Tumgik
#nct drabble
lucyandthepen · 7 months
Text
salted caramel | lmh ( m )
Tumblr media Tumblr media
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)!
Tumblr media
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.
Tumblr media
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.
Tumblr media
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.”
4K notes · View notes
ohmygs-blog · 2 months
Note
hiii could you possibly do a dreamies text with the old tiktok trend that was like would you rather kiss me for $1 or someone else for $1000 if not that’s okay! i love all your posts btw <3
Tumblr media
“would you rather kiss me or…”
thank u hope u like <3 (wrote this in between getting ready for work lol so it prob not the best)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
715 notes · View notes
twilghtkoo · 8 months
Note
hello i absolutely love your works! can i please kindly request a haechan drabble with this prompt 🥺 no pressure! thank you and stay safe! 🩷
Tumblr media
pairings. streamer!haechan x streamer!reader (f)
genre. fluff, established relationship
warnings. gamer!haechan, short drabble :/
notes. LOVE THIS ANON *starts smashing keyboard*
[ masterlist | haechan masterlist ]
-
"chat, i cannot express this enough, but do not date a gamer. okay?" you joke facing the camera, as your gamer boyfriend is tugging your arm with light force.
he had walked into your streaming room, knowing you were streaming tonight. when you both are streaming it's an unspoken rule to not bother each other, but neither of you get upset if one walks in just to greet each other or to give a kiss goodbye if one of you are leaving the house.
but that's not the case right now, because haechan walked in with an empty stomach and asking when you were going to cook dinner.
your stream chat was going crazy when they saw your boyfriend walk into your room behind you.
haechan scoffs behind you, chuckling. "yah, what do you mean?"
you burst out laughing, his grip on your forearm loosening but you link your fingers with his before he drops his hand.
"i'm almost done, i'll end the stream in about an hour and i'll cook. what do you feel like eating?" you look up at him from your chair.
he ponders a bit before answering he wants spam fried rice.
"ok, sounds good. can you make the rice, can you at least do that?" you ask him with raised eyebrows.
he sucks his teeth, nudging you with the hand that's holding yours. "of course i can."
he leans down to show his face to your camera. "hi chat, be nice to my baby, my love, my little chef, my- ow!" he hisses, rubbing the top of his head where you smacked him.
"okay, okay, i'm going, but one more thing..." he smiles.
you huff out of slight annoyance, but it's all love. and he knows that.
"yes, hyuck?"
"do you know how to whistle?"
you tilt your head, confused at the random question. "i feel like i showed you i can't, look." and then you pucker your lips out and you attempt to blow out air to whistle but haechan's lips are on yours in a matter of seconds then he runs out your room giggling.
you blink, slowly turning your head to stare at your monitor and glancing at the chat.
you let out a breathy laugh, ignoring how red your cheeks look on camera. "like i said, don't date gamers kids."
user haechan is an exception !!
user LMAO mans got rizz
you nod slowly, grinning. "yes, haechan is an exception."
776 notes · View notes
its-not-sof · 1 year
Text
12:37am
jaemin smut + fluff
Tumblr media
“What? Does that feel good?”
You squirmed under Jaemin’s sensual gaze. He smiled as his fingers continued to lightly stroke your inner thighs, creeping agonizingly slowly to where you wanted him most.
He had been teasing you all night, painstakingly exploring and massaging every inch of your body, searching for the places that made you shiver and sigh and beg for him.
“Tell me what you need, pretty girl…” he murmured, enticing a needy whimper from your lips.
“Please, touch me,” you whispered. Jaemin smirked, pleased at your eagerness to follow his directions.
“I’ve been touching you all night, where do you want me now?”
His fingers ghosted across your covered core, gently circling your sensitive bud before pulling back.
“Here?” He murmured, hovering just millimeters from your entrance.
You gasped and nodded quickly, lifting your hips to meet his fingers, longing for the suddenly lost friction.
“Use your words, baby,” Jaemin whispered, leaning in close to press his lips to your neck.
“Jaemin, please, r-right there…” you mumbled, slipping your fingers in his soft hair, keeping him close. You could feel him smile against your skin.
“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” He teased, returning his fingers to your waiting heat.
His long fingers rubbed against you before slipping underneath your soaked panties to make contact with your dripping entrance. It didn’t take him long to find your swollen bud and swiftly start to tease out of you a breathless moan.
His mouth began to suck on your exposed neck, soothing the raw, bruised skin with the tip of his tongue before slipping steadily downward. Jaemin slowly pressed hot kisses down your chest, hands reaching behind you to unclip your bra and shed you of your restrictive garments.
Your nipples hardened in the cool night air, already stiff with arousal at Jaemin’s teasing earlier. Your boyfriend wasted no time in relishing each with attention, his plush lips sucking and nipping at your breasts, his fingers reaching up to tug at the right side while his mouth pleasured the left.
His talented mouth pulled another, slightly higher-pitched moan from your parted lips.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, trailing his soft kisses down your stomach and stopping right before your dripping cunt.
You shifted your hips again, longing for him to continue. Big brown eyes looked up at you, lidded with desire but still full of devilish joy.
He never broke eye contact with you as he began to suck at your inner thighs again, biting and nipping the soft flesh until you felt like you could scream.
“J-Jaemin, please don’t tease,” you moaned, breathless and blushing with unbridled arousal.
“You know I always take care of you, Y/N…” he murmured, quickly flicking his tongue across your clit before pulling away again.
“N-No,” you practically sobbed as he positioned your thighs over his broad shoulders. “Please, please…”
Jaemin smirked before diving into your aching core with reckless abandon.
His pouted lips closed around your sensitive peak, sucking hard enough to make your vision blur before alternating in soft, fluttering licks that made you buck your hips up off the mattress.
“J-Jaemin, oh god…” you moaned loudly, unable to swallow your cries of pleasure as his talented tongue worked over your core.
“I-I’m gonna, I’m—“ you cried out as your orgasm ripped through your body, pulsating around Jaemin’s tongue. He showed no signs of stopping as he continued to stimulate you through your high.
You tried to pull away as the sensations became too strong, but he held your thighs closer and kept up his pace.
“J-Jaemin, too much, I can’t—“
“You can take it, pretty girl. Just one more, okay?”
Soon, you felt a pleasurable knot start to form again in your stomach, desperate to release with each flutter of his wet muscle.
Your breathing became ragged as you chased your second high on his face. You shuddered again and Jaemin smiled as you fell limp in his arms, your chest still heaving with each labored breath.
“Good girl,” he murmured, massaging your thighs and leaning up to place a chaste kiss on your forehead. You wrapped your arms around his back to keep him close to you.
“I love you. So, so much,” you whispered, holding him tightly. Jaemin smiled.
“I love you too, sweet girl.”
Jaemin leaned in and kissed you, hard and passionate before gazing at you with a handsome smirk.
“Think you can do one more for me?”
1K notes · View notes
neoculturecollectives · 3 months
Text
Break Me In (M)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
bratty sub leaning switch!Hyuck x dom leaning switch fem!reader
Summary: Loving healthy relationship x Hyuck because I'm so soft for him tonight 🥹
Word Count: Idk like??? more than a hundred but definitely nowhere near a million 😗
Warnings: couples banter, chaotic lovey dovey foolishness, domestic? idk, anal play, anal penetration, handjob, overstimulation, begging, dacryphilia (really love that the word "cry" is snuggled up in there), spitting, face slapping, Hyuck is a sadistic lil shit but he's in love
Author's Note: @calibabii21 this is your fault @ddeonghwassimp... sir you threatened to slap me so I decided to slap you first hehe 🤓 @multifandomslxt I hope you saved room for seconds hehe 🤭
This is a comeback? Idk we'll see. As always, feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated and a deep thank you to those of you who do!
Tumblr media
gives you the sweetest gazes like just desert oasis serenity type sweet he's in love!!
"I have an ache... in a very particular spot and only a kiss will fix it."
"Dude, you're wording."
"Kiss the boo-boo my on my lip, geez."
he's shown you evil in its truest form aka he's completely comfortable with you now and is unhinged 25/8
if I got stung by a jellyfish, would you piss on me to save my life?"
"You wouldn't die though?"
"Okay well let's say it was deadly, would you piss on me?"
"This is a trick question. if I say 'yes' you'll accuse me of having a piss kink then proceed to kink shame me. if I say 'no' then you'll say I'm your biggest hater and I'd love watching you die."
"if a rattlesnake bit my dick would you suck the venom out to save my life?"
"Yes, of course"
"come show me how you'd do it"
proceeds to face fuck you very lovingly
he likes domming you almost as much as he likes subbing for you
"Please, Goddess! Oh fuck- please!"
"Tell me exactly what you want."
"Use me... please."
Finally you're both just unhinged 25/8 together
"I am just a hole ma'am."
"You're finally gonna let me use my toy on you?"
Hyuckie nods slowly, "Be gentle. It's my first time."
You laugh and lean down to kiss him, "Shut up."
Hyuck's confidence wavers for a second, "No, I'm serious. I've never done this before and I'm nervous so be nice to me," he says, eyes searching yours for reassurance. You touch his face and he leans into your touch.
"The woman was too stunned to speak," Hyuck chuckles softly, "Yes, there are things even I haven't tried."
You smile at him, "And that's okay, Hyuckie. Don't worry, I'm not revoking your whore badge." Hyuck clutches his chest, "Oh thank God. I'm nothing without my whore badge."
You both laugh and Hyuck shifts to roll over onto his side, "I did something... to make your job easier because I'm a good boy and I exist only to please you."
"Bullshit," You say with a snort, "Whatever you did was because you just wanna be fucked sooner. I'm not letting you keep that whore badge for nothing."
"Yes, I did this for us but... you were on my mind while I was doing it... the whole time."
"Doing what?"
Hyuck shifts himself onto his knees with his face down and his ass up, "Shut up and find out. I did my waiting..."
"Twelve years of it!... In Azkaban!" You both say in unison. Hyuck gives you a soft and giddy laugh and you slap his clothed ass which make him whine.
"Love you, Goddess."
You slowly pull down his pajama bottoms, "Love you too, pretty boy," You say, pressing a kiss to the heated skin of his exposed lower back. Easing back to have a look at his ass, you hum softy and spread his cheeks.
"Such a pretty plug, Hyuckie," You tell him.
"Oh, so I'm face down, ass up and you're gonna compliment the fucking plug? Like I'm the accessory? Tell me I have a pretty asshole you bitch I waxed it for you! Okay?!" Hyuck yells peevishly as he wiggles his ass at you.
You land a slap to one cheek then the other, "Who the fuck are you talking to like that?" You ask him shortly and he giggles like the audacious whore that he is- the part of himself that he couldn't hide even if he had the strength of a million galaxies.
"Can you tell me I have a pretty asshole? Please? My bussy has been through a lot," he chortles.
"If you say 'bussy' one more time, I'm pulling your pants back up and I'm letting myself out. Okay?" You threaten him as you fight back laughter.
"Yes, pretty mama... I'll be a good boy now... I am dying for the compliment though... I've been so excited to show you," he whispers shyly. You touch the pink gem on the end of the plug and smile.
"I can't really see how pretty your asshole looks with this plug in the way. I'm gonna take it out, okay?" You say slowly.
Hyuck gasps and wriggles desperately, "Yes, fuck- yeah... please, mommy... please."
You slowly pull the plug out as he whines wantonly and clenches around the plug as you continue easing it out of him. Once it's out, you toss it aside and watch his hole clench needily in an attempt to feel something again.
"This is such a pretty hole, Hyuckie, did you pretty yourself up for me?" You ask him warmly. You bring a finger up to trace the loosened ring of muscle and he moans louder and more feverishly. You can hear his clarity slipping away with each frantic moan and you know that you've got him right where you want him.
"Yeah, mommy... yeah... wanted you to have... a pretty hole to play with and fuck... wanna be... your fuck hole... Just... a hole for you. Break me in. Please, mommy, break me in," he pleads softly, breath barely staying in his lungs long enough for him to say it all in one go. You spit on his hole and he whines desperately, wincing as your finger circles the clenching ring of muscle before pushing into him.
"Mommy, fuck me... oh God, I- use the toy please... Wanna be stuffed so bad... need you to fill me up... I'm- I- Fuck!" he sobs. You reach for the lube with your free hand and pop the cap open. He sniffles softly as he waits.
"Hyuckie, are you crying?" You ask incredulously as you shift yourself to look at him.
"Yeah and it'd be a shame if you decided to play on my vulnerability by humiliating me and insulting my masculinity," he shoots back with a wavering voice.
You slick up his hole and press a kiss to his lower back, "So you're one of those little perverts who gets off on being degraded? Really, Hyuck? That's so on brand for you."
"Okay and when I said that after you asked me to pinch your nose while I was fucking your throat, you wanted to be a crybaby about it."
You shove him over onto his sidd, "I'm playing along, numbnuts," You reply slowly, forcing him onto his back and reaching for your toy.
"Okay and I'm a very fragile boy!"
"You initiated the degradation!"
"Bitch, what does A have to do with B? God, this woman is a- would you just fuck me already?"
Hyuck bursts out laughing and covers his eyes with his arms. You you join in, "Just realized my point, Hyuckie?" You ask him smugly as you coat the dildo with lube. He nods, arms still thrown over his face.
You take this opportunity to get Hyuck out of his own head, "Took you so long to understand that, Hyuckie... Why are you so stupid?" You stare at Hyuck's cock as it lays thick and heavy against his lower stomach, twitching and leaking. You bring a slicked hand out to stroke him slowly.
"If you're gonna call me stupid, say it like you mean it," he says as he moves his arms down and his eyes immediately find yours.
You both stare each other down and Hyuck's wild eyes are all the proof you need that he's anticipating your next move.
"I was supposed to hit you, wasn't I?" You ask him with a bored expression.
"Uh huh... lick your hand before you do it though. I saw this guy do it in a video once and I thought it was so fuckin' hot," he breathes as his cheeks burn red.
You cackle, "You mean the video of that dude in the fucking diner?"
"Does it matter?" Hyuck yells impatiently.
"Yes!" You laugh wildly, head falling back.
"Okay fine yeah that video- he's fucking hot so laugh all you want. I'm not the only person who wants him. One thing about that guy? He's making a lot of people learn something new about themselves. I know I did. He's changing lives," Hyuck scoffs, hips bucking as you keep stroking him
You love this flow with him, how easy it is to be alive with him and to be bonded as best friends and lovers.
"You're right," You giggle.
"Fuck... I may tell a joke but I'll never... tell a lie," he pants.
"All you do is lie," You scoff.
"And all you do is edge me- would you just lick your fucking hand and slap me already? I'm fucking gasping for it, oh my God," Hyuck rambles needily.
You lick your hand from your lower palm all the way up to your finger tips then slap Hyuck across his cheek. His cock twitches in your hand as you keep jerking him off, "Harder," he whispers stupidly, "Lick your hand again and then do it again harder... please."
Hyuck's pupils are blown and the dear-in-headlights expression on his pretty face almost melts you.
You lick your hand again and draw back before slapping Hyuck a little harder.
"Harder, mommy... please," he whines.
"Harder? Hyuck, are you sure?"
"Am I your bitch?"
"Yeah, you are."
"Then fucking hit me like I am. Hit me so hard that I never forget who owns me," Hyuck begs as hid hips gyrate in rhythm with your hand. You lick your hand once more and draw back, this time slapping Hyuck's cheek so hard that he cums with a whine. His cheek glows redder with each passing second and he smiles.
"You came already... fucking pathetic. I hope your ass is more fun than your cock... such a shame how pretty your cock is since you don't use it very well," You say with mock boredom, eyes trained on Hyuck's as you slowly push the toy into his needy hole.
"Mommy... mommy, fuck! Fuck me... oh God, yes," he groans desperately, hands coming up to push his hair away from his teary eyes. The sounds of you fucking the toy into his ass mixed with his whining is a beautiful song and you watch him writhe as you continue your attack on his ass.
"Love it, mommy..."
"Love what?"
"Love having my ass full... Always wanted to... feel your toy in my ass... Take it... please," he whimpers as you speed up a little.
You smile as you watch him fall apart as he fights to keep a second orgasm at bay, "You're a cock slut, Hyuckie?"
"Mhm... yeah... love being stuffed with cock... so fucking good. Break me, Goddess... Wanna think about you every time I sit down," he cries out, tears spilling down the sides of his face, "Want you to break me."
You bury the toy up to the hilt inside him and he screams. He sounds like such a whore and you love that.
"Goddess, I- ohmyGod, ohmyGod, ohmyG- shit! Ah, ah, shit! Goddess, please!" he screams as one hand comes up to fist at his hair and the other circles around his own neck.
"Are you choking yourself right now?" You ask as you try so hard to shame him for his desperation but it's so hot and you struggle to keep your composure.
"You don't... you... fuck, d- you could never have enough hands to do everything I want... Never," Hyuck strains as he tightens his hand around his throat.
You look down at the way the dildo stretches him then you look back at the enraptured expression on his face, "You sound like such a fucking whore."
He moans uncontrollably, "I am! Oh fuck! I am, I am, I am... I- I- oh, fuck me harder... please... please, mommy."
You give him exactly what he wants and he cries out again.
"Say it then, Hyuckie," You egg him on, "Tell me you're a whore."
Hyuck heaves as your hand stills around his cock and you admire how the tip of cock is a deeper shade of red on his flushed cheeks.
"M'a whore... I'm a... oh my God," he pants; you begin stroking him again and he whines, "Feels so fucking good... love being mommy's whore... M'just a hole for you, mommy. Just a hole."
You watch him tighten the grip around his neck a little more before spilling a very broken moan past his puffy lips, "Such a good little boy, Hyuckie," You praise him softly; your eyes finding his.
A chill tears through his body, "Yeah? M'a good boy?" he asks as more tears slide down the side of his head, pride shining through in his teary eyes.
"The best... the best boy with the prettiest cock."
"Wha- what about my ass?"
You laugh, "You want me to tell you how much I love your ass?"
"Please, mommy."
You smile, "This ass... hm... what can I say about it, Hyuckie? It's just so perfect," You hum as you fuck the toy into him even harder. He cries when you hit his prostate, "M- m- mommy!"
"You have the prettiest ass with the prettiest hole. It was made for this, baby. Made to be fucked and stretched and... y'know what? Face down, ass up. Right now, move," You order him.
He sits up shakily and when he does, you move closer to him and he shivers again. Gripping him by the hair at the back of his head, you drag your tongue over his lips, past the corner of his mouth, up his cheek, and across his cheekbone.
"You're so fucking hot," he breathes dreamily, eyes twinkling with adoration.
You tug his hair to pull his head back, "Tongue out."
Hyuckie holds his tongue out with a whiney "ah" and you spit on his tongue. He swallows it and holds his tongue back out for more. You indulge him and he hums greedily as he swallows again. You use his hair to pull him up to his knees, "Face down, ass up."
Hyuckie positions himself with his ass in the air and his face pressed left side down on the mattress. He swallows and you watch his asshole clench.
You decide to indulge him once more and you slap his ass harshly.
"Thank you, Goddess..." he whimpers.
You smile again and get back to fucking into him, hitting his prostate relentlessly. He cries softly and grips at the sheets, soft sobs ripping through his body as he takes each collision with unwavering determination.
"You like how I'm fucking you, baby?" You ask him playfully.
"Y- ye- y- mm- mmm... yes, Go-ddess," he groans wantonly, hands clenching and unclenching fistfulls of sheets. You rest a hand against the damp skin of his lower back and steady him. Speeding up, you pull a scream so helpless and pathetic out of him that you come to a halt in fear that you've gone too far.
"I- I- please! I'll die! I'll fucking die, Y/n, please don't stop- I'll die," he pleads. You chuckle and give him what he needs.
He thrashes and groans brokenly, body too overstimulated to be coordinated and you just keep letting him have it.
"Gonna cum... gonna cum..." he whimpers as his body threatens to fall over but he holds on and lets you have your way with him.
"I'm aiming for three tonight so be my guest," You coo at him as your free hand reaches down to softly fondle his balls.
"Why not just make it an even four?" he says slowly; slivers of his petulance shining through even in the befuddled state he's in.
"Don't let your mouth write a check your ass can't cash, Donghyuck."
Hyuckie chuckles weakly, "I think I've proven just how much my ass can take... Do your worst."
Tumblr media
309 notes · View notes
haespoir · 9 months
Text
try again: ldh.
never not, pt 2!
⨯ pairing: ex!haechan x reader
⨯ word count: 1.4k 
⨯ summary: sleeping with your ex wasn't the best idea when you're too much of a coward to face him after. thankfully, haechan's anger seems to be enough courage for the both of you.
⨯ warnings: uhmmm no content warnings that i can think of... fluff n angst is all i've got.. haechan is desperate and reader gives in easily... just like me fr
⨯ playlist: try again, jaehyun / clementine, grantperez / wayo, bang yedam / universe, thuy 
⨯ extra content: part one
⨯ a/n: finally... part two is here!!! i hope you guys enjoy it.. i wanted to include more angst... but i couldn't do it. feedback is always greatly appreciated 🩵
. . .
Waking up to an empty bed has Haechan livid, like absolutely enraged. No one could calm the male down, not that they even wanted to try. It was an unspoken rule to just let Haechan feel his emotions; the male felt everything so intensely that it was useless to even attempt to help. 
He couldn’t believe it. If there weren’t bruises scattered along his neck, he would have believed it was some horribly fucked up dream. It was so cruel of you to leave him like this. Even if he had more than a few drinks the night before, he was honest and true in his intentions of wanting to talk. Maybe somewhere along the way the execution was messed up, but he was determined. 
Which is why he gives himself time to cool off. Barging into your apartment when he was seeing red was not a wise decision, he knew that much at least. Haechan was not the same immature kid he was when you guys began dating, and he wanted to prove that to you. 
He did. 
He really did. 
But old habits die hard. 
haechan [1:05 pm]: i gave you three hours since i’ve woken up  haechan [1:05 pm]: answer the damn phone  haechan [1:05 pm]: you’re not getting off the hook that easily haechan [1:30 pm]: don’t leave me on read  haechan [1:30 pm]: i know where you live  you [1:31 pm]: is that a threat?  haechan [1:32 pm]: it doesn’t have to be  haechan [1:32 pm]: talk to me haechan [1:32 pm]: please  you [1:36 pm]: tomorrow  haechan [1:39 pm]: not a fucking chance  haechan [1:40 pm]: i'm coming over you [1:50 pm]: the code is the same
You weren’t sure how you were going to prepare for this one. The walk of shame out of Haechan’s room was already enough emotional torment for the day. You weren’t ready to face him. You couldn’t think of a single excuse, and you knew Haechan was ready to eat you alive. 
Before you can even stop it, the tears begin to pool. You don’t even attempt to fight it as you sit on your couch, the tears rapidly decorating your cheeks. How did you tell your first love that you were a coward? How did you tell him that you loved him so intensely it scared you? At some point during your first year of college, you had begun to spiral when every icebreaker in a class involved Haechan. 
What do you like doing? 
Hmm, you usually watched your boyfriend's game with his friends.
Who’s your closest friend? 
Oh easy, Haechan. 
Girls night? 
Sorry, you were hanging out with Haechan. 
Being so dependent on him was terrifying, but you knew that you couldn’t stop. So you had to cut him off; there were probably better ways to go about it, but you didn’t give it much thought. 
It was so unfair to him. 
You can’t even begin to fall down that rabbit hole because there’s a sudden pressure on the couch next to you. Haechan was faster than you thought; in fact, it was probably a record speed for Haechan to arrive somewhere. He was someone who enjoyed being fashionably late, anything to make a grand entrance. However, for once, he decides to enter quietly. After all, the fact that the code to your apartment was still his birthday was something that he hoped had more meaning than just being a memorable set of numbers. 
“Why are you crying?” You flinch visibly at his tone. You remind yourself that you did this to yourself. Haechan had months of pent-up frustration, and you were prepared to take the entire thing. 
That was a lie, by the way. 
Because you can’t even bring yourself to look at him. “Do you want a snack? I bought some clementines recently.” You’re deflecting; you both know it. Without giving him a chance to even reply, you rush to the kitchenette in your studio apartment. Once you’re far enough, you steal a glance at Haechan. 
Seeing him spread on your couch like that squeezed your heart in ways you could not describe. He looked like he belonged there, like there was no place in the world better than your couch in your small apartment for him to be. Even now when you feared that this would turn into a screaming match and that you both would be left with a hurting heart once again, you knew that you would always love the man who sat in your living room. 
He was your universe, your everything. The fact that two years had gone by did not change the connection between you two. It was like you had never left his side; you were his perfect puzzle piece. 
And you prayed, as you gathered a few clementines and a plate, that you hadn’t ruined it completely. 
Once you’re seated next to him again, you allow yourself the small distraction of peeling the citrus for him. Without realizing it, you’re both sitting in silence; you’re peeling the small fruit and handing each piece to Haechan. It’s like you’ve fallen into a familiar routine. He takes each piece of fruit without much thought, savoring the tart flavor. He swears it tastes best when you’re peeling it for him, even going as far as to remove the pith for him. He always complained that the small strings were too bitter. Someone as sweet as him shouldn’t be eating it, you used to say. 
Unknowingly, Haechan’s anger seems to disappear as the nostalgia creeping through his body appears. After all, he was always him when he was with you. 
“Why did you do it?” His voice is small when he speaks as if eating had drained him of all the anger coursing through his veins. 
“I had to. You consumed my every waking thought,” you reply, feeling the tears beginning to well up. “It’s such a shitty excuse, I know. But I should not be in my general ed classes thinking of marrying my high school sweetheart.” Your attempt at a joke is poor because it’s true. That was something you both knew; there were many nights where you two had laid in his bed, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders as you discussed married life. 
But when you realized just how deep you were, you became scared. Terrified. It was so overwhelming to be in love with someone like Donghyuck. The fear of the unknown had beaten you down. 
“That’s so unfair, and you know it,” he says in disbelief. So he was right last night. “I had spent so many months thinking I did something wrong; that there was something wrong with me. You made me think I was unlovable.” 
Your heart breaks into a million pieces at his words. Had you done that to him? How could he even look at you right now? 
“Oh, Hyuck,” you sniffled, letting his nickname slip into your vocabulary as if it had never left. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Your hands are cupping his face, wiping the tears that spilled from his eyes. Your fingers smelled of citrus as you wiped his tears. At that moment, your love was an offering of your soul and sincerity, an act that spoke volumes to him. “Forgive me,” it declared, “I love you so dearly.” 
“That has never been the case. I don’t think there’s a single person who hasn’t fallen in love with you at least once in their life.” You can only hope your sincerity reaches him.  
“Well, there’s Renjun…” You roll your eyes at his attempt to be humorous, feeling a bit better knowing that whatever was going on in his head wasn’t bad enough for him to not crack a joke. 
Without a word, Haechan is wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing his head into your shoulder. “What about you?” he murmurs. “How many times have you fallen in love with me?” 
You chew your lip, not fighting your instinct when your hands go to his hair. “I don’t think I could count,” you say. “I fall in love with you every day.” 
“Even now?” 
You hum, pressing a small kiss to the crown of his head. “Even now.” 
That seems to satisfy him. Quickly, he’s pushing onto the couch, the plate of citrus quickly forgotten as he cuddles into your side. “We’ll be alright, right?” It’s a question, but you think it’s more for him than it is for you. You hum again, intertwining your fingers with his. “I want to try again.” 
This time you don’t fight it. After all, you were his clementine. His inevitable lover. 
494 notes · View notes
neochan · 4 months
Note
for the twd au literally just jeno's protectiveness and survival instincts (i love manly men<3) and just the raw love you have for each other and soft tender touches arghhhh 🥺🫶💝💞💕💓💖
twenty-eight.
that's how many walkers jeno had managed to put down, all without you having to lift a finger.
it wasn't that you were scared; the gun on your hip and the knife in your hand were testaments to that. no, jeno just wouldn't let you take them down with him.
the now empty warehouse air was thick with tension as the two of you stood amidst the aftermath. jeno's broad shoulders heaved with exertion, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. his gaze, fierce and unwavering, scanned the surroundings for any lingering walkers.
"you alright?" he grunted, his voice low and gravelly.
you nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "i can handle myself, you know..."
jeno's expression softened, but the fire in his eyes still burned. "i know you can. doesn't mean I want you to." he pulls you against his side after sheathing his blade. "plus," he flexes his bicep, "gave me a good workout. starting to feel like i'm losing strength.."
a soft chuckle escaped your lips as you leaned into him. "well, if that's the case, maybe i should take more of the load."
he shot you a playful glare, a hint of a smile breaking through the seriousness. "nice try." he presses his lips to the top of your hair, "i'm not gonna let anything or anyone touch you. i swear."
163 notes · View notes
zcrose · 6 months
Text
I can't stop thinking of inexperienced Park Jisung being in his first real relationship and it being with someone a bit older (not like a huge age gap just a few years). Even though he is a grown-up he has always been the youngest in his friend group and believes that everyone sees him as a child. Maybe you two have a mutual friend or you're a senior in school and in the beginning you honestly saw him as a bit of a child with his baby face. He was always kind of shy and would avoid being alone with you and you didn't know why until somebody said that he had a crush on you. After then it would become more and more obvious and his cute and nervous ways eventually made you reciprocate his feelings. I believe he would be very nervous and shy but still super eager, like blushing crazily every time you touch or compliment him. Jisung is clearly very fit but hides his body most of the time so the first time you see him in something else than a big hoodie you stare and he gets really shy but kind of turned on and can't help but utter some cheesy line like "like what you're seeing?" only to get red like a tomato afterwards. After working through the first awkward stage and getting more intimate, he can not get enough of you!! He would be horny all the time I swear but still be nervous when around people (if for example he or you had flatmates), like dragging you away to make out in some corner. He would be really needy as well, tugging at your shirtsleeve as soon as you get inside from somewhere, signaling that he wants to go to the bedroom. Would totally ask for sex very bluntly, not in front of other people though god no in those situations he is still pretty shy, but when cuddling or even through text. Imagine seeing you have multiple texts from your boyfriend only to open them and see "you're cute" like five times and then "can we please have sex <3" I need to stop thinking about this right now or I will go insane!!
sorry this turned out kinda long...
242 notes · View notes
ooshu · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
as soon as jaehyun heard the doorbell ring, he carefully took his time to make it to the front door.
and when he nervously turned the knob open, there was you who was standing. a little older, a little wiser, a little better.
but after all these years, jaehyun stayed the same - as the twenty-five-year-old who lost you.
“hey.”, jaehyun greets you.
you responded the same. jaehyun could not stop looking at you, and when you saw him, your eyes lay on the ground; he took it as a sign to let you in.
as you both entered his house, it felt like a time machine. the walls were still painted old white, and the wooden cabinets and shelves were still intact together. most of the plants were replaced, but the pot of bonsai you bought him for his twenty-fourth birthday still stands. the semi-see-through white curtains which you picked leading to the backyard remains. paintings on the wall still hung. and as you stopped looking around, jaehyun stands near the kitchen counter, holding a box full of your old things - which you forgot to pick up after a heated fight, prior days before ending your three-year relationship.
“water?” jaehyun offered.
“no, thank you.” you politely declined.

you skimmed through the box - old shirts, books that were missing in your collection back to your place, a mix of necklaces you bought for yourself and he bought for you, but most importantly, you found your missing bracelet which your mother gave to you for your eighteenth birthday, and which has been missing for quite some time now - only to find back in jaehyun’s place, of course.
“i found it!”, you almost squealed, and jaehyun could not help but stare at you so lovingly. oh, he had missed seeing the crinkles at the side of your eyes when you laughed, and how you slightly bite a side of your lip when you chuckle.

but something peeked your interest as you were carefully placing back your things.
a dark blue, almost velvet-textured box was hidden on the depths of it.
you pulled it out from the brown box, and asked, “is this yours? i don’t remember owning one.”
“ah,” jaehyun replied. “that?”
he opened his palm, signaling you to give it to him which you complied. he opened the box and there it was - the ring he bought on your first date together. it would sound foolish to most people, really, having to prepare an engagement ring for a person whom you just met. but jaehyun knew he would no longer love another person as much as he did with you. and damn, he was right. years have passed, he still wonders what it would look like if you wore it.
“give me your hand,”, he carefully asked, almost hesitant. “please?”
you gave him your left hand and jaehyun slowly slipped it onto your ring finger.

he remembers it so vividly, all too well - running toward the jewelry store, begging the owner to open up at almost eleven in the evening, minutes before he accompanied you going home from that same first date. the owner was lovely, too kind, to open up a small dimly lit light so just jaehyun could pick one. hell, he did not even know your finger’s measurements. he just straight up bought the prettiest one - the one that he thought would suit you the most.
he stared at your hand, ring almost sparkling, so elegant looking. he can’t help but admire his work of art. you met your eyes once again with jaehyun’s - his, almost teary-eyed. how cruel it is, he thought, to see the ring in this circumstance, where i should have been sitting on one knee in front of the restaurant you and i both first shared a table with. jaehyun smiled. his shoulders were now relaxed, once tensed. you slightly tilted your head to the side, almost saying "it's okay." "it's beautiful, jaehyun.", you said. “what could have been, huh?”
and he was right all along - after the uncertainties, this was the answer he was eager, dying, to know.
that it fits you just perfectly. perfectly made for you.
it is just that he was not made for you all along.
637 notes · View notes
neo-shitty · 2 years
Text
do i wanna know — l.jn
Tumblr media
description. in which the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can’t say tomorrow day.
pairings: lee jeno x female reader
genre. smut, slight pining, slight fluff, university!au(-ish), just a typical bad boy-good girl!au
warnings. swearing, mentions of alcohol/alcoholism, hair-pulling, slight nipple play, messy sex, oral (m&f receiving), aftercare
word count: 10.4k
playlist: do i wanna know. (the only thing i loved abt writing this)
notes. there was an impulse to repost this yesterday, just in time too. happy jeno day! also i fucking hate this but i hope y’all won’t goodbye
Tumblr media
“You have 1 new match.”
The notification sat atop others even long after the thread of flirty messages you’ve exchanged, the last few revealing your location and his final message—the ‘on my way’ haunting you for the past few minutes. The wait was always a double edged sword; you either got stood up or you’d end up having a night you’d simultaneously want to both remember and forget. 
There’s an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach, the churn as you downed one shot after. You’ve always had your life planned out before you, whether it be by your parents’ hand or by your own. Somewhere along the line of your second year in university, a chain of uncharted events started happening, derailing every plan you had beforehand and throwing your life into complete chaos. Saying you were lost was an understatement. You were sure you planned your life well enough to avoid all further delays in your career. But one particular prick, a spawn of Satan himself, who came in the form of your Chemistry professor, lived just to make everything harder than they were initially.
And you hated her, but you couldn’t tell her that or they’d be kicking your sorry ass goodbye for the semester. But it seemed like she was telepathic anyway, because when your grades were released at the end of the term, yours missed the passing grade by a few points—making you kiss your dean’s lister dreams goodbye. 
It took you a while to internalize that you were now a semester behind your initial plan, your plan of a perfect life pushed back by months on some parts and whole years on others. So you say ‘fuck it’, storming out of your apartment and so began the string of impulsive decisions.
Maybe making decisions half sober wasn’t the best idea but it’s unfathomable to think that the best way to cope with an already derailed plan in life? Was to make even more impulsive decisions that would further worsen the situation via your favorite escape plan—drinking the daylights out of yourself and wishing you’d still make your way home. At the very least, you’d give yourself a pat on the back for making it back alive from an outrageous night and give yourself a false sense of hope that you still had control of the things despite everything going haywire around you.
So when you find yourself at a bar on a school night, where (former) straight-A-overachiever girls like you shouldn’t be, it tips the universe’s balance. 
It was obvious that your presence created a stir at the bar. AM was the closest spot to your campus, sitting right at the edge of the radius where alcoholic beverages weren’t allowed to be sold. It was typical; low ceilings, dim lights, smokey haze, alive with the hum of music and the chatter of alcohol laced individuals moving about. A pool table sat at one end of the room and booths sat on the other. Directly in your path was the bar and the empty chair you envisioned yourself spending the rest of the night on. It wasn’t everyday that someone who wasn’t a regular walked into AM and that alone got everyone’s attention—curious glances and hungry stares.
You find out about the latter first when someone finds their way to the elevated seat beside you, with more intentions of getting in your jeans than just getting to know more about you. Your clutch on your phone tightens, regret settling in when you’re finally on the spot you got yourself into. One night, you thought the whole time, listening as the man went about to brag about a life you didn’t give a fuck about. Hook ups were supposed to be relieving. This wasn’t the slightest bit relieving. 
Your head spins with the smallest of gestures, so you avoid turning your head and looking around. You’re struggling to find the right words to tell him off and the seconds seem to drag on forever up until someone interrupts from behind you.
“She’s with me.” 
You turn your head, vision lagging until you finally face the voice’s owner. Whoever he was, he didn’t look back at you. But he had his phone screen facing you, the familiar match notification right beneath his phone’s analog clock—the very same one you had. He doesn’t acknowledge you first, not even sparing a glance. Instead, he keeps his gaze locked with the man beside him.
“Do you want me to repeat myself?” he asks. His voice is bone-chilling, almost threatening. 
The other man looks back, stoic and unmoving, but when the other boy doesn’t back down he falters eventually. Clicking his tongue, he slides off the seat. “Next time you won’t be so lucky, Lee Jeno.” Your eyes follow him as he beelines past the crowd of spectators still looking your way, then out through the exit.
You sighed in relief when he was finally out of the bar and out of sight.
“What’s the school’s golden girl doing at a place like this?” Jeno asks, taking the previous man’s place on the seat beside you. 
Behind the counter, the bartender catches his eye and rushes over to pour him a drink, wordless. He presses the cigarette wedged between his fingers on an ashtray, lonely orange sparks dulling into nothing but grey ash and tossed aside. He keeps a respectful distance from you, not too far that you couldn’t hear him over the music, but not close enough to touch. His name rings in your head with familiarity, aware that he was someone who went to the same schools you did, but your thoughts were too hazy to pinpoint when you’d exactly been acquainted.
“The school’s golden girl needs some stress relief because she’s this close,” you raised two fingers, bringing them together but not letting them touch each other, “to dropping out.”
His chuckle is a low rumble out his mouth. “I never pegged you for the type who relieved stress like this,” he says, raising his phone with your exchange of flirtatious messages on the screen.
You weren’t listening anymore. Your thoughts are a flurry of drunken thoughts and impulses. But one thing remained rooted: you wanted to stop worrying about your academic problems for tonight—even just for tonight. So when you lean forward, pressing your lips against his own, Jeno flinches. The kiss came with a force similar to a headbutt’s—a literal smack—and you have a feeling that your bottom lip was torn but you were too scared to check. Sober you would have been appalled by your own actions, pulling you by the hair and dragging you out the bar. Yet you downed an entire bottle by yourself tonight and it was well beyond your capacity but you were that desperate to get the problem out of your head. 
Jeno was the one who pulled away, one hand on either side of you to keep you propped up. He doesn’t push you too hard nor too far away, just enough to create a gap between your face and his. 
You try to pry your eyes open but he’s nothing but a blur of abstract shapes that seem to change colors every now and then. He, on the other hand, was staring down at you, noticing the faint trace of tears staining your cheeks and your plump lips that had been on his just a few moments ago. He watched your eyes flutter open and shut every now and then but ultimately remaining closed.
Pretty, he thought. You’ve always been pretty in his eyes, even when he could only watch you from afar. You were way out of his league just as much as you thought that he was out of yours. That was the case for being on opposite ends of the same spectrum. You were ambitious and clever; consistently at the top of your class even when you were both younger. You had your life planned out and Jeno wasn’t even sure if he’d make it home the next day.
He had always been content with admiring you from afar—catching a glimpse of you through the doorway when he’d pass by your lecture hall, watching you eat lunch with your friends on the school grounds, just always from a distance and never up this close. But as much as he wanted to feel your lips on his again, it felt wrong.
Snapping himself out of the trance, he shakes his head as if it would magically make the blood rushing to his cheeks disappear.
“Yep, no babe. You’re drunk,” Jeno says, turning your chair so you’d be facing the bar again but keeping a hand on your arm so you wouldn’t fall over. 
“I’m not,” you slurred.
A deep chuckle bubbled out of Jeno’s lips, “That’s exactly what a drunk person would say. I’m taking you home.”
“No.” 
You say it firmly before you lose the battle of trying to stay awake. Your head falls straight to the counter but it never hits the cold, hard marble. His hand rushes up to catch you, your face hitting his warm hand instead. A glass bottle wobbles, nearly knocked off the counter before his other hand reaches over to grab it.  
Thank God for fast reflexes, Jeno thought. At least it’d be easier to take you home without having to argue with you.
You wake up for a moment on the bus ride home, your neck feeling sore from leaning on Jeno’s shoulder but it was better than hitting your head against the glass window every time the bus turned into a new street. Jeno had a hand pressed lightly against your cheek to keep your head from falling off his shoulder. You wanted to thank him for doing you such a favor but the bus’ movement only made you more nauseous than you already were. 
By the time you reached the bus stop nearest to your place, the world around you was no longer spinning. Your head still throbbed and your neck felt stiff from leaning too long but thankfully you’ve sobered up to walk on your own.
“Which one is it?” Jeno asked and you pointed at your door as you walked down the hallway of your apartment complex.
He walked you over with his hand still gripping your arm. He wasn’t tugging you harshly nor dragging you to your apartment door. He simply kept his hand there so you wouldn’t accidentally trip and fall over. 
“Jeno,” you said when you reached your door. Jeno turned and raised an eyebrow. “Thanks and I’m sorry for all the trouble.”
“T’was nothing,” he assured you. “Next time you drop by AM, don’t go alone. Okay?” 
The lock dings as you punch your keycard in. You pushed your door open just enough to let yourself in. You turn around to shut the door behind you but Jeno jams the door with his boot. You find yourself staring up at him.
“Don’t go back there alone, okay?” he said sternly. His eyes find yours and for the first time the whole night, you get a clear look at him even when the hallway lights made your eyes sting with their brightness. 
A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips, a half-drunk half-sober you responded with, “Why? Wouldn’t you be there to save me again?”
He raised an amused brow, staring back at you for a few moments before stepping away from the doorway, never breaking eye contact until you closed the door between you.
Tumblr media
You didn’t need to be around long to know who Lee Jeno was. 
Back in high school, his name would come up often on the school’s intercom; something about setting an alarm off or bringing alcohol on campus or cutting classes to take his bike out for a spin at the school’s basketball court. You’d hear him walk down the corridors with his footsteps echoing the empty hall as he heads for the school head’s office for the nth time that month alone. He doesn’t come back and eventually things would go quiet. You’d end up believing that they’d gotten rid of him this time. Only to find out a week later that he’d gotten away with it yet again.
Jeno was everything you were taught not to be when you were younger. The boy, more often seen at the bar than inside the walls of a classroom, was known enough that nearly everyone knew a tale about him or two. He was often the talk of the campus and for all the wrong reasons. Surprisingly, he’s more praised for his acts than the opposite.
He was everything you were taught to avoid ever since you were a child but you figured that was easier to say than to carry out, especially when he’s the one who draws closer.
What you had with Jeno? Frankly, you couldn’t answer it either. All you could think about was that night at AM and how things have never been the same since then.
He’d been coming up a lot more than usual. In the back of the lecture hall, across the cafeteria, at the end of the hallway, everywhere. You’re unsure if he had always been there and you’ve only noticed his presence now, or he had never been there at all but he was now. At the car park, in the next class, or just somewhere all the damn time, lingering in the back of your mind and stuck with you like a shadow.
Then he was joining you at your lunch table on the days your friends’ classes overlapped your lunch break, walking you back to your place on the nights you’d stay past sundown at the university library and did all the miniature things that collectibly left a huge impact on you. 
But he never said anything about it.
After lunch he’d leave just as quick as he came. When he walks you home, he’d turn around and walk away the second you’re inside. No texts, no calls. Just constantly popping in and out of your life whenever it was convenient for him. He never made it clear what his intentions were, nor what he was doing this for. 
With Jeno there was no certainty, as opposed to everything that ever happened in your life. You’re unsure whether he’d stick around for long or disappear the next day. Spontaneous, just as you were that night, and fucking unpredictable. He’d grown on you, you couldn’t deny it. And the surge of emotions you felt welling in your chest whenever he so much as caught your eye in the middle of a crowded hallway, wasn’t something you liked feeling—especially if it was one-sided. 
A toss coin dictates your fate on one girl’s night at the end of the semester. The neck of the wine bottle had ended up in your direction for the first time that night and your friends didn’t miss out on the opportunity to ask the big questions.
“So, you and Jeno huh?”
The saucy question is followed by a series of ‘oohs’ and scootches closer, all eager to hear the bit of gossip their friend had been keeping from them.
You feel your blood rush to your cheeks, “I’ve told you a hundred times before, there’s nothing going on between us.”
“You kiss him on one of your drunken adventures without us, he takes you home, he starts acting differently after that and there’s nothing going on between you?” your friend asked, arms crossed in front of her in impatience.
“Nope.”
“Nope or you never asked him?”
You don’t give her an answer. Your silence was enough.
She clicked her tongue, “That’s what I thought. My friend, what you’re playing is a waiting game.”
You sipped a bit of your drink, grimacing at the flavor before saying, “Isn’t he supposed to make the first move?”
“College isn’t a time to be modest, kid. When you see an opportunity, you shoot your shot,” she said as she made a finger gun pointed at another friend of yours, fired, and watched the latter dramatically fall over. ��I can’t handle seeing you confused over something crystal clear. You’re supposed to be the smart one here”
“Alright, that’s it,” the latter said, setting her drink back down on the floor of the apartment before fishing out a coin from her pocket. “Heads or tails?”
You purse your lips before taking your pick. “Tails.”
“Heads, you head to AM right now and ask him what the fuck is going on between the both of you. Tails, you get to go on with your little waiting game and we won’t pester you about it any longer.” 
Before you have the chance to react, the coin was already doing backflips in mid-air.
Tumblr media
‘See ‘ya’ was the last thing your friends said when they dropped you off at AM that night. It was a mistake to wear such short clothing on a chilly night. It was a mistake to even be there at all. The air was frigid when you got off, sending goosebumps all over the skin the breeze touched. You tugged your coat closer to your body to preserve the last bits of warmth from the car.
The two-storey building stood before you. The signage—a heartbeat monitor line shaped to make the letters A and M—gleamed brightly overhead. From where you stood, you could hear the music from inside along with the faint laughter of the customers. You pursed your lips, a mannerism you often did when you were caught in a dilemma. Head in or freeze to death. 
You didn’t want to die tonight.
Jeno lived on the second floor, which explained why he was seen here more often than elsewhere and why he was your closest match that night. You make a beeline through the crowd and head to the stairwell at the far corner of the bar. The music grew fainter as you climbed up each step, your own heartbeat now loud enough to drown out everything else.
You’ve thought about this night countless times before but now that you were finally here, you couldn’t figure out whether you had too much or too little to say. You wanted to confront him, wanted to ask him to stop confusing you, wanted to confess to him that you were catching feelings, wanted to know if he felt the same way. But you couldn’t find the right words to say it.
Hi, that night was a mistake. 
Hi, what am I to you? 
Hi, what the fuck do you want from me? 
Hi, I think I’m catching feelings for you. Do you feel the same way? 
I hope we can both forget about it and you would respect my wishes that you leave me alone. That made sense, you thought, but you might as well leave now instead of pushing through with this ridiculous plan. The point of the whole expedition was to coax the truth out of him, not pile up on the mountain of lies.
No matter how much you denied it, you didn’t want Jeno to leave you alone at all. In fact, you were hoping you’d get some sort of assurance that he’d be sticking around. It was a long shot but you wanted to give it a try.
‘That night was a mistake.’ My ass. 
The thing about mistakes was that you normally wouldn’t want to repeat them. Yet, if you had the chance to do-over the past few weeks since that fateful night with Jeno, you’d do it all over again without the slightest hesitation. And in the do-over, the confrontation would be a lot earlier.
You asked yourself when you had become so bold.
You knock thrice, knuckles shaking as they struck the wood. The deafening music from when you entered the bar was nothing but a series of muted beats that shook the floor beneath you. Time stilled as you stood alone in the hallway, your heartbeat erratic and your thoughts racing. What if he didn’t hear you? Was it too soon to knock again. 
But your eagerness consumed you, anxiousness at its peak. You couldn’t wait a second longer. The door opens before your fist lands another time and you look up to a familiar face but not the one you were expecting. Donghyuck stood by the doorway with his hand still on the doorknob, leaning against the doorframe as if to block both your view and your way. And to top it all off, he had his brow arched.
You shrug it off. “Is Jeno home?” The demand slips before you could give it any more thought and as the question hangs in the air between you, you think you’re overstepping. 
Donghyuck whistled, “Why so serious?” You don’t ignore him out of your snobbish attitude, you were just too unnerved to joke around. “Yeah, he’s inside with the others. Why?”
“I need to talk to him.”
Thankfully, he didn’t feel like meddling in other people’s affairs tonight so he lets you off with no more than a grin. Better that than lengthy questioning.
“Jeno Lee!” he calls, “______’s here.”
Donghyuck pushes the door open further and you finally see everyone else. They were all seated on the sofa, eyes fixed on the game on the TV screen. Only Jeno turns to look at you, his side glance enough for you to rethink your decision.
“Come in,” he says, turning his whole body around so he could rest his chin on the sofa’s back. 
Your heart leaps to your throat when you catch him looking at you back. He had one eyebrow arched in amusement and a sly smirk. He patiently waited for you to enter but you didn’t, too nervous to move an inch. Overstepping again, literally this time. 
When you still don’t move after a few seconds, mouth opening every now and then only to close it, he turns to his friends. “Alright, boys. Get out.” 
At first, they didn't acknowledge him. For someone who owned the place, he didn’t look like he had that much authority. Or at least, that’s how they made it seem. When he told them he meant it, they finally stirred. 
Someone speaks up from one of the couches, eyes still glued to the screen, thumb pushing the joystick. “Why don’t the both of you talk it out outside?”
Another boy sits up, kicking the other boy before taking the controller out of his hands. Jaemin, you recognized, sets it down on the center table. “Let’s go.”
“But I just sat back down,” Donghyuck complained.
This time, Jeno is the one who gives him a look. He knows not to cross him, so he purses his lips and gets off the couch. On their way out, the three spared you a few greetings. Some smiled (Donghyuck with a playful grin, Jaemin with a friendly one) while the other didn’t hide their disapproval as he walked past you (Renjun, controller robbed). You shrug it off.
When they finally disappear down the stairwell, you took your first step in.
“You didn’t need to ask them to leave,” you said when you shut the door behind you.
Jeno kept his eyes on you, “As if you’d say a thing if they were here.” He chuckled and you looked down—he was right. You couldn’t even say anything to him alone. How much more if he had company? “Why the sudden visit?” he asked.
His question hung in the air for some time. First, because you were busy taking in the surroundings. His apartment’s base color was white with accents of grey and black which contrasted AM’s dark gloomy atmosphere downstairs. It was twice as large as your apartment and you even shared yours with 4 other people. Second, you didn’t know what to say. Gone were all the dialogues you had planned. For a moment, you even forgot why you were there in the first place. 
You stood there in awkward silence, clutching your coat tighter even when it wasn’t that cold in his apartment. You were nervous and conscious and seeing Jeno staring at you from a few feet away made it worse. You can feel him growing more impatient by the second. In the back of your head you could hear him say, ‘If you have nothing good to say, stop wasting my time.’ It was embarrassing in itself. Even more so when he made his friends leave just to accommodate you. You remember Renjun’s death glare in the back of your mind.
You had to start somewhere. All of this started somewhere.
“About that night,” you said but you trailed off eventually.
The confrontation scene was a lot better in your head. It was easier to plan out than to carry out. In your mind, it was smart and quick-witted. Out loud, you sounded awfully ridiculous. Heck, you couldn’t even get past the first three words.
Jeno scoffed, “What? Are you gonna tell me that night was a mistake and we should just forget about it?” he paused, catching the moment you looked up to meet his gaze. “Hmm?”
Your mind short-circuits at his reply, flinching, the same way it would whenever you were up on a podium of a presentation. But there’s only one pair of eyes staring at you and yet somehow it was enough to strike the fear a hundred would. They were Jeno’s and he stared at you like you were see through, and no amount of effort to cover up would keep you hidden from him. You part your lips to say nothing, your words falling short at the back of your throat—they don’t even hang on the tip of your tongue. 
“Because clearly you haven’t.”
Finally, he looked away. You wanted to sigh in relief but the room was quiet enough that he’d hear a pindrop. Even then, with what little pride you had to spare, you didn’t want him to see just how much leverage he had over you, to see how his sly tactics worked. You tried to keep yourself together, putting up a strong front with the lack of eye contact. “Not with you popping in and out of my life every now and then. What’s up with that?”
He rose off the couch. His upper body was devoid of any clothing so when he stretched from sitting too long, it was hard to keep your eyes off of him. He was lean but he kept his body in condition. He winded his shoulders, flexing the muscles on his back and on his upper arm. You looked away when he turned. 
“So you noticed?” he asked. You could hear the smirk in his voice and you feel your cheeks heat up. He caught you. “Don’t be too conscious, you’re free to look. Promo’s exclusive to you.”
Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention elsewhere. “Fuckboy,” you uttered under your breath. “Who wouldn’t notice?”
“You seemed like you didn’t,” he answered, cleaning up the mess the boys left behind. “Ignoring me when everyone else was looking.”
The teasing was relentless but you were growing impatient too. “I don’t have time for this, Jeno. What the hell do you want?”
“You.”
When you spun around he was leaning against the kitchen counter, loading the plates into the dishwasher beneath it. He still had a smirk plastered on his lips and it frustrated you. He countered every question you had with words that would turn the tables on you. You came here to do the questioning but it felt more like you were on the hot seat. You were wandering in uncharted waters like a lost boat in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle. You were aware of the danger but you were letting your curiosity get the better of you. Like walking a tightrope with unstable harnesses, like a moth drawn to flickering candle light. 
“I’m serious,” you dismissed him.
“So am I.”
“You’re insufferable.”
Jeno laughed like it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it. “And you like me anyway.”
You bit your lip, glad you had your back turned to him or he would’ve noticed how flustered you were getting. “What makes you so sure?”
“The fact that you’re here in my room confronting me about it,” he answered. “If I didn’t have any sort of effect on you, you wouldn’t be here at all.”
“My friends made me do this,” you defended yourself.
“But your friends would never make you do something you didn’t want to do.”
The tables have definitely turned now and you didn’t like it. You lost the upperhand, or maybe you never had it in the first place. It was as if he knew all your cards from the start and he took the liberty to excruciatingly drag out the part where he tells you that he’d known everything. 
You turned, defeated and embarrassed that you’ve completely fallen into his trap. “Why are you doing this?”
“This?” he asked, his annoying smirk still on his lips. “You’re in my apartment.”
“This, whole thing!” you burst out, throwing your arms in the air in exasperation. “Why did you start acting differently after the kiss? What’s with all the mixed signals? I just came here to ask you why you’re doing all the shit you’re doing because it’s so fucking confusing. Like do you fucking like me or not?”
The million-dollar question slips out of your tongue faster than you can even register it. You’re breathless when you stop talking and you only realize how loud you were talking when the apartment falls silent again. 
Across the room, Jeno stashes the last of the glass plates into the dishwasher before kicking the metal door closed. He leaned against the counter with his hands on top to support his upper body. “So you remembered that we kissed?”
It was the last straw for you. You rolled your eyes, “You know what, forget it.” You spun on your heel, marching back the way you came. A part of you wanted to remain calm and pester him until you got the answers you came for. But you were fuming with embarrassment. You wanted to slap yourself for even thinking that maybe all those gestures meant something. It obviously didn’t. In fact, you wondered why you never thought that he could’ve done that to a hundred other girls before you. 
Stupid.
You reach the door in seconds, grabbing the metal doorknob to swing it open. It opens by a few centimeters before it’s slammed back shut. The knob slips out of your grasp, so you let your arm fall to your side instead of letting it hang awkwardly in midair. 
You could feel Jeno behind you, his breath fanning your face ever so slightly. He had one hand pressed against the door. 
“Who said you were going anywhere?” he asked.
You turned around to face him, leaning against the door so you’d put some space between the both of you. You tilted your head so you’d manage to look him in the eye, “You wouldn’t answer my questions. What’s the point of staying here?”
Jeno looked down at you. His eyes shifted every now and then as if he were studying your features. You couldn’t help but feel conscious, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from either. You found it hard to level your breathing with the proximity. This was the closest he’d ever been since the night you kissed him. 
Your cheeks flared up when his skin brushed yours lightly. “Fine, I’ll answer. But answer mine.” He waited for you to nod before he continued. “You remembered that we kissed?”
You remember the feeling of his lips on yours even in your drunken haze. His chapped lips, the scent of burnt cigarettes and the accidental teeth clashing. You would’ve dropped anything to let that night go the way you had originally planned it to. “Yeah.”
Jeno leaned closer and you finally broke eye contact. Your eyes trailed from his lips down to his jawline all the way down to his bare torso. Seeing you flustered made him amused, his lips forming a playful smirk again. He lifts his other hand, running the back of his palm down the side of your face. He traces your jaw with one finger before resting it beneath your chin. He tilts your head up so you’d stare up at him again. 
“Do you know that I want a do-over of that night?” he whispered, his voice raspy and low. He stared at you with hooded lids and your heartbeat spikes. The pit of your stomach stirs as you feel your own arousal begin to form. Every mental alarm system you set for yourself to avoid situations like these were blaring. You shouldn’t be here, you should be home. You shouldn’t be turned on by sweet lies.
Yet here you were. You balled your fists to suppress the last bits of your self control. Your fingers were tingling with the need to run them up his bare chest and down his muscled arms. You longed for his touch for way too long to hold back now. You wanted to feel his lips on yours again. You wanted to know what you missed out on.
What was there to lose? Your life was going haywire anyway already. Might as well make the most of it now.
Your response comes before you can ponder too much about it. “And you think I don’t?”
It was his turn to be taken off guard. You see the surprise in his eyes for a moment before they’re clouded again. He wasn’t looking into your eyes anymore.
And like the first time it happened, you pressed your lips on his. This time he doesn’t push you away. It’s when both his hands make their way to the sides of your neck that your lips finally part. He takes the chance to slip his tongue in. The kiss is sloppy and messy, with you just letting him take control. Then he pulls away to let you breathe, but the night was young and he was far from done with you. 
Your back hits the back of the door when he kisses you again, his leg slightly forward and wedged between both of yours—parting them slightly. Your hands finally find their way to his body, running them up his chest and feeling the outline of his muscles on your fingertips. You felt Jeno lose his balance when you pulled him closer, pressing deeper into the kiss and groaning. His thigh brushes you where you’re sensitive. Only then do you feel how aroused you were and you mutter a silent prayer he doesn’t prey on the knowledge of it. 
But you could already feel him smirking into the kiss, tensing the muscles on his thigh on purpose and making you wobble where you stood. Your legs closed on instinct, but it only made you more pathetic than you’d originally let on.
His hands clutch your coat, pulling it off your body before tossing it aside. His hands run down the side of your body, settling on the curve of your waist to pull you closer. As if you could get any closer than you already were. But no, he pushes you down, and electricity courses across your skin as you grind on his thigh. A moan escapes your lips only for him to catch it before he begins nipping at the skin on your neck.  
“Something wrong?” he asked, licking his lips after leaving his first few marks on your neck. 
Your own hooded, droopy eyes told him everything. He knew better than to let you walk with how weak your legs were. 
“Hop on,” he says and you oblige, wrapping your legs around his lower torso. Your dress lifts and reveals the rest of your thigh that had been hidden earlier. He ran his hand up your thighs, supporting your weight as he carried you somewhere more comfortable. You find yourself burying your face in the crook of his neck, sucking on the skin and leaving your own marks behind. He tilts his head to give you more room and hums—the vibrations reverberating just enough that you feel it on your lips. 
When you reach his bedroom, he locks the door behind him. He sets you down a foot away from the edge of the bed. You wobble for a bit before feeling the strength return to your legs. Jeno turned his head suddenly, capturing your lips again. Your head tilts back at the sudden pressure but his hand makes it to the back of your neck again. 
You take a step forward and his legs hit the edge of the bed, making him fall onto the mattress behind him. He takes one hand off you to support himself, keeping himself in an upright sitting position. His other hand snakes around your waist as you climb unto him. Your legs were on either side of him—resting on the mattress, while you took your place on his lap.
It’s your turn to smirk when you feel his own struggle beneath you. He groans into the kiss when your clothed mound brushes against his bulge. He pulls away and leans back, taking a moment to admire the view in front of him. You still had your arms hooked around his neck and you looked at him back. There’s a smear of lipstick right where your smirk ended. 
Jeno unwinds his arm around your waist to reach for your face, brushing his thumb against the skin where the smear was before he rests it over your lips. You grab his arm, keeping his hand where it is when he tries to retract it. He presses down on your bottom lip, marveling at how soft and plump they are. Your lips part at his touch, his thumb disappearing behind your lips as you suck on it.
You shut your eyes, feigning innocence even when you feel him pulse beneath you and it only heightens your own arousal. You bob your head once, letting his finger go only to catch him looking at you—hypnotized. Feeling cheeky, you kiss his thumb to catch his attention. It works and his eyes finally meet yours. 
“You should’ve said you wanted me this bad,” he says ironically, staring at you with hooded eyes.
You raised a brow, “I’m the one who wanted you? I wasn’t the one trying to get your attention.”
“I wasn’t the one who drunkenly kissed you,” Jeno rebuts.
“As you said, I was drunk.”
“Drunken actions are sober thoughts.”
You rolled your eyes before staring down at him again. You run a hand through his hair again before resting it on his shoulder. Pushing down, you lift yourself off his thighs. “Are we really going to argue about this? Don’t you have other problems?” you asked, tilting your head before lowering yourself on him again. He heaves a deep breath in and you catch his eyes rolling back for a moment before he stares at his clothed manhood beneath you. You follow his gaze and see the results of your antics. “Need some help with that?”
Jeno meets your eyes and gives you a wordless nod. 
You smile, hopping off the bed. You slip between his legs, kneeling on the floor in front of him. He watches you take your place, tensing when he feels your hand run up his thigh. Your hand doesn’t waste the opportunity to rub him through the material.
Jeno clicks his tongue, “Golden girl’s a fucking tease? That’d make a headline.” 
You only replied with a smile, flattered at the side comment. Your hands reach the garter of his sweatpants. Hooking it with two fingers each hand, you drag the material down all the way to his ankles along with his boxers. His member stood tall and erect on his lower abdomen. He wraps a hand around it, moving his hand slowly up and down. White substance leaked through his slit, the beautiful result of your endless teasing from earlier. The sight of it makes your own arousal pool unto your underwear, you worry the whole undergarment is too soiled now to be used later on your way home. 
You stifle a laugh and he raises an eyebrow, “Proud?”
You shrug playfully, “Maybe.”
“Now, suck it,” he says nonchalantly which makes you perk up your own brow.
“What if I don’t want to?” you ask, resting your arms on either leg of his. 
He rubbed his thumb against the slit of his shaft’s head, smearing it with pre-cum which he later brushed on your lip—hinting at the teasing you did earlier. “Sure, you don’t. When he puts his hand away, you lick your lower lip. The substance is salty on your tongue and there’s more of it still leaking out of his member. There will be strings of it if you do him good.
You move closer, lining your face up with the head. Your eyes meet when you look up to see how he looked from where you were. It’s now your hand wrapped around his pulsing member. His pre-cum alone is enough to lubricate your palm, making it easier for you to move your hand up and down. A groan escapes his lips when you run your own thumb on his slit, pressing down on his most sensitive area. 
You lap your tongue against the side of his shaft, tasting more of the white substance on your tongue and it makes your mouth water. You reach the tip of his head and he watches eagerly as you part your lips to take him in. His head reels back and a low groan escapes his mouth as you close around him. You feel him at the back of your throat and when you’re close to gagging you pull yourself up, sucking him all the way up with your mouth vacuumed. When your throat recovers, you take him in again, repeating the process while slowly picking up your own momentum. 
Jeno’s hand reaches over to you, collecting strands of your hair that fell off your shoulder whenever you lowered your mouth. You mistake it as a sweet gesture—an act of kindness in the midst of the heat—until he gathers all the hair up behind your head to use it as a grip. 
He utters your name—his voice coming in the form of a raspy, breathless whisper. You hum in response, slowing down to hear him out. His hand rests idly on top of your head. “If it’s too much let me know.”
You manage to give him a nod and brace yourself for immense hair tugging and relentless pushing on the back of your head so you’ll take his dick faster. But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he tugs once on your hair and keeps you in place—your mouth a mere centimeter away from the end of his dick.  Jeno thrusts into your mouth without warning. The tip hits the back of your throat making you gag but it’s gone before your throat can tighten. 
“Baby,” he calls out. When you don’t look up immediately, he reaches for your face. His touch is warm against your cool skin. “Can you take it? If you can’t then we’ll stop.”
“What makes you think I can’t?” you answered.
His grip on your hair tightens again but he lets you take him in for a few sucks before he’s thrusting up to meet you every time you bobbed your head. Your fingernails dig into his thighs as he picks up the pace. You feel yourself gagging but your mind is too clouded with Jeno’s groans as his orgasm nears. You feel his thighs begin to shake beneath you, his thrusts becoming more and more sloppy. He barely gives you any time to breathe anymore but you understand his desperation to release. He thrusts one last time to shoot his load deep in your throat, pushing your head down so you’ll take all of it. But there’s only so much you can take. 
The sticky substance drips off the side of your mouth and onto your chest and you look up at Jeno imploringly. But he isn’t looking at you, he had his head leaned back as he relished in his release. His grip on your hair loosens at last and you feel your neck relax. You finally swallow to give your mouth a bit more room before proceeding to suck him again until his senses are back to normal again.
He was still panting when he was made aware of your presence again. You were still licking the sides of his shaft when he tried to get your attention. He tugged you upward when your lips finally left his still-erect member. 
“You did so well,” he slurs, barely comprehensible. 
The remark you were about the reply is muffled when he pulls you down to kiss you. You nearly fall onto his lap again but you’re able to hold yourself upright. Instead, he guides you onto the mattress. He keeps one arm wrapped around your waist and his other hand on the back of your head, as he lets you fall onto the sheets beside him. He doesn’t break the kiss, not even when your places are flipped. 
You were lying on the sheets, back arched until Jeno decided to pull his arm away. You were caged by him—lying between his legs with his hands on either side of the bed beside you. You kept your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him deeper into the kiss. 
Jeno’s hands find their way to your body. Your breasts fit snugly in his hands, one for each one. He gives them a squeeze, earning a muffled moan from you. He removes your arms from the back of his neck so he could slip the fabric from your off-shoulder dress off. When he successfully does so, he tugs down on the remaining cloth covering your chest. Your dress is left to rest on your abdomen.
He only breaks the kiss when he starts to move lower. He begins to nip at the skin by your jawline, down your neck, leading down to your collarbones. When his lips finally reach your breasts, he takes his sweet time to play. He takes one in his mouth and the other in his palm. Your back arches off the bed when his tongue flicks your nipple, while his other hand draws circles around the other. The sensation sends goosebumps all over your skin. You feel your arousal drip, you were starting to think you’ve started to stain the sheets now too. 
You yearn for contact when his lips leave your body entirely. You feel his hands run down the side of your waist and then your hip. They end up on the ends of your dress and he brings the fabric up, exposing the rest of your thighs that were kept hidden. He catches sight of the growing stain on the thin fabric.
His fingers wander over to where your crotch is. “How long have you been holding this in, hmm?” he asked, pressing his hand down on your folds before rubbing you through the fabric. 
You jolt on contact, already feeling sensitive from earlier events. You know Jeno doesn’t plan on stopping your agony any time sooner, not with all the teasing you’ve done earlier. A moan escapes your lips when he starts drawing circles around your nub and Jeno would be lying if he said he didn’t like the sound of it. The cloth rubbing against you was only further soiled by his actions. 
The fabric was drenched where he touched it and the thrill of knowing he was the one responsible for the mess you’ve made just made him more excited—evident in the throbbing of his cock even when he’d just released in your mouth.
Your breathing becomes uneven as he stimulates you even more. You find yourself grabbing onto Jeno’s arms, your back arching off the mattress every time he rubbed a bit harder. Your hips move to match his movements, thrusting up to meet him everytime he brings his fingers down further. 
“You like that don’t you?” he asked, feeling you throb in his palm. 
You were in too much pleasure to even manage to say a single ‘yes’ without moaning. You mumble an ‘mhm’ between breaths in reply. 
“Mhm?” he echoes, setting the fabric aside and swiping two fingers through your wet folds. His fingers easily slip through, coated in the substance that’s been gushing out of you since this heated thing started. He continued making circles around your nub—the direct contact making you more dizzy than earlier.
“Jeno.” His name leaves your lips as a moan.
He looks up and one look at you makes the thoughts in his head swirl. You gripped his arms tighter every time he rubbed faster. Your teeth kept your bottom lip clipped between them as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. 
He lifts himself off of you, moving back until his face was right before your core. His hot breath fanned your folds, sending a wave of goosebumps up your body. His lips meet yours. Your breathing hitches on your throat, becoming more and more uneven as his tongue flattens and licks up every bit of your arousal. 
“Jeno, please,” you beg as you tried your best not to rub yourself on his open mouth.
“Please what?” he asks, but you don’t get to answer because he licks the most sensitive part of you and your mind goes blank.
He had one finger parting your folds enough to make room for his tongue. Something tells you this wasn’t his first time. Nobody wouldn’t have known that all thrusts and no play wasn’t the way to go with women. His tongue sucks on the skin by your bundle of folds sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through you. His antics make it hard for you to even have time to breathe. 
Your orgasm draws closer with every flick of his tongue against your bud. He notices the way your breathing rushes. Your mouth hangs open, your back arched off the mattress and your hips thrust up but Jeno holds you down. 
“Fuck. I’m close.”
He doesn’t answer just licking and sucking just like you had been when you were the one between his legs. Your legs begin to shake as you feel your orgasm ripping through you—a lot more satisfying than usual due to the lengthy build up. Your legs close due to the overstimulation when Jeno doesn’t stop, keeping his face caged between your thighs. He pulls away, gripping your left thigh and kissing it. Your senses were still muffled from your release but you can see his lips moving as if he were saying sweet things.
His hand traces your thigh before he rests it on your mound—red from the simulation and throbbing after your release. He parts your folds with his fingers before pushing two digits into your hole.
Your legs go slack, parting when he pushes further into you. When he pulls out, the white substance from your release follows—dripping down your lips and unto the sheets beneath you. He basks in the sight and the mess he’d made of you.
Jeno comes up to meet you again, wedged between your legs and his member brushing against your thigh as he moves. He turned your head so you’d face him again. He leans down to kiss you, the taste of your own arousal still present on his lips.
The kiss is passionate as opposed to every lust-driven thing that happened prior to it. There is no rash teeth-clashing, just feeling his lips on yours and the occasional slip of his tongue into the area of your mouth. Your limbs hook around him, drawing him closer. The kiss lasts for a while until he notices that you were both running out of air.
He pulls away, looking down at you with drowsy eyes. “I’ve loved you long before you even noticed.”
You fight the urge to make a clever remark—that what you had between you was nothing but an illusion in his head brought about by the hormones triggered while in bed. But you bite your tongue and don’t continue. “If you do, don’t let this night be a night I’ll forget easily, hmm?”
Jeno smirks, reaching for the drawer of his bedside table. His hand scrambles through it for a while until he finds what he was looking for. The way he drew the packet confidently out of its box makes you chuckle.
“Okay, baby. But I don’t want any additional problems.” He brings the packet to his mouth, ripping the wrapper with his teeth before pulling the content out.
“Baby?” you ask, watching him put the condom on himself.
“I’ve been calling you that all night.”
“I like it.”
“Then that’s great. You should get used to it,” he says. Then he aligned himself at your entrance, rubbing his member between your two folds before pushing his tip in. You watch his shaft disappear into you and you feel him inside. He stretches you but he doesn’t move until you've gotten used to his size. 
“Why’s my baby clenching all around me? Are you that desperate to be fucked?”
His words make you clench even more, which was pathetic for you and amusing for him. No matter how much you wanted to play the brat, your body completely betrayed you.
“Fuck no,” you answered but as you expected, Jeno doesn’t buy it.
“Mhm,” he says, pulling out halfway before pushing himself back into you. 
Your eyes flutter shut, feeling the coming and waning pain of the stretch inside of you as Jeno begins thrusting into you. He starts slow, leaning forward so he could rest on top of you. His hand finds your face and he’s kissing you again—soft, passionate and almost loving. You’re unsure if what you were feeling inside was the build-up of your next orgasm or the butterflies flying about.
He adjusts himself, pushing you up so he could have a better angle when thrusting into you. You moan into the kiss as he reaches untouched spots inside you. His mouth leaves your lips again, sucking on the skin by your jawline all the way down to your neck. The combined sensation of his lips on your skin and his cock deep in you makes you even more sensitive. A moan escapes your lips every time he thrusted in and it just makes him more feral. 
He picks up the pace, unhooking your arms from his neck so he could pin them on either side of you. The view makes his mouth water. Your mouth hung open as you moaned his name—loud enough that it bounces off the bedroom walls. Your breasts bounced with every thrust he did. All around you, the room smelt like sweet aroma of sex with the echo of skin against skin muffled by the exchange of grunts and moans.
Jeno lets your hands go and you clutch on to the sheets. He had one hand massaging your breast and the other rubbing his thumb against your nub . 
“Jeno,” you breathed out, peering your eyes open for a moment before they flutter shut again as your orgasm drew closer.
“I know,” he pants as his thrusts quicken, “me too.”
The familiar feeling wells in the pit of your stomach once again—like knots tightening with every thrust into you. Toes curling. Heart pounding. Breath, too short and sporadic.
Then it all loosens. 
Your mind is the first to register your climax and you let the post-orgasmic feeling of bliss wash over you. Jeno fucks you through it, still thrusting at an alarming speed just so he could catch his own release. He pulls out before it happens, sheathing his cock of the plastic that was once wrapped around it. The hot strings of white spurt out of his slit and onto your dress. 
For the second time, you feel your juices spill out of you. You unhook your legs and let them fall unto the mattress, having little to no strength to keep them upright. You were still catching your breath when Jeno shuffled around you.
“_____,” he calls out to you.
You open one eye with all the strength you can muster but your eyelid already threatens to fall back shut. 
Jeno smiles innocently, almost as if nothing had happened just a mere few moments ago. “Tired now, are we?” he asked and you manage to give him a lazy nod in response. He pushed himself off the bed, slipping into his boxers and sweatpants again before standing fully at the edge of his bed. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
You’re too tired to even reply. You were slipping in and out of consciousness. You could hear him cross the room, hear the water running, feel him dip the mattress around you. He was cleaning up the mess you’ve both made—his release on your dress and yours on the sheets. 
“Sorry,” you utter as he takes off your soiled underwear while you lay immobile. 
He shakes his head, “It’s alright, it’s on me for making you cum this hard.”
You raise one of your eyelids so you could lock your target. You kick him with whatever strength you had left in you before instantly regretting it when you start to feel pain in your lower stomach. You wince, your pain becoming evident on your expression for Jeno to see and he only laughs. 
“Can you sit up for me?” 
You nodded in response but your body didn’t follow. Jeno chuckles at the sight and offers his hands to pull you up. You take them. Even with the extra help, you still struggled to stay upright. He looks down at you—drowsy eyes, heated cheeks and pouty lips, trying desperately to stay awake. He leans down to kiss your forehead, reaching around you so he could tug at the ends of your dress.
“Arms up,” he mumbles and you oblige. He pulls the fabric up and over your head before setting it aside. He then hooks his arms beneath your knees, lifting you off the bed. He heads to the bathroom, kicking the door open. The room is spacious enough that he doesn’t struggle maneuvering around even while carrying you. “It’s warm,” Jeno whispers before setting you down in the tub.
The water was indeed warm when it wrapped around you—soothing and relaxing. You curl up, wrapping your arms around your knees and letting your head rest on top of it. Shortly after, Jeno joins you. He sits at the other end of the tub, his legs stretched beside you. He leaned back against the rim of the tub, arms resting on either side.
“What now?” you ask, turning your head so you’re facing Jeno. 
He raises a brow, “What ‘what now’?”
You stare at him, struggling to find the right words to use in explaining what was bugging you. “Are you ever curious with what lies ahead? Like ahead of this day, ahead of this?”
“No,” Jeno cuts you off. “Unlike you, I don’t have my entire life planned out. I live day to day not knowing where I’ll be at the end of it. Why’d you ask?” His eyes meet yours and you look away, keeping your mouth shut. He pursed his lips, “Did my presence disrupt your perfectly planned life?”
A chuckle escapes your lips, “To be honest, sort of.”
For a fleeting moment, you see him frown. He immediately regains his composure, masking himself in his cocky attitude once again, “We can always pretend none of this ever happened. But I’m not sure if you want that.” His eyes darted around the bathroom just to avoid yours. “I’m sure I don’t,” he mumbles under his breath, but you don’t catch it.
“I told you to give me a night I won’t forget and you tell me we could pretend none of this ever happened?” 
“I don’t want to be the reason your life is thrown off track, babe,” he answers, finally catching your eyes and staring right back at you. “But,” he continues, “I’ll stick around only if you still want me to. So, do you?”
The question hangs in the air between you. If you hadn’t felt anything at all and only ever viewed him as bothersome, you would’ve said no right away. If you were merely here to confront him, you wouldn’t have let things get this far. But here you were, sitting naked in the tub across Jeno as you watched the boy’s eyes stare right into yours.
You were caught in the web of your own decisions and the slip-ups of your suppressed emotions. Your life was spinning further out of your control with every second you spent with him. He was everything you vowed to avoid in life—spontaneous, unpredictable and uncontrollable. Yet he gives you the opportunity to keep him in your life or not.
Having him around meant there were more nights like these; all of which were unaccounted for in your plan. Having him around meant having additional unwanted emotions; love, lust, jealousy. You never liked change, and having him around goes everything you’ve ever planned for.
But you think back on what he’d said earlier, about living life on a day to day basis without worrying too much about what the future held. It wasn’t certain anyway.
I’ll stick around only if you want me to. So, do you?
You do, but you couldn’t bring yourself to sound anymore submissive than you already were in his eyes.
You roll your eyes, “I can’t believe you’re asking me this after we fucked.”
The amused laugh that escapes Jeno’s lips makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter about. You’re unsure if it was because of the nervousness of trying out something with no certainty or you just liked hearing him laugh. “So, is there a next time?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, throwing the last bits of your caution into the wind as you take the leap of fate, “you tell me.”
Tumblr media
© neo-shitty, 2021
3K notes · View notes
inspired-by-the-music · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media
smile: rewritten
pairing: jaemin x reader featuring: jisung as the reader's brother; the other members of nct dream synopsis: before even meeting him, y/n decides that she hates her brother's friend. nobody yells at jisung and gets away with it! as she grows distant from her buzzkill boyfriend, y/n comes to realize that jaemin can't be that bad. nobody who makes people smile like does can be that bad. warning: reader's boyfriend is an awful jerk note: this is a rewrite of a fic that is about three years old. available on: tumblr, wattpad taglist: @niinjo
“I’m so proud of you, Jisung!” You cooed when you learned that your baby brother earned his first part-time job. 
Jisung mumbled, “Ah, cut it out.” He couldn’t fight his smile as he squirmed to escape your efforts to pinch his rosy cheeks. “I don’t act like this when you make the honor roll at your college!”
“That’s because my academic excellence has become expected, almost unimpressive,” you joked confidently. You almost choked on laughter when Jisung groaned at your mock arrogance. “But you—” you poked his arm— “you’ve always been a precious baby, so it’s weird to watch you step into the adult world.”
Long ago, Jisung accepted that he would always be a baby in your eyes. He didn’t waste his breath arguing that he was kind of, basically, technically an adult. He blinked at you and rested his head against the couch. “I don’t think about it like that. It’s just a job at the cafe, and I’m only doing it because my friends are.”
Spending time with Jisung was refreshing because his simple, youthful outlook challenged your habit of overanalyzing. That aspect of your relationship hadn’t changed since you enrolled in the local university. Jisung was still very much your baby brother. Yet, as he laid back and stretched his legs over your lap and his socked feet dangled off the arm of the couch, you realized that he was growing up. He was growing up, and he didn’t think anything about it. Meanwhile, you mourned every second of lost youth. To Jisung, the next steps in life were an exciting adventure with his friends.
What would it be like, you wondered enviously, to be like Jisung? 
You wouldn’t ask. Even if you did, Jisung wouldn’t have known how to answer. 
He playfully wiggled his toes into your ribs, and you laughed while swatting at his legs. A voice sounded through his headset. The words were unintelligible, but the tone was unmistakably annoyed. They prompted Jisung to sit upright, plant his feet on the carpeted floor, and unpause his video game. Although his gaze was fixed on the flashing screen, he covered only one ear with the headset. 
He heard you ask, “Who is that?”
“Jaemin,” Jisung whispered out of the side of his mouth and covered the microphone so his friend wouldn’t hear. 
Because he was playing with just one hand, Jisung caused his team to lose. The loss was evident from the crimson text— “YOU LOSE”—  filling the black screen, the slackjawed frown on Jisung’s face, and especially from the shrieks breaking through the headset. 
Jisung chanted, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” but the shrieks rang on. 
Your face flushed. “Still Jaemin?”
Jisung’s answer with a nod. He didn’t bother to push away the bangs that had fallen into his eyes. 
“What is he even saying?” You hissed. 
“Nothing really,” Jisung shrugged away from your question. 
You were overprotective of Jisung; you wouldn’t deny that. His willingness to defend his buddy despite his flaring temper fuelled your frustration. Maybe, you thought later, you shouldn’t have disliked that Jaemin kid without having met him.
Rolling your eyes, you demanded, “Tell him that it’s just a game. You can play again until you win.”
Jisung shook his head and calmly explained, “That’s the worst thing to say to a raging gamer, Y/N—”
“Are you talking to a girl?” Jaemin roared. “Is that why we lost the tournament? Because you’re flirting with a girl?”
Sensing that you were reaching to snatch the headset to rival Jaemin’s temper, Jisung stood tall on the couch so you couldn’t reach his head no matter how hard you stretched. He huffed at Jaemin, “I’m talking to my sister, not flirting, and I have to go!” He disconnected the headset and turned the game off before you could say anything to threaten his friendship with Jaemin. 
You slumped down on the cushion. “You must have made some really nice friends while I’ve been busy busting my butt at school.”
Jisung swore, “He is nice!” He stepped off the couch. Frowning as you rolled your eyes again, he grumbled, “There’s no point in talking when people are too angry to listen.” He sulked to his bedroom, embarrassed by his scoldings. 
As he walked away, you resolved to comfort him later after tensions died down. 
. . . 
Because you were determined to be a kind person, you surrounded yourself with people who didn’t boil your blood. So, to tolerate Jaemin, which was as close as you could get to liking him the way Jisung wanted, you had to maintain a safe distance. For the sake of peace, Jaemin had to remain a faceless name spoken into Jisung’s headset. You tried not to roll your eyes whenever you heard his name. 
Despite what anyone says, you didn’t walk into the cafe that night with the intention of meeting Jaemin. In fact, had you known that he was the friend Jisung followed into the workforce, you wouldn’t have agreed to pick your brother up after his shift. That was childish. Since you were already in town after your last class, it only made sense that you should be the one to wait for him in the parking lot. 
You were patient at first. Then, minutes passed, and you had to turn the car off to save gas. The almost-summer heat baked the car until you lost all self-control. Had you rushed into the air-conditioned cafe sooner, you might have missed Jaemin’slecture. Your temper wouldn’t have been pushed past its boiling point.
The clock hanging on the cafe wall warned that you had wasted an hour waiting on Jisung. He was still scrubbing tables.
You couldn’t have recognized Jaemin by his neatly combed hair or sparkling smile. You knew him by the frustrated tone he used to scold Jisung. Without looking up from the register, he complained, “You made too many stupid mistakes today, Jisung! I can forgive you for forgetting the day’s special once or twice. But you can’t forget every time you talk to a customer! If you can’t be bothered to memorize something so simple—”
“Ahem.” The boys gawked at you with wide eyes when you cleared your throat. 
“— you can always just look at this chalkboard,” Jaemin concluded softly pointing at an overheard sign that boasted: ‘Today’s Special: Green Tea Latte.’
Jaemin’s bug-eyed stare provoked you to quip, “Is that all you do—for fun and for work? Yell at Jisung?”
“Huh?” Jaemin’s jaw dropped in an innocent schoolboy expression that might have been adorable if he hadn’t already landed on your bad side. 
This was your biggest fault: you put too much weight into first impressions. You were quick to make up your mind about people; you were slow to reconsider. Of course, you could apologize after realizing that you had misjudged somebody. You even had a consistent record of forgiving inexcusable offenses against yourself. What you couldn’t forgive or forget were attacks against Jisung, and you had just witnessed Jaemin’s second strike. 
Jisung resumed wiping the table and acted as the mediator between your wrath and Jaemin’s confusion. He asked you, “What are you doing here?
You didn’t expect Jisung to raise his voice to defend himself from Jaemin’s scolding. He was passive in friendship, and he was subordinate to Jaemin in the workplace hierarchy. You were proud of your brother’s temperament. Proud and, in the cafe in the middle of the night, annoyed.
“Mom and Dad asked me to drive you home after your shift,” you answered. “Your shift was supposed to end over an hour ago.”
Jisung’s lips rounded into a tiny ‘o.’ He turned to Jaemin for confirmation of the time. 
Jaemin didn’t notice, though. He was quietly studying you with narrowed eyes. “You’re Jisung’s sister?”
“Yeah,” you nodded stiffly. “I’m the reason you lost your little video game tournament.”
Your words were intended as a blunt weapon, but Jaemin laughed. His smile was almost blinding as he swept his hair out of his face with slender coffee-stained fingers. “Oh yeah. Well, don’t sweat that. I forgive ya!”
Before you could explain that you weren’t apologizing, that neither you nor Jisung needed to beg for forgiveness, Jaemin winked. “As long as you go on a date with me!”
You imagined your reaction looked a lot like Jisung’s: hanging jaws and wide-eyed blinking. Objectively, it was flattering that someone as attractive as Jaemin—excluding his temper—would flirt with you even as a mindless pastime. Even if Jaemin hadn’t made two terrible first impressions, even if he wasn’t one of Jisung’s buddies, even if your pride would allow you to give in to his charms, one dreadful fact remained: 
“I have a boyfriend.”  
On cue, Jisung rolled his eyes. Grinding his teeth, he dropped his gaze on the table. 
“Oh.” Jaemin’s shoulders fell, but his smile barely faltered. His smile, you realized, wasn’t an expression of happiness. His lips were almost permanently set in a toothy grin, even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 
That must be inconvenient, you thought. Does he smile even when he’s sad? Or when he’s angry? 
When Jaemin looked up at Jisung, his eyes crinkled fondly. All traces of past frustration had vanished. “Goodnight, Jisung. I’ll see ya tomorrow!”
Slowing his movements to a near-complete stop, Jisung started, “But I’m not finished—”
Jaemin shot him a pointed look. As quickly as it had calmed, his temper flared. “Don’t keep your sister waiting. I’ll close up.”
As you opened your mouth to thank Jaemin, or apologize for your impatience, or to offer to help clean or at least quietly wait for them to finish, your phone rang. Your mother was calling probably to ask why you and Jisung weren’t home yet.
“Come on,” you urged Jisung gently after silencing your ringer. “We should go. Mom is worried.”
Jisung looked at Jaemin once more for permission. After Jaemin nodded, Jisung untied his apron and folded it on the counter. “Thanks. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”
Had Jisung been less mature, he would have teased you for abandoning your decision to dislike Jaemin after your brief first meeting. Instead, he focused on returning your mother’s call to recount his day. At school, he aced one of his finals. On his first day at work, Jaemin taught him how to make all kinds of coffee and pastries while defending him from fussy customers. 
Silence fell over the car after Jisung ended the call. You drummed your thumbs on the steering wheel, anticipating that he must have saved some exciting story for your ears only, just as he always had. But no sound came from the passenger seat. 
Your heart sank. You couldn’t blame him for being mad or embarrassed by you. Not only had you treated him like a defenseless infant, as always; you were also rude to his friend. 
Yes, you had walked in on Jaemin lecturing Jisung. At least Jaemin had been considerate enough to wait until the cafe was empty to voice his criticisms. All day, while you were too busy at school to do it yourself, Jaemin acted as Jisung’s guardian and protector. And no, you hadn’t forgotten that Jaemin screamed at Jisung and made his face flush because of a stupid video game, but it was clear from watching their interactions and from hearing how proudly Jisung talked about him that they held no grudges. Who were you, then, to hold on to one on Jisung’s behalf? 
“I’m sorry,” you muttered. An apologetic glance over at the passenger seat revealed that Jising had fallen fast asleep. His head rested against the window, and his mouth hung agape. Faint snores filled the silence. 
As you decided to let him sleep, Jisung jolted awake. His face almost crashed into the dashboard. 
“Alright there, partner?” You hummed like you used to in the days when you played Toy Story with him from dusk until dawn. 
“Yeah.” Jisung nodded groggily as he settled back and reclined his seat. “Did you say something while I was sleeping, partner?”
Again, you readied your apology, but you hesitated to deliver it. You sensed Jisung’s smile like gentle sun rays illuminating your skin. He wasn’t upset. He didn’t expect an apology. Yet, you felt you owed him one anyway. 
He asked, “What’s wrong?”
You shook your head. Although you were sorry, you didn’t have to express that with a long-winded speech he wouldn’t understand. You could express it instead through actions. You could express it through jokes. 
“I said Jaemin is a real cutie.” Without glancing away from the road, you winked. 
You expected Jisung to gag. Who wants to hear their sister call their friend cute? Surprisingly, he simply warned, “You have a boyfriend, remember?” Unsurprisingly, he choked around the word ‘boyfriend.’
“Why don’t you like him?” You asked. “My boyfriend, I mean?”
Had you looked over, you would have seen Jisung cross his arms and turn his gaze out the window. He asked, “Why do you like him?”
Jisung rarely disliked anyone. His disapproval of your boyfriend made you wary of the romance—if you could even call it a romance. After months of back and forth, he finally decided that you could call him your boyfriend. Because you spent so much time and energy chasing that ideal, the half-formed thought of being with him, you couldn’t let it go.
You should have been able to answer Jisung’s question. It was a dooming sign, your inability to name one reason why you liked your boyfriend. Rather than heeding the sign, however, you clutched the wool over your eyes and turned the radio on. 
. . . 
“Believe it or not, babe, I’d like to have one date that’s not about babysitting your little brother,” your boyfriend said through a mouthful of rice.
Rejection was an almost daily occurrence, but you reddened nonetheless. “First of all, my brother isn’t that young.” Yes, to you, Jisung was a precious baby, but you had to deny that to defend him from your boyfriend’s criticism. “Second of all, it’s not a date. I told Jisung I would take him and his friends to the arcade if he got good grades on all his exams. I’m inviting you because I thought it would be fun.”
That was a lie. You knew that your boyfriend wouldn’t have fun at the arcade. You invited him because that’s what a good girlfriend would do. Maybe you thought that acting like a better girlfriend would make him act like a better boyfriend. Maybe disappointment was worth the risk because it could be grave enough to sever the delicate relationship.
He had stopped listening, opting instead to scroll through his phone. “Whatever.”
“Yeah,” you mumbled. “Whatever.” 
Although you would be an hour early to class, you packed your bag and raced out of the cafeteria. Had you been thinking more clearly—had you been able to breathe comfortably enough to think around him at all—you would have tried again to break up with him. It wasn’t a mystery why Jisung hated him, you admitted as you dashed through the hallway. He treated everything you said like an inconvenience. He was only momentarily satisfied if your attention was solely fixed on them. You couldn’t share your attention with your friends or even your own brother.
Then, he could ignore you for days, leaving you to wonder what you had done to inflict the latest deafening silence. When you would swallow your dwindling pride to approach him, he would reject your advances because they weren’t intimate enough. They weren’t physical enough. They weren’t enough.
You were trapped in a cycle with no clear beginning or end. As you sat with your back pressed against the wall and your knees drawn up to your chest, you couldn’t ignore this fact: you were miserable. Rather than finding the strength to end the relationship, instead of embracing the uncertainty of freedom, you prayed that he would let you go. If he was so uninterested in you, why couldn’t he just walk away?
The answer was obvious. Nobody ever liked him before you did. By clinging to you, even if it meant breaking you, he could build an illusion of self-worth. By putting you down, making you beg for acknowledgment, he could stand over somebody. Because you walked into this situation by pining after somebody who never wanted you, you started to believe that you deserved to be unhappy. 
As students flooded out of the classroom and into the hall, you wiped at your eyes with ice-cold hands. You weren’t crying; you were trying to wipe the tired dark circles from your face. 
On their way out of a classroom, someone called your name.
It was Jaemin. Beaming, he waved both hands excitedly like he was greeting an old friend—like you hadn’t loathed him before meeting him.
The dread your boyfriend caused and the guilt of initially disliking Jaemin faded when Jaemin sat next to you. He slung his yellow backpack onto the floor. He stretched his arm along the back of the bench. When his fingers brushed against your shoulder, you raised your eyebrows. He said, “I gotta leave room for others!”
“Right.” You nodded dubiously. “What are you doing here, Jaemin?”
“Ouch, icy.” He winced, grinning. “Just give me a chance, and I’ll prove that I’m worthy of sitting with you!”
“I don’t doubt it.” He blushed at your honest attempt at flattery, and you continued, “But that’s not what I meant. Why are you doing here at my school?”
Jaemin shrugged. “It’s not just your school.”
Your eyes widened. “You go to school here?” He nodded. “Really? I could have sworn you went to school with Jisung.”
“Nope.” Jaemin popped the ‘p’ proudly. “I hope you didn’t reject me just because you thought I was too young!” You laughed, and he winked. “It’s okay if you did. I’ll give you another chance to date me.” 
You shook your head, almost in a futile attempt to convince yourself that Jaemin’s smile didn’t make your heart flutter.
“Just playing.” He dropped the arm resting behind your shoulders to act as a barrier between your bodies. “Jisung said you really have a boyfriend, so I probably shouldn’t flirt with you.” 
You blurted, “He probably wouldn’t mind.” You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, but you couldn’t pull them out of the air.
“Who?” Curious, Jaemin tilted his head. “Jisung or your boyfriend?” You didn’t answer, so he tried another question: “Would you mind?”
Eager to escape, you flinched off of the bench. “Sorry, Jaemin. I have to get to class.” 
As much as you loathed your boyfriend, as much as you were starting to like Jaemin, outright flirting wasn’t right. You didn’t need to add anything else to your list of things to overanalyze.
You couldn’t control what Jaemin did. He dove to reach your hand. He didn’t seem to care that you had a boyfriend. He probably didn’t have to care. The only heart he was responsible for was his own.
His touch was undeterred by your gasp. Because you didn’t yank your hand from his grasp, Jaemin smiled as he asked, “You’re going to the arcade with us this weekend, right?”
Touching somebody’s hand shouldn’t have been a big deal, but Jaemin’s touch took your breath away. “Oh, are you going too?” Jaemin nodded. He maintained eye contact, and your thoughts were clouded. “I’ll be there. Who do you think is paying for all the tokens and pizza?”
“Huh?” Surprised, Jaemin dropped your hand. You could breathe again. His eyes narrowed. “Not you. I’ll pay.”
You shook your head. “Jisung is my brother, and I promised to take him and his friends—”
“Do you know  how many people he invited?” When you shook your head, Jaemin counted on his hand, “Mark, Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, Chenle, and me. Excluding me because I’m not letting you pay my way—and including Jisung, that’s five boys you’re promising to pay for. Five boys—” he wiggled his fingers menacingly—“who live on pizza and games.”
Forcing your arms through the straps of your backpack, you chuckled at his dramatic delivery. You asked, “If they’re so expensive, why are you so determined to pay for them yourself?”
He started, “Because—”
Your alarm sounded to signal that your class would start soon. “I have to go to class, Jaemin, so we’ll have to bicker about this later.”
As you dismissed the alarm, Jaemin yanked your phone away. “Here. I’ll give you my number.” His eyes twinkled when they met yours. A corner of his lips formed a half-smile as he clarified, “Just so we can discuss this payment business. Don’t get any funny ideas.”
. . . 
Although you promised Jisung that you wouldn’t waste the night by waiting for you boyfriend, you didn’t keep your word. You sat alone at a table in the food court and stared at the door for about half an hour after Jisung ran into the arcade with his friends. Were you hoping that your boyfriend would show up? Not really. You didn’t want to play skeeball with him or anything. You just wanted, needed, for somebody to break the silence. After you last left him in the cafeteria, he left your texts unanswered. There was no reason to think he had changed his mind about coming to the arcade. 
He’s not coming, you told yourself. Again, always, you were caught between relief and anxiety. Your sweaty palms clutched the edges of your seat. I’ll give him ten more minutes. After that, I’m having fun with or without him. 
But you knew it was impossible to have fun with him. That truth was more blatant when Jaemin plopped into the chair next to you. 
“I gave the children money to buy pizza,” he boasted in a raspy voice to emulate old age, “per our agreement.”
That was the compromise reached via texts: Jaemin would pay for food, and you would pay for arcade access. 
Jaemin’s sparkling smile dimmed as he noticed how you nervously eyed the door and your phone. “Are you expecting someone?” You hesitated to respond, and he warned, “The kids will be here any minute. If you tell me what’s bothering you, we can work through it while we still have some privacy.”
His earnest stare prompted you to blurt, “My boyfriend.” Noting Jaemin’s frown, you squirmed through your stresses. “I invited him— who knows why?— and he said that he wanted to have a date without my brother tagging along. So, obviously, I stormed off. And we haven’t talked in two days, which isn’t that long, but I don’t know what to say to fix things. And he isn’t even here, and—”
Jaemin blinked like Jisung always did when your worries bubbled out of your mouth, so you cut yourself off. Jaemin’s mouth fell open, and it stayed open as he struggled to form a response. 
“I’m sorry.” You said while shrinking in your seat. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”
Aside from feeling guilty for dumping your feelings on someone, you hated yourself for spilling them all over Jaemin of all people. Jaemin, who always smiled and didn’t deserve to be burdened with your self-inflicted troubles. Jaemin, who flirted with you, and somehow liked you, and didn’t want to hear about your boyfriend. 
“I don’t think you have to apologize. To me or to him.” Jaemin’s smile slowly returned, and guilt eased its clutch around you. “No offense, but anyone who doesn’t want to hang out with you and Jisung is a loser. And I’m not just saying that because I like—”
Your soaring heart came crashing down when Haechan cheered, “We come bearing pizza!” The other boys followed behind him, each carrying two boxes of pizza. 
Renjun returned Jaemin’s debit card and the bows sat around the table. Jisung sat at your side and smiled brightly even as Jaemin glared.
“Do you think you got enough to eat?” Jaemin furrowed his brow. “Seriously, guys, ten pizzas are excessive! You can’t just take advantage of my generosity and—”
“Jaemin,” you interrupted calmly, fighting the urge to giggle with the other boys. “It’s okay. If it matters so much, I’ll pay you back.”
“What?” He gasped. “No, don’t! Besides, money isn’t the point!”
“Generosity!” Chenle cackled and flicked a piece of pepperoni at Jaemin; he dodged the attack. “You just bought us dinner to impress Jisung’s sister!”
The others, excluding Jisung, chorused, “Ooooh.” All, except the laughing Mark, partook in flinging pizza toppings at Jaemin. 
Burning a faint shade of pink from his neck up, Jaemin screeched, “Hey! Cut it out! I dressed nicely and—”
Jeno wiggled his eyebrows before sinking his teeth into a slice of cheese pizza. “Jaemin dressed nicely to impress Jisung’s sister!”
And the boys—minus Jisung, who sat quietly, cheeks stuffed full—again sang “Ooooh,” until you and Jaemin were both colored crimson. 
In what must have been an attempt to defend you from his friends’ teasing, Jisung swallowed his mouthful and chirped, “She has a name!”
Jisung’s attempt backfired. 
The boys sang, “Ooooh! Jaemin and Y/N, sitting in a tree. . .”
As you laughed out loud for the first time all night, Jaemin’s annoyance or embarrassment vanished. Grinning, he flew out of his seat, grabbed you by the hand, and pulled you toward the arcade. He said, “I hope you got all the pizza you wanted!”
Although you couldn’t care less about eating more pizza, you yelled over laughter and games, “You don’t think they’ll leave me any?”
Jaemin said, “Jisung might try to save you some, but it’ll get cold if one of the guys doesn’t steal it. You and I are gonna be here for a while.” He dropped your hand to point up at a shelf of plush prizes. “Which one do you want?”
The giant mint green llama instantly caught your eye. You fumbled with an answer because, “Jaemin, those cost, like, 5,000 tickets!”
He retrieved a neon green play card from his back pocket, twirled it between his fingers, and winked. “4,902 electronic tickets, baby! Pick your prize, and we’ll get the other 98 tickets!”
“How—why?” You stuttered, flustered by Jaemin’s unromantic use of the word ‘baby.’
“I come here a lot,” Jaemin shrugged, “and I already have a bunch of those plushes. It’s a little childish, but they always make me feel better when I’m feeling down.” 
Oh. So this was his response to your rambling about your boyfriend. He wouldn’t tell you to break up with him as your girlfriends did before moving on to the next topic of idle gossip. He wouldn’t sulk with you like Jisung. Jaemin would go out of his way to teach you to have fun. 
“Pick one!” Jaemin urged again, brushing his elbow against your ribs until you went weak with laughter. Before you could trip over your own feet, he secured you around the waist. His gaze followed where you pointed. “Ah, the llama. Cute. Let’s go!” He grabbed your hand and sped to the wall of skeeball machines because, he explained, that game was the quickest—and most fun!— way to earn tickets.   
“We don’t have to run everywhere,” you wheezed, doubling over. 
As he knelt to swipe his play card, Jaemin looked up and stole your little remaining breath with his smile. “Come on, breathlessness is part of the fun!” After watching you scramble to pull your card out of your pocket, Jaemin swiped his through your machine.
“Jaemin!” You swatted at him gently when he stood upright, and he spun away from the contact. “I’m supposed to pay for the games! That’s what we agreed on!”
Your scolding elicited a burst of laughter. Shaking his card at you, Jaemin defended himself. “The points are on my card.” You wrinkled your forehead, and he continued, “If you want that adorable llama, you gotta let me pay.”
Because he turned his attention to his game and started launching ball after ball into the center target, he didn’t see your small smile. You mirrored his posture as you started your game and said, “Under that cute exterior, you’re really quite cunning.”
Rather than fixating on the insult, Jaemin noticed the compliment. “Cute,” he mimicked your high pitch. “You think I’m cute?” He glanced at you and snorted as your ball sank into the gutter. “Oops! Am I too cute? Am I distracting you?”
Your blush was washed out by the blinking arcade lights. “You’re not distracting me because you’re cute.” You balanced the lie with a partial truth: “You’re distracting because you’re annoying.”
“Ouch,” He whistled. His game announced, ‘New High Score!’ and he celebrated by pumping a fist into the air. He turned to you and said, “Every time I think you’re starting to like me back just a little, you cut me right back down.”
Well aware of how flirtatiously Jaemin would interpret your words, you decided to say, ‘I do like you.’ The words were dancing on the tip of your tongue, but you swallowed them back when Jisung and his friends approached.
“Found ‘em!” Haechan declared like you had been playing hide-and-seek. 
This is a good thing, you told yourself as your game ended without all the fanfare Jaemin’s high score earned. I would have regretted confusing Jaemin’s feelings. Some true things are better left unsaid. 
“These kids are ruining the experience,” Jaemin grumbled. Shoving his hands into the pockets of light blue acid-washed jeans, he asked the boys, “What do you need now?”
“We just wanted to check in on our favorite budding romance.” Renjun’s jest received laughter from the other boys and a dramatic eyeroll from Jaemin. 
“Find your own romances and stop following us like a bunch of weirdos,” Jaemin suggested.
Jisung stepped up to your side. “Want these?” His hands cupped a rainbow assortment of hard candies. “I won them!” Your brother beamed at his accomplishment when you popped a candy into your mouth.
Stuffing a wrapper and a couple of pieces into your pockets, you smiled at him. “Thank you, Jisung!” The cherry-flavored jawbreaker muffled your voice. You nearly choked on your laughter when Jisung bent to let you pat his head. 
Chenle said, “Now that the adorable sibling bonding is out of the way, we’re gonna play laser tag. We know you two—” his eyes flickered from you to Jaemin—“would rather make out by the skeeball machines—”
You gasped, and Jisung shouted, “Hey!” He stomped to Chenle and towered over him. Jisung’s height alone would have been daunting if he didn’t have the face of a baby even when glowering. “Don’t say stuff like that! She’s my sister!” 
Chenle’s hands rose in mock surrender. “I’m not the one making out with—”
“Anyway—” Jeno intervened by stepping between Chenle and Jisung—“We’re gonna play laser tag if you wanna tag along!” Jeno laughed at his pun.
Jaemin shook his head, and his bangs fell into his eyes. “We’re not gonna play. Thanks for asking.”
“We’re not?” You wrinkled your forehead. 
You weren’t offended by Jaemin’s eagerness to speak on your behalf. You were just surprised that he didn’t run at the opportunity to explore the arcade with his friends. That was why he showed up, right? To spend time with Jisung. 
Chenle hummed, “Ooooh, trouble in paradise!” 
Jaemin ignored him. He explained through a nervous grin, “We can’t get tickets from playing laser tag. If we want that llama, we gotta stay focused!”
“What llama?” Mark asked. He received no answer.
Jisung’s eyes widened as he sucked on a piece of candy. “You’re not gonna pay tag?”
You didn’t withstand your brother’s disappointed stare because you wanted to win a silly stuffed animal. This was wrong. Now, you thought, you actually deserved your boyfriend’s disapproval. You enjoyed having Jaemin’s attention to yourself. 
That’s why you grinned and cheered, “We gotta win that llama!” You earned a high five from Jaemin.
Teasing you must have lost its appeal. Wordlessly nodding, the boys set off to play laser tag. Jisung lingered, still staring at you. Realizing that Jisung would otherwise be left behind, Renjun ushered him away, muttering, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”
Neither of you spoke for a few minutes after Jaemin started another round of skeeball.
The silence ended when Jaemin said, “You don’t have to look so guilty.” His voice, softer than usual, was almost lost amid booming sound effects, laughter, and screams of triumph and despair. “Jisung won’t stay hung up on us for long. He’s pretty adaptable.”
You couldn’t explain that the twisting in your gut had little to do with the look you put on Jisung’s face. You couldn’t explain that spending this time with Jaemin was inappropriate. Then, you would have to stop out of respect for your never-present boyfriend.  
And you didn’t want to stop. And you didn’t want to ruin the playful atmosphere. And you didn’t want to overwhelm Jaemin’s crush on you if it were as shallow as you imagined. 
We’re just having fun, you argued to the nagging voice in the back of your mind. 
The voice in your mind sounded a lot like the one booming in your ears, the voice of your boyfriend, the voice that stunned you stiff. 
Those defensive thoughts weren’t just thoughts. They were stuttered excuses you forced through trembling lips as he glared down at you. His fingers dug into your arms so roughly that it would have hurt if you weren’t embarrassed—numb. Numb except for the agonizing thundering of your heart. 
People were staring. People were listening to him scold you. “I wouldn’t have bothered coming to this stupid place if I’d known you were here to hook up with some stupid jerk you found at the claw machine.” 
He cut his eyes at Jaemin, and you with the realization that you were not trapped in a dream turned nightmare. He wouldn’t disappear with the opening of your eyes. Yet, you blinked once, twice, thrice, in the hope that he would. 
Jaemin was as stunned as you were. Dark maroon splotches formed on every visible inch of his skin. His chest rapidly rose and fell under his white t-shirt. His hands were clenched in tight fists pressed to his side. His jaw was forced shut, lips pressed into a thin line. 
“He is not a stupid jerk.” Emboldened by the instinct to stand up for Jaemin, you didn’t shrink under your boyfriend’s cold, piercing stare. “And we aren’t even hooking up!” You liked Jaemin, and that perversion of your relationship made your hair stand on end. “He’s my friend.”
“Your friend.” Your boyfriend’s laugh was hollow. Again, he was going to remind you that nobody was interested in you. Jabbing a finger at Jaemin without breaking your eye contact, he accused, “He is no more interested in ‘friendship’ with you than I am.”
At some point, you would have believed it. At some point, those words would have hurt you. But they had been spoken so often that they lost their sting. He had always been like this— cruel— even when you tried to will yourself oblivious. Until now, you forced yourself to say whatever might guarantee temporary peace. 
What was so different now? 
Maybe now that you realized there were people like Jaemin who would enjoy your company without the promise of anything in return, you couldn’t subject yourself to mistreatment. Maybe Jaemin’s smile broke through the darkness your boyfriend insisted encompassed the entire world. Maybe Jaemin’s smile exposed your relationship’s emptiness. Maybe you finally understood that there was nothing there worth saving with forced silence. 
“Let go of me.” You met your boyfriend’s eyes. Your voice wavered slightly because the words were unfamiliar in your mouth. “Go away. You don’t want anything to do with me, and I don’t want anything to do with you either. So just— just—”
The tears that pooled in his eyes were inauthentic. Although you recognized his deliberate attempt at manipulation, you couldn’t say the final word. You continued to tread that dangerous line between freedom and captivity, between apology and honesty, until he pushed you away.
You couldn’t even be relieved. He turned and towered over Jaemin, who was not intimidated by his size. Jaemin, who stood proudly when faced with the force that had been strangling you, extinguishing you for months. 
“Ease up, dude,” your boyfriend growled.“I’m not gonna hit you.”
Jaemin did not change his posture, and your boyfriend clicked his tongue in annoyance. You flinched at the sound, and Jaemin didn’t bat an eyelash. 
“Whatever,” your boyfriend spat. “You want her so badly?” Jaemin nodded, but your boyfriend didn’t notice. He turned to watch you crumble as he said, “Take her, then. I only went out with her because she begged me.”
You weren’t winded so much by what he said. You decided just moments ago that he could not determine your worth. But how could cruelty come so easily to anybody? How could he easily turn away from his latest attempt to break you when you could never work up the nerve to peacefully walk away from him? You couldn’t understand. 
You couldn’t quite process the public breakup until you noticed that the once bustling arcade had gone silent. There were a few scattered whispers—all about you. The breakup was not quite real until you felt the eyes of strangers prying into you. The humiliation didn’t quite dawn on you until you met Jaemin’s gaze—overwhelmed, frightened, saddened. 
Jaemin’s stare. That’s what drove you to seek solace on a bench under the moonlight sky. 
The unseasonably cool blowing breeze reminded you that you never deserved to hold Jaemin’s attention. What had he even seen in you that day you stormed into the cafe to retrieve Jisung? You had been sweaty, irritable, and dismissive of his friendship with Jisung and his inexplicable interest in you. You were undesirable in appearance and in deed; yet Jaemin could smile at you. You couldn’t understand. 
After that confrontation, he would never smile at you the same way. How weak must you have sounded, stuttering like a fool? How foolish must you have seemed for allowing someone so careless and cruel to stand close to your heart? 
Weak. Foolish. Undesirable. Unworthy. 
The words you thought of yourself were unfair and untrue, but you could not stop thinking them. In an effort to ignore the thoughts you couldn’t control, you pulled your phone out of your pocket. Gifsets were always guaranteed to brighten your mood. 
Your phone only sowed your mood, though. After dismissing a wall of texts from your boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend—you read a text from your friend. She sent you a screenshot of your ex’s Instagram account. He posted a picture of himself kissing another girl with the caption: ‘Guess I don’t have to keep the love of my life secret anymore. Guess we were both seeing other people.’
The screen went black, and you slammed the phone down at your side. After publicly accusing you of cheating with Jaemin, your ex revealed the reason why he never wanted you, why he preferred to go days without talking, and why he never wanted to spend any time with you. There was somebody else. The problem was never you. The problem was always him. 
Somehow—deep down, or right at the surface—you had always known. Rather than feeling relieved or vindicated, you hated yourself for ignoring your parents and Jisung and the careful voice in your head that said, ‘let go, run.’ That careful voice started warning you long before you met Jaemin, long before you started falling for his smile slowly and then all at once. Why hadn’t you listened?
Footsteps slapped on the pavement from afar, and you sucked a breath in. Nobody could see you, not until you had worked through your storm of emotions. You tugged your legs, bare below your striped shorts, onto the bench and contorted to conceal yourself in the building’s shadow. 
Jaemin found you with little effort. He wasted no time in running to you and sitting beside you as closely as he had at school days ago. His eyes were different now. They were wide with concern, no longer sparkling with mischief. 
Unable to stand how he looked at you—like you were breaking—you crossed your arms over your knees and buried your face in the bend of your elbow. You begged, “Stop looking at me like that, Jaemin.”
Although he had done nothing wrong, Jaemin apologized. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that happened, and I’m sorry I caused it—”
“You didn’t cause it.” Your urge to console Jaemin overwhelmed your urge to hide. You lowered your feet onto the concret. To comfort him, you rested your arm on the back of the bench, just behind his shoulders. “That guy—he’s always been a big—”
You wouldn’t have known how to describe your ex-boyfriend if your phone hadn’t interrupted you with a sharp buzz. Jaemin grabbed your phone, and the screen lit up in his hand. 
Jaemin’s mouth fell open. “He—he had the nerve to scream at you in front of all those people when he’s been kissing—” Rage tightened around Jaemin’s vocal cords, and he shoved the phone back into the narrow space between your bodies. “I don’t get it. People like that—how do they get anyone to like them? And how can they just treat people—why do they— I—” He raked his fingers through his hair, drawing a deep ragged breath. 
Staring up at the moon and willing your voice to stay even, you mumbled, “I don’t get it either. I guess—you know—I read once that we accept the love we think we deserve.” 
Did you believe that line you found in a book? Is that why you could never break things off? Is that why you could never demand better for yourself?
Jaemin pulled his legs onto the bench and crossed them so he could face you fully. “Hey.” He reached for your hand. This time there was no playful grin when you didn’t flinch from his touch. Once you mirrored his posture to face him, he said, “You deserve better. A lot better. And by that, I don’t mean that you deserve me, even though I’d like—”
As if you weren’t leaning into his every word, Jaemin caught his tongue and stared down at his hand holding yours. 
When words failed, you returned his small act of affection by curling your fingers around his hand. “I really want to deserve you, Jaemin. Someday soon.” 
Had you given in to the desire to look at him, you would have seen his eyebrows knitting together as he said, “I don’t know what you mean. If it has anything to do with what that jerk said—”
“It doesn���t,” you said despite your failed efforts to silence his nagging voice in the corner of your mind. “You’re just so bright and beautiful, and I was quick to judge you for yelling at Jisung, and—”
He asked, “Wait, when did I—oh. Are you talking about when I got onto him that time after work?”
You nodded slowly, tracing over his knuckles. “And when you yelled at him over that video game.”
“You heard that?” At his feeble tone, you finally looked up at Jaemin. In the pale moonlight, his blush was a glowing pink. He scratched at the back of his neck with his free hand. “I’m sorry. I apologized to Jisung, too. I guess it’s not an excuse, but my temper isn’t all that great when I lose games. And that time after work—”
“I know you weren’t trying to bully him,” you said. “You were trying to help him improve. Now I know that you just like to nag—”
Jaemin huffed, “I do not nag!” You bit back laughter.
“— and I’m sorry that I misunderstood you. It’s not an excuse, but I’m protective of Jisung because he’s the most precious person in the world. I didn’t know that you knew that too. I’m sorry.” 
Jaemin blinked, unsure of what to do with your apologies. He said, “I like that you’re protective of Jisung. I like that when some big jerk is yelling at you, you think to defend me from his stupid insults. That’s who you are, and it’s nothing to apologize for—especially because I like you.”
He liked you. After all of that chaos, Jaemin still liked you. Such a small word— like— meant so much. You couldn’t remember the last time someone who wasn’t Jisung said it to you and meant it. You didn’t try to fight the smile tugging at your lips. 
If you were defined by your protectiveness of Jisung and Jaemin, then Jaemin was defined by buying pizza for his friends (and nagging about it), offering a hard-earned collection of 4,902 tickets to brighten your day with a cute stuffed animal, and holding your hand in the aftermath of utter humiliation. 
You couldn’t keep the fact to yourself, and you didn’t want to: “I like you too, Jaemin.” 
He looked at you. Silence hung in the air as you stood together on the edge of something new. Should you say something to define it? Would taking that dive dampen the chemistry that formed despite old oppressive labels? 
You didn’t agonize long before Jaemin leaped off the bench and extended his hand to you. “Come on,” he implored, wearing that broad smile that gave your heart wings to soar from its broken restraints. “We gotta go win that llama!”
You didn’t hesitate to take his hand. You didn’t hesitate to seize the moment with him, wherever it led.
. . . 
Had you expected there to be so many college-aged students sitting around and sipping down lattes and munching through muffins, you wouldn’t have rushed into the cafe from the chilly Autumn breeze. You would have held onto the sunshine yellow gift bag longer and sought Jaemin at school. You had been standing in line far too long to walk away without achieving your goal, so you stood in line until Jeno noticed you. 
From behind the register, he called your name. He motioned you to the front, deaf to the groan of customers who resented your special treatment. He yelled into the kitchen, “Jaemin, it’s time for your break!” Jeno shot you a soothing thumbs-up and returned to serving customers. 
“Huh?” Jaemin filled the doorway. His brow was furrowed and lips were pursed as he argued, “I’m not scheduled—” 
He gasped at the sight of you. He removed his chocolate-stained cream apron and rounded the counter. Combing his fingers through his hair, he said, “Jisung isn’t here, you know.” 
“I know.” You nodded. “I’m not here for Jisung.”
He asked, “Then why—”
Jaemin’s eyes fell on the gift bag, and he flashed his signature breath-taking smile. “Oh, I see!” He wagged a finger as he crossed the dark-tiled floor. He grabbed your hand and led you out into the golden afternoon. 
You sat together on the bench outside of the cafe. Hugging you to his side, he beamed, “You couldn’t resist seeing me on my birthday!”
You teased, “For once, your delusions are spot on.” You clutched the gift bag and glanced around at the browning treeline. “Is this our thing, Nana? Sitting on benches and holding hands?”
A blush colored his face whenever you called him by his nickname. His blush never failed to tickle your heart. “Yep,” he hummed and laced his fingers (warm) through yours (cold). “I’m not gonna have to let go when I open that present, am I?”
His free hand reached out for the gift, and you couldn’t cling to it any longer. Sucking in a breath, you watched as he yanked out the white tissue paper. You released the breath only when his eyes sparkled while he freed the pink plush llama from the bag. 
“Did you win this from the arcade?” Jaemin’s smile, already too big for this dull world, grew with the nod of your head. 
“I can’t take all the credit.” You giggled when Jaemin touched the llama’s muzzle to your face again and again in time with the puckering of his lips. “The idea was all mine, but Jisung helped me earn the tickets. Obviously, we’re not as good at games as you are—” Jaemin winked at the flattery—“so that’s why the prize isn’t as big as the one you won for me once upon a time.”
Jaemin didn’t seem to think less of the gift because of its size. “This is the best birthday!” he yelled into the cloudy autumn sky. He released your hand only so he could hug the llama to his chest. “Thank you so much!”
Your heart softened. “You’re welcome!” Looking into the bag, you added, “I think there’s a card too.” 
You didn’t think. You knew there was a card without having to look into the bag for the thousandth time that day. The card—more specifically, the note inside—was what made your nerves tremble. 
Although you wanted some relief from the pounding of your heart, you couldn’t keep your eyes from admiring Jaemin’s face as he laughed at the silly googly-eyed puppy on the card’s front. You couldn’t keep your gaze focused on the llama lying face up in his lap. You had to watch the lines deepen around his smile when his eyes darted up after studying your handwriting. 
“Ooooh,” Jaemin whistled at having caught you studying him. “You have a crush on me!”
You started, “I—” 
“And you can’t deny it!” He flipped the card, and you were faced with your curly pink lettering. Finally, too embarrassed, you looked away. He boasted, “Here it is in writing!”
Were Jaemin anyone else in the world, he would have been cruel. He cleared his throat and prepared to read your confession aloud. He pressed his cloud-soft palm to yours as he recited, “‘Nana, I never thought you would become my best friend’— after Jisung, I’m assuming— ‘And I never imagined that someone so bright and beautiful could exist in my life and steal my heart, but you have. You have, and I love you, and I’m ready to tell you.’”
Jaemin looked at you again, this time without any trace of playfulness. This time, he waited for you to catch your breath. 
He was good at waiting for you. He had been from the day you stomped into the cafe. He proved his patience over the last few months by giving you all the pleasures of friendship—all the joys of having an adorable boy to text at any hour, to laugh with too loudly at lunch, to sit with on two-person benches until seconds turned into minutes that turned into hours. He didn’t seem tired of waiting for your romance to start because, really, it had already started. 
But you were tired of waiting to call him yours. You admitted, “It’s not a crush, Jaemin. I’m in love with you.” 
He must not have been surprised. He didn’t gasp, his eyes didn’t widen, and he didn’t miss a beat before responding, “I really want to be your boyfriend. I don’t need the title to love you too, obviously, but I want it as soon as you’re ready. Please.” 
You had been ready for a while, but you forced yourself to wait for Jaemin. While Jaemin probably thought that you were testing his devotion, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Contrary to Jisung’s assumption (that you were waiting for certainty of your feelings), you did not once doubt the butterflies that had not stopped fluttering in your belly since you started cuddling with the mint-green llama to fall asleep. 
Maybe nobody else could understand that you were waiting for the wounds inflicted by your ex-boyfriend to heal. You never again wanted to bleed on Jaemin. You were waiting for the day that you could be as bright as the sun too. 
That day had finally come, so you wasted no time in promising, “Okay, Nana. I’m ready.” 
Jaemin didn’t as for any clarification or justification of your feelings. Maybe he was afraid that you would change your mind if you were asked to repeat yourself. Maybe he sensed your confidence. After pumping a celebratory fist in the air, he wore a victorious grin. You couldn’t resist capturing his smile in a long-awaited whisper of a kiss. 
BONUS SCENE:
“You’re almost as dangerous in the kitchen as Jisung is,” Jaemin fussed. He knocked you away from the oven by bumping your hips with his own. He made a spectacle of pulling canary yellow oven mitts over his hands. “These keep you from getting burned by 350° cookie sheets, silly!” 
You rolled your eyes at the reprimand while Jaemin pulled the chocolate chip cookies out of the oven and gingerly set them on the counter. “Yeah, yeah,” you huffed. You were accustomed to his eagerness to show you up anywhere and everywhere, especially in the kitchen, where years of experience at the cafe gave him a clear advantage. 
After turning the oven off and closing its door, Jaemin pointed and giggled at your pout. “Aw, don’t be sulky, baby!” He dropped the oven mitts into their drawer. Crossing the distance between you in two steps, he pressed his palms flat on the countertop at your sides. He lowered his face to be level with yours. “You’re kinda cute when you pout, though.” 
Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as Jaemin’s breath ghosted your lips. It wasn’t fair that you were always the breathless one. Quickly, before he could act first, you stretched to brush your lips against his. 
His chocolate-flavored gasp was a short-lived reward. Always ready to adapt, always searching for a way to tease you, Jaemin was quick to turn your sweet, playful kiss into something that made your skin burn scarlet and your legs turn to jelly. 
“Ah!” Jisung screamed, and you pushed Jaemin away with all of your strength. Jisung never failed to slap a hand over his eyes after catching you deep in a kiss with Jaemin. His discoveries were growing in frequency, and his tolerance was wearing thin. He groaned, “No place is safe! Not the cafe— not even during work hours. Not the car when you two pick me up after school—” 
Jaemin suggested, “You could take the bus!” 
Jisung continued, “Not the arcade. Definitely not the movie theater after last time. Now, not the kitchen! Now, I can’t even walk around my own home without getting jumpscared!”
Because Jisung rarely raised his voice, you were stunned silent. Jaemin, meanwhile, encouraged him, “You can walk around. Maybe just knock on doors first.”
“There isn’t a door!” Jisung pressed his back against a wall and gestured to the empty archway connecting the living room to the kitchen. “And you’re missing the point!”
“What is the point?” You hoped to make Jisung the target of Jaemin’s teasing. When Jisung dropped the hand covering his eyes to gawk at you, you wrapped your arms around Jaemin’s waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I thought you wanted me to like Jaemin.” 
“Not like this!” Jisung’s whine struck a devilish spark in Jaemin’s eyes. Your mission was a success: Jaemin’s eyes fixed on your little brother. 
Frowning, Jaemin leaned into your embrace. “That’s not what you said when you gave me permission to ask her out!”
Jisung cried, “I thought she would reject you again!” 
When Jaemin gasped and pretended to faint in your arms, you laughed. You asked, “Well, Jisung, will any of my boyfriends meet your standards?”
“I don’t care that you’re dating.” Jisung tore his eyes away from Jaemin’s theatrics to root through the cabinets in search of a snack. The tips of his ears were blistered pink. “It’s just—the PDA—”
“Here.” Jaemin offered him a cookie. “It’s not PDA if we’re not in public.” 
“Not this time,” Jisung grumbled through his mouthful of sugar. He asked you, “When do you think you’ll get tired of kissing Jaemin? I need to know when I can start walking around with my eyes open again.” 
Jaemin climbed onto the granite countertop and poked out his bottom lip. “Yeah! When are you gonna get tired of me?”
There was only one way to answer. 
“Never, of course!” You cheered before pecking at Jaemin’s smiling lips.
“Shameless!” Jisung shrieked, running out of the kitchen with a handful of cookies. “Absolutely shameless!” 
You and Jaemin shared in the golden laughter that colored your every day together.
243 notes · View notes
lucyandthepen · 2 years
Text
gorgeous | lmh ( m )
Tumblr media
there is a part 2!
you don’t know what in the football uniform mark is wearing is so attractive. maybe it’s how broad is shoulders always look in that jersey. maybe it’s how nicely accentuated his ass is when he’s running. or, maybe, just maybe, it’s how painfully conspicuous the outline of his cock is through those pants.  
or, you know. all of the above.  
pairing: mark x reader rating: R genre: college / football au, romance, humor, smut warnings: kind of feels like pwp with just a bit of background pining I guess, semi-public (?) sex, oral sex, just good ol’ fashioned smut perhaps with minimal dirty talk. nothing depraved (yet). please be sure that you are 18+ to read! word count: 12.4k
author’s notes: i literally have nothing to say like . i just wanted to post something that would gain me access into the 18+ section of the nctzen library i guess :^) this is once again an edited fic, but it is pretty unbeta’d, so i’d love for anyone to point out any mistakes they see! since this has explicit content, please do not read this unless you are of age! honesty is the best policy, everyone. :^) enjoy !
                                                       *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
You know you’re done for the moment the sky opens up and starts raining.  
You can’t even get off the field and run from the rain because it’s all a part of the whole cheerleading gig; if the playing team’s on the field, then you have to be, too.  
Sometimes, you think that there are more drawbacks to being in this position. For one, it’s completely risk-heavy; you can’t remember a game where someone didn’t at least obtain a sprain or slip on the mud in front of five hundred people while trying to still look like everything’s fine. Pile on other issues, like having to cut back hours of free time in a week to practice, having to constantly fit and refit uniforms that you also have to shell out your own money for (because what else is the university’s budget for if not to pay for a yet another science lab?), and dealing with slightly catty teammates because on no particular day of the month is the entire team period-free, and you almost have a deal ready to be broken.  
Just almost, though.  
Possibly the only perk that beats all those downsides is the fact that you have free access to the football team and all their practices and games. Most days, you think it’s actually worth it to risk breaking your neck coming down from a human pyramid (or, worse, being the base of one, which requires the kind of upper body strength you don’t think you have a lot of in you) if you get to at least see eleven cute guys jogging around the perimeter of the field they share with your team for practice.  
Oh, and, yeah, even if you had to pay for the cheerleading uniforms, they were kind of cute, in all honesty.  
You look up as the first droplets fall on your head, and you can see the collective grimace that sweeps over the cheerleading team; one girl even stamps her feet and yells something about her not wearing waterproof mascara just as the rain mixes with the crowd’s cheers when it starts to intensify. It quickly forms a thick curtain, and you lift a hand up to your forehead to shield your eyes as you scan the field in front of you. Everything is just a blur of white and blue sometimes interrupted by the droplets that hang off your eyelashes, but you keep looking anyway. It shouldn’t be that hard to spot him because he’s fairly tall in his own right, you think, except it’s hard because so is everyone else — perhaps even more so — and he’s probably being eclipsed by all these jacked up guys from the visiting team.  
You get called out of your search temporarily when the cheerleading captain plucks on your sleeve and tells you you’re all going to do one more routine; in that time, all you can do is think about not slipping on the mud that’s slowly deepening under your feet. Even your fucking pom-poms are a saggy mess.  
The only time you manage to see him is when the referee’s whistle blows for a time out, and the teams troop back, somewhat sluggishly, to their benches. He always walks at the back of the line, like he’s careful to not get crushed between his teammates, even though they always tell him to walk with them. He glances up at the scoreboard; there’s two minutes of play left, and your home team is ahead by a mile, so he could sit pretty for the rest of the game and they’d probably still win.  
In all honesty, no one had ever thought Mark would make the football team. Not even Donghyuck, his freshman roommate, who, in his own weird way, idolizes Mark (at times, to a fault). Not even you, his best friend, who had criticized him for never being active in any kind of extracurricular activity ever since you had met in your first year of high school. And especially not Mark himself, who had, in an attempt to get you off his back about being a hermit, tried out for college football just so that he could prove that he would never make it and would never fit in a team, anyway.
Except for some strange reason, he had. Inexplicably, he had even placed on the actual starting team instead of the reserve, like you and Donghyuck had initially guessed when he’d come home, slightly starstruck, with a jersey in his hand. You thought it was a joke — even though Mark rarely makes any of those in the first place — until he announced that he’d placed as a free safety and would be starting practice that coming Thursday.  
You’d thought it was a joke even when Thursday came along, convinced he was just trying to one up you and get you to admit maybe it’s not a big deal if he’s essentially disconnected from the rest of society, until you actually saw him come out of the locker rooms and start doing laps with the rest of the team. At that point, something just… snapped.  
Sure, Mark has always been attractive to you, in that kind of boy next door with the nice skin and the naturally casual laid-backness so many people try so hard to achieve, and a part of you has always been pretty aware of how appealing he was. You’d been pretty good at repressing it, though; only Donghyuck had slowly cottoned on over time, mostly because he refused to make friends with classmates he would only spend one semester with, which led him to tagging along on yours and Mark’s trips to the library (which he hates) as well as your trips to unlimited refill barbecue restaurants (which he loves).  
(Sometimes he hangs out with some other freshman kid named Renjun, whom neither you nor Mark have ever seen, but Mark swears he exists because he sometimes finds that his bed seems to have been slept in on days that Donghyuck is much more vocal about how cool he thinks Mark is.)  
“Why don’t you just tell Mark hyung that you like him?” Donghyuck had once asked when you’d both been sitting on the frontmost bleacher, waiting for Mark to finish a particularly long and seemingly grueling weekend practice. “You know it’s not like he’s going to think any less of you. Also, it would be better if you just ended up honest with him before he catches your dried up drool on your chin.”  
You’d flicked him on the forehead, partly because he was sticking his nose into where it didn’t belong, but mostly because he was suggesting the one thing that would overturn the delicate internal balance you’d been carefully building up since the first day you’d met Mark.  
Not that you’d never thought of it. You’d just been really, really good at talking yourself out of it, making excuses about how it’d probably just been your hormones telling you that you could stand to entertain a boyfriend or even a friend with benefits every once in a while. It had never really been about Mark, specifically.  
Until now.  
These days, you’re not so great at keeping yourself calm and collected at the thought of him. It’s the curse of being able to see him run across a field almost daily, his asscheeks tightening visibly when he lunges and the veins on his forearms bulging when he uses all his upper body strength to toss the ball. You’re thankful that cheerleading practice almost always winds up earlier than football practice because you can use the little gap between when you have to leave the field and when you have to see him again to do your homework together to take a cold shower or, when it’s really bad and your roommate isn’t around, to masturbate to the thought of him bending you over and pounding so deeply into you that you’re practically speaking in tongues.  
And it’s never any one else’s face that you imagine looking up at during a blowjob. It’s always his.  
You squint across the space between you and him, and even through the rain, your vision tunnels towards him. His shirt is soaked completely now, and it clings to his skin; you can see the deep curve of his spine and the definition of his right bicep even from here — proof that this football thing is really starting to shape his body in a way that is both frustrating and totally attractive to you. Behind the steady noise of the rain, you can’t help but give a slight whimper.  
You’re not sure if it’s because you catch his eye or just because he feels like someone’s watching him, but he suddenly looks up at you, mirroring your expression and squinting through the rain. When he realizes he’s looking at you, the corners of his lips turn up into a small but genuine smile, and your heart skids dangerously, breaking its already fast rhythm. You respond with a bigger, goofier grin before you can stop yourself, and you see the whites of his teeth peek out as he laughs at your expression.  
Damn you, Mark Lee. You gnash your teeth together as you turn away, but you’re really only chastising yourself. You hate that this is confusing. You hate that this situation is actually simple, but you’re too hesitant to do anything about it, so it becomes confusing. You hate that ever since Donghyuck had brought it up, you’ve been secretly planning out the ways you could just seduce him, and you also hate the slightly sick feeling that comes after those fantasies when you remind yourself that you’re being a hopeless pervert. You hate that the rain his making his pants just the slightest bit translucent, so you can see the outline of his cock just pushing against the fabric, and you almost want to scream because you really, really hate how much you wish he were fucking you with it at that exact moment.
Mostly, you hate that your body seems to be going through its whole mid-adolescent years sexual arousal phase all over again.  
The referee’s whistle sounds through the air, and the team troops back onto the field and gets into position. Someone from the squad calls your name, and you walk stiffly over to join the routine again, trying to make excuses about how you’re wet from the rain and not from thinking too much about your best friend.  
                                          *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
You’re drenched by the time the game comes to a close, the home team scoring an impressive 6-1, but you’re not the slightest bit concerned about the cheering and hugging that’s occurring all around you. You had just seen Mark bend over to pick up a bottle of water and scoped two whole eyefuls of his substantial ass stretching the fabric of his pants, so, yeah, you kind of have to do something about it.  
It isn’t as easy as it seems in your head, though. For one, he’s being blocked by people much, much larger than you, and they’re traveling in groups — the referee and the vice principal, three of his teammates carrying the team’s water cooler over to throw onto the coach (boys, seriously), and the two teams’ mascots walking side by side, their costumes absorbing all the rainfall. There’s also the problem of people holding you back, like Park Sooyoung, one of the juniors on the squad, hooking her finger into the back of your shirt and dragging you backwards to shout very loudly into your ear that most of the girls were going to go to a McDonald’s with some of the players right now. You try to shake her off with weak excuses, but her grip is unnaturally strong.  
“There still might be room in Jeno’s car, if you want to join,” she yells over the rain that’s practically torrential at this stage.
“No thanks,” you shout back, although you have the decency to at least keep your mouth a few inches away from her ear canal. “Stuff to do. Gotta shower, and all. And… Homework,” you add lamely when she gives you a disbelieving look.
“You can do it when we get back! Jeno’s car has a heater anyway. Aren’t you hungry?”  
Hungry? No. Thirsty? Yes. But not in the physiologically necessary sense.  
You manage to get her to cotton on that you have no intention of tagging along after a couple more refusals, making sure she zips off across the field with the rest of the squad before turning your attention back to Mark.  
Who is no longer where he had been five minutes ago.  
The weighty feeling of regret at a missed opportunity settles in your stomach as you spot him across the field now, nothing but a tiny white and blue dot disappearing into the boys’ locker room. The feeling is only alleviated slightly by you telling yourself that you didn’t even really have a plan anyway, so it was better that he’d disappeared before you got the chance to embarrass yourself.  
The rain stops overhead suddenly; you look up to see a familiar baby blue umbrella covering you, and you let out a small sigh of relief.  
“I thought you went back to the dorms already.”
“I almost did, but I saw you standing like a dumbass out here,” Donghyuck laughs. “You could just ask someone to sneeze on you if you really want to catch a cold.”  
“What I really want is a hot shower and a snack,” you respond.  
“I saw your teammates leave with Lee Jeno like three minutes ago. Why didn’t you go with them? I thought people liked you on that team,” he teases. You whack him in the face with a ruined, soggy pom-pom, but you don’t dignify his question with an answer. He spits out a piece of the paper that had stuck to his tongue on impact.  "Oh, I see. Distracted by external elements? More specifically, external elements on Mark hyung’s body?“  
"There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t wish you had a mute button.”  
“My mom couldn’t afford the down payment for it,” he shrugs. “You know, I could always mention it to him if you’re too chicken —”  
“I will never forgive you if you do that,” you cut him off. “Never. I will strangle you before I strangle myself if you tell him.”
“So you tell him,” Donghyuck snaps. “All you ever do is moon over him now. Just get laid so that we can go back to eating breakfast for dinner every Thursday instead of you never showing up or backing out at the last minute because you’re too worried seeing him eat pancakes will trigger hyperrealistic fantasies of him eating you out.”  
“I don’t think that way!” You yell, but you’re glad that he’s not really looking at you, so he doesn’t see the flush that spreads like wildfire across your face.  
“Fine; I won’t tell. But you have to soon. I can’t stand being in the middle of all this awkward atmosphere you’re suddenly creating. Plus, he keeps asking me if I’ve talked to you recently.” He shoots you a meaningful look that you ignore. “It’s not like he’s stupid. He thinks you’re avoiding him because you suddenly hate him, or something.”  
“I’m trying to fix that,” you frown.
“Fix it faster,” he nags, and you smack the pom-pom into his face again. It’s satisfying to see how little bits of wet paper stick to his nose.  
Donghyuck walks you to the locker rooms, overestimating the capacity of his umbrella by saying he’ll wait for you and Mark to come out so you can all head back to the dorms together. You try not to read too into the fact that he’s essentially forcing you to live through another fifteen minutes of wading through one-sided sexual tension and troop yourself into the locker room while he strolls off to the nearest waiting shed. It’s odd that you can’t hear any water running, and no one seems to even be inside. You figure everyone’s out making a mess out of the nearest McDonald’s until you turn on one of the showers and realize that there’s no hot water in the stall you’re in. And in the next one. And in the next one. Or the one after that.  
You groan in frustration, now acutely aware of how sticky and heavy your uniform feels against your skin. You could always just shower at the dorm, but that just means staying and walking around in this state longer, which doesn’t feel like a very comfortable option. You could also just brave the cold, but in this weather, it doesn’t sound like a healthy idea.
Of course, there is one other way.  
You weigh out your options briefly, but it’s not like there’s any better and more immediate choice. You gather your spare clothes and quickly exit the girls’ locker room, your hand over your mouth as though your breathing is going to be too loud and give you away.  
The distance between the girls’ locker room and the boys’ locker room is less than ten steps, but because you’re trying to be unbelievably careful, the tiptoe over to its entrance feels like a mile-long and extremely stressful endeavor. You bump into one of the members, Jung Jaehyun, right as you’re about to enter, but he at least doesn’t seem to notice how guilty you’re looking, or the fact that you have a towel and a shampoo bottle in your arms.
“Hey, _______________,” he greets you, shaking the remaining water out of his hair. “I thought you would have gone with Jeno and Doyoung. Most of the cheerleaders did.”
“I wanted to take a shower first,” you say lamely. You don’t add the in your locker room part.
“Same.” There’s steam forming a thin cloud around him as he stands in the doorway, so you’re at least assured your rule-breaking isn’t going to go to waste. “If you’re going to catch up, maybe you can invite Mark to come along with you. I asked him, but he said he was just going to go home and rest. He’s like a grandpa.”
“Oh,” you swallow thickly. “He — is Mark in there? Still?”
“Yeah, he was talking to coach about something, so he’s still in there getting ready. Anyway, at least try to get him to tag along; it’s as much his victory as it is the rest of the team’s. Text me if you guys are both coming to McDonald’s later. I’ll save you seats.”  
He gives you a pat on the shoulder before walking off; the rain has calmed into a light drizzle now, and you hear his jovial voice greet Donghyuck by the waiting shed, asking him if he wants to tag along for a burger.  
This is… fine. It’s not a big deal. You really just want to shower. Except, you know, you’re not really sure how you’re going to explain yourself to Mark. Except, do you really have to? It’s just a shower. He’d understand. He… showers too, doesn’t he? Yeah. That’s good.
Even with this logic, you walk in carefully, trying to keep your steps as light and as quiet as possible. The rows of lockers in here somehow look longer and larger — male athlete privilege, you guess — but you’re grateful for the fact that maybe in this tiny labyrinth of lockers and benches, you can completely avoid Mark.  
You almost do, too, right until your foot lands in a puddle and goes skidding so far you feel like your pelvis has snapped in half; with a squeak of surprise, you claw at the side of a locker row, making the loudest, most obnoxious set of sounds an accident could produce as you crumple to the floor, mildly shell-shocked.
“Who’s there?”  
The voice is unmistakable, and you right yourself just in time for Mark to peek out from behind the set of lockers two rows down. His face morphs from initial alarm, to brief surprise, finally settling with confusion. You try your best to look as collected as possible, but it’s hard when you take the whole form of him in and notice that he’s already stripped off his shirt and remains only in his pants.  
“Hey, um. Mark. Hey,” you force a smile out. “I didn’t know you were still here.”
“I was talking to coach,” he says in a small, slightly disbelieving voice. You don’t miss the once-over he gives your whole drowned rat aesthetic. “Sorry — what are you doing here, ____________?”
“I was, um—” you try to come up with something less stupid, but nothing sticks to you better than the truth, so you admit it anyway. “Just… wanted to take a shower here.”
“Oh… you know this… is the boys’ locker room,” he reminds you carefully, as if he’s trying not to hurt your feelings even if he’s essentially pointing out how stupid he thinks you are.  
“I know. There’s no hot water in the girls’ locker room, so I thought… I thought I would just—“ you gesture around yourself, and Mark’s round eyes follow the course of your left hand.  
“Right.”
“It would be really great if you didn’t tell anyone,” you add.
“I won’t. It’s just me in here, anyway.”
A terrible silence passes between you two. You can see the gooseflesh forming on his arms and shoulders from being exposed to the chill for too long. You’re acutely aware of how loud the sound of your heavy, wet skirt is when you shift your weight from foot to foot, and he’s watching you carefully, with this sort of strange, glazed-over look that you can’t read. You both open your mouth at the same time to speak.
“Have you been avoi—”
“Great game, by th—”  
You stop at the same time too, and you share a nervous laugh. At this, the tension in his shoulders goes away, even though he does look slightly uncomfortable standing half-naked in front of you. He gestures for you to keep talking.
“You played great, was what I wanted to say,” you rub at your arm. “I know Donghyuck and I weren’t serious about it at first, but you really play like you belong out there.”
“Oh — thanks,” for some reason, even if it’s a compliment, he looks mildly disappointed. “It’s really just practice.”
“I know that you practiced hard, but I also think you play pretty naturally. And you run… well, too.” You avoided a bullet by biting your tongue down and keeping it from saying something about how good he looks running.
“Thank you.” He folds his arms across his chest, keeping out the cold as much as he can. “Do — have you been, you know, avoiding me?” You shake your head, but he continues to elaborate. “I can quit, you know, if you don’t like it — me being on the football team. If it’s taking up too much time that we can’t even hang out after, I don’t really want that to be the reason for us to just fall out. I already talked to coach about it, and he said—”
“Mark,” you speak over him, a little alarmed. “I don’t — of course I don’t want you to quit.”
“Oh.” He looks slightly relieved. “But, then, you’ve been—”
“Yeah, I know I’ve been missing in action,” you lick your lips nervously. “It’s just personal stuff, but like, not the serious kind? Don’t — I mean, you don’t have to worry about it.”
“I thought maybe you hated that I was on the team now,” he goes on.
“It’s not that. I love that you’re on the team.” More than you know. “I’m sorry; I’ll be better. We can do breakfast for dinner on Thursdays again, like we used to.”
He stares at you, like he’s unsure of how to phrase his next thought into a meaningful sentence, so he just nods and settles with a shorter, “Donghyuck will like that.”
The next silence kills you as the desire to explain yourself bubbles up again, but the dying purity inside you causes you to swallow it back. Mark is the first to break the silence this time, without any interruption from you.
“I should really go take a shower.”
“Oh — yeah, me too,” you gesture vaguely to the exit with your thumb. “Donghyuck’s waiting for us.”
“Better not keep him standing out there in the rain, then,” he points jerkily to the next row of lockers. “You can just change there. Or wherever else. I’ll be in the shower anyway.”
You nod your thanks, not trusting yourself to speak clearly anymore, opting to shuffle to where he’d indicated. You’re all alone on this side of the lockers, but you can hear Mark moving about, a locker door opening and closing as he gets his things ready. You have to keep reminding yourself to stay on target instead of listening in like some creepy maniac, but you pause, swallowing thickly as you hear the tell-tale sound of wet fabric hitting the concrete floor, and you know that’s him taking off the last article of clothing he has on.  
You think that this experience can’t be good for your mental health, but it doesn’t even matter because your mind is so invested in the idea that Mark’s bare body is less than four feet away from you that it can’t think about its slow, inevitable death.  
The sound of a shower curtain being pulled close followed by water running signals that Mark is in the shower. You peel off the rest of your clothes, and hold your towel close to your chest as you walk over to the stalls. The one that he’s occupying falls right under the ceiling light, so you can see his blurry silhouette move through the fairly thin curtain. Your throat is dry, and you want to walk past it to get to the next stall, but you stop right in front of it, weirdly mesmerized by his form.  
“Mark,” you say before you can stop yourself. You see him stop and listen, one hand still in his hair, frozen in the act of shampooing. His head turns, and you can tell he knows you’re standing right outside the stall, mere inches away from him.  
“Yeah?” His voice sounds different — maybe higher and a little more frail, although you assume it’s just the steam affecting his vocal chords, or whatever excuse your mind half-assedly churns out.  
“I have been avoiding you,” you confess, doing that stupid shifting from foot to foot thing again. Something like a sigh escapes his lips, rising above the stall along with the steam.  
“I knew it. Do you really not like me being in the team that much? You should have just said so. I told you, I can quit — really. Our friendship is more important than some sport I didn’t even know how to play six months ago.”
“It’s not that I don’t like it,” you chew your lip. “It’s more that I like it so much I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“What? Football?”
“No. You playing football.”
Something hits the floor inside — probably a bar of soap — and you see Mark fumble with it for a moment before straightening back up. He doesn’t say anything, though, so you press on.
“Ever since you started playing, I sort of felt like you were — I don’t know. Different? You look different for sure, but you act differently; you even walk differently. But not in a bad way. Like, in a good way. A really good way. And it’s distracting me a lot, so for my own, um, sake, I had to… take a step back.”
You feel like you’ve said everything you can at this point without giving extreme on-the-nose specifics or a terrible love confession, so there’s nothing for you to do except wait for a response. When it comes, it isn’t what you’re really expecting.
“Actually, I don’t think there’s any hot water in the other stalls either,” he says in a careful voice, so soft that it’s almost drowned out by the water.  
“I can just shower after you,” you mutter in disappointment. The conversation seems over for a brief second until he replies with a much firmer voice.
“There won’t be any hot water after I shower.”
“I’ll just go to the dorms, then.”
“_____________,” he says your name in slow, deliberate syllables. “There won’t be any hot water there either. Trust me.“
You stare dully at his form through the shower curtain for what feels like forever until something dawns on you, and a mild shiver runs down your spine — not at the cold but at the thought of your interpretation being correct. Slowly, carefully, you toss your towel so that it hangs next to his on the metal rod on the shower curtain. You wait for him to protest, but all he does is make his silhouette grow slightly smaller as he steps back, and you take this as a good sign, pulling the shower curtain aside and quickly stepping into the stall before your nerve completely abandons you.  
You’ve never seen Mark naked before. It’s not like you’ve tried before recently, but when you think about it now, you feel like your assumptions have slightly undersold him. He’s always been on the slightly lankier side (at least, in your opinion), and even with all the toning up he’s done, you don’t actually expect him to look this… good. His muscles are actually well-defined now that you can see the shadows they create under the light, and his body is extremely well-groomed.
His cock is slightly bigger than you’d initially imagined, too, probably because you’ve only ever guessed at its form through stolen glances. It’s as long as you’ve assumed, but its girth is strangely more than the football pants had let on. You wonder if it had always been like this or if he had grown into it over a span of, like, ten years, and then you feel like a pervert again for being more concerned with that more than the fact that your best friend is backed up against the wall, regarding you with wide eyes.  
His lips are parted, and the water coming down from the shower catches on its curves and rolls down, creating a new dimension to them. It takes all of your self-restraint to stop yourself from kissing them at that exact moment.  
Your gaze meets his, and nervousness overtakes your lust; you have to remind yourself that he wanted this too — invited you in — just so that you don’t make a run for it.  
“I don’t think I’ve ever—” He swallows hard; the water on his lips make them look slick and irritatingly delicious. “Told you why I stayed on the team either.”
“Now’s a good time,” you say quietly, trying to be nonchalant, which is stupid, because your naked bodies are at most two feet away from each other.
“At first, I was thinking we could hang out more, since you were always caught up in practice during the afternoons. But recently, I—” Mark lets out a nervous chuckle. “When we take breaks, I watch you practice. I’ve never actually seen you; you look so pretty when you dance.”
“Shut up,” you whisper, feeling a blush crawl up your neck. “When have you ever said something like that to me?”
“What? You thought you were the only one brave enough to confess?” He laughs a little more easily. His back is off the wall now, body a little closer to yours. Whether this is intentional or not, you don’t know, and you don’t ask. “I was thinking… that I would pluck the courage to ask you out soon, but then it felt like you were ignoring me, and I worried, I guess?” He’s shifting from foot to foot now, too; the habit seems to be contagious. “I thought you didn’t like that I was on the football team.”
“I’ve always liked it. Maybe a little too much.”
He’s inches closer now; you think that this can’t be some random set of movements he’s unaware of. You’re also vividly aware of how hard his cock is, standing erect extremely close to your thigh.  
“I’ve always liked you,” he murmurs. “Maybe a little too much.”  
“You never acted like it,” you accuse him without real heat. He smiles, more to himself than anything.  
“I didn’t really know until the first time I saw you out on the field,” he chuckles. “If you hadn’t said anything first, I might have taken it to the grave, too.”
“I guess I have to live up to being the pushier one in this friendship now and then.”
He laughs, a rich sound that causes a pleasant shiver to pass through your body. Mark notices the slight movement, and he reaches out, pausing in hesitation before taking your waist, his palms pressing against your flesh.  
“We’re in the shower together,” he mumbles as if it’s the first time he’s noticing. “Two hours ago, I was worried you were going to stop being my friend.”  
“We’re in the shower together,” you repeat, a small smile lifting your lips. Mark mirrors the action. “I think that fact kind of trumps your fears.”
It takes him a while to say anything, his fingers doing most of the work by trailing along your side, dipping into the curve of your waist and skimming over your hip. The steam curls up over the both of you, creating a thin veil that leaves his skin glowing. He only speaks up again when his hands place light pressure against your skin, and he draws closer with this anchor, his eyes traveling further down the landscape of your frame.
“I—” he lets out a nervous laugh. “I can’t believe — we must be breaking twenty school rules right now.”
“Do you mind?”
“Not really. It’s new to me, but — you know. It’s not that weird; not when it’s with you.” His eyes move up again, gaze meeting yours. “Do you?”
“Mind?” You laugh, and his smile widens at the sound. “Not at all. Not when the pay off is looking at you this way.”
He stops pulling himself closer until you’re almost nose to nose, and he replaces his hands with his arms, slowly winding them around your form. From this level of closeness, you can see the droplets of water forming on his eyelashes, dripping down the curve of his cupid’s bow.  
“You said,” he tries again, his voice a little softer now — a whisper just for the both of you. “You said I was distracting you.”
“You were.”  
“How?”
“I thought a lot about you,” your voice is level with his, almost drowned out by the sound of the shower spray.  
“What did you think about?”
You hesitate. The situation at the present is well-established for sex, but you somehow still feel like you’re the only impure one in this stall. Mark is watching you, though, his expression somewhat expectant but mostly genuinely curious. You decide to go the gradually honest route.
“At first, I just… thought a lot about how different you were on the field. You’re more confident; you’re more… alive, I guess?” You laugh at your poor choice of words. “I was surprised, but I liked it a lot. But, um — more recently, you’ve been playing a more active role in the fiction-generated part of my train of thought.”
“Like how?”
You check his expression, and nothing has changed, except maybe his eyes have grown slightly wider.
“I think about… us,” you admit, suddenly refusing to meet his gaze for the rest of your spiel. “I thought a lot about situations where I’d get to see you like this. Where I would get to touch you and taste you.”
You’re so close to him now, wound up in his figure that you feel the shiver run through his body. He clears his throat. “Do I get to touch and taste you in any of those distracting thoughts, too?”
Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes out, and he looks… amused now. Slightly nervous, but there’s a small twinkle in his eye that is unmistakably mischievous. When you don’t respond, he plows on anyway.
“You’re not that special, ____________,” he teases breathily. Your eyes snap up to his again. His face is growing pink, but he doesn’t have any intention of stopping, clearly. “What? Like you’re the only one who’s allowed to think about us? I think about it, too. Sometimes I think about lying in bed with you. Other days, I think about making love to you. Most days, though…”
He sucks in a deep breath; you notice that his arms are shaking a little, like the act of saying so many things at once has drained him of a bulk of energy, but his grip around your waist only grows tighter, and his cock, pressed between your stomachs, twitches.  
“Most days I just think about kissing you.”
“Well,” you say, a little hoarsely. “Great minds think alike.”
Mark laughs right before he presses his mouth against yours, cutting the sound off with your lips. You initially assume that it’s going to be brief, but he seems to decide that now is not really the time for elementary-school-style chasteness, opting to part his lips against yours quickly and flicking his tongue out against the seam of your lips. You eagerly respond in kind, coaxing his tongue into your mouth and allowing him to explore it, the wet muscle flicking against your palate and passing over the ridges of your teeth. It kind of tickles, actually, and you want to laugh, except that would ruin the moment you’ve worked so damn hard for, and you would never forgive yourself for that.  
His hands are at your sides again, skimming up and down your skin with more fervor, and you return the favor by pressing your palm against his chest, fingers tracing long, slow lines down his chest, one digit catching on his nipple. You’d say something about how cute the consequent shiver is, but you’re currently rubbing your tongue against his eagerly, so you don’t really get to. There’s no other word to encompass Mark’s taste; it’s just clean — fresh, a little bit minty, maybe, and sharp in the most pleasant of ways. A moan passes between you, and you’re not sure who the source is, but it causes your lips to vibrate against his.  
Both of you are under the spray of the shower now, the warm water constantly running between your lips, and your hand follows the liquid trail downwards, stopping just above the base of his cock. Mark stiffens, and for a brief moment of panic, you think maybe you’re acting too fast. The fear dissipates just as quickly as it comes when his lips mouth against yours more eagerly, his teeth digging into the flesh of your bottom lip. You let out a soft whine, and he pulls away, his face suddenly morphing into unparalleled concern.
“Did that hurt? I’m sorry.”  
“No,” your fingers, acting on the unspoken green light, wrap around his shaft, and you can see him trying extremely hard not to drop his eyes and stare. A low huff escapes him. “I just wanted to do that to you first.”  
He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. “Do you really have the time to be competitive about this? Right now?”  
“I guess not,” you admit. “I should probably focus on what I’m doing, anyway.”
His second laugh segues into a low moan as your hand begins to stroke his cock slowly; it’s almost weird how much more heightened your arousal is at the sound, coupled with the sight of his jaw going just a little bit slack, his eyelids dropping halfway. You’ve never seen Mark like this — in fact,  you’re fairly certain no one has, and the thought of you being the first to witness pleasure on his face makes you feel maybe a little inappropriately emotional at a time like this. Luckily, the sounds he’s making are some you’re wholly willing to focus on instead.  
He leans back in, and you’re prepared for another sweet kiss, but he dips his head, soft lips landing on your shoulder. His kisses are firmer this time, more audible against your skin, and he trails them along the curve of your shoulder inwards until he reaches the dip of your neck. Something that doesn’t feel like his lips presses against your skin there — it’s his tongue, you realize a little belatedly as he licks a slow, careful stripe up your neck, causing a soft, surprised moan to leave you, and the hum that rumbles in his throat as he kisses back down your neck leaves small, tingling patches against your skin.  
You also think his mouth is content where it is, but it seems like Mark has a penchant for the unexpected that you’d never been fully aware of, because his lips trace a messy line even further down. When his hands come up your sides, they stop just above your stomach, and you feel his thumbs stretch out, tracing the lower curve of your breasts slowly. You’d planned on saying something — maybe to egg him on (the specifics hadn’t been laid out in your head yet) — but that plan flies out the window when he bends a little more, his lips tracing a small spiral around your nipple before he takes it between his lips.
“Holy shit.” The electric shock of his lips causes you to tighten your fingers slightly on his shaft, and your hand moves at a slightly quicker pace. You’re satisfied to hear the groan that sounds against your skin, even though this triumph is easily overwhelmed by the feeling of him sucking diligently — almost reverently — on your nipple, his hand cupped under your breast with just the right amount of pinch.  
The stall is filled with steam now, but with it rises the frequent sounds of your moans and heavy breaths. The water beating down on you makes Mark’s cock interestingly slippery, letting you speed up your strokes with little friction or resistance. The result is amazing; while his head is still bent, lips pressed down on your skin as they move relentlessly against your nipple, you see his hips moving slightly against your hand. You try to push past the haze of pleasure his fingers and mouth on your body are creating and slow your hand to a stop. You’re absolutely fascinated by the fact that even though he makes a soft, slightly questioning noise, his hips are still rocking in minute motions against your hold. Not for the first time, you feel faint in the shower stall; you’d never imagined you’d see Mark fucking himself into your hand, but here you are, witnessing it in high definition, and it’s glorious.
It doesn’t last for long, but it’s still a good enough amount of time before he realizes you’re almost motionless, dazed by the sight. You almost miss his question entirely. “What’s wrong?”  
“You,” your words come out breathless. “Are so hot. It’s not fair.”  
“You’re kidding, right?” He chuckles softly. You meet his eye now that the mini show is over. He’s looking up at you, wide-eyed and amused, lips still unintentionally grazing against your nipple.  
“Can we try something?” You ignore him entirely, but thanks to his general personality, he doesn’t complain; he just nods a little in response. No sooner has he pressed a tiny kiss to your nipple do you back him up against the shower stall’s wall, and he straightens his posture. Your plan is only slightly derailed when he reaches up, cradling your face and landing a brief kiss against your lips. He doesn’t say anything even as he watches you take a small step back before you carefully sink up to your knees or even when you place your palms flush against his thighs. The only time he actually starts asking questions again is when you brush your lips against the tip of his cock, to which he responds with a soft intake of breath.  
“What’s the plan here, ___________?”
“I’m going to put your cock in my mouth,” you announce, and you don’t miss how his eyebrows lift slightly. “And you’re going to move your hips. Can we do that?”  
“I don’t think I’m going to live through it,” he rasps. “I’m actually two seconds away from a heart attack.”  
“Well, hold it in,” you laugh softly, but he doesn’t join in this time; you can tell he’s torn between keeping himself in check and just letting his desire take the reins entirely. He stares down at you, chest rising and falling a little more aggressively. “Come on. Please?”
“I’ve never done that. What if I hurt you?”
“You won’t,” you make the promise for him. “Just do it slowly. I’ll tell you if it’s too much. Please?”
“You know you’re being unfair. It’s really hard to say no when you’re like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like this. Kneeling down in front of me. You know. Begging me,” his hands curl into your hair, making more of a mess of it. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter than ever. “Okay. We can try.”
He doesn’t lead you closer like you think he will with his hold on your hair, so you take the initiative, parting your lips so that your tongue can flick out against the tip of the head. It elicits a shiver that visibly runs through his body, and that’s all the invitation you need to wrap your lips around his cock. His grip tightens minutely, and he looks down at you again, still somewhat concerned. You think it would be kind of stupid to just nod with part of a dick in your mouth, so you squeeze his thighs lightly. Luckily, Mark gets the signal, and with a soft, drawn-out exhale, he starts to move his hips shallowly.  
It’s nothing extreme at this point, really; the tip doesn’t even hit the halfway point of your mouth, and he’s moving so carefully that a kid’s gait might outrun him at this rate, but the look on his face is exquisite. Mark in any angle is attractive, and you’ve long come to admit this, but you haven’t been able to decide on which angle is actually his best. You’d always assumed it was his profile, but the view you have now, with him looking down at you, gaze burning, his lips formed around an unspoken ‘o’ of pleasure, has trumped every other angle by a mile.  
You still think that him being quiet isn’t so much what you wanted — in fact, the minutes you’ve spent in the shower have not only come to embolden you but have also sparked a weird, internal competitiveness that makes you want to push all of Mark’s buttons until you can find the one that makes him noisy. So far, you’ve gotten a few moans out of him, but nothing that feels satisfying. Even when you roll your tongue against the underside of his cock with every slow pump into your mouth, he doesn’t do much but hum or groan a little, brow furrowed in concentration. You want to egg him on, but you don’t know how, and you’re also not sure how far down his cock you can go before something unfortunate happens.
The solution presents itself when you focus a little less on Mark’s face and more on his cock; more than half of his length is exposed to hot air and water. Your right hand leaves his thigh as your left one gives his thigh another reassuring squeeze, and your fingers once again wrap around the now familiar shape of his shaft just as he rolls them forward.  
Mark swears sparingly, especially since he tries to avoid situations that stress him out enough to get him to drop a bomb. For some reason, that just makes it more potent and extreme, like it’s a signal that indicates just how far something’s pushed him. It’s not surprising that you feel some kind of pride swell in your chest when the first out of a long string of fucks suddenly falls from his lips, hoarse and frustrated. His other hand joins the one already tangled in your hair, and there’s an uncharacteristic glassiness in his eyes as he rocks his hips forward with more intent.  
“Fuck, ____________,” he slows his litany of curse words with your name, tongue peeking out to catch the water that’s pooled just above his upper lip. “Fuck, you look so hot. What the fuck.”  
You can’t respond, so you make a pleased noise in the back of your throat that resonates down his shaft, and he tilts his head back at the feeling. His Adam’s apple bobs dangerously, like he’s swallowed down the rest of his obscenities, and you can’t see much of his face apart from his jawline, which has tensed into a sharp angle.  
Your left hand finally leaves his thigh, assured that he won’t need any more guidance, and it finds its way between your legs. You’ve gotten off embarrassingly quickly by imagining Mark like this — moaning, erect, drowning in pleasure because of you — but now that it’s playing out in real time in front of you, you have all the content you could ask for and more. Your fingers find your clit, rubbing it with the same speed his hips are following, and while you haven’t had much practice with your subordinate hand, it doesn’t even matter; you’re so turned on that even half-assed masturbation could probably get you off easily at this point.  
You actually think this is how it’s going to end — with Mark fucking into your hand and mouth until he cums, with you fingering yourself until you climax as well — but that fantasy comes to a disappointing halt when he stops moving his hips again, panting as he finally finds the strength to look back down at you. His hands lead your mouth back, easing your lips off his cock as he lets out a soft noise of relief.  
“Why’d you stop?” Your mouth feels a little numb, so you stumble over your words somewhat.  
“Wa — are you fingering yourself?” He asks, fascinated and now ignoring your question, drawing his head back in a vain attempt to get a better angle.
“You looked so good,” you state, like this should explain everything. “You tasted so good. Why did we stop?”
“As hot as that was, and it was really hot,” he chuckles. “I kind of feel like it’s unfair that you’re keeping your pussy to yourself.”  
His voice and words make your chest clench so hard that you can’t even make a noise; your mouth just forms soundlessly around an incredulous oh my god. Mark’s thumb traces your lips as they move.  
“Think you can still stand?”  
“I don’t know,” you admit. Your calves and thighs had started burning a few minutes into this position, considering you’d spent a good part of the evening before running around and jumping. “If I can’t, will you kneel down with me?“
“Yeah. But let’s try getting you up first.” He takes both of your hands, and you use his hold as leverage, slowly getting to your feet. Your face is impossibly close to his, and his hands are back around your waist. You can see a streak of water slide down his nose, and you lean in to press your lips to the tip, stopping it in its tracks. Mark laughs again, a low rumble of a sound that comes from his chest. “You good?”
You nod, opting to to spend more of your energy on pressing a kiss to his lips again; he returns it without hesitation, but it only lasts very briefly. When he pulls away, you notice that he squeezes your hips a little tighter.  
“Turn around,” His voice is still soft, but it’s lost whatever hesitation he’d had before this moment. You follow wordlessly, keeping yourself as close to his form as possible, and his hands never leave your waist, skimming over your stomach. Even if you hear him take a small step back to adjust, you can still feel his cock hard against you, settled between your asscheeks. You press your hips back against his, closing whatever tiny gap he may have made, and you hear him laugh quietly again.  
The one regrettable thing about agreeing to turn around is that you can’t see him anymore; his hands move across your skin, rising and falling over the curve of your ass, but you can’t watch him do it without putting a lot of strain on your neck. You have to content yourself with imagining his expression as his fingers dig into your skin lightly, spreading your cheeks apart slightly. At least he makes a sound — a low, appreciative hum that gives you just enough to guess.  
He shifts his stance, moving his cock downwards before his hands ease them between your legs; you feel his length pressed up against your folds, and he starts to rock his hips again in the same slow, controlled movements that seem almost trademark. You make the mistake of not keeping your volume in check as you let out a moan, feeling the tip rub against your clit.  
Fingers crawl up your stomach, his hands briefly stopping at your chest to squeeze at your breasts. He keeps one hand in place while the other continues its journey, settling gently at the base of your neck. His forefinger stretches upward slightly to press against your lips.
“Someone could hear you.”  
“We’re the only people left.”  
“You don’t know who could be outside,” he sounds amused at your quick, nonchalant response.  
“I don’t think they can hear us from outside. Even if they did, they wouldn’t know who’s in here,” you pause before smiling against his finger. “Unless you want them to.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I can be a little more specific, if that turns you on.”  
Mark falls silent, clearly trying to decide how to proceed. His finger traces the shape of your lips before falling lax in front of them, and you take this opportunity to flick your tongue out against it.  
You expect him to retract his hand, or something, but you don’t expect his hips to jerk forward a little in surprise, and you let out an even louder moan as his cock skims against your folds. Your thighs close a little more deliberately, adding to the friction.
“Jesus.” His voice is thick, distant, like he’s choked up on something. You can only imagine that he’s probably gritting his teeth, which is a sight you wish you could see, if you weren’t so intent on pushing this newfound button of his.  
“Mark,” you breathe out. You feel his cock twitch between your legs. “I want you inside me.”  
As soon as you finish your sentence, you part your lips, taking his finger into your mouth. There’s a sharp intake of breath behind you, and you waste no time in bringing your lips down to the knuckle, suckling languidly.  
You hear him say something about a heart attack again, but he complies, pulling his hips back so he can align himself to your entrance. In your impatience, you push your hips back. Your moans harmonize as you feel him enter you, and he only waits a moment to collect himself before he’s slowly pushing in, his grip on your breast tightening a little. He’s careful, so careful, like he’s worried if he moves too suddenly you’ll freak out and leave. Reluctantly, you release his finger.
“More,” you murmur when he seems to be slowing to a stop. “I want all of you.”  
“You need to relax or something. You’re so fucking tight. Holy shit.”
“You don’t have to act like I’m made of glass,” you laugh softly before letting out a noise of frustration as he actually stops halfway. “Mark.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. But also,” he exhales a little shakily. “This view is nice. Like, really nice.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve been wet since I saw you shirtless outside,” you admit. He makes an amused sound. “Come on. I want to feel all of you stretch my pussy.”  
“If you keep talking like this I’m just going to cum on the spot,” he warns. “Is this the kind of dialogue you’ve been imagining we’d have during sex?”
“Sort of.” You don’t even have it in you to sound sheepish; you’ve focused your attention on more pressing matters, like trying to push yourself further along his length. “You’re kind of nastier in my head though. But that’s probably my fault more than yours.”  
“Okay, now that just makes me more curious.” His hands realign at your hips before moving backwards, and he spreads your asscheeks again, gripping your flesh a little more tightly as he inches himself forward. You finally let out a soft sigh of relief when you feel his hips flush against yours again, and your walls pulse around him. “Tell me what else you and I say in your head.”  
“Why don’t you start moving,” you suggest. “And we’ll see what comes out of my mouth.”  
He hums in assent before drawing his hips back and rolling them forward; the soft moan that comes from you is a signal for him to keep going. Mark thrusts in the same manner he seems to do everything in his life — cleanly, carefully, thoroughly. It feels good, but you can also tell he’s holding back, because his grip on your hips is unconventionally tight for his current pace.
It’s actually quiet apart from the intermittent sounds that pass between you; you actually think about saying something dirty, but you put that thought aside when it feels a little too sudden after a silence. You chew on your lip, trying to figure out how to get him to let loose without sounding way too demanding about it. It’s only when you think about Mark’s words — his heightened concern — that you start to pinpoint what the problem is.  
“It’s not just about hurting me, is it?”  
“Hmm?”
“You’re worried about something else.”  
“Is it that transparent?” He chuckles softly, his hips slowing to a stop again. You decide to let it slide this time.  
“You were fine before this,” you point out. “You even said—”
“I know, I know.”
“Do you not want to… anymore? It’s okay, you know. If you don’t,” you add quickly.  
“Wha — no,” this time, it’s his voice that rises a little. “No, that’s not it at all. I’ve always wanted to — you have no idea how much I’ve…”
“So what’s the problem?”  
“I don’t know. A while ago, I was kind of in the heat of the moment, and you looked so… so hot, and it was all good, and then, just now, I just realized,” he laughs softly at nothing in particular, but it’s an embarrassed kind of laugh. “I might not live up to your expectations at all.”
You want to throw him a look of disbelief, but you can only turn your head so far sideways, so you can’t see his face fully. You settle with giving him a side eye that you hope translates just how absurd you think he’s being.  
“Are you kidding?”  
“I don’t want our first time to be disappointing for you,” he continues. “If you have standards, and I don’t meet them, won’t it be too awkward for us after?”  
“I really want to look you in the eye right now, but since I like the fact that you’re still inside me while we’re having this conversation, you’re just going to have to imagine me looking a little sternly but affectionately at you,” you instruct, and he snorts softly. “Mark, the one and only standard I have for any fantasy I’ve ever had is that you’re part of it. Since you’re here, I think we can call this a win.”
“So after this…?”
“After this, we’re going to take Donghyuck out for a late dinner, and if we still have the energy after that, you’re going to tell him to sleep in Renjun’s room so I can come over and ride you, or something.”  
He’s quiet for a moment before he hums approvingly. “I guess I could roll with that, then.”  
“So stop holding back,” you groan. He chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to your shoulder blade, the act of him nodding causing his lips to brush against your skin. This time, without your prompting, he starts to move his hips again, pulling them back and rolling them back forward with more resolution. “Fuck. Okay, this, I’m on board for.”  
His breath cools against your skin as he laughs silently, but it doesn’t last long; he focuses more of his energy on his movements, and you can hear a low groan echo from the back of his throat. His palms move to press against your stomach lightly, but one of them slides further downward. You feel his fingers press against your clit, rubbing it in intense circles that match his pace. You moan low, feeling yourself tighten around him again.
“I guess shower sex has that whole keeping you super wet perk.”
“Nope,” your voice is higher than usual, but it isn’t cracking yet, at least. “That’s all you.”
“Yeah, I kind of just wanted to hear you say it,” he chuckles. Your admission of it seems to renew his confidence, and his thrusts grow sharper, his two fingers spreading your folds so he can rub the middle one along your slit, having it brush against your clit with every upward stroke. You can’t help but squirm a little at the stimulation, but he keeps you firmly in the embrace of his other arm.  
“You like hearing how wet you make me?”
“It’s suddenly become my new favorite topic.”  
“I’ll be sure to bring it up at every appropriate time,” you promise. “Like when you’re balls deep in me, or something.”
“Great plan,” his voice sounds a little short, but your assumption is just that he’s trying to conserve his breath now that he’s giving it his all. Now that he’s not burdened with irrational worries, he’s fallen into the delicious pattern of drawing his hips back almost until he’s out of you before snapping his hips forward, burying himself back into you until the base. The feeling of being filled doesn’t turn you on as much as the idea of him being the one who’s filling you, and your moans increase in pitch and volume with every thrust. He doesn’t even try to shush you anymore; in fact, you feel like it’s sort of driving him, considering that he seems to move his hips more intensely whenever you moan his name, prolonging the last syllable.
The hot water is starting to run out; you feel even more goosebumps on your back and shoulder as the water starts to cool down. Your teeth are digging hard into your bottom lip because you’re desperately trying to hold back the fact that you’ve been humiliatingly close to cumming since you’d felt his cock against your clit, but you can feel yourself pulsing around him dangerously. Just when you’re about to confess, though, he suddenly pushes his hips harder into you, suddenly stopping with a low groan.  
“Mark —“  
“Don’t be mad,” he mutters, his voice dangerously low. “But I’ve been holding myself back since you gave me that blowjob.”
“Technically, you fucked my mouth —“  
“Yeah, whatever, that really hot thing you did that almost made me blow a load,” he snaps. You feel his cock throb inside you, and you mewl.  
“I’m really fucking close too,” you admit, and he doesn’t skip a single beat. His hips jerk up, allowing him to grind his cock into you for one intense second as he pulls your back flush hard against his chest. He buries his face into your shoulder, and you can feel his short, labored breathing as he pumps into you.  
You can’t even form coherent sentences to keep egging him on, so you’re just stammering at this point, switching between Mark and so close and a string of obscenities that heightens in volume when you feel yourself tighten right before you reach your peak. Even when your shoulders tense and you fall into a blissful silence in your climax, Mark doesn’t stop, diligently fucking into you in his determination to keep you riding your high. It doesn’t end when you come back down, either, and you’re a whimpering mess in his arms, nails digging into his forearms and repeatedly moaning out how much you want to see him cum.  
“Fuck,” he breathes out, and his voice breaks uncharacteristically; he’s close, but he’s still going, his thrusts growing erratic and sharp. “Fuck, _____________.”
“Mark,” you whine, neediness thick in your voice. “Let me blow you again.”
“You feel so good, though,” he whispers reluctantly. “I don’t want to stop.”
“Mark—”
“Shit, I know,” he groans, easing you away. You turn to look at him, and the sight makes your knees weak; his brow is furrowed, and his hand on his cock, stroking it haphazardly. His lips are parted slightly, and he’s staring at you with a burning desire that somehow makes you wish you hadn’t asked him to pull out. You’re so entranced by how he looks that you almost forget why you’d turned around in the first place, and it’s his low, drawn-out moan that snaps you back into focus.  
Getting back on your knees, you tug his hand away; it falls back to his side as you replace it with your own hand, stroking his length at a quicker pace. You can see him threatening to tilt backwards, and you call his attention before it can tip all the way.  
“Mark,” you breathe out. “Baby, look at me.”
He complies, slowly bending his head and squeezing his eyes shut for a second before opening them to gaze down at you. His pupils are blown out, and water caught on his lips drips down onto your hand and face.  
“Tell me where you want to cum.”
“Shit,” he looks dazed; the fact that you’re squeezing him probably isn’t helping. “I — I don’t know.”
“Do you want to cum in my mouth?”
“Oh my god.” He squeezes his eyes shut again. “Fuck. Fuck yes, yes.”  
“Look at me when you do,” you press. “I want you to see your cum all over my lips.”
He looks positively overwhelmed at this point, but he opens his eyes again, fixing his stare on your lips, which have parted to kiss his tip. Your tongue peeks out, pressing flat against the underside of his cock as you continue to stroke him, trying to coax him into climaxing.  
He starts to rock his hips again, but instead of intensifying his thrusts, he suddenly tenses; his cock twitches against your hold, and you feel the heat of his cum spill onto your tongue and stain your lips. You can tell he really wants to keep his voice down, but he can’t control the long groan that leaves him. Mark’s expression is something straight out of the million fantasies you’ve had, with him unconsciously licking his lips at the same time you lick your own clean. He stands in slightly dumbfounded silence, not breaking eye contact as he watches you swallow.  
He doesn’t even say anything as he helps you up, but he does gather you in his arms again. His embrace is tighter than before, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, then finally your lips. His fingers glide down your back, resting naturally just above your ass.  
“Holy shit,” he finally manages to cough out as he pulls away.  
“For sure,” you agree, and you watch his lips curl up into a grin. “Never had a shower sex fantasy. Not sure why, but I guess I found out what I should have imagined.”
“These fantasies of yours — do you have, like, a list, or—?”  
“Only up in here,” you point to your temple, and he pulls out a disappointed expression. “What does it matter?”  
“Well, what kind of checklist am I supposed to make now?”  
“You want a sex checklist? Can’t it just be spontaneous like this?”
“I’ll have to work on it.” He reaches behind you, taking the soap from the holder and pressing the flat of it against your back before rubbing it in gentle, circular motions. “It would be nice to have a guide, though, so I’m not repeating myself, or whatever. For example, we can’t have shower sex again tomorrow. That would just be lazy planning.”
“You don’t need a guide,” you say dismissively. “But I’m kind of into the fact that you already think we’re going to fuck again tomorrow.”  
“Are we not?”  
“We are. That’s why I’m into it.”  
                                          *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
When you come out of the boys’ locker room, Donghyuck is standing by the door, arms folded across his chest. He’s visibly miffed and bursts into an enraged whisper when you step out, followed by Mark.
“You guys were in there for an hour! The janitor came and tried to lock the door. Thank god he said there was a ghost inside and he went to the chapel to get the priest. What took you so long?”  
“There was only one shower,” Mark says simply. “The girls’ locker room didn’t have any hot water.”
“You take like ten minutes showering,” Donghyuck accuses him before turning to you. “And you hate long showers because they make your fingers wrinkly. Two showers back to back don’t equal an hour in there.”
“We didn’t take back to back showers,” you reply, equally monotone.  
The three of you stand in silence, with Mark only moving to close the door behind him. Donghyuck points a slim finger at him, then at you, then at the door. Finally, it makes its way back to you, and his jaw drops a little as the pieces fall into place.
“You’re the ghost?”
“Hey, I wasn’t the only one making noise in there.”  
“I wasn’t that loud,” Mark defends himself, hugging his jacket closer to his chest. Donghyuck shakes his closed umbrella, the droplets flying around.  
“You guys made me stand out here and try to talk the janitor into getting a different mop while you had locker room sex?”  
“Technically, it was shower sex. Locker room sex sounds too public,” you correct him, and he makes a disbelieving noise.
“Weren’t you the one pressuring me into admitting I had feelings for her?” Mark frowns, and Donghyuck freezes, his mouth still open from the words he had been about to say. Your eyes widen, and it’s your turn to point an accusing finger at him.
“You told Mark what?”
“He said I needed to confess or some other guy on the team would beat me to it.” Mark inhales sharply at his following realization. “There isn’t another guy on the team, is there?”
“Technically, we don’t know who has feelings for her on the team, so I might not have been lying so much as guessing with only little information,” Donghyuck sounds decidedly less hostile now. Mark rolls his eyes.
“You told me to just get laid!” You recall, and Donghyuck flinches.
“I didn’t mean right now in the damn showers while I waited for you out here for eons. I was thinking, like, one of you would confess, and then you’d go on a date later in the week, and if things go well then you’d kick me out of the room so you could bone, or something. It’s not my fault you guys made it sound like a scene from the exorcist in there.”
“We didn’t— okay, you know what?” You snatch his umbrella, and he lets it go without much resistance. “Let’s just go back. Come on, Mark.”
You open the umbrella, the remnants of the rain flying outwards as you do. Mark takes the handle from you, and you both march away, leaving Donghyuck behind in front of the boys’ locker room.  
You’re halfway across the field when Mark speaks up in a low voice.  
“We can’t leave him there.”  
“I know. I’m just trying to spook him.”
You both stop, turning to face Donghyuck, who’s still by the locker rooms. He’s clearly watching you, though, because the moment he sees you looking at him, he makes a run for it, his long legs carrying him across the grass at top speed. He’s huffing when he arrives, and he throws his arms around the both of you so he can minimize the space he takes up under the umbrella.  
When you reach the parking lot, Donghyuck speaks up.
“So, was it just one round in there, or what?”  
4K notes · View notes
zchnlswrld · 9 months
Text
NCT DREAM’S BROKEN MELODIES
Tumblr media
Watch NCT Dream navigate their love lives as they figure out how to lose someone, accept someone and get someone back. It can’t be that hard, can it?
All can be read without needing to read the other fics, none will have anything that will connect them besides the boys. All will be written with a fem reader in mind however no specific gender for Y/N will be mentioned and no gendered terms will be used.
NCT MASTERLIST
(Pre-warning, none of these are proof read right away but do get checked right after!)
JISUNG’S BROKEN MELDOY: ONE LAST TIME *
Pairing: Idol!Jisung x Fan!Reader
Jisung and you experience your first real fight. At risk of losing it all he tries to give you one last call, begging for one last chance except it’s 2:00am and he’s using a payphone so there’s not a chance you’ll be awake.
Tumblr media
HAECHAN’S BROKEN MELODY: AUTOPILOT *
Pairing: Student!Haechan x Student!Reader
You’d never understand the pressures Haechan has as the school’s founder’s son so why are you even trying? You do. You have it worse as the student on a scholarship. To add insult to injury the school has found out you’re together and Haechan starts lying.
Tumblr media
RENJUN’S BROKEN MELODY: REGULUS
Pairing: Artist!Renjun x Writer!Reader
He decides to give dating one more go after leaving the love of his life, it would help if his date wasn’t sat here gushing over your work. The more they talk about you the more he hates himself but his heart breaks the way he broke yours when he hears about your most recent novel.
Tumblr media
JAEMIN’S BROKEN MELODY: IN MY DREAMS
Pairing: Playboy!Jaemin x Nerd!Reader
Jaemin’s heartaches as he hears you explain to him you were aware of his intentions, the bet, everything. It hurts him even more that you said you knew and let it happen to feel special. How could he let it get this far? How could he hurt someone as special to him as you? Mainly, why are you forgiving him?
Tumblr media
MARK’S BROKEN MELDOY: NO LIE
Pairing: Idol!Mark x Producer!Reader
Mark can’t stand that he has to face you right now, it makes him think about how alone he made you feel. He had knowingly isolated you and left you alone and when you left he had the audacity to get angry at you because he knew you didn’t want to leave. In reality Mark didn’t know you, he had forgotten who you were a long time ago and didn’t like the new you.
Tumblr media
CHENLE’S BROKEN MELODY: SULLAE
Pairing: CEO!Chenle x Housewife!Reader
Chenle left you when you needed him most and it felt like hell. Every time you called out for help he would suddenly have to be somewhere else. He didn’t think it was that bad because he knew you were strong, that was until he heard your wails on the kitchen floor after he came back from a meeting. You were crumpled into a ball on the floor as his assistant sat there stroking your back.
Tumblr media
JENO’S BROKEN MELODY: SHARP OBJECTS
Pairing: Demon!Jeno x Angel!Reader
He didn’t understand you were risking your life to be with him, he always played around with it but what happens when it comes to it? What would he do then? He doesn’t know but he knows he has to. He has no choice now and it’s all his fault.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Release dates subject to change, will most likely be earlier. Any date changes will be put here.
Taglist (reply to join): @sukistrawberry @lovesuhng @shwizhies @niinjo @renjunoya @carelessshootanonymous @hyuckissed @funkygoose @fymine @asteriaskingdom @iscocohere @calssunflower @kunvibing
* = Getting a part two, there’s been multiple requests so far so they’ll be done once the rest are!
282 notes · View notes
twilghtkoo · 9 months
Note
hello, hope you are having a wonderful day. I want to request where y/n dreams where haechan is cheating on her and wakes up and act all grumpy and he's trying to convince her. not forcing you take your time 🤍
pairings. haechan x reader (f)
genre. slight angst if u squint, fluff, humor
warnings. mentions/descriptions of cheating but it’s a dream
notes. thank u for requesting this anon, i hope ure having a good day too !! i hope u like this and didn’t know how to end it but here u go T__T likes/reblogs very much appreciated <3
masterlist
you were never a morning person. if someone disrupted your sleep, you are the most bitterest person to deal with until caffeine was in your system. yet, never has a dream— or nightmare, you should say— been the reasoning of your distaste of the early mornings.
and this dream— nightmare— was a very interesting one. yes, you’ve had dreams of your boyfriend. some being loving and beautiful and some being a result of waking up horny and your panties being wet.
but this one, this one has you wanting to ring haechan’s neck and curse at him.
you know haechan loves you with his entire being and he would never do anything to ruin what you two have because he cherishes you wholeheartedly. but the scene replaying in your head of him kissing that other girl had you wake up with tears brimming your waterline because it felt too real. and you didn’t like this feeling sitting deep and heavy in your chest.
where is haechan anyway?
you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and sniff, tossing your blanket off of you as you walk out of your bedroom to the source of quiet sizzling noises.
the man is making breakfast and is preparing your coffee with your favorite mug sitting next to your most prized possession, your kurig, trying not to wake you up. he would never cheat on you.
as if he sensed your presence, he turns his head to face you. his eyes widened and his eyebrows raised before his lips turn upward in a small smile that makes your legs and insides melt.
“morning baby, did i wake you? sorry i was trying to be quiet–“ he pauses mid sentence when he finally observes your physical appearance.
“have you been crying?” he questions, placing the spoon in his hand on the counter before coming over to you in one quick stride.
you have, but is it noticeable? you thought you had just teared up from your bad dream but you didn’t think any tears actually fell. maybe they have but while you were asleep.
you blink, “i guess.”
his eyes glinting with concern, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks, you feel his thumb rub your skin gently.
oh, you love this man.
“what’s wrong? did you have a bad dream?”
you scoff, “a nightmare i would say.” shrugging off his hands before starting where he left off to pour my coffee into my mug.
he pouts at your dismissive action that hurt more than he thought it would. he turns on his feet, your back to him.
“you wanna talk about it?”
as you’re stirring the hot liquid with a spoon, taking the silverware in your mouth to clean it before dropping it in the sink. you bring the mug to your lips slowly before taking a careful sip.
“you cheated on me.” your eyes purposely ignore his shocked ones, taking another sip.
he blinks. “are you, are you upset with me?”
you shrug in response.
“it was a dream though…” he trails off mumbling, pouting.
“you kissed another girl in front of me!”
his mouth opens then closes before he finds the right words to say. “in your dream!” he defends himself, laughing in between his words.
you frown, setting your mug down on the counter. “you still cheated.”
he finds this situation very amusing yet endearing at the same time. how much this nightmare of him being unfaithful to you affected you pretty bad that you’re upset with him in your state of awareness. he’s kind of happy about it.
fuck, he loves you.
a lop sided grin makes the corners of his lips twitch and he’s brave enough to take a step towards you, cornering you between the counter and him.
“it was a dream, i didn’t cheat on you. never have and never will princess.“ he responds lowly, his voice dropping a few octaves almost made your panties drop, but no, you’re stronger than this.
you try to push through him but he stands still. “well you did, in my dream, so.” avoiding eye contact so he doesn’t see your flushed cheeks right now.
“you seriously can’t be mad at me,” he whines out. there he goes.
“i am.” you answer, grabbing your coffee and strutting back towards your room. is this childish? yes.
he’s not letting you walk away though because he runs up behind you, his hand slipping underneath his t-shirt that you wear, squeezing your ass making you slightly jump and let out a gasp. he takes the moment of you being off guard and pins you against the wall.
“i could’ve spilled my coffee!” you snapped.
but he doesn’t look affected by your sudden attitude. “wahh, look at you getting snappy, someone’s brave today.” he says, amusement laced in his tone.
430 notes · View notes
starrynctzen · 6 months
Text
[2:22 am] jaehyun reaches out for you in his groggy state eyes not even open from his slumber.
his heart sinks and reality hits him like a truck.
you're not there.
his arms linger where you once would be.
where your warmth healed him and comforted him.
now it was cold.
so cold.
his arms are pulled back to rest in front of himself.
he feels empty without you there.
he feels cold.
he wishes you were there.
he wishes he had you in his arms again.
151 notes · View notes
neoculturecollectives · 10 months
Text
Jaehyun as a Boyfriend
Tumblr media
fluff and nsfw
Tries to be chill around you when you first meet but looks at you like you're God when he cracks a joke and you actually laugh.
"So I was shopping and I saw this and thought you'd like it too. I got one for myself so we can match."
Isn't the jealous type because he trusts you
You rarely argue but when you do, you're both lowkey dragging it and just trying to outdo each other because you know the sex is gonna be fkn top tier
He knows how much you love the sound of his voice so he leaves voice notes whenever he can instead of texts
You noticed that he tends to mumble in Korean to himself so you ask him to teach you a bit so you can talk to him
he knows you like hearing him speak in Korean and likes to randomly remind you how fast you came the first time he spoke dirty to you in Korean
lies and says he wasn't actually talking dirty to you but was only naming common household objects
sometimes likes to be in control
sometimes like to be extremely in control
"I love you baby"
sings you to sleep when you're too stressed to sleep
fucks you to sleep when you have an attitude
refuses to roast you because he knows you'll obliterate him in two seconds flat
lets you paint his nails when you're bored
his ideal lazy day is staying in bed and eating you out
has an oral fixation and likes it when you suck his on fingers
leaves marks on you. like everywhere
just wants to be close to you
doesn't necessarily need to talk all the time though just likes being around you even if you're both doing your own thing
definitely plays Lover by Taylor Swift for you even though the term 'lover' makes you both cringe
754 notes · View notes