#mystic messenger jumin x mc

[wendy-606]

Happy Jumin Month!!💅🏻❤

I'm still well and alive🫀guys!! Wish you all a Happy Halloween!!🕸🕷

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[astridthevalkyrie]

honeymoon period | jumin han x reader

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)

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.

[sandiaarts]

Just to remind you that I draw for other fandoms.

My requests are open

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

[mystmesstolemysoul]

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.

[queenie-avenue]

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.

— 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.'

[serenitysilverheart]

finally got the chance to play mystic messenger instead of watching routes on youtube and now i'm stuck in the brainrot purgatory again-

anyways, i genuinely love this game and am very passionate about these two deeply complex men that it kills me inside to have to only pursue one of them at a time... so i made an entire au for my mc-insert so that they can all hold hands! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) that and i believe jumin and seven are totally hilarious when put together so katherine (mc-insert shown above) is basically the positive mediator between them.

anticipate more content in the future perhaps... because there is far more to the au that is just festering in my brain +_+ and i'd like to further expand on how these three function with each other, so stay tuned(?)

[lucystarclub]

The “Assitant Kang, please make sure Elizabeth the III gets her fresh food on time and add up to the project list that we need to make a coffee she can drink. I’ll be workin until late on the Cat’s Hair Color seminar” Jumin Han in the flesh 🍷🐈📄

Another one of the MM collection :) Hey Mr. bussiness how do you do? 👀👀

[mysticerror606]

Inexperienced!Jumin han Headcannons

aka he's finally not bitchless

pairing : inexperienced!jumin han x gn!reader

genre : just smut, smut and smut, headcanons

warnings : mention of semi/public intercourse, oral (both sides), mention of throat fucking, masturbation,

a/n : this is my first post ever ! and it's my first time writing anything on Tumblr, so apologies for any mistakes, especially on format (I'm bad at formatting) and feedback will be greatly appreciated as well as requests !!

inexperienced!jumin who makes you show him how you touch yourself before he takes over

inexperienced!jumin who continually asks you how he's doing even when you're too fucked out to answer

inexperienced!jumin who sometimes gets so caught up in the pleasure that he uses you like a stress reliever

inexperienced!jumin who came a little too fast when you first went down on him

inexperienced!jumin who became so addicted to your body that he started to skip meetings just to taste you

inexperienced!jumin who complains about how much he needs you, but is to tired to do anything so he makes you just use him

inexperienced!jumin who doesn't realize the tent that forms in his pants everytime he sees you

inexperienced!jumin who gets so caught up in the moment while you give him oral that he just holds you still and starts fucking your throat

inexperienced!jumin who keeps accidentally edging himself because he's so caught up making you feel good

inexperienced!jumin who convinces you to give him a blowjob after each meeting as a reward

inexperienced!jumin who convinces you to give him a blowjob during a meeting because "it's too cold in my office"

inexperienced!jumin who gets so worked up seeing you all dressed up for a RFA party that you two have to leave early before greeting everyone

inexperienced!jumin who tries to pretend like his cock doesn't twitch whenever you praise him

[juminweek2019]

Jumin Week 2024 News!

Ok, so apparently this is happening! 🫨

After doing the math I think we have enough people willing to participate to make Jumin Week 2024 a reality

About the prompts, I thought we could go with the second most voted theme from last year: that's it The Language of Flowers.

Now, as maybe you know, there's a TON of flowers with meaning because the Victorians were super repressed! So, to make things simpler I thought to use the wedding bouquets from The RFA last year which are exactly 7 flowers. Fortunately someone on Instagram made a post about it, so I'm posting it now so you can start working on the prompts until we have the schedule ready and pretty 🙂:

Also, because I suppose those who voted for flowers already had an idea what they wanted to write/draw/etc, I'm open to suggestions about what flower they want to be included as a prompt, so feel free to send an ask if you want to request a specific flower, but only if you are going to participate as a writer/an artist/etc.. (btw Jumin's bouquet is the Serbian Bellflower, that would be our prompt for his birthday 👀)

Also I'm going to make a poll whether we are having a parallel theme or not, with the tarot cards Major Arcana (but on the weekend, super tired right now OTL)

Let me know what you think? Do you like this theme? Any suggestions? Doubts? Feel free to drop an ask or comments in the tags/reblogs! Remember this may be the last Jumin Week so don't keep to yourself anything!

(if you are new and have any doubt you can also check this blog for past submissions)

For The Han!!! 👑✨💜💜💜

Edit: I forgot to mention Jumin Week starts on the 5/10 with Jumin's Birthday for time reasons.

[gifti3]

this popped into my head after this interaction lol

heres the pic i used

[shewrotesomething]

Jumin Han - The Day He Realized He Wanted to Marry You

People like to think that CEO’s have it easy. That they sit in their big office with their feet up on their mahogany desk, smoking cigars as they watch the money come in. 

Wrong. It’s weeks of working 80 hours. It’s every minute of your day meticulously planned. It’s stacks of paperwork, 30 urgent emails in an hour, it’s meetings upon meetings upon meetings, it’s… missing three date nights in a row.

Jumin has warned you that these few months will be an especially busy period, but he’ll be sure to fulfill his ‘boyfriend’ responsibilities.

Well… that hasn’t exactly panned out as well as he thought.

The first time he had canceled, you waved it off and said there was no issue. The second time, your smile had wavered, but told him you understood. He tried to console you by saying you could eat at the restaurant by yourself. It was dinner time and the reservation was still there. You turned him down and said you’d rather go home and eat at your place.

And now, well, he was lucky that he couldn’t see your face when he called you to cancel. Still, you were uncharacteristically quiet throughout his monologue. At the end of it, you simply said, “I understand. I’ll catch you later.” 

If you had gotten angry, screamed at him

and cried through the call telling him he was a liar 

and that he always chooses work over you… 

well, he’d take that. In fact, he’d rather have that than the quiet surrender you gave. 

As Jumin’s hands danced across his keyboard to reply to an email, he told himself he can’t drown in the issue too long. What’s done is done, instead, he’lld make it up to you a hundred times over. He’s going abroad next month. He should take you with him. At the hotel you’re staying at, he’ll be sure to fill up the place with your favorite flowers, a nice candle lit dinner, a new outfit, and any purchasable item that you even happen to breathe on. 

Later, he’ll tell you about it. He’ll apologize and tell you about the trip. 

It was nearly lunch time when the glass door to his office swung open.

Before he could even tear his eyes from his computer, the intruder spoke, “Jumin Han.”

There you stood by his door. Hands crossed over your chest. The stern expression on your face made his fingers freeze mid-sentence.

“…hello,” was his lame greeting.

You crossed the room and rounded his table to stand by his side then, to his surprise, set a timer on your watch.

Jumin arched his brow and spun his chair about to face you “What are you—” He clamped his mouth shut when you planted yourself onto his lap and wrapped your arms around his frame.

“There’s a 10 minute window before you go to a lunch meeting. It’s mine,” you declared.

Jumin’s hands retreated from his computer and wrapped around your frame. “Were you feeling lonely, dear?”

“Yes,” you answered with a petulant pout. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you tell him. He could feel the vibration of your voice on his shoulder. “I know this is your life and I won’t be selfish about it. Just give me 10 minutes.”

He wrapped his arms tighter around you. 

There would be times where a passing comment, or a conversation thought to be out of earshot, would say that you were lucky to be with someone like him. Rich, brilliant, young, and handsome, Jumin Han. That was ludicrous. All along, always, he was the lucky one.

“Next mo—” he cut himself off. No, the trip next month was too long. No. “Let’s have dinner tonight. Whatever you want.”

You gasped and giggled. You broke away from the hug to look at his face. “Really? Are you free?”

“I’ll finish work by 8 in the evening, is that okay?”

“Yeah! I can wait. We don’t need to go out. Let’s just eat at your place and watch a movie!” You paused and hummed in thought. “I think I know a good movie that you and I can watch. It’ll be great.”

His hand reached up to caress your face. “I can’t wait.”

It’s a good thing that the trip is next month. It’ll give him some time to find out your ring size and rent a villa for the proposal

[intr0verted-weird0]

[introverted-scribblings]

The RFA w/ MC who loves sewing

What? A post? From me? You're crazy, there's no way that's happening.

I'm trying to get back into writing for this blog and recently started replaying Mystic Messenger because I want poor sleep 💕 Basically I'm letting my fixation fuel my writing because... the sentence ends there.

Enjoy these headcanons! I thought they turned out really cute~

(FYI: I used fem!MC for these headcanons; girlfriend/wife/etc.)

Yoosung:

He found out in the RFA chatroom when the two of you were talking about games and hobbies.

Yoosung had been excitedly telling you about the armor set he had gotten in his latest LOLOL binge, sending a picture and saying how he wishes he could wear cool armor in real life.

“I can make it for you”

“MC… what???”

And this is where he discovered your passion for sewing and your side-hobby of cosplay

He had a little experience with sewing, he could sew on a button and fix small tears thanks to his high school “home ec” classes, but you’re talking about making entire outfits and costumes from scratch.

THAT’S. SO. COOL.

He is amazed and thoroughly impressed by your talents, even moreso after you send some pictures of your completed works.

It’s amazing that you can make your own clothes, but he’s definitely super impressed with your cosplays. They’re insanely detailed, matching perfectly with the source material. He often says that your cosplays look better than the source material. They’re true works of art in his eyes.

Praises your talents nonstop.

Talks about it all the time to everyone. Every one of his friends knows how skilled his girlfriend is. And the other RFA members know tenfold.

After hearing you talk about your projects, Yoosung decided to join the sewing club at school in the hopes that he could help you with your amazing work! (Not that you need help, he really just wants to participate in something you love)

What ends up happening though is him sitting beside you at the sewing machine and getting lost in your working rhythm. (“Yoosung, are you paying attention? I thought you wanted me to give you tips?” “S-sorry, MC!! You’re just… really good at this… Like magic!”)

There’s no way he’ll be able to catch up with your skill anytime soon, so you compromise with him. You’ll make the costumes, but he has to cosplay with you~

(I have a short fic continuation of this! You can read it here)

Zen:

He found out just before one of his performances.

The costume he was wearing was a bit snug but worked fine in all the dress rehearsals, so he didn’t think much of it at the time.

You were backstage with him before opening night, ready to tell him to break a leg and give the audience a show to remember, when you saw the rip in his jacket.

It was a seam rip behind his left shoulder. Not the worst, but clearly noticeable.

Curtain was in ten minutes.

“Hyun, take off your costume.”

“Jagyia, I know I’m irresistible, but can you wait until after the show?”

“Not like that!!!” >////<

You pulled a flat black case from your purse and opened it, revealing a small sewing kit. You had everything you needed for a sewing emergency. Pins, buttons, snaps, scissors, an assortment of colored thread. And needles, of course.

You fixed the rip and strengthened the seam with four minutes to spare.

Zen asks you about it after the show (which went perfectly, thanks to you) and you explain your sewing hobby to him. Mentioning that you always have your little sewing kit with you for emergencies like tonight.

You show him pictures of the projects you’ve made and entire outfits you’ve designed and created from scratch. A good chunk of your wardrobe are pieces you’ve made yourself.

Of course he supports you! He’s so impressed and is constantly gushing about how talented you are in the chatroom.

Though nothing could prepare him for the moment you said you wanted to make something for him. Looking up at him with big hopeful eyes as you asked if he’d let you design him an outfit. His heart nearly burst.

You poured hours of time and effort into these pieces for him, determined to make this your best project yet. Your magnum opus. (You also sent concept sketches and fabric swatches to Jaehee for her “professional fan opinion”)

When he put it on for the first time, he was speechless. Everything fit perfectly, there wasn’t a part of the outfit that was uncomfortable in the slightest.

And he may be a bit of a narcissist, but he swore that the clothes you crafted made him more handsome than he thought possible. He looked good but never this good.

Your heart was filled with sunshine and warmth when he decided to wear it to an interview.

“My outfit? It’s custom-made. My girlfriend is a very talented seamstress and this was a gift from her~”

Jaehee:

She found out when she called you to complain about the c-fur she was still cleaning up around her apartment.

“Ugh, I’m sorry, Jaehee. I know how bad that can get. I took care of my friend’s cat for a weekend once and I spent an entire month cleaning fur off all my fabric.”

Your fabric?? “What fabric, MC?”

The fabric for your projects of course! Once she got you started, you happily explained your passion to her and how you’ve been making your own clothes for a while now too.

She is also very impressed with your skill and also impressed with how handy it is. You very generously offered to mend her favorite blazer when one of the seams split. You also fixed the two loose buttons you found.

When you two open up the cafe together, you made Jaehee a custom apron to wear. Even going so far as to embroider her name on it along with some decorative coffee beans.

It’s her favorite apron and the one she wears the most while working. (until it has to be cleaned, but then it’s right back in the cafe for her to use)

It gets a lot of compliments too and you’ve actually had a few customers commission you from Jaehee’s (unintentional) promoting.

You since made more clothes for her, even an entire sundress similar to one she had been looking at while you both were out shopping. (You didn’t think the one sold was her color, so you made one yourself that would highlight her best~)

The only issue is the thread and fabric scraps that tend to scatter just as bad as the c-fur… but hey, at lease the end result is more useful! And she can always count on you to tidy your mess when you’re finished~

Jumin:

You mentioned it offhand. Simply mentioning the stitching quality on one of his ties and how you hadn’t made a tie before.

He followed up asking why you would want to make a tie, to which you explained that you often made your own clothes but would love to give yourself a little challenge with something you hadn’t done before.

Initially, he didn’t quite understand. He could easily have any outfit you desired tailored specifically for you, there wasn’t the need to go through all the hassle of making it.

You had to explain that it was your hobby. That, while time consuming and occasionally tedious, you truly enjoyed making your own clothes, and showed him some examples from your closet.

“I’m quite impressed, MC. I’ve only seen this kind of quality come out of trained professionals.”

“I’ll take that compliment. Thank you, love~”

He gives you an entire studio for your projects. While you insist that he doesn’t need to give you so many elaborate gifts, you have to admit that the space is very nice. Much better than working in cramped conditions or on the floor.

While Jumin doesn’t have an interest in joining your craftiness, your husband is more than willing to encourage your hobby monetarily with machine repairs and high quality materials.

Whatever you want, you can have. You’re his darling wife after all.

He even gifted you an antique sewing machine, a vintage 1902 Singer Treadle. You don’t “use” it, but you learned how to just for fun. It’s a lovely decoration of your hobby at the least.

And, yes, you did make a tie for him. Two actually, but you only gave him the second one, insisting that the first was practice only.

It quickly becomes his favorite and he always wears it to important meetings. It’s like having you right there with him for support.

It also becomes quite the talking piece at one of the RFA parties when a member of the Cultured Citizens asks about the brand and price.

“This tie was handmade by my wife and is certainly priceless.”

707:

He already knew because of course he did.

He would often send you (jokingly) ridiculous “orders” with impossible time frames, including:

An iridescent “Statue of Liberty” costume - 3 days

Twenty-seven onesies for ducks - 4 days

A prom dress made of pasta - 3 days

An overnight yeti costume

The two of you would banter about it in the chatroom until someone told you guys to knock it off, it was never not fun.

Whenever you finished a new piece or outfit for yourself, you would try it on and call him while standing in front of the camera in the apartment, asking for his opinion.

The cat-themed overall skirt was the one that broke him. You were just so cute with all the decorated pockets~! And the buttons looked like little cats too! You’re just too precious~

After the dust of the first party settled and Saeyoung had his brother back, you took it upon yourself to make Saeran some new clothes. He was going to be your brother-in-law, after all, you wanted to make him feel welcome.

Of course, it then turned into making both boys some new clothes as you kept thinking of new ideas. Not that you minded, this was your passion after all.

I think Saeyoung would also give you your own room/studio in the bunker. A place where you could spread out without worry. (Vanderwood was just grateful he didn’t have to keep cleaning up thread)

Saeyoung was also happy to help with any repairs your sewing machine needed, or he’d just make you a new one… or three… with some—interesting—added features.

“Saeyoung, dear, I don’t think my machine needs a Ph.D Pepper dispenser.”

“But what if my honey gets thirsty while she works?!”

“...But won’t the sewing shake up all the carbonation? It would explode on my pretty clothes T^T”

“OMG! I’m so sorry!! I’ll take it out right away!!”

This kind of conversation happens regularly.

Eventually, there was one top-secret project that you were working on… one that you made Saeyoung swear not to snoop through. Even going so far as to have Saeran keep an eye out to make sure his brother stayed true to his word. (He did but he whined about it)

The project took a long time and you had to have Saeran help you order the materials in secret.

Saeyoung didn’t like being kept in the dark, it made him uneasy. You assured him it was okay and that you just didn’t want the surprise to be ruined.

He was still uneasy, but he trusted you.

And it was all worth it in the end…

When you walked down the aisle in your handmade wedding dress, glittering and shining like stars in the night sky you both loved so much.

[randomclownsheep]

Turning all of the mysme characters into ponies except I can't draw rn Choi Household Edition

[kyonkyon69]

JUMIN HAN FANFICTIONS

[ONESHOTS RANKING]

>Fuck You, Jumin Han! by JuminsHand = PERSONAL 10/10

>Don't Forget, We Are In Love by orphan_account =WELL WRITTEN & MY FAV YAN!JUMIN HAN FIC TO DATE!!

>50 Shades of Jumin Han by Larsoten = personally not my thing

>bdsm lessons with jumin han by adorechan = "has my dick made your brain go dumb?" light read smut galore

>you're my best friend by honeyedboba = friends to lovers fluff that gives u diabeties and yoosung depression

[lysa1201-saucy]

hi can i request body worship with jumin han? tyyy <3

Hiiii sorry this is super late, life is crazy and I’m still trying to learn how to write NSFW better (which is why I’ve taken these requests lol) and also trying to learn how to write GN reader to be more inclusive!

I hope this is good or at least is good enough LMAO I tried my best 🙏 Thank you SO much for the request 🥰

if it’s bad, no it wasn’t, it’s my birthday, be nice 2 me

++++

Never Seen Anything More Perfect - Jumin Han x GN!Reader

18+ ONLY

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Warnings: body worship (obviously lol, unless I’m a terrible writer and did it wrong cuz oops), oral but I keep body parts ✨ambiguous✨, marking, and some hand stuff idk handjob i guess idk

Word Count: 418

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Jumin was quite the attentive man. Always spoiling you, caring for you. Too cold? New jacket for you, a new blanket, want a heater? He’s got it. Bored? Here’s a new TV, some games, subscriptions to your favorite streaming services, quite anything you like.

He loves to spoil you. However, he has one area he likes to spoil most.

Your body.

God, he loves your body. Your eyes, your nose, your lips, your hair, your ears, your neck, your chest, your arms, your hands, your ass, your thighs, God the list can go on and on. He’s in love with you.

Every single part of you. Every inch. And he loves to show you that.

He had you moaning on his bed, sucking where you’re most sensitive as he went down on you, making sure you feel the absolute best. You look so perfect when he’s making you feel so good. You tug at his hair, confused on whether you want him to pull away and fuck you, or to keep going and let you cum all over his face.

“You’re so amazing,” he would praise you, leaving kisses all around your pleasurable space. “So perfect… can never get tired of how wonderful you are. Your sounds, the way you blush, the way you cum… always so satisfying. My favorite thing is you.” He would go on, kissing all over your body. Your thighs, your hips, your chest, a small suck and nibble on your nibbles, and his favorite part: your neck.

God, he loved your neck. Sucking on it, biting it, kissing it. And your jaw. He needed all of you, who was he kidding? “I could stare at your body all day. I want to kiss it all, mark it all, you’re so fucking perfect.”

“More perfect than Elizabeth the 3rd?” You chuckled a bit, testing him. In response, he moved his hand down to your groin to start playing with you, causing your chuckle to be replaced by a moan.

Jumin smirks. “More perfect than Elizabeth the 3rd… just don’t tell her I said that.” He smirks as he leads his kisses up to your ear, nibbling on the earlobe. You try to let out another giggle, but all he does is increase his speed and the pressure of his hand to once again replace it with a moan.

Finally, his lips moved to yours so sensually, his hands moving around to touch all of you. He loved you. Everything about you. Inside and out.

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I accept constructive criticism, just be nice im sensitive and it’s birthday you legally HAVE to be nice to me today