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#jumin/mc
edgelord-saeran · 2 years
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I don't have impulse control
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bluejay-writes · 6 months
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Mystictober 2023: Day 4 - About the Barn Cat...
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You can read this fic on Ao3 if that’s more your speed!
Rating: Teen.
Prompt: Rebel / Royal
Pairing: Jumin/MC
Wordcount: 2546
Summary: Crown Prince Jumin Han needs a wife, but mostly he needs a partner to lessen his work load. Almost all these ladies at this afternoon tea want the job. One of them just wants to get her embroidery done.
Author's Notes: This fic was written for Mystictober 2023, Day 4. I'll be writing for the whole month, so if you have any requests, hit up that ask box. (The full prompt list is at the bottom of this post!)
Jaehee is referred to here as Mrs. Kang - the Mrs. designation is because she is the head of the serving staff for the entire palace, as Housekeeper, she is Mrs., regardless of her marital status. If I write more in this AU, however... :D got plans for Miss Jaehee.
Please enjoy some classic Jumin being bad at feelings.
(Did I just post this on the old blog? I sure did. You saw nothing.)
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“Stop fidgeting.”
The sharp voice made Emme’s hands still where they had been picking at the over-embellished dress she was wearing. She knew better than to fidget, had been trained better, to stand still and simper and be otherwise indistinguishable from a noblewoman. But she hated it. She’d rather be out in the fields with her sheep. The very sheep that her brother was now probably tending to inappropriately.
But it had been decided. The rebellion needed an inside voice with the monarchy, and with the prince’s hand in marriage up for whomever could grab his attention, they’d put all their effort into training Emme for just that purpose. Did she want to be a princess? No one ever asked her, not even herself. The rebellion was her family. Ever since her father had been killed for supposedly ogling a noblewoman, and her mother had followed him into death via her own grief, the rebels had taken care of Emme and her brother, so at the very least she could give this her best attempt.
It was possible that the prince was gay. As far as everyone said, he’d never even looked at a woman twice. He might not even be interested in women, at which point this whole farce would have been useless, but she still had to try.
“If you’re done woolgathering, the carriage has arrived.” The blonde woman smirked at her, but mostly at her own joke since Emme was a shepherdess before she became a faux noble.
Emme didn’t voice a response, knowing that was what was expected of her. She simply got into the carriage and wondered how she could get out of this uncomfortable situation without disappointing literally everyone.
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“Your highness, it is time for Afternoon Tea.”
His Highness, Crown Prince Jumin, looked up from the paperwork covering his desk and sighed.
“Mrs. Kang, you know I don’t have time for this.”
“I know, your highness.”
Jumin didn’t argue, he simply stood, smoothed the wrinkles from sitting out of his attire, and waved for the Housekeeper to proceed.  He knew that this afternoon tea was planned out by his father to find him a wife.  It wasn’t that he was against finding a wife, but most of the details of running the kingdom were already his responsibility while his father spent most of his time attending social functions or consorting with his harem.
“As you’re aware, Highness, you will be expected to pick at least one of these women to court.  I recommend spending some time talking with each of them to get a feeling for their work ethic.”
Jumin chuckled. Trust Mrs. Kang to understand exactly the sort of thing he was thinking.  She truly was the perfect Housekeeper, and he never regretted having her take over the butler’s duties when he retired. The woman was impeccable at her job, which he appreciated more than anything.
He wouldn’t mind having a Queen, or even just a Princess Consort if they were willing and capable of sharing in his workload.  But he knew the noblewomen his father would have invited didn’t know the meaning of the word. Most of them had been raised to be nothing but arm candy, because that’s the sort of woman the King preferred. Maybe he should just give in to the rumors and tell everyone he was only interested in men.  It wasn’t true.  Not that he was any more interested in men than he was in women, but it would at least stop this marriage farce.
Walking into the hall, he could immediately tell that this was going to be a most uncomfortable few hours of social effort.
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Emme twitched.  When it was clear that the prince was making his way table-by-table, everyone had flocked to sit as close to the front as possible, leaving her alone at her table to drink her tea.  She had no reason to try to get closer.  Either the prince would take the time to reach every table, or he wouldn’t, and no matter where she sat, it wouldn’t make a difference.
This tea was already proving to be a trial, even without company to chat with. She was likely to leave the event hungry, which went against her better judgment, given how used to going hungry she was. She couldn’t afford to be picky, but a noblewoman in her position couldn’t afford not to be picky. She wasn’t interested in the sweet pastries, instead preferring savory accompaniments, and everything they’d provided was sweet. She considered this an oversight on the part of the staff, not that she would ever speak her mind about it. She was taught better.
Knowing that if word of her behavior got back to her handler in the rebellion she would get no end of grief, Emme still slipped her embroidery out of her bag to work on, once she had finished a second cup of tea.  She’d been working stitching a scene of her own design, one she’d sketched out of a barn cat asleep on a windowsill.  She thought it would be a lovely handkerchief, or perhaps a scarf, once it was completed.  With a small smile pinned on her face, mostly from nostalgia about the barn cat, but also her training to ‘always be pleasant’, Emme got to work on her embroidery, paying little attention to the rest of the room.
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As predicted, Prince Jumin was bored.  He had thought he might have to answer the same question repeatedly, but instead these women were only interested in talking up their own supposed achievements and desirability as a potential princess candidate.
Once, during a shift from one table full of insufferable women to the next, Jumin noticed one of the women, at the farthest table, sitting quietly by herself working on her embroidery.  She seemed quietly pleased, and it immediately drew his attention.  Of course, his attention was immediately followed by the next table of women being even more oppressive, and even underhandedly catty about the woman who was sitting alone, as though they thought that was what he wanted to hear.
His mind was filled with thoughts about this woman, using time that would otherwise have been wasted on useless social interactions to complete work. He moved almost as a marionette through the last few tables of women, none of whom stood a chance of catching his attention and taking it away from the woman at the last table.
Finally, Finally, he went to sit with her, to meet her, and she continued to surprise him. As he sat down, she held up a hand as though to forestall his greeting as she finished one last stitch, and tucked her embroidery safely back in her bag.
“I’m sorry for the delay.” Emme said, smiling. “I wanted to get that stitch finished.”
“It was no issue. I am a fan of embroidery, myself.” He said, sharing the first piece of information about himself all afternoon. “May I see what you were working on?”
“Truly?” Jumin felt blinded by her smile, lighting up her face like the bright rays of dawn.  She took out her embroidery frame, showing off the sleeping cat, as far as she’d gotten him done so far. “Did you design this yourself?” He asked, eying the hand-drawn lining underlying the stitches.
“I did. It’s our barn cat—“ She bit her lip. Noble Ladies don’t consort with barn cats.
Jumin didn’t seem to care that she shouldn’t have been anywhere near a barn, or consorted with barn cats. “Would you ever be willing to design one for me?”
Emme tipped her head to the side in curiosity, reminding Jumin of his Elizabeth the 3rd. “Of what, if I may ask?”
“Of my darling cat, of course.” he smiled. “My Elizabeth the 3rd would make an excellent subject for your embroidery, I am certain.”
“Oh.” Emme said, drawn in by the warmth of his smile. She had expected the prince to be cold, and boring, and nothing at all like he was. “Well, yes, I think that would be a fun challenge.”
“If you’d like, then, I shall invite you back for a private luncheon where you can meet Miss Elizabeth.”
“That sounds marvelous, I—“
Emme was cut off by one of the guards walking hurriedly over to Jumin and whispering in his ear. He paled, and turned to her in apology.
“It seems I must cut our tea short. I will see you again, miss.” He nodded to her, and followed his guard out. Emme just stared after him, and tried to stifle a laugh. He’d never even asked her name, how was he supposed to invite her to lunch?
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Jumin was pacing.  The alarm from the guards had been nothing of note. His father had been demanding his presence, in fact to ascertain which women he wanted to court.  If only he’d known that he’d pulled Jumin away from a conversation with the only person, gender irrelevant, who had ever caught his attention.  It wasn’t romantic, what he felt for her, but… it was certainly a pull.  A desire to befriend her and keep her forever, like he felt with his Elizabeth.  Maybe that was enough for a wife, after all.  She certainly seemed diligent, working on her stitching rather than gossiping with the other noblewomen.
If only he’d had the presence of mind to ask the girl her name.  This slip in etiquette was plaguing him, as all he could tell his aides of her was her long dark hair, golden eyes, and penchant for embroidery.  Also, that she apparently had a barn cat.
A knock at his door startled him out of his thoughts, and at his call, Mrs. Kang entered the room.
“Excuse me, your Highness, I have located your mystery noblewoman.”
“You have?” He gestured for her to approach, and she did, moving silently as usual, his favorite thing about her which was also the most unnerving.
“Yes, though there is a bit of an issue. It appears that while she appears noble, and on the surface her credentials are from a noble family, she herself was born a commoner, and has been raised primarily by the rebellion.”
“Ah, so you think she’s a spy, or an assassin?”
“No, unlikely. It seems they’ve groomed her to be a noblewoman to try and get a voice in amongst the nobles.  They’re dissatisfied with her because she refuses to involve herself in unnecessary gossip, and thus doesn’t bring back information the way they hoped.  And after being called away from her at Tea, they are assuming she made a poor impression on you. It is unlikely you will need to deal with her at future events.”
“She would have been the only bright point in those events.” Jumin said, with more than a hint of melancholy. He considered discarding his fancy then and there, but found that it pained him to even consider it.
“Mrs. Kang, what is her name?”
“Emme, your Highness.”
“Emme. What a lovely name.” Jumin smiled, and added the name to the letter in front of him. “Mrs. Kang, please see this letter delivered to Miss Emme. We shall be having lunch on the morrow.”
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Emme was, once again, fidgeting. Her dress today was much simpler - She’d been summoned to the palace to have lunch with the prince and discuss embroidery.  The letter had been delivered to her actual home, and not to the address she was beholden to as a supposed noble. This meant that the palace knew exactly who she was, and were in no way fooled by her assumed identity.
Her handler warned her that going to the palace again would be a trap, that they meant to arrest her for treason, and that if she were to do this, they would wash their hands of her. There would be no help coming.  Emme wanted to believe that his highness was truly interested in her embroidery, truly wanted to speak with her, and perhaps request her work as they had discussed. She wanted to believe in him, because he seemed to truly see her, not just what he wanted to see.
And so, here she stood in front of the palace gates in her simple blue dress, its hem dust-stained from the walk across the city, her embroidery bag slung over her shoulder.  At least it hadn’t been raining.
“Who goes there?” The guard called, and she paused, taking a deep breath before responding.
“Emme, sir. Here at the invitation of His Highness Prince Jumin.”  She held out the invitation, which the guard took from her, and then smiled.
“Ah, the embroidress.  Welcome, miss!” The guard winked at her, and handed the invitation back. “Mrs. Kang should be out to escort you soon, you’re a bit early.”
“Yes, I am.” Emme said with a nod. “Better early and waiting than late and keeping His Highness waiting.”
The guard nodded, and in mere moments a severe-looking woman in glasses walked out, took one look at her, and smiled slightly.
“Miss Emme, if you’ll follow me?”
The way to Jumin’s private lounge was twisting, and Emme knew that she would not be able to leave the palace without assistance.  The way the guard and the housekeeper had been treating her didn’t imply that she was to be arrested, and so her hopes of having a peaceful lunch with discussion of shared interests rose steadily.
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Jumin was, of course, ready for Emme when she arrived.  He’d been standing by the window petting Miss Elizabeth the 3rd, and turned with a smile when Mrs. Kang showed her into the room before shutting the door to give them privacy.  It was false privacy, as Jumin’s valet stood against one wall, ready to serve any need they may have during the luncheon, all but unnoticed.
“Miss Emme.” He said, greeting her with a smile and a kiss on the hand. “How lovely to see you again. You look more comfortable today.”
Emme chuckled. “You weren’t upset to discover I was but a simple commoner in noble’s clothes? I am sorry for deceiving you, Your Highness.”
“Not at all, actually. You’re a breath of fresh air, and as hypocritical as it may sound, I don’t care one whit about nobility.”
Emme chuckled, and settled into the chair he motioned her to. “I brought some of my other embroidery for you to look over, since you mentioned it was also a hobby you enjoyed.”
The moment she sat down, Elizabeth the 3rd perked up from her window seat. She stretched leisurely, then trotted over to Emme, and after a casual appraisal, jumped up into her lap and curled up to go back to sleep.
Emme was startled, and looked to Jumin and then back down at Elizabeth multiple times, with hearts in her eyes.
“Is this Miss Elizabeth the 3rd? She’s so lovely!”
Jumin simply stared. Miss Elizabeth did not tolerate anyone but himself, often going so far as to scratch Mrs. Kang, and hiss at his Valet, V, if he got too close. But here she was, declaring her preference for the lap of this girl she’d just met over his own.
“Emme.” Jumin said, his voice full of an emotion he couldn’t place. “Marry me.”
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anon-drabble · 11 months
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beneath the branches
some fluff for our boy jumin! this idea attacked me last night as i was trying to sleep and wouldn’t let me rest. 
we all know jumin loved visiting the cherry farm. what if it wasn’t just the cherries there he had his eye on?
jumin is a touch out of character to me but i just love awkard-in-love jumin so that’s what i wrote lol. 
ao3 | ko-fi | twitter | masterpost
The scene laid out before Jumin was one he knew well. The cherry farm in the early morning was a frequent stop for Jumin. After all, he did business with them and was fond of the land in his own way. It seemed peaceful most days. Just acres of land laid out. Very few buildings and none that pierced the sky. Not like his own penthouse. The city had its charms but on the farm, Jumin just felt lighter, like life itself was less of a burden. His chest rose and fell with each breath and every time he inhaled, it seemed easier than the last. Like he was renewing himself and freeing himself of the many bonds that held him tight. Too tight to move, at times. In short, the cherry farm was the only real combination of business and pleasure that Jumin knew. The cat projects were fun diversions but there was always pressure to be profitable, to make it worthwhile. He knew his privilege of being the CEO’s son and that the only reason he could do any cat projects was because of his position. The cherry farm was easier. It was an established contract, something known to be beneficial. It made things easier. 
As he crested the familiar hill that led to the facility that served as the main hub for the farm, he shielded his eyes from the sun. He glanced to the right, where the hills held countless trees. Each tree carefully cultivated and cared for by the farmhands. But he wasn’t truly looking at the trees. His steps slowed as his eyes scanned the spaces between, where the shadows hid a great deal but spears of sunlight would still reach the ground in a few spots. But Jumin was looking for movement. He saw a pair of legs move between the trees but the body was still hidden. But then she emerged and she smiled and waved at Jumin, as she always did. 
She was beautiful, if he were one to notice such a thing. Most times, he didn’t see how beautiful any particular woman was. He simply didn’t care. But for her, it was impossible to miss. She never looked like the women Jumin usually saw. She wasn’t buried under layers and layers of makeup. Her clothes were simple, her shoes practical. But she had a natural radiance. The way her smile just felt like a ray of light itself. Her bright brown eyes always echoed the smile on her face. On that day, her muscular arms were bare. She must have been working since much earlier in the morning as it wasn’t that warm. 
Jumin didn’t feel himself sigh in relief at seeing her. He didn’t notice the way her smile made him feel warm. He lifted his hand to give her a stiff wave and she retreated back to the trees. He resumed his walk to the large building ahead, pretending he hadn’t purposely slowed down just for a chance to see her. His trips to the cherry farm were for business purposes, not for some woman he barely knew. He wasn’t like his father. He didn’t make such foolish decisions or allow any women to sway him in any way. 
The building ahead was partly a large barn, partly a warehouse, with a portion being the actual home of the owners of the farm. That was separated from the busiest parts of the building but it was clear to see the original roots of each part of the building. As Jumin approached, he saw an older man walk out the door and towards Jumin. He had a large, friendly smile. 
“Hello, hello! Welcome!” the man exclaimed as he rushed towards Jumin. 
“Hello, Mr. Pin,” Jumin said calmly as he reached the man. 
“Please, please, I’ve told you! Call me Sang. We’re practically family now!” the man vigorously shook Jumin’s hand. “We have great stock from this harvest for you! But I thought you weren’t to pick up until next month?” 
“That’s correct. I came in the hopes of expanding our partnership. We have recently acquired a supply vendor, one that could easily be paired with a gardening venture. I thought we’d speak about selling snippings of your trees or other crops you have,” Jumin explained. 
Sang thought for only a moment. “I believe we can probably reach an agreement for that. We will have to adjust our fields if you wish to sell cuttings. They need to be propagated a certain way. We will have to dedicate a portion of the land to this project.” 
Jumin nodded. “We can detail everything in the contract. Once I get back, we will draft the documents and we can fully outline this venture.” 
“We can discuss this then. Come, come, see our harvest! Take some home with you! I guarantee our cherries will make your girl fall in love on the spot!” 
“You know I do not have anyone. However, I will gladly take fresh cherries home. They are the most delicious when I come here directly.” 
Sang clapped his hands. “Perfect! Yes!” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Jiya! Are you around?” he yelled into the trees. 
Jumin tried not to react to the shouting in his ears. But when she emerged from the trees again, Jumin couldn’t help but stare a bit. She smiled at him again and he felt a lump form in his throat. 
“Mr. Jumin here would like our best cherries! I told him we’d show our harvests!” 
Jiya nodded and pulled out her phone. She pulled up something and consulted it for a moment. “Field 17 yielded the most. But I would suggest we bring Mr. Han to Field 12, I believe he will appreciate those.” 
“Jiya has taken over our record-keeping. My mind can’t keep up with it these days. She’s got it all stored in that phone there.”
“That is very practical,” Jumin said approvingly. 
“Ha! In my day, we just knew it in our bones. Now we have to rely on those things for everything!” Sang laughed but he was already leading the way through the trees. 
Jumin and Jiya followed only a second later. Though Sang was older, he still moved quickly, so full of life. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Han. Appa didn’t tell me you were coming or we would have prepared a basket that you could bring home with you.”
Though they knew each other, they hadn’t spoken that many times before. Jumin’s dealings had mostly been with Sang, as he was the owner. But now, if Jiya was actually working on the farm, would they possibly have more interactions? “I did not tell him. I happened to have time and he had mentioned a fruitful harvest so I thought I’d come myself.” They continued walking, Sang still ahead and frequently chattering to other workers they passed. “Are you considering staying with the farm, now?” Jumin suddenly asked. 
Jiya looked surprised by the question. “Oh, um…” she stammered. 
“Your father mentioned that he thought you might prefer to leave and find a different job,” Jumin said hastily. 
She smiled and he instantly relaxed. “Ah, I’m sorry. I know he wants me to run the farm once he dies but… Well, I’m still not sure what I’ll do.” Jumin nodded. “I do love it here, though. I wouldn’t want to leave but there’s…” she trailed off again and awkwardly fidgeted with her hands. “I just don’t know yet.” 
Jumin thought for a moment. “There are many options for you. The world is not simply one place but many people, places, and experiences.” She looked at him and smiled. She seemed relieved that he understood what she didn’t say. “My world is very different but I find this place to be one of my favorites.” 
Jiya laughed and Jumin’s stomach did a flip. He denied it every time it happened. Just a coincidence. It had nothing to do with Jiya. “Someday I want to see a city. I don’t think I’d be happy living in one but just to see it.” 
Immediately, Jumin considered inviting her for the contract signing as Sang would have to come to C&R to sign the new contract. But then he thought of seeing Jiya in such an environment and got a little sad. So he said nothing. 
The rest of the walk through the trees was mostly silent, with Sang and Jumin occasionally speaking. Eventually, they crested a hill with more trees laid out all around them. Jumin could not tell any difference between the rows, nor where one field ended and another began. But this was not his world. Sang and Jiya knew this but they could not navigate the double-speak and the carefully-worded promises that in truth promised nothing of the business world. Their lives were here. And no matter how many times Jumin might visit, it was always just a visit and he’d soon enough have to return back to his world. He glanced over at Jiya and wished his life might change. But he refused to acknowledge that and kept it locked in his heart. Where his other impossible dreams lived. 
Now in the proper area, Sang and Jiya led Jumin down the rows of trees, speaking of all manner of things, such as the bark of each tree, the way the leaves had grown in a certain direction All things apparently led to more delicious cherries but Jumin did not know agriculture and many of their explanations would be forgotten on his flight home. At the base of some trees was a basket of cherries recently picked. But Jumin could see many cherries still on the branches. Jiya reached above her head and pulled down a bundle of fresh cherries from the nearest tree. She held them out for both Sang and Jumin. Jumin took the fruit carefully. He certainly didn’t intend for their fingers to touch as much as they did. Jiya didn’t seem to care about the brush of their hands. Of course she wouldn’t. It wasn’t intentional. As they ate their cherries, a man approached and called Sang over to attend to a matter in a nearby shed. He left and Jumin purposely avoided looking at Jiya. It had been morning when he arrived, though it was now the afternoon. The sun was less angled through the trunks of the trees and more overhead. It led to deeper shadows at ground level. 
“So?” Jiya asked. “What do you think?” 
Jumin had to consider for a moment before he realized she meant the cherry. “It was delicious. Very juicy,” he answered. 
She grinned proudly. “I knew it! You always seemed to like the juicier ones the best. I was right to give you these.” She pulled another bundle down and pulled apart an equal share for herself and Jumin. “Not everyone likes the really juicy ones. My dad always said you wouldn’t like them because they’re messier.” As she spoke, Jumin bit into one and felt the cherry juice dribble down his chin. She laughed at the timing as she saw it happen. Jumin was relieved she wouldn’t see a blush in the shadows. In fact, was it darker now than before? 
Jumin looked up at the sky between the leaves. “Is that a storm cloud?” 
Jiya followed his gaze. “Oh, shoot, it is. Storms here come and go fast. There won’t be time to get inside but the trees should keep us dry.” Right on cue, the rain began. She huddled under the tree to remain dry. Jumin felt the rain hit his back and took a step forward. He was forced closer to the tree by the rain. Closer to Jiya. They stood very close now. She was looking up at him and he met her eyes. “It’ll be over soon,” she said softly. He nodded and noted her averting her eyes from his. She was acting almost shy now. While they weren’t friends, he’d never seen her so skittish around him. 
The rain began to fall harder and both Jiya and Jumin took another step closer together. She quickly pushed a cherry into her mouth, desperate to act normal. The juice fell down her chin, just as it had done with Jumin a moment before. He wiped it with his thumb before he realized what he was doing. Jiya finally met his eyes again. “So… You still like it here even like this?” she asked, chuckling uneasily. 
“Nothing is more beautiful than this,” he answered honestly. 
And then he was kissing her. Neither of them had moved first but they came together at the same moment. He could taste the cherries on her lips. He felt her soft breath come out her nose. Her loose strands of hair tickled his face. He never wanted it to end. Eventually their lips parted but Jumin felt her slip her hand into his own. She smiled up at him a little and his heart thundered. There was no use denying anything now. There wasn’t much use for words between them. He could see that she was just as happy with the kiss. She lifted her head and shut her eyes in invitation and Jumin immediately obliged. Their lips met again, more purposefully this time. He felt her squeeze his hand and he reached around her back with his free hand, pulling her even closer. He felt her lips smile even as they kissed and he knew he was smiling too. Once again they parted and she still smiled at him. 
She blushed a little, though it was nearly invisible in the shadows. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she admitted. 
“Kissing?” Jumin asked, confused. 
She laughed a little. “No! We barely know each other, that’s all. I normally don’t kiss strangers. I don’t kiss anyone I’m not dating.” 
Jumin squeezed her hand a little. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. If you wish, this can remain just between us and the cherry tree.” 
Her face fell. Her hand released his and he let her go. Had she gotten the wrong idea? He didn’t want to rush her but he very much wanted more time with her. “I understand. It’s for the best,” she said quietly, taking a step away from Jumin. The rain was already slowing, the spell over them entirely broken. 
Jumin watched her distance herself and he knew he’d done something wrong but he didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t know what to say. “I don’t-” he began to say when Sang’s voice cut through the trees. 
“These summer showers! They come so quickly!” Sang appeared before them again, seemingly oblivious to the awkward atmosphere. “Mr. Jumin, you are satisfied, yes? We have a delicious basket ready for you, whenever you are ready to leave. No rush, of course.” 
“Excuse me, Appa, I should get back to my work,” Jiya interrupted and quickly left the two men. 
Sang watched her walk away and slyly looked back at Jumin. He grinned and Jumin braced for the worst. “She only leaves that fast when she wants to hide something. You know, these cherries lead to love! I told you, share my cherries and any girl will be yours! Although I did not realize my daughter was your target, but there are worse men out there!” He laughed loudly, patting a hand on Jumin’s back. 
“It is not like that,” Jumin protested but Sang wasn’t listening. Jumin cleared his throat and straightened his tie. He stood like the CEO he was. “You have the wrong idea. There is nothing between your daughter and me. I must get back but I look forward to our further business together.” 
That silenced Sang as Jumin was usually far more polite and not so cold. Sang led Jumin back to the road and watched him leave. Jumin had returned to “normal” after announcing that he was leaving but Sang was still suspicious. 
It took many months to ready the contract for the next venture with the cherry farm. As soon as it was ready, Jumin made arrangements for Sang to travel to C&R to sign the contract. The day of the signing, Jumin was waiting in the meeting room for Sang to arrive. Jaehee had gone down to the ground floor to welcome him and bring him to the meeting when he arrived. As the door opened, Sang entered first and Jumin had already extended his hand to shake Sang’s when Jiya entered behind him, with Jaehee following. Jumin faltered a moment when he saw Jiya as he had not expected her. Sang, however, was his usual loud self and took Jumin’s hand as he greeted him. 
“So good to see you again! We are very excited to begin this new side of things! We have prepared our fields already, isn’t that right, Jiya?” 
Jumin’s gaze had not left her since she entered but she briefly met his eyes. “Yes, Appa. The land is ready to begin for next planting season.” The spell on Jumin finally broke and he composed himself from the shock and looked to Sang to address him.
Sang grinned with a slightly mischievous glint in his eye. “Jiya has agreed to step up at the farm and she will be overseeing our finances and business partnerships now,” he said with a knowing smile at Jumin. “So I brought her as she will need to sign as well.”
Inside, Jumin’s mind was racing. He could hardly even hear what was happening around him but he knew he couldn’t dwell on her too much. But suddenly he was back on the farm, underneath the cherry tree, her lips kissing his, her body heat against his. He remembered every detail, though he’d tried to forget. Thankfully a part of Jumin the businessman was still there, and he heard himself speaking though he didn’t remember forming the words himself. “I am glad you decided to stay with the farm,” he said, echoing his words to Jiya on that day. 
“My father convinced me. I couldn’t leave after all. It’s too beautiful,” she said and Jumin scanned her face. Had she meant to say the same thing he had that day? But she remained unreadable. 
The actual signing lasted for some time as there were many pages and they had to adjust some portions for Jiya’s new position. However, they soon finished. Sang pushed the cap back onto his pen as Jaehee signed, acting as notary for the deal. Once she finished, he stood. “Miss Kang, please help an old man out, Is there a restroom I can use? Can you please show me?” 
“Of course, sir. Right this way.” Jaehee led him out of the room, leaving Jumin and Jiya alone. 
Jiya gathered her things and her father’s belongings as they were planning to leave now that the signing was done. 
But Jumin couldn’t let her go without saying anything. “So how does the city compare? To what you thought?” he asked, immediately regretting the words. He’d wanted to apologize as he was quite certain whatever had gone wrong between them was his fault. 
Jiya looked towards the windows in the meeting room. “It’s a lot like what I expected,” she said. She walked over to the window. She was next to Jumin but he knew that hadn’t been her intent. She just wanted a better view of the window. “The people are exactly what I thought they’d be like.” 
“Were you treated poorly?” Jumin asked, worry in his voice. Had someone said something rude to her? 
She actually smiled and Jumin’s knees threatened to buckle. She looked so differently from how she looked on the farm. She had makeup on this time. Her clothes were clean and pressed, if plain. Her hair, which was usually up and out of her face on the farm, was down now, falling past her shoulders. She was still the most gorgeous woman Jumin had ever seen. “No. I was talking about you,” she said with a laugh. 
Jumin frowned, trying to discern what she possibly meant by those words. 
“You know, my dad is convinced something happened between us when you last visited. I told him nothing did but he seemed like he knew,” she said. 
“I assure you, I did not tell him. He suggested something similar as I was leaving but I told him he was wrong. I thought you would prefer him not to know.” 
“You’re right about that,” she said. “What happened between us…” 
“I need to apologize for my behavior. I had the wrong idea. I thought perhaps you felt as I did that day and I should not have kissed you so suddenly,” Jumin was suddenly blurting out. He was not the type to ramble but he had to try to explain to her. 
Jiya turned to face Jumin. “I wasn’t upset that you kissed me,” she interrupted, confused as to why he was saying that. “I was upset that you brushed it off so quickly. I told you I didn’t usually kiss unless I was dating a guy. I wanted you to ask me out. But you basically said it was just a kiss. You’ve probably kissed a dozen girls on a dozen other farms so it didn’t mean much to you but it meant more to me. But I wanted to clear the air because if we have to work together, I don’t want you to think I’m interested in you like that. I am not a fling and I’m not going to be treated like one.” 
Jumin was stunned by her words. That wasn’t at all what he’d interpreted from their conversation that day. That was why she’d been upset? Because she thought Jumin was like his father? He felt sick to his stomach. He shook his head. “You misunderstood. I thought you did not want to move so fast so I wanted to assure you we could take it slowly or not at all, if that was what you wanted. I…” He felt a lump in his throat form at his words. “I knew I liked you and wished to know you better and I wanted you to know that I was not going to rush you at all.” He sighed. “I am sorry I gave you the wrong idea. I wish I had spoken more clearly as there was nothing I wanted more than to know you. And now I can see that our moment has passed due to my blunder.” 
Jiya took a step towards Jumin and looked up at him. “Who said our chance was gone?” When he met her eyes, she smiled a little. “We’re going to be working together more often now. We’ll naturally get to know each other that way, right?” 
Jumin shook his head. “I didn’t mean in that way…” he said, feeling helpless. 
“I know,” she said softly. She reached forward and took Jumin’s hand, just as she had done that day. “I’ll tell you again. I don’t kiss unless I’m dating someone,” She was looking up at him, her eyes silently urging him to take the hint this time. 
“Would you…like to have dinner with me?” Jumin asked, not quite sure what was happening except that it seemed to be what she wanted him to say. And it was what he wanted to do, to be with her. 
She smiled up at him. “It’s about time you asked,” she gently teased.
21 notes · View notes
yarnnerdally · 1 year
Text
How Corny
Pairing: Jumin Han/MC Rating: G Tags: romance, Corny pick up lines, sad zen, Jaehee is traumatized by her boss (again) Prompt: Corny pick up lines
Entry number 4. Enjoy <3 @xxsycamore @chaosangel767
ZEN has entered the chat.
Jumin Han has entered the chat.
Jaehee Kang has entered the chat.
ZEN
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ZEN
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ZEN
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Jaehee Kang
Zen, please don’t spam the chat.
ZEN
I can’t help it, Jaehee. It’s almost Valentines and I’m so lonely.
Jumin Han
     You could focus on something other than romance, for a change.
ZEN
     Like you’re one to talk.
Jaehee Kang
     He does have a point, Mr. Han.
MC has entered the chat.
MC
     Hey everyone!
Jumin Han
     Just the person I was hoping to see. My love, do you know what tomorrow is?
ZEN
     It’s a trap, MC!
MC
     Hmmmm~ what is tomorrow?
Jumin Han
     Valentine’s Day. Also an excuse for me to lavish you with more love and attention everywhere and anywhere we wish.
Jaehee Kang
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ZEN
     I’m going to die.
Jumin Han
     I do have several things prepared for our day. I’ve also prepared a plethora of perfect words to sweep you off your feet while you wait for me to come home.
MC
     You’re adorable, Jumin.
ZEN
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Jumin Han
     MC, I hope you know CPR.
Jaehee Kang has left the chat
MC
     Mm? Why is that, dear?
Jumin Han
     Because you take my breath away.
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ZEN
     I can’t believe this is happening right now.
MC
     Oh my word. I better sign up for a training course today, then.
Jumin Han
     And, my love, if I were a cat, you know what I would do?
MC
     What’s that?
Jumin Han
     Spend all nine of my lives with you.
ZEN
     CATS DON’T ACTUALLY HAVE NINE LIVES
MC
     Awww, Jumin, that was really cute. Corny, but cute.
ZEN
     …
     You’re both hopeless.
MC
     Got that right ;)
27 notes · View notes
astridthevalkyrie · 9 months
Text
honeymoon period | jumin han x reader
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After Jumin marries you, slowly, his threads start to untangle.
a/n: my first and probably last long jumin fic. this has been in the works for months, literally what i've been stalling on superior for (pre keigo 😭) i hope you all enjoy! i love this man <3
warnings: afab reader with she/her pronouns, some depressing thoughts, smut, oral (m and f receiving), penetrative sex, references to kinks that they both have, references/nightmares about abuse including sexual harassment, insecurity, jumin's comedy lol
word count: 13.2k (only a little less than the last superior chapter that is cray cray)
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There is a knock on your door.
It makes you jump. Not that you’re nervous—it’s a hotel and several of your friends and family are here to see you get married, so naturally many of them know where your room is. The room itself is, of course, lavish, a paradise compared to most of your previous lodgings. Honestly, you miss the penthouse.
No, that’s not quite right. You just miss being curled up on the couch, tucked into Jumin’s chest with Elizabeth on your lap, wine on his lips and love in his eyes. You miss him, even though you saw him last this morning. You know he’s in the hotel lobby being forced to get wasted by Luciel, because the hacker in question has sent you dozens of videos of your fiancé. In one of them, when Zen reminds him he’s getting married tomorrow, a goofy smile breaks out on his face as he ducks his head.
Maybe the wedding wasn’t necessary. Maybe you two could have just signed the necessary papers without having to go a full day without seeing each other. How are you supposed to sleep tonight? You could call him, but it wouldn’t be the same.
Sighing, you make your way to the door. If it’s one of your friends trying to convince you to let loose or a family member coming to check up on you, you’re not in the mood.
When you open the door, your fiancé is standing there.
“Jumin!”
All questions on the tip of your tongue disappear when he brings you into his arms, burying his face in your neck with a content sigh. There’s no urgency in it, just a quiet, sudden happiness, like he’s fully aware that in just a few hours he won’t have to worry about you being anywhere but in his arms again.
“Thank you.” His voice breaks the silence, muffled on your skin. “For letting me love you, and for loving me.”
Your eyes well up with tears. What an emotional bride you’re turning out to be. And what a wonderful groom you have, to somehow know exactly what you need even when he’s not completely sober.
Slowly, you wrap your arms around him as well, breathing in the scent of his shampoo as you press a kiss to the top of his head.
“You’re welcome, Jumin.”
///
There has never been a lovelier sight than your smile, and Jumin hopes you know that.
If you don’t, he’ll just have to convince you.
“Hi, sweetheart.” You’re sporting a grin for him—just for him—wearing nothing but one of his shirts with Elizabeth the Third scurrying out from between your feet when she sees him. There’s a pink bottle on the counter. Frosting, he thinks. “I hope you don’t mind, but having a chef cook for us for a month straight has ruined my palate for anything else. I had to cook for myself again before I got spoiled. I can call him to make you dinner if you don’t want to eat what I made, though!”
“Of course not.” The urge to embrace you is unbearable. A month after the wedding, and his first day back at work after the honeymoon, he still can’t seem to keep his hands off. “What did you make? I’ll eat anything.”
He leans down to take Elizabeth the Third in his arms, scratching the back of her head softly. “Alright! I made stew and baked some cupcakes, I hope you like it. But you should probably change first. Slip into something more comfortable.”
“Ironic, considering you and I are wearing the same thing.”
“Well…” You lean over the counter, making a show of ogling him. “If you really want to match, you can leave the shirt on and take off your pants.”
It’s impossible to even try and stop the smile growing on his face. “Would you like that?”
“Come over here and find out, hubby.”
The nickname makes him flush pleasantly, but instead of taking you up on that extremely tempting offer, he simply walks up and presses a kiss to your forehead. You pout, and with the tact of knowing Elizabeth is still in his arms, you tug on his tie and kiss him properly. Jumin’s brain turns off, if only for a few seconds. As long as you kiss him and he kisses you back, the only thing he knows is you, you, you and nothing else.
Now, instead of changing, he’s holding his cat and kissing you in the kitchen. With just a minor breakaway and murmured apology, he’s no longer holding his cat. His hands slide around your back and pull you in, and your hands meet at the base of his neck. You. Only you. 
“Ju-min,” you admonish breathlessly, the second he pulls away to trail hurried kisses down your neck. “Dinner first.”
“Mm. I’m not hungry.” Or he is, but not for dinner.
Your hands come to rest on his chest, but you don’t pull away, and Jumin is beyond grateful. He doesn’t want to eat, doesn’t want to sleep or shower or do anything else when he could be showing you just how much he’d missed you at work today. 
Slightly pressed into the counter, you place your hands back and jump onto it, and he eagerly steps in between your legs to kiss you again. Your legs wrap around his waist and your hands tangle in his hair—a habit of yours, he’s noticed, to mess his hair up. He doesn’t mind. Not if it makes you happy. 
Finally, you pull away and before he can dive back in for yet another kiss, you dip your finger into the bowl next to you and offer it up to him. Without even considering it, he takes your finger in between his lips and licks the gravy off.
It’s only after he registers the taste does Jumin realize how intimate the action is. And of course, he knows that you’re married, that you and he have seen each other absolutely bare and open to one another, that he is literally making out with you in his—in your—in your shared kitchen. He knows that despite everyone thinking that the marriage was rushed and impulsive, this will be a long road, and he plans to stick by you for each and every single step. He knows that tasting something off your finger is hardly the most domestic thing you two will do.
But it doesn’t stop the flurry of butterflies he feels in his stomach. It doesn’t stop him from thinking my wife is letting me taste what she made, because she’s perfect. That’s not to mention how wonderful the taste actually is.
“Good?” you question, with gleaming eyes.
“Incredible.” He takes your hand and dips your finger in the bowl, stealing another taste right after. “More than incredible. The best stew I’ve ever had.”
“I know you’re flattering me.” Leaning forward, you take his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. Softly, gently, like he’s something fragile that will break if you use any force. “But I’m not complaining. Keep going.”
“Food is always better when a beautiful woman is the one serving it.”
You beam. The butterflies in his stomach do a victory soar.
Jumin Han is in love.
///
Zen has a dream about you. That’s when the problem starts.
He tells it to the group in great detail—it’s not anything romantic or sexual, but Jumin doesn’t see a reason for you to be in his subconscious at all, even if you were just the supposed director for Zen’s dream movie. You’re not any sort of movie director, so the dream is ridiculous at any rate.
It doesn’t stop him from pouncing on you the second you two get back home. You don’t even get to take a seat before he’s pressing you against the door, ensuring it’s locked (the last thing he needs is for one of the security guards to see this and have dreams about you too) and kissing you possessively. 
“Jumin—?” There’s a question on the tip of your tongue, but it cuts off into a delicious moan when he starts sucking and biting all the same spots he knows he left hickeys on during your honeymoon. 
“Spend the day with me,” he whispers. “Just me, no one else.”
An amused giggle bubbles from your throat. “I was already gonna do that, honeybunny.”
Good. That’s plenty of time for him to mark up your neck (and other places) so that everyone knows you’re his, and other people can stop dreaming of you. Already his mind is filled with wicked thoughts, of how he can make you cry and beg and scream today. From the time you two spent on your honeymoon, he knows you can get quite loud if he puts his mind to it.
The only limit is his imagination.
“Jumin.” Your head tilts back against the door, eyes closed as his tongue soothes a bite mark he just made. “Ah, J-Jumin, are you jealous?”
“No.” He is.
“I know what possessiveness looks like.” You take his hand in yours and press a kiss to each fingertip. “You know that me being in Zen’s dream isn’t something in our or even his control?”
“Of course I know that.” He huffs, impatiently fiddling with the buttons on your shirt. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
He kisses you again, and you hum in understanding, sliding your arms around his neck and pulling him in closer. It’s amazing, no matter how many times he thinks everyone would dismiss him for being ridiculous over something like this, you are always there to prove that at least one person wouldn’t. And you taste. So. Damn. Good. 
So why not taste you all over? Jumin hungrily slides his tongue over your teeth, seeking entrance. When your mouth parts for him, he tastes you intimately, swallowing your soft sighs. 
“For the record,” you mumble, out of breath, “I only ever dream about you.”
“As do I, darling.” He pulls you closer still, thinking about how good you’ll taste when he has his mouth on your pussy. “As do I.”
///
This need to prove himself to you extends beyond the sexual—you laugh so much when you’re around Luciel and Yoosung. Actual laughter that is so different from the polite smiles and chuckles that are in response to his own words.
He hates it. He hates it so very much. He wants to make you laugh, full blown and unabashed. As much as he likes making you giggle, he wants to make you laugh so hard that there are tears pouring down your cheeks. And his experience has quite readily set him up for the expectation that if he wants something, he will have it.
And now, what he really, really wants is to see his wife lose her in laughter because of him.
That means it’s time to bring out the big guns.
Right now you’re under the covers, reading glasses on as you flip through a book. The book in question is something from his personal library (when he showed it to you, mentioning a scene from Beauty and the Beast, you had promptly told him that he was not a beast, but that you finally understood how the princess felt in that scene). 
To an extent, Jumin feels bad when he distracts you from work or requests your attention. But he tries to remind himself that if you didn’t want it, you were more than capable of telling him as much. And your reaction to him crawling on top of you with his arms on either side would certainly not be to put the book aside and pull him down to lay on your chest with a kiss to the crown of his head.
For once in his life, Jumin is certain that he is loved.
“I have a joke,” he tells you matter-of-factly, and your brow raises.
“What is it?”
Taking a deep breath, he raises himself up so he can take a good look at your face.
“Hit Seoul, hit Daejon, hit Daegu, hit Busan, hit it!”
There’s a long pause, and your surprised expression slowly morphs into a giggle, then at his grin, a chortle. Jumin laughs first, and then you do too, throwing your head back. It’s single-handedly the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard in his life.
“W-what—“ You’re wheezing now, shoulders shaking. “What does that even mean?”
“I cast a spell on you. Those who laugh are no ordinary souls, for your information.”
“You are so perfect.” The praise catches him off guard, but your body is still shaking from laughter, and in your eyes he sees something like adoration. “How are you so perfect?”
That is definitely not a word he associates with his humor. His status, money, company, business acumen? Yes, perfect, as they were always meant to be. But the little flips in his stomach tell him that none of those things are what you’re referring to. The look in your eyes—he never sees you look at material objects or money that way. He has only ever seen it aimed towards him, and Jumin realizes with a start that there is no need to compete with Zen or Yoosung or Luciel—because really, there is no competition to begin with.
///
Being a workaholic comes with benefits. Everything always gets done. And he enjoys doing business, so there is no negative side effect…other than the lost time that could be spent with his wife. Typing away on the computer he has set up in his study, Jumin sighs, cracking his neck every half hour or so. He’s been at it for hours, but there’s still more left to do.
A soft knock makes him look up. You peek your head in, blinking sleepily and all wrapped up in a blanket. “Sorry to disturb,” in a whisper that barely reaches his ears, “can I sleep here, honey?”
Jumin beckons you in, looking around dubiously. “I’m sorry, I don’t think there’s any surface here you’d be comfortable on. I don’t want you to have an ache by tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” Your eyes keep blinking closed, as though you’re barely staying awake. All your words are hushed, but you still manage to clamber over to his side of the desk, blanket in tow, and fall onto his lap, burying your face in his chest. 
With a start, he catches you, holding you close. “What is it, sweetheart? You can’t sleep?”
You shake your head, getting even more comfortable. “The bed’s too cold.”
Something indescribable squeezes his chest. Above everything, the pleasure that you would rather seek warmth from him rather than get another blanket is all-consuming. Without another word, he stands with you in his arms and walks to the bed. The second he steps into the bedroom, your grip on him becomes a little tighter.
He huffs back a small laugh. “I’m not going anywhere. I’d just rather you sleep here.”
Pulling out a second blanket from the closet for good measure, he lays down on the bed with you, throwing both blankets over your bodies before wrapping you up in his arms. You sigh happily, legs mixing with his and face pressing in his chest once more.
“Sorry for distracting you.” Now your voice is barely audible. “Mm…you’re just…so much warmer…”
“Can I ask you a favor?” You hum softly in response. “Please never apologize for demanding my attention. I am yours, that includes my body, my soul, and my time. Should you ever need me to sleep and I am in the office, please call me and I’ll come home immediately. I’ll take the jet home if I have to. That doesn’t just stop at my time either. If there is anything, anything, you would like, then all you have to do is ask me. I’ll buy you anything. The world is at your disposal.”
There’s a pause and Jumin thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you break the silence, quietly asking, “Is it okay if I ask you for something, then?”
“Anything.”
Cute but glossy eyes peer up at him, and you blink rapidly. “A kiss?”
Jumin places his hands on your cheeks, catching the stray tear that falls. Then he leans in, and everything is right with the world.
///
Ice Prince.
Jumin has no idea where the title actually came from. He doesn’t see what’s wrong with someone having control of their emotions. Is he expected to cry or rage at every little thing? That’s a genuine question. Maybe he doesn’t show much emotion at all, and he should. He’s open to advice.
It shouldn’t even be on his mind. He’s watching a soap opera, and the most beautiful woman in the world is in his arms. He enjoys watching your reactions more than watching the show itself, whether you’re holding back an aww or wincing. Every so often, you look up and meet his eyes, giving him a sweet smile each and every time before placing your head back on his chest. 
Still, he can’t get the article he read earlier out of his head. Has the Ice Prince really settled down? What kind of life does the new Mrs. Han lead? One can only imagine that she does not get many warm moments with Jumin Han. A speedy divorce would not be surprising.
Just the thought makes him tug you in closer, the idea of you leaving never failing to terrify him. He’s gotten better, he doesn’t freak out over you exiting the penthouse or hanging out with friends or working. He’d told himself harshly that he would not drive you away with his overt possessiveness.
But maybe he’s going to drive you away if he can’t learn to show you his emotions and instead continues to be…well, an ice prince, as much as he hates the term.
“Jumin.” You’re pressing a kiss to his throat, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Are you tired, honey? We can go to bed.”
When he looks down, you’re gazing concernedly up at him. He doesn’t feel like a villain when you look upon him like this. And holding you close is not the only privilege he has here. Taking your face in his hands, he kisses you, and you melt in almost immediately. Jumin knows that you’re starting to get sleepy because you don’t make any move to straddle him further.
The man who knows you best—that is what the articles should be about. Doting husband. Family man. Your partner. How could anyone think he was cold or heartless to you?
“Juju,” you mumble softly, not bothering to break the kiss, “we should get to bed.”
Yes, you’re right. However…
“May I ask you a question?” His curiosity and slight anxiousness requires him to make sure. If he’s ever done anything to make you think he’s some kind of robot, he needs to get rid of such behavior immediately.
Your lips quirk like he’s said something funny. “You may.”
“Have I ever seemed…cold to you?” Almost as if to remind you before you answer, he holds your hand, squeezing gently, while the other hand remains on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin softly. “Since we’ve been together, I mean. Have I ever acted anything like an…” Jumin cringes just saying it out loud. “Ice prince?”
The question seems to take you aback, and you blink a few times. Your eyes—warm, beautiful eyes—first stare at him with a certain confusion, then quickly become infused with a sudden anger.
“Did someone say that about you? Who was it?”
“No one,” he responds, then hastily amends, “there have always been articles calling me that. I just happened to see one today, so it was on my mind.”
Now, you really do straddle him, threading your fingers through his hair. The anger has dulled into a stubborn crossness. With a deep scowl, you kiss his forehead and say, “That is ridiculous. You have been nothing but warm to me, Jumin Han.”
The same warmth you’re talking about spreads across his cheeks, painting them pink, but you’re not done.
“Since when do you care about those articles anyway? They’ve always been inane. Remember when everyone was convinced that you would marry Sarah?” Here you huff, and he hates to admit that he loves seeing you jealous, even if over someone he never even considered getting to know. “And you had to set them straight for them to print anything accurate. Maybe I should give a press statement of my own. Ice Prince my ass.”
“Such language,” Jumin says lowly, already hiding his face in your neck. You’re still peeved, muttering things under your breath as you stroke his hair, angry kisses pressed to his skin in the middle of your rant.
Eventually, you tire yourself out, falling asleep right there on his chest, a common occurrence. He doesn’t mind it one bit, it’s actually really easy to carry you to bed. For some reason, Jumin feels much, much lighter.
///
His wife is a party planner. An event planner, technically, since you’ll take some requests for meetings as well, but it’s mostly parties. He knows that due to your marriage, there’s been an increase in the amount of clients wanting you to plan their events. Even before, you’d said your schedule had always been sporadic, revolving around whatever the current most pressing event was.
Frankly, he shouldn’t be surprised, with how masterfully you pulled off the RFA party. 
He’s more than proud of you, of course. He’s now attended quite a few of the events you put together, and it always leaves him impressed. You’ve confided in him about how you’d like to either switch to a company that exclusively does weddings or start your own, and despite your protests, he’s fully prepared to finance such an endeavor when the time comes.
The only issue about your job, and his job as well, is that your schedules can be sporadic. There are days where you can work without even leaving the penthouse, and then there are days where you are running around and don’t return until 2 AM. Jumin can hardly get upset when he’s taunted the clock with his record times at coming home as well.
Can’t get upset at you, that is. Being upset at the situation is perfectly reasonable. He wants to spend time with his wife, dammit. You’re his favorite person in the world, all the things he wants to do involve being with you.
So when he’s the one who’s arriving at 2 in the morning, he deflates to see that you’re fast asleep, a couple documents and your phone in the bed next to you. How many times has he told you he would set up a separate room for you to work in? Each time, you shake your head and say all you need is your phone and laptop, and you can work anywhere. That doesn’t take into account your health, though. The place you relax should not be associated with work, or it leads to a less relaxing sleep cycle. He once read a study about that.
It might be hypocritical, but Jumin misses you. He wants to talk to you so badly it pains him, and not just longing phone calls that always leave him wanting more.
Loosening his tie, he waits for a second before falling hard onto the bed.
Your eyes flutter open immediately, and in your daze you take in your still-dressed husband. With a sleepy smile, you push away all the papers next to you to snuggle into his arms. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you.” One arm secured around your back, he pulls you as close to him as you can. He sees you breathe in his lingering cologne, and it makes him downright giddy that his scent seems to bring you comfort. “Shouldn’t a loving wife be waiting up for her husband?”
You yawn, throwing one leg around him. “Not when the husband returns at an ungodly time and the wife has an early morning site inspection. Did you have dinner?”
“I did. Did you?”
“Mmh. Yeah. I refrigerated some in a container if you wanna take it to work tomorrow.” 
This is one of his favorite domestic things you do—and he doesn’t even think you realize how much he appreciates it. If it’s between having something from a five star restaurant or having your cooking, the latter will win each and every time. Sometimes he wants to brag  to the whole world, although the most he’ll do is slip how tasty his lunch was today to Assistant Kang (who will almost always respond with a dry, “Glad to hear that, Mr. Han.”).
“I will.” Jumin kisses your lips, smiling when he feels you respond with little effort. “I’ve missed you.”
Your arms snake around his waist as you tuck your head under his chin. Jumin sighs when he feels you kiss his collarbone. “I’ve missed you too.” All he needs is your breath on his skin, or your hands on his face, or your voice filling his ears. It relaxes him instantly. “What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”
“I’ll be in the office all day.” Already he groans, burying his face in your hair in the hopes that it will preemptively soothe the headache sure to form tomorrow. At first he didn’t understand why you insisted on using the same hair conditioner you always did instead of a much more expensive one he could buy for you, but the smell of your hair is so exquisite that now he wholly prefers it (although there is a special kind of tingling in his chest reserved for the moments you smell like him). 
“Same. After my inspection, I’m going to be meeting four new clients, and I’m going to guess they all want priority.” You roll your eyes, carding your fingers through his hair. “Tomorrow is also Mr. Wang’s wedding, so I’ll be back late.”
At his wordless whine, you giggle, kissing his cheek. Then after a few seconds of thoughtful silence, a soft hum sounds from your throat.
“I have an idea.”
///
The click of Jaehee’s heels alerts him to her entrance, and Jumin straightens in his chair, accepting the papers that she hands him. 
“Thank you. Have you eaten, Assistant Kang?”
Jaehee blinks at him once, then twice, like he’s grown an extra head. Then she slowly nods, the surprised expression melting back into her perfectly professional one once more. “Yes, sir. And you?”
“Not yet. I brought a container my wife packed for me.”
“Honey, I don’t think she really cares to know that.”
“I see. She is a pretty good cook if I recall correctly.”
“Everyone cares,” Jumin insists. 
“Excuse me?”
“You’re so sweet, it’s annoying. I want to kiss you all the time.”
“Mr. Han, are you alright? You look a bit out of it—should I call for a doctor?”
“Do it.” He smiles at the papers in his hands. “I won’t stop you.”
“Call…call the doctor?”
“Will you kiss me back, in front of all your employees?”
“Yes. Of course. Whatever you desire.”
“Right away, sir,” Jaehee responds in a sort of strangled voice, and it’s not until he hears the click of her heels again that he remembers she was there. In almost a flash, she leaves his office. 
“What did she say?”
Jumin touches the tiny earpiece that’s been on all day, adjusting it only slightly. “I honestly have no idea.”
///
Jumin hates leaving. But he does, well, what is the phrase? Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave? Something along those lines, is what you’ve said to him. He’s not sure it applies here, since he is actually leaving to go abroad for a few days, and already he’s looking forward to his reunion with you, but he didn’t expect that both of you would be so needy for each other the night before the flight.
It starts with a few kisses, a pout on your lips that he thinks he can kiss away if he just tries hard enough. Telling you in hushed whispers that he’ll miss you an unfathomable amount. Your understanding on a pragmatic level, and your clinginess the second you both laid down. Both are appreciated more than he can say.
“What if I want to watch a movie with you?”
Kiss. “Just wait a week for me, my love.”
“What if the bed is too cold and I need you to warm me up?”
Kiss. “One week, I promise. No more than a week.”
“What if aliens invade the penthouse and I have no one to protect me?”
Kiss. “Tell them that your husband is going to kill them…in a week.”
For a few minutes, it goes on like this, with you proposing other scenarios and Jumin doing his best to both reassure you and make you laugh. He lays kiss upon kiss to your lips, and perhaps subconsciously, they become more ravenous, demanding. Seeking more. Seeking your conviction on just how much you will miss him.  
“Jumin,” you breathe into his mouth. Jumin, Jumin. He loves how you say his name.
You’re seeking something as well, the warmth that you are so certain will disappear along with him. On one hand, he hates that his princess has to sleep without him at all, especially when she clearly doesn’t want to. And on the other hand, knowing that you’ll be here, missing him so desperately, makes his heart flutter. You’ll miss him. You’ll miss him.
Within moments, you’re on top of him, seated on his lap and unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt. He’s responding in kind, leaving love bites on your neck as he slides your night robe off your shoulders. 
“What if I get lonely?” you ask, more demure than you actually are. “What if I need you, and my fingers aren’t enough?”
His hands press into your hips, hard enough to bruise. You mewl at the slight pain, and he manages to hiss, “I never want your fingers to be enough. If you wait for me, princess, I’ll make you cum more times than you can handle when I get back.” Even if just the idea of you sending him a video or even calling him as you touch yourself was incredibly appealing. Maybe next time. This week, he would have you think of nothing but his own fingers, his tongue, his cock.
And what better way to do that than to remind you how they feel?
“I’ll be gone seven days exactly.” Spoken more to your breasts than you, but he does gaze up at you reverently as he kneads them in his hands. “Maybe tonight I can make you cum once for every day I won’t be here. Would you like that?”
He jerks his thigh up against your core before you can answer, so you nod frantically, mouth falling open. “Uh huh!”
And who is Jumin to ever deny you?
///
The trip right before Valentine’s is the worst. It’s all Jumin can do to finish work before running like a madman through several different stores, picking up this and that. He insists on a different bag for each purchase, despite the clerks gently pointing out that he can put a lipstick tube in the same bag as a pair of heels and nothing will happen, but he doesn’t want to. He would like to see you open every item with a new spark of delight in your eyes.
Usually, he would return late at night, always opting to finish the day’s work and catch a flight right after instead of waiting for morning, because this way he would arrive home, gather you up in his arms as you slept soundly, and then bask in your surprise and delight when you woke the next morning. 
And this time would have been no different if one of the departments had not messed up, forcing him to wake up on Valentine’s Day still out of the country. After five days’ worth of work forced into two hours, a shopping spree and a quick call with you, he nearly takes the wheel from the pilot himself before Jaehee begs him to just sit and try to enjoy the ride home. The rest of the trip, they are engaged in a glaring contest every time she looks up from the video she is watching on her laptop. 
As soon as the door opens, he hears a surprised cry of his name, and then you’re barreling into him—all the bags in Jumin’s hands fall to the floor in favor of catching you and hefting you up in the air for a spin. 
“I thought—“ Kiss. “That you—“ Kiss. “Weren’t coming back today!“ Deeper kiss.
“I couldn’t miss my first Valentine’s with you, my love.” The deepest kiss of all.
The two of you only stop because his bodyguards are coming into the room after him, with more bags. Your eyes widen as you take in all of them, and your sharp mind has already pieced together what’s going on. “Is this all for me?”
“Of course.” Jumin knows that the way you’re latching onto him with such a tight grip is a more priceless gift than anything in these bags. “Why don’t you open everything? I wish to see your reaction.”
And so you do. The makeup, the shoes, the clothes, the jewelry, the books, the decor, all of fine quality and all things well thought out with your interests in mind. With every single item, no matter how big or small, you gasp, or squeal, or simply smile ever so widely. And without fail, you kiss him right on the lips each time.
Jumin is dizzy only halfway into the opening process—he must start buying you gifts far more often if this is the reward he gets.
However, you see beyond just his outward appearance, and you place the next bag he hands you aside without so much as a glimpse at it before clambering onto his lap. Hands on his cheeks, your thumbs smooth over where he’s sure eyebags are forming. “My poor Juju,” you whisper, “you look really tired, honey.”
Honey, honey, honey. How joyful he feels when you call him honey. “As always, you see right through me. I can’t hide from you, can I?”
“I never want you to hide from me.” A sweet kiss pressed to his cheek makes his stomach jump, like he’s a teenage boy with a crush. “Let’s lay down, shall we? We can finish opening everything afterwards.”
Jumin concedes, rising hand in hand with you until you’re both on the bed, curled up in each other. “What a terrible Valentine’s this turned out to be. I’m sorry, my love.”
Your arms wrap around his neck, kissing him slow, soft and smooth. “What are you talking about? You’re here where I can hold you, we’re both off work, and you’ve gifted me more than anyone else ever has or will in my life.”
“Good,” he says, satisfied that he’s set a standard that no one else can ever match for you. “But is that…enough?”
“Enough?” Your tone is incredulous. “Jumin, just you being here is more than enough. I love you so, so much, and I—“ You cut yourself off, slightly backing up as though you’re trying not to overwhelm him (a ridiculous notion, he would love nothing more than for you to overwhelm his every sense). “I cannot believe how lucky I am to have married you.”
This time he kisses you, the idea of sleep slipping further and further away because really, why should he close his eyes when he can only see you when they’re open? Why should he rob himself of the privilege to gaze upon your lovely face and listen to your quiet, soothing voice? Why should he do anything else, eat or drink or work or play, when he could simply kiss you for the rest of his life?
“I love you,” he breathes, pulling you closer because you simply can never be close enough. “Happy Valentine’s, my precious wife.”
///
Of course, the first time your schedule allows you to accompany him on a business trip he’s ecstatic. Finally a week without the headache of returning to an empty hotel room, and instead what will feel like more of a vacation, especially once he completes the necessary work and the two of you can spend the rest of the days lazing by the beach.
Because of the honeymoon, Jumin had become well acquainted with your fear of flying, and had arranged your seats in his private jet to be close together. As the jet takes off, he holds your hand in his as you squeeze, eyes shut tightly for the takeoff. Reassuringly, he kisses your hand, rubbing the back of it while his other hand strokes Elizabeth the Third’s head through the carrier she’s in. 
“Poor Elizabeth,” you manage to whimper, still looking quite pale even after the takeoff is done, “I hope she doesn’t get airsick.”
“She doesn’t,” Jumin reassures. Elizabeth is used to such flights, unlike you. He’d much rather you focus on your own health right now.
The stewardess for the flight comes through with the cart of food and drinks. “Anything for you, Mr. Han?”
“A glass of wine.”
“Of course, sir. And you, Mrs. Han?”
“Oh, um…” You smile sheepishly up at her. “Would you happen to have apple juice?”
The woman blinks once, then, as though she’s fighting back a laugh, says, “Apple juice, ma’am?”
“Is that a problem?” Jumin cuts in sharply before you can answer, glaring daggers.
“No, no! O-of course I can give you apple juice, ma’am, I didn’t mean to offend—“
“No offense taken.” Even nauseous and teased, you smile kindly, eyes lighting up when you have your drink. If he remembers correctly, he used to drink apple juice when he would get airsick as a child as well.
When the stewardess leaves, you lean over and press an apple-tasting kiss to his lips, and he catches a few drops of the juice in his mouth. It tastes yummy, or maybe it’s just the taste of you that he likes. 
Probably the latter. Either way, he’s eager to get this vacation started.
///
“I feel so good that you’re here. Thank you so much for coming. I…never want to let you go.”
“I’ve trapped you here, haven’t I?” he asks one night, after he thinks you’ve fallen asleep.
You’re wide awake, though, and he feels your lips on his throat as you whisper, “I’ve never once felt trapped with you, Jumin.”
///
You’re a lightweight, and it’s the most adorable thing Jumin has ever seen. Including cat photos. Including Elizabeth the Third. And you don’t realize just how cute you are, which only makes you cuter.
“Juju,” you whine, when he starts to guide you to bed.
“You have to sleep, my dear.” Almost smugly, he places a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Sleep and allow me to take care of you in the morning.”
The protest you seemed to be ready to fire back morphs into a happy giggle as you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his midsection. “I do like when you take care of me.”
“Likewise.”
For some reason, that sends you into more giggles as you press against him. “You talk so smart like. I love when you use big words.”
Biting back a smile, Jumin raises a brow. “Is likewise a big word?”
“Anything is a big word when you say it.” You kiss him softly, sliding your hands in his hair. You love messing up his hair, almost as much as he loves letting you do it. “You’re so smart. So clever. Your brain is like…” To exaggerate your point, you lean your head away, with his hands on your back to keep steady. “Soooo huge.”
“Not the only thing,” he hums slyly.
“Jumin!” Laughing, you hit his shoulder, only for him to tug you in close, making you squeak. The only downside to how well you two know each other now is that he doesn’t get to see your beautifully embarrassed face, but he still gets some wins when he catches you off guard.
“I’m only kidding, my love.” Watching your lips part for him as he leans in, Jumin kisses you this time, gently sucking your lower lip between his teeth. Let no one say he wasn’t out and open with his oral fixation when it came to you. “I’m honored to know you find me intelligent.”
You beam, nearly blinding him with how brilliant your smile is. “Intelligent, and funny. So, so funny. I love your jokes.” Now you turn your cheek, placing sloppy kisses along his jaw. “And handsome. I have the most handsome husband in the world.”
Jumin, only now realizing the difference between being happy and being giddy and knowing he’s both, can only close his eyes, tilting his head back. “Ironic for you to say, considering no one with your beauty has ever existed before nor will exist again.”
The way your cheeks flush make him realize that he, too, must be quite tipsy. Surely his stomach does not flip so violently just to see how your eyes glow at his praise.
“I love you.” You swallow, and he watches the movement of your throat closely. “Do you know how much?”
He exhales, not having realized he inhaled before. “M-more than is reasonable, I presume.”
“A lot more than is reasonable,” you whisper before kissing him again. This one is different, he can tell. Something more desperate. More wanting. More likely to make him lose his mind.
How does he know? It’s because you’re not just kissing him, you’re also borderline riding the knee he’s slotting between your legs. With a whine, you tug on his collar, as though you want him closer. Need him closer. 
Losing his mind is just the beginning.
“Sit on the couch.” The tone with which you beg makes his already hardening cock twitch. “Please, Jumin.”
He obeys—how could he not obey?—and just the sight of you dropping to your knees to unbuckle his pants has him throwing his head back with a lustful groan. How did he get here? How did he get so lucky? 
You kiss the head of his cock, and Jumin is gone.
When you start bobbing your head, eagerly sucking with your eyes closed in concentration, it takes every inch of willpower he has ever had to not cum immediately, so that this can last. With every slow caress of your tongue, he can feel himself getting lost in his own base senses, every coherent thought fading away and leaving only an animalistic need.
“Princess,” he moans, fingers in your hair. His words escape him in a slurred, barely coherent manner. “I, ahh, won’t last—shit—”
Coming inside your warm, wet mouth is not in the top five moments he remembers when he thinks of his favorite times with you, because he likes to think he’s classier than that, but regardless, he’s never going to forget this.
///
Growing up, the one trait that he was always told to avoid and to find disdainful in others was laziness. There is nothing worse than a person who is not efficient. People who waste time just doing simple tasks are not worth his time, he was told.
But surely, surely, that does not apply to you. (Or maybe it’s a silly lesson in the first place, another one to add the list he has started to garner since he married you.)
It does not apply when you have to get up early for work and you sadly try cuddling with him in the five minutes you have left to remain in bed. Most days Jumin leaves before you, pressing a kiss to the lips of the princess in bed before heading out. Your parted lips in sleep do such a number on him that he has to make sure not to linger too long.
Days where your job demands you wake with him are no less enjoyable, and perhaps even more so as he gets to witness your clinginess. Jumin tugs you to the bathroom, where you close your eyes and rest your head on his chest as both of you brush your teeth. When you finally make it to the kitchen, he seats you on the chair by the counter and amuses himself by watching your sleepy eyes follow him while he makes a quick breakfast.
“Maybe I could eat ‘n your lap?” you ask cutely, poking at your scrambled eggs with a fork. 
“My dear,” Jumin answers, intertwining your fingers to kiss the back of your hand, “I would love nothing more, but you will fall asleep again.”
Not even an argument as you nod with a lazy smile, head falling forward on the counter. “I want to fall asleep again. How do you do this every day?”
“It’s what I’ve always done.” He’s finished with his eggs, so he stands, sweeping your hair aside to lean down and press a kiss to your nape. You squeal, squirming away as he catches you and tugs you to him, watching you immediately give up this play fight and snuggle into his chest to catch a bout of standing shut-eye. “Now come, Driver Kim is waiting to drop us both off.”
You shake your head, clutching onto him stubbornly.
“You can sleep on my lap in the car.”
And he feels inordinately pleased with how fast you move after that.
///
The days that he knows you will be at the penthouse when he returns, there’s always an extra breath in his steps, as if the air itself knows he must return home immediately.
Tonight, for example. He has a whole night planned. The two of you would cook the next thing to try on that list of recipes you printed and excitedly taped up in the kitchen, then after dinner he plans to play some soft music and waltz you around the rather spacious living room, and then both of you could go for a swim in the pool, and the night would end with you dozing off in his arms.
A perfect night. The kind he dreams about, the kind that he never can quite believe are real.
When he opens the door, he doesn’t hear any call of his name nor is he tackled in a hug, which only makes his shoulders deflate slightly. Elizabeth the Third softly mrrows at him from where she’s sitting on the couch. Placing a kiss atop her head, he pokes in to check a few rooms, searching for his wife. 
You’re nowhere to be found. The only place left to check is the bedroom. His sweetheart usually doesn’t fall asleep so early, though.
He opens the door, then freezes in his tracks.
With a couple of candles lit up around the room, you sit on the bed, nothing on except the set of lingerie he ordered a few weeks ago at your request, black as the night sky (“because it reminds me of you”). A few pillows support you as you lean back, eyes trained on him. There’s a glass of wine in your hands, and another on the table next to you clearly reserved for him. 
You take a small sip, and some drops purposefully miss your lips and slowly drip down your neck, down over the swell of your breasts.
“Care to join me, husband?”
Jumin swallows.
None of his plans end up coming to fruition that night, and he doesn’t mind one bit.
///
(You’ve pointed out how the most random things turn him on—when you wear his clothes, but specifically his striped shirts, when you let him buy something ludicrously expensive for you, when you do simple things to take care of him, when you wait for him at home after work, cat ears—cat ears, cat ears, cat ears!—and the rare moments where he gets to see you pissed off.
But he’d only responded how the things you were into were equally as random—seeing him disheveled after a hard day’s work or a visit to the gym, the way he answered business calls simply by saying Jumin Han speaking, what do you need, and every time you’re naked on his lap while he’s fully clothed. 
Shall I remind you how desperate you get, my dear? he growls into your ear. Your cheeks flush, and Jumin reaches for the ribbon in the drawer, even more impatient than you are.)
///
There are other times where Jumin will arrive home and if you aren’t leaping into his arms, kissing him full on the lips as he spins you around or pins you to the wall depending on the mood, you’re sitting on the couch, typing away on your laptop either for your job or for the RFA.
In those moments, he finds himself easily sliding his arms around you and burying his face in your neck, absolutely reveling in the subconscious way you rub his nape and kiss his hair.
Sometimes you both will exchange stories of your day, expanding on something a phone call simply couldn’t cover or something that perhaps you had wanted to say in person to fully soak in the reaction (you seem to particularly enjoy how he insults the difficult clients you tell him about). Other times, there is a serene silence, only broken by Elizabeth the Third’s purring and the clack of your keyboard keys. 
You smell so good, all the time. He wonders if he should be capitalizing on the perfume you use so that no one else can buy it. That way this scent would solely be yours, just like he is. Something about that idea blooms a warmth in his chest.
The best part of the night comes when you finish, closing the laptop and setting it aside before wrapping your arms around him. “I love you,” you say, only for his ears, just like how your lips are only for his skin, just like how your scent is only for his nose, just like how Jumin is only here to be yours entirely. 
///
In the past, when he’s fallen ill, he’s either ignored it or simply just taken the necessary amount of time to recover. The last time he was pampered like this was as a child by his nannies. And even their doting paled in comparison to yours (but then, didn’t everything, when it came to you).
Because this. This, is heavenly.
Every single ounce of your affection is solely for him. Your soup that you feed him, your fingers stroking his hair, your voice sweetly singing him to sleep. Your lips on his forehead, whispering, “How are you feeling, Juju?” 
Granted, because he’s sick, he can’t fully appreciate it without the feeling that his body is turning against him. But it’s worth it, it’s easily worth it.
So, the day that he wakes up with a low temperature, feeling absolutely fine, he still manages to cough pitifully and throw out the word to Jaehee that he simply has to take another day off.
You have a knowing smile on your face, but when he slips his arms around your waist, with his face buried in your neck, you still hold him just as warmly, and Jumin is so, so, so in love with you. Nothing could possibly stand to be better than this. One hand absentmindedly strokes his hair while you type on your phone with the other hand, communicating with someone from work. 
Your phone starts to ring; he only shifts minimally to get closer as you answer it. “Hey, what’s up?”
He can hear the person who called—it’s one of your friends. “Hey! Check your messages, I won that ukulele I told you I would win last time.”
The sound of your laugh is so melodious, he’d do anything to get drunk on it. “Win another one for me, I’ll hang it up in my closet.”
“Yeah, right.” Your friend snorts. “I wish you were able to come. It’s been so long since we’ve been here.”
“I know, but Jumin really doesn’t feel well. I couldn’t just leave him at home alone.” As though your friend can see, you plant a kiss on his forehead. “We’ll go another time, definitely.”
“I’ll hold you to it. Alright, I have to go. Give the husband all my love, I hope he feels better.”
“Will do. Bye, have fun!”
With that, you hang up, resuming the scrolling through your phone and the stroking of his hair. Jumin is still, for good reason. 
You had meant to go out with your friends today. And due to his not-actually-sick state, you had canceled on them.
Hadn’t he told you to put him second to your own self? But he can’t pin this on you, not when he was the one faking. A terrible feeling begins to rise in his chest, causing him to move away from you and stare at you with a guilty expression.
“Is your neck finally tired of…” You trail off when you look at him, furrowing your brows. “What happened?”
“You were meant to go out today.”
A small frown forms on your face. “Um…we made plans, yeah. But you were sick—“
“I wasn’t,” he confesses, ironically sick to his stomach. “I just wanted to take another day off and spend some time with you.”
“I know that.”
“I—you know?”
The frown on your face is replaced by a tiny smile, as you tug gently to bring him back into your arms. “You’re not exactly subtle.”
“Yes I am.” He pouts, still upset but more calm now that you don’t seem disappointed. 
“Honey, the one time I kissed your finger after you got a papercut, you somehow got a papercut on every finger the following week.”
Jumin blushes, but you’re not wrong—he just craves your attention. You simply make everything better.
“More importantly,” and now you pull him into your chest, settling back into the same comfortable position with a kiss on his forehead, “I’m faking just as much as you, because I love it when you do things like this. Why would I complain? I get to spend time with you.”
This is what it feels like, Jumin is certain, to be loved. To be cared for and adored so deeply that it leaves an ache in one’s chest. “The next time,” he murmurs, as your hand finds purchase in his hair once more, “The next time you would like to go out to an amusement park with your friends, please let me know. I can buy it out for the day.” A thoughtful pause. “Or forever.”
Another soft kiss, he’s tempted to keep going, to make more and more outrageous promises just to earn each and every press of your lips to his skin. “My friends will appreciate that. I think the park is already owned by C&R, actually.” You chuckle. “Some fast passes though? I wouldn’t say no.”
Fast passes? He’ll ask you what in the world those are just as soon as he finishes kissing you (something a fake sick person can, thankfully, afford to do).
///
A soft knock on the door. 
“Mother?” He makes sure to keep his voice to a polite volume. “I’ve played with all my toys. May I please come out now?”
Silence. 
Jumin clears his throat, trying his best not to look behind him, just three steps down. It’s dark down there, and he knows it is not logical to be afraid of the dark, but even the logic does little to quell the growing fear inside him. 
“Mother? It…it has been a few hours now.” Fourteen hours, he counted on the tiny clock that ticks a little too loudly in the basement. “May I please be let out? I’m starting to get hungry.”
That’s a lie, but he doesn’t think she’ll know. The truth is he began to get hungry hours ago, and is now close to starving. As if on cue, his stomach growls. 
Jumin knocks again, the dread he feels growing with every second. “Please, Mother, I’ll be good. I’ll play with my toys. I’ll be normal. Please let me out.”
None of it makes any sense to him. In all the books he reads, none of the mothers lock their sons up in the basement. But then maybe none of the sons are as strange and abnormal as he is. They didn’t need to be locked up like he did. 
Still, even if he deserves this, the loneliness is starting to scare him.
“Please.” Childish tears start to prick at his eyes. “Mother? I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I promise.”
The only response he gets is the silence, beckoning him to come back to the darkness where he belongs. With a trembling lip, he turns to face it once more.
The doorknob jiggles.
He whips his head back, not daring to believe it. Is this punishment finally over? 
The first thing he’s going to do after he eats is call Jihyun, ask him if he’d like to go to the park nearby. Anything to go outside, in the light, with other people. 
Except, to his horror, when the door finally opens, it’s not his mother standing at the top, but his stepmother.
“No,” Jumin whispers, stumbling back. He misses one step and trips, hands on the cement floor as he stares, terrified, at the woman. “Please, no. Where’s Mother?”
The woman at the top laughs, a sound that seems to make others happy but only serves to suffocate him further. He’ll choose to stay in the darkness for a hundred more hours before going upstairs to see her. “What’s this? Another woman in your life, Jumin? What a lady killer!”
He shakes his head desperately, as though to tell her that there’s no one, there’s no need for her to get possessive.
It doesn’t work. 
“I’m your mother, Jumi.” He hates that nickname. “Shouldn’t you spend more time with me? You know I love our time together. I know you love it too.”
No, no, no, no, no. He’s on his feet in an instant, scrambling back away from her as fast as possible. His back hits the shelf, no longer a child but an adult, and yet still equally as pathetic.
“Your father doesn’t even pay attention to me anymore. You’re all I have, Jumi.” Her eyes turn cold. “But it looks like you’ve found someone else, haven’t you? You’ve replaced me so easily.”
Now her gaze is focused somewhere else. Jumin follows it, peers through the darkness, only to see…
You.
Relief floods his chest all at once. You are his solace, to hold close and worship. You are the only person to ever understand him, to love him without hurting him. You have accepted him no matter how much he’s shown you that he doesn’t deserve any of your care. As long as you are by his side, he can face anything.
“Jumin.” Even his name sounds so much nicer coming from you. Everything and everyone else seems to melt away.
He takes one step towards you.
You speak again, but it doesn’t sound the same this time.
“Jumin.” Now that he can see your face properly, you look…angry. “Don’t come any closer.”
Immediately, he stops, and that sharp fear grips his throat, squeezing.
“You’re fucked up, Jumin.”
The words spit out of you like a spear, hitting him right in the center. 
It can’t be you talking. You don’t say things like that. You always tell him you love him, that you understand him, that you adore him.
But maybe you’ve just…had enough.
Tears begin to spill from his eyes. You stand before him, his heart in your hands, and you look at him with such disgust that he hopes the darkness in here opens up and swallows him.
“I’m leaving,” you say firmly, “don’t follow me.”
“Please,” he gasps, shakily reaching a hand out. “Please don’t leave me here, my love.”
But you don’t listen. You step up the stairs, grip the door, and with one last look of vitriol, you slam it shut, damning him to the darkness forever.
Jumin wakes with a gasp that’s really a sob, head jerking up and slamming against yours.
“Ah!” You grip your forehead, wincing in pain from your position above him. “Ow ow ow, that hurt!”
Like he’s in auto mode, Jumin sits up, touching your cheek with a terrified expression. “I’m so sorry, my love, let me call the doctor. I’m sorry.”
“No, no, I’m fine.” You wince again, rubbing your forehead. “It’ll probably bruise later, but I can deal with it.”
He hurt you. He hurt you.
But you don’t have any of the hate that your dream counterpart did in her eyes. Instead, yours are filled with concern, and you cup his cheeks with such gentleness that he closes his eyes, immediately melting in your hands.
“Were you having a nightmare?” You kiss his forehead. “You were tossing and turning and mumbling in your sleep.”
As much as he wants to bask in your worry for centuries, it doesn’t stop the guilt that threatens to spill. “I apologize for waking you, my love. And for hitting you. I—I was having a nightmare, yes, but I’m alright now.”
“Jumin.”
“If you’d like, I can make some tea for you to help you go back to sleep—“
“Jumin.” Your lips are on his forehead again. “You’re crying, sweetheart.”
So he is. It’s strange he didn’t realize, but there are indeed tears wetting his cheeks. He opens his eyes to meet your gaze, looking at him so sincerely and with such care that this time he actually feels the tears pour down.
“Oh,” you breathe, brows meeting in concern. Your thumbs wipe his tears away diligently, and your lips begin to kiss every spot you wipe. Jumin trembles under your touch, hating himself for being so pathetic in front of you and simultaneously considering crying forever so that you stay here forever too. “What is it, honey? Please tell me how I can help.”
He wants to. But all he can manage to do is grip the back of your shirt in his hands, bury his face in your shoulder, and sob.
Not even for a second do you let him go. He doesn’t know how long he stays in your arms, seconds, minutes or hours. He cries, and cries, and cries, until his eyes feel swollen. and all the while your hand strokes his hair, your lips kiss his cheek, and your voice comes out in soothing whispers.
It’s okay. 
I’m right here, I’m here for you. 
You have me forever. 
We’re going to get through this.
I promise I’ll stay with you as long as you want.
Even though he hasn’t told you what his nightmare was about, you still somehow know exactly what to say. 
Even when he finally tires himself out, Jumin can’t stand the thought of not being held by you. He’s never felt this safe, this protected, in his entire life. He continues to grip your shirt tightly, breathing in and out, chest heaving. Any second now, he thinks. Any second now, you’re going to pull away and see how awful he is when he clings to you again, like a child.
You do no such thing. Instead, you lean back against the headboard, gently guiding his head to rest on your chest. It’s not the most comfortable position, but he shifts so that he’s sitting curled into you and pulls you forward gently to place a pillow behind your back. This way, he can hear your heartbeat.
And it’s that steady rhythm that makes his eyes start to droop.
But if he falls asleep again, he risks having another nightmare.
“Sleep,” you murmur, kissing his temple. Jumin’s eyes close on instinct. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The promise knocks him right out.
///
When he wakes, you’ve kept your promise, and you’re in the same unfortunate position, head lulled to the side as you snooze. 
An indescribable feeling settles upon him. It’s not just one feeling, in fact, but multiple. Guilt, because he forced you to sleep like this throughout the night. Gratitude, because he’s pretty sure he’s in the arms of an angel sent from above. And most importantly, he feels white hot love, because he has clearly married the only person in this world worth a damn.
And as much as he wants to stay like this, he knows that will surely not bode well for the chiropractor appointment he plans to schedule for you. So Jumin slips out of your embrace gently, taking good care to lay your head down on the pillow. With you picturesque in front of him, he places a kiss on your forehead, whispering, “Thank you.”
“Ju,” you mumble in your sleep. Your hand seems to reach for something, stopping when he intertwines his fingers with yours.
An angel, indeed.
Jumin gets up fully, taking the time to brush his teeth and freshen up before going into the kitchen to whip something up for breakfast. He wasn’t expected at the office until after lunch, so he had time to really make something nice. Chocolate chip pancakes, instead of his usual strawberry.
As he makes the batter, he thinks. Last night was…an anomaly. There should be no reason for him to dream of people that no longer matter anymore. His present is the most important, and his present is, thanks to you, leagues and leagues ahead of his past anyway. He wants to forget it all, forget his mother and stepmother and even Sarah Choi, who, while she hadn’t made an appearance last night, had been in his nightmares more than once, in a bleak alternate reality where he actually married her.
But he knows who he really married. It’s the person whose arms are sneaking around his waist right now. You.
“Morning.” Your voice is exceedingly pleasant, especially when it’s cooed in his ear. “You’re going in late, right?”
“Yes.” He places a kiss on the back of your hand, pressing his lips to each knuckle. “And you, my princess?”
“All from home today, my prince.”
Inwardly, he feels a quick twinge of irritation. “I wish I could spend the whole day with you. I should call out.”
“I’m never going to dissuade you of that.” You kiss him right on the nape of his neck; Jumin shudders. “But it’s up to you.”
“I’ll end up burning these pancakes if you keep distracting me.”
“Maybe that’s what I want.” Your laugh is so pretty, he thinks, and he didn’t think he could describe laughter as pretty before you. “Um, before I get too off topic…don’t you think we should talk, Jumin?”
He knew you weren’t going to simply forget the fact that he had cried himself back to sleep last night. Luckily, before you’d woken, he’d already prepared for such a scenario.
“I apologize for disrupting your sleep. I had a disturbing dream, but it will not happen again.”
For a second, he thinks it’s enough to stop you from asking any further questions, up until he feels your arms slide out from under him. The next thing he knows, you’re turning off the stove before he can start on the next batch of pancakes. 
Then, you’re gently turning him so he’s facing you, looking at you right in the eye. Jumin has seen that look before. It’s way too determined for even his stubborn nature, and it always comes out when you’re about to do whatever you want (a rare delight, given your selfless nature, but one he enjoys every time).
Your hands loop around his neck, and you kiss his cheek. Jumin closes his eyes as you speak softly. “Won’t you tell me what’s bothering you, love?”
It’s amazing that you think anything could bother him when you’re this close, calling him that. 
“Just a nightmare,” he says softly, but you clearly don’t buy it.
“I have nightmares too, it’s very rare that one of them affects me that much after I wake up.”
“A bad nightmare.”
The other version of you flashes in his head again. You’re fucked up, Jumin. But she’s not you, and even though he thinks for a terrible second that you’re going to shove him away, you pull him in for a hug instead, warm and welcoming and cozy. The scent of your nameless-brand shampoo fills his senses—it makes him desperately want to go back to bed.
“Please,” you breathe on his neck. “That’s what you were saying last night. Please, Mother. Please, no. Please, don’t leave me.” 
His hands grip the back of your shirt.
“Please talk to me, Jumin,” you plead. “Please.”
Somehow, he has to keep from crying this time. How pathetic can one man be? But he also has to acquiesce to your request, because you’re you, and he cannot deny you no matter how hard he tries. If you want him bare, you shall have him bare. If you want him destroyed, he will destroy himself in an instant. 
“Alright,” he concedes, trembling.
Not wanting the kitchen, where you and him cook together and laugh together (and a couple other things too), to become associated with these tainted memories, he guides you to the couch, hands holding yours. You promptly get into your favorite position, on his lap with your knees on each side. With a sigh, he rests his head on your shoulder, the fabric of your shirt seemingly smoothing out the creases in his forehead.
Your lips on his skin and your whispered words of encouragement give him a courage he wasn’t aware he possessed. Jumin talks.
“You have not met my mother yet. There is…good reason for that. A week before our wedding, she sent me the profile of a woman she wanted me to marry. I refused, of course. But that is the first time she has reached out to me in years.” He clears his throat. “She and I did not have a pleasant relationship. I think some part of me was very disappointing to her, because instead of giving her the true challenge of parenthood I molded to exactly what she wanted me to be. She recognized that I was…abnormal.”
In the span of a few seconds, your eyes have hardened more than he’s ever seen them harden before. This isn’t determined. This isn’t even pissed. This is raw anger.
“Abnormal?” There’s a bite to your words. “Is that her way of saying she was blessed with an intelligent, kind child?”
“You are kind,” Jumin whispers, cupping your chin to press a short kiss to your lips. “As a child, I was perhaps more robotic than I am now. I took to the world of business rather quickly.”
“You were brilliant, Jumin. Were and still are.”
If he kisses you after your every reassurance, the two of you will never leave this couch (not that he necessarily minds that idea). The more disturbing risk is that he will break down in front of you, if he starts elaborating, not to mention when he begins to talk about his stepmother as well.
But that’s a risk that Jumin can now accept. He understands now, that he hasn’t known love before you, and that there will be a great many times he will feel afraid, but he also knows that there is no one in the world he trusts more. 
Taking a deep breath, he continues.
///
Jumin is addicted—addicted—to making you cum.
The face you make when you orgasm—eyes shut, mouth open in a silent scream, head thrown back—is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in his life. He considers spending eternity with his head between your legs, recklessly licking you to completion again and again.
The sounds you make—God. They have him rolling his hips against the sheets, so close to finishing just from your taste. It’s an obsession now, one that’s been growing ever since you two were married. A stressful day or a bad meeting or even projects being set back for whatever reason, Jumin can get all that frustration out as long as you allow him to spread your legs and devour you. As long as you squeal on his tongue, make a mess of his face, cum on his lips once or twice or more. He only stops when you beg him to. 
He could taste you forever.
But he reconsiders this commitment after he experiences the feeling of you coming on his cock once more.
A choked cry escapes him when he feels your walls clench around him. For a second, he can’t move, too lost in the way your eyes roll back and your nails dig into his skin. It’s the most pleasurable pain he’s ever had the fortune of experiencing.
“Ju-min,” you whine, legs clasping around his waist as he continues to thrust lazily, seeking his own release, “more, please.”
It really is always nice to know that he’s not the only one affected, enthralled and addicted to this madness.
///
Returning home to silence is still better than returning home to the sound of soft crying.
Jumin is on high alert in an instant, not bothering to take his suit or even his shoes off. You’re curled up on the couch, wiping your cheeks aggressively when you catch sight of him.
“J-Jumin, I didn’t hear you come in. Um…” You swallow, dried tears still obvious on your face. “I haven’t made anything, let me call the chef.”
He crosses the rug over to you almost blindly. There’s nothing else in his head, only you—your tears—you’re crying—you’re crying and he wasn’t here. His hands cup your face, wiping another fresh tear that rolls down your cheek as you look up at him, shaking.
“Who did it?” There’s a white-hot anger pulsing inside of him. He never sees you cry. “Tell me who I need to kill.”
A soft gasp escapes you, and you shake your head frantically as he sinks to his knees, taking your hands in his own and pressing reverent kisses to your knuckles. “N-no one did anything—I promise I’m fine, h-honey, please get up—“
Your laptop is set to the side, but the only thing on it is an email draft, giving him no clues at all. The last thing he desires is for you to have to recount that which distresses you, but he wants, needs, to ensure that you never get upset again.
“My love,” he swears, pressing his palms to yours, “please, tell me what happened. Was it something I did? One of the employees in the building?”
You whisper frantically, “No,” but even as you do another fresh wave of tears drip down your face.
Jumin wants to scream, wants to hurt someone, whoever is responsible, but he’s helpless, and so he lets intuition guide him, rising up until he’s next to you on the couch, and he’s pulling you in.
With a firm grip on his suit, you bury your face in his chest, shoulders shaking. In this moment, he recalls the predicament from that night, when the roles were reversed. How you’d simply let him cry, and held him all the while. Is he capable of…can he possibly bring you the same peace you bring him? Could you allow him to comfort you in the same way?
No matter what, he’s going to try. Anything for you.
Placing a kiss to your hair, he tightens his arms around you and murmurs sweet nothings, making sure you hear all of them. Everything from you’re the strongest person i know to i’m here for you, my love, i’ll be with you till the end of time.
“It’s just so much,” you finally hiccup, sniffing, “I’m busy all the time, they dump every project on me, I never get a chance to just take some time for myself and breathe! I’m always on some call, writing some email, visiting some area, I just want it all to stop. And you’re busier than me, and you do it so effortlessly, I can’t imagine how pathetic I must look compared to you.”
“You’re worth a hundred of me.” His voice is fierce, and he meets your eyes with his entire honest conviction. “Nothing about you is pathetic. You…you’re hardworking, you’re talented, you’re brave, and you’re the kindest person I know. I do not deserve you. I’ve never deserved you.”
“Please don’t say that,” you whimper, face still wet. He squeezes you tighter.
“I apologize. This isn’t about me. You need a break, sweetheart. Please, just request a week or at least a day off.”
“Jumin, I can’t—”
“I’ll request off too. Whenever you get a break, I’ll schedule one at the same time, and then I’ll take you wherever you desire, or we can simply spend it in the penthouse, and lay in bed all day. Or I could buy your company,” he half threatens, half jokes.
You let out a weak laugh, sinking into him, but he feels the tension in your shoulders release just slightly. Placing a kiss at the top of your head, he quickly texts for the chef to come by within the next hour, then tosses his phone aside to hold you better, which is when he catches sight of your own phone. On the screen is an image of the chatroom—a screenshot, he realizes, since his own messages are in it and he hasn’t been on the messenger today.
Your gaze follows his, and a slight smile finally forms on your face. “Messages from when we first met. Ah, the day I came to your apartment, I think.”
Oh, no. To put it lightly, those days were not a good time for him (although he’d never say such a thing, because he finds it cruel to say that some of the hardest days of his life included the one where he met the most wonderful woman in the world). Heaven knows what foolish things he’d said, he’s tried to block out most of the times that didn’t include the sight of you in front of him.
“They calm me down,” you admit softly, “the screenshots I have. I’m glad I took them, I have almost a hundred pictures that remind me of all the butterflies I would get when I talked to you. Knowing you’re my husband is the biggest calm of the storm.” Your cheeks are still stained with tears, but in your eyes is a newfound admiration as you and him look at each other, as though you have all the time in the world.
Jumin’s heart seizes.
“I’ll request a week off.” You reach up, a thumb on his cheek. “Thank you, Jumin.”
Surely, he thinks, being needed by you is the best experience of all.
///
“Thank you.” Your voice breaks the silence, muffled on his skin. “For letting me love you, and for loving me.”
Your husband kisses you, impatient as always, and you adore it.
“You’re welcome,” he breathes.
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moffeen · 2 months
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"Hello hey, could you go laugh at the thing I sent to the group chat? Nobody found it hilarious"
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mystmesstolemysoul · 3 months
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What if MC had no choice but to reset? What if, after enough cycles through each story, they know exactly which night they'll go to sleep next to their love then wake up all alone with a text telling them to go to an address they already know by heart. What if MC was cursed with repeating the same events over and over again, falling in love but never getting to grow beyond a certain point with the love of their life?
(lil drabble below the cut. There's a little bit of reset theory sprinkled in, along with a smidge of reference to a song I think goes with MysMes perfectly)
Which guy I'm talking about is intentionally vague so you can imagine your fave <3
Angst with a happy? bittersweet? ending
Not proofread, I don't have time for that shit, sorry lol
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
The first time it happened, it was jarring. A panic setting in as you woke up, back in your old old apartment, no sign of him anywhere. Had it all been a dream? Surely not.
Then came the text, and it all came flooding back. What was happening?
You were less fearful this time as you walked up to Rika's apartment, even knowing all that you did now about the mysterious circumstances that had brough you here.
When they, the RFA, your family, greeted you as a stranger, it stung in a painfully nostalgic way. Had they really forgotten all about you? But it wasn't that; they hadn't known you in the first place.
You did some things differently, this time around. You gave more attention to one of the members that you'd brushed off the first time. Confusion clouded you on day five when everything began to drift away from the story you remembered. Despite this change, your new bachelor managed to sweep you off your feet, though you always felt guilty whenever he, your lover from the first time, called or texted. You felt guilty having to push him away to stay loyal to your new man.
You had almost forgotten about that jarring day when everything had reset. Almost. Until it happened again. You were more prepared this time, but felt almost exceedingly empty as you read the text asking for your help. You wanted to ignore it, to stop this toying with your heart. But you knew you couldn't stay away from the RFA. You were bound, heart and soul. So you did as 'Unknown' asked.
You began to dread it more and more each new route, never knowing when you were going to wake up alone and start the cycle all over again. It became numbing. Heartbreaking. But you could never stay away.
Eventually, you'd seen every possible way it could end. There had been a time you'd hoped to find a road that wouldn't end. A path that wouldn't lead to you waking up alone, forced to greet your closest friends as new strangers. But you'd long since given that up.
You'd seen every success, every possible failure. Felt every swell of new love, every shattering heartbreak. Made friends, made enemies, just for it all to be washed away.
There was a time when you'd begun to intentionally run everything into the ground. It was easier to repeat random 5-day loops than to go months, years, before having it all ripped away from you. But bringing them heartbreak hurt you more.
You were careful now. So careful. Especially with him.
You could never bring yourself to be careless with him. You didn't know why, but after a while, he began to stick out to you more than all the rest. No matter which path you walked, he always caught your eye. The way he said things, his way of thinking, how he tried to look out for you in his own little way.
So you pursued him. You'd won his heart before, many times, but you did it again with a purpose. You knew it wouldn't last. You knew one day, you'd wake up and it would all be over. But you loved him. You really loved him. And when the night came that you knew would be the last, you tried desperately not to sleep. But it was as if some curse took over you, forcing your eyes to close. When you awoke, it was all gone.
But you wouldn't let that stop you. Again, you followed him, your north star, your guiding light. Again, you won his heart. And again, you woke up. It was the third time when you noticed something different. Just a moment. A spark. A faint look in his eyes when you saw him face to face, some wondrous shock, as if he couldn't believe you'd chosen him. More than that usual look in his eyes when he saw you for what you believed to be his first time.
But the look wasn't enough for you to say something. Not yet. But a fourth time, you chose him. Then a fifth. Till finally, on the sixth time through, he gave you a look as if you'd gone insane, and he loved you for it. You'd asked without thinking. "You remember, don't you?"
He hadn't had to speak a word for you to know the answer. You knew him too well. He woke up alone, the same as you. And you loved him fiercer. Again and again and again, determined now to always choose him. No matter how repetitive, no matter how painful, you couldn't choose anyone but him, knowing he'd have to watch you fall in love with another man if you chose any other path.
When the fateful night settled in, wrapped up in each others arms, you were silent. You both knew what this night meant. When the daylight comes I'll have to go. You felt his tears trickle into your hair. "I don't wanna start all over."
And you didn't either. "I know, baby, I know." You held him so close, promising, "I'll choose you. I'll always choose you." And you meant it. You'd never be able to make it through now without him. You had him, now, and you weren't letting go.
And when the daylight comes I'll have to go, but tonight I'm gonna hold you so close, 'cause in the daylight we'll be on our own, but tonight I'm gonna hold you so close.
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yanderefan-kimi · 11 months
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WHY you should play Mystic Messenger
Yes, I am addicted to this 2016 game in 2023 and yes, I would like YOU to join me as well!
I originally made this slideshow for stream but thought that it was funny so wanted to share it with all of you!
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cyberp-1-nk · 11 months
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Where are you sitting?
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(I didn't create this image, I just found it on pinterest but could not find the original creator..)
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juminsmysticmc · 10 months
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How will de RFA react to them calling them husband/wife before marriage. I like your writing 🫶🏻
RFA reacting to a Mc calling them Husband/ wife before Marriage
I did it again - I forgot about my own blog. I am so sorry :( but here you are, cutie! Hope you like it just as much as I did!
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Jumin 
,,But really, I still wonder why the heck you guys got married so quickly,’’ Zen asked, sighting as he sat opposite you at the round table. 
The RFA wanted to meet up for a private meeting, organized by you. 
,,I can answer this,’’ Jaehee said, her eyes were on fire as she lifted up her lenses. 
,,Because our lovely Mc,’’ her palm directed towards you ,,in an interview named Mr Han ,,my husband’’ and guess who liked the ring of it,’’ she smiled, she was there when it happened. 
You answered a question and named Jumin instead of fiancé ,,my husband’’ but quickly corrected to ,,fiancé’’ - something Jumin disliked. 
He was proud and excited to be named your husband, he loved the moment so deeply and Jaehee still had his bright, happy smile in front of her eyes, as well as his facial expression when you corrected yourself. 
And since he liked the ring of his soon-to-be name, he wanted to rush things. 
Jumin’s hand was entangled in yours, remembering that day brought memories up and he truly felt blessed. 
Zen nodded at Jaehee’s explanation. 
,,Mc, were you even okay with it?’’ he asked you, wondering if you even were allowed to decide anything in that marriage.
,,Yes, Jumin wouldn’t let me sleep in his bed beside him, I was craving for more and so I was happy over the rush,’’ you answered, making Zen choke. 
Jumin - your husband - was even prouder now. 
Zen 
,,Zenny, you are so cuteeee!’’ you laughed, you were laying on top of him, both of you cuddling and wrestling softly. 
,,You are my cutie, princess. But don’t name me Zen or Zenny, let me be your Hy-’’ 
,,Husband? Oppa?’’ you asked him, looking deep into his red eyes. 
Zen had to process what you just said. 
You named him Husband. 
His face turned red, glowing and burning. 
He was getting embarrassed but slowly smiled. 
Hearing that out of your mouth gave him a new ring, and he liked it. 
,,Oh, sorry, you wanted to say Hyun, didn’t you? Of course I will,’’ you smiled and gave him a kiss on his soft lips. 
,,Now I am embarassed that I called you like that,’’ you laughed, turning red on your own. 
You quickly hid your face between his neck and his shoulder and hugged him stronger. 
,,Please, just forget it,’’ you begged him, sighing.
But Zen couldn’t think of anything else than your words, than the meaning which was held into the word ,,Husband’’. 
And now you would name him Hyun… 
,,Hello, I called earlier, I am here to see your engaged rings,’’ Zen said the next day to the lady in the jewelry shop. 
No way he was going to make you call him Hyun instead of Oppa.
He wanted an upgrade now. 
Yoosung 
,,Seven years,’’ Yoosung sighed, giving your hand a squeeze. 
,,Yes, seven years, I can’t believe, that we already have been married for so long,’’ you chuckled. 
Suddenly you remembered something ,,Remember, when I came to the hospital while lunch break and asked your co-worker about your whereabouts?’’ you asked him, of course, he remembered. 
,,Yes, you asked about your husband, even though we still weren’t married,’’ he smirked. 
And everyone was angry with me that I didn’t tell them I was married,’’ he told you, remembering how embarrassed but happy he was when someone finally found him and told him that you, his wife, were waiting for you, only to find you with a similar redhead. 
And in that very moment, Yoosung made a decision - as soon as he had his day off, he wanted to buy you a well-deserved engagement ring. 
Jaehee 
It was a hard day, after a shift of so many hours on your legs, your head was empty. 
The shop was booming, of course both of you, Jaehee and you, were thankful for that. 
However, you still had your challenges to keep it up. 
It was almost closing time when your friends Yoosung and Zen entered the coffee shop, ready to eat the last pieces of cakes that wouldn’t be sold anymore - probably. 
Actually, Yoosung was going to bring some to his family since neither of you wanted to throw them away. 
When Yoosung wanted to give you at least a bit of money, you shook your head. 
,,Even my wifey said no, so take it!’’ you laughed. 
Everyone stopped breathing, Yoosung and Zen both looked at your hand, eyes glued on your ringless finger while Jaehee’s cheeks slowly turned red. 
,,Wifey?’’ she asked you. 
However, you didn’t realize what you just said. 
,,Wifey?’’ you repeated, making Jaehee turn even deeper in red. 
The four of you were laughing, while you were denying your own words, Zen and Yoosung tried to assure you, that you just named her your wife. 
And Jaehee was trying - of course in secret - to find out if she still had your ring size from the latest jewelry order to ask you to become her real wife…
Saeyoung 
If someone would have told him that he would have pushed you from the couch for saying something cute, he would have shown that person his middle finger. 
But he couldn’t because he was currently pressing a cold ice pack on your throbbing head while his arm was holding your waist. 
,,I am so sorry,’’ he whispered, little kisses on your wet cheek. 
You were crying because of the pain, but you knew, that he didn’t mean it. 
You were still in pain though. 
,,I will never call you Oppa or Hubby,’’ you groaned, giving him a side-eye. 
He smiled apologetically. 
,,My hand moved on it’s own, of course, I loved it when you named me ,,Hubby’’... 
But I was so embarrassed…I just wanted to push you lightly, I didn’t mean to make you fall,’’ he confessed. 
You rolled your eyes. 
,,I know. But I would like to get a pre-divorce,’’ you kept teasing him. 
Of course, the little pain you were having was gone in a few hours but still, Saeyoung kept thinking a lot and a lot about this incident. 
He was thinking of a way of preventing something like this again and his only way was making it real - he had to become your real-life husband.
ᗰᗩᔕTEᖇᒪIᔕT
21.05.2023 // 11:56 MEST
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queenie-avenue · 4 months
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Can I go where you go?
—> Domestic Jumin Han Headcanons with you!
↪ SFW, slightly suggestive at times, fluff, reader is not specified to be male nor female
🦋 ⤻ archives.
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— Jumin always makes an effort to cook breakfast for you, even if he has a chef. His mornings are one of the only times he gets to fully spend time with you, so he makes sure he cherishes and takes full advantage of that time.
— Doesn't mind getting called Cat Mom/Dad after getting together with you because technically, you are also Elizabeth's Cat Mom/Dad which means both of you are married and have a child. (I feel like he would think like that, idk why.)
— Loves doing chores with you.
— If you are doing dishes on their own, he will make sure to wrap his arms around your waist and sway a bit and kiss your neck sweetly.
— Jumin makes a big effort to know about your interests. If you like anime, they will make sure to watch the summaries on YouTube of their favourite anime everytime a new episode comes out. If you like painting, they will learn about the best museums to bring you to.
— Loves when you dress traditionally.
— Will buy a vinyl and various disks with elegant music and play it every night. When both of you are in the mood, Jumin will invite you to dance and twirl you about softly while kissing you.
— His kisses normally follow the pattern of Hands —> Arms —> Shoulders —> Neck —> Jaw —> Cheeks —> Nose —> Forehead —> Lips. He makes sure to take a lot of time so you feel good.
— Although he loves the passionate kisses you give, he finds himself falling in love with you even more everytime you kiss and squeeze his hands at the same time. (BONUS POINTS FOR KISSES ON KNUCKLES)
— Dislikes it when you turn away from him in bed. He prefers sleeping while facing each other, cuddling too.
— A lot of different sleeping positions (not like that, get your mind out of the gutter): his head on your shoulders/heads/chest or your head on his chest. He especially likes when you cuddle closer if it's too cold and Bury yourself into his chest.
— Loves when you wash his hair in the bath or vice versa. (Inspired by that one wholesome reddit post. Does anyone know whether that couple is still together?)
— Likes to put his hand under your shirt to trace your spine, collarbone or any bones, really.
— His Favourite Nicknames for you are 'My Queen, Lover, Darling, Sweetheart.'
— You're the only one he allows to call Elizabeth, 'Elly'. He doesn't like to admit it but he also catches him calling Elizabeth 'Elly' at times.
— Loves to see you playing with Elizabeth.
— After a stressful day of work, he will silently drop everything at the door and bury his head into your chest.
— If he ever finds you crying, he will kiss and lick the tears from your eyes.
— Whenever he sees a photo of you on an online article or anywhere in the Media, he will complain that they cannot capture the 'True essence of your beauty.'
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edgelord-saeran · 1 year
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@juminweek2019
Day 3: Storge
Jumin had never put much thought about having children. He knew he would have at least one eventually. The duty of creating an heir ultimately fell to him. He had no interest in this hypothetical child. He knew that what he'd learned from his own parents wasn't the best. He turned out fine, but he knew that it could be better.
But now, sitting in a hospital room with his wife and love of his life snoozing after ten hours of labor, he had a new perspective. Jumin felt a little out of place, his suit having been traded out for sweats and a henley, but what made him feel even more out of place was the infant currently laying in his arms.
She was bleary-eyed, staring up at him with the same amount of intensity that he was staring at her with.
"Hello." Jumin said softly. His little girl yawned, her tiny mouth forming into a small o as she went back to dreaming about whatever it was that day old infants dreamed of. Jumin smiled, feeling his chest warm.
This was his baby. His little girl. He hoped that she received most of her traits from her mother, and only the best of his traits. She would live long and live happy, surrounded by the love of both of her parents.
They would be better than his parents. Jumin held he close, gently rubbing her eyebrow with his finger as he began to hum the lullaby that his love had taught him.
He hadn't known how he would feel when she was born, but he hadn't expected this overwhelming, all encompassing love for the little bundle in his arms.
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gifti3 · 2 months
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this popped into my head after this interaction lol
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heres the pic i used
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nebou · 1 year
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fucking RUSHED to my computer to draw this
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marsvlog · 1 year
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zen won the babygirl poll🤭
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serede986 · 1 year
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Boyfriend Jumin HCs~
Gets you a bouquet of roses on every date. When he first saw your excitement on receiving the first bouquet, he got addicted to your happiness, although he refuses to accept it.
Speaking of dates, he arrives exactly 30 minutes before meet-up time. You're not aware of it, so shhh.
He is learning new breakfast recipes from the chef for whenever you stay over. He would wake up early, and prepare to serve you breakfast in bed.
Matching pajamas are ordered for you, him and Elizabeth the third.
Drops Elizabeth in your care, whenever he's out for a business trip and he can't take you with him. He trusts you and no one else.
Neatly folds your clothes and keep it next to his, whenever you visit him for a few days or travel with him.
Will take your advice over every new merger his company makes.
Is obsessed with your voice. He'll listen to you talk for so long, you think he's not invested in your topic of conversation. But believe me, he is. Imagine that love struck look on him.
Loves it when you put his head on your lap and play with his hair or massage his scalp. Count to 100 and he'll be out in a deep sleep.
Kisses your forehead every time one of you leave to part ways.
Will read every favorite romance book of yours, just to learn how to swoon you.
"Elizabeth the third, we need to talk about when your mother comes over. You're precious to me, and so is your mother. But your mother has taken the first place in my heart."
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