clingy bf.ᐟjisung who absolutely loves it when you give him an 'angel kiss' before he leaves for work. you get on your tiptoes, pressing sweet kisses onto his eyelids, saying the angels will keep him happy throughout the day.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who picks you up the instant you run up to him after a full day of not seeing each other. his arms envelope you as you sigh sweetly into his chest.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who buries his head in the crook of your neck, breathing you in until he has his fill, until his lungs memorise your scent.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who follows you into the kitchen for a glass of water — not because he’s thirsty — but because the thirty-second walk alone felt too long.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who locks his fingers with yours as soon as you are outside, swinging your hands as you walk to the nearby convenience store.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who purposefully leaves his jacket at home so he has an excuse to huddle under yours — sharing the same fabric as he pulls you flush against his side.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who loves to rest his head on your shoulder during long car rides — his fingers fiddling with your rings as he hums softly to the radio.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who gets a tiny, triumphant smirk whenever you subconsciously reach for his hand — loving that your body seeks him out just as much as his seeks yours.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who traces the lines of your palm with his thumb while you're talking to someone else — a quiet, rhythmic grounding technique that keeps him tethered to the moment.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who gets giddy when you ask him to compare hand sizes — any chance to touch you — his hand standing taller against yours.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who kisses your shoulder whenever he sees you standing in front of the mirror after you put on a new outfit, whispering how beautiful his angel looks.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who sits all smiling and flustered as your hands come up to hold his face. you press soft kisses to his cheeks, nose, and finally his lips.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who gets all shy and heart-eyed when you pull him down by his collar for a surprise kiss — the sudden proximity making his brain short-circuit in the best way.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who peppers your face in kisses when he sees you looking at him with that face — the face you make when you have missed his touch for too long.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who can't resist you, rushing to smother your face with kisses until he has his pretty girl blushing and giggling in his arms.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who laughs when you pout and huff, hands crossed on your chest, when he dodges your hugs just to see that adorable expression on your face.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who pulls you into his lap at every possible opportunity, loving the softness of your body against his — the warm weight calming his soul.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who loves when you ask him to put his head on your lap. you love playing with his hair, fingers carding through it as his eyes flutter shut at the sensation.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who makes a soft, whining sound in the back of his throat if you stop scratching his head for even a second — nudging his head back under your hand.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who has the cutest habit of tracing hearts onto your thighs, pretty fingers roaming as he murmurs sweet praises into your ear.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who loves the 'leg lock' — hooking his legs over yours while you both work on your laptops — ensuring that even when you're busy, you’re still physically connected.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who insists on 'helping' you wash the dishes just so he can stand right behind you — his arms looped loosely around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who claims he’s 'too cold' just so you’ll wrap your arms around him — sighing in relief as he melts into your warmth.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who knows you love his biceps, so you can't help but blush a pretty pink when he wraps you in his arms, your gaze drifting to his biceps straining against the sleeves.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who loves the idea of bathing together, sighing as you work the shampoo onto his scalp while he holds you by the waist.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who leaves no opportunity to pull you into him whenever you head to bed, your head resting on his chest, your breath subconsciously calming as you feel his warmth.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who nuzzles into the crook of your neck, breathing softly against your shoulder as he sways you side to side.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who knows when you've turned over in your sleep, so he wakes up, moves to your other side, and snuggles into your chest.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who has to have 'pinky contact' even when you’re sleeping on opposite sides of the bed — just a tiny hook of your smallest fingers to know you’re still there.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who finally falls asleep with his fingers still curled into the hem of your shirt, a soft smile on his lips because he knows that when he wakes up, you will still be right there in his arms.

kysa's note: my first fluffy post and requested by my dear 🪐 nonnie 𖹭 i had so much fun making this — (cuz yes i'm clingy and i love clingy bbs) and you'll be seeing loads of fluffy from me now >.< lemme know your thoughts in the comments below — hope you enjoy .ᐟ xoxo

klover's club:

@binniebb @joyracha @b4echo @lynnslibrary @zosauce @pineapple-in-a-burgah @starlostjisung @hanjinology @hyunjinniemylove @bi-and-panicking @spiidergirlsworld @jiaaabbahng @avchannie @cchapssaltteok @unemployedcarat @hannavkk @selfproclaimedpabo @hyunjinxxs @babythisisourcinema @moch3rii @quokkahansung @persassyismysecrettwin @0felixsfreckles0 @mxmx09 @foxiebread @embobema @iownachihuahua @mylovchris @rockstarkkami @pinkyrec @pbynsstuff @gloomydietitian @leeshoeknows @mysticetti @fweakygyatt @rylea08 @mikashisus @matzduo @barbie-girl84 @soldantae @jeekiis @sssoulesss @stryscribbles @minniebitesfr @channlust @hyvnesangel @hanjisdoll @warped-rabbithole @viisstrayy @myen2rude

chan — 'she even loves the music that my band makes'

The couch at the studio has a permanent dent in the cushions from where you always slouched. You didn’t plan on becoming a fixture there — it just happened. His late nights turned into your late nights, his takeout orders became your takeout orders, and when you fell asleep for the first time waiting for him to finish editing, the studio stopped feeling like his workplace and started feeling like yours too.

At first, it was just weekend visits. dropping off lunch, then lingering a while till he finished up. Then the weeknights where you’d wait past midnight, because going home alone felt lonely and wrong when he was still working.

2racha—changbin and jisung— stopped asking why you were there (han occasionally slept on the other side of the couch anyway). Even the security guard waved you through without checking your badge.

Tonight was no different. You were curled under his hoodie, half watching some reality show on your laptop while Chan tweaked a vocal track for the third hour straight.

an intern had arrived an hour ago, all bright laughter and eager questions. You didn’t mind at first, Chan was patient with newbies, always explaining things twice if needed. But then her chair inched closer to his. Then she started getting touchy when it wasn't necessary.

Chan didn’t even look her way, just leaned back in his chair, occasionally putting space between them. You watched from the couch, the laptop screen long forgotten.

Then she asked the question, voice pitched too high, “So, are you single, or…?”

You held your breath without meaning to. chan’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. Then he turned his head, just enough to catch your eye over his shoulder, and the corner of his mouth twitched, jerking his thumb to your direction, “I’m married, actually,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The intern’s face froze. Her gaze darted to you, then back to Chan, like she was trying to reconcile the idea of him belonging to someone with the fact that you were just… there. Quiet, half buried in his hoodie.

Chan didn’t wait for her to recover. He tapped his wedding band against the edge of his laptop and nodded toward the door. “that's a wrap for today, you should head out. It’s late.”

minho — 'you got me trippin' in finesse'

you've learned to read Minho's body like a second language, he's a dancer after all. You know his tells before he even speaks.

the way his shoulders relax when he’s finally nailed a routine, the quick tap of his fingers against his thigh when he’s impatient, the slight tilt of his head when he’s watching someone else move. It’s all punctuation in a conversation you’ve been having for months without saying a word.

You met at a studio mixer last summer, back when you were still just the barback for the afterparty, refilling drinks and dodging sweaty elbows. He’d been the one to notice you first, initiating a conversation with you over the counter.

Later, when the music switched to something slow and sultry, he’d pulled you onto the dance floor without asking, and you hadn’t protested.

Minho isn’t the type to flaunt things, though. He keeps his private life private, and you respect that, just a quiet understanding that some things don’t need an audience.

right now, you’re leaning against the doorway of studio 3, watching him run through a new routine with the team. Sweat glinting at his temples as he mirrors the others. You’ve seen this drill a hundred times, but it never gets old.

The music cuts abruptly mid step, and Minho’s gaze snaps toward the sound system — only to land on you instead. his expression turns into a soft smile, and you grin right back at him, raising your water bottle in a silent greeting.

One of the newer dancers, a woman with her hair tied in a tight topknot, follows his line of sight and raises an eyebrow.

Topknot leans into his space as he adjusts the music, her elbow brushing his arm. “You always this serious during practice?” she asks, he doesn’t look up from the playlist, just shrugs one shoulder.

Undeterred, she adds, “Bet you’re fun outside the studio, though. You ever take anyone out after hours?”

Minho’s fingers pause over the soundboard for half a second before he taps the play button again, letting the music swell back to life. He doesn’t answer her, just steps away to reset his position in the center of the room.

But topknot doesn't get a hint, it seems. She sidles closer, her voice dropping. “Come on, do you have a girlfriend or something?” She flicks her eyes toward you, still leaning in the doorway, and adds, “Or are you playing hard to get?”

You take a slow sip of your water. He’s never been one to entertain this kind of thing — not because he’s rude, but because he doesn’t see the point in feeding into games.

Still, you can tell the moment he decides to shut it down. He turns his head just enough to catch your eye, and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“nah,” he says, loud enough for the room to hear. “I already have someone.”

Topknot blinks, then laughs, like she thinks he’s joking. “Yeah? Where are they, then?”

Minho doesn’t hesitate. He lifts his chin toward you, and the smirk he’s been holding back finally breaks through. “Right there.”

changbin — 'guy.exe: 6 5'6 feet tall and super strong'

a matte black dumbbell rolled from Changbin’s grip and thudded against the rubber gym floor. He’d been at it for two hours— shoulders, back, arms, a relentless workout that left his top sticking to his skin in abstract patches of sweat. You watched from the bench near the water cooler, half hidden behind your phone, pretending to scroll while stealing glances at the way his muscles flexed under the lights.

Three years together, and the sight of him still made your pulse skip.

The gym was mostly empty, mid afternoon lull, just a few die hards and the staff wiping down machines. You’d come straight from work, still in your office slacks, your hair barely holding onto its ponytail. Changbin had texted earlier with a come keep me company and a winking emoji. who were you to turn down an excuse to watch your boyfriend work out?

A woman, early twenties, in one of those matching pink gym sets, hovered near Changbin’s bench while he adjusted the weight rack. You caught the tail end of her question, something about his deadlift form, but then she made her move. "Damn tho, you’re built like a god. Single?"

Changbin snorted, wiping his forearm across his forehead.. "Do I look single?" he said, shaking his head like the idea was ridiculous. Then, without hesitation, he tilted his chin toward you standing a few feet away, there, and grinned. "That’s my girl."

The woman followed his gaze, blinking at you like she’d only just noticed the water cooler, the benches, the entire half of the gym you occupied. You raised your hand in a half wave. "Sorry," he added, not sounding sorry at all.

You expected her to leave, but she just smirked, propping a hand on her waist. "Lucky girl," she said, loud enough for you to hear. then, to Changbin "You ever wanna trade up, you know where to find me." yikes.

Changbin’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyebrows did a little jump, He shot you a look—girl you seein' this?—before shrugging. "Nah," he said, casual as anything. "I’m good." He moved towards you and planted a kiss on your cheek, "Better than good."

hyunjin — 'hopelessly devoted to you'

You and Hyunjin had been neighbors in that crumbling apartment complex where the pipes groaned louder than the tenants, and your first real conversation happened because he'd left his studio door ajar.

The scent of paint had pulled you in like a lure, and there he was, sleeves rolled up, forearms smeared with charcoal, halfway through painting something that looked like a storm given human form. and you were mesmerized.

By the time you started dating, you'd learned to love the mess of him — the way his hair stuck up in every direction after hours of working, the paint streaks on his jeans, the fact that he'd forget to eat unless you nudged a takeout container into his line of sight. He balanced his chaotic creativity with a quiet steadiness that surprised you.

his art thrived on bold strokes and screaming colors, his love language was more subtle, warming your cold fingers between his palms, humming off key to your favorite songs while he cooked food for you, tracing the curve of your shoulder blade when he thought you were asleep.

The gallery showing was his first major one. You'd watched him prepare for weeks. frames piling up near the door, muttered debates about lighting choices at 3 am. When the invitations finally arrived, he'd handed yours over, "You don't have to come," he'd said, but you knew he wanted you to be there.

You'd kissed the worry from his forehead and tucked the invitation into your wallet, where it stayed until the corners softened from handling.

Now, standing near a table with a champagne flute you hadn't touched, you watched him work the room. Hyunjin moved through the crowd like water, slipping effortlessly between conversations without ever seeming anchored to any one group.

His laugh carried over the murmur of guests, and you felt that familiar warmth curl behind your ribs. This was his element, even if he'd never admit it. The way people leaned in when he spoke, how their eyes flicked toward his hands when he gestured — he commanded attention without trying, and you loved him most like this, alive with his passion.

The girl approaching him now had been circling for a while. You'd noticed her earlier, lingering near his largest piece, her head tilted in a way that suggested admiration.

When she touched Hyunjin's elbow, you saw him startle slightly before turning with that polite smile he reserved for strangers.

You couldn't hear them over the gallery's din, but her body language was clear. fingers tucking hair behind her ear, the slight lean forward. Hyunjin nodded along, hands stuffed in his pockets, already scanning the room for an exit.

You didn’t move, not yet anyway, because part of you wanted to see how he’d handle it.

That’s when he saw you. His eyes flicked over her shoulder, and something in his face shifted, relief.

You stood from the table, weaving through the crowd, the girl hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy tilting her chin up at him, one hand now resting on her collarbone.

“...really think we should discuss your technique, over some coffee?” she was saying as you slid into place beside him, close enough that your hip brushed his.

Hyunjin exhaled, barely audible, as you laced your fingers through his. His palm was warm, slightly damp from nerves, and you squeezed once, “Oh, he’d love that,” you said, sweetly. The girl blinked, her smile freezing as you added, “I’ll come too, I’m his girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice before you even looked towards him. “she's my muse.”

jisung — 'everywhere I go I keep her picture in my wallet'

"Jisung." You poked his shoulder with your socked foot from where you were sprawled across the couch. "I will perish."

He didn’t look up from his phone, thumb scrolling lazily. "Dramatic."

"No, listen—" You rolled onto your stomach, pressing your cheek against the cushions. "My stomach is eating itself."

This time, he glanced over, one eyebrow raised. "You just ate two hours ago."

"Snacks aren’t food," you said gravely.

Jisung sighed, tossing his phone onto the coffee table with a soft clatter. "Fine," he said, dragging the word out like it physically pained him. "But if I'm going out in the middle of the night, you're eating the weird gummy worms I pick out."

You grinned, kicking your legs against the couch cushions. "Deal."

The convenience store felt both too bright and eerily empty at 1 AM. Jisung grabbed a basket, tossing in the usual suspects, chips, chocolate, those inexplicably neon gummy worms, and went over to the counter to pay when the cashier leaned over the counter. "You again," she said, grinning. "Third time this week."

Jisung blinked, setting the basket on the counter "Uh, yeah."

she picked up the contents, scanning each one as she went on. "I mean, you could be here for the snacks or whatever ," she said, waving a hand, "or you could admit you keep showing up for the ambiance." Her grin widened. "And by ambiance, I mean me."

jisungs mouth gaped, "Oh no, no, I'm—Married. Very, extremely married." then he pulled out his wallet, flipping it to the clear plastic sleeve where a polaroid of both of you rested. one where you were kissing his cheek and he had a big, wide grin on his face, then pulled out his card to pay.

she blinked, her grin faltering for half a second before she leaned back, shrugging with exaggerated nonchalances as she took the card from his hand "Damn," she said, clicking her tongue. "Figures the cute ones are always taken."

The apartment was dark when he got back, you were still in your spot on the couch, waiting impatiently for him. "Finally"

Jisung let the door slam shut behind him, you barely had time to process the dramatic thud before he was crossing the room in three long strides, arms outstretched, the plastic bag dangling from one hand.

He crashed into you with the force of a man who’d just survived a warzone, his face buried in the crook of your neck before you could even ask what was wrong. “I got hit on,” he mumbled into your skin, voice muffled.

You blinked, arms frozen mid-air around him, the crinkling snack bag pressed awkwardly between your ribs. “...By who?”

“The cashier,” he hissed, His cheeks were still flushed, the tips of his ears pink like he’d sprinted home instead of walked. “you’re coming with me next time. No. More. Solo. Snack. Runs.”

felix — 'the perfect pair'

the first time Felix walked into the community kitchen, he nearly dropped an entire tray of freshly chopped carrots.

You'd been there six months already — long enough to know that the dented metal tray was older than both of you combined, and that the carrots were destined for a stew that would feed sixty. You lunged without thinking, catching the edge just as it tipped, fingertips brushing against his.

"Thanks," he said, his sleeves were already rolled up past his elbows, "I swear I'm usually better at carrying things."

Felix still drops things sometimes, never the carrots again, but last month it was a spoonful of cinnamon that poofed into a cloud across the counter. You laughed so hard your ribs ached, and he grinned like he'd meant to do it, like every little accident was just an excuse to hear you laugh.

Now, twelve months deep into this rhythm — Saturday mornings at the kitchen, Sunday afternoons tangled in his double bed, it's your little routine now.

This morning, he's leaning against the fridge, peeling labels off donated jam jars while humming off key. "Mrs. eom asked if we're doing the pumpkin soup again," he says, glancing at you. "Told her we'd have to check with the boss." He winks. You're not the boss. There is no boss. But this is Felix's favorite joke, his way of stitching you into the center of his stories, even when you're just scrubbing pans in the corner.

this new volunteer has been hovering around him all morning. You recognize the tilt of her head, she keeps finding reasons to step into his space, keeps finding reasons to strike up conversations, and he's too kind to turn her down on the get go.

she might've mistaked his kindness for something else though.

He's handing her a knife to chop chilis when she "accidentally" grazes his wrist. "You're always so patient with everyone," she says, he replies with a simple "thank you", polite as ever, but you could tell he was uncomfortable.

You don't move. Because Felix is already walking over to your station, he bumps his forehead lightly against your temple "Rescue me," he murmurs into your hair, and you can feel her stare burning holes in your back.

"Tell her yourself," you whisper, amused. you're already reaching for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. Felix exhales, relieved, before turning back to her with that easy smile.

"Oh! Almost forgot," he says brightly "This is my favorite person. The reason I never miss a Saturday."

And just like that, the room tilts back into place, Felix glowing like always, you beside him, and the quiet understanding that some things, like this kitchen, like his hand in yours, aren't up for grabs.

seungmin — 'I'd risk it all for you '

stadium lights blazed down, bright enough as if the sun was still up, turning the sweat on Seungmin’s skin into glitter. He wiped his forearm across his brow, smearing a streak of infield dirt in the process, and grinned at the roar of the crowd still thrumming through the stands. The mic in his hand was warm from being passed around, and the interviewer, was standing just a little too close. Her perfume was floral, aggressive.

"Kim Seungmin," she said, "Another incredible performance tonight. That last play — were you trying to give your fans a heart attack?"

Seungmin laughed, easy and practiced, the sound swallowed up by the noise around them. "Nah, just wanted to keep things interesting." He shrugged, adjusting the cap perched on his damp hair. The fabric of his jersey clung to his shoulders, heavy with sweat and adrenaline.

"Interesting is one word for it." She tilted her head, leaning in enough that the mic brushed his chest. "You’ve been on a hot streak this season. What’s driving you?"

Seungmin exhaled through his nose, a quick, amused breath. "Same thing as always," he said, gaze drifting past the interviewer's shoulder toward the stands. "Love of the game."

"That’s it? Just pure passion? No special someone in the stands tonight?"

Seungmin let the silence stretch just long enough for the tension to coil — then, he spoke again, "Actually," he said slowly, "yeah. My girlfriend’s here."

The interviewer blinked. The mic slipped a fraction in her grip.

The crowd erupted, a collective 'ohhh' rippling through the stands. Somewhere in the noise, someone wolf whistled. Seungmin didn’t react, just kept that easy, knowing smile, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

"we've been together since college," he continued, voice carrying effortlessly over the din. The interviewer recovered quickly, professionalism snapping back into place, but her grip on the mic was tighter now.

“That’s sweet,” she said, and it wasn’t insincere, “Care to share more? The fans would love to hear.”

Seungmin’s gaze flicked back to where you were sitting — third baseline, five rows up, right where you always were, and his expression softened. “She hates when I talk about her in interviews,” he admitted, laughing under his breath. “But she’s the reason I don’t overthink pitches. And the reason I do stretch before games.”

The interviewer opened her mouth, probably to pivot back to safer baseball territory, but the cameraman beat her to it, swinging the lens abruptly toward the stands. The stadium screen flickered, then locked onto your face, blown up fifty feet tall for thirty thousand people to see.

Your lips parted in surprise, the nacho you’d been mid bite hovering forgotten in your hand. Seungmin’s chuckle echoed through the speakers, "There she is,"

A nearby fan elbowed you, grinning. "Girl, you’re famous now!" she stage whispered. Your cheeks burned, but you managed a small wave at the camera, awkward, The crowd ate it up, cooed like it was the cutest thing they’d ever seen.

On screen, Seungmin’s smile went crooked, like he was trying not to laugh at you. "See?" he told the interviewer, nodding toward the screen. "Told you she hates this." The mic caught the rasp in his voice, the one that only showed up when he was tired or fond. Tonight, it was both.

Jeongin — 'love struck girl, I'd tease her.'

"You would pick the one night we’re out of ice cream to confess you like me," Jeongin had said that night two years ago, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence. He’d been holding a half melted pint of strawberry between you like a peace offering, or maybe a shield.

The confession had been an accident, words slipping out during one of those aimless midnight drives where the radio played nothing but old love songs and static.

You’d blamed the music, blamed the summer heat, blamed the way he’d drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat.

But Jeongin, ever meticulous, had pulled into the nearest convenience store parking lot, then returned with the ice cream as if that solved anything. but it only got that confession out of you that was begging to crawl out of your throat days prior.

Now, standing in the crowded glow of your friends apartment, you watch Jeongin from across the room. He’s holding a drink he hasn’t sipped yet, nodding as some woman you don’t recognize — a friend of a friend, probably — talks animatedly about something.

The way she gestures tells you it’s a story, not small talk. Jeongin’s always been a good listener, the kind who leans in just enough to make people feel heard, but tonight there’s a stiffness in his shoulders you recognize.

Hyunjin bumps your elbow with a fresh beer. "You’re staring," he sing songs under his breath.

You take the bottle without looking. "I’m observing."

"Same thing." He follows your gaze, then snorts. "Oh, her. She’s new. Felix invited her. Something about crypto startups? I tuned out after 'blockchain.'"

The woman— crypto girl —leans closer to Jeongin, her hand brushing his sleeve as she laughs. You don’t move. Jeongin’s fingers twitch against his glass, then still.

Then, clear across the room "So… are you single?"

Hyunjin chokes on his drink.

Jeongin blinks, caught off guard. For a second, he looks like he might laugh it off, might deflect like he used to when strangers flirted with him at bars back when you were just friends. But then his gaze flicks to you and his posture shifts.

"No," he says, quieter than usual. "I’m engaged."

Crypto girl’s eyebrows shoot up. "Really? I wouldn’t have guessed."

Before she can say more, you’re crossing the room, setting your beer down on the table beside Jeongin with a clink. "What wouldn’t you have guessed?" you ask, voice light.

Jeongin exhales, something close to relief. His fingers find yours without hesitation "That I’m taken," he says, squeezing your hand.

Crypto girl’s smile falters. "Ah. My bad." She retreats with a half hearted salute, already scanning the room for someone else to talk to.

Jeongin watches her go, then turns to you, sheepish. "Sorry."

"You’re apologizing for existing attractively now?" you tease, bumping his shoulder.

He rolls his eyes, but his thumb traces circles over your knuckles. "Shut up."

a/n: I hope at least one person gets all the lyrical references I made in this or I might just cry

“You want me to get the mask out, too?” he asked with a shit-eating grin.

You tossed his own shirt at him with a baffled chuckle. Of course, he caught it easily. “All you had to say was maybe another time!” He was Spider-Man after all.

Your boyfriend, who you had known for almost a decade and dated for half of that, had been keeping a secret from you for almost two whole years. When did you find out? Six months ago.

Your relationship wasn’t perfect right now. Not bad, but not good. One just doesn’t forgive dishonesty so quickly. He had left you to feel confused, doubtful. Not that your friends knew his secret, but with a boyfriend who canceled plans, disappeared without warning, then came back looking brighter and stronger, they had gotten to the point where they had less and less reasons to support your relationship. You didn’t have a lot either, even now.

But you knew him, well and long enough that even this implausible secret made sense. Of course he would do something like this. Your soft-hearted, too-kind-for-his-own-good, no-problem-is-too-small boyfriend would absolutely risk everything the second he was given the power to help.

His initial response was to go back to hiding his alter ego, keeping you and Spider-Man as far apart as possible. It barely lasted a week; you needed to know. You weren’t going to bare that hole in your chest from his not answering his phone or leaving for days at a time. If he wanted you in his life, then you needed all of him, not just the pieces he thought were safe to show.

This included him being himself, all of him, at home in your teeny shared apartment. The oversized hoodies disappeared first, no longer swallowing his frame every day. They were replaced by…very little most of the time. Jisung wandered around your tiny apartment all broad shoulders and lean muscle. His arms had gotten massive, his chest firmer, his stomach taut in a way that made it impossible not to stare.

He also moved differently. There were the obvious signs, like his insane strength and how his new favorite place to ponder was from the ceiling. But he was also quicker, lighter, in a way that felt almost animalistic. He reacted to the smallest sounds, some you couldn’t register. He seemed to be one step ahead of almost everything. He was always alert, always ready, all instinct.

He’d also stopped wearing his glasses. Turned out he didn’t need them anymore. That one tugged at your heart a little. You missed them - missed them alongside the soft, slightly too shy boy who used to peer at you through smudged lenses and overgrown bangs, who’d duck his head when you caught him staring.

That part hadn’t changed much - he barely seemed to notice what he was doing to you and, when he did, he’d be sickening bashful about it. In the mornings, he’d shuffle around half-awake and rubbing his eyes, completely unaware that messy hair and bruised knuckles did something for you. Sometimes he’d lean against a wall or a counter while talking, his huge muscles flexing absentmindedly. He’d catch you staring and just blush before putting a shirt on. Worse were the times when he’d casually use his abilities. One time he caught a brick hurtling down from a shoddy facade singlehandedly without looking, not stumbling over even one word in his rant about the Apex Legends metagame. It took every ounce of shame in you not to suck him off where he stood.

Maybe the newfound confidence came with the mask. Or maybe it came from finally not having to hide every part of himself anymore. Either way, your shy, awkward boyfriend had somehow turned into someone annoyingly attractive, and unfortunately for you, he was getting the hang of it. You were okay with that, mostly.

Jisung laced his hands together and cracked his knuckles above his head, his gloves ticking. “One more time - are you sure about this? I can’t break the webs and the solvent takes a second to dissolve them.”

You took that question as a cue to get yourself into place. You set a few pillows behind and under you, propping your head and hips up comfortably and making sure your arms weren’t too high above you. After settling, you smiled widely, all your teeth on display. “Yup! I’m quite sure.” You wiggled your feet excitedly. You’ve asked for this a few times, but Jisung was a bit hesitant to bring Spider-Man into your bedroom. But you were persistent and it couldn’t hurt to try at least once…

“Alrighty, then,” Jisung sang. With a flick of his wrist and a soft thwip, he landed a net of web on your wrists, attaching you to the headboard. Immediately, you felt pressure - you tugged on them, but they wouldn’t budge.

Jisung positioned himself gleefully, a stupid smirk plastered on his face. “Thank you for suggesting this, babe.” He currently kneeled on either side of your hips, careful not to put on weight on you. He drew soft shapes on your thighs, which made you shiver. His gloves were still cold and added an alluring bit of weight to every movement.

“We haven’t even done anything yet,” you giggled.

“Yeah, but it’s going to a long night.” His eyes sparkled earnestly. “I’m excited.”

He brought a gloved hand you face, the sensation chilling you. It was strangely cool and he felt more powerful than usual. Maybe it was the adrenaline. He cupped your face and kissed you, low, slow, yearning. Quickly, though, he overwhelmed you. His tongue slipped through eagerly, taking your breath away as it shoved its way down your throat.

Your body wanted to chase after him, but you really couldn’t move all that much, which he noticed almost immediately. He kept kissing you and backing away, watching you struggle to follow.

“Greedy,” he murmured with a grin against your lips before he snuck away.

You could only glare at him before he decided to move downward, aiming at your neck next. He bit and licked and sucked, needing you to get just as vocal as he liked. A hand crawled its way under your tank top, cupping a full breast roughly. Your breath broke against the pressure. He needed to go further - he pinched a nipple, hard. You squealed, a high-pitched cry, as he rolled it between two sleek fingers, never lightening his grip. He wouldn’t let go;he just added a hand, which kneaded your other breast just as hard.

You had nowhere to go as he finished nipping your collarbones. After, he latched up on to one of your sensitive mounds, staring at you through straight lashes as he teethed on you. He sounded so sloppy, so hungry, as he muttered praises into your skin. Nonstop, the other one was squished before his hand slid down your stomach.

Your hips bucked into his fingers while they glided down to the fabric above your center. You emitted a soft sound, already trapped by his teasing. He growled as he switched sides, his fingers still gently assessing how wet you actually were.

“Ji,” you whispered, unable to decide how to end that sentence exactly.

Jisung separated from you with a pop, lifting up to meet your eyes. He was already heavy-lidded and short-breathed, his exhales warming your face.

“Tell me what you need, baby,” he emphasized with his fingers brushing your damp panties.

You swallowed hard. You trembled beneath him, your arms desperately trying to find him. “S-stop teasing me.”

“Oh, I’m not, baby,” he smirked as he pulled rough on your nipples, tugging it and watching your breast jiggle back into place beneath your top. You gasped. “I’m enjoying myself.” His hands slithered down to tug at your underwear. “Tell me what to do better.”

“T-touch me.”

He hummed in time to a long swipe over thin fabric. Your hips bucked forward to no satisfaction. “I am though.”

You threw your head back in growing frustration. “Like, properly, Ji.”

“I can’t do that with these on, darling,” he smiled, waving his free hand innocently. Your eyes widen and your mouth hung open, failing to hide utter anguish. You rubbed your thighs around his hand, searching for something as he traced aloof shapes above your sopping hole.

“Babe, I got this. Trust me.”

Trust meant shit coming out of his mouth, but he finally and happily removed your underwear and shorts, throwing them behind him with too much enthusiasm. He dutifully repositioned himself right after, laying down in front of you, your legs on either side of him. 

“Can I?” he asked, feigning worry, as if he’d be denied.

You nod, watching him lick his lips first.

One of his few redeeming qualities, Jisung was a munch. He’d quit his job and drop of school if he could keep you pinned down under him forever. It was a pastime of his, honestly. For a long time, before he distanced himself, he’d make you lay down randomly in bed or on the couch and just stay between your legs for hours. Had a long day? He’d eat you out. Passed an assignment? Eat you out. Didn’t do that well on an assignment? Eat you out. When he was younger, eagerness made up for technique. After years, though, he prided himself on just how many times he could make you cum within an hour with only his tongue.

Tonight, he started slow, savoring you with each pass of his tongue. His eyes practically rolled in the back of his head, you were so wet and sweet. Although he was being tame, you were already out of breath. The webs dug into your skin, surprisingly stinging you, with no give whatsoever. You stayed exactly where he had left you and so did he, unfortunately. You couldn’t pull Jisung closer by the hair; you couldn’t shove his beautiful curved nose against your swollen clit. You could only grind your hips into his open mouth, searching for his tongue as it lazily yet firmly tasted every drop of you. 

Jisung could feel your frustration in the way you rolled over his face; he could hear it as you muttered half-formed curses. He’d normally do whatever you wished, as soon as you demanded. But he liked seeing you so needy, so starved, for once. He liked feeling wanted. He liked seeing your cocky, bossy self fight the urge to beg.

His gloves purred as he positioned them wide on the inside of either thigh and spread your legs broad. Jisung had stopped completely to admire his work. Your cunt was swollen and red and shining with a pretty mix of your slick and his spit. Your stomach twisted in disappointment, waiting.

“Say please,” he spouted coldly, taking advantage.

“Ji,” you exhaled. He sure was brave tonight.

He ignored you. He drummed metallic fingers against your skin, seemingly bored.

“Jisung.”

“Hm?” He blinked, peering up innocently.

“Like, c-continue! Finish!”

Jisung brought his teeth to the soft part of your thigh and started biting at the flesh, dribbling all down your leg. It made you moan, but that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what you wanted.

“Ji,” you gasped, tugging uselessly at your binding. “Just—“

Jisung dragged his heavy fingers down your squishy muscles, slow and pressured. The metal weave was apparent as he sank his fingertips, tracing each bite he gifted. It hurt but not as much as—

“Ji, please eat me out.”

His grin was wide and gummy. “How, baby?”

“Spit on it, hit it, fingerfuck me - I don’t care! But please, Ji.”

He didn’t have to spit on anything - you were overflowing. He merely dived down and kissed at your desperate pussy. His tongue slid in and out, pausing only for him to gulp down your slick. He picked up the pace, lapping at you like he was dying of thirst, his nose buried in your sensitive bud. He got so fast, inhumanly so. You loved the way he knew exactly what to do and how to do it by your cries. You shook so much, too, he had to hold you back from crushing his skull between your pretty thighs. He broke away to kiss them, bite them again. You jumped against the headboard. 

“Jisung!”

“Baby, but you’re so soft!” he whined, his eyes locked onto you. “And maybe if you didn’t scream like that—“

On cue, he squeezed your legs, earning a yelp from you. He laughed as he went back to work. He gained a nice rhythm, in time to your cursing his name. His tongue slowed, even when he got to your clit. He circled it, several languid laps before pursing his lips and sucking. It was an obscene sound, the way he slurped you.

Your head spun, each action making you more and more undone. He wasn’t holding back today. He was always afraid he’d hurt if he wasn’t 100% aware of how much strength he used but now, he seemed to be leaning into his new gifts. It was like he needed you to feel him, each touch a mark, a promise, a statement.

“Ji, I’m close,” you babbled.

Jisung responded by retreating for a moment before returning with a wide, long, slow swipe at your sopping cunt, making you feel every second he was on you. He traveled until he found your clit once more and attached his watery mouth with no mercy. His hands easily threw your leaded legs above his shoulders, limp as he worked.

Your first organism hit you harder than you expected. You tensed and trembled, screaming at this point. The feeling of your boyfriend and the web ties, both unrelenting, drove you beyond all sense. But that didn’t make Jisung stop - he wrapped his arms around your legs and brought you closer, physically holding you so you literally rode out your high on him.

As the pleasure subsided into exhaustion, your body tried to collapse, but there was nowhere to go. You pressed into the pillows, no words capable of being uttered. Jisung only watched, admiring what a sweaty, gasping mess you already were. Your face and chest was flushed a bright pink, your chest heaving dramatically as you fought to catch your breath.

“Oh no,” he mused as he sat up and inched closer. He returned his two gloved hand to your breasts. He fondled them roughly above your shirt, ignoring your pained whines. “I should’ve gotten rid your shirt before we started. It’s in the way. How can I see how pretty you are naked with it on, baby?”Rudely, he only pawed harder with each word. “I didn’t think this through. Lemme fix that.”

Like a sheet of paper, he tore your tank top in two with easy fingers. Your jaw went slack as he peeled off what was left and tossed them to the floor.

“Better,” he smiled with a raised an eyebrow.

He got up to get your water bottle. He took a sip himself but not before he let you drink. He wiped your face with the tissues on the nightstand, giving you a small peck on the cheek when he was done. 

Jisung knelt in front of you, his big body folded in like he was praying. You had a leg on either side of him, open and vulnerable. He ran his hands up and down your thighs with little actual patience. You could see his sold, hefty hard-on fight against his boxers, begging despite his feeble voice. “Are you okay to keep going?” he asked as he bucked slightly into the mattress.

“Yes, please,” you breathed. The words had barely tumbled from your lips before he returned to kiss you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. All the while, you could feel the head of his cock through his boxers rubbing against your still sensitive folds.

“Now?” he practically whined.

You desperately nodded.

He lowered you slightly on the pillows, so you were laying down. Your hands hung achingly above you like a bell in church. He gracefully positioned his hands on either side of you and sank down you two were forehead to forehead, chest to chest.

Initially, he nudged himself into you unhurriedly, like there was still all the time in the world. You gasped with each inch, the journey as long as his cock. He eventually bottomed out and stayed there, listening to your already ragged breathing.

“Fuck…still tight,” he choked. You squeezed around him, adjusting to his size. He was obsessed how it still took you a minute to take all of him in.

He groaned deeply as he began moving. The thrusts were deep, slow, and long - he’d drag himself almost all the way out before inching his way back in. You rolled your hips in time with his, gracefully but urgently chasing his addictive length.

With each sensual grind, he kissed you passionately like your soul was in the other side of your mouth. Occasionally, if you needed to squeak or moan, he’d place a gentle kiss on your neck or a soft bite on your shoulder. Soon, one his hands traveled up to your bound wrists, added even more pressure, while the other caressed your shaking body. It was agonizing.

“You’re so good, taking me so well,” he murmured against your check. “So, perfect, so patient.”

Your hips jerked against his spastically, searching for something rougher. He only giggled, a pure sound full of malice.

“Y/n,” he cooed. “Use your words.”

You groaned, less from euphoria more from how annoying he’d grown. You gulped before spitting out, low and taunting, “Fuck me.”

You ceremoniously wrapped your legs around his waist and all he could do for a second was smiled into your neck. Suddenly, before you could protest further, he snapped his pelvis forward, ramming into you faster and even deeper. He relished your cries by burying his teeth in your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a pretty present for work tomorrow.

“Right there, Ji, right here,” you muttered into the air. Your cracking voice was just barely audible over the sound of skin slapping skin and your wet cunt squelching with each plunge.

“Right there?” He angled himself and pounded into you forcefully, earning a broken cry from your shredded throat.

You had squeezed your eyes shut, deliciously overwhelmed, but you felt a hand hold your face.

“Look at me,” he whispered. “Watch me fuck you.”

His thrusts drove into you hard and desperate. His bangs were stuck to his face and his chest was sweaty and flushed. He watched your face with a slight smirk, think you were the most beautiful creature he could ever witnessed. He kissed messily, he couldn’t help himself. You were even more gorgeous as you sobbed into his mouth, getting closer and closer.

“Cum, baby.” Broke away just along to praise you. “Cum all over me again like a good girl.”

You came harder, clenching around his length, arching your back to be even closer to him. You moaned his name loudly as refused to slow down, fucking you as he chased his own high.

You went slack beneath him, but he reached down to rub your clit, fast and rough. You cried, a strangled sound, but he wanted you sufficiently wrecked before he cummed deep within you. He railed a few more jagged thrusts before spilling thick, hot ropes all in you. He kept moving, though, pushing each drop in so you would be properly full. At this point, his name was a fragmented prayer for the neighbors to hear.

Jisung slumped into you, his head resting on your shoulders, his arms hugging you. You could feel his chest heave into yours as you struggled to calm your heartbeat. He stayed inside you, warm and sweaty, for a moment, but not long enough.

“Babe, baby,” he babbled into your ear between shaky, ragged breaths. “Can you let me try something? Please? Just one more thing, I promise.” Each whimper was accompanied by a slow, languid rut into your sensitive, aching cunt.

Lost for words, you nodded feebly, weak to how needy he still felt and sounded. As long as he begged, you’d do anything. You’d find the will. You’d muster the strength. He carefully removed himself from in and on you and retrieved the solvent. He poured only a few drops, but immediately the webs started to fizzle away. It took a minute or two to fully dissolve. During that time, he cleaned you up - he toweled you down, tucked your hair behind your ears, and got you some water.

After you reassured him that you were okay, he kissed your sweaty forehead and gently guided you unto your knees, making you look away from at the wall above the headboard. A quick thwip could be heard behind you, followed by his cold, metallic hands gingerly wrapping a thin cord around your wrists, behind your back.

“Is it too tight?” he asked.

“N-not at all.”

He pulled a little more so your wrists were flushed together, tight.

He got behind you and unwrapped a condom this time, still wincing slightly from the overstimulation as he rolled it on. This was a scenario he’d imagined for a while now. He patted your ass, assuringly but a tad bit hard. You were too good for him.

He positioned himself at your entrance, standing firm behind you. Oh, how what a sight. Your ass was something he was secretly obsessed with. Your pretty cunt was red and swollen and glistening with him, too, thighs bitten and blue. He was tempted to taste it once more this night. “Can you even take my cock again, baby?” he drawled.

“Of course,” you breathed. “Anytime, Spidey.”

That woke him up fully, a new exhilarating feeling. Unannounced, he slid himself in once more, quietly alarmed by how you could still invite him in. He grabbed your hips and sank all the way in, earning a yelp from you.

“Fuck,”he drawled. He was not exactly frantic this time; he went slow enough but made sure to bottom out with each thrust, pushing himself right into your sore hole. You shook beneath him instantly, but he only gripped harder, his gloves marking you more. You weren’t going anywhere. His cock slammed inside you over and over.

“Jisung,” you straight up cried as you buried your face into the mattress. The sound of your slick, mixed with moans and whines from the both of you, was deliciously dirty. You fought against the web binding; it stung just as much as when he slapped your ass, but it was entrancing, getting to feel his strength so up close.

“Shit, you’re too good for me, baby,” he moaned. “Letting me tie you up like you’ve done something wrong.”His cracking voice didn’t match how he was still mercilessly picking up the pace. “You can do nothing but cum for me.” A hand slid between your thighs. “That’s all my baby can do right now, take my cock and cum.”

His cool fingers found your desperate clit and finally rubbed fast circles. His gloves offered a sensation you’d never felt before - they were rough and hard but smooth and cold and glided over with your slick with ease. You dripped down his knuckles.

As his other hand squeezed your ass and didn’t let go, you screamed into the mattress, a pure, throaty shriek. Jisung could’ve cum right there, but he instead he held your hips against him, so you clenched around every inch of him.

“I’m going to cum,” you screeched, tears staining the sheets.

“I’m right there with you, baby,” he whimpered. “Cum with me, y/n.”

You made no attempt to muffle the scream ripped from your throat as you came for the third time that night. Jisung didn’t let up as he slammed into you one last time, stammering praises and thank you’s as he filled up yet another condom inside you. His fingers faltered a little, but continued to pleasure you as he milked every drop and tear out of you.

When he finally pulled out after several minutes of twitching inside you, he fell to his knees, the bed sinking loudly under him. You collapsed without his balance onto your side, too exhausted to even properly sob.

“Hey,” he mewled as he crawled over to the night stand to get the solvent again. As it simmered, he threw away the condom and he took off the gloves and tossed him to the floor with an unceremonious thud. Once you were free, he repositioned you like a doll so he could hold you in his arms, staring over you with thinly disguised worry. 

“You okay?” he whispered. He knew he did a lot, probably too much. You hummed a sound that was meant to be a yes. You were too overwhelmed to even nod. He wiped your tears with his real fingertips and you leaned into the warmth. He kissed your face lightly as you panted still.

It wasn’t lost on either of you that in another world, it was often Jisung that finished these type of nights snotty and blubbering instead. Now, he looked like he only ran a slightly cumbersome jog. He was shiny and red in the cheeks and lips, but he looked too idyllic, like a painting, after everything. You reached shaky fingers to his perfect bangs, covering his wide pupils.

It’s your son’s first day of preschool and Jisung is more nervous than him. 

“Okay, does he have his juice?” Jisung asks, nervously pacing back and forth 

“Yes.” 

“His snacks?”

“Yes.”

“What about his favorite blanket. Oh! Maybe a change of clothes too.” 

“Why would he need a change of clothes?” 

“What if he falls and gets mud all over himself. Do you want him walking around in muddy clothes? All of the other kids will laugh at him and he’ll be scarred forever. You know what? This was a bad idea. He’s staying home. We’ll put him in next year.”

“Ji!” You grab your frantic husband by the shoulders. “Calm down. He will be just fine.” 

He sighs, “It’s just…it’s a big deal. I want him to be okay.” 

“I know you do, but I promise everything will be fine.” 

He nods, not seeming fully convinced, but you’ll take what you can get. You guide your son, Duri, out of the playroom to the car and buckle him in. Han is tapping the steering wheel so hard the entire drive that you think his fingers might fall off. As you pull up to the preschool, Han looks like he is going to throw up. You gently place your hand over his, “Hey, it’ll be okay.” 

He takes a deep breath before stepping out of the car. You unbuckle Duri as Jisung grabs his Han Quokka backpack. As you enter the building, your son toddling in next to you, his eyes light up at all the bright colors. The walls have murals of animals and plants in fun colors while the chairs are all different patterns. It looks like a clown threw up on everything, but Duri seems enraptured. After talking to the lady at the front desk, you walk Duri back to his classroom, Jisung holding his hand the whole way. As you approach the classroom, the teacher is waiting to greet you. 

“Hi! Welcome to your first day of class.” She crouches down to look at your son in the eyes, a bright smile on her face. “And what’s your name, little guy?” 

“This is Duri.” You answer.

“Nice to meet you!” She tries to give him a high five but he just stares at her bewildered. She shrugs, standing back up. “That’s okay. We’ll get there eventually. I assume you’re his parents.” 

“Yes, hi. I’m Y/N,” You stretch out your hand to greet her. “And this is Han.” The teacher reaches out her hand to him, but he is too caught up scanning the classroom. “Ji!” You elbow him in the side and he locks back into the present. 

“Oh! Hi.” He shakes her hand a little frenetically. 

The teacher just smiles at him, “First time, huh? It’s okay. Most parents are nervous. You can look around the classroom if you’d like.” 

“Yes!” “No.” You both say at the same time. Jisung looks at you, a little betrayed, but you just ignore him. “I’m sure everything is fine. This school had amazing reviews, so I’m not worried.” 

She nods her head, “Well, if you have any questions, just let me know. I can take any of his belongings and we’ll get started with class soon.” 

You hand her the backpack after basically ripping it out of Jisung’s grip. You pick up Duri, who has been hanging onto Jisung’s pant leg up until now and lift him over the baby gate into the room. As soon as his feet touch the floor, he starts sobbing. Jisung basically lunges to grab him before you have to stop him from picking your son back up. 

“But he’s crying!” He pleads, looking like he is about to cry himself. 

“If you pick him up, he’ll never get comfortable here.” 

“It’s very normal for kids to cry their first time.” The teacher smiles as if that is supposed to calm Jisung down, but it only makes him feel worse. 

“I would cry too if my parents abandoned me with a stranger locked in a prison.” He dramatically crosses his arms before you hit him on the shoulder.

“This is not a prison, it’s preschool.” 

“Same difference.” 

“Ji, stop it. You’re being rude.” 

“It’s okay.” The teacher reassures, “Parents are always more nervous than the kids. I promise he will stop crying and adjust soon.” 

Meanwhile, Duri is sobbing and making grabby hands for his father, “Appa!” 

Jisung looks at you with his biggest eyes, but you don’t budge. He looks between you, the teacher, and Duri, his heart broken in two as his son cries two feet away from him and he’s not allowed to do anything. “Can I give him one last hug please?” 

You sigh, “Fine, but make it quick and don’t pick him up!” 

Jisung nods as he step over the baby gate to crouch down next to his son. Immediately Duri collapses in his arms and starts sobbing into his shirt. Jisung hugs him tight against his chest, placing a kiss on his head, “I know buddy. Me too. But we’ll get through this together. We have to be strong for each other, okay? I’ll be back before you know it.” He squeezes your son one last time before letting go and stepping back out. Duri lets out another high pitched wail as his father turns his back. Jisung gives one last longing look to Duri before fully turning to leave. He grabs your hand and starts pulling you away, “Let’s go before I change my mind.” 

You give one last thank you to the teacher before leaving down the hallway. Your son grabs the baby gate crying after you, and Jisung flinches when a broken “Appa!” echoes down the hallway. As you get back in the car, Jisung slumps down and you swear there are tears in his eyes. “I’m a terrible father. I’ve abandoned my son. I turned my back on him when he needed me most.” 

You gently turn his head to look at you, giving the most reassuring smile you can, “You are not a terrible father. You didn’t abandon him. Like the teacher said, this is super normal. He will adjust and be just fine.” You press a reassuring kiss to his lips and some of the tension drains from his shoulders. 

“Okay, but if he is crying when we get back, I’m never leaving him behind again.” 

“Noted.” You nod before pulling out of the parking lot. 

~

You get back that afternoon to pick your son up and Jisung is practically running down the hallway. 

“Duri!” He steps in the room, scanning for your son. His eyes land on Duri playing with some blocks in the corner. He walks over and crouches down with his arms open, “Duri, look! Appa is here!” However, your son ignores him and keeps playing with his blocks. Han’s brows furrow with confusion. He moves so that he is more in Duri’s line of sight. “Buddy? It’s me.” But Duri keeps playing with his blocks. Han’s face drops as his son is clearly less hurt about the separation than he is. He scoops him up in is arms, earning a whine from Duri who was not finished with his block tower. His chubby fists reach back down for the blocks, despite Jisung trying to get his attention. “Duri, buddy. It’s me. Your Appa! The one you were crying about this morning.” 

You walk over, trying not to be too teasing. As soon as Duri see’s you, his eyes light up and he reaches towards you, “Eomma!” 

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you as you take your son from a very betrayed Jisung. “Guess you missed Eomma more than Appa, huh?” You coo, slotting him against your hip. He just gives a gummy smile and starts playing with your hair, “Or Eomma’s hair apparently.” You walk back over to the teacher and sign him out, “I’m guessing he adjusted well?”

“Stopped crying after about five minutes,” She smiles back, grabbing his Han Quokka bag. 

“He forgot about me,” Jisung pouts next to you. “It’s because I abandoned him. He’s traumatized and blocked me out of his memory.” 

You roll your eyes at his dramatics, “Yeah okay. Grab his backpack.” 

“Reduce to his bag boy. What kind of father am I?” He takes the tiny backpack and slings it over his shoulder, best he can. 

jisung stopped breathing the exact moment your hand settled on his thigh under the table.

it was a small gesture, almost innocent. one no one else would’ve noticed except him.

sitting beside him, back straight, a perfectly practiced smile on your lips, you nodded softly at everything his mother said, like nothing was happening. like you weren’t sliding your fingers a little higher with every passing second.

like you weren’t testing exactly how much he could take.

and still, there you were.

at the han’s table, surrounded by laughter, silverware clinking against plates, light conversation that had nothing to do with the way jisung gripped his utensils too tight, desperately needing something, anything, to hold onto.

it was your first time stepping into that house. or at least, that’s what they believed.

no need to mention the nights you’d slipped in quietly, through the back door or the half-open window of their “well-behaved son.”

especially not now. not when your hand had just found exactly what it was looking for.

jisung swallowed, eyes fixed on his plate like he could actually focus on the food.

he couldn’t. not when your fingers pressed more deliberately through the fabric, pulling a short, barely audible breath from him.

he glanced up for a second and found you already looking at him, that soft, polite smile still in place.

completely harmless to anyone else, but not to him.

“it’s almost insulting jisung never told us about you when you’re such a sweet girl,” his father commented, serving himself more salad.

“right? he doesn’t bring many friends over, so we’re really happy to have you here,” mrs. han added warmly.

sweet.

the word hung in the air right as your hand finally reached where you wanted it.

when he looked back at you, something had changed in his eyes. something more exposed,  more vulnerable, more lost. you held his gaze, unhurried, tilting your head just slightly, lashes lowering in a soft, almost playful way.

and then, without breaking eye contact, you moved your hand. slow, deliberate. jisung stopped breathing. literally.

he shifted in his seat, a small movement, but not quite subtle enough. his brows pulled together, his legs parting just a bit more without realizing it, giving you better access.

huge mistake.

your thumb pressed more intentionally against the tip this time, and his head dipped forward for a second, like he needed to pull himself together before anyone noticed.

but no one said anything.

no one saw him the way you did. no one knew what had been happening between you for months.

and that was exactly what was driving him insane.

“this is wrong…” he murmured under his breath, more to himself than to you.

but he didn’t move your hand away.

not when your fingers moved again. not when his breathing turned uneven. not when he looked at you, clearly waiting for you to be the one to stop.

and you didn’t, because you didn’t want to. because seeing him like this—tense, confused, completely at your mercy—was way too easy to enjoy.

when the heat pooling in your abdomen started getting too obvious, you stopped. not abruptly, not harshly. you just pulled away like it had never happened.

jisung let out a breath that almost turned into a whine, and that, more than anything, made you smile.

you dabbed your lips with your napkin calmly, like nothing had changed, and stood up. your eyes went straight to him. you smiled sweet, calm, dangerous.

jisung swallowed immediately, understanding right away.

“excuse me,” you said softly. “jisung, could you show me where the bathroom is?”

it wasn’t a suggestion.

his chair scraped loudly against the floor when he stood up too fast. he silently thanked the loose clothes he was wearing for hiding his very obvious erection.

they left the dining room while his parents kept talking like nothing was happening.

but the moment they turned the corner and the door shut, jisung barely had time to react before you shoved him back against the wood. your lips crashed into a wet, urgent kiss.

“mmmh-” jisung whimpered against your mouth.

his fingers tensed instantly, scratching at the door behind him when your tongue slipped in, slow, uninvited. your hands pressed into his shoulders, just enough to keep him there, nowhere to go.

he melted almost instantly.

when you pulled back, just enough to breathe, you saw him clearly. glasses slightly fogged. eyes glassy. completely wrecked. pupils blown. lips parted, wet.

he looked at you like he’d already lost.

you smiled. not softly, not this time.

your fingers slid into his hair, fixing strands you’d messed up yourself.

“y-you… we shouldn’t-” he murmured weakly. “not with my parents here…”

you didn’t let him finish before kissing him again, harder, hungrier this time.

his words broke against your mouth when you shoved him back into the door again, slipping your thigh between his legs, pressing right against him. your hands came up to his shoulders, careless.

“you always say we should stop…” you murmured against his lips. “but you never pull away.”

your hand slid down his chest, fingers barely grazing the fabric until they found the worn elastic of his pants. you paused there for just a second, looked at him, and then pressed.

jisung’s breath left him like it got knocked out, but he didn’t move your hand away. didn’t even try. if anything, his fingers tightened around your wrist when you started pulling back.

you paused and smiled. that was exactly the reaction you were waiting for.

you didn’t say anything else, you didn’t need to. you went back to him, your lips finding his jaw first, trailing down slowly, deliberate, to his neck.

you left a line of wet kisses, biting lightly along his neck and exposed collarbone. he could feel everything, every lick, every open-mouthed kiss, unhurried.

jisung’s eyes fluttered shut instantly, head tilting, giving in without even realizing it.

“ah…” he whimpered, eyes squeezing shut.

his hands found your waist like they belonged there, slipping under the fabric, searching for skin.

he shivered when your cold fingers slid under his shirt, a low sound slipping from his throat, and you knew he was completely gone.

with his judgment gone, he didn’t hesitate when you pulled his shirt off. didn’t even think. his hands clung tighter to you as the fabric disappeared, like he needed something to ground himself.

your lips kept moving down his chest, your hands exploring freely now, slow… dangerously slow. and still, you didn’t stop touching him.

when your fingers found his crotch again, your thumb brushed over the tip through the fabric, tentative. jisung hissed, cursing under his breath.

“fuck…”

his words broke into quiet moans, completely unable to stay coherent. his hands moved up, clumsy, finding your chest, squeezing without care, needing more, always more, trying to get under your tight top.

“someone-” he gasped, barely aware of what he was saying. “someone could come in…”

you looked at him and smiled slowly. you pulled your shirt off right in front of him, unhurried, like you had all the time in the world.

“then we should hurry… don’t you think?”

jisung stopped breathing. he couldn’t react. and when you leaned in to press a quick kiss to his lips, he wasn’t thinking about anything except you.

and then you dropped to your knees right in front of him. jisung gasped, louder than he meant to. completely caught off guard. completely fucked.

your fingers slid under the loose fabric without hesitation. one tug and he lost the air in his lungs.

“ah- wait-”

his back hit the door harder when you freed him, his body reacting before he could even process it.

you bit your lip, watching the tip of his cock peek over the waistband, flushed, wet with precum.

“i always forget how big you are…” you murmured, voice low, almost thoughtful. “you’re such a problem, sungie…”

that broke him more than it should’ve.

jisung looked away immediately, flushed red, breathing through his mouth like that would help, like that could fight the overwhelming urge to grab your face and fuck your mouth raw.

it didn’t help. nothing did. you’d been stuck in his head for days. he’d been touching himself thinking about you. about seeing you again. about hearing you moan his name under him.

and now you were here, on your knees like it was nothing. like you weren’t pushing him right to the edge.

“n-no-don’t do that…” he tried weakly.

you didn’t look at him right away. first, you freed him completely from his damp boxers, your hand wrapping around him with a confidence that pulled a broken moan out of him.

“mmmh- this?” you asked, finally looking up.

that look from below sent a sharp jolt through him until his cock. his fingers flew to his hair, tugging hard, frustrated, needy… it was too much.

“wait- wait, please-” his voice shook. “if you keep going i won’t-”

you didn’t let him finish. you leaned in and dragged your tongue slowly along his length, all the way up to the tip. like you knew exactly what you were doing.

“f-fuck…”

it came out choked, his legs shaking as he tried to hold onto something, but there was nothing. just you and what you were doing to him.

his hand dropped to your head almost on instinct, unsure at first, gripping tighter when you started moving.

“mmmh- don’t- don’t do that-” he whimpered, completely contradictory, pushing lightly like he didn’t know if he wanted more or to stop you. “i can’t- i can’t-”

but you didn’t stop, not for a second. your pace stayed slow, controlled, like you were testing him. like you wanted to see how long it would take before he broke.

and it wasn’t long.

“your mouth…” he gasped, completely gone. “feels- fuck- too good…”

his words fell apart between moans, unable to hold a full sentence. and you knew, you could see it, feel it.

so you pulled back just enough to breathe, just enough to look at him. and gave him that smile.

jisung let out a weak, desperate laugh, dragging a hand over his face like he was trying to recover.

“you’re…” he muttered, shaking his head. “you’re impossible…”

you opened your mouth to reply something sarcastic, but he didn’t let you. he couldn’t. he yanked you back down, pushing his cock into your mouth in one rough movement that made you choke.

he needed more. couldn’t think about anything except fucking your pretty mouth until he couldn’t anymore.

“i’m sorry- i’m sorry- i can’t-” he rambled, voice shaking as he guided you again. “i need- just- please…”

there it was. that needy, broken tone. completely wrecked by you.

that was all you needed to switch your pace, deeper, messier. his moans got louder, less controlled, echoing in the small space as he completely lost himself.

he wasn’t thinking about where he was. who could hear him. nothing.

“ah- fuck… fuck-” he repeated, senseless, unfiltered. “i can’t- i’m-”

his fingers tightened in your hair, his breathing turning chaotic.

“baby… baby, please-” his voice broke completely. “let me- let me come in your mouth- i can’t-”

it wasn’t an order. it was a real, pure, desperate plea.

and you didn’t stop. you pushed him exactly where you wanted him.

his legs buckled slightly, his whole body tensing as a choked moan tore out of him. and when he finally broke, it was hard, messy. no restraint. exactly how you knew it would be.

his grip tightened, his head falling back against the door, his breathing falling apart, shaky, uneven.

“ah… ah- fuck…” his voice barely there now.

jisung fixed his clothes with clumsy movements, way too fast for someone who clearly wasn’t ready to come back to reality. his hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his pants, his glasses, his hair. anything to feel normal again.

“i-i’m sorry…” he started, voice still unsteady, quieter than usual. “i couldn’t stop… it’s just-” he swallowed, looking away. “you felt too good and i…”

he didn’t finish. he couldn’t. his hands found yours to help you up, but the gesture lingered longer than necessary. like he didn’t want to let go just yet.

like he didn’t want to fully break whatever had just happened.

you, on the other hand, moved calmly. you turned on the sink, water filling the silence as you washed your hands, rinsed your mouth, like this was routine.

like you hadn’t just completely wrecked him seconds ago.

jisung watched you openly. that strange look on his face, half disbelief, half something softer.

he picked up your shirt and his, holding them for a second before handing them to you. he avoided your eyes when you stepped closer, gaze dropping like he didn’t know what to do with everything he was feeling.

your laugh was soft, light. you leaned in just enough to press a quick kiss to his cheek. almost innocent.

“relax, sungie…” you murmured, fixing your clothes in the mirror. “it’s not like i don’t like it when you lose control.”

your voice had changed. lower, more intimate. you met his eyes in the reflection and there it was again. that look that kept him frozen. jisung lifted his gaze slowly, meeting yours in the mirror. completely exposed.

he smiled a little, awkward, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands, what to say, how to react without falling right back into it.

because he knew he would.

“tell your parents my mom called and i have to go,” you said casually, like nothing had happened. like you weren’t knocking the air out of him again. “and thank them for everything, ‘kay?”

you didn’t wait for an answer, just walked to the door. and that hurt more than it should’ve.

jisung felt it immediately, tight in his chest, uncomfortable, like something was slipping through his fingers before he could grab it.

“wait-”

the word came out before he could think. he caught your wrist, gentle, but enough.

when you turned, he saw it clearly in your eyes. you knew. his grip loosened slightly, unsure. he didn’t even know what he was asking. just that he didn’t want you to leave like that.

you stepped closer, just enough. invading his space again. you smiled and your finger tapped the tip of his nose, light, almost playful.

“don’t think this ends here,” you murmured, voice dropping as you leaned closer to his ear, your quiet laugh brushing his skin. “you have no idea how bad i want you to fuck me against your desk.”

you pulled away without looking back. no hesitation, no break in rhythm. and left him there, standing still, breathing heavier than usual, lips parted. mind completely blank.

jisung dragged a hand down his face, letting out a low, disbelieving laugh.

“shit…”

it hadn’t even been ten seconds and he already wanted you again. much more.