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sooniebby · 3 months

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ఌ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

꧁ 𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙭 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

w.c. › 3.8k

Plot › you end up winning a call to a camboy/sex worker, you watch a lot!! Though it’s a bit embarrassing learning you’re one of the few men in his usual audience. Based off this.

Warnings › gojo a bit cocky sometimes—this takes place in a normal world. Reader is 19, gojo is 25. Some… straight stuff mentioned cuz gojo fucks a girl during his streams, bi gojo agenda!!

Kinks › praise, size kink, (attempts at) dirty talk…

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

: ̗̀➛

𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙫𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙤 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝

𝗦𝗶𝘅𝗲𝘆𝗲!

↳ ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇ

: ̗̀➛

No way. You just gasped in your coffee shop, literally as your coworker was calling for you to serve a cake to someone.

You were never a lucky person. Most and every thing you ever entered in a prize to win something, being money or an item, you never won. Never, not once. You had assumed you just was an unlucky guy in those type of things.

So when you applied for the giveaway for the chat, you did it just cause.

And you won!

You fucking won.

“(Name) if you don’t hurry up and serve this poor lady her cake!” Your coworker, Nobara screamed.

You rushed out with the cake and quickly gave the girl it, ignoring the glare she gave you for being so rushed. That didn’t matter! You had to tell Nobara. You practically sprinted to her and dragged her to the employee lounge.

“What is your problem?” She asked, pulling her arm away from your tight grip. “It’s like you were trying to rip my arm off…”

“Look, look!” You shoved your phone in her face, earning a tight glare as she snatched it out of your hands. Her eyes glanced over the screen as she mumbled to herself, reading the message. It took about thirty seconds before she seemed to understand what the fuck she was reading.

“Seriously? You got a free call with your favorite pornstar?” She placed your phone on the countertop and shuffled over to the fridge.

“You don’t understand! I hardly ever win giveaways!”

Nobara glanced back at you. “Okay, same here. Are you alright, (Name)? Are the toys not enough?” She asked with a fake sense of pity.

You glared at her. “The toys are just fine!”

“Sure, sure. Well, what do you get from the win?”

“Uh, a free thirty minute private chat.”

“She’s also a camgirl?”

“No… it’s a camboy.”

Nobara blinked. “Oh. So it’s a gay camboy.”

“Also.. no… he’s only fucked women on the videos he posted on Twitter..”

Nobara sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Let’s hope he’s not going to be upset a dude just won his giveaway.”

You panicked slightly, “wait, you think he’ll be upset?”

“Maybe not. But if I were you, I’d make sure to not show my face on camera or speak on the mic.” She said, patting you on the back before leaving the lounge.

Any sort of happiness basically dwindled. She was right. You didn’t know this guy and while realistically, he can’t do anything to hurt you… He could end up getting angry and disgusted you won his call when the majority of his fan base has always been women.

Reaching over, you grabbed your phone and looked at the email, wondering if it’d be worth it. Just as you were about to email back that you couldn’t do it—you got a text message on your Twitter.

𝙎𝙞𝙭𝙚𝙮𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖 𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙖𝙜𝙚 :

↳ Did you get the email?

You fainted.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“You boys are so overdramatic.”

You can hear Nobara judging you. You feel the soft winds of someone fanning you, your head resting gently on their legs. With hesitance, you open your eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights blinding you.

Oh, it’s just Inumaki and Megumi.

Inumaki was the one holding your head on his lap while Megumi lazily fanned you with a makeshift paper fan. Megumi rolled his eyes once he noticed you were awake, moving to get up from the floor.

“Good?” Megumi asked, holding his hand out as he helped you get up.

‘We found you on the floor,’ Inumaki signed, getting up as well. ‘What happened?’

You pursed your lips, unsure if you wanted to tell them that you got shocked that a pornstar you’ve been following for over a year now messaged you. Nobara was heard stifling with laughter in the corner.

You quickly, and messily, signed that you were fine back to Inumaki. “Uh, just felt lightheaded. Y’know how the AC isn’t working well anymore.”

“Like those toys.” Nobara suddenly said.

‘Toys?’ Inumaki signed.

“You know what I mean, that emo boy of yours must use them too,” she said, ignoring the sudden blush on Inumkai’s face. Megumi groaned and moved to get his apron to begin his shift.

“Shut it, Nobara.” You whispered, glaring at her. She simply shrugged, smirking gleefully at the embarrassment she was bringing to you. You slipped out of your apron and placed it back, grabbing your bag as you began to clock out.

Inumaki and Megumi usually took over once you and Nobara were finished.

As you and Nobara left the cafe, she grinned mischievously at you. You looked straight ahead, not wanting to entertain her teasing.

“So, it couldn’t have been the email that you made you pass out like that. What was it?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullcrap!”

With a swiftness, your phone in your back pocket was gone. She easily dodged you as she began checking your phone, trying to see what had caused your fainting spell. Once she checked your notifications, she barked out a laugh.

“Oh he practically wants you! ‘Did you get the email?’ So desperate already,” she snickered, beginning to type something on your phone.

“Nobara?!”

After hitting send, she pushed your phone to your face, showing what she had just sent him.

𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙚𝙗𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙚

↳ yes!!! <333

↳ Sorry, I was just so shocked I won!!!

What time are you thinking about?

“Mooniebunnie? What type of username…”

“I made it when I was like fourteen! Don’t judge.”

“Jeez, you’ve been on Twitter that long?”

“Nobara!!”

“Oh he responded.”

“Hah?!”

𝙎𝙞𝙭𝙚𝙮𝙚

↳ took you long enough.

↳ Saturday, 9 pm. I’ll only wait 5 minutes

↳ after the 30 minutes, you’re paying.

“Dick. The fucks his problem?”

“What’d he say?”

“You’d think he’s the one taking the dick up his ass.”

“Nobara..!”

“What? You can’t tell me this doesn’t come across as rude?”

She began typing for you again.

𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙚𝙗𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙚

↳ just don’t disappoint me, 4 inch

↳ kisses <3

“Nobara?! What the hell?!”

“Hey, he started it. Anyway, your date is in two days. Good thing you don’t have a roommate anymore.”

You glared at her as she handed you back your phone. He didn’t seem to text back after that—only having a note that he certainly did read Nobara’s text. But to him, it was your text.

Gosh, you really didn’t want him to hate you.

But Nobara was right, he did seem a bit rude over text. Maybe he just texts a bit harsh but in person is nice.

Though it honestly felt you were creating excuses in your head at this point.

After splitting ways, you made it home to your small apartment. It was comfortable enough so you didn’t complain. Especially since it was in a good area. Nobara and her roommate, Maki, weren’t so lucky in the area they lived in.

Though it seemed like the burglaries that were happening there had finally slowed down.

Decorated in second hand items and anything you stole from your ex boyfriend and mother, your apartment was homey enough. The good thing was that you got an amazing view of the sunset in your room every afternoon.

The kitchen, dining, and living room was essentially just one full room. You had a foldable table to bring out whenever you ate dinner. Your tv was taken from your ex boyfriend, which was why it was so brand new compared to everything else.

You only have two other rooms. The master bedroom with an attached bathroom, and a small, small bedroom. You practically just made it an extra closet space because it was just too cramped to be in there for long period of times.

Especially with the fact it only had a small tiny square window all the way close to the ceiling.

It was after 8 p.m. when you plopped down onto your bed, finishing your daily home tasks. Washing the dishes, warming up dinner, watching a BL drama while crying in loneliness, and now—masturbation time.

You scrolled your phone, wondering if you should wank it out to some random twitter videos or go to the cam website.

Just as you were about to pull up your list of comfort gay videos, a notification rang on your phone.

𝙎𝙞𝙭𝙚𝙮𝙚 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 ➤ ❝a creamy fill❞

Your fingers moved lightning speed. A bit embarrassing, really. Slipping off your boxers, you reached over and grabbed your lube, squirting a good amount on your fingers.

Despite him constantly fucking girls—you always watched. Something about him was captivating, even though you never saw his face. The girls face was almost always shown. But like always, the comments are filled with girls saying they love him.

The video started out with the girl in his lap, withering as his fingers spread her pussy open, his other hand resting comfortably on her throat. The only sliver of emotion you could see from him, was the small angle of his lips in frame.

Like always, he was smirking.

You never really enjoyed the beginning of his videos, since it focused heavily on getting the girl to cum from oral sex. Which was good for the girls—but not for you.

So, you usually focused on getting yourself ready for your dildo.

It was one you bought on a whim. But you had never meant for it to be so large, a length of seven, more so eight, inches. You would’ve thrown the thing out if it wasn’t the only dildo you had.

And there was no way you were going to go back to that sex store and get a new one.

You tuned them out for a few minutes, focusing on stretching yourself. It was always tedious, wishing it was someone else doing it for you. Just as you felt ready enough for your dildo, you finally glanced back at your phone.

The girl was now screaming, in pleasure, as he slammed his hips against her ass. It harsh and unforgiving—leaving the girl no chance to stay still. They were in a doggy style position, her face right up to the camera as she mewled and cried.

His grip was on her waist, pulling her back whenever she tried to pull away a bit in a way to slow it down.

“That’s a good girl.”

Boner gone.

You groaned. You loved hearing his voice, he sounded hot. But you hated it whenever he used that fucking word. Any type of “girl” or even more feminine terms always made you lose your boner.

There was nothing else you could really do at that point.

That’s why you mainly watched his solo streams.

With a huff, you placed your dildo back in its drawer and turned off your phone just as the girl reached her climax.

This guy was obviously straight…

You were really wondering if it’d be worth it.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“Ready for your big day, (Name)?”

‘What big day?’

You quickly glared at Nobara, hoping she wouldn’t tell Inumaki anything. Inumaki looked a bit confused—mostly in why you were so angry.

Isn’t today supposed to be special?

“Oh, nothing. It’s just… Saturday, who doesn’t love a Saturday?”

Inumaki raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s a normal Saturday.’

“Mhm, not for our (L.Name) (Name) here.” She winked, obviously enjoying the flushed look on your face.

The entire shift was spent with Nobara making innuendos and Inumaki looking confused by the minute. It wasn’t until your shift was over, and Megumi and Itadori came, that Nobara seemed to just blurt it out to Inumaki.

“He won a call with his favorite pornstar!”

‘You have a favorite pornstar..?’

“Nobara!” You screamed, slapping your hand against her lips as she stared at you in triumph.

Looking back at Inumaki who didn’t seem to be judging you, just a bit perplexed. Which isn’t shocking. He has a fucking boyfriend—you doubted he needed to watch pornstars religiously to get his socks off.

You shrieked as Nobara licked your hand, forcing you to pull away and quickly wipe them off on your pants.

“Yeah! That’s what I said! Who has a favorite pornstar?!”

“Shut it!!”

Inumaki gave you a shrug, ‘no need to be embarrassed. We all have weird habits.’

Somehow that felt less comforting.

You signed back a thanks to Inumaki before turning your anger to Nobara. She willfully began whistling as she walked down the street, not paying you any mind.

In all honesty, you just hoped the call wouldn’t end up with you in tears.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

𝙎𝙞𝙭𝙚𝙮𝙚

↳ here’s the link.

↳ join in twenty minutes

Dick.

Nobara was right. With a huff, you set your busted laptop on the bed in front of you. It was a miracle this laptop could even come to life. As you were deep in thought, wondering if you were feeling brave enough to really join, you heard the sound of a ping.

It took a moment, but then you accepted the link, joining a private call with Sixeye.

It was his usual set up for his live streams. The sight of a wall decorated with bookshelves. You always just assumed it was an office room he had. He was dressed in a compression shirt and grey sweatpants.

Huh, he usually dressed nice for his cams because his fan girls loved seeing him in suits.

Something something daddy issues.

Guess you weren’t special enough for that.

“Guess you aren’t putting on your camera?”

You quickly typed a simple no. No way in hell were you showing this guy your face—no matter how many times you had cummed to his videos. A simple chuckle was heard. His camera was pointed solely at his chest and bottom half, his face no where in sight.

Which was natural, the most he ever showed was his lips.

Girls just went wild for a cool smirk or something.

“No requests? Usually you girls are quick to give me a whole script.” His laugh filled the room.

↳ Just act natural

You type, hoping that was enough to make him get straight into it. He was quiet for a moment, as if he was reading your text. It seemed he took your words to heart as he pulled down his sweatpants and his cock plopped out, resting against his stomach.

“Alright, just want a quick fap then.”

He reached down and rubbed his tip, teasing the slit as he slowly began jacking himself off. His cock was large, maybe around seven inches? It was similar to your dildo. His hands were big too. Gosh, everything about him was big.

He was definitely the one who helped you figure out your size kink.

The only sound by now was his soft grunts and his hand jerking off his cock. You slipped off your boxers and easily slipped in three fingers inside of yourself, having stretched it out a bit earlier. Now, you were just trying to get yourself excited.

You reached down to your laptop, moving it a bit further so you could get comfortable on the bed with more leg room. Your fingers rubbed against your prostate, teasing it just the way you wanted.

Your moans were always on the more high pitched side, almost sounding similar to a girl when you reached your orgasm. So it was something you were a bit self conscious of. But being alone in your own home, you didn’t hold back.

Rubbing against your prostate, your toes curled as you whimpered and bucked into your own hand. You tried to push back any feeling of disappointment that it wasn’t someone else making you feel this way.

“Changed your…mind, baby?”

“Ngh..?”

You opened your eyes and glanced back down at your laptop.

Oh god.

Your fucking mic was on!!!!

You screamed out, quickly clasping your mouth shut as you stared at the screen in horror. He heard you. He heard every little gasp and whimper you had made. How long had he heard you?

Why didn’t he fucking say anything?

“Screamer, huh? Noted.”

He teased. Even without seeing his face, you knew he was smirking.

“You….why didn’t you tell me?” You muttered, glaring at the screen.

But he didn’t answer. He seemed quiet for a moment. You watched as his hand stuttered on his cock. What? Did your voice sound that terrible?

“Speak.”

“Wha..?” You whispered, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

“Speak now. Loud and clear.”

You hated how authoritative he sounded. It felt like you couldn’t just no respond to his command.

“Uhm… why didn’t you tell me…?” You spoke louder, allowing your mic to pick up your voice this time. You thought maybe he just didn’t hear you.

“Shit. You’re a guy?”

With a brave face, you huffed. “Judging me?”

“No. Fucking finally.”

You felt yourself blush. He was… excited? He began stroking his cock again but this time, with more vulgarity. It was like he was actually turned on by you. You felt your own cock twitch.

Someone… interested… in you?

You grabbed your dildo that rested beside you on the bed, rubbing it against your hole. Any sort of self consciousness you felt with your moaning was thrown out the window as you didn’t hold anything back. Fuck it if you regretted it later.

Right now, you’re going to enjoy it.

As your dildo began stretching you full, you glanced at the button that would turn your camera on. This was a one time thing…

He’d never see you again…

Fuck it.

“Well aren’t you adorable..? Fuck, how big is it?”

“Seven… inches.” You whispered, feeling embarrassed about showing yourself. Your sweating body, flushed face, watery eyes, and your cock leaking on your tummy. You were glad you didn’t see his face…

So you didn’t have to know if he actually found you cute.

“Always the cute ones.” His laugh sounded strained, a soft huff following it as he continued teasing his tip. “Like it big, huh? Stretching you until you can’t take it anymore.”

“Didn’t.. mean to… get it so big.” You moaned, slowly teasing the dildo inside. Your camera was angled right between your legs, showing him the entire picture of the dildo slowly inching inside your puckered hole.

You arched your back, gasping once it finally reached its hilt, stuffing you full.

“Keep looking at the camera.”

You hadn’t even noticed you couldn’t be seen anymore. Moving around a bit, your face finally showed back on the camera. And you got a good sight of just how fucked out you looked just from a damn dildo.

“Good boy.” He whispered. “Y’know… I always put on a show for you guys—it’s time you do the same, hm?”

If you weren’t already itching for an orgasm, you would’ve ended the call immediately out of embarrassment. But you couldn’t back down now.

So, you moved to rest against your headboard, bringing in your laptop to get a good view of your face and ass. Tightening your grip on your dildo, you began thrusting it in and out, keeping a fast pace.

Your hips moved against the pace, your thoughts filled with the desire of a real cock fucking you. His hand gripping your waist, bouncing you on his cock like a toy just for his pleasure. But you had to deal with this pisspoor dildo.

The sound of squelching, your moans, and his grunts filled the room. You were so close, wishing to moan his name but no way in hell were you going to moan his fucking username.

“W…wan..na…moan..name..” you barely sputtered out, your moans betraying you whenever you tried to speak a full sentence. A cry left your throat when the dildo brushed against your prostate. You quickly made sure to continuously hit that area, your moans reaching higher in pitch.

Your orgasm was close.

You suddenly heard him grunt loudly. When you glanced at the camera, you saw his grip tighten as cum spurted onto his shirt. Did your moans…?

Not wanting to feel any misplaced confidence, you pushed the thought away. No way did your moans make him cum.

The sound of shuffling caught your attention as you saw him reach for his camera.

And then—

The camera was on his fucking face.

His lips turned up into a smirk, his eyes staring straight into yours. Blue eyes and white hair. It looked soft even though the camera.

You came.

You fucking came.

Man, maybe those girls were right about smirks being sexy…

Your toes curled as you arched your back, gripping the bedsheets as your cock came all over your stomach. The only sound left was the sound of your heavy breathing as you tried to calm down—having never orgasmed that intensely before.

“Did you… cum from seeing my face?”

He sounded so fucking cocky.

“Bye!” You yelled, slamming your laptop shut.

You totally did.

You sat in your room for about two minutes before screaming in embarrassment. No way in hell could you ever watch his streams again!!! You came!! You came from seeing his face!!

God….

That was embarrassing…

At least you would never interact with him again.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“No way! From his face?!”

Nobara screamed laughing, her cackling echoing in the empty cafe. You could only focus on putting the cakes on display, trying to ignore the embarrassment in your heart.

“Gosh! Megumi! You heard about—”

“Don’t bring me into this.” He answered bluntly.

It had been a few days now since the… incident. You had blocked Sixeye’s account and haven’t watched any of his streams or videos ever since. It was just too embarrassing to watch them without thinking on how you came just from seeing his face.

But you kept thinking, why did he show his face?

It wasn’t like you were anything special. As the three of you continued getting the cafe ready for opening, Nobara continued making fun of you at any given chance. Megumi seemed to be in his own mind.

You had went to the back to grab some cups for the lattes and when you came back to the front, Megumi and Nobara were already speaking to some guy. He looked pretty tall, practically towering over Nobara.

But his back was facing you so you didn’t know who it was.

“Why are you even here?” Megumi asked, glaring at the stranger.

“Oh! Aren’t you Megumi’s friend?” Nobara questioned.

“Don’t insult me like that,” Megumi rolled his eyes before grunting as the stranger wrapped his arm around his neck.

“Aah~ Megumi~~ don’t be like that! I heard the cakes here were good. Can’t I try them??? Hm~?” The stranger teased, laughing slightly.

“Get off, you’re not getting a discount.”

“I didn’t say I wanted one… but now that you mentioned it~”

Nobara laughed, “no wonder you called him a blue eyed freak! He’s so annoying.”

“Megumi?!”

Megumi shrugged. “I’ve called you worse in my head. (Name), take Gojo’s order before I kick him out.”

Gojo huffed before finally turning over to face you. Your eyes widened once you finally got a good look of him. It…

Sixeye?!

The cup you were holding were slipping out of your hands as Gojo tilted his head, eyes narrowing at your face before widening in recognition. A grin appeared on his lips.

“Today’s my lucky day, huh?”

It definitely wasn’t yours.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Oop? Yall want a part 2? It’s so hard writing phone/facetime sex… I praise those who write it constantly lmao

Tag list: @chill-guy-but-cooler @tomoeroi @remdayz @tehyunnie @flurrina @rhetorical-conscience @kiiyoooo @iwishtobeacrow @love-kha1 @star-3214 @smellwell @ofclyde @the-ultimate-librarian @teyvat-writer

#bottom male reader #x male reader #uke male reader #mlm ns/fw #gojo x male reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #sub male reader

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lucyandthepen · 8 months

Text

salted caramel | lmh ( m )

you hadn’t been aware that mark’s jealousy followed the rules of baseball — three strikes, and he snaps?

read the first part here!

pairing: barista!bf!mark x reader verse: college!au rating: r warnings&tags: unprotected sex, mentions of creampies (although not an actual one), hickeys, possessiveness and jealousy, exhibitionism, sort of phone sex in conjunction with said exhibitionism, oral (m!receiving), mark has an understated but unending obsession with mc’s stomach, tummy bulges, we always love an implicit bigdick!mark, donghyuck is kind of a little shit and basically he has to cross a few lines for this “plot” to get to where it gets word count: 20.3k

a/n: this is a bit rushed and panicked because I basically wrote it in a feverish 2.5ish days… i’m so sorry that the pacing might be a little off, especially since I can never tell if it’s actually too fast or not. this is also unedited and unbeta’d but oh well because i never edit my stuff before posting and just re-edit when I re-read! regardless, i hope it’s something that you can enjoy, and i couldn’t pick between sweetest bf ever!mark and hottest mf ever!mark, so i guess you get a little bit of both!

if you liked it, please consider reblogging to support (especially because this may get flagged for mature content)!

You should have noticed it the first time, but in your overall defense, you find most things that you take note of about Mark Lee to be more on the highly positive and greatly endearing side — or, maybe, you just have a tendency to paint him in that kind of light.

You can’t really help it; he’s still got that halfway shy, softly adoring look in his eyes whenever he sees you, which is more often now than ever before, and you just can’t do anything but reciprocate, if only to see his eyes grow a little brighter. You wonder if Mark’s aware that if this were a Shakespearean scenario, you’d easily fall on your sword for him without question, for as long as he asked, but you don’t think there’s any pressing need to remind him — not with the way you spend most of your free time figuring out ways to be with him. You’re certain he should know, what with the fact that every time he looks at you, even just a glimpse, your gaze is always on him, ready to make eye contact whenever he turns his head — something he often acknowledges with one of those signature blushes that spread like wildfire across his cheeks, up to the tips of his ears.

It also should be unmistakably clear that you’re head over heels for him, given how at least once a week, he’s got his face buried between your legs in an attempt to hear the thing he wants you to say the most (see: his name, in varying pitches and decibels) — but if he doesn’t notice then, you can’t hold it against him; Mark’s mouth is so attentive that you doubt his mind is anywhere else apart from what inch of you his tongue is going to meet next in that moment. At least, that much is true for you.

He should at least know, what with you waiting for his classes to end so you can walk to Starbucks for his afternoon shift; you even race the twenty-minute distance to the Department of Mathematics, still holding your European Renaissance History textbook from your last lecture, just to make sure you’re there right as he gets out — a fact he has to know is an act of devotion, considering how often he finds you heaving for air and leaning your back against the brick wall outside the Accounting 150 Lab. Even his professor knows you as Mark Lee’s admirer, which is all well and good, but if you had the breath to spare, you’d correct his terminology for accuracy. Girlfriend. You’re Mark Lee’s girlfriend.

It’s a fact you don’t mind reminding him of but that you actually have to do quite often, because when you call Mark the appropriate counterpart — boyfriend — his eyes still widen, like he’s hearing it for the first time. It’s cute, just like everything else about him. You just have to wonder, at times, if he doesn’t believe you.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter; you’ll just keep telling him.

You don’t have any classes with Mark this semester, which is a shame, considering your favorite pastime over the last few months had just been to stare at his side profile and wish he’d look over so you could kiss him, but the fact that you spend almost every day with him now, using that time to remind him of how much you want to kiss him and actually getting it to do it right then and there, pretty much more than makes up for your previous schedule of daydreaming.

However, hanging out with him doesn’t always mean you’re just with him; you came to learn this after the first week of the new semester, and you’ve now gotten used to the fact that with Mark Lee sometimes comes his band of tall, often loud friends.

The loudest by far is Lee Donghyuck, the mysterious figure last semester that you’d only known by one syllable, now easily recognizable (and no longer enigmatic by any means to you) by his booming voice and even more demanding personality. He’s supremely outgoing, a trait you can’t say you mind, but there’s an interesting contrast between Mark, who tends to say things after carefully considering his ideas, and Donghyuck, who seems to just burst out in fits of impulsive rambling that often leads to some kind of semi-structured debate. It kind of gives you whiplash, in a funny, slightly perplexing way.

The whole friend group likes to meet up at Starbucks while Mark is on his shift, and now that they’ve come to know you as that girl Mark didn’t teach a single thing in College Algebra to but still somehow got lucky with (something you’ve wasted immense efforts into correcting but have ultimately failed to do so), you now find yourself sitting with them, all somehow waiting for who appears to be the nucleus of this group to stop taking coffee orders and hang up his (cute, but you’re the only one that thinks so, actually) green apron.

Again, you don’t mind it; new people aren’t an issue to you, and you’re also interested in finding out more about Mark through those closest to him. You get to see the few ways they’re alike in contrast to the staggering number of things that make them amusingly different from one another. Despite the broad spectrum of their intersecting interests, you’ve come to learn, through the conversations you’ve had to sit through over the last month, that they have varying opinions on said interests. For instance, you know they’re all into video games, Japanese manga, and long-winding fantasy movies, but every conversation takes flight the moment there’s even a spark of dissent from one person — and the source, usually (and quite unfortunately), is Lee Donghyuck himself.

Today is no exception.

“Dude, you’re crazy,” Zhong Chenle practically seethes. Whether by sheer coincidence or actual desire, he’s the one who most often finds himself staring Donghyuck down, trying to bend the latter’s will into admitting defeat. Donghyuck, on the other hand, has mastered the art of looking supremely unperturbed, especially when Chenle is in the heat of his rage. “The ninth was the worst, hands down.”

“Art and rendering were so solid.” Donghyuck raises a finger, and you’re not sure if it’s to start off a list or to shut Chenle up. You don’t want to ask, anyway, too busy finding amusement in the shifting expressions of despair, rage, anguish, and murderous intent on the latter’s face to speak up. You presume that’s why everyone else isn’t stopping them — or maybe they’re just preparing their own defenses and points to raise. “Intuitive combat and flawless combo chains. The fucking open world? Which other installment in the franchise offers that much depth in the gameplay?”

“Depth? Do you even hear yourself right now?” Chenle grips his head so tightly that when he pulls his hands away, there are actual red marks across his forehead and temple, and his bangs are askew. “What kind of depth comes from cloned movesets? The character designs are so stupidly traditional too. And—”

“There’s a unique kind of beauty in familiarity.”

“The open world was a disaster,” Chenle plows on. “It was so empty, and the map was the farthest thing from intuitive. It’s quite literally the worst thing KOEI has ever done. That’s exactly why they went back to the limited map strategy in later installments. Even the spin-offs.”

“I thought the grappling and ambush systems were pretty intuitive. Ingenious, even.”

It’s a singularly amusing sight — Chenle is one insult to his pride away from imploding, and Donghyuck is just checking the dirt under his nails like he’s waiting in line to take his school ID photo. Park Jisung, one of the quieter ones in the bunch, tries to diffuse the tension by clearing his throat and going ‘I actually really liked the Age Of Calamity Zelda one they released with all the different campaigns,’ but that just goes unnoticed by either party.

“You once failed an ambush play just because you were stuck behind a wall you couldn’t scale. Don’t say shit about the ambush and grappling mechanics.”

“Unlike some people sitting around this table, I learn from my mistakes. That’s also probably why some people — not naming names — just can’t appreciate the artistic beauty that is Dynasty Warriors 9.”

Donghyuck doesn’t even look up from his cuticles when Chenle explodes.

“You’re fucking impossible!”

“Can you guys relax?” Lee Jeno, who had somehow miraculously found the space and silence in the breaths between the entire argument to doze off, opens one eye, only slightly irate. “You’re making a scene over a dead game franchise.”

“It’s not dead; they’re on hiatus,” both Chenle and Donghyuck chime in together, apparently finding a moment of unique solidarity to shoot Jeno down before going back to glaring daggers at each other. Jeno shrugs, gives everyone else at the table an I tried kind of exasperated expression, and settles back into his seat, the one eye already closing before he’s fully folded his arms across his chest.

Your eyes wander away from the group over to the counter. You’re thankful for the fact that most of the time, you just get invited to share a table with them without necessarily being trapped in the middle of a conversation — especially one as heated as the one Chenle is prolonging while jabbing his finger accusingly at Donghyuck, as if he’s trying to pin a crime on the latter instead of just explaining why Donghyuck’s opinion is ‘borne of ignorance.’ When they’re all caught up in their business like this, you end up being able to revel in your more or less unobstructed view of Mark behind the barista’s station, where he’s busy piping an extra helping of whipped cream on top of a strawberry frappuccino for a kid that’s already jumping up and down next to the pick-up station.

The biting winter had already given way to the first signs of spring, and the Starbucks Mark works at has a supremely effective central heating system that allows people to shed their coats. This works in your favor, considering Mark wears nothing but a button-up shirt over his apron while he works, and he’s got this habit of rolling up his sleeves so they don’t catch any stains. You’re pretty sure he has a second motive, though; surely, he’s aware of how the view of his arms, muscles tightening under his skin whenever he even lightly grips something, drives you crazy. You’d bet a month’s allowance he’s doing it on purpose so that you start entertaining the thought of yelling at everyone in the branch to fuck off so you can grab him by the front of his stupid shirt so you can kiss his stupid face. Or ride it.

And for some inexplicable reason, he still has the audacity to act like there’s nothing amiss. When he looks up at you right after pushing the frappuccino towards the little girl, his eyes still brighten, almost innocent in their gaze, the corners of his lips turning up surreptitiously, hiding the smile he seems to save for only you from everyone else in the room.

You smile back, but when he turns away to take someone’s order, you let out a heavy sigh and take a long sip of your vanilla sweet cream cold brew until you start reaching the last dregs of it under the ice. Your brain pretty much cries out in protest, but you know it deserves as much as a mental cold shower for entertaining the thought of asking him to bend you over the counter at five-thirty in the afternoon in a Starbucks.

Stupid Mark. Stupid brain. Stupid fucking people in the room.

The warm breath in your ear alerts you to a slowly approaching presence, but you don’t have the reflexes to turn back to its source before it starts talking.

“Got anything to add to either of our cases, ___________?”

“What?” Your palm comes up to rub your ear as Donghyuck pulls away, laughing lightly. You’re sucked back into the foreground of the conversation, but you’re just as lost now as you had been before you started tuning them out in favor of your lust. “Uh — no. Sorry. To be honest, I know nothing about… sorry, what were you guys talking about again?”

“See, that’s how normal people act,” Jeno grumbles, both his eyes flying open this time. “Instead of hosting a presidential debate about Dynasty Warriors.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” You’re quick to add, and Jeno looks mildly amused at your attempt to still mollify the rest of the group. “I’m sure I would have liked it. If, you know, I actually had been introduced to it at any point in my life.”

“And if you had, I’m sure you’d have the taste to assert alongside me that the seventh installment was revolutionary,” Chenle sniffs, but he’s looking more pointedly at Donghyuck, who’s still ignoring him, save for the fact that he’s now looking at you instead of at his nails (which doesn’t feel like such a great upgrade).

“Nah, she’d be on my side. ___________ looks like she’d appreciate a good, scenic open world and grappling system. Right?”

“Uh…” you say smartly.

“Man, shut up.” Chenle throws his hands in the air before he stands up, his chair scraping against the floor as he pushes it back with astounding force. “Got me so pissed off I need to pee now.”

You have no idea what the correlation is between getting annoyed and needing to use the bathroom, but even if you wanted to bring up your doubts — which you don’t — Chenle is long gone before you can get your thoughts together. It’s only when he’s out of earshot that Donghyuck leans in, almost conspiratorially, to whisper to you again.

“Actually, I think the ninth sucks too. But isn’t it kind of funny how worked up that fucker gets?”

“To be honest, I’ve never known anyone with quite your talent in riling people up,” you admit, and even though you’re not sure what kind of meaning you want attached to that, you notice that he decides to take it as a compliment all on his own, his chest puffing out in pride. “Too bad I have no idea which opinion is really right, or I’d weigh in, too.”

“Not a Dynasty Warriors kind of girl, then?”

“No one is, Hyuck,” Jeno snorts, shaking his head. “You two are the only people I know who still played that past the fifth installment.”

“Fair. I nurture a love for old franchises.” Donghyuck leans back, looking supremely satisfied at how he’s managed to tick off one of his most important ‘to-do’ points of the day. “So what’s your poison, ___________?”

“What’s that mean?”

“You a Gardenscapes kind of girl? Tekken? Maybe you like some good ol’ fashioned LoL?”

“I honestly don’t have the hand-eye coordination to play,” you confess. “I know Mark likes to play PUBG from time to time. I mostly just sit and ask questions, though. The few times I tried playing with him, I swear any normal person would’ve cried. He had to babysit me like crazy. It was a miracle he didn’t throw me out.”

“She even tries to play with him,” Donghyuck whistles lowly. “Dude, how’d Mark get a chick like you?”

“Meaning?”

“You’re way too good for that dope.” His laugh is light and good-natured. “Never thought a moony-eyed weirdo like him would actually wind up with his dream girl — which he’s called you, more than once, by the way. Fucking disgusting, but… I get it. Doesn’t make it less crazy or weird to hear, though.”

“Sorry to put you through that.” You smile, using your straw to stir the contents of your cup. A warmth spreads through your shoulders and down your arms to the tips of your fingers as you digest what Donghyuck’s just said to you, and you find your eyes trailing back to Mark, who’s pulling off his apron. His eyes are already fixed on you, and when you lock gazes, he mouths a wait for me that makes you want to squeeze the life out of something in pure joy. You settle for a soft sigh. “I guess it won’t help if I say your friend over there’s my dream guy.”

“It absolutely will not,” Donghyuck groans, faking a gagging noise that has you laughing. “But tell you what — if you ever get tired of Mark playing PUBG and ignoring you like the clown he is, I’ll find you someone else more your speed.”

“No thanks,” you snort, taking the last sip of your drink. “More than that, I’d just want to be some kind of helpful to him if I ever play with him again.”

“We can help you with that too,” Jisung volunteers. “Jeno taught me the basics. I’m sure he can teach you too.”

“Yeah, and I’m guessing you’d be a better student than mister “how come you didn’t tell me I had to focus the crosshairs myself” over here,” Jeno chuckles, surreptitiously pointing at Jisung when you cast him a questioning look.

“I’m pretty good at sneak attacks myself.” Donghyuck makes a show of pretending to slice your neck before grinning smugly. “We’ll take care of you. Mark won’t know what hit him next time.”

“What’s happening to me next time?”

You feel Mark before you see him, his hand landing on your head lightly and smoothing your hair back in an idle, gentle motion to announce his presence. You look up at him, already beaming, and he returns the favor as his hand settles on your shoulder.

“We were just talking about replacing you. Both as a friend and as a boyfriend, for your poor little dream girl here who’s just too nice to turn you down.” Donghyuck lies like it’s second nature; you wonder if that’s a Finance major thing or just a him thing.

“And you’re offering that to someone who didn’t ask for it?” Mark snorts, nudging Chenle’s bag over so he can sit in the empty spot.

“She’s so caught up in your sticky little web that she can’t struggle against you.” Donghyuck feigns a heavy sigh that suggests he feels sorry for you before he puts a hand on your free shoulder, shaking his head in a convincing kind of pity. “I’ll save you, so don’t worry. Mark can’t keep his grubby hands on you forever. Whenever you need to be saved, I’ll come a-running to free you.”

There’s a tightness on one shoulder that disrupts the balance of your torso, and you find yourself leaning closer to Mark. Your hand finds its way to his knee, giving it a light squeeze under the table, and his grip loosens by a fraction. Donghyuck’s as quick to let go as he is to hang on.

“We were just talking about PUBG,” you correct, and Mark’s eyes snap to you. “I was asking for help — you know, so I won’t drag you down the next time I join in?”

“I don’t mind whatever you do in-game.” He’s quick to comfort you, even if you don’t actually need it, but it feels warm and cold “I’m just glad you wanna try it with me.”

“No, but I kind of want to learn too. So it can be fun for both of us. Also so you don’t have to keep avenging me after five minutes,” you laugh. Mark cracks a smile then, and you don’t realize his expression had been slightly harder until it softens under your gaze.

“Then I’ll teach you next time.”

“No, I want to surprise you with how cool I get. And then next time, I’ll even beat you.” You turn to Donghyuck, slightly unsure. “Uh… I can beat him, can’t I?”

“If you play different teams, yeah,” he confirms. “Trust me. I’ll help you kick his ass.”

“Or we’ll both kick yours,” Mark chuckles, his grasp now tightening and loosening intermittently. He’s massaging your shoulder lightly, and you end up sinking deeper into his side. You don’t miss the slightly nauseated amusement that passes across Donghyuck’s face nor the way he mouths ‘sap’ to Mark, who ignores this comment in its entirety.

“Yo, hotpot at seven? Renjun’s asking,” Chenle announces as he returns to your table, his phone in one hand and a crumpled paper towel in the other. “Jaemin can’t make it, though. Study group or whatever shit he always says.”

“I’m down,” Donghyuck immediately replies, and Chenle’s eyes shoot heavenward, like he’s already asking for the divine strength to not sock Donghyuck in the face later.

“Can’t,” Jeno yawns, both his arms outstretched as he tries to move the sleep out of his spine. “Pre-test tomorrow.”

“Dude, it’s a pre-test,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to study if they’re just testing how much you know before studying.”

“Gotta study all the same.”

“I gotta pass too,” Jisung looks actually apologetic. “I promised my mom I’d help her move some stuff to my aunt’s place tonight.”

“Boring,” Chenle grumbles before turning to the both of you. “Lovebirds?”

“Rain check,” Mark shakes his head. “Family dinner. My brother’s home for the weekend. How about Monday instead? Most of us can’t make it anyway. At least Jaemin doesn’t have study group either.”

“If that’s even what that weirdo’s doing,” Chenle sighs, already punching in a message to send to Renjun. “Fine; I’ll ask about Monday. You guys better actually reply to the goddamn group chat. I can’t coordinate in six different private chats ever again.”

“You can put my name down already,” Mark casts you a sideway glance, and you nod immediately. “Two names, actually.”

“I’m good on Monday too. When we see each other again, I’ll bring some prospects for you to sift through,” Donghyuck adds to you, and you laugh. “Cool guys. Jocks. I know this upperclassman all the girls say is really hot. I think I still have his Messenger from when we did a group discussion last semester.”

“I’ll have Mark look at them so he can reject them all for me,” you promise. Donghyuck feigns affront before looking at Mark in utter disbelief.

“How the fuck did you snag a girl like this, man?”

“I’m pretty sure she once told me I… what did you say?” Mark glances at you amusedly. “I had some moves, I guess.”

“You mean stutter and blush in her presence?” Donghyuck can’t decide how to look at you without being even the slightest bit offensive; he just settles on incredulity. “And that won you over?”

“Most powerful move in the Mark Lee playbook,” you shrug, grinning. “Had me from the first ‘um,’ and he’s had me ever since.”

“You lucky son of a bitch,” Donghyuck snorts, and neither of you misses the slightly abashed but unmistakable smugness in Mark’s face when you lean in to rest your head on his shoulder.

The second time it happens is on that Monday, in a far more noticeable capacity. You just aren’t quick enough to read the signs, as usual.

But in your defense (again), it hadn’t felt all that significant.

“Fuck, this is spicy,” Na Jaemin sucks air in through his teeth and lets it out in a sharp whistle that’s broken by a laugh that’s not necessarily at anything funny. Maybe he’s just laughing at the sheen of sweat across his forehead that he has to wipe off with the other side of his napkin.

Miraculously, the hotpot plan pushes through, with no small amount of effort in coordination on Chenle’s part; he’d even texted you just to make sure he’d gotten the head count right, despite the fact that Mark had already confirmed your attendance twice over. Even the often elusive Na Jaemin, who always seems to have one or another study group to attend on most nights, manages to come and is currently busy mixing his peanut sauce in his little bowl with such vigor that you can’t help but wonder if he’s not trying to drown the mala-flavored strips of meat in it completely.

“That’s why I said you need a bowl of water for dipping, you dimwit,” Donghyuck points his chopsticks at Jaemin’s messy plate in a way you can only describe as nagging, even if that’s actually impossible. “You’ve got super mala breath now.”

“Don’t know about me, but I can smell yours all the way from over here,” Jaemin quips back with an easy kind of nonchalance, hastily ducking the balled-up napkin that goes flying across the table. It lands on the floor behind his chair harmlessly.

It’s nice, you think, that Mark’s friends like to invite you to their outings now; despite all the jokes they’ve made at his expense, they’ve been consistently open to having you around. You’re not necessarily the type of couple that acts in a way that disgusts people into moving to a completely different table anyway, and you allow their conversations to unfold easily without ever interrupting, so you think that this arrangement works for all parties involved.

They’re even louder outside Starbucks, you’ve come to note; the restaurant is significantly busier than the cafe anyway, filled with people on their company dinners, so Mark’s friends all seem to want to rival that boisterous energy. Weirdly, you like it, even when they’re already half off their seats and one (Chenle) is just about to strangle the other (Donghyuck). The laughter flows freely, and there’s a messiness to the whole affair that makes it impossible to feel uncomfortable.

Even Mark pipes in occasionally, offering his opinion on topics he knows much more about than you, and you can’t help but admire how everyone listens to him when he starts to speak, even if he has nothing realistically important to say. His friends might find it odd that you’d been so drawn to him, but they just don’t know that even they’re victims of Mark’s natural magnetism, also falling quiet and eager to hear his voice, his light-hearted laugh, in response to the things they say.

But even when he’s mostly distracted by conversation, there’s a part of him that continuously pays attention to you in his own way. He nudges his ginger and soy sauce bowl towards you with the side of his wrist so you can dip your beef in, even if you’d adamantly declined him giving you your own bowl of it in the first place (you’d always thought you were peanut sauce or nothing kind of girl, but one sneaky venture into Mark’s sauce proved you wrong). His hand hovers over your head when you drop your chopsticks and bend over to pick them up from where they’ve rolled under the table, making sure you’re bump-free when you resurface.

And his palms always, always settle somewhere on you, no matter what he’s doing. If one hand is busy feeding himself, the other is intent on warming your thigh, passing over the denim in slow, steady strokes. His fingers tickle your knee when you laugh, just to make you laugh a little harder — you’d even almost kneed the table at one point, much to Huang Renjun’s alarm. But the most common place for his arm is around you, fingers lightly bunched into the side of your shirt, like he’s worried loosening his grip on you further will cause you to vanish. It keeps him close to you, keeps his scent and warmth washing over you in gentle waves, so much so that you often have to remind yourself that he’ll be the target of much light-hearted mockery if you so much as lean into him and rest your head on his shoulder.

But it’s hard to resist it, especially when his hand seems to be intent on outlining every curve on that side, passing over your hip and dipping into your waist. The motion allows him to slowly but surely lift the fabric of your shirt, up until there’s just enough of an opening for his palm to slip under, and suddenly it’s much warmer on that side, with the light roughness of his hand grazing at your skin. His fingers always stretch apart, like he’s trying to feel as much of you as he can, and the pads of his digits have a tendency to graze the plane of your stomach — his nails sometimes even travel featherlight just next to your navel, etching out words you can’t really decipher. Like he’s writing a message just for you.

It makes you feel like no matter what he’s doing, a part of his mind is always on you.

“You guys want to see that new horror movie? The Ghost Within, I think it’s called,” Jisung asks the group from over at the other end of the table, having to raise his voice significantly to make sure it isn’t swept away by the raucous laughter from across the restaurant. “I think it’s coming out in a week or two.”

“I’d be okay with it,” Renjun shrugs, although he doesn’t look enthused. “Kind of looks like a cliche horror with all those cheap jump scares and shit, but I’m down if you all are.”

A wave of assent passes over the group in general, but you notice Mark doesn’t immediately respond. You take this opportunity to lean in and confess your stance.

“If I have to sit around and watch a ghost pop out at me from a big-ass movie screen, you may never again see me in the same wonderful light you do today,” you warn. “Remember me as I am, not as I will be, Mark Lee.”

He snorts, coughing lightly as a mixture of ginger and fishcake sticks in his throat. “Yeah — we’ll pass, I think.”

“Scaredy-cat,” Donghyuck teases, and you’re surprised that Mark doesn’t come to his own defense. There’s something romantic in him not wanting to be the one to sell you out, but you suppose there’s also a kind of chivalry in being the one to take the bullet.

“Actually, I’m the one who can’t handle it well,” you smile in apology. “Sorry. I don’t have much of a reputation, so to speak, but what elegance may be attached to my name, however misplaced, is something I really want to maintain. At least until I graduate.”

“In short, you don’t want Mark to see you scream and cry,” Chenle deduces. You can’t even find fault in him figuring it out so quickly.

“Bingo.”

“Well, we can solve the problem,” Donghyuck claps his hands, getting everyone’s attention for no good reason. “__________, you sit beside me, and Mark can sit on the far end of the row. With how dark it is, he won’t see anything, and I get to sit next to a cute girl in a movie theater. Win-win.”

“Thanks for the offer,” you laugh, shaking your head. “But it’s not a win-win if I accidentally grab your hand out of instinct.”

“It is to me,” Donghyuck winks, and you feel Mark’s hand stop brushing over your stomach. His fingers curl in lightly, almost like he’s trying to make a fist but can’t quite get to that point out of personal restraint. “Or better yet, you could do what we all think you should do and dump Mark for someone you won’t be ashamed to cry in front of. I, for one, would not even bother to comment on whatever emotions you’re going through in the middle of a movie, so what do you say? It’s a pretty sweet deal, in my humble opinion. Me versus Mark Lee. The showdown of the century, right here in Hai Di Lao.”

You’ve noticed that the more Donghyuck piles onto his little teasing rampage, the more forcefully Mark tugs you over; his fingers aren’t just skimming over your skin but have now grown into the habit of gently pinching it, as if begging for your attention. It feels nice but also a little urgent, although it’s hard for you to understand why; the whole foundation of this group is built on teasing each other until someone (Chenle) snaps and lobs a bottle cap at someone else (Donghyuck), so it should be normal for Mark to be at the receiving end of some light banter.

“Should we ask the hostess to referee the match, then?” You ride along with the joke.

“No way. You’re the one calling the shots.” Donghyuck sits up a little straighter, putting on a smug face. “Okay, pick, __________. Me or Mark; who’s got the better punches?”

You make a show of acting thoughtful, even tapping your chin to pretend considering it deeply, but there was never any doubt on your choice. Still, you can’t really decipher the sudden slowness, the light tremble in Mark’s palm as it travels to your hip, where it settles, heavy, over the curve.

“It’s a complete knock-out,” you finally announce, grinning. “Championship belt goes to Mark.”

“Man, if I had a girlfriend as straight-shooting about her feelings for me as you are about your feelings for Mark, I’d propose in a day, max,” Jeno groans, half-exasperated and half-amused all at once.

“Man must’ve saved a nation or something in his past life,” Donghyuck grimaces. “No way he deserves a girl this hot and crazy about him. Hey — got any tips on stopping natural disasters or something? I could use a sexy, loyal girlfriend in my next life. Or maybe I’ll just poach yours in this one and see what it feels like.”

“I would actually deck you, so don’t even try it,” Mark snorts, his arm now winding full around your waist. You’re flush against his side, and he uses this opportunity to do something he doesn’t often do in front of his friends: show explicit affection by pressing a light kiss just behind your ear. It tickles, his breath grazing your earlobe, and you giggle, squirming in his hold. All he does is smile and pull you in tighter.

The bill’s split eight ways, but Mark’s fishing out cash to pay for your share even before you can get your wallet out from the bottom of your bag; it’s one of those quick, instinctive moves he likes to use on you, where he pushes the money and sends the bill back to the staff before you can even protest in full, so you have to settle on thanking him by returning the earlier favor — landing a peck on his cheek, which flushes a warm and contented pink the moment your lips make contact.

You just pointedly ignore the snickers that run around the table, particularly from Donghyuck and Jaemin.

The group splits ways at the front of the school dorms; most of them head in after their goodbyes, while Chenle backtracks towards his apartment building off-campus, mumbling something about how he hopes his roommate’s in because he accidentally left his key in the bowl next to their doorway. Mark should be piling in with the rest into the dorms, but he has a habit of insisting that he take you to the subway station; you’ve long since given up on convincing him against tagging along, mostly because he looks slightly hurt whenever you try to get him to stay put. You’re not going to complain anyway; for as much as you like being around Mark’s friends, it’s even better when you have this little slice of alone time despite the hassle it brings him.

Your fingers are linked when you walk under the street lights, the campus road leading to the station entrance significantly less busy at this time of evening; it’s cool enough for you to have an excuse to press yourself into Mark’s form, and he accepts this additional burden with an immense amount of grace, his arm finding its way around you again. Two minutes later, his palm is pressed against your bare skin once more, rubbing small, gentle circles just above your pelvis.

A part of you wonders if you’ll be able to do this — lean in, flush against him — when the summer heat starts to stick, but rather than really worrying about the logistics, you realize you’re more hung up on the idea of spending this summer with him.

“Sorry,” Mark murmurs out of the blue. Your eyebrows shoot up, and he looks down at you sheepishly. “Isn’t hanging out with my friends kind of driving you crazy?”

You hum in thought before shaking your head in resolution. “Not really. Not in a bad way, at least. I like how close you guys all are — and how big the group is. It’s usually just Yeji and Jisu with me, and they’re definitely not as rowdy. The change of pace is pretty fun.”

“Yeji and Jisu,” he echoes. “Your best friends. I haven’t met them yet, have I?”

“Not yet. Jisu started a part-time job across town, so we can’t get our schedules to align right just yet.” Your hip collides gently with his. “Should I let you, though?”

“One day… I think it would be nice to hang out with a less migraine-inducing crowd for a change.”

“I’ll tell them, then. They want to meet you.” You crane your neck up slightly, lowering your voice into a hushed whisper that’s completely unnecessary. “They want to know if you’re as cute as you look in your pictures.”

Mark draws back, laughing incredulously. “How do they know what my pictures look like?”

“I stalked your Instagram and showed them,” you answer simply. He throws you a funny look that’s equal parts disbelief and amusement. “They liked that one with the Spider-man costume.”

“Please don’t,” he groans, passing a hand over his face. “I should have taken that down, but I didn’t think anyone would care.”

“Why? I like it.” Your hand’s the one that manages to slip under his sweater this time, fingers trailing down his stomach; you feel him suck it in for a second in surprise before he lets out an exhale.

“I can’t ever understand what’s going through your head,” he chuckles, and you think it’s unfair that he manages to extract your hand from under the fabric while his is still firmly pressed against the side of your stomach. “You saw that and still wanted to date me?”

“Mark Lee, you simply underestimate how much I adore you. It’s kind of hurting my feelings at this rate.”

You’re just a few inches shy of the circle of light cast by the subway station sign. Your feet try to bring you forward, but Mark lingers behind, just outside the curve of soft white on the pavement, and his hand slips from under your shirt. You turn, and his hand skims down your arm instead, fingers locking around your wrist. With the slight distance between you, it looks like you’re caught in motion.

“I still can’t wrap my head around it sometimes.”

“What?”

“I just look over at you and feel like it’s not real. Like you’re going to disappear, and I’m just going to wake up from a dream and see you the next day, just some other stranger who doesn’t even know my name.” He licks his lips, and you want to reach out and kiss him already, but you know he isn’t done talking. “And I’m going to remember how much I liked you in that dream, but you won’t ever feel that same way.”

“You know I’m right here, though, don’t you?” Your fingers mimic his, squeezing around his wrist. “You can feel me. I’m here with you.”

Hesitation flashes across his face even when he nods, and you notice his eyes flit down to his shoes before looking back up at you — a habit of avoidance you know he’s trying to correct. “Sometimes I have to wonder if they’re right.”

“If… who’s right?”

“Them.” He jerks his thumb back in the general direction of the school dorms. “The guys. You know — when they ask me how I got a girl like you… the truth is, I don’t even really know. They can’t believe it, and it’s so crazy to me that I still sometimes can’t myself. So I start wondering if—”

You don’t let him finish this time; it’s rude to interrupt, you know, but you also know that what he’s about to say is probably something neither of you wants to hear anyway. Your lips connect with his, firm and demanding, and his words die in his throat, melting into a soft groan that vibrates against your skin. When you pull away, you don’t create the same distance, and Mark’s hands find their way to your waist, slightly trembling.

“They’re wrong,” you murmur, a quiet strength in your voice. “So stop wondering and just be with me.”

A smile starts tugging on the corners of his mouth, and the next moment, he’s nodding in assent, in wholehearted agreement, and the next kiss you share is one he starts, far more gentle than earlier.

“Next time I catch you entertaining nonsensical thoughts, there’ll be consequences.”

“Are you threatening me?” His laugh is colored with incredulity.

“Yes.” Your tone is firm, but your grin gives away too much of the jest. “Maybe I’ll ground you for a week, or something really childish.”

“I’d take it if you were with me.”

“That’s not how it works,” you snort, gently flicking the tip of his nose. He scrunches it on impact. “You’d be in solitary. You must reflect on your actions and all that nonsense. Meanwhile, I’ll be out having some good hotpot with everyone else.”

“If that happens, promise me one thing, then.” He maneuvers your stance until you’re both back in the blanket of darkness, just out of reach of the subway entrance. “Don’t sit next to Donghyuck.”

“And let him and Chenle give me an earful about how bad-slash-good the first Human Centipede movie was all over again? I think not.”

“No, really.” Mark buries his face into your neck, and you hear the quiet inhale as he breathes in your scent. On instinct, your hand comes up to thread through his hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp. “I don’t want you sitting there and hearing him talk your ear off about how much I don’t deserve you or that he’ll help you find someone better.”

“You know he’s just joking — and I’m just joking, right?”

“Just promise me.”

You pause, wondering if it’s in your best interest to tease him for whatever act he’s pulling, but there’s a shortness to his breathing that makes the whole situation feel weirdly tense. He’s really waiting for something — an answer. The right answer, maybe.

“I promise,” you finally say, and you know you’ve said the correct thing when Mark’s lips press a soft kiss to your collarbone, like he’s sealing in your vow.

On the third time, Mark pretty much gives up.

The strangest thing is that it starts at a time when you’re not even actually together; if you had to pinpoint the exact moment, it probably had to be when Donghyuck had walked you to the dorm from library. No — maybe even before that. Somewhere in the time you’d spent in there, he’d thought up yet another way to push Mark’s buttons. You just didn’t really know the exact minute he’d first seen you with Jung Jaehyun.

You don’t know how Jaehyun does it; he skips half his classes and somehow doesn’t even get in trouble, let alone fail. You’d only met him last semester, but he was just about the only person who was halfway familiar in your Anthropology 120 class, so you thought you could at least feel comfortable enough to chat with him about the weather or what had happened in the last meeting. You don’t expect him to strong-arm you into being something of a literal proxy for him; the first week of the semester, you’d spend almost each lecture period gnawing on your nails and fretting over the fact that your signature for attendance looked nothing like his. By the second week, you’d already come to realize that it doesn’t matter because he had only attended one lecture — the first one — thus far and your professor was as clueless about Jaehyun’s handwriting as you. By the fourth week, you had resigned yourself to being his slightly unwilling associate for his random escapades, allowing him to copy off your notes and turning in his homework for him.

Now that you think about it, that’s probably how he does it.

You sacrifice your free time for him today, caged up in a library for pretty much the afternoon. You can’t help but resent him, not just because the whole room is stuffy and the librarian keeps passing by, clucking to remind people not to litter between shelves, but also because you’d much rather do things that are important to you — like pretending to flirt with Mark for the first time when you place your order and watching him act like it’s the first time you’re saying something so sweet to him, except he’s definitely not pretending. Instead of watching Mark’s face color that cute shade of pink and that sweet little smile pull at his mouth until he’s basically biting his lips back to stop himself from grinning, you have to bore yourself with the sight of Jaehyun trying to decipher your handwriting.

“You should really be more legible with your strokes.” He has the audacity to chastise you as if he’s the one doing you a favor by giving you constructive criticism.

“You should really come to class more often,” you bite back, although there’s no real heat to your words. You just look out the window and watch the sun sink down behind the university hospital building, wondering if there’s a chance you’ll still be able to catch Mark before his shift ends.

“Would if I could.”

“You actually fucking can,” you say tiredly, and even the way he turns the page is so impossibly slow. “Can’t you just take a picture?”

“Nah; writing it down carefully really helps my retention of this kind of stuff.”

“So take a picture and then write it down carefully.”

“With your ridiculous handwriting? I’d probably fail.”

“So come to class and write it yourself!”

Your hiss increases in pitch, and it calls the attention of the librarian over to you. She swoops in, clicking her tongue, but she’s not even looking at you. Her eyes are zoned in on Jaehyun, who meets her gaze with so much innocence it’s hard to imagine you’d wanted to smack him two minutes ago.

“Jung Jaehyun,” the librarian snaps in an undertone. The slow, punctuated way she says his name suggests she knows him fairly well — and not in a great way. “I see you’re back in here after your probationary period.”

“Sorry for the trouble, Mrs. Park.” He grins up at her, looking anything but apologetic. “I promise I won’t get in your way again today.”

“And this one—” She points to you, and you point to yourself in shock at being pointed to, and Jaehyun’s pointing at you and mouthing ‘this one’ with excessive mirth in his eyes. “Isn’t another one of those girls you plan on defiling my sacred space with?”

Jaehyun says ‘we didn’t defile anything’ at the same time you say I’m going to throw up, and the librarian just adds to the noise by shushing you on top of that jumble of words.

“I’ll be keeping a close eye on you two,” Mrs. Park warns before stalking away, tutting at a library assistant for wrongly shelving a volume of Encyclopedia Brittanica.

“Please, Jaehyun,” you groan, crossing your arms over the table and flattening your forehead against them. “Just hurry up. Release me.”

He ignores you, still leaning closer to your notebook to decipher your handwriting. “I would like to set the record straight and make it known I didn’t fuck anyone in the library.”

“What’d you get probation for, then?”

“Just making out.” You notice he has the energy to grin wickedly even without meeting your eye, even while he’s still scrawling on his own notebook, and you groan something incoherent and irate once again. “What are you in such a big hurry for, anyway?”

“Has it ever occurred to you,” you grumble, raising your head. “That some people might want to do better things than sit here and watch you write stuff for ages?”

“No,” comes his simple reply. You bop your head onto your arms a few times in the hope that the impact will shake you out of this nightmare and you’d find yourself waking up in Mark’s arms instead, but you have no such luck. “By better things, do you mean fucking Mark Lee in someone else’s bedroom? That’s real defilement, by the way.”

“How’d you hear about that?” You squeeze your eyes shut and growl under your breath. “Fucking Youngho.”

“You doing that too?”

“Shut — please, would you hurry?”

He pointedly purses his lips in an effort to keep himself from letting out what you can only assume is, by the glint in his eyes, a witch’s cackle. “Almost done, man. Relax a bit. So did you guys get together — like, together together?”

You initially contemplate not telling him, but Jaehyun’s nosiness is probably going to reveal the truth to him sooner or later anyway. “Yeah. What’s it to you, though?”

“Nothing. You’re lucky.”

For the first time today, you feel like Jaehyun has finally said something right. “Yeah — yeah, I am.”

“I bet his friends don’t seem to think so.”

“Is this something you know because it’s a guy thing or because you’re so nosy that you just can’t help but listen in on every other juicy conversation around you?”

“A bit of both,” he chuckles. “Mostly just because I know Lee Donghyuck was giving him a hard time about it last semester.”

“I noticed that too — a bit, anyway. But it’s just banter, I think.”

“Probably. Imagine being his friend and getting a girlfriend; it’s like… the perfect ammunition for teasing. But I’m pretty sure half of the things that come out of his mouth are jokes meant to annoy.”

“What about yours?”

“I get it,” he sighs, shutting your notebook resolutely. It makes a thud that alerts the librarian two tables away, and she glares at you like you’re climbing onto Jaehyun’s lap in the middle of the References on the Korean War aisle. “I’ll set you free. Thanks, by the way, for letting me copy from you. Same time next week?”

“Or how about you look up the schedules for our classes and actually come instead of piggybacking off of my efforts and making snarky remarks about my handwriting while you’re taking advantage of my goodwill?”

“Sounds like too much effort on my end,” he yawns, waving you off as you stuff your notebook into your bag. “Later, ___________. Say hi to Mark for me. The normal way — not the girlfriend way, please.”

You stick your tongue out at him before you make a mad dash for the door, ignoring Mrs. Park as she shushes your footsteps on the marble. You’re so intent on fishing your phone out of your bag that you almost ram the door into the person standing behind it.

“Oh, fuck— Jesus, I’m sorry, I wa— wait, Donghyuck?”

“Great to see you too, ___________.” He rubs his jaw where the edge of the door grazed it. “You in a rush?”

“I was just about to go see if Mark was still at Starbucks.”

“His shift’s probably almost over. I’m headed back to the dorm if you wanna tag along.” When you nod, he starts leading the way, breaking the silence again soon after. “Were you in a study group, or something?”

“No,” you jerk your thumb backwards towards the minuscule form of Jaehyun, who’s now busy wasting time and space playing something on his phone where you’d left him. Donghyuck’s eyebrows shoot up. “He’s my classmate who never comes to class. I was just lending him my notes.”

“Oh, Jaehyun, yeah.” Donghyuck snaps his fingers. “We were classmates last semester. He never went to class either, but I don’t know who he mooched off of to pass. You guys close?”

“Not really. I just fell into the trap of being too nice to him.”

“It’s funny,” he hums, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Jaehyun seems more your speed. On paper, at least.”

You can’t help but look taken aback, and Donghyuck laughs at your expression. “What do you mean, my speed?”

“Not sure.” He pauses, trying to find the right words to explain himself. “Someone who’d fit more into your social circles. Someone who probably likes Formula One and considers men’s health magazines to be classic literature.”

“That’s your impression of my social circle?”

“You know what I mean. People like Jung Jaehyun or Seo Youngho. I literally thought you were dating him last semester, so it was totally crazy to hear you asked Mark out.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Like… you asked him out. Not even the other way around. That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?” You know he doesn’t mean anything bad by it; Donghyuck has next to no filter, and something about him being unable to process your relationship is honestly a little funny. “A girl can’t ask a guy out?”

(You try not to think too hard about the fact that up until you’d cornered him in Youngho’s room, you had been praying to whatever god could hear you to convince Mark Lee to do the romanticist thing and ask you out.)

“Nah, dude. Like… a girl like you asked a guy like him out.”

“I didn’t ask him out because he was a guy like that,” you say pointedly. “I asked him out because he was a guy I liked. I wouldn’t have asked anyone else out if it weren’t him.”

Donghyuck falls quiet for a while, and only the crunching of the leaves underfoot accompanies your walk. “You really like him that much, huh?”

“I’m crazy about him.” His nose scrunches up like he’s been hit with a horrible smell, and you laugh. “Can you stop giving him a hard time? Or tone it down? I know you probably don’t like it—”

Donghyuck’s chuckle is light and easy. “I’m not teasing him because I hate it; let’s be clear on that. I actually really like that you guys are together. I’ve never seen him this happy with anything or anyone.”

“Then why are you—”

“Because he’s Mark.” A devilish grin creeps up his features as he holds the door to the dorm lobby open for you. “And teasing him is my favorite thing to do.”

You shake your head; you can’t help your amusement, but you’re not sure you fully understand this kind of friendship. You suppose if Mark is okay with it in its totality, then there isn’t much you can say to change it either.

The next twenty minutes pass in comfortable back-and-forths; Donghyuck is, as you already have learned, an expert conversationalist, and while he doesn’t aggravate you the way he does Chenle, he does manage to navigate a quick-fire kind of exchange of thoughts and information that allows you to see the speed at which he thinks. There’s barely any lag between when he digests what you say and when he responds. You suppose there’s a measure of wit in that, but it’s also a little bemusing to see someone speak without at least running it through the conscience checker every once in a while. You decide you’ve never met anyone quite like Lee Donghyuck before.

He’s in the middle of asking you what the Anthropology professor is like because he’s planning on taking it as an elective if he can when you notice a familiar figure pushing into the lobby, backpack swinging on a folded elbow.

“Mark!” The brief confusion on his face morphs into a surprised joy when he spots you on the couch, even though a bit of it lingers upon recognizing that Donghyuck is seated next to you. He walks over in long strides, and your posture straightens to meet his palm as it comes down gently against the crown of your head again; it bumps lightly, causing the both of you to laugh.

“Hey, you.” His voice is warm and fond in its greeting, and you beam up at him. “Did you have a busy afternoon?”

“Unfortunately. Did you just get back from your shift?”

“I passed by the co-op to check out the new university letter jackets. Design’s pretty dope.” He nods towards the elevator. “You wanna head up for a little bit?” You almost get to respond before your companion cuts in instead.

“Hey. Can’t you see we’re having a riveting conversation over here?” Donghyuck sniffs, making a show of hitting Mark’s shin lightly with the heel of his shoe. “Have some respect.”

“Is the conversation so riveting that I can’t take my girl for the evening at all?”

You mouth out a no, but Donghyuck’s flair for dramatics has him humphing and shoving Mark’s hand away from your hair. “Yeah, man. At least let us finish up.”

“What’s this even about?”

“How Jung Jaehyun asked her out in the library today,” Donghyuck replies easily. You start, shaking your head immediately, but Mark’s jaw slackens a little upon hearing this. Donghyuck continues loudly over your protests, and you can’t keep your voice straight because you’re adamant and yet, somehow, still laughing incredulously in your shock. “Oh, dude, let me tell you. He had his arm around her like this — and he was giving her the bedroom eyes… I wouldn’t have blamed her if she folded, honestly.”

“Mark, no,” your stupid gasp comes out as half a giggle as a result of Donghyuck trying to reenact his imaginary scenario. He’s slung his arm across your shoulders and pulled himself in, doing his best expression of a pleading dog’s gaze, which is both perplexing and hilarious. “He’s just kidding—”

“Then he got all close like this—” Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, and the view he allows himself blocks him from having to look at Mark. You, on the other hand, are still trying to resist a misunderstanding, your palms up and every part of your body that can move shaking vehemently, but you can see Mark’s face turn a violent shade of red you can’t remember having seen from him before. “Spoke all low — you remember he had that sexy, husky voice, right? ”

“He’s just messing with you,” you wheeze out, trying to extract yourself from Donghyuck’s hold, but he only tightens his arm around your neck, almost to the point where you can’t inhale properly.

“And he said ‘you’re the hottest chick I’ve ever seen—’ then you know what he did, Markie?”

Mark doesn’t respond; you��re not even sure if he can, considering his Adam’s apple is bobbing dangerously like he’s one misstep away from exploding. You laugh again, stupidly, because you don’t know what else to do; you know Donghyuck’s teasing him, and you know Mark usually takes it in stride, but you’ve also never seen the latter look so focused on anything that didn’t involve a math problem or eating you out. “No, really, nothing hap—”

You don’t even have the space to finish your sentence. Donghyuck’s too quick when he grabs your face and plants a comedically sloppy kiss on your cheek, bursting out in laughter when he pulls away. You can only sit there, probably as stunned as Mark looks, raising your hand slowly to wipe the spittle Donghyuck left behind in his wake.

“Oh, Jesus,” Donghyuck rasps out between snorts. “Your face is priceless, man.”

“Not funny,” Mark grumbles, and there’s a hoarseness to his voice that makes you feel like it’s barely controlled.

“Also not true. I just bumped into her on the way from the library. We were talking about one of her classes or whatever.” Donghyuck dramatically wipes the tears from his eyes, and you sigh, nudging him. “Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t resist. Man, don’t even worry. She’s downright crazy about you. Even if Jung Jaehyun had asked her out—”

“Anyway.” Mark reaches down, lacing your fingers together, pulling you up and closer to his side like he’s worried you’ll catch Donghyuck’s crazy. “If that’s all of it…”

“Yeah, yeah. You two lovebirds go moon over each other already. I just love seeing your face like that.”

Mark snorts, yanking on Donghyuck’s earlobe punitively, and the latter cries out sharply (and a little exaggeratedly) at the pain. Mark doesn’t even seem to care; he leads you to the elevator and punches in his floor. You barely have time to call out a belated ‘bye’ to Donghyuck, who acknowledges it with a raise of his palm, before the doors slide shut.

It’s a slow elevator, given that it’s an old building, and the first couple of floors pass without much noise between the two of you. You’re not unaware of how tight Mark’s grip is on your hand, but you don’t comment nor take it against him. By the fourth floor, you’re raising his hand up to your lips and pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

“Nothing happened.” You confirm his unasked question, and you see a modicum of tension leave his shoulders. “He was just messing with you because he thinks it’s funny.”

“Yeah, I know.” Even if he says it like that, there’s still lingering doubt in his voice. “Were you with Jung Jaehyun today, though? Is that why you didn’t show up?”

You nod. “He was copying my notes for Anthropology. Guy barely shows up to lectures, so he borrows my stuff. I can’t believe he hasn’t been suspended yet. Or punched in the face by the people he leeches off of.”

“No kidding.”

You step out on the sixth floor with him. Even if you already know where Mark’s dorm is, you let him lead the way, and he ushers you into an empty and dimly lit living space while taking his shoes off. His roommate barely seems to be around; you’ve seen him all of two times, and it doesn’t look like he’s here either right now. You pause anyway, listening to any signs of life just to be sure, but when you both confirm that there’s no one but the two of you, you busy yourselves with turning on the lights and plugging in the water dispenser.

You work in relative silence; it isn’t anything unusual since you’ve done this a million times, and you’ve come to learn that small talk isn’t necessary when you’re just washing your hands or opening the refrigerator aimlessly even if you know you both plan on ordering in. But there’s a weird aura around Mark that you’re not sure how to place; he doesn’t seem like he’s mad, but there definitely seems to be something off — a problem, at least, that you’re not sure you know how to ask about.

So you just try to diffuse whatever it is by completely ignoring it.

“Pizza or Chinese?” You ask, flopping onto the couch as he plugs the television into the outlet. He looks up at you, and you notice his eyes are slightly dazed, like you’ve just woken him up from a dream. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice is hoarse the first time he says it, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, sorry.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“We just had pizza, so I’m thinking Chinese is the better option. Cream shrimp? Fried rice? Not the salted fish one, though, maybe.”

You hum in assent, but when he straightens up from behind the television, you extend your arm to him, attempting to clarify yourself. “I mean, what are you thinking so hard about?”

“Nothing.” His answer’s a little too quick. A moment of awkward silence passes where you telepathically tell him you know he’s lying and he has to come to terms with his horrible lying skills, and he sighs, crossing over to the couch and settling beside you. Immediately, he tangles your fingers together, belatedly returning the favor from the elevator and brushing his lips across your knuckles. “He didn’t ask you out, right?”

You know he knows the truth, so you decide to bat your own question back at him in an attempt at rhetoric. “What would it matter if he did? The answer would have been the same, real or imagined.”

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling slowly. There’s a red flush on his neck that’s only started fading, it seems. You reach out and skim your finger along the vein that runs down the side of his throat. “I know. I don’t like it all the same. I hate… even thinking about it, actually.”

“Really — nothing happened. If you don’t count the fact that I almost strangled him for keeping me there — which I’m sure you’d agree doesn’t count as anything in favor of him.”

“I heard Jung Jaehyun’s kind of a playboy.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.” His head lolls to the side, and his eyes hold a sadness that pulls at your heart. “It means he really could have made a pass at you. Or you could have — I don’t know. In the end… I just worry.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Your lower lip juts out, and his eyes widen slightly, his head shaking before his mouth can even work out a proper response.

“No — I mean, yes, absolutely. It’s — I mean, it’s just—” He inhales again to gather his wits, two fingers still rubbing his forehead. “I trust you, without a doubt. I don’t trust other people — not around you. Not Jaehyun, or Youngho, or—”

“Or Donghyuck?” You smile a little apologetically at his embarrassment, clear on his face when his eyes stray from yours. “Mark, you know he’s only messing with you, right? I thought it was a funny thing for you guys.”

“It’s not funny if it’s about you,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. He looks up at you again, chewing on his bottom lip. “I know. I’m trying to control it. Sometimes… I don’t know why it gets under my skin. I guess it’s because it could happen — you… finding someone else. I kind of hate the thought of that.”

“And if I said I hate it even more than you?”

His gaze softens, something like relief passing over his features, but the rest of his body still holds a significant amount of tension; you know by the way he’s running agitated circles on the back of your hand. You gently tug on his arm, allowing yourself to use it as an anchor to shift your weight. Mark makes a soft noise of inquiry but says nothing more, waiting until you’ve maneuvered your body to settle on his lap.

The view is reminiscent, and you can see that the core memory you share flashes through his mind too. A small smile, still somewhat reluctant, plays on Mark’s lips, and you hate that it’s all you get right now, so you rectify this by leaning down and leaving a small, chaste kiss on them. You pull away much too soon, and his head follows in response to the distance, chasing your lips until you’re realistically too far to reach. His arm extends instead, swiftly tucking your hair behind your ear.

Your fingers close around his wrist, and your head turns, continuing the kiss against his palm — short and firm.

“Stop doing that.”

His eyebrows fly upward in questioning, his other hand freezing in its trail up your thighs. Even his breath seems to catch, and what’s left of it comes out as a raspy whisper. “Stop being jealous? I’m… I’m trying.”

You shake your head. “Stop being sexy when you’re jealous.”

The ‘what’ he seems to want to ask dies in his throat, his mouth only able to form half of the word before you interrupt, your lips taking in the rest of the syllable. When you kiss him this time, there’s a slow hunger to it; your teeth find his lower lip even before he’s able to get into the rhythm of kissing you back. You just want him to know — everything about him drives you wild, even when he doesn’t know it.

You’ll never grow sick of the taste of him, you’re sure; today, he tastes even more enticing, the hint of something rich mixing in with the stronger flavor of coffee on his tongue. It’s familiar and comforting, and it’s only when you break away, both your faces flushed from a prolonged lack of air, that you puzzle out what the taste is — the lingering aftermath of a vanilla sweet cream cold brew, one he must have prepared in anticipation of you this afternoon.

You briefly squeeze your eyes shut and thank whoever’s listening for the gift of Mark Lee.

“Mark,” your murmur, your voice much softer, intent on coaxing him into releasing his worries. “You know, right?”

His ‘hm’ is only half-there in focus, the rest of his attention on his hands, which have found their way to your ass and have started digging his fingers into the flesh beyond your jeans. You have to tilt his head up with one finger under his chin, and there’s a whirlpool of emotion in them: curiosity, desire, and, interestingly, a quiet, almost suppressed kind of anger.

“If it isn’t you,” you whisper. “Then there’s nobody else.”

You see his jaw tighten, feel his grip against you do the same, and his brow furrows, like he’s trying — much too hard, and for no good reason — to stop himself from tipping over. You don’t like that either; if he’s there, you think, you should take him over the edge.

“But if you want them to know so badly, then…” You tilt your head to the side, exposing more of your neck, bringing the expanse just a little closer to his mouth. “Why don’t you go ahead and put your claim on me?”

You swear you see his pupils dilate right before he presses his mouth to your skin. With a low, almost pained groan against your neck, he latches his teeth in lightly, and you feel the soft sting, the increase in pressure the moment he starts sucking a mark just above your collarbone. There’s a wet, messy pattern to his movements, always punctuated by the sweep of his tongue to soothe your flesh. Even with that, his movements are slow and careful, still gentle in the way he’s handling you, but you feel it anyway — all of his tension’s concentrated in his grip, the way he keeps you close, hips pinned against him as if he’s worried anything less will cause you to disappear.

“Every time you worry, remember you can do this.” You pause, your breath catching in a lilt as his teeth dig in a little more fiercely. “You’re the only one that can.”

His lips detach with a soft groan, fingers squeezing your ass tight for a moment. Warm breath cools against the damp patch on your neck, and a second later, you feel his mouth graze against the few inches of skin, sensitive and slightly raw. “I know. It’s just not fair.”

You hum in questioning, but he doesn’t answer immediately; his mouth busies itself just under the mark he’d surely left, already starting up the same routine. You’d let him, and you want him to, but you want to hear his voice more. Your fingers tangle into his hair, and you use that hold to ease his head back, urging him to look up at you. It’s almost a mistake, seeing him like that — lips slightly swollen and definitely slick with his own saliva, parted just a little to reveal teeth he’d been desperate to nip your flesh with again. It crosses your mind that Mark has a mouth made for kissing — no, that isn’t accurate.

A mouth made for you to kiss.

“What’s not fair?” You ask softly. Even now, he takes his time in answering, his eyes falling close for a second; you watch him swallow, lick his lips, breathe in before he speaks, and all of those mundane things he does somehow make you lose your mind all the more.

“How badly I keep wanting you,” he breathes out, his eyes slowly opening. “And how it makes me think everyone wants you just as much.”

His hands leave the curve of your ass, traveling up your shirt, resting against your sides. He holds you like he’s careful in trying not to break you, his fingers spread wide to make sure his thumbs almost meet against your stomach, but there’s a smoldering headiness in his gaze that tells you he’s thinking a little too hard about wanting to break you.

“I touch you like this, and I think that everyone would kill to do the same.” His fingers squeeze against your flesh, inching upwards until they rest just under your breasts; his thumbs stroke the curved underline of your bra. “I think about kissing you and it feels like everyone’s thinking it at the exact same time. I look at someone next to you, even if you don’t know them, and I wonder if they want to pull you close, if they want to feel you against them just as much as I do. When I—”

He inhales sharply between his words, and the exhale comes out somewhat shaky. For a moment, he grits his teeth, jaw flexing in an attempt to keep himself in check. You worry he doesn’t want to continue — doesn’t want to let you hear it, but it feels so important that you can’t let it go. “Tell me.”

“When I think about fucking you,” he breathes out, voice barely audible. “Whenever I look at you and think about how much I want to feel you around me, feel you cum around me… I just know everyone else wants the same thing, and it’s driving me crazy because… because they can’t.”

It’s there again, flashing in his eyes — a determination that reads almost like fury.

“They can’t,” he repeats, his voice firmer. “I won’t ever let them. Never.”

You don’t stop him this time when his mouth reclaims your skin. You let his thoughts fuel the need in his movements, allow yourself to move only in reaction to what he does — the tilting of your head to give him more room, the tightening of your fists against his shirt to keep yourself steady. A surprised mewl leaves you when you feel his teeth pinch against your flesh again, and it’s harder, sharper this time, his quiet anger finally dictating his strength. You grapple for words, but they come out in weak gasps.

“It doesn’t — doesn’t matter,” you manage to whimper out. “How many people think that way, how much they want me that way. I only ever want you.”

His breathing is caught, warm, in the pocket of space just between you and his mouth; it tingles against your skin, tickles your senses into heightening. Your fingers unfurl, pressing against his chest, and you can feel his quickened heartbeat thrumming under your palm.

“God, please,” he murmurs, the soft peck of a kiss landing against your collarbone. “Please, tell me.”

“Mark, I’m yours.” There’s no teasing in how you say it; it was never meant to rile him up. It even escapes sweetness, the romanticism it usually comes with when you remind him on any other occasion. This is a promise to him, something you’re reinforcing as fact, something that can’t ever change. “I’m always going to be yours — no one else’s. I’ll never let anyone have anything that’s yours. Ask anything, take everything you want. I’ll never say no to you. Only you — always you.”

You know something’s different in a number of ways; his arms circle around you, but instead of keeping you firm and stable in his lap, they’re tight, squeezing a whine out of you, holding your torso flush against his. His face never leaves the crook of your neck, but you hear — feel — something there — a soft growl of need, of frustration that begs release. Suddenly, you find yourself off the couch; you barely have the presence of mind to wrap your arms around his neck and tighten your thighs against his sides before he’s carrying you to his room, kicking the door open and letting the rebound of the impact against his wall slam it shut behind him.

You’ve been in Mark’s room before, so there’s absolutely no need for you to take in the scenery when he sets you down on his bed. It doesn’t matter anyway, even if this were your first time; Mark’s crawling over you, his face flush and eyes sharp with hunger, and he looks so enticing that you wouldn’t want to pay attention to anything else around you anyway. His limbs cage you in, arms on either side of your shoulders and his knees just by your thighs, and you don’t really know why he’s already panting, but it just makes you want him all the more.

“Never,” he groans out, leaning down to nose against the patch of skin his mouth had worked on. “I’m never going to let anyone take you, ever. You’re all mine.”

His name fades on your lips, carried away by a moan when his mouth reattaches itself to your neck; it moves, almost frenzied, to renew the mark he’d left, make it a deeper red, a slightly bruised purple. You’re usually careful not to do anything that will require any attention or cover-up after, but Mark seems a little too far gone to care, and you realize you like him best this way.

Even with all the attention he gives your neck, his fingers are busy; they work on the button of your jeans, sliding them down with the help you offer by raising your hips. They only reach halfway down your thighs, his reluctance to come back up for air stopping him from peeling them off completely, but it’s all he seems to need for now.

Eager fingers ease between your thighs, two at once, pressing against your folds. You’re unable to spread your legs like you usually do, but this tightness makes you all the more sensitive, and you keen as his digits fit themselves into your slit. Frustratingly, they don’t move right away, and you have to raise your hips again just to get some sort of friction. Even then, Mark doesn’t take the hint — or, perhaps, the bait — keeping a light pressure against your clit without doing anything else. His focus is still on your neck, now slightly aching under his lips, and when he finally pulls away, you see a look of triumph on his face. He tilts his head back slightly to admire his work — the blooming dark patch you’re sure he’s left where your skin tingles the most.

“If I said I wanted to mark you all over, would you let me?”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t ask for it?”

He chuckles, tightening the pressure of his fingers against your clit; you say something that sounds halfway between ‘Mark’ and a sob.

“I want to, so badly.” He admits, gaze still fixed on your neck. “I’d want to see you walk out of here, walk into class covered in them. I’d want people to ask you how you got them, and who gave them to you. And I’d want you to say it proudly — that it was me who did it. That I fucked you all night and made you mine over and over again.”

“Why don’t you?” His eyes snap up to you, a small smile forming on his lips. “I want to say that too. Let me brag about having you. Let me tell everyone how good you always make me feel. Then you can tell everyone who doesn’t believe you, too — how I let you take me every single time. Show me off and tell them to look at how you made me yours.”

Another laugh escapes him, but there’s more disbelief than humor in it; he seems to find it amazing, that you can just agree with what he says, no matter how strange he thinks it is.

“Show you off? If I mark you in other places, do I have to show them every part?”

“Do you not want to?”

“I want to, and I don’t.” He pauses, slightly amused, and you know he’s remembering the first time you fucked. “I don’t them to see your body, but I want them to see what I did to it. I don’t want them to look at what’s mine, but I just want them to know it is.”

“Then you can fuck me in front of everyone and make them watch you ruin me completely.”

He shakes his head, even if desire flashes clear across his features. He busies himself with actions while he mulls it over, tugging your jeans down alongside your panties and casting them aside before he straightens up. His eyes rake over your form; you’re bare from the waist down, your shirt halfway ridden up, the underside of your bra peeking out from under the hem. Again, his eyes land on your neck, and his smile widens slightly.

“Can’t.” He decides finally. “You’re too pretty for that.”

You hum thoughtfully, and he raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t move, even when you sit up, shifting yourself so you can tuck your calves under your thighs — not even when you reach out to undo his belt or tug down his zipper. He only reacts a little when your hand presses against his hardness through his boxers, the girth now easily familiar to your palm.

“What about something like this?” You ask, inching closer to the edge of the bed. You’ve started slow strokes against him, the fabric creating extra friction, more heat under your palm, and you watch his jaw clench as he swallows back a soft grunt. “Would you let them watch me do this for you?”

“Let me think about it,” he chuckles softly, and you nod, letting your fingers work to make your point. You don’t have to undress him completely to get what you want; all you need is to tug down the front of his boxers to free him, and you already have him wrapped in your palms, stroking his shaft to full hardness.

“Think faster,” you urge, and he shakes his head, slightly bemused. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t even want them to watch me jerk you off?”

“At least give me a full minute.”

You laugh lightly, whispering a ‘fine’ before you press a soft kiss against tip. He inhales sharp through his teeth, already sensitive, and you waste no time in letting your tongue flick out against the smooth head. He doesn’t need the lubrication, realistically; his precum’s already leaking from the tip, mixing in with your saliva as you run your tongue around it. All you do is make him a little messier, a little slicker, your spittle running down his length.

Taking Mark in your mouth is a demanding task, but one you’re always up for; there’s something uniquely satisfying about letting him fill your mouth, inch by inch, and watching his breathing hitch and stutter until your lips are closer to the base than to the head. What you can’t reach, your hand always squeezes around, eager to make sure he feels good completely. His expression is sublime when you draw your head back the first time, sucking as you do so — his eyes are half-lidded, and he doesn’t stop the moan that falls from his lips. His gaze is fixed on you, hazy but still able to drink the sight of you in, and you’re not sure how, but you almost feel like you could get off to watching him watch you taste him.

You try, somehow, vaguely conscious of the movement of your hips; you’re grinding at nothing at first, so your knees give way just enough for you to press yourself against his sheets. It’s slightly uncomfortable, a strain in your thighs that you’re not really used to, but you don’t care; Mark’s sharp inhale at seeing you attempt to grind your pussy against his mattress is pretty much as arousing as anything else. His cock twitches hard in your mouth, and you suck just a little harder, a little messier, your head bobbing down to meet your hand, still firmly wrapped around his girth.

The room’s filled with nothing but slick sounds and soft groans; Mark’s hand has found its way into your hair, tangled into a makeshift ponytail, and while he isn’t guiding your mouth to do anything, you can feel his hips stutter then start to move, pulling back when your head does. He tries to hide it, tries to keep himself steady, but pride blooms in your chest when you note that he can’t; he wants to feel like he’s fucking into your mouth, into your hand, the way he does when he takes your pussy.

It’s relatively quiet for that time, nothing but muffled moans from you that mix in with his noises, but you only realize you’d been waiting for an answer to something when he speaks up again.

“It’s… still a no for me.”

Your movements slow, your gaze lifting to communicate your mild confusion to him. You don’t want to ask; you just don’t want to lose the taste of him on your tongue just yet. He looks down at you, smiling with overflowing tenderness, almost like he’s apologetic.

“Even just this — you’re too pretty when you do it.” His hand reaches down, thumb stroking over your cheek. “I can’t let anyone see what you look like when you’re like this. They’ll keep thinking about you doing it for them. And you’d only do it for me — right?”

You nod immediately, your response causing your mouth to slip down his shaft just a little more. It elicits a guttural noise from him, one that fuels you into sucking him just a little harder, your enthusiasm overtaking your restraint. His fingers have let go of your hair, stroking it back into smoothness, almost comforting in their movements.

“God, I wish you could see yourself; you’d know what I mean,” he continues to murmur, his voice just a little louder over the eager, wet noises you’re making. “How pretty you look with your mouth wrapped around me. How perfect you are when you’re kneeling like this for me — how happy you look when you’re sucking me off. I can’t share that with anyone. Fuck — not ever.”

Your mouth draws back, completely this time, and your tongue presses against the underside of his cock. You lick a long stripe up his shaft, moaning softly at the light throb you feel, and you watch him tip his head back. The groan that follows soon after is almost close to a frustrated growl, ending in a whispered ‘shit’ before his eyes land back on you. He watches you press kiss after kiss against his tip, coaxing the precum out even more, and you take special care to leave more down each inch of his cock until you’re finally able to release your hold on his base so you can leave the last one there.

His hand combs your hair back before it falls to cup your chin, his thumb swiping at the corner of your mouth to gently clean up the froth of spittle there. You smile up at him in thanks, and his thumb sweeps over the seam of your lips to follow the slight curve.

“So pretty,” he repeats, and your cheeks glow pink under the palms that caress them. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Pretty as hell, fucking perfect — and you’re all mine.”

You kneel up again, chasing his lips with your own, and he locks you in his arms as his tongue slips its way past your teeth, the aroma of coffee still on it. He leaves today’s taste of him against your tongue, on the ridges of your teeth, until you feel like you’ve all but consumed him, and you whimper softly when he pulls away, urging you to turn around and lean back into his chest.

His mouth reattaches itself to the same spot; it’s like a home base for him, and he breathes in your scent from there before giving the same patch of skin a light suck, almost as if he’s worried it’ll fade in a few minutes’ time if he doesn’t give it attention.

“Show me.” Hands slide down to your hips, squeezing them lightly, like a prompt for your response. “Show me how pretty you are for me.”

His palms never leave you, not even when you detach yourself from his chest and bend down; your elbows meet the mattress, but your hips stay raised, giving him a view of your pussy. Your gasp easily turns into a moan when his digit dips into your wetness again, his other hand pushing gently at your asscheek to keep you open.

You think he’s about to slip his finger in, the tip brushing against your entrance, and you tense in anticipation, but it doesn’t happen; he continues to run his finger down your slit, careful not to linger against your clit for too long. The result is that you tighten around nothing, and you hear him suck in a breath as he watches your hole grow smaller for a second. You laugh breathily, resting your chin against the backs of your hands, one folded atop the other. “Pretty enough for you to fuck?”

“Do you have to ask if you already know?”

“I want to hear it anyway.”

His finger slips into your hole, finally, and you keen softly as he breaches the first ring of tightness. He doesn’t really move it, just tests your tightness, feels you contract around him as if to know what his cock will feel in a few moments.

“Your pussy’s too pretty not to fuck,” he manages out, and his throat sounds as tight as you feel. “Seeing it like this… makes me think there’s no way anyone can resist. It’s exactly why I can’t let anyone see you like this.”

You hum as his finger presses in deeper, and you know it’s nothing in comparison to the real thing, but you like feeling that mild stretch, the depth it reaches all the same. “How should we let them know, then? That I’m all yours.”

His finger stills, and you hum softly, swaying your hips to shake him out of whatever trance he’s in. He’s grown quiet, but there’s a thoughtfulness in this pause, like he’s seriously considering your question. You laugh lightly, ready to tell him you’re just egging him on until he fucks you, but he slips his finger out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing again. You can’t help the confused noise that comes out of you, but you at least know he isn’t completely backing away, his other hand still firmly on your ass.

“Mark, what—”

You get your answer in the thud that interrupts your question — he’s tossed his phone onto the bed, having it land next to you. Something in your blood runs hot, and your fingers tremble when you pick it up. You see yourself reflected in the blackened screen — excitement in your eyes, your lips glossy from your blowjob.

Mark’s silent as you let the meaning of his actions settle; wordlessly, he slips his finger into you again, followed by another one this time, and you shudder in pleasure at the difference in the stretch. He doesn’t ask, but you can tell he’s wondering if he’s gone too far— if you think he’s crazy. He lets his fingers stay anchored in you, unmoving, waiting for you to say something, but from where he is, he just can’t know the smile that passes your face.

Finally, he tries to speak up. “We don’t have to— I just meant—”

“What’s your passcode?”

He breathes out, the exhale quivering as much as you probably are. “Your birthday.”

Your smile only widens when you tap the screen to life and see a picture of you — you don’t even remember when he’d taken it, but it’s a shot of you sprawled on his bed, bundled in his blanket and reading something that looks oddly like your textbook for your European Renaissance History class. It’s grainy and dimly lit, a stolen photograph of you, but it makes your heart swell, and you laugh lightly as you key in your birthday; the screen unlocks, allowing you access to all his applications.

“What’s funny?”

“Just thinking about how you should replace this wallpaper.”

“To what?” He sounds bemused.

“The view of me you have now.”

His fingers curl in you, pressing down against your walls, and you push your hips back in a bid for more friction; you hear him hiss out a ‘fuck’ under his breath, and his hand digs harder into the flesh of your ass.

You open Mark’s contacts, scrolling down aimlessly. Most of the names, you don’t recognize, but you see a few familiar ones crop up here and there. He doesn’t ask, only starts pumping his fingers into you in quiet anticipation, wondering how far you’re willing to take it, how much you’ve bought into this crazy idea.

“Mark,” you call out, and he hums in response. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“With my life.”

“So if I called Donghyuck right now—” His fingers hook into you, the delicious pressure on your walls making you squeak instead of finish your sentence immediately. You twist your torso to meet his eyes, and you’re slightly surprised but not at all displeased to see something crazed lingering in his gaze. “How much of a show would you want to put on for him?”

He shifts his weight, his knee sinking into the mattress as he slots it between your legs. This change in position allows him to angle his fingers a little differently, driving down into you with a force that makes you squirm. You almost forget you’ve asked him something again until he leans in closer, his murmur almost drowned out by the slick sounds of his finger pressing into your hole.

“Just… enough for him to know you’ve always been mine.”

Your thumbs are shaking when you scroll through his contacts again, up and down until you find the right name — Lee Donghyuck — and Mark watches you intently, wordlessly, as you press his number, start the call, and put it on speaker.

The wait feels like an eternity, with Mark’s finger slipping in and out of you in a steady, languid pace as you watch the line connect, but in reality, Donghyuck really only answers after the fourth ring. “Yo, Mark.”

His voice is casual, lacking in any sort of expectation; you can hear explosions and gunshots in the background, and you’re willing to bet he’s in the middle of an action movie. You’re proven right when you hear random English babbling soon after.

“Hi, Hyuck.”

“___________?” He sounds genuinely confused that it’s you that greets him. “Where’s Mark? You okay?”

“He’s right here with me; don’t worry.” Your voice is a soft croon, and he has to lower the volume of the television to be able to hear you better. “We’re totally fine. What are you up to?”

“Watching Resident Evil. Uh, is there a reason you called?”

You want to draw out the lie of something casual for as long as you can, but Mark doesn’t let you. His fingers push, suddenly forceful, into you, and you let out a soft cry into the receiver. You look back at him, eyes wide with amusement, and he shrugs, having at least enough sense to look slightly abashed at his experiment.

One moment, you’re listening to a female voice shout something, and the next, Donghyuck’s side of the call is silent except for his breathing. When you don’t bother explaining what had just happened, he takes matters into his own hands.

“Hello?”

He sounds equal parts affronted and amused, like the shock of it has tickled him. You can’t help it; you laugh too, but it’s quickly cut off by another whine when Mark pulls his fingers out. Donghyuck makes an incredulous noise.

“Now, what the fuck is all this about, you freaks?”

“You kept wondering why I ended up asking Mark out,” you evade his question with another one. “Should I tell you why, if you’re that curious?”

“No way. Have fun, weirdos,” he laughs, and the line goes dead a second after.

You snort out a laugh, and Mark mumbles something that sounds vaguely like that was crazy before he leans down and presses a kiss to the small of your back. You make to turn so you can finally face him, but you’re distracted when his phone screen lights up again, and Donghyuck’s name flashes across it.

You exchange amused glances before you pick up the call, and you don’t even get a ‘hello’ out when his voice rings out, sharp and clear.

“But pretending I am,” he says, as though he hadn’t hung up the call a few seconds ago. “Exactly what kind of answer would I get?”

“The kind that’ll hopefully shut you up for good,” Mark pipes in instead of you.

“What’s that even going to sound like?” Already, Donghyuck’s activated whatever toggle in him that gets him to push Mark’s buttons. This time, though, you can’t say it works against you; you feel Mark inch closer to you, and a moment later, the fat tip of his cock nudges against your entrance. “I bet you can’t even get her to yawn, man.”

Mark doesn’t have to respond; you do it for him when he pushes in, torturously slow, as if to draw out your moan. It works a little too well, with you keening into the phone, and yet no part of you is acting for his sake. As familiar as the stretch is, it’s not something you’ve ever been able to commit to memory fully, and it feels like a new breaching of your tightness each time. Your legs fold in slightly, a useless movement that attempts to get you adjusted to his size faster, but Mark interprets it as discomfort, his hands tightening on your hips.

“You okay?” He sounds genuinely worried for a second, forgetting that Donghyuck’s still on the line. Your cheek brushes against his sheets as you nod, trying to meet his eye even in this position to let him know you’re being honest.

“Fucking big, Mark.” You hear Donghyuck tsk from his end, and you laugh breathlessly. “You don’t like knowing he’s big?”

“I just hate that fucker,” Donghyuck quips back easily, but there’s no seriousness in his voice. If anything, it sounds a little raspy, with him clearing his throat soon afterward.

“Well, I’m crazy about him,” you whisper into the call, and your breathing hitches as Mark finally bottoms out, groaning at your tightness. “I’m crazy about the way he touches me, the way he tastes. I’m crazy about how big his cock is, how deep it gets when he’s inside me, how he stretches me out — fuck—”

Your verbal rampage is cut short by a loud moan as Mark draws his hips back and pushes forcefully into you; you haven’t fully adjusted, and you’re even tighter now from what you’re saying, so the friction inside you is nothing short of delicious. He starts a pattern of thrusts, not bothering to build up from his usual slow and steady pace — hearing you talk that way and knowing that Donghyuck is listening is enough to get him to abandon self-imposed restrictions.

“Mark,” you whine out, accidentally pushing the phone a little further away as you reach out blindly for him behind you, and he catches your wrist to let you know he’s there. “Mark, fuck, it feels so good—”

You tighten around him as if to prove your words, and he growls in response. You find yourself having to press your cheek in a little harder into the mattress as he gathers your wrists together into one hand, pinning them to your lower back, and it’s with that hold on you that he leverages his thrusts, pumping into you a little harder each time.

You’re not completely unaware of your surroundings, but it takes a while for you to process the sounds coming from the phone’s speaker — labored breathing, the sound of a zipper being pulled down. You want to wonder if this is working a little too well, but nothing comes from your mouth apart from soft whimpers, and it’s all the cue Mark needs to be the one to fill in the relative silence himself.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers, and you feel his lips press between your shoulder blades. It feels like a chaste kiss at first, but he leaves his breath there, still flitting over your skin as he continues to speak. “I’ll never get tired of how pretty you are — how pretty you always sound for me. Doesn’t she sound pretty, Hyuck?”

“Fucking pretty,” Donghyuck agrees, though his voice sounds somewhat distant. You can only sob back a quiet ‘fuck me, harder, harder,’ in response.

“Can you imagine how much prettier she looks under me?” It’s almost a full-blown conversation now, but even if Mark’s addressing Donghyuck, the rest of his attention’s fully on you. He adjusts his stance, still keeping his hold around your wrists as he angles himself deeper into you, causing you to cry out and squirm in pleasure. With your face pressed against the bed and his weight driving down into you, you feel utterly trapped, in the best kind of way. Mark, in the way he is now, is inescapable, almost incorrigible, and he pistons deeper into your pussy, his free hand brushing your hair away from your shoulder so he can leave a kiss against it. “Bent over, legs spread just a little, all for me to take. Pretty little hole wet for me, and so fucking tight. Can you imagine that?”

“I’m doing it right now.”

“It’s a thousand times better in person. Trust me.”

The same hand slips between your thighs, two fingers spreading your folds apart; the middle one circles your clit in a pace that matches his thrusts, sudden and shocking, and you arch your back upwards slightly with a choked noise. He finally releases your wrists, and you claw at the sheets helplessly to keep yourself somehow upright as the force of Mark’s hips, their impact against the backs of your thighs, pushes you forward, closer to the phone again. The stimulation is merciless, endless, and in the haze of your pleasure, you wonder if you should make Mark a little more jealous everyday if it gets him to act this way.

“Mark, I…. I’ve been— s-since—”

“Not yet,” he whispers, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as if to bring you back to reality. You shudder at the pain, the pleasure that accompanies it, and when you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, you notice that a few tears escape your eyes. “Hold out for me a bit, okay? Please. It’s not enough. Not yet enough.”

You wonder if ‘enough’ is a concept the both of you even understand when it comes to wanting each other; already, you feel desire pooling in your stomach, threatening to spill from you, and clenching around him isn’t helping you stop it the way your body seems to think it’s supposed to. It also doesn’t help that Mark’s fingers are relentless, one still drawing tight, heavy circles around your clit, and the other creeping up under your shirt to tug down the cup of your bra, letting a breast spill into his warm palm. He kneads with an unusual — but not unpleasant — roughness, and you squeak out incoherently as he tweaks at the hardened bud of your nipple, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Hold on for me a little,” he continues murmuring, even after you shake your head and whisper ‘can’t’ to him over and over. “Do it for me. Tell Donghyuck — tell him how good it feels. How much you want to keep feeling me inside you.”

You don’t even know what to say; the pleasure that washes over you, the new kind of roughness that Mark exhibits has you drawing a blank, and you can only whine in a last attempt at protest, only for your tongue to start moving on autopilot, fueled by your want.

“It’s not enough,” you echo — and even if it feels like it is, even if it feels even more than you can possibly handle, something tells you that it’s true. “Not enough — need to feel you more, Mark. God, I want to feel you stretch me out, fuck my little hole into the shape of your cock— until no one else can fuck me but you—”

“What,” Donghyuck breathes out, his exhale coming across as static. “The fuck.”

You don’t have to explain; your babbling’s doing most of the work in that regard anyway, and you can tell by the wet, staccato noises on the other end that Donghyuck can easily piece together the scenario anyway. He’s jacking off to the both of you, something in your mind whispers, and the notion of that alone has you tightening around Mark’s cock. The change doesn’t go unnoticed, and his fingers sink deeper into your flesh; you cry out softly when you feel a jolt of pleasure as he gives your clit a sudden pinch.

“How much tighter can you get?” He sounds incredulous but also, interestingly, proud — there’s a smug tinge to his voice that arouses you even more. “Does it feel that good?”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe out, the syllables quivering in your throat. “So good I’m going to lose my mind. Let me — God, please, let me—”

“Not yet,” Mark mumbles, and you whimper as he slows and slips out of you, his hand gently rubbing your folds in what feels like comfort — a small apology for his overt enthusiasm that you don’t even really need. “Just a little more. I need to see it.”

“See what?” Donghyuck’s voice is barely above a whisper, hoarse and pretty much muffled by the sound of his hand pumping his own shaft. Your head’s light, so your body moves on its own when Mark inches away slightly, giving you room to turn yourself around and lay on your back. You’ve barely even settled when he lifts your hips, dragging you closer to him and easing your thighs apart to slot himself between your legs.

His cock weighs heavy, pressed up against your folds, and he pushes his hips in a superficial thrust to get them to spread. His eyes fall briefly on your swollen clit, the wetness that you left on his shaft, even more of it still leaking from your hole. When he looks back up at you, there’s something triumphant in his gaze.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he coos, so lovingly it’d be hard to imagine his cock still sliding against your folds if you couldn’t feel it yourself. “I’ll never get enough of your perfect pussy — so perfect that it was made to take me.”

“See what?” Donghyuck presses, an impatience now coloring his voice. Mark chuckles, nodding at you and mouthing silently. Tell him.

Your inhale’s shaky, quivering like the rest of your body, and you don’t ever break away from Mark’s gaze, even as you speak.

“His cock fucking me in my stomach.”

Donghyuck’s ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ is drowned out by your cry of need as Mark pushes back into you. There’s no lag time now, no wait for any kind of adjustment; he takes you in one motion, until you feel his hips hit the backs of your thighs again. Your walls flutter around him, unable to process his size fully, and all that comes out of you is a string of messy mewls that’s constantly interrupted by the wet sounds of his thrusts.

Your body feels almost weightless, the only thing you can understand being the feeling of his cock pumping into you, stretching you out further. You’re only able to shake yourself out of the reverie when you feel his hands push back against your thighs, folding you in half, before they crowd atop your stomach.

“God, I need to feel it,” he groans out, his palms skimming under your navel, searching. “Please — do it for me.”

Even with your brain muddled, you don’t even have to try to figure it out; you let him feel it every time he asks. You inhale, deep and slow, until your stomach sinks, and the walls of your stomach flatten against his cock, which pauses briefly in its movements as he revels in the newfound feeling.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, and you flush in pleasure, in satisfaction at his praise. “Love seeing my cock inside you.”

He adjusts himself before he starts pumping into you again, burying his shaft all the way to the hilt each time; each thrust is followed by a soft sob from you, and you reach out, planting your hands on top of his. You obviously can’t feel his cock under your palms, but you don’t have to anyway; the fit’s tight enough that it feels, ridiculously, like he’s fucking your whole body, like he’s pressing into the deepest part of your core. You just want him to feel it more — the movement of the bulge under his hands, the resistance it has to push through to get to your stomach.

“Love feeling me inside you,” he continues, and his breathing stutters then, signaling that he’s also barely hanging on. “Love seeing how pretty you look when I rearrange your insides.”

You mouth out a disbelieving ‘what the fuck’ that earns you a simple smile, but Mark’s unrelenting in his movements anyway, his palms completely covering your stomach.

“Dude, I wanna see it too,” Donghyuck reminds you both of his presence when his voice comes through the speaker. “Put her on video.”

“No way,” comes Mark’s swift, firm reply. Donghyuck makes a noise of protest. “This is just for me.”

“Selfish as hell, calling me without really sharing.”

“The point wasn’t really ever to share.”

Mark’s hands suddenly press down on your stomach, and you stifle a soft scream; the pressure increases tenfold, as does the tightness of the fit, his cock brushing against your walls in a way that makes you feel breathless — it makes you feel used. Your hands fly up, fingers locking behind his neck, and you squirm under him, knowing fully well that you can’t escape anyway — not that you really want to, anyway.

“Mark,” you warn him again, your voice thin and airy. “I can’t anymore — I really—”

“I got you,” he murmurs — something you’ve come to learn he always says, always wants to let you know. He’ll be here until you break, until you can’t take anymore. “One second, okay?”

“Bro, what? Are you serious—” Even Donghyuck sounds confused, although his voice is tight too; he must be close, your mind weakly registers, but it doesn’t matter. Mark, albeit reluctantly, slips one hand away from your stomach — for a good cause, he must think, and you learn what it is when he ends the call, effectively cutting off Donghyuck’s complaints. Your eyes widen in confusion, but all Mark’s gaze is to you is reassuring, gentle, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips before he answers your unspoken question.

“Can’t let him hear you cum,” he murmurs against your mouth. “That’s only for me, isn’t it?”

You nod, letting the movement of it brush your lips against his. “You’re the only one I’ll cum for — the only one that can make me.”

Above your head, his phone is trilling noisily; the vibrations course through your back, weak but persistent, and for some reason, it heightens your arousal all the more. Mark ignores it completely, single-mindedly focused on pistoning into you with the bulk of his strength. His hands push down just under your navel, increasing your awareness of the feeling of his cock, him fucking you, coaxing out your climax.

“Do it. Show me how pretty you look when you cum for me.”

You don’t think it’s possible for him to inject any more strength into his movements, but he proves you wrong time and time again; the wind’s knocked out of you as he braces himself and fucks you harder, sharper into the bed, and the only noises you can make are weak whimpers and choked sobs. Your mind’s so overrun with pleasure that your climax hits your body first before your mind fully parses it; your back arches again, and you mewl out something broken, something that sounds like his name as you come undone.

Mark still doesn’t relent, the tremble in your legs somehow only inspiring him to put more power in his thrusts. Even through the dazedness that comes with all the stimulation, you can see the fine details you’ve come to know so well — the tightness in his jaw, the growing flush across his collar, the quick heaving of his chest. He’s close too, so close he’s just holding himself back out of sheer force of will to make sure he can watch you come down from your climax completely. You don’t know why he has to, but you want to see him let go too, and you scramble for words, for more touch — pressing your thighs firm against his sides to keep him close, locked — just to get him there.

“Will you mark me up one last time?” You breathe out. He reacts almost instantaneously, moving to lean down and press his mouth against the still-untouched side of your neck, but your palm on his chest stops him from doing so. Surprise crosses his face, followed by slight confusion. You squeeze your thighs against him, trying to make your point, but even then, his brow furrows. “Mark me — inside.”

His eyes widen, and his hips stutter before they resume pace, his fingers digging into your stomach almost painfully as he tries to keep himself in control. “I— no, you know I can’t…”

“Do you want to?” You egg him on, your hand dropping from his chest to land on top of his again, adding to the pressure until you’re sure he can feel every small movement, every throb of his own cock inside you. “You can, you know — make me yours, from the inside out.”

“God — we can’t; you know we’d be in so much trouble.”

“But I’d let you anyway, if you wanted to. Do you ever think about it, Mark?” Your fingers toy with his, almost like you’re having a casual conversation instead of a situation in which he’s deep inside you, already aching for release. “Fucking your cum deep into me, letting it seep into my stomach — making sure no one else can fill me up?”

“Jesus,” he growls, and he reluctantly slips his hands out from under yours to grip your thighs. Realistically, he has enough strength to peel them away, have you release him, but his hold just tightens, not really making any motion to do so. You see the thought flash in his eyes, serious even just for a moment. He thinks about it all the time.

“Think about it,” you urge, your voice soft but close to a demand. “And every time you do, remember one day, you will — because you’re the only one that can.”

He tilts his head back, letting a growl rip from his throat, and he finally manages to push your thighs apart. You let him, let them fall apart so he can slip out of you. You watch him shift upwards, his knees on either side of your torso, and you’re met with the erotic sight of him fisting his cock in front of you, urging himself into completion. You do the only thing you can think of to help; you open your mouth wide, pushing your tongue out, silently asking for his load.

“Even when you do that, you’re fucking pretty,” he groans out, and his thumb presses his cock down, resting the underside flush against your tongue as he rocks his hips. “How much prettier are you going to look with my cum all over your face?”

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out, and you don’t have to respond; he gets the answer he wants with one last thrust against your tongue, and you close your eyes briefly, allowing yourself to drink in the taste, the smell of his cum as it streaks across your cheeks, all over your lips. You hear his release as it comes too — the soft rumble from his chest, the release of air that gently whistles through his teeth.

When you open your eyes again, Mark is looking down at you, a warm flush creeping up his cheeks and ears again; he’s breathless, panting as he comes down from his high. From the daze of his climax, a slightly sheepish look of apology crosses his face, and he reaches down, seemingly without any real plan, to clean you up, only to withdraw, slightly bemused, when you shake your head.

A laugh escapes him when you shimmy out from under him, straighten up, and extend your arms upward, puckering your lips in slight demand. You think he might reject you, but Mark doesn’t even hesitate longer than a second. He swoops down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, and your thighs press together tight as you enjoy the feeling of his tongue swiping away his cum from your bottom lip before he takes it between his teeth, sucking softly as if to clean you completely.

When he pulls away, his head dips into your shoulder; again, his face turns to press against the mark he’d left, and his teeth nip at the soft bruise that’s already begun to blossom. Satisfied by the soft noise you make at the sensitivity you feel from the contact, he breathes out, long and steady, against your skin.

“Just… can’t get enough of you,” he finally exhales, pressing another kiss to your neck; it’s gentler, situated just under your jaw.

“You don’t ever have to think about having enough,” you whisper, leaving a light nuzzle against his shoulder. “Just always think about having more.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, but he nods, accepting your offer anyway. A moment of silence passes, where you’re wrapped up in each other, his weight against you in a blanket of heat, and it stretches to what almost feels like an eternity — if not for the phone suddenly ringing again, Donghyuck’s name coming up on the ID. You both start, and Mark reaches over, fumbling with the sides of his device before he finds and toggles the silent switch.

“Seriously,” he grumbles, watching the call drop just for it to start up again, the screen flashing.

“We kind of left him hanging, to be fair.”

“No fairness.” Mark tosses the phone to the foot of the bed, where it lies, facedown and buzzing. “He got more than he deserved today.”

You watch him as he slips off the bed, rearranging himself before clipping his jeans button back into place. He whispers a gentle ‘be right back’ and exits the room, leaving the door only slightly ajar. You hear the water run in the bathroom, and a few moments later, Mark returns to your side, holding a damp towel.

He leaves a kiss after each light swipe across your face, as if to apologize for the pain he thinks he might be causing; you laugh, partly because it’s ridiculous, but mostly because you like it. He cleans your mouth last, even though there’s already nothing left, just so he has an excuse to leave a long, lasting kiss there.

You think it’s the last you’ll get for now, but he surprises you by bending down even further, hiking your shirt up your torso again. His hand rests on your thigh, keeping himself balanced as he presses a flutter of kisses around your navel, lingering at the exact spot that sits above where he knows his cock hits every time he bottoms out in you.

“One day,” he whispers into your skin before he looks up at you, his eyes shining. “I’ll really make you all mine.”

“Dummy.” Your voice is just as low, and you pull his head up again, enjoying the brush of his hair against your hand, the swoop of his jaw under your palm. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Every single day, considering I’ll never get tired of it.”

You hum, not one to deny him of what he asks anyway; you push him back onto his calves, climbing back onto his lap; it’s your favorite way to be near him, you decide, with almost nothing between you, almost everything of yours touching everything of his — like you fit in him perfectly. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, feeling their soft rise and fall as his breathing steadies, and you squirm a bit, if only to make sure his arms are locked securely around you — to make sure he won’t let go. Just like that, in his arms, you say it again — a truth, a fact, and a promise.

“I already am.”

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lewisvinga · 2 months

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mystery girl | charles leclerc x fem! reader

summary; after meeting the friend of an influencer, charles becomes infatuated. unfortunately, she isn’t like her friend and doesn’t have any social media accounts until her friend finally convinced her.

fc; various girls on pinterest

warnings; ?

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs

note; requested ! i was a bit confused so i hope this is as close to your request bc i had to switch some things up bc i was confused 😥😥😥

masterlist !

liked by yourbestfriend, pierregasly, and others!

francisca.cgomes: 🤍

tagged; yourbestfriend

yourbestfriend: we’re gonna need to go on another girls trip asap😣

francisca.cgomes: oh i agree 100%

yourbestfriend: luv u ( from me and y/n )🫶

francisca.cgomes: luv uuuu

pierregasly: ❤️

username: Y/B/F AND KIKAAAA

username: omg who is the girl in the middle? she’s gorgeous!!!

francisca.cgomes: y/n:), she’s a good friend of mine but she doesn’t have social media!

username: omg the girl in the black skirt is so pretty

username: y/n needs to open up an instagram account she’s gorgeous 😍😍

yourbestfriend: think we need to convince y/n to open up an instagram account ?🤔🤔

francisca.cgomes: oh yes.

liked by yourusername, lilymhe, and others !

yourbestfriend: mini brasil photo dump 🫶

tagged; yourusername, francisca.cgomes

yourusername: this is scary

yourbestfriend: no it is not u gorgeous drama queen

francisca.cgomes: her official insta debut 🥹

yourbestfriend: we need ******* to slide in her dms right NOW.

francisca.cgomes: pierregasly help us

pierregasly: who what

username: omg she made an instagram??

username: wonder who y/b/f is talking abt😭

username: my bet is on charles bc kika tagged pierre

username: my fave influencer 😍

username: awh her account is private :/

liked by yourbestfriend, charles_leclerc, and others

yourusername: hi instagram

yourbestfriend: and charles

yourusername: y/b/f.

yourbestfriend: her first insta post and i’m in it 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

yourusername: maybe ur the drama queen

francisca.cgomes: not the picture of u studying #studiousqueen

yourusername: trynna get my masters fr

pierregasly: charles_leclerc

yourusername: pierre jean-jacques gasly…

charles_leclerc:how about i take you on a coffee date 😁 no studying !

yourusername: hmm, i’d like that a lot😊

liked by charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend, and others

yourusername: out w cha 🌷

tagged; charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: trés belle [very pretty]

yourusername: thank u , cha 😁🫶🫶

charles_leclerc: making very important calls right there

yourusername: i love my new bookshelf thank u sm cha 😣😣

yourbestfriend: YOU GOT HER A BOOKSHELF?? she’s never leaving her home i fear

charles_leclerc: i couldn’t resist 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️ besides, i don’t mind staying inside w her😁

alex_albon: charles mystery girl wow did he panic in front of you

lilymhe: ignore him, you’re doing amazing sweetie !🫶🫶🫶

yourusername: mystery girl?? ö

georgerussell63: ask ur bf to show u the messages of him panicking and asking about u

carmenmmundt: leave the poor couple alone 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

charles_leclerc:ignore them, chérie pls😔

yourusername: …… ok as long as u get me another book😁

yourbestfriend: NO.

francisca.cgomes: she has too many books charles don’t give in.

charles_leclerc: i am a weak man, i can’t help it

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 smau #f1 scenario #formula one scenarios #f1 imagine #formula one imagines #formula one imagine #f1 scenarios #formula one social media au #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc scenarios #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine

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mockerycrow · 8 months

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UNDER THE SURFACE (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist — ghost icon by @yumethefrostypanda concept post here!

authors note; this is not my best work tbh, i wish i could improve it somehow, but i’m hoping you guys will like it anyway. Pretty sure this is my longest singular post, too! 4.7k words :-)

[WARNINGS: angst, spiraling thoughts, near panic attack, hurt/comfort, inaccurate medical stuff, vague descriptions of physical violence, very brief mention of possible self harm.]

YOU WERE USED to Simon being gone for long periods of time; you have been his roommate for two years now, nearly three. You know he’s military, it’s part of the reason why you were able to score being his roommate in the first place. At first, it was a very awkward arrangement. Simon himself wasn’t a very awkward person, no—he’s actually quite charismatic in his own way, a way that you could get along with. One of the reasons why the arrangement was strange at first was because you weren’t exactly able to get a one on one tour of the flat before agreeing, but you were a bit more trusting of this mysterious man because a mutual friend—Kate—sent you his contact information, considering you were looking for a new place to live since your lease was up.

Simon’s flat was void of any personality, really. Yes, you could tell by the way he organized everything that he had been in the military, probably for quite a while—but there weren’t any photos. No gaming systems; you discovered he did have a bookcase of quite a few books, but it was covered in a layer of dust. Despite this, when examining the books he owned, you could tell they were worn down—definitely loved. It made you smile a bit, seeing the different variety of books. A bit of personality, you think. Besides his room, it was like a completely furnished, no personality flat. You weren’t allowed in his room, not unless he gave you explicit permission, which you honored his boundaries. Simon was kind enough to offer you a space in his home—but you know he was quite weary of you, which was understandable. He helped you move in and you could tell he was watching you and your body language. Searching you for danger—but he slowly warmed up to you.

Another thing that you discovered that Simon was quite emotionally.. constipated. Over the first few months, you could tell he didn’t sleep as much as he probably should. He was always awake before you, and you would always find him in the kitchen, sipping on a hot cup of tea. After a few weeks of this routine—Simon rising much earlier than you, you figured maybe he couldn’t break the military’s strict routines.. Until one night you woke up from the sound of his heavy footsteps walking down the hall. You tensed in your bed and you sat up because Simon was silent as a ghost all the time. You didn’t even know if it was him at first, so in your half-asleep panicked state, you felt for your phone and you texted Simon’s contact, asking a messily texted “is that you walking around?” You blink your sleepiness away and wipe your eye as your phone vibrates with a “yeah. sorry.”

That was the first time you got some notion that Simon was thrown off guard from something, after another week of awakening from his noises, you began to realize that he was experiencing night terrors every couple of nights. His nightmares were never a thing you two discussed, exactly.. It was more of an unspoken rule to not talk about it. You would occasionally find yourself in the kitchen around the time you calculated when Simon would wake up—and you were right nearly every time—and you just.. coincidentally made him a cup of tea. To Simon’s pleasant surprise, you managed to get his tea right every single time. You’ve had your fair share of night terrors, so you knew how it could be sometimes. You wanted to do something nice for him, and he seemed flustered every time.

It took you a while to get used to him being gone for long periods of time. Simon appreciated that you never questioned too deeply into his career, even the times he would come home sporting a new injury, you were always willing to play doctor for him. Simon saw the concern in your eyes and sometimes he would share small stories of what happened, or maybe to get you to stop thinking about his injuries, a small story about his teammates. You slowly learned their names over the course of a year and a half, and you learned Simon’s rank as well. He is a lieutenant, and there’s a man called Captain Price, another man named Sergeant Kyle Garrick, and one more man named Sergeant John MacTavish, who Simon referred to as “Johnny” fondly.

It wasn’t common that Simon talked about work, which is the reason why it took about a year and a half to even get the information you did out of him. Over the time you’ve lived with him, you had decorated the flat to feel more comfortable and home-y. Simon only had a few requests, which you honored, and one of them was no pictures of him with his face showing. You shot him a curious and questioning look, but as always—you didn’t question him, and he was very thankful. You had gotten a few indoor plants as well that didn’t need much caring for and you wanted to liven up the place, y’know? You were okay with Simon not sharing much about his past or his work, because he was willing to listen to your little rambles about your interests and work. You were a bit hesitant, but Simon was very emotive and he never seemed annoyed or brushed you off.

Despite Simon’s reluctance to share anything of his own, he always heard you out if you needed to vent about something. He made sure you knew you could talk to him, even on days where you felt like you had no one to go to. You spent an entire night with him, just talking about anything and everything. It was the first real conversation you felt like you have had with anyone in such a long time. It was also the first night Simon really saw you. He watched as your eyebrows furrowed from uncomfortableness, the vulnerability being nearly too much to handle; something he could relate to on a personal level. So when you started showing these signs, he knew exactly when to change the subject. Simon quickly realized how to read you, and he somehow knew what you needed at different moments.

Simon flies into the airport late at night with a small duffel bag, tagged as a military bag. He sends you a quick “be home soon.” text. Simon doesn’t expect you to answer due to it being around 3 in the morning, and you indeed don’t answer him. He catches a taxi to your shared flat. Simon collects his things from the taxi before paying the driver and sending them off, and Simon lets out a slow breath as he takes in the achingly familiar sight of the place he lives in. He tugs the hood that remains sitting over his head closer to his face, which is covered by a black surgical mask. His hand tightens on the straps of the duffel bag before he approaches the flat building, taking out his keys as he approaches the elevator. Once Simon reaches the third floor, he wastes no time getting to the front door, and he isn’t sure why, but his heart is pounding inside of his chest.

Simon unlocks both the top lock and the doorknob to enter the flat—something he had taught you to do every single time. He pockets his keys as he enters and Simon pauses for a moment because he can’t put his finger on it, but something feels off the second he glanced inside. His eyes trail the living room which is clean, not one thing out of place. Simon takes a deep breath and he doesn’t brush off the weird feeling, because even when there’s no evidence something happened—he’s usually right. The blanket on the couch is perfectly folded and laid over the back cushions, the mini bookcase by the TV is dusted as always, your shoes.. Are not by the front door, but a different pair are..? These either are not your shoes, or they are new. You always warned Simon about bringing people over, and you definitely would’ve told him this time. The lamp is on in the living room, but it seems the lights are out everywhere else. Simon silently goes through his routine when he gets back late at night—taking his jacket off and hanging it up, he leaves his boots by the door, and he drops his keys into the dish.

Next step to his routine is to step into the kitchen and get a cup of actually good quality tea, unlike the shit the military provides him. He fills up the electric kettle and sets a timer on it, grabbing his favorite mug and the box of his favorite tea from the cabinets. Simon glances down the dark hall—he’s seeking for a sign of life from you because you’re usually getting up around this time to greet him. No matter what, you always seem to know when he returns—yet you aren’t leaving your room. There’s no light emitting from the hall nor underneath the doors, and fuck, it’s eating at him. Something is wrong—and what the fuck is it? Simon stands there for a moment, turning his head to watch the blue light blinking on the electric kettle. He watches it blink slowly as he tries to rack his brain for what could be wrong—maybe those shoes are someone else’s, but he could just have a stern conversation with you about it later. Maybe you came back from drinking with friends—no, if that was the case, he knows for a fact your belongings would be everywhere, maybe even a spilled glass of water in the kitchen. He’s had to clean that up a couple of times.

He raises his wrist and pulls up his sleeve a bit to look at his digital watch; it’s nearly 0400 now. Simon puts his hands on the counter, leaning his body weight against it. Did something happen at work, maybe that’s why it feels off? You’ve always had a commanding presence like he has, so maybe— “Fuck.” Simon hisses quietly, hooking a finger into the strap of his black face mask and he rips it off, tossing it without care onto the counter. He leans forward and checks the kettles timer for a second, and then he’s walking towards the hall. Simon passes by his room and he walks up to yours, and he tries to turn the doorknob to peak in to check on you, but—it’s locked? Simon lets out a harsh breath before trying the door again, and yeah, it’s locked. Simon swears under his breath and he knocks on the door, his stomach twisting and turning. Something is wrong, very very wrong, very fucking wrong—

You unlock the door and you open it just enough for you to peak out, and you use your phone flashlight to shine it in Simon’s face. He squints and puts his hand up, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Hey—you locked your door.” He points out quietly, and you’re just staring at him, your eyes wide and alert. Simon’s anxiety lessens, but your reaction doesn’t make it go away. “Y’alright?” Simon drawls out, his hand on the wood panel of the door. You let out a harsh breath and you let go of your phone, letting out a quiet, “Simon..” before you suddenly pull your door completely open, and you wrap your arms around his thick torso into a hug. Simon swears his heart jumps into his throat and then into his stomach, bouncing back into his chest because you hugged him. You two were never particularly touchy like that, maybe a fleeting touch here or two, usual drunken affection from you—but you barely ever hugged him like this, even when he returned from deployments. Your touch burns hot through his clothes, and he knows you wouldn’t touch him without asking, so when you do? He wraps an arm around you, his free arm resting on your shoulder. “Hey..” Simon breathes out, lost for words.

You don’t hold on long enough for the uncomfortable worry to creep up his spine just yet. You rip yourself away from him like he burned you, his hands falling to his sides. You offer a tight, weak smile—one that you could easily play off as a sign of fatigue. Simon’s breath stutters as he watches your hands linger near your chest in a subconscious defensive gesture, your fingers closing into a fist for a moment; as if you’re uncomfortable, almost overstimulated. Simon feels the way for the light switch and he flips it on, and your room looks normal—but you look.. off. You look a bit clammy, almost like you’re sick or bouncing off the walls with anxiety. His eyes flick to your fingers and the skin besides your thumbnail and your middle finger are picked to all hell, and you just.. don’t seem right. All of these.. signs, you’re showing are actually very subtle—he just notices everything about you. Simon knows what food you favor, what your favorite color is, what social situations what you tick, what makes you mad—he knows it all. “Three months went by slow,” You murmur, trying to start a conversation. Simon’s eyes narrow at you for a moment as he watches you back up to your bed; no, you don’t turn around, you back up. You don’t turn your back to Simon at all. Fuck. He watches you lift your mattress, causing him to lift an eyebrow. “They did,” Simon confirms. “What happened while I was gone?”

This wasn’t an unusual question for Simon to ask; but it had a completely different meaning to you this time. You feel your muscles tense as you grab something from under your mattress, and you put it back down. It glints from the overhead light in your bedroom—a.. pocket knife of some sort, a switchblade perhaps. Simon’s eyes narrow at how you pocket it oh so quickly into your pocket. “Nothing much,” You reply quickly, smoothing out your shirt. “Same old same old, work has been fine, uh..” You trail off for a moment, clearing your throat. “Look, let me take a shower—I’m sure you’re itching for something to eat, huh?” Simon watches you open your drawers and pick out some pants and a shirt. The knife comes to mind—why are you taking it with you? “I can make it myself.” Simon responds, his feet planted firmly where he had been standing the whole time. You shake your head and close the drawers once you collect your clothes.

“It’s tradition, Simon. I gotta.” You offer a stronger smile as you make your way towards the door, still avoiding showing your back towards him. Simon watches as you glance at your bedroom window before exiting your room, muttering a quiet “close the door when you leave”, which Simon obeys. He shuts the door with a click, and he watches you quickly scurry down the hall towards the bathroom. “Just let me shower first.” And with that, you step into the bathroom, close the door and you lock it before Simon can interject. He stands there for a moment, stunned. His chest tightens for a moment because you just felt so far away. You’ve created such unwanted distance—even as you’re not very touchy with him, you still bother him for every detail he’s willing to give up when he returns. You are constantly making jokes, inviting him into the kitchen when you’re about to make a welcome home meal—but this time? You were hiding in your room, locking your door, bringing a knife with you—in front of him. Did you think that could slip past him? Did something happen whilst he was gone, to cause you to bring it with you? Is it for self defense against something or someone?— Is it to use on yourself?

Simon feels his stomach turn at his thoughts. He shakes his head and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He walks past the bathroom, his footsteps stuttering for a moment in front of the door before he presses his lips into a thin line, returning to the kitchen to make himself some tea, the electric kettle had beeped long ago.

The next late morning, not much was different. Simon only slept a few hours, three or four—as per usual, he still woke up before you. He threw on a pair of sweatpants, and a black hoodie. He made his tea, made you a cup of what you prefer to drink in the morning, and he made a light breakfast for you both. Despite being in the military for a while and relying on cooks as well as MRE’s to get through his days, Simon is a decent cook. He made himself some sausage and fried eggs, and he made a plate or a bowl of what you prefer to eat in the morning. Simon sighs for a moment as he glances at the time—around 1100, and you still haven’t emerged from your room which is odd, especially now that Simon just came back home. He takes a moment to look at his food, and he decides then and there he will drag you out if he has to. Simon scoops up his plate as well as your food, and he heads down the hall towards your room. With his hands full, Simon balances for a second as he gently kicks the door as a way to knock, and then he stands on both of his feet again. “Oi, wake up!” Simon shouts, leaning close to the door to listen for your movement.

It takes a good minute and when Simon is about to knock again; he hears your doorknob unlock and you peak out the door, your eyes wide and alert again, although it’s obvious you had just woken up. You seem to relax when your tired mind’s gears turn and you realize it’s just Simon. You open your door wider and you rub your eye, and he spots the knife in your hand, partially obscured by the door. “Mm, sorry. I overslept.” You say, your voice heavy with sleep, vibrating in your chest. Simon makes a noncommittal noise before holding out your food, which you stare at for a moment you take it, your lips twitching into a weak smile. “Thanks, Simon.” He waits a few seconds, and you nearly shut your door on him.

Thanks, Simon. That’s all??

“Can I eat in your room wit’you?” Simon gruffs out, feeling sudden determination from this weird act you have going on. You blink for a moment and then you nod. “Just give me a sec.” You murmur. You shut the door in his face and he hears you shuffling about, moving something—sounds like your mattress. Are you putting your knife away??—and then you open your door, gesturing for Simon to walk into your room. Surely you don’t think you can hide this type of thing from him of all people, right? Why are you hiding it from him?

Simon enters your room, and you close the door behind him. You never used to do that—“What happened?” Simon stares at you for an answer, watching your face contort in a bit of confusion. You don’t say anything at first, and when you were about to open your mouth, Simon speaks. “I mean this in the nicest way possible—do ya take me f’a wanker?” Your jaw drops for a moment, your eyebrows furrowing. “What? No, of course not, Simon. Nothing happened, I’m not sure why—“

“Don’t,” Simon interrupts, putting his plate of food on your dresser. “Something has happened, and you’re lyin’ to me. You’re jumpy, you’re carryin’ a blood knife around, lovie—don’t think you can get that past me—and you won’t turn your back on me.” His lips press into a line as he watches your shoulder hunch up a bit, in an all too familiar defensive, tense position. The pit in Simon’s stomach begins to grow as you avert your eyes from, too. “You are barely talkin’ when you bloody damn near talk my ear off when I come home—you said, ‘Thanks, Simon.’ Not an over the top reaction about me doing something for th’both of’us, not a invite in, and last night—you’ve been locking your door.” You put your food down near yourself, and Simon catches the way your fingers are trembling. “I.. I’m allowed to lock my door, Simon. You don’t need to question me.” You say, attempting to hold a steady voice which barely works, your voice nearly cracking on the last word. Your heart is racing out of your chest and all you want to do is bolt at the door; which Simon catches on to. You watch him as he slowly begins to step in front of the door. “You tell me everything—even how your damn showers go. Why won’t you tell me this?” He demands, and his heart is pounding against his ribcage, too.

He watches your face contort into several different emotions and feelings; panic, sadness, anger, relief—the whole nine yards. Simon walks towards you when you begin to sob, and you sit down on your bed to avoid collapsing. His chest tightens as he murmurs name, wondering if he went too far. You reach your hands for him and not for one second does Simon hesitate this time. He wraps his arms around you, sitting right next to you on your mattress, your thighs touching together. He reaches up and rubs the nape of your neck as you openly sob and shutter into the crook of his neck and in his arms. His skin burns from your heat seeping into his clothes, a lively warmth that burns so hot but he welcomes so much more than he remembers that he used to. Your tears are hot, burning his skin with every drop that slides onto his neck, but he welcomes the sensation. “It’s alright, lovie. Let it out.” Simon murmurs, one of his arms tugging your body closer to his. He holds you in almost protective stance, like someone is threatening to drag you away from his grasp. You grab at the back of his hoodie, your chest beginning to heave. “Mm, no, c’mere; look at me, yeah?” Simon beckons you, his voice smooth and soft—which is extremely rare. Simon cups your cheek and lifts your head from where it rests in the crook of his neck, his hand instantly getting covered in the wetness of your tears that are streaming down your cheeks. You inhale sharply as you try to look at Simon, your eyes unfocused and you try so hard to focus on his pretty brown eyes, but you can’t seem to get ahold of yourself. You let out a panicked sob as your hand now tug on the front of his hoodie, and his voice is so far away, but his hand is molding to the curve of your jaw, like it belongs there.

You shut your eyes for a moment and you let Simon move you around as he wants, which he ends up guiding your head to his chest, and his grip loosens some so you don’t feel trapped. It takes you a moment to catch your breath, to catch your bearings; you can hear a faint ringing sound that you didn’t notice before, but you do note it’s slowly fading away, and in fades is Simon’s voice. He’s murmuring praises—and oh, he’s laying against the headboard of your bed frame now, with you laying on his chest. You feel yourself trembling against him, and embarrassment hits you hard. You’re tense—you don’t want to talk about any of it at all, but you know Simon. He will push you until you snap, even if it’s in your best interest to tell him. You reach up and play with a hoodie string of his, listening to his soft breathing. You hesitate for a moment before your lips part. “It was a week after you left.” Simon’s heart skips a beat, which you hear—you vaguely find it amusing, but he’s silent to allow you to continue. One of his hands is on your back, his thumb moving back and forth. “I..” You swallow spit so you don��t croak, as you’re convinced you might sound pathetic. As if Simon would ever think of you that way. “I was walking home from the pub, y’know, the one only just a few blocks away? It was late at night, I think the police said it was around 2 am. I stayed until closing, I was with some of my friends, uh..” You trail off for a moment, trying to recall everything that happened. Your hand pauses, and Simon senses your state. He begins to rub your back full on, murmuring, “It’s alright. Go on, then.”

You let out a shaky breath before continuing. “I was absolutely wasted, and there was this guy—grabbed me and I tried to get out of his hold, but he ended up fucking stabbing me. Robbed me of my shit.” Your voice cracks and the silence is deafening. Simon feels his heart drop into his stomach. You got stabbed? “Fuckin’ hell.. Why didn’t you call me? Or at least let me know?” Simon’s voice treats carefully, knowing that you’re still freaking out by the way you’re incredibly tense against him. “I know how important your focus is when you’re gone,” You respond, your voice staying quiet as well. You don’t look at Simon’s face because you know that you’ll break once again. You pick at the fabric of his hoodie, seeking comfort in his warmth, despite how you usually aren’t like this with him. “I didn’t want to take your focus because I know you, Simon. You would’ve backed out of whatever you were trying to do to come and help me.” Simon presses his lips into a thin line, staying quiet because you both know that you’re correct. Simon would drop everything to come home to you, to help you. “The guy nicked my lung, was in the hospital for a while.” Simon’s hand stutters for a moment, the smooth pattern of his palm rubbing your back being interrupted from shock. “Jesus—“ Simon hisses, and he can’t help but tug you closer. “You should’ve told me anyway, lovie.”

You sniffle and you rub your face into his hoodie, a muffled noncommittal noise coming from the back of your throat. He doesn’t say anything further, nor do you. Simon lays there with you on top of him, one of his hands caressing your back, the other wrapped around your body, sometimes coming up to rub the back of your neck. You don’t mention the way he doesn’t seem to tell you to move, and he doesn’t mention how touchy you’re being. Simon doesn’t want this moment to end—one where you’re vulnerable and trusting with him, one where you’re alive and well. He can’t help but wonder if he ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell him something? Simon feels simmering, muffled anger in his stomach because you didn’t want to interrupt his work for being stabbed, nicking a vital organ no less—he makes a mental note to sit you down and make you promise to call him if an issue or an injury like that ever arises again. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to push away what would happen if you didn’t do that—if that guy were to come back to try to finish the job and Simon wasn’t here, would you call him? Would you pick up your phone and dial his number? Would you text him? What if you got hurt again—would you call him?—Or would the hospital? He always imagined you’d be getting the call of his death, and not the other way around. Simon swears under his breath for a moment and opens his eyes; he doesn’t want to think about that anymore. He wants to stay in this moment with you—both himself and you alive. He glances down, your tear stained cheeks slowly drying, your eyelids closed. His fingers slide from the nape of your neck to the side, and he presses his fingers against your pulse.

Being here with you—he wants you to trust him, too; like he trusts you. That’s all he wants.

tag: @zzzennin

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 4 months

Text

❤ Yandere Teacher ❤

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Teacher-Student dynamic; Non-Con.

Merry Christmas! 🎄💖

◾ Yandere!Teacher who immediately gets interested in you.

You don’t seem anything like most college girls, maybe because you don’t throw yourself at thim, batting your eyes at him and pushing your chest out in hopes of catching his attention, like many of your colleagues do.

He knows why they do it. He’s young and attractive, teaching in a college whose reputation is the definition of academic excellence.

◾ Yandere!Teacher who will personally organize the classroom layout, making sure you get the best seat in the house, which coincidentally happens to be right in front of his desk. That way he stays close to you, his eyes often drifting to you as he lectures the class.

◾ Yandere!Teacher that frequently interacts with you, asking if you wanna share an exercise's solution or requesting for you to read out loud a text.

Your reactions are the cutest, he thinks. The adorable way you get shy, sinking into your seat like you want to melt against it and disappear.

◾ Yandere!Teacher who wholeheartedly believes you to be a talented student, although your grades are mediocre. You are brain and beauty, the perfect combination.

Hence why he adds a few additional points to your grade, wanting to see that beautiful smile of yours instead of ugly disappointment,

◾ Yandere!Teacher that is fully aware of how wrong it is to have a crush on you - his student - but he can't stop himself from imagining how a relationship with you would look like. The way you’d hug him, pushing your warm lips against his, happy to see him.

He imagines romantic picnic dates, with you perched on his lap while feeding him strawberries.

And even worse is when his mind drifts to the two of you creating a small family together. He knows you’re both relatively young but he’s certain that together you could be the best of parents.

◾ Yandere!Teacher that stalks all of your social media, seeking for anything that could give him more insight on you. What are your hobbies, what type of movies do you like, do you post photos with your family or friends,...

In reality, he’s accidentally clicked one too many times on the like button, panicking before hastily removing it. You never mention it during the classes, but sometimes you give him a weird look.

◾ Yandere!Teacher that progressively grows frustrated with your lack of interest towards him. While most girls shamelessly throw themselves at him, you don’t. A distant expression and face ducked down as you take notes is all he gets from you.

Even when he accidentally bumps into you around campus, it's a struggle to get you to open-up as he tries to do small talk with you.

◾ Yandere!Teacher whose blood boils when catches you laughing and joking around with a guy.

He wants to drag you away from the asshole before punching a hole into his face, his imagination running dangerously wild as he imagines all the things he would do to the student, just for making you laugh like that.

But he doesn’t get mad at you. No, it’s not your fault. You have a kind heart, which automatically makes you naive - unable to see the other guy’s evil intentions.

He doesn’t care about you, he’s probably just thinking of ways to get inside your pants.

◾ Yandere!Teacher who invites you to stay a bit longer after class, in order to discuss some aspects of your individual project. He notices the nervous way you fiddle with your fingers, uneasy to be alone with him.

He doesn’t understand why. He loves you and he’s never been anything but kind towards you.

Your anxiety only increases when the older man places his hand on top of yours, starting to confess the ardent admiration he has for you and how much he thinks you’re gorgeous.

That he feels a special connection between the two of you, something very precious.

Despite his best attempts of convincing you that you are meant to be together, you’re too stubborn to accept it peacefully. You scream and shout like a crazy girl, scratching and pushing him as he tries to reason with you.

◾ Yandere!Teacher who ends up bending you on his table, pushing your cheek pressed against the cold surface as he forcefully fucks you, his lips passionately kissing every inch of exposed skin, inebriated on your sweet taste.

You cry and whimper, his scarf shoved inside your mouth as he punctures you with deep, sharp thrusts while whispering apologies in your ear.

He uses you as a flashlight, setting a fast pace as his cock bruises up your insides till your core is aching and desperate for him to finish already.

◾ Yandere!Teacher who didn’t mean to break you like this, your pitiful swollen face making him feel bad about what he did, but at least now you know about his feelings for you.

He’ll make it up for you when he takes you back to his apartment. A warm shower and a good night's sleep will improve your mood. He’ll persuade you to be with him, to accept him.

He knows he’ll be successful eventually and maybe after a few times of making love to you, you’ll also see his side.

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #yandere x you #yandere x reader #tw: yandere #tw: noncon #tw.noncon #yandere concept #female reader #yandere headcanons #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere imagines

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roseykat · 6 months

Text

KINKTOBER DAY 14

TITLE: Some things are better left unknown

PAIRINGS: Bang Chan x Felix x reader

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate every single interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

SUMMARY: a threesome with Chanlix where you’re yet to discover a very sobering truth about the pair of them.

TAGS: explicit language, threesome, oral sex (f!reader receiving), porn with plot, use of the name 'baby girl' and 'angel', swearing, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex but protected anal sex, double penetration, big dick!Chan agenda, praise, slight body worship if you squint, kissing/making out.

A/N: Aussie line fucks hard, bye. (If there are mistakes, I will fix them. Currently running on v low sleep)

KINKTOBER23 - MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @mal-lunar-28 @luneskies @queenmea604 @kibs-and-bits @kbitties @aaasia111 @fairy-lixie @dreamingaboutjisung

Milk, nori, rice, raw tuna, coffee, yoghurt, bread, and eggs.

This was all Chan sent you to the supermarket for. All of which could have been easily picked up from the convenience store down the road. Maybe minus the raw tuna which has to be high grade since Chan wanted to make an attempt at onigiri for the first time. However, you would’ve saved an entire trip to the busy supermarket.

Not to mention, grocery shopping sucks in general. At least that is when you’re on your own. In your apartment that you share with your good friends Chan and Felix, two people are responsible for the shopping per week which rotates each time.

If you’re with Felix, sometimes you both tend to muck around. Not to mention forgetting almost a quarter of things on the shopping list which ends in a stern lecture from Chan. On that matter, if you’re with Chan, it’s an in-and-out task at the store in less than ten minutes.

Efficient and practically timeless.

Even though it’s no trivial matter, you manage to get through the pointless shopping before heading home to the apartment. These could’ve been picked up at the convenience store, you think to yourself again. A sigh leaves your lips as you unlock the door, bumping it open further with your hip as you slide your shoes off.

“I’m back. Remind me to buy an umbrella next time-”

Your body freezes on the spot. The bag of items falls from your possession, collapsing onto the floor. Something inside it broke but it’s nowhere near enough a distraction for what is in front of your eyes.

Maybe you need your vision checked because if your eyes weren’t deceiving you, then you wouldn’t have just seen Chan and a topless Felix who are both making out. The two of them sat on the edge of the bed, still lip-locked until they caught onto your presence.

For the few seconds you stood there, rooted to the ground, felt the absolute longest.

Neither of them was as internally panicked as you when they noticed you standing there. Nor did they have hundreds of questions zapping around their brains in the span of a few seconds. It was like your entire vocabulary had turned to dust and were blown away because there were no words to describe what the hell was happening.

Maybe it was a dream.

“T-That was quick,” Chan stammers with an awkward chuckle, breaking away from Felix, almost pretending like nothing just happened.

Felix looked like a complete mess. Dark brown hair mangled - clearly from Chan either running his fingers through it or tugging it - the air gets stuck in your throat with those two theories in mind, painting very interesting visuals and an odd sensation in your stomach.

Chan looked equally dishevelled. There’s a dark red splotch peeking above his collarbone that you had no trouble guessing how it got there. On top of that, his pants were already half undone, and his lips were bitten red and wet, and they both looked so…so…

“What…the fuck…” you manage to speak once your mind has cleared the only one per cent of its capacity to grasp the circumstances.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Felix quickly says as he stands up from Chan’s lap and walks over to you.

It was useless for him to try to take advantage of your shell-shocked state because once your surprise had completely thawed out, your words started coming back to you.

“Oh my god, what am I even doing?” You ask, clamping your hands over your eyes, ready to head right back out of the apartment. “I’m heading out.”

“Wait!” Chan calls out, arm outstretched towards your direction. “You don’t…you don’t have to go. If you want, you can maybe join us. If…if you like.”

Join them? Blindsided by those words, there was no trouble for the difficulty you had in trying to figure out if you heard right or just imagined what Chan said. Why would he ask you that question? But more importantly, why were they hooking up in the first place? It was evident that there had been something going on between Felix and Chan - unless this was just a new one-time thing.

However, even if it wasn’t, you had been left out of the secret. Nonetheless, you quickly came to your senses. Whether they hook up or not is none of your business.

“J-Join you?” You stammer.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Chan emphasises. “It’d be rude to not let you in on the fun.”

You definitely weren’t hearing things, and this wasn’t a dream.

At first, you can’t understand why you’re even considering their request, but there is one piece of information that sprung to mind and that’s your sex life. It hasn’t been entirely sex-filled as you’d like it to be, not to mention your slight lack of experience with threesomes wasn’t vast - but it also wasn’t limited either, especially after that encounter you once had with two of their friends Changbin and Hyunjin on a separate occasion. Although, they didn’t need to know that at all.

That being said, this takes the cake. You can’t even comprehend what Chan or Felix are like in bed but, the opportunity seemed too ridiculously hot to pass up.

“You...you want me to-“

“Like Channie said, if you want,” Lix assures you, interrupting your babbling.

You aren’t somewhat surprised that Felix would ever want a threesome. He’s had sexual partners here and there in the past, multiple ones at a time. However, Chan never struck you as the type to have sex with more than one person. Even after a year of living with him and getting to know him, he’s still pretty private and exclusive.

With the matter at hand and the more you think about the prospect in front of you, you aren’t opposed to the idea. So with your brain taking full control of your body, you hesitantly step over the discarded groceries lying on the ground. This is happening. Felix picks up on the right cue and extends his hand out to you as you take it gently.

He guides you over to the edge of the bed where Chan is still sitting, but as you’re led over, he rises to his feet. There were a few seconds where you’re a little bit bewildered by what’s going on, but when you look into Chan’s dark eyes and as he takes your free hand, you become more centred.

Before you know it, he leans down to kiss you and kisses you good. You’ve never felt anything like it and as Felix releases your hand and sneaks behind your body, your mind starts turning into jelly. He gently swipes your hair to the other side of your shoulder while his other hand freely roams around your waist, underneath your shirt to feel the heat of your skin. His mouth places chaste kisses from your shoulder up to your neck.

It feels so heavenly to be sandwiched between them; Felix kissing, biting softly over your skin while Chan continues to explore your mouth. It was impossible to think that just a few minutes ago, you were at the grocery store and now a complete world shift just seems to be occurring within that time frame.

Chan breaks away from you for a second, kissing you tenderly one last time before sitting back down on the bed and moving up to the headboard. God this is really happening. You’re too deep in it now to not follow him like a lost, yet obedient puppy. You can see that he’s hard and want to touch him so badly but-

“Sit between me and face towards Felix,” he instructs before you can even reach for him.

Your cheeks burn. While you have no idea what’s entirely in store, your body is getting excited and very obviously, so is Felix. He crawls over to you once you’re snug in between Chan’s legs before he tugs your shirt up from the hem and tosses it aside. Then, he finds your lips and kisses you until you have to silently beg and chase him for it.

Squirming in place, you feel hot and subjugated by Chan sitting behind you - snaking and trailing his hands around your now half-bare body, and Felix in front of him, who’s now gone on to give his supposed man some attention too.

He’s up on his knees with his body so close to you that you can feel the heat from him. Chan tilts his head up from resting on your shoulder and lets Felix take what he wants. The slick wet sounds of them both kissing along with the tiny moans you can feel in your ear, makes you shiver all over. You’re only still comprehending this all, that this is still actually happening.

“So needy,” Chan says as he breaks away from him, inches away from his face when Felix hears and feels you unbuckling his belt. He straightens back up and consumes how flustered you are, observing the way you blink up at him pleadingly, displaying how badly you want it now.

Felix smirks, gently grabbing your face with one hand and lowering down just enough to kiss you senseless again. But he cannot stray away from his other plans so frees himself from your lips to help slide your pants off down and discards them to the side.

Immediately, you can see where this is going.

“Aw, look how bad you want it,” Felix comments, swiping his thumb over the damp spot of your underwear with enough pressure for you to muffle a whine by biting down on your lip. You do want it bad and already seem to be losing a fight to the pleasure Felix is barely giving you.

“Don’t tease her too much,” Chan cautions.

Felix doesn’t seem to hear the warning for him as he helps you shimmy your underwear down. From there, Chan takes over. He hooks both of his legs over yours and separates them to not just expose you for Felix but to hold you down for what’s about to unfold.

Heat accelerates through your cheeks as you feel embarrassed. At this point, your brain hasn’t caught up with the fact that you never show this much skin, let alone any skin in front of either of them. But that was going to be an afterthought for you when Felix distracts your mind by gently prying your legs open from your bent knees.

Pathetic whimpers slip past your lips as Felix lies down on his stomach, his face inches away from your pussy while he pets and glides his two fingers in between your folds.

Your head shoots back onto Chan’s shoulder, very narrowly missing his face, “f-fuck…oh my god.”

Without warning, you feel the tip of Felix’s tongue lap a few times over your clit. If it weren’t for Chan acting as a human restraint to hold you down, there would’ve been a solid chance of you lurching forward. His arms are still wrapped around your abdomen, preventing you from moving forward so that you can take what Felix is giving you.

It’s cruel, but Chan thinks it’s necessary for you to feel everything. Which you do when your hands grip each of Chan’s thighs, nearly squashing him backwards between you and the wall.

“How does it feel?” he asks you.

“F-Felix, mmm-” you breathe out his name, unable to answer properly and feel some vibrations from Chan’s chest to suggest that he was chuckling. Mainly at the fact that you weren’t able to directly answer his question.

But it’s not long until the room quickly fills with your whimpers and moans mingled with the beautiful wet sounds as Felix keeps eating out your pussy. Tingly sensations spread like wildfire throughout every cell in your body from his mouth. It’s gradually becoming impracticable to keep up with his tongue. Not that you’ve ever imagined it before, but he does give good oral, good enough to put your breathing pace out of whack when he sucks on your clit.

He’s not afraid of enjoying himself either. You can hear and feel his moans reverberate throughout your lower half. It even adds to the sensation of bliss that’s forming a knot in the pit of your stomach. So even though you don’t know, this is as good for Felix as it is for you. To him, it’s like going to heaven.

What you also didn’t seem to know was when Chan unclasped your bra from behind your back and placed it to the side. His hands went from just holding you to now groping and playing with your tits as your body continued to melt into Felix’s mouth.

“You’re loud aren’t you?” Chan whispers in your ear, rolling both of your nipples in between his thumbs and fingers to make you mewl and squirm. The different methods of pleasure send interesting messages to your brain that only make that crest of ecstasy build higher.

You can only mewl until coherent words appear in his brain and out through his mouth, “s-sorry.”

Felix’s head game is so ridiculously mind-blowing that it makes you forget what language you speak.

Chan chuckles, purring into your ear, “don’t be sorry. You just can’t help it can you?”

His hand circles up to your jaw, tilting it towards his face. He confirms in his mind how much of a mess you are. Cheeks stained pink with a fucked up expression that reads ‘I need more’, to which Chan reaches down and kisses you, sloppy and lazy.

The velvety feel of your mouth when you open up more is slick with warmth. It’s starting to become more obvious how close you are when you start moaning repeatedly into Chan’s mouth.

“I’m going to fuck you after this,” he breaks away, just inches from his lips again.

You never would’ve guessed that Chan was even capable of forming such a dirty sentence. Then again, you never would’ve guessed that you would ever be in the position that you’re in now - having a threesome with your two housemates.

“I’m…you’re gonna make me cum,” you sob, turning your head towards Chan on his shoulder, almost as if you were trying to escape the expansion of euphoria. He couldn’t help but kiss your forehead, waiting for you to brace for that wave.

“Yeah?” Chan rouses. “Want to cum for us baby girl?”

You nod, too helpless to form an answer when you’re on the cusp of a forceful orgasm. He underestimated the strength he needed to hold you down, especially when you’re about to cum. So just when he needed to add more force, your body stiffens. Your legs so desperately crave to clamp around Felix’s head to help triage the pleasure, but it’s no use when Chan has you completely locked in.

Your eyelids flutter, head pressing back further into Chan’s shoulder, “yes! I’m cumming!”

With ragged, heavy breathing, the all-consuming pleasure takes you by the throat as the pleasure surges without control. Even though you’re being held down, it doesn’t stop your body from quivering. It lasts for what feels like an entire minute – one of the best orgasms you think you’ve ever experienced.

Felix’s tongue slows down to a snail's pace, licking a few final stripes before kissing his way up your body, from your clit, abdomen, and then up to the base of your throat. His chin glistens as he adorns a smug smile.

“Fuck…” you sigh out defeatedly, the aftermath of experiencing a volume of pleasure was starting to take its toll. “Oh my god.”

Chan kisses the side of your head, “sound so beautiful when you cum. Lix, switch with me so I can fuck her, yeah?”

“Wait-“ you pause, trying to reorient yourself as you hold onto Chan’s forearm for support. “I wanna ride you.”

Felix looks down at you, “you sure angel? Channie isn’t exactly small.”

From that statement alone, it was obvious to you that Felix was speaking from experience, a strong indication that they had in fact mucked around at least once in the past if not multiple times. But it didn’t matter if Chan or Felix for that matter was packing twelve inches, you needed to have something inside you to tame that need of feeling full.

“I want to ride you-“ you nod to Chan – “but I want you to fuck me at the same time-“ you indicate towards Felix.

Neither of them expected you to be into that. Then again, they didn’t necessarily expect you to join them in bed either so anything was a surprise to them at this point. Chan and Felix can’t deny how insanely hot it is to hear you not only ask for them to do something but specifically ask you to do that.

“Are you sure baby?” Chan has to ask you for assurance.

“I can…I can take both of you.”

Still stunned at your answer, Felix ushers to Chan, “you heard her.”

He cannot lie and say that he’s not excited, because he is – they both are. So while Felix goes into the bedside table for a condom and lube, you move yourself off of Chan, turn around and start unbuckling his belt and helping him take his jeans off, almost like you’re in a rush. The imprint of his hard dick is enough to make your mouth water, and as Felix said, Chan definitely isn’t small.

“Easy, I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, reorienting himself on the bed so that his head is on the pillow.

Felix returns with the items he needs to help prep you, taking it as a sign to straddle over Chan’s legs and slowly tug his black boxers down. His cock springs onto his abdomen, the dark pink tip reaching just under his belly button. He had to be at least eight inches. Maybe just under, just.

“Ready angel?” Felix asks, kneeling behind you as you straddle Chan. The position would allow you to not only ride Chan but to take Felix from behind too, a dream so delicious that you can’t help but wonder how it was still all possible.

“Yes,” you mutter.

“Okay then,” he replies.

Chan then holds the base of his cock steady for you, watching you slowly take those eight inches. The tip of his dick gently slots into your pussy, taking your time with sinking down. The warm heat engulfs his length, already sending shockwaves throughout his lower half.

“That’s it, baby,” Chan says encouragingly, his fingertips delicately massaging over the skin of your things. “Good girl.”

You bite down on your bottom lip at the extraordinary stretch. In the meantime, Felix squirts a dollop of the lube onto his fingers to warm it up a bit before applying it to your hole.

He thumbs over it, sending shivers up your spine. It’s vital to him to make sure that you’re prepped well for him to fuck your ass. So he starts small by slowly inserting the tip of his finger, before gradually using slow yet long strokes, enough to make your head loll back.

Felix has to express in awe when he sees the result of your efforts to fully envelope Chan’s length, “look at that. You took all of him, angel.”

You know very well that you have because you can feel him in places that other men in your past haven’t reached. The stretch still sings a bit but it could easily be confused with the gorgeous satisfaction of Chan filling you right out.

“So…big,” you strain out, scratching your nails down Chan’s abdomen, almost like a cat, just not as painful.

Meanwhile, as Felix has slowly been stretching your hole out with his fingers, he uses his teeth and his free hand to peel the foil back of the condom packet. He had already freed himself from his jeans when he went to reach for the lube beside the bed so was hard and ready to roll the condom down his cock.

“M’ready Lix,” you say to him, unable to see the smile you brought to his face from how eager you are.

“I know baby, just one second,” he replies before aligning his cock with your hole.

Very carefully and slowly, he starts pushing his tip in. Your eyes flutter shut, steadying your breathing in the process in preparation to take all of him as well. Chan rubs up and down your arm, distracting you from the temporary sting. With the lube doing its job, Felix can continue to push in at a leisurely pace right until he has the majority of his cock wrapped up by you.

“Doing so well Y/N,” Chan says reassuringly. “Just stay like this for a bit until you’re ready to move yeah?”

You nod, allowing your body and muscles to relax and ease into the pleasure that’s starting to fade out the burn. It’s difficult to comprehend a fuller feeling than this; to have two cocks stuffed in you to the hilt, and after a few moments of getting used to it, you slowly start to move.

“Mmm, yes fuck,” you sigh with satisfaction, using your hands on Chan’s abdomen to steady your body as you being to move your hips. “You both…feel so fucking good inside me.”

Your words were difficult for Felix to not listen to who was trying to ward off from thrusting for a little bit until you were comfortable with him starting to fuck you. It wasn’t until your movements became a bit quicker that he began to catch up to your pace. Very quickly did the room turn into a space brimming with moans, wet sounds, and the sound of skin slapping. It was plenty to add to the intense sensation you were hurtling towards.

Chan’s eyes are fixated on watching your pussy swallow his cock with every long stroke you take on him, “oh my god.”

With his tank top still on, Chan lifts it by the hem and holds onto it with his teeth. It wasn’t just to make sure that your hands weren’t going to be slipping on him as you use his abdomen to support yourself when you rock down, but it was also to restrict a whole bunch of moans that were about to rip through his chest. But even that couldn’t put a lid on the groans and growls rumbling from him.

“Taking us both so well angel,” Felix says exasperatedly in your ear.

His deep yet velvety voice has you leaning back slightly so that half of your back is pressed against his chest. With the help of you turning your head towards his face, Felix’s mouth crashes onto yours, almost tasting the remnants of yourself from before. He kisses you passionately, moaning into your mouth like he’s going to die if he doesn’t.

“Fucking perfect,” he growls, diverging from your mouth to dive into your neck to suck a few hickies in and groping your tits from behind. “Can’t get enough of you dammit.”

You sob out as he pinches your nipples, but also when Chan reaches down to your pussy, finds your clit and begins to rub in perfect motions, “god – fuck, I can’t…s’too much!”

Their cocks hit spots so phenomenally that each time they stroke over them, your holes involuntarily clench around them. Not to mention the total stimulation they were feeding you.

Felix’s hips haven’t faltered since they started pumping forward into your ass. The upward curvature of his cock seemed to be scratching the part of your brain that is responsible for making your eyes roll back. Chan’s dick on the other hand had you shaking. The length and girth were sickeningly satisfying.

“Not gonna last,” you whine, still keeping up the same pace when you rock down on Chan and feel Felix continue to thrust in and out. “So close…”

The hem of Chan’s shirt is long gone from his mouth, already given up on trying to suppress whatever was going to come out, “gonna cum for us again, huh? Such a good girl, taking us both at the same time.”

Chan couldn’t lie either, but he was close a long time ago, probably the second you decided that you wanted to ride him. Felix happened to be on the same page. He couldn’t get over this entire situation, finding it so fucking hot that even just a dream of it would be a blessing.

Words start to slip away from your brain once more. Aside from your orgasm swimming towards an astronomical high, you try to cling to that amazing feeling before it eventually disappears. But all good things come to an end. Your nails dig into Chan’s thighs while Felix has one arm barred just under your chest as the other hand doesn’t let up on your nipple. It throws your pace off balance and staggers your breathing when you start reaching that very pinnacle of euphoria.

“Yes! Fuck, I’m cumming!” You scream out.

Your thighs clamp around the frame of Chan’s lower half, shaking and shivering in place as the pleasure reaches its apex. Felix didn’t let up on his pace, fucking you all through your orgasm as Chan replaces your motions by fucking upwards and into you. Both of your holes spasm and contract around their dicks, enough to actually make them cum by the time you’ve reached the height of your orgasm.

“I’m gonna cum, holy fuck, s’too good,” Felix’s head rests on your back, watching his cock disappear in and out of you before he starts to bust inside of the condom. His fingernails brutally dig into your hips when he cums.

Your moans easily fill up the room once more now that you have no choice but to succumb to the euphoria when your orgasm hits its hardest. Chan’s head tips back further into the pillow, eyes screwed tight shut as he’s hit with a tsunami of pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he exclaims loudly, his chest heaving up and down as he spills inside of you. He’s lucky that he did because as the pleasure reached a point where it was too much for you to bear, you slowly lean forward towards Chan, their cocks sliding out of you in the process.

On each exhale your body shudders, like the surges of aftershocks while the pleasure slowly plateaus. From this angle, Felix can still see you contracting, watching Chan’s cum leak from your pussy. If he wasn’t so fucked out, he would’ve had the energy to eat you out again.

In saying that, he is the first to recover and come to his senses a bit faster than either you or Chan. He takes the condom off, ties it, and discards it in the rubbish bin in the corner of the room before putting his boxers back on. Meanwhile, you’re still panting trying to catch your breath, resting on top of Chan’s body, you feel his hand run soothingly up and down your spine.

“Such a good girl for us,” he says caringly. “Felt so good.”

Felix sits beside you both at the top of the bed. He cards a gentle hand through your hair, observing your distant expression, “you there baby?”

You blink up at him and nod, your brain still trying to process that sort of orgasm.

“When you’re ready, we’ll get you cleaned up yeah?” He smiles softly down at you.

As the minutes ticked by, Felix lent you a helping hand to stand up when you were ready. Even though you were wobbly on your feet, he still guided you to the bathroom and ran a nice hot shower. Both Felix and Chan joined you in a bid to make sure you knew that they were there, dousing you with as much praise as an individual could get – and they meant every word.

When you were ready to hop out, Chan fetched you one of his warm jerseys and placed it straight over your body before telling you to hop in his bed while he went to gather up the towels and clothes from the bathroom. Just as he was picking up the last items, Felix caught him right as he was about to walk out.

“She okay?” Chan asks him.

Felix nods reassuringly, “out like a light.”

“Alright then,” he sighs contently. “She’ll probably be asleep for the rest of the day.”

“Mm,” he hums, staring at a space just to the side of Chan who picks up on the subtle behaviour.

“Is there something wrong?” Chan asks as a slight concern balloons in his chest.

“When are you going to tell her?” Felix asks.

Chan stares at him, trying to figure out what he means, “tell her what?”

He rolls his eyes and chuckles, “that you like her, idiot. That we like her.”

That had been a distant thought for Chan for some time. The possibility of that ever working out between the three of you seemed like a long shot. You only all slept together. There was no depth to it other than that even though deep down, Chan would’ve liked it to be for the sole purpose that he likes you. But it’s not just him.

It’s also the one standing at the doorframe, staring right back at Chan; Felix.

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