly at the overwhelming feeling. Your eyes are focused on him as he stares at you. His finger slides into you slowly.

“Jisung please enough of this. I just want you,” you moan.

He moves away from you and lays on the bed next to you. You look over at him confused on what he’s doing.

“Condoms are in the nightstand, I need you on top. I can’t risk getting too rough. Hyunjin’s girlfriend still has bruises from Hyunjin first rut.”

Crawling off the bed you grab a foil packet from the night stand and tear it open. Crawling onto the bed you slide the rubber down his hardened length. He groans as you touch him. He’s so hard it looks absolutely painful. You straddle his waist with his erection right in front of you. Biting your bottom lip you stare at Jisung who looks feral staring up at you. Taking his length in one hand you move so you’re hovering over him. He holds his breath as you slowly sink down. Once he fills you completely you sit there on him with your hands resting on his chest.

“Han Jisung I love you,” leaning down your nose rested against his. You press your lips to his for a heated kiss.

“I love you so much, and I really need you to move because I feel like I’m dying.”

Pulling away you rest your hands on his chest as you start to move your body up and down his length. His hands tightly grip your hips as you move up and down his length. The room is filled with the echoing sounds of skin hitting skin, and the low moans passing Jisung’s lips. The sight of Jisung under you with his bottom lip caught between his teeth is a sight you want to remember for the rest of your life.

“Please go faster,” he whimpers. It’s clear he’s trying his hardest to keep control of himself.

“Anything for you,” you moan.

You pick up the pace going as quickly as you can. His hand moves to grip your butt kneading your skin and earning a low moan from you.

His head rolls back and you see the sight of his fangs showing. Your hand moves towards his jaw tilting his head down to look at you. “Are you gonna mark me?” You ask if his fangs are showing because he wants to mark you. The thought of him marking is so intriguing to you, and you can’t quite explain why.

“I can’t. Not yet,” he growls.

“Did Hyunjin mark his girlfriend?”

He grips your hips tightly causing you to still completely. His eyes are wild as he stares at you as he sits up holding your body close to him as you sit on his lap.

“He marked her, but this is different.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t just mark you because I told you I love you.”

You run your fingers through his hair and he softens under your touch, “am I your mate?”

“I believe so. I feel a connection towards you I haven’t ever felt towards someone before. I love you so much.”

“Then why don’t you mark me?”

“Because I want this to be more romantic. I don’t want to do it just because I feel like I’m losing my mind,” he sighs, dropping his head to your shoulder. His lips gently press a kiss to the area he would mark.

“Okay Jisung,” you push him back down on the bed. You smile down at him as you start to move your hips again.

“You better take me on a date after this,” you say, rolling your hips. A small smile spreads across his lips as he stares up at you.

“I will do anything for you,” he says, gripping your hips again.

You ride him until you find your release. The coil in your stomach snaps and a warm wave washes over you, the sweet release you find is unlike anything you have ever felt before. Throwing your head back you moan his name loudly not caring if any of the other boys in the house hear you. His hand tightly grips your hips as he continues to move you up and down his length as he chases his own release. There’s a stretching feeling in your core you've never experienced before. Your eyes go wide realizing his knot is expanding. You moan his name adjusting to the feeling.

He moves your body slowly up and down his length. Each time his slowly expanding knot catches your entrance you can’t help but moan.

“Are you going to let me knot you and fill you up?” He groans. The lusted filled haze is taking over his brain.

Silently you nod unable to form words. “Does it hurt baby?”

“No,” you practically scream, still adjusting to the feeling.

“I knew you could take it.” He starts pressing wet kisses up your neck as he chases his high.

He slams you down on his lap coming undone moaning your name. Leaning forward you collapse on top of him. He wraps his arms around you and holds you close as you both pant trying to catch your breath. This is a moment you want to live in for the rest of your existence.

“I love you,” he whispers, never letting go.

He holds you close reminding you that you are locked together for a while. You lean back a little to look at his beautiful face.

“Sit up for me baby,” he says softly.

With your bodies still locked together you’re resting on your knees as you sit on his lap. His hand gently rests on your hips that are already starting to show fingerprint shaped bruises.

“I hurt you,” he sighs.

“Jisung, you didn’t hurt me. Please don’t ruin this moment by worrying about some bruises. Please just hold me.”

He sighs and lays back down. “Promise me if I ever hurt you, you’ll let me know.”

“I promise, now please hold me before round two.”

He smiles and kisses the top of your head, “I see you already want another round while we’re still locked together.”

-

Laying in his bed he holds your hand tightly. Tomorrow is another full moon, and even though he can now easily change at will. The full moon still scares him. You curl your body close to his resting your head on his chest. Your leg is resting across his stomach as you cling to him.

“Jisung?”

“Yeah baby?”

“Don’t be nervous. It’s going to be way easier than it’s been,” you say softly.

“I’m trying to tell myself things are getting easier,”

Things between you and Jisung are different, but it’s for the better. He pushes your hair to the side and looks at the crescent shaped mark on your skin that’s starting to fully heal.

“Did you want me to stay here or did you want me to go to Chan’s place with Minho’s mate, and Hyunjin’s girlfriend?”

“You can stay with the other girls, if you would like,” he runs his fingers across your mark.

“If I stay at Chan’s house, I’ll be closer to you.”

“You won’t have to wait for me. I'll just join you in bed.”

You lay there holding each other. You fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, and you can’t help but fall more and more in love with every beat of his heart.

Regarding my taglist: I’m tagging so many people like 300+ people and the the amount of reblogs and interactions I’m getting compared to my taglist make me quite sad. I kindly ask if you request to be tagged that you interact with my writing. It takes me a really long time to make sure I tag everyone. Im going to start removing silent readers and blank blogs to make tagging easier. If you want to on a taglist the form is still open. Im just really asking for interaction if I’m spending the time to tag you.

Thank you to anyone who has been replaying to the post and reblogging them.

[burymewithfluff]

i cannot find the words to describe how soft I am rn

love scene | bbh

pairing: byun baekhyun x reader

contents: fLUFF, baekhyun being head over heels for reader, reader is v drunk, sleepy confessions, cuddling

word count: 2,9k

summary: you tell baekhyun how much he means to you as he piggybacks your drunk self home, not knowing how much your words would affect him

The night was silent, save for the snow crunching beneath his feet with every step, his breath vaporizing in the frigid winter night. Baekhyun was so utterly aware of you on his back, of the warmth seeping in from your body into his, also of the little sighs that would escape you from time to time in your drunken slumber. 

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[burymewithfluff]

This is the cutest thing I've come across in ages. 🥰

DOTING.

Han x reader. (s,f)

SFW version

Author’s note: Happy birthday my favorite alien! There might be some inaccuracies in the fic cause I flunked science and it’s originally written for sfw fic therefore I apologize for the lack of smut :’)

Star stuff playlist

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[burymewithfluff]

🥺 i love him so much

The Athlete

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: footballer!Hoshi x journalist!reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞:  fluff, slight angst, smut, sports au, strangers to lovers au, slow burn-ish

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: R (18+)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, kissing, throat grabbing, slight choking,  oral (m and f receiving), (semi-rough face fucking) fingering, clit stimulation, unprotected sex, missionary, nipple play, dirty talk, praising, mentions of parental death, bit of a tear jerker

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6.2k

𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You are assigned to do an interview with Kwon Soonyoung, the trailblazing athlete everyone calls Hoshi. But as you spend more time with him, you start to see there are more layers to him than football. 

𝐀𝐍: A massive thank you to @wordycerty for reading this for me and reassuring me about this. This is the longest fic I have written. Also thank you to @playmetheclassics​ for reading over a bit of this as well. Appreciate you guys ❤

“Mr. Kwon is ready to see you now.” You get up from your seat, stretching a little before following the little woman named Helen in front of you. She leads you down a massive hallway full of sports memorabilia, making small conversation along the way. This isn’t your first time here; the enormous stadium was built five years ago with enough money to feed the homeless for ten years. Sometimes you are here to watch a football game, but you are mostly here on business. 

You are a journalist working for the country’s most prominent television broadcasting company at the top of your field. You’ve met many celebrities in your area, some of whom you have become close to. Unfortunately, you have also met some not-so-nice ones, but fortunately, in your line of work, you don’t have to deal with them unless they come to you via their company. You love your job, and today you will interview the hot shot athlete from The Tigers, Kwon Soonyoung, known nationwide as Hoshi.  

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[burymewithfluff]

I'm so soft for him 🥺😭

Chocolate Kisses

Jeonghan x Fem!Reader 

Summary - It’s Valentine’s Day and Jeonghan is surrounded yet again this year. Being his best friend can be painful at times like this. 

Genre - Friends to Lovers, College AU 

Warnings - Suggestive content, this is so cute, Jeonghan is a little needy, and a little snarky, swearing, sexual content, 

Word Count - 2k

A/N - This is part of the Holidays With Seventeen Collab co-hosted with @kpoptrashlord-007​. It is a little late 🥺but better late than never hehe <3

   What a cliché. He’s surrounded by women all desperate for attention, a tiny brunette even elbowing the blonde next to her to nudge closer to him. Grown women don’t act this way. At least they usually don’t. Jeonghan has a way of bringing out the worst in people.

   The ladies have brought him gifts; handmade letters, small stuffed animals, bags of candy and chocolate boxes in droves. What you might call excessive he would call extravagant. He’s eating it up.

   “Thanks, but I don’t really like candy,” he says to one of the unfortunate women as you try to avoid the group, squeezing past a strangler near the back with a giant teddy bear waiting for her chance to shoot her shot. Wanting, like the rest of the crowd, to be in the light of his presence. You roll your eyes as he continues, “Is this milk chocolate?”

   After yanking the door closed behind you, a loud clunking sound of what you assume is the box of chocolates being thrown in the bin is followed by snickers and a muffled apology. You shake your head. He could have at least waited until she was gone or, you know, given it to someone else. He could have, for example, given it to you.

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[burymewithfluff]

for the made-up titles: my little monster

My Little Monster

pairing: hoseok x single mom!reader

tw: none?

You've got this! You've totally got this! You hold your son's hand in yours as you ring your best friend's doorbell.

The door opens almost immediately and Hoseok's bright smile greets you, immediately putting you at ease.

"Hey!" he greets you as he steps aside to welcome you into his home. "I was wondering when you were coming!"

"Had a little meltdown with his shoes," you say as you look down at your son Eli's shoes. Instead of his sneakers, all you could manage was his sandals, but the shoes were on and you were still on schedule to be on time for your first day at your new job.

"I'm sure he won't need them," Hoseok chuckles as he leads you to the living room where all of your son's toys lay on the floor. Every time Eli got a new toy, Hoseok scooped up the exact same one for his home. The both of you spent enough time at his place to warrant Eli's own toys and even his own bedroom in Hoseok's home.

Eli immediately heads to his toys, laughing as he knocks down a tower of blocks with a roar. Hoseok had set up minutes ago while he waited. Working from home had its benefits, this being one. Hoseok would watch Eli while you worked, and you didn't have to take him to daycare just yet. Daycare was a step you weren't ready to take. This would be the first time you'd be away from Eli for a full day and you were nervous.

Hoseok makes sure Eli is distracted before he pulls you aside.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly.

"Just apprehensive. I've never left him for so long. It's gonna take some getting used to," you admit, biting your lip.

"He'll be fine and we can call during lunch. I've got this and you've got this, love. I won't let anything happen to him. I swear." Hoseok hugs you. He presses his forehead to yours and you melt in his arms.

"I know," you sigh, releasing some of the nerves. "I haven't left him since he was born."

"I know," Hoseok chuckles. "I was there holding your hand."

You smile. Your hand moves to cup his cheek and you realize just how much Hoseok has stepped up when Eli's dad wouldn't. Your heart flutters in your chest like it always has, long before Eli's dad was even in the picture.

Hoseok grins. "Go to work, momma. We can have dinner and talk when you get back."

You bite back a smile, nodding. Hoseok calls Eli over, and your son hugs you goodbye before running to his toys.

Hoseok walks you to the door and you pause. Quickly, you press a kiss to his cheek and he blushes, stuttering as he wishes you a good day. Hope fills in his chest as he watches you go.

send me a made-up fic title and i'll write a little something to go with it

[burymewithfluff]

can i just tuck him in my pocket and love him and protect him forever? 🥺

[9:00 P.M] (Im Changkyun drabble)

It just hit 9 at night, and Changkyun knows time is ticking by just a bit too fast. He knows he’s leaving, but he doesn’t want to leave his girlfriend so soon.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 437

Masterlist

The night was still pretty young. Her idle phone would tell her that the last second turned the time to 9:00 on the dot. The moon was already out, and the nightlife was already beginning. Under the covers the couple sat, the white comforter over their heads as soft bouts of giggles sounded from it.

They both held the same full smile. A smile full of love and compassion. Though the night was just beginning for some, for them it felt like that had been under the covers for several hours, and they’ve grown to hate how much time had passed by.

“You're so adorable.” This wasn’t the first compliment that slipped past his lips and into the air for her to hear. The moment he wrapped his arms around her an hour ago did the compliments begin to roll in.

And, of course, without fail did they manage to bring a red tint to her cheeks.

“Did I mention very gorgeous, too?” He added with a questioning hum.

This man...

His lips met each inch of her face. Each peck left her wanting more. Though it seemed like her silent prayers were answered when his assault didn’t seem to let up. This caused her to start laughing, the words she had wanted to speak growing more and more difficult

“You always have such a way with words when you want something Kyunnie,” She finally managed to speak. His lips met the corner of her own, causing her to continue laughing. “Yah-! Kyunnie spill it! Stop assaulting my face.”

He laughed, easing up on his kisses so he could speak. “I just want your undivided attention—“

“—You have my undivided attention right now.”

“I need it tomorrow, too.” He deadpanned.

Her eyes widened. She knew tomorrow he’d be busy. It was his last day in Korea, with her, and they’d be busy. Kihyun would surely yell at both of them equally if he wasn’t doing what he needed for their adventure to America.

She shook her head, already hating the sad look Changkyun was giving her. As much as she didn’t want to be the bad guy, she couldn’t deal with Kihyun’s daily dose of scolding.

“Sorry bubs,” She started, fingers trailing his jawline, “If I wanted Kihyun to skin me alive I’d trash the dorms.”

“Just for tonight and tomorrow. I’ll be gone for a while. Please?” His pleading eyes is what caught her. She knew if she said no, she’d only guilt herself.

“Fine.”

She’ll deal with Kihyun when the time comes. For now, Changkyun was the only person she wanted to be with.

[burymewithfluff]

istg nothing makes me softer than team bias working together. 🥹 i absolutely melted with the way Jimin’s portrayed and how gentle but firm tae and kook are to get him to help her. i’m soff, ya’ll. 

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Fem!Reader

Genre: establish relationship

Rating: G

Warning: father!jungkook, fluff, uncles tae and jimin

Word Count: 1k

Request: please write a drabble with jungkook new dad! where oc leaves him for a day with his 6 month old daughter and how he has to deal with her all day and it's hard for him for the first time without oc but the members come to help him🥺

A/N: shoutout to @wordycerty for the massive help with proofreading and everything! i really appreciate it! <3

Masterlist

~~

“Are you sure you’ll be ok?”

In hindsight, Jungkook should’ve known his habit of speaking before thinking would screw him over. It was easy to say, “We’ll be ok, babe. Go have fun with your friends. You deserve it.” because hey, somewhere between the lines, it was true. 

But just an hour after she kissed both him and their six-month-old daughter Iseul goodbye, he knew he was fucked. It started small. Iseul would make soft sounds as he moved about the kitchen in hopes of making fun. 

His darling bundle of joy then moved around in the living room, triggering brief spikes of anxiety from her dad. Her hands were everywhere they could reach, and he had to thank himself for being smart enough to move anything that was dangling out of the way so she wouldn’t grab it and drop it on herself. 

Just twenty minutes after the front door clicked shut, Iseul’s bubbly smile quickly switched to a frown and tears. Panic shot through Jungkook quickly and he was by his daughter within seconds, picking her up. Even in the comfort of her father's arms, her wailing never stopped. It seemed to amplify in volume.

Doing the quick “three check” was all he could think of. No, she wasn’t hungry (her mother just fed her just before leaving so he could rule that out). No, her diaper wasn’t dirty (he was thankful for that) and no, she didn’t hurt herself (he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if that was the case).

His hopeful attempt at singing did nothing to help. Her wails remained strong, and she was turning red in the face. Jungkook knew he was stuck in a situation where he had two choices to pick from.

So, with a bawling Iseul held tight in his arms, his emergency message was sent and his phone was thrown to the side so he could better focus on his crying daughter. 

“Please Iseul,” Jungkook merely cried out, watching as she practically threw a fit in his arms. He was next to hopeless, and he soon hated how fast his mind betrayed him. “It’s me, your father. Surely you can’t-”

“Where is the child?” Merely thrown off by the intrusion from another voice, Jungkook’s head snapped to the door to meet the curious eyes of Taehyung, whose own eyes were flicking around the apartment to find the child.

Behind him came Jimin, his own curious eyes merely following the younger male as his eyes scanned the room until they landed on Jungkook and his daughter. Like clockwork, Taehyung was already across the room taking the open seat next to his friend, while Jimin found a seat on the floor in front of the duo. 

“What’s wrong? Has she been crying for long?” If only Jungkook knew how to answer his first question. He was as lost as they were, and he was desperate to figure out what the issue was. 

He didn’t fight Taehyung when he reached out to Iseul. Jungkook’s eyes never strayed from his daughter as Taehyung he attempted to sooth her. 

“It’s ok, your favorite uncle is here now.” Taehyung’s attempts at calming the child down was almost pointless. Her crying only increased seemingly at the sound of her uncle’s voice startling the three men.

“Do you think we should call Y/N?” Jimin was the first to speak up about possibly getting better help than just the two of them. At the sound of his voice, Iseul’s cries stopped for a mere moment. 

Surprise flashed through both Jungkook and Taehyung as both of them turned their attention to Jimin, whose attention was already on his phone. 

“No-!” Jungkook was quick to yell out when he realized what Jimin was doing. “Don’t call my wife. I told her I was fine-”

“-Was it just you speaking before your brain could catch up-”

“-That’s beside the point, Jimin. Y/N needs this time as a break. Maybe if you held Iseul-”

Jungkook stopped himself as he watched his friend stand up in panic. His head shook furiously as his hands held his phone tightly. Jungkook could see the panic swirling in his friend's eyes as his face fought to stay neutral. 

“Bad idea. I think calling Y/N might help.”

“Please Jimin, I think she likes your voice. Just, sit down.” Jungkook was practically begging his friend for some help. It was evident that Iseul was more used to her mother's calming voice and Jimin just happened to fit the bill. “Please.”

Both boys watched their friend with bated breath. At this point Taehyung was practically pleading with Jungkook as if Iseul was both of their child and Jimin was the grandparent and they desperately needed the day off. 

They watched as Jimin’s walls slowly crumbled. When his shoulders fell in defeat, they knew he had slowly realized that he was indeed their only hope. 

Iseul was soon in Jimin’s tight grasp, their two sets of eyes never leaving Jimin and the child. Jungkook could tell how nervous Jimin was as he cradled her close.

“What do I do?” Jimin whispered nervously to Jungkook, hoping sitting there with Iseul wasn’t meaningless.

“Y/N said if Iseul gets like this to sing for her.” Jungkook whispered as he watched Jimin do exactly that. It didn’t take long for Iseul to start gradually calming down at the sound of her uncle’s humming.

Relief spread through Jungkook’s bones faster than he’d like to admit as happiness quickly replaced the worry upon seeing his daughter’s eyes drift shut. 

Humming from the three men replaced the crying and kept the six-month-old at peace as she slept on her uncle. The three of them lost themselves in a trance, not even noticing when the front door beeped as it opened, revealing Y/N who had noticed the three of them.

While the other two slowly drifted off to sleep with Iseul, Jungkook stood up to meet his smiling wife mid-way, happy she was home so soon.

“Was she ok?” were the first words that came from Y/N as her eyes flicked between him and the other two boys. His nod came immediately. “Did they swing by, or did you ask for their help?”

Although he knew she was joking, he knew it was best to not tell her the whole truth. It’ll be their little secret.

[burymewithfluff]

All I Want

Masterlist

Pairing: Werewolf!Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Werewolf AU; Soulmates AU; Best friends to lovers AU; College AU; Roommates AU; Idiots to lovers AU; fluff; smut; tiniest bit of angst if you really, truly squint

Rating: M (smut)

Summary: Jungkook, has been your best friend since the two of you were five years old and he saved you from those bullies in kindergarten. Now you’re both adults, and your friendship is the same as ever. You want him as much more than just a friend, but the problem is that somewhere out there, Jungkook has a Moon-chosen mate.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: Oral (female receiving); Knotting; Multiple orgasms; Creampie (JK turns Y/N into a proper Boston cream donut in this one); Cum eating (would this really by one of my smut fics if this was not a feature?); Impreg/breeding kink (it’s a werewolf fic, what do you expect?); Excessive amounts of cum (like so much; far too much really for any human being to handle but this is fiction); Fingering; Soft dom Jungkook (he’s so soft. If you thought Young Alpha Jungkook was soft, he’s got nothing on this one); Swearing; Bullying; Blood

Oh look, I wrote another filthy Jungkook werewolf fic, because y’all loved Young Alpha so much that I didn’t have a choice. Enjoy this fic where Jungkook and Y/N are complete idiots in love. I tried something new with this one and wrote the smut first. It kind of got carried away and ended up being much longer than anticipated. What I have confirmed to myself is that I cannot write PWP. Even my smut has a plot. My lord is this one filthy. I hope y’all have adequate hydration and a cold shower at the ready. Good luck.

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