outromoonchild

[outromoonchild]

round & round! ★ [ l.dh ]

{💭} hyuck : i suggested playing spin the bottle because i wanted to kiss you, but now everyone’s kissing you except me :/

[☆] pairing. haechan x reader, slight jaemin x reader ft. 00’ line, chaewon of lesserafim and sieun of stayc

[☆] genre. smut + fluff | stoner!nct, pwp bc it’s me

[☆] wc. 6.1k

[☆] warnings. explicit content (mdni), weed/marijuana use, lots of making out, slight choking, dirty talk, fingering, sexual stuff in a semi-public place, use of the word ‘slut’, very slight degradation, not very proofread, pretty tame tbh

[☆] notes. my first time writing again in like??? two years???? istg i didn’t mean to abandon this acc 😞 pls be nice i haven’t written in a while and this is not my most favourite work but i’m warming up for more stuff in da future i just wanted to post a lil self-indulgent smth abt hyuck bc bf☝️ idk how active i’ll be because of uni and other things but i missed u guys!!! any feedback is appreciated enjoy :p

even through the clouds of smoke engulfing the little living room of jeno and jaemin’s shared flat, your hooded eyes still met.

today was an important day amongst your friend group; it was chaewon’s first time smoking up with everyone. your friends weren’t really the type to pressure anyone into doing anything they weren’t sure about, but considering the astounding majority who enjoyed smoking some variation of weed, group sessions were a frequent occurrence. you either joined in or didn’t, chaewon being the latter until she decided of her own accord that she was going to try it with the people she trusted.

you sesh with jeno most often, seeing as he was the one who introduced you to weed and taught you everything you know about it. after weeks of listening to you complain about sleepless nights, jeno suggested you try smoking a joint before you go to bed, especially since it was starting to affect your attendance. (“i can’t keep attending these zoology classes without you, y/n. every time something stupid happens, i laugh and make a joke out loud because i forget you aren’t there, and now i’m pretty sure people think i’m either insane or just really fucking lonely”.)

now, smoking up has been a pretty regular occurrence, especially since jeno introduced you to a bunch of his friends and vice versa, all of you making up one big, happy group of stoners. chaewon and sieun were your friends who got along with everyone else just fine, and though they didn’t hang out with the others as much as you did, they were still welcome whenever.

presently, you are leaning back against the couch, all the way on the end, because jaemin is sprawled out alongside you, opting to rest his legs on your lap. haechan makes a joke that you don’t understand, but you laugh anyway along with everyone else, except renjun who covers up his laugh with cough.

“you can never let me have it, huh?”, hyuck scoffs, narrowing his eyes at renjun who’s mouth forms a thin line. “i know for a fact you find me funny.”

you hear that he makes a remark back at haechan but what he says doesn’t register in your head, everything sounding far away. remembering the special occasion, you turn to face chaewon and sieun, who are giggling away on the floor about something between the two of them. you don’t know what they said but you smile anyway. she clearly seemed like she was having a good trip, and so was everyone else.

swallowing nothing, you realise how dry your throat feels, and with that realisation came this undeniable desire for some form of liquid. “jen,”, you tilt your head back and call out to the boy who was already rolling another joint on the table behind you. “did you end up buying more coke?”

“check the fridge”, he mumbles without looking at you, tongue poking his cheek out of concentration as he focuses on what he was doing. with a groan, you heave jaemin’s legs off your lap, muttering a couple ‘sorry’s when he starts to complain about the change in position.

you all but float to the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge and spotting the fresh cans of coke placed neatly in the overcrowded appliance. the first gulp feels like heaven against your parched throat, taking a few more while standing there.

“you gonna share or no?”, a voice startles you, turning to find haechan’s figure looming right behind you with a dopey smile on his face.

“god, we need to get you a bell or something. i never hear you coming”, you roll your eyes before grabbing two glasses from the cabinet. you’re disappointed to see that there was no ice in their freezer, but you pour the drink into the glass anyway.

“why are you pouring it into a glass?”, haechan furrows his eyebrows, looking pointedly between the glass and the literal can in your hand. “now we have to wash two glasses when we could’ve just drank it from the can.”

he’s right, of course, but you’re not gonna tell him that. instead, you pretend that you were planning on adding some lemon juice to the drink because you saw it on instagram. while you figure he doesn’t believe you, he humours you anyway and tries your little concoction, which ends up being pretty damn good.

out of all of jeno’s friends, haechan definitely stood out to you. you didn’t really understand why, you were just drawn to him, even way back before you met him, when jeno used to tell you about his friends. “loud and annoying” were the words he used to describe him, but the smile that appeared on his face anyway let you know that he was someone special to jeno. this was not to say his other friends weren’t special, you got along incredibly well with all of them, meshing right in with their group.

as of right on cue, jaemin’s voice loudly sounds out from the living room, “are you guys fucking in there or what?”.

sighing, you pick up your glass and begin to walk out of the kitchen, but not before purposely knocking haechan’s shoulder when you walk past him, hearing him snort before following you out as you exit the room. perhaps if you had lingered in the kitchen for a couple seconds longer, you would’ve heard haechan muttering something along the lines of “i wish” under his breath.

“jeez, took you long enough, can i have some of that?”, renjun drawls, lifting himself off the armchair with a smile, to which you roll your eyes but pass him your glass anyway. you sit down on the floor opposite the couch and he looks as if he is about to compliment your drink-making skills before haechan cuts him off.

“dude, chaewon and sieun look like they’re about to fall asleep, let’s do something”, he half yawns out, opting to stroll over to your spot on the floor and sinking down next to you.

“not…sleepy…”, chaewon murmurs, but her voice is muffled because her cheek is pressed against sieun’s shoulder, both of them sprawled out on the floor like it was a comfortable bed.

“sure you aren’t…”, jeno chides with a smile, getting up from the table to walk over to where all of you were situated. he twirls his newly rolled joint between his fingers, finally holding it out in his palm as if it were some magical gadget, and if you were being fully honest, you were sold. “round 2? or 3, I can’t really remember…”

some words of agreement were muttered across the room, chaewon and sieun even groggily getting up from what looked like a very comfortable napping spot. another rotation began, and you made sure to blow out your smoke directly into an unsuspecting haechan’s face when it was your turn.

“let’s play a game or something”, jaemin suggests, taking a long puff and passing it to jeno who sat beside him, and soon the room was hazy once again, the smell of weed infiltrating your nostrils.

“like what?”, chaewon coughs weakly in between her hit and renjun pats her back before he hands her your coke that you hadn’t received back after you gave it to him. so long for that.

“monopoly?”, jeno offers with a shrug and haechan lets out an obnoxious snore as a reply, making you laugh but you cover it up with a cough when you meet jeno’s playfully narrowed eyes. “okay then, big guy, what’s your incredible idea?”

haechan appears to actually think about it for a moment, looking around the room for some sort of inspiration maybe, until his eyes land on you.

“okay jaemin, get that empty wine bottle from last week, we’re playing spin the bottle”, he is grinning from ear to ear, wiggling his eyebrows even though all his suggestion receives is a bunch of groans and sighs.

your eyebrows are raised however, and you try not to let your reaction show too much on your face. spin the bottle? you hadn’t played that since you were maybe fourteen, but that was the least of your concerns at the moment. haechan wanted to play spin the bottle? who was he hoping to kiss? or was it just a whimsical little suggestion that was more of a joke?

it didn’t fully seem like he meant it as a joke, judging by his expression as he awaited some actual responses from the group. “what are we, fourteen?”, renjun might as well have read your mind, but he soon joins you and haechan on the floor, the others following suit. jaemin presents the empty bottle and places it in the middle of the little circle you have formed, everyone seeming slightly more keen as the joint runs out.

maybe it was the thc talking, but it didn’t really seem like a bad idea to you anymore. you were all single, attractive and close enough that it wouldn’t make things weird, and most importantly, you wouldn’t mind getting more familiar with haechan’s lips.

you shocked your own self with the sudden lewd thoughts in your head about the male sitting next to you, squirming in your position slightly. he turns his head towards you like he could hear your thoughts (“shut up, y/n, he can’t hear your thoughts…right?”) and you swear his eyes soften a bit. “are you sure you wanna play?”, he asks softly, mistaking your tenseness for discomfort, but you shake your head a little too quickly for your liking.

“no, no, let’s play, it’s not like we have anything better to do, right?”, you feign indifference and after everyone else agrees, the bottle is spun for the first time by haechan.

much to renjun’s dismay, it lands on him, and it’s almost comical the way he looks at the bottle pointing at him before slowly looking up at haechan. “renjunnie, let me kiss you”, haechan whines in a high pitched tone while drawing out the “you”, puckering his lips expectantly. the next three minutes consist of renjun listing every single person he would rather kiss than haechan, and you’d have half the mind to volunteer yourself if you weren’t clutching at your sides laughing at the whole exchange, slapping at both jeno and sieun who tried and failed to dodge your waving hands.

renjun finally relents when chaewon suggests he lets him kiss his cheek instead, but haechan is no quitter so he makes sure that he plants the loudest, most wet kiss on his face before sighing in victory when he sits back down. renjun is not the most happy with this, and he tells jaemin to take his turn instead while he rushes off to the bathroom to wash his face. hyuck looks indignant, calling out behind renjun, asking if he wants another one.

taking the turn instead of renjun, jaemin spins the bottle harshly, and it spins and spins and spins for what seemed like an eternity. your eyes are so focused on the way the bottle looks as it spins that you don’t even notice that it has stopped, until jeno nudges you with his shoulder. it’s neck is pointed directly at you, and you finally look up from your trance at jaemin, who wears an undeniable smirk on his face.

while you didn’t exactly see him that way, there was absolutely no denying that jaemin was a very attractive man, and he was no different presently, the sleeves of his hoodie rolled up as he propped himself up with his arms, looking at you expectantly.

you don’t want to look at haechan right now, because you can see out of the corner of your eye that his face is looking straight forward, not at you or jaemin, just forward. you wonder what is going through his head, but your thoughts are cut short when jaemin scoots closer to you in the circle.

“are you okay with this?”

and when you think about, you are. “yeah, i mean it’s just a game”, you reply, not wanting to ruin the fun or raise any suspicions, to which jaemin agrees and inclines his head towards you.

he kisses you, more fully than you were expecting, but you had no complaints really as you kissed him back, titling your head in the opposite direction to slip your lips over his. you wonder if your lips were as dry as they felt, and in the back of your mind it registers that your friends are watching you kiss your other friend because they hoot and giggle, but you can’t really bring yourself to care.

jaemin’s lips taste sweet and he smells sweet, his touch soft as he brings a hand up to your cheek, gently holding it while he continues kissing you. it probably wasn’t as long as it felt, but jaemin finally pulls away, the remnants of his sweet chapstick lingering on your lips. you are aware of how hot your face feels when you pull away and return to your spot, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“dude, what chapstick do you use?”, you ask after clearing your throat, and jaemin rummages in his pant pocket for a moment before whipping out a cute pink tube, holding it out in front of him. “strawberry dream, baby”, he winks, reapplying it on his lips. “never go anywhere without it.”

renjun returns after god knows how long, stating that he had to re-do his skin care routine because haechan had completely thrown off his skin’s ph balance, and is saddened to hear that he missed witnessing you and jaemin.

the game continues in a steadfast manner for the next couple of rounds thanks to haechan insisting we play one more round, though it doesn’t exactly go in the manner you were hoping for. the group is practically in tears after watching jeno and jaemin share an awkward kiss, chaewon arguing that they can’t claim “no homo” because it was the most homo thing she’d seen in a while, and that was saying a lot because she was, in fact, gay.

you have now kissed sieun, jaemin once again and an especially endearing renjun, who’s cheeks and tips of his ears are painted a bright red after you plant a full peck on his waiting lips. haechan grumbles something about renjun not having kissed anyone besides his mom to explain his reaction, but jeno is quick to cut renjun off before another argument ensues.

“i don’t know about you guys, but i think that’s enough exchanging of saliva for one day”, he all but sighs, lying down on the floor dramatically. while you do agree, you’re disheartened, because not once has the bottle landed on you when spun by haechan, or the other way around. it feels like the universe is fucking with you, because really how many times can you spin a bottle between a group of seven people and not have it land on the one person you want to kiss even once.

haechan looks like he wants to say something, but appears to decide against it in the end, stretching and standing up. it is then mutually agreed by everyone that it was time to watch a movie.

“super bad?”, jaemin proposes, and even though most people had already watched the movie, no one argues against it and jeno starts setting up the movie on their big screen tv.

settling into the couch, you glance over at haechan and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling a tad bit disappointed. this whole spin the bottle thing makes you wonder about all the other times where you could have had an opportunity to make a move on the brown-haired boy.

you’d gone on long drives together, gone partying, even drank with just each other a couple of times. the closest the two of you had ever come to crossing that line was while you where dancing at a party and his arms were looped around your waist from behind, slowly swaying to the beat. you’d danced with him tons of times before that but you recall thinking the air was a little different than normal, more heated, but you also recall mistaking renjun for your professor, so you didn’t trust yourself. the moment came and went, and neither of you ever had the balls to address it, and now it had been way too long since to bring it up.

“this seat taken?”, haechan snaps you out of your bitter thoughts, jerking his head towards the spot on the couch next to you. you clear your throat and shake your head, scooting over slightly so he could sink down next to you. “what’s up, y/n, you look a little…not present. you still high?”

it’s funny because your mind certainly wasn’t present, it was in the gutter, but you choose to blame the weed. “yeah, i’m still high”, you answered truthfully, and so was he, his red, hooded eyes a dead giveaway.

“okay, perfect, i wanted to show you this stupid tiktok i saw”, he’s pulling his phone out of his pocket and leaning closer to you to show you some video of a cat, or maybe a dog, you weren’t paying attention. he laughs at whatever the animal did, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he does so, and you observe him instead of watching. when he doesn’t hear you laugh, he peeks over at you but you’re quick to turn your head back to his phone, letting out a very late giggle at the video.

if he did catch you, he doesn’t mention it, continuing to scroll and show you more videos. jeno finally gets the movie set up and turns off the lights, taking up the final seat left on the couch. the movie begins, and everyone falls into a comfortable silence bar hyuck, who makes the occasional comment that earns him a snort from you each time.

at some point during the movie, haechan stretches his arms out behind him, placing his arm on the head of the couch directly behind you. glancing at him quickly, you can’t tell whether the action was purposeful or not, because if it was, he was doing a very good job of looking nonchalant. you try your best to ignore it, but his hand is resting directly above your shoulder, inches away from touching you- but it never does.

you had never noticed what nice hands haechan had before. long and slender, nails clipped short and clean, his middle, ring and index finger adorned with various silver rings. you note that he wears three rings on his left hand, but none on his right. his right hand sits on top of one of his thighs, two of his fingers drumming against it following some rhythm going on in his head. his fingers are long, and the only thing you can think about is just how nice they would feel inside–

no, no, no, stop it, since when are you this horny?

you realise stressing out about how horny you are all of a sudden is just going to lead to a bad trip and you don’t want that, and you want to clear your head. even though you’re feeling a different kind of thirsty, you figure a distraction for a couple minutes would be helpful, so you excuse yourself to go get some water, jumping up from the couch and walking towards the kitchen. unbeknownst to you, haechan’s watchful eyes follow your figure as you exit the room.

finally away and in the kitchen, you fill up a glass and lean over the sink, closing your eyes to collect yourself. you can finish the movie without driving yourself crazy over haechan, right? tonight is no different than any other hangout and you don’t want to weird haechan out with your unnecessary staring and poorly concealed thirsting. you just need to stop thinking about his stupid hands, his stupid thighs, his stupid hair and his stupid kissable lips. “kissable? lock in, y/n, lock in…”

“who are you talking to?”

you wince but don’t turn around, eyes screwed shut tightly. you’ve been gone for a couple minutes and you don’t know when he left the room, but you put down the glass and turn to face him.

“what’s got you so jumpy?”, he questions, leaning against the counter. his arms are folded and his gaze is piercing, face tilted slightly to the left as he observes you. this is the second time he’s startled you in the kitchen today and also happens to be the very reason you’ve been so jumpy.

“nothing, i just…god, you need to starting announcing your entry into a room, dude…”

he furrows his eyebrows but lets out a chuckle anyway, slowly sauntering over to where you stood. eyes never leaving yours, he now stands directly in front of you, caging you in between the sink and his body. the closer proximity and dim lighting isn’t helping your case in the slightest, feeling all hot and bothered as if there was a sudden change in temperature. “what’s happening? you’re usually never like this, we’ve smoked up together so many times. are you having a bad trip?”

you understand why he might think that, what with your jerky movements, dazed staring and just overall disconnected demeanour. while you were wound up a little tighter than usual, you weren’t having a bad trip, your mind was just very slightly preoccupied. “no, hyuck, i’m fine, i just…needed some water”, it’s a half-lie you tell, choosing to not tell him the full truth for the sake of your own pride.

“you just seem…off”, he seems to pick his words carefully, eyes roaming over the expanse of your face. “no, i just…”, you trail off to try and find the words to explain this situation away, but he’s just looking at you so intensely. it’s so silent in the room and the air feels all too still, and you swear you’re trying to speak coherently but haechan switches his weight to his other leg, wetting his lips with his tongue while he awaits an answer and you just freeze. “i…”

“‘i’ what? see? you’re doing it again”, he starts, running a hand through his hair, and the muted light that leaks in through the window illuminates only one half of his face, but you can see him so clearly that even the way his pretty eyelashes brush against his cheek when he blinks doesn’t go unnoticed by you. you’re subconsciously chewing on your bottom lip, feeling a little like a deer caught in headlights. “you have this look in your eye. like you wanna…”

“…what?”

everything is still and unmoving, until your eyes zero in on haechan’s hand as he raises it, slowly bringing it to graze his fingers over your cheek. his touch leaves a burning hot trail on your skin and using his thumb, he releases your bottom lip from under your teeth, hand lingering cautiously for a fleeting moment before he drops it.

“like what, haechan?”, you repeat yourself, urging him to just say whatever it is he has to say, getting tired of this back and forth. you could sell a kidney just to see what was going on in his mind right now, because he looks torn between speaking his mind and just staying silent.

“like you want to kiss me.”

a few beats of complete and utter silence pass, not even hearing the dull sound of the television in the living room anymore over the thudding of your heart in your ears. haechan takes a small and tentative step towards your frozen figure, gripping the counter you’re using to lean against with his right hand, effectively trapping you in your place. now you really are a deer caught in headlights, because he’s spoken what you’ve been thinking about for the past couple hours into existence and he is absolutely correct.

“am i wrong, pretty?”

judging by your sharp intake of breath and open-mouthed expression, you’d have to be a fool to think otherwise. he looks as if he’s waiting for you to answer him regardless, giving you a chance to get out of this, but your voice is no longer functioning, and it takes all the strength in your body to shake your head ‘no’.

his eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips, tongue peeking out to lick his lips again. “i suggested playing spin the bottle because i wanted to kiss you”, his voice is strained as he admits this, quiet and careful like he’s holding back while his eyes are trained on yours like he’s daring you to break eye contact. you don’t. “but then everyone else was kissing you but me.”

normally you would giggle at his little frown, but all you can muster up is a whisper of his name, finally breaking his all-consuming eye contact in favour of looking at his lips again. you don’t know who moves first, but the next thing you know is your lips are pressed together in a fierce kiss, your hands tangled in his soft, brown locks while he grip your waist and pull you into him.

he kisses you like a man starved and you do the same with equal fervour, not even being able to process that your little daydream is coming true. his hand comes up to caress your cheek, soon moving down your neck after stroking your face softly, using it to tilt your head for you. the position of his hand is very purposeful because his thumb presses into your throat ever so slightly, but his grip is still tight enough that you couldn’t break the kiss (not that you wanted to, anyway). the other hand snakes around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, pressing his hips into yours.

you’re positively drunk off the feeling of haechan’s lips molding over yours and you think you might just ascend when he tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth, using the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. body on fire, you mewl against his lips, swirling your own tongue around his while he slowly but surely bucks his hips into yours.

no wards are spoken while your hands thread through his hair, pulling on it and letting out a sound of surprise into his mouth when his hand trails down to your ass and grips it harshly. he finally releases you from the searing kiss, but he doesn’t let you catch your breath, instead spinning you around in his hold so that his front presses tightly into your back, hands slipping around your waist from behind. this feels like a déjà vu kind of moment because you are reminded of the time when you both were dancing in this exact position, except this time you were getting exactly what you wanted.

“you know how bad i wanted this?”, his voice echoes your thoughts and breaks the silence, hands running up and down your front in a teasing manner. lifting your shirt up slightly, he trails his fingers over the exposed skin of your torso and the action makes you squirm in his hold a little, and much to your surprise, he groans lewdly against your ear. “fuck, i’ve been thinking of this for so long. kissing you, having my hands all over you…”

you get the sense he’s talking more to himself than you, but you revel in it nonetheless. his hand grips your jaw and squishes your cheeks together so your lips form a pout, forcing it to the side where he plants one, two, three kisses to your puckered mouth. his other hand slips further up your shirt where he brazenly cups your boob through your bra, fondling one of them while his tongue peeks out to flick at your bottom lip.

you’re putty in his arms, all gasps and squirms and whispered ‘haechan’s. “what, baby?”, he mumbles into your cheek, the hand gripping your jaw letting go in order to slink down to your hip where it lingers for a moment. “what do you want?”

your lack of answer doesn’t bode well with him, earning you a tight squeeze to your hip as a kind of warning. “need you to touch me”, you whisper out defeatedly, and you feel haechan laugh mockingly against your face.

“yeah? need me to touch you?”, he mimics your voice while tutting, letting his hand slip further down to where you needed him the most, but not letting you have it just yet. “think you can be a good girl and keep quiet for me? we don’t need everyone outside hearing what a little slut you’re being in here.”

everyone outside. the fact that you were just a room away from all your friends who were sat watching a fun little movie together had completely slipped your mind, but if you were being honest, you couldn’t find it in you to give a shit. everything about your current disposition was so dirty. one hand under your shirt, the other about two seconds away from fingering you right in the middle of your friends’ kitchen, while said friends were sat outside, unaware of the goings-on under their own roof.

though you didn’t think actually getting caught in this position would be the most pleasant experience, the idea of it dampened your panties and caused you to whine out loud, tilting your head back against haechan’s shoulder. you receive an immediate hand clamped over your mouth in return, haechan tutting in your ear condescendingly. “looks like the little slut can’t follow a simple request.”

even though he reprimands you, his hands begin fumbling with the button of your jeans anyway, undoing it and pulling the zipper down. one hand comes up to wrap around your front and rests on your shoulder, holding you in place, and the other he sticks down your pants and cups your heat but makes no effort to move, chuckling when you try to move yourself against it. his crotch ruts against the swell of your ass and for you, any friction is better than no friction at the moment. with one hand gipping the arm around your shoulder, you slip the other behind you to palm at his hard cock over his pants, making him let out a sound of approval.

“please, hyuck”, you shake your face free of his hand and turn to look him in the eye, and he grips your throat and presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

he seems to accept your plea, finally moving his hand against you and you breathe a sigh of relief, lost in the feeling of his fingers rubbing circles on your clit over your wet underwear. he’s quick to slip his hand inside your panties, cold fingers pressed directly on to your bare pussy, spreading your wetness all over you. when he ultimately slips a finger into your tight, waiting core, you moan but it’s cut short when he slaps his hand over your mouth again. “keep. quiet.”

if someone were to walk in, the two of you would be a sight to see. you writhing in his tight hold while his hand is stuffed in your pants, two fingers pistoning in and out of you at a fast pace as his forehead is pressed against the side of your face, releasing short breaths. you look positively fucked out, and you’re both in a state of complete bliss as you grind against each other in a timely rhythm.

“my pretty girl. if i had known you wanted this too, i would’ve just grabbed you and kissed you like i wanted, in front of everyone.”

his voice is honey-like and sultry, and his fingers are nothing short of heavenly. they pump in and out of you, and he still manages to use his thumb to toy with your clit in this position, leaving you breathless and on the edge. “can’t believe jaemin and renjun got to kiss you before me.”

you’re so wet that your cunt makes downright sinful noises as he fingers you and you’re hoping that it isn’t really as loud as it seems. “you’re so wet, angel. so this is what had you all jumpy today”, he laughs like he’s stating the obvious, and you’d have half the mind to feel shy if his ministrations didn’t feel so fucking good right now.

you’re aware that you’re close and so is he because you’re clenching around his fingers, so he quickens his pace both inside you and against your clit. “you gonna cum for me, baby? right here, in the middle of kitchen, while everyone’s outside?”, he purrs against your face and you grip the part of his arm that isn’t shoved in your pants, digging your nails into his skin in a way that’s sure to leave a mark. his words make you feel dirty in the best way, not even knowing you could feel this turned on.

he peppers kisses along your jaw and neck, sucking here and there, and through the pale moonlight bleeding into the room from the window, the red blemishes that begin to bloom on your skin are visible to hyuck, and he seems pleased with his artwork. “that’s it, sweetheart, let go for me.”

your moans are muffled against his palm when you finally come, the orgasm ripping through you so strongly that you go limp in his hands, legs almost buckling at the sensation. with the added boost of the weed you smoked earlier, your orgasm is immense, feeling it pulse through your body until it’s too much, whining and wriggling in haechan’s firm hold. he holds you still and helps you ride out your high, whispering utterances of “that’s right, baby” and “my good girl” into your ear while you throw your head back and try to regulate your breathing.

in a moment, his hand slips out of your pants, turning you back around so you’re now facing him, grinning down at you from ear to ear as if you both hadn’t just defiled jaemin and jeno’s kitchen. “you feeling okay?”, he mumbles, tucking your hair behind your ear with the hand that wasn’t soaked, pressing a number of kisses all over your face as you nod and giggled, trying to evade his attack. he lets you go just to wash his hands, and it’s when he dries his wet hands on the material of his pants that you notice his raging boner, immediately feeling bad.

“wait hyuck, let me–“

as if he’s reading your mind once again, he shakes his head and takes both of your hands into his, wrapping them around his own waist while pulling you into him. “we can save that for another time, pretty”, he insists, his expression turning shy when he realises the implications behind his words. “that is, i-if you want another time, of course–“

it’s your turn to cut him off this time, but you do so by leaning up and connecting your lips again, bring a hand up to stroke his cheek. “of course i want another time, hyuck. i want this. i want you.”

your assurances do good to bring a smile to his pretty face, taking ahold of the hand on his cheek and pressing his lips to your skin gently, lovingly. “so, so, perfect.”

taking note of the prolonged amount of time the two of you had been gone, you skulk back into the living, but this time, hand in hand.

the scene you’re greeted with is a surprising one, because you find every single one of your friends to be sound asleep, much to your amusement and hyuck’s dismay. “so you’re telling me i could’ve been hearing you moan the whole time and none of these idiots would have even known?”, he is appalled, a hand coming up to rub at his face out of frustration. “i did all that for nothing?”

“i wouldn’t say for nothing”, you reveal, biting your lip and smiling up at the boy shyly. “i might have woken them up.”

“oh yeah, well now you’re going to”, and with that, he’s dragging you back to the kitchen while you giggle, nearly tripping over your own feet before he all but scoops you up in his arms, muttering to himself about having left something in the kitchen that needed urgent fetching.

#😁😁😁 #hehehehehehehehehehehe #that’s an evil laugh #god i wish that were me #hyuck

[outromoonchild]

salted caramel | lmh ( m )

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

read the first part here!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today is no exception.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re fucking impossible!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh…” you say smartly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that mean?”

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

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

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

“Meaning?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s happening to me next time?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then I’ll teach you next time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gotta study all the same.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bingo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“If… who’s right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d take it if you were with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Just promise me.”

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

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

On the third time, Mark pretty much gives up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would if I could.”

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

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

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

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

“So come to class and write it yourself!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’d you get probation for, then?”

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

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

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

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

“You doing that too?”

“Shut — please, would you hurry?”

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

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

“Nothing. You’re lucky.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about yours?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why are you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this even about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No kidding.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s on your mind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does that have to do with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop doing that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A mouth made for you to kiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you not want to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At least give me a full minute.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s… still a no for me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to hear it anyway.”

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

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

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

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

“Mark, what—”

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

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

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

“What’s your passcode?”

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

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

“What’s funny?”

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

“To what?” He sounds bemused.

“The view of me you have now.”

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

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

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

“With my life.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Hyuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m doing it right now.”

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

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

“Mark, I…. I’ve been— s-since—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His cock fucking me in my stomach.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I already am.”

#she does it again!!!!!!! #i need simp mark so fucking bad he’s everything to me #like YES bbygrl im yours 1000% i dont want anyone else #who do u think u are. bc ur hot as fuck and im in love with u #mark

[outromoonchild]

sweet cream, cold brew | lmh ( m )

something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.

alternatively: mark is shy until he isn’t.

read the second part here!

pairing: nerd!barista!mark x reader verse: college au rating: r ( minors, do not interact! ) warnings&tags: unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, slightly possessive/jealous dialogue, mark has a thing for tummy bulges because why not, implicitly that also means he has a big dick, a slight???? exhibitionism kink (not actually something that happens, only talked about), johnny exists in this simply to trigger something vaguely feral in mark, reader is a little bit assertive and schemes to get mark's attention, jaehyun is a nosy lil eavesdropper, i think that should be it?? word count: 26.4k

a/n: hello so this was a mess and honestly not a fic i would say showcases my best plot-wise but… what can I say apart from booty wurk mark has me in a chokehold and I needed to release some thoughts and feelings !!! please do not expect too much from the development of the story; i fear it’s quite long and choppy because my ideas were all over the place and i was wringing my hands and brain constantly and i was eager to get to the spicy parts !! this is also not beta’d/proofread, it’s currently almost 1am, and i’ve been writing this on and off for a full week with very few breaks so it honestly felt like a fever dream for me LMAO please forgive any oversights and mistakes; i’ll try to go back on them another day and fix them little by little! finally and …most importantly belated happy birthday, my beloved morkly!

p.s. this will probably be flagged as ‘mature’ by tumblr, which means there’s a high likelihood it won’t appear in tags or searches. please consider reblogging to boost the fic, if you feel so inclined!

You’ve heard tell of how caffeine has inherently addictive properties. 

The more of it you have in your lifetime, the more likely you are to experience symptoms of withdrawal whenever you try to have orange juice for breakfast in its stead. It sounds bad, actually, considering most addictive substances are, but you suppose that its benefits somehow outweigh its milder drawbacks. You’re not much of a coffee connoisseur the way some people — see: your best friends, Yeji and Jisu — are, trying one cafe after the other in pursuit of being able to nominate the winning beans of 2023 (an annual heated debate they participate in for no better reason than their own slow and useless entertainment during their six-hour long breaks), but you do know you’ve only ever experienced good things from having a cup every so often: better energy, a more focused approach to mental activities, and the ability to drive through fifty percent of a road trip without needing pop punk music blasting out of your speakers to keep yourself alert. 

The three of you are generally particular about the coffee you drink, only in different ways. While your friends have a tendency to demand only the best from any establishment — lest the staff hear fiery commentary about the flatness of the brew or the evident coarseness of the grind — you, on the other hand, are a singular individual of rather simple tastes. All you need to survive long days is a glass of vanilla sweet cream cold brew. No modifications to the sugar level or fancy new milk types are necessary; you’ll drink it as it’s served in a grande cup (or a venti, when things prove particularly grueling). 

Of course, you’re strict about other things in the experience of consumption —  like where it’s served and, more importantly, who serves it to you. 

While Yeji and Jisu have rated the Liberal Arts building’s on-campus Starbucks branch as a five with the strict label of POEO — ‘passable on emergencies only’ — branding the menu as “nothing revolutionary” and criticizing most baristas for subpar brewery, you happen to be extremely drawn to the place. Initially, you may have argued that this has to do with the fact that it’s walking distance from most of your classes, confined to the same general compound on campus, so you can always grab a quick recharger whenever needed, no matter how short the timeframe to do so is. Sometime later on, you may have found yourself asserting that the layout of the cafe, albeit small, is very convenient, considering that every table is situated next to an electrical outlet, so you’re never out of battery (important to other students for their laptops and powerpoint presentations, important to you because you have an unhealthy obsession with passing time on TikTok, scrolling past video after video of ASMR girls clicking their twenty-inch long acrylics with their crazy candyland designs), and this makes you feel at ease. 

A month ago, you finally came clean to yourself and, soon after, to your friends, and they came to understand, albeit begrudgingly and with no small amount of amusement, what made this Starbucks unbeatable in your eyes; it had one thing no other coffee shop could lay claim to.

What you know of Mark Lee is accrued from two major sources: long, surreptitious glances in the Modern World History class you share, and irritatingly brief interactions when you place your order from the other side of the counter behind which he stands, long fingers always poised to punch in your order at the speed of light. Sometimes, those encounters get cut even shorter when irate upperclassmen start prattling their orders out before you can even say anything past your own, except even this has its own consolation prize — an apologetic smile at you that seems only for you, although you’re not sure how much of this assumption is true. You’ll just believe it as you feel it. 

And what you’ve learned about Mark Lee has funneled down into two key points for you: first, he is single, a fact you were clued into when a group of his friends came to the coffee shop and sat around the table next to you. You hadn’t been eavesdropping; they’d just been pretty loud, but you’d also perked your ears the moment the one everyone seemed to call “Hyuck” — you aren’t sure if it’s his full name or a nickname, and you don’t particularly care — had leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper about having a vague master plan to set Mark up with an old high school friend’s younger sister that he was just waiting to spring on said Mark, busy slaving away on their six impossible orders near the espresso machine. 

You don’t really know what became of that plan, nor if anyone had telepathically been on your side to outright call it crazy (someone should have had a better reason than you, anyway) since the next moment, Hyuck’s voice becomes significantly louder when it orders the one named Jisung to collect the completed coffee and snacks waiting for them on the counter. However, you feel safe in the assumption that even if it had happened, no repercussions had followed, seeing as Mark still presently comes and goes from his shifts alone and in no clear hurry to meet any cute girls that are sisters of high school friends of his friends. Or, maybe you’re just ignoring what could be truth, but that’s whatever. 

Second, you’ve learned that Mark Lee should not actually be your type — at least, in theory. 

Saying you’re out of his league would be a bit juvenile, but if you had only so many words to describe the situation, you’d say so under duress. It isn’t so much that he’s beneath you in any way, but your interests and general social circles run different routes. Yours tend to be more classically patterned after constantly changing trends, and the people you interact with all seem to have similar goals; you like to call it ‘vibe networking,’ which, from experience, involves connecting with both groups and individuals that are equally aware that they will benefit in some way from any resulting acquaintanceship — whether it be by climbing the social ladder a couple of rungs or being able to call in a quick, off-the-charts favor for something very important and/or very exclusive down the road. You and your friends spend a significant amount of time in a year watching your style and image, something quite a lot of kids in the first couple of years of college tend to do, which means that while you don’t particularly like to spend your time following your grade trajectory, you do have quite a lot of pseudo-friends that all seem to offer something entertaining or helpful to you. 

Mark, on the contrast, prefers to keep his circle very close to his heart, it seems — that which acts as a receptacle for all his interests. You can tell that he likes to be up to date less with trending movies and more with comic books, a separate beast of a world that’s rather unknown to you. More than once, you’ve overheard him chat with his friends about Spider-man Issue Number Whatever-It-Is or engage in somewhat lively (sometimes rowdy, thanks to the Hyuck fellow) discussions about some webtoon you’ve come to understand is called Solo Leveling, which seems to have to do with monsters and hunters — two things you know next to nothing about. You’ve also never seen Mark holding anything remotely close to a magazine; his hands are always filled with either a freshly opened comic or a beat-up textbook. Maybe once or twice, you’ve seen him on his phone, but when you peeked over (surreptitiously, of course) on those occasions, you were met only with brightly colored panels and a singular word: BAM. 

In conclusion — you and Mark Lee live very different lives, likely never truly meant to intersect. 

And yet, you want him — not even in a way that speaks only to your curiosity, but in a manner that feels slightly delusional. More than once, you’ve found yourself having to shut your jaw close after realizing you’ve been watching him steam milk with your mouth slightly agape. Maybe it’s his side profile, which gives you a great view of the way his jaw tenses every time he puts whipped cream on someone’s frappuccino. Maybe it’s his eyes, which always seem to twinkle like he’s harboring some special secret every time someone in line asks for his recommendation on how to spice their order up. Maybe it’s his hands, steady and agile, with just the right showing of veins through the skin to tell you they’ve probably got significant strength to them too. Or maybe it’s just his mind — that thing he always manages to show off in class, working faster than lightning even when the rest of you are in your natural eight-in-the-morning stupor.

Whatever the reason for your interest, Mark Lee makes sure the Liberal Arts building’s Starbucks has you as a regular customer. 

You’re fully aware that this is the twenty-first century, which is why you could, as Yeji and Jisu have so kindly made known, simply ask him out. Under normal circumstances, you would have.

Unfortunately, in this particular area of your life, separate from all others, you’re something of a traditionalist. 

Actually, you just want to know what Mark asking you out would look like. Curiosity has fully gotten the better of you — how can it not, with how he breaks eye contact with you the moment it happens by accident in class, or with how pleasantly and shyly he smiles when you say ‘hey’ to him once you’re about to order? You’d like to see, first-hand, as a recipient of the experience itself, what he would look like taking control of a particular situation like that — something someone like him, so mild-mannered and laid-back, never really seemed to do upfront. 

You’d like to think you’ve given him clear signs. There’s a reason you always come in during his shift times, and it’s the same reason for why you have the same damn drink from the menu over and over again despite not even caring too much about coffee in the first place (something he admittedly doesn’t know and probably wouldn’t puzzle out, given how often you’re in that Starbucks, anyway). It’s that you want him to remember you.

Selfishly, it’s that you want him to think just a little bit more about you every single day. 

But if he does, Mark has never made it very clearly known; apart from taking your order in his genial customer service demeanor or letting a look of brief recognition pass his face over when you cross paths in the hallways, he’s never really shown heightened inquisitiveness about you. For all your differences, only you seem to actually care.

Frankly, that frustrates you, because if you have to think about him unhealthily, it would only be right for him to do that for your sake too. Still, you’ll shrug that hit on your pride off for as long as you can get his attention one way or another.

All you really need is for your plan to pan out as well as you think — and hope — it will. 

The thing is, you’re not even that bad at math. You’ve never really excelled at it, of course, but you wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re in dire need of help from anyone — the kind of help that feels like babysitting, at least.

However, Mark Lee doesn’t know that, and you’re not compelled to make that fact known to him when you notice that he’s leaning on the counter with his elbows, shoulders rolled forward and head bent down. He’s twirling his ballpoint in hand, wrist hovering over a worksheet, and you’re briefly distracted by the rapidly moving shadow underneath it.

His head snaps up when you gently knock on the counter, and the rest of his body follows suit, straightening as he shoves the paper away, one edge crumpling in on itself as it meets resistance in the form of the pastry display glass.

“Hey — hi, _________.” He knows your name, says it easily, and while you’d like to believe it’s because of his unprecedented interest in you, you know that it’s just because you’re always here and always having him write your name on the side of your cup. “Can I get you the usual?”

There’s no particular reason you order what you do; maybe it’s just rooted in the fact that when you first asked Mark for a recommendation, he said that the Vanilla Sweet Cream Cold Brew was pretty good, and you were inclined to believe him (while pointedly ignoring the fact that it was, at the time, a new item all of the baristas were required to push to indecisive, slightly moony-eyed customers such as yourself). Whatever the case, you found the drink generally palatable, and you were also able to score the first of many smiles that fed into your two-semester-long infatuation with him, so it was basically a win-win scenario for all. He even got to do his job by getting some rube (see: you) into trying a new product.

“Hey, Mark.” You’ve long since given up pretending that you don’t know his name and have to check the tag on his cute green apron (why is it cute? You don’t know. It’s the same, standard, Starbucks green, but Mark makes it look homely and natural, somehow). You’ve been here way too many times over the last academic year for a nonchalant, were you talking to me? approach to work, anyway. “That, plus a lemon loaf, if you don’t mind. What’ve you got there?”

His eyes follow the trail of yours over to his wrinkled worksheet. “Oh — no, sorry. It’s nothing.”

“Is it secret?” Your bottom lip juts out, and you see his Adam’s apple bob dangerously, a small telltale sign of minute nervousness before he lets out a short laugh. “Didn’t know we kept stuff from each other.”

You don’t know what makes you say that so naturally. The both of you don’t do much beyond exchanging pleasantries.

“We — uh, well, it’s just a worksheet. For Park Hyosung’s class. College algebra?”

“I’m in Kim Junghwa’s. Can I have a look? I want to know if you’re suffering just as much as I am.”

He pauses, considering your request for a moment, likely wondering if there’s any harm in it before he smooths the paper out and turns it towards you. His handwriting’s a little messy, but his solutions are extremely neat. You see, like, one erasure, max. You also don’t see anything that interests you — except the name written at the top. Still, you can see at a general glance that more than half of his answers are correct; the logic of his organization is way too elegant and his writing’s too sure to be anything else. You whistle low, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Something wrong?”

“Pretty much the opposite. How is it that you’re doing this without breaking a sweat?”

“Oh, well — it’s not…” He doesn’t even know how to brag. Yet another item in the perpetually growing list of things you find cute about Mark Lee. “I mean, anyone… can?”

“I must not be anyone then.” You meet his quizzical look with a wry smile. “Either you guys are leaps and bounds ahead, or I’m really not going to make it through this semester.”

Another silence passes, just for a fraction of a second — short enough to be passable to others, but long enough for you to wonder if your humor code isn’t up to par with the rest of the world’s — before Mark’s chuckling lowly. His large palm comes down, covering a majority of his answers in the process.

“You’re kidding. I’m sure you’re doing just fine.”

“Mark, look at this face.” You gesture to your evidently dumbfounded, blank expression. “Does this look like the face of someone that’s doing just fine?”

You’re pleased to hear another laugh from him; you don’t know if he really finds you funny or if he’s just the type to be easily amused. You don’t want to know, anyway; assuming is better than actually finding out.

“That bad, huh?” He slides the worksheet away again, like he’s afraid his correct answers are going to offend you into leaving the cafe. Instead, his hands start working on your order, grabbing a cup and scrawling the shorthand of the drink on one of the little boxes. “Ever think about getting a tutor, maybe? If you really feel like you’re drowning, that is.”

“A tutor? I guess that depends. Are you free on weeknights?”

The marker makes a soft screeching sound as he drags it down with too much force, ruining the penmanship of your name. Mark takes a moment to stare at the mistake on the plastic before he looks at you, pointing the rim of the cup towards himself. “Sorry — am I free—?”

“You said I should get a tutor, right?”

“I thought — no, sorry, I was thinking more like one of those department-assigned tutors you can ask the faculty for, or something.”

“Oh. Are you not one of them?” You sigh, albeit a little over dramatically. Thankfully, he doesn’t really cotton onto your acting, too caught up in befuddlement at the turn of the conversation. “That’s a bummer. I was kinda hoping that if I was going to ask for help, I’d get an actual genius. You know — someone like you?”

You can tell by Mark’s expression that he’s torn between denying your compliment again and responding to your actual question; he looks both relieved and miffed when the student behind you clears her throat.

“Sorry, but— you know that there’s a line, right?”

You both apologize, Mark’s much more sincere than your own, and you step aside. His gaze follows you for a moment before it snaps back to the next customer, his voice abandoning that bemused uncertainty it had taken up with you. You don’t really mind; as far as you’re concerned, any dent in his barista persona when he talks to you is a step in the right direction.

You hang around the pick-up area, receipt in hand, watching Mark clear the line before moving to the actual stations near the kitchen area. There’s a concentration on his face that you find all the more attractive; he has a habit of chewing on his bottom lip when he’s trying to focus on getting the drizzle just right inside the cup’s cylinder.

He tends to try his best at everything, you figure. Not an unattractive quality — not by a long shot.

Mark finishes your drink first; the milk’s still only seeping, cloudy, into the coffee when he brings it over. He doesn’t even have to call your queue number, opting to meet your eye — albeit slightly nervously — instead. You reach out to hold the cup, a calculated move that allows you to brush hands against his without him being able to pull back on instinct. He doesn’t, nor does he really seem to want to, but his jaw tightens as a flush creeps along the curve of his ears.

“You really won’t help me?”

Your question’s abrupt, almost a little demanding, even if your voice is sweet. You’re not above asking this much, anyway, even if you technically want him to make the first move. The redness sinks down to his earlobes.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t really say anything,” you tease. The cup’s on the counter now, so he can easily relinquish it to you at this point, but he still hesitates, only one hand slipping out from under the heat of your palm. He uses it to rub the back of his neck, chuckling softly, and you take this as a green light. “What time does your shift end?”

“Five-thirty. You sure you wouldn’t want someone better?”

You pull your cup slowly to yourself, and his hand, still lightly trapped by your own, follows for a few inches before he’s withdrawing, the counter between the two of you forcing the distance. A smile follows the shaking of your head, and you take a small sip of the drink before you respond simply.

“There’s no one better than you.”

Mark is a prompt kind of person; you learn this when, at five-thirty, he comes over to your table, tugging his apron off over his head. Of course, you might attribute that to his overall personality, but the fact that you spend the remaining two hours of his shift casting him glances from the left side of the coffee shop might have also been a contributing factor. The looks you give him aren’t even furtive; they’re deliberately long, so you never miss whenever he looks over to you from time to time.

He doesn’t hold eye contact for very long (he does it well enough when he’s talking to customers, but it’s not like you’re ordering another cold brew from across the room at that point), but you can read snippets of his thoughts through the fleeting gaze exchanges. He’s curious as to why you’re asking for help, now, of all times, when the semester’s more than halfway over. He’s surprised that you asked him, of all people, because he just can’t conceive of a world that isn’t within a television show where this kind of abrupt, overt request makes sense. He’s flattered that you even asked him out of the blue. He’s equal parts anxious and eager to know what’s meant to happen after his shift, once he starts fulfilling your request.

Most of all, he’s unsure if he’s reading you right — if what it feels like you’re doing is something he’s attaching too deep a meaning to. If he’s right in reading your signs.

You don’t really mind it; you like knowing that Mark somehow wears his heart on his sleeve, even if he tries to remain neutral for the sake of appearances. You also bask quietly in the fact that he’s looking at you twice as much as he ever has in the time you’ve loosely known each other. Still, his bubbling confusion and inquisitiveness seem to be interfering with the rest of his work, especially when you notice that he’s been wiping down the surface of a table two down from where you are for more than seven minutes.

In the hopes of easing whatever tension might be in his heart, you offer him a small smile, but that’s only met with his eyes immediately glazing over and inching a couple of centimeters above your forehead, where the story of Starbucks’ origins is drawn out in a faux-manga style. He pretends to find it interesting, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times from coming into this establishment day after day — you know it well enough, and you don’t even have to, considering you don’t work here — and you can’t do anything but hold back your laughter.

A small part of you says you should just give him the affirmative answer to his biggest question, but every other cell in your body says that it’s no fun if he doesn’t ascertain it for himself.

He has his school bag and textbook in tow when he approaches, taking the seat across from you. There’s a steely resolution on his face, like he’s been emotionally preparing himself for such a daunting task, but it eases up the moment you laugh lightly.

“You don’t have to act like I’m going to eat you.”

“I’m still not sure why you’re suddenly asking me to help you,” he admits. He’s also very honest, you note. Again, not an unattractive trait. “I’m not complaining. I just didn’t think you even had an opinion of me.”

“Why’s that?” You’re genuinely surprised. Mark drums his fingers on the front of his textbook, thoughtful — less for the sake of thinking what to say and more for the sake of considering how to say it. It’s clear he wants to avoid calling attention to the fact that before now, you two have had no reason to run the same track, let alone sit together and talk at a coffee shop, as if you’ve always been the best of friends.

“Genuinely just thought I was the guy who gave you your afternoon coffee every day,” he finally settles. Your eyes widen, and another laugh escapes you — a little louder this time, enough to call the attention of a couple of jumpy freshmen nearby.

“Well — let me put it this way.” You lean over slightly, cupping your chin in your palm. “Was I just the girl you made coffee for every day until now?”

There are clear cogs turning in his head; his eyes unfocus slightly as he thinks of the possibilities. His silence suddenly makes you somewhat nervous; your tone had been confident, and you’d only said that to prove a point, to push him in the right direction, but you realize that you hadn’t previously factored in the possibility that he might simply say yes — or, worse, say no just to avoid hurting your feelings.

You watch his lower lip curl in; he uses his tongue to smooth out the skin that’s slightly dried from work fatigue. You would much rather it peeked out, so you could imagine it against your own. His response is mumbled in a lower register, but you catch some key syllables — didn’t… not … stranger — pretty … you?

“Sorry?” You ask patiently, but the fact that he turns red and laughs again — something you realize is not only a trademark of his personality but also downright delicious of him to be doing — is all the answer you need to let the apprehension seep from your shoulders. “I didn’t catch that.”

Mark clears his throat. “No, I… didn’t think of you that way. I mean… you’re my classmate.”

“Sure,” your tone’s breezy, but the somewhat sloppy confirmation of interest in you makes your heart soar. He just needs more of a push. “And we’re basically friends, right?”

“Yeah.” His voice is unsure at first, like he can’t seem to wrap his head around the concept. You can tell that Mark’s notion of friendship is likely based on shared interests, of which you admittedly have none. Technically, if you were his friend, you’d spend less time just telling him the exact same order every single day and more time sitting around a table trying to learn how to play Magic: The Gathering with him. Still, he takes one long look at your grin and suddenly gains confidence in his next words, as if it somehow convinces him that the briefness of your old conversations had been a mutually agreed-upon thing and not the product of social distance between the two of you. “Yeah. We’re friends.”

“Right. Friends help friends, don’t they? I’d definitely feel more comfortable having a friend teach me than some stuffy upperclassman I don’t know.”

You see Mark’s lips move slightly, in such small movements you could have imagined it as breathing if you didn’t care too much (which you do). He mouths, to himself — friends help friends. For some reason, that boosts his conviction even further, and he nods.

“Makes sense. Well — for as long as you don’t mind me, then.”

“Mind? I asked you, so I should be saying that.”

“I’d never mind — I mean, of course I don’t mind.” He’s quick to correct himself, and you have to stop your own hand from reaching out to try to satisfy your curiosity, the desire to know just how hot his cheeks get when he blushes. “More than happy to help, actually.”

“And I’m more than happy to be here.” You beam at him, and he mirrors your smile. You don’t know what it is about the look on his face — the brightness in his eyes, or the slight lift of his eyebrows, maybe — but it gives you the impression that he might be feeling at least a fraction of what you are: the feeling of your heart lifting off a few inches from your rib cage. “Since we’re on the same page, I hope — should we get to it?”

From the moment that Mark opens his textbook to a chapter on inverted parabolas, he assumes a personality you feel you haven’t seen from him before. You realize that you really do know him in only two limited capacities — his classroom persona that seems to really only view himself and the material, focused on the board and the professor’s words (even up until the useless anecdotes) to absorb as much information as possible, and his more genial customer service form, always happy to assist in the trained, easygoing way you’ve come to meet so often.

Right now, he’s a blend of both, yet somehow neither all at once. He’s quick to catch the parabolas you draw, either wrongly or downright poorly. Despite initial hesitation, he always manages to say something; there’s already a pattern to how he does it, from his slightly awkward, “Ah, sorry, actually —” to the way his finger traces over what you’ve written, outlining the right curve. You find his interruptions so endearing that you start drawing them wrong purposefully — not enough for him to realize your schemes in their entirety, but enough to cast you a few amused glances, like he can’t imagine why you’d map out such an absurd graph. You get the feeling he wants to actually laugh at how ridiculous you’re acting, but he can’t tell if you’re seriously struggling or not, so he settles for a smile he thinks he does well in keeping to himself, but that you catch anyway. He’s patient, even when you have to rip out pages from the back of his notebook because of your ‘mistakes,’ like he’s still catering to your request for an extra pump of syrup for your coffee on sleepy days.

But there’s also that side to him that comes out when he suddenly remembers the distance between you that, before today, had felt unlikely to be closed. It peaks at odd moments, like when you’re borrowing his pen because yours is currently holding your slowly unraveling bun up, and your fingers brush against his. It surfaces abruptly when you lean in to watch what he’s drawing until he realizes how close you are, arm lightly grazing his, and his pen freezes, ink blotting on the paper for a second. It’s in those times that you can almost hear his brain churning out questions — like he’s wondering if you’re just oblivious or if you’re doing something on purpose that he can’t quite believe. Like he wants to ask you what’s on your mind, but he just doesn’t know how.

If he asked, you would reply without missing a beat. The answer, after all, is simple (him). But Mark never raises the question, only does something without fully acknowledging what he’s doing — the adjustment of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, the ruffling of his hair as though to shake off his thoughts, the clearing of his throat to normalize his tone before he explains something you’ve just asked about. There’s always that light tinge of pink to his face that makes him look even more endearing, and it fades and returns every so often for the better part of two hours.

By the time he rubs oncoming fatigue out of his eyes, the sun has already set; there are far fewer people around you at this time, and for as much as you like spending time with him and breathing in the scent of his shirt — always a tinge of Downy, barely cutting through the much more overpowering scent of espresso and sugar — your back has begun hurting from your front-heavy posture and determination to have your face as close as rationally possible to Mark’s. Still, you don’t miss out on the fact that the act of him cracking his neck to relieve tension makes your lips curl inward, trying to stifle an inappropriate noise in reaction to the view.

“I feel like I talked your ear off,” he pipes up, sounding a bit sheepish. “Sometimes it’s hard to know when to stop once you’ve gotten started. I’m just hoping I didn’t bore you to death.”

“Meanwhile, I’m here hoping you aren’t sick of my questions already.” You smile, closing your notebook and hanging the clip of your pen on the spiral. Your arms stretch up first, followed by your back, a light twist to relax your posture into normalcy again. Mark’s breathing falls quiet, like he’d been preparing to say something in response but had let it die in the back of his throat instead. You let your eyes drop, expecting to see him looking at you, as he mostly has been — on and off — since his shift ended, but his eyes are far lower than yours, the telltale redness now growing in evident splotches across his cheeks.

The hem of your shirt has ridden up; while there’s nothing outrageous about it, there’s a short expanse of skin that it reveals, for a brief moment. His eyes are slightly glossy, brow furrowed like he’s trying to find a solution to something he can’t fully understand. You’re not even sure about what he could really be looking at, or if there’s something he’s just thinking of that caught his attention while his eyes focused on a rather unfortunate spot. To test your theory, you suck in your stomach slightly alongside an inhale.

It should be objectively funny to watch Mark blink unevenly, left eye going first before his right tries to catch up, but you manage to stifle your laughter — poorly, though, because you end up coughing a little and breaking him out of his strange trance. You avert your eyes quickly enough for him to look vaguely relieved that you hadn’t caught him looking. So he thinks, at least.

“Anyway.” You feel bad that you have to tear his mind away from whatever faraway land it must be trying to burrow a hole in; the dazed expression on his face dims into hastily hidden embarrassment. You don’t want him to feel awkward, so you just busy yourself with packing up, making an unnecessary show of stuffing your notebook back into your bag as if it isn’t half-empty at this point. “I really appreciate you taking the time to help me.”

“Any time.” His first attempt is a little raspy, maybe from overuse of his voice today, so he clears his throat and tries again. A slow smile builds on your lips. “Any time, really. I’m glad that this is actually helping you; you pick things up surprisingly fast.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll probably be ready to tackle it on your own again, I’m sure.”

He smiles reassuringly, but all you can think about is how that’s not good. You should pretend to be a little dumber next time, or this will end much too prematurely.

The next five minutes pass in silence; you don’t expect to be knee-deep in conversation anyway since, as much as you try to convince him, you aren’t actually anywhere close to being those kinds of friends yet. There’s an unspoken rule to the give and take of things, where he pauses for you to get an item off the table and push it into your bag before he does the same with his own belongings. Neither of you really intersect paths, save for the moment you both grab your phones and stand at the same time.

His jaw falls open like he’s preparing to say something, then shuts as if he’s better decided against it. You decide to take the initiative to say what you’re assuming he wants to. “Same time, same table?”

“Oh — uh, yeah, for sure.”

You want to ask him to walk out with you. You want to lace your fingers with his, tug him out, and kiss him under the green and white glow of the sign outside. You want to know if kissing his collarbone means you’ll taste a hint of coffee. You think about doing it all somehow, especially since he’s fighting back a slight smile at the promise of tomorrow.

But it just isn’t the right time.

Instead, you place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The slow movement of his throat — yet another hard swallow — isn’t lost on you, and his eyes land on where the two of you connect. With a grateful smile, you bid him a soft goodbye, taking your leave first.

You don’t look back — at least, not until you’re fully in the cover of the darkness outside. On the gravel path, just out of reach of the lamplight, you chance one last glance back into the store. Mark is still rooted to the same spot, his backpack slung over one shoulder, staring at the table like he’s dissociating from what just happened — like he can’t believe the last couple of hours.

Your smile grows when you see his own, and his hand comes around to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly like it gives him small comfort to let him know that it was real.

Baby steps, you remind yourself. You’ve already got one foot in the door, after all.

As the days trickle by, you fall into a more comfortable standing with Mark; there’s a routine to your meetings that seems to eliminate the initial and abrupt awkwardness of that first day. You come into that Starbucks at four, greet Mark, who doesn’t ever have to ask for your order, and spend the next hour and a half slowly sipping on it until the ice has thinned and watered down your drink substantially. In that time, you allow yourself to do whatever you want (as if you’ve ever done otherwise anyway), and what you usually want the most is a good view of him. You therefore use most of the minutes you have on hand to regard him from different angles — from the side when he’s frothing milk, upfront when he turns to leave cups on the pick-up counter, from the back when he’s clearing tables — interspersed with moments of checking your TikTok feed, clearing group chat messages, and sometimes re-curling your bangs with a portable iron from the school’s co-op center, a relatively new purchase you tote around these days. You do essentially anything in between to avoid acting too suspicious while he works.

Sometimes, you catch Mark’s eye too; the more your meetings increase in number over the course of a few weeks, the more deliberately he looks over at you, and the longer it lasts. You feel like you’ve made significant progress when your gazes lock and he smiles slightly, albeit a bit unsurely, instead of turning away like he used to. The other day, he’d even passed by while apologizing for how long you always waited for him — not that you ever minded, something you made a point to clarify with him before he walked away, carrying a couple of chairs from the back room with him to replace rickety ones.

That he’s able to transport them easily, as if he’s lugging a bag of apples from the grocery, does not escape your watchful eye.

What you like the most is that you start to learn more about him in a way that isn’t fueled only by your expectations and, therefore, limited by your imagination. You find out that he’s from a close-knit family with a rather cushy background, and this barista job is just for interest funding and experience, in that exact order. Most of his earnings are funneled into the things he collects, which apparently isn’t limited to comic books and special edition blu-rays with director’s cut but also a rather stupendous amount of PopMart blind box figurines. Apparently, he particularly likes the Skullpanda series even if he hasn’t completed it yet; your last session together had adjourned thirty minutes earlier than usual so that he could catch a pre-rush hour inner circle train to Hongdae, where the flagship store was set to open on that day. He’d promised to show you his pulls (as long as they weren’t embarrassing dupes). You learn that he likes to listen to loud music when he studies to stimulate his mind, and he has a playlist that’s just a jumble of songs from Punk Goes Pop volumes that makes him feel empowered for some absurd reason, like he’s going against the grain. You don’t really get it, but you do like that spiced-up rendition of Ariana Grande’s Problem that he let you listen to once.

Of course, there are things that you find out not through conversation but through continued, closer observation. You notice that he likes to put on chapstick even if his lips aren’t particularly dry, but he does worry on them often, most especially when he’s thinking hard about something. He has a habit of saying honestly… at the start of every other sentence, as if he’s concerned you won’t take his word on anything, even though he’s just talking about how unnaturally hot it was at noon despite it still being spring. He has long eyelashes that you’re equal parts attracted to and jealous of, and he bites the inside of his cheek whenever he wants to pep himself up after grueling shifts. He plays beats you’re not even sure he knows he’s creating against his knee with his fingers, so enthusiastic and consistent in this habit that you want to offer your thigh instead. His shoulders always go first before he laughs, and he does this thing where he raises his hand to cover his mouth at the start of it, which is a shame, because you’d do anything to keep seeing him smile like that — or, better yet, to be the reason for it.

Then there are those things you notice he tries to hide. He always turns his face halfway to the side when he blushes, something he seems to do without fail every time you smile at him. He has to temper the intensity of his grin when you take the time to compliment him on how cool his shirt is, or how nice his hair looks today, or how smart he is, like he doesn’t want you to know how good it makes him feel even if you want him to feel good about it, around you, because of you. Sometimes he denies it for the sake of responding, and his voice always lilts on the first syllable in his refusal to accept what you say, even though he knows you won’t take it for an answer.

And after a couple more careful experiments, you notice that Mark, out of the many things he’s interested in, seems to have a particular thing for your stomach.

You don’t know if it has anything to do with him not really seeing much of it in real life in his own time or if he just has his own kind of fixation on it, but you start to cotton on by the fourth time you meet. An hour of being hunched over a table that’s not at the greatest height in relation to your neck and torso has you stiff, and you’d leaned back in your chair, arms pulling to the air, hoping your spine might feel like realigning if you exerted enough tension pressure that way. Your shirt hadn’t ridden up this time, considering it had been tucked into your jeans, and it was because of this that you’d caught a flicker of something new in his face that you hadn’t seen before.

You could have sworn it looked like disappointment.

Of course, he hides it quickly, as he does with most of his emotional candor, but it’s enough to make you suspicious — enough to make you wonder if Mark is also just keeping something to himself. Or maybe you’re just projecting your own presently secretive nature onto him. Regardless, you think it’s odd that whenever you stand up or stretch, his eyes almost immediately fall to your midriff, like he wants to challenge your clothing into a staring contest before he thinks better of it.

You don’t mind, anyway. He can look as much as he likes. Maybe when the weather’s warmer, you’ll even cater to that interest and wear a crop top. Hopefully, that’ll be the push he needs to act on human instinct and ask you out or, like… bend you over. Maybe.

You’re often plagued with these kinds of thoughts in between the ones you try to keep as family-friendly as possible — now, more so than ever.

Sometimes, it’s easier, especially when you’re caught up in talks with him; despite the fact that he doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist when it comes to generic matters, when either he or you are enthusiastic about a particular topic, he has a tendency to get carried away. There’s nothing impure about how his eyes light up when you remember to ask him about the movie he saw with his friends over the weekend or the way he hums old Nickelodeon cartoon theme songs under his breath whenever he’s looking for a page in the textbook. It’s more of a situation where you’ll observe something and immediately run with it despite it being an objectively normal action.

Like right now, as you’re watching him turn his pen between his fingers. Now, while he’s shaking his knee in mild impatience, as if he’s trying to will the answer to the worksheets you’ve both been trying to get through for the better part of the day faster. You’d made copies of the problems your professors had assigned and exchanged them under the premise of being able to practice more intensely.

However, whereas Mark is actually focused on solving, you’re just watching him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he’s ever been told that his fingers are fuck-worthy on a singular, unique level or if it’d feel good for you to ride the thigh he’s currently moving, jeans and all. You consider the feeling of his warm palms on your bare waist as you do it, and you end up wondering if that’s what crosses his mind whenever he sneaks glances at you, too.

You’d know the answer to all those things if he’d fucking ask you out. Maybe you could do it after all. Maybe you should, instead of relying on slowly increasing the probability over such a long period of time. Maybe if you asked nicely, Mark might pull the shades down on the storefront windows and rail you against the glass.

You’re so lost in thought that it genuinely startles you when he plops his textbook over the worksheet, rattling your eraser dangerously close to the edge of the table. You’re still clutching your heart while he rubs his eyes a little too violently.

“Can’t,” he groans, and his neck gives into the weight of his head, allowing it to loll backward. “I feel like the numbers are just melting into each other. I swear, I thought I could read words out of them.”

“Maybe we were a little too ambitious with the double worksheet agenda,” you admit, even though you’ve barely gotten past half of yours and certainly haven’t touched a single item on his. “Should we call it a day for now?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, although he still takes the time to encircle his final answers before clapping his palms to his cheeks (an act that has your mind dangerously close to wandering off inappropriately again) to wake himself up. “Woah. I didn’t even notice how dark it is already. I’d say time flies when you’re having fun, but I’m not too sure about the ‘fun’ part of it…”

You trace his gaze towards the glass; the moon’s already out, surrounded by a smattering of low-light stars. You hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, probably because your mind had been on R-18 mode for most of the afternoon. Also, the days are getting generally shorter, but that fact doesn’t make you feel as embarrassed, at least.

“You got a ride?”

The question once again shocks you out of your small trance, and you turn back to him with wide eyes. “Well — no. Wait, I didn’t know you had a car. Why’d you take the subway, then?”

“Oh — no, sorry, I… don’t.” He looks suddenly sheepish, eyes dropping to the shiny surface of the table for a moment before they snap back up, as if he’s actually actively reminding himself to look at you. “I was wondering if you wanted me to — actually, more than that, are you going home already? Not that you need to stay; it’s not that important, but…”

You try to gloss over the fact that he had just been about to initiate another huge step in the right direction (i.e. offering to walk you home) by beaming at him, maybe a little too widely, if only to mask your disappointment at the sudden shift in conversation. “I have nothing waiting at home for me but a sandwich dinner and Singles Inferno, so hit me with whatever it is.”

“Oh, cool.” His lips turn up, and the corners shake, this show of happiness once again tamped down by his own inexplicable desire to maintain a safe distance. How are you supposed to tell him you’re desperate to bridge that gap without using those exact words? “I came from the flagship store yesterday — the one in Hongdae that I told you about?” He allows the smile to widen slightly when you nod in genuine understanding. “Got the last six boxes of the collection I’ve been trying to finish.”

You whistle appreciatively. “Can I ask you for a loan on my next phone bill? You know, once I’ve upgraded to something pricier.”

“Nah — just itching to complete the set,” he laughs. You wonder if he’s been doing that more often because he knows its crippling effect on you, though you doubt he’s that sly. Again, maybe you’re just projecting too much of your own motivations onto him. “This was probably about two months of saving up combined.”

“No new Iron Man issues to look out for, then?” Your voice is warm even though it takes on a teasing tone; Mark’s hand rubs the back of his neck, and his expression is a little sheepish, but you’re happy that the times he used to go completely quiet, opting only to blush at your attempts to act more familiar with him are pretty much gone now.

“Maybe next month.” You also like that he doesn’t really treat his hobbies as secrets, neither out of shame nor snobbishness. He explains these things to you the same way he does the topics you study — with an air of contentedness, like he’s happy someone listens to him without interrupting. On your end, you have no qualms with listening to his voice for hours, wondering when he’ll stop using it to greet you when you come through the door and when he’ll start saying your name in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only one he sees whenever you’re near. It’s a win-win situation (sort of). “I was actually debating between this collection and a really rare copy of Spi— well, never mind that. I just thought — since you were asking me a bit about blind boxes last time. You know, if you wanted to. With… me.”

As much as he’s become comfortable talking to you about things that don’t involve coffee orders and school, you can’t say that you aren’t doing your fair share of the work in connecting the dots; the demand for your efforts is exponentially higher in moments like this, when you think he’s trying to ask you something but can’t seem to find less-than-eager words to avoid what he thinks might spook you.

Luckily, he augments his fragments with action; reaching into his backpack — which you notice seems to be bulkier than usual — he starts extracting small brown boxes, all with the same design; it seems, for lack of better words, aesthetically gothic, and you reach out to pick one up, turning it over and examining the print on each side with vague interest. Mark starts laying them out on top of each other until there’s a small, somewhat unstable pyramid in front of him, then shifts his attention fully to you, just as you’re putting the box in your hand atop all the rest.

“I’d love to.” You beam as he does, and there’s a wondrous relief in his eyes that tells you he’s glad you manage to catch onto his words — or lack, thereof — surprisingly well. “For as long as you don’t blame me for any bad draws.”

“The contents have already been decided by my own hand — sort of,” he chuckles. “Point is, I would never do that to you. But I won’t lie; I kind of want to rely on your luck a little more.”

“What makes you think I’d have any of that running through my system?”

“Not sure — beginner’s luck, maybe? You just kind of look like one of those kinds of people to me — like… you’re just made of good things.”

You don’t know how to take this compliment; on the one hand, it’s easily one of the sweetest things Mark has ever said to you that doesn’t involve anything with actual sugar content. On the other, you know you’re not as lucky as he makes it sound, considering you’re still striking out on getting past the borderline of friendship with him. All you can do is smile, nodding and making to move closer to him by sliding into the next seat.

It’s hard to ignore the sight of him stiffening; something like surprise mingled with both fear and interest flashes strong across his face, but you don’t do anything to acknowledge the slight change in atmosphere, choosing to settle down comfortably and clap your hands. “So. What are the rules? What can I do, and what can’t I?”

“Uh.” His throat constricts at the right moment, the syllable getting caught and causing him to clear his throat. You know that this is the nearest you’ve ever been to him, the sleeve of your shirt tickling his arm. Upon closer, albeit brief inspection, you note that he’s also rather veiny. That doesn’t do your impurity any favors. “Not… really rules, or anything like that. Just — these are the ones I’ve been looking for. Not that you can really control it, but in case you were curious about that.”

You squint intently at the scaled-down images he points out. There’s one that looks like a penguin caught in an oil spill; another that seems to be in a polar bear costume, dozing; and — “What’s… halo? Halo…bios?”

“It just means marine life,” he answers quickly, like the thought means close to nothing to him to know something that obscure. Whoever said that smart is the new sexy wasn’t joking. “Like… all things that live in the ocean, that kind of thing.”

“And you know this because?”

He pauses, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure. I guess I must have just learned it when I was curious about what it meant some time ago. Isn’t that how we all learn things?”

You shake your head incredulously, and he smiles a little apologetically. “You never cease to amaze me.” Your nail drums against the silhouette of one with a question mark on it. “What’s this supposed to be? Can you draw your own figurine, or something?”

“No.” He’s clearly amused, but his expression’s still patronizing enough for you to not feel too bad about saying something idiotic. “It’s a secret design — a money drainer, basically. You could buy a full set of this and still not get it. Some people will open hundreds without any luck, so it’s really rare.”

“You don’t want it?”

“I try not to get too caught up in the secret thing,” he admits. “Otherwise…”

“No rare print comic books for the rest of your life, basically?”

He taps his nose, and you both share another laugh. It’s nice, you think, to have come this far — to be someone Mark can share his interests and thoughts with. You may have been stretching the word to its limit when you first punched your way into his social life and called yourself his friend, but it feels more real now, more natural to think about and say. Even if he still sometimes seems to be hyperaware of the gap between the both of you, there’s no denying, at least, that it’s been significantly reduced, and this much is a testament to that.

“Well, leave it up to me. I’ll let all of this beginner’s luck rub off on you,” you announce with overflowing albeit unfounded confidence.

You both decide to open a box each at the same time; Mark suddenly panics and asks you not to unseal the foil bag right away without looking at the card inside first, earning him one slightly alarmed look followed by a burst of laughter at his pained expression when you pretend to rip open the packaging. Comparing pulls, you identify them using the set chart — your luck doesn’t seem to be operating at full capacity yet because you can only offer him the card of one that looks like a floppy pigeon, which he responds to with a slightly apologetic grimace before saying he’s already pulled that thrice in the past. He, on the other hand, is turning the card of the polar bear over in his palm, trying not to make you feel bad for your duplicate pull by slipping it under his textbook when your eyes land on it.

The second round isn’t much better; both of you manage to pull something he’s already added to his collection, and as you’re ripping the seal to your third box, he pauses and watches you. You think it’s because he’s concerned about the obvious shit luck you’ve had thus far and wants to snatch it from you before your negative energy transfigures whatever’s inside into something he doesn’t want, and you’re just about to offer the half-opened package to him before he pushes the one on his end to you.

“No way, Mark.” Your eyes are wide, a palm up to reject it. “If that turns out to be another dupe by my hand, I’m literally going to walk into oncoming traffic.”

He has to control his amusement at your words so that it doesn’t completely shake his voice into incoherence. “I picked all of these while I was there, so if anything, you’re only riding off my bad luck. Besides, this is your first time doing this. I want you to have fun.”

“But,” your voice is pained. “Your money.”

“It’s not a big deal. With how few I need to complete them, I was definitely bound to run into more repeats than new ones.” He taps the front of the textbook — or, at least, the part of it not buried under the figurines and sealing tapes yet. “Probability mathematics.”

“I thought we already ended the study part of the day,” you grumble but concede, putting aside the one you half-opened to tear the top of his. You’re careful when you shake out the foil packaging, making sure to place it upright on the table before extracting the card. Both of your faces fall — yours more than his — when you see it’s a repeat of the polar bear.

“Almost. It would’ve been a pretty lucky pull earlier, so it’s technically not bad,” he tries to reassure you, but you childishly feel like you’ve been the sole source of his disappointment thus far. “Try the last one.”

It’s irrational, but you’re suddenly anxious about it. For some reason, you’re worried that this will topple the carefully constructed ladder you’ve propped up against Mark’s tower of social defense. Even if he’s being genial about your rotten pulls, you don’t know how much of it is just resignation to dismay on his part.

You say a small prayer, then fully rip off the seal; you don’t even take out the packaged figuring anymore. You just shimmy the card out of the box, turning it over when you notice it’s upside down.

For a moment, your shoulders deflate. It’s closest to this pastel purple figurine in the middle of the line-up, its stupid puckered lips almost taunting you. He hadn’t even mentioned it as something he’s looking for, so you almost feel like this has come to a horrible full circle. But then he grabs the box, checks the list, and looks back at your card again. He looks shell-shocked, and you’re not sure if it’s the strong air conditioning directed towards the two of you or if it’s just his hands, but the image he’s holding is shivering slightly.

You look more closely at it, and something just doesn’t feel right. Color palette aside, there are notable differences — different colored lips, a more intricate ear design, and closed eyes. It’s…

“Dream eater,” Mark’s voice is hushed, almost reverent, and very, very close to your ear. “It’s the secret one. You’re… incredible.”

“What are you talking about,” your words are just as raspy; you’re not sure if you’re actually choked up with emotion or something — over a figurine, you have to remind yourself. “You picked all of this. I just ripped open the box.”

The hush that falls over the both of you feels very concrete, weighty on your shoulders. His fingers creep towards the foil packet — the only one he actually opens because there’s no way he’s not keeping it. The shiny purple head gleams under the fluorescent, the glitter around the star and moon designs catching the light as he turns it left to right, like he’s worried it’s a fake. You can tell why people want these things so much; there’s a thrill in you that lingers, makes you feel warm and alert. It’s anticipation, despair, excitement, and triumph all in one sitting.

You’re stroking the smooth curve of the design by the ears lightly when Mark speaks up again and says the most outrageous thing.

“I want you to have it.”

“What?” You actually have to pop your ear canal in front of him with your pinky to make sure he knows how ludicrous he sounds. “This is… you said it was crazy rare.”

“Yeah. And you pulled it, with your magic. That’s like… unimaginable luck. Even more than beginner’s luck.”

“Like I said, I literally just opened the box.”

“No — you have like… the golden touch.”

“Please,” you hiss, a genuine testiness to your voice. “Do not. I was just here for the ride — the experience, and all.”

“Seriously, take it.”

“Absolutely not—”

It’s a chaotic moment of him trying to hand you the figurine and you outright rejecting it, with both your palms working hard to push it back to him. Instead of nudging the plastic back, though, you end up placing the full force of your hands against his fingers.

There’s no actual spark when you touch, but your reactions make it feel like there might as well have been; you even lock eyes in startled unison, like you can’t believe that just happened, before you pull away quickly, Mark drawing the figuring back to his torso while looking away towards the counter, where a lowerclassman is wiping down the stains. You want to scream at your warped reflection in the window. You barely initiate contact with him, but you imagine that if you ever did, you would prefer to not be saying something as abjectly negative as absolutely not while doing so.

Your mind flails in an attempt to mitigate the issue and water down the embarrassment, and clearly he’s struggling to figure it out too, because he pipes up before you can piece your thoughts together.

“No, really.” His tone is a lot milder and, consequently, a lot more persuasive this way. “You should take it. I want you to.”

“It’s not mine. This is your thing — your hobby.”

“That’s why I’m giving it to you. I swear — I want you to keep it.”

“Why?”

He lapses into silence again, but his face is much redder than earlier. His mouth opens in an attempt to say something, but he just manages to uh his way back into a state of quiet, which gives you a chance to speak instead.

“We can… share it,” you suggest. “Shared custody…. ish.”

His eyebrow cocks involuntarily, and his jaw falls again, but all he does in actual response is nod — slowly at first, then with more sureness to the act.

“Yeah. We can share it. I’d… like that.”

You’re glad that the bulk of the awkwardness has fizzled out fairly easily, and when you think about it, this feels like a pretty good course of action; you like that it’s this little link between the two of you now — something you share that no one else can touch.

Mark, you notice, is smiling as well — more to himself than towards you, it seems. His thumb grazes across the face of the figurine, slow across the lips, and you’re once again falling into a pit of nonsense by wondering when he’d do that to you.

“Thanks for staying with me, _________,” he finally says, and your heart jolts and melts all at once. “And for… doing this. For chatting with me. And giving me your luck, and all that. Great way to end the day… with you.”

You say no problem, but you instantly regret it when you realize you could have just said it didn’t have to end just yet.

“__________? Hello? Come back down to Earth?”

“Shut up,” you sigh at the guy seated across you — Seo Youngho, an upperclassman, your Gender Studies classmate, and current project partner, waves in front of your face. You shoo his hand away, which only joins his other one as he throws them in defeat above his head. “Stop moving. Be quiet. Don’t talk.”

“That’s the same thing as shut up and be quiet. What’s up with you?” He demands. “Fifteen minutes ago, you were full of ideas. Now I feel like I’m talking to a wax figure.”

You’d been engrossed in your report for the last hour and a half, and the subject matter is admittedly something you enjoy — the role of gender in Twenty-First Century Korean marketing and advertisement, a title Youngho had taken more than ten minutes to type into the Google Docs header because he was pissed off at how the numbers looked like in the fonts he chose. He’s an enthusiastic classmate and someone you’ve come to be friendly with, not only because he’s genuinely approachable but also because he has fits of nosiness and talkativeness at the strangest moments, so a chunk of your relationship is mostly based on social terrorism on his part. You like him well enough most of the time — save for the last fifteen minutes of this hour.

Because Mark had just come in for his shift fifteen minutes ago, and suddenly Youngho is much too noisy for your taste, and his head is honestly way too big to the point that it gets in the way of your opportunities to see Mark behind the counter. You even resent him for choosing a booth instead of your usual table all of a sudden, because your view of the central barista’s area is much more limited from this angle, especially since the huge espresso machine is in the of your field of vision.

You’re also (currently and abruptly) mad at Youngho because you remember that he’s the reason you’ve had to skip out on a couple of sessions with Mark. Like, it technically isn’t his fault that you have a lot of research to do for the literature review section of the paper, nor is it his fault that this is your final requirement that comprises a whopping forty percent of your grade, but like… you’ll blame him anyway. So you’re much more irritable, and you’ve definitely been missing Mark’s presence. In fact, you kind of just want to shove Youngho’s balloon head away and call Mark over to sit with you, but you’re not that much of an animal to actually do that.

Probably.

There had been inquisitiveness across Mark’s face when he’d come in; his eyes had trailed to the table at which you usually sat, surprised to find two guys hunched over a single phone there instead of the usual you, waiting for him with your eyes bright and your smile wide. You’d like to think it’s because he’s gotten as used to seeing you as you’re used to waiting to see him — like he just expects you to be there.

You hadn’t really known how to call his attention to where you were, especially since Youngho was prattling very matter-of-factly about the academic journal he’d unearthed yesterday and how he thought it would be useful in reshaping the methodology of your paper (whatever). There was a moment in which you briefly considered ordering another cup of coffee just to get in line to talk to him, but your hands were already shaking from the venti you’d had to keep yourself from passing out in front of your partner.

So you’re more than relieved when, half an hour into his shift, Mark finally steps out from behind the huge machine, a mug of water for himself in hand, and turns away from the front of the store to drink it — only for your eyes to lock as he twists his torso in your general direction.

The mug stops just inches from his lips, but you could swear he smiles at you briefly when he recognizes you, so you return the favor. Youngho’s face contorts into abject befuddlement, turning around to see what you’re grinning at.

“Oh, you poor sap,” he snorts, finally letting the puzzle pieces fall into place.

“What?” You’re still distracted even if Mark has taken a gulp of water and is now attending to a gaggle of girls still in the throes of discussing what to order.

“What what? You gonna spend the rest of the day eyefucking Mark Lee from over here? At least let me get a different table.”

“Shut up,” you repeat sullenly, coming back down to his level and finally — albeit reluctantly — meeting his eye (just because Mark isn’t looking your way). “What were you saying about the sample size?”

“That it’s much too large to be feasible, a point we closed twenty fucking minutes ago,” he says pointedly. “Is it a thing for baristas or a thing for smart guys?”

“It’s a thing for Mark Lee,” you sigh, following Youngho’s suit and shutting your laptop close. You’re at least glad he’s not annoyed that you’re delaying work for a crush, or maybe he’s also just equally lazy at this point. “You ever look at someone and think you would give it all up for a chance to hit that?”

“No, because this isn’t a porn movie, and I’m clearly not the main character in whatever’s going on in there.” He jabs at your forehead; you swat his hand away again.

“Well, I would.”

He rolls his eyes. “So do it, dumbass.” He says this so simply, like he can’t imagine why you’d be holding yourself back, which is a valid thing to feel, except it’s not really any of his business.

“Can’t.”

“Because?”

“Because it doesn’t fit into my elegant master plan. Also because I want him to ask me out. I just want that victory.”

“Oh yeah, there it is.” Youngho leans over, wiggling his fingers at your ears like he’s greeting a next-door neighbor. “Hey, delusion. Good to see you. Do you even understand how crazy it is that you’re taking a Gender Studies class while waiting for your dick-in-shining-armor like a damsel in distress?”

“Asshole,” you grumble, violently opening your laptop monitor again. “Get back on Google Drive.”

Thankfully, Youngho complies, and the next two hours pass in relative silence and productivity, with you hammering out a vague references list that he promises to format in your stead so you can ‘spend more time dreaming about Mark Lee between your legs.’ You want to strangle him, but there are far too many people in the cafe for you to get away with it. Also, aforementioned Mark Lee would only be a witness to your criminal record, and while you think there’s something romantic in killing for love, or whatever, you’re not sure it’d make the best impression on him.

“Next week’s my birthday,” Youngho announces as he stands to tug on his jacket.

“Congratulations,” you say wryly, peeking over his bulletin board torso to see Mark tugging off his apron and picking up his school bag. Your heart hammers in your chest as he looks over at you briefly, and something like embarrassment passes over his face before he busies himself with neatly folding the fabric. “Go away.”

“Usually people look uncomfortable for not knowing and then start thinking about what gifts to get the celebrant, but I always felt you were kind of a revolutionary.” He snaps his fingers right in front of your eyes, and you look up at him, a little offended. “I’m having a get-together — and by get-together, I mean it’s gonna be a rager. You should come.”

“When?”

“Next Thursday.”

“Can’t,” you chew on your lip, wondering if Mark is leaving. His movements seem particularly slow, but you wonder if he’s just taking his sweet time because he has nothing better to do. Of course, he would have something better to do if Youngho stopped fucking obscuring you from him and vice versa. “Busy. School… whatever.” Not completely untrue. Most of what you do with Mark has to do with school.

“This moony-eyed thing is just not for you, I fear.”

“Are you going to be here all day?”

“Are you? Why don’t you just fucking ask him out, you lunatic?” You can’t imagine why he sounds so exasperated. It’s not like this is his problem — or his business, for that matter. “Maybe if you did, you could fuck him and move on with your life and be an actual contributor to society’s development.”

“Has anyone ever told you how nosy you are?”

“Constantly.” He brings his palms down on the table, the thud shaking you out of another oncoming stupor. “Think about it. Maybe it’ll make you stop making that stupid face.”

“You’ve got a stupid face,” you mumble, sulking as he pinches your cheek as a goodbye before heading out of the shop.

At least you finally get to see Mark in full, glorious view — and you get to watch him come closer, although his stride is somewhat cautious.

“Hey.” Even his voice sounds unsure — almost like the way he used to sound earlier in your friendship. “I didn’t want to interrupt you and… your friend?”

“Oh. Well, you wouldn’t have been interrupting,” you inform him, completely genuine. “He was spouting a lot of nonsense.”

“You guys seemed pretty close.”

“I guess it’s a proximity thing,” you sigh, and Mark raises his eyebrows slightly in question. “We’re partners.”

“Oh.” The way he draws out the syllable is slow. “That definitely makes sense.”

The silence stretches out between the two of you again, with Mark checking his shoelaces. You almost grab your head; it hadn’t occurred to you until now how damaging missing meetings with him would be to your friendship. You feel like you’re slowly being dragged back to square one, and you want to give him an explanation.

“He’s actually… I haven’t been able to see you because I’ve been working on something with him.” you offer, trying to answer a question he didn’t even ask. “Sorry about that. I swear I’ll be back on track tomorrow.”

“No, no — I completely understand.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Thank you… for telling me, though. I— uh, appreciate that.”

“I’d love to see you tomorrow, though.” You try injecting more pep into your voice. “I’ve really been behind on my algebra. I’ve definitely been drowning without you.”

“Oh, yeah.” A small smile graces his lips, but you can’t tell if the reluctance behind it is from fatigue or something that looks oddly like sadness. “I’m down for tomorrow. Same time, same table, right?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Cool. See you, _________.”

You watch him turn on his heel, walking to the front door, and something like fear mingled with desperation clutches your heart. Fuck the traditional route, you think. You don’t know what it is about how he’s acting now, but it’s making you feel like he’s slipping through your fingers. All that hard work — there’s no way you’re letting him go.

“Mark, wait.”

You’re at his side, fingers curled into the sleeve of his jacket before you can figure out exactly what you want to say. You feel as surprised as he looks at your sudden liveliness in action, and his gaze trails from your clenched fist to your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize this whole position.

Your exhale’s shaky, but even still, you try not to sound overtly self-conscious when you ask, “Do you like Chinese food?”

Something in the furrowing of his brows tells you he can’t seem to see where this conversation is headed, and that slightly bothers him. “I like it well enough. Why?”

“There’s this really good dim sum buffet near my mom’s office. We tried it before — the Xiaolongbao is awesome.”

“Hey, that sounds pretty cool. I love Xiaolongbao. I’ll definitely have to check it out then.”

You want to tear your hair out. “How about — you know, checking it out with me? Tonight? You know… together. With me.” You already fucking said that.

You’ve never seen Mark blink this rapidly; he looks like he’s trying to crunch large numbers in his head. A small part of you actually worries that he’s malfunctioning, but just when you think he’s going to glitch out completely, he clears his throat. It bothers you how uncomfortable he looks. “Tonight? Oh man… it’s my cousin’s birthday tonight. I can’t… reschedule. Well, obviously. Maybe some other… time?”

Your ‘oh, yeah’ is small, and so is the ghost of Mark’s smile. You can’t help but feel like he’s pitying you a little, although he doesn’t seem like the type, but the thought of it alone makes you want to puke. He makes no motion to move, and you think he’s extending this awkward moment out on purpose until you realize you’re still hanging onto him and he has no way of telling you to let go nicely.

Fingers unfurling from his sleeve, you take a careful step back, but when he walks away, it feels like you’ve gone much, much further away.

The worst part is that you can’t even figure out why.

Luckily, the next few times you see Mark, you manage to rebuild a rather shaky bridge back to where you had been. You even manage to strong-arm him into sharing an apple fritter one afternoon, and you know it’s a bit sad to think about it a particular, untrue way, but you can’t help but pattern what you’re doing into some kind of pseudo-date. Pathetic isn’t a word you normally associate yourself with, but you’ve been borderline desperate for progress where there seems to be none, so you take small victories where you can get them.

Unfortunately, you haven’t been able to revisit your stupid dim sum plan; sometimes, he says he has somewhere important to be, but most of the time, it’s actually your fault. No — it’s Youngho’s fault, because he keeps bothering you to finish the project. You’re aware that he can’t do it himself, but since he’s informed of your current plight, he could at least stand to be more sympathetic.

And you hate the way Mark looks every time you splutter out that you have to take a rain check for that reason; it’s not even disappointment, or something, which would be much more understandable. It’s this mysterious kind of faraway look, where his eyes glaze over a bit and he seems suddenly very lost in thought — or completely dissociated. He never strays away from his normal response of “next time, then,” but that ‘next time’ fades into the weekend and into the start of next week, and you have to spend every other evening with an annoying Seo fucking Youngho on a Google Meets call instead of eating soup dumplings loveshot style with Mark Lee.

Thursday night rolls around, and the former performs the most irritating stunt yet: blowing up your phone with so many KakaoTalk messages that it almost buzzes off the table during your session with Mark. Luckily, he seems to have learned a thing or two from his comic books, catching it before it hits the floor.

“You sure you don’t want to answer it?” He asks, gingerly handing the phone to you like he’s afraid it’s going to explode from all the pinging.

“Without the shadow of a doubt,” you sigh, flipping the screen downwards. Buzz.

“It kind of seems important. Or, like… urgent.”

“He’ll live. Unfortunately.”

Mark falls silent, fiddling with the page he’s on. He’s neatly highlighted the formulas on the page with blue ink, and his finger keeps scratching at the slightly wet paper. Buzz.

“Didn’t you say you two were partners?”

“Yes. Also unfortunately.” Youngho is actually a great person, but you kind of hate how Mark’s paying more attention to his texts than to you right now. “What did you get for number ten?” Buzz.

“A hundred and twe— are you really just going to let it keep ringing like that? What if he’s… I don’t know. In trouble? Like, he needs you?”

You smack your phone on its back, hoping that the punishment reaches Youngho because he absolutely is in trouble — only with you. “He’s just making a racket because it’s his birthday and he probably wants a bunch of people to trash his parents’ house, or something.”

“Sounds like fun.” The dubious tone in Mark’s voice indicates that his idea of fun definitely isn’t that. Buzz.

“Not really, but I assume he’ll only pipe down if he manages to get his way.”

“He must really want you there.”

There it is again — that weird, distant expression that makes you feel like he’s trying to free himself from the tethers of the earth. You close your textbook in defeat; it wasn’t even like you got the answer to number ten correct anyway. Buzz.

“He just wants everyone there, I bet. But I probably should show up so he shuts up.”

“Oh — yeah, okay. We’ll call it a day, then?” He’s avoiding your eye as he starts packing his things, which is actually impressive because you have practically nothing but your book to keep in comparison to his pencils and protractor, so you just stare, willing him to look at you.

You want to know what’s going on in his head. You want to know what’s going on in his heart — what he thinks of you, why he seems warm one second then almost like a stranger the next. You want to know if he knows you like him and if him not doing anything even if he knows is a sign that he doesn’t like you back. You want to know if he’d let you kiss him, if he’d kiss you first, if you can meet not because of sweet cream cold brews or algebra but because you just want to be together.

You just don’t know how to ask. For as much as you like him, for as much as you want him, you haven’t figured out the most basic part of this — if you mean anything more than a two hour talk to him at all.

“Mark.” This feels awfully like the dim sum conversation, only somehow ten times more disastrous. “Come with me.”

“Sorry?” The appalled look on his face makes you squirm in your seat.

“I don’t really want to go, but maybe if we go together… we can just hang out a bit and leave once it’s boring… I think it’d be fun,” you explain lamely, deciding at the last second to drop the with you that had originally come with your sentiment.

“I don’t think your… partner will like someone uninvited showing up.”

“I’m inviting you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“You’d be, like, my saving grace or something — my excuse to scram. We’ll say we came right from a study session; we only popped in halfway through for the sake of greeting him a happy birthday. Then we can just go. We can say — uh, we’ve got more work to do.” You’re practically begging him at this point, and you don’t even get why. You just don’t want him to leave looking the way he does — confused and a little detached. You want the Mark that had smiled at you while giving you your coffee — the one that had kindly pointed out an arithmetic mistake in the most gentle way possible. You want to open blind boxes with him, whine about your rotten luck, and part ways with his warmth still against your coat sleeve.

You don’t know what comes over you then, but you pluck up the courage and initiative to slip your hand in his. He stiffens a little, but you don’t care; your fingers squeeze his in urging.

Something in his expression breaks — cracks first, then falls away, before he’s nodding, still looking vaguely thoughtful.

“If you think it’ll help you, then… okay.”

The bus ride to Youngho’s neighborhood is uneventful because it’s quiet. You stand close to Mark at all times, but you barely touch, save for the times your knuckles accidentally brush his when you lurch forward slightly as the vehicle comes to a dangerously abrupt stop. He doesn’t ask anything about the party or the company that’ll populate it, which is just as well, because you don’t have a clue.

You know it’s the right house because the door’s wide open and there’s music coming from inside; you can’t make out much more than the deep bass pumping through the concrete, but you’re pretty sure it’s making your heart jump in your chest even more than it already is. There are quite a few people you vaguely recognize on the lawn, and even more that you absolutely don’t; a good number of them glance at you and Mark as you step through the threshold then look away, probably deciding you’re of no real consequence or harm to their moods.

Youngho’s easily spottable because of his massive height; he towers over the rest of his guests, and the red plastic cup in his hand calls even more attention because he’s lifted it over everyone else’s heads. You throw Mark an apologetic glance that he responds to with a short nod before you dive into the crowd alone, trying to weave your way to where you’d last seen Youngho.

“Bro, finally!” Youngho greets you, pretty much shouting over the music. “Where’s the gift? Did you leave it on the table?”

“Happy birthday, Youngho. Do you know how close you were to being blocked?”

“I see you brought mister espresso with you,” he ignores your comment completely, nodding to Mark. When you turn back to see him, you notice he’s squishing his arms closer to his sides, trying to minimize the space he takes up. “So what? Y’all get to hook up already?”

“No. I brought him here because we were in the middle of something and someone,” you stop, offering him a pointed look that’s also ignored. “Wouldn’t stop texting.”

“Cockblock,” the guy next to Youngho, who you now realize has been eavesdropping, singsongs. “Oh, sorry. You looked angry when you stomped through the crowd, so I wanted the juicy details. Name’s Jaehyun.”

You take the hand he offers you briefly, introducing yourself. When you say your name, realization dawns on his face, and he jabs his forefinger at you.

“Oh, dude. You’re that girl — the Starbucks Showstopper.”

“The what?”

“That’s what his friends call you.” He scratches his ear, seemingly racking his brain for more information. “I’m with Mark and a couple of his friends — Lee Donghyuck and Na Jaemin — in College Algebra.”

You completely gloss over the fact that you’ve finally found out the real government identity of the mysterious figure named ‘Hyuck.’ “They… talk about me?”

“From time to time. Not really. Once or twice. Donghyuck only calls you that because Mark apparently keeps blowing them off to hang out with you.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have ears. It’s not hard when they talk like no one’s around.”

You shush Youngho’s exclamation of and you’re saying I’m nosy?, your heart hammering hard in your ears, practically drowning out the music. “What… what else did they talk about?”

“Not sure. Something about not seeing you that often these days. Jaemin teasing Mark about getting dropped now that you don’t need his help anymore. Donghyuck piling on and saying you’ve got a boyfriend.”

“What?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Jaehyun still inches away from you when your voice rises in pitch and decibel. Some people around you start, then move away as well, as if scared you’re going to incinerate them. “They were just teasing him that you probably ditched him after you started dating someone. Your partner in some project, or what.”

“Oh gross.” The realization hits you like a speeding truck. Youngho’s expression is affronted.

“First of all, you bitch. Second of all, as if I would date someone who didn’t even buy me a gift. Or want to come. Or yelled at me after coming. Wow — now that I think about it, you’re terrible, _________.”

“Oh, shit; that someone was you?” The only person that isn’t tense in this conversation is Jaehyun, who laughs point blank at Youngho’s sour face. “I think they were offering to put you into one of their Death Note notebooks. Sucks for you, hotshot.”

“What a smudge on my good name,” Youngho sighs mournfully. “On my special day, too.”

“I desperately need you two to be quiet for one second. I have to — where’s Mark?”

Even when you stand on your tiptoes, you’re not nearly as tall as the two of them; it’s Youngho, with his freakish height, who manages to spot Mark by the bowl of nachos, looking as though he’s trying to decide if they’re safe for consumption. You hardly excuse yourself; actually, all you say is a distracted “later” that dismisses Jaehyun’s cooing that something’s going down and you should clue him into all the mess later as a thank you. Your appreciation of his sudden and somewhat short-lived presence in your life is still up in the air.

Mark’s busy making a sour face at the sip of punch he’d just taken; he only straightens up when you’re right in front of him, putting his cup down next to the nachos. “Hey. Did you get to find… um…”

“That’s not important.” Your hand bunches the fabric of his jacket in a death grip, something he barely has time to register, let alone question, before you’re tugging him through the throng of people. You want somewhere quiet, somewhere private, and you initially consider the lawn, except you know it’s strewn with cups and has stragglers debating whether to go home or not. You can’t risk any of them being expert eavesdroppers like Jaehyun, so you make a beeline for the stairs instead.

“We’re not leaving yet?” He has to shout over the music, but there’s no resistance in his stride; he follows you up and waits patiently, although a little perplexed, as you check the doors on the second floor. Two are locked, one is a bathroom, and the other is a messy, musk aftershave-scented place you can only presume is Youngho’s room. Talking in front of a sink and a toilet doesn’t feel like it’ll be very productive, so you just drag Mark into the bedroom, kicking aside the crumpled shirt on the floor — which you could’ve sworn you’d seen Youngho wear for class yesterday. “_________, what’s going on?”

“Mark Lee,” you burst out, ignoring the fact that his eyes widen slightly at your tone. “What’s your fucking deal?”

You don’t think you’ve ever sworn in front of him before; that much is evident when he continues to gawk silently, unable to find words to respond to your question. Or maybe it’s just the volume and force with which you demand an answer. The problem is that you don’t even know what kind of reply you want. A small part of you nags that this is uncalled for, especially at this level, with you practically caging him into an unknown room. In fact, even now, you’re still embarrassed at your behavior, wondering if you’ve gone too far and stepped over a line between you.

But the source of all your frustrations is, in fact, that line — one so strangely drawn, clear at some points and almost invisible at others. Sometimes, he seems simply content with the barest minimum of friendship: talking to you, helping you, politely laughing at your (terrible) jokes. But there are also times he blushes too hard for it to not mean anything, times that he makes you feel like you could mean a little something more to him too.

Yet, from there, he wavers, stepping back so as not to get entangled in something you don’t understand — like when he grows distant every time you mention Youngho to him. You don’t understand why he would unless he echoed, even just a little, the longing in you. But you also don’t get why he stays and builds more walls around himself, like he’s determined to ignore all the other signs — like he doesn’t want to know if it’s really true and will just accept the assumption that it is. You hate not knowing where you stand with him, and while you could easily ask, you know you don’t want to.

And for a long time, you’ve convinced yourself that it’s because you want to see Mark step out of his comfort zone and initiate something, but the ugly truth is staring at you: it’s simply just that you can’t stand the idea of seeing him come to the conclusion that you can’t be anything more to him than someone he makes a sweet cream cold brew for every so often.

There’s a moment of tense silence between you two, where you’re just staring at each other — him, perplexed, and you, agitated — and the only sound that passes is the faint but unmistakable voice of Youngho going who has the cake cutting knife? from somewhere down below. You try not to get caught up in the fact that Mark still looks cute when he’s dumbfounded.

“Sorry?”

“What,” you repeat pointedly. “Is your deal? Why have you been acting so weirdly around me these days? I thought — I thought we were… getting closer. I thought… we…”

You’ve confirmed it now; you’re the epitome of cowardliness. You can’t even say I thought we liked each other — because you know that you do, but you still can’t honestly, assuredly tell if he does. Maybe you just read too deeply into the smallest things — smiles before he asks for your order, glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking, sharing the dream eater figurine — to fuel your own emotions without really checking the depth of his.

“I thought we were cool,” you reroute your words, and they come out flat and lame. “But just when I think you’re warming up to me, you suddenly pull away. Like… you’re afraid of me. Or you don’t like me. I don’t know.”

“It’s not — I don’t — I’m not afraid of you,” he stumbles over his words, and even in the darkness of this space, you see his face turn bright red, very quickly. His feet shuffle, not because he’s lost his balance but because he seems to want to get rid of a sudden restlessness. “I do like you. We are — we were getting — we’re close. We — we’re friends. You said that, and we are.”

“Is it only because I say we are that you agree?”

“What? No, I—” His hand passes over his face, slowing at the curve of his chin. “I really like being friends with you. I like being around you.”

“Then why do you act so weird these days? Like — you’ll be fine one moment, then you’ll back off, like you suddenly remembered you don’t want to be around me.”

“It’s not like that. I’m — I don’t get…” He takes a deep inhale, recalibrating himself for a moment before his voice comes out again, less strained this time. “I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

“How could I?” There’s something more than confusion coloring your voice; there’s hurt, too, and he looks as surprised as you feel at hearing it. “I wanted to be your friend. I was the one that asked you to hang out. I was the one who wanted you to talk to me, to help me, to go to a goddamn dim sum place with me. Why would I feel uncomfortable? Or are you just using this as some roundabout way to say you feel uncomfortable?”

Mark falls silent, and you don’t know why this speaks volumes all of a sudden. His eyes are trained to the tips of his sneakers, which are rising in soft bumps every few seconds; he’s curling his toes inside them. You feel like you’ve gotten the worst answer possible, and something grows cold in your chest.

“You feel uncomfortable around me.” You rehash, but it’s no longer a question. “You don’t know how to get rid of me.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“You think I’m only using you.”

“No.”

“Then what?” Your voice breaks, no longer out of anger, but a desperate sadness. The moment your eyes feel hot and prickly, you decide you want to end the conversation. It’s embarrassing, you think, for someone like Mark Lee — whom you like, who only ever sees you as a friend — to see you get choked up at a fucking birthday party at someone else’s house.

A beat later, you’re mumbling a half-hearted forget it, and you detest overdramatics, but you hate the idea of being in a room with someone who’ll never return your feelings even more right now; you push past him, already on the thought of calling a cab home instead of taking the bus so that no half-drunk businessmen coming from their company dinners see you crying.

But something warm wraps around your wrist, then closes over your hand, and you’re unable to move, Mark’s palm pressed against the back of yours. When you look back, you notice he’s still not looking at you, but his ears are practically on fire with how red they are, and you feel his fingers tighten slightly, tremble slightly against yours.

“It’s not that. I didn’t ever want you to think — I heard about you two. That you were dating someone. Seo Youngho.”

“What does that matter?” Your words come out a little more bitterly than you expect, and you have to remind yourself to reel it in. “That doesn’t explain your discomfort.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he repeats, still evidently careful in choosing his words. “Because you wanted to be friends.”

“I don’t understand,” you state bluntly. In the back of your mind, you note that Mark’s grip keeps tightening and loosening, unsure of whether to keep holding on or let go. But there’s something else, too — the soft graze of skin against yours, his thumb gliding over your knuckles.

“That was all you said you wanted to be, right?” He waits for a response, but when you don’t give him one, he lets out a shaky breath and continues. “You kept saying — we were friends. You wanted us to be close like that. I just wanted to respect it, even if…”

“Respect what?”

“That you didn’t want… anything else.”

The music downstairs is a bit tamer now; you hear the door opening and closing every so often, signaling guests leaving here and there, but there are still enough footsteps downstairs for you to know that there’s a crowd Youngho hasn’t gotten rid of and therefore has to attend to. That much is good; you’d get slapped with a homicide charge if he came up here all of a sudden.

“You were jealous.”

Mark’s fingers pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment. “I tried to stop. I don’t have a lot of practice with — well, I didn’t know how to approach the situation. I thought I was still acting normally; I didn’t think… I didn’t want you to feel weird and stop hanging out with me just because… I couldn’t fix it.”

“Your friends are assholes,” you mumble, and he finally meets your eye, equal parts startled and amused. “We aren’t. Weren’t. We never were dating.”

“Even without that, I thought… it was a bit embarrassing. Liking someone like you — someone as pretty as you, as nice as you — I thought it would make you feel weird. Then you’d start avoiding me too. Or, worse, you’d keep doing it just because… you… felt bad for me.”

You don’t know what you find more ridiculous — that you hadn’t seen figured it out or that you could have avoided all of this if you’d just been a little more honest with him too. Mark’s hand starts loosening around yours, a little too much, and you turn your palm and grip his hand before he can escape. He stiffens again, just like earlier, but you now understand better why he does.

“I just wanted to keep hanging out with you as much as I could. I thought… It’d be fine, just spending time with you, and I’d be able to like you for a while, on my own, then…” He looks a little pained. “Then just let you go. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you couldn’t let go?” You sigh softly, your palm guiding his until they connect, face to face, and you can finally lace your fingers into his. There’s no resistance, but his hand trembles slightly in yours still. “If there’s anything you should be apologizing for, it’s that you ever thought of doing it.”

Something clears in the air, lightens in his expression, and he chuckles, albeit a little shyly still. “It’s because I never thought someone like you would like someone like me.”

“I like you.” And it feels right to say it now, not at all out of the blue, never in fear of an answer he’s already given. “I like you when you smile at me every time you ask for my order. I like that you never get impatient when I’m getting my answers wrong. I like seeing you excited when you talk about a new series you’re looking forward to — something new you really want to collect. When you blush, when you laugh loudly, when you spin your pen in your hand — I like you in all those times.”

“Even when I’m jealous?”

“Especially when you are.” Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, and you’re reminded of the fact that you’ve wanted to feel the strength of the angle under your palm for ages now. It’s not at all a disappointment, and your heart flutters irregularly in knowing you could’ve done this a long time ago, but it doesn’t matter because you’re doing it now, and fuck if Mark Lee doesn’t look good this close to you. “So be jealous — because now, you know you can be.”

Kissing him is better than you imagined, and you’ve imagined a little too much to be embarrassed at this point; there’s a heat to his lips that matches the one across his face, an upturn to them that makes you smile too. The setting’s not at all an expected one, but you’ll take it, not because it’s dark or because it’s private but because Mark’s in here with you, and you would have kissed him in a brightly lit football field full of people for as long as he’d let you.

You’d like to think he’s flushed for a reason other than shyness when you pull away, even if his laugh is quiet and breathy. In fact, when you murmur not enough, he’s the one that closes the gap this time, offering freely what you ask for with such little eloquence. The natural trepidation in his mouth relaxes, gives way to a curiosity that keeps you locked for so long that you forget you need to breathe, much more intent on finding out if Mark’s tongue tastes as good as you’ve imagined for so long.

It doesn’t; it tastes even better.

It’s still not enough, not by a long shot, but you have to resurface before you pass out like this, and even he looks a little dazed when you pull away — not in a bad way, with a grin on his face that you can only classify as endearingly goofy: slightly lopsided and a little shy, but with an unmistakable air of satisfaction.

“Months,” he mumbles, his lips still dangerously close to yours. Your eyebrows rise in questioning, and he laughs in that infectious way that makes you want to join in without even knowing what the punchline is. “I’ve been thinking of kissing you for months.”

And you do share the laughter this time, not out of amusement but of a happiness that spills without restraint. “But you’re suddenly holding back now?”

“Just letting myself bask in the moment, I guess. Letting it sink in so I remember everything.”

The two of you stand there quietly, still trying to fully parse the progression of events, and a small part of your mind registers that Mark’s thumb is still drawing circles on your skin. It’s also not enough — this touch, this closeness. You know now that he’s been thinking of you for months, and it reminds you that you spent that time dreaming of him too. And you remember you’ve always wanted to be even more familiar with him, and suddenly the desire is overwhelming; he’s right here, and you don’t ever want him out of your grasp again.

“Where are you going?” He’s only curious for the sake of it; there’s no alarm in the question because you keep your fingers tightly woven in his, tugging him along as you walk past him to the door. He’s still staring in wonder after the lock clicks shut. “What’s… happening now?”

“You waited months to kiss me, right?” He nods in response at your question. “I’ve been waiting just as long to have you too.”

His mouth falls open, but he doesn’t manage to say anything; his jaw tightens just as quickly when he feels your free hand trail down his chest, feather-light and asking for a green light. Your index finger stops just above his navel and draws back slowly, but not before you feel the shiver that runs down his torso.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you murmur, giving his hand a little squeeze. “But I just want you to know — I want to. I want you.”

A thoughtfulness settles on his face, and his eyes graze over yours, trying to read your seriousness. You don’t know how honest you look, but your words hold enough truth in them. A silence stretches over the next minute, but to you, it feels like an eternity, and you lose the test of patience somewhat, smiling softly at him.

“You don’t want to?”

“I—” His tongue peeks out, running over his bottom lip. “I do. It’s not that I don’t want to, but…”

“You seem worried.”

A hesitant nod. “I’ve never — well, no, I have, but not — with someone like you.”

“What’s someone like me?” You laugh airily.

“Someone pretty like you — I don’t know. Someone who seems to know exactly what they want. Someone who seems like… they could do better than me.”

“Mark.” You can’t keep the incredulity out of your voice. “I do know exactly what I want. I want you. The rest — I don’t care about. As long as it’s you, I want it.”

He cracks a smile, half of relief, half of disbelief. You don’t miss his hand coming up to press, warm, against your waist. “For real?”

Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt — an anchor to bring you closer, until the tips of your noses are brushing. “For real.”

The third time you kiss is slow, almost careful; there’s lingering worry in the line of his mouth that your lips try to ease until his slightly part under the movements of yours. You feel the tension leave his form in waves — first in his shoulders, then in his arms, until you’re able to press yourself closer and feel the slight give of his frame against your smaller one. He’s radiating an immense amount of body heat that’s pricking your skin and keeping you alert, and you’re hyperaware of the smallest things — the weak tremble in his mouth, the slight roughness of his teeth under your tongue, the ridges of his palate above it.

He tastes nothing like what he smells, you learn. Instead of the air of earthy coffee stuck to clean linen, you inhale a combination of spearmint and mild saltiness that’s made slightly sharper by the lingering splash of alcohol from his accidental sip of punch earlier. You decide then and there that this disparity is important to you; it makes you feel like you’re the only one who can have this experience — that everyone else can know his scent, but now, only you can know what Mark Lee tastes like.

You have to keep your wits about you to avoid this addictive stimulation of your senses; you let go of his hand only to lock your fingers around his neck, and there’s a show of trust in how he lets you lead him backwards, until his knees are hitting the edge of the unmade bed. The kiss breaks as he’s forced to settle on the mattress, and he looks up at you in what can only be described as a quiet kind of awe. He doesn’t complain when you place your hands, heavy, on his shoulders, using his sturdy form to keep you stable as you move to straddle his lap.

“I feel like,” his voice is hoarse as he speaks up. “We should have picked a different location. Someone… could walk in.”

“I locked the door,” you remind him, a light reassurance in your voice. He doesn’t say anything immediately, but it’s clear there are cogs turning in his head, and you think it’s unfair that he’s thinking way too hard about something else that isn’t you, right now, in this position. In a bid to rectify this, your face presses into the side of his neck, breathing in that familiar scent and leaving a light kiss on his skin right after. Your lips mark the moment he swallows hard at the contact. “Besides, would you really be that unhappy if someone did?”

His hands tighten against your waist, prompting you to leave another kiss against his collarbone. “What — what do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t like it if someone — say, Youngho — walked in to see me on your lap like this?”

The silence that follows your words is tense, and you can tell that Mark’s breathing has become shallower. Again, you can feel his throat constricting slightly, and you can’t help but laugh breathily as you nip at his skin, just under his Adam’s apple. He’s surprisingly easy to tease, you realize — quick to turn speechless and prone to hanging onto your words.

To say that you wouldn’t want to use that to your advantage would be a downright lie.

“Tell me,” you urge, your tone deceptively gentle. “You wouldn’t want him to see you kissing me like this? To see me wrapped around you, begging for more, saying your name over and over? You don’t want him to watch you take me — so he knows you’re the only one that can?”

A strangled groan punctuates your words, but it comes from him; his fingers dig hard into your side with barely constructed restraint. “What do you want from me, _________?”

“I want to know if kissing me was the only thing you wanted for months.”

You pull your head away, nudging his chin with the tip of your nose. Another groan escapes him, and his head tilts back slightly, almost like he’s praying. But when his gaze comes down to meet yours at your level again, you see a firm resolution in his eyes that stirs your heart — which takes off the moment he shakes his head, slowly but surely.

“Then,” you whisper. “What do you want from me?”

He doesn’t say so much as shows; he takes from you your breath, steals another kiss that’s now firmer and more openly demanding. Suddenly, his mouth can’t seem to stay still, trapping your lower lip in between his, drawing out your taste until it mixes with his against his teeth. You feel your head growing light again, and you’re pleasantly surprised that it’s suddenly become difficult to keep up with his lips, asking more from you without restraint. A hum of need sounds in the back of his throat, vaguely dissatisfied, and he’s telling you wordlessly that it isn’t enough right before he attaches his lips to the base of your neck, just above your collar. You think he’s just about to return the favor, but a laugh leaves you when you realize he’s taken it a step further, his teeth grazing your skin lightly, soft nips signaling how eager he is to sink his teeth in with only his slowly weakening self-control stopping him from doing it. Mark’s breathing is slightly labored when he pulls his lips away, warm breath fanning over your chest.

“It’s crazy — and stupid,” he croaks out, voice slightly raspy. “But I want it, and I don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Your fingers drag into his hair, combing it upward messily from his nape. He leans in for a quick kiss that’s somewhat misplaced, landing on the corner of your mouth instead of squarely atop it.

“I want them — him to see us. To see me with you, kissing you — fucking you, too. I want everyone to know we’re like this.”

You’ve never heard Mark say anything so forwardly before; a sweet, warm flush builds in your face, pleased at how comfortably he manages to say it — pleased that he’s saying it to you. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want him to see you.” There’s a bluntness to his words, but hiding behind them is an undertone of pleading — a serious request. “I don’t want him to see how pretty you look. I don’t want him to see you when you’re bare, or how you look when I’m inside you. I don’t want him to see—”

His voice wavers and dies, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed, but when you read his expression, you see an unyielding longing. A smile tugs at your lips, and your hand comes around to cup his chin, thumb extending upwards to drag his lower lip down.

“You don’t want him to see what’s only yours.”

He swallows hard again, but he doesn’t wait long to nod. Understanding passes between the both of you, silently but completely, and Mark presses his face to your throat, feeling the hum resonate as he places another long, firm kiss there.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, in a way that almost feels like he wants to convince himself of something impossible to believe. He doesn’t even wait for your affirmation, prefers to read it in the way you shiver lightly once his lips travel further down. His kisses trail past the collar of your shirt, and his hands are unabashed in how they seek skin, pushing the fabric upward so he can settle the palms of his hands, warm against your waist. Oddly, they don’t travel upwards; they only brush against the dip, down slightly over the upward rise of your hips, then upwards again, almost soothingly. It’s almost like he wants his mouth to meet them, but he stops halfway, sidetracked by the curve of your breasts.

He barely pulls away, only does for a moment, enough to meet your eyes.

“You’re only mine,” he repeats, his voice softer now. You realize he’s still waiting for some confirmation, and when you do, you’re quick to give it to him — quick to erase any doubt.

“I’m yours,” you affirm in the same tone, in the same careful volume. “Only yours, Mark.”

Whatever else he wanted to ask for, he knows you’ve given assent; that much is clear when he buries his face between your tits, inhaling your scent. You briefly wonder if he might feel just as intoxicated around you as you do around him, if your pleasant dizziness in being this close to him, in tasting and smelling him is something he experiences too, but you don’t get much time to dwell on it the moment you feel his lips part, a slight wetness seeping through the fabric. He’s kissing your chest, teeth grazing just above the cup of your bra, nipping without any real objective other than to feel the pad’s slight resistance to his mouth.

You almost miss what he says as he shifts his head, lips brushing over the curve of your breast — another breathless ‘mine’ that isn’t ever punctuated; his lips still stay parted, mouthing at the cloth, like he’s desperate to feel what’s underneath through it. There’s pressure where his tongue presses flush against the shape of your tit, tightness whenever he chooses to nip, attempting to take the flesh and all that’s between you and him between his teeth.

Not enough, you think, even when a whimper of need bubbles out of you; you want to be closer, your thighs pressing against the sides of his. You’re close in almost every way, but you still inch yourself further forward, enough to feel the taut hardness in his jeans. Your hips settle right there, letting fabric ride against fabric as you center yourself.

No sooner do you press yourself flush against him do you gasp; the light sting sends a jolt up your spine when his teeth close around your nipple through your bra, and when you look down at him, you see the corners of his mouth pulled up in evident satisfaction. He’s quick to atone, his tongue dragging your shirt slightly upwards in his attempt to soothe, and for some reason, the push of fabric and the barely-there feeling of motion leaves you tingling.

“Mark.” Your voice comes out in a whine, but in the haze you’re in, you don’t really have a clear idea of what you’re asking for. All you know is that you want more of him, and for as much as he’s already given you in kisses and words, you aren’t even halfway down the list of everything else you wish you could demand from him. You say the only thing that comes to mind — the only thing that really encompasses what you feel. “Mark, I want you. I want more of you.”

His hands on your waist are replaced by the significant tightness of his arms, locked around your torso; you don’t even have the time to take in your awe at the fact that he can easily carry you, turn you over until you’re on your back, until he’s already eased one knee between your legs.

The way he looks down at you is a mixture of hesitation and desire, but the former’s erased when you reach out for him, murmuring another ‘more’ so you can pull him in. With one palm pressed against the mattress, he lets his free hand graze against your side again, bolder in its movements, and his fingers trace a path up to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh through layers. Your back arches upwards in response, eager for more contact, for touch that’s almost there but not quite, and he smiles when you make a noise of frustration from his fingers tweaking the soft nub of your nipple.

“Mark, please—”

“Would you really let him see you like this?” His thumb’s still idly grazing over your breast, following the rise and fall of its curve. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice level despite the growing want that threatens to break through it. “Would you really let him watch you… get fucked?”

You shake your head, and his brow furrows.

“I’d let him watch you fuck me,” you correct him, and the confusion in his face gives way to pure satisfaction the moment you make this nuance clear. “It has to be only you.”

His grip tightens briefly against your breast again, and he leans down, pressing a surprisingly chaste and brief kiss to your lips.

“Then I’ll unlock the door next time and give him a show.”

You don’t know if it’s what he says or what he does after — his hands bunching your shirt upward until the hem’s just below your neckline — that makes your breath hitch, but you decide it doesn’t matter when you realize you’d much rather be focusing on the journey his lips take, slick against your stomach as he presses languid kisses down to your navel. His fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, the weight naturally pulling them down, and you see his muscles tighten for a moment as he stops himself from tugging them off completely.

Mark’s mouth is unparalleled in its attentiveness, seemingly intent on making sure he’s covered every inch of your stomach in warm kisses, but you only realize he’s somehow stalling when he starts the cycle again, his nails digging into the taut elastic of your jeans as though to remind himself to curb his desire.

You take the initiative instead, raising your hips slightly to signal your want, acutely aware of the fact that you brush lightly against his thigh when you do so. His eyes lift first, followed by the rest of his face, and he’s watching you quietly. You might have thought he was unsure of what to do all of a sudden again, but his knee pressing closer, an unmistakable pressure against you, is enough to tell you that he’s only curious to know what else you’ll do.

The second time you grind against his thigh, his hands catch your hips, keeping them aloft just long enough for him to tug the band of your jeans downward; he peels them off you with surprising ease, returning to the same position between your legs, hands still firm on your waist. With that done, he only has the thin garter of your panties left to curl his fingers into, bunching it into his fists when you roll your hips up one more time. You manage a shaky noise when you feel the stark difference — the roughness of the denim against you, the stick and drag of flimsy cloth. Mark lets out a low but unmistakable hiss.

“I can’t believe—” his idea is cut short by the movement of your hips again, and his grip tightens, knuckles pressing into your skin. “Can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“What am I supposed to do,” you breathe out, the sound momentarily getting stuck in your throat. “So that you know it’s real?”

His fingers relax their hold, palms now pressed against your thighs; they travel between your hips and your knees, a soothing and thoughtful motion. “God — I don’t know. I just want — I just want you so badly. Like… I’m going to go crazy if I don’t have you now.”

You lean up, your weight resting on your elbow, and your other hand reaches out; Mark meets you halfway, bending just a little lower to press his cheek against your palm. There’s something intimate, something so giving about the way he turns his face to your fingers, pressing a fluttering kiss just under your thumb. The tips of your fingers trace the shape of his lips, even when they pucker again under your digits.

“Take me,” you murmur quietly. “Right now — from now on, every part of me is all for you.”

His exhale is shaky, but his fingers have a sureness to them; they slip under your thighs, cradling the backs of your knees, and lifting until they’re folded over your chest. You don’t even have the time to wonder if you should feel exposed all of a sudden; his breath warms the inside of your thigh as he presses his lips there — not a kiss, just a touch as he speaks.

“I want to taste you,” he mumbles, partly distracted with the act of inhaling the mild scent off of your skin. “Every inch of you — I want to know just how sweet you are.”

He lets his hold on your thighs relax, letting them fall apart; he busies his hands with your panties instead, hooking a finger into the strip of cloth just covering you. It’s clear you’re both aware that the fabric sticks light to your skin, poorly masking your wetness, and interest mingled with hunger flashes across his face as he pulls it aside.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, sounding like it’s a comment more for himself than anything else. His gaze flickers to you for a moment before it moves back to your pussy. “The prettiest fucking girl in the world.”

The pressure of his thumb between your folds causes you to forget what you wanted to say, and you know Mark had been nervous, but you realize that it doesn’t mean he’s supremely inexperienced by any means; there’s a quiet, understated confidence in the way he rubs slow, thorough circles, moving upward towards your clit. Your face, your neck, your whole torso feels flushed, but you power through the instinct to tilt your head back so that you can keep watching him — the minute changes in his expression, the slowly building strength in his touch.

“I want to taste you,” he repeats, looking up at you. “I want to know what you taste like when you cum against my mouth.”

You’re not sure if you’re gawking because you can hardly believe Mark Lee — your eternally blushing, mild mannered campus crush — had said all those words strung together into such a lewd sentence, but you’re sure as hell not going to deny him. Your hand travels down your torso, and he watches, curious at first, then awestruck when your index and forefinger settle against either side of your folds, pulling them apart in offering.

His eyes end up transfixed on your pussy again, observing how your fingers ease your folds further apart the more he massages his thumb against your slit. His mouth is slightly agape, intent on drinking in the sight, unaware that you’re trying to memorize this view of him too — Mark Lee, touching you, wanting you, eager to take you fully.

“I’ve always wanted to see what it’d look like with your face between my legs,” you say in a hushed tone, but he catches it anyway, briefly looking up at you again. “I’ve always wanted to know what your tongue would feel like against my pussy.”

Your index finger bumps against the tip of his thumb, and he stops its motions, allowing you to move his digit down until the pad of it hovers just in front of your tiny hole. You can see one cheek tucked between his teeth, bitten to muffle the groan you wish you’d heard louder.

“Won’t you show me?”

You think you hear him rasp out a ‘fuck yes’ before he bends down, pressing his half-open mouth against your pussy. The squeal of delight that leaves you is half-strangled as his thumb curls, hooking into your entrance. It starts a shallow, distracted motion, with his attention funneled much more clearly into keeping his tongue working. Flush against your slit, it drags up, and he releases a guttural noise at your taste, lips pursing slightly on the way back down — like he can’t stand not trapping every drop of wetness with his mouth.

The intensity of his tongue, the idle thrusting of his thumb — you’re not sure what you want to focus on more, and the result is you whimpering incoherently at the starkly contrasting combination of the two. Mark moves his mouth like he’s never tasted anything as good in his life; the sounds between your thighs are wet, sloppy — almost embarrassingly so — but you don’t have the presence of mind to dwell on that because Mark Lee is eating you out and that’s really all that you can think of.

The tip of his tongue suddenly flicks upwards; you keen, long and low, when it starts to circle your clit in that same intense, circular movement his thumb had gotten you used to. Your sensitivity skyrockets, and you’re completely unable to control the upward bucking of your hips, but Mark stays supremely unperturbed, his free arm winding under your thigh to keep the both of you steady. Your noises are growing embarrassingly loud, and you realize just how needy you’ve become when you vaguely notice that there’s a pattern in what you’re saying — his name, over and over again.

“Did you do that too?” He asks softly, his words slightly muffled against you. “Say my name, I mean — when you thought of me.”

“God, yes.” Your voice comes out strained, teetering on the edge of slurring. “So many times — every single fucking time.”

“Promise me something.” He lifts his head, and you see a fieriness in his gaze.

You nod — at this rate, whatever he’d ask you to do, you would without question. “Anything.”

His thumb presses in deeper, up to his knuckle and you reflexively tighten around his digit, but he keeps it anchored there, pushing down against your walls. He drinks in your gasp, the widening of your eyes, the way you chew on your lip with a singular kind of contentment on his face.

“Promise me — from now on, you’ll make sure I’m always there to hear it.”

The only kind of assent you’re able to make is a moan as he dives down again, mouth buried in your warmth, his nose pressed tight against your clit. His tongue moves in strong strokes, broad swipes that push your folds apart further, and his thumb, while not moving, increases in pressure to the point that you feel a heaviness adding to the growing pleasure. Your hands fly down, seeking some kind of sense and reason, and you thread your fingers into his hair, grip tightening as your climax builds in stride.

“Mark, I’m—” close, you want to say, embarrassingly so, but the moment he hears his name, his lips attach to your clit, and there’s suddenly so much more pressure as he sucks, almost like he’s desperate to draw out your orgasm. He chooses this of all time to start moving his thumb again, and this time, his movements are anything but slow and idle; they’re filled with the intent to drive you over the edge. “Fuck me, oh my god—”

“I want to,” he murmurs, pausing for just a moment to drag the tip of his tongue around the nub. “God, I want to. Let me see you cum first; let me taste how sweet you are.”

His thumb stops, buries deep into your pussy, and you’re not sure why this, of all things, is what pushes you beyond control; you’re only half-sure you say his name when your orgasm hits, the rest of your consciousness much too clouded by pleasure. He doesn’t stop, revels in the way you squirm under him as he hums low and keeps his tongue working against your clit. His licks become longer, more thorough as you come down from your high, your cries softening into whimpers as his tongue both attempts to clean you up and makes you messier in the process. His arm is still curled around your thigh, keeping you from inching away from him, even if instinct and stimulation are telling you to.

You’re barely lucid when you sit up, and Mark inches back, somewhat startled; you grab the front of his shirt, and the sight of his mouth, slick and glistening from your wetness, only makes you more curious to know what you taste like on him. You find out how tangy it is, how rich the two of you are together on his lips, and you’re able to fully appreciate the skill of the mouth that kisses you deeply, leaving traces of you against your tongue and teeth.

“Please — fuck me.” It’s the only thing you can say at this rate, only half-coherent and still trembling with desire, but Mark doesn’t seem to care that you’re stuttering over such a simple request. His thumb wipes traces of saliva off the corner of your mouth, kisses it clean for good measure, then straightens up, his hands working at his belt. You almost miss the fact that his hands are shaking slightly as he undoes the buckle and tugs it out from the loops.

You want to help — it’s the least you can do, after all, and your fingers push the button of his jeans out through the hole, his hands working in tandem to tug the zipper down. However, your movements falter when you hear a noise from just outside the room — the sound of the doorknob being jangled, the thud of a body gently hitting the door, as though worried it’s stuck. You glance up at Mark, ready to reassure him, but he either hadn’t heard or doesn’t care because he’s too busy stepping out from the pool of denim at his ankles, and you get completely sidetracked by the bulge straining against his boxers.

You almost ignore Youngho’s voice grumbling ‘Jesus Christ, now of all times? from behind the door, but you leverage it instead.

“Should we let him in?” You ask, tone innocent despite the evident deviousness in your words. It pays off, though; Mark’s cock twitches unmistakably under thin fabric, and he actually looks like he’s considering it. “You’re just about to fuck me, after all. Weren’t we going to — what did you say? Put on a show?”

He worries on his bottom lip, like he’s unsure if you’re serious, but in the end, he shakes his head, reaching out to smooth your hair away from your face and ushering you to lay back down. The lips that meet your forehead are gentle, almost apologetic.

“Not now,” he murmurs against your skin. “Right now, you’re all mine.”

You laugh lightly, nodding, and he chuckles too, but the sound of it slowly dies down when your finger hooks into the garter of his boxers. You can feel his breathing hitch as you tug it down, the elastic catching when it meets the shape of his cock, but you don’t make any move to free it just yet — for some reason, you want to see him do it.

“Show me.”

He complies without hesitation, one hand dragging the elastic down over his thighs, the other curling around the base of his length, and your face flushes as satisfaction works through your system at the bare sight of him.

Mark Lee is big — not monstrously so, but enough for you to make a pleased noise as your hand joins his, fingers barely wrapping around his girth. You give his shaft a gentle squeeze, and his exhale stutters, watching you stroke him, long and thorough in your movements. Your palm swipes over the tip, leaking precum, allowing it to slick up your hand enough to keep your movements smooth. You’re fixated on the tension in his lips, the throb of his cock against your palm, and the way his gaze never leaves your face, like a small, amazed part of him still can’t believe what you’re doing, even if you’re both half-naked already.

“I want to suck you off,” you plead, grip tightening slightly. He grits his teeth, stifling another groan, but he shakes his head clearly enough for you to slow your movements in mild surprise.

“Can’t — not now. I need to be in you so badly.” His breathing’s sharp and heavy, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “You don’t even know — how long I’ve wanted to feel you.”

Your hold relaxes, and you let him maneuver you, his renewed hold on your hips dragging you closer to the edge of the bed. In this position, he can spread your thighs further, and you angle yourself optimally — enough for him to get a full view of your pussy, wet and still aching from your last orgasm.

“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to know how tight you are,” he continues, and there’s a faraway look in his eyes that makes you think he might be entrenched in fantasy. “How much I would have killed to see you — have you like this. I’m not gonna be able to wait anymore.”

His fingers dig into your sides, thumbs stroking your stomach in a weak pattern. The underside of his shaft presses against your folds, still half obscured by your panties, in a way that’s heavy enough to make you mewl, your hips reacting before your mind can, and he hisses softly as he feels his length glide along your slit before you relax your stance again.

“I can’t wait,” he reiterates, a breaking in his voice that sounds almost tortured. You don’t want him to either, want to see him buried to the hilt inside you, and you raise your hips again in need. “I want you so much it’s driving me crazy.”

“Then take me.”

And you’re not sure if it’s a demand or a plea, but he no longer stops himself; his hand fists his cock a few times, coating the slick of precum along his length before he lines the tip up with your entrance. His other hand’s flush against the inside of your thigh, a light pressure ensuring he always has enough space to fit himself between your legs — enough space to bottom out completely.

Mark’s considerate in his pace — maybe he knows he’s big, or maybe he’s just naturally careful, but he allows you the time to adjust to the stretch. Your nails almost puncture holes into the sheets, your grip so tight you wonder if it’s just to brace yourself or to hang onto the last threads of your sanity. He’s only halfway in, but you’re pushing fullness already, and he stops when his cock meets slight resistance, looking up at you in concern.

“You’re not—?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you reassure him softly, and it’s true; the adjustment brings about slight discomfort, but it’s almost nothing to you — not compared to how much more you want. “Give me everything; I want all of you inside me.”

He pauses still, trying to read your expression for any lies, but when he can’t find any, he nods, his jaw tensing as he presses both palms against your thighs, keeping you open as much as possible to accommodate him. He doesn’t even stop when you whimper, feeling a tightening twitch in your pussy that also causes him to groan, until inch by inch, you’ve taken him, his hips flush against yours.

He doesn’t move — not yet, his eyes trained to where you’re connected like he’s once again unable to believe what he’s doing. You hear him mumble something to himself that you want to hear too; you squirm slightly, and he hisses through his teeth, looking up at you and finding the questioning in your face. He offers you a small smile, albeit somewhat strained.

“You’re tighter than I thought.”

“You’re bigger than I thought,” you hum, and neither of you is really to blame; the tight fit, the slight breathlessness it leaves you with, is perfect, you think — just what the both of you need. “Did you often think about fucking me?”

“Probably just as often as you’re making it sound like you thought about having me fuck you, I think.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you warn, but there’s no real heat in your voice.

“I won’t. But it makes me feel good — knowing you wanted me just as bad.”

“I still do.” Your gaze is lazy, a little hazy, even if you’re anticipating so much. Even just the feeling of Mark, throbbing inside you, is already slowly building the pleasure in your stomach again; you wonder if you could cum like this, given enough time, given enough patience. “I’m still waiting for you to fuck me. God, Mark— please.”

He chuckles good-naturedly, but even that’s drowned out by the long moan that leaves you once he draws his hips back; your body’s mildly shocked into a new adjustment, feeling a sudden emptiness that’s quickly mitigated by him filling you back up again. The pace is slow, almost torturous, although you know he isn’t doing it to get a rise out of you. He wants to ease you into speed, careful to help you adjust fully; his restraint in his movements is all the more evident on his face, in the furrowing of his brow and the determination in his gaze. Even with that, he can’t help what he says, so intent on controlling everything else he does that he lets his words spill out over your noises.

“Pretty,” he grunts out, and when your walls twitch around him, he accidentally thrusts sharper — just enough for you to whimper a little more loudly, and he has to reel his strength back again. “God, you’re beautiful. I should’ve told you sooner how much I wanted you. All those times I had to imagine you wrapped around me like this, wondering how much tighter you’d get once you came on my cock. All those times you drove me crazy while I was alone, when I could have been in you— I could have found out how good you felt. How pretty you’d look under me. And you’re still even prettier, even better than I ever dreamed.”

There’s an erratic melody of moans under his words, spilling from your mouth, and the fact that he riles himself up enough to increase his speed slightly doesn’t escape you. He’s a little less careful now, seemingly entranced by the view he gets, watching his shaft disappear into you only to come out glistening, and a part of you hates the idea of snapping out of his reverie, but the majority of your thoughts now lean towards wondering how much more you can get him to break free of his own self-imposed restrictions.

“I wanted to ask you so many times.” His eyes snap up, coming back into focus as he takes in the sight of you, flushed, hair tousled, gaze darkened. “Almost every day — I sat there, thinking about how all I could do was go home and fuck myself, frustrated you weren’t doing it for me. I should have taken you home with me right then and there — should have let you watch me touch myself thinking of you, should have let you touch me into cumming on your fingers.”

His breathing staggers as he leans in, eager to see you clearer, to hear your words, slowly becoming airier as they come out. For a moment, his gaze falls, torn between watching him move into you and meeting your eyes, but he ultimately chooses the latter once you speak up again, your tone even more hushed than before — like it’s meant to be a secret between just you and him.

“But there were times I wanted you even more than that, to the point that I almost felt like I couldn’t wait.” His eyes widen slightly, a few precious seconds of wondering if he understands what you mean, right before you confirm what he thinks. “I thought about making a move right then — I should have kissed you. I should have asked you.”

“Asked me what?” His voice is gruff with the effort to keep himself in check despite the fact that it’s clear to the both of you that it won’t last.

Your lazy smile’s illusionary; it hides the triumph swelling in your chest at knowing that he asked exactly what you hoped him to.

“I should have asked you to fuck me in front of everyone there.”

“God,” his eyes squeeze shut, his grip tightening. “Please. I can’t—”

“I should have bent over for you there, begged you to stretch me out right after our session,” you continue, bordering on merciless. “Mark, you don’t know — how badly I wanted to be on your lap, your cock in me, with everyone watching. How much I wanted you to fold me over that table, have people watch you pound me, have them listen to how good you make me feel. No one would ever even wonder; everyone would know I’m yours.”

You pause, allowing his eyes to fly open once again, and there’s a pleading in them that’s begging for release. Your eyes soften along with your voice, but you’re this far gone; you should at least see it through.

“And everyone would know you’re mine too.”

“Fuck,” he growls, and his hips stutter before new resolve fills him, his hips driving into you with the force of a strength you didn’t even know he had in him; your thighs tremble at the intensity, at the renewed impact, and feeling him drive his cock deeper into you has you crying out somewhere between a moan and a sob. “Fuck, _________. If I had known you’d thought about me like that — God.”

It’s your turn to shut your eyes for a while, allowing yourself to focus on his movements, breaching your tightness even faster now. You feel his hands skim up your sides again, fingers digging into the fabric of your bra and pulling them down until your bare tits are cupped in his hands. You shiver as his thumbs pass over your nipples, toying them into firm nubs.

“One day,” he hums out, his voice giving way to a slight hoarseness again. “I’ll do it. I’ll fuck you in front of him — in front of Youngho, in front of everyone. I’ll let them wonder how tight you are, how fucking warm you are, and I’ll let them leave knowing no one can know but me.”

It’ll never happen, you both know, but something about agreeing to something so absurd is what has your body almost shaking in longing, and it’s what causes him to press in deeper, folding your legs closer to your torso. Your hands do what little they can to help, keeping your thighs apart so as not to obstruct his view. You can tell it’s somehow not enough, not really all of what he wants when his brow furrows, and he shifts his weight, pushing into you at a new angle.

The stark difference has you gasping before you can control it. Immediately, Mark stops, and you’re already shaking your head before you even hear him say anything, presuming he’s paused out of concern. But before you can say you’re fine, his hushed voice cuts through the silence.

“Do that again.”

“What?”

“Do it again,” he mumbles, sounding distant. “Breathe in. Suck in your stomach.”

You’re not one to complain at such a simple request, albeit a little odd, so you comply, inhaling enough to tighten your torso. You’re surprised when you feel his cock twitch inside you, and you blow out the air alongside your question. “Mark, what are you—”

“I can see it,” he says in utter disbelief. “When you’re like this, I can — I can see my cock inside you. Just a bit.”

Your eyes follow his gaze, fixed just below your navel. From this angle, without any movement, you can’t see a thing, but you assume he’s not one to abandon fucking you so intently without good reason, so you press your palm against your stomach, just above your pelvis. Nothing really feels significantly out of place — up until the point when Mark draws his hips back again, and you feel the backward slide of his cock.

Your throat tightens, and you don’t really understand the feeling that spreads in you — a unique kind of arousal, knowing how deep he is inside you and how you’re taking all of him in despite the fit, because of the fit. Your hand falls away, allowing Mark’s to take its place, and he exerts just a little more pressure against your stomach in an attempt to get the most out of the experience when he thrusts back in. He groans, feeling the bulge push back up, and he quickly picks up the same pace, renewed in intensity so he can experience the rapid rise and fall he creates under his palm.

The faster he goes, the harder he presses, and you’re not sure if he knows it, but the onslaught of friction is what’s making you whine and squirm even more; you’re trapped, in the best way possible, in his hold, your hands back to clinging to the backs of your knees like a lifeline. Pressure from the outside builds on the slowly growing pressure inside, a knot in your pelvis that’s coiling so tightly you feel like you can’t breathe. If Mark notices how close you are, he doesn’t make it known; he’s busy feeling the outline of his cock against your stomach, and when he looks up at you again, his eyes are hazy.

“I would fuck you every single day, every single hour if I could feel this every time,” he whispers in a way that’s almost reverent. “Let me — I want to keep seeing you like this. I want to feel how deep I am inside you, too. Let me fuck you all the time.”

You nod, and your first attempt to say something is just another choked sob. When you do manage to get something out, it’s broken in tearful stutters. “M-Mark, I’m s— I’m so close… I’m — fuck—”

“Do it.” It’s not a harsh command but an urging made on short breath; through your misty vision, you see tension in Mark’s face and shoulders, like he’s bracing himself for something too. You barely register the ping in the back of your mind, too focused on the way he’s pressing his palm harder on your stomach, the way his hips quicken their pace — he’s close too. “Let me feel you — want to feel you cum all over my cock.”

You inhale, not to speak but to let out a loud whimper; your teeth dig into your lower lip as you try to stifle the moans that threaten to follow, but in the end, you whine out his name. Your thighs threaten to close, trembling as you finally reach your climax, an impossible explosion of pleasure, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut so that you don’t get dizzy from the stars that burst around your vision.

“Fuck.” Mark’s voice is strained, his one hand still firm against your stomach, the other sliding against the inside of your thigh. “You get even tighter — you feel even better when you cum.”

“Mark,” you hiccup, unable to do anything but flutter around him as he pistons harder into you. You don’t even know what you’re asking for when you say ‘please,’ but he somehow seems to, and you trust that your body’s saying something you can’t fully detect in this state, with your mind floating in the aftermath of ecstasy.

“I know,” his tone is soothing in contrast to the intensity of his thrusts. “I’ve got you. Just a little more — where do you want—?”

You blink slowly, his words sinking in at too leisurely a pace; his hips stutter dangerously before you’re able to respond. You barely even do that, your hand gently brushing over the one against your stomach, but he catches onto the meaning quickly enough.

You’ve never heard your name said in such a beautiful way; hearing him moaning it lowly is enough to make you whine again, and that noise is drawn out when he shifts and slips out of you fully. Your brain’s fuzzy, but your senses are at least sharp enough to drink in the perfect sight of him cumming — the way he leans his head back, jaw taut and eyes shut, as he pumps his cock and the heat of his release against your skin, pooling against your stomach once he finally cums. You see a shiver run through him, and then he’s still for a while in this position, the both of you basking in the afterglow of your highs.

You’re still weak and sensitive when Mark finally comes back down, a lucidity you don’t have right now coming back into his gaze. All you can do is smile when he leans in, catching your lips in another kiss — one that’s surprisingly soft and slow in comparison to everything else, but still leaves you breathless when he pulls away.

“Let me clean you up,” he murmurs, and you hum in agreement, your body limp as you watch him move off the bed and pull a handful of tissues from a box on the desk on the opposite wall. Even his hands are gentle when he scoops you up, shifting you until your head can lean against the pillows. They carry a scent you’re not used to, and your nose scrunches, rejecting the change, but that’s quickly overpowered by Mark’s familiar coffee-and-linen one when he presses next to you, careful as he wipes his cum off your stomach and thoroughly cleans between your thighs. From somewhere down below, you still hear hushed voices, and the front door slams shut again. People are still in the middle of leaving, but you know Youngho will likely run out of guests soon, and this makes you feel like the timing’s suddenly become urgent.

“I want to date you properly,” you start, slightly slurred but unmistakably blunt. Mark’s gaze snaps to yours, slightly amused, as he balls the tissues up in his fist. “You never asked me, so I’m asking you.”

He looks perplexed. “I just never thought you wanted me to, so I didn’t try.”

You reach up, locking your fingers into his hair and using your grip to pull him down. Your kiss is a little demanding, with a tinge of excess frustration, and he pulls away laughing lightly.

“Do you still think I don’t want you to?”

Mark hums thoughtfully. “I think you made a lot of things clear tonight. On my end, I was happy enough to be near you.” He smiles down at you, and in the faint light, you can see the flush slowly return to his cheeks. “Having you like this — dating you… there’s no way I’d say no.”

Your shoulders relax, satisfied with his answer, and you beam up at him — an act he easily returns, breathtaking and endearing all at once.

Moments later, you feel his arm wind around your waist; he allows you to lean into his side, his other hand crossing over his lap to stroke your thigh. His face turns, pressing a kiss to your hair, and you feel his lips move, hear the quick rush of a whisper. You tilt your head, eyes slightly wide in questioning. “What was that?”

He shakes his head at first, trying to pass it off as nothing. But when it’s clear your curiosity won’t abate, he chuckles softly, his hand gently cupping your chin so that you can only look at him. His thumb strokes your bottom lip gently, as if trying to coax the same words out of your mouth before he murmurs them to you one more time — and this time, he sounds fully convinced of them.

“You’re all mine.”

#YYYYYYYYYYYYESSIR #YIPEE #mark

[outromoonchild]

For your drabble reqs - I’ve been sitting on this for a hot hot hot second because imagining jimin’s crotch grinding on my ass and what could follow is turning me feral -

on your first date with shy Park Jimin, you both drink more than anticipated to take the edge off and end up getting a little too touchy feely on the dance floor.

☺️

MALLORYYYYYYY thank u for this lovely lovely req 🙆‍♀️ this was the perfect thing to shake the rust off!!! i hope you enjoy this one 💌

~taking jihope drabble requests all month!!~

pairing: jimin x reader wordcount: 1k exactly mmmm satisfying contains: alcohol use, first date, reader and jimin are a lil sloshed, horny thots are thunk, grinding on the dancefloor, jimin calls himself a slut lmao, jimin playing with her panties through her dress and getting hard, sooooo it's kinda semi-public i guess, mentions of begging and sub!jimin, going home on the first date..... think that's it!

~*~

Your drinks catch up to you on the dancefloor, all at once.

You’ve thrown them back like water tonight, faster than you normally would on a first date. But the man who’s sat across from you all night is intimidatingly gorgeous, not to mention sweet and soft-spoken and full of endearing little habits, like the way he pouted down into his own glass as he lifted it for a sip only to realize he’d already finished it.

Then he’d glanced up again as the empty glass tapped back down onto the table between you, his eyes just barely narrowing in a way that somehow managed to change his entire expression– made your stomach do a little backflip, too.

His voice was spun silk when he asked the question, dripped in something not quite innocent.

“Do you want to dance?”

What you hadn’t accounted for when you’d nodded your agreement and tried to will the flush of heat out of your face was the fact that dancing would mean getting even closer to Jimin. Dancing means his hands cupping the curve of your hips, warm through the thin fabric of your dress. You also hadn’t accounted for the way your liquor-soaked brain would take that spark and run a marathon with it, imagining those hands tangling in your hair, circling the buds of your breasts, slipping up your skirt.

There’s a steady pulse thudding in your core, in time to your heart and the bass of the speakers, and you swear the beat skips every time the flashing lights catch on an edge of Jimin: the full lines of his lips, the hoops sparkling diamond-bright at the corners of his jaw, the flicker of his lashes over the soft color bloom in his cheeks.

It’s too much. The space between your thighs aches, begging to be filled, and so you let your body lead. The room spins a little; you turn with it, Jimin’s hands fluttering at your waist.

You don’t know who initiates it– if you pressed back, if he pulled you in, or if the draw is all magnetism– but the space between your bodies narrows and then disappears. Your hips slot together, easy.

Something tells you the alcohol’s not to blame for the headrush buzz that hits you at the warmth of Jimin’s body under yours. The colors of the club smear together on the backs of your eyelids, and your lips part for a breath in when you feel his hips roll into yours like he knows what he’s doing.

And then his soft voice paints heat up the slope of your neck, and your eyes blink open again. “Can I tell you something?”

“Y-yeah,” you stutter on your next exhale. The motion of his hips is steady now, a deliberate grind against the swell of your ass, a riptide threatening to drag you under. You make no attempts at resisting.

“I’m kind of a lightweight,” he admits, and you can hear that it’s true, his words sliding into each other. You can’t help your giggle, partially because you weren’t expecting his confession, and partially because, well– you’re feeling it too.

“That’s okay.” You do your best to reassure, speaking up to carry over the pulse of the music. “Me too, I think.”

“Can I tell you something else?”

Jimin’s voice sinks low into his chest when he asks the question, and the rumble of it vibrates through you like the thrum of a plucked string, underscored by his hips still rocking into yours. You drag your teeth over your bottom lip before you answer.

“Uh-huh.”

His nose grazes the line of your jaw, and you can hear the shy smile in his words when he speaks again.

“I’m also kind of a slut.”

Your breath hitches in your chest and you wonder if Jimin feels it. It’s so dark, your bodies pressed flush– it’s hard to keep up with where you end, where he begins, his tight black t-shirt and jeans blurring at the edges of your little black dress.

“That’s more than okay,” you finally manage, and you feel him dig just a little deeper into where he has you, gripping tighter at the line of your waist, as if making a promise of what’s to come.

“Yeah?” Jimin purrs.

You let your body answer him, let your hands slip over his to guide them lower, a slow tease. It’s easier to ask without words, your head dropped back against his shoulder, his fingertips seeking out the v-line of your panties through your dress, tracing the lace edge.

There’s no question that the crotch of his jeans has filled out now; you can feel him straining against denim, an insistent bulge at the curve of your ass. When you roll your hips in a circle, it earns a soft moan in your ear, one you could easily return at the wet drag of your thong when Jimin tugs at the fabric, rubbing a taste of friction just right over your clit. It lights your body up, a live fucking wire, and you need more than what you can get away with on this dancefloor.

“Anything else you want to tell me?” you murmur up to the ceiling.

Jimin’s mouth is hot when he presses a tongue-first kiss to the hinge of your jaw, then takes your earlobe between his teeth before answering. “Your body is driving me crazy. Wanna… fucking beg for it.”

“Shit,” you can’t help groaning, reaching a hand up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. You feel him stiffen all over when you tug a little, swear his dick even jumps in his pants. “I’d love to see you down on your knees, Jimin.”

“I’ll be so good for you,” he outright whines, and you tighten your grip, arching your back to better rut yourself against him.

There’s only one question left to ask, it seems, and you can’t wait a second longer.

“Your place or mine?”

#jimin #i miss my lover so bad

[outromoonchild]

Kinktober Day 31: Alien Kink + DK

For ⚔️

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~2k

Pairing: Seokmin x Reader | Genre: smut, sci fi, romance

Warnings: dk is a clueless virgin alien, sex ed, oral f. rec., vaginal fingering, alien anatomy, breeding mention

Seokmin has only been dating you for two earth months, but already, he knows he’s in love. 

His species doesn’t put much stock in romance or dating - the most they seek is a suitable mate to help produce offspring every mating cycle - but Seokmin has always been different. Different enough that he’s never participated in the mating cycles at all, not wanting to share that side of himself with someone who won’t stay. 

Different enough that he’s one of the few of his species that has ever left their planet, different enough that he can almost pass as human, if it weren’t for his pointed ears and chameleon-like qualities. You don’t seem to mind them, thankfully, nor do you mind the odd looks you get whenever you go out in public together. 

Your kind has known about aliens for less than five years, barely long enough to grow accustomed to the idea and definitely not long enough for interspecies relationships to be normal. Seokmin isn’t worried though, knowing that as earth grows into a galactic trade hub, more and more relationships like yours will pop up. 

Until then, he’s content to ignore the looks, hold your hand on the street, and proudly let his cheeks flare purple, the color a sign of his deep, true love for you. 

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. 

The truth is, he’s dying to know what you look like naked. 

He’s tried to do research, but what he now knows is called ‘porn’ doesn’t seem to be for him, and he can’t even begin to understand the words or the diagrams in that anatomy textbook he borrowed from the library. Besides, he only wants to see you, touch you, learn you, no one else.

So, he does what’s most logical to him, and simply asks. 

It’s on a calm Sunday afternoon that he first broaches the topic, one that sees Seokmin reading with his head in your lap as you rewatch your favorite show for the nth time. His book is getting to a particularly spicy bit, one that has heat growing in both of his stomachs, but as usual, when it gets to the more specific parts, Seokmin is clueless as to what they’re talking about. 

What is a pussy? Why is the main character putting his mouth on the love interest’s? And why is everything so wet??

These are all questions Seokmin needs an answer to, and he reaches over for the remote to pause your show so he can have your full attention. You blink down at him, arching an eyebrow in curiosity as he opens and closes his mouth like a fish, unsure of how to voice his questions. 

In the end, he just asks you flat out. 

By the time you get over your shock, finish laughing, and pull yourself back together, he’s pouting on the other end of the couch, his arms crossed and his cheeks bright orange in embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry, Minnie, you just caught me off guard. Ummm,” you stall as you try to figure out how to answer, deciding to just be as clinical and explanatory as possible. “Humans generally have one of two types of genitalia, a vagina or a penis, and pussy is a less formal word for vagina, which is what I have. There’s something called oral sex, and it’s when you use your mouth to make someone feel good. That’s what’s happening in your book.”

Ohhh. That makes sense, Seokmin thinks.

“And everything is wet because, well, the mouth is wet and the pussy can make its own wetness, so everything just gets a little… messy.”

Seokmin squirms in his place at the end of the couch, suddenly not at all interested in his book and only too intrigued by the idea of putting his mouth on you. 

“Can we try that?” Seokmin asks urgently, shuffling over to you on his knees and imploring you with his eyes. 

“Right now?” You question, trepidation in your voice and nervousness on your face. “I haven’t shaved or anything.”

“What’s shaving?” He’s never heard that word before, doesn’t have a clue what it means, though you seem to think it’s bad that you haven’t done it. 

“Never mind,” you sigh happily, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a deep kiss. 

Kissing, Seokmin is used to. Kissing, Seokmin is good at. 

And he loves loves loves kissing you, loves your sounds and the taste of your tongue and the feeling of your lips against his. Loves how close he feels to you and how close you get to him, loves how his head spins and how your hands wander, your fingers tracing over the pointed tips of his ears and down the ridges of his abdomen. 

He shivers when you break away to suck kisses into his neck, his head falling back to give you more room as you bite and lick your way down his throat. You pull down his t-shirt collar to get at his collarbones and he covers your hand with his, pulling back and reminding you of the goal. 

“I’m going to perform oral sex on you, remember?”

You bite back a smile and tell him, “Seokmin, try saying ‘go down on you’ or ‘eat your pussy’ instead. They sound a bit sexier.” 

“Baby, I promise I would never eat you. Sure, humans can be a delicacy on some planets, but that’s not how I do things,” he says, hand on his biggest heart and with all the seriousness in the world, unsure why threatening to consume you would sound any sexier than what he said. 

“It’s just a figure of speech, Minnie. You won’t actually be eating me,” you promise gently, reminding Seokmin just how much he has left to learn about you and your people and your silly combinations of words.

“Oh. What will I be doing?” 

“It’s like kissing, but you kind of have to multitask? It’s hard to explain, I’ll guide you once you get down there.”

He rolls off the couch and shuffles close to you on his knees, placing his hands on yours to push your legs apart. Gazing expectantly at you, he waits for you to remove your clothes so he can see what he’s working with, all three of his hearts beginning to race as you lift your hips and shyly push at your pajama shorts. 

He can’t believe he’s about to see you bare, his first lover, his first girlfriend, his first human, and if he has anything to say about it, his last. The shorts get to your knees and he has to move his hands, settling them on your upper thighs and taking in a deep breath, tasting something sweetsour and heady on the air. 

When you open your legs for him, he knows instantly that the flavor was you, and that it’s something he wants on his tongue now. He should take a look around, explore you a bit, but he’s letting his instincts guide him and they’re saying to get his mouth on you as soon as possible, lest he lose this chance. 

And oh, oh, Seokmin gets it now, why it’s called ‘eating out,’ because he does want to eat you, he wants to consume you, he wants to drink you down. He wants to lick his fingers and taste you. Bite his lip and taste you. Swipe his tongue over his teeth and taste you. He wants you all over him, so he practically shoves his face into your pussy, shaking it from side to side to spread you out as his tongue laps at the folds and creases of you. 

The taste is more concentrated further down, so further down he goes, making a questioning noise when he encounters something unexpected. There’s a… hole, or maybe an entrance? Are you hollow here? 

His tongue delves inside, and all at once, he’s in heaven. It’s like everything else falls away, his shoulders untensing and his fingers spasming on your knees as his cheeks flare a bright red, the color of deep, gnawing arousal. 

You’re searing hot and soaking wet, like a scalding shower on a freezing day, and your walls feel like molten velvet, the texture and flexibility of them mind blowing as they ripple and squeeze around his tongue. 

He’s never felt, tasted, encountered anything like you in his life, and he hopes you’re alright with him sticking around for the rest of it, because he can’t give this up. 

Seokmin can’t know about the glory of your pussy and then suddenly forget about it, no, this will stay with him forever. 

He feels something nudge against his forehead and looks up, his eyes nearly crossing in an effort to identify what’s touching him. It’s your fingers, you’re swirling them over something and with every pass, he feels you tightening up on his tongue, feels more of your slick coming out to coat his face. 

“What are you doing?” He pulls away to ask, his tongue slightly sore and his lips swollen. 

“Um, this is my clit, there’s a lot of nerves here and touching it makes me feel the best,” you pant, stilling your hand and moving it to rest on your hip so he can inspect you closer. There’s a small bump peeking out of a little hood, and when Seokmin pokes his tongue out to give it a kitten lick, your hips buck into him. 

“Like that?” 

“Yeah, Minnie, like that. And you can fuck me with your-- your fingers, they can go inside.”

Oh, he likes whatever’s happening to your voice right now. You sound all breathy and needy and relaxed, and when he slides two fingers inside like you said, you moan raggedly and clench around them, the feeling of your walls grasping his fingers making his head spin. 

He can only imagine what you would feel like around his aching cock, can only hope that one day, he’ll get to experience it. Maybe if he does really good with this, you’ll let him inside of you, let him fill you up and stretch you out, let him mate you and breed you and keep you. 

Just the idea has him doubling his efforts, has him wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking hard, increasing the speed of his fingers until he feels like he really is fucking you with them, until your walls are undulating around his fingers and your arousal is dripping down his wrist. 

“Just like that, Seokmin. Don’t stop, please,” you cry brokenly, your hips moving with his hand as he pushes you higher and higher. 

He moans his affirmation into you and the vibrations must send you over the edge, because your pussy is fluttering and clenching and squeezing like crazy, and he can feel your clit throbbing between his lips as wetness seeps out of you, your whines so high and sweet he wants to bottle them up, save them for later. 

He wants to keep going but begrudgingly stops when you push him away by the forehead, his fingers stagnant inside of you and his lips detaching from your clit with a slick pop. 

“Was that good?” Seokmin slurs, his mouth exhausted and his brain drunk on you. 

“It was perfect, Seokmin. You did such a good job,” you murmur as you pet his hair, not stopping him when he lays down again, his cheek pillowed by your thigh. He’s still aching but you seem tired, and he’s not sure how long he’ll be able to last after that, anyway. 

He’ll need to practice a lot if he wants to make it through to the actual mating part. 

Oh no, how terrible that will be, Seokmin thinks with a giddy smile. 

Kinktober Masterlist

AN: okayyy this was getting a little long so i cut it off before we got to the fucking but i might do a part two!! if that's something you're interested in, pls comment or reblog to let me know!!

thank you so much for sticking with me and encouraging me through all of kinktober, it's been harder than i ever thought it would be but also more fun than i expected, and i feel like i've really grown as a smut writer!

ily and happy halloween 💖💖💖

#kyeom #he rlly said OH IM CURIOUS YEEAAHHHH

[outromoonchild]

☂˚.⋆｡ 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙨

navi | taglist | part of svthub's fall-ing collab

pairing: lee seokmin x afab!reader

w.c.: 5.0k

genre: smut, fluff, established relationship, apple picking and pie baking and some sweet lovemaking <3

a lovers’ retreat—golden rays cast shadows over high, blushing cheekbones, flour-kissed noses and eye smiles as warm as the oven’s embrace, secrets and tender kisses shared with the starry night, and in a wooden cabin fragrant with the aroma of cinnamon and caramel, the love shared was sweeter than the finest apple pie.

☂ warnings: food/eating mentioned, unprotected sex (👎), creampie, praise, edging, some begging, some cockwarming, overstimulation (m), multiple orgasms (f), nicknames (min; baby, babe, love), some aftercare, seokmin is so fucking whipped (so is reader), there's so much love talk in this, I hate myself.

☂ A/N: nobody come for my inconsistent pie recipe, I didn't use one (also idc if you don't knead the dough, i needed it to describe seokmin's bulging muscles tyvm). other than that, this fic means a lot to me and despite struggling for the most part, I really enjoyed writing it. happy reading! :]

nsfw under the cut—minors dni 🔞

Slender fingers rounded the hanging fruit, examining for imperfections with eager eyes and the tip of a tongue held between pearly whites. The crisp air contrasted the solacing warmth of the morning sun under which you basked, strolling between green leaves and bright reds with a near-empty basket dangling at your side. You wanted him to work faster, to disregard whatever negligible bumps lay on the apples’ exterior, but you opted to remain silent, simply watching him from the sidelines while he carried on with his meticulous inspections.

Seokmin was spring. Smiles that could bring a barren land to life, vivid flora and singing birds fluttering around within the glimmers decorating his irises. But spring had long since ended, now treading deeper into the cooling weather of autumn, and yet, Seokmin still offered verve to everything he touched. Even as green turned to yellow then amber, and tanned skin rested beneath thick layers of cashmere and fleece, he still wore his spring smile—a reminder that the season of life will come again. He carried warmth wherever he went, and the biting chill attempting to penetrate thick layers of clothing stood no chance while his towering figure remained by your side.

You watched him throw the fallen end of his scarf over his shoulder, a woven cream he’d worn on your first date. Hoary yarn ends peeked out along its length, and you reminisced the store tag he’d forgotten to remove while he fiddled with his fingers and laughed anxiously before you all those years ago, so young and eager to impress. You’d mused over the giggles shaking his tense shoulders, the pretty pink painting his face and ears when you failed to rip it off in a discreet manner, and though the embarrassment was debilitating in the moment, the worry weighing down on Seokmin’s shoulders faded away as you laughed. It was well into winter when you’d walked alongside the river, steaming cups of hot chocolate resting between your palms—going cold before you had the chance to sip on them, only there to fight off the bleak midwinter breeze numbing your appendages. Young and dumb, you both were, walking by the river on a chilly day, but young and dumb brought upon you years of easy smiles and hearty laughs, unconditional love and unending happiness, all sprouting from sharing arbitrary details about yourselves with that same cream scarf draped around you both.

Dark locks now dyed the colour of changing leaves, the morning rays casting their golden hue over the wavy strands and reflecting off the specs perched over his nose bridge. Seokmin was a few inches taller now, and his shoulders broader, but the smile he wore, the sparkle in his eyes as he laid them on you were no different than those from that day by the river.

Chatter at your side dragged your attention off Seokmin’s profile and onto the family walking past you—two curious children and their parents inspecting the ripe fruit hanging before them. Scripts of late-night conversations you’d had with Seokmin flooded your mind, your face flushing and butterflies swarming your lower belly at the thought of starting a family with the man. Seokmin's fascination with learning how to braid your hair, his whispered comment—’for the future’—did not go unnoticed as he brushed gentle fingers through the stands he’d tangled in his attempts, a hint of a promise in his tone. He also promised to never leave them alone with Hoshi, which you appreciated. For obvious reasons. You were still young, and had much to experience together before taking a step that significant, but part of you was ready to offer Seokmin the world. A man who’d brought nothing bliss and warmth into your life, how could you not?

Turning your head back to the man in question, your eyebrows raised as you watched him eying the passing family alongside you, and you wondered whether the same thoughts were running through his head as well. But then his attention shifted back to you, and the amiable smile while he took you in told you everything you needed to know.

The curve of his lips persisted as he reached a hand to push the stray strands blown by the chilling breeze off your face, pinching the fat of your cheeks between his pointer and thumb before dropping them back to his side. A gentle gesture, but it lit your insides on fire, blinking quickly as you processed an action so natural to him, yet one that set you ablaze. Swallowing nervously, you redirected your gaze to the three apples resting over Seokmin’s palms as he presented the flawless, shiny Honeycrisps with a proud grin.

You giggled, “those look great, Min.”

“Only the best for you,” he leaned forward to plant a kiss onto the cheek he’d just pinched.

Flustered, you watched him throw the apples into the basket you held, his fingers brushing against yours as he swiftly pulled it out of your hand and carried on walking through the orchard. You might have missed a few additions to the small pile while you pondered about a lifetime by Seokmin’s side, and yes, the basket was significantly more weighed down now that he did. But it wasn’t that heavy.

You skipped a few steps to catch up with him, your bottom lip jutting out in protest. “Min. I can carry it myself.”

“Mm, I know,” he hummed, eyes trained on the novel batch of apples swinging gently at his eye level. “Don’t want you to, though.”

You pushed away the fondness warming your chest, capturing his coat’s sleeve between two fingers as you sulked at his side, his attention still set on those damn apples. He moved the basket to his other hand absentmindedly, allowing you more space to come closer to his side, his free arm wrapping around your waist, and head twisting to look over your moping features with tender adoration gracing his own. Leaning down, he pressed soft lips to your forehead, their warmth seeping into your skin and fluttering your eyelids shut.

Placing another one at your temple, playfulness mingled in his tone as he spoke, “Stop complaining, you’re not getting it back.”

And this time, all you could do was laugh.

The hours hurried by while Seokmin’s endless chatter kept you company, and perhaps you wish it hadn’t, wanting to treasure each passing second you shared in the presence of the man with the unwavering smile. You walked between the endless trees with leisure steps, the fingers entangled with yours occasionally dragging you with them to inspect the gradient of red and green. Some apples made the cut, thrown into the pile of spotless fruit he’d gathered over the past few hours, while others remained swaying with the gentle breeze, bruised exterior reflecting the golden rays.

A particular shade of green caught Seokmin’s eye, leaving your hand behind at your side to wrap slender fingers around the glossy circumference, rotating it gently to inspect it, going as far as leaning forward to get a closer look. Nodding to himself, he snapped its stem off and placed the weighted basket down, wrapping the apple in his cream scarf to give it a good wipe. You felt yourself salivate at the satisfying crunch sounding as Seokmin’s teeth breached the unblemished skin, and you watched the pucker of his lips as he chewed with wide, expecting eyes. A breathy chuckle contained within tightly pursed lips echoed in the back of his throat upon viewing the anticipation etched into your expression, and he moved the unbitten side towards your already-parted lips. Too focused on the apple nearing your waiting mouth, you’d missed the sly smile, the giggle he’d nearly failed at suppressing, and bit into the polished green.

A stream of its juice slipped past to flow down your chin, bitterness overwhelming your tastebuds and forcing your eyes firmly shut. A shiver ran down your spine as you struggled to chew on the unripe fruit, tears prickling in your eyes as you willed them open to glare at the man before you, hints of guilt mixed in with amusement on his face. Underneath all the kind smiles and caring gestures, Seokmin loved being an asshole.

He’d watched you persist and push through finishing the bite, too many people around now to spit it out. He even leaned forward to kiss away the tangy juice cooling over your skin, scrunching his nose at the sourness he’d willingly stolen another taste of. At least he was aware enough to take a step back once you’d swallowed the unpleasant bite down, what you thought was fear flashing across his features.

“Hey,” he put his hand up in defence before you could speak, “we share everything, right?” He took another step backward while giggling anxiously, and he nearly tripped over the apple-full basket he had resting over the soft grass. “Why should I make an exception for fruit?”

“Bad fruit,” you corrected, an eyebrow raised.

“Babe,” he started, but didn’t know how to continue, perhaps hoping the sparkling brown of his irises would do the trick.

And it almost did, you admit. But the bitterness lingered over your tongue, and Seokmin found himself scurrying away and out of the fire zone of the incoming apples you’d launched at him, laughing while you entertained the couples and children harvesting their own fruit with your lively act of revenge.

--

You smoothed your hands down the fresh set of clothes you’d thrown on, the fleece warm against your skin. The ligneous scent of your rented cabin added to its coziness, gentle winds blowing against closed windows and floorboards creaking with every socked footstep guiding you to the small kitchen.

Said footsteps quickened upon spotting bright green reflecting off the sharp metal of the very large knife in Seokmin’s hand, eyebrows furrowed as he focused on dividing the apple into even crescents. The hurried shuffling drew his attention, twisting his head just as you reached for the sharp tool, gently untangling his fingers off its handle to set it down over the cutting board alongside the botched fruit.

“Baby?” Tilting his head to the side, he stared at you in confusion.

You held both his hands in yours, flat over your palms as you inspected the tanned skin. Running your thumbs over polished nailbeds, you followed the protruding veins lining his slender fingers, all the way down each knuckle until you’d made sure he was unharmed. You enclosed his fingers within your palm, bringing them up to press your lips against, finding his pointer to plant an especially tender kiss over the scar stretching across its side.

“I was being careful,” he spoke through a melodramatic pout.

You smiled. “I know you were, Min. But let me handle the chopping this time, okay?”

Averting his eyes to the side, pretending to focus on the yellowing trees past the windowpane, Seokmin nodded, his hands limp in your hold. You lowered them to his side to cradle his jaw, tilting his head down to meet your eyes once again and staring him down in hopes of breaking his composure, but Seokmin’s pout persisted. And so the kisses began, soft and delicate over his cheekbones, forcing his eyes shut as you trailed your lips over the trembling skin. Leaning your head back, you watched his evident struggle against a betraying smile, finally curling the corners of his mouth when you’d dragged his head down with a forceful kiss to his cheek, the skin stretching under your lips while you kept them pressed there for a few more seconds. You moved away with an audible smack, Seokmin’s pout nowhere to be seen as he stared down at you with an uncontainable smile.

“Why don’t you make the dough instead?”

You picked up where Seokmin left off—half an apple chopped sloppily, which you ended up munching on while you worked—going through the washed apples to pick out the greenest, cutting them into even pieces and throwing them in a bowl of cinnamon and sugar. You remembered the nutmeg later on, after the frustrated noise at your side caught your attention, confusion raising your eyebrow when you’d noticed the powdery dough Seokmin was working with. He’d forgotten the eggs.  The embarrassment on his face was adorable, rose-tinted cheeks and restrained smile while watching you crack an egg into the crumbly mess he’d been working on for a shameful amount of time. A quick kiss to his jaw and a whispered ‘it’s okay, Min’ seemed to do the trick, though.

Tossing the last of the apples into the seasoning bowl, you sprinkled nutmeg over the shimmering crescents before grabbing a clean spoon from the dishrack, the spices’ aroma wafting in the air around you as you mixed them in with the fruit. Glancing over at Seokmin, you realised he’d begun kneading the dough, flour dusted over the marble counter as he rolled the raw crust in on itself, and as you took in the hard muscle bulging against the sleeve of his t-shirt, your fingers unconsciously loosened around the spoon you held. Your eyes wandered over flexing biceps and defined, broad shoulders, veins protruding from tan skin as he worked the dough under his palm. Bottom lip tucked between a set of pearly whites, his eyebrows furrowed occasionally while the ball gradually smoothened in his hands, growing less crumbly and eventually forming a near-perfect sphere.

Absentmindedly tumbling the apples with a limp grip around the spoon, you followed Seokmin’s movements, lower belly fluttering with every faint, airy grunt sounding in the back of his throat as he worked the dough.  Your thoughts strayed as you eyed the distracting flex of his muscles—the smile he wore, so sweet and tender, contrasted broad shoulders and the strength to manhandle you without much thought. You were almost certain Seokmin had no awareness of the fact, going about what he was doing without much regard to the blushing mess he’d left behind, the butterflies violently thrashing around within your stomach. The sparkling orbs with which he gazed at you, with charming innocence, oblivious to the effect he had on you. Perhaps that was for the best; you weren’t sure you’d want to find out what would become of him should he learn of the hidden power he’d been holding this entire time.

Sudden eye contact dragged you out of your daydreams when the man before you turned in your direction, the smooth doughball resting over his palm, and a proud smile on his lips. You held back the one threatening to break out on yours when you’d spotted the white dusting the pointy tip of his nose, some lightly powdering his cheeks as well. Instead, your chest warmed at his wordless flaunting as he slowly moved the undented dough towards you, sparkling eyes fishing for praise. And sure, you basically made the dough for him, and yes, all he did was mix the ingredients together with firm, hard-earned muscle, but the slight falter in his smile the longer you remained silent was enough to sway you.

“It looks great, Min!” You stepped closer, inspecting the roundness with wide eyes for a few seconds before straightening up to meet his eyes, “I’m proud of you, my love.”

Though a simple gesture, Seokmin’s face lit up, all but hurling the dough onto the counter to pull you into his arms, grinning into your shoulder while he squeezed your laughing frame closer to his chest. His arms still around you, he pulled away slightly, stars dancing in his eyes as he gazed at you gleefully, smiling against your lips as you got onto your tiptoes to kiss him lightly. But that didn’t satisfy Seokmin, his arm wrapping across your back to pull you back into him, locking his lips with yours once again, this time with hunger and hints of desire laced into the action. He kissed you once, twice, until he’d had a taste and realized he’d never have enough, needing sweetness and plush lips to forever bless his senses. While you held on to his biceps for balance, Seokmin was everywhere—hands up your back, over your arms and waist, and suddenly he was kissing you harder, deeper, tongue swiping across your bottom lip and teeth digging into it with a fervent want that sent waves of heat soaring through your body.

Pulling away for air, your chests heaved in unison, flush against one another as Seokmin peered down at you with hooded eyes, a spark of lust igniting the dark irises. And suddenly you were back in the present, the forgotten apples browning in their bowl, and the dough witnessing the heated exchange from its place on the counter.

“T-the pie!” you quickly diverted, pushing Seokmin away to shift your focus back to the task at hand, but you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your skull. “Can you preheat the oven please?”

An amused laugh sounded behind you at the shakiness of your voice, “yes, boss.” Just as you were about to sigh in relief, you heard him take a step towards you, his chest bumping into your shoulder and a gentle whisper blowing against the shell of your ear. “You have flour all over your face, by the way.”

And your pants, you thought, as his palm landed a playful slap onto your ass before he made his way to the other side of the kitchen.

The heat coursing through you dwindled as you fixated on the unfinished pie, save for those resulting from the not-so-hidden glances you’d stolen of Seokmin’s defined biceps as he moved the rolling pin over the dough. It was smooth sailing after that, though, missing the heart eyes directed at you as you spooned the filling into the rolled-out crust, perfectly fitted into the baking mould. You attempted to control your expressions as Seokmin tried and failed to cut straight lines out of the leftover dough, begrudgingly allowing him to place the uneven lattice in a questionable pattern, the chipper smile stretching his lips while he worked more than enough to excuse an ugly pie.

Carrying the raw pie over his head like Simba, Seokmin made his way to the oven. You held the door open for him, eyes following the baking mould as he transferred it onto the rack, gasping when his finger met the scorching metal. He placed the pie down and pretended nothing happened, ignoring the forming mark on his knuckle as he swung the oven door shut. And despite the whining and attempts of reassurance, you dragged Seokmin to the sink and ran cold water over his hand, once again kissing his pout away while you stood with barely any space separating your bodies.

His free hand slid across the small of your back, his other leaving its place under the running water to shut it off, wiping the droplets over his sweats before holding onto your hip. Leaning down, he met your lips once more, then again, until short pecks deepened, and a sharp nose nuzzled into the side of yours as he pulled you further into his body.

You pulled away with a gasp, startling Seokmin away from your lips, “the sweet potatoes!”

The initial shock replaced by softening eyes and a breathy laugh, Seokmin squeezed your waist once before releasing you. He stood to the side while you wrapped foil around the sangria exterior, offering to put them in the oven for you, but backing down at the disapproving glare you threw at him. Perhaps Seokmin had unintentionally caused a case of Pavlovian conditioning, one you remained unaware of, because the very second his bottom lip jutted out, yours were pressing consoling kisses over its plushness. Sometimes it took a few tries, but that’s only because you enjoyed watching the man—broad shoulders and all—sulk and whine when he didn’t get his way, only to lighten up and grin once your lips met his. It’s unclear who the winner was in this game, both parties working with a motive and ending with a satisfying result. Peculiar, really.

You settled down on the creaky floorboards across from the oven, your back to Seokmin’s chest and his thighs on either side of yours. His arms rested comfortably around your waist, hands limp at your hips, occasionally squeezing at the clothed flesh. Watching the pie crust brown through the glass, you basked in the cosy aroma circulating the cabin, the heat emanating from Seokmin’s body gentler and more comforting than that caramelising the sugar drizzled over the wonky lattice. Delicate fingers smoothed down your hair, and a silky voice lulled you to a tranquil state of comfort, strong arms holding you within the aura of warmth until a sharp click sounded, with the nostalgic scent of cinnamon and caramel to guide you out of slumber’s enticing grip, and back to toothy smiles and a cordial embrace.

--

The night’s breeze was crisp against slick skin, the warmth encased within the confines of the thick blankets now infiltrated through a window forgotten open. Seokmin noticed the raised goosebumps over your arms, and lowered his body until your chests laid flush, his forearms on either side of your head keeping his weight off your form.

“Cold?” he asked, lips pressing against your jaw and up to your cheekbone, over the frosty tip of your nose.

You shook your head, “not anymore,” and wrapped your arms around the soft skin of his waist.

Seokmin smiled, gentle features illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the cracked-open blinds—a cool-toned hue casting shadows over his face, moving as he pressed his pelvis closer to yours with an exhaled moan. Moving his weight over to one arm, he slid the other down to your core, splaying his palm out over your lower belly to thumb at your clit.

He’d been teasing you for so long—his cock filling you up the way you wanted, but only barely teasing your g-spot, refusing to move despite your repetitive whines; instead, he occasionally reached two slender fingers between your legs to relieve some of the arousal burning underneath your skin. This time, though, you’d reached your limit, clenching around him as a sudden high rushed through you, shaking your body within his hold.

Despite a day’s worth of lingering touches and heated kisses, a hand placed a little too low on your back, and eyes lit with unconcealed glints of want, the patience Seokmin exhibited as he guided you through your orgasm was not surprising. He’d always enjoyed giving—curling his fingers just right to take in the elegant arch of your back, your sweet taste on his tongue while he nuzzled his nose into your soaked pussy. But most of all, Seokmin savoured the tight squeeze around his cock as he fucked you through an orgasm, his breath heavy and eyes lidded with the pleasure your walls lavished upon him.

Slowly fading back into the present, you peered up at the man atop you, the column of his throat stretched as he took in the violent fluttering of your walls. But you wanted more, pent up and restless with his scent, his warm touch, occupying your every sense. And he still won’t move.

You rolled your hips experimentally, a startled hand rushing to stop you, fingers digging into the flesh to stifle the motion. “Please,” you whined, “Min, please move.”

Groaning at your tone, cock throbbing between your walls, “oh baby,” he breathed out, bumping his forehead with yours and allowing his eyelids to fall shut. “I’ve been thinking about having you like this all day. I wanna last for you, my love, ‘wanna make you feel so good.”

Arousal boiled in your lower belly, eyelashes fluttering and a shaky breath escaping your parted lips at the words whispered in the air between you. “Min-”

“Let me be good for you.”

A kiss to your temple and a few inhales were all it took Seokmin to regain his composure, his forehead still pressed to yours as he tugged you closer by the hips, languidly rolling his own into your heat. The leisure glide wasn’t much, but it sent a shiver through your body. It was as though Seokmin could read the wordless pleads sparkling in your eyes, pulling his face away just enough to adjust the angle before settling back down onto your body. Fingers tangled in your hair to keep your eyes on his, blinking in unison while you breathed the same air, gentle waves of pleasure drawing breathy moans out of the both of you, his cockhead brushing against your sweet spot every time he drove it inside your cunt.

Sliding a hand over his sweat-coated nape, you dragged Seokmin down to your lips, the sweetness of a pie forgotten outside enriching your tastebuds, the single remaining piece left over the picnic blanket alongside crumbled foil—the unintentionally discarded dessert serving as breakfast for the blackbirds to nip at when the morning came.

The hand lost in your hair found its way to your jaw, cradling your face while he devoured you, the kiss growing deeper the farther Seokmin sunk down the blazing pit of lust growing within him. His cock twitched erratically within you, pace picking up until the echo of skin-on-skin danced between the four walls, hips slamming against yours with fervour as his eagerness finally won over him. Unable to focus on anything but the mind-numbing heaviness of his cock pounding into you, your lips parted to release a staccato of ah’s, his own relentless as they peppered wet, open-mouthed kisses all over your face.

“God, you’re perfect,” he grabbed your cheeks with the hand previously on your jaw, squishing them together to lay his lips onto the forced pout on yours, “all mine.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the repetitive abuse to your cunt, squelching obscenely every time Seokmin fucked his entire length inside. “All—hngh—all yours,” you repeated, exhaling a breath you’d been holding when sudden warmth spread through your abdomen.

“I—hah—‘m sorry,” he stuttered as his rhythm turned sloppy, shuddering when he finally came. Sheathing himself deep withing your heat, he fed ropes of translucent white into your womb while attempting to keep his eyes on you, long eyelashes fluttering while ecstasy flowed through his body.  “Felt so good, I couldn’t…” he paused to lower his head, interrupted by a string of airy moans as the last, weak spurts of cum emptied out of his twitching cock. “I couldn’t help it,” he muttered.

The reassurance died on your tongue when the sensitive cock drew out halfway, only to slam back into you as though the arms bracketing your head didn’t continue to tremble with the continuing effects of his orgasm. Lifting his head back up to meet your gaze, he lowered his hand back down to play with your cunt, dipping down to feel around your stretched hole and back up to circle your clit with the slick he’d collected, a silent promise of “I’ll be good” glimmering in his lidded eyes while he watched you fall apart under his touch.

And he was, so good.

You tumbled over the edge unexpectedly, cockhead pounding into your cunt while he rolled your clit underneath his fingertips until your features contorted gracefully, fireworks exploding behind your eyelids as you shut them and tilted your head back to welcome a stupefying orgasm. You tensed for a moment, then began spasming uncontrollably in his arms, hips simultaneously jerking towards and away from his touch as he guided you through your high, languidly gliding his cock along your dripping, clenching walls, both hands now gripping the soft flesh of your hips.

And when the stimulation sent pangs of pain up your body, a whispered repetition of his name paired with limp tugs at his wrist finally broke Seokmin away from you and the bewitching melody he drew out of the perfect circle shaping your mouth. He slid his softening cock out of your heat to allow thick dollops of pearly cum to stream out of your pussy, watching as your hole clenched uselessly until your abashed whine dragged him out of his thoughts.

You found yourself tucked in under layers of thick blankets while running water sounded in the bathroom, bare feet padding over the floorboards until Seokmin—with his boxers on backwards—reached under the covers to blindly drag a warm washcloth over your skin, hoping it would catch all the sweat and cum without having to expose you to the chill air. You drew your lips into a straight line to avoid laughing at the concentration furrowing his eyebrows, cheeks flushing as he washed your middle. Any other day, Seokmin would make a big deal of cleaning you up properly, but you could see the hair on his arms raising, the autumn night’s chill piercing through his skin.

He didn’t even bother with returning the rag to its place, tossing it over his shoulder to dive under the cosy blankets with you, limbs tangling as soon as he made it there—arms circling your tired frame and legs pushing between and over yours. The momentary frigidity dissipating, his body heat seeped into your very being, and you inhaled the fresh scent of laundry mixed in with remaining hints of his cologne. Nuzzling the pointy tip of his nose into your hair, he planted a kiss onto your crown, the gesture faint as his steady heartbeat lulled you to much-needed slumber, the serene trip to dreamland occupied with solacing thoughts about a forever home within Seokmin’s tender embrace.

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#kyeom #this is so romantic i want him so bad

[outromoonchild]

roommates

🌙 staring. Hyuck & Mark x afab!Reader

🔮 synopsis. as Jungwoo's best friend, you have your pick of fratboys to date, including Jeno, who has a huge crush on you. But you're only attracted to Lee's that come in pairs, and you can't get roommates Mark and Hyuck off your mind.

cw/ tw. drug use (weed), threesome, pet names: baby & kitten, praise, degradation, dirty talk, spanking, fingering, oral (f/m receiving), hand job, anal, double penetration, unprotected sex, edging, body worship, cumplay/creampie, etc…

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 8.3k

🍭 aus. frat au, stoner au, poly au

☀️ mlist + an. stoner frat boy roommate MarkHyuck- what else can I even say

It’s halfway through the annual Halloween party when a battle of ‘who’s the strongest Avenger’ breaks out amongst a group of frat boys all dressed the part. And soon, the room is watching an arm wrestle between Sungchan and Jeno, two of last years ‘beffiest pledges,’ who are now eager to make a name for themselves amongst their elders.

Jungwoo takes a sip of his drink, and then, in classic best friend fashion, he asks you for the umpteenth time; “Are you sure you don’t want Jeno?” 

“Yeah,” you respond, swallowing thickly and tearing your gaze off of beautifully sculpted biceps- “Are you sure you don’t want Jeno?” 

The tall engineering major rolls his eyes at the insinuation, clicking his tongue. “I know who you want instead,” he reminds you, “and I don’t like it.”

“What’s not to like?” you laugh, enjoying the way Jungwoo reacts every time he remembers your most recent ‘campus crush’ is not one, but two of his frat brothers- and they’re roommates.

“Mark is a great guy,” your best friend says smoothly, taking a large sip of his drink while he scans the crowd- “Hyuck is a fuck.”

Your grin widens, and you watch Jungwoo down the rest of his mystery fruit punch - which had mostly been vodka - then you hold out your own cup of water for him when he immediately teeters over, grabbing at your shoulder to steady himself.

“And you, my friend,” - you say, a determined devil intent on leading the man dressed as an angel up to his room sooner rather than later - “are drunk.”

It’s past midnight by the time you leave Jungwoo’s room, and you immediately head off towards the place you know you’ll find Mark and Haechan.

The stoners are predictable by now; they hang out at a party, heading outside or up to their room for a hit from various bongs, dab rigs, vape pens, joints and the like- until slowly- they just stay in their room. 

The last time you’d come through here with Jungwoo, Mark had been kind enough to show you how to take a hit from the bong, and you’d ended up hanging out for a while. To your disappointment that night, Haechan hadn’t arrived until later, Jeno in tow-

But this time, you’re surprised to find Mark and Hyuck alone in their room. 

The first of the two is splayed across his bed, arm bent, hand behind his head- he looks comfortable, a casual dude listening to music while he toys with the little fidget he’s playing with between his fingers. He’s still wearing blue jeans and his hockey jersey- Mark’s never been known to go to extremes for Halloween. 

Hyuck, meanwhile, is at the desk by the window, seated in his gaming chair with his head back- eyes closed- he’d come to the party as Joaquin Phoenix's ‘The Joker’, and while his makeup has been removed, the red suit is still an attention grabber. 

“Are you two busy?” you ask.

Now you have their attention, and while Mark licks his lips, opening his mouth like he’s about to say something- Hyuck beats him to the punch: “Not busy. Come in, what’s up?”

“Jungwoo fell asleep and I just- are you sure you’re not busy?” you honestly can’t believe they don’t have at least one girl in the room already- 

Mark and Haechan have to be two of the hottest guys in the frat- or, while you’ve heard some people don’t instantly find themselves attracted to Mark - he’s been voted ‘most husband’ by the sorority girls at Winter Formal for two years in a row for a reason-

“We’re seriously not busy, come in,” Hyuck laughs, flashing you a grin. “Jungwoo fell asleep?”

“Uh huh,” you step into their bedroom, closing the door gently behind you. Then you head to the foot of Mark’s bed, continuing, “I thought he’d pass out easy, but tonight he took a while, needed head scratches and everything-”

“I’ve heard about the head scratches,” the Canadian smiles softly, sitting up and tucking his feet closer to himself so you can have at least half of his bed to sit on. 

“Jungwoo doesn’t keep his mouth shut about anything,” you say fondly- of course he’d tell his friends about your ‘cuddle time’.

“He’s also still very serious every time he tells us the two of you aren’t dating,” Hyuck muses, “despite the head scratches, cuddles and matching halloween costumes.” 

You settle against the wall with a laugh- the matching angel/devil costume had been fun to do this year with Jungwoo- he’d even bleached his hair blonde for it- “And I’ll be serious right now when I also tell you we’re not dating.” 

“Okay- and what do you think about Jeno?” 

The sudden shift in Hyuck’s questioning has you nearly gasping in shock- and you end up laughing again. “You are not wingmanning Jeno at me right now-”

“Okay,” Haechan holds his hands up, “I’m not.”

“Now’s probably a good time to tell you,” Mark speaks up again, “we broke our bong and we only have the dab rig tonight.”

“Sure Mark- go straight to the fact that we don’t have the one thing that she’s here to get from us-” Hyuck rolls his eyes.

And now it’s Mark’s turn to hold his hands up in defence- “I’m just saying-”

“I’ll try the dab rig,” you tell them, which immediately breaks up the commotion, and draws two pretty sets of brown eyes to you again. “If that’s okay.”

“Have you ever tried one of these?” Hyuck asks, lifting the glass device much smaller than the bong you’d used last time. 

You shake your head.

“Have you seen one used?” Mark questions next.

Another shake of your head.

“You’re in for a treat tonight then,” Hyuck grins, dipping into the Halloween spirit.  

“And no tricks,” Mark adds, but it feels more like a warning directed towards his roommate than an assurance for you. “Here, he’ll get a dab ready for himself, and I’ll talk you through what he’s doing.”

Sometimes you forget that Mark is older than Haechan- who is the type to demand to have the last say in most things. Mark, meanwhile, generally seems happy to blend in with everyone else, following the flow of things-

It’s nice to see him step up like this, even while obviously high.

Or perhaps it’s the weed that’s giving the generally anxious frat boy a boost of ego?

“So instead of grinding up weed, like with a bong, for the dab rig, we have use what we call shatter- but there’s a less intense version called butter that I’ll give you when you try-” Mark explains as his friend presses a thin metal tool to a tiny, fragile sheet of orangey crystallines on a piece of parchment. “Hyuck doesn’t clean his tools, so usually they’re sticky enough for him to just touch the shatter and have them stick-”

“I don’t clean them specifically so they do stick,” retorts the man who does his craft diligently, lifting the metal tool with the shatter attached to one end before setting it to the side. 

“Sure you do,” Mark laughs, and you see - for a brief moment - the glimmer of affection in his eyes. 

This must be something they disagree on often. 

“Then this,” Hyuck continues, lifing the next tool involved in this insanely complicated ‘dab rig’ process, “is the flamethrower instead of a lighter.” 

“Watch how he’s gotta press down on the button, and then the notch, then hit the safety lock-” 

“This is so complicated-” you laugh, knowing there’s no way you’re going to be able to replicate the process-

“Nah,” Hyuck shrugs, “you just gotta hold it under this thing here: on a bong it’s the bowl where you put the weed, but on the rig it’s called a banger and basically what we do - once this is hot - is put the shatter into it, and it will evaporate from the heat and turn into smoke, which we breathe in-”

“But the banger has to be hot enough or the hit won’t be as good,” Mark warns you, “so we heat it for like, thirty seconds, or until it’s hot-”

“Who knew there were so many details to being a stoner,” you muse in shock, blinking at the instructions that just fly by you-

“It’s okay,” Mark says, offering you a smile, “I’ll help you when you take your hit, all you’ll have to do is breathe and I’ll tell you when to stop.”

“Like last time,” you nod, transfixed when Hyuck finally takes his hit.

There’s quite a lot of smoke that fills in the tiny glass contraption, and lots of bubbles- Hyuck breathes everything in, and he props the window open, letting out a massive cloud that disappears into the cold, dark night-

“Fuck-” he says, letting out a dry cough before reaching for his water. “Don’t-” cough, “forget-” cough, “to have your water ready.” The man they call ‘Hyuck’ takes a large swig from his bottle before pushing away from the table and standing up. 

He turns, takes two steps, and faceplants onto his bed, letting out a groan.

“It’s that strong?” you ask in shock.

You’ve seen Hyuck take some pretty big bong rips- 

“We’ve been going at the rig all night,” Mark tells you, replacing Haechan in the gaming chair so he can get a dab on the go for you. 

You like the idea of the two of them going at something… together. 

“So this is butter,” Mark holds out a small blue canister, showing you the buttery texture of the product inside when you come to sit closer. “Scooping it out is easy, here, we’ll use my clean tool-” 

You watch him pull out a little yellow, glass wiggly stick with a hand on one end, and a point on the other.

The butter is scooped up easily, gently sticking itself to the glass tool in a way that shatter could never- 

“So I’ll heat up the banger again, and we don’t have to rush it or anything- the glass stays hot, so, I’ll hold it up for you and yeah-” Mark rambles off while he gets the torch going, and his eyes are fixed on his task. “When you breathe in, we use the flat hand part of the tool overtop of the banger to help you inhale easier- and the most important part, is  just remember,” he looks up at you with a smile, “All of this is legal in Canada.” 

“You’re cute,” you grin, unable to help yourself from verbalizing the comment that so often passes through your thoughts during your dealings with Mark lee. 

He’s visibly taken aback by your comment, lips parting, ears turning pink-

And you’re quick to rectify yourself,  “I mean- that’s funny. It’s cute when you’re funny-  I mean, you’re funny when you’re Canadian- so I guess, you’re cute when you’re Canadian, and you’re always Canadian so just… take the compliment-” you groan, “Jeez, I’m not even high yet-”

 Mark laughs, shaking his head and looking down as he flicks off the torch.

“Okay, are you ready?” he asks, adjusting the dab rig on his left palm, the mouth piece presented to you while he holds the buttered tool in his right hand. 

“Yes,” you respond, leaning forward, briefly looking down at the way your knees press together- painfully aware of the stoner’s thighs unintentionally caging you in-

“Let out a deep breath,” Mark instructs, “and when you’re ready, bring your mouth to the mouthpiece to breathe in, I'll do the rest.” 

You hold eye contact with Mark while you follow the instruction, bringing your lips to the rig as he lowers the yellow glass wrapped in buttered weed into the banger.

“Breathe in,” he says calmly, and you can’t help but reach out a hand, gently placing your fingers on his left forearm to steady yourself whilst you inhale the driest air ever- 

You can’t help but close your eyes and you see Mark quickly adjust the tool in between his fingers, the flat hand coming atop the banger- suddenly, breathing in is a little harder-

“Okay,” the rig is pulled away from your mouth, “you got it all-”

You quickly release the cloud of smoke you’d just inhaled. 

At first, you’re struck by the sensation of being hot. Then your throat is constricted, tightening- like you’re being choked, and you let out a gasp-

“Water- here’s the water-” Mark Lee’s voice is in the periphery of your awareness, and something is placed in your right hand- “straw-” something touches your lips and you recougnize the plastic- sucking at it-

The feeling of cold water streaming down your throat allows you to breathe again, and you take a struggled gasp-

“That’s it-” you feel the bed dip next to you and a hand rubbing at your back- which helps you ground yourself as you get your breathing right- coughing roughly-

“You gave her too much,” Hyuck calls distantly, and the rubbing at your back intensifies. 

“I’m ok!” you insist weakly, eyes still closed, body overwhelmed by sensations- “I just gotta-” you choke again and take another sip of your water-

Things are slowly starting to be less hot, and you’re able to take a better breath-

A tingly sensation begins in the tips of your fingers, and you let out a small sound-

The hand on your back removes itself, and you have the brilliant idea of laying down, head swirling in an eyes closed darkness as you flop yourself backwards onto the bed, letting out a sigh-

“You’re gonna feel real good now,” Hyuck’s laughter is delightful, and it makes you laugh too, enjoying the feeling of being enwrapped by- air?

“Your water is still in your hand if you need it,” Mark’s soft reminder makes warmth spread through your chest, and a moment later the bed dips again, signalling the Canadian has left your side-

But you don’t want him to go.

So you open your eyes for the first time since taking your dab, and are shocked to find your vision at first blurred by tears-

You blink them away-

“Fuck are you okay?” Mark’s in front of you again, sitting in his gaming chair, a look of concern on his face.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, shocked by the sound - by the feeling - of your own voice. Things feel fuzzy when you lift a hand to wipe away the tear track- “I think I coughed up a lung.”

Beyond Mark, Hyuck has sat up. “At least you’re pretty when you cry.”

Of course he has a dacriphilia kink-

“Ignore him,” Mark says, “here,” and then he’s reaching out, cupping the side your cheek and brushing his thumb against your skin, brushing away the tears you’d missed when you’d dragged your own hand across your face. 

You watch Mark, holding your breath- entire body focused on the warmth of his palm- and then his hand is pulling away and you’re missing him again. 

“You good?” Mark asks- and you realize you’ve just zoned out a little while staring at his pretty brown eyes and kissable lips-

You swallow thickly and nod, the weightless feeling returning when you pull your gaze from the Canadian to look around the room. 

It’s a pretty standard frat house bedroom- but it’s unique to the two men who live in it. Haechan’s side is messier, which doesn’t come as much of a shock. His walls are covered in layered posters of all sorts of things- video games, cars, women, movies-

“We should watch a scary movie.”

Two pairs of eyes swing to you, then Hyuck and Mark exchange a glance-

“I’m not too great with horror movies, if I’m being honest-” Mark admits, setting a dab of butter down in favour of rubbing the back of his neck with a hand.

“But we could watch something scary-” Hyuck says, “I could grab Jeno-”

“No-” you’re quick to shut the idea down, “I’m sure Jeno’s busy- and I want Mark to stay-”

“Even if Jeno’s busy, he’d come watch something,” Hyuck tells you. 

“What’s with everyone and Jeno tonight?” you ask in exasperation. “First Jungwoo- now you-”

Mark’s eyes widen. “Jungwoo was trying to set you up with Jeno too?” 

“So you are trying to set me up with Jeno!” 

“The dude has a massive crush on you-” Hyuck says- realizing his mistake the moment the words leave his mouth.

You groan. “We’re not that close-” 

“You don’t have to be that close to someone to see their value,” Mark notes thoughtfully, turning the torch on to begin to heat the dab banger. 

“Yeah but it sounds like she doesn’t see Jeno’s,” Hyuck snickers.

“Maybe he’s not my type,” you suggest, heart thumping loudly in your chest at the turn this conversion has taken-

But luckily- instead of asking for a description of your type, Hyuck simply says “Jeno is everyone’s type” and lays back down with a groan. 

Your eyes find Mark, and the two of you exchange a glance and knowing smile, then Mark returns his attention to the dab rig. 

“By the way-” you find yourself saying, “I don’t mean to intrude- if you guys need to kick me out to sleep-”

“Nah,” Mark is quick to shake his head,  “you’re good, Hyuck’s bed time is three am.”

“Haven’t even had dinner yet,” the younger of the roommate stoners agrees. 

“You should eat then,” you suggest, looking at the pretty man lying on his bed while Mark takes a hit from the rig.

“Who are you, my mom?” Hyuck scoffs loudly- only for both of your attention’s to be captured by the coughing Canadian- 

“Water-” you say, handing the bottle to him-

“I’ll grab something to eat in a bit,” Hyuck says, standing up from his bed, “after another hit.”

You watch with a smile as Hyuck forces a very blatantly high Mark out of the gaming seat, and the stoner joins you on the bed, lids droopy, grin dopey-

“You okay?” you ask when Mark sways slightly-

He nods. “M’ perfect.”

“Mark’s a dopey stoner,” Hyuck states, which earns him the grand reaction of: Mark slowly and gently pushing at his leg and muttering ‘hey’ meekly.

“I like the vibes of dopey stoners,” you retort, feeling the need to defend the very soft boy sitting next to you.

“And dopey stoners must just love you-” Hyuck sighs, “Jungwoo, Jeno-” he takes a hit from his rig, letting out a big puff of smoke a moment later, “Milk-”

“Milk?” you ask.

Hyuck points at Mark with a lazy grin, repeating the word “milk” with an emphasis on the K. 

“Okay!” Mark stands up suddenly, “time for another dab!”

“Yeah- dopey stoners think you’re the greatest,” Hyuck concludes with a sly smirk before he belly flops onto his bed again, grabbing at his phone-

The music plays louder, and you don’t mind. 

Your attention shifts to Mark while he gets another dab ready, and you enjoy the pinkish tint to his ears. He really is the cutest little stoner-

“Do you want another hit before I do mine?” Mark asks. “I’m probably going to take enough to just- lay back and look at the ceiling for a bit-”

“That sounds nice,” you smile.

“Dope,” the Canadian adjusts the amount of butter he scoops with the tool, taking substantially less for you than he would for himself. 

He repeats the process he had before, and within no time at all, you’re once again getting prepped to take a hit.

“Breathe out,” Mark’s calming instructions aren’t needed, but they’re welcome all the same. “And when you’re ready…” 

You’re very aware of his gaze on your lips when you take the hit, and Mark helps you clear the smoke like last time, pulling the rig from you with a “done” when you’ve inhaled all there is to inhale.

This time, you cough through your release of the smoke- it’s more painful, your lungs and throat constricting- but when you take a sip of water, it helps, taking away the choking feeling to leave you with nothing but warmth.

You lay down softly on Mark’s bed with a hum of affirmation, and a moment later, you hear the torch fire up again. 

It’s nice to just- let yourself drift away for a bit.

You’re in a good place, with two people who - all things considered on Hyuck’s end - are safe.

You can just exist for a while, with no stress.

Life is nice.

Life is happy-

The bed dips and you feel Mark Lee lay down next to you, a small sigh of relief just audible over the music. 

It feels so good to be with people like this. 

Simply existing-

“Maybe I do need food,” Hyuck says suddenly.

Both you and Mark lift your heads to watch the younger frat boy get off the bed and go to the door. 

“Where are you going?” Mark calls.

“Mcdonalds- maybe the kitchen-” Hyuck considers it for a moment, “who knows.” 

He closes the door behind him when he’s gone and Mark laughs, leaning back against the bed and letting out a sigh. Then he turns to you. “Are you comfortable?”

“We could lay down on the bed properly instead of with our knees bent off the side like this,” you suggest. 

Mark swallows. “Do you- uh, do you want to be against the wall or-” his skin flushes that pretty pink shade, “I mean- I dont want you to feel trapped- against- against the wall- cuz-”

You giggle a little at the man who’s now motioning with his hands, trying to visually show you what he’s not able to communicate so well with his words-

“Cuz when you lay down-” 

You place your hand on his forearm again, and he’s quick to stop speaking, giving you his attention.

“How about you just sit up, I’ll get comfortable and you can do whatever after?”

“Good idea,” he nods, following through and giving you the space to lay down properly on his small, twin sized bed. 

You turn so your back is to the wall, and then you let out a contented sigh, snuggling against one of Mark’s pillows. “Okay, you can come now.” 

It takes you a second to see the second meaning of your words, and you realize that while high, you’ve fallen into the same trap as Mark had earlier when he’d gotten flustered about having you against the wall. 

“Are you gonna lay on your side like that?” Mark asks, looking down at you.

You can tell from the flush of his skin that he’d heard the double entendre in the statement ‘you can come now’, and it’s affected him the same way it’s flustered you. 

“Yeah-” you blink, “is that okay?”

“Yeah,” the frat boy mirrors your position, adjusting his own pillow before meeting your eyes. “Is this okay?”

“Uh huh,” you smile. 

“Can I tell you something?”

“You can tell me anything, Milk.” 

You enjoy the gentle little grin- the way he averts his eyes at the teasing nickname.

“You know how, earlier,” - Mark swallows to compose himself - “you said that Jungwoo can’t keep his mouth shut about anything?”

“Uh oh-”

“Trust me it’s not bad-”

“It better not be-” you groan, already moving to cover your face with the pillow- “What did he say?”

“Just that- hey, take that away for a sec-” he tugs at the thing shielding him from seeing the embarrassment on your face, because you know where this is going-

Maybe you’re just paranoid from the weed- maybe he’s not about to tell you that your best friend spilled his guts about your crush on him-

“Seriously-” Mark laughs, “come on- you said I could tell you anything, right?”

You sigh, moving away the pillow. 

“There we go,” he smiles. “Look- I was with Jungwoo, one on one-”

“You were cuddling, weren’t you?” you tease immediately- knowing exactly how Jungwoo gets when a little drunk and cuddled- he’ll spill all the secrets-

“Maybe we were cuddling…” - Mark’s cheeks flare with colour - “but I asked about you and Jeno- you know Jeno has a thing for you- and Jungwoo just kind of let it slip that you only have a thing for Lee’s that come in pairs-”

“He said what?!” you bolt upright in shock, eyes widening-

This is so much worse than you could have imagined-

“Yeah, I thought it was weird at first too- and, he told me to forget about it- but, I mean,” Mark sits up, clearing his throat before he concludes, “the only Lee’s that really come in a pair are me and Hyuck, cuz we’re roommates.”

“Mark, I-” you bite at your tongue, “I’m not sure what to say-”

“You don’t have to say anything-” Mark assures you, “I guess- could I ask you something?”

“Go for it.”

“I can’t speak for Haechan- but,” the Canadian wets his lips with that anxious tongue of his, “I mean, I know I’m interested- and I guess I’m trying to figure out if the whole line about ‘Lee’s that come in pairs’ means you’re a threesome kind of person or-”

“What are we talking about in here?” Hyuck asks as he barges into the room again, a bag of chips in hand. 

After recent hits of a dab rig, and being already struck by this interaction with Mark- Hyuck’s sudden reapperance makes you short circut, and you sit there, blinking at the man staring you down-

“God, how high are you fuckers?” Haechan is quick to close and lock the door behind him, and a moment later he’s pulling up beside Mark’s bed, seated in the gaming chair. “Is one of you going to say something?”

Hyuck is really pretty too, actually-

“I heard the word threesome-” he says, looking between you and Mark like a detective-

“Jungwoo told Mark I only like ‘Lee’s that come in pairs’ because you guys are roommates, and Mark was just saying he’d be down to fuck me-” 

The man sitting next to you gasps in shock- “What? I didn’t say-” 

“You said you’d be interested,” you correct yourself, “same thing.” 

“That’s a super oversimplified retelling of events-” Mark insists-

“Jesus Mark, what are you, an English Major?” Hyuck laughs, “a ‘super oversimplified retelling-’ dude, it’s Halloween, and Jungwoo’s hot best friend is propositioning us-”

“Mark propositioned me by bringing it up-” you correct.

“Right-” Hyuck nods, turning to his friend with a grin, “Nice going, Milk.” 

The stoned music theory student blinks. “Thanks?”

“So,” the younger of the two focuses his attention on you again, “you only like Lee’s that come in pairs, huh?”

Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and you choke a little before sipping at your water, clearing your throat before responding in a similar way to Mark- with a confused, “Yes?”

“You guys act like these are hard questions,” - you hate it when Hyuck laughs at you, because he shouldn’t be this pretty while chuckling at your expense - “I’ll make it easy on everyone. Do either of you think you’re too high to make decisions?”

After a quick glance at Mark, both of you shake your heads.

Hyuck eyes you both- gaze lingering on your red costume. “So you’re both good?”

This time, it’s a nod, and it makes the gemini grin, shifting closer to the bed. 

“And if I take another hit, then go down on the devil-” his hand strokes your thigh, “that’s okay too, yeah?”

“Yes please-” you breathe, shocked at how fucking suave Hyuck can be, utilizing your costume in a pickup line and everything- 

“You should give Markie some attention first, though-” the gemini’s tone quickly shifts, and the Canadian next to you let’s out an annoyed sound at the nickname- shifting in a way that has Hyuck scattering to the table for his dab like the mischievous gremlin he is. 

Then Mark turns to you- lips parting to say something-

But you cut him off with a kiss before a word can leave his mouth- 

Because Hyuck is right. If he’s going to get to eat you out in a moment- the least you can do is get a taste of Mark first. 

While sitting side by side doesnt make for the easiest position to kiss the pretty frat boy, it only takes Mark reciprocating for a few seconds before you decide to swing your leg over his hips and straddle him instead. 

Mark let’s out a small groan, his hands finding your hips, “Is this really happening?” 

You laugh, grinding down against him- and the feeling of his cock pressing hard against the confines of his jeans has you letting out a happy sound next. “Yes- Mark, this is really happening,” you assure him. 

“I love how he’s the one acting shocked when he’s the one who propositioned us.”

“I didn’t proposition you-” Mark groans, looking past your shoulder at the man turning on the torch to heat the banger.  

“Sure you didn’t.”

“Mark?” you nip at his earlobe and the man beneath you shudders, fingers flexing against your hips. “Aren’t you going to pay attention to me instead of arguing with Hyuck?”

“Yeah, Mark.” 

With a groan of annoyance, the elder Lee cups your jaw, bringing your mouth to his again. 

The kiss is deeper this time, his tongue swiping across your lower lip before teasing past your teeth. His hands shift you on his hips, forcing you down while he pushes up-

You release a groan of pleasure, tanging one hand in his hair while the other grabs at the jersey keeping his body from you-

But you can feel the muscle under your fingers- and you’re reminded that Mark’s costume isn’t really a costume at all; it’s his own jersey.

He might look and act like a sweetheart, but this guy is a frat boy hockey player-

You hear Hyuck exhale at the same time you feel his breath against the back of your neck, and when you pull away from kissing Mark to open your eyes, you see that the youngest Lee has taken it upon himself to create a dab cloud around your bodies-

“Dude-” Mark groans from below you, immediately waving a hand to clear some of the air-

“What?” Hyuck plays innocent even while caging you against Mark, his lips teasing past your throat- “You guys looked like you were having so much fun- I got eager to join.” 

This feels like a partial truth. Hyuck’s hands are certainly eager as they play with the fabric of your shirt, but you have no doubt he could have exhaled his smoke out the window before coming to join on the bed. 

“Look- I had a great idea,” Hyuck insists, nosing at your jaw. “Come on- someone ask me what the idea is.”

Mark takes the bait with a sigh; “What’s the idea?” 

“Well I was thinking,” - Hyuck begins to slide your shirt up your torso - “seeing as our little kitten likes both of us so much- she might enjoy having you in her mouth while I eat her out.”

The idea has your pussy throbbing with need-

“Are you into butt stuff, baby?” Hyuck asks as he pulls your shirt off. “Gonna get on your knees and suck on Mark while I lick this pretty pussy-” he slips a hand between your legs, “but you’ll let me fuck with your ass too, yeah? You’re besties with Jungwoo, so I assume you know all about butt stuff-”

“Oh my god-” you groan-

You feel like maybe you should defend your friend a little- but this is what you get for being besties with a known ass eater-

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Hyuck prompts, and you feel him grin against your throat before he licks a stripe of your skin happily, “that’s what I thought.” 

“Fuck-” you whimper at the feeling of being caged in between two of the hottest guys on campus, and you can’t help but be greedy, hand seeking out the front of Mark’s pants-

“Shit-” now it’s Mark’s turn to cuss as you cup at him through his jeans, outlining the hard cock pressing against it’s confines-

“Aw, you’re both feeling pretty sensitive, huh?” Hyuck chuckles; “Cute.”

Mark cups your face, bringing your lips to his for a fevered kiss while he grinds forward, rutting against your hand-

“Take this off-” you groan, tugging on Mark’s jersey- breaking your kiss with him in favour of turning your head to the side-

Hyuck picks up on your motion and meets you half way, shifting behind you- his hand leaves your pussy to press two fingers to your jaw, helping you turn so your lips can finally meet-

The grip on your jaw intensifies and Haechan groans, mouth opening, tongue tasting past your own-

And you can feel Mark removing his shirt, his hands finding your hips to alert you when the task is complete, and a moment later, he’s pressing open mouthed kisses to your throat-

It feels amazing to be needed.

Hands are everywhere, Hyuck and Mark playing a tug of war like game with your body and attention.

Despite Hyuck being a fabulous kisser, now that Mark’s shirtless, you’re more than eager to get to work, to get your mouth on Mark-

To get Hyuck’s mouth on you. 

Breaking the kiss with Hyuck makes the man behind you groan, but as you lean in to worship Mark’s chest, and begin your descent, Hyuck’s mouth finds your shoulder, and you know he’s about to embark on a similar trajectory- 

You’re struck by Mark’s body, and you can’t help but trace the lines of muscle on his abdomen while dragging your tongue across his pectoral-

Mark shivers when you brush by his nipple, and you can’t help but giggle, triggering Hyuck into a chuckle too- “I forgot Mark has sensitive tits.”

“Hey-”

You enjoy the banter between the two of them, it takes some of the pressure off while you work on undoing Mark’s fly-

“What else is sensitive, Mark?” you toy, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his jeans to shimmy them down-

“Holy shit-” 

“You can say that again,” Hyuck breathes from behind you, and he grabs at your ass, squeezing it- “Are you into pain?”

You’re aware that he’s asking if you’re up to be spanked, but the way he’s phrased the question- ‘are you into pain-’ it has your toes curling with sinful delight. 

“Yes- Hyuck- please-” 

Even though you’ve already undone Mark’s jeans, and are working on getting them down- Hyuck tears your own pants down your legs in record time, and you’re the first person to be bare to the room.

The impact on your ass comes immediately after, the sting of skin on skin contact making you jolt, a gasp tumbling out of you. 

“Yeah- of course you’re into pain,” Hyuck says smoothly, brushing over your stinging skin with newfound gentleness- “I always knew you would be-”

“Always?” Mark gasps when you finally get his briefs down, his cock springing to attention by his abdomen-

“Uh huh, always,” Hyuck confirms, and you feel the bed shifting behind you- then his hot breath fans across your entrance, making you twitch-

“Even though you were trying to set her up with Jeno until like- twenty minutes ago?” Mark asks, stuttering a little over his words when you grab the base of his cock-. 

“Oh, so I can’t be a good friend and a dirty fuck at the same time?” the gemini counters, spreading your ass cheeks with two hands before kitten licking at your folds-

“Hyuck-” you gasp, arching your back in an effort to push your pussy closer to his face while you wrap your mouth around Mark-

“Fuck-” hands brush the hair out of your face, and you enjoy the soft touch-

It’s hard to know where to focus- on your worship of Mark, or Hyuck’s worship of you- his tongue pressing into your hole-

“Feels so good-” Mark breathes from above you as you bob your head on his length. 

It does. 

There’s nothing like the feeling of having both Mark and Hyuck- 

To please while being pleased-

Lips suction around your clit and you whine, mirroring the motion by suckling on the head of Mark’s cock, which earns a groan from him too-

“Oh my god-” Mark’s noises are having a growing impact on you- the way his voice dips, the way he continues to help you with your hair, warm, gentle hands guiding your head-

Hyuck’s tongue leaves your pussy in favour of burrying two fingers into you, and you moan louder around the cock in your mouth. 

“Fuck- look at you kitten- such a pretty little cock whore for Mark-” Hyuck groans, “and squeezing my fingers so good when I call you names- you were made for this, huh? Made to be fucked?”

You're delirious with need, and with your mouth stuffed, all you can do is make whimpery noises of affirmation while your pussy squelches from Hyuck’s fingers and words. 

“Dude-” 

“What, Mark?” Hyuck toys, but you already know what Mark’s going to say-

Because the same thought is running through your head-

“If you keep dirty talking- we’re going to cum way too quick-”

“Yeah?” Hyuck laughs. “If you want me to stop, you’ll have to beg for me to stop, Mark.” 

He-

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Hot breath fans across your pussy again, and Hyuck’s mouth is on you a moment later, tongue flicking at your clit-

“Fuck-” Mark groans, hips jolting when you suck on him harder- 

Then Hyuck’s wet muscle is at your other hole, and the feeling of a wet stripe being licked around your ass has you tingling with a foreign type of pleasure-

“That’s it,” Hyuck grunts behind you, and you hear him spit before you feel it land on your skin, quickly collected by a finger that he easily dips past your tight ring of muscle- “relax for me, baby.”

You pull your mouth off of Mark to take a breather, wrapping your hand around his cock to languidly stroke him while Hyuck works a digit in and out of you. 

Mark’s breathing gets a little steadier too, but your attention is keeping him on edge, keeping him flooded with just enough pleasure-

“Fuck, your ass is so fucking nice-” Hyuck’s spare hand lands on your skin again, making you gasp in surprise- and you push your hips back, eager for more.

“You like that, baby?” Hyuck prompts, adding another finger. “Like having me knuckles deep in your ass while you edge Mark like a little fucking devil?” he grabs the backstrap of your red bra, pulling it back so when it’s released, it slaps to your skin, another hit of pain that has your toes curling. 

“God, I love it so much-” you whimper, closing your eyes and nestling in against Mark’s thigh, continuing to work your hand up and down his hard length-

“Yeah? Should I make you cum like this?” Hyuck asks, “Or are you gonna be nice to Mark and let us fuck you now?” 

“Fuck-” Mark groans above you- “I can- I can wait- make her cum-”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Hyuck’s mouth is on your clit a second later, two fingers continuing to work open your ass while he tongue fucks your pussy- 

“Holy shit-” you whimper, clenching your eyes shut-

“Cum for us- you can do it, cum,” Mark’s soft voice gives you something like whiplash given the situation, and the soft graze of his fingers past your cheek feels just domestic enough to throw you over the edge.

The sound that leaves you as you cum is practically primal- a cross between a whine and a moan that only gets louder as Hyuck works you through your orgasm, his mouth unrelenting on your core, fingers buried in your ass-

Waves of wonderful, warm, sensation wash over you-

As you start to come down, Hyuck’s tongue leaves your clit, but his digits continue in your hole- “Was that good, kitten?” he practically purrs. “And now that I’ve stretched you out- you’ll let me fuck you, right?” his lips tease your asscheek, and he bites at you gently, letting out a growl. “Let me fuck you in the ass while you give Mark a taste of this perfect fucking pussy-”

“Please-” 

“That’s our girl-” Hyuck breathes, finally relenting behind you. “You two should get naked- it’s gonna take me a sec… and I’m going to have another hit, are you guys good?”

“I’m good,” Mark says, “wanna remember all of this-”

“Trust me, I’m planning on remembering this too-” Hyuck laughs, “just- magnified. You want anything, kitten?” his hand gently taps by your ass.

Like Mark, you say no, already too focused on the Canadian laying down and kicking off his jeans- 

“You don’t want anything?” the man who’s gotten off the bed continues to press- “not even like- a condom?”

You’re already practically mounting Mark now- and the two of you stop momentarily, eyes meeting- then you’re laughing because “out of the two of you, I had not expected Hyuck to be the one reminding us about protection-”

“Yeah, sorry-” the frat boy below you says, “I was gonna ask- I’m clean-” 

“And I’m on the pill,” you assure him, grabbing Mark’s face so you can press your lips to his own. 

His cock is caught between your bodies, and your rub your pussy against him, satisfied that he’s still a little lubed by left over spit from when you’d had him in your mouth- 

It’s as simple as reaching a hand between your bodies and lining him up with your entrance, then you sink down on him, earning a groan that you eat up-

Hyuck let’s out a whistle, “Fuck, this is so hot-” and you hear the torch turn on.

He’s watching you ride his best friend while he heats up his rig to take a dab.

“Can we take this off?” Mark asks, tugging at your bra- the one thing you’d forgotten to remove before straddling him. 

“Yes- anything you want-” you tell him, moving your lips to his neck while he undoes the clasp by your spine. The fabric falls to the side a moment later, and then you’re sitting up and tossing it away, giving Mark complete access to your boobs.

“Fuuuuuuuck-” Mark groans, swallowing thickly as his gaze drags across each strip of newly exposed skin- “you’re so pretty-”

“You think?” you ask, grabbing one of the hands on your hips so you can raise it to your breast-

His palm is warm, his hand much larger than your own, and his fingers instinctively knead at your flesh, earning a groan from both you and Mark-

Then Mark’s eyes shift past your shoulder- “Haechan, I swear to god-”

But it’s too late, you’re already being breathed on by the world’s most annoying frat boy wanna-be smoke machine-

“I’m a dragon.”

Scratch that- the world’s most annoying frat boy wanna be - mother fucking - dragon.

“Oh my Jesus,” Mark mutters bellow you, shaking his head before burying it in your chest, lips latching onto your nipple.

You tangle your hands in Mark’s hair while Hyuck adjusts behind you, pressing a few kisses of his own to your neck, even suckling on your sweet spot. Then, there’s pressure between your shoulder blades, and Hyuck helps you and Mark back down to the pillows before turning his attention to your newly displayed ass. 

“Do you think you can fit me?” Hyuck questions, one hand settling on your hip to keep you still on Mark, while the other returns two spit lubed digits to your hole. 

You groan at the feeling of Mark in your pussy and Hyuck’s fingers in your ass, and you’re quick to nod. “I can take you-”

“Yeah you can,” Hyuck echoes your sentiment happily, scissoring his digits a few times before pulling them out. “Stay still for me, just gotta get some lube and then I’ll slip into you, okay?”

Mark’s lips are on yours, and you make a sound of affirmation for Hyuck, allowing yourself to get lost in the Canadian while patiently awaiting his roommate-

You’re not sure what you were expecting- but it had definitely been substantially smaller than the feeling of the head of the cock that presses against your ass, and the shock at Hyuck being big has you tensing up-

“You okay?” Mark’s quick to break your kiss in favor of checking on you, his hands smoothing up and down your sides soothingly.

“Yeah-” you groan, “It’s just-”

“If you don’t think you can take me- I can stop-” Hyuck is next to reassure you, and the fact that they’re both being considerate and slow about this has a new wave of wetness flooding through your core. 

“I can- just-” you rest your head against the crook of Mark’s neck, trying to relax- “can you say some nice things to me?”

“Nice things?” Mark lets out a small laugh- “Fuck- you’re so cute-”

“She is,” Hyuck agrees. “Our cute little baby,” his warm palm glides over the rump of your ass, and he pushes into you a little more- “that’s it-” 

“You feel so good,” Mark says, turning his head a little so he can brush his mouth by your ear, prompting you to come out of your hiding spot by his throat. “And these lips-”

Kissing Mark is as easy as breathing. 

Before you know it, Hyuck’s hips are flush to your ass, and you feel what it’s like to be truly, completely, full. 

“Feels good?” Hyuck double checks on you as he takes a test thrust, his hands settling on your waist.

“So good-” you confirm, and from the sounds Mark is making, you can tell he feels just as good as you do. 

“Fuck-” the man behind you cusses. “Maybe taking a hit wasn’t a good idea-”

“Why?”

“You literally feel-” you hear him swallow thickly, and he fucks you harder when he says the word “insane.”

“Like-” Hyuck continues, “I could fuck you forever- but also, not forever, cuz you feel so good- you’re obviously gonna make me and Mark cum stupidly fast-”

“I am?” 

“Yeah-” Hyuck practically purrs, and Mark lets out his own groan of affirmation. “Our good little cock slut, making us cum so fast-”

“And you’re gonna cum for us too, right?” Mark’s lips are on your neck, breath hot against your skin. “You sound so perfect when you’re about to cum-”

“Mark-” your hands are braced against his chest, and you can feel the two fratboys everywhere whilst being caged between them-

He’s right; you’re so close to cumming you can almost taste it- can feel the cry of pleasure building in the back of your throat-

“Just like that-” Hyuck groans behind you, hips moving erratically- “just like that-”

Two sets of hands manuver your body, lifting you up and down on Mark’s cock while also keeping you in a good spot for Hyuck- whose hand comes down sharply onto your ass-

“I’m-” the word comes out choked, and you can’t even finish your sentence, your body clamping down on both intrusions, entire form flooded with pleasure-

“Fuck-” fingers dig into your waist and Hyuck presses himself flush to your ass-

“God-”  Mark’s also twitching beneath you, hips continuing to rut up, pushed on by adrenaline-

“Take it-” Hyuck mutters- “take it, take it, take it-”

Mark groans loudly at the idea of you taking their cum- and he shivers with an aftershock of euphoria, heart racing loudly in his chest. His lips seak out yours, and he enjoys the way you let out strangles gasps, just as breathless as him. 

Things slowly come to a stop, with Hyuck’s hands settling on your hips while Mark kisses you, and for a little while, you simply stay that way.

Then Hyuck lets out a groan, pulling out of your ass. 

“Fucking hell-” he says breathlessly, and you hear him swallow, still catching his breath. “Messy kitty.”

You can feel his cum dripping out of your ass already, and Mark must feel it too, because he’s the next to grunt, adjusting you on his hips- “seriously dude?” 

“Yeah yeah, I’ll grab a fucking cloth-” the bed dips as Hyuck moves away, and you allow yourself to relax against Mark’s chest in the few seconds it takes for the younger Lee to return with a wetcloth to wipe away his cum.

“Your turn.” 

Hyuck puts the cloth on Mark’s leg when he’s done with it, and the man beneath you groans in annoyance before asking you, “can I get you on your back?”

One nod has Mark flipping you, pressing you into the mattress briefly before lifting his weight off of you completely, cock slipping out of your core-

The wet towel is swiping across your entrance a moment later, and you relax against the pillows, enjoying the simple aftercleaning-

“You gonna stay here tonight?” Mark asks, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee that has you opening your eyes to look at him again.

“Can i?”

Mark laughs, “Of course-”

And Hyuck grins from the gamer chair, his dab rig tool already loaded up and ready to go- “As if we’d fuck you then kick you out-” he chuckles, shaking his head. When he looks up at you again, there’s a fondness in his eyes that’s unmissable. “Now you just gotta decide who’s bed you’re sleeping in.”

Oh, first-world problems.

✘ thanks for reading :) ✘ Please find the teaser for the accompanying patreon exclusive extension bonus of this fic below :)

Patreon Bonus Details

✘ [synopsis]: a month or two after your first fuckfest, you're getting settled into dating Mark and Hyuck ✘ [warnings]: threesome, oral (f/m receiving), fingering, praise, degradation, dirty talk, pet names, unprotected sex, jealousy, etc…

✘ [word count]: 2.2k - 200 shown in teaser

Jungwoo feels bad for Jeno.

As the men square up for an impromptu snow ball fight, spurred on by cold weather, there feels to be something like a hole in the team-

Or at least, Jungwoo can feel the incompletion of his friend group; Mark and Hyuck have been increasingly distant, spending more and more time with you, their new girlfriend.

So, in a way, Jungwoo has lost something too, although, it’s much easier for him to join you on a night with your boyfriends than it is for Jeno, who is still holding obvious feelings for you-

In Jungwoo’s periphery, a frat house window opens, and the massive cloud of smoke released is yet another reminder of the two men choosing to skip the frat fun in favour of fuck time-

“Fucking Haechan-” On Jungwoo’s other side, Jeno throws a snowball.

Jungwoo doesn’t feel so bad for Jeno when the snowball lands its mark- but Jungwoo does feel bad for the fact that, as far as he could tell, it hadn’t been Hyuck at the window.

✘ To read the full bonus, subscribe to my Patreon - then - click here ✘ or check out what else is on my patreon in the masterlist here

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#mark #hyuck #dis one is a guilty pleasure that i return to often 😋 #yummy yummy in my tummy

[outromoonchild]

WANTED U

18 + / mdi

summary: everything about your relationship with minghao was perfect, leaving you with no complaints. except maybe in one area; minghao's stoic attitude during sex, making you entirely insecure about whether he wanted you as bad as you did him, or if he was maybe just too in love with you to let you down.

content: misunderstandings, established relationship, he's very very in love with reader, he's just a bit backwards, smut, afab reader, miscommunication (shocker), oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, dry humping, mentions of fingering, etc.

wc: 5.7k

a/n: based kind of maybe a lil bit on personal experience but 100% reimagined for fanfic purposes lmao

masterlist

You were absolutely head over heels in love with your boyfriend. There was no way to fight it - not that you wanted to. It was as if his sole goal in life was to love you. He had even told you that before, claiming that his parents had been the greatest love story he had ever seen, and that he had wanted nothing more in life than to find a love like theirs. He'd said that his father had once told him, 'live to love, and love to live', advice which Minghao took to heart.

His father was a wise man when it came to love, even letting Minghao in on the secret that all his ambitions were driven by his love for his mother. Minghao had communicated their entire love story to you soon after meeting. You had only known each other for a short period of time before Minghao confessed to you, claiming that a friendship would not suffice for his heart, which had been taken by you upon your first meeting. He would've respected your decision if you had decided to remain friends, but was relieved to hear your enthusiastic agreement in becoming his girlfriend.

Being his girlfriend came with endless perks. For one, you got to be with the absolute love of your life; a man who was never shy to express his love to you through any means possible. He was also a successful idol, something that came with its troubles, but allowed you to see and support your boyfriend in all his passionate endeavors. He'd spend every free moment tending to you and showing you what it meant to be loved. There was no world in which you weren't completely enamored by the man.

You'd only been dating for four months by now. He had already introduced you to his friends and family, proudly letting them know that you'd be around for a long time, being completely certain that you were the love of his life. Sure, it might've been a bit soon, but the moment Minghao saw you, he knew you were the one. His certainty always made you a bit shy, a reaction which he'd kiss away by reassuring you that he'd never meet a love greater than yours. It was all perfect. You felt at home with his friends and family, quickly growing used to what would now be your forever family, as you also believed Minghao to be the one and only love you would ever come to know.

He showed you love through every means possible. He insisted on taking care of you financially, while also supporting your independent and professional endeavors. He took care of you emotionally, always lending an ear to listen to your problems and lips to soothe your worries. He'd constantly feed you with words of affirmation, almost as if he'd grow sick if he went a single day without you knowing how enamored he was. He'd make love to you ... and that was it on that matter.

Not to misunderstand, your sex life with Minghao was magnificent. There was no form of pleasure the man could not achieve to give you. He had you delirious with arousal with one single touch, making you beg even when he never demanded it from you. As many of his fans guessed, Minghao was just as experienced as he appeared. There was large variety of things he would entertain in the bedroom, never leaving you dissatisfied.

The issue laid in you, truly. Although you were always enthusiastic in the pleasure your boyfriend gave you, you weren't sure you could say it was the same for him. He would always shower you with endless praise and affection in every other circumstance, but while in the throes of passion the most you could really get out of him was a few muffled groans or one or two short-lived praises. You felt as if there was a imbalance in the pleasure you gave one another; almost as if he didn't want you as much as you did him.

You had recently realized that you were often the one to begin any sexual encounter, never having to beg for reciprocation, but also very rarely being enticed by the man himself. You almost felt embarrassed at the realization, having already been feeling a bit off at his lack of reactions towards you during the fact. Was he simply entertaining you out of pity? Did it not feel as good for him? Was he not into you physically as he was emotionally? You knew he always came when being intimate with you, always letting out a lone groan of your name when he finished. It was still hard to feel confident about your sex appeal when your boyfriend never gave you much to work with. You also felt a bit pathetic knowing he gave you the utmost pleasure while you seemingly gave him the barest minimum of it.

Talking to him about it was out of the question. You knew your boyfriend thrived off of healthy communication, but he hadn't mentioned any issues in your sex life, so you felt embarrassed to bring it up. Not only that, but you didn't want to come off as desperate or ungrateful. He was your best friend; the perfect boyfriend. You didn't want to open a can of worms that would have things go awry. So you decided to come up with a plan; maybe test your hypothesis.

Getting Minghao undressed and ready to fuck you was never too difficult. Just a few kisses and whispers asking him to please take care of you and he was ready to take charge. Currently you were in the middle of it, sitting on the couch as he kissed your neck, pulling breathy sighs out of you as you moaned his name, but received no reaction in return. You decided to act as usual, maybe gauge what got him going and what didn't. So far, he had spoken no words as he simply did what he knew you liked. He ran his hands through your body and kissed you deeply, drawing moans and whines out of you at the simplest of touches.

You felt a bit embarrassed, realizing how easy it was for him to get you going while it was the complete opposite for him. Now on the bed, he ground against you, still making no sound or any other indication of pleasure as he thrusted his hardness against you. You wondered how that felt for him. He was hard, so surely he was aroused, right? Shouldn't that equal some type of pleasurable reaction to the feeling? You weren't able to ponder on this for long, as he suddenly knelt next to bed, going straight to business against your heat.

'H-hao ... fuck!', you pulled at his hair, extremely sensitive to his touch as you usually were.

You couldn't help yourself in pulling at his hair, even grinding against his skilled tongue. You were completely lost to the bliss, moaning endlessly at the pleasure, unlike your boyfriend, whose only sounds were the slick of his tongue dragging against your pussy. If the tables were turned and Minghao was growing delirious on the feeling of your mouth on him, you'd be just as affected, getting off on the sound of his voice moaning out your name. So, you couldn't help but still feel disappointed at him eating you out with no further reaction.

However, the feeling of your orgasm overtook your disappointment, making you forget about any ill feelings and cumming against his tongue. What followed made you hollow out again, though.

He got up from his knelt position, nodding at you and asking a simple, 'ready?' before undoing his pants and climbing on top of you, entering you immediately after putting on a condom.

You moaned and whined against his ear, scratching at his back at the pleasure; all things you usually did when he fucked you, but received no reaction in return. He'd give you the occasional muffled grunt, not even seeming like he was holding back, but more like he had nothing to give. It was a conflicting feeling. On one hand, you felt an insane amount of physical pleasure, but on the other, your emotions couldn't help but feel hurt by his lack of arousal towards you. Call you shallow, but you just wanted to feel like your boyfriend found you sexy, damnit!

'F-fuck, Hao! Gonna cum, don't stop. Shit!', it was easy for him to get you there, knowing all your weak spots by now. And it was just as easy for your body to take control of your mind, making you forget all worries as you came once again. He didn't take long to reach you, releasing into the condom with a grunt.

What made it worse was how sweet he was afterwards, calling you his beautiful girl and helping you clean up, only to cuddle you afterwards.

'You okay, my love? Felt good?'

Now, to any reasonable person, this would've been the perfect chance to speak up, maybe let him know about your concerns, but you just felt too pathetic. What were you supposed to do? Force your boyfriend to moan? Force him to give you the reactions you wanted rather than the ones that came naturally from him? You were supposed to accept him as he was, just like he did you. So, you responded with evasion.

'Yes, baby. Felt amazing. Love you.'

You decided to go for a different approach this time.

Within the few months that you and Minghao had dated, you had really only spent a little under two months physically around each other. His job had a tendency of pulling him away from you for extended periods of time, so you were lucky if you ever got a whole week with him. This meant that the two of you would always try to make the best of the time you did get to spend together.

Within those two months of physical proximity, you two had a healthy sex life. You had sex for the first time only two weeks into the relationship, then proceeding to have it very regularly after that. Although, you were usually the one to initiate it.

In order to change things up, you decided to stop. You wanted to see how long it would take Minghao to approach you himself. Maybe gauge what it'd be like if you suddenly took it away. Would he react then? Would it feel better for him if you allowed a short period of time for things to mellow out?

The answer was no.

Only three days after your previous time having sex, he came home from dance practice, greeting you with a kiss. Except that instead of pulling away, he kept your lips connected, grabbing onto your waist to pull you close to him. Things went pretty much as usual after that. No words were exchanged (at least not from his side of things) as he undressed you and entered you while laying on the couch.

It was insanely pleasurable as per usual. His pace was slower than normal, and you heard a few more muffled grunts, which excited you like crazy.

'H-hao ...', you couldnt help but sigh as he angled himself perfectly to hit that sensitive spot inside you. You scratched at his back, arching your back against his chest.

He made no response, only going faster as he clearly realized your end was coming. He held you close to him, caressing your body tenderly despite the rapid movement of his hips. It was all perfect, sans the thing you wanted most; his lust for you. He cleaned you up afterwards, sheepishly apologizing for jumping you with no warning, giving you a quick peck as he said it. The conversation regarding sex ended there, with him expanding about his day and you yours. Had this been progress? You weren't sure.

Next attempt felt a bit pathetic.

You looked amazing. You needed no confirmation, you just knew it. You had bought a pretty lacy number, exactly in a style you knew your boyfriend would like. You hadn't had a chance so far to really dress up for him yet. So far, you had worn pretty panties and matching bras while being sexually active with him, but there had been no instance in which you really pulled out a whole set for him.

It felt a bit silly, resorting to perfectly trimmed lace in order to see if maybe your boyfriend would show some lust towards you. You even lit some candles, for god's sakes. This had to work, or else you'd feel like the biggest loser alive. You were a bit anxious, to be honest. You had never dressed up for a guy, but you'd heard it worked wonders in the bedroom. You knew the sex itself would be amazing, but you hoped that everything else also lived up to standard.

It wasn't long until you heard the keys unlock the door, which signaled that you should put into position. You had a matching silk robe, throwing it on as if to hide Hao's gift under a perfectly tied knot. He hadn't noticed you upon entering the room, having to do a double take to take notice of your pretty hair and makeup, way too fancy for an usual occasion.

'Love? W-what's with the look? You look beautiful', he approached you with a sweet smile, arms going directly to your waist

'Just wanted to do a little something for you, Hao. Do you like it?'

'Of course, angel. You look so pretty. Is there anything under the robe?', he lifted his eyebrow at you, hands playing with the knot.

'Find out?', you wanted to give him free rein, wanting to once more gauge his reaction. This was all for research purposes, after all.

'Oh ... Baby, you didn't have to do this ... You look gorgeous ...', he breathed out upon undoing the tie on the robe, immediately pushing it off as he ran his hands up and down your body. Yes, this was a good start. An amazing start, actually. He wanted you? That had been just your goal. His breathy sigh? God, that had you reeling.

He seemed to get distracted by the sight of your body being hugged by the expensive fabric, but eventually snapped out of it, shaking his head as if to get himself out of a trance. He kissed you after that, no longer paying any mind to the lingerie, nor to his previous reaction to you. He kissed and kissed you, same as he always did. Your moans against his lips fell to deaf ears, as he did not reciprocate with more moans of his own. You kissed him back, unable to not match his enthusiasm in making love to your lips.

What had just happened? You were going in the right track! He had suddenly just snapped himself out of it, basically willing the lust away. Had he wanted to hold back on purpose? Did you just need to incite him?

You let him kiss you for a while before gesturing for him to kiss down your neck, playing up your moans a bit and pushing your chest towards him. Eventually you placed his hands on your chest, now being a bit more direct.

'H-hao ... Do you like it? Did I do good?', okay, now you were a bit more embarrassed. You had never really delved into dirty talk with Minghao, much less submissive speech. There had never been a need since the man had no tendency to speak during sex at all - sans the times he'd check up on you. You hoped maybe he would react well to it.

'Yes, angel. You're perfect. Let me take care of you now, yeah?'

That was code for be quiet and let me get to business. Or at least that's how you took it. You were disheartened, but allowed him to continue, still enjoying his touch regardless of anything. You appreciated the compliments, but you did not feel sexy anymore. What you were feeling could better be described as childish and dejected. You felt like you'd shown a desperate side of yourself only to be met with nothing in return.

Your thoughts faded away the moment he began to drag his thigh between your legs, quickly drawing moans and cries of his name out of you. Was it that hard for him to do the same? What more did you need to do?

Logically, it didn't take him long to make you cum. You came in your lace panties, still earning a groan out of him upon feeling your cunt spasm against his bare thigh.

'Hmm, baby. Looked so pretty today? Are you okay? Need me to clean you up?', he gave you a sweet kiss, running his hands up and down your sides in a caring manner.

'I'm fine, Hao, thank you. I, uh, what about you? Are you ... ?'

'I'm fine, baby. Don't worry about it', he smiled at you despite the obvious boner concealed by his shorts, 'Get changed, angel. You'll get sticky and cold.'

And that was it once again. Your outfit had given you a favorable reaction, but it died off quicker than you expected. You were back to square one all over again.

You had one final plan. If this didn't give you answers, you weren't sure how to proceed from there.

What if you pulled a 'Minghao' on Minhhao? Would he react if you suddenly became stoic while in his arms? It felt disingenuous, and the mere thought honestly made you feel a little mean, but you had grown desperate by now. It had been months of amazing sex that you were sure was gratifying only to you.

Next time you and Minghao found yourselves in that mood, you decided to lay pliant in his arms; not react to his touches and movements the way you usually would.

It was weird, not letting him know how much you loved his touch. You kissed him back, even held him back too, but your mouth was silent, as was your body. He kissed down your neck, soft hands touching at every corner that usually had your eyes rolling back, but you persisted. There were no reactions out of you, only muffled groans just like his own. You felt some hesitance in his touches, sometimes pausing as he didn't get the desired effect from his actions. He didn't vocalize his concerns, however, only continuing his path as he fingered you. His lips never left your skin as he worked you through your first orgasm.

It had been a feat, truly. The feeling of his lips against your skin was enough to have you mewling for more. His fingers curling inside you usually had you whining his name, but this time the most you could allow yourself to muster was muffled or broken cries as he drew you to completion. Even then he didn't question you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion with the question trapped between his lips. He moved on to undo his pants, prepping you a bit before sliding inside you. He let out the lone moan he always did upon sliding through you, but made no further noise.

You were going insane, toes curling and body completely tense, trying your hardest not to react. It wasn't just the pleasure, but your intense feelings for the man. The way he felt against you and gave you all his love through his touch. You felt like crying at the thought. Which is what you did without realizing. You couldn't help yourself. The love you had for your boyfriend was indescribable, even if you had been dating for so little. He felt the same, which was something he'd always let you know on the tender nights you'd spend sleeping in each other's arms. Right now, though, you felt like shit. It was hard for you to even enjoy his touch, which was a new experience for you.

Minghao must've noticed your cries, which had been louder than you realized, instantly halting his movements and checking on you.

'Angel? My love, what's wrong? Are you hurt?', he pulled away completely, still keeping his arms at your sides in an attempt to soothe you, but pulling his still hard cock out of you.

The sudden lack of proximity only made you cry louder, sniffling as you tried to catch your breath.

'Baby, tell me what's wrong, please. I'm so sorry, I didn't- I didn't mean to hurt you. Where does it hurt. How can I make it better?'

'Why- why don't you want me?', the question left your lips before you even realized, face heating up at your own words.

'What? Want you? What do you mean?'

There was still time to run it back, maybe make some type of excuse about why you'd been crying. But your emotions decided for you, not allowing your brain to formulate a lie before your mouth was opening again.

You took a quick breather, allowing yourself to catch your breath before responding. Minghao seemed to understand this, running his hand up and down your back in a soothing manner.

'I just ... I just don't understand. I love you, Minghao. I love you so much. I want you so much. Why don't you want me back? What do I need to do? I cant ... I can't keep doing this', you had stopped crying by then, but your emotions were still heightened.

'Love? I love you. What are you talking about? I'm in love with you, you know this. Please tell me what you mean? Tell me if you're hurt. I can't- I'd never want to hurt you.'

He was now sitting right by you, your legs now closer while his hand came up to your cheek, wiping one of the last few tears remaining on your face. It made you feel like an asshole. He was being the amazing boyfriend you always knew him to be, reassuring you of bis affections while being worried for your wellbeing, not once stopping to care about himself. Meanwhile, you were crying because you wanted your boyfriend to feel lust for you. It was pathetic, really.

'I know you love me, Hao. You're the perfect boyfriend. I'm okay, I just ... fuck. I'm so embarrassed, I'm sorry. I don't want you to worry about me, it's so stupid, I'm sorry, I-'

'Angel, please stop apologizing. Tell me what's wrong. You don't have to be embarrassed. I need to know what you're thinking so that we can talk through it, okay? I'd never judge you', he was sincere in his words, taking on a soft smile as he tried to welcome the idea of an open conversation about whatever was on your mind. It was now or never, you guessed.

You took a deep breath, avoiding eye contact at all costs, 'I feel like ... I feel like you don't want me.'

'Want you how, angel?'

'I've tried everything Minghao. I've pursued you, I've let you pursue me, I've been loud, I've been quiet. Fuck, I even threw myself at you with stupid lingerie that you didn't even care about, but it never works. You don't want me, and it's driving me insane. I'm sorry, I know it's so stupid. I don't want to- I don't want to force anything on you or make you feel uncomfortable, but I feel so, fuck, I feel so pathetic. Like you have sex with me just to humor me. Like you're giving me something and I have nothing to show in return. I'm so- I'm so sorry.'

You weren't sure what you were apologizing for. It was either the embarrassment or the warm gaze that wouldn't leave your own as you rambled.

'My love ... You think- you think I don't want you?'

'You don't have to humor me, Minghao, I already know. I've made peace with it, it's just .. tonight was too much. I tried to keep my emotions out of it, but it only made me break faster.'

'Oh, angel,' he closed the gap, pulling you even closer to him as he put his palms on your cheeks, drawing you closer while looking into your eyes, thumbs caressing the skin there, 'I think I owe you an apology.'

'No!', you grabbed onto his wrists, interrupting him before he could continue and separating yourself in the same breath, knowing you could never speak your mind while he held you so lovingly, 'You don't have to apologize for anything. I'm sorry. I should've never tried to pressure you, I did this to myself, I-'

'I need you to let me talk, angel, please. I need to explain myself.'

'Oh. I- okay. Continue.'

'I adore you, my love. You know this. To think that you could ever think I don't want you breaks my heart. It's all my fault, I should've never done this, I- I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I don't ache for you the way you do me. I want you in ways I can't describe.'

'But-'

'Let me finish', his hands were back on you, one caressing your cheek while the other ran up and down your arm in an almost sensual manner, 'You think I don't think about you every passing moment? That you don't plague my thoughts every day? My beautiful girl ... You're the prettiest thing I've ever had. Holding you in my arms as you writhe under me is the biggest form of pleasure I've ever felt. You- you think-', he took a deep breath before continuing, 'You think I don't think about you on my lonely nights away from your touch? That I don't touch myself thinking of you; your curves, your soft skin, the way you cry my name ...'

'H-hao ...', your breath was just as heavy as his by now, mouth dry as you heard him recite his one and every emotion towards you.

'You think you don't plague my mind at the most inopportune moments?,' he continued despite your interruption, 'I think of you every day. When I'm at practice, when I'm performing, fuck, I think of you when I'm having dinner with my parents. Your body invades my every thought. You beautiful, gorgeous thing. I ... I've had to hold back. Didn't want to scare you away with the impossible lust I feel for you. Every time you let me have you, I have to hold back. I can never fully have you. I don't know what it'd do to me. I've wanted you from the moment we met. I've wanted to explore every inch of your body and make you mine. But your pleasure is my main priority. Always. As long as you're satisfied, I could never ask for more. But to think you ever believed I didn't want ache for you every passing moment pains me. I ... I want to .. Can I show you? Will you let me show you how badly I need you?'

'Please .. Fuck, Hao, please, I-'

He moaned the moment he finally connected your lips, hands going crazy at the way he squeezed and caressed every inch he could reach. His moans against your lips did not halt as you whined desperately at his kiss, relishing in the speech he had just delivered to you. What you were feeling was beyond lust at this point. You felt something you had never before, having waited months for your boyfriend to finally want you the way you did him. You weren't sure if he was playing it up for you, but you didn't want it to stop regardless.

'My love,' he finally disconnected your lips, 'Going to give you everything. Everything I've been holding back, I- I don't even know where to start.'

His eyes could not stay in one place, darting around every inch of your nude body. You had known Minghao to be attracted to you, it was something he expressed many times, but you had never seen the calm man so frantic before. His calm nature was completely gone.

'You can do anything you want, Hao. Just, please ...'

He shut you up with yet another kiss, laying you down on the bed in the process. He dragged his dick against your cunt, groaning at the feeling. You were still drenched from your ruined orgasm from earlier, and he was hard due to your prior interruption, so it wasn't difficult to get the two of you ready for each other.

'Wanna be in you so badly, but .. Fuck, you just feel so good like this angel,' he was grabbing onto your thighs by now, lifting them up in order to angle himself just right to drag his cock right against your clit. His eyebrows were furrowed and his face flushed. He was a broken version of himself, with his only purpose in mind being to bring the two of you the most pleasure imaginable. You felt like an idiot for never expressing your concerns to your boyfriend, not imagining that it'd end up so favorably for you. The pleasure you felt at his lack of self-control as he played with you couldn't compare to any previous time in which you'd made love.

He separated himself from you before either of you could come, muttering something along the lines of 'Wanna savor you, my love.' He still seemed frantic, not fully sure where he wanted to touch first or what part of you to enjoy at that moment. He went from kissing your chest to rubbing your pussy with his long fingers. He put you in all positions he could think of to kiss up and down your body, waxing poetic at you repeatedly as he sighed against your skin. The occasional times in which his cock would accidentally grace against you had you burning, wanting him inside you more than anything. Now that you knew he wanted you just as bad as you did him; now that he was fully yours.

'My beautiful girl ... Love you so much. The pleasure you bring me .. You have no idea. How could I ever let you think I didn't carry a torch for you night after night. Is this okay? Is it okay to want someone this badly? To ache for you day and night, only thinking of your touch?', he was finally facing you again, close enough to invade all your senses.

'Gonna have you now, okay, angel? Gonna show you how strongly I feel about you. How you make me lose all my inhibitions.'

He entered you with no further warning, letting out the groan he always did, but this time his mouth would not stop running, moaning and sighing your name against your ear, letting you know how your cunt around him made him lose his mind.

'My most beautiful, girl ... fuck. Gonna break you ... I've held back for too long ... Need you every day,' the way he was fucking you was nothing short of animalistic, with both his words and the slapping of your skin filling up the silence of the room.

'God, that day you showed up with that pretty set for me? Do you have any idea how difficult it was to not pin you against the wall and rip it off of you? Make you cry as you took all of me until every single drop of my cum was leaking from your cunt? The image has not left my mind for a single moment, angel. Can't think, shit ... Can't breathe without thinking of you', despite his insane dancer stamina, his breathing was becoming disheveled as he continued to piston into you.

You had thought that Minghao had already given you all types of pleasure throughout your relationship, but now that he had finally snapped you had truly reached heaven. And it seemed like it was the case for him too. He was unable to stop himself from telling you his every thought, with his emotions getting the best of him as he fucked into you almost animalistically. His fingers were bruising your thighs as he held you with all bis might; something you thought your soft and sweet Minghao was incapable of doing.

'Hao ... I need .. I'm gonna cum, Hao, please!'

'Yeah? Gonna let me have it, angel? Love when you cum for me. So soft and pretty, all for me. Cum, my love. Cum and I'll give you all of me in return.'

The thought of his cum filling you up made you lose control, cumming as your back arched almost completely off the bed. You felt like you'd ascended, being given the most intense orgasm of your life, followed by a warm feeling inside you; the feeling of Minghao's essence penetrating you.

He almost fell on top of you as he finished, breath hot and heavy against your skin.

'My love? Are you okay? Was that too much?', it only took a few moments of silence for him to speak up, showing immediate concern for your limp and breathless state.

You had been more than okay, having never felt more loved and wanted in your life. From his words to his actions, Minghao had managed to make you realize how wrong you'd been all along. It wasn't that he didn't want you, but that he wanted you too much to hold back if given the chance to fully give himself to you. But now it was all out in the open. Now you could finally enjoy each other to the fullest extent.

'I'm okay, Hao. Thank you,' you felt shy in the aftermath of it, now fully processing all the words of lust your boyfriend had whispered against your skin as he fucked you into the mattress. You had seen a side of Minghao you hadn't known existed.

'Are you sure? I didn't scare you off, did I?'

'Are you kidding? I've wanted you to do that for ages. I was going insane throwing myself at you!'

He chuckled, booping at your nose lovingly, 'You were making my resolve break, my love. Wasn't sure how much longer I could go without going past my limit.'

'Could've talked me through it at least once, you know. I wouldn't've objected', you humphed.

'How about I make up for it now, hmm? Let me clean you up on the shower?'

'Yeah? Gonna tell me how much you want me again?', you grinned against him.

'Yes, my angel. Every single day.'

a/n: not proofread and i also had no idea how to end it my bad </3

#hao #there’s something abt this one that i keep going back to #like YES lose control with me YESSSSSSS

[outromoonchild]

i keep thinking about boys sucking on my fingers while i ride them i’m so sick and disgusting ugh. i feel like soonyoung would love to do that omg.

you’d just be bouncing on his pretty cock with one arm slinked around his shoulders and your other hand just cupping his precious face. he’d press wet kisses to your palm between whimpers and would lick up to your thumb, sinking his entire mouth down onto it and sucking pathetically. he’d run his tongue along it and bite down unconsciously when he’s feeling too good, letting out broken cries and apologies afterward :( he doesn’t mean to bite but he just feels so good he can’t help it! he’d just keep drooling dumbly and panting around your fingers ugh i can’t. my little tiger <3

i *originally* thought about minghao doing this to me and ugh it made me want hao more…but then i also thought of other svt members that might be into that and i thought of hoshi <3

#soon #i just choked.

[outromoonchild]

backstage series | lee seokmin (M) [ongoing]

After you and your boyfriend split up, you decided to reconnect with your friend Seokmin. Because you're both performers, you started spending more time together, and a lot can happen backstage.

♡︎ pairings: lee seokmin x afab!reader ♡︎ genre: romance, smut [mdni] ♡︎ aus: theatre performer seokmin, fake dating with benefits, ♡︎ word count: 52.6k

navigation post part 1 | opening night “Just play along.” He said softly, his lips curving into a playful smile as he leaned his head to kiss you deeply in front of everyone who, until that night, thought you were heartbroken for someone else.

part 2 | obsession The truth was, he liked whatever he had with you. Friends that fuck. But to everyone else you know, you're sort of a thing. And that is what Seokmin himself suggested, a fake relationship. A fake relationship between two friends that fuck, no romantic feelings in between. How could this possibly go wrong?

part 3 | bad idea It was all an act. A mantra you repeated to yourself since the moment you first kissed. You'd made a pact with Seokmin to remain friends. Yet even when his touch seemed like wildfire, you clung to the fragile threads of that promise, as you felt yourself melting at the touch of his lips.

part 4 | closing night He felt like home. Like coming home after a tiring day, you can finally relax and unwind. The comfort of his affectionate embrace is everything you've been longing for in the last few days.

part 5 | rehearsals Being in love with your best friend has been an experience with many trials and errors. Mostly errors.

last update: 14.01.24 (˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵) ♡︎ JOIN MY TAGLIST

#kyeom #this series is everything to me #like YES that is MY theatre aficionado lee seokmin. we r absolutely in love and famously have similar taste #ooooouuuuu i wish he wanted me like that fr

[outromoonchild]

office hours — bsk

♡ pairing: boo seungkwan x afab!reader ♡ theme: college au, nonidol!au ♡ teaser wc: ~6.2k ♡ warnings: swearing, smut, reader is gender neutral but wears a skirt, fingering (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex (stay safe y’all), creampie, petnames (f. receiving - baby), fluff at the end if you squint ♡ a/n: this whole thing is a highly self-indulgent fic so if reader is down horrendous for bsk… u know why

‧₊˚✩彡 moodboard by @myhimbomingi ‧₊˚✩彡

You fucking hate Tuesdays. 

There’s nothing actually wrong with your Tuesday schedule - on the contrary it’s probably the best day of the week in terms of lectures and extracurriculars. Your first class of the day, Developmental Psychology, doesn’t start til 11am, so you get to sleep in - always a win in your book. Afterwards you have an hour and a half break, usually spent by eating lunch in the student center and then a visit to the campus library to get some studying done. Then your 2pm Discussion for your Intro to Fiction class, followed by yoga at the gym - and since your work-study job at the Cognitive Research Lab doesn’t have you scheduled for Tuesdays, you get to go home right after. All in all, a pretty laid-back day in your hectic college life.

Except for that stupid 2pm Discussion. 

As a Psychology major you didn’t anticipate having to take any Literature courses, but you needed to fill an elective and Intro to Fiction had a reputation for being a fun, low-stakes course. It also fit conveniently into your Fall Semester schedule, so you signed up. Professor Mendoza turned out to be super nice and never gives any bullshit extra homework, and the assigned books have been surprisingly enjoyable. No, none of that is the problem. 

The problem is the hot TA you’ve inadvertently fallen in love with. 

Your first encounter with Seungkwan had been a bit embarrassing - the first week of the semester you somehow went to the completely wrong building, and even with speed walking you arrived to Discussion about five minutes late. You tried to sneak in quietly but the loud, creaky door hinge had other plans. Twenty-some pairs of eyes turned to stare at the idiot latecomer, but the pair you locked onto were the soft brown ones surrounded by long dark eyelashes, belonging to the blazer-wearing grad student standing at the front of the classroom. 

You would’ve been embarrassed in this situation anyway, but the unexpected eye contact made your stomach drop and your face turn hot. You stood there for a few moments too long, before muttering a feeble “sorry” under your breath as you made your way to the only empty seat in the room - which of course was located at the very front, immediately before the TA. You quickly took your seat and pulled out a notebook (not even the right one, but you were too frazzled to notice). The TA, whose name you missed due to being late, resumed his lecture. You started writing down everything he was saying - definitely not necessary, but you were doing your best to focus without looking up. 

Your face eventually stopped burning up, but this classroom was particularly warm and stuffy. You set down your pen and took your cardigan off, hanging it over the back of the chair. Mindlessly looking up, you look at the TA for the first time since sitting down. He too had discarded his outerwear - the muted brown herringbone blazer now laying aside on the teacher’s desk upon which he was leaning. His dark brown shoes matched his dark pants - which weren’t tight but certainly hugged his thighs nicely, but you tried not to think about that - and he was currently rolling up the sleeves of his medium gray button down - and you definitely tried not to think about that. You put your head back down and focused on your note-taking, transcribing everything without actually processing any of what he said. This was all very strange for you - sure some of your past TAs had been nice looking, but why was this particular one making you this flustered? 

The clock ticked on at an unbearably slow pace. You took your notes and paid no attention, not joining in on the conversation even once. You just have to make it through the hour, you kept telling yourself. But the hour seemed to never end. 

You snap out of it as the TA finally wraps up the class. 

“Don’t forget to read through chapter 5,” he reminds everyone. You realize you don’t even know which book you’re supposed to be reading, but it’s too late to ask now - you’ve looked like enough of a fool today already. Quickly packing your bag, you try to make your escape but as you are heading toward the door the TA calls out to you. Shit.  

“I just need to get your name - for attendance,” he tells you as you turn back around. 

“Oh… yeah,” you reply. You silently curse yourself for how stupid you sound. You tell him your name and he makes note of your attendance in his notes. You try to escape again but not before he sticks his hand out to you. 

“Seungkwan,” he introduces himself. You make the mistake of looking into those big round doe eyes again. He was even more beautiful up close. SHIT. 

You shake his hand, trying to do so as quickly as possible, but he has a very strong grip. 

“Nice to have you in class,” he says warmly. 

“Nicetomeetyoutoo!” you reply, taking your hand back and turning to dart out the door before he can get another word in. 

You don’t look back, so you don’t see how his eyes are glued to you as you hurriedly exit the classroom. 

—

You thought after a few classes you’d get over your dumb little crush on your TA, but four weeks into the semester and it’s only gotten worse. Now that you know where the stupid building is, you always make sure to arrive to Discussion early so you can snag a seat in the very back - as far away from him as you can manage - but this only allows your mind to wander. Watching him from the back of the class, you’ve unintentionally memorized his subtle habits: the way he takes his glasses case out of his bag at the beginning of each class, opening it and wiping the lenses clean with a cloth before placing them on his face with two hands, delicately moving his hair off to the side as not to obscure his vision; the way he leans against the desk, resting his weight on his palms as he listens to the students engage in conversation about the current book; the way he holds his well-worn copy in his left hand when referencing the text, flipping through the dog-eared pages filled with highlights and notes written in ink in the margins, laying the book on the desk pages-down to preserve his place when he goes to write important points on the chalkboard; the way he carefully erases the board as not to create a cloud of dust, wiping his hands together away from his body as not to get chalk on his perfectly pressed clothes; the way he focuses so intently when somebody is speaking, maintaining eye contact and nodding his head slightly, giving them his full attention.

That last one is why you never say a word in that class. You’re pretty sure you would combust on the spot.

Unfortunately, your entire grade for the Discussion portion of the course is based on actually engaging in the discussion - and based on your participation thus far you were right on track for getting an entire zero. I’ll say something next week, you tell yourself - then next week rolls around and you don’t say a damn thing. And repeat. You just hope Seungkwan doesn’t say anything to you. 

But he does. 

You freeze upon hearing your name as you’re gathering your belongings at the end of session. You look up and meet his gaze, doing your best to maintain a relaxed demeanor. It’s only a little eye contact, just chill. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” you respond nonchalantly. He gives you a bit of an inquisitive look, so you add on a polite smile.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t participated at all during discussion so far - you know that’s what I have to grade you on, right?”

“Oh yeah, um- I’ve been… I’ll work on that.”

The look on his face tells you he’s not convinced. “I graded your first essay - you showed exemplary comprehension and your analysis was one of the best ones I’ve read.”

You feel your stomach do a flip. The sudden praise caught you off guard. 

“Oh uh, thank you,” you stammer, trying not to display how flustered you are but undoubtedly failing. 

You make the mistake (again) of making direct eye contact with Seungkwan. It lasts maybe two seconds, but feels like time has slowed; the world has stopped; nothing matters but you and him, standing alone in this room together. You’ve never wanted to impulsively kiss somebody this bad in your life. 

You force yourself back to reality. 

Seungkwan continues. “But, if you’re having some trouble with this particular novel,” he says as he holds up his book, “you can always stop by my office hours with any questions.”

You glance at his copy of Dracula. It’s a standard size paperback, but it looks small in his hand - a hand so strong and defined, yet elegant, fingers long and graceful…

Nope. Not gonna think about that right now. 

“I hold them every Thursday from 3-5pm - in this building, room 430. Top floor - all the way at the end of the hallway.” 

You nod - looking at him without making direct eye contact. “Cool cool. I’ll uh… Thanks, I might take you up on that.”

“Of course,” he replies matter-of-factly. He pauses, then adds with a slight smile, “It is my job after all.” 

Picking up his coat, he heads toward the door, and you follow. He holds the door open for you; as you pass by him you catch the scent of his cologne: woody but fresh, notes of patchouli and bergamot. You utter a soft “Thank you”. He nods chivalrously. 

Exiting the discussion room, he starts heading in the opposite direction as you. “See ya around!” you blurt out suddenly. He pauses - turning over his shoulder, he nods once more at you. “Have a good one,” he responds cordially. Maybe you’re seeing things, but his eyes seem to linger on you for a split second longer than one would expect. 

You watch him walk away for as long as you can get away with without being detected. 

As you make your way to the gym you ruminate over what he told you. Office hours. You didn’t really see a need to go - you weren’t actually having any trouble with the book. And of course office hours are open to all students, but the chance that you might be alone in a room with him again, having a one-on-one conversation…

You try to push the thought aside. You arrive to yoga, prepared to clear your head - but you spend the whole class thinking about Seungkwan. You head home after class, sitting on the bus with your headphones in, blasting your favorite album - but still your mind dwells on your TA. You get home and sit down to continue the novel, reading the next chapter - but you quickly give up. You’re absorbing none of the story, so you’d have to reread it anyway. 

Maybe you will go to office hours after all. 

—

Thursday. You’ve been trying not to think about Seungkwan’s office hours, but of course it’s just the white bear experiment all over again - the harder you tried, the more you ended up thinking about it. Your last class - Statistics - ends at 3:30pm, so you have all day to debate whether to go or not. Damn him for holding them so late in the day. 

Your Stats professor could not be a more uninteresting lecturer if he tried. You spend most of the class stifling your yawns as you do your best to pay attention, to no avail. Finally, the clock hits 3:30 and class is dismissed. You have to make your decision now - so naturally you end up going to the library to procrastinate said decision and mull it over some more. 

After many wasted minutes trying (and failing) to get some homework done, you check the time: 4:19pm. With a sigh you open up your book to leaf through the pages, looking for something you could make up some bullshit question about. Nothing. Mildly peeved, you open your laptop and pull up trusty sparknotes.com. All the discussion questions seem too juvenile, and you’re pretty sure you’d manage to make a fool of yourself if you tried to ask a question you already knew the answer to. 

You decide to abandon your plan to drop by with specific questions and instead just hope and pray there will be other students there so you can simply join in on their conversations. If there aren’t… you’ll just have to figure that out when you get there. 

You make your way to the Literature Studies building, realizing upon your arrival there is no elevator - and your destination is on the top floor. Cursing the building for being old, you trek up the stairs in search of room 430, which - as he mentioned - appears to be at the very end of the hallway. Nearly there, you abruptly decide to backtrack to the restroom you passed to check yourself in the mirror real quick, which turns out to be a mistake because now you’re hyperaware of how anxious (and for some reason, frumpy) you look right now. Nice going you idiot. 

Doing your best to make yourself presentable, you tussle your hair a bit and fix the collar of your shirt back to its proper position. You decide it’s good enough and go to exit the bathroom, pausing when you remember that you have a tinted lip balm you threw in your bag last minute. Rummaging through your bag for a solid 20 seconds, you find the tube at the very bottom and hastily apply it to your lips. Taking a step back, you take a final glance at your reflection - the balm is neutral-colored and fairly subtle, but makes you look slightly less dead. You’ll take the W. 

You make your way back down the hallway toward room 430. Approaching the end of the hall, you hear voices engaged in conversation. You pull out your phone to quickly check the time: 22 minutes of office hours remaining. Good enough, I guess. You’re three steps away from the doorway when you hear a familiar voice chime in - a voice soft and soothing, confident without being cocky. You proceed to enter the office before you have a chance to process how it’s making you feel. 

You find yourself in a room small yet cozy - bookshelves built into the wall that go all the way up to the ceiling, stacked with endless literature: many classics you’ve heard of, many others you haven’t. There’s no overhead lighting, but two antique-ish looking floor lamps illuminate the room with a warm-toned glow. An old, large mahogany desk fills nearly half the room, its accompanying chair vacant. Two fellow classmates are seated in the two smaller chairs facing the dark leather loveseat upon which your TA is currently sitting - reclined, one leg over the other knee, hand on the open book laying face down on the couch next to him. The three faces turn to look at you as you enter, bringing their conversation to a halt. You fucking hate being collectively perceived in any circumstance, but something about the intimacy of the room makes this particular situation even worse than usual. You feel your face start to turn warm but you quickly shove the embarrassment back down. Not today. 

Seungkwan greets you amiably, your name sounding sweet in his mellow voice. “Glad you could make it! Come on in, have a seat.” He picks up the paperback by his side and sets it on his lap, motioning for you to sit next to him. 

Right. Next. To. Him. 

Ignoring the million panic alarms going off in your head, you force a small smile and take your seat. The couch is even smaller than it seemed - there’s maybe two feet between you and him. You’re greeted with the inviting scent of his cologne. 

The two students resume their discussion. You sit there mostly in silence, nodding along, trying not to fixate on Seungkwan’s closeness. But it’s hard to focus on anything other than that - like, really hard.

The twenty-ish minutes pass rather quickly, and the conversation that you’ve contributed nothing to starts to wrap up. The two other students begin packing their bags. You pull out your phone to check the time - 4:57pm. A sense of relief washes over you as you’ll be forced to leave now - no more sitting there anxiously not knowing what to say - but you’re also feeling a little sulky about leaving so soon. You politely say goodbye back to your classmates, who are already on their way out the door. You go to put on your jacket only to discover you never took it off (no wonder it felt so warm in here). Grabbing your book and tossing it in your backpack, you hurry to leave as well before you manage to do or say something to embarrass yourself. 

“Bye! Thank you!” you say cheerily as you step out the door.

“Y/n?”

You stop in your tracks. You turn around to face Seungkwan, who is still sitting on the couch, reclined, with his arm now laying across the back where you just were. That makes you feel a lot of things, which you promptly ignore.

“Yeah?” you reply, hoping a smile will cover your nervousness.

“I believe you took my book.”

You stand there for a moment, confused, before you realize you never took your own copy out. The one you hastily threw into your bag was his. So much for not embarrassing yourself.

“Oh my god I’m SO sorry!!” you blurt out, swinging your backpack around and hurrying to retrieve it.

“It’s alright,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I did set it right next to you.”

You grab his copy out of your bag and hold it out to him sheepishly. He stands up and takes the book in his hand, his fingers brushing yours slightly. You’ve never been electrocuted, but you’re pretty sure what just jolted through your body was a similar sensation.

“Did you have any questions about the book?” he asks before you can bolt out the door. “You didn’t say much in our discussion today-” You open your mouth to apologize again, but he gently puts his hand up to stop you. “I just want to make sure I can help you if you came here with something specific in mind.” 

“Oh, um…” You hesitate, fiddling with your coat sleeve. You decide to tell the truth.  

“Honestly, not really. I kinda just came here to get an idea of how I can participate during class. Cuz, y’know. Don’t really want a zero.”

Seungkwan nods. “Your essays have been very good, I know you’re a highly capable student.” 

You try not to blush. You know he’s just talking about your coursework, but accepting compliments is not your forté. 

“I’m just… not a literature student, so I’m not used to taking classes like these. I guess I just get a little nervous that I’m gonna say something stupid.” You’re not sure why you’re telling him all this. 

“As long as you’ve read and understood the text, you won’t sound stupid - I promise.” 

You look down at the floor. Maybe these are normal things for TAs to say to students, but the fact that you’re kind of in love with him is not helping right now. 

“Besides,” he continues, “I’m the one grading you. I assure you you’ll get a good grade as long as you participate.”

“Well, that’s good news,” you say with a contented smile. You do feel reassured by his words. “Thanks again,” you say, as you turn to leave. 

“Oh, and y/n?”

You lock eyes with him, a recurring habit you seem to be unable to quit. 

“If you ever can’t make my office hours, feel free to email me. I’m sure we can find another time to meet one-on-one.”

One-on-one???

“Oh cool, I… appreciate that.” Does he say that to all his students?? He must, right? Don’t be delusional…

He nods courteously. “See you in class.”

“You too!” you add brightly as you finally head out the door. This time you do look back to see him still looking at you, with an ambiguous look on his face that you cannot decipher.

For the rest of the week, for once, you find yourself looking forward to Tuesday.

—

Tuesday. You resume your usual very-back-of-the-room spot for Discussion - but this time you finally engage in the class’ conversation. You still feel kinda dumb about it, but your TA’s promise of giving you a good grade so long as you participate sticks with you. Besides, who gives a shit what the other students think of you. There is only one person in that room whose opinion you care about, and you seem to have his approval, for reasons unclear to you. Maybe you are just a decent student. But the fact that there’s maybe something else there… You don’t let yourself develop delusions of grandeur, but there’s no crime in being cautiously optimistic. 

On Thursday you find yourself back at office hours, this time arriving a bit earlier - though much to your chagrin the two other students from last time are there again. You’re not sure exactly what you were hoping for if it was just you alone, especially considering you still don’t have any specific questions about the book, but you were kind of hoping it would happen anyway. But alas, you partake in office hours with company. You actually find yourself enjoying these literary discussions a bit, now that you (sort of) know how to engage with them properly.

And so you become a regular at Seungkwan’s office hours - Thursday afternoons quickly becoming the highlight of your week. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happens between you two - and there’s always other students there whenever you attend - but you don’t see any harm in enjoying your time spent with him. 

Per usual, though, as finals approach more and more students start attending as well. One week you show up at 3pm sharp, only to find five students already there asking questions about their essays. You acknowledge that it’s probably just wishful thinking, but he does seem genuinely pleased to see you - pausing his conversation briefly to greet you, your name spoken warmly with a smile on his face. You make a mental note that he doesn’t greet anyone else who enters by name.

Seungkwan maintains a very patient and polite composure, but you get the sense that he is rather irked at the several students who are more or less trying to get him to write part of their essays for them. You chat for a few minutes with a friendly classmate you’ve become acquainted with, but ultimately you both give up on trying to talk to the TA and decide to leave. You sneak a quick glance back as you exit, catching Seungkwan’s eye right before you’re out of his line of sight. Though perhaps you weren’t so sneaky, because once you’re in the hallway your classmate nudges you with her elbow and teases, “Ooooh you have a crush on him don’t you?”

You scoff. “Oh please.”

“No seriously, he looked like a sad puppy seeing you go. You should ask him out.”

You roll your eyes and give her a “Yeah, right,” before casually changing the subject. But her comment sticks with you, and for days your mind keeps coming back to it. You’re hesitant to jump to conclusions, but the fact that she noticed it too… Perhaps you will shoot your shot after all. 

—

Taking advantage of the fact that you didn’t get a chance to speak with him during his regular office hours, you decide to take Seungkwan up on his offer. You did rewrite the email about 15 times, erase it repeatedly, and almost give up entirely, but in the end you came up with a message you deemed solidly good enough:

Hi Seungkwan, I was wondering if you have any availability to meet to discuss the current essay. I have a few questions that I feel would be easier to convey in person. I understand finals are a very busy time though, so if you aren’t available I completely understand. Thank you.

You hit send at 11:57pm on Sunday night, so you figure you’ll get a response the next morning. Before you can even close your laptop, you get an email notification.

Hi y/n, I’d be happy to meet with you. Are you available Tuesday evening after 6pm? I apologize for the odd hours, but that would be the most ideal time for me. However, if that does not work for you I’m sure we can figure something out.  Seungkwan

You sit and stare at your screen rereading it for a good five minutes. You hit the reply button.

Sure, that works for me! Thank you - I really appreciate it.

The light ping of a notification returns within seconds.

Of course, y/n. See you then.

You shut your laptop, your hand resting on top of it as your mind races, rapidly cycling between excited and anxious. You keep telling yourself to lower your expectations: you’re simply meeting with your TA to discuss your essay - which, you don’t actually have any questions about, so now you’ll have to make some shit up. But that can be a tomorrow problem. Tonight, you go to bed, half-coherent thoughts of literature, exams, and a certain pair of soft brown eyes floating around in your mind as you drift off to sleep. 

—

You wake up on Tuesday and immediately enter into panic mode. You can’t seem to focus on anything other than your date meeting with Seungkwan later - which of course you expected, but it’s pretty inconvenient considering you have so much to do with finals rapidly drawing near. Your Discussion class is finished for the semester, so you won’t be seeing him until evening - you’re not sure if this makes things better or worse, but it is what it is. You spend the entire afternoon in the library, sitting amongst the stacks, sort of studying but mostly doing a whole fucking lot of daydreaming instead.

After several hours of minimal productivity, you check the time: 5:36pm. You feel your heart start to beat faster. Since you’re clearly not going to get anything else done, you pack up your belongings and make your way to the Literature building. Might as well get there a little early.

You climb the four flights of stairs to the top floor, the building strangely empty. Making your way down to the very end of the hallway you wonder if Seungkwan will even be there yet or if you’ve arrived early for nothing - but as you approach you notice the door is ajar, the unexpected sound of alt rock music greeting your ears. You knock lightly on the doorframe as you poke your head into the office. Seungkwan, seated behind the large mahogany desk, seemingly absorbed in something on his laptop, looks up - you’ve clearly caught him a bit off guard.

“Hi, sorry - I’m a little early,” you apologize.

His face lights up in a warm smile. “No, uh - that’s alright!” he replies cheerfully. “Go ahead, take a seat,” he says as he gestures to the couch. 

You plop your backpack down on the ground and remove your coat, carefully tucking your skirt (a rare choice of clothing for you, but you figured fuck it, why not) under yourself as you take a seat on the comfy sofa. Seungkwan turns the music down to a faintly audible volume and rises from his desk chair, making his way over to you. You expected him to sit in the armchair across from you, but he comes and joins you on the couch instead. You can practically hear the rapid thumpthumpthumpthump of your heartbeat. 

“So, tell me about your essay,” he starts. His eyes linger on yours.  “What did you have questions about?”

Nonchalantly taking a deep breath, you take out your laptop and open it, pulling up your draft file. You basically had your paper planned out already, but you made up some questions to ask so as not to give away the fact that you literally had no academic reason to be here. You begin to explain your first question, which turns out to be an extremely difficult feat with him not only sitting so close to you, but also gazing at you softly, listening intently. You decide to avoid eye contact almost entirely. 

You chat about your essay topic for what feels like an eternity (you glance at the clock on your computer - it’s been 14 minutes). You’re in the middle of discussing the second point of your thesis when he interjects.

“Y/n, why are you really here?”

You feel the blood drain from your face. He’s onto me. It’s over.

“It’s very clear that you understand the book perfectly well. I really don’t think you need my help.”

You slowly look up at him, hesitating before opening your mouth to try and bullshit some response, but nothing comes out. 

“You know, I don’t normally schedule one-on-one office hours with students outside of my usual times.”

The blood comes rushing back to your cheeks. You feel like a fucking idiot.

“I’msosorry,” you blurt out. “I really wasn’t trying to waste your time I-”

“That’s not what I mean, y/n.”

You freeze. Does he mean…

Before you can even finish that thought he kisses you.

His hand cradles your face gently, drawing you closer to him as he presses his lips onto yours, electricity pulsing through your entire body - all you can think about is the way his lips feel, the way he softly brushes your cheek with his thumb, the way you want to throw your laptop across the room and throw yourself onto him so you can kiss him even more. 

As if he read your mind, he reaches down (still kissing you) and closes your laptop, picking it up and setting it aside carefully. You lap now vacant, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your body into his, his soft kiss becoming more fervent. Your hand rests on his chest as you kiss him back - you feel the energy of his heart beating, at the same pace as yours, through the cozy sweater he has on. After several seconds (minutes? hours?) his lips part from yours, the sudden lack of sensation leaving you immediately longing for more; they linger mere inches from your face as your eyes meet his sensuous gaze. 

“Just one second,” he says in a voice barely above a whisper.

Seungkwan gets up and swiftly shuts the door - you hear the deep, satisfying thunk of the old door closing, followed by the subtle click of the lock. He then walks over to the desk to turn the music up to a decent volume before making his way back over to the couch. He barely resumes his seat before grasping onto you desperately, his face buried as he begins to kiss your neck. You let out a sigh at the unexpected sensation, wrapping your arms around his torso and drawing him in even tighter. His large hands caress your back as if trying to commit your shape to memory, as your hand slowly makes its way down his side - stopping when you reach his belt, resting on the waistline of his jeans which are very obviously becoming tighter by the second. 

You hesitate at first, but eventually your hand continues downward; Seungkwan sharply inhales as it lands on his growing bulge, his body tensing up against yours. He pulls his face from the crook of your neck, his lips immediately finding yours again, indulging in another kiss as he pulls you over onto his lap. You begin making out with him, your hand holding his warm, flushed cheek; your core, now exposed aside from the barrier of your underwear, presses against the hardness in his pants, causing soft moans to escape from the both of you. Before long, your hips begin to rock back and forth, grinding on his clothed cock - lightly at first, but with increasing intensity. You break away from his kiss; he looks at you, his eyelids heavy.

“Y/n…” he breathes out as he starts to kiss you again, “you don’t know how… wanted you so bad…”

“Me too,” you mutter.

He slides his hand under your skirt, finding your clit and beginning to circle it gently through your soaked underwear, causing you to whine softly.

“Oh fuck, you’re so wet,” he says in a low, husky voice, his fingertips increasing their pace against the sensitive bud. He then slips his finger under the hem of your panties, pulling them aside to expose your already-swollen cunt, the sharpness of the cool air hitting its wetness. You cry out as he slides one finger into you, followed by another, his thumb continuing to caress your clit. Your hips begin to rock again, fucking yourself against his perfectly-curled fingers that are hitting you in all the right spots, your speed quickly increasing with the overwhelming pleasure that has taken over your entire body. You feel it welling in your stomach, your orgasm growing nearer with each movement. You’re about to lose it when he slows your pace, looking at you with lust-filled eyes - you can tell what it is he wants. 

You reach down and undo his belt, unfastening his button and drawing down the zipper. His jeans out of the way, you pull the band of his underwear down, freeing his hardened cock - he lets out a groan as you begin to stroke its length. Precum has already begun to form, your fingers taking the wetness and gliding it over the head. 

“Please… wanna fuck you so bad…” He’s practically whimpering at this point.

You slide your pussy up and down his length a few times, causing him to recline his head against the couch as he breathes heavily. Finally you take his cock in your hand, placing it at your entrance and lowering yourself onto him, crying out at the sudden sensation of fullness. He groans as you slowly begin to ride him, his length hitting you in the perfect spot; you have to bite your lip to control yourself from becoming too loud - it feels even better than you’d ever imagined.

You begin to pick up the pace, bouncing on his cock as the sensation in your stomach begins to build again, even stronger now with him inside you. Your cries involuntarily become louder, prompting him to place his other hand over your mouth.

“Shhh, baby - don’t want anyone to hear us.”

You nod, tears welling in your eyes.

His soft grunts become more frequent - you can tell he’s getting close. Your walls squeeze around him tightly as you’re also nearing orgasm. He drops his hand from your mouth so he can grab onto your hips with both hands, holding you tight as he thrusts into you, full of vigor. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he says, his voice low and gruff.

“Want you to cum in me,” you reply breathily. He nods eagerly. You’re nearly there yourself. You cling to his face, giving him one more kiss before you can’t hold it in any longer.

“Oh fuck I’m gonna cum,” you manage to get out before the white-hot sensation takes over your whole body. You cry out, your walls clenching around him, immediately sending him over the edge - his cock pulses as you feel his cum release inside you. 

As you come down from your high your body melts into his as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in. He plants a few soft kisses on your cheek as you sink into him, his cock still inside you. You lay there peacefully for an unknown amount of minutes, the rock music still playing in the background as he rubs your back gently. Eventually you sit up, pressing your nose against his.

“Does this mean I get an A?” you ask jokingly.

He laughs, his nose crinkling as he smiles. “You were going to get one anyway, I assure you the fact that I just had the best sex of my life will have no impact on your grade.”

You break out into laughter. You pause, then ask hesitantly, “Soooo, what does this mean?”

His brown eyes rest on yours. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to figure that out later,” he says pragmatically. A slight tinge of sadness comes across your face, but before you can say anything he continues.

“How does tonight over dinner sound?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile back at him. 

“I think that sounds perfect.”

[end]

#seungkwan #ooh ! #ooooooou #i think he’s neat #personally i would love this for me

[outromoonchild]

→ PAIRING: Seokmin x Afab!Reader. → GENRE: College!Au, kinda comedy, small bit of angst if you look hard enough, teeny tiny fluff, smut MDNI. → SYNOPSIS: After having a crush on Lee Seokmin for three years, he somehow ends up wanting to be your roommate. Instead of rejecting him, you decide to give him the vacant room - right after confessing your feelings for him.

→ WARNINGS: roommate!seok, wet dreams, coming untouched (f), degradation, usage of the words slut, baby, angel, masturbation (m), making out, like really so much kissing, fingering, finger-sucking, she loves his fingers lol, unprotected sex (don't.. just don't), creampie.

→  WORDCOUNT: 11.5k

A/N: hi guys!! here it is (for some of you even on the date it was scheduled to be posted!), my first ever stand-alone svt fic! no part 2, no whole ass series, just this cute 11.5k baby I wrote after being deep inside my seokmin shaped hole (i am always in a seokmin shaped hole actually). i want to thank my bestie @honeykyeom for making the amazing header as well for being my inspiration for writing this <3 ily!! now, i hope you enjoy and as always please reblog & comment, these things are what makes writing worth while <3

You had a crush. A big fat stupid crush. And it was starting to get extremely annoying. You really tried to stop liking him because a.) he didn’t even know you existed and b.) even if he did he would never ever like you back because what are the odds for that to actually happen?

“People get together all the time, Y/N, stop being dumb,” Seungkwan, your best friend, would say on the regular since the topic came up basically every other day. Yet, you still didn’t believe the Lee Seokmin would ever give you so much as a second glance. He was too perfect. Perfect grades, perfect friend group, perfect face, perfect everything. You had first laid eyes on him on your first day of classes - he had started the same year as you, smile on his face, shiny new MacBook propped in front of him. He wore an adorable baby blue sweater and black rimmed glasses, his hair falling into his forehead and, god, you were gone the second you heard his honey dripping voice. 

That had been three years ago and now, both of you in your senior years, you still hadn’t talked to him even once. Or well, no, you had, when he had asked you for a phone charger which you had given him in exactly three seconds. You were still proud of that. 

*

“Hey, I heard you’re looking for a roommate?” 

“Are you- are you talking to me?” Your index finger was pointing at yourself while you blinked a few times at the person in front of you. 

“Uh, I mean, you are Y/N, right?” Kim Mingyu seemed just as confused as you. Probably because you were in fact Y/N and you were, in fact, looking for a roommate, but how on earth did he know that?

“No, I mean, yes, yes I am, but, uh, how do you- how do you know I’m looking for a roommate?”

“Oh, Seungkwan told me!” 

“You know Seungkwan?!”

Mingyu seems a little startled by your sudden outburst. You cleared your throat before chuckling nervously.

“S-sorry, I just didn’t know Seungkwan and you knew each other.”

“We go to the same gym, actually, and I told him my friend is desperately looking for a place and he told me you are in search of a roommate so…,” his smile was bright and pretty and you felt like you were about to wake up from a dream because why the hell was Seokmin’s bestie talking to you as if he had done it thousand of times before?

“I see, uh, I mean, I am definitely desperate for a roommate, rent you know, like, uh, I need to pay it soon and… well, I am short half of it and that’s what I would… need the roommate for,” you scratched your ear. Smooth.

“No, I understand! And my friend is just as desperate. See, he just broke up with his long-term girlfriend, she cheated on him, and now he just really needs to move out.”

“Oh, damn, sorry about that. You can tell him he can come by, eh, does tomorrow work? Like afternoon-ish? I have classes until four.”

“Awesome! I’ll let him know, thank you Y/N!”

Mingyu beamed at you, his hand up in the air as he waved, walking away and out of the building. Letting out a sigh you hadn’t even known you were holding, you grabbed your phone from your bag and unlocked it, quickly moving your fingers over the display to call Seungkwan. Walking out the opposite direction Mingyu had, you waited for your best friend to pick up, pushing open the door into the hot air of the early evening. 

“What’s up?” Seungkwan finally picked up and you rolled your eyes at the greeting.

“Hello to you too, Kwannie,” you said in a sweet voice, hearing Seungkwan scoff as a response.

“I’m in the middle of something, Y/N. So, what’s up?” 

“Kim Mingyu just asked me if a friend of his can move in with me,” you raised your brows as you walked over the campus to the parking lot, the keys to your car already dangling from your fingers, “care to tell me why you didn’t mention that?”

“Ah, that, well, I actually met Mingyu at the gym earlier today, like super early morning, and heard him talk to his friend on the phone and well, since I do have a few classes with him, I thought I should offer.”

“You should offer? Pretty sure it’s still my apartment you were selling off to a stranger.”

“Now, now. Mingyu isn’t a stranger now, is he? How many times have you stalked his insta now to look at that one specific gym picture of Seokm-,”

“Whatever, just- just please, for the future, let me know when you tell someone about my living situation, alright?”

“Sure thing, bestie. Now, can I get back to what I was doing?”

“Of course. Tell Hansol I said hi.” Before he could either protest or deny, you hung up and shoved your phone into your pocket. 

*

You dreamt of him again. It was a rare occasion, but it happened. Most of the time the dreams were innocent enough, just him touching your face, him laughing at your jokes, him simply acknowledging your existence. 

But this one was different. 

Seokmin was right above you, his body hot and sweaty. His eyes said so much more than words ever could and yet you longed to hear his voice. Longed to hear him say your name. He was buried deep inside you, his hips still, eyes never leaving yours. He throbbed, his whole body seemingly vibrated at how much he wanted you, your legs wrapped around his waist, wanting nothing more than for him to take you, mark you, fill you. 

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his hand caressing your face and you moved your head, your mouth sucking in his thumb, feeling him twitch inside of you.

“You can’t really talk with that in your mouth, can you, Y/N?” Fuck, his voice was so low so deep and when he finally moved down to kiss your neck, stuffing his thumb even further down your mouth, his hips now beginning to thrust, all of you began to shake. 

Then, suddenly, you were in your living room, right there on that windowsill that connected the kitchen and the living room, his hips drilling into you. He was wearing a dress shirt and a black tie, but both of it was loosened around his neck, your hands on his broad shoulders as he seemed to have made it his goal to fuck you senseless. You were a moaning mess, his lips sucking harshly on your skin, you yourself being completely naked. His mouth was everywhere: your neck, your stiff nipple, your lips. He took all of you in and you breathed in every bit he gave you. 

“You’re so fucking good for me, baby, so good, such a good little slut, letting me fuck her like this.”

“Mhm, y-yes, I l-love the way you f-fuck me, Seok!” His grip on you got stronger, hands digging harshly into your hips as he threw his head back now, your eyes taking in all of his beauty. The droplets of sweat, the bopping Adam’s apple as he swallowed, the way his vein popped out right there on his neck…

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he moaned and you nodded strongly, feeling your own climax so close.

“Please, want your cum so bad!” you whined and as if those had been the magic words, Seokmin emptied inside of you, the feeling of his cum hitting you so deep-

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

You screamed, while your back hit the floor. You had fallen out of bed, your alarm blasting on the other side of your bed. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, sitting up slowly, your hand rubbing the back of your head. Funnily enough, that wasn’t the only part of you that throbbed. Just for a completely different reason. 

-

“You came in your sleep?” Seungkwan was impressed with you. You just wanted to punch him because why did he have to say that this loud right in the line for lunch?

“Shut up!” you said through gritted teeth and Seungkwan snorted, before grabbing the big spoon for the Kimchi.

“Don’t worry, no one is listening.” Instead of arguing with him you rolled your eyes and grabbed some Japchae before heading to the drinks. 

“But to answer your question: yes, I did. And no, that has never happened before. Like, I never ever had a dream like that, Seungkwan, never!”

“Aw, I can’t believe my best friend lost her wet dream virginity at the ripe age of 24!” He grinned as the two of you sat down at an empty table. You ignored him.

“It was so real. I honestly feel sick to my stomach. How could it have been so real?” 

It was truly astonishing to you. Hours had passed and the dream was still there, playing in your head over and over again, making you squeeze your thighs together more than not in the worst moments. Statistic class wasn’t supposed to make you horny and yet, you couldn’t say it hadn’t.

“I’m jealous. I never had an actual wet dream make me cum before, like yeah, I woke up with cum in my underwear before, but then again that’s kind of normal I guess?”

“Dude! You don’t need wet dreams to make you orgasm, you have a literal boyfriend!”

“He is not my boyfriend!” Seungkwan protested and you grabbed your juice box to take a dramatic sip from it. 

“Well, sounds like a you problem. Doesn’t change the fact you’re getting laid, though.” Seungkwan scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair. He apparently didn’t have a comeback. Served him right.

“It’s not like you are trying to change that,” nevermind. You sigh, putting the drink down again.

“What am I supposed to do? Just hook up with a random guy and act like I’m not madly in love with someone who doesn’t know I exist?”

“He knows you exist, you god damn drama queen. You had every class together first semester!”

You ignored him. Instead, you decided that your Japchae is the most interesting thing you had ever seen. Seungkwan shook his head and clicked his tongue.

“You’re an idiot, Y/N. Like the biggest idiot I have ever met.”

“Takes one to know one,” you muttered as a response, feeling a piece of kimchi hitting your cheek the next second. 

*

You were home at four forty-five and hoped there would still be time to clean up the place at least a little bit before the potential-new-roommate-slash-friend-of-Kim-Mingyu showed up. In record time you found yourself standing in a semi-clean living room (meaning: maybe the floor showed some signs of needing to be vacuumed, but at least everything looked tidy) with all the windows open in hope for some cool air because you sure as hell weren’t going to turn on the AC without another person to cover the costs. 

Just as you finished changing into some clothes not sweated through, the doorbell rang. Quickly, you made your way to the door, buzzing them up, only to hear a knock on the door next. Oh, so he had been let in already. Putting on your most charming smile, you pulled the door open, only for the smile to fade the second you saw who stood there right in front of your door. 

“Y/N?” 

Lee Seokmin had just said your name. And he was standing in front of your apartment.

“Seokmin, what- what are you doing here?” You asked, oblivious to the situation. 

“I- uh, I- Mingyu said he told you I was coming?”

“Mingyu? No he said that-,” you lost your ability to speak just then. The friend Mingyu had been talking about-

“Wait, you- you’re the potential new roommate?!” Your voice was barely anything but a squeak. Seokmin looked a little lost, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of his oversized yellow jumper.

“Yeah, did he not mention that?” 

Nope, seems like he forgot that part. You swallowed, pressing your lips together for a second while your brain tried to fully grasp the situation. This was Seokmin. Aka the guy you have been in love with for three years. And he wanted to move in with you. 

“Uh, no. Sorry, please come in!” You took a step back and Seokmin smiled at you (HE smiled at YOU!!!), walking into your apartment and looking around as you closed the door, hoping your racing heart would calm down. You wouldn’t exactly bet on it though. 

Seokmin took his shoes off and you watched him, already beginning to chew on your lip like you always did when you were nervous. He turned around and you quickly smiled, walking into the living space.

“So, this is the living room, it uh-,” you stopped speaking, your eyes now on the window connecting the kitchen and living room, on the windowsill you had just dreamt about last night. Your face suddenly got very hot. 

“It connects to the kitchen through that window, which I thought was really cool, big selling point,” you watched as Seokmin walked over to the kitchen, his eyes roaming through the room and when he stopped in front of the window, hand touching the sill you nearly felt yourself loose footing. Why the fuck did he have to do this? For a second you were convinced this was just another dream. 

“It definitely is unique,” he said, nodding and walking into the small but modern kitchen.

“Uhm, there is a dishwasher in the kitchen and a microwave. We don’t have an oven, but I am pretty sure I have like a small one in the attic. I am more of a take-out or quick meal kind of gal, so I don’t really use it much. But if you were interested in baking something, I could definitely get it down,” Jesus, why on earth were you talking so much? But Seokmin seemed to appreciate it, nodding understandingly as he looked around with a small pout on his lips. Maybe this wasn’t the right moment (or maybe it was the perfect moment) to stare at him, but you did. You watched his every move, how he checked out the cupboards, how he asked before he opened the fridge, how he pulled a hand through his hair as he asked a question. 

Oh! 

“Sorry?” You crossed your arms, the hotness of your cheeks only increasing. Seokmin chuckled.

“I asked if you had a certain system in your fridge with your old roommate.”

“Oh, well, not really. We kind of always planned what we were going to eat, she was a big cook actually. Enjoyed it a lot. I store my Ramen right here, wait,” you walked into the kitchen fully now too, to the cupboard next to where Seokmin was standing and got on your tiptoes to reach for the door, opening it in a swing.

“There,” you explained, looking over at Seokmin - only to see him look at you instead of the food. You blinked a few times. He blushed.

“Ah, yes, I see. Cool. So, uh, no system. That’s fine with me! I wouldn’t say I’m a cook per sé, but I can hook up some simple dishes,” he turned away, your whole body suddenly feeling a lot hotter than a second before. Nodding, you closed the cupboard again and walked back outside. Seokmin followed you.

You showed him the rest of the apartment (except for your room) and finally the two of you ended up in the living room again where you sat down on the couch. 

“I, uh, I would love to take the room, Y/N. But it’s obviously up to you.” His smile was so… you gulped down whatever response you had in your mind. Now wasn’t the time to eat right out of his hands, no, you had to think about this. On the one hand, you really needed a roommate. There was no chance you could hold this apartment by yourself and you really didn’t want to move. But on the other hand, this was Seokmin. You couldn’t just let him move in with you when you liked him this much, could you? At least not without him knowing. An idea popped into your head. It was risky and stupid and you would probably regret this. But then again - if he wanted to move in, and apparently he was just as desperate as you to get this room, it would only be fair to let him know what the situation was. 

“Look, Seokmin,” you started, your hands in your lap, your heart racing again (or still). You looked up at him, your cheeks still bright red. Seokmin watched you, unsure what to make of your current behavior. He decided to just let you talk.

“I really need a roommate. And you really need a place to live. Mingyu, uh, he told me about the break-up and I’m really sorry about that,” - you were also happy you hadn’t tried to make a move considering he had a girlfriend -, “but I would feel horrible to let you take this room without knowing the full truth.” 

Now, Seokmin got a little spooked. The full truth? Were you going to confess that you were a drug dealer? Part of some gang? But then you probably wouldn’t need a roommate considering you’d make good money. 

“I, uh, okay,” Seokmin swallowed hard. You took a deep breath.

“I like you. As in, I like you. I have for years now. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, and to be honest, even if I had, I probably wouldn’t have succeeded in getting over this crush. I’m not telling you because I am expecting anything from you, I promise, hell, I never planned on telling you ever. But you want the room and I would be happy to give it to you, I would just feel weird having you live here with this big secret to keep.”

There were approximately three minutes of silence in which you were sure Seokmin would get up and leave. He stared at you, his mouth slightly dropped and you could have kicked yourself for finding him endearing. Starting to shift on your seat once the third minute started, Seokmin realized he had been staring instead of answering. But then again, he really had not expected this sudden confession. 

“I, uh, I am flattered, Y/N, really, I just, I- I just got out of a relationship and-,”

“I know that! As I said, I didn’t tell you because I want anything from you. I have been happy liking you from afar, Seokmin. And who knows, maybe having you close by all the time will actually make me stop liking you. I mean, what if you’re like a total slob or listen to super weird historical podcasts?” 

“What do you have against historical podcasts?” Seokmin asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. You chuckled.

“Nothing in particular. But my last roommate listened to them on like full blast. Just got annoying at some point.” 

He nodded now, understanding. Yeah, he could see why that would be annoying at some point. Still, that wasn’t the real issue here. Or, well, was it really an issue? He cleared his throat. 

“I- I don’t take you as someone who would let her feelings get the best of her. And, to be honest, I’m not really the type of guy you should have a crush on, Y/N. But, uh, I’m still very flattered. And I don’t think this would stop me from moving in, as you said, we are both desperate.”

You were surprised and it showed. Seokmin chuckled.

“Or do you not want me here?”

“No! I do, I really need you to move in,” you said, tugging a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Seokmin nodded again. 

“Then it’s settled. I’ll get my stuff asap and then we’ll be roomies.”

“Can’t wait!”

*

Seungkwan thought you were insane. He hadn’t known it was Seokmin when Mingyu had approached him and now he regretted ever offering it. 

“What do you mean you told him?!” He was sitting at your small dinner table in the living room. You shrugged. 

“What was I supposed to do? Just let him move in and carry this huge ass secret with me all the time? I don’t think so.”

“You could have just told him no, Y/N.”

“Right, and then what? I see him in class every other day? How awkward would that be?”

“You mean as awkward as living with a guy who knows you have a crush on him?!” When you shrugged again, Seungkwan groaned, pulling his hands over his face.

“You’re seriously insane, I can’t believe you did this!”

And about a week after Seokmin had officially moved in, you couldn’t believe it either. 

Living with Seokmin proved to do the exact opposite of what you had mentioned in your chat with him. He wasn’t a slob. And he also didn’t listen to any podcast on full volume. He cleaned, cooked, gave you space. Every morning he got up earlier than you and prepared coffee, before going out for a jog - only to come back while you were having breakfast, looking all sweaty and sexy. The first time this had happened you had choked on your toast, drinking what felt like one whole liter of orange juice before finally being able to stop coughing. Seokmin had hit your back a few times, apologizing for startling you. And yet, he didn’t stop doing it, which made you used to it after a while (it didn’t).  

Instead of falling out of love with him, you found yourself drawn to him even more, craving his presence. When he was gone, you missed him, and when he was home you wanted to hear everything about his day, wanted to eat dinner with him, watch a new episode of that show you had started together. 

*

Seokmin was outside in the living room, his laptop placed on his lap, an essay he needed to proof read opened as he sipped on a can of beer. He was on his favorite spot on the floor, right in front of the couch, leaning his back against it. Actually, he had wanted to go to sleep an hour ago, but then he had talked with his sister on the phone and now he was back to this. It had been two months since he had moved in with you despite knowing you had feelings for him. Back when you had originally told him, he had felt like he should probably run because the last thing he needed right now was complicated. Things with Hyorin had been complicated enough. But, as he now knew, you weren’t complicated in the slightest. More so the opposite. It didn’t take long for Seokmin to begin to understand you and your patterns. It also didn’t take long for him to figure out how much you actually liked him. If he had been anyone else he might have taken advantage of that. Flirt with you, get you into his bed. But he was Seokmin, he wasn’t a guy who would do that. Not that he hadn’t… thought about it. Seeing the way you looked at him, especially after his morning runs or when he came back from the gym in the evening… it took everything in him not to imagine you looking at him that way when he was fucking you. 

Seokmin wasn’t a sex-hungry person, normally. Maybe because he had been in a long-term relationship for five years. But now, with his relationship being over for two months and the periods before that being dry in the sex department… he was starting to miss it. Dearly. 

So, when he sat there on the floor, his head focusing on the contents of this essay he wrote a day earlier in the library, he couldn’t really help getting distracted by the sounds coming from your room. His ears perked up and his head turned sideways, throat already drying up. Were you crying? Maybe you were-

“O-oh.”

His laptop slipped from his lap when he got up. His heart speed rose and sweat was starting to form on his hairline. That certainly wasn’t the type of crying he had meant. Slowly, he walked over to the door of your room that he only now realized wasn’t properly shut. He felt bad, guilty even, when he peeked through the small opening, seeing you apparently asleep. A dream? He licked his lips. Were you dreaming? 

“S-Seokmin.” 

Something inside him switched over. His whole body started to heat up, his cock desperately beginning to twitch in his briefs. Fuck, he hadn’t ever expected that hearing you moan his name would do so much. You were dreaming, yes, about him. And he heard you, heard you moaning, the whimpers. And god, did you sound perfect. He leaned against the wall next to your room, letting his dick get harder with every second, waiting for your noises like an addict. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t get himself to move away and mind his own business. He was intoxicated by you. He took everything he could, every breath, as small as they might be. The sighs following the moan of his name. 

For now, he only listened. He didn’t want to touch himself here, didn’t want to be that type of person. But then again, he had already parked himself right outside your room, listening to you having a wet dream, it wasn’t like beginning to jerk off would make much of a difference. So, he slowly moved his hand, palming himself over his sweats, feeling how hard he was because of you. He closed his eyes, ears concentrating only on you. He wondered what you were dreaming about. What was he doing to you right now? Was he holding you down as he fucked you? Was he going down on you, tasting you? God, he really wanted to taste you. 

For a second he contemplated going in and waking you up - making your dream reality. But he couldn’t. Not knowing what he did. 

Opening his eyes, he suddenly felt guilt rushing over him and he was quick to close your door, making his way over to where he had sat earlier and grabbing his laptop. 

Once he was in his own room, door locked and all, he tried to clear his head of the sounds you had made, of the way it was him you were dreaming about. But with his cock this hard and you so close… it was no use. He put his laptop on his desk and laid down on his bed after, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t hear you from his room and, god, was he relieved. Not hearing you did not equal not remembering you, though. And so, knowing he was going to lose to his conscience anyways, he opened the drawer in his bedside table and got out the package of lube, squeezing a bit on his right hand, while the left shoved down his sweats and briefs, letting his erection hit the cool air of his room. 

He sighed in relief when his right hand began squeezing him, head leaned back into the pillows, hand now moving up and down slowly. You were right there in front of his inner eye, the way you sounded, but also the image of how you would look underneath him. Moaning his name, begging him to go faster. Then, he imagined your cheek stuffed with his cock, imagined your teary eyes when he began fucking down your throat. 

“F-fuck,” he couldn’t help but go faster, his hips lifting up his bed as he fucked his fist, wishing it was your pussy or your mouth, any of your holes would do. How badly he wanted to hear you beg, wanted you to be on your knees, mouth open and tongue out, ready to take whatever he was willing to give. Pouty lips and round eyes, wishing for nothing more than Seokmin’s cock filling you up. 

“God, just like that, Y/N, f-fuck,” he couldn’t help but moan as he came, his load landing on his clothed chest. 

Coming down from his high, Seokmin opened his eyes, blinking a few times before he really understood what had happened. Groaning, he let his left hand rub over his face, before he shook his head and sat up. He got rid of his shirt and threw it in the laundry bin, walking to the door unlocking and opening it to go to the bathroom - only to run into you who just came out of the bathroom. Your eyes grew wide when you spotted Seokmin - shirtless and sweaty and with this certain look in his eyes that made your legs grow weaker. 

Not knowing what he was doing, Seokmin walked straight over to you, his hands finding the sides of your neck, his lips crashing into yours a second later. You didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know what to do - but you kissed him back, your hands on his broad back, as he pushed you against the wall, his meaty perfect thigh shoved between your legs now, pressing against your still sensitive core. You gasped into the kiss, his tongue now devouring yours, one of his hands moving down and underneath your shirt, grabbing your breast and squeezing it harshly. Your arms locked around his neck, moans getting caught by his skillful mouth. Were you still dreaming? 

“Seokmin,” you moaned when his hand squeezed your nipple and only then did he realize what was happening. Immediately, he parted from you, causing you to miss his kiss and touch the second he left. 

“What-,” you began, but before you could even finish the question, he had already turned around and walked back into his room, closing the door behind him. And locking it. 

*

He acted like nothing happened. You were anxiously waiting in the kitchen the next morning, but once he came back from his run he just showed you his normal goofy self, excusing himself to go take a  shower. The way you had stood there, fully ready (not really) to talk about the night before, still in your pjs, still dizzy from the dream you had had as well as the very real kiss afterward. Why had he done that? Had he suddenly turned into a sleepwalker? A sleepwalker that kissed his roommate as if he had been starving? 

You sure as hell weren’t going to bring it up first. So, you played along, pretending like it didn’t happen. 

“I am declaring you clinically insane, Y/N,” Seungkwan was munching away on his corndog, while you and his (not) boyfriend Hansol sat opposite him at one of the smaller booths of the diner.

“He started it,” you shrugged, grabbing your own corndog now to take a bite from it.

“Okay, and? You could have started the conversation. For example: “Hey roomie, so about that night where you came out of your room clearly just done with getting yourself off and then kissed me? Like really hard? Against a wall?” See, that would have been a great conversation starter.”

You deadpanned at him.

“You’re an idiot,” shaking your head, you leaned back in your seat, “what if he really like, I don’t know, was in a delirious state? Maybe he drank alone before bed and just had a black out?”

“Or maybe he is an asshole who can’t own up to his actions,” Seungkwan shrugged, “but sure, yours sounds way more likely.”

“Seungkwan is right, Y/N. You should just bring it up,” Hansol looked at you and you sighed, letting your head drop onto the table.

“I don’t think I can. I’m too mortified. What if he totally regrets kissing me and that’s why he is pretending like it didn’t happen?”

“That still doesn’t give him permission to act this way. I don’t care if he is deeply in love with you or hates you, I just want him to be humane enough to tell you.”

It stung, the way he was right. Whatever Seokmin was feeling, he had to share it with you. He couldn’t just- 

“Am I going crazy or is Seokmin standing outside?” You raised your head again, eyes wide when you realized you were, in fact, not going crazy. Seokmin was right there outside the diner, on the other side of the street, his phone in his hand, an anxious look on his face.

“Did you tell him you were coming here?” Hansol asked and you shook your head.

“No, we barely saw each other this morning.”

What was he doing here? And why did he look like he would rather be anywhere else? Your eyes scanned the surroundings, a sour feeling suddenly spreading in your guts. You were only a few streets down from your apartment, the street wasn’t exactly busy but had some really good places to eat. This was the perfect meeting spot for-

“Who’s that?” Seungkwan shifted closer to the window next to you, his eyes squeezed together as if he was trying harder to recognise whoever had just shown up next to Seokmin. You didn’t have to know her to… know her. Hyorin. His ex-girlfriend that had cheated on him. He had mentioned her to you only a few times, you being a little reluctant to ask considering he knew how you felt about him. But from what you had gathered he hated her, never wanted to see her again. So why was he here now? With her?

“Is that…?” Seungkwan looked over at you, worry displayed on his face and you pressed your lips together as you nodded. 

She was beautiful. Tall, long silky black hair. Her skin glowing even from here. She was the girl Seokmin should be kissing in his delirious state, in any state, really. You swallowed down the tears that threatened to spill out and averted your gaze. Your appetite had left you and you wanted nothing more than to flee the scene, go home and never think of this moment again.

“Should we leave?” Hansol asked, looking over at Seungkwan a little helplessly. Seungkwan nodded quickly and his (not) boyfriend grabbed your arm and helped you get out of the booth. As much as you felt like yelling at him that you didn’t need this help, as much did you appreciate the gesture. Seungkwan paid at the front desk and you left the diner, your heart in desperate need for some distraction. 

*

When Seokmin got home that evening, you weren’t there. A part of him was relieved while another one already missed your presence. Sighing, he kicked off his shoes and finally slipped down onto the couch, hands rubbing over his face. This whole thing was a mess. Today was a mess. Hyorin had called him and asked him to meet up and because he was who he was he had said yes. He should have known she would just try to apologize for the nth time, telling him it had only happened once and that he was the only one for her. Little did she know that he gave zero fucks at this point. He didn’t want her anymore, he didn’t love her anymore. She had broken his heart and stomped on it, had lied and cheated, had done all these horrible things to him. And yet, he was somewhat grateful because now he was right here. In your apartment. 

It was silly, really, because he had been dating Hyorin for two years already when he saw you the first time. You and your cute gray sweatshirt and the high ponytail. You, who had been the cutest person in every single one of your classes together. You, who he couldn’t develop feelings for because he had a girlfriend. Unlike Hyorin, he wasn’t a cheater. He had loved her, truly loved her. And he had been shattered when he found out about the other guy, feeling like he could never be fixed again. He had to get out of the shared apartment, had to leave it all behind as soon as he possibly could - and he had somehow ended up on your doorstep. It was crazy how the universe worked. 

And as if that hadn’t been enough, you suddenly confessed to him, turning all of his feelings upside down. Because what was he supposed to say? Supposed to do? God, he was heartbroken over Hyorin and yet there was this ray of light in the shape of a girl that loved to spend her evenings watching trashy teen drama and cry over a bucket of Ben & Jerry’s when a character you didn’t even particularly like died on screen. 

Seokmin didn’t want to allow him to like you. He was scared that maybe you liking him altered his brain chemistry, that perhaps he would want to be with you only as a rebound and you were too good, too perfect to be anything of that kind. And so, when that night had happened and he had lost his composure, he knew he messed up. He knew you had feelings for him, god, he probably would have figured it out even if you hadn’t told him. Not just because of the dream he had overheard but because of the way you looked at him. The way you smiled, the way you laughed. He didn’t want you to look at anyone else like that. 

The sound of a door unlocking filled the quiet room now and was soon joined by the giggles of a girl and the nervous laugh of a guy - and both of these voices were familiar to Seokmin. He immediately got up and walked over to the entry way - only to see Mingyu holding your waist as you, obviously drunk, tried to get out of your shoes.

“Mingyu?” Seokmin asked confusedly.

“Oh, hey Seok,” Mingyu said, holding you steady as you felt your knees giving in. 

“What- what is going on?” 

“We met at a bar, she was with Seungkwan and his boyfriend-,”

“He is not his boyfriend!” you interrupted him with a giggle.

“Uh, right, Seungkwan and his not-boyfriend were also super drunk and I called them a cab, but I really didn’t want to send Y/N home on her own so-,”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Seokmin now came closer, his eyes set on his best friend’s hand around your waist, his insides slowly but surely heating up with something he could only recognize as jealousy.

“Uh, I thought you were busy with… you know.”

Seokmin’s jaw tensed, his eyes fixed on Mingyu who had successfully held you down as you stepped out of your shoes.

“That has been resolved hours ago, Mingyu.”

“And how was he supposed to know that, hm?” The sudden sound of your voice made both men look over at you. Your hand was raised, finger pointed at Seokmin accusingly. 

“Y/N-“, Mingyu started, but you shook your head and finally freed yourself from Mingyu’s grasp.

“No! No, I’m tired of this! Was it nice? Seeing your perfect ex again? Do you want to go back to her now? Move out and act like I don’t exist? Like you didn’t kiss me?”

Mingyu held his breath. You had told him all this in the bar earlier, where he had met you and Seungkwan and Hansol and where he had realized that you were madly in love with his best friend. He felt bad about you having seen Seokmin with Hyorin, but even more did he feel bad because it was also so painfully obvious that Seokmin liked you, too. 

“I think you’re drunk,” Seokmin noted and you laughed, throwing your hands in the air. Mingyu stayed quiet.

“Do you, now? How observant of you, Seokmin.”

The two of you were staring at each other now, fury in both your eyes. Honestly, you didn’t know what he was angry about. After all you weren’t the one running back to her ex after kissing him the way he had you. 

“I, uh, I guess I should go now,” Mingyu pointed at the door with his thumb over his shoulder, “you seem to… well, have a lot to talk about.” 

The normally so cheerful and kind Seokmin didn’t wish his best friend a good night, nor did he even look at him when he left. Instead he kept looking at you, saw the way you waved at Mingyu and thanked him, your hand squeezing his arm. Lightning was shooting through him. Jealousy was about to eat him up, was about to make him grab you and yell that you shouldn’t touch Mingyu like that. It was dumb and he knew it. You made him crazy, you made him dumb. Like a teenager who was in love for the first time, unsure what to make of it. 

Once the door had fallen shut, you stormed past your roommate, ready to enter your room and not leave it until the next day. Just that you didn’t get far. Seokmin ended up grabbing your arm after all, his touch burning on your skin. 

“Mingyu is right, we do have a lot to talk about,” he said in a hushed voice, making you scoff. 

“Fine, then talk.” With whatever willpower you had left, you looked at him. Saw the way his eyes were full of an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint - the fury from before still slightly visible but not alone. Perhaps it was anger for you speaking to him the way you had. Or maybe he was just annoyed at you for being drunk and loud and stupid. 

“Look, Y/N. What happened between us was… it shouldn’t have happened, alright?”

“Why? Because you’re back together with your cheating ex?”

“No! God, no, I would never get back with Hyorin. And I can’t believe Mingyu told you about this and-,”

“He didn’t!” You freed yourself out of his grip, your eyes dangerously beginning to prickle, “I saw you. With her.” 

He inhaled audibly - he hadn’t expected this. You saw him? With Hyorin? No wonder you were this upset. He pulled his hand through his hair.

“She wanted to talk things out. And because I’m too nice of a person I told her yes. Y/N, I don’t want to be with her anymore. She broke my heart, she hasn’t been the girl I fell in love with for ages now.” 

“Why did you kiss me?” If you were honest, you didn’t really care about when Hyorin had stopped being the girl Seokmin loved. You were more interested in whether you were. 

“I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Pang. Your face flinched before your jaw tensed. 

“Right,” your voice was smaller than you had wanted it to be, and the tears were even closer to spilling now. Of course he regretted it. Regretted kissing you, regretted making you feel the way you had. Because why would it be any different? Perhaps you should have tried to hook up with Mingyu tonight just to feel something different than this ache inside of you. 

“I just- fuck, I just don’t want to take advantage of you. Of what you feel for me.”

Now, the tears of hurt were quickly changing to tears of anger. This man really had a talent in making you switch emotions in seconds. 

“Excuse me? You- what?” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head, “don’t do this. Don’t make yourself look like a hero because you stepped back from kissing me. You did that because you wanted to. I didn’t come onto you even once in all the time you’ve been living here. So don’t you dare pin this on me or my feelings.” You hated that you began to shake and that your voice was higher than anticipated. You hated that the way he looked at you made you feel small and idiotic, made you feel as if you were the dumbest person on this earth. Instead of waiting for his response, you turned around on your heel, walking into your room and slamming the door shut behind you.

*

No one wanted to be in Seokmin’s shoes right now. After your fight he had also retreated back to his room, not exactly sure how to ever face you again. A day later he was at lunch with Mingyu, Cheol and Joshua and they all looked at him like he had suddenly grown three heads. 

“I can’t believe you said that,” Joshua judged, shaking his head. Seokmin sighed, throwing his napkin on the table. 

“Come on, was it really that bad?”

“Yes,” all three of his friends said in union, all their eyes on him, no sign of humor. Seokmin swallowed. 

“I really thought I was doing the right thing,” he mumbled now, letting his head fall, eyes studying the pattern of the wooden table.

“By doing what? Pushing away a girl that’s absolutely crazy about you? That has been nothing but kind and wonderful towards you? That you very obviously have feelings for?” Mingyu snorted, crossing his arms, “no, that most certainly wasn’t the right thing to do, Seokmin.”

While Seokmin stayed silent, Seungcheol and Joshua nodded, telling Seokmin, once again, that he was an idiot. It was no use, though. He already knew he was! He knew he had messed up and even though a part of him still thought that, maybe, his intention had been noble, the part was slowly but surely getting kicked out. 

“And what do you expect me to do? I can’t just go up to her and tell her that I was wrong for saying that. She doesn’t even talk to me!”

“Can’t really blame her, can you?” Seungcheol took a sip from his iced tea.

“Look, it’s only been a day. Let her calm down, give her space. Give yourself some more time to come up with the right thing to say. I’m sure it will be fine, you and Y/N will be fine.”

And as much as Seokmin appreciated the tough love followed by Joshua’s words of affirmation, he wasn’t sure it was really helping him. In fact, he wasn’t sure what could help him considering you started ignoring him from then on, even avoiding your shared space to either stay at Seungkwan’s place or just come home once Seokmin was already in bed. Every class you had together, you would sit right by one of the doors, arriving at the latest and leaving as soon as possible. Whilst Seokmin was trying his hardest to come up with a way to apologize to you, to win you back, you were trying your best to forget about your feelings for him. And for the most part it was even successful - you being mad at him and feeling like an idiot whenever you thought about the kiss you two had shared. But then again, only for the most part. 

“You can’t just force yourself out of love with someone,” Seungkwan said on the nth night you’ve been sitting on his couch, a bucket of ice cream in your arms, the AC on the highest setting because, holy hell, was it hot outside. 

“I can try,” you shrugged, staring at the TV screen. Seungkwan sighed, letting his eyes wander over your frame. You didn’t look your best, the hurt definitely coming through with bags under your eyes, your hair looking frizzy, the shirt you were wearing a stain right in the middle and when he had asked you about it, you couldn’t even tell him where that had come from. 

So, when he got a call from Kim Mingyu two days later, he was eager as ever to meet up and hopefully get you off his couch. 

The setting was in a small coffee shop, Seokmin seated nervously next to Mingyu who had ordered an iced americano for each of them. Seungkwan looked from one handsome guy to the other, clearing his throat.

“So, I’m guessing this is about Y/N?” he raised a brow and Mingyu quickly nodded, while Seokmin shifted on his seat, hands clasped around his plastic cup. 

“Yup. Do you have any idea what Seok over here can do to, you know, get her to speak to him again?” Mingyu pointed at Seokmin with his thumb and Seungkwan chuckled as he watched Seokmin slap the thumb away, his cheeks a bright red.

“I’m sorry, I would’ve never come to you about this, but I’m desperate at this point. She is never home and when she is, she makes it her mission to not even acknowledge my existence.”

“Yeah, when she’s not home she is at my place. And let me tell you, it’s getting incredibly annoying, considering I have a “not-boyfriend” that I’d really like to invite over,” clicking his tongue, Seungkwan leaned back and grabbed his own beverage, taking a sip from the bright blue straw, “so, I am more than happy to help.”

For a few minutes they brainstormed, Mingyu suggesting that maybe Seokmin should just ambush her, maybe get a pair of handcuffs and- yeah, he was shut down by both Seokmin and Seungkwan rather quickly. Seokmin said that maybe he should just continue texting her and that perhaps she’d come around, but Seungkwan shook his head, telling him there was no use, he had never met anyone worse at texting and reading texts than his best friend. 

After a moment of silence in which they all seemed a bit defeated, Seungkwan watched Mingyu take out his phone and open a message he had received on instagram. The only blonde at the table had never been quicker to sit up and almost knock over his drink.

“I know what you have to do.” 

-

It had been two weeks since you had last talked to Seokmin and for once you were inside your apartment, knowing that he was at class while yours had been canceled. It was nice to be back home during day time for a change, your feet propped up on the small coffee table in front of the sofa. A book in your lap that you had discarded for a bit to check your phone, only to be hit in the face by a cruel, cruel reality. The book slipped off your lap as you withdrew your legs from the table and instead kneeled on the couch, both hands gripping your phone tightly. 

“He has got to be joking,” you mumbled, feeling dizzy as you stared at the mirror pic Seokmin had posted half an hour ago. He hadn’t posted in months. Basically since he and Hyerin had broken up. His insta was mainly blank except for a few pictures he had taken of pretty sceneries. Never had he ever posted gym selfies. No. That had been Mingyu, showing off Seokmin’s body in his pictures as well as his own. 

To be fair, there wasn’t much body to see on the selfie. It was him in the gym, his long sleeved shirt rolled up above his elbows, showing enough arm to make you head feel crazy. His left hand was holding his phone, his fingers spread over it and, fuck, his hand. His hair was just slightly messy, his jaw and neck on full display and you forgot how to breathe. Arousal pooled in between your legs now and you honestly couldn’t even understand why. Perhaps, you thought, because this was the first time you had seen his face in almost two weeks and this picture just fed into all of your small kinks about him. Swallowing hard, you licked your lips and continued to bury your teeth into the bottom one, your pussy already throbbing. How pathetic. Little did you know you were about to become even more pathetic. Only now did your eyes spot the small symbol on the right side of the post, signaling you that there wasn’t just one picture. With a throat as dry as the desert, you clicked back on the post, a shaking index finger swiping to the left, only to be met by what could only be described as worse. There you had the body you had so desperately wished for. Leaned back on what you assumed to be a bench press, his legs adjourned in baggy jeans you had seen him wear a handful of times. Back then you had been happy to not see them on him this much because for whatever reason he was even more sexy in them. They weren’t even tight (as baggy jeans already suggested), but they still seemed to fit him perfectly. And now, with him manspreading over a bench in the gym, the red-white shirt with a car race theme, sleeves still rolled up, one arm hanging over his right thigh, holding onto the black leather beneath him, showing off a pretty vein you could literally already feel underneath your tongue. He was crazy. Crazy and mean and horrible and you knew all of this on purpose. His fingers on display, his thighs looking so big in those god forsaken jeans. Hair messy, jawline looking so sharp you were sure it could cut glass.

And as if all of this wasn’t bad enough, you suddenly heard the door clicking open. Your head jerked up, your eyes wide and your cheeks flushed burgundy. When you saw Seokmin walk through the door and finally into the living room, you felt your phone slip from your hand and onto the couch. He was carrying a gym bag, his hair still slightly damp. His skin was glowing and his eyes were widened in surprise. He most definitely hadn’t expected to see you.

“I thought you had class?” He said, his gym bag dropping onto the floor next to him. You slowly got up from the couch.

“Got canceled. Yours?” 

“Same.”

Nodding, you came to a stop in front of him, his tall figure towering over you, your chest heaving, head clouded by the smell of his cologne, of the knowledge he had posted that picture most definitely to get to you. With a heartbeat the speed of light, you looked into his eyes.

“Did Seungkwan tell you to post those pictures?” you whispered. Seokmin hesitated. Then he nodded. 

“Did it work?” he asked, head slightly tilted to the side. 

Instead of answering, your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to crash your lips against his. Seokmin immediately reacted, hands on the small of your back, pushing you closer. This kiss was different from the first, not less exciting or dizzying, but you felt more in control, felt more like this was it, this was what you had craved for so long. 

Seokmin, meanwhile, was on cloud nine, your lips feeling so incredible on his. For him this was all he had wanted for the last weeks and while he had gotten that small taste back then, nothing could have prepared him for what he was feeling right now. All sense of self control left his body as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip, asking to be let in. Once your tongues touched, there was no way in hell this was going to end. You moaned into his mouth, your nails digging into his skin while he moved his hands down, wrapping around your thighs to lift you up. Instinctively your legs swung around him, his hands leaving burns where he touched you. 

He moved over to the couch where you had sat before, sitting down with you now straddling him, both of your hands roaming around the other’s body. You let your fingers slide under his shirt and together you took it off, lips parting momentarily and letting you admire his toned chest, his abs and shoulders. You took your sweet time, fingers caressing his skin while your lips latched onto his neck, sucking harshly. Seokmin moaned, one hand on the back of your head, while the other laid on your thigh. 

With every passing second you felt yourself grow wetter, your hips beginning to grind down, both of your clothed crotches meeting, making both of you even more desperate. Seokmin grabbed your face, kissing you passionately once more, thumbs on either side of your cheeks. You whimpered when you felt him buck up, his erection already making your head spin. Never had you ever wanted anyone as bad. Finally, his hands moved to take off your shirt, leaving you in shorts and nothing else. A groan escaped him, hands all over your breasts, lips sucking your hard nipple inside his mouth, your head falling back, hands digging into his scalp. He was devouring your tits one at a time, hands squeezing them harshly as you couldn’t help but move your hips against him.

“S-Seokmin, please,” you whined, the arousal literally audible. Hearing you say his name like this… Seokmin parted from your chest and instead looked up at you. 

“Seungkwan told me something,” he whispered, one hand now moving down, while the other was back on your face, “he told me you take a… certain liking to my fingers.” The smirk on his face made you forget to kill Seungkwan later. You licked over your lips, biting down on it after, only to let out a small gasp when his right hand slipped into your shorts, pressing down on the wet spot between your legs. He sucked in a breath.

“Fuck, arren’t you wet for me, angel?” He whispered, while his other hand moved to your lips now, his eyebrows shooting up as he held eye contact. You knew what he wanted and you were more than eager to oblige. Parting your lips and stretching out your tongue, Seokmin felt himself twitch as he laid his index and middle finger on top of your tongue.

“Suck,” he then ordered you and without thinking twice, you did as asked. The fingers were long and thin and perfect and your eyes rolled back when you felt him press down on your tongue, his eyes becoming a little crazier with every passing second. 

“Both your holes stuffed with my fingers, what do you think?” his voice made goosebumps erupt all over your body, moaning around his digits while nodding wildly. Seokmin chuckled, not saying anything as he shoved your panties to the side, your hips almost automatically lifting so he could coat himself in your juice, his cock growing harder with every inch of him that got blessed with your arousal. 

“Think you can take two already?” when you nodded again, he immediately let his pretty fingers sink into you, both of you moaning at the contact. He sank in as deep as he could, until every bit was inside of you, knuckles deep, making him feel like he was either going to cum in his pants or simply explode. 

“God, you feel so fucking good, angel. Common, fuck yourself on my fingers and don’t forget to suck.” 

Your body began moving right away. Your mouth was sucking his fingers as if they were his cock, tongue pressing, tongue flicking against them. Head bobbing back and forth as your hips moved up and down on his other hand, his fingers feeling heavenly inside your walls. And when he put his thumb on your clit, you were sure the heavenly feeling would soon get you to cum all over him. 

“Good girl, doing so well for me, fuck,” Seokmin felt his throat dry up, sweat forming on the top of his head. How badly he wanted to fuck you right now, just get his fingers out and replace them with his throbbing cock - but he wanted to take his time with you. He wanted to see you live out your dream with his fingers buried inside of you, with your saliva coating his one hand and your perfect, sweet arousal the other. He wanted to see you come undone like this, fucking yourself on his fingers, before he took you the way he wanted, making you scream his name and beg him to make you cum with his cock. 

You felt your orgasm closing in on you, your movements becoming sloppier, eyes rolled back and the fingers in your mouth almost forgotten. Once Seokmin noticed, he grinned, beginning to fuck them inside your mouth himself, a high pitched moan escaping you and making another bit of precum shoot out of Seokmin’s cock. 

“Yeah, are you close, baby? Come on, I know you want to cum for me.” He leaned forward, the angle of his fingers changing slightly, hitting you right where you needed him and when his lips began kissing and licking at your neck, you couldn’t help but cum hard, your pussy clenching around his fingers over and over again, milking yourself for all you had. 

“Fuck,” he was in a daze, pulling both sets of fingers outside your holes, eyes searching for yours, before closing his lips around the fingers that had just made you cum so beautifully. You whimpered, pussy throbbing at the sight of him licking your arousal from his own digits. 

“Seokmin…,” you cried out and he pulled his fingers back, instead shooting forward now to kiss you again. You could taste yourself on his lips, hands now back around his neck, eyes closed shut as he kissed you with delicious desperation. 

“Fuck me on the windowsill, Seok, please.” 

He parted from you only for a second, before nodding and kissing you again, getting up with your legs wrapped around him, finally placing you on the narrow sill, hands gripping your shorts and panties and pulling them off your legs. You watched as he opened his own jeans next, letting them fall to the floor before finally revealing what you had only imagined so far. You couldn’t help but stare, your mouth watering at the sight of his big cock, all red at the tip and veiny, thick and a little bent to the left. Oh, how much you wanted him to ruin you. 

“I can’t wait to fuck you, baby,” he purred now, arms back around your body, lips closing around yours again. Every inch of you was on fire, your hands immediately finding his cock, one grabbing his balls, while the other was around his girth, moving up to let your thumb slide over his slit. He twitched in your hand, a beautiful moan coming out his mouth that had you shivering. Spreading your legs further, you brought his leaking cock to your lips, letting the tip circle your clit for a bit, both of you moaning into the other's mouth, before finally lining him up with your sopping core.

“Please, fuck me, I need you so bad,” your voice was muffled against his lips and he nodded, replacing your hand with his to push inside you, the stretch having your nails dig into his shoulders, whimpers escaping your pink lips as he lowered himself into you until he bottomed out, his forehead now pressing against yours.

“You feel so good, so perfect around me, baby,” he kissed you softly, hands sliding over your sides up to your tits, and once he began squeezing them again, his lips finding yours, he began thrusting, first deep and hard, before he quickened, your legs pulling him even closer. He was perfect. The way he held you, the way his thumb was on your nipple, lips now sucking on the sensitive skin on your neck, cock fucking you deep and hard and quick, leaving no room for complaints. You didn’t know how to ever stop moaning his name, how to be quiet, how to not have your body already signal another climax. 

“A-am close,” you whined and Seokmin nodded, head now in between your neck and shoulder, kissing every inch of your skin. Nothing had ever felt this good, no sex with anyone had ever made him feel as if  he was going to cum within seconds, while also wanting it to never end. He sped up once more, hands back on your face as he wanted to cum with your tongue inside his mouth, with your lips claimed as his. You tried to match his pace, desperate and breathy moans filling the air that already smelled like nothing but sex. There was nothing you could do to prevent the orgasm rushing over you, your walls clenching around his cock over and over again, his movements getting sloppier with every second, your and his salivas mixing, running over both your chins when he finally sucked your tongue into his mouth as he came, hot white cum spreading in your pussy that now milked him for all he had, every little drop as precious as the other. 

“Fuck, oh my god,” Seokmin breathed into your mouth, his hands caressing your hair as he kissed your neck, both of you slowly getting down from your highs. You two stayed like this for a while. Him, kissing your neck, your shoulders, your chin and finally your lips. It suddenly feels like everything has fallen into place perfectly, like this is what should have happened the first time he ever stepped into place, maybe even when you first laid eyes on him three years ago. He stays inside you, your combined releases only slowly dripping out of you. How could he make you feel this precious? This fragile in the best way?

“Y/N…”, he then whispers after a while, his hands next to you on the sill, his eyes so soft and yet full of guilt. For a second you think he regrets having done this but then you hear his next words.

“I’m so sorry I pushed you away. I never should have done that. I was scared of my own feelings and of taking advantage of you, and I get now that I should have just talked to you about this instead of acting like I was protecting you when in reality I was just protecting myself,” he caressed your face, a stray lock of hair finds it’s way behind your ear by his finger.

“I get it. And I’m sorry too, for, you know, completely shutting you out.” You smile weakly and Seokmin chuckles, kissing your cheek again.

“I would have done the same. So, you forgive me?”

“Isn’t you coming inside me enough reason to believe I have?” You tease him with a slight grin and he turns red, looking down at him still buried inside your warmth. 

“Thank you. For forgiving me,” he looks up at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “and also for letting me cum inside you.” 

You start laughing, pushing him away slightly by the shoulder and your heart seems to jump out of your chest when he kisses you again. You were sure  that you’ll never get tired of doing this. 

-

“So, if i want you to get turned on I’ll just need to post more gym pics?” Seokmin’s arm was around you, both of you freshly out of the shower seated on the couch. You scoffed, but felt your cheeks heat up.

“Shut up,” you couldn’t help but smile though, the fact he was so close to you, holding you. It was all too much but in the best way possible. You never wanted to let this man go again. 

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered”, he giggled now, and god, had you ever heard a more adorable sound? You doubted it. Just when you were about to respond (mainly to tell him to shut up again), you heard your phone ring. Looking over Seokmin’s lap, you saw your phone where you’d left it. He followed your gaze and grabbed your phone for you, a knowing smile on his lips.

“If we were to unlock this now, what would we find, hm?”

Ignoring him, you finally picked up. It was Seungkwan.

“Hi traitor,” you said, eyebrows raised. Seungkwan scoffed on the other side.

“Oh please, you can’t tell me y’all didn’t fuck.”

Seokmin, who was very obnoxiously leaning in closer to hear the conversation, giggled again, his cheeks turning rosy. You rolled your eyes.

“Doesn’t mean I appreciate you spilling my kinks to people you barely know.”

“You know you do kind of love me for it though. So, you two together now?” You froze in place, while your eyes moved very slowly to look at Seokmin. What you saw made your stomach turn and twist and tumble and millions of butterflies suddenly started dancing Gangnam Style. His eyes were so fond, his features soft, the rose on his cheeks now accented by his bright perfect smile. When he nodded, his hand coming to caress your head, you couldn’t help but smile the brightest you ever had.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Yes, we are.��

#kyeom #YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEUH #god i want htat man #woof

[outromoonchild]

recs for u yas

this one is cute bc it is ot13 <;3

cat dad vern

i won't be offended if u don't like this but this is vernon using woozi's studio while he's in there. and woozi also is watching.

long distance relationship vernon comes to visit and they FUCK (this one makes me clench)

guess we'll find out if you have a breeding kink or not

fwb to lovers (ps. i listened to robbers by the 1975 while reading this and i gotta say it definitely heightened the experience)

friends to lovers (weed involvement) (unsure abt this one for u but just in case)

blasphemous church boy joshua

uji is pussy drunk basically (this one made my stomach hurt in a good way)

this is all for now bc it is nearly 4am and ik u have been wanting this for a while so i will add recommendations as i find them <3 happy reading <3

[outromoonchild]

in the eye of the beholder

➳ choi seungcheol x fem!reader

➳ summary: when you don't like how you look in the mirror, your boyfriend decides to take it upon himself to worship you.

➳ word count approx. 6.2k

➳ tags: boyfriend!cheol, dom!cheol, possessive cheol. wall sex, fingering, oral; unprotected sex. worshipful sex. cheol's crude mouth, dirty talk. crying during sex from pleasure, mating press, spitting, hair pulling, consensual choking (just a little). pet names (princess, baby, sweetheart, angel, pretty girl, beautiful). simp seungcheol, his real spending addiction. he's going to tell you you're beautiful until you believe it.

➳ warnings: MDNI. fat/chubby!reader, insecurity, internalized fatphobia, anxiety. mentions of fatness, stretchmarks, love handles.

➳ request: I was wondering if you could make a seungcheol smut with a plus size girl reader and he basically treats you like he worships you and your body right after the reader felt insecure about her body and he says he stills adores you no matter how you look like while doing it

➳ note: this is slightly different than the request, but i hope you like it nonetheless!! i think you wanted it to be soft and cute but it. did not end up like that. nyways this is for all my fellow chubby/fat girlies <3 hopefully we will all one day get a cheol seungcheol

honestly, you didn't even know you had made a face. you had heard all your life that your face was too expressive for your own good and that it would land you in trouble, and finally it had. only, trouble had a name and his name was choi seungcheol.

the mirror had never been your best friend. all your life you had been obsessed with it. not in the vainish way, not in the pretty way that girls with hair that obeyed the rules of gravity and whose puberty somehow neglected to give them any acne were.

you were obsessed with the mirror in the way that it was your greatest enemy, your greatest foe, and yet you kept returning. when you used the restroom you couldn't help but pause in front of it, peering close at your pores and frowning. couldn't help but hover and look, taking note of every flaw. you stopped in front of the mirror before you left your apartment, eyes sharply taking in how your pants clung too tightly around your waist and not enough around your knees, how your middle seemed to be the first and only thing anyone would ever see when they looked at you.

so when you put on a dress from last spring your first instinct was to look in the mirror.

you had liked the dress. liked how it felt brushing around your knees, liked the colors of the little flowers and bees. you liked how the sleeves were long enough to cover your arms, liked how the dress didn't cling to your middle.

but then you went to the mirror.

you heard seungcheol as he moved about the apartment, sighing and grumbling about something.

"i just don't understand how mingyu can be so fucking happy all the time," seungcheol whined.

"we've been filming all fucking day --" did the dress hug your breasts too tightly? "-- and he's still fucking smiling away like someone sucked his dick before filming --" did it cling to your ass too much? "-- and even fucking seokmin was getting tired of it!" and when you turned you were wide, you were wide and fat and --

seungcheol's voice suddenly came from behind you, making you jump. you spun around, eyes wide as you looked up at your boyfriend, trying rather poorly to catch your breath.

"and what's going on here, sweetheart?"

immediately you knew you were caught. seungcheol's voice had that deadly sort of sweetness to it he only got when he was peeved about something and trying to shove it down. but your boyfriend was more passion than anything else, and his eyes seemed to sharpen as he stood in front of you.

even if his voice and face hadn't given away his irritation, the petname did. sweetheart. he only ever used it when he was pissed and trying to cover it, when he was trying to use his sweetness as a way to distract himself.

"i'm --" you crossed your hands in front of your stomach, covering it. "just looking at the dress."

but crossing your arms was the wrong move. seungcheol moved closer, his thick brows raising. disbelief practically radiated off of him.

he didn't need to verbally question you, however. all seungcheol had to do was cross his own arms over his chest, making his chest bulge and forearms flex, raising his brow and twisting his lip in disapproval, and your insecurities were bubbling up and out.

"it's just --" you spun around, back to the mirror. "look at me, seungcheol! look! i'm so! i look like a fucking whale --"

as soon as the word left your mouth he was on you, his arms wrapping around you and bringing you flush to his chest. seungcheol buried his chin into your shoulder, causing you to tense at the little flash of pain from it. but you didn't move, letting him press his hands to your stomach, mapping it, before they settled on your hips.

"what did i fucking say about that word, princess?" seungcheol hummed, eyes glinting dangerously.

you swallowed, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "but --"

"since you seemed to forget," he rushed on, raising his voice to drown yours out. "i'll just have to remind you."

"seungcheol," you said, hands going to his and lifting them off of you. you didn't want him to touch you when you were like this, as if your poor nature would somehow leak into him and tarnish him. "seungcheol, i'm just fat and ugly, and i'm going to change my dress and it doesn't need to be a whole thing --"

seungcheol pulled his arms from your grasp, bringing a sharp gasp from your lips. then your boyfriend was wrapping one arm around your middle, bringing your body flush against his. his other hand went to your face, holding and guiding it to look at the mirror square-on.

"seems like i've been neglecting my duty as your boyfriend," he announced, voice stern. he cocked his head from where he rested it on your shoulder, black curls shifting into his eyes.

your stomach twisted at his words, guilt immediately flooding through you. "no -- cheol, it's nothing to do with you, it's all me. you're perfect --"

"and so are you, baby," he interjected, squeezing you. his hand traveled from your face, fingertips dragging down your neck and over your collar, his tough light enough to make your skin erupt out in goosebumps. "you're absolutely perfect."

your face instantly contorted, doubt heavy. seungcheol sighed, joining his hands together around your waist and interlocking them. "princess. you know what i think about all of this."

"i know," you agreed.

this wasn't the first time your insecurities about your body and its shape reared their heads. it was such a heavy subject, one that you constantly tried to ignore; seungcheol, on the other hand, wanted to meet them head-on. he was the sort of person who didn't shy away from problems, especially when it came to those he loved.

so he saw your insecurities, saw all of your self-hatred and how it shimmered just beneath the surface all the time. you knew he hated it. you knew he hated your doubt and insecurity, but it wasn't something that just could be stopped on a whim.

seungcheol led your bodies into a sway, eyes still on your figures in the mirror. "and you know i love you."

"i do." you knew he did. choi seungcheol loved you, and this was a fact of the universe, just as the moon is a cold rock and the sun is hot gas and water is made of hydrogen and oxygen and choi seungcheol is made up of love for you; and you, him.

"and i know you're beautiful." he tilted his head, pressing his lips against the fabric covering your shoulder. "i think you're beautiful right now, in this cute little dress. i think you're beautiful when you're asleep. when you're eating. when you're doing nothing, when you're concentrating. i think you're gorgeous, baby. doesn't that matter?"

you swallowed, leaning back into his hold, letting seungcheol accept your weight. it did matter; it does. you treasured seungcheol more dearly than you ever could yourself, and you valued his opinion and thoughts more than any gold or ruby.

but the world wasn't made of choi seungcheols.

it was made of strangers with superficial thoughts, who didn't care about the inside of the person, the heart and soul, as long as the outside shined; didn't care if the rock in their hand was pyrite as long as the outside glimmered with gold; as long as the person in front of them fit their narrative.

you knew that, as soon as you walked outside of your apartment, you would be subjected to the world. to people who may look over you without a glance, who wouldn't give you a second look. but there was also people who would squint and guffaw, who would see your love handles and the stretchmarks on your arms and let their hatred roar.

you valued seungcheol so much; treasured him so much. you would take a single seungcheol over a thousand strangers any day. so why did the stranger matter so much when it came to your appearance?

"what other people think don't matter," he murmured, dropping another kiss to your shoulder. "what they see doesn't matter. isn't that what you tell me?"

"it's different," you mumbled, eyes dropping to his hands. you settled your hands over his, watching as he turned his hands to grab yours and squeeze.

"how is it different, princess?"

you sighed, pressing your thumbs into his hands, letting him rock the two of you back and forth. you knew where this conversation was going, knew you were walking into his trap. "because you're beautiful."

he hummed. "but not to everyone."

"they're stupid if they don't think you're beautiful," you huffed, flicking your eyes up. seungcheol's eyes had softened, twinkling at you. he was looking at you like a poet looked at a flower, an artist their muse, a fan their idol; he was looking at you with adoration. "cheol . . ."

"you took the words straight from my mouth, baby." he straightened, tossing his head a little to shake his curls from his eyes. "tell me, princess. what's the definition of fat?"

you rolled your eyes. seungcheol maneuvered you, turning you from the mirror and towards him. you knew what he was getting at, but still you played along. "plump. having excess."

seungcheol nodded, pouting out his lips in thought. he brought your conjoined hands up, resting them on your shoulders. "and ugly?"

"offensive to look at," you recited, knowing that if you didn't he would bring out his phone and pull up the dictionary.

"and where do those two overlap?" he questioned. "where do the definitions line up? are they synonyms?"

his hands moved from your shoulders, hovering over your skin as he moved them. seungcheol settled his hands around your waist, squeezing. "no, but for some people --"

"if they find fat people offensive," he broke in, "then they have something wrong with them and should take a closer look in the mirror and see the true ugliness of their heart."

seungcheol finally sighed, letting his eyes close. he used his grip on your body to tug you into him, wrapping his arms around you. you went easily, letting seungcheol hold you, eyes sliding shut.

the two of you stood for a handful of moments, basking in the presence of the other. seungcheol was warm and strong, the line of his body sturdy against yours. it was like his love, you thought, warm, strong, never-wavering.

seungcheol pulled away, one of his hands coming up to cup your face. his eyes were soft and sweet, filled with the love for you that his heart couldn't contain, his entire being drenched in it. "you're beautiful, princess. fat or skinny, dress or sweatpants, messy hair or freshly done. you're absolutely gorgeous, and i love you. i love you."

the weight of his mouth against yours had you sighing, eyes fluttering. seungcheol kissed you sweetly, tenderly, warmly; as if he could force the love he had for you into your body and soul through kissing you.

his hand sunk into your hair, using the grip to angle your head. he tugged your lower lip between his, a little gasp escaping you.

"seungcheol," you breathed, his lips detaching from yours. he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth before carrying on. his lips skimmed your chin; your jaw; your neck. they coaxed sighs and gentle exhales out, your body turning towards his, a sunflower chasing the sun.

"you're beautiful," he declared, voice as sure as the dawn. his words were warm against your skin, breath hitting it and causing goosebumps to break out. "you're perfect. my perfect girl."

and then seungcheol's pushing you against the wall next to the mirror, his lips attaching to your neck and sucking. you moaned out his name, arms coming up and around his shoulders, baring your neck for him as an offering.

"such a pretty girl," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the hickey he left before he moved on. "pretty girls deserve to be rewarded, don't they, princess?"

seungcheol fell to his knees in front of you, the dull thump making you wince. then he grabbed your knee, pushing up and out, bringing it over his shoulder.

"cheol," you breathed, all air seemingly leaving your lungs. "seungcheol, seungcheol."

he grinned, eyes shining as he kneeled between your legs. "that's me, princess."

seungcheol pushes forward, using the hand not keeping your thigh hooked over his shoulder to push up your dress. he paused for a moment, the silence taking over the room. "you -- you're not wearing panties, baby."

"was just trying the dress on," you whined, sinking your hand into his dark hair. his locks were long enough that you could pull and tug, wrap them around your fingers and marvel in their softness. "didn't have a chance to put any on."

"perfect," he replied. "if i had my way you'd never wear panties, you know?"

before you could reply seungcheol was disappearing underneath your dress. you couldn't help but jump when his fingers pressed against your pussy lips, prodding and feeling the warmth there.

"even down here is pretty and perfect," he hummed.

thoroughly embarrassed, you began saying his name in a scolding tone. but as soon as the first syllable was leaving your lips he was attaching his to your cunt, running his tung up the length of your pussy.

his name ended up leaving your lips in a loud cry. you threw your head back against the wall, the dull thud not rendering as your boyfriend repeated the action, using his spit to wetten your cunt.

"gotta get wet for me, baby." seungcheol shifted closer, and then his tongue was brushing against your hole. you clenched immediately, gasping in surprise. but then he was shoving his tongue in, humming.

seungcheol ate you messily, pressing his entire face against your cunt. he used his spit and spread it along your cunt with his tongue, lapped at your hole and pressed a fingertip underneath it, massaging the muscle and coaxing it.

soon enough you were drenched, your cunt soaking your boyfriend's face as he continued to eat you out. he slurped against your pussy, swallowing your juices eagerly. he pressed a line of kisses from your hole to your clit, and then he was wrapping his lips around it and sucking while his fingers poked at your hole.

seungcheol worked his tongue against your clit as he inserted a thick finger into your cunt. his fingers were so thick, the stretch always causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head, burning in the best way. seungcheol continued working you until his pointer finger slid fully inside of your cunt, the slide easy due to your wetness.

he pressed a kiss to your clit, causing you to clench around him. seungcheol laughed, and when he spoke his voice was thick in his throat. "such a good girl, princess. took my finger so well. you're so wet and tight, so perfect for me. but you're always so perfect, aren't you?"

you felt his second finger slide along your folds, collecting your fluids. you scrambled against him in anticipation, your fingers sinking into his curls and clenching down.

"that's right princess," he murmured, slurping against your clit, his voice soft compared to the loud squelching of your cunt. "gonna make you feel so good, gonna make you forget anything but my name."

his second finger probed against your hole and then, in a fluid movement that had your stomach clenching, slid in alongside the first. his fingers were so fucking thick, so fucking thick and large and filling. seungcheol could move his fingers easily in your cunt, your pussy offering no resistance.

"you're so wet, baby," he pressed his mouth against your clit and slurped, the vibrations of his mouth earning a loud squeal from yours. "so tight around my fingers. dunno how we'll fit my cock inside, princess."

he moved his face from your cunt, pressing his mouth against the thigh hooked over his shoulder and kissing. in doing so seungcheol spread your fluids along your skin, creating a mess along your thigh. meanwhile his two fingers continued moving inside of you, your cunt clenching around them eagerly in a poor attempt to keep them wedged inside.

"but i know you'll take my cock, won't you, princess?" seungcheol flicked his eyes up at you, though you didn't notice. you were too lost in your own pleasure, your hands pulling at his hair while you squeezed your eyes shut. "you always take my dick so good, baby. always feel so perfect around it, your tight little cunt so perfect for my fat cock."

his words pulled a full shiver from your body, muscles tensing. seungcheol grinned against your skin. he slid his ring finger in alongside the other two, the stretch bringing a loud cry from your lips, back arching against the wall and thigh tightening around him.

seungcheol chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss to your thigh. then he began alternating between sucking and nipping, the little sparks of pain making your toes curl and bringing out sweet gasps.

you came with a loud cry, your orgasm long and prolonged, gently coaxed into being by seungcheol's steady fingers and wicked mouth. he continued working at you even as you spasmed around his digits, cunt clenching.

"fuck, baby," he laughed. "your cunt's squeezing so tightly around my fingers. do you wish it was my cock, hm? wish it was my cock you were squeezing around so you could milk it dry? wish i was dumping into you, filling you with my spunk?"

the crudeness of his words drew a low moan from you, fingers digging into his hair. seungcheol knew his words could twist your stomach and bring heat coursing through your body just as well as his actions could and he never missed out on the opportunity to do so.

his dark, sweet eyes were always watching you after all. taking in how you looked at yourself in mirrors, how you always seemed to linger around toddlers with a soft smile; how you always seemed to go still whenever he uttered words like spunk and cunt.

being known was mortifying, but being known by choi seungcheol? being known by choi seungcheol meant a double-edged sword of comfort and cunning, of using your own preferences and perversions against you.

seungcheol pulled back, slipping his fingers from your cunt. he held up his hand, getting your attention.

you gasped, appalled. his hand was soaked from your fluids, and when he spread out his fingers strings of your juices connected them. his hand and forearm practically shined in the light, drenched in you.

seungcheol stood from the floor, knees cracking, guiding your thigh off of his shoulder. you stumbled, knees weak and unable to properly hold yourself up. seungcheol's clean hand immediately went to your waist, steadying you.

"careful, pretty girl," he warned, pressing you against the wall to help steady you. he brought his dirty hand up to your mouth, fingers tugging at your bottom lip. "okay princess. come on, open your pretty little mouth for me."

you obeyed, parting your lips. seungcheol slid his three fingers into your mouth, immediately filling it. for a moment you were overwhelmed, the weight of his fingers inside your mouth nearly suffocating, tears biting at the corners of your eyes.

then you breathed out through your nose, calming yourself. you brought your hands up around his wrist, holding seungcheol's hand still. then you brought your tongue up and against his digits, tasting your orgasm, licking it off of his fingers and swallowing around them.

"that's a good girl," he hummed, eyes half-closed as he watched you. his dark lashes, which were thick and long and devastatingly beautiful, fluttered. "fuck you're so beautiful with my fingers in your mouth, baby."

you hummed around his fingers, squeezing his wrist in your grip.

seungcheol cursed softly, pulling his hand out of your mouth. he placed both of his hands on your waist, guiding you off of the wall and towards the bed.

"fuck you're gorgeous," seungcheol said, admiring you. your hair was messed up from being against the wall, spit smeared around your mouth from taking his fingers. "my beautiful girl."

then he was kissing you, mouth eagerly clashing against yours. seungcheol practically devoured your mouth, tongue taking and claiming yours for his own.

his hands went to your dress, bunching up the skirt. seungcheol brought it up over your hips, hands sliding along your skin. he pulled his mouth from yours, kissing along your jaw.

"gotta get your dress off, angel." seungcheol separated from you just long enough to help you pull off your dress, baring your body for his eyes. his eyes darted over your body, biting his lip and greedily taking you in.

"that's my beautiful girl," he announced, pleased. his hands went to your love handles, squeezing possessively. seungcheol traced his fingers long the ridges and valleys of your stretchmarks, hands smoothing over the fat of your middle and holding, massaging. "fucking beautiful."

you sighed, shaking your head softly. but you pressed into seungcheol all the same, letting his hands continue their journey, memorizing your body as if he hadn't seen it a thousand times before.

seungcheol, just as he was passionate, was covetous. he would say as much himself, laughing as he presented whatever high-end piece of clothing he recently splurged on for one of you. he treated his greed as a part of him, something he earned and respected.

what's the problem in liking pretty things, princess, he laughed, pulling away so he could admire the new necklace he just placed around your neck. i'm just a simple man who likes beautiful things. that's why i chased after you.

so he greedily drank your body in, enraptured by its beauty. the fat of your thighs and hips, the curve of your stomach; the hang of your breasts and the valley between, the stretchmarks along your arms and waist. his tough was gentle and sweet, almost reverent, like a devoted worshiper before his most precious goddess.

seungcheol's mouth went to your neck, plump lips skimming alongside your skin. he went to your shoulder, biting the skin there gently.

"okay baby," he hummed, pulling back. seungcheol softly guided you to the bed, his touch still delicate. you leaned back on the bed, bracing your hands against the mattress. you bore your body to him, unconcerned momentarily with your modesty and instead enraptured by his.

his hands went to the hem of his hoodie, pulling the large article off. seungcheol's body was filled, biceps and shoulders thick. he had lost the severity of his abs in the few weeks of break, but they still lingered and drew your eyes.

"keep looking at me with those sweet eyes of yours and i'll have to fuck you until tears are coming out of them," seungcheol smirked, his hands resting on the waistband of his sweats. "but i think i'll be doing that anyways, princess."

you shifted, reaching and brushing your hair back and off of your shoulder. you glanced down at his dick without realizing it. you could see the fat imprint of it through his sweats, the sight of it making you salivate and your cunt clench.

slowly, tantalizingly, seungcheol hooked his fingers into the waistband of his pants. he pulled both his pants and underwear down over his ass, past his thick thighs and then seungcheol was stepping out of them.

his dick was large and thick and red, standing at attention. he took it in his hand, hissing at the contact. you watched, enchanted, as he dragged his hand alongside the dick, coaxing precum from its tip.

"god, baby," he groaned, shutting his eyes. seungcheol took his lower lip in his mouth, sucking at it. "your fucking eyes, princess."

seungcheol played with the tip of his dick with his fingers for a moment before releasing it. then he stepped forward and to the bed, fitting his body between your legs. when he offered his fingers to you you immediately opened your mouth, accepting his fingers in.

his precum was slightly bitter to the taste, but you sucked at his fingers anyways, welcoming it.

"that's a good girl," he sighed before withdrawing his fingers. "up on the bed, princess."

you moved, dragging your knees onto the bed as to climb further up it. as soon as you were turned to seungcheol his hands were on your hips, thumbs pressing into the fat of your ass.

"fucking hell," he groaned, fingers pressing into your body. "your ass, baby. i never get tired of looking at your sweet ass, always looks so good."

he squeezed your middle once more before he released you, hands settling along the curve of your ass and guiding you up the bed. once you were at the head of it you plopped onto your back, legs immediately opening for him.

seungcheol kneeled before your body, hands settling on your knees. his eyes roamed your body, drinking you in. "you look so perfect like this, you know that? spread out on the bed for me, all bare and ready. ready for my dick, ready for me to stuff my cock inside your cute cunt."

seungcheol dipped his head, pressing a kiss to your knee. "i wish you knew how beautiful you were, baby. but if i have to spend the rest of my life convincing you, then that's what i'll do."

he glanced up at you, dark eyes piercing through your own. "if i need to spend the rest of my life fucking your cunt raw for you to be convinced, then i'll do it. gladly."

seungcheol moved from you, reaching up past your head. he grabbed a pillow, his free hand going to your hips and guiding them up so he could shift the pillow beneath them. he resumed his position of kneeling before you, hands bracing on either of your knees.

slowly, as to not strain your body too much, he began pushing your knees back and up, revealing more and more of your cunt to him. the stretch burned slightly as your muscles protested the new positions he was putting you into, but you didn't protest.

once your thighs were pressed against your chest, seungcheol stopped manipulating you. he groaned a little, eyes taking in your plush figure. "fucking gorgeous, baby."

then his hand was on his dick, pressing the fat head against your hole. your breath hitched in your throat, eyes shutting at the pressure of his dick. "cheol -- cheol, you're so big --"

he laughed breathlessly. seungcheol continued to steadily press his dick inside of you. you watched, transfixed, as your boyfriend worked his tongue around his mouth; pursed his lips; and then he was leaning over your cunt, a thick wad of spit dropping from his mouth and onto where his dickhead pressed against your hole.

you groaned, pussy clenching. seungcheol's hand went to your cunt, massaging around your hole, coaxing it to take in his fat dick. you relaxed into the bed, pleasure manifesting itself warmly in your gut at his fingertips.

seungcheol's dick slid inside. you keened, tossing your head back against the pillows as his dick split you open. he cursed, voice low in his throat, and then seungcheol was laying himself against you.

he used his weight to press your thighs close to your chest, to keep your body trapped beneath his. you were practically flat against the bed from his body, seungcheol all around you, the scent and feel of him flooding your senses.

"fuck," he hissed, lashes fluttering. "fucking so tight for me princess, so tight and warm and fucking perfect. you're so perfect, baby, so goddamn perfect for me"

his hips pressed against your ass, signifying he was fully sheathed inside. seungcheol gathered his breath as he waited for your cunt to relax around him, his large hands sliding beneath your knees and squeezing.

he turned his head, pressing a kiss to your leg. "that's a good girl," he murmured, nose brushing alongside your skin. "taking me so beautifully."

you hummed, sucking on your lower lip. you felt so incredibly full with his dick inside of you. part of you, the more animalistic part of you that was kept tucked away, wished you could feel like this all the time. wished you always had his dick balls-deep inside of you, pressing at your core and forcing your walls to accommodate him.

but, as good as warming his dick was, you wanted more. you may have been full from his cock, but you were still starving.

so you rocked your hips up as best as you could with his full weight on top of you, urging his dick in further.

"fuck," he breathed, pressing his forehead against your leg. "fuck. okay. okay, baby."

slowly seungcheol withdrew from your body. the drag of his cock against your walls had you whining, grinding up into the air in a poor attempt to put his dick back inside.

he stopped once his cockhead was tugging at your hole, looking down at the place where the two of you were joined. "shit, princess. even this part of you is beautiful."

you wanted to reach out and smack his head. instead you felt heat rise to your cheeks at his shamelessness.

"fuck me, cheol," you begged, furrowing your brow. you reached out, grabbing onto his shoulders and trying to force him closer. "please, cheol. please fuck me."

"aw," he cooed, dark eyes twinkling. "you even beg prettily. as a matter of fact --" he guided your legs as he spoke, hooking them over his broad shoulders. "-- i think i'd like you to beg a little more for me, baby. let me hear your pretty mouth."

"seungcheol," you whined, desperate. you wanted his dick back inside of you, wanted seungcheol to impale you on his dick. you wanted him to take you, wanted to feel him ravage your body. you -- "want your dick in me, cheol. want you to fuck me like -- like i'm the prettiest fucking thing and you want to make me yours."

seungcheol blanched for a moment, eyes widening at your words. then a curse escaped his mouth, and he was bracing his heads on either side of your head. he sheathed his cock back inside your cunt smoothly, without any of the caution he had exhibited earlier.

"fuck," you moaned, trying to arch up into him to no avail. his body was pressing you firmly against the bed still, leaving you no room to move about, no room to do anything other than take his dick. "fuck, please, cheol --"

he withdrew, and then he impaled you with his cock just as quickly. seungcheol moved swiftly, shoving his dick in you without any hesitance. his hips slapped against your ass hard enough to bruise them, the sound of his balls slapping against your skin ringing in your ears.

the pain of his fucking was nothing compared to the pleasure. his thick cock dragged against your walls, the head of it fat enough to hit your core with every strike. you couldn't do anything, powerless against his strength and power.

the warmth in your gut was expanding, the liquidy feel taking over your limbs and rendering them useless. you couldn't do anything, eyes rolling into the back of your head, mouth hanging with moans escaping.

"that's it pretty girl," he groaned. seungcheol moved one of his hands off of the bed, placing it around your throat. he did nothing other than flex his hand against your neck but still the action had you whining, voice going high in your throat.

"fucking sound so good," he breathed, his cock drilling into you at a horrid pace. "fucking taking my cock like a good girl. shit -- your cunt's perfect. so fucking perfect. your perfect fucking eyes, perfect hips and thighs, perfect ass and breasts. perfect -- fucking -- cunt --"

he accentuated each of his words with a well-aimed thrust into your cunt. "fucking -- made for me, all beautiful just for me."

"just --" you gasped, throat working his hand. "just for you."

"say it," he demanded, voice dark and stern. "want you to say it, pretty girl."

you squeezed your eyes shut, but he was immediately squeezing your throat in retaliation. "keep your eyes open, baby. want you to look me in the eyes and say it."

your eyes flew open at his command, mouth gaping. but you obeyed, that thick dick rendering you useless to even think about going against seungcheol. "i'm -- i'm beau -- beautiful --"

"for fucking who," he hissed, mouth in a smirk. "who are you made for, princess?"

"you!" you cried, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. you wanted to cum so badly, wanted that knot in your gut to just snap. "you, cheol! i'm beautiful just for you!"

seungcheol's smirk widened, and then his hand was squeezing against your throat. he held it, fucking into you fluidly, hand heavy on your neck.

"fucking beautiful," he agreed. seungcheol lifted his hand from your throat, and as soon as you were gulping down a lungful of air, you were cumming.

it hit you like a truck, causing your mind to blank and your breath to escape you altogether. you couldn't do anything, your cunt spasming around seungcheol's cock, trying to milk it.

"that's it," he praised you, continuing to fuck you through your orgasm. "that's a good girl."

you whined as soon as you could, chest rapidly heaving to get air back into your lungs. "cheol -- cheol, please --"

"gonna fuck my cum into you, pretty girl," he vowed, dark brows pressed together. "gonna paint your pussy with my spunk."

"please!"

seungcheol pulled out of you, drawing a loud whine from your lips in protest. but then his hands were on your hips, flinging you onto your stomach. he man-handled you, his hand settling on your shoulders and forcing them into the bed, the other hand on your hips and bringing them up and baring your ass.

his dick pierced your cunt again, the action drawing a squeal from your mouth. you couldn't -- your cunt clenched down on his dick in protest, begging for some sort of relief from his ministrations. your mouth refused to close, spit leaking freely from your lips, your tears falling from your cheeks and joining your spit to stain the pillow.

"so much," you moaned, "cheol -- it's so much --"

but then you were driving your hips back onto him, seeking out his dick.

"fuck, baby," he moaned. he placed his hands on your love handles, squeezing the flesh. then he was gripping your hips harshly, enough to leave bruises, using them to snap your body back onto his cock.

"fuckin -- so good, baby -- perfect little pussy, perfect fucking body --" he moved one of his hands from your hip, sliding it down along your back. seungcheol gripped your hair, pulling. "fucking beautiful taking my cock like this, taking it like a good girl, so perfect and beautiful and mine."

you were already sensitive from having cum twice before, so it didn't take but a handful more harsh thrusts before you were squealing, clenching around his dick. fresh tears sprung to your eyes, your shouts muffled by the pillows.

your body went completely lax in seungcheol's hold, your legs giving out. exhaustion struck you, seeping into your body and mind, muddling it all. but seungcheol carried on; he wrapped his arms around your middle, keeping you propped up so he could continue fucking you.

"gonna cum in you," he warned, nails digging into your flesh. "gonna cum and fuck it in, gonna fill you until your little pussy is drowning in my spunk --"

weakly, you clenched around him in response. seungcheol groaned, a loud thing that tore through his throat. you could feel him as he came, could feel the cum fill your cunt. seungcheol continued thrusting into you, using your body to milk his dick.

"what a good girl you are," he praised, hands releasing their severe grip on your hips. seungcheol didn't pull from you, but instead he turned your body so you were facing him. he grinned down at you before he lowered himself, laying his body on top of yours.

you hummed, pleased at the extra weight. you gathered the energy to sink one of your hands into his curls and pull, but other than that you were still, basking in your post-orgasmic state.

seungcheol pressed his face into the valley between your chest. sweat clung to both of your bodies like a second skin, but neither of you paid it any mind. especially not seungcheol as he ran his lips over your breasts, placing sweet little kisses.

"so beautiful," he murmured, eyes flicking up to yours. seungcheol's gaze was soft and sweet, adoration pouring from his very soul. "you're so beautiful, baby. i love you and your body so much. love you, adore you, cherish you. "

and when his mouth continued to travel along your body, mapping it out with his lips, you began to believe him.

#cheol #this would heal me i think #usually im not a fan of being possessive but this. um. made me realize things #like ohhhhhhh. #ohhhhhhhh okay. that's what it's like to be so thoroughly wanted and loved and yearned for. damn. ok. #there's this thing that happens to me sometimes when im feeling some sort of strong emotion and it's when my ring or middle finger #starts tingling and it was doing that through this entire thing #so. here we are

[outromoonchild]

kim mingyu’s (unhelpful) guide to losing your virginity

❝ you’re telling me that you, Miss Dick Repellent, had sex with Captain Chastity By Choice over here. ❞

PAIRING ▸ kim mingyu x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, humor, college au, best friends to lovers au, friends with benefits au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, alcohol consumption, rated m for mingyu, slow burn, he fell first but she fell harder but then he tripped and ate shit, probably the most self-indulgent thing i’ve written, mingyu and mc are both virgins, sexual content, sexual tension, protected and unprotected sex (i would not advise doing the latter), lots of teasing and banter, oral (f. and m. receiving), fingering, wall sex, couch sex, public sex, mingyu discovers what pasties are, soonyoung orders 20 connect fours, they are avid enjoyers of the barbie movies

SUMMARY ▸ after accidentally telling your friends that kim mingyu took your virginity (he didn’t), you’re shocked when he proposes to relieve you of the fabled v-card for good (he does).

PLAYLIST ▸ perfect by one direction • spell by niki • fatal flaw by ellise • give me a kiss by lolo zouaï • step? by bibi

WORD COUNT ▸ 31,273 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ someone (fia) once told me i write too many college aus. i said yeah ur right. and i’m gonna do it again

“BIRDS AND BEES CANNOT PHYSICALLY FUCK.”

You sounded more distressed than informative while you were trying to reason with your longtime best friend, Kim Mingyu. He, on the other hand, appeared visibly worked up over this childish level of argument you two were having.

“It is a metaphor,” he said. “Everyone knows birds and bees aren’t screwing each other up in the trees.”

You still couldn’t wrap your head around it. Hours ago, you had fucked yourself over after Kwon Soonyoung had casually brought up the topic of body counts. After everyone in your friend group went around listing theirs (Soonyoung: 3; Jungwoo: 3; Minghao: 2; Vernon: 5), you accidentally blurted out that your body count actually existed—one, to be exact.

This was a problem because, to everyone’s prior knowledge, you were a virgin.

Keep reading

#gyu #god i wish that were me

[outromoonchild]

raw. (m.l)

PAIRING: mark lee x afab!reader GENRE: smut WORD COUNT: 3.4k

SYNOPSIS: you find out you're out of condoms as soon as you and mark are about to have sex. feeling defeated, mark opts to go relieve himself in the bathroom but you suggest maybe that its time for him to finally fuck you raw.

CONTENT WARNINGS: explicit content, established relationship, light touching, starts off with sweet!mark then switches to pussy drunk!mark, unprotected sex, creampie, heavy use of 'my girl' and 'baby', nasty dirty talk mark doesn't shut the fuck up,

“I’ve missed you.” Mark mouths at your skin, arms tight around your middle as he presses you against his chest, breathing in the scent of your body wash and perfume as he nuzzles his head into the crevice of your neck. You smile, lacing your fingers through his hair as you melt into his embrace and he hums at the soft tugs you give, suckling and nipping at the spot where your shoulder and neck meet.

“Ow,” A giggle leaves your lips as Mark bites down a little too hard and your body angles away from him, only for him to whine and try and draw your back to him, muttering an apology against your neck as he tightens his hold on you. “We can’t stand here all day, Mark.”

Mark huffs as if what you’ve stated is something so offensive it hurts his feelings, shoulders sagging as he reluctantly lets you go but his hand slips into your own, intertwining your fingers as he allows you to pull him to a more suitable place than your front door, dragging his socked covered feet across the floorboards as he takes in your home, a warmth spreading through his chest.

Mark missed being at your place, the sweet familiar smell of a candle that was previously burning filling his senses, the hum of the TV playing your favourite show in the background, the subtle misplaced ornaments and potted plants that you’ve picked up to move or admire.

He takes a glance at your kitchen as he passes it, noticing a dish and a bowl soaking in soapy water and he smiles knowing you’ve eaten already, wondering if it was something delicious and filling for you. He wants to ask what it could’ve been, but the question remains on the tip of his tongue as you’re pulling him towards your bedroom.

And that’s when he feels most at home. 

The bag that was once resting on his shoulders drops to the ground, mindlessly being kicked to the side as his body finally relaxes, the tiredness that he’s used to pushing at the back of his mind comes front and centre, sluggishly making his way towards the unmade bed and planting himself down on the edge. 

The hand that's holding yours pulls you between his open legs and he rests his cheek on your stomach, embracing you as he once did a few moments prior and he sighs happily as your fingers resume playing with his hair. 

“How was work?”

“Fine,” His tone is quiet and gentle. “Japan was fun. Yuta was our tour guide again and was taking us to all these places,” Mark moves his head a little to look up at you, resting his chin on your stomach inside. “I took some pictures for you—ones I haven’t sent you yet.” 

You’re more than eager to see what pictures Mark wants to show you, gently pushing him up the bed for him to lay comfortably and he laughs, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone while his other arm curls around you, holding you close to his side and pressing his lips to the top of your head, finding comfort in the scent of your shampoo as he unlocks his phone, clicking the camera roll app and your eyes widen in excitement seeing all the recent photos you haven’t seen.

You’re in awe watching him scroll through the photos, the scenery and the colours of it all leaving you speechless, hanging onto every word as he tells you the story behind them all, some comical and others sweet and endearing. 

“Seeing this one, like, reminded me of you.” He whispers against your head as he shows you a picture of a sunset, a blend of pinks and oranges making your heart flutter. “It’s pretty—calming, made me feel at ease. It made me miss you even more than I already did, you know.”

“You called me every night,” You tell him, laughing as he groans and rolls his eyes, throwing his phone to the side before gripping your hips, pulling your body on top of his and massaging your thighs with his fingers, kneading the skin as they settle on each of his sides. 

“You know it’s not the same,” Mark argues, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “I love hearing your voice over the phone but, like, having you there with me physically means more to me. I get to hold you, I get to touch you… I get to kiss my girl.”

“Is that so?”

Mark hums with a short nod of his head before he cranes his neck up to meet your lips in a short but sweet kiss, squeezing your thighs once you reciprocate and he smiles against your lips as he feels your hands cradle his cheeks.

Then, you feel it. His hard cock pressing your inner thigh, twitching with each subtle movement of your hips as you rest your entire weight on him, causing him to grunt against your lips due to the pressure on his cock. 

“Are you tired?” You pull away from his lips to ask him and you bite back the smile that threatens to spread across your cheeks as Mark follows, wanting your mouth back on his. 

“A little,” He admits, squeezing your thighs. “But I don’t care. Just want you.”

Warmth fills your chest, “You want me?”

“So bad.” 

You don’t have time to swoon over his words as he’s already leaning up and reconnecting your lips in a much deeper kiss, biting down on your bottom lip and sliding his tongue into your mouth to tangle with your own all while his hands slip around to grip your ass, pulling you ever closer so that your chest is pressed against his. 

You kiss for a while, relishing in the way his lips feel on yours, familiar with the slow and unrushed pace he takes and your hands curl around the front of his shirt, signalling for him to take it off immediately and he smiles against your mouth, breaking the kiss for a moment to allow you to pull the material over his head.

He’s giving you a toothy smile, eyes twinkling with adoration as he stares up at you and his fingers twitch over the hem of your shirt, ready to take it off and you happily give him permission to do so, raising your arms in the air and Mark tugs it off, throwing it carelessly to the side before his hands touch your skin, palms hot and clammy as he brings you in for another kiss, one that's more desperate and needy.

Mark’s moaning shamelessly into your mouth when your hands dip beneath the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, first curling around his cock and giving him a few experimental pumps that has him almost drawing blood on your lip when he bites down a little too hard.

“Easy,” You hum with a giggle and Mark groans, craning his neck as he throws his head back against the pillows, tongue licking his bottom lip as your hand squeezes around his cock. He lifts his hips as you begin to rid him of the rest of his clothing and you awkwardly manoeuvre above him, laughing as you almost topple over if it wasn’t for the hold he has on your hips.

“You go easy,” Mark teases you this time and you roll your eyes. You drop your hands from him to finally peel off the rest of your own clothes and he watches you with hooded lids, resting one arm behind his head while the other wraps around his cock to jerk himself off as he takes in your naked body, something he’s seen plenty of times before but he views it as if it's his first time, absorbing himself in your curves, the swell of your breasts and your pretty pussy.

“Like what you see?”

Mark smiles, “Always,”

You get a little shy at his compliment but continue to lean forwards to capture his lips in a kiss which he immediately reciprocates, his hand curls around the back of your neck to keep you still against his lips and he moans as your tongue slips inside his mouth to touch his own.

He’s still touching himself between your bodies, lifts jerking upwards into his fist and gasping in your mouth when the tip grazes over your skin, the sensitivity sending goosebumps down his spine.

You pull away from his lips much to his dismay and he tries to pull you back in but stops when he sees you manoeuvring your way down his body, leaving a trail of kisses behind which makes him moan again, mouth falling slack as he feels your tongue lick a clean stripe down his navel.

You brush your fingers over his inner thighs, smiling at how his cock twitches against his stomach, stroking further and further up his skin before your fingers grip his cock, hearing the slight hiss he makes through his teeth and you smile, leaning in closer to wrap your lips around his tip.

“Wait!” Mark suddenly yells out and you stop in surprise, bringing your gaze up from his cock to his face and he reaches his hand forward to cradle your check, his thumb caressing your skin. He looks like he’s in pain, but he explains, “I’ll cum too quickly if you suck my cock, like, seriously, I will cum the second I feel your tongue on me again.”

That makes you even more eager to shove his cock down your throat and you tighten your fingers around the base, causing him to throw his head back with a gasp, “I don’t mind.”

“But I do,” Mark weakly pushes your hand away and his cock slaps back against his stomach, his hips jerking upwards at the sudden contact. “Fuck—baby I’ve been waiting for this for so long. I want to cum fucking you—please, I—” He winces as his hand comes down to cup his balls, almost as if he’s trying to stop himself from cumming right there and there from his words. “I want to fuck you.”

You would awe at the sight if it wasn’t for the way he’s looking at you right now, so desperate and needy to be inside of you and you’re more than welcome to give him exactly what he wants, briefly nodding your head for confirmation and his shoulders drop with a relieved sigh.

Mark gently pushes you down on the bed to crawl above you, kneeling between your parted thighs and he almost drools at the sight of your pussy, glistening and ready for him to fuck. He’s quick to lean over to open the drawers of your nightstand, digging his hand inside to search around for the box of condoms he knows you have for him.

He pulls out the box and he leans back on his ankles as he dips his hand inside, and you wait patiently for him to retrieve it and roll it onto his cock, but the way his body freezes and face drops you know something is wrong and you grow concerned, leaning up on your elbows.

“Mark?”

“No, no, no,” Mark mumbles repeatedly under his breath as he turns the box upside down and shakes aggressively, praying that a condom will magically appear out of thin air and lay across the palm of his hand but it remains empty. “Jesus Christ, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

You gape at him in shock, “There’s no condoms left?”

“There’s no condoms left,” He repeats, throwing the empty box down on the bed and he runs his hand over his face in annoyance, tears of frustration prickling at his eyes. You watch as he brows pull together, how his jaw clenches and nostrils flare in anger. It was a sight you’re definitely not used to seeing, but it’s something that has your thighs clenching for some friction below. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” You try to reassure him as his cheeks get a little red and you reach up to stroke his shoulders. “We must’ve used the last one before you left to go to Japan without knowing.”

“I should’ve been prepared, you know, I should’ve bought a pack before coming here—I shouldn’t have relied on you to have the condoms but, fuck, I was just so exciting to see my girl that I didn’t even think about—”

“Baby, it’s okay.” You try to cut off his rambling by reassuring him again but it's no use.

“—And now we have nothing and I’m just—” His hands wave over his hard cock comically and you hold back a snort, watching how his fingers run through his hair with a sigh. “Okay, I should just, like, make you cum on my tongue and then I’m going to go jerk off in the—”

“No!” You shout this time, startling Mark who stares at you with wide eyes and you immediately apologise, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby. But you don’t need to do that, it’s okay.”

“Then what are we going to do?” He questions with a whiny tone that has your head reeling and pussy begging to be fucked. The way he’s staring at you so desperately and in pain is enough for you to come up with an idea.

“How about we just do it raw this time?”

Mark blinks, “Raw? Like, without a condom?”

“Yes.”

“Baby…” Mark sighs softly as he rubs at your thighs, “You know we can’t do that. We can’t risk anything, you know, and even though I’m certain I’m going to spend the rest of my life with my girl and start a family… we really can’t risk anything. It’s too soon and we’re both not ready for that either.”

You frown, “I know that. But nothing will happen, I promise. I’m on the pill.”

“What?”

“I’ve been on the pill for a few months,” You tell him nonchalantly and he looks at you as if you kept such a big secret away from him. “Remember that night when the condom broke and we panicked?” Mark nods his head quickly, “I went on the pill the day after that. I didn’t want us to have another scare or anything.”

“You’ve been on the pill for five months?” Mark asks you and you hum, confirming its true and he gapes in shock, dropping his gaze down to your pussy in disbelief. “So we could’ve done this five months ago?”

You struggle to hold back a laugh this time, the sound stifled by your lips. “Yes.”

“So, I can just…” Mark trails off as he shuffles forward, the tip of his cock brushing over your folds and you gasp as he flicks over your clit, thighs clamping around his hips. “I can just slide right in, feel you, fill you up.” He’s mumbling now, some words incoherent while others are clear as day, his lewdness making your face hot as his cock nudges your opening, almost teasing you by not fucking you immediately and you bite back the urge to tell him to hurry it up.

back the urge to tell him to hurry it up.

You suck in a deep breath as Mark finally pushes into you and his eyes grow wide, mouth slack as he feels the warmth of your walls fit snugly around his cock. He’s frozen above you, cock pulsing as he feels you bare for the first time and his eyes flick to yours, and his gaze suddenly darkens, his fingers pressing against the meat of your waist. 

You go to call out his name, to ask him if he’s alright but a surprised yelp flees past your lips as his hips snap forwards, burying himself deep inside of your pussy and your arms fling around his shoulders, gripping him tightly as he pants above you.

“Feel so fucking good, baby,” Mark grunts under his breath, fucking himself into you deeper and you wail, thighs clamping around his waist. “Feels so tight. All for me, yeah? Just for me. So fucking good. My pretty girl and her perfect pussy.”

“Mark.” You try to speak, stuttering over your words with each thrust, the bed creaking beneath your bodies, headboard hitting against the wall but you could care less about the noise, too surprised to see the sudden change in your boyfriend. 

His tone and his words are enough to have you gaping at him, broken moans ripping through your throat at how nasty he sounds, how he uncontrollably mutters how good your cunt feels wrapped around his cock and how wet you are for him. 

You’re not used to this. You’re used to the sweet talk, the light feathery kisses he leaves on your skin, words of sweet praises and gentle whispers of ‘i love yous’. 

You’re not complaining though. Never. 

Seeing Mark switch up just from fucking you raw for the first time has your mind spinning and electricity buzzing down your spine, fingernails digging further into his shoulder blades and clamping around him tightly, cursing him to curse.

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s it, baby. Tight little cunt squeezing me in so good,” Mark whispers in your ear, almost sounding like he’s whining. “My girl. My fucking girl.”

“Please,” You beg, even though you have no idea what you’re begging for. “Please, please, please.”

“Gonna fill you up, fuck you full of my cum,” Mark slurs his words, his pace quickening as his cock drills into you, his hands gripping your waist tighter when he hears you moan prettily for him. “You want that? Hm? Want me to fill you up? Fuck this cunt full?”

“Yes,” You pant heavily, tightening your legs around his hips, desperate for him to cum, to feel him deep inside. “Please.”

“Sounds so pretty when my baby begs for me,” Mark hums as he leans in to kiss your lips but he pulls away much too quickly for your liking, not allowing you to enjoy it. But you gasp when you feel his hand slide between your bodies, thumb rubbing your clit. “Gonna cum for me like I’m gonna cum for you, yeah? Want to see my girl cum for me before I fuck her pussy full.”

You’re already letting yourself go just from his words alone, your orgasm crashing over your like an aggressive wave and you body seizes up, almost sobbing from sensitivity as he fucks you through it, thumbing at your clit without any signs of stopping.

Your pussy contracts around his cock, sucking him in deeper, hugging around him tightly which causing his hips to stutter their movements, a grunt slipping past his lips before he leans back, hands sliding down your waist to grip your thighs, keeping you locked against him as he watches you squeeze around his cock, desperate to be filled.

“Good girl. Keep doing that for me. Feels so good, baby.” Mark’s moaning under his breath, airy moans turning into whines as he feels your walls tighten around him, too overwhelmed by the feeling that he stills, a throating groan leaving his lips as he cums, filling you up just as planned.

Mark’s breathing heavily, mesmerised with the way he’s emptying himself inside you, watching his cock twitch with his spurt of cum that paints your walls. He doesn’t pull away until he’s certain there’s nothing left to give, wincing out of sensitivity as he slowly leans back to pull out of you, his spent cock bobbing against his thigh.

“What was that?” You breathe out, leaning up on your elbows as you look at him. “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know,” Mark mumbles, cheeks blossoming a bright red as he refuses to meet your gaze, that shy and sweet persona falling back into place. But he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from your pussy, mouth open wide as his fingers delicately stroke over your puffy folds. “Was… was I too much?”

“No,” You quickly shake your head, reassuring him. “I liked it.”

“Yeah?” Mark hums, finally meeting your gaze and you smile at him, nodding your head this time and he sheepishly grins back, staring down at his fingers that circle around your entrance that leaks with his cum and he makes the sudden decision to push it back in, causing you to gasp and whine softly. “Sorry… I don’t want anything to go to waste.”

You laugh lightly at his words, “Go to waste?”

“Mhm,” Mark nods, retracting his fingers and staring at the cum that covers his digits, the dark expression taking over once again as he looks right at you, “I’m never wearing a condom again, you know that right, baby?”

©𝗠𝗥𝗞𝗜𝗦

#mark #i am a big proponent of men that are sweet and giggly flipping a switch and going w little feral #we eatin good tonight baby

[outromoonchild]

hello perhaps morning after sex with mingyu + wonwoo ?? like you wake up in bed with both of them after a drunken threesome and go again… maybe one of the boys wakes up first and you start hooking up with him right there only for the other to wake up and get pouty before joining in

Pairing: (Mingyu x afab!reader x Wonwoo)

Genre: smut

Word count: 1.8k

tags: Tags: poly, established friendship, brief enemies to lovers, unprotected sex, spanking, double penetration, degradation, brief hole slapping?, mean wonwoo, sweet mingyu

Summary: Mingyu being the common denominator for the strained acquaintanceship of both you and Wonwoo, he's determined to make this friendship work.

author note: can yall believe this is my first minwon fic, i mean theres a million ones out there that arent mine, but its interesting it took this long. thank you kaili my love for the request, i hope you like it

Mingyu and Wonwoo were and have been inseparable, that is until you came into the picture. You met Mingyu first and clicked immediately with him, taking him everywhere you went like schoolmates. You were self-claiming that he was your best friend, despite how many people telling you he’d be a better boyfriend (he is insanely hot), and that Wonwoo was second best to you.

Wonwoo didn’t like that about you. You just popped out of nowhere with your pretty face and can-do attitude, attaching yourself to Mingyu’s hip like a clingy fanny pack. He was there first and clearly had a stronger connection with Mingyu and he wasn’t going to let some ‘nobody’ steal his friend away from him, no matter how cute that smile was or how nice you smelled.

Mingyu being the ‘empath’ he is, starting to use the word unironically at this point, he could sense the hostility between the two and how things never seemed to align when you were together. It was like a dark cloud peering over everyone when they were in the same room. It made social gatherings suffocating at times and that was unfortunate since he enjoyed both their companies equally, so he set off a plan in motion.

The next gathering would just be the three of them, close and intimate. Drinks would be involved, maybe some food, have it all set up in his apartment, and before you know it, they’d all be besties. This was going to go great.

“Mmh, Wonwoo…”

Mingyu realized things went too well when he found out what he was waking up to the following morning. His eyes couldn’t process it initially, but through his strained eyes he can make out you grinding your wet entrance up against his best friend’s raging boner, moaning obscenities that he hardly ever imagined coming out of your lips.

Wonwoo’s deep chuckles were as dark as chocolate, running his hands all over your body in delight, looking up in amazement to see how needy you already were. “So whiny, you’re so annoying. You want me that bad?”

You nod back at him incessantly, tweaking your stuff buds between your fingers, “I…want…you in me…”

A corner of his lips quirks up, he forces your hips to ride his torso harder, “Yeah? You want my cock inside you?”

Your lips contort anxiously, dragging your hands over his toned, muscular build, “Mm, yes, I want it…”

“I’m gonna need to hear you beg for it. Beg for me, whore,” He taps his length on your stomach, having you mewl over him desperately.

Your core throb, practically hearing the echo from its vacancy, screaming at you to be filled, “Wonwoo please…”

He arches a brow, “Please what? Be specific.”

You’re clenching over nothing, whining in his ear as you leaned towards him, “Please put your cock in me…I need you…”

Mingyu was half asleep when this was all occurring. Tossing and turning, he was wondering what was happening in the background, and why the hell was he so tired for. He soon notices the instability of the bed slightly rocking in its spot, the pure stench of sex that coated the inside of his nostrils, and then your breathy moan, rhythmically dancing in the air. The images then all rush back to him, blood flowing to his lower half, finding enough for his shaft to stand on, and the feeling of neglect wash over him.

“Seriously? You guys couldn’t wait?”

You immediately collect the sounds of Mingyu's pretty whines and turn your head to his side of the bed. “Baby, you’re—ah—up.”

“Hey Gyu.” Wonwoo nods at the younger man.

Mingyu juts out his bottom lip childishly, lightly throwing a pillow back at his friends, and sees it make no effect on the situation. He shifts from the bed, the blanket falling from his body and exposing stiff length, rubbing his eyes in slight frustration. “I can’t believe you two. Without me.”

Your eyes latch on his size, pulling him by his shaft, giggling. “It’s not too late for you to join in.”

“Well, now I gotta catch up,” his hand catches the back of your head and claims your lips.

Your hips moved more slowly this time, focusing on savoring the taste of his lips while entertaining, but the man underneath you wasn’t so patient. Distracted with Mingyu, Wonwoo grips your hips and ruts you faster, bouncing you in his lap. As the sounds of skin slapping together in perfect harmony, you moan in soft, staccato breaths in Mingyu's mouth, allowing your lips to part and have his tongue explore. His hands start playing a part when they fell to your chest, teasing your nipples lightly.

With the endearing way you feel apart to his touch, he can’t help but pull away from the kiss to just have them in his mouth, sucking your tender skin and mouthing flesh around it. “You’re so fucking beautiful...”

His eyes gaze back at you like he was in heat, his hips, and cock twitching to be inside you, your eyes telling him the same. He embraces you as you ride Wonwoo, drawing circles with his tongue, clenching your flesh in his hands, drunk on your pretty voice calling out to him. He could do this all day if he could, but there was one thing he wanted to do a smidge more.

“Come on, Gyu, you know you want to,” Wonwoo takes his hand to your ass cheeks, have you whimper upon impact.

Mingyu knew all too well what his best friend meant and pushed you down to reunite your lips with Wonwoo’s in a frenzy. Mingyu made himself comfortable behind you, legs bordering Wonwoo and parallel to yours. He runs a slick finger over your moisture, and squeezes it between the older man’s cock and your walls, testing your limits.

“So fucking tight…has Wonwoo treating you well?”

You hardly mumble a yes as Wonwoo thrusts deep inside you, feeling the tension up your body and ramming repeatedly inside you, his hands clapping over your ass every few seconds or so. 

“We’re gonna stretch you nice and wide for us okay?” Mingyu warns with a playful tinge.

You moan against Wonwoo’s lips, feeling the heat of his cocky chuckle on your neck. “I think that means yes, Gyu.”

Mingyu held your hips in place, rubbing the tip at the edge of your entry before gradually pushing his length in. With blown-out eyes, you try to quickly adjust to the strain of two cocks plunged inside you, feeling their slick griths rub against each other and fill up your vacancy past its limit, “Oh, fuck…”

It's when Mingyu finds his place that you realize it's only begun. Your hips stationary and nails digging into a pillow, they moved on polar pacing, but fucking you with a similar depth. The euphoria of fullness had overcome you and you try backtracking to the moment when you felt a sensation similar, but none comes in mind. You felt used in the most heavenly way possible.

“So…tight…Fuck, you feel good…” Wonwoo growls out between his grunts, “Stupid slut, perfect fucking body, perfect fucking hole, you’re just perfect everything, aren’t you?”

“So good for us…you’re taking us so good, baby.” Mingyu agrees.

Your eyes keep rolling back in your skull, taking deep breaths, restraining your own orgasm, and at some point the sweat of you three fuse together, becoming one living and breathing system, hot to the touch and unstoppable. Wonwoo eventually encourages you to sit up, pressing your back against Mingyu’s chest, having the image of you being spoiled giving him a sense of purpose and bliss.

“That’s a pretty picture,” he comments, watching as Mingyu grabs your chest again, rolling your nipples and abusing them to his liking.

“I’m c-c-cumming…” you stutter.

Mingyu smugly grins against your skin. “But we’ve only started, baby.”

“I-I know I’m…try–fuck–shit, Mingyu!” You react to the love tap he makes to your hole, his laughter flooding your ears.

Wonwoo laughs along with him, his nails running over your chest and stomach. “Listen to him, slut. Don’t make us have to make you wait…”

“Y-yes, sir…”

Wonwoo was pleased to see your chest heave up and down breathlessly, sweat beading down your body, and the helplessness on your face while Mingyu took advantage. The power running through his veins was immaculate; he made you grind faster, Mingyu pound you harder, all of his present senses were being fulfilled to their maximum. Despite being underneath you, Wonwoo clearly had the upper hand. 

There was a point you couldn’t help yourself anyway, your arousal seeps out of you like oozing honey, dripping the side of your legs and down Wonwoo’s lap, clutching the man behind you desperately for reassurance. “S-shit…I’m sorry.”

“You better be. Mingyu, get on top of them.”

Mingyu follows orders well, your body flat on the mattress in mere seconds with him toppled over you, his smile staring back at you, “Hey, there.”

You get no chance to greet him back as he smothers you with his lips, his full length pushing back in you, and your body aches from the sensitivity. Wonwoo is just a step behind, pulling your legs just slightly more in his direction, he steps off the bed. He plants his feet on the ground and fills up your core to its brim, not caring about the mess you make, only thinking of the bigger mess he plans to make.

“S-so full…”

“You should’ve listened to Wonwoo, baby.” Mingyu strokes the side of your head, pressing his lips against your skin and sucking them until he sees the pigment rise to the surface. 

The room could hardly contain any of the sounds happening, no doubt interrupting a fourth party’s day, and none of you had a care in the world. You were a sweating mess beneath the both of them, used up like their personal toy, and being bruised left and right, all worth it to meet another climax, this time both men joining you.

Mingyu was still kissing your flushed skin when it was happening and Wonwoo, having already poured thick ribbons of his nectar inside you, was pushing it back inside of you, a trail of his and Mingyu’s essence seeping out of you into the sheets. Doing it once, twice, and three times before, you’d do it again and again until your hunger presents itself.

Although both men knew how to make you full, they couldn’t distract or fulfill you from the absence of food. Knowing how exhausted you’ve become, Mingyu laid your body to rest, cleaning out any and all the remnants from your body, while Wonwoo called ahead for some breakfast.

“Anything specific you both want?”

Mingyu cuddles up next to you when he’s finished, throwing a blanket over bare bodies, “Yeah maybe a breakfast sandwich? How about you, baby?”

“That sounds perfect,” you grin, kissing the top of his nose.

Wonwoo smiles to himself, reciting it over the phone before joining them back in bed. He holds you from behind nuzzling to the crook of your neck, and you laugh, wondering why he ever bothered you in the first place. It felt complete with you three together, like a breakfast sandwich.

#gyu #wonu #yessss my kings